Harry knocked on Draco's door and smiled uncertainly when Draco flung it open and dragged him inside by a solid grip on his arm.
"Mark, I'm glad you're here. I would have sent you an owl requesting your presence, but since you never gifted me with your last name, that wasn't possible. I received a new shipment."
"It's Birmingham. A new shipment of what?"
"Birmingham?" Draco stopped just inside the kitchen and blinked at him.
"My surname. I should have told you before. A shipment of what?"
Draco frowned, obviously mulling the name over in his head and likely trying to match it to anyone he had ever known. At last he shook his head and turned away.
"Tea, of course. A special delivery from Africa. I am thinking of blending it with the ginger, or perhaps a bit of rose." Draco chattered on and opened several jars of tea leaves. Harry did not bother to suppress a grin. Somewhere between the mind-boggling question the previous night (do you like cock, Potter) and Harry's early-morning wank session, "Malfoy" had become "Draco" in his mind and he couldn't seem to shake it. In fact, Draco's behaviour was only reinforcing it. The buttoned-up, public version of Draco Malfoy was gone and Harry much preferred this one, with his bare feet and casual jumper, and the relaxed smirk he sent Harry's way as he heated water without half trying.
"How was the Quidditch thing last night?"
"Stuffy and boring, as usual, but at least it's for an excellent cause. Orphans and war reparations are well and good, but Quidditch-now, that's important."
Harry laughed. "Indeed." He accepted the cup Draco held out and lifted it to breathe in the delicate aroma.
"Well?" Draco asked as he took a drink.
Several cups and two games of chess later, Harry impulsively said, "Come to dinner with me tonight."
Shutters dropped over Draco's eyes, quick as a door slamming.
"Not like a date!" Harry said, scoffing. "I know you and Roderick are blissfully in love. I saw the photos in the Prophet this morning. I just want to take you to dinner. As a thank you for all the tea, or something. It will be fun. In fact, I dare you."
"You dare me?" Both pale brows rose. "That seems a bit extreme."
"You don't know where I plan to take you."
"Well, now I am curious."
"Curious enough to trust me?"
There was a long pause, enough to highlight the fact that Draco did not, in fact, trust him at all, but at last he nodded. "I suppose. What shall I wear to this mystery dinner?"
Harry's grin widened as something loosened in his midsection. He felt almost giddy, a sensation that had propelled him out of bed and set him on his current path, although he was probably being ridiculous. He simply wanted to spend more time with Draco.
"How about if I send you something to wear? And you can always refuse to go."
"You plan to purchase my clothing for this venture?"
Harry laughed aloud at Draco's growing bafflement. There was a good chance Draco would decline his invitation when he discovered what Harry had in mind, but Harry hoped his competitive nature would win in the end. He nodded.
"I can hardly say no to new wardrobe items, as long as you promise they won't be anything garish."
"Oh no. Tasteful items only."
"Very well. I will agree to this madness, at least for now."
"Great!" Harry shot to his feet. "Merlin, I've got to get shopping! How about if I come back here at, say, seven o'clock? That will give you time to dress." And probably explode, and possibly hex me, Harry added to himself.
"All right. I will see you then."
Harry gave him another grin, tapped a finger to his forehead in a salute, and left.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The door had barely closed behind Mark when Draco hurried to the desk and scribbled a quick note. He sent his owl winging away to Blaise.
Mark Birmingham. Get me everything you can as soon as possible.
As soon as possible turned out to be three hours later. Blaise sat across from Draco and sipped at spiced vanilla-peach tea, holding his head up with one hand by an elbow propped on the table.
"There isn't much," Draco said as he frowned over the spread of papers.
"He's loaded, hot, and actually seems to like you. What more do you want?" Blaise added another spoonful of sugar to his tea and yawned.
Draco could not answer. Blaise had dug up facts and figures gleaned from probably less-than-above-board means. Mark Birmingham was the part owner of a dozen profitable ventures, including Quidditch apparel, spice and rare potion ingredient import, an art gallery, and high-end glass manufacture. Blaise was certain there were others; those were merely the things he'd located with a quick search.
"So he looks good on paper-"
"And in person," Blaise added.
"-but why have we never heard of him? With his Galleons, he should have been at the Quidditch Gala-hell, at all the galas. How has he eluded the Seeker all this time? You said Pansy doesn't know anything about him?"
"She didn't recognize the name at all, from what I could get out of her before she shrieked at me and threw me out of her bedroom. You owe me extra for that, by the way. The bitch throws a mean Stinging Hex, even when she's half-asleep." He sent Draco a petulant-looking pout.
"It doesn't make sense."
"For Salazar's sake, Draco, why don't you just ask the man?" Blaise pushed his teacup aside and dropped his head into his arms.
