I'm sorry this update has been a long time coming. It would seem that degrees are more time-consuming than I'd imagined.

Chapter 4

Draco's shoes tap on the concrete of the underground car park as he strides towards the lift, casually flicking his hand over his shoulder and pressing the button on his keys. He hears the reassuring click of the doors' locks sliding into place and slips the keys back into the pocket of his tailor-made trousers. He feels a lot calmer than he did yesterday, when he spent the whole day looking over his shoulder for some faceless Ministry goon, and rushed home to Severus as early as he could. He is soothed by the regimented actions of his morning routine – the steady drum of water against the cool tile of the shower, the weather forecast relayed by the familiar voice, Severus silently helping him with his cufflinks before pressing a gentle kiss against each wrist. He needs this. He needs the solid normality of his everyday life.

Draco makes his way into his office, smiling charmingly at the staff he meets along the way, stopping once or twice to have brief conversations in near perfect italian. He's checking his emails when there's a quiet, almost reluctant knock at his door. He swivels in his chair as Jason pokes his head around the door, and manages to keep his face impassive.

"Hey, there was a guy here looking for you."

Draco rolls his eyes. There's a reason Jason never managed to make it as a PA.

"Did this guy have a name?"

Jason's lips purse and Draco can tell it's taking all of his energy to remain professional.

"He didn't say. He just turned up here after you left last night asking for you. He wanted to know where you lived and stuff. It was kinda weird."

Draco stiffens slightly, panic lancing through him, but he manages to shrug disinterestedly and twists his chair around slightly, as though itching to get back to work.

"What was so weird?"

"Well, he didn't know your name. He called you Drake, or Drew or something."

Draco lifts an eyebrow, pouring all the scorn he can muster into that single glance.

"Is it not possible, then, that he was looking for someone else? Someone called Drake, perhaps?"

Jason narrows his eyes and smiles sarcastically.

"He had a photo of you."

Draco can feel his heart beating and an uncomfortable churning in the pit of his stomach. He draws his eyebrows together for a moment, then shrugs again, running a hand through his hair.

"What did he look like?"

"Mid-twenties. Kinda short. Dark hair, green eyes, glasses. Quite good-looking, actually."

Draco pretends to think for a moment.

"Doesn't sound familiar. If he comes back, let me know." He turns to his desk and starts typing a reply to an email from one of the company's fabric suppliers.

"What, that's it? Do you not wanna know who this guy is?"

Draco sighs and swivels his chair back round.

"Not really. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do." He turns his chair and starts to type again. Jason lingers for a few seconds, then Draco hears an irritated tut and the quiet click of the door closing. He glances quickly over his shoulder to check he's alone and then grabs the phone, almost dropping it in his haste, and punches in the number for Severus' office.

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Draco lies with his head on Severus' stomach, his eyes closed and his breathing gentle. Severus runs his long fingers through Draco's hair as he annotates one of the manuscripts he brought home from work. The only sounds in the house are the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece downstairs and the quiet hum of the heating. Even the patter of rain against the windows has ceased for the moment, and they find it very difficult to worry about the man searching for them. Not when the door is locked and their limbs are tangled and warm beneath the blankets.

Draco had been trembling by the time he'd gotten home, his imagination turning shadows into spies. Severus was already there. He pulled Draco against his chest, wrapped his arms around his slender shoulders. He told him everything would be okay. He promised to keep them safe. And when Draco had buried his face in the crook of his neck and let out a quiet sob, he took him to bed and comforted him in the best way he knows how.

The hand in Draco's hair creeps lower and rubs small circles against the back of his neck. Draco hums contentedly. He brushes his fingers through the dark hair on Severus' chest and runs the pad of his thumb across his collar bone. He props himself up on his elbow and smiles at Severus. Severus raises an eyebrow.

"Can I help you, Mr Malfoy?"

"I like you in just your glasses."

Severus smirks. "Do you, now?"

Draco pushes himself up and straddles Severus' hips. He plucks the manuscript out of Severus' hands and, very deliberately, turns the corner of the page to mark his place. Severus frowns, pointedly eyeing the bookmark on the nightstand. Draco's grey eyes glint.

"I think that's enough work for one night."

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Draco sits on the edge of the bed, elegant fingers knotting shoelaces into small, neat bows. On Fridays, he goes to a cocktail bar after work with the rest of his colleagues.

