Malfoy smiled when he opened the door and Harry grinned back. A canvas tote dangled from Harry's shoulder and he held it out, gripping it by the straps. "I come bearing gifts this time."

"This friendship thing might work out after all," Malfoy said and laughed. It was a glorious sound and their fingers brushed as Malfoy took the tote. The two bottles inside clinked together and Malfoy lifted a brow.

Harry followed him inside and Malfoy placed the tote on the small table before gesturing towards the cupboards. "Make tea?"

Harry nodded and pulled out two mugs before filling them with water. He'd been practicing Malfoy's spell from the day before and thought he'd be able to manage.

"These are quite good vintages, Mark. A princely gift, considering I haven't given you anything."

"Oh, but you did! Now I can purchase all the fancy teas I like, and mix my own concoctions, and never have to worry about straining the leaves through my teeth. In fact, you have quite the selection here." Harry bent down to peer at a row of glass jars that lined Malfoy's countertop. The labels had exotic-sounding names like ASSAM and OOLONG and LAPSANG SOUCHONG. "What do you recommend?"

"Do you like coconut?"

Harry nodded, glancing over his shoulder at Malfoy, who was perusing the label on one of the wine bottles.

"Try that blend on the far right. It's Assam with a hint of Darjeeling, coconut, and vanilla. It's one of my favourites."

"Sounds delicious." Harry added water to the cups, heated it, and tossed in the tea per Malfoy's instructions. It was brilliant with milk and a hint of sugar. Harry closed his eyes as he sipped. He'd never expected to find a new appreciation for tea by pursuing a friendship with Draco Malfoy.

"Do you have a last name, Mark?"

"Of course." Harry smiled, but he was uncomfortable discussing names. He didn't really want to utilise another. "So what do you normally do on a Sunday afternoon, besides drink tea?"

"Nothing very exciting, I'm afraid. Sometimes I read. Polish my broom. Shop with Pansy. Go for walks. Visit mother. Sundays can be dreadfully boring, actually. What do you like to do?"

"Visit friends, mostly. What about your boyfriend? He wasn't listed."

Malfoy took a drink of his tea. "He is usually away weekends. He's in Paraguay until Thursday. Big game."

"So, things are serious with you two?" Harry tried to sound casual, but it was definitely the topic he wanted most to discuss.

"Are you a reporter?"

Harry snorted. "Certainly not. I can barely tolerate reading the paper. I certainly wouldn't write for it."

"What do you do for a living, then?"

"I don't really need to work," Harry said evasively. "Independently wealthy, you might say. And I take it you don't want to talk about Montoya?"

"I only just met you. I don't know your last name. And you could be a someone sneaky and underhanded trying to dig up dirt on me, either to sell for publicity or for some other reason."

"What other reason could there be?"

"Blackmail?"

"I'm independently wealthy, remember? I don't need money."

"So you say, Mark Nameless."

Harry grinned. It was obvious Malfoy wasn't about to talk about his relationship, no matter what, so Harry gave it up. "Do you play chess?"

~o~

After years of playing chess against Ron Weasley, Harry could hold his own on the chess board. He smirked when his white bishop bludgeoned Malfoy's rook until it crumbled into a pile of miniature bricks.

"Not bad," Malfoy said and then chuckled when his knight galloped over to skewer Harry's bishop, who died after a valiant battle. "Just not quite good enough."

"How much do you remember about Friday night? At the pub?"

"I remember I was very drunk and foolishly bought Firewhiskey for everyone in attendance."

"Were you celebrating something?"

"Not really. Theo was in town and that's rare enough now that we tend to go out whenever he shows up. Astoria insisted on tagging along and she carries quite an annoying torch for me. I have to prove to her time and again that I am unrelentingly gay."

"Oh."

"That sounded rather sombre for a single syllable."

"Well, it explains why you… why you were so friendly with me."

Malfoy made a scoffing sound. "That's not the only reason, so stop looking like a kicked Hufflepuff."

Harry perked up. "Well, you did tell me you loved me." He laughed at Malfoy's horrified expression.

"I am never drinking again."

