4 February, 2004: Wednesday
“You've been what?”
“Hanging around with him,” Harry said, picturing the expression on Hermione's face. “It hasn't been that bad.”
“It can't have been that good, either.”
“Actually, it's been... fun.” Harry wrinkled his nose at his own choice of word. “Well, you know, different.”
“Harry, are you certain this is a good idea?”
“No,” Harry admitted, “but I don't have any others. He won't confide in me or agree to return to the Ministry unless he trusts me, and he won't trust me unless he gets to know me. He's actually warmed up to me quite a lot, considering how much he hated me in school.”
Harry heard a long-suffering sigh from the other end of the line. “As your official Ministry liaison, I must advise you not to trust Malfoy.” Hermione had been pleased to inform him she'd been formally assigned to the case. She worked in the communications research office, but she'd somehow managed to convince Director Bass she would be best suited for the position. Now she could be nosy and interfering, and claim she was doing her job. “I went through all of the CIA's intell today, including reports from Malfoy's co-workers in the New York Bureau of Magic. He started receiving mysterious owls two months before he disappeared, and he became increasingly secretive and anti-social.”
Harry snorted into the receiver. “Malfoy, anti-social?” That certainly wasn't the impression he'd got over the last few days.
“And then he disappeared, leaving no word of where he was going. After five years in that bureau, Harry!” Hermione paused, and Harry pictured her twirling a strand of hair around her finger in frustration. “I just worry that you're... Harry, you've had a bad time of it recently, and I know you're lonely–”
“It's not like that!” Harry groaned. “Do you really think I'm that desperate for friendship – that I'd turn to Draco Malfoy?”
A little voice in the back of his head said, Well, yes – actually, you are.
Hermione sighed again. “All right, all right. What exactly do you and Malfoy do together, anyway?”
“We've had dinner together the last few nights. I've spent some time during the afternoons in the coffee shop where he works, watching him.”
“He's working in a coffee shop?” Hermione's tone was somewhere between amused and incredulous.
“He's living as a Muggle, Hermione. As far as I can tell, he has no contact with any wizards at all. He seems to be hiding here.”
“But from what? And why hide without telling anyone where he was going?”
Harry yawned. “I don't know. He won't tell me anything about his life in New York . We've gone out for the last three nights, and we've talked about everything from politics to music to my divorce, but I haven't been able to get him to talk about himself.”
“I hope you know what you're doing.”
Harry snorted. “Of course I don't. But that's never stopped me before.”
The day before, Malfoy had actually waited on him as he'd sat at his small corner table at the café and read a book he'd borrowed from the manager of the Inn . Malfoy had brought over a fresh pint glass of coffee and a pastry every hour or so, until Harry had asked if Malfoy was trying to fatten him up.
“I always thought you were too skinny,” Malfoy had replied, raising one eyebrow.
“Me?!” Harry had gestured vaguely at him. “Can you not afford to eat, or something?”
“I can't help it if I have a high metabolism.”
“And you wear clothes that make you look even thinner. What is it with you and nylon shirts, anyway?”
Malfoy had grinned at him then, and the expression had taken Harry aback. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen such a genuine smile on his former enemy's face. “I'm flattered you've taken such an interest in my personal appearance,” Malfoy had said with a wink as he walked away, leaving Harry confused about what had just happened.
Of course he'd noticed what Malfoy looked like. All he did was watch Malfoy, lately. But that didn't mean he was looking – not like that.
5 February, 2004: Thursday
The sun was streaming in through the window when Harry woke up, the clock indicating that it was past 10:00 already. He shook off a recurring dream about wandering aimlessly around Hogwarts, one that never failed to unsettle him, for reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on. Yawning, and still not quite adjusted to the time change, he snuggled down into the covers once again. Malfoy would just be heading to work about now. Harry would get up eventually and head over to the café, drink lots of coffee, and watch Malfoy for a few more hours.
He was overtaken by an impulse to get out of bed and into the shower.
He exchanged pleasantries with the manager on his way out the door – no, he actually did have plans tonight, but thanks – and headed up the hill to the Jumpin' Java Coffee House. Every day the walk was a little easier, and he resolved to start running for exercise when he got home. He'd had no idea he was so out of shape.
The café seemed to be filled with the usuals, and a few of them nodded at him in recognition. The blonde woman in the corner had a different computer than usual, and there was a man he'd never seen before sketching something on a large sheet of paper. Someone had pinned a new bumper sticker to the notice board that read “Friends don't let friends go to Starbucks.”
He didn't spot Malfoy right off, but settled into his usual spot after picking up an abandoned newspaper. A young woman with very black hair and many piercings made her way to the table.
“Morning, Rosie,” Harry said, not looking up.
“Today's his day off, you know,” she replied.
