Chapter four: Someone painted the moon blue

Harry had been having the time of his life. He'd danced, giggled, jived and grooved. Several strangers had sidled up to him, trying to engage him in various… group activities. No one had gawked at his forehead for five minutes straight, and then kindly pointed out to him that he was "Harry Potter!". As if he wasn't already aware of the fact.
Basically, all was peachy.

Having chosen a nice muggle club, he mused, the chances of bumping into some Harry Potter fans, random aurors or some member of the Order, were very few. As for Voldemort, come on, he had to be on some alternate universe to actually meet the man at a disco.

Now, parched and still bubbling with energy, he made his way to the bar. He sat himself down and ordered a Bacardi. Immediately one of the bartenders appeared holding out his drink. Harry picked up the glass, thanked the guy and took a sip. Another waiter appeared at his side and asked him if he wanted anymore ice.

He looked up, to politely decline the offer, and ended up spurting the aforesaid Bacardi onto the abovementioned waiters. "You!" The two waiters, with lots of freckles, a lot of red hair, and looking very much like the Weasley twins, gave him twin suspicious glances from under their dripping wet fringes.
Harry blushed faintly and silently cursed his stupid reaction, remembering that they couldn't recognize him. Giving them a cheesy grin, he choked out an apology. "Umm, sorry about that. I… choked."

Lame, Potter, really lame. I choked. Of course you choked you bleeding idiot, his mind didn't fail to point out.

Fred, or was it George?, reacted first. Wringing his wet fringe, he gave Harry a smile. "No worries mate. We're used to worse." Harry nodded, mumbling another apology, as the twins walked over to some other customer, still shooting him strange glances.

Oh, bloody, hurray! He thought sarcastically, trying to resist the sudden urge to bash his head into the nearest hard surface. Feeling completely dejected, and fearing the twins had somehow recognized him, Harry gave into the seductive liquid, innocently awaiting his lips, in the glass in front of him, and found out that the tumbler was self re-filling.

So it wasn't an only- muggle club.

Cool.

Five glasses later he was feeling quite fuzzy, the world wasn't rotating any longer, but seemed to be bouncing, he was definitely tipsy if not a bit drunk, and ab-so-lute-ly bored.

His first "pissed off" state, should have been celebrated in company, he should have been having mind blowing sex, which he wouldn't even remember the morning after, or at the least a quick snog in a dark nook. Instead he was all alone, with nothing to do, before morning came around and he'd have to deal with the consequences. Mainly a hangover. Ugh.

Going back to the dance floor wasn't an option, considering the ominous spinning spaceships, also know as lights, which seemed to be too close for comfort. Looking around, he noticed an ideal companion, conveniently "sitting" on the stool just next to his.

"Hey!" He exclaimed, as he prodded the 'Guy- He- Did- Not- Know- With- His- Head- In- A- Peanut- Bowl'. "Hey, you," he demanded, "wake up. I want to talk." Thankfully his speaking abilities were intact, but that didn't exactly mean his alcohol- impaired mind wasn't in the slightest… impaired.

The man didn't answer him.

"Yoo hoo!"

A grunt.

Harry prodded him harder.

"Bugger off." The man muttered.

Harry smiled viciously.

Life was a bitch.

Where were the lapping waves and golden sand, when you needed them? Where were the flying seagulls and irritating children, squealing like a herd of… Pettigrews, waiting for him to Crucio them?
Why was he feeling absolutely drunk, and as if a woodpecker had decided to drill a hole into his skull? Why was his head stuck in a peanut bowl? But most of all, who was the bleeding idiot who was yelling in his ear and prodding him incessantly?

Obviously, someone suicidal.

Yes, Lord Voldemort was depressed. And rather irritated.

Harry pinched the guy's butt. The man yelped, swirled around and snarled, his eyes flashing ruby, "I told you to bugger off."

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you," hic "but I seem to be having some problems standing on my own two feet! So I think I'll be staying right here." Harry snarled right back, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. Then he started giggling.

The- the, the little mongrel cretin! How dare he pinch his butt? He had no right; screw that, no one had any such right. His buttocks were very fragile and sensitive, and he had absolutely no right to traumatize them in such a manner.

And why was he laughing now? Was he insane? Wait, no, that was his job.

