"How about another one, handsome? It's on the house."
Harry blinked blearily at the pretty thing currently flashing him a billion galleon grin. The blond batted his lashes coquettishly and shot him a come hither look. He'd have been more subtle if he'd been waving a flag that said "Do me in the men's!" in Harry's face. The Boy Who Lived groaned and thunked his head against the bar.
"He'll take it," his companion replied cheerfully. "And make it a mint julep, will you, hon?"
The boy nodded eagerly and took off; leaving Harry to scowl at the redhead sprawled beside him. Ginny gave him an unrepentant grin and swiped his beer. "That's the fourth free drink in two hours," she chirped happily. "And I didn't even have to flash anyone! This gay ex-boyfriend thing is seriously underrated."
"I'm so glad you're having fun pimping me out," Harry groused. "No really, it's what I live for."
Ginny rolled her eyes and lit a cigarette with her wand. "At least pretend to be having a good time, Harry. For Merlin's sake, you're out with me. Most men would kill to be in your shoes."
Harry grinned. That much, at least was true. Ginny was a gorgeous woman, all fire and curves and flirty smiles. Frankly, it had freaked him out something awful when he realized he wasn't as into her as he should be. In hindsight, that should have been a sign. Nevertheless it had taken six awkward months of post War dating and an unfortunate, drunken night with Justin Finch-Fletchley to put things in perspective for him.
Ginny had forgiven him easily enough, as had the other Weasleys. Okay, so George had slipped him a Nosebleed Nougat a couple times, but all in all it had been pretty easy coming out to them. Now Ginny was as good a mate as they came and Harry at least, felt that they were closer than ever. Ron and Hermione were amazing, but they had little Hugo taking up every waking moment of their lives now. Their own little family, while Harry had a losing Quidditch team and a string of one night stands. Merlin, that was depressing. He sighed and glowered morosely at his beer.
"Right, that's it," Ginny declared, flicking the cigarette away carelessly. "All this whining and moping is ruining my night. You," she declared, slamming down the beer (Harry's beer) and fixing him with her I'm not taking your crap anymore look, "...are getting shagged tonight if it's the last thing you do."
Harry snorted. "Yeah, because that's my problem."
"What is your problem?" Ginny demanded. "You're rich, you play Quidditch, you saved the world for Merlin's sake - why can't you just get laid and be happy about it like the rest of us?"
"I don't know. It's a little more complicated than that," Harry replied thoughtfully. "I mean, it gets old after a while. All I've been doing for five years is riding broomsticks and chasing snitches..."
"And that's just your sex life."
"You're disgusting. And I'm ignoring you. What I mean is... is this it? Playing Quidditch and having meaningless sex with barely legal airheads. You could write my life down on a napkin." He sighed and shook his head, trying to ignore the alcohol induced haze. "After a while you start asking yourself... what's left? Where's the challenge? What the hell am I doing?"
"Oh please," Ginny retorted. "You're bloody morbid is what you are. So you want the happily ever after with the white picket fence and a crup running in the yard. Who doesn't? I mean look at Ron and Hermione, they're so happy. Ron's always got a huge smile on his face." She scowled petulantly. "Merlin, it makes me want to punch him."
Harry couldn't help a tired chuckle. "I know. It's what I want though. I'm just so damn tired of looking."
"Well you can't stop now," Ginny announced firmly. "For all you know, Prince Charming is right here in this bar and you're can't be bothered to get your head out of your arse. Now shut it. I'm going to find your future husband and you're going to buy him a drink."
Harry groaned. "Ginny..."
"Shh," she waved him off, craning her neck to get a look around the bar. She swivelled around with easy grace and promptly froze. "Oh damn."
Harry did not like the sound of that. "What?" he demanded.
Ginny turned to him, grinning ominously. "I found him."
Harry raised a suspicious eyebrow and turned as well, trying to get a good look at her latest victim. A flash of unmistakably blond hair assaulted his vision. Sharp features. Pale, smooth skin. Silver eyes. Harry blinked. Then he swallowed and took a deep breath. Neither helped. They rarely did with Draco Malfoy.
