Whatever Harry had expected from the Malfoys, it had not been this. It really would not have been that the senior Malfoys had had a seventeen year bet on whether or not he would ever get together with their son. But he had dealt with plenty of unexpected things in his time, so he had taken it in his stride.

Taking things in stride was a skill he had honed as an Unspeakable and one that he wished he'd had a better grasp on earlier in his life. He supposed some of it came with age though. And at least this had been a pleasant surprise. He'd had far too many that had been terrible. Not least of all the unpleasant surprise from earlier in the week.

Every time he thinks about Oliver, his chest aches. He knows there is nothing for it but time, and possibly distraction, but Merlin does it hurt. But for now, he does not have time to feel sorry for himself.

He takes another sip of the gin and tonic that Narcissa had given him, glad for something to do with his hands. Or, rather, his hand, as his other one is holding Malfoy's. And, in all honesty, holding Malfoy's hand makes him feel a bit better for reasons he will not let himself think about right now.

The conversation has moved on to more mundane topics, such as work, and Harry has let his mind wander, but now he realizes that they are all staring at him, so he snaps his attention back to the room.

"What was that?" he asks, smiling politely at Lucius.

"And what do you do?" Narcissa asks him.

"Oh, me? Uh, I'm essentially a professional celebrity," he says. This is his cover. "I trained as an Auror for a time after the War, but I guess you could say I retired."

"So you're unemployed," Lucius says flatly.

"I wouldn't say that."

"You do not have a current job. Therefore you are unemployed."

"I suppose if you put it that way," Harry says slowly.

"Well, don't expect Draco to support you," Lucius says, leaning back and crossing his arms. "You know he works at a bookstore, correct?" Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees Draco slap his free hand to his forehead.

"I can support myself, Mr. Malfoy," Harry says evenly. "I still have rather steady book sales that provide my income. Not to mention several licensing-"

"-Yes, no need to rub it in, Potter," Draco snaps. "Some of us still have to make an honest living." Harry starts to protest, but gives up after a moment. Draco knows he has a job after all.

He glances down at his watch and wonders if enough time has passed that they can politely leave. He feels as though they have been here for six hours, but it has barely been two. Still, it's getting towards evening. He looks up and clears his throat.

"We should probably be getting back to London," he says. "We have dinner reservations for six thirty." Beside him, Draco leans forward and puts his now empty glass down before standing up. The rest of them follow his lead and there is a flurry of embraces as Draco bids farewell to his family. Harry is about to walk out of the room, when Narcissa walks up to him and sweeps him into her arms.

"Take care of him," she whispers in his ear. "And so help me, Merlin, if you hurt him, I don't care who you are, I will end you." Harry gulps and nods. Of course, he has no intention of hurting her son. It's not even a real relationship. And even if it were, Harry prides himself on still being on good terms with all of his exes. Just ask Ginny Weasley.

They leave the elder Malfoys in the sitting room and make their way downstairs. Before Harry can walk outside, Draco grabs his arm and steers him into a side room.

"Wha-?" Harry starts to say, but then Draco gestures at the fireplace.

"Might as well Floo home," he says. Harry would almost prefer to apparate, but he nods and follows Draco to the grate. "This fireplace has a special link to mine, so it doesn't matter that I haven't added you to the family floo wards yet, and then we can go ahead and do that once we're there."

"That seems rather," Harry starts to say.

"Unsafe?" Draco shrugs. "Possibly, but it's only this fireplace and it was getting hard to remember which of the house elves were and were not already allowed to bring us food from my parents."

"Your parents send you food?"

"Sometimes," Draco says. He notices Harry's stare and glares at him. "What, like your parents never-" and then he stops himself. His gaze drops to the floor. "Sorry."

"It's ok. I've had twenty seven years to come to terms with it," Harry says. He chews his lip for a moment and then adds, "And Mrs. Weasley sends me food almost once a week." The last part is an exaggeration. Though Molly does often surprise him with baked goods, her visits have grown much less frequent as of late.

Malfoy nods and takes a step towards the grate. He reaches up on top of the hearth and grabs a handful of Floo powder.