Giggling. Giggling, not laughing, he was giggling. At him. Oh hell, was his hair in a mess? Did he have bloodshot eyes? Wasn't he looking absolutely stunning? Why was he openly laughing at him!?

(That's the alcohol speaking… but we all know that men are vain.)

No, wait, what he meant to say is… Where is my wand? I need to curse the impudent brat!

His right eye started twitching. Great. The suicidal irksome guy was up on his list, on par with Harry Blinking Short-sighted Potter. Only he had that effect on him. Now there were two of them.

"What?" he snarled, hoping to shut the blond up.

"… you have… peanuts… peanuts stuck to your… forehead!" The young man managed to gasp out, between his incontrollable laughter. Voldemort growled.

Why was everyone against him? First, the agency assistants, then his house elf, and now a random stranger. He was laughed at and misunderstood. And the peanuts weren't helping any. They were the seed of evil. The curse of humanity, sticking to innocent people's foreheads. Evil peanuts were enough to drive anyone insane. Or so he thought.

"What's your name?" The stranger asked him out of the blue, having finally calmed down.

"Uh…" He wracked his brain for an alias, "… Harry." Ha, ha, ha! No one would ever recognise him.

The blond gave him a strange, calculating look. "And you?" Voldemort asked, feeling slightly unnerved.

"Tom," the blond replied. It was Voldemort's turn to give the other a calculating look.

O-kay… so he was blond, he wasn't wearing glasses, his scar was none existent and he'd christened himself as his arch nemesis. Seriously, no one would ever recognise him. They had to be an evil, dark, gangly overlord to actually find out the truth, which obviously this man was not. Really… Lord Voldemort with his head in a peanut bowl? That was totally… impossible. Something that would happen once in a blue moon.

"So…" Harry, a.k.a. 'Tom', asked. "Why are you here… ?"

The man looked at him straight into the eyes, and sighed. "I'm on the run from a house elf."

Harry gawked. "A house elf?" he muttered. "Are you a wizard?"

The dark haired man nodded. "Yes. It is highly undignified, on my behalf, to be running away from a servant. But trust me, that is no normal elf. That is truly Voldemort's head house elf."

Harry chortled. "Oh, come on, it can't be so bad. I'm sure your elf is merely a bit… excited. It's normal. House elves are always so… high. So… you're on the run from a house elf. Anything else I should know?"

"Nothing concerning you." The man bit out suddenly, rather tersely. "And why are you here?"

Harry blew some hair out of his eyes. "I'm partying. But… nothing you should concern yourself about."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Sure."

"Huh."

"What?"

"You have a peanut on your nose." Harry giggled. The man snarled and swiped at his nose.

"It's still there!" Harry chortled.

"Well, let it stay there, then." The so called "Harry" responded.

Harry snorted, and acting totally on impulse, leaned over and licked the peanut off the other man's nose. "Mmm… salty."

Voldemort was in total shock.

A random stranger had just leaned over and licked a peanut off his nose. Ok, that sounded plain stupid, but he was in shock. He was supposed to be always on alert, and he'd been caught by surprise.
Well, he was drunk, so it was perfectly understandable. And no, the feeling of the other man's tongue on his skin had not been enjoyable! What kind of weird fetishes did he have? Nose licking… ?

He seriously needed a psychiatrist. To hell with world domination. The Teletubbies were already one step ahead of him anyway. What with coercing young minds via television. Now he needed some help.

Shaking his head, he glowered at the blond. "What exactly do you think you are doing?"

"I thought that was quite obvious. I licked a peanut off your nose."

"Well, thank you for your assistance, but it is not needed." He replied sarcastically. The blond huffed and sipped his drink.

Voldemort sighed. If anyone had talked to him with such cheek, when he was in his right mind… erm, rightly insane state of mind, the guy would have been twelve feet under. As it is, he was rather drunk.

Well, it was never too late for another drink. He picked up his glass of Vodka and drank it down in a few gulps. The glass re-filled itself automatically. Yippee!

…

While the Dark Lord drank himself to lunacy, the blond sat next to him and watched him. The piercing stare was irritating him, but he didn't pay it any attention.