Harry snickered. "You are an adorable drunk. Very affectionate."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco shook his head and tried to remember his behaviour at the pub. Bloody hell, had he honestly shouted those words? A vague recollection returned to him and he groaned as Mark laughed again. Merlin, but he had a beautiful laugh, rich and infectious. And strangely familiar.

"Check, by the way," Mark said as he queen slid onto an empty square.

Draco turned his attention back to the game, but he studied his opponent from beneath his lashes.

"I do remember something about that night," Draco said and felt a flare of satisfaction when Mark blushed. Draco hadn't been referring to their dance, to Mark's grasping hands, delicious erection, or hot, heavy desire, although he was certainly thinking of it now when it was obvious in Mark's blue eyes. Control yourself, Draco, he admonished, you can't trust him.

"I am referring, of course, to your curiously diminishing Scottish accent."

Mark blinked at him and looked down at the chess pieces that remained. "Oh. Well, it only comes out when I drink. And sometimes when I want to impress a bloke." His gaze snapped to Draco's again and he flashed a grin.

Draco nearly gnashed his teeth. What was it about he man that was so bloody familiar? He was attractive, that was certain. Even in his drunken state, Draco had gravitated straight to his side, drawn like a moth to a flame. Mark's presence had burned brightly in the dim room, all leashed energy and passive power. Even now Draco could sense it, something wild contained in the casual pose, visible only in a single thumb that caressed the teacup's rim in a vague gesture of nervous energy.

"I see. You only turn it on to pull?"

"No! Merlin, no. I'm not much of a… puller. I was only there to catch up with an old friend. I wasn't looking for anyone."

"You don't come across as desperate," Draco admitted, "although I am still perplexed as to why you are here."

"I'm still confused why you let me in, so that makes us even, yeah?"

"Checkmate," Draco said dryly as his queen pulverized Mark's last bishop.

Mark stared at the board. "Shit!"

Draco laughed. Sometimes his responses were refreshingly candid, and at other times they seemed faker than Pansy Parkinson at a formal tea.

"Another game?" Mark asked as the pieces reformed and arranged themselves.

Draco nodded. "And more tea. I'll go and prepare some."

While the leaves steeped in the hot water, Draco thought about Roderick Montoya. In truth, there was nothing stopping him from taking the mysterious "Mark" to bed. Montoya had been a convenient tool that Draco had exploited to the fullest. He had used Montoya's status as a beloved public darling to oil the cauldron for Draco's coming out.

The press had played right into Draco's hands, turning them into a picture-perfect couple. Draco's father had gone through predictable stages of rage and despair, and the whole drama had finally settled into a quiet, rather boring, solidity.

Until recently, when Montoya had begun to make petulant demands and dropping hints that he wanted to end their façade of bliss. Apparently he'd "met someone" and while Draco was perfectly fine with that no one jilted a Malfoy.

Therefore, despite Mark's infinite attractiveness , Draco simply couldn't fall into bed with him. It was imperative that Draco locate a socially suitable replacement for Roderick Montoya before dear Roddie did something stupid.

No, Draco would ride out this "let's be friends" nonsense until he determined what it was that Mark really wanted whilst he searched for a high-status boyfriend to keep the papers at bay. He nodded firmly as he swished the tea leaves into the air and vanished them.

Despite his internal pep talk, Draco's resolve nearly crumbled when he returned to the parlour to find Mark stretched out in a casual pose. One ankle rested atop the other, defining his thighs and calves beneath the Muggle jeans he insisted upon wearing (and when Draco had begun to find those sexy he couldn't say) and his arms were crossed over his chest, highlighting the muscles in his arms most deliciously. The pose also drew Draco's focus to his flat abdomen and Draco had to reprimand himself harshly to avoid crossing the room and straddling the vision of masculine perfection.

Fucking hell, I want him, he admitted for one dizzying moment. Want, want, want! His teenaged self rose up in a petulant fit of whining self-indulgence, and then Draco reined in his libido and walked calmly over to hand Mark his teacup.

"Earl Grey this time," Draco said. "You'll need your wits about you for this next match, as I intend to trounce you. Again."

Mark straightened and took the saucer with a bright grin. "Bring it," he said.

~TBC~

AN: I know, this chapter is SHORT so I'll post the next one with it. :D