Harry blinked. “Oh. I forgot.” He'd had no idea, of course. He fidgeted for a moment, trying to decide what to do. “I guess I'll have the usual to take away, then.”
Fifteen minutes later, he was standing in front of the door of Malfoy's building, wondering if he had gone out of his mind. Malfoy probably hadn't told him it was his day off because he had no desire to spend it with Harry Potter. Perhaps he'd just hoped Harry would give up and spend the day alone, for once. Harry frowned when he realized they hadn't made any plans for tonight at all. They'd been making dinner arrangements every night after a few hours of banter at the café. When they'd parted ways after dinner last night, neither of them had mentioned meeting the following night.
Harry finally decided he was being ridiculous. It had clearly slipped Malfoy's mind to tell him he wouldn't be at work on Thursday morning. He pressed the buzzer for Malfoy's flat.
“What?” he heard through the intercom after a few minutes and two more presses.
“Um, good morning. It's me, Harry.” He paused, cringing. Why did he always say such stupid things around Malfoy?
There was no response other than the click of the door lock, and he went in. Malfoy's flat was on the third floor of the restored Victorian. Harry knocked on the ornate wooden door, and it opened after a moment to reveal a very disheveled-looking Malfoy.
His auburn-streaked hair was even messier than usual, and he was shirtless, wearing only a thin pair of cotton pyjama bottoms. He blinked sleepily at Harry from behind a pair of oblong tortoise-shell-rimmed glasses.
“What the fuck do you want?”
Harry couldn't help but step back at his tone. “I went to the café and they said you were off. I thought maybe...” He stared at Malfoy. “How long have you worn glasses?”
Malfoy yawned and lazily scratched his chest. “Since I was fifteen.” He pushed the door open and waved Harry inside. “Coffee?”
Harry held up his paper cup. “No, I'm fine, actually. I'm sorry if I'm–”
A muscular dark-skinned man, clad only in a pair of boxers, emerged from what was undoubtedly the bedroom. He ignored Malfoy and Harry and headed for the refrigerator. Harry watched the man through narrowed eyes, feeling a strange blend of uncomfortable emotions. The man helped himself to a Diet Coke and was heading back towards the bedroom before he noticed Harry's presence.
“Good morning,” he grinned, sliding an arm around Malfoy and pulling him close, nuzzling his neck. Any doubts Harry'd had about Malfoy's sexual orientation were firmly put to rest.
Malfoy looked extremely uncomfortable. He gestured towards Harry as he wriggled away from his lover. “That's Harry, an old friend. Harry, this is...” He paused, squinting at the man. “A guy I fucked last night,” he finished, frowning. The man laughed and winked at Harry before disappearing into the bedroom once more.
Harry tried very hard not to appear shocked. “I'm sorry. I've clearly come at a bad time.”
Malfoy yawned again. “No, not at all. He'll be leaving soon. I'll put some coffee on.” He gestured towards the small table in the kitchen area. “Sit.”
Harry did, not certain what else to do. He watched Malfoy make coffee and pour himself a bowl of cereal. He fidgeted a bit when Malfoy sat across from him and started eating.
“So, have a good night, then?” Harry asked at last, and immediately regretted it. Malfoy smirked and nodded, chewing. Harry ran a hand through his hair. He was uncomfortable and bordering on irritated, for absolutely no reason. “Where did he...?” He paused, not really certain what he was asking.
“I picked him up in a bar,” Malfoy stated through a mouthful of Cheerios.
“Last night?”
Malfoy nodded slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “Yes.”
“When did you go to a bar? I dropped you off at 11:00 .” Harry wondered why this bothered him so much. Malfoy could do whatever he wanted. It wasn't like he'd lied to Harry, after all. Of course, Harry had started to think that Malfoy was enjoying his company. Had he just been passing the time each night until he could go to a bar and pick up strange men to take home?
“Today's my day off,” Malfoy explained. “I always go out on Wednesday and Thursday nights.” He tilted his head and smiled. “Besides, I was horny. It wasn't like you were going to fuck me.”
Harry blushed, as much from anger as embarrassment. “So you just waved goodbye and headed for the nearest bar, in search of someone who would?” He couldn't believe Malfoy would take chances like this while he was supposedly in hiding. Picking up strange men in bars? What was he thinking?
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Yes. Next question?” The conversation was cut short by the reappearance of Malfoy's guest, now fully dressed.
Malfoy ignored the man, getting up to pour himself a cup of coffee. Harry stood, feeling awkward.
“Guess I'll see you ‘round,” the man said, glancing around the corner into the kitchenette.
“Yeah, sure,” Malfoy replied. He didn't look up. Harry didn't know if he should be relieved or offended by Malfoy's casual dismissal of his one-night-stand. He couldn't imagine treating anyone that way. He shrugged at the man, uncertain how he was supposed to behave in this situation.
