A/N: Okay, I think I can safely say that this fic is dividing opinions. That's great, as far as I'm concerned!
I'm just pleased that you're all sticking with me as I fuck up two characters I LOVE even more ...

April 2002

Earlier in the week he'd turned down an invitation from Seamus to go to one of the man's now legendary parties. They were legendary due to Seamus's uncanny knack for rounding up the hottest gay wizards from around the country - and sometimes from as far away as Europe, when they needed to mix things up a bit - and convincing them to get drunk and shag each other.

To be fair, they didn't need a lot of encouragement.

Harry made the jump back to London in one go and tapped his wand against the front door of the penthouse flat that Seamus owned in Shoreditch. It was a Muggle building but somehow his friend had managed to hide himself and his illicit activities within it.

"Potter," Seamus said with a smile as he opened the door. "We weren't expecting you to grace us mere mortals with your presence this evening."

"Fuck of, Finnigan. Get me a drink."

"Oooo-kay."

The flat was warm and masculine and already filled with a number of men. Harry strode through to a large leather armchair that had suddenly, suspiciously become available and flopped into it, propping his boots up on the coffee table and waiting for the glass of Firewhiskey to be pressed into his hand. Seamus swept Harry's feet off his table and sat down on the space that had just become available.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Seamus asked.

Harry threw back his glass of whiskey and held his hand out for the bottle. After his second shot he levelled his eyes with his friend.

"No."

"Okay, mate, that's fine. Your prerogative and all that."

Sighing, Harry poured a third shot and held it out. Seamus took it, drank it, and set the glass down on a coaster.

"You don't have to tell me shit," Seamus said. "But seriously? We shared a dorm for six years. You were the first person I came out to. We've been mates for - fuck, longer than I want to think about. You're a damn good shag when I'm in the mood for hot and easy-"

"Is there a point to this meander down memory lane mate?"

Seamus laughed. "Nah, not really. What are you in the mood for?"

"Blond," Harry said immediately. "Young. Slim. Pretty."

"I meant in the way of narcotics, but I could probably find you something fitting that description." Seamus laughed to himself and shook his head.

"Ah, I'll take a bump of anything. Not Muggle shit though. That shit'll fuck you up."

Seamus reached into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew a small vial of green potion. "Don't take it all, for fuck's sake. You'll be out cold and won't be able to get anything hard for a week. Just a drop."

Harry held the little vial up to the light, shrugged, uncorked it and let a drop fall on his tongue. It tasted vaguely of peppermint and filled his blood with a warm hum.

"Nice," he said approvingly.

"No problem." Seamus took a drop himself, then scanned the room. "See that kid over there?" He pointed to the windowsill where a young man meeting Harry's description rather well was looking out at the night, his elbows resting on the sill and his chin on his palm.

"His name is Paris. He sucks like a fucking hoover, but rumour has it he's a virgin."

"Thanks, Seamus," Harry said as he stood and slapped his friend on the arm. "I think that's exactly what I need."