~*~
"When did Pansy Parkinson get so fucking hot?"
Ron chuckled and took a sip from the scotch and soda he was holding. He didn't even bother to look across the crowded reception hall to where she was standing, surrounded by beautiful people in elegant robes. "It's about time you noticed, mate."
Harry shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away from the shape of Pansy's arse under the tight black skirt she was wearing. "She was never that fit at school."
Across the room, Pansy laughed and tilted her head back, and her short dark hair brushed her shoulders, swaying in time to the music. Her face was turned just enough toward them that Harry could make out a brilliant smile. He shook his head again, unable to believe he'd missed it all these years.
"Who are you two gawking at?" Neville appeared behind Ron's shoulder, a martini glass in hand. "Oh, Parkinson?" He snorted and took a sip of his bright green drink.
"What about her?" Harry asked, turning to face Neville. "Do you know something?"
Neville pursed his lips and looked as if he was trying not to grin. "Just that you wouldn't have a chance with her."
"Why not?" Ron asked, sounding offended on Harry's behalf. "Harry's not bad looking."
Neville's eyebrows rose. "Oh, I know. But trust me -- he's not her type."
It was Harry's turn to chuckle. "How would you know her type?"
Neville made a sound of mock exasperation. "Just trust me for once, would you? Suffice it to say that I'd have a better chance with her than you would."
Ron made a choking sound. "Come off it, Neville. You're gay."
Neville smiled. "Exactly."
Harry looked at Neville, then to Pansy, then back to Neville again. "Wait a moment -- you're saying her type is… that she likes men who are gay?"
"Sounds a bit self-defeating," Ron said with a snort.
"It's pathetic, actually," Neville sighed. "But she's dated a string of men who came out of the closet within a week of breaking it off with her. Starting with you know who."
Harry nearly dropped his drink. "What?"
Neville rolled his eyes. "Oh, not him, for fuck's sake. I meant Malfoy."
"Draco Malfoy?" Harry repeated. "I didn't know he was gay."
This time, both Neville and Ron looked incredulous.
"How could you not know that?" Neville asked.
"Yeah, mate," Ron said. "Even I knew that."
Harry felt his cheeks flush, and he looked back to where Pansy was standing. She was radiant, beautiful, stylish -- everything he wanted in a woman. He could stare at her for hours, just admiring her. And as luck would have it, she would never be interested in someone like him. "Not fair," he sighed, turning back to his friends.
Neville's smile was wistful, and he avoided Harry's eyes.
~*~
It came to him while he was in the shower soaping his face with his eyes squeezed shut. It was such a brilliant thought that he opened them in surprise, which only led to several minutes of swearing and rinsing them out under the spray.
He flooed to the office and headed straight to the third floor, not even bothering to knock on Neville's door before bursting through it.
"Harry?" Neville asked, looking up from the parchment he was writing on. "Are you all right? You look a bit--"
"Can I talk to you about something?" Harry blurted, closing the door behind him. Neville nodded in response, and Harry didn't wait to be invited before sitting in the chair opposite Neville's desk. "I've been thinking about what you said last night."
Neville's face lit up. "About the Randkings investigation? That's fantastic, because--"
"No, no," Harry said, waving his hand. "About Pansy Parkinson." Neville stared at him, as if not quite believing what he'd just heard. Harry decided to plow ahead before he lost his nerve. "You said last night that she likes men who are gay, so I was thinking--"
"Oh, no," Neville said, sinking down in his chair. "No-no-no. I know what you're going to say, and let me tell you now that it's a bad idea."
"Will you listen first?" Harry snapped. "I was thinking I could just pretend to be gay, just enough to get her attention, and then--"
"Let her change your mind?" Neville finished. "Harry, that is a horrid idea."
"No, it's brilliant!" Harry said. "I'll pretend like I'm confused, and she'll want to try to convert me, and it'll be great!"
"Will you listen to yourself?" Neville spat. "You can't just pretend to be gay! It doesn't work that way."
"You could help me," Harry suggested. "In fact, I was thinking you could pretend to be my boyfriend."
Neville's jaw clenched at that. "I have a boyfriend."
Harry flushed. "You do?"
"Some friend you are," Neville grumbled. "Not that I'd expect anything different."
"Come on, Neville," Harry said. "Please help me. I really like her."
"You don't even know her."
"Well… I'm sure I'll like her when I get to know her."
Neville rolled his eyes. "You just want to fuck her. At least be honest about your motives."
"Yes, of course," Harry grinned. "Does that mean you'll help me?"
Neville closed his eyes and massaged his temples. "Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?"
"Her knickers, I hope. If she even wears them."
Neville looked up at him and frowned. "Fine. But don't blame me when this goes pear-shaped." He sighed, then continued almost reluctantly, "There's a party down in Brighton on Saturday night, and Louis and I are going."
"Who's Louis?" Harry asked.
Neville gave him a scathing look before continuing. "And I'd bet ten galleons that Malfoy will be there, and if Malfoy is there, she'll be draped on his arm."
"Why Malfoy?"
"They're friends," Neville explained. "If you ask me, she's still in love with him. Which would explain a lot. Anyway, if you dress up a bit and try your best to seem interested in every boy there, you just might catch her eye. After that, I want no part of it."
"You're the best, Neville," Harry said, grinning.
Neville snorted something under his breath about wishing Harry had noticed that sooner, but didn't look up as Harry left the room.
~*~
Louis turned out to be Louis Lampkin, a Hufflepuff who'd been two years behind them at Hogwarts. He was surprisingly flustered by Harry's presence, stumbling over his words and patting his hair down every minute or so. That didn't stop him from talking a hundred miles an hour, though.
While Louis chattered, Neville made adjustments to Harry's attire with some choice spells. His movements were a bit stiff, as if he were struggling to contain his annoyance that Louis seemed more interested in Harry than in him.
"So," Harry said, cutting Louis off in the middle of a rather detailed account of one of the last times he'd seen Harry play Quidditch, "how did you and Neville meet?" Louis's face was blank for a split second, and then he started to talk again with as much enthusiasm as he'd just had for Quidditch.
