"Let me guess. . . You lost your hair after a potion brewing accident because you are secretly a hag?" Draco quipped, slicing into a tomato. The blade was getting blunt and juice sprayed all over his fingers, making him curse.

"I'm far too pretty to be hag, Dean." The hag replied airly. She waved him off like one would do with a particularly irritating bug, but Draco didn't bulge from his spot in front of the counter. "Anyway, pass me the oil, will ya? You are, unsurprisingly, in the way."

"May I have the oil, please." Draco corrected, dragging the vowels obnoxiously. He made sure his hand was still dirty before grabbing the bottle, carefully covering as much as the surface as possible in seeds and juice. He passed it over with an innocent smile. "And looks are deceiving." He told her, Alberta's brown eyes rolling so fast it felt as if she was expecting nothing better from him and had the automated response at the ready.

"Is that why you bleach your hair then? To cover up all that darkness within?" She took the bottle between two fingers, a grimace of disgust on her lips, and tipped a generous drizzle into the pan.

Soon, onions were sizzling gently. She gave them a shake with a few, measured twists of her wrist, but her eyes remained focused intently on Draco in that calculating way that made him feel naked.

"I do NOT bleach my hair!" He scoffed, patting his fringe reassuringly. Having completely forgotten about his tomato stained hands, a trail of liquid ran down the side of his nose. He cursed again, and she smirked.

"Uhmpf, no grown up is that blond. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. You know my name, afterall." She assured, adding a spoonful of garlic. The pungent aroma pervaded the small kitchen space, intense yet inviting.

Draco licked his lips.

"Bitch." He muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. Without waiting for a signal, he chucked the whole bowl of chopped tomatoes in the pan, oil hissing at the sudden contact with their juicy flesh.

He wasn't exactly sure how they had come to this. Or what this, their relationship, really was.

It was her third weekend visiting, although it had taken only one for Draco to feel compelled to remind her she no longer lived there. Needless to say, she had not taken the hint.

It would have been fine if, the morning after their first party, she hadn't caught him staring, in a way she later referred to as "sappily", at Potter while the git was putting in his contacts. It hadn't been Draco's fault, really. The two of them had been fervently discussing the issue of homelessness, a concept Draco still had trouble wrapping his head around, and Potter's voice had shaken with the same fervor, and a hint of warning, Draco was well acquainted with from their days at Hogwarts . Feeling oddly nostalgic he had stopped speaking, leaning against the corridor wall and watching as Harry ranted on. Harry had looked so full of life, so spirited, even while hunched wobbly over the bathroom mirror. One hand forcing his pretty eye wide open, he had kept gesticulating rather wildly with the other, the small contact lense repeatedly on the verge of flying off. Then Harry had turned, blinked. His eyes squinted, teary from the lenses and slightly reddened. His hair wild, his mouth parted. And Draco had wanted.

Rather.

Totally.

Absolutely.

Wildly.

To push him back against the sink and cover Harry's words with his own mouth, to swallow that passion, that energy. That infuriating, fucking righteousness, those maddening freckles on his stupid dumb lips. To taste the air coming out from Harry's expanding lungs, to press a demanding hand against his fucking ribcage and feel the beat underneath his palm.

Draco had almost pounced then, like a fucking idiot.

Obviously, like in every God-forsaken trashy novel, that was the moment Alberta had walked into the scene, a glass of some repulsive banana smoothie held carelessly in her hand. Draco had felt the electricity fizzle away, his breath calming. His hands had unclenched from the wall, where part of him had been afraid there would have been a scorch mark left behind by his magic.

It had all happened in a matter of seconds, but still enough for her to see something in his eyes, making her mouth curve in a knowing smirk. He still didn't know how she could describe anything she thought she had witnessed as "sappy". Draco was sure that in the moment he had been positively charged with sparks, definitely not of the sentimental kind, but she had called him exactly that. In looove. Potter had barely been given the time to walk out of the door, obliviously on his merry way to work, when she had started making cooing noises at Draco, like a child.