"Oh no you don't. Mark is coming back soon. No sleeping in my kitchen."
Mark returned several minutes before the appointed hour, bearing several mysterious parcels and paper shopping bags emblazoned with names Draco did not recognise. He waved Draco into the bedroom-Draco pretended not to notice the way Mark's eyes took in the room-and then he unpacked his purchases. As the items were placed upon the bed, Draco understood Mark's earlier glee.
"You bastard," he breathed. "These are Muggle clothes!"
"We can't wear robes to a Muggle restaurant." Mark's impish smile burst forth and Draco struggled not to return a smile. Mark's good humour was infectious.
"What did I ever do to you to deserve such torture?"
"Well…" Mark seemed to consider the question and Draco decided he would rather not know. He was afraid "leading him on" might be on the list of grievances and his mind returned to that night at the pub, and the feel of Mark plastered against him, warm and willing. And then Draco had abandoned him to return to his alleged boyfriend. Draco supposed he deserved a bit of Muggle penance.
"Never mind. I am certain everyone in the world could answer that question in one fashion or another."
"Don't act like I'm taking you to the gallows. The food will be worth a little wardrobe discomfort, I promise you. Now, put on these trousers and we'll see if everything fits."
~o~
Despite all of the bizarre-looking Muggles in the room, Draco's gaze kept wandering across the table to Mark, whose blue eyes seemed to gleam with every meeting of Draco's stare. Mark looked bloody gorgeous in a dark blue suit, celestial blue shirt, and a tie with an interesting pattern of blues, greens, and greys. The other Muggles in the room could not compare with Mark for holding Draco's attention.
Strangely, Draco had begun to compare Mark with Harry Potter. Their similarities were remarkable. They seemed to be the same height, build, and temperament, as well as sharing a strange combination of carelessness and grace. Mark had nearly knocked over his wine glass at one point, and then righted it with a lightning-quick movement of his hand. Seeker's reflexes, Draco had thought.
"Did you ever play Quidditch?"
Mark shook his head. "Just for fun."
"Why haven't I ever met you before? It's as if you didn't exist before I bumped into you in that pub. No parties, no societal functions, not even a mention in the Prophet."
"You've been digging." Mark gave him a "you should be ashamed" look.
"Are you surprised?"
"No. To tell the truth, I've spent the past several years in the United States. New York, Boston, Philadelphia. It's interesting there. Different. The energy is… Well, here all is tradition and resistance to change, and maintaining the old ways. There, it is more frenetic. They are always looking for something new and traditions are either forgotten or maintained merely for entertainment purposes. It can, however, be exhausting."
"So you came home. Or is over there 'home' now? Are you planning to stay?" Draco was both relieved and anxious. America. It would explain Mark's lack of history here, but it might also call him back.
"This will always be home. I just never had much reason to stay before." Mark lifted his glass and took a drink. His eyes met Draco's over the silver frames of his glasses.
Draco felt a rush of emotion and lifted his own glass, hoping to calm the odd racing of his heart. Bloody hell, why was he here, sitting across from an attractive man when he had only last night set his sights on another? He should set Mark free and not keep him dangling, hoping for a crumb of affection in the name of friendship. It was obvious Mark wanted more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry wanted to drown himself in his wine glass. Taking Draco out had been a mistake. With every word that spilled from his lips, Harry was digging himself deeper and deeper into a grave of his own making.
What are you doing? he demanded for the nth time.
The Muggle clothes had been an even bigger mistake. It had taken immense effort to maintain a casual demeanour whilst Draco had tried on the Muggle things Harry had purchased. Every time Draco had emerged from the bathroom in something, Harry'd needed to count to twenty and evoke visions of Flubberworm sex before trusting himself to speak. He had bought far too many outfits, uncertain as to what might tempt Draco into being seen in public wearing.
He had decided on a silver-grey suit with pale grey pinstripes, a multi-buttoned waistcoat, and white shirt with a classic silver tie. He looked so stunning that Harry hadn't tasted a bite of his food; something seemed to have short-circuited inside his brain that allowed him to think of little beyond peeling Draco out of the expensive suit. The fact that he had managed coherent conversation was little less than a miracle.
Sometime during the wee hours of the morning, Harry had concocted a plan to learn more about Draco by using his friendship with Mark. It had seemed harmless enough; Draco had shown that he had no intention of allowing anything beyond friendship to develop with Mark, despite their rather unorthodox meeting.
What Harry hadn't counted on were Mark's growing feelings for Draco. He scowled and reached for the wine bottle to refill their glasses. His growing feelings for Draco. Bloody hell, he was starting to think of himself as two different people. Pretty soon he would have to check himself into the Janus Thickey ward at St Mungo's.