"Rather fit, isn't he?" Ginny mused, sweeping an approving glance over Malfoy - who was apparently seated at a table as if he had every right to be there and turn Harry's world upside down without so much as a 'by your leave'.
That being said, Ginny wasn't wrong. Truth be told, Harry hadn't seen Malfoy in years. They hardly travelled in the same circles and frankly, Harry had little reason to seek out his old school rival. Now though, as he took in Malfoy's lithe frame, his patrician features and that fine, fine arse he wondered if looking him up would have been the worst thing in the world.
"You're not serious, are you?"
Harry was promptly startled out of his less than innocent musings and turned to face a vaguely amused Ginny. "What?" he managed.
"Well, it's Malfoy," she chortled, shaking her head as if the notion was ridiculous. "That's just asking for trouble."
Trouble. Harry could do trouble. He could do Malfoy too, but that was a different story. "I'm going over there," he declared, eyes still fixed on the blond.
"Yes, you do that," Ginny snorted. "I'll just stay here, far far away from the firing zone."
Harry ignored her and slipped off his stool. His footsteps quickened as he approached Malfoy. Damn, but he looked good. What had it been? Five years? Six? Nothing had changed, really. It felt like he was in Hogwarts all over again. Just looking at Malfoy made him want to storm up to him, grab him by that prissy silk shirt and attack him with his fists and his lips and... okay, so maybe some things had changed.
He was barely halfway across the bar when someone else broke into the Malfoy zone. Harry stopped short as a tall, dark haired bloke slinked over and placed a hand on the blond's shoulder. Malfoy turned and greeted the stranger with a nod. The man grinned and slipped in beside him. Harry froze, standing still as a rock as the stranger's hand travelled up Malfoy's leg. He leered and whispered in the blond's ear. Malfoy sneered in response, which only seemed to encourage his companion. Harry felt his fists clench and something in his chest growled warningly as the man barged further and further into Malfoy's space. The growling turned into an all out roar as he reached out suddenly to grab Malfoy's chin and pull him into a kiss.
Harry snarled out aloud, inexplicably furious at this turn of events. He hadn't even been aware of Malfoy's existence until a minute back, and now he was physically fighting the urge to yank that bastard away from the blond and grind him into the pavement. The roaring was so loud he was surprised everybody couldn't hear it and...
And then it happened.
Malfoy pushed the stranger back and his eyes narrowed with sheer, unbridled rage. It all happened so quickly that Harry would have missed it if he had thought to blink. Malfoy swiped a wine glass and promptly emptied what was no doubt a rather expensive Cabernet all over Lover Boy.
Harry's jaw dropped and for a second, he was too stunned to even register the thrill running up his spine.
And then the bloke roared and lunged at Malfoy and Harry found himself running head first into the fray.
It had taken Draco precisely three and a half minutes to decide that he absolutely loathed Roland Blake. In said time frame, the man had leered at him, made any number of tasteless comments, ordered the wrong wine and spent the remainder of his time perfecting the art of being an arrogant, entitled, self important worm.
"It does get tedious, of course. It's not like I asked for the physique of a model and the stamina of a racehorse..."
Draco kept his gaze firmly on his fork, trying to remind himself that stabbing someone in the throat was frowned upon in polite society.
"But enough about me," Blake blathered on. He fixed Draco with an insolent grin that made the blond stiffen. "I'd rather talk about the reason we're having this little tête-à-tête wouldn't you, kitten?"
Draco's eyebrow twitched. "I have a name, Blake," he gritted. "Use it."
Blake smirked. "Of course, Draco. Although if I may be so bold, I prefer 'kitten'. After all," a hand dropped down to Draco's leg and traced an idle pattern. "It suits you to a hilt."
"Is that supposed to be charming?" Draco spat, shifting away. The hand on his leg tightened a fraction and Blake's hand snaked around his waist, pulling him uncomfortably close.
"Oh, I can do charming," he purred. "I can do whatever it takes, so long as I have you on your back and me between your..."