Draco hated her, a little. He wondered if this was what having a sister felt like.

Even so, his reputation or, better, his fucking sanity - not much of a reputation left - could have been spared if his competitive side hadn't decided to take Alberta's presence as a challenge. After she left, the first time, Draco had obsessed over her words for the entire week. His dick, as payback for his owner's negligence during the previous year, had helpfully decided to do his best to avoid being forgotten again. Draco was suddenly, utterly and uncontrollably very 17 years old.

It was like his body was remembering how to relax. If his sixth year at Hogwarts had been a pure matter of survival, getting himself fed and catching as much sleep as he was able to, now that he wasn't in any danger he was constantly aware of the primal teenage needs he had neglected for so long.

And Potter was a warm body wrapped in a quite enthralling package. Or so he kept telling himself. The fact that his attraction for the other boy could have been more than physical was something he wasn't ready to admit. Or even consider.

When she had turned up again for the second weekend in a row, saying that she had to take advantage of the time before University really set off, Draco was so wound up that her mere presence had him acting quite irrationally. Thank Merlin for Harry's lack of self awareness that kept him in the dark, but even he was starting to notice a certain tension between the two of them.

Naturally, Draco had spent that weekend vying for Harry's attention. Harry, bless his ridiculous soul, had given it freely, falling for Draco's scheming with the innocence and confusion of a newborn crup that had no idea what was going on. Alberta, on the other hand, wasn't enderaringly dumb and had caught up pretty quickly. What had given him away, though, and consequently sealed his fate as the object of her mocking, was her suspiciously magical ability to walk into a room without making a goddamn sound.

Draco was ashamed, really, but in his defence it had been the middle of the night.

His plan of keeping the dumb wizards he, in all fairness, had more history with away from the hag had worked better than expected and Harry had fallen asleep on the sofa. Which wasn't in his room, where Alberta had retreated after raising a single, obnoxious eyebrow in Draco's direction when he had told her that "Evan was tired and looks comfortable enough, we better let him sleep. I'm gonna finish this and then go to bed. You go on."

Emboldened by his small victory, Draco had let himself slide comfortably down the sofa until his legs rested alongside Harry's. He hadn't meant to close his eyes but, when he had opened them a few hours later, it was to Harry's sock-ed foot inches from his nose.

Disoriented, Draco had sat bolt upright causing Potter to stir slightly, one hand falling to graze the carpet. He hadn't planned to sleep next to Potter and the weird intimacy of the act had left him frozen. For a while he had just stared at the rising and falling of the other boy's chest, until his body had taken notice of the proximity and, all of a sudden, had become very aware. Draco had groaned in despair, right hand going down to press the top of his shorts. Fucking hell, of all the moments.

And that's how she had found him as she emerged silently from the bathroom, one hand on his lap and eyes fixed on Potter's sleeping form.

"Earth to Dean!" A voice called and Draco blinked.

Alberta was looking at him oddly, two bowls of pasta in her hands. Draco took one and sat at the table, trying his best to avoid her eyes.

"This is good." He mumbled after a while, when the silence had stretched uncomfortably.

She shrugged modestly. "It's pasta. You know, you could try making a move, we are just friends."

He finally looked up, meeting her gaze full on. The eyelashes on her left lid had started thinning, leaving an empty spot at the corner. It was the first time Draco had seen her self conscious. She had shut herself in Harry's room as soon as she arrived and when the two of them had emerged a while later her eyes were still a bit red, but at least she was smiling. Bloody Potter seemed good at that, at making people feel accepted, despite being socially awkward most of the time. Stupid Gryffindor should have been a Hufflepuff.

"Let it go." He replied, stabbing his fork into a tomato. She motioned to open her mouth but he interrupted her before she could say anything. "But, seriously. What happened to your hair? Are you sick?" He wondered why he had never considered that, if maybe there was actually something very serious going on with her. In this new light, his question sounded very insensitive and he rectified it. "You don't have to answer that!"

