With the Mark/Roderick plan scuppered, Harry moped through the remainder of the evening, went home, and turned up for work on Wednesday feeling as though he'd come to a dead end. It was all the worse knowing that Draco had gone looking for Mark.

Ron popped in to borrow a quill and drag a recap of the dinner out of Harry, who admitted that Roderick was off-limits due to actually being in love with Draco.

"Blimey, didn't see that Bludger. Sorry, mate, it was just a thought."

"I appreciate you trying to set me up," Harry said, and meant it, even though Ron had chosen the wrong target. Ron's acceptance, not only of Harry's fluid sexuality, but also of his breakup with Ginny, had meant the world to him. He'd expected shouting and a cold shoulder, but Ron had grown up since Hogwarts.

"I'll keep my eyes open for any other hot blokes that happen along." Ron paused and added, "Or boyish chicks."

Harry threw a wadded paper at him and Ron caught it to lob it back.

"What are you doing today?" Ron asked when Harry batted the paper ball and it bounced into the rubbish bin.

"Routine interviews. Going to Dorset to make certain the Obliviators were thorough in covering up the winged toad incident." A gifted child in the region had given wings to a pond full of toads and they had ranged far and wide before enough outcry had been raised to draw Ministry attention. The Auror Department had been busy for week trying to find all of the toads and Obliviating astounded Muggles.

"Exciting. I'm off to train two rookies in proper Apparition stealth."

"It beats chasing down Dark Wizards and dodging lethal hexes."

"Does it?"

Harry shook his head and laughed. "No. No, it really doesn't."

~o~

Harry spent a couple of hours on follow-up toad duty and then got the possibly-not-brilliant idea of visiting Draco Malfoy. It seemed no worse than his last scheme, so after mulling it over he Apparated to the park near Draco's house and walked the remainder of the distance. He knocked on the now-familiar door.

It was flung open almost immediately. "Mark, where the hell have you—? Potter?"

"Hi. May I come in?"

"Er… I don't know. Is this a social call, or professional?"

"More business than pleasure, I'm afraid."

"Have I done something wrong?" Draco's demeanour changed in an instant.

"No, not you. I am looking for information on someone you might know."

"Someone I might know?"

"His name is Mark Birmingham."

Draco stepped aside and let him in; his face had shown no change in expression, but something in his eyes had flickered. Harry admired the living room again and pretended he hadn't seen it before. "Nice place."

"Thank you. Now what's this about Mark?"

"You know him, then?"

"Not well, but yes, we're acquainted."

"I hate to ask how well acquainted, so I won't, but you should know that we are looking for Birmingham in connection with some illegal activity."

Draco blanched. "What sort of illegal activity?"

"Some of the companies he owns seem to be fronts for smuggling operations."

"Smuggling." Draco turned away and Harry heard him swear softly. "I knew he was too good to be true."

"Were you… romantically involved?"

"I thought you weren't going to ask. But no, we were not."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, feeling the words to the depths of his soul.

"Are you?" Draco laughed harshly. "And just when I'd made up my mind to toss Roderick aside and try for a real relationship. Fuck my luck, honestly."

The knife in Harry's heart twisted. Merlin, he had seriously fucked everything up. "You know Montoya is in love with you, don't you? He isn't pretending."

"How do you know that?"

"He told me last night at the Quidditch dinner. Apparently his flirtation was a ploy to make you jealous."

"Did that upset you? Used to being the centre of attention, and all."

"No. I have no interest in Roderick."

Draco shook his head. "Never mind Roderick. He is my problem. What do you want to know about Mark Birmingham?"

"Do you know where he lives or anything about him?"

"I know where he lives, but I haven't been inside. You'll have to ask Blaise if you want more details. He was digging into Mark for me, but apparently not deeply enough." The regret in his voice had Harry stepping forward in a surge of guilt, ready to confess all, but prudence stayed his steps and urged caution; he had no idea how Draco would react to his duplicity.

"People are not always who you think they are," Harry offered. "I should go." He turned to let himself out, but Draco's voice stopped him. "I'll leave my Floo open for you, in case you have additional information. Or questions."

"Care for a drink, Potter? I could use one."

"Well, I'm on duty, so no alcohol. But I will have a cup of tea if you have some available."