That was the proverbial last straw. Draco snarled and pushed back, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and this... this excrescence. Blake staggered and teetered in his chair, giving Draco just enough time to grab a glass and subject Blake to a face full of his deplorable choice of wine. There was an audible splash and a hushed silence ensued as every eye in the bar turned on them. Somewhere the whirring click of a camera sounded. Great. The Prophet was going to have a field day with this.
Draco wasn't the least bit bothered. All he cared about was making Roland Blake pay. Besides, he had a lifetime of making public scenes behind him and one more was hardly going to ruin his sterling reputation.
"The hell you will," Draco spat, hatred radiating off of him in waves. Blake blinked stupidly, still dripping. A drop trailed its way down his chin and Draco smirked as he wiped at his face in disbelief. Whatever he had expected, that hadn't been it. Then Blake's face contorted in rage and he was lunging for the blond with a howl. "I'm gonna kill you, you little..."
Draco backed up against the bar, intending to get enough space to retrieve his wand. Unfortunately, Blake had other ideas. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the slender blond cornered against the bar and he growled and extended a meaty hand, clearly intending to grab Draco by the collar and haul him forward. Draco steeled himself, prepared to go down fighting if he had to - a likely possibility considering that Blake had at least two stone over him. His heart hammered as a fist flew towards him. Meaty fingers were just inches away from Draco and then... then a firm hand closed around Blake's wrist, wrenching his arm back before he could even touch Draco. The blond blinked as the man was firmly hauled back, bellowing all the way.
"Oi! What the..."
"Not the best idea in the world, mate," the intruder said smoothly situating himself between the two men. Draco blinked as he was presented with a lean, toned back, broad shoulders and a messy mop of dark hair. Interesting. He shifted discreetly, trying to get a glimpse of his saviour. He certainly sounded familiar... not to mention, intriguing. Very intriguing.
Blake wasn't quite so taken. He was leaning more to the side of fucking furious. "Get out of my way, mate," he spat, trying to wrench his hand free. "This is between me and that..."
"Perhaps you misunderstood me," the other drawled. His fingers tightened imperceptibly around Blake's wrist and the man winced. "Touch the blond and I'll beat the shite out of you in front of all these nice people. Now I suggest you take what's left of your dignity and Get. Out."
Draco shivered slightly. Obviously, he was experiencing the after effects of shock after almost attacked. It had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with the man's low, possessive growl and the clench of his fist - suggesting that he'd like nothing better than to tear Blake apart with his bare hands if he so much as looked at Draco again. No, it was definitely the shock and... and... yeah, all of that.
Blake seemed to be contemplating his options. His eyes flicked from his opponent to Draco to the crowd milling about them. Draco watched with bated breath, as did the rest of the pub. Finally, Blake took a step back, scowling as he retreated. He turned to shoot one last, hateful look at Draco. "This isn't over, Malfoy," he spat.
The man growled and pushed him roughly, shoving him into a table. "You don't talk to him anymore, creep. You go through me, got it?"
Draco resolutely ignored that damned shiver. Blake spat and turned on his heel. Draco watched him storm out of the pub, sagging against the bar. The other patrons shuffled about and dispersed quietly, whispering and shooting him dark looks. Another whirring click of a camera. Draco sighed and rubbed his face wearily with his hand. Talk about embarrassing. Oh, Father was going to love tomorrow's Prophet...
"Alright there?"
Draco nodded shakily, unwilling to make eye contact. A conversation with the man who'd just swooped in and saved him like some sort of damsel in distress was not exactly what his ego needed right now. No, hiding behind his hand was infinitely better. Now if he could just harness the self-will to just Apparate away and never, ever set foot in public again...
"Hey, it's okay. He's gone." The voice was softer now. Concerned. Draco started as firm but gentle fingers wrapped themselves around his wrist, carefully prying his hand away. "Can you look at me, please? I feel like I'm scaring you."
The blond shook his head vehemently. He was definitely not scared. Just mortified. Somewhat dazed. Maybe a little turned on… he started at the amused chuckle from his new companion. "Then could you maybe look at me, Malfoy?"
