Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to the amazing JK Rowling, and sadly, not me.

Thank you to my beta, HPalto87, and hearts to my reviewers!

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18

Fred and George's apartment was a mess, as usual. Among the items you'd expect to see in the average apartment, including small appliances, dirty laundry, and left-over food, were much odder things related to the experiments the twins did to create their merchandise for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Harry had to step over a pile of something blue and gooey, carefully step around a cauldron that was spewing something bright orange, and push aside a stack of small boxes that kept changing color in order to sit on the couch.

"What do these do?" Harry asked, picking up one of the boxes.

"Oh, we haven't got the charms on those quite right yet," George said.

"They're diaries, but they work like little pensieves," Fred explained.

"But unlike the pensieve, this doesn't take the memory out of your head completely, just lets you look at it and add your comments," George chimed in.

"So the box stores about a year's worth of little memories. The problem is that the comments are changing the memories, and we haven't been able to fix it," Fred finished before disappearing into the kitchen.

It seemed the longer Fred and George were in business, the more useful their products became. They started with pranks and ways to get out of class, but now many of their products had some sort of protective or helpful purpose, whether the twins meant them to or not. Those little boxes would give people an insight into a situation that they wouldn't be able to achieve without being able to look at the situation in such an objective way.

Harry thought that if the little boxes actually worked, he could use one to help him with Draco and Oliver. Since they didn't, however, he was stuck trying to figure out this situation on his own.

Fred returned with bottles of firewhiskey for the three of them. They drank in silence for a while. Harry seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, and the twins were afraid to interrupt.

Harry was busy wondering what Draco was doing. He wasn't at the Quidditch shop. He was probably at home. Maybe with Blaise. Damn it, Blaise would probably be hitting on him. He never really liked Harry, and it was always obvious that he wanted Draco.

Harry finished his firewhiskey and helped himself to another bottle. He was aware of the twins watching him, but decided to ignore it.

"Harry?" George interrupted his thoughts.

"What?" Harry responded.

George couldn't hold his curiosity in any longer. "Why did you do it?"

"What? Kiss Oliver? Cheat on that arse?" Harry replied. The alcohol was loosening him up, and he was beginning to find the whole situation funny, though he didn't know why exactly.

"Even though Malfoy can be an arse-" George started;

"And even though he's a snobby effeminate little git-" Fred continued;

"And his family has a reputation in the dark arts-" George said;

"You loved him," Fred finished. "And we, and all your friends for that matter, put up with him, and even tried to get along with him, for your sake."

"So why did you do it?" George asked again.

Harry didn't want to answer this question, but figured he couldn't avoid it forever.

"I wasn't happy anymore. Ollie was giving me everything Draco wasn't. I know Draco loves- loved- me, but something was missing from our relationship, and Ollie filled that gap," Harry tried to explain.

---

Flashback

Puddlemere United won their next two games easily. The Chudley Cannons proved to be little competition, and the Tutshill Tornados just couldn't quite keep up with them. The Falmouth Falcons, however, had given Puddlemere their first loss of the season.

It was a long, tough game played in less-than-favorable weather conditions. It had been raining lightly all day, and because of this, the crowd was a bit thinner than usual.

The Falcons were known to be rough players, often to the point of violence. They played harder than any of the teams Harry had faced so far, and bitterness quickly grew between the two teams. The Falcons seemed to go out of their way to cause fouls. At the end of the game, as both seekers had their hands outstretched for the snitch, one of the Falcons' chasers intentionally collided with Harry, but made it look like an accident. It allowed the other seeker a moment's advantage to catch the snitch.

"That's blatching!" Morgan cried when Harry told her later. "It's a foul. They should've let the snitch go, and the game should've continued!"

"I know, but no one saw it. It happened so fast, and the chaser made it look like an accident. The referee didn't catch it," Harry said.

"Don't worry, Morgan, we only lost by twenty points," Ford reassured her. "We got enough points that we're still in the running for the cup."

"Barely," she replied.

---

Harry was sharing a hotel room with Oliver again. This inn was nicer than the one at Irkley, with a good bar right next door. The team went there for drinks the night after the game, but Harry left early. He wrote a letter to Draco, then stepped into the shower, letting the water wash away the disappointment of the loss.

He knew that losing one game wasn't that big of a deal, but it still irked Harry, especially the way in which they had lost. He felt like it was his fault. It was essentially cheating, but there was nothing he could do about it.

When Harry stepped out of the bathroom, wearing only his boxers, Oliver was sitting on his bed, reading a magazine.

"Oi, Harry," Oliver said in greeting.

"Hi, Ollie, I wasn't expecting you back so soon," Harry said. He felt very awkward standing in front of Oliver nearly naked. It didn't help that the keeper's eyes seemed to be traveling slowly down Harry's body.

"It wasn't any fun after you left," Oliver replied with a shrug.

Oliver pushed himself off the bed and approached Harry. Harry took a nervous step back, but didn't stop him. He looked at the floor, not wanting to meet the other man's eyes.

Oliver placed a hand beneath Harry's chin and lifted his head. They stayed like that, staring into each other's eyes for what felt to Harry like an eternity, but was probably only a few seconds. He wanted to say, "No, I'm in love with Draco," but the words wouldn't come, so he did nothing.

