~CHAPTER 3~

"So, that went well!" Draco beamed at Harry once they were alone in the flat. "I was good, wasn't I? The perfect Gentlewizard: funny, interesting, devastatingly handsome," Draco sighed dreamily. "They won't have a choice but to let me in after that. I mean, come on, we were brilliant!"

"Well," Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

"We were, believe me," Draco replied. "And you, Mr Killjoy, will be blinded by my utmost talent once I finally become a Gentlewizard."

"Right, until then, we still have the weekend to go through."

Draco made a dismissing gesture. "A simple formality. It will be a piece of Cauldron Cake."

"Yeah, whatever."

Sometimes Harry wondered how Draco always managed to always look on the bright side of life. For one thing, Harry had learned over the last few days that it wasn't always the case, that Draco, somehow, had his dark moments too, like everybody else. But still. Harry couldn't help thinking that the more Draco convinced himself he would be accepted by the Club, the harder the fall. And Harry hoped that when that happened - if that happened, Harry chided himself - Draco would be able to bounce back and set his mind to something else.

The rest of the week passed in a blur; Harry had thought at first that Draco would go back to live in his own flat but no. He'd told Harry in a rather patronising tone that it was much better for the credibility of their relationship to be together as much as possible until the weekend. Harry also suspected Draco rather enjoyed the fact he didn't have to cook at night, or that Harry's flat was really close to the Ministry, meaning he could laze about a little bit longer in bed in the morning.

Harry, of course, didn't mind one second. He tried to take things cautiously though, forcing himself not to get too used to Draco's presence too much because he knew the situation was temporary.

At night, things were different. At night, in the quiet of his room, with Draco just on the other side of the door, Harry's body was harder to subdue. It was always the same thing: Harry would feel the need to touch himself, but refused to do so. He would try to fall asleep, failing miserably as pictures of Draco kept invading his mind. Or he would recall something funny Draco had said during the day. Or else he would remind himself to check the recipe for the Butterbeer Cupcakes Draco had mentioned over lunch. And then, Harry would rationalise things by thinking that it was only because he spent his days - and now his nights - with Draco. But then, he had spent his days and nights with Ron and Hermione at one point and had never ever felt the need to touch himself thinking about either of them back then. Ew, just… ew. And it was not only due to the fact that all sexual activity had been tampered by the legitimate fear of being caught by Snatchers or Death Eaters on the loose, no. It was just… Neither Ron nor Hermione were Draco.

So after long minutes spent agonising on whether he should indulge in a little one on one with his right hand or not - and fuck, he really shouldn't - he always ended up relenting and wanking himself raw.

Every single night.

On Tuesday night though, his agonising predicament got up to another level when right after coming hard all over himself - just in that short moment when his brain was still fuzzy from his orgasm - he had distinctly heard a moan coming from the living-room. Yes, that kind of moan. No mistake about it. Harry had closed his eyes and been particularly thankful he had just come copiously because otherwise he would probably have had to change his whole set of sheets.

On Wednesday night, thankfully - and despite what Draco had told Harry - there was no date waiting for him anywhere. However, as they were quietly reading on the couch, the easily recognisable eagle owl from Malfoy manor had brought yet another letter to Draco from his father. Draco had opened and read it without a word, his impassive mask firmly in place before folding it and discarding it in the back pocket of his trousers. They did not speak about it, but the tiny ray of light filtering through the slit under Harry's bedroom door remained for a long time that night.

And there had been no other moans coming from the living room the following nights either.