Alberta seemed to consider it for a long time. He was convinced she was going to come up with some other improbable tale that was meant to make him feel stupid for asking, but she surpised him, taking a big breath. "I'm not sick, exactly. Or better, not in the way you think. I am not dying, or cursed. . . like my mother used to think."

She said the last part with a bitterness Draco recognised. It was the familiar feeling of resentment mixed with sadness he recently thought of his own father with.

"Your mother thought you were cursed?"

"I was a beauty queen. Believe it or not. I was only four when my mother signed me… us, really, into my first pageant. She would tell me how pretty I was and nothing else mattered. It was an obsession, and tiring but… in some way it made me feel good, she was happy and proud and I loved the feeling."

"Mhm." Draco agreed and she gave him another of her odd looks.

"I won, many times. I had the right charisma and confidence. My dad hated it, but for my mother it… it was her world, her purpose. I was her project and he let her have it, looked at his wife applying fake lashes on their kid daughter with mild disapproval and nothing else."

Draco wasn't exactly sure what she was talking about but he let her speak.

She took a forkful of pasta, chewing slowly. Her hand reached, almost as a reflex, for the base of her scalp and she rubbed the short hair growing there, before continuing. It was her turn to avoid his eyes. "I was 11 when I woke up with a chunk of hair on my pillow. It wasn't much, but enough to freak me out. My head had been itchy for a few days, irritated, and suddenly there was a little round spot the size of a nail where my hair should have been. My parents started fighting a lot, my dad saying it was all the hair products and that I was just a child, damn it. He called her crazy but he was the one that left us, at the end. My mother didn't handle it very well and that's to say not at all. She told me that I could wear a wig, a nice one, so that I could still look pretty."

They look at each other, a silent understanding falling between them.

"She sounds delightful."

"Yes, well. Beauty was all I thought I had, so I said yes. It wasn't really comfortable. And then she met him, Norman. Do you believe in God, Dean?"

"No. I can't say I do." Draco replied sincerely. The concept was very Muggle but not entirely foreign.

"Norman doesn't just believe, he thinks that it's his duty to spread God's will and to make sure that sinners are found and rectified. Sinners like 12 years old me, with my alopecia diagnosis and my self absorbed parents. I hope you'll never have to deal with a man that raises himself above others, that believes he alone holds the truth and therefore can pass judgment over someone else's life and worth."

Draco swallowed, thinking of He Who Must Not Be Named. "I already have."

"Your father?"

"Not exactly. My father loved… loves me, I've never doubted that. But he loves power, too. He believes he deserves it, even at the expense of those that are, in his eyes, below him."

She tilted her head, as to prompt him to continue. It was far more complicated than that. Draco sighed. "He started following this Dark Lord that believes in blood purity and that those born into it should rule over the others, pretty serious stuff…" He trailed off, pausing meaningfully.

They stared at each other for a minute, before she burst into giggles. "You idiot, I thought bullshitting you was my job."

He smiled, although it felt rather forced. She must have seen that there was some truth behind the words that to her must have sounded so ridiculous, because she stopped laughing. "Right. Anyway, living with Norman was pretty hard. He convinced my mother that my condition was a punishment for our vanity. I was moved to a pretty conservative school and such was the community where we ended up living in. It took me a while to get out, to find the courage to beg my Dad to help me. He had left, after all, and I was still mad at him. When I met Evan I was already living by myself, Dad said he would cover the University fees if I could get the marks. At the end I managed to scrape a partial scholarship, and here I am. But, this…" She pointed to her shaved head. "This was the hardest part. I wouldn't go anywhere without my wig. People that knew would tell me to take it off, that I looked beautiful without, but it was difficult to believe. Until Evan. He never told me what to do, but one day we were having lunch… we were travelling together then. It was a windy day, my hair kept going everywhere… in my mouth, it was uncomfortable. Anyway, he asked me if I wore my wig for myself or for the others. It wasn't pity, he sounded genuinely curious, but I could really tell he did not care regardless… That he wouldn't have looked at me differently. It was freeing."

