"You're extremely demanding, you know," Harry said to Draco. They were seated at a Muggle restaurant called the Coach & Horses. Before they'd made it there, Draco had insisted they stop at Ben Sherman so as not to be underdressed (even though Harry's earlier ensemble that Draco had forced him out of had been perfectly adequate). By the time Draco had paid an exorbitant amount on new clothes for both of them, insisting "Mother would want whomever I was dining with to look every bit as good as I do," Harry's stomach was growling and "too early from dinner" had long since gone.

"I paid for the clothes you're wearing, Potter," said Draco, sipping on an aged whisky Harry had ignored in favor of hard cider. "Or, at least, my mother did. So I don't think you have any right to complain."

"Harry. Remember? If we're going to be friends, then you're going to call me by my first name."

"And I suppose you'll call me Draco, then, too?"

"Yes, I will." Harry paused before adding, "Draco."

"I suppose it sounds a bit softer than the way you spit out 'Malfoy,' doesn't it?" Draco mused. "Is it good enough if I simply avoid calling you by any sort of name?"

"Friends use each other's names in conversation," said Harry.

"No. They do not. And if they do, they do so infrequently. It sounds ridiculous."

"Why do you say that, Draco?"

"Did you just hear yourself?" Draco asked. "How unnatural that was?"

"I haven't the faintest what you're talking about, Draco."

"You're impossible."

"And you're extremely demanding." Harry popped an olive in his mouth, pleased to see how closely Draco was watching him. "Draco."

"You can stop now," said Draco. "You've made your point."

"And what point was that?"

"Well, it is ridiculous. But maybe ridiculous isn't always bad."

"Are you enjoying the olives, sirs?" the waiter asked as he approached.

"They're great," Harry said. "What are they marinated in?"

The waiter winked at Harry. "Can't say. Chef's secret."

Draco cleared his throat loudly. "We're ready to order our dinner now. I'll have the lamb shank, and he'll have the fish and chips, and when the time comes, we'll be splitting the tart."

"Good choices," the waiter said. "You'll love them."

"I know I will," said Draco, narrowing his eyes at the waiter. "I've had them all before, that's why I ordered them."

"Right. Sorry. I'll put those orders in, then." The waiter stepped away warily.

"What was that for?" Harry asked as soon as he was out of earshot.

"Well, look at me, and then look at yourself, and then look at both of us together."

Harry stared at Draco blankly.

"Do it, Harry."

Harry complied. "Alright. OK. Two blokes having dinner together. So?"

"So," Draco said, sounding impatient, "our dear waiter should assume that the two of us are together, not just together. It's the polite thing to do."

"So maybe he has?"

"If he had, he wouldn't be aggressively flirting with you."

"He is?"

"You can't tell when someone is flirting with you at all, can you?" Draco asked, smiling slightly.

"Not really," said Harry. "That's always been true. I got really confused in the last few years of school when people started paying attention to me. I mean, paying attention to me, and not because I was the savior or whatever you all thought."

"And let me guess, Granger explained it to you."

"Of course she did. Ron was horribly jealous."

"Isn't he usually?"

"Not anymore," Harry said with a shrug. "He has Hermione and he's in Auror training and he seems pretty happy about everything."

"Why aren't you in Auror training?"

"I bet you can figure it out if you try."

Draco tapped his index finger against his temple. "Sick of saving people, aren't you?"

Harry laughed. "It sounds selfish when you put it like that."

"No," said Draco. "It doesn't. It sounds sensible. What do you do instead, then? You're not going out for Quidditch, obviously. Oh, let me guess, Games and Sports?"

"How'd you know?"

"Perhaps I know you better than you realize."

"Perhaps you do."

Harry studied Draco for a moment before saying, "We still haven't figured out what we're doing here, have we?"

Draco laughed. "You've known from the beginning. You just haven't been able to say so. You know what's next, right?"

"What's that?"

"We're going to have to talk about this."

"What?"

"Your crush on me, and how you ever could have developed such a thing, considering our rich and fabled history."

"Oi! I don't have a crush on you."

"Don't you?" Draco asked, smirking. "You're telling me you haven't noticed my steely eyes or my silken hair or my flawless skin or—"

"You're daft."

"I don't think you believe that. I think you want me. I think you've wanted me since the first time Zion paid you an unexpected visit."

"If that's true, then you've wanted me right back. All the too-long looks and the banter and the ... the ... just you!"

Draco shrugged his shoulders. "So what if I do?"

Harry gaped at him, completely ignoring the waiter as he delivered their entrees and topped off their drinks. Draco carefully arranged his napkin in his lap before cutting his shank into neat little squares and having his first bite.

"Oh, this is borderline orgasmic," he said with a happy sounding sigh. "Of course, I knew it would be, but that doesn't take away from the feeling. Here, have some." Draco stabbed a piece of meat and deposited it on the edge of Harry's plate as Harry continued to stare at him. Draco laughed. "Come on. Eat up. Try to think about your taste buds rather than your libido. I know what it must be doing to you now that you know you have a chance at making all your wildest fantasies come true."

Harry shook his head, attempting to break himself out of the odd stupor into which he'd entered, and began eating. "It's good," he said.

"That's all? 'Good?'"

"Well, fine, it's great. Best fish and chips I've had in a while. Excuse me if I can't think straight after finding out, well, you know."

"I know." Draco smiled, and Harry found himself more flustered than before, though he hadn't thought that possible.

"This changes everything," said Harry. "I hope you know that."

"Does it?"

"Of course it does! You're Draco Malfoy and I'm Harry Potter and the two of us are never meant to fancy each other. That's not how the story ends."

"What story?" Draco looked confused, perhaps deservedly so, and Harry shook his head again.

"Yours. Mine. Ours. We don't have one!" Harry scowled at Draco, who was now smirking. "We're not supposed to!"

"You really believe that?" Draco asked, his voice quiet.

Harry nodded.

"At least say it out loud so I have some reason to believe you."

Harry sighed. "Even if I think you're different now, or the same, and I'm just recognizing the good things I've always tried to ignore, and even if it's happening for you, too..."

"Harry." Draco reached across the table and took Harry's hand. "I was terrible, and sometimes, you were too. But I'm different, and you're different, and we're the same in all the ways we should be, and—"

"Draco, you sound so much less smart than usual."

"Shut it, I'm still working out my feelings, OK?"

"No, really. Much less smart. Like, we're talking Goyle level here."

"Git."

"I know. But apparently you like that sort of thing." Harry squeezed Draco's hand.

"Does that mean you're going to do relent and say I'm beautiful and wonderful and you've loved me this whole time?"

Harry laughed. "No. But I'll relent and say you're nice to look at, and clever, and I could stand to spend some more time with you, and not in this weird 'Let's see if this satisfies your lethifold' way. It can be proper."

"Proper?"

"You know, like actual dates."

Draco nodded. "So in time, you will actually be satisfying my lethifold."

"Worst innuendo ever."

"Your fault."

"So, we're going to try this, then?"

Draco squeezed Harry's hand this time. "May as well, right? The world will at least get some headlines out of it. But no snogging. Not yet."

"I'm not making any promises."

"I figured you wouldn't."