On Thursday night, they received the Portkey that would take them to the Gentlewizard Club's countryside residence in Yorkshire the next Saturday, along with a few guidelines and the dress code for the formal Saturday night dinner. Harry was a bit apprehensive when he saw the impressive list of do's and don'ts (no jeans, no trainers of course, appropriate language and so on), but Draco reassured him by telling him they were pretty standard instructions in high-ranked circles. Of course, Draco was infinitely more comfortable with such etiquette than Harry, having been fed with formal codes and appropriate behaviour in society during his childhood. He helped Harry pack his suitcase and jumped at the opportunity to inspect Harry's wardrobe before discarding almost every single item, involving a lot of head shaking and mumbling. After yet another case of rolling eyes and exasperated sighs, Draco had ended up dragging Harry all the way to Twilfitt and Tattings on Diagon Alley. It had been a long evening, but in the end, even if Harry didn't care much about what he usually wore, he was glad to see that their outing had seemed to lift Draco's mood a little.

On Friday night, Harry met Ron at the pub, while Draco stayed behind, officially claiming he did not want to have to bear the sight of a Weasley all night long, even over beers. Harry wasn't fooled. However, he did not insist and left Draco alone at the flat, willing to give him space. Harry had a great time with Ron but carefully avoided mentioning what was going on with Draco: he had not come to the pub to hear endless rants about how he shouldn't let himself be dragged into anything involving Draco Malfoy; Harry had enough with his own conscience after all. He warned Ron he would be away for the weekend though, and did not contradict his friend when he asked if it was Auror related. In a remote place of his brain, Harry could still convince himself he needed to take a closer look at the Club's activities just in case there was something illegal about it.

And then, before he knew it, it was Saturday morning.

The Portkey took them to an immense iron gate guarded by two statues representing hydras.

Draco turned to Harry, an undecipherable look on his face. "You ready?"

Harry took a deep breath. This was going to be a long weekend. "Yes," he exhaled.

Draco smiled at him and reached for his hand. Of course. Harry gave Draco's hand a slight squeeze as they waited by the gate.

Soon enough, a man - a Gentlewizard, Harry chided himself - welcomed them. He took them through the gate to an impressive Victorian country house that was sitting among a beautiful landscaped garden. The stately home was in the shape of a square, with a small tower on each corner, and a bigger Italianate one in the middle. Beautiful, really. But also a little bit intimidating.

The Gentlewizard - his name was Blackstone - led them inside the magnificent house which opened on a hall with a beautiful oak staircase leading to private guest rooms. Blackstone took them straight to their room, situated at the very end of a corridor on the east wing.

Blackstone opened the door for them and let Harry and Draco step inside. It was a beautiful room, painted in a light blue. On the right stood an imposing ornate marble fireplace, surmounted by a gilded mirror. Facing the door were the windows with heavy curtains and a breath-taking view on the park. On the opposite wall was the four-poster bed. The bed. The bed Harry and Draco would share tonight. Harry tried to focus his attention on something else.

It was gorgeous, really. The classic furniture was perfectly in accord with the style of the stately home.

"Right, gentlemen, I'll give you a few minutes to settle down into your rooms and after that, we'll come and get you to give you a grand tour of the property."

As soon as the door was closed, Draco turned to Harry and beamed at him. "Isn't it just perfect, darling?" he said with a wink.

Harry looked around again. "It's not bad."

"Not bad?" Draco replied, looking hurt. "Potter, this is absolutely magnificent, you ignorant sod! Of course, you wouldn't know, what with living in a cupboard and all that."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Are you done with this already? I never should have told you anything about it."

"Well, now it's too late. Oh, look! We have a bathtub!" And Draco literally bounced to the beautiful bathroom situated on the left-hand side of the bedroom.

It was indeed a rather impressive bathroom, with refined tiling all around and a gilded clawfoot tub. Draco jumped right into the bathtub, leaning into it, letting his feet rest on the rimmed edge of the tub.

"I'll need a back rub tonight, darling," Draco said in a soft voice, a smile on his face.

"Sure, would you like a foot massage as well, darling?" Harry replied with a similar smile.

"Since you're offering…"

"Bugger off, Malfoy, you can go and find someone else to rub your back," Harry chuckled.

Draco put on his most offended look. "Not a very considerate lover, my darling Harry," he replied with a smirk. "I wonder what the Gentlewizards would have to say about that."

"Well, I suppose we'll know soon enough."