Two minutes into a story that was rather a bit too detailed for Harry's comfort, Neville mercifully cut Louis off. "Sweetie, would you go get a comb from the front bathroom?" Louis bounced away, and Neville stepped close enough to Harry to whisper. "Are you sure you're going to be okay with all of this?"
"Of course," Harry replied. "I'll be fine."
Neville looked hesitant. "So… how far are you willing to go?"
Harry blinked at him. "What do you mean?"
"What would you do to get her attention? Would you flirt with a man? Kiss him?"
Harry swallowed. "I… I hadn't really thought about it."
"That's what I figured," Neville said, giving him a knowing look.
Harry felt his cheeks redden. "I have actually kissed a man before, you know."
Neville looked uncomfortable. "And we both know how much you enjoyed it, don't we?" He sighed and patted Harry on the shoulder almost hesitantly. "Look, this party is… well, it's usually a big hookup scene, and you should expect to get hit on." He glanced down Harry's form and back up again. "A lot."
"Well, I'll just have to get her to notice me quickly."
"And if she doesn't?"
Harry forced a cocky smile. "Don't worry, Neville. This is going to work."
Neville opened his mouth to respond, but Louis bounced back in with the comb in hand before he could say anything more.
~*~
They apparated all together, Louis clenching one of Neville's arms and Harry the other, since only Neville knew where they were going. They found themselves in a garage, lit only by a sparkling arrow someone had charmed to hang in the air and point towards a closed door. Light and sound were spilling around the edges of the door, which seemed to be throbbing in time to a bass beat.
"Ready?" Neville asked, digging an elbow into Harry's side. He looked concerned.
Harry smiled at him, albeit stiffly. "Of course. Let's go in, shall we?"
Neville didn't look convinced, but Louis squealed and tugged them toward the door. Harry followed, trying to ignore his mounting apprehension.
Neville pushed the door open and the three of them stepped into the room. Music was playing, magically amplified to a volume that bordered on deafening. The air above their heads was filled with miniature fireworks that shimmered and sparkled against the ceiling like the lights in a disco. Trays of food and drinks were floating around, charmed to hover before anyone who paused to look at their contents. One carrying equal amounts of condoms and bite-sized quiches bumped Harry as it passed, and a muscular shirtless man on one of the condom packages waved at him. The tray started to circle back to show Harry its wares, so he turned away as quickly as he could.
Louis was pulling Neville into the crowd, already dancing to the teeth-rattling beat. Harry tried to follow, but there were so many people in the room that it was difficult to keep up. Someone groped him from behind, and he turned to see a man give him a lascivious wink before slinking away into the crowd. When Harry turned around again, Neville and Louis were nowhere in sight.
"Fuck," he hissed, folding his arms over his sparkly-shirt-clad chest. People were giving him funny looks, and a few were even pointing and whispering. Why had he thought this was a good idea? He'd only wind up in the papers again, and he'd get no end of grief about it at work.
He decided to make a round of the house, moving from room to room as best he could. He'd have to run into Neville sooner or later. Within a minute, he'd managed to get a drink spilled on him, its owner frowning in annoyance until he caught sight of Harry and offered to lick it off. Harry politely declined and kept going into the next room, which was just as crowded. He stopped in the middle and turned slowly, trying to scan faces as best he could.
"Potter?"
Harry winced -- he knew that voice. He turned his head to see Draco Malfoy standing uncomfortably close, staring at him. He was dressed impeccably and looked quite different than he had the last time Harry had seen him. Of course, that was several years ago, and none of them had been themselves by the end of the War. And none of them had worn their trousers quite so tight back then either. Harry frowned.
"I must admit you were the last person I expected to see here tonight." Malfoy raised an eyebrow and let his gaze drift down to the rather tight trousers Neville had transfigured from Harry's jeans.
Harry found himself completely at a loss for words. He'd expected to get hit on, but not by someone he actually knew. Well, despised was more like it. But it wasn't as if he'd really ever known Malfoy, after all. He pursed his lips in an effort not to frown.
"You seem to be without a drink," Malfoy said, a strange smile playing at the corners of his lips.
A sarcastic retort was on the tip of Harry's tongue, but the thought that Pansy might be nearby kept it at bay. He forced as much of a smile as he could manage. "I only just arrived, actually. I don't suppose you could show me to the bar?"
Malfoy regarded him for a moment before turning and working his way through the crowd. Harry did his best to follow, and tried to ignore the gazes that were turned on him in Malfoy's wake. He received a few pinches as well, but he kept following, keeping his eyes on the back of Malfoy's head. He hoped the bar area was less crowded.
It wasn't. Malfoy pushed his way towards an elaborate mahogany bar that looked to have been transfigured from an ancient china cupboard. He disappeared from view momentarily, and Harry tried not to look as awkward as he felt standing there in the middle of a crowd, alone.
"Hey," a voice said in his ear. He turned to see a shirtless man with spiky blue hair leering at him. "Aren't you Harry Potter?"
Harry stared at him in response, trying to decide if he could reasonably get away with lying.
The blue-haired man's eyes were locked on Harry's forehead, though, and he sidled closer and ran one hand over Harry's arse. "I didn't know you were gay, but I've certainly fantasized about it." His eyes were a bit too dilated, and he was slurring his words. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Harry's ear. "Want me to show you?"
At that moment, Malfoy reappeared with two drinks in hand, and Harry was almost relieved to see him. Malfoy shot the man a scathing glance, and Harry had to bite his lip to keep himself from grinning at the speed with which he disappeared.
"Did you come here alone?" Malfoy asked, steering him towards a doorway.
"No," Harry replied. "I'm here with Neville, actually." At Malfoy's look of surprise, he added, "And his boyfriend."
They went through the doorway into a room that was much less crowded, though just as dimly lit. There were sofas and chairs placed around, and most of them had people draped on them, bodies entwined to varying degrees. The queasiness in Harry's stomach solidified into a knot at the sight. Had he just escaped a drunken groping session with a stranger only to be brought right to one with Malfoy?