Draco hummed. "He seems to have a knack for making people feel accepted, the prat." He thought about Harry's friendship with Loony Lovegood, how the other boy had stood, unbothered, by the Ravenclaw when even her own house treated her like an outcast. He wondered why he had noticed such a thing as whom Potter made friends with, but he had. For some reason, he felt himself flushing.

"I don't blame you." Alberta said, giggling again. "He is quite cute."

Draco groaned.

Later, in his room, Draco let himself think about what would happen if he made a move on Potter.

This was extremely stupid. What would he do, shove Potter against the nearest wall and snogg the life out of him? Would Harry even want that?

And then what? Bring the other boy back to England? Give him a goodbye kiss before Harry walked to his death willingly, like a brave little soldier while Draco stayed behind watching his summer fling being murdered in cold blood?

He had the sudden need to see Harry, maybe he could phone him at work. He was due back at six. Draco watched the alarm clock on his bedside table, the digital display frozen on 16:13 for what felt like an eternity.

16:14.

Draco blinked.

Harry's birthday was the coming Thursday. Scott had to work early the following morning, but they had something planned for the Saturday after, when most of their friends had taken the day off.

19.

Harry had shrugged it off, saying it wasn't really an important birthday. But really, Draco knew, it was 17. The day Harry Potter would be ridden of his trace. The day Draco and Lupin had agreed would be the right moment to give Harry's his identity back.

Draco had been increasingly evasive when they had talked through the diary. Lupin, on the other side, seemed to be truly starting to double guess his own actions.

"The morale is down." He had written, just a few days before. "I will have to bring Hermione and Ron to the house, place the fidelius on it. We have important things to do, we need a place. But they will start questioning me. Things are spiraling, and Harry has always been a symbol of hope for the people. They need him. I've been selfish, I just hope he will not hate me as much as I deserve."

Draco wanted Lupin to keep being selfish. His increasing desire to posticipate Harry's return, to let him have a few more years of this oblivious happiness and normality he had here in California, was quickly squashed when confronted with reality. Things were moving too fast and Harry would never forgive them both for the deaths.

4 more days.

They were alone that night. Alberta had left not long after lunch. She would always go to see Harry at work before catching her bus back to her dormitory. Draco had been relieved to see Harry coming through the door without his normal dose of sidekicks, Scott nowhere in sight.

Their conversation was stilted at the beginning, as it seemed to be every time Draco had spent a weekend with Alberta. Awkward. Like the weight of Alberta's speculations hung with heavy embarrassment between the two of them. Draco always worried that Harry could pick up on his desire as easily as she was able to. Afraid to give himself away.

That night, though, Draco felt at a breaking point between wanting to give in and wanting to obliviate himself of the mere notion that was Harry Potter.

Harry had already eaten something at the cafè, so Draco wandered around the kitchen, thinking. He didn't feel hungry. He was about to leave when he spotted the tray of brownies Scott had left behind the day before and thought fuck it. Harry bloody Potter had never let him anywhere near them, but Draco was an adult.

They were delicious, rich with chocolate and something else. Draco had one of the larger squares, wiping the crumbs off his fingers on the blue kitchen towel dotted with white daisies that covered the tray. He didn't feel any different. He almost ate another, wondering when he was supposed to feel the effect.

"Ahhh, you demonic cat!" Harry's yell distracted him, and the earlier awkwardness between them broke when he walked into the living room. Ron had jumped from one of the book cases right onto Harry's head and now hanged for dear life to the back of the boy's t-shirt, while Harry did his best to dislodge him. Draco laughed hard, before checking his flatmate's skin for injuries.

Harry's back was smooth and warm and Draco's hand stilted, before pulling the fabric down to cover him. "You'll live." He declared, voice annoyingly raspy.

It was about an hour later, during a game of poker neither of them knew how to play well, that Draco started to feel oddly lightheaded.

"Your fingers." He heard himself saying, part of his brain registering that he had been staring at Harry's hands for quite some time.