"Tea?" Draco's eyes lit up.

Harry nodded and suppressed a smile. He hadn't meant the request as a mood changer; he really fancied a cup of tea, especially some of Draco's special blend.

"Are you a tea purist, Potter? Tetley black and nothing else?"

"No. Feel free to surprise me."

"I'll be right back."

Harry examined Draco's books while he waited. He had laughed at them before, as Mark, because Draco preferred dry historical textbooks and novels to anything more current or, frankly, interesting.

"Try this, Potter." Draco deposited a teacup and saucer into his hand.

Harry inhaled the steam and picked up a hint of ginger. He took a drink and only then remembered that he wasn't Mark Birmingham, but Harry Potter, Auror, and Aurors never drank anything offered to them whilst on duty.

The tea was brilliant, however. "Ginger, orange, and cinnamon? What's the tea?"

"Pu-erh."

"Mmm, exotic and rare. Delicious."

Draco's eyes were wide and shocked. "Potter. You—you know tea?"

"Well, I don't know tea, but I like it. And I'm still learning what I like and what I don't. This one I like." Harry took another drink and felt the warm liquid soothe its way into his system.

"Have you tried—" And Draco was off, talking tea and drawing Harry into the kitchen, tugging out mugs and canisters.

While their second cups brewed, the conversation stalled. After a short silence, Draco said, "I thought Roderick might be getting attached, but I will never like him that way. We are too different. Or perhaps, too alike. He was nothing but a convenience."

Harry was stood quite close to Draco and the urge to move even closer was almost overpowering. "I could be a convenience," he murmured.

Grey eyes shifted, warm, and a smile curved Draco's lips. "Could you really?"

Harry smiled back. His heart thudded, aching, as the words eased out. "Probably not. But possibly something more than a convenience."

Draco made a noncommittal sound, as Harry's confession was no more interesting than talk about the weather. He pushed a teacup into Harry's hands. "Try that one."

Harry drank. "Mmm. Earl Grey."

"Sometimes the old standards are nice. Why me, Potter?"

Harry gazed at him over the rim of the cup. Steam spiralled up and fogged his glasses. There were so many answers to that question. At first it had been simple attraction, but now it was the way Draco smiled, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about tea, the way he sat on the sofa with his bare feet curled under himself, the way his eyes narrowed and his teeth nibbled his lower lip when playing chess, it was his laugh, and his blond hair forever catching on his lashes…

"I like you."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You like the way my arse looks in these trousers. You don't even know me."

"That, too," Harry admitted and studiously avoided looking at the arse in question. "But I do know you."

A Patronus burst into the kitchen, surprising them both enough that cups rattled against saucers and Harry nearly went for his wand. It wasn't from the Auror Department, however, it was Neville's.

"Harry, if you're not busy, can you please come to Hogwarts? There's been an, um… incident. Nothing to worry about, but as a personal favour, you might want to come." The Patronus vanished.

"Well, that wasn't cryptic at all."

"I should probably find out what that's all about. May I use your Floo?"

"Of course."

Draco guided him to the fireplace and held out a bowl of Floo Powder. Harry hesitated with his hand over the rim.

"This is probably super-presumptuous, but carpe diem and all that." Harry reached up and curved his hand around the back of Draco's neck and pulled him into a kiss. It was soft and gentle and barely a press of lips to lips, but when Harry leaned away and took up the Floo powder, Draco's eyes were huge and enigmatic. "Hex me later?" He tossed the powder, yelled, "Hogwarts!" and stepped into the flames.

He stumbled into McGonagall's office. She was not in attendance, but Dumbledore smiled at him from his portrait.

"Hi, Professor. Any idea where I can find Neville?"

"I believe he is at the Quidditch pitch with the others, Harry."

"Thanks, Professor." Harry trotted down the spiral steps and made his way outside before sending his Patronus to find Neville. An answering Patronus guided him to a grassy bowl near the Quidditch pitch; a low roar from the stands indicated that a match of some sort was in progress.

To Harry's surprise, Neville stood next to Blaise Zabini. Roderick Montoya was sat on the ground before them, arms clasping his knees whilst he rocked back and forth. Tears wet his cheeks and a steady stream of Portuguese flowed from his lips.