Twenty minutes later, Voldemort was drunker than ever, and, feeling rather cheerful, was clumsily climbing onto the marble counter. He was just about to start singing, when the entrance doors, next to the bar, swung open to reveal a small, greenish creature, wearing a black apron, who was waving a bottle of "Lizzie Witch's Stain Remover" in it's left hand, and what looked like a blood stained carpet in the other.

"Oh shit."

Harry, having been roused from the clatter of glassware, looked over to his companion. The man was quite handsome… scratch that, he was plain sexy, even when he was totally pissed. Not to mention, it was quite entertaining watching him make a complete fool out of himself.
He'd somehow clambered over the counter and seemed just about to start singing, when a loud ruckus, in the direction of the front entrance, distracted him. The man turned so white, one would think he'd seen his homicidal house elf on a rampage... which, just happened to be the case.

He didn't have time to enjoy the show, however, because the dark haired man flung himself off the counter and fell on top of Harry. Quickly picking himself up and using Harry as cover, he slowly made his way to the other side of the club. The elf however recognised her master immediately and shrieked. "Sir! You shall be paying! I had the carpet washed last week. Bilky is being very angry."

Harry just stared at the confrontation, totally disoriented. The man, "Harry", pulled him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and ran for it. Now that was what he called a retreat.

The two of them thankfully made it out of the building. They quickly ran down a side street and hid behind some litter bins. Down the other end of the street, they could hear the irate house elf causing mayhem and spraying the stain remover frantically on whoever passed by her way.

Scary.

Voldemort shivered. He quickly turned to his companion, unwillingly thrown into the situation, and gave him a pleading look. Dire means were needed in dire situations. He could deal with his pride later.

"Tom," the blonde started at the name, and Voldemort decided to get an explanation later, "I need your help."

"What…?"

"Can I, can I… please stay at your place tonight?"

The blonde stared at him piercingly. "I guess… you could."

The Dark Lord sighed, and gave him a thankful look. "Very well. You'll have to lead the way. Where shall we apparate?"

Harry and his guest, had thankfully made it to Harry's hotel room without splinching themselves or killing themselves in the lift.
They'd made it into the small foyer and over to the desk, without attracting too much attention. The guy at the desk had looked up when they'd entered, but had simply gone back to his newspaper.

Muggles in Soho hotels were less accustomed to rising inquiries, except for extreme cases. The ride up in the lift had been quite cramped, but they'd somehow made it to Harry's room. He'd had some trouble with unlocking the door, considering he kept missing the keyhole. But when he'd finally managed getting in and had shut the door, he sighed a sigh of relieve and turned around, feeling rather dizzy, to his guest.

"You can kip on the sofa…"

He didn't finish the sentence because the other "Harry" slumped forward, and brought them crashing to the ground. Harry moaned.

Voldemort walked into the small muggle hotel lobby. It was a strange choice for a wizard, but it would be very useful. Bilky would never think of searching for him here. Or at least he thought so. He hoped.
The two of them had somehow drunkenly made there way to the blonde's room. Once they'd entered, the other man had turned around to say something to him, but his mind was very hazy and his head was spinning uncontrollably. Words turned into sounds, shapes into blurs of colour.

Gravity pulled him down and he fell on top of the blond. The blonde moaned with pain. Then, realizing their position, he blushed. Breathing the other's intoxicated breath, Voldemort looked into the blonde's striking emerald green eyes. How strange… he hadn't noticed them before, he thought hazily.

They were pretty.

The man was very pretty.

Before he knew what he was doing, he bent forward and kissed the full red lips below him. Soft. The blond entangled his arms around his neck, and both battled each other's enquiring tongue. Soon clothing came off in a frenzied rush to touch and taste more of that delicious skin.
The blonde sucked and nibbled on his neck, sending shivers down his spine, while his hands wandered all over, needing the contact so much. God… he was intoxicating.

Thankfully the floor was carpeted, and in their rush to denude each other, they'd pulled some of the settee cushions down around them. Well, at least they wouldn't have to suffer back aches in the morning. Though, he fervently wished morning would not come, as a hazy cerulean light filtered through the open glass window, and the blue moon bathed their entangled bodies in an ethereal glow.

Sitting on top of a roof, of a hotel in Soho, Bilky sighed. She was sure he was somewhere around here. But where…? Master had been a very bad boy!