Malfoy tugged his sleeve and nodded to a group of people in a corner, and Harry's heart skipped a beat. Pansy Parkinson was there, seated on a sofa, her head thrown back as she laughed. She was wearing a form-fitting white dress that glowed in the blacklight, so she was quite difficult to miss. She leaned forward to touch someone's arm and her breasts threatened to spill out the front of the dress. Her lips were painted a stunning shade of red, standing out from her pale skin and dark hair.
She was perfect. Harry could do nothing but stare at her.
Malfoy took Harry's arm and pushed him toward the corner, stopping him before Pansy. Her eyes widened when she saw Harry, and she gave Malfoy a quizzical look.
"Look what I found," Malfoy said, settling on the sofa next to her and sipping his drink. He looked up at Harry as if he were appraising him. "The great Harry Potter, hero of the Wizarding world. He was wandering around like a little lost sheep, not even sure where the bar was."
Pansy's lips twisted into a smile. "Poor boy. I see you helped him with that."
Harry raised his glass and smiled at her in return. He looked back at Malfoy, who was still studying him with a look of interest.
Gay, Harry thought. If he doesn't think I'm gay, she never will. Though it was against his better instincts, he smiled at Malfoy in a way he hoped was alluring. "Mind if I join you?"
"Budge over a bit, darling," Pansy said, giving Malfoy a shove and patting the sofa.
Harry managed to squeeze between the two of them. He turned to see Pansy beaming at him, and resisted the urge to return the smile. Instead, he turned to look at Malfoy.
"I didn't know you were gay," Malfoy said, swirling his drink. "I haven't seen you at any clubs or parties. Not even the ones Longbottom manages to get invited to."
Harry shrugged and studied his own drink. "Well, I… don't get out much these days."
Pansy's hand on his thigh made him jump a little, and he turned to look at her. "I'd say he's just come out. Look how skittish he is. Poor lost puppy." She winked at him.
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Malfoy's hand landed on his other thigh, and he turned again. He'd get dizzy at this rate.
"Yes," Malfoy said, leering. His fingers edged up Harry's thigh a little, causing Harry to squirm. "He is a bit skittish."
"He needs someone to take care of him, Draco," Pansy purred. "To make sure he doesn't get into any trouble here tonight."
Malfoy squeezed Potter's thigh, his fingertips almost brushing the crease at his hip. "What makes you think he won't get into any trouble with me?"
"I'm here, you know," Harry said, pushing Malfoy's hand away as casually as he could manage. "You don't have to speak about me as if I'm not."
Pansy laughed and moved closer, crushing her breasts against Harry's shoulder. "We don't mean any harm, do we Draco? It's a good thing he snatched you up, you know. There's no telling what sort of predator out there might have managed to get his hands on a fresh piece of meat like you." She leaned closer and whispered, "You'd have been on your back in the cloakroom with three pricks in you before you knew what happened."
Malfoy snickered at that, and Harry took a big swallow of his drink, trying to work out where the third prick would have to go.
"Go get us another round, would you darling?" Pansy simpered, batting her eyelashes at Malfoy.
Malfoy gave her a knowing smile, then stood and disappeared into the crowd. Harry turned back to Pansy, delighted at this opportunity to be alone with her. He hadn't imagined it would happen so quickly.
Pansy grinned at him. "He likes you. I can tell."
"Does he?" Harry asked. He hadn't got that impression at all.
"He wouldn't have brought you to me otherwise," she replied. She reached up to brush hair out of his eyes, and he nearly shivered at the contact. "He would have just taken you off to the toilet to fuck you, and I would've heard the details later."
"Does he always tell you about that sort of thing?" Harry asked, finishing his drink.
"Yes," she replied, her eyes boring into his. "We're flatmates, you know. Sometimes he even lets me watch."
Harry had a sudden flash of Pansy peeking through a keyhole, her hand furiously working between her thighs, and he had to squirm in his seat. "Really?" was all he could manage to say in response.
"Yes," she replied, her voice huskier than it had been before. She blinked, and long dark eyelashes fluttered against her cheek. "I like to watch."
Harry found himself transfixed. He wondered if it would be foolish to try to kiss her, but Malfoy reappeared before he had a chance to decide. He handed them fresh drinks and settled next to Harry again, this time draping an arm around the back of the sofa behind Harry's shoulders.
"Don't believe a word she says, Potter," he quipped. The tips of his fingers trailed across the bare skin at the back of Harry's neck, and Harry shivered. Malfoy leaned closer, so close Harry could feel his breath against his ear. "I've never let her watch."
Harry slung back half his drink.
The next hour became a blur of brushes of hands and innuendos and inside jokes Harry didn't get. He lost count of how many drinks he'd had, and he'd forgotten where he was by the time he realized Neville was hovering over him, looking concerned.
"Harry? I said we're leaving. Are you coming with us?" The look on Neville's face made it clear that he wasn't giving Harry a choice.
"Oh, yeah," Harry said, struggling to stand. "I suppose I should."
"Oh, don't go now, Harry," Pansy simpered, reaching for his hand. "We'll take care of him, Neville."
"I'm sure you would," Neville replied, his voice stiff. He tugged Harry towards the door.
They had apparated back to Harry's flat before Harry had a chance to process what had happened. "Hey," he protested as Neville led him into his own bedroom and helped him undress. "I wasn't ready to go."
"Yes," Neville sighed, unfastening Harry's trousers. "You were."
"I was having fun."
"Of course you were. Step out."
Harry stepped out of his trousers and stumbled backward onto his bed. Neville struggled with his shirt for a moment, then sighed and reached for his wand. A moment later, Harry was naked.
"Oops," Neville said. "I'm used to casting that spell for another reason. Under the covers with you." He tucked Harry in and petted his hair, looking down at him. "Have you got some hangover potion?"
"Think so," Harry mumbled. He closed his eyes, and the room began to spin.
"You're going to need it in the morning. Good night." There was a pause, and Harry felt Neville's lips brush his.
"You kissed me again," Harry mumbled, but Neville didn't respond. Harry heard the door click shut, and he fell asleep.
~*~
Harry didn't leave his flat the next day. His hangover was one of the worst he could remember having, and the details of his night in Brighton were just hazy enough that trying to remember them made him feel queasy. He'd made a complete arse of himself, he was sure. Pansy and Malfoy were probably still laughing about it, about how obviously out of place he'd been.