"What about them?" Harry asked, perplexed. He turned his hands around towards himself, accidentally revealing his entire set of cards, but Draco had already forgotten them.

"Nothing." He said, in a voice that still felt detached from his body. "Your hands, they are… they are kind of small, aren't they."

"I guess." Harry replied, looking confused.

"Oh, I don't mind." Draco reassured, grabbing onto the one that was nearer to him with both of his. Harry watched him as he flipped it, Draco's finger tracing down his palm all the way to his wrist.

He was wearing a leather bracelet. Three of them, Draco realised, stroking them gently. How peculiar.

"Uhm, are you okay?" Harry asked, and Draco thought that he sounded worried but he wasn't sure why he would.

"You have freckles, but not like a Weasley. No, you obviously couldn't do something so simple as having them all over you, could you? No, you have freckles on your lips." The word freckles was funny and Draco giggled.

He felt himself leaning forward, peering with fascination into Harry's face. The other boy bolted upright, freeing his trapped hand from Draco's grasp. Draco pouted.

"It was a compliment!" He shouted at Potter's retreating back. Too loud, and his own voice made him wince.

Damn Potter.

The boy in question re-emerged from the kitchen an indefinite while later, carrying a glass of water. He looked exasperated and Draco grinned, feeling like he had been caught doing something clever.

"What have you done, Dean? I told you not to eat those brownies, on an empty stomach as well! Here, drink this."

"Draco." Draco mumbled, gulping down the water. He was thirsty. He hadn't realised but now he drained half the glass in one go.

"What?" Harry asked, eyes big and lost. Had they always been so pretty? Yes, Draco decided.

"Draco… is, uhm…" He spotted Ron snoring lightly on the sofa. "Draco is a good name for a pet, don't you think?"

Harry laughed and Draco's chest swelled with pride. "If we get another cat in the future we'll name it Draco, ok?"

No. That felt wrong, somehow. Draco's smile slipped off his face.

In the future.

"I don't want you to die." He blurted, helplessly. He didn't feel good, his head was pounding and his thoughts seemed to be escaping him. But this, this was important. His voice sounded too loud again and Harry's green, big eyes were concerned.

Why is he looking at me like this? He wanted the other boy to laugh again but he wasn't sure of what they had been talking about.

"No one is going to die!" Harry said, helping Draco up from where he had collapsed despairingly on the sofa.

Oh, that.

Draco wobbled, and his hand reached up to Harry's cheek. His thumb traced skin and lips, and he murmured "Freckles", again. This time, it wasn't funny.

His tongue swept over his own, dry mouth. Harry was staring back unblinkingly, and Draco moved.

A firm palm halted him in his pursuit.

"No." Harry said, rather gently. "This is not a no." He amended, and Draco pushed lightly against his hand. "But… not like this. Let's get you to bed."

He turned, tugging Draco along and into his room.

Draco was partly aware of the other boy helping him to undress, eyes averted respectfully when all Draco wanted was to have them on himself. He tried a few more times to keep Harry's hands on his body, dragging them suggestively against his stomach. But Harry was focused and efficient, if nothing else.

Draco's magic was bubbling under his skin, but he managed to keep control. Only once he felt the other boy hissing in pain when trying to remove the Slytherin's fingers encircling his wrist.

"Blimey, what are you, an electrical socket?"

"Uh?" He asked, disoriented.

"Nevermind." Harry said, directing him towards the bed. Draco followed willingly until Harry went to move away.

"Goodnight." Harry was saying, but all he could hear was his own voice screaming NO! in his mind.

"Stay!" He pleaded. "A while. Please."

Harry sighed, so he added, in a little whisper "I don't like this.", and pointed to his head.

The mattress dipped beside him, although Harry didn't fully lie on the bed. Draco didn't care. He scooted closer, nose buried into the cotton of the other boy's shorts, finger grabbing blindly for something to hold.

Harry squeaked, but Draco was already half gone. He fell asleep quickly, muddled brain fixed on thoughts of Harry's impending birthday and, oddly, the sky.