"Potter!"

Harry looked down from the ceiling, where he'd been tossing pencils to see if they'd stick, and forward at his boss, Raymond Johnson. "Yes, Mr. Johnson?"

"So they do stick, then?" Johnson gestured upward. "Is that why you've switched from quills?"

"Partially," said Harry. "They're just less fussy, pencils. Same goes for pens, but pencils are the most stripped down writing utensil, in my experience. Shouldn't you be scolding me for testing their sticking power?"

Johnson shook his head. "It's been a slow week. I just wanted to tell you to stop because the thudding noise is getting out of hand."

"Is it a thud? I heard it as more of a thunk."

"Regardless, it's driving Katie crazy, and you know she'll never say anything herself." Katie Bell was Johnson's secretary. Harry at least partway pinned Katie's hiring on her sustained friendship with Angelina, Johnson's daughter and Harry and Katie's former Quidditch teammate, but it probably didn't hurt that Katie was reasonably bright and worked hard.

"Sure thing, Mr. Johnson. I'll stop right away."

Johnson groaned. "Quit with the title."

"Fine, Johnson." Harry grinned. "Oh, I spoke with Bagman. He did make peace with the goblins, but he's in America just in case they change their minds."

"How'd you manage that?" Johnson asked, sounding impressed.

"Bill Weasley, mostly. Bargained with some free babysitting."

"He works at Gringotts, right?"

"Right. Has for years. I think he's one of about three humans in the world the goblins trust more than not at all."

"Well, good work, Potter," said Johnson. "I'd say that more than makes up for your pencil tossing." He cast a Tempus Charm. "Only two more hours of the day. You may as well leave. We'll schedule your trip to America next week. Do you know where Bagman is specifically?"

"Trip to America?"

Johnson nodded. "You'll have to escort Bagman back here and set up a glamour for him to use whenever goblins may be nearby. He can't come here alone, but unfortunately, we're going to need him to explain why drafting a veela is forbidden. Bagman's the only man that damned coach has ever listened to."

"So you want it to be me, then?"

"Of course. Bagman loves you. He'll listen to you, especially after you offer him a spot on the British team in our next charity exhibition game."

Harry sighed. "So I can't worm my way out of this, then?"

"Is it really so bad to take a paid vacation overseas, Potter?" Johnson asked with a laugh. "Where is he, anyway?"

"Seattle. He's become rather fond of a football team called the Sounders. Makes a lot of good bets on them, he said."

"The man won't learn, will he?"

"Never. Have a good weekend, Potter."

"You too, sir."

Harry began gathering his things before realizing he had no things to gather and thought about how he could while away the next two hours. It had been a week since he'd seen Draco, and he contemplated stopping by the Apothecary but couldn't think of a proper excuse. Maybe he could say Hermione needed something for Spell Research, but that wouldn't make much sense, considering Hermione was perfectly capable of picking up supplies and ingredients on her own. He could potentially claim he needed something for his job, but that wouldn't hold water, considering his job consisted of documenting injuries, intervening in scuffles between the Harpies and the Cannons, and, apparently, jetting off to Seattle to pick up Ludo Bagman. Resigning himself to the fact that he had no need to visit Draco, who might not even be in the shop anyway, he headed home, where as soon as he entered the door, he collided with something—someone?—solid and warm and very, very blond.

"I promise it wasn't my idea," said Draco. "It's all Zion." He gestured at the floor, where Mal was sniffing the lethifold curiously.

"Isn't Zion going to try to consume my stupid dog?" Harry asked.

Draco shook his head. "He's been sniffing Zion for a few minutes now. Zion doesn't seem to mind. Sorry for the breaking and entering. I was just following him again."

"This doesn't make sense," said Harry. "I wasn't even here this time, and we've already worked out what you needed."

"Maybe Zion just wanted another friend," Draco suggested in a deadpan tone. Mal was tentatively licking at the edge of Zion.

"Or maybe you still need something."

"I can't imagine what that would be."

"Have dinner with me tonight," Harry blurted out, immediately regretting it as he witnessed Draco's eyes widen and mouth drop open. It would've been comical under other circumstances; right now, it just added to Harry's significant embarrassment.

"Have dinner with you," Draco said slowly. "And what would that do for us?"

"Maybe you're the one who needs a friend," said Harry, knowing exactly how ridiculous he sounded. But now that he'd started, he may as well go full bore. "It can't be anything else, can it? You have your wand. We've more or less apologized and forgiven each other. Seems like it's time to move forward."

"Right. And the way to do that is by having dinner." Draco smirked. "Are you suggesting we go on a date, Potter?"

"Harry. Call me Harry. And no. Well, maybe. I don't know. If I was, would you say yes?"

Draco cocked his head to the side and looked at Harry as though examining him. Since Harry hadn't changed out of his work clothes—forest green robes, open, with a white linen shirt and black trousers underneath—he knew he looked presentable at worst and, as George had once put it when he'd seen Harry in these clothes, minus the robes, utterly shaggable at best. Maybe Draco would agree with George's assessment. Harry only hated himself a little for hoping so.

"Are you paying?" Draco asked.

"If that's what it takes, sure."

"Desperate, then?"

"No, not really," said Harry. "I just think it'd be easier for us to spend time together on purpose than have your pet lethifold keep leading you into my sitting room."

"So, is it a date, or isn't it?"

"If it is, it'll be about the strangest one I've ever been on." Harry scratched his head. "We're not going to talk about how this is weird the whole time, are we?"

"So now you're assuming I'm going?"

"You would've left by now if you weren't."

"Well, it's a bit early for dinner, don't you think?"

"Then we'll get drinks first." Draco rolled his eyes at Harry, who said, "Please. Let's just try this, OK? We'll see what it's like to be friends for longer than it takes you to get Zion or your wand."

"So, not a date."

"Why do you have this need to put a label on it? Two friends, going out for drinks and dinner, maybe to a film. Good enough?"

"Fine, fine, I'll go with you," Draco relented. "But change, would you?"

"Why?"

"Oh, don't sound so hurt, Potter. You're better dressed than I am right now, and I can't have that." Draco gestured at his denims and plain black t-shirt. Harry tried not to stare.

"I didn't realize Malfoys wore jeans," Harry said, smiling wryly. "Isn't that a bit too Muggle for you?"

"They're damn comfortable. Go change your clothes."