A/N: Repost! I just altered the first bit a little. Just so you're not confused, there isn't really anything to get about it. It's just a flashback.

Thank you's aplenty to CannonFodder, Emerald-silver Serpent, B Madden, Ura-hd, NeedlePoint, Avain, chocytwo, Arigazi (thank you for your honesty. i tend to have rather weak beginnings.), Tinkita, Dreamerswaking, borne-shadow-childe (no, Harry has about 13 months left.), dmweasley, RoschLupin-Black, coriander (Was that a cliffhanger? I just try to end at a point that will make it easy to start the next chapter.), StarryGazer, alliekatgal, Silver Star, Saavik13, vote-larry4prez, ShatteredxDream, Nienna Celebrindal, Wolflady, and Purple Raveness.

"Potter, you have less than half a second to remove your hand from my arse before you lose it," Draco warned. Harry's eyes snapped open to meet Draco's grey ones. "Wha—" Then he realized that they were in bed and his hand was indeed on Draco's arse.

Harry jumped back as if he had been bitten.

"Why are we in the same bed?" he asked. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Don't ever get a girlfriend, Potter. You'll only cause her one disappointment after another." Harry looked at Draco blankly. Draco gaped at him in disbelief before looking away with something like hurt on his face.

"God, you really don't remember? But you saidHow could you forget all those whispered promises and last night's mind-blowing sex? It was the best night of my life."

Harry's only response was to continue to stare and turn a rather interesting shade of green. He blinked at Malfoy, who bit his lip and twisted the sheet in his fingers, refusing to meet Harry's eyes. "Last night's what? Ma—Dra—Malfoy, what the?" Harry shut his eyes. He was going to be sick. He just knew it. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to see the blonde's shoulders shaking. Oh, shit, Harry thought. I didn't make Malfoy cry. I didn't make Malfoy cry. Harry was so busy panicking that it took him a moment to realize that Draco was far from sobbing and was, in fact, laughing at him.

Draco grinned.

"I'm just kidding you, Potter. You're so dense that I couldn't help myself."

Harry continued to feel sick.

" Don't you dare turn that shade of green on me! If you faint, I'll hex you, I swear. What's so wrong with the idea anyway? I mean, I'd have to be pissed out of my mind and hard up to sleep with you, but you should be so lucky as to have a go with me," Draco said, going from nearly concerned to indignant to hurt to coolly superior in less than 10 seconds. Harry put his fingers to his temples, just barely able to process the storm of Draco's mood swings.

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Ever the charmer, I see," Draco replied, smiling wryly. Harry glared at him.

"Why are we in the same bed?" he repeated, ignoring the urge to wring Draco's neck and focusing instead on the fact that they had not slept together. Deep breaths, deep breaths, Harry repeated to himself. Draco huffed.

"Because we made the call to set up camp here, and it was either bunk with you or that maggot Creevy." Draco wrinkled his nose at the idea of Creevy sharing the same oxygen as him, let alone the same bed. Harry didn't bother to ask which Creevy Draco was referring to. Draco disdained both equally. Harry shook his head.

"So you chose me?" he asked, amused.

"Let's put it this way: I wouldn't piss on that Creevy kid if he were on fire."

Harry chuckled, not doubting Draco for an instant. "And me?" he asked, honestly curious as to how he ranked on Draco's scale of horrible things. Draco smiled demurely and batted his eyes.

"Well, I'd piss on you even if you weren't on fire," he replied with mock-coyness.

"Darling, I never knew you cared," Harry said, drawing closer to Draco.

"Potter, if you come any closer, you will get your family jewels handed to you," the blonde boy threatened.

"Scared?" Harry asked with a grin.

"Of your morning breath? Absolutely," Draco replied deadpan.

Harry kissed Draco out of spite. Hard.

Draco introduced his knee to Harry's crotch. Hard. He then left the Boy Who Lived curled in the fetal position while he went to shower.

Harry opens his eyes, half expecting to see blond hair. Whether he was expecting Lucius, Draco, or Nicholas, he doesn't know. He is dimly aware that it is Saturday. He is marginally pleased that he doesn't have to go back to Hogwarts right away. He had spent a blissfully uneventful night in Lucius' bed, and while he doesn't burst into song, he feels better than he has in a several weeks. He glances around the room to reacquaint himself with his surroundings. He locates a bathroom, a shrouded picture above the fireplace and a neatly folded set of clothes waiting beside Harry's own clothes.

He pads across the room. The stone floors are warm beneath his feet, but it is rare that his feet fall upon stone because the carpets are so profuse. Harry is reminded of what it means to be a rich wizard and in turn reminds himself that he is a rich wizard and thus quenches the small feeling of envy growing inside.

He recognizes the clothes laid out for him as once belonging to Draco. He doesn't remember this particular sweater and these jeans, but their shape is familiar and his throat closes up momentarily. The clothes are gently folded, the edges are round and not crisp and there is an indent where a hand patted the clothes before leaving them. Lucius brought him these, not a house elf. Harry takes it as a good sign and tries to contain his growing nervousness.