"Shall we?" he asks. Harry nods and Draco drops the powder. "34 Sorella Gardens," he cries, loud enough that Harry can hear him, even though Harry already knows the address. As the green flames rise up to engulf Malfoy, Harry makes a split second decision and dives into the fireplace with the blond, clutching at his waist and tugging him close. He feels Draco grab him back as they hurtle through the network, fireplaces and sitting rooms flashing past them, until the spinning stops and they stumble out into Draco's living room.

Harry glances quickly around the room as they fall forward and spots and astonished Gregory Goyle sitting on the sofa. Pretending he has not seen him, he steadies the two of them and then on the pretense of reaching up to brush some dust out of Malfoy's hair, he pulls the blond's face close and presses their mouths together. If Malfoy is surprised, he doesn't show it, instead eagerly kissing Harry in return.

There comes a small cough from behind them. Harry pulls himself away and pretends to notice Goyle for the first time.

"Oh shit," he says. "Hi." He spins Malfoy around until they are both facing his roommate. Malfoy waves sheepishly.

"I take it from this display that your date went well then," Goyle says.

"You could say that," Malfoy says. "Yes." He takes Harry's hand and leads him further into the room. "Greg, I'm sure you remember Potter."

"How could I not?" Harry flashes him an awkward grin and then holds out his hand.

"Nice to see you again, Goyle," he says. Goyle considers him for a moment before taking his hand.

"Please," he says. "Call me Greg. The Goyle name has been rather dragged through the mud."

"Right, yes, of course," Harry says. He drops Malfoy's hand, walks over to the sofa and sits down. Malfoy watches him for a moment before sitting down next to him. None of them say anything for a long moment. Eventually, Greg gestures at the two of them.

"So, are you two a pair now?" he asks.

"Yes," Malfoy says.

"Then it's only a matter of time before we have Daily Prophet gossip witches parked outside our house?" Malfoy looks at Harry.

"Possibly," Harry says. Greg sighs. He looks down at himself for a moment, then flexes his bicep.

"Gonna have to work on these guns then," he says. Then he looks up at them and grins. "You know, if I might make it into the paper."

"Is that your way of giving us your blessing?" Malfoy asks.

"Mine is not the blessing you need, Draco."

"Oh, we've already seen his parents."

"Shit, it's that serious already?" Malfoy shrugs. "After a day? Damn, Potter, your cock must be made of gold or something because he never takes anyone to meet Lucius. Not even the last guy he was in a serious relationship with." Harry blinks at Greg. He had not been nearly this gregarious in school. In fact, the main noises he had heard the taciturn boy make at Hogwarts were guffaws in response to whatever Malfoy had just said.

"Greg," Malfoy says, leaning forward in his seat. "What the fuck? Be cool."

"Sorry," Greg says, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Hannah invited me over for brunch, and I may be several mimosas to the wind."

"Well, still, be cool. You're probably going to see a lot of Potter from now on."

"And speaking of that," Harry says. "You should probably call me Harry."

"But that sounds wrong," Malfoy says without pause and Harry realizes that it does. And that he has been referring to Malfoy in his head as Malfoy the entire time. Fuck. Should he change that? He tests out the name Draco in his head. It doesn't sound as strange as he had expected.

"I'm not one to judge," Greg says. "But I would think that if you spent all night fucking, you should probably be on first name terms."

"Who said we-?" Mal-Draco splutters.

"Your face," Greg interrupts. "Just now." He grins cheekily and Draco scowls at him.

Harry stares in wonder at Greg again. He is so changed from the boy he knew at Hogwarts that it is almost like he is a completely different person. He wonders what brought about the change. But then, Harry had never known him in school - not really. For all he knew, Greg had been just as affable when in the Slytherin Common room. Either way, he likes this Greg.

"Um, guilty as charged," Harry says, putting on a mock ashamed face.

"Ha," Greg cries, slapping his hand on his thigh in amusement. "I knew it."

Draco can't quite believe the conversation he is in. Nothing about the past few days seems real. Most of it has been shrouded in a veil of tiredness after his late night Reliquary reading and, ahem, after last night's activities led to him not getting much sleep for a second night. But Circe last night had been worth it.

He is sure he will not feel this way in a few days, once he's had to pretend that he and Potter are an item without any of the benefits associated with seeing someone regularly. But for now he is more than glad he took advantage of being able to sleep with Potter while he had the chance.

"So," Potter himself says, breaking into Draco's train of thought. "What do you want to do for dinner?"