They just had the time to unpack quickly before there was a knock on the door and Blackstone took them back to the grand hall downstairs, where Langdon, Loras and Meehan were waiting for them.

The welcome was not as cold as Harry had expected, and the walk through the beautiful grounds of the castle was rather pleasant. Draco was his usual bouncy self, wanting to know absolutely each and every detail, from the exact number of bushes to the name of the gardeners, to the history of the castle. Harry remained quiet, on his guard, observing the three men as they exchanged knowing glances between themselves, raising eyebrows at Draco and even hiding a smirk behind his back from time to time.

Bastards.

After a quick lunch in the gardens, Harry and Draco went back to their room to change clothes. They were expected to play a game of Skintitch.

Skintitch, Harry soon found out, was a variation of Muggle Polo. With a hint of Magic of course.

It took place on a huge field at the far end of the estate but like Quidditch, the game happened in the sky. Harry could see the two nets situated at each end of the pitch, about forty feet high.

Instead of horses, Skintitch used Thestrals, which allowed for an even faster game and some interesting combinations in the air that weren't possible in Muggle Polo. Harry had been a bit surprised at first, since Thestrals were pretty rare animals in the Wizarding world, and didn't have the best reputation.

There were other small differences as well. Instead of a wooden ball like in regular Muggle Polo, Skintitch used a single brown leather one that was slightly bigger than a Snitch. This leather ball was called a Minslet, and raced around the players in circles in the air so fast that it was very hard to catch it. You had to place yourself very strategically, because once you'd caught the Minslet with your mallet, you couldn't change its trajectory. You only had less than a second to hit it hard in order to send it over to a net situated on either end of the field. Like in Muggle Polo, players were not allowed to cross the line of the ball. But unlike Muggle Polo, almost every blow was allowed.

Draco and Harry were placed in two different teams. At first, Harry had found it weird, but then, at least it was familiar territory. As soon as Draco learned that they would be adversaries once again, he had moved away swiftly from Harry and kept looking at him, sometimes narrowing his eyes, other times raising an eyebrow in defiance, not listening for one second to what the coach was telling them.

Each team had four players. Draco wore number two and was on the green team while Harry was number one on the blue team. They were both forwards.

They mounted their Thestral and got ready for the game. The Thestrals spread their leathery wings and took off. Harry felt a thrill at the thought of being up in the air again. It had been so long! He cast a glance at Draco who winked at him, a smile on his face. He wasn't the only one happy to be back up here apparently. They slowly circled the pitch in the sky, just to get used to their mount, and once again, Harry felt content to be here. He could feel the wind blowing in his hair, and the feeling of flying - which surpassed almost everything in Harry's mind - was exhilarating. Harry hadn't felt so relaxed in a long time.

It started slowly, maybe to give Harry and Draco time to get used to it. But soon enough, things accelerated. The game was pretty quick, and Harry really enjoyed the thrill it gave him that compared to Quidditch in a way, even if Harry had to admit he enjoyed being on broom more than on a Thestral, which were much slower.

And then, things went up a notch and it all became personal. Like in Quidditch all these years ago, the game was soon all about Draco and Harry. Neither of them wanted to concede an inch to the other, and they were ruthless in their quest for the Minslet. They kept flying after the other, trying to beat the other to it, barely aware of the other players' presence. Like in Quidditch, it was all about them.

And then, things got to a whole new level when Harry's teammates started getting annoyed at the other team. They started playing more roughly and particularly aimed all their blows at Draco, who was their favourite target. They went at him restlessly, and Draco fought back with all his might every single time. But all this energy spent defending himself only allowed Harry and his team to go for the Minslet.

Draco's face was determined, despite the blood drying from a gash on his forehead. He wasn't about to give up, not just yet and rushed towards Harry with an odd glint in his eyes, completely ignoring the other players once more.

You and me, Harry thought as he kicked his Thestral once again and went towards Draco with a sly smile.

