(Nuances)

By: Parsley Pinwheel

The first time I saw him outside of school he was sitting outside a Café in Diagon Alley with a cup of steaming cocoa in his hand and looking for everything like sin on earth. A pouty, youthful face had matured into angular beauty and startlingly green eyes were no longer hidden by childhood glasses. Endlessly messy hair was now attractive instead of rumpled, robes were replaced with a tight black turtleneck and black slacks. He was…stunning.

I watched him from my curbside table, unable to pull my eyes away from his transformation. A young, rather attractive male waiter wandered over to his table to presumably take his order. Harry leaned forward and spoke to the waiter, the young man smiled shyly and wrote something on a pad that had appeared in his hand, then leaned towards my former-school mate on the pretense of not being able to hear his request and Harry repeated, returning his smile. They talked for a few moments longer and for all practical purposes appeared to be, well, flirting. A flash of emotion twisted my gut and was subsequently replaced by confusion. Why was I jealous of some school-boy aged mongrel flirting with 'The Boy Who Lived'? No matter that said boy was now, it seemed, a well off, surprisingly attractive man.

I stood, and with a mustering of courage I hadn't expected to need I approached my childhood enemy. He looked up from the papers sprawled before him and those emerald eyes locked with mine. I watched as he took in my equally changed form and I watched as the realization of who I was flickered across his eyes, followed by suspicion, wondering and above all surprise as I took leave to sit at his table.

"Draco," he breathed the word and needles shot down my spine. It was not a question. He looked at me and with his eyes, those startling eyes, he told me everything that had flashed across my mind. When had my childhood nemesis become this seductive, sexual creature? Apparently I was no longer as skilled at hiding my emotions as in years past because as soon as that question flitted across my mind; the devilish twinkle sparked in his eyes and a slight smirk grew on his face. I winced.

"Draco, how have you been?" It was such a simple question, but I had a hard time clearing my throat to answer.

"Good," I replied, mentally chiding myself for my sudden reversion to monosyllables.

"Excellent," he breathed, "but then again, I would not expect any less from you." His fingers toyed idly with the handle of his mug, eyes searching for why I had joined him, finding something they liked, and his smirk widened.

"And you? How has the world been treating you?" I replied, trying to regain the upper hand I never had. I did not know how to deal with a Harry that wasn't awkward. I only knew the Harry that was trying to escape fame, always trying to stand on the outside of the spotlight, but still managed to be the hero.

"Well enough. Not being the center of the wizarding world suits me," He smiled sardonically and a bit of that unsure self-depreciating Harry shown through. But instead of humbling him, it proved to make him more enigmatic and enticing. The young waiter had reentered and approached our table, Harry's food in hand. A salad. How appropriate.

"Where are you living?" I questioned, just doing what I could to keep the conversation going. I wasn't willing to give up on whatever it was I was seeking that quickly.

"A flat in muggle London." His eyes twinkled slightly to see my surprise, and again I was stunned by the depth of character. How had I not noticed this during our school years?

"Tell me about it?" I asked, trying to cover my faulty response to the new information.

"It's small, on the outside of the city, nice view of the trees…" I apparently had struck a vein, because he began a whiling story of his new home and his separation from the world where he had grown. Obviously he still conversed with Ron and Hermione, both of whom held high positions in the ministry, but his connections to some of our other schoolmates were more than slightly surprising. His voice had deepened since our hasty graduation, and washed over me like black silk, huskily filling my ears. I was enthralled with him.

Soon his salad was gone, my confused waiter had discovered my relocation and my food was delivered and eaten as our conversation lengthened and our familiarity grew. He was sexual, seductive, flirty and coy all the same time and I bumbled along trying to keep up. The sky paled, then darkened. We shared a dessert and both tossed back a drink. It was like a meeting I should have had with Crabbe or Goyle – had they proved worth a reunion, which I doubted. We talked like old friends…old friends who teemed with sexual tension.

Finally we ran out of things to discuss, the first stars made their way into the sky and I was wondering how I had missed being enchanted with Harry like everyone else. He leaned back in his chair, stretching and my eyes instantly roamed over his muscled form. He was whipcord and sinew, muscled but not buff and asking for someone to jump him. And he knew he was attractive, and apparently he knew I was looking and enjoying what I saw. He lowered his arms, smirked slightly and stood.

He extended a tanned hand towards me and I took it and stood. His voice brushed past me, husky and low.

"You want to come back to my place?"

- - - -

Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling