(Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the brainchild of J.K. Rowling and thus belongs to her and whomever she sells the rights to, which is not me in this case. This piece of fanfiction is written with the admiration and respect of Harry Potter's creator. I claim no ownership of her creations. The Graduate also does not belong to me and I claim no right to the original work. Both works are gently parodied for the amusement of all and it is done so with admiration for the original material.)

Harry Potter has had too much time to think before he arrives at the ministry. Seeing his victim worshiping a cup of coffee and half-heartedly crunching the Daily Prophet in order to see the Quidditch headline, he strides directly toward him. If his victim had drunk the coffee instead of blowing sweet-little nothings over it for the last two minutes, he might have sensed the approach. He usually has a sixth sense about Harry Potter and his temper tantrums. But, alas, he has not had his coffee this morning and had far too much beautiful vodka last night.

Draco is completely unawares until Harry socks him in the ear. "Fucking hell, Potter!" The paper cup is crunched and the coffee splatters over the table top, his lap, Harry's shoes, and the poor, abused Daily Prophet. "What in Merlin's name could I have done so early to deserve that?" He holds his cherry-red ear in a hand and whacks Harry in the stomach with the other. "You bloody prick. Damn. Shite. This bloody hurts!"

"Stop whinging, Malfoy."

"Is this because of what I said at the ceremony last night? Creevey was being such a bastard and it was the first thing to fly out of my mouth. Blame my upbringing, Potter."

"Oh, I do," he pulls a chair out and sits down. Draco begins to forget his ear and realize the state of his slacks and coffee. He looks horrified. "Speaking of upbringing-Your mother, Malfoy."

"Your mother, Potter! Look what you did to my coffee!"

"What?"

"Aren't we exchanging insults?"

"No."

"Oh," Draco appears genuinely disappointed. "I thought you'd finally opened the door on 'Your Mother.'"

"Fuck you," he said it with a laugh.

"You're far too uptight about the entire thing."

"She was murdered!"

"Yes, well, now that you've gotten me all excited, what's this about my mother?"

Harry takes a deep breath. He's been preparing this rant in his mind all morning; to be honest, since last night. He had a good tantrum worked up but in the pause, he realizes the amount of ministry officials around him. The pay is still so terrible, there's no doubt almost all of them would sell any piece of gossip to The Daily Prophet for a couple extra galleons. He's probably already earned himself a headline such as "Harry Potter Attacks an Unspeakable." He adjusts his voice low.

"Your mother made me Apparate her home last night."

"And so?" Draco spares him a look of disgust while he uses an embroidered handkerchief to dab at the coffee on his trousers. "These are Egyptian cotton, Potter. The stain will never come out."

"Are they couture?"

"What?"

"Never-mind. But your mother, Malfoy, she forced me to walk her to the door. There was nothing I could do."

He scoffs and tosses his handkerchief on the tabletop. "Heaven forbid."

"But then she made me have a drink with her."

"Are you sure this isn't supposed to be an insult?"

"Then she put her leg up on a chair and-," Harry whispers.

Draco sits back in the chair and crosses his arm with pique. "Oh God."

"I know! That's what I thought!"

"You're complaining because my mother was being polite to you?"

"What? No!" Harry searches again for some way to say it without saying it. "She put her leg UP on a chair, Malfoy. High."

At least Draco seems to pause at hearing that. He doesn't say anything and his face only pulls into a distrustful expression, but Harry knows that means he is listening.

"Your mother was trying to seduce me."

"Hmm," he responds, reaching out and turning the crumpled coffee cup around to face away. It is a nervous gesture and relieves Harry since it means Draco might believe him. "How do you know that?"

"Because she trapped me in a bedroom, stood in front of me naked, and asked me to sleep with her."

"I see." He picks up the crumpled coffee cup, raises it to his lips, and waits for any remaining sip within. "So?"

Harry is startled by Draco's voice. It has that I'm-Going-To-Fuck-With-You-For-Fun tone to it. He hadn't been expecting that one. He expected the I'm-Going-To-Break-Your-Nose tone. "So?" He is mystified.

"So, did you take her up on the offer?"

At first, Harry is shocked that he would even ask such a thing. Then he is scared that he might believe he'd do such a thing. Then he is pissed that he'd suggest such a thing. Thankfully, Draco breaks out laughing before Harry has the chance to sock him in the other ear.

"I hate you," he grumbles, sitting back in his chair with a pout. Draco just laughs. He's so angry that the statement is almost true.

"You're the one who knocked my coffee all over my trousers and then gave me that lovely mental image of my mother naked to start my day. You deserved that, Potter."

"You're such a bastard."

"And your fly's open."

Harry looks down and nearly does harm to himself with the rush to pull his zipper up. "Only a pouf like you would notice, Malfoy."

"Fine, see if I ever tell you again. Go ahead and have your picture in The Daily Prophet with your bits hanging out. See if I care."

"How can you be so damn calm about this?" Harry asks. "Your mother would've raped me if she still had a wand!"

Draco looks at him seriously for precisely one second before bursting out again in hysterical laughter. That receives as many stares as the coffee incident. Harry could see the headline now, "Potter Spoils Unspeakable's Pants, Not His Sense of Humor."

"You do realize she knows, right?"

"What?"

"Potter. She knows."

"About?"

Draco scoffs. "Do I have to bloody spell it out for you?"

"Apparently!"

"Think, Potter, what might my mother know that would involve you but I know better than to say in fucking public and you're still not getting this, are you?"

"Sorry."

"Merlin's balls, Harry!" he hisses and glances around them. "She knows."

"I still don't-," and then Harry suddenly stops, turns beet-red, and rearranges himself in his seat, uncrossing his legs to take up a more manly position of both feet on the floor. "Oh. She knows."

"Sometimes it's a wonder we ever communicate, you ditz."

"Pouf."

"Stop saying that."

"Blame my upbringing." Harry grins and Draco scrunches his nose at him with distaste. It's far too much like the expression on Andromeda's portrait for his liking. Now that the one topic they had made Unspeakable between them had been touched upon, he hurries to move the conversation onward. "And last night was what? A test?"

"A joke."

"It didn't feel like a fucking joke."

"The Blacks have always had the most peculiar sense of humor. You're lucky Auntie Bellatrix didn't like you enough to try teasing you. Someday, remind me to show you the scars on the back of my legs. Oh, she loved to laugh. It was terrible. And mother…well, she gets bored and now that she doesn't have her own wand to play with, how is she supposed to entertain herself?"

"That pun was unforgivable, Malfoy."

"I know," he said miserably, "but how can you expect me to be witty sitting in my coffee?"

"So it was a joke to her? It wasn't funny."

"Not to you perhaps."

"I hate your family, Draco."

"Your mother, Potter."

Harry lets that one go. "Don't you have to go make someone else's coffee?"

"Oh yes," Draco says pleasantly. "And aren't you needed somewhere to receive the praise for someone else's work? Or perhaps you're meeting the Weaslette in some corner so you can choke on that ginger hair for a couple minutes."

"Ha. Maybe I should. Thanks for the suggestion."

"Suck it."

They stand up together and check their watches –Harry on his wrist and Draco with his family heirloom. "Sorry about the pants," he mutters.

Draco nods and rearranges the robes over his shoulders. "You'll make it up to me."

"What? No. You're going to be the one making it up to me. Your mother sexually harassed me last night. I actually feel violated."

"You should be honored. It means she might actually like you."

"You know," he says, "if that's how it works, I could've done without."

"You're so muggle," Draco announces while gathering up his newspaper and walking away.

"Pouf," Harry mutters.

"Oh, and Potter."

"What."

Draco grins at him over the ministry officials that crisscross around them. "Mother told me to say, 'Congratulations!' to the graduate."

"I hate you," he shouts back and listens to him laugh the entire way to the lifts. In retrospect, he supposes it might be kind of funny. Nevertheless, it'd be years until he would admit it, but telling his wife the story would involve her asking too many questions. So like everything else, he wouldn't say a word but only wait for the glances with Draco in the ministry, chance encounters in Diagon Alley, and a couple times a year on Platform 9 ¾. For a moment, they'd both remember and laugh. And they'd know.