No one could deny that Draco looked ravishing tonight, Harry thought. His pale skin showed only a hint of a tan, and his cheeks were slightly flushed from the alcohol. For the first time, Harry saw a Malfoy who looked truly happy. His hair had grown and was pulled back into an elegant knot at the nape of his neck. It was something that Harry would have laughed at a few years ago, but now. Now he just yearned to thread his fingers through it, undo the expensive ribbon clasping it together and pull back slightly to expose the sharp jaw and long neck. He knew how soft it would feel, and knew that he'd never get the chance to touch it. At first glance, Harry thought that Malfoy had lost weight, but soon realised that he had just grown a couple of inches. He was know over 6 foot and stood at equal heights with Zabini who, Harry realised angrily, was too close to the blonde for his liking. Ideally he would have placed Zabini in another country to Draco, the notorious flirt was bound to try and seduce him at some point in time. Harry watched as Malfoy glanced away from him, and threaded a lose strand of hair behind his left ear. He would have happily continued staring all night if Pansy, who was standing with Nott and Hermione, hadn't caught site of him and commanded his attention.

"Harry!" she gushed, rushing over to kiss him on the cheek. "'Hermione and I were just talking about what you'd think of the seating arrangements," she cocked her head to the table where Harry could see ivory cards sat behind the plates at each place. "Not that there was any scheming going on of course," she winked at him. Oblivious as ever, Harry had no clue what she was talking about but smiled politely. He would never understand women; he'd just have to learn to live with that.

He surveyed the room, trying to work out who else was coming. Ron, Seamus and Dean were gathered in a corner of the tent antisocially, laughing at something that Ron had said. Nott and Hermione were engaging in conversation, something that didn't shock Harry at all. The pair of them worked together in magical law at the ministry, and had been spending quite a bit of time together of late. Ron hadn't been too happy about the arrangement, but had been wise enough not to mention it to Hermione lest he want a lecture on his immaturity and how they weren't Gryffindors or Slytherins anymore, just witches and wizards. Harry looked out the back of the tent and saw Luna dancing around with the fairies he'd spotted earlier. She caught him looking and gave a shy wave before continuing her dance. From his calculations, along with Zabini, Malfoy, Pansy and Neville, that made eleven people. He had no clue who the twelfth would be. He knew it wouldn't be Goyle, since he was in Azkaban for trying, rather stupidly, to curse a muggle last month. Harry felt sorry for the guy; he had after all thought that said muggle was a vampire. The ministry somehow didn't believe that Goyle would jump to that conclusion because the woman was wearing red lipstick, but no one who knew him doubted it.

"Who else is coming Pansy? Nev said there were twelve of us," Harry asked, still racking his brains even though he didn't care whom else came, providing Draco stayed.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? I thought I had. Draco has a boyfriend!"

Harry paled at this, and his face fell. He hastily rearranged his features into what he hoped was a mildly interested expression, but he could tell that it hadn't worked by the look on Pansy's face. He took it all back. He did care who the twelfth guest was and he was going to curse whoever it was into oblivion. This was worse than he'd expected, he wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. Pansy saw the anger radiating from his eyes.

"Really Potter? I can't believe this. You like Draco. You like Draco!"

"Shut up!"

He wanted to punch her. He felt so humiliated. Malfoy had a boyfriend, of course he did. You only had to look at him to figure that one out, who wouldn't want him? And Harry had actually come here hoping; even though it was only a slither of hope, that Malfoy would give him a chance, let them start again. Pansy's tiny hand slipped into his and gave it a quick squeeze, looking mortified.

"I'm so sorry Harry, I didn't realise. If I did I would never have said he could bring Wood."

Harry blanched. Wood. "Oliver wood?!" he nearly roared, and he spotted Malfoy's ever so perfect head tilt his way slightly. He couldn't believe it. Yet he had to when he saw a small, although it seemed to Harry slightly forced, smile appear on Malfoy's lips as Wood entered the tent, followed by Neville who no longer clad the pink apron. Harry had never hated someone more than he hated Oliver right now. Not Bellatrix, not Uncle Vernon, fuck - not even Voldemort. And the object of his hatred was walking right over to him.

"Potter! Harry, good to see you. It's been a while," he stuck out his hand and Harry grasped it a little too tightly, gathering from the way white marks were left on Oliver's skin as he pulled away. "How's life treating you? I suspect you've heard all about Malfoy and me. I must admit, I'd find it shocking too! A Gryffindor with a Slytherin? But I was holidaying in France last month and we just kind of, well clicked. I wouldn't have believed it if you'd told me last year that I'd be dating Malfoy, of all people."

Harry was about to say something in return, or maybe punch the bronze haired twat in the face, when Pansy interjected. "Oh yes Oliver, I was just telling Harry," She gave him a pointed look that clearly said 'don't you dare do anything stupid Potter'.

"Well! Neville darling, is the food ready?" She asked, trying to change the subject and prevent one of her guests killing another. Neville, who had been watching the encounter with a shy interest, nodded and smiled at his girlfriend. Pansy dragged Harry by the hand to his seat; saving him from witnessing Malfoy go to greet his Oliver. Malfoy shook Oliver's hand cordially, as if he was an acquaintance and not a lover. Oliver didn't look too shocked at this unfamiliarity and just smiled, going to sit besides Ron and Luna in his designated seat. Harry was glad Oliver was sat away from him, and not next to Malfoy. He didn't want to witness whatever it was they did in public. He was also glad for Pansy, controlling his anger like that. He didn't want to imagine what would have happened if he'd punched Oliver for no reason. He suspected that everyone would come to the logical conclusion that he was jealous, and he definitely wasn't, he told himself. He didn't want Malfoy, nor did he find the git at all attractive. In fact, he wanted nothing to do with the man who was nothing but an annoyance in his life.

