Draco Apparated straight into his bedroom and then stood, shaking, in the centre of the room whilst he checked himself for Splinching damage. Nothing hurt, externally, at least, and he considered himself lucky.
He was drenched. Droplets pattered onto his expensive carpet and he stripped off the Muggle suit, knowing it was ruined. He felt a pang at that, thinking of Mark. Mark the bastard. Damn the man! Damn him for asking him out and forcing him into a Muggle cab and looking delectable and then kissing him…
Leaving the suit jacket and trousers on the floor, Draco ran to the living room and blocked the Floo. He spent some additional time warding the doors and windows. Drunk or not, it probably wouldn't take Mark long to find a way to get to him. He would, no doubt, be full of apologies and Draco did not want to hear it.
Heart pounding from the exertion and head pounding from too much wine, Draco returned to the bedroom and frowned at the suit. Merlin knew how much it had cost Mark. For Muggle-wear, it was obviously expensive.
Draco picked up the jacket and cast a careful Drying Charm. He would send it out for cleaning and hope for the best. Perhaps the house-elves at the Manor could fix it.
He sighed and dried the trousers before hanging them in his wardrobe with the jacket, and then he removed the waistcoat, tie, and shirt. He sat heavily in the chair before his dressing table and dragged a comb through his wet hair, avoiding his own gaze in the mirror.
The dark yin symbol on his chest seemed to mock him. He wasn't ever sure why he wore it. At times he felt proud of it, as though it symbolised the darkness in his soul, and the fact that he always seemed to be in opposition to all things bright.
At other times, like now, he acknowledged that what it truly meant was that he desperately sought someone to wear its twin. He reached for the other half, the white yang symbol that hung from an ornate silver jewellery tree, nearly hidden amongst the other items, cloak clasps, watch fobs, and chains with medallions and pendants that he seldom wore.
The white enamel glinted in the light and for a moment Draco pictured it on Mark's chest. He winced. Why was he so angry with Mark? He had made it clear from that night in the pub that he wanted Draco; surely it was only natural that he had acted on it?
With a scowl, Draco put the yang pendant back on its hook.
"Because he lied," he said aloud, voice sounding petulant in the empty room. "He said he would accept friendship and ask for nothing more."
Draco supposed that was the crux of the matter. He had enjoyed Mark's friendship immensely. He was bloody easy to talk to, relaxing to be around, had a quick wit, laughed at Draco's humour, had exquisite taste when he chose to exhibit it, and…
…and was practically perfect. He was gorgeous and wealthy and kissed brilliantly-Draco allowed himself to reflect on that and felt a bit faint at how bloody wonderful it had been and how long it had been since he'd been so thoroughly, delightfully snogged-he dragged his thoughts back on track. But despite that, something was off about him. Draco not had survived years of the Dark Lord and his brutish, stupid, and sometimes purely evil minions living in his house without learning to listen to his instincts, and those instincts were screaming at him where Mark was concerned.
Mark was hiding something. Draco had no idea what it was, but until he discovered what it was, Draco could not afford to let himself get emotionally entangled. He had accepted Mark's friendship at face value; it was easy to discuss tea and Quidditch, and play chess on lazy afternoons, but kissing and bedding and dinner dates were henceforth off limits.
Feeling steadier, Draco met his stare in the mirror and nodded. His plan was still on track. Harry Potter was an excellent target. Better the devil he knew-and he certainly knew Potter-than the unknown element that was Mark Birmingham.
Despite Mark's assurance that he'd spent the past several years out of the country, it did not explain Pansy's unfamiliarity. Draco would meet with her and double-check the accuracy of her sleepy denial to Blaise, but it seemed highly unlikely that Pansy had nothing on the man. She practically kept cross-referenced dossiers of every eligible bachelor in the United Kingdom, as well as some in France, Spain, Denmark, and Iceland (mainly because she found the primarily-blond Icelandics to be "tasty").
A pounding on Draco's front door announced the arrival of Mark.
"Draco! Are you home?"
Draco rolled his eyes and walked into the other room. He leaned close to the door. "I'm fine. I don't want to talk about it."
"Thank Merlin! I was worried! I just wanted to… I wanted…"
"Go home, Mark. I need to think."
There was a long pause and Draco could practically feel Mark leaning on the other side of the wooden doorway, but at last Mark's voice came through.
"All right. Goodnight, Draco."
"Goodnight."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry went home and debated pounding his head against his bedpost, he swung by the loo first to relieve himself and remembered the Sobriety Potion Hermione had foisted on him the previous New Year's Eve. He hadn't needed it then and now it was about an hour too late.
Still, he drank it down and shivered as the icy effects scoured his bloodstream. He contemplated his reflection in the mirror and scowled when Mark's blue eyes glared back at him through the silvery frames.