Malfoy? Draco frowned. That was odd. No one had addressed him by his last name since school. Hell, the last person who had called him that was...
Oh no.
Oh dear Merlin, no.
Suddenly it was all came together. Badly. Very badly. Head pounding and heart hammering, Draco looked up into unmistakable green eyes.
Merlin on a pogostick.
"Potter," he croaked. His throat felt very parched all of a sudden. Of course. Of course it would be Potter. Why bloody not?
"It's been a while," Potter chuckled. "Still can't stay out of trouble, I see."
Draco opened his mouth to say something scathing. Unfortunately, his mental faculties had somewhat deserted him in the face of Potter showing up and saving him. Again.
Potter was looking him over now, apparently assessing him for injuries. His gaze raked over Draco, intense and calculating. He cocked his head, continuing his somewhat... dispassionate examination. The blond immediately crossed his arms, feeling rather discomfited by such blatant scrutiny. Then again, Potter had always discomfited him. The prat.
"You don't look hurt," said prat mused, frowning. "I don't think that bastard actually touched you. But I should probably take a look at..."
He extended a hand, obviously intending to pull the blond forward for a more thorough search. At that, Draco lost his fragile hold on his self control. "Don't touch me!" he snarled, pushing the taller man away with a strength he hadn't known he possessed. Potter stumbled, reaching back to steady himself against a table. Draco took advantage of the momentary distraction and fled from the pub.
Vaguely, he heard Potter calling his name. It only made him run faster, bolting to the nearest Apparition Point.
His lone comfort as he Apparated back to the Manor was that humiliating as the night had been, at least he won't have to deal with seeing Potter again.
Not a chance in hell.
"Malfoy, wait!"
The blond was out the door and running before Harry could get back on his feet. He steadied himself and took a deep breath, trying to sort things out in his head. Damn but Malfoy had caught him by surprise. That boy was like an explosion waiting to happen.
His memory flitted with recent images of the Slytherin. Malfoy snarling, grey eyes flaring and lips curled in a defensive sneer. Words as sharp as the hexes he was more than capable of throwing. And apparently, he wasn't afraid of a little physical altercation either. Harry rubbed his side. He must have bruised himself on the table when Malfoy pushed him. His blood flared as he remembered Malfoy's hands on his chest, pale fingers separated from his skin by a thin t-shirt and nothing else. It was... something. Passion and anger and just plain fight. Harry emitted a low whistle. He liked it.
And he was gone. Damn it, he couldn't let him run off like that!
He was almost ready to sprint after the blond (possibly yell at him for attacking him or snog him senseless, he hadn't decided yet) when he felt someone pull him back. "Slow down, Lover Boy," Ginny drawled. "That ship has sailed." She hauled him back easily. Sometimes it scared him how such a tiny girl could be so strong. He tried to shake himself free. "But I..."
"But nothing, Harry," she said firmly. "He's gone. You can't chase after him like some deranged stalker. And speaking of deranged..." She lifted a deceptively petite hand and smacked him on the back of the head.
"What were you thinking, almost starting a brawl like that?!" she demanded. "Merlin Harry, have you lost your mind?! I am telling Mum..."
"He was going to attack him!" Harry protested. "And ouch with the hitting!"
"Sorry," she snapped, rubbing her hand. "And you're a right moron if you think he appreciated it. I saw him push you. What a bitch."
"Yeah well, that's him," Harry chuckled. Honestly, he was more amused than indignant. It was just so Malfoy. "Right little spitfire, isn't he? Think it's too soon to owl him?"
Ginny gaped at him. "We're going home," she declared flatly. "You've obviously suffered a concussion." She shoved his coat at him and grabbed his arm, pulling him out firmly. Harry followed obediently, too preoccupied with thoughts of a certain blond to protest. "Some night, this," he said finally.
"Yeah well, at least its over," Ginny muttered. Harry smirked and she stopped to give him a look. He raised an eyebrow and she groaned. "It's not over, is it?"
Harry smirked. "Not a chance in hell."
And there you go, the first meeting! :D
Reviews are love!