"Potter."

Oh, whom was he kidding? He wanted everything to do with the man! Malfoy pulled out the chair next to Harry, and sat down with his characteristic grace. Harry snuck a glance at him from under his eyelids and his breath hitched. Malfoy had, if it was even possible, become more beautiful over the past year. His eyelashes had darkened, yet the sun had bleached his blonde hair. He was clean-shaven, of course, and his skin was completely unmarred. From his quick glance, Harry couldn't spot a blemish or a scar anywhere. He was nothing short of perfection.

"Malfoy." He greeted the blonde cordially. He was determined not to let his embarrassment interfere with what was perhaps his only chance to have a decent conversation with the man. "Its erm…Well it's good to see you."

"It's good to see that my eloquence is still superior to yours Potter, even if I have only been speaking French for the past year." He smirked, almost friendly in his mannerisms. It wasn't the cruel smirk that had been directed at Harry so many times before. Harry found the thought of Malfoy speaking French, though he would never admit it, incredibly erotic. He could imagine the sounds rolling off the sharp tongue. Even jests and insults would sound like heaven in French, if spoken by Malfoy, he thought. Harry opened his mouth for a come back, but no sound came out.

"Point proven?" Draco quipped, smugness radiating as he folded his arms. Harry couldn't stop the laugh that escaped his lips. What was Malfoy doing to him? It was crazy how delirious he was just sitting next to the blonde. If only he reached his hand out, it could rest upon that toned thigh that was stretched under the table. Malfoy's legs really were something to look at, Harry thought. They were obviously strong; Malfoy had obviously being keeping in shape, probably through quidditch. He became distracted by the thought of Malfoy on a broom, leaning forward and exposing tight clothing clinging to that peachy ass of his… Harry snapped his head up suddenly, ashamed of himself for forgetting where he was and wasting even a moment with Malfoy. There was plenty of time to fantasise about him on brooms later, in the privacy of his bed. Malfoy had obviously sensed Potter's gaze since he smirked again.

"Please Potter, I know I'm attractive, but you have to stop checking me out. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm spoken for," He flicked his head in Oliver's direction. Harry obviously had noticed but was trying to ignore it. Instead he was focusing his efforts on getting drunk, already onto his third glass of wine. Harry laughed, attempting to conceal his jealousy.

"Keep telling yourself that Malfoy, maybe one day it will come true," he quipped. Malfoy just smiled smugly and leaned back in his chair as the starter, roast pheasant salad, appeared on their plates. The menu had obviously been designed by Pansy, not Neville. Pansy, who was sat at the other side of Harry was giggling at her boyfriend's jokes but kept casting glances at Harry and Malfoy, nosy as usual.

"Draco darling, would you be a dear and pass me the jus?" she gave Harry an obvious wink as Malfoy was forced to lean over him to hand her the jug. The physical closeness excited Harry more than he thought possible. He could smell Malfoy's shampoo, with it's hints of vanilla Harry was so used to. He went to visit George quite often, and every time he was bottling armontentia into the heart shaped bottles, he smelt Malfoy. He wondered whether the potion Malfoy had made smelt the same; since Malfoy was the most inappropriate person he could ever fall in love with, a fact he'd been aware of for two years. He was disappointed as Pansy took the jug from the strong fingers and Malfoy withdrew from his personal space.

Harry realised that he had never actually had a proper conversation with Malfoy before, and was stuck on what to say. What was the proper etiquette for speaking with your ex-arch enemy, who you now secretly loved? Harry had no idea, yet he expected Malfoy would. No doubt his mother had taught him to speak politely to enemies whilst he was still in the crib.

"So, you've er started your own potions business?" Harry asked pathetically, trying to come up with some suitable topic for conversation whilst simultaneously trying not to stare and the tongue, which darted out of Malfoy's mouth to lick the red sauce off his lips. Grey eyes settled on his own, amusement dancing in them. He was, Harry realised, enjoying the discomfort that Harry felt.

"Weasley told you that, no doubt? I have, I thought it would be a distraction. Paris can be awfully dull at times when you have no one to visit."

"What do you mean? I thought you were staying with relatives, or friends?"

Draco scoffed. 'All aristocratic idiots, none of them would know fun if it hit them like a bludger."

Now it was Harry's turn to scoff. "Oh, aristocratic idiot? That doesn't remind me of anyone at all," he smiled, trying to show that he was joking. Malfoy had been civil, or at least tried to be. He wasn't going to be the one to mess up the only pleasant time they'd ever spent together. He watched anxiously, trying to work out if he had offended the other man. He received a look of mock disdain, and decided that was the best he could have hoped for.

The rest of the meal passed pleasantly enough for Harry, although the looks that Oliver kept directing at Draco made him want to whip his wand out and curse him. Draco hadn't returned any, to Harry's knowledge, and this cheered him up slightly. Maybe Malfoy was just dating Oliver because he had no one else to date. Even as he thought it he felt stupid, all the gay wizards in England would jump at the chance for a night with the blonde, and probably some of the straight too. The only possible reason Malfoy was with Oliver was because he liked him. That hurt Harry more than he liked to admit.

After dinner the group headed inside for more drinks. Having drank slightly too much and feeling slightly ill at the site of Oliver's frame next to Malfoy's, his possessive hand on a shoulder, Harry excused himself and apparated home. He collapsed on his bed and his carefully erected mask fell from his face. He didn't even attempt to stop the sob that escaped his throat and echoed around the bedroom. He was in love with Draco Malfoy, he knew it, and now Malfoy had a boyfriend. He tore his glasses from his face and threw them across the room, where they smashed on a bookshelf. He didn't care, as he curled into a ball and fell asleep to the sound of his own gentle crying.