Chapter Two: Hogsmeade

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns everything. I own nothing. Nothing, that is, except my little plot of story on which I intend to cultivate a little garden of Drarry.

Warnings: Obscure violence. Slight slashiness.

A/N: This was originally intended to be a PWP, but turned into something more when I was asked to continue it and was struck by an idea for a plot. Thanks to rlassie, VenestusLovesJames, SHINeeinkwell101, Wastepaperbin, Princess-Warrior 17, harrytwifan, Sheri Contrary, DragonLover9865, trollnexus, America's Lover, and Guests for reviewing my original PWP! Thanks to Sheri Contrary and DragonLover9865 for suggesting I continue the story, and special thanks to Princess-Warrior 17 for brainstorming some ideas with me for the plot!

Come on and take me underground
Deep under the street
Come on and take me, take me down
The freaks like us can meet
Turn it up, turn it up, turn it up, turn it way up
Don't stop the beat

Shady - Adam Lambert

Harry ran a comb through his jet-black hair in one last, frustrated attempt to make it do anything rather than stick up in all directions at once. He stared at his reflection and let out a resigned sigh at the futility of his efforts. Clad in tight, dark washed jeans and a fitted green jumper that brought out his eyes – Hermione had taken him shopping last summer, declaring his entire wardrobe to be a disgrace and as a result he was better dressed than he'd ever been – he supposed he was ready. He pushed his glasses a little further up on his nose and licked his lips; willing the butterflies in his stomach to go away.

This was Malfoy. The blond had seen him practically every day of the school-year for the past seven years – last year being the notable exception. The point was; Malfoy knew what he looked like. Malfoy already knew Harry's hair had never behaved a day in his life. He'd seen Harry in Dudley's old cast offs. Harry didn't know why he was trying so hard, or why he felt so unaccountably nervous.

Yes, you do, his subconscious chirped at him. It's because this is a date.

Date. Funny how one word could make him feel simultaneously like running around the dorm whooping at the top of his lungs, and hiding underneath his bed until the day was over. He took a deep breath. He was being ridiculous.

Letting the air slowly out of his lungs, Harry glanced at his watch. Five minutes till ten. It was time to go.

Rather than meeting in the eighth year's common room where everyone could see them and speculate, Harry had suggested meeting by the statue of the one-eyed witch so they could use the secret passageway into Honeydukes' cellar. Malfoy had agreed, and was both intrigued and scandalized that Harry had known about a secret passage he himself was unaware of. They agreed to meet at quarter after ten, and Harry didn't want to be late.

Sliding on his invisibility cloak, Harry hurried out of the eighth year Gryffindor boys' dormitory, down into the main eighth year common room. A section of the castle had been set up to accommodate all the eighth years – students old enough to have completed their seventh year who had been unable to do so due to the war and needed the preparation before taking their NEWTS – and it had a separate dormitory for boys and girls of each house. Each dormitory was decorated in house colours, while the main common room was done in neutral shades.

The houses mainly kept to themselves, despite McGonagall's hopes for interhouse unity – If she could only see how unified Slytherin and Gryffindor were in the library stacks, thought Harry – and everyone got along mainly by ignoring one another's existences. There was the occasional interhouse game of Exploding Snap or Wizard Chess by the fire, as well as interhouse gambling on the results of those games or of this week's Quidditch scores, run by Seamus and aided by Dean.

Overall, the shared common room was less of a problem for the students than one might have expected. Certainly, there had been hexes fired during the first week or two, particularly between Slytherin and Gryffindor, but they had put aside their hatred of each other in favour of indifference, Fewer detentions and lost house points resulted from that strategy, and it kept things in a state of relative calm.

Most of the students had already left for Hogsmeade, so there were only a few stragglers for Harry to avoid as he slipped through the common room towards the portrait. Fortunately, those who remained were all occupied with reading or playing cards and Harry was able to ease the portrait open unnoticed.

He pulled out the Marauder's Map, tapping it with his wand and whispering, "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good!" After all, he was invisible, not impalpable. It wouldn't do to run into someone.

He made his way through the halls to where Malfoy – no, Draco was waiting. After all, the blond had asked him to call him Draco yesterday, and Harry was nothing if not obliging. The fact that it made his heart race to have the Slytherin's name on his lips had nothing to do with it.

He tried to deny that his heart raced when he thought of Draco and found he couldn't. He didn't know how he felt about that. Yes, they were going on a date; but for now the only relationship they had was purely physical. If it became more than that after today, well that was then. This was now, and it wouldn't do to have to admit he was already smitten. One thing was certain; his feelings towards the other boy had never been half-hearted. Granted, the bulk of what he'd felt towards Draco over the years had been negative, but it was never ambivalent or mild.