And that's how it went for the rest of the game. No more teams. No more other players. Just Harry and Draco again, fighting to overcome the other and assess domination high up in the air.

They fought hard, completely oblivious to the others, taking huge risks as they pushed their Thestrals further and further, using all they could to win. Because it was all about that now, like it had always been. And as they were fighting in the air, the wind screaming in their ears and wild in their hair, Harry felt alive, more alive than he had been in a very long time.

And when Draco's team won, Harry knew he wouldn't hear the end of it, but for the very first time in his life, he didn't mind one second.

Harry had been right. Draco hadn't stopped bragging loud and clear all the way down from the pitch. And Harry knew he wouldn't stop any time soon.

They arrived in their room exhausted, but still on a certain high from the exertion. God, Harry had forgotten how thrilling practising a sport was! The adrenalin, the speed, the sensations… it was brilliant. But the best part of course, had been the competition with Draco. It had been a long time since Harry had had so much fun.

As soon as Harry had opened the door to their bedroom, Draco had literally run to the bathroom, jumping on the bed while cackling a very loud, 'Last one to the bathroom is a pathetic loser!' and Harry couldn't help smiling when Draco added, 'Oh, wait, you already are a loser! Loser, loser, loser, Potter the pathetic loser!'

Harry removed his Skintitch gear slowly, listening to the sound of the bathtub filling up in the bathroom, and to Draco now humming a tune Harry didn't recognise.

Harry still didn't feel completely comfortable with the whole pretend relationship thing, but he had to admit he was having more fun than he would have thought. There had been moments this afternoon when he had completely forgotten this was all a scheme to get Draco to join the club and he had thoroughly enjoyed himself.

"I'm waiting for my back rub, here," Draco called from the bathroom and Harry smiled. "Potter? Back rub, now!"

Harry hesitated and held his head through the door of the bathroom. Draco was in a bath full of bubbles, thankfully covering the whole of his body, while lathering his arms with a huge yellow sponge.

"And what do I get if I rub your back?"

Draco lifted his eyebrow. "Why, isn't rubbing my back enough of a reward in itself?"

"Really, Malfoy?"

"Don't 'Malfoy' me, Potter."

Before Harry could retort anything, Draco threw his water-soaked sponge all across the bathroom. It landed square on Harry's shirt in an unpleasant 'whoosh.'

Harry gasped and looked at the sponge slowly falling to the floor before lifting his head again to glare at Draco who looked very proud of himself.

"Oops," Draco said with a smile.

"You are so dead, Malfoy," Harry said, slowly getting closer.

"Funny you would've thought I'd stopped talking…" Draco trailed off with a smirk, as a very strong sensation of déjà-vu invaded Harry.

They were interrupted by a heavy thud on the bedroom window.

Harry narrowed his eyes at Draco. "You won't be as lucky next time, Malfoy."

Harry left the bathroom to open the window and retrieve the parchment.

He went to sit on the bed, his back to the bathroom door and heard Draco get out of the tub.

He was just taking the letter out of the envelope when he felt the mattress sink behind him as Draco jumped on it, bouncing like a little kid a few times.

"What is it?" Draco asked as he finally sank next to Harry, shoving him ruthlessly to take a closer look at the letter, apparently still wet from his bath and wearing a towel around his waist.

Wearing only a towel.

Harry thought he might just die on the spot.

"What?" Draco frowned.

"Nothing, er…" Harry trailed off.

Harry took a deep breath, focused his attention back to the letter as much as he could and started to read. "Dear Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy."

"There is no logic in this," Draco commented as if talking about the weather.

"Um, what?" Harry muttered before Draco rested his chin on his shoulder, his damp hair brushing Harry's cheek and making his stomach flutter crazily. It's no big deal, Harry tried to reason desperately. Draco's just being friendly the way he does all the time.

Of course he did. Just not half-naked and wet, Harry's traitorous brain provided unhelpfully.