The man grinned at Harry and leaned towards him to whisper, “He gives amazing head, and he's a bit of a screamer.” Harry struggled not to make a face as the man let himself out.
“Okay, that was far too much information,” Harry muttered at the closed door.
“What did he say?” Malfoy asked, sitting down with his coffee.
“That you're an insensitive prick,” Harry retorted, slumping into his chair. He took a sip of his coffee, and was annoyed to find it was cold.
Malfoy grinned. “Oh, but I have a very sensitive prick.”
Harry snorted in response.
“Why do you give a shit, anyway?”
“I don't.”
Malfoy nodded and smiled. They were both silent for a moment, sipping coffee. “Have any plans today?”
“No,” Harry replied. “I was going to hang out at the café again, I suppose. Get hammered on caffeine. I'm an addict now, thanks to you.” He glanced around the small flat. “This is fairly nice, Malfoy. How do you afford this on the paltry salary you must earn serving coffee?”
Malfoy laughed. “I've always managed money well, Potter. The coffee shop job provides me with spending money, something to do. I'm quite comfortable, really.” He pushed his empty cereal bowl away and stretched.
Harry watched him for a moment, all pale skin and sharp angles. “I never saw you wear glasses at Hogwarts.”
“That's because I never did,” Malfoy replied. “I learned the vision alteration charm over the summer before sixth year so I wouldn't have to do.”
“That's a complicated spell,” Harry stated, impressed. He'd attempted it a few times, but hadn't been pleased with the results. It only lasted about 18 hours, anyway, and he didn't mind wearing glasses.
Malfoy quirked one eyebrow up. “It was important to me. My mother helped me learn it.” He shrugged. “Of course, I typically have to wait until the Muggle I fucked leaves before I do it in the morning. Hence, you get to see me in glasses.”
“Malfoy...” Harry groaned.
Malfoy grinned, apparently pleased by Harry's reaction. “I was going to straighten up today, do some shopping. You're welcome to tag along, if you want.”
Harry shrugged. “I've nothing else to do.”
Malfoy narrowed his eyes and studied Harry for a moment. “So who was at the café this morning?”
Harry blinked at him. “Rosie, Steve, and... uhhh...” He pursed his lips. “The Croatian bloke.”
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Really, Potter, you've let your training slip if that's the best you can do.”
Harry scowled and looked away. “I'm not an auror anymore, you know. I have a desk job now.”
Malfoy was silent for several seconds, and then he made a sound of amusement. “So the Ministry haven't sent their most famous crack auror here to find me, but a mere paper pusher? That would explain why you've done nothing but follow me around like a lovesick schoolboy for the last four days.”
“Three,” Harry said, retrieving his wand from his jacket and casting a quick spell to reheat his coffee. “As I've already told you, I'm not gay. And I have no idea why they sent me here. Maybe somebody at the Ministry thought I could use a holiday.”
Malfoy nodded and took a sip from his mug. “Right.”
Harry gave him an innocent smile. “So what are you doing here?”
“I live here, stupid. Want to go out tonight?”
Harry sighed at the abrupt change of topic. “Sure. Why not?”
“I usually go dancing with friends on Thursdays,” Malfoy continued. He stood and rummaged around in a cupboard above the microwave. “We hit a few clubs, drink too much, check out hot boys. Get laid, if possible.”
“Exactly my idea of a good time,” Harry remarked dryly.
Malfoy pulled his wand from the cupboard he'd been searching and cast a few housekeeping spells in the general direction of the kitchenette. Dishes began filing themselves into the dishwasher, and a rag began wiping down countertops.
“Mine too,” Malfoy smirked, sitting down across from Harry again.
Harry arrived back at Malfoy's flat at 8:00 , and then spent half an hour waiting for him to finish getting ready. He'd walked there tonight, figuring it would be cheaper to call a taxi whenever Malfoy was ready, instead of paying for one to sit at the curb for twenty minutes as he had done every evening prior. Besides, Malfoy's flat was a fun place to hang around.
It was smaller than Harry's flat in London , but full of stylish and quirky touches. The floor plan had been created with entertaining in mind, as most of the space was open. Exposed brick and refinished hardwood floors gave it the trendy look of a loft, but with the intimate atmosphere of a refurbished old home. An antique liquor cabinet appeared fully stocked, and the sofas were large and squishy. There was an expensive-looking HDTV plasma unit hanging on one wall, with a complex sound system arranged around it. It had taken Malfoy fifteen minutes to teach Harry how to operate the touchscreen universal remote that afternoon. The television was currently tuned to CNN with the sound off, while the satellite radio's disco channel was blaring through the speakers. There were several interesting paintings on the walls, all abstract and erotic. Harry was tilting his head, staring at one that he had finally realized represented an extreme close-up of male genitalia, when Malfoy emerged from his bedroom.