He avoided Neville at work on Monday and Tuesday of the following week, mortified that he'd had to be rescued and put to bed like a child. He didn't want to think about what might have happened had he stayed at the party.
He'd almost convinced himself to forget about Pansy altogether when the owl arrived. It was large and sleek, and the moment Harry saw it, he knew whose it had to be. The note was written on expensive parchment in a refined hand, and it released a woodsy fragrance when he unrolled it.
Potter,
I do hope you've recovered from the events of last weekend. I must apologize for being such a poor host and making you drink quite so much. I hope you'll let me make it up to you? I'm attending a private charity event in Scotland this Thursday evening, and I would be pleased if you'd join me in attending.
Draco Malfoy
Harry read the note three times before it registered that Malfoy was asking him out. He leaned back against his desk, shocked. Did Malfoy actually believe he was gay? And even more surprising, was he interested in Harry?
Malfoy's owl tossed its head and made a sound of annoyance. Apparently it wasn't going to leave without a reply. Harry stared at the note again, the woodsy scent filling his nose. He didn't like Malfoy, but he had no good reason to continue holding a grudge against him after all these years. Malfoy had been pivotal in the War effort, after all, even though his involvement was largely classified. And he'd led a fairly respectable life ever since -- well, not counting the flamboyantly gay thing, anyway.
It was just an evening, and he'd be home before bedtime. And besides, it might mean a chance to see Pansy again, and he ought to take it. He nodded to the owl and reached for a quill.
~*~
"Are you mad?" Neville spat.
Harry clenched his jaw. "It's not like that."
"You're going on a date with Malfoy, Harry! What are you thinking?"
"He and Pansy are flatmates. I'll get to see her again."
"Harry, he's… he's a prick, the worst kind! He fucks around with anyone who'll have him, uses them in the worst ways, and then tosses them aside when he'd bored of them. He's not worth--"
"Relax, will you?" Harry spat. "None of that matters, because I'm not interested in him. This is about Pansy."
Neville sank into a chair and shook his head. "This is not going to end well."
"Of course it will," Harry said. "You said it yourself -- he'll get bored of me in a week and toss me aside, and I can go crying to Pansy."
"That's idiotic."
"No it isn't," Harry retorted. "It's brilliant. And all I have to do is pretend I'm interested in Malfoy for a few days."
Neville snorted. "Oh, that's all. And how are you planning to show him you're interested?" Harry frowned, and Neville looked up. "He's going to expect a little more than a smile, you know. If you won't even kiss him, he'll know you aren't really gay."
"I'll figure something out," Harry replied.
"Like what?" Neville asked, incredulous.
"I don't know," Harry said, scowling at Neville in frustration. "But I will."
Neville looked thoroughly unconvinced. "Right."
~*~
At 7:00 on Thursday evening, Harry knocked on the ornate door of the Mayfair flat Malfoy and Pansy shared. After a moment, the door opened to reveal Pansy, to Harry's delight. She was dressed casually, though she looked no less beautiful than she had the previous weekend. He wondered if she always looked so stylish just hanging around the flat.
"Hello, Harry," she said, smiling. "Draco's still getting dressed. You know how boys can be." She winked and stepped back, waving him in.
She led him to the sofa and settled beside him, smiling at him. "Did you come right from the office?"
"Erm, yeah," Harry replied, blushing. He'd been uncertain how to dress for the evening, so he'd settled for business robes, assuming that would be fine. "Should I have changed?"
"We'll leave that to Draco," she said, scooting a bit closer. "He's the expert. He dresses me when we go out."
"Was that dress you were sewn into last weekend his idea, then?"
"Of course," she said, beaming. "The shrinking charm was his idea. And I could never have got my tits arranged in that bustier without help."
Harry couldn't resist raising an eyebrow in response, and she laughed. He grinned at her, captivated by her dark eyes. He wondered if she'd let him help her dress sometime. And would she mind terribly when his hand slipped just a bit?
"Well, well, aren't we cozy?" Malfoy's head appeared between them as he leaned over the back of the sofa. "Hoping Harry swings both ways, are you?"
Harry jumped in surprise, but Pansy just laughed. "You know me too well, darling. But he's all yours, I'm afraid." With that, she winked and stood, and Harry was torn between relief and discomfort that she didn't suspect his ruse. "Just don't make too much noise when you return tonight, boys. I get grumpy when I don't get my beauty sleep." She slinked past Malfoy, planted a chaste kiss on his lips, and then disappeared into what Harry assumed was her bedroom.
"Shall we?" Malfoy asked, holding out one arm.
Harry stared at him for a moment before realizing Malfoy was offering to apparate him to their destination. Since he had no idea where they were going, there wasn't much of a choice. He grasped Malfoy's arm and was startled when Malfoy tugged the sleeve of his robe and pulled him close. Harry tried not to react, but he was nearly overwhelmed by the same woodsy scent that had spilled from Malfoy's note earlier that week. He looked up and found himself nose to chin with Malfoy. Malfoy was taller than him by several inches. Harry usually wasn't self-conscious about his height, but for some reason he felt a bit intimidated.
"Relax," Malfoy said, looking down. "I don't bite." He winked and slid his arms around Harry's torso in what was nearly an embrace. "Unless I'm asked very nicely. Hold on tight."
Harry wasn't sure if the lurching in his stomach was from the apparition or the feeling of Malfoy's arms around him, but he didn't want to think about it. He opened his eyes to find himself in a cloakroom in what seemed to be a well-appointed private home. He stepped away from Malfoy, trying to shake off the uneasiness he felt.
"Do you mind?" Malfoy asked, brandishing his wand and gesturing at Harry.
"Sorry?" Harry asked.
"You're not exactly dressed for the occasion," Malfoy said. "Just hold still." Against his better judgment Harry resisted the urge to bolt for the door, and he found himself dressed in very stylish robes a moment later. "Much better," Malfoy said, putting his wand away and smiling as if he hadn't just insulted Harry's sense of style. "Shall we?"
Harry followed him through the door and out into the main room of the house, dread building in his belly. Malfoy took two offered glasses of champagne from a young man dressed in servants' robes and handed one to Harry.