Since their trysts in the stacks began he'd taken to watching Draco as obsessively as he had in sixth year, only this time without the hatred and suspicion to blind him to the blond's good points. He noticed how the arrogance which had once been so off-putting was now something to be admired, that the blond retained his pride and self-respect regardless of what public opinion thought of him. Harry knew firsthand how difficult it could be to manage that when you were public enemy number one; he couldn't help admiring the grace with which Draco handled being publicly shunned.

He understood that Draco was a proud young man, a pureblood, one who knew who he was and what his place in the world was, and didn't stop believing in it simply because of public opinion. He was a sensitive boy, one who felt things deeply, but whose pride kept him from acknowledging this fact, though his expressive mercurial eyes gave him away. He was intelligent, witty, sarcastic, and a powerful wizard. The longer Harry watched the blond the more he felt he understood him, and the stronger and more powerful his attraction to and desire for him became.

He might not love Draco Malfoy, but he was falling for him.

And there was the man himself. Standing in the corridor, leaning against the statue of the one-eyed witch, short, platinum hair immaculately in place, wearing his trademark smirk along with grey slacks and a black jumper, both fitted enough to show off his finely toned physique – a physique Harry had become rather intimately acquainted with in the library. He flushed as he remembered how the blond had moaned wantonly for him as he had taken Draco's cock in his mouth. His own twitched at the memory, and he willed it to behave. This was a date, a first date; and he was going to be a gentleman.

He pulled off the cloak and Draco gaped at him. "An invisibility cloak, Potter?"

"Surprise," Harry murmured. "How do you think I managed to get away with so much all these years?"

"Potter, you brat," muttered Draco, aghast. "If I'd only known…"

"You'd have ruined it for me and made my life miserable," finished Harry.

Draco chuckled, but Harry seized on something that had caught his attention. "Potter, eh? So we're back to last names, Malfoy?" He felt a twinge of regret.

"Well, no, just habit," admitted Draco, flushing slightly, patches of pink appearing across his pale cheekbones. Harry decided it was a good look on him.

"Alright, then, Draco," he purred into the blond's ear and was rewarded by a deeper flush lighting on the boy's pale cheeks and down his neck. Draco did blush prettily.

"Sod off, Potter," he grumbled. At Harry's look he amended, "Sod off, Harry." He huffed. "This is really going to cramp my style, you know."

"I'm counting on it," Harry chuckled. He then checked his Map, tapping the parchment and whispering "Mischief managed," and folded it up, putting it away. Malfoy gave him an inquisitive glance but he ignored it. The Map he could share with Draco another time. If there is another time. He shook the thought away and he tapped the witch's hump, whispering, "Dissendium." The passage opened and Draco quirked a brow, impressed but not admitting it.

The boys walked in silence for a little while. They enjoyed simply being in one another's company while sneaking covert glances at each other for a while. Silence was easy. Harry could do silence well. What if he opened his mouth and mucked it all up? What's more, it was a good silence, the kind you didn't need to fill.

However Harry found himself wanting to fill it, not because it was uncomfortable, but simply because he wanted to get to know the blond better and have the blond know him better, and if this date didn't go well it might be his only chance.

"So, Draco," he caught the blond's attention. "What are your plans after graduation? What do you want to be?"

It was an honest question, but from Draco's reaction it was obviously the wrong one. He scowled and his face darkened. "Oh, let's see, Potter," he sneered. "I thought I might be a professional Quidditch player. Everyone knows how much the fans love the dark mark; I bet they'll go wild with cheering for me because of it. Thanks to that mark, I have so many options." He rolled his eyes.

Harry was stung. He'd asked the question out of genuine interest, not realising that it was a sore spot for the other boy. Something in his face or his voice gave Harry pause and he asked, "You want to be a professional Quidditch player?"

"Obviously I was being sarcastic, Potter. Even a house elf could understand that." Draco sneered again.

"But you really wish you could, don't you? If you had your choice, that's what you'd be, isn't it?" Harry challenged.

"So what if it is?" Draco snarled at him. He rounded on Harry, straightening up to his full height, a good two inches or so above Harry's. He balled his fists at his sides in fury.

Harry reached out and stroked Draco's jaw, gently caressing it with his fingers and thumb. Draco tried to move away from him but he caught the other boy's wrist and held him still. "Draco," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I upset you, and I'm sorry about your dream."

"Wasn't a dream," Draco muttered. "It was just a stupid fantasy."