Harry cancelled the Disguise Charm and sighed with relief as he returned to himself, wet brown hair growing darker and unrulier. Mark had certainly fucked things up. It would serve him right if Harry never took up his likeness again.
Shaking his head, he wandered into the bedroom, stripped off the damp suit, and collapsed on the bed. Why had he done it?
That was a stupid question. He knew exactly why he had done it. Because Draco Malfoy was bloody irresistible. Harry's tongue grazed over his lower lip and he closed his eyes, imagining he could still taste Draco there.
Merlin, that kiss.
He hadn't imagined Draco's response; he was obviously attracted to Mark. If not for the cab stopping when it had, Draco might have… might have…
Harry groaned and flung his glasses aside before he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. What was he trying to accomplish, anyway? Did he really want Draco to fall for Mark? Was he planning to wear a false face and maintain a disguise for the rest of his life? It was ludicrous. And the farther Harry carried the charade, the more enraged Draco would be when the truth finally came to light.
Of course, it was all a moot point, anyway, because Draco was in love with Roderick Montoya. That much was obvious from Draco's escape from the cab. He was attracted to Mark and felt guilty for giving in to a moment of drunken weakness. With luck, Mark could fix it and they could be friends again.
But did Harry want that? He had to remember that he wasn't Mark. It would be for the best if Mark Birmingham disappeared forever.
He thought back to the Quidditch Gala and recalled Roderick Montoya flirting with everything that walked. Too bad Harry hadn't been Mark that night or Montoya might have tried something and ended up with more than he bargained for.
Harry sat upright with a gasp, thoughts spinning. Bloody hell, it would be insane, but it just might work. Draco needed to see that Montoya was a faithless cad and he also needed to remove Mark from any "potential" list he might have lying around. It might just be possible to kill two birds with one stone. If Draco caught Mark and Montoya together, he would despise them both.
But first, Harry Potter needed to be there to pick up the pieces.
He lay back on the bed again, gnawing his lip as he invented and discarded scenarios.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Across town, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson sat in the Parkinson dining room whilst house-elves swept away the dinner dishes and brought out a selection of desserts.
"I still think we need to find out more about this Mark Birmingham before we make any definitive plans," Pansy said and wrinkled her nose at the offering of stewed figs. She detested figs and had no idea how Blaise tolerated them.
"Agreed, of course. But you have to admit he seems a better option than Potter, at least if he pans out."
"Anyone is a better option than Potter. What is Draco thinking?"
"He is thinking he will be alone forever and that having a high enough social status will make up for that." He stressed the words in a fair mockery of Draco being dramatic.
Pansy arched a brow at him. "Wise words coming from you, darling."
"Please. I have no fear of being alone; I simply haven't chosen to settle down yet. When that day comes I am sure there will be a sufficient number of the lovelorn to choose from. I might even take in a harem."
"Will there be room for all of them and your ego?"
"You are so funny. But we are discussing Draco, not me."
Pansy smirked. "Fine. Assuming this Mark fellow is suitable, what shall we do about the Potter situation?"
Blaise leaned across the table as though disclosing a secret. "Well, according to Astoria, before we arrived at the Gala, Potter and Roderick shared a bit of a moment. She said it looked like Roddie was ready to crawl directly into Potter's pants and that Potter was not exactly shoving him away."
"Salazar!" Pansy felt like fanning herself for a moment, thinking of Potter and Roderick together. Even though she loathed Roderick Montoya with the heat of a thousand Incendios, she had to admit he was gorgeous. And Potter was not hard on the eyes now that he'd filled out and lost that half-starved, waifish look. "How would we accomplish such a feat?"
"Not directly, of course. Any suggestion that we wanted Potter and Roderick together would send Potter straight into Draco's arms just to spite us."
"And when it got back to Draco, he would play the betrayed victim for the next decade."
"Precisely. However, since I became the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts—"
"Really?" Pansy asked, deadpan, "I'd forgotten , since you haven't mentioned it in the past sixteen minutes."
"—I have cultivated certain friendships," Blaise went on as if she hadn't spoken, "and I believe it won't be difficult to bring a certain Herbology professor over to our cause, if I spin it right."
Pansy raised her wineglass in a toast. "I take back some of the horrible things I've said to you tonight, darling, because you are bloody clever."
Blaise flashed a grin at her, the same one that had left a wake of destruction in its heart-smashing past. She cursed the fates that had handed her two best friends that were intensely good-looking and absolutely unattainable. Then again, some days she wouldn't wish either of them on her worst enemy.
"Of course, I still can't believe they allow you around children."
"Oh, shut up."
~TBC~
No cliffie this time! :D