"How is the duck?" he asked, forcing small talk in order to distract himself from his pending insanity.
"As much as it pains me to admit it, I must say it is delicious, as is the asparagus. I bow to your exquisite taste and I apologise for ever doubting you." Draco lifted his glass and held it out to Harry, who clinked it with his and managed not to smirk. The unexpected apology warmed him more than the wine and he realised he was becoming tipsy. Even so, he kept drinking through the entrée and into the dessert course, pleased at Draco's obvious pleasure. He even raved about the Raspberry Millefeuille and stole a bite of Harry's Hibiscus Crème Brulèe. A cup of coffee laced with Irish Cream did nothing to alleviate Harry's well-oiled sensibilities and his head spun when he got to his feet.
"Are you all right?" Draco asked.
"Perfectly," Harry said. "Although I probably shouldn't have had so much to drink."
"Indeed. I suppose we should have given some thought as to how we are returning home. Is it too much to hope for public Floo access nearby?"
The rain-heavy air outside helped to clear Harry's mind, or at least it seemed to. "Not that I know of. We'll have to catch a cab."
"A what?"
Harry stepped onto the pavement near the road, busy with rushing traffic. They were in a tourist-heavy area and the streets would remain congested long into the night.
"Mark! What are you doing?"
"Hailing a cab." Harry lifted his hand in the universal gesture and a black motorcar with a glowing sign above the windscreen zipped to the curb and halted.
Harry beckoned to Draco, who shook his head wildly. "I am not getting into that thing!"
"It's just a car! It won't hurt you."
"You don't know that!"
"I do know that. Come on, I'll protect you." He held out his hand as he opened the door.
Draco looked from him to the driver, who yelled, "I don't 'ave all night, mate!" just as large drops of rain began to spit from the sky. It turned into a downpour in the time it took Draco to dive for the open door of the cab. He shifted over as Harry jumped inside; droplets of water peppered the sleeve of his suit.
The cab pulled back into traffic and Draco hunched in the centre of the seat, eyes wide and hands clenched into fists. Harry sat close to him and then draped an arm around his shoulders, feeling both amused and protective.
"Tufnel Park. Islington."
"Right-o."
As the car sped, slowed, and wove through traffic, Draco drew closer and closer to Harry until he was nearly sitting in his lap. Draco's hair tickled his face and Harry breathed in his clean, citrusy scent. A portion of Harry's anatomy began to sit up and take notice, but Harry wouldn't have pushed Draco away, even if he'd wanted to. His panic was evident, especially in his grip on Harry's thigh. "Relax. It's all right," Harry murmured into his hair, holding him tightly.
"You blokes a couple?" the driver asked, glancing up at the rear-view. "Don't worry, I'm progressive. Me nephew's got himself a man an' 'e's all right."
"Oh, we're…" Harry wasn't sure how to describe them, but Draco stabbed a finger towards the front of the cab.
"Look out!"
The cab swerved and the driver chuckled. "Relax, mate. I saw 'im."
Draco's head sagged back against Harry's shoulder and he stared up as if trying to pick out the sky beyond the cab's roof. Harry glanced down and Draco's eyes were closed. His lips were slightly parted and Harry wanted so very badly to kiss him that by the time his inebriated conscience caught up to his motor controls, it was too late. His lips touched Draco's.
Draco was already tense as a wound spring, so his only reaction was an audible inhale. He did not shove Harry away, however, so Harry eagerly deepened the kiss, pressing his lips more firmly to Draco's and then following them, ever so gently, with his tongue.
The hand on Harry's thigh loosened and then he felt a touch on the lapel of his suit. Draco made a soft sound that was anything but unwilling and Harry tipped his head for better access to the sweet, brilliant kiss that Draco accepted and then delivered back. They tasted one another for a timeless moment and then the cab jolted to a halt, wrenching them apart. Harry flung out a hand to brace them against the back of the seat.
"What the-?"
"Sorry. Red light. I would've run it but for the bobby over there." The driver gestured towards a police vehicle entering the intersection.
There was a flurry of movement and it took Harry a moment to grasp the fact that Draco had opened the door and fled the cab.
Harry pushed himself up and leaped out of the vehicle, blinking into the pouring rain and trying to stave off a wave of dizziness. He saw only a flash of grey as Draco ran into the darkness as if pursued by the hounds of hell.
"Draco!" Harry yelled. He started after him, but the cabbie's sharp cry of, "Hey! The fare!" stopped him. He dug out his wallet and threw some Muggle money into the cab before slamming the door and pelting down the street.
"Draco!" he shouted again, searching the darkness and the pounding deluge.
But Draco was gone.
~TBC~
AN: Um... sorry about the cliffhanger...thing. Not sure how that keeps happening. I'll be over here. *hides*