"Here we go," Malfoy said, clinking his glass lightly against Harry's and taking a sip.
Harry smiled and followed suit. It was lovely champagne, the sort one doesn't get to have very often and is a reminder of just how wonderful champagne can be. It wasn't until he was standing in the midst of a crowd of elegantly dressed witches and wizards with half a glass of champagne in his stomach that Harry realized he'd forgotten to ask what charity the event was for.
It didn't matter, it turned out, as everyone seemed more interesting in chatting Harry up than in talking about why they were there. Malfoy worked the room effortlessly, steering Harry from group to group and introducing him as if he were a guest of honor. Harry's name still carried quite a bit of weight in the Wizarding world, and he soon found himself shaking hands with admirers left and right. Harry began to wonder if Malfoy had brought him there to bolster his own image instead of out of any sort of personal interest.
No one seemed to question why the war hero Harry Potter was attending such a function with the Wizarding world's most infamous gay playboy, and Harry was grateful that Malfoy didn't present him as anything more than an acquaintance. In fact, Malfoy not only distanced himself from Harry; he all but abandoned him after half an hour.
Harry didn't mind at first, but after an hour of making small talk with people he barely knew, he began to feel a bit annoyed. He excused himself from a charming couple who'd been pestering him to tell (for the fourth time that evening) what had happened the night he'd faced Voldemort, and went in search of Malfoy.
He finally found him chatting with a young waiter in the kitchen, the same one who'd been plying them with champagne all evening. They were laughing when Harry came in, and standing closer together than seemed appropriate. Malfoy reached out to stroke the man's cheek with one finger and an inexplicable wave of irritation came over Harry. He cleared his throat.
Malfoy's eyes widened when he saw Harry, and he stepped away from the waiter a bit too hastily. "Hi," he said, plastering a smile on his face.
Harry stared at him for a moment, then turned and left the room. He didn't know why the sight of Malfoy flirting with the waiter had bothered him. It wasn't as if he was really interested in Malfoy, after all. This whole date was a sham, a ruse to get Pansy to notice him.
He found his way back to the cloakroom and sat on a bench, flustered. It was the principle of the thing, really. Hadn't Malfoy brought Harry as his date? Was this really the way he treated people, just as Neville had said? He was just confused -- that was all. Malfoy wasn't really interested in him. He'd been using Harry, just as Harry was using Malfoy. Harry sighed. It was for the best that he'd been reminded of that fact.
The door opened a few minutes later, and Malfoy peeked through, looking contrite. Harry glared at him without thinking. Malfoy winced and stepped through the door, closing it behind him. "This is a bad start, isn't it?"
Harry snorted. "Is this what I should expect when we go on a date? Perhaps it's best I find out now." It was remarkably easy to pout.
Malfoy sighed and crossed to Harry, then sat on the bench beside him. "We were just talking, and you were busy, so--"
"Busy talking to all those people I don't know!" Harry snapped. "Which you were supposed to be doing, but you left me there to go and flirt with a fucking… waiter." Harry looked up to see that Malfoy was staring at him with an odd expression. He shook his head and stood. "Some first date. I think I've had enough."
"Wait," Malfoy said, standing and catching him by the shoulders. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you... I mean…" He stared at Harry for a long uncomfortable second, and then lunged forward and kissed him.
Harry found himself pressed back against a wall of robes, his mouth full of Malfoy's tongue. He was too stunned to do anything but let himself be kissed. It turned out that Malfoy was quite a good kisser, which surprised Harry for some reason. And the moment that thought finally penetrated his mind, he came to his senses and shoved Malfoy away.
"What the hell?" he spat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Malfoy looked confused. "I…"
Harry's mind was spinning. He'd just been snogged by Draco Malfoy, of all people, and he'd reacted like an awkward school girl in the Astronomy Tower. He ought to apparate out of there and pretend it had never happened. But if he did, he'd lose any chance he had with Pansy. He ran a hand through his hair and scowled at Malfoy, a plan forming in his mind. "You think a kiss makes up for the way you've treated me tonight?"
"No, I--"
"You're going to have to do better than that," Harry said. He stepped forward and pushed Malfoy back against the door, hard enough that his head bumped against it. He planted one hand on either side of Malfoy's head and glared at him. "I'm not one of your little tricks. I'm not someone you get to fuck and toss aside. If you want me, you're going to have to work for it."
Malfoy just stared at him, his eyes wide with surprise. His breathing was ragged and his cheeks were flushed, and Harry felt a small thrill when he realized it wasn't from anger -- Malfoy was turned on. He probably had some sort of kinky streak and liked being dominated, for all Harry knew. A shiver of something far too much like desire snaked through Harry's groin at that. Malfoy's lips were parted, and so close. Harry considered kissing him again, just to prove he was in control here.
He stepped back, releasing Malfoy. He'd had too many glasses of champagne, and he was just getting a bit confused -- that was all. Besides, he hadn't had sex in a month, and he'd been oddly randy for the last few days. He could hardly be expected to think straight under these circumstances, could he?
"Potter--" Malfoy began, but Harry straightened his transfigured robes and disapparated without another word.
Back in his own flat, he lay under the sheets for a long time before finally letting his hand drift below the waistband of his pyjamas. He thought about Pansy, imagining her red lips wrapped around his cock, and he stroked himself hard and fast. But in the end it was an image of Malfoy on his knees in that cloakroom that finished him off.
~*~
Malfoy's owl showed up at his office window at 9:00 sharp the next morning. Harry tore up the message without reading it. The owl's eyes widened in surprise and it flew away in a huff.
Of course, his curiosity got the better of him after ten minutes, so he retrieved the pieces from the bin and cast a spell to put the parchment back together.
Harry,
I'm an arse. Come over tonight and I'll make it up to you.
Draco
Harry rolled his eyes and tore it up again.
The second message arrived half an hour later. Harry considered tossing it straight away, but the owl looked a bit menacing. He unrolled it, waving away Malfoy's cologne.
All right, that was a bit tactless, I'll admit. I meant I'd cook dinner for you. Rather, I'll have Pansy cook, as she's much better at it than I am. Please?