"What's happened?" Harry asked.

Neville hurried over. "The Kestrels have an exhibition match with the Hogwarts Quidditch teams today—another publicity thing—and Roderick showed up drunk. He started raving about how his life was over since Malfoy didn't love him. Blaise and I hustled him out here before he drew much attention. He doesn't need to be kicked off the team this close to the World Cup."

"Quite right. I'm sure the Department of Games and Sports will appreciate that." Harry looked at Zabini. "Should we take him to Draco?"

Zabini shook his head violently. "In this condition? Draco would kill him."

"Draco!" Montoya sobbed. "My only love!"

"I thought you might want to take Roderick home," Neville said to Harry in an odd tone.

"Me? I don't know where he lives!"

"I meant to your house, obviously. You could, you know, take care of him."

Harry frowned, feeling he had missed half the conversation somewhere along the way. "Neville, I'm on duty. I can hardly be shepherding drunken Quidditch players about and taking them home to—oh for Godric's sake, tell me you are not trying to set me up with… with him!" Harry flung out a hand to indicate Montoya.

"Don't look at me like that! It was just a thought. He's handsome and likeable, and Draco gave him the boot—"

Montoya's head snapped up and he glared at Neville. "He did no such thing! A Montoya does not 'get the boot!' We are the boot givers! I broke up with Draco, not the other way around."

"You did?" Harry and Zabini spoke as one. "When?" Harry added, wondering why Draco hadn't mentioned it mere minutes earlier.

"I sent him an owl. I am not a pathetic hanger-on and I shall no longer be used by Draco Malfoy! I have my pride!"

"Indeed. That's obvious with you sitting on the cold ground, drunk and sobbing like an infant." Zabini's voice was dry and amused.

"What do you know of love and broken hearts, you spiteful, jealous, horrible beast of a donkey!"

"Donkey?"

"Listen to him bray," Montoya said to Harry and waved a hand airily at Blaise.

"Why, you pompous, puffskein-brained, self-absorbed, oily, fake-accented—!" Blaise advanced on Roderick, wand drawn, and Roderick scrambled to his feet, fists clenching as he hitched his shoulders forwards as though preparing for war. Neville moved closer to Harry, eyes shifting from one to the other nervously.

"Oily? What do you mean by oily? And my accent is genuine!"

"Please, your skin glistens so much I could fry an egg on it. How much lotion does one man need? And your accent disappears almost completely when you aren't paying attention. I know you're half-Portuguese, but you're also half-English and you were raised in Sussex, you tit!"

Montoya gasped in obvious outrage. "You have spied upon me!"

"Of course I have spied upon you! Merlin, what a nitwit you are!"

Montoya's hand flashed out and snatched up a handful of Zabini's shirt. Harry gripped his wand and wondered if Zabini would start with a mild hex or go straight for something just below a Cruciatus. "I hate you!" Montoya growled, inches from Zabini's face.

"Sure you do," Zabini said and laughed.

Montoya kissed him.

Harry lifted his wand, prepared to Stun them both, but Zabini didn't move for long moments, and then he raised his arms and slung them around Montoya's neck to draw him closer, kissing him back with a sound that was anything but protesting.

"Um…" said Neville.

"We… might want to go…" Harry suggested when his astonishment lessened.

"Good idea. Um, thanks for coming. Blaise seems to have everything under control now."

"Apparently so. Let me know if anything changes. For the worse, I mean. If they decide to start hexing or…" Harry trailed off, as Zabini and Roderick showed no signs of ceasing any time soon. If anything, Neville might have to hose them down soon to spare any wandering children's eyes.

"Sorry, Harry."

"It's fine. Bye, Neville." Harry turned and jogged back to the castle. Halfway there, he began to laugh out loud.

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

Draco took the lift to Level Two and nodded to the attendant, who barely glanced at Draco's badge; he'd already turned in his wand at the Atrium desk and had no plans to hex any of the resident Aurors.

The door to Potter's office was open and Draco walked in to find it empty. He sighed dramatically. It figured that none of the fuckwits he'd encountered had bothered to tell him that Potter wasn't in. Then again, perhaps he was only in the break room fetching a cuppa.