Oliver leaned in and kissed Harry lightly on the lips. When Harry didn't immediately respond, Oliver pulled back, disappointed.

Harry had developed feelings for Oliver before they even started traveling together. He suppressed them, however. 'I'm in love with Draco,' he would tell himself; and while this was the truth, he knew he wasn't getting what he needed from his relationship with Draco.

Harry pulled Oliver into a hug, and kissed him back, letting the passion that had been so absent from his love life take over any rational thoughts that threatened to surface in his mind.

One of Oliver's hands tangled in Harry's hair, and he deepened the kiss. Oliver pressed his tongue past Harry's lips, and Harry rolled his own tongue against it. His hands lifted the hem of Oliver's shirt, and rested on the muscular stomach. 'Quidditch has been good to him,' Harry mused.

Oliver pulled Harry to the closest bed, and pushed him down slowly. He lay on top of Harry, letting their midsections rub together. Harry became very aware of the effect all of this was having on his groin. He thought about how close he was to having sex with Oliver, and guilt washed over him.

Oliver was kissing his neck now, and Harry needed him to stop.

"Ollie," he said.

"Mmm?" Oliver intoned against Harry's skin.

"I can't do this," Harry said.

Oliver lifted himself up to look into Harry's eyes. "You don't want me?" He let his hand slide along Harry's erection. "You don't want this?"

"I do, but, Draco…" Harry said. He realized he wasn't making much sense, but his mind seemed to be clouded by the man on top of him. Harry closed his eyes and tried again. "I like sex and all, but I can't betray Draco like that."

Harry felt the bed shift as Oliver got up. Harry opened his eyes in time to see him disappear into the bathroom. The door slammed and Harry sighed, though whether in relief or frustration he wasn't sure.

---

"Draco would never touch this stuff," Harry said after his third firewhiskey. "Only drank wine, he did. Thought it was soffi… soffiscit… classier."

Fred and George were not nearly as drunk as Harry, nor did they intend to be. As much as they liked the alcohol and the fun that usually accompanied being drunk, they figured their friend needed them more.

"Harry, you're drunk," George stated, amused. He was sitting next to Harry on the couch, and Fred was leaning against the wall nearby.

"Yeah… cin I have another one?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Fred said in a very un-Fred like way, but Harry was already helping himself.

"I don't need Draaaaaaco," he said, drawing out the name for no apparent reason.

"Right," Fred replied. "You can do better than the Ferret."

"I cin do better!" Harry repeated with a hiccup.

George took the bottle of firewhiskey from Harry's hand, but the brunette grabbed it back immediately.

"Iwanit," he said incoherently.

"What are you going to do with Quality Quidditch Supplies?" Fred asked conversationally, though he didn't expect an intelligent answer. He just wanted to keep Harry somewhat alert, and distract him if possible.

"Wazzat? Oh, Kiddich shop," Harry said. "I dunno, hes goodit bussniss than me."

While the twins tried to decipher this answer, Harry got up and stumbled toward his suitcase.

"Y'know what Draco did? He wrote me a love-letter! I wazz… I wazz… asseep… an' he wrote me a love-letter!" Harry seemed to find this funny, and started laughing as he pulled a stack of parchment out.

Fred and George had no idea what he was talking about. Harry shoved the letter into Fred's hands, then sat back down on the couch. The page he had been reading last was on the top of the pile, and Fred glanced over it. He wasn't sure if he should be reading it, however. It seemed very personal.

Harry downed the rest of his firewhiskey, and leaned against George.

"You're sexy," he said.

This made George quite a bit uncomfortable, but he figured he could handle it. This was Harry, after all. Harry knew that not only were both he and Fred straight, they were both engaged (George to Katie Bell, and Fred to Angelina Johnson). However, when Harry placed a hand on George's thigh, then proceeded to move the offending hand up, the situation grew much more awkward.

George pushed Harry away, and Harry flopped backwards to lie on the couch. George pulled him so he was laying on his side, and got up to stand next to Fred. Well, to be honest, the reason he got up was to get away from Harry.

"Look at this," Fred said, and handed George the letter. He began reading where Fred pointed.

"If we loved each other so much, why couldn't you just tell your friends, like normal people?" She sounded hurt, and this surprised me.

"We're not normal," I answered. She nodded, but I could tell she wouldn't accept this as an answer, so I went on.

"To protect each other. We were afraid of that information falling into the wrong hands."

"This was about the war, then," Hermione said.

"Of course. Anything the Dark Lord could use against Harry, he would," I confirmed.

"What is this?" George asked.

"From what I can tell, Malfoy wrote it when Harry was in St. Mungo's," Fred replied.

"He shouldn't be reading this now. No wonder he's so stressed out," George observed.

He skimmed down the page.

She cares about you though. I can't deny that.

You have- it pains me to admit this, but you have good friends. They love you.

I love you.

We want you back, Harry.

Please, wake up.

So, Malfoy actually cared. Fred and George had never been sure if he would ever accept Harry's friends. The letter made it seem like he was making an effort. They both wondered why that didn't continue in recent years.

They heard soft snores coming from the direction of the couch, and realized Harry had passed out.