Though the thought of Pansy cooking for him was definitely appealing, Harry crumpled the parchment and tossed it into the bin. The owl glared at him before taking off again. Harry smirked.
The third time the owl came back, it was carrying a parcel. When Harry opened it, a huge bouquet of flowers sprang out, settling themselves into a newly conjured glass vase on his desk. He stared at them, blushing furiously, and forgot to look for Malfoy's note until the owl nipped him.
Tell me to fuck off if you like, but please have the courtesy of responding this time.
Oh, and Pansy says she can cook for us tonight, and she wants to know if you have any requests. Is 8:00 good for you?
Harry couldn't help but grin. This had to mean that Malfoy had told Pansy all about what a prick he'd been. She'd be sympathetic, and when Malfoy continued to be an arse, he could turn to her to talk about it, to be comforted, and so on.
He picked up a quill and wrote Fine under Malfoy's message, then tied it back to the owl's leg. It flew away looking relieved. Harry charmed the window shut behind it, then turned and studied the flowers.
They were lovely, though he had no idea what kind they were. He'd never been given flowers before, and he wasn't sure he ought to keep them. It was a bit embarrassing.
There was a quick knock on his office door before it opened and Neville's head poked through with a chipper, "Hey, do you want to get some lunch?" He caught sight of the gigantic bouquet of flowers on Harry's desk and his jaw dropped. "What the…?"
"It's nothing," Harry said, blushing. "Yes, lunch. Great." He stood and crossed toward the door, but Neville had already stepped into the office to get a closer look.
"Oh, no -- don't tell me."
"Then don't ask," Harry said. "Let's just go, okay?"
Neville closed the door and turned to face Harry, paling a bit. "You didn't sleep with him, did you?"
"No!" Harry hissed. "Of course not!"
Neville's jaw appeared to tighten. "Come on, Harry. You know as well as I do that men only send flowers when they've fucked up or got laid."
"It's the first one," Harry said, giving Neville a look of annoyance. "He was an utter prick last night, and he abandoned me to go flirt with some other bloke, and I got a bit angry about it. Now he's trying to win me back, and that's all."
Neville was gaping at him. "Harry, are you listening to yourself?"
"Of course," Harry snapped, pulling on his jacket. "I know what I'm doing."
Neville stared at him for a moment, and then looked stricken. "Oh, no -- you kissed him, didn't you?"
Harry couldn't lie to Neville, no matter how much he wanted to. He looked away instead, and Neville sighed.
"I can't believe you're finally bi-curious, and it's over Malfoy."
"Neville--"
"No, don't. Don't say anything. I got over you a long time ago, and I'm happy with Louis, but I won't pretend it doesn't hurt."
"I'm sorry," Harry ventured. "And I'm not bi-curious. I'm using him to get to Pansy, remember?"
"Keep telling yourself that," Neville replied. He turned back to the door.
"What about lunch?" Harry asked.
"I think I need to get some work done, actually. Maybe another time." Neville didn't look at Harry as he left.
Harry sighed and leaned back against his desk. He had a bad feeling about this.
~*~
Harry had to stand outside Malfoy's flat and collect himself for nearly a full minute. He was nervous, which made little sense -- it should be Malfoy who was squirming, not knowing where he stood with Harry, not the other way around.
He took a deep breath and then knocked on the door. A few seconds later, it opened, and Malfoy leaned against the doorframe, a cocky smile on his face.
"I knew you would come."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "I almost didn't." He walked in, brushing against Malfoy as he did.
Malfoy caught his hand and tugged, turning Harry back around to face him. "I'm glad you did." He brought Harry's hand to his lips and kissed the palm, holding Harry's gaze as he did.
To his horror, Harry blushed. Malfoy's smile turned almost wicked, and Harry jerked his hand away. This wasn't how the evening was supposed to go.
"Am I interrupting?" Pansy's head peeked around the corner into the entryway. "Apparently not. Harry, darling!" She was in his arms and kissing his cheeks before he knew what had happened.
"Hi," he said, feeling a bit breathless by her proximity. He looked over at Malfoy to see him shaking his head in amusement.
"You'll have to excuse her enthusiasm. Pansy hasn't had a proper shag in months."
"You've had enough for the both of us," she retorted, winking at Harry. "Drinks?"
"Months?" Harry mouthed to Malfoy as they followed her to the kitchen.
"It's pathetic," he whispered back.
They chatted over drinks, and it was actually pleasant, to Harry's surprise. Pansy turned out to be quite a gossip, and Harry found himself fascinated by the amount of information she knew about people they'd been to school with. Malfoy's commentary was sarcastic and funny, and though he kept a respectable distance from Harry, whenever Harry looked over Malfoy was looking back. It ought to have unnerved him, but for some reason it didn't. Harry found he rather enjoyed being the center of their attention.
Two drinks in, Pansy excused herself to the kitchen to finish cooking, leaving them alone.
"Want a tour?" Malfoy asked.
Harry looked around the compact flat. "Can't we do it from here?"
"Come on," Malfoy said, standing. Harry followed him a few feet to a door off the main room, which Malfoy pushed open. "The loo."
"I'd never have guessed," Harry replied.
"That," Malfoy said, walking around the sofa to point to a closed door, "is Pansy's room." He wrinkled his nose and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "She's quite a slob, so we won't go in."
Harry smiled. Pansy always looked so put together that it surprised him she'd be messy.
"And this," Malfoy said, pushing another door open, "is my room." He tilted his head to indicate Harry should go in.
Harry peeked through the door, hesitant. This was probably a bad idea. He really didn't want to lead Malfoy on, but he also needed to play his cards right. He stepped into the small dimly-lit room and looked around. The furniture appeared to be old and well-cared for, but there were many stylish touches that Harry found he liked. Malfoy had good taste.
He heard the click of the door closing, and turned to see Malfoy leaning back against it, watching him. Harry swallowed.
"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Malfoy asked.
"No," Harry lied. He turned his attention to the bed that filled most of the room, larger than what one would expect to find in a flat this size.
"I keep meaning to cast the spells to enlarge the room," Malfoy said. He was standing right behind Harry now, and Harry had the distinct impression Malfoy was having a hard time not touching him. "But I need to go look them up, and I'm lazy."