The thought of Potter and tea warmed him and he found himself smiling a bit goofily. Potter liked tea and had kissed him after dropping his little suggestion of being "something more" – it almost erased the sting of Mark's betrayal.

Draco had gone immediately to Mark's house for some answers, but no one had responded. The neighbour had stared at him suspiciously from an upstairs window of the house next door, but the man hadn't bothered to come out to speak to Draco, who had gone home in a snit and sent another owl requesting Mark's presence as soon as possible. He wanted to know if Potter's allegations were true.

Since Mark was unavailable (or hiding, Draco thought uncharitably), the least he could do would be to pry some details from Potter. Perhaps the Ministry was being overzealous, and Mark was not the primary player in whatever crimes were being committed.

Draco's quest had nothing to do with wanting to see Potter again. Nothing at all.

The Auror break room was near the lift and down the hall to the right, according to the hard-eyed Auror of whom he'd asked directions. To Draco's dismay, Ron Weasley was stood there, peering into steam curling from a large mug. Draco considered backing out before he was noticed, but that plan was kyboshed when Weasley raised his eyes and spotted Draco.

"Malfoy?"

"Hello, er… Weasley." Draco walked towards him nonchalantly, as though he'd meant to come in for a cup of tea. Of course, the thought of actually consuming Ministry tea made his lips purse into a horrified line. They likely purchased the leaves swept up from the floor of the meanest tea factory, stuffed into tiny bags with strings and paper tags attached.

"What are you doing here?"

"Looking for Potter."

"Harry? It's his day off. You need something?"

Buggering fuck. Draco had come all the way to the Ministry assuming Potter would be at work, since it was a bloody weekday. He supposed all Aurors had random schedules, being on duty at odd times and all, although it hadn't really occurred to him before. "No. It's a personal… thing."

"Oh really?" Weasley looked at him through narrowed eyes and then tapped the rim of his mug with his wand, as if to hurry the brewing.

Draco was near enough to smell it and the scent was surprisingly nice. "What are you drinking? Shouldn't it have a little string for you to tug when it is ready?"

"Naw, I brought this from home. Hey, watch this." Weasley lifted his wand. "Exoriabeo!"

As the tea leaves lifted from the water, swirled in the air, and vanished, Draco felt a rushing surge in his veins, culminating in his ears like a tidal wave. He was glad Weasley wasn't speaking; he doubted he would be able to hear him. Draco could barely see him through the white-hot haze of rage before his eyes. Weasley gave him a smug look, as though he'd been the one to invent the spell.

"Where did you learn that?" Draco rasped, hearing his own voice as a hoarse rasp.

"Hermione. Cool, innit?" Weasley lifted the cup and slurped at the hot tea.

"And where…" Draco fought for control. "Where did she learn it?"

"Harry. Never took him for a tea drinker, but he's got us all buying these fancy leaves lately and…"

Weasley kept talking but Draco could no longer hear him. All of the pieces were fitting into place, rearranging themselves into patterns he hadn't been able to discern. He hadn't shown the spell to anyone but Mark. He'd used it in front of Potter the previous day, but Potter hadn't mentioned it, hadn't even asked about it…

Because he'd already known.

The similarities. The nuances. Fuck.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy, you okay? You look…"

Draco didn't bother to discover how he looked. He whirled and stalked to the elevator.

Fucking Potter.

~o~

Draco Flooed straight into Potter's house. He barely took in the décor before stomping out of the room and into a small kitchen, also empty. Bloody hell, if Potter wasn't home, Draco would be tempted to burn the damned place down.

"Potter!" he bellowed. "Where the hell are you? Come out, you miserable arsehole wanker!"

He stormed down the hall and nearly stumbled into Potter, who'd emerged through a doorway. "Malfoy?"

Draco's anger lost some of its grip as Draco lurched to a halt. He knew his jaw was opening, but he seemed powerless to stop it. Bloody hell, Potter was… Well, Potter was wet. Dripping, actually. And mostly nude. With soap in his hair. A red and gold patterned towel was held together in one fist, maintaining Potter's modesty while hinting at—well, more than hinting at, really, because the man was bloody well hung; if Draco's suspicions were correct, and wasn't that a telling swell of fabric just there—

Draco dragged his eyes upwards with effort, which was not at all helpful. Potter's hair was dripping with suds and a white glob fell from a spot near his ear, plopped onto his chest next to his left nipple, and began to slide downwards, dragging Draco's attention to Potter's dark, tantalising happy trail and from there to—

Fuck!