"I take it you're staying then?"

"Of course," Potter says. "All night." At this, he winks and Draco feels the color rise in his face.

"Well, thank Merlin Draco's room is at the top of the house," Greg says. Draco forces out a laugh. It sounds awkward, even to his ears. Shit. He's going to have to get better at this fake relationship business. And, he grouses to himself, he should probably call the black haired git by his first name. Like a normal person and not like school rivals. He should also potentially stop referring to him as a black haired git. Maybe.

As he tunes back into the conversation again, he hears Potter say, "We could get take away?"

"Oh screw it," Draco says. "Let's just go to the pub."

The Leaky Cauldron is not overly full when they arrive. Most of the bar stools are empty and there are plenty of open tables. Draco spots Hannah behind the bar and makes a beeline for a barstool. He does not look back to see if Potter and Greg follow him, but they do.

Potter slides into the seat next to him and moves it ever so slightly closer, so that their knees are practically touching under the bar and when he leans forward, their elbows battle for space on the bar top. Draco's breath catches for a moment in his throat, but he pushes the feeling aside. He can be professional. He just needs to remember that he's still slightly pissed off at him for not telling him about Oliver.

The feeling of being punched in the stomach comes back briefly as he thinks about that and it is enough to make him set aside how attracted he is to Potter.

He catches Hannah's eye and waves at her. She finishes counting out another patron's change and walks over to them. In true Hannah fashion, there is a bounce in her step, despite it being a Sunday evening when Draco knows she would rather be curled up on the couch with Ernie, watching something on their jury-rigged Muggle television.

"How can I help you fine gentlemen?" she asks, grinning.

"Newcastle," Potter-whose-real-name-is-Harry-goddamnit says. Hannah's eyebrows lift briefly in surprise at the choice of a Muggle beer but she nods and picks up a glass.

"Draco? Greg? What'll it be?"

"Dragon's Tooth," Greg says. Draco frowns.

"Wine?" he hazards. "No, screw it, give me what Potter's having. I mean Harry. His name is Harry."

"This is true," Hannah agrees. "His name is indeed Harry. Did you just realize this?"

"They're dating," Greg says. "So I pointed out they should be on first name terms."

"Oh!" Hannah exclaims, looking back and forth between Harry and Draco. Harry takes the opportunity to lean into Draco and smile, while Draco turns and glares at Greg. He imagines they look like some kind of Muggle sitcom. Hannah laughs and then turns to pull their beers.

"Thanks for just telling everyone, Greg," Draco mutters. Greg shrugs.

"It's not everyone," he says. "It's Hannah! She's practically family! It's not like you were going to keep it a secret."

"Plus," Hannah says as she plonks Harry and Draco's beers in front of them. "It's not exactly a surprise after this morning."

"Right," Draco says. "I think I still owe you for the firewhisky coffee." Hannah waves dismissively at him.

"On the house," she says. "This beer, however." She finishes pulling one beer and plonks it down in front of Draco. "You can pay me for."

They stay at the Leaky Cauldron until they are the last people there. Which is a common occurrence for Draco and a first for Harry. Draco knows this because Harry keeps trying to apologize to Hannah for making her stay so late.

"But Har'," Ernie says, leaning across the table that they are now sitting at to put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "She has nothing to go home for? I'm here." Harry frowns at him.

"When did you get here?" he asks. Ernie shrugs.

"Twenty minutes ago? But you've been busy talking with Greg, so I'm not surprised you didn't notice me."

"That," Greg says. "And he's had about six drinks."

"Shush," Harry intones at Greg. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, I can hold my liquor."

"How does not dying when you were one make you good at drinking?" Draco asks. Harry waves a hand at him.

"Magic," he says. Draco shakes his head.

"We're all able to do magic, you pompous ass," Draco says. Harry narrows his eyes and glares at him.

"Special magic," he says.

"I call bullshit," Greg says. "You, sir, are intoxicated."

"Yeah, well, so are you," Harry protests.

"Never said I wasn't."

Greg, Harry and Draco stumble home half an hour later, all three of them leaning on each other in support. It is a good thing that it is late on a Sunday and there are few people around Diagon Alley as they end up meandering their way from one side of the street to the other on their circuitous route home.

Upon reaching the house, they tumble across the threshold, and Harry straightens up for a moment and leans against the wall.