Harry snorted. "You could use the space, though. How'd you even get this bed in here?"
"Magic," Malfoy said. "Duh."
Harry was glad it was dark -- hopefully Malfoy couldn't see his embarrassment. He frowned, realizing he'd blushed more around Malfoy in the last few days than he had around anyone for a long time. He turned and stepped away to put a bit of space between them, realizing a moment too late that he'd actually moved closer to the bed.
Malfoy closed the gap, looking vaguely predatory, and Harry found himself backed up against the bed. "I am making you uncomfortable," Malfoy said. He reached out and took Harry's hand. "Why?"
"Why?" Harry repeated. He had no idea how to answer that question.
Malfoy tilted his head. "I can't tell if you're just playing hard to get, or if you're scared."
"I'm not scared," Harry said. "Maybe I just don't like you."
Malfoy smiled. "But you do like me. It's obvious. You can't stop looking at me, and you're always nervous around me. Even now, I can feel you trembling."
"I'm not trembling," Harry said, pulling his hand away. He was nervous because he was uncomfortable, because he had no interest in being alone in a darkened bedroom with Draco Malfoy -- that was the problem.
"May I kiss you?" Malfoy asked.
Harry felt a strange shudder go through him. "I -- sorry?"
Malfoy's smile widened a bit. "I'd like to kiss you, if you don't mind."
"You didn't bother asking me before."
"And that was a mistake," Malfoy replied. His hands settled on Harry's hips and he tugged their bodies closer together. "I won't do anything you don't want me to do."
Harry felt an odd stab of disappointment. He didn't want to have to ask for anything. This would all be much easier if Malfoy would just be an obnoxious jerk, but he was being nice. Sensitive, even.
Harry stared at him for what seemed like several long seconds, not sure what to do. The idea of kissing Malfoy wasn't repulsive -- he'd done it once already, and it hadn't been unpleasant. If he refused now, Malfoy would assume he wasn't interested, and that would be the end of it. But if Harry agreed, Malfoy would think he had a chance, and that was necessary for the plan.
Harry nodded.
"Sorry?" Malfoy said. "Didn't catch that."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes. You may kiss me."
Malfoy leaned forward, sliding his hands around to the small of Harry's back. It seemed to take forever for their lips to touch, so long that Harry began to feel frustrated that it was taking so long. And then Malfoy's lips were against his, moving softly. His tongue pressed between Harry's lips after a moment, gentle and slow, and Harry whimpered before he could stop himself.
It didn't matter that Malfoy was a man -- he was such a good kisser that all Harry could think about was how good it felt, and how much he wanted to keep doing it as long as possible. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so swept away by kissing alone, if ever. His arms wound around Malfoy and he pulled him closer, amazed by the heat between them and the way their bodies fit together. It felt different from anything he'd ever experienced, but it didn't feel uncomfortable at all. Almost out of habit, one hand slid downwards to the curve of Malfoy's arse and squeezed, and Malfoy groaned into his mouth. That sound sent a thrill through Harry and he cupped the back of Malfoy's head with his other hand and deepened the kiss, taking control of it.
It wasn't until Harry felt an erection pressing against his thigh that he came to his senses and pulled away. He was half-hard himself, and he didn't want to think about what that might mean -- not now. He side-stepped away from Malfoy to put some space between them, his heart pounding.
"We probably shouldn't keep Pansy waiting," he said, hoping it wasn't too feeble an excuse.
Malfoy put both hands on the bed and leaned forward, making a strangled sound. "Give me a minute." Harry couldn't help but chuckle, and Malfoy turned to shoot him a mock glare. "You're the one who did this to me. The least you could do is give me a hand."
Harry's eyes widened at the innuendo, but he forced himself to smirk in response. "Sorry," he said. "You're on your own with that one."
They emerged a few minutes later. Pansy was setting the table, and she paused to give them a knowing look.
"It smells fantastic," Harry said, taking a seat.
Pansy winked at him and disappeared into the flat's galley kitchen once again. Malfoy followed her, and there was about a minute of indistinct whispering, followed by a giggle that sounded as if it had come from Pansy.
They emerged from the kitchen grinning, each carrying a platter. Pansy settled at the end of the table and Malfoy sat across from Harry, and they both stared at him. Harry tried not to squirm, but he couldn't help feeling a bit left out. The entire point of this endeavor was to come between them, but he wasn't sure it was working.
Pansy passed a dish to Harry, and he momentarily forgot his discomfort at the sight of its contents. "Carbonara?" He looked up at Pansy in surprise. "That's my favorite."
She smiled and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I have my sources." She winked at Malfoy, who shook his head in amusement.
It wasn't the best carbonara he'd ever had, but the fact that Pansy had apparently asked around in order to find out what he liked made Harry feel a bit fluttery. He had to force himself to pay more attention to Malfoy than to her throughout the meal, but neither of them seemed to notice. They chatted amiably, sometimes including him and sometimes not. Harry didn't get any of their inside jokes, but he laughed along anyway, lest he seem like he wasn't enjoying himself.
Malfoy insisted on cleaning up the dishes when they were done, so Harry and Pansy retired to the sofa with glasses of cognac. Pansy was flirtatious and sweet, having apparently imbibed quite a bit of the Italian wine she'd been cooking with. She leaned back against the arm of the sofa and put her bare feet on Harry's lap, then wiggled them a bit more than was strictly necessary.
Harry pushed her feet away from his crotch and took a deep breath. "Draco's taking his time, isn't he?"
"He's so picky about the kitchen," she replied, stretching her arms above her head. "He's a regular neat freak."
"I heard that," said Malfoy from the kitchen.
Harry grinned. "That's not a bad quality in a roommate."
Pansy rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "Maybe it's charming when you're fucking him. I'll have to listen to him bitch about how messy I left the kitchen for the next two days."
Harry wasn't sure what to say in response to that, so instead he said, "Thanks for dinner. It was lovely."
Pansy playfully tossed a throw pillow at Harry's head. "It was nice to have someone to cook for. Well, someone else, I suppose."