"Malfoy?" Potter asked again and Draco yanked his eyes to Potter's and hoped to Salazar he hadn't been speaking during Draco's romp down the holy-fuck-he's-gorgeous path.

Potter wasn't wearing glasses, which made his eyes look different than usual, but the shape was immediately familiar and to Draco's relief his anger returned in a rush, heightened by the uncertain smile on Potter's lips.

"Who, exactly, is Mark Birmingham, Potter? And why does he act so very much like you?"

Potter took a step closer, and then another. Startled, Draco backed away.

"Um…" Potter took another step.

"It's the bloody Ministry, isn't it?" Draco growled. "Are you investigating me? Using Polyjuice or some fucking spell to get close to me? Is that it?"

Draco shifted backwards again when Potter moved even closer, and felt a surge of alarm when his shoulders hit the wall. Potter was ostensibly unarmed, but Draco felt oddly defenceless.

"No! In truth, Draco, I'm the one using Ministry resources for personal gain. You are definitely not a suspect and I could get in serious trouble." Potter put out a hand and pressed it against the wall next just above Draco's shoulder. He leaned closer and Draco watched as a bead of sudsy water followed the curve of his cheek and then paused at the edge of his stubble-covered jaw. "Serious. Trouble."

"Per…personal gain?" Draco was having trouble making words. Potter was so near and so naked. And intense. Bloody hell, why was he always so intense? Draco's heartbeat had flipped into Quidditch match levels and seemed to be rising.

Potter took another step. He was not quite touching Draco, but he was so close the coolness of his wet skin was tangible. Green eyes slid away from Draco's and then warm, warm breath huffed against Draco's ear. "Yes. I've done terrible, awful things in order to pursue a love interest. I could be fired for it."

The word fired snagged Draco's attention, but the other one drowned it in a cacophony of clanging bells. "L…love interest?"

Draco shut his eyes as Potter's lips brushed the sensitive skin before his ear, causing the tiny hairs there to rise up, eager for more. "Merlin, Draco, it was stupid, I know, but I was there in the pub and you were so, so fucking seductive and I couldn't resist dancing with you and I wanted you so bloody badly I would have done anything to… Well, I've done stupid, stupid things just to get to know you and you turned out to be even more amazing than I'd thought with your bloody tea and your laugh and your chess-playing and historical book collection and crystal vases and brilliant, gorgeous everything."

Draco could hardly breathe. Potter was so close and his scent was so familiar—how had Draco not noticed that, idiot, he smelled like Mark, fucking hell, he was Mark and—

Potter stepped back. Draco gasped, feeling that Potter had taken the very air along with him. Draco nearly reached out and pulled him back in, but there was nothing to grab but the towel and if he took hold of that he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.

Potter's stare was fixed on the floor. "I'm so sorry, Draco. I never meant to take it as far as I did. Once begun, I couldn't seem to stop. You liked Mark the way you'd never like me and I wanted to tell you the truth, but then I couldn't bear to hurt you, and I just got deeper and deeper and—Merlin, I deserve to be fired. I deserved to be hexed and whatever else you plan to do to me, but… Please, just know that everything Mark felt, everything I feel… is genuine."

Potter stopped moving away when he reached the opposite wall and he looked at Draco through eyes swimming with remorse.

Draco tried to gather his scattered wits. He tsked. "Fired? Is that all? No time in Azkaban? What has the Ministry come to?"

"Is that…?" Potter licked his lips. "Is that what you want?"

Draco shook his head. "Azkaban? Honestly. It's a pity, but I'm afraid I won't even be able to have you fired." Draco took a step towards Potter, relishing the sensation of regaining the upper hand, and feeling almost grateful to Potter for relinquishing it.

"You won't?"

Draco kept moving, until he was the one looming over Potter and hovering a hairsbreadth away. "Certainly not. No boyfriend of mine will be the laughingstock of the wizarding world as long as I have something to do with it."

With that, Draco kissed him.

~TBC~

Aaaaand we're back to cliffies, but I didn't think you'd mind this one as much... :D