For Crissie. Happy belated birthday!

Word Count: 1166


Draco storms in without bothering to knock. "What the hell, Potter?" he snaps. "Longbottom? The bloody coffee boy?"

Harry glances up from the mask in his hand. It's a royal blue strip of silk, almost a blindfold, but with two eye holes cut in it. Draco thinks it's ridiculous and that the costume department is slipping. No self-respecting superhero would ever wear something so tacky.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Harry says, though his innocent tone is a little too forced.

Draco snorts, eyes rolling. He folds his arms over his chest, brows raising. Ever since Draco's painfully public breakup with the footballer, Marcus Flint, Harry has been on a crusade to get him laid.

It isn't as though Draco minds a rebound, of course. But he isn't really interested. Not now. Not when he can only think of Harry's emerald eyes and that crooked grin that has earned him quite a fan base.

Not that he would actually tell Harry. The last thing he wants is the scandal of being that personal assistant, the one who sleeps with their boss. Show business is not kind to people like that, and he knows he would never be able to find work in the industry again.

"Fine." Harry shrugs before slipping the mask on. "I might have told Neville you were newly single. He thinks you're scary but cute."

"Well, he isn't exactly my type."

Harry leans in, that crooked grin on his lips. "And what exactly is your type?"

Draco huffs and takes a step back. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"As it happens, I would," Harry says dryly, adjusting the mask. "That's why I asked."

Before Draco can answer, there's a knock at the door. Hermione pokes her head in. "Harry, you're needed in makeup."

Harry offers her a mock salute before fixing his green eyes on Draco. "Let me make it up to you? Drinks?"

Draco considers for a moment. Most assistants do everything they can to avoid blurring the lines between personal and professional. He knows it's a risk, and that he needs to consider his job.

Then again, he always seems to walk on eggshells whenever he and Harry happen to be in the same area and people are around.

What would it hurt?

"Fine. But you're buying."

The club is far too noisy for Draco's liking. He doesn't know why Harry comes here. The paparazzi always find out, and then the tabloids write rude articles about him.

Maybe that's why he does it. Maybe Harry just really likes fucking with them. Somehow, despite all the stories, his reputation is still spotless.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, absently swirling the lime green liquid in his glass. He doesn't actually know what it is, except that it smells heavily of rum. Harry had recommended it.

Speaking of…

Draco looks around. Harry isn't anywhere to be found. He squirms anxiously. "This is… This is terribly uncomfortable," he mutters under his breath.

All around him, people seem so free. They laugh and drink and grind against people who may or may not be complete strangers. Draco wishes he could trade places with them. He would give anything to be able to forget his upbringing and just go wild for one night. His father would be ashamed. Malfoys are supposed to be prim and proper, yet here he is, in the last place a Malfoy would ever be.

He decides he'll just find Harry, lie about having a headache, and use it as an excuse to leave early. Besides, it's clear that the actor is too famous to even be seen around his assistant.

Draco makes his way through the crowd, searching among the gyrating bodies. Does Harry even like to dance? He isn't sure.

But he does like to drink. Draco knows that much.

He pushes he way out, heading to the bar. Harry isn't too far off. Draco feels his chest constrict when he sees who Harry is with. Tom Riddle, the lead singer of The Death Eaters, has Harry against the wall, his hands resting on either side of Harry, trapping him.

Draco swallows down the jealousy when he realizes that Harry doesn't look happy with the situation. He doesn't even really think about it. His feet seem to carry him forward.

"You're not getting away this time," he hears Tom say. "Come on, Harry. You know you want to."

"How many times do I have to tell you no?" Harry snaps.

Tom laughs. "You think you're so great just because you're Harry Potter." He leans in. "I'm not impressed."

"Hey, Harry, are you ready?" Draco asks, deciding Harry needs an intervention and fast.

Tom turns, eyes narrowing. Draco doesn't understand how someone so handsome can look so evil. It makes him shiver.

"Piss off, blondie," Tom says. "We're in the middle of something here."

"You're in the middle of getting rejected again," Draco says coolly. "Why don't you go sit down and play with your silly guitar?"

Tom focuses fully on Draco. He snarls. "Little boy thinks he can talk so big, huh?" He shoves Draco.

And that's all his needs. Rule one: never put your hands on someone first. His father taught him as much.

Draco curls his fingers inward, forming a fist as he draws back. He puts all of his weight into the punch. His knuckles crack against Tom's face, splitting his lip. A second punch sends him tumbling to the floor.

Draco stars at the fallen rockstar, frowning. "I'm sorry I mangled your face," he says before turning to Harry. "Shall we? I think security is heading this way."

Harry nods and steps over Tom, taking Draco's hand. "The tabloids are going to love this," he laughs.

They're halfway to Draco's flat. The adrenaline still floods his veins, but he can feel it weakening. This may be his only chance. Right now, he feels invincible, and nothing can stop him.

"You," Draco says.

Harry tips his head to the side, brows knitting together. "I'm sorry?"

"You asked me what my type is," Draco tells him. "Not sure if I have one beyond you."

"Really?" Harry grins. "I never knew."

Draco snorts. He shouldn't be surprised; Harry is painfully oblivious sometimes. "Yeah, really."

This isn't exactly how he imagined it would be. Maybe he was hoping for some sort of confirmation that his feelings aren't unrequited. Instead, Harry just grins and stares up at the moon.

Finally, after several moments of silence, he turns his attention back to Draco. "How about something more intimate tomorrow after filming?"

Draco hesitates. Harry has been trying to find him causal dates, nothing serious. It isn't what he wants.

"You're not just trying to be my rebound, right?"

Harry shakes his head. "I think you've made it clear that's not what you're looking for."

Draco feels a flutter of relief tickle his insides, and he can't fight the grin that tugs at his lips. "It's a date."