"Checking our wards, Potter?" Draco asks him.

"Well, yes," Harry says.

"Ooh, do you need extra protection because you're a celebrity?" Greg asks. He is sitting on the bottom stair now, looking up at them.

"Something like that," Harry mutters. He stays against the wall for a good thirty seconds before stepping away again. Greg watches him with interest, but Harry ignores this. He nods at Draco.

"Shall we?" he asks, gesturing to the stairs. Draco nudges Greg with his feet and the other man pulls himself into a standing position, grunting and groaning as he returns to vertical.

"Nightcap?" Greg asks. He does not wait for an answer but instead trudges up the stairs. Harry and Draco traipse behind him. Once they reach the living room, Harry sprawls across the closest sofa and closes his eyes. Greg catches Draco's eye and the blond shrugs.

"It was a late night," he says.

"Should we just go to bed then?"

"Probably." Draco starts towards the stairs.

"Are you just going to leave him there?" Greg asks, gesturing at the prostrate Harry. Draco sighs dramatically.

"I suppose not." He pulls out his wand. "Levicorpus." Harry's eyes snap open as his body leaves the couch. He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out his own wand.

"Finite incantatum," he cries and flops back onto the sofa. He scrambles upright and glares at Draco. "I can walk, you know." Draco shrugs.

"Uh, I will leave you two to it," Greg says and start towards the stairs again. "Goodnight." Harry raises a hand and then continues to glare at Draco once Greg has gone. Draco ignores him and starts up the next set of stairs, leaving Harry to follow.

"What the fuck was that?" Harry asks once they reach the landing of Draco's tower.

"I thought it was funny," Draco says. He stares down at his shoes, not daring to meet Harry's eye. Part of him had thought it was funny, part of him had wanted to just piss Potter off. He is on edge from keeping up the charade of their relationship, and it's only been a day.

At the same time, he still feels hollow every time he glances down at Oliver's watch. He really ought to have asked for a new one. And so he is annoyed at himself for not doing that. And he is still angry with Potter for not telling him about Oliver the night before, even if a small part of him understands that there was never quite a good time to do it.

In short, Draco is a giant ball emotions and there is only one person around right now to take them out on. Only he's not sure if he wants to hit Harry or kiss him, which is fast becoming a common dilemma.

He settles instead on continuing to stare at the floor.

"Well, it wasn't funny," Harry snaps. Draco hasn't seen Harry this pissed off since Hogwarts, and part of him wants to keep pushing Harry's buttons to see what happens.

"It was a little funny," he says, looking up and smirking at at the brunet. Harry continues to glare, but as Draco watches, the corners of his mouth start to twitch up. "See," he says. "Even you think it was funny." Harry rolls his eyes.

"Perhaps," he relents. "But I'd prefer you not do it again."

"Fair," Draco says. He turns away and walks into the bathroom in order to brush his teeth. Harry follows him. As he picks up his toothbrush, he watches as Harry stands for a moment, staring at the second, empty sink before he seems to come to himself.

"I need to get my things," he says quietly.

"Do you need the coordinates again?" Draco asks, toothbrush halfway to his mouth. Harry shakes his head. He points to his watch.

"I stored them here," he says and disappears out of the bathroom.

A moment later, Draco hears the loud crack that indicates Potter has left and he lets out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He puts the toothbrush in his mouth and starts to brush his teeth.

He feels like the last two days have lasted a week and so he is unsurprised to see dark circles under his eyes when he glances up at his reflection in the mirror. He frowns around his toothbrush. While Potter is gone, he is going to have to apply all his various potions and tinctures to make his face look more like the face he is used to seeing every morning. Not that there is anything to combat lack of sleep - only sleep will do that.

He groans and spits his toothpaste out. He's going to have to share his bed with Harry. And it's going to be awkward. Oh, they'll pretend that everything is fine, but Draco knows that he will be painfully aware of every movement either of them makes. He wishes now that he had agreed to the nightcap, even though he knows he's had more than enough alcohol for the day.

He rinses out his mouth and washes off his toothbrush before opening the cabinet behind the mirror and grabbing the first of his face creams. He uncaps it and is just starting to apply it, when he hears Harry arrive back on the landing.