"Either way," Harry said firmly. "I'm sorry. But you do have lots of options, you know. You just need to be creative in looking for them."

"Like you'd know all about that. You're just going to graduate and become Mr. Hot Shot Auror." Draco snorted derisively.

"Actually no," Harry shot back. "I don't want to be an Auror. I used to, but not anymore. I'm not sure what I want now, but it isn't that. I'm struggling to find out where my place is in the world after this war, too, you know."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Please, don't pretend it's the same thing. Everybody will want to hire you. You'll still be able to do whatever you want."

"It's different, but it's similar in that we both have a stigma attached to our names and it's not going to be easy to find a way to live without it affecting us. I don't want to be the Ministry's poster boy, so I can't be an Auror, even though I bet I'd be great at it. I love Quidditch but I could never play professionally because this," he touched his scar, "Would have every bit as strong an effect on my career as this," he grabbed Draco's left arm and pressed his fingers into the dark mark before Draco could react, "Would on yours."

Draco stared.

"I'm trying anyway, and trying not to begrudge my friends for having more options than me. I know how that feels. You're not alone, Draco." He licked his lips nervously.

He opened his mouth to say continue but never got the words out. Draco's mouth was on his, hot and wet and soft and inviting. He tasted of vanilla and spice. He nipped at Harry's lower lips and with a groan, Harry responded. Draco's tongue teased his mouth for entrance, and he opened to it without question.

They kissed passionately, tongues battling for dominance and teeth clacking once or twice in their fervour. Draco pushed Harry up against the wall and he moaned into their kiss as he felt Draco's trim body lining up with his own. He slid his arms around the Slytherin, one hand snaking around his waist to pull him close, the other cupping the back of Draco's neck. Draco's hands were in his hair, running through it and pulling on it and bringing him closer. When they finally broke apart it was to pant for breath. Harry gave Draco a dazed look. "What was that for?"

Draco flushed. "Sod off, Potter," he mumbled, and began walking again. Harry stumbled, then hurried to keep up. The blond's mood swings had him confused.

"My father wants me to get into the Ministry," Draco volunteered after a moment. "The position itself doesn't matter as much as how much influence I'd be able to wield and how many contacts I'd be able to make." There was a dull, almost bitter edge to his voice.

"But you're free to do as you wish," pointed out Harry. "You still have options if you don't want what he wants for you."

"Have you ever tried to cross Lucius Malfoy?" asked Draco sardonically. "It's not exactly the easiest path you could take."

"Actually, I have," Harry replied coolly, knowing even as he did that they were referring to things that had happened during the war; from before the war, and the probable outcome of such a conversation made him nervous. He strove to keep his tone light. "I came out alright. So could you. Your father's a lot less scary than you think."

Draco looked at him with one brow arched high into his fringe. "I'd forgotten," he sneered. "You're Harry Bloody Potter." He sniffed. Harry sighed, exasperated.

"Fine," he snapped. "Be miserable." He shot a glare at the blond. "Last time I try to cheer you up," he muttered.

"Well you were doing a lovely job of it," Draco glared back, voice dripping with sarcasm. Harry sighed. In what universe had he thought this would work? He stopped.

"Let's just go back."

Draco stopped short at his words, and turned back and looked at him, confusion written in his face.

"This… whatever this is," Harry gestured between them. "It's not working, obviously. We can't even be civil."

Draco looked shaken. "Look Potter – Harry," he said, licking his lips, eyes darting. "I know I can be a bit of a prat sometimes –"

"A bit? Sometimes?" Harry raised a brow and looked sceptically back at Draco – no, Malfoy. He wasn't going to call him Draco if they were just going to fight all the time.

Malfoy rolled his eyes at Harry. He ignored Harry's comment and continued. "I know I can be… difficult… at times. But I want this to work." He flushed, crimson creeping not just across his pale cheekbones, but down his neck as well. He shifted uncomfortably where he stood, fidgeting like a child.

It struck Harry then that Malfoy had been looking forward to this date as much as he had been, had been as nervous as he had been, and that he was an idiot if he expected them to get along perfectly right off the bat, considering how recently they'd been one another's nemesis. Malfoy was trying to apologize, in his own way, and Harry wasn't going to let that effort go to waste. Maybe he'd even call him Draco again.

A slow, crooked grin was spreading over his features. "Yeah," he said. "Me too."

Malfoy gave him a small, crooked smile of his own, and a warm light glowed in his silvery eyes. "So," he spoke up. "What about you? How are you being creative in looking for your options?"

"Well, Malfoy, I thought I'd become an exotic dancer."