He showers and dresses quickly, running a comb through his damp hair before going to find his host. He checks the dining room first and finds Lucius at breakfast, reading a copy of the Daily Prophet. He looks wonderfully and regally bored and is dressed in his standard imposing wizard garb. Harry wonders if Lucius will be particularly cold today to make up for exposing himself the previous night.

Harry stabs at his eggs with no real intention of eating them. He makes a big show of tasting them, seasoning them with salt and pepper and drowning them in inordinate amounts of ketchup. Lucius eyes the resultant mess over the top of the newspaper.

"Now that you've made quite a mess, I hope you plan on eating those eggs," Lucius says.

"It's not a mess; it's art!" Harry replies. Lucius puts the paper down. It seems to fold itself magically. It is a possibility, but Harry prefers to attribute it to Lucius' uncanny graces. Harry's "art" is subjected to the type of scrutinizing glance any critic in the world would envy.

"Art?" Lucius says. "What kind of art is that?"

"It's self-expression through abstraction," Harry says, squinting at his plate. Lucius snorts.

"Are you dying to express your inner chicken, Mr. Scryer?" he asks.

"No. This is an expression of my anxieties regarding last night." Lucius eyes the eggs again thoughtfully. His eyes widen in momentary shock.

"Damn it! You made me think about it! It is art." Harry laughs. Lucius looks at him sternly. "And it better be edible art as well." Chastised, Harry ate half of his art. The rest he stuck to the plate with a whispered permanent sticking charm, wanting to preserve his first work for posterity.

"So," Harry began, gulping down some very black coffee. "I was wondering if you were going to give me the cold shoulder this morning." Harry finds that it's easier to be flippant with Lucius; it makes the jitters in his stomach subside.

"That thought hadn't occurred to me," Lucius replies, taking a sip of his own coffee. He doesn't smile, but his tone is light and Harry feels encouraged.

"Well, what thought did occur to you?"

"I thought we would discuss tour plans, perhaps have dinner with Sebastian, and then I shall see you back to Hogwarts."

"Dinner with Sebastian on such short notice?" Harry asks incredulously. Draco had told him once that a proper dinner request should be made 72 hours in advance36 hours at bare minimum. Harry had found this humorous since he was lucky if Draco gave him 36 minutes advance notice before hauling him off to the manor. Maybe Draco had been worried that if he gave Harry more time, Harry would've wormed out of it. Lucius smiles.

"Sebastian is a good nephew. He will drop everything to spare a moment for his uncle."

"Such devotion. Was Sebastian a Hufflepuff?" Harry teases.

"No. Sebastian never went to Hogwarts." Harry raised an eyebrow. "That's why it is crucial that this tour be a success," Lucius explains, looking at Harry to see if he caught Lucius' meaning.

Harry figured that he caught all of them: I'm placing my trust in you; I'm depending on you; I will be eternally grateful if you make this work for me; I will hunt you down like a dog and kill you if you fail and that would be a shame because I like you. Harry nods solemnly and it seems that Lucius' smile becomes a little wider.

"Naturally, I will be needing a resume and several recommendations. I assume that Hogwarts has done a full background check for any sort of criminal activity," he says with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

"Naturally," Harry replies without skipping a beat, though he wonders how on earth he's going to get recommendations and how he's going to fabricate a resume. He squashes the panicky feeling and saves it for later.

"Fantastic. For your convenience, you won't be leaving until after term has ended. That should give Hogwarts ample time to find a replacement. "

It occurs to Harry that Lucius has already decided everything. All Lucius is doing now is getting Harry adjusted to the idea of leaving. Harry has to give Lucius credit. The man is clever. Used upon someone, who was not used to dealing with Lucius, this technique would have caused anxiety and fear at first, then relief and gratitude when they were allowed to assume the job Lucius had already decided they would have.

"Very clever," Harry says at loud. Lucius takes another sip of coffee.

"What is? I assume that you're not referring to your time of departure? That's not clever; it is convenient at the least and courteous at best." Harry chuckles and then smiles. He likes to chuckle in this form, likes to hear the low, velvet rumble and feel it in his throat. There are times when he is still in awe of his voice.

"The resume and the recommendations. Letting me think that I still have a say in all this and that it's still uncertain." Lucius blinks.

"Why, Mr. Scryer, you surprise me."

"Do I? It's true. You've already decided that I'm going to take this job. You wouldn't have offered it to me if you had thought I might have refused."

"I repeat, you surprise me. Most people never catch on to that particular trick." Lucius raises an eyebrow at Harry's questioning look.

Harry cannot help it. He tries to stifle it at first, but that gives way to full-fledged laughter.

"You are evil," he says to Lucius, who is indulgently not glaring at him. Lucius picks up his paper again.

"Actually, I'm retired." Harry starts, barely avoiding a lapful of hot coffee.

"What?" he sputters.

"Yes, it turns out that they're right. Evil really doesn't pay. The hours and benefits are lousy. I have much more flexibility now that I'm indifferent," Lucius replies deadpan, turning a page. For a long time Harry is too stunned to say anything. The trouble with Lucius is that Harry never knows when to take him seriously.

A bit of a breather after all the intense drama of the past few chapters. Comments and criticism are equally welcome, so review!

Luv ya,

J. Silver