"Fuck," he mutters. Now Potter will know how much effort he puts into his appearance, and it feels too early in their (fake) relationship for him to know that. He is about to replace the potion when Harry walks back into the bathroom.

"Ah, Vossman's Nightly Complexion Cream," he says. "If I had known you had some, I wouldn't have brought mine." And Draco realizes, that for all his seeming nonchalance about his appearance, Harry is just as vain as he is.

"Right," Harry says once he and Draco are back in Draco's bedroom. "Which side of the bed do you want?" And then he feels stupid, because it is quite clear which side of the bed Draco usually sleeps on as the pillows are crumpled and the covers are pulled back. Clearly, despite his parents' reliance on house elves, Draco does not have one.

"This side," Draco says, pointing to the slept in side and walking around to it. Harry nods and pulls the covers back on the other side and clambers in. He is wearing his full set of pajamas, even though he usually only wears the bottoms, in an effort to be more properly attired for bed. Draco is still in his clothes and is twisting his hands together awkwardly.

"What's wrong?" Harry asks, tilting his head to the side.

"Uh, I normally sleep in my underwear. I don't actually have pajamas."

"Ok," Harry says with a shrug. "Then sleep in your underwear. I don't mind." Even though Harry knows it will make him even more on edge than he already is. His job as Draco's handler is to make Draco comfortable, not himself. He notices that Draco is still wringing his hands together. "Do you need me to look away?"

"Yes please." Harry obliges and turns on his side, away from the blond. Though part of him thinks it is silly - they have slept together after all - he knows that these feelings are not often rational. He feels the covers move and the mattress shift as Draco climbs into bed.

"Erm, good night then," Draco says. The lights dim and a moment later, Harry hears the soft clatter of a wand being placed on a surface.

"G'night," he says quietly and closes his eyes.

Despite the fact that Draco is aching with tiredness, he feels wide awake. He can feel Harry's warmth on the other side of the bed and thus is frozen in place, unable to bring himself to move, even though his leg is at an uncomfortable angle. It is so quiet he imagines that even his breathing must sound loud and so he tries to breathe more slowly.

He wonders if Harry feels the same way. But then reasons that of course he doesn't. He's been trained for situations like this. Then he wonders if he will be trained for situations like this. He jolly well hopes so, or he fears he will never sleep comfortably again.

He nearly jumps when Harry shifts and turns over onto his back. Draco takes this as a sign he should perhaps move, so he gently shifts himself until he is in a more comfortable position. He hears Harry sigh and risks a glance over at him, but the other man's eyes are closed. Draco makes a conscious effort to relax the muscles in his shoulders, which are tight from the stress of just lying in his bed.

Finally Draco decides that he is being ridiculous. It's just Potter after all. And he so he turns onto his side, pulling the blankets closer around himself.

In moments, he is asleep.

The next day dawns bright and early, but Draco does not wake with the sun the way that he normally does. Instead, he slumbers past his usual waking time and does not stir until Harry prods him awake at ten.

He scowls up at the admittedly attractive annoyance.

"What?" he snaps.

"As much I would love to let you sleep the day away, it's ten and we have things to do."

"Things?"

"Hermione's booked us for an exclusive interview with Witch Weekly at eleven. You know, to announce that we're dating. I imagine they will want to take lots of pictures." This gets Draco's attention. He sits up and it is only as he does so that he realizes Harry has brought him breakfast in bed. A tray hovers behind the brunet and Draco can smell both coffee and bacon. His stomach rumbles.

"Is that for me?" He points at the tray.

"I figured it was the fastest way to get you out of bed."

"Harsh," Draco says. "But fair." Harry shrugs.

"It was Greg's suggestion."

"In all fairness, the idea of being in Witch Weekly would have been enough."

"So I can eat your bacon then?"

"No!"

"Fine," Potter grumbles. "I will not eat your bacon if you manage to shower and get back here within fifteen minutes."

"That's not fair."

"Time is ticking."

"You're the worst," Draco says. He starts to push the covers back before he realizes he is wearing only boxers.

"I get results."

"Sure you do," Draco agrees. "Now look away again, please." Potter obliges and Draco scrambles out of bed and runs into the bathroom. Once the door is shut, he pauses for a moment, taking stock of how strange his life is going to be with Potter in it all the the time.