Severus drops Draco's wand onto the duvet as he passes. Draco looks at it for a moment, and it almost seems to glow. He moves his hand towards it, cautiously, and it trembles. He pulls his hand away, before taking a deep breath and grabbing it in his fist.

There's a sudden jolt, like electricity, so powerful it makes him gasp with something that is not quite pain. Then it settles into his palm, finding the creases and joints it once sat so comfortably against. It thrums gently, content and heavy and home against the faint, familiar tapestry of his skin.

Draco can feel Severus' eyes on him, and he turns to see him watching from the doorway.

"Just in case," he mutters, before turning sharply and making his way downstairs.

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The bar is unusually crowded, and Draco and his colleagues are forced into a far corner, about twenty of them crowded around two tall round tables on spindly stools which rock whenever they move. There are candles hanging in lanterns from the ceiling, and the sound of quiet jazz music occasionally manages to fight its way through the countless strands of animated conversation, only to be lost again almost immediately.

"Honestly! The nerve of the woman! 'I'm used to working with artists.'" Luca snorts derisively. "Who the hell does she think she is? Mona-fucking-lisa? All she had to do was stand still and pout!"

"To be fair, I think that's all Mona Lisa had to do too." One of the work experience girls interjects.

"Was she called Mona Lisa? I thought that was just the painting's name." Jason mumbles, slumped languidly in his chair and swilling an alarmingly green cocktail around in its glass. He's still sulking, to Draco's amusement.

"I don't know! She could have been called Rudolph the Red-Nosed fucking Reindeer for all I care." Luca continues, annoyed at being interrupted mid-rant. "The point is, I'm never working with that stuck-up bitch again. Ever. Honestly, talk about drama queen! Complete fucking diva! What are you smirking at, Mr. I'm-Too-Good-To-Be-Drinking-With-The-Likes-Of-You?"

Draco laughs, and Luca can't help but grin. "Oh, nothing. Just you having the gall to accuse someone else of being a diva."

Luca's shocked face is absurd, and Draco laughs again. He catches Jason's sour expression out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm hurt, Alex. Truly, deeply hurt." He wipes away a fake tear.

"My apologies." Draco tips an imaginary hat.

"Wait a minute, are you talking about the model from yesterday? Red hair? Lip piercing?" Gina from the wardrobe department asks.

"The very same."

"Didn't you go home with her last night?" A lesser woman would wither under Luca's glare.

"Back in a minute." Draco stands before Luca can see his smirk and starts to push his way through the crowd.

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Bella stands in the doorway for a minute, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of people in the bar. She hasn't been amongst so many people for a long time, and the noise and the heat and the brush of someone else's skin on hers sets her heart beating.

A man behind her snaps "Come on love, in or out," as he struggles to pass her, and that's all the encouragement she needs.

She steps in the overcrowded room and moves towards the bar, taking her time, her hands raised so that her fingertips skim expensive woollen suits and delicate silk shirts. Once, her hand grazes the back of a young woman's neck, and she softly moans at the sudden warmth against her skin.

The whole time, she does not take her eyes off the dark haired man she has followed here. He's shifting anxiously through the throng of people, scanning and dismissing faces so quickly it's almost careless. Then, from the corner of his eye, he sees what he's looking for, and cuts through the crowd with a confidence he, until a moment ago, did not look like he possessed.

Bella starts to follow him when she spots a boy standing at the bar. He looks little more than twenty, his nails tapping anxiously against the beer-soaked wood. Bella changes course.

The boy is pale, with light brown freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose, so faint they're almost not there. Strands of blond hair fall across his forehead, and as he pushes them back he runs his hands through his hair so that it tangles between his fingers. His clothes are fashionable and, judging by how well they fit, tailor made, but they look wrong on him. His shirt is starting to pull free from the waistband of his trousers, and there are scuff marks on the toes of his shoes.

Bella looks at him and smiles, the soft, enigmatic smile which now makes Lucius Malfoy want to scream, and the smile he offers in return is honest and unsure and almost painfully hopeful. He can't hold her gaze for long. He looks down to his muddied shoes, and when he looks back up his eyes are wide and trusting.

Bella takes his hand and places it on her waist, and a look of panic flits across his face. She touches his cheek, running her thumb against his lower lip, and he almost relaxes.

He is so shy.