Malfoy stared for a moment before bursting into snickers.

"What?" Harry pretended to be insulted. "I could do it. My stage name could be 'Greased Lightning'." Malfoy's snickers turned into full blown laughter at the thought.

"I was serious, Potter," he pointed out, calming down.

"So was I," Harry grinned, unrepentant.

Draco – Harry decided that yes, he was going to call him Draco again – groaned and rolled his eyes. Harry chuckled.

"Prat," Draco snorted.

"You love it," Harry countered with a grin.

"Like a migraine," Draco sniffed.

Harry laughed mirthfully.

"So, in all seriousness," Draco persisted. "What are your plans after graduating?" The boys began to walk again, side by side in easy camaraderie.

"I'm not entirely sure yet," admitted Harry. "I've thought about becoming a healer, but you need an "O" in potions, and without the Prince's book I'm rubbish at potions."

"The Prince's book?" Draco shot him a quizzical look.

"Err, well; remember how I got really good at Potions in sixth year?"

"I was a little preoccupied at the time, Potter," Draco said dryly.

"Oh. Right. Well I had Snape's old Potions book from his sixth year, with all of his changes and corrections, suggestions and advice in it. It even had spells he'd made up, like Sectumsempra." Harry drew in a swift breath. He hadn't meant to mention that. "It… the book didn't say what that spell did, Draco. I – I've always been sorry – so sorry for that – you have to believe me, I –"

"It's alright, Harry," Draco wasn't looking at him, and his face was an impassive mask. Harry's stomach clenched. "I did try to Crucio you. And if you say you didn't know what that spell did, I believe you." He smiled at Harry then, and it was a genuine smile. There was a hint of pain in his steely eyes, but the smile was true. Harry relaxed.

"So, you had Snape's old book? How'd that happen?"

"I needed a textbook, and it was in the Potions supply cupboard. It didn't say it was Snape's; is said it belonged to the "Half-Blood Prince". I didn't find out who that was till after I'd gotten rid of it. But while I had it, it was the greatest help to me all year."

"Why didn't you keep it? Merlin knows you're hopeless in Potions. You need the help."

"After… after the Sectumsempra thing…" Draco winced at the name and Harry wished he could take it back. "Hermione convinced me that whoever owned it couldn't have been good, and I should get rid of it." There was a tinge of bitterness to his words; he regretted not keeping the book. "So I left it in the Room of Requirement. And it got destroyed." By the Fiendfyre. He didn't have to add the words. Draco knew.

Draco nodded. "So not a healer?" he returned to the original question.

"I could always be a Fantasy Broker," said Harry in a half-joking tone. At Draco's puzzled look he explained. "A Fantasy Broker is someone who uses vast amounts of money, influence, and connections to fulfill their clients' fantasies. They're hired to make people's dreams come true." He'd learned about them while studying for a Muggle Studies essay on interesting muggle jobs. He wasn't sure if there was an equivalent in the Magical world or not, but figured that there could be.

Draco looked slightly impressed. "That could be fun." He thought for a moment, and frowned. "Or it could make you really sick of people, really fast. Can you imagine some of the sick shit you might get asked to do?"

Harry thought a moment, and shuddered. Images he'd seen during the war leapt unbidden into his mind, and he felt repulsed by the memory of what some people thought was ideal. That was not a road he wanted to go down.

"I could always be a Snake Milker." That was another one he'd learned about through his essay and figured could be carried over into the magical world.

Draco stopped, turning to stare at him incredulously. His lips twitched. "What?"

"A Snake Milker," repeated Harry. "Someone who milks the venom from snakes for use in potions and antidotes. I could use my Parseltongue."

Draco was already laughing – out right loud laughing – before he'd even finished speaking. Harry felt a twinge of annoyance.

"What's so funny?"

"You can milk my snake anytime, Harry." Draco winked and leered at him suggestively, still chuckling. "Feel free to use Parseltongue. It might be kind of hot." He doubled up again, laughing as if he'd just been let in on a great joke.

Harry groaned. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"More like slithered into it," grinned Draco. "If you ever need practice, feel free to milk my snake whenever you want. Seeing as it's for your job and all."

Harry's face flamed. "Get your head out of the gutter," he growled. He felt embarrassed and a trifle humiliated at not having noticed such an obvious innuendo and leaving himself wide open to Draco's teasing.

"Nope, it's fun down here," chortled Draco. "You look quite cute when you're humiliated; did I ever tell you?" Harry's face flamed even more at the compliment, so much so that he thought it was a wonder he didn't explode. "I think that's part of why I've always loved to humiliate you," Draco went on blithely. "You look so adorable."