Does this mean he will be sleeping over most nights? Is it the end of Draco's privacy? He is already aware of the fact that it is the end of his dating life, but he's not sure how well he can handle Potter in his life twenty four seven. The last time they were in such close proximity, they were at Hogwarts and Potter had given him the lovely web of scars on his chest.

He looks down at the pale raised lines of skin and touches one of them gently. He shivers. Things are clearly different now. Potter is fake dating him, and, he thinks, if they are going to lose control of their emotions now, it is more likely going to end up with torn clothes, rather than torn skin.

He shakes his head and walks over to his shower. He doesn't have time to dwell on this. There's bacon waiting for him.

"I'm here to interview for the open sales position," Pansy says, tugging her shirt straighter and plastering on what she knows is a winning smile. Richard Burns stares back at her in bewilderment.

"I'm sorry?" he hazards.

"The open sales position," Pansy said again. She keeps the smile on her face and hopes that it doesn't look manic.

"I don't remember any," Richard mumbles to himself.

"This one," Pansy says, thrusting the job posting parchment into his hands. It is clear to her that someone in her department has fucked up and not informed Richard of his new opening. She is going to find out who that was and have some rather angry words with them. And perhaps add a laxative potion to their coffee.

Richard squints down at the parchment. It has his signature on it. He scratches his head and Pansy tries to reach out with the softest Legillimancy she can manage to hear his thoughts. She draws back as he adjusts his glasses and looks up at her.

"I must have forgotten," he says. "I'm terribly sorry about that Miss Parkinson." He beckons her towards his office. "Come in, come in." She follows him inside.

And of course, she nails the interview.

"Mr. Potter," a tall witch with flaming orange hair greets Harry warmly, sweeping him into an embrace as soon as they enter the Witch Weekly offices. She lets go of his shoulders and turns to Draco.

"And you must be Mr. Malfoy." He nods, unsure of what to say. "My name is Gillian." She pronounces it with a hard G.

"Nice to meet you," Draco says. He holds out a hand, but she wraps both of her arms around him instead, hugging him the way she had hugged Harry.

"You sure know how to pick them, Potter," she says as she releases Draco. "He's gorgeous." Draco can't help the smile that creeps across his face. She bustles them further into the office, chattering to Harry about the last time he graced the Witch Weekly cover, while Draco walks along in silence, taking it all in.

The office looked small on the outside, but in true wizard fashion is much larger on the inside. What had appeared to be one room of a dingy office building in Pimlico, is instead a cavernous room with three meter ceilings and lots of natural light that filters down from a large curved dome. There are many doors off of the main room, and Gillian ushers them through one of them.

"Sit," she instructs, pointing at the two make up chairs in the middle of the room. Draco does not need telling twice. Harry rolls his eyes at Gillian but makes his way over to the available chair. "I'll be back when you're both even more beautiful," she says. "And then the real fun begins!"

She shuts the door behind her with a click. Draco starts to reach for the nearest hairbrush, but Harry shakes his head. Draco frowns in confusion for a moment before the curtains at the end of the room twitch and two women come out from behind them.

They look like sisters and Draco can't help but stare. They are slender and pale, both with long cascades of jet black hair. Their dark eyes are both rimmed with red and when the shorter one smiles and begins to glide over to Harry, Draco notices her fangs.

"Harry," the shorter vampire says as she reaches his chair. "So good to see you again."

"Genevieve," he says, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. "Lovely to see you too."

"And who do we have here?" the other vampire asks as she reaches Draco. She places a hand on his shoulder. It is cold.

"This is my boyfriend, Celia. So hands off. His name is Draco." Draco turns in time to see her smirk at Harry, her fangs catching the light from the lighted mirrors. He turns back to the mirror and notices with a start that neither Celia nor Genevieve show up in them.

"Right then," Genevieve says, turning to the make up table. "Let's make you presentable." The pair of them get to work, their hands a near blur of activity, and Draco watches in fascination as his face is powdered and lined and blurred and what have you in the mirror, seemingly of its own accord.

By the end, he is not sure quite how they have done it, but they have made him look better without making him look all that much different at all. And when he turns to look at Harry, he has to suppress a small intake of breath. Harry's eyes seem to sparkle more emerald than usual and he looks well rested and flawless. No wonder all the witches who read Witch Weekly fawn over him. And he is all Draco's. At least for pretend.