He is so beautifully shy. So beautifully shy that it takes all of her willpower not to hurt him there and then.

By now, her reason for being in this bar has been forgotten.

She asks him if he would like to come home with her, and he agrees so quickly, so readily.

The poor boy agrees, and Bella takes him with her into the night.

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Draco is washing his hands when he feels someone watching him. His heart starts to race and a lump forms in his throat. He's left his wand in his jacket pocket, back at the table, and he doesn't want to think about how Severus would react were he to find out.

Fighting the urge to run, he turns the tap off and takes a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, drying his hands methodically to allow himself time to calm down. He turns, and finds the brilliant green eyes which have been focussed on him for the past minute. The smile Draco offers is confident and casual and, as he knows all too well, unequivocally attractive.

The dark haired man seems relaxed and in control, but Draco sees past that. He sees a man who stands with his back poker straight and his legs slightly apart in an attempt to compensate for his height and slight frame, but doesn't know what to do with his arms, which hang awkwardly by his sides. He sees a man who has opted for contact lenses instead of the glasses Draco thinks, to his shame, he probably would have mocked were he any younger, and he sees the occasional heavy blink which betrays how much they irritate him. He sees a man who was trying to look imposing, and was perhaps succeeding, but who has been unarmed by the kind, curious look on Draco's face and the barest flash of clean, straight teeth.

"Desideri?"

The Italian startles him.

"Oh…erm…my name's Harry. Of course, you know that already." He laughs nervously, but stops at the puzzled expression on Draco's face.

"You do…? Do you remember me? We were at Hogwarts together."

"I'm sorry, you have the wrong person." Draco smiles dismissively, drops his paper towel into the bin and starts towards the door, but Harry steps into his path.

"No, I don't. You're Draco Malfoy."

"That's not my name. Excuse me."

"Stop." Harry reaches out to touch him, but as he does the door opens and his hand is knocked out of the way.

"Ooh, sorry." Jason walks into the bathroom, and sneers when he notices Draco. "Oh, it's you." He turns to Harry, and Draco manages to slip behind Jason. "Hello again. I see you found him. Although I wouldn't bother with him if I were you. Too stuck up his own ass to give you the time of day." He's had too much to drink. He stumbles and places his hand on Harry's arm to balance himself, laughing briefly. "Sorry, I must have had more than I thought. But maybe you could convince me to stay for one more."

Draco glances at Harry, who is looking aghast at Jason, and quietly slips through the door.

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Back outside, the cold night air bites as Draco struggles into his suit jacket, his scarf draped clumsily around his neck and his coat hanging over one arm. He gets his jacket on, and he feels his wand pulse warmly against his ribs. He takes it from his pocket and holds it hidden beneath his jacket, his grip so tight his nails cut into his palm. He forces himself to stay calm, telling himself it won't be long until he's home.

Severus will know what to do.

He pulls his coat on and takes a quick look around before setting off across the square, leaves and dust swirling around his ankles.

The wind is strong tonight, and the trees creak and moan against its assault. It's so loud, he doesn't hear the voice until a split second before he feels someone grasp his shoulder, and he only just has time to turn and see the wide, emerald eyes before his head starts to swim and the ground falls away.

The street Draco had been standing on is suddenly empty, and the wind continues to howl.

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Harry's shoes thump against a wooden floor and the sudden impact makes his knees buckle. He recovers, and raises his wand just as Draco's wand is raised to him. He feels dizzy and disoriented, but he stands his ground and gradually the world stops spinning. He registers the soft light of a reading lamp and the flicker of a fire glinting off a mirror and assumes Draco has brought him straight into his home.

Draco's breathing is shaky and his expression cautious. His free hand is fisted in the expensive fabric of his coat and his wand hand shakes almost imperceptibly. In an instant Harry sees that, confident though he may be in other regards, Draco has rarely, if ever, had to defend himself.

Harry knows he has the upper hand.

"Lower your wand, Draco."

Draco sets his jaw and doesn't move. Harry sighs.

"Come on, Draco. I don't want to hurt you."

Draco's hand drops slightly, and the determined glint in his eyes dims. The fluttering in Harry's stomach starts to settle.

Then he feels the point of a wand against the back of his neck.

"Stupid boy."

Snape draws closer and Harry feels the heat of his breath against his ear. He feels Snape's hand snake upwards across his torso and close around his throat.

"I have absolutely no qualms about hurting you."