"Don't you cook for your boyfriend?" Harry asked, trying his best to sound earnest.
"Ha," Pansy replied. "I wish."
"Doesn't he eat?"
"It isn't that," she said, smoothing her skirt against her thighs. "Actually, I'm not seeing anyone at the moment."
"You're kidding," Harry said, as if he were shocked to hear this. "But you're so beautiful and sweet and funny. I would think they're knocking your door down."
She laughed, and looked up at him again. "There are spells for that, but I'm not desperate enough to use them. Alas, I've not been very lucky when it comes to men." She raised an eyebrow at him.
"Maybe you just haven't met the right one," Harry suggested.
"Maybe I have met the right man," she replied. "But I wasn't the right man for him."
"I see," Harry replied. He took one of her feet in hand and massaged it, earning a happy sigh from her.
"Why do gay boys always give the best massages? If only you weren't so averse to eating pussy."
Harry nearly choked. "Are you always so blunt?"
"Yes!" Malfoy shouted from the kitchen.
Pansy reached over her head and made a rude gesture in his general direction. "But it seems I must content myself, for the time being, with meaningless sex with strangers."
Harry switched to her other foot. "I know the feeling. It's frustrating to have to play that game, and then… well, sometimes you're better off on your own in that department."
"I like to tell people I'm self-involved," Pansy giggled. "But sometimes, don't you just want a hard cock inside you, just… fucking you like mad? There isn't any sex magic that feels the same as that."
Harry tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a cough.
"Know what I mean?" Pansy asked, grinning at him.
"Yeah," Harry replied, grinning back. "I suppose I do."
"So," Pansy began, the expression on her face positively wicked, "do you like giving head?"
Harry kept his grin firmly in place. "Of course. Who doesn't?" It wasn't really a lie -- of course, he'd only ever given head to get it. He'd never really liked it that much, now that he thought about it.
"I love it," she said, sighing as if she were imagining doing it right then. "I love the way a hard cock feels in my mouth."
Harry swallowed and tried not to look away. "Yeah, I know what you mean."
"So," Pansy asked, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "do you prefer to spit or swallow?"
Harry nearly choked. "Isn't that a bit personal?" he managed to ask.
Pansy laughed and leaned so close he thought she was going to kiss him. "I always swallow," she said, enunciating every syllable so clearly that he couldn't help but stare at her lips. God, they were so red.
If he didn't want to embarrass himself, a change of subject was in order. He looked away and stroked the sole of her foot with one finger. She jerked it away, giggling.
"Ticklish?" he asked, grabbing for the other one. She squealed and pulled away, and a moment later they were tussling on the sofa, laughing and trying to tickle each other.
"Having fun?"
Harry looked up to see Malfoy standing by the sofa, staring down at them with an odd look on his face. Harry couldn't tell if it was annoyance or suspicion.
"As a matter of fact, yes," Pansy replied. She gave Malfoy a smug smile. His eyes narrowed and he stared back.
Harry knew a line had been crossed -- hell, quite a few lines had been crossed -- and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. He extracted himself from his tangle with Pansy and made a show of looking at his watch. "I should be going, actually. I have an early meeting."
Malfoy turned to look at Harry then, his expression unreadable. "Oh."
Harry stood and straightened his shirt. "Thanks," he said, glancing back and forth between them. "I enjoyed dinner immensely." He gave Malfoy a wink and turned towards the door.
Malfoy followed him through it, closing it behind him and leaning back against it. "So… do you want to go out tomorrow night?"
"Out?" Harry repeated, turning to face him.
"On a proper date. Dinner, dancing, that sort of thing." Malfoy smiled in what seemed to be a hopeful way, though the expression looked odd on his face, as if he weren't used to not knowing where he stood with someone.
Harry nearly agreed, then thought the better of it. Malfoy was willing to chase him, after all, so perhaps he should continue to play hard to get for the time being. "I have something to do tomorrow."
Malfoy's smile remained firmly in place, as if through sheer will. "How about Tuesday night, then?"
Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure. Can I let you know?" He started to turn away, but Malfoy caught his hand and tugged him close.
"Are you sure you can't stay a bit longer?" he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.
His cool grey eyes were wide, almost inviting, and it took Harry a moment to remember this was not only Draco Malfoy, someone he'd hated for most of his life, but a man who was looking at him this way. Harry didn't like men -- not like that. The events of the evening not withstanding, he was absolutely sure on that point. He swallowed and tried to speak, but his mouth was dry. He licked his lips.
And then he was kissing Malfoy, and he had no idea how it had happened. It felt just as amazing as it had in the bedroom earlier. He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against Malfoy's, confused. He'd just sat on the sofa with Pansy and had been completely enraptured by her, but a moment later, he was out here in the corridor, kissing Malfoy and almost getting hard from it. It made no sense.
It was probably because he'd been so turned on by Pansy. That had to be it. And Malfoy's lips had been parted just like hers were, and maybe a little red because he'd been biting them.
Harry sighed. That was it. He almost had Pansy eating out of his hand, and Malfoy to boot. He just had to play this game a bit longer.
He brushed his lips against Malfoy's again and sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"
Malfoy's arms slid around his waist, and Harry could feel him grinning against his lips. "Oh, I can think of quite a few things. Shall I show you?"
"Not tonight," Harry replied, backing away. He shook his head at Malfoy.
"I'll take a rain check then," Malfoy said, smiling.
Unsure how to respond, Harry nodded, and then disapparated.
Back in his own flat, he laid awake in bed until well after midnight, the feeling of Malfoy's lips lingering on his. He was disturbed by what he'd felt tonight, but for all he knew it was entirely normal. He was definitely heterosexual, after all. A hot kiss was a hot kiss. It didn't mean anything. He closed his eyes and thought about Pansy's bare feet brushing his cock through his jeans, and the way she'd smiled coyly at him and told him what she liked in bed, and tried to go to sleep.
Story Notes:
Originally posted: June 13, 2006
I was inspired to write this after watching the film Eating Out . Of course, I like my interpretation a lot better. ;-) Thanks to jedirita and charlotteschaos for the thoughtful betas.
Links: My LJ | Skyehawke | The Quidditch Pitch