"Sod off," grumped Harry. He didn't know if Draco was being serious or just teasing him, though he suspected the latter. It was just the sort of thing Draco would do; discover something was making Harry uncomfortable and continue with it until it drove Harry mad.

"Nope," chirped Draco, smirking. "This is fun. Pretty princess," he added, not bothering to stifle the laughter that bubbled up at Harry's mortified and slightly outraged look.

"Pretty princess, Draco? Really?" Harry rolled his eyes. "Now that's just pathetic."

Draco opened his mouth to no doubt, call him another name or adjective with the intent of embarrassing or infuriating him, so he chose to head him off.

"I think I'd really like to be a Herpetological Chocolatier."

Draco cocked his head, his teasing game momentarily forgotten. "A what now?"

"I'd like to get involved in making chocolate frogs," Harry grinned. "It sounds like a really fun career."

Draco snickered. "Kid," he teased.

"At least I know how to have fun," Harry shot back.

"I can think of several things more fun than chocolate frogs," Draco replied, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"None I'd want for a career; really, I'm surprised at you, Malfoy," Harry mocked.

"Draco," the boy corrected with a small frown, and Harry smiled.

"Draco," he agreed.

Harry continued to regal Draco with suggested careers inspired by his Muggle Studies essay, such as the idea of a Fire Magician – a person who studies and works with fire doing everything from damage control to deliberately blowing things up, and is specially trained in arson investigation and emergency situations. Both boys enjoyed that career option in particular – they came up with many different ways it would be useful and interesting to have. Harry particularly liked the idea that he could work with the Aurors but be an independent investigator and therefore out of the Ministry's control.

Draco continued to tease him about everything he came up with. They reached Honeydukes' cellar in what seemed to be no time at all, and slipped under Harry's invisibility cloak together to sneak out of the cellar and into the store.

They squabbled a bit over the itinerary; Draco squashing Harry's suggested places to visit by reminding him how likely he was to run into his friends in those places.

"Unless you'd like to explain this to them now, Harry, and I don't really think we're ready for that."

Much as it pained him to admit it, Harry had to acknowledge that the other boy was right. Reluctantly he agreed to go with Draco's itinerary for the day.

Draco's first stop was at Dominic Maestro's, to pick up some sheet music for his mother as part of her birthday gift – he intended to complete the gift with a trinket owl ordered from a shop in Diagon Alley. Next was Scrivenshaft's for some school supplies – Draco had recently broken a few too many quills and needed more parchment as well; next was Potage's to check out the newest line of cauldrons that had just come in; Tomes and Scrolls for the latest installment in a series he was reading, which amused Harry to no end as he'd never thought the blond to be one for serials; and Dogweed and Deathcap for some potions supplies.

The only place the two of them both wanted to go – besides Scrivenshaft's; Harry needed new quills and parchment as well – was Spintwitches. Harry was worried about running into Ron there, but their desire to see the latest model of broom outweighed their desire to avoid places they might be caught out. The only other thing they could agree on was that neither of them wanted to go anywhere near Madam Puddifoot's.

However, Harry was pleased to note that the blond's final planned stop would be at Dervish & Banges, to inquire about an apprenticeship. "I really liked the way it felt to fix that vanishing cabinet," he explained almost shyly. "If they're willing to have me I thought it might be fun to learn more about repairing magical artifacts and restoring them to use." Harry was proud.

They couldn't go to the Three Broomsticks; it was too likely they'd be recognized, but they intended to have lunch at the Hog's Head. Harry knew if he asked Aberforth, the man would likely give them a booth where they would be safe from prying eyes. And he did, though he gave Harry a curious glance when Harry explained that he didn't want to be found by his friends.

They were having lunch there when it happened. There was a series of terrific bangs, and screaming began outside the pub. There was the sound of shattering glass as the windows were blown in. Violence erupted all around them. Pandemonium broke loose inside the pub; no one knew what was going on and everyone was afraid.

Harry's first instinct was to run outside and find out what was happening and see what he could do to help, but he glanced at Draco and his blood ran cold.

The blond was slumped over in his seat; a large shard of glass protruding from his neck and he was bleeding heavily. Harry was afraid to touch him, for fear of making him bleed out faster. He realised with sickening horror that Draco was going to bleed to death if he didn't get him medical attention right away.

A/N: Sorry about the cliffy - I wrote like a chapter and a half before I realised I had too much and had to break it up somewhere. The next chapter will be out soon!

Review please! Reviews are like chocolate frogs, and they make a writer write more. I always respond!