Next, they are ushered into the wardrobe room, where a fabulously dressed, bland faced wizard named Evander has them change into so many outfits, that Draco begins to lose count. Once dressed to his satisfaction - Draco in a grey silk shirt and Harry in a forest green turtleneck, both paired with black trousers - Evander sends them out to Gillian.

She brings them to the center of the room, where a large screen has been set up. She waves her wand at it, and immediately it is filled with tall, dark tree trunks. She waves her wand again, conjuring more tree trunks out of thin air to stand in front of the screen before she transfigures the carpet into the forest floor.

She stares at it for a long moment and then pushes Harry into the frame. She has him lean slightly against one of the conjured tree trunks and then puts Draco behind him.

"May I?" she asks, reaching out to move Draco's arms. He nods. She places his arms around Harry's waist and has him put his head on Harry's shoulder.

"Hi," Draco whispers as she walks over to her camera.

"Hello yourself." Draco shifts slightly behind Harry, letting his arms encircle the brunet more naturally.

"Good, now stay there," Gillian calls from behind the camera. There is a flash as the camera goes off and immediately Draco freezes up as the reality of the situation hits him. Everyone is going to see his face and know who he is. All Draco can see now is the camera.

"Relax," Harry mutters, but somehow that makes it worse. Draco's shoulders are tensed up by his ears now and he can't remember how they got there. His grip on Harry is tight and Harry wiggles in his arms. Gillian starts to move towards them, but Harry turns in Draco's arms, ignoring her. He reaches up and puts a hand on Draco's cheek.

"Look at me," he instructs. Draco flicks his eyes away from the camera. "Are you OK?" Draco nods. "Because we don't have to do this."

"Yes, we do."

"Not if you're uncomfortable."

"I'm fine."

"I'm right here for you."

"Thanks." Draco gives him a small smile and the camera flashes again.

"That's wonderful." Gillian's voice sounds far away as Draco decides to lose himself in Harry's eyes. He leans forward and presses their foreheads together, not breaking eye contact and he feels Harry shift in his arms again. Another flash. Gillian calls out instructions and Draco relaxes into the rhythm of the shoot.

Evander has them change outfits after ten minutes. Harry now wears a black tuxedo, and Draco a white, and Gillian transforms the photo area into a large ballroom.

"Is there any reason we don't just go to places with these backgrounds?" Draco asks. They are wizards after all, and could apparate anywhere they wanted to.

"I can control the light and weather this way," she explains.

"True, you never can tell when it's going to rain," Draco says. He regrets this comment toward the end of the shoot as Gillian, seemingly inspired by what he had said, decides that it would be interesting to have a picture of them in a downpour. For this, Draco wears a tan trench coat, while Harry wears just a plain white button-down shirt, which quickly turns translucent in the conjured rain. Perhaps, Draco thinks, the woman knows what she is talking about.

"OK, now I want you two to face each other." They oblige, turning away from the camera to stare at each other. Draco tries to keep his eyes fixed on Harry's face, but they keep flicking down to his wet torso.

"Draco, my eyes are up here," Harry whispers.

"Closer together," Gillian instructs. They move towards each other until they are face to face. Before he can stop himself, Draco reaches out an pulls Harry flush against him. He tells himself it's for the pictures, but he knows it's more than that. There is a flash as the camera goes off. Draco ignores it.

Harry looks so much like he did in the shower yesterday morning, that Draco's body reacts to the memory. He watches Harry's lips curl into a smirk.

"Are you remembering the shower?" Harry asks.

"Are you?" Flash. Harry licks his lips. Flash.

"Maybe," says Harry's mouth, while Harry's body says something else entirely.

"Now grab his coat by the collar, Harry," Gillian says. Harry brings his hands up and wraps his fists in the fabric of Draco's jacket, pulling their faces closer together. Draco swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. Harry's lips are inches from his. In his nervous excitement, Draco worries his bottom lip between his teeth. There is another flash.

"Wonderful," Gillian says. There is a long pause where neither of them move and then Gillian prompts them again. "Now kiss, please." Draco does not need telling twice. He closes the gap between them and presses his lips onto Harry's. He is vaguely aware of more flashes going off, but he is too wrapped up in the kiss to notice.

So much for self control.


Apologies for the delay on this. Hockey has taken over my life. Feedback, as ever, is appreciated.