"It should be 'Mr Malfoy' first." Draco went on, completely oblivious to Harry's inner turmoil as he pointed to the letter. "Alphabetical order, Potter. Ever heard of it? Not to mention the obvious fact that the most important person should always come first, no matter what."

"Er," was Harry's answer. "Right."

"The Gentlewizard Club cordially invites you to a…" Harry's voice faltered as Draco wrapped his arm around his waist. "To a Formal Dinner-Dance. You are…" Harry cleared his throat as Draco absentmindedly caressed Harry's side with his cold fingers. "You are required to join us in the Great Hall at 6.30."

"Brilliant. Let's get dressed then," Draco said.

He removed his arm from Harry's waist and walked to the bathroom, leaving Harry feeling suddenly cold and empty.

Dinner was taking place in the reception room, and somehow it reminded Harry of a wedding.

The room was magnificent, with its grand chandeliers bringing soft light to the gilded portraits of dukes and duchesses who had inhabited the place during various times in history. There were round tables at one end of the room, while the second half had been turned into a ballroom.

They entered the reception room together, Draco's hand in the small of Harry's back.

Harry had great difficulty taking his eyes off him, to be honest. Draco was absolutely stunning in his formal attire. He was wearing black trousers with a high waist laced at the front that complimented his lean figure, and a perfectly pressed white shirt under long, deep purple elegant open robes held together at the front of Draco's neck by an ancient Malfoy badge.

Harry wore the formal robes they had bought together at Twilfitt and Tattlings the other day, as well as an old plain black suit, waistcoat and coincidentally deep purple tie that matched Draco's robes - suit Harry had purchased for his very first Ministry ball and that he wore at every single Ministry event since then.

The dinner itself was rather pleasant, much more than Harry would have thought. They sat with Langdon, Loras and Meehan, as well as three other Gentlewizards they had not met yet but who - thank Merlin - weren't as incisive as the others towards Draco.

Every single discussion revolved around Harry and his fight against Voldemort. Harry tried his best to avoid the subject but every time he did, Draco intervened loudly, bragging shamelessly and rewriting history the way he had done at Harry's flat. Harry couldn't help laughing at Draco's whimsical assertions contrasting with the very serious way he uttered them. Harry revelled in the look on the Gentlewizards' faces because honestly, it was priceless. Langdon looked like he was about to eat his napkin any moment as Draco explained in great detail how Harry's final victory was only due to his strong, powerful, unswerving wand.

When the music started at the end of the meal, Draco winked at Harry and grabbed his hand.

"Would you dance with me, darling?" he smiled at Harry.

Harry hated dancing with a passion - and Draco knew it - but he just couldn't refuse when Draco was looking at him so hopeful and content.

"Right. But you do remember I can't dance," Harry warned him as Draco led him at the centre of the dance floor, right into the spotlight, where everybody could see them.

Draco took Harry's left hand and placed it on his own shoulder, his eyes never leaving Harry's. "Good thing one of us knows what they're doing then," he murmured as he took Harry's other hand and wrapped his own arm around Harry's waist, bringing them flush together. Harry forgot how to breathe properly for a moment.

They started moving together and it was absolutely wonderful. Harry's whole being was focused on Draco who was guiding them to the sound of the music, as they glided smoothly over the ballroom floor, giving the impression they were both skilled dancers. Harry had had several opportunities to admire Draco as he waltzed with witches at various Ministry events, but it was the first time they ever danced together. Draco's face looked incredibly alive and so fucking beautiful up close.

Harry was so entranced now, on such a high from Draco's proximity that it took him a moment to realise the music had stopped and everybody was looking at them.

Draco scrutinised him with an undecipherable expression on his face before grabbing Harry's face in his hands and placing a strong, deep kiss on Harry's lips.

Harry thought he was going to die right here and then.

"Thank you," Draco murmured against his lips, before he kissed him again as the sound of wild applause roared all around them.

For one blissful moment, Harry had forgotten that there were other people around, and that they had just put on a show for the benefit of the Gentlewizards gathered around them.