“Oh, no , Potter! For fuck's sake!” Harry whirled, uncertain what he'd done wrong. Malfoy made a face as he crossed the room and stopped about two feet from Harry, looking him over. “You can not go out like that.”
Harry glanced down at his wardrobe – faded jeans, green cable knit jumper. He'd even spelled his hair into a semblance of good behavior. This was the way he usually dressed to go out with friends. “What's wrong?”
Malfoy took his hand and tugged him towards the bedroom. “That jumper. I'm sorry, but friends don't let friends wear Gap .”
Malfoy's bedroom was – in a word – white . On the bed was a fluffy white duvet and far too many pillows, and large panels painted in varying shades and textures of white hung on the exposed brick walls. All of the furniture in the room had been painted white, and even the drapes framing the windows were white and billowing. It made Harry feel sleepy just to look at all of it. Malfoy began rummaging through a closet, mumbling to himself.
“Oh, wait a minute,” Harry protested, finally realizing what was happening. “I'm not going to let you dress me, Malfoy.”
“Better than un-dressing, hmmm?” he heard from the closet.
Harry grumbled, though he already knew he'd give in. Unless it was too horribly camp.
Fortunately, Malfoy owned a good deal of black clothing, and he emerged with a form-fitting black rayon shirt, simple and understated. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Malfoy held it up, as if trying to imagine the shirt on Harry. “Well...” he began, pursing his lips as if unconvinced.
“It's fine,” Harry insisted, pulling his jumper over his head and dropping it to the floor. “I'll take it.”
Malfoy dangled the shirt at arm's length, forcing Harry to come closer to get it. “The jeans will have to do, unfortunately. I don't think we're the same size.” He gazed contemplatively at Harry's groin. “Though I find the idea of you trying to get into my trousers quite appealing.”
Harry snatched the shirt away with a mild glare and pulled it on as quickly as possible. Malfoy nodded approvingly, which worried Harry.
“Mirror?”
“Bathroom,” Malfoy said, pointing.
Harry stepped into a small room full of far too many burning candles for his comfort. The shirt was clingier than he'd like, but it would do. He turned sideways, and realized that, in the right light, the fabric clung to his skin enough to accentuate what muscles he had.
“Damn,” he whispered.
“Exactly,” Malfoy said from the doorway. “But the hair won't do at all.”
“I actually did put some effort into my hair, you know.”
Malfoy shook his head. “That's the problem.” He chose a small tub from the collection of hair care products on the shelf and scooped out some goop onto his fingers. He rubbed his hands together and started for Harry's head.
“Wait a minute, now,” Harry warned, backing into a wall.
“Relax,” Malfoy said. “This won't hurt a bit. Think of me as your personal Queer Eye.” Harry relented, sitting on the toilet, and Draco combed his fingers through Harry's hair. He stood back at last and nodded. “Better.”
Harry stood and looked in the mirror. “That's worse than the way it looked before I did anything,” he muttered. It was sticking out wildly on top and swirled into some sort of messy arrangement everywhere else.
“It looks fine,” Malfoy grinned. “The boys are gonna eat you up tonight.”
“Great,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes.
They'd been in the taxi for two minutes before Malfoy leaned over and spoke quietly in Harry's ear. “I suppose this would be a good time to tell you I've been using the name ‘Derek Malone' while I've lived here.” Harry's forehead furrowed. He hadn't heard anyone call Malfoy by name in the café, now that he thought about it. “And they think you're...” Malfoy paused and bit his lower lip. “Well, I told them you were an old school friend.”
Harry blinked at him. “That's sort of true.”
“They assumed that you were an ex, actually, and I... didn't exactly dissuade them.” Malfoy gave him a weak smile.
Harry's jaw dropped. “They think I'm your ex-boyfriend?” he hissed.
“Yes, so you should probably act gay, or something.”
“Act gay?” Harry spat, then cast a cautious glance towards the driver. “How am I supposed to do that?”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “You've been hanging ‘round me long enough. Surely you can figure it out.”
The taxi stopped abruptly; the restaurant they were meeting Malfoy's friends in was located in the Castro, so they hadn't had far to go. Malfoy bounced out of the taxi, leaving Harry to pay the driver, as usual. For someone with so much money, Malfoy was certainly not objecting to having someone else foot the bill. Harry'd had to find a cash point machine on his walk over this evening. He hoped the bar took credit cards.
The restaurant, a tapas bar called Mission Andalu, was just as trendy as every other place they'd been. Malfoy's friends were waiting at a table, glasses of wine in hand. They waved enthusiastically when they caught sight of Harry and... Derek . Harry gritted his teeth.
Kisses were exchanged, and Malfoy performed introductions. “Harry, this is Colby,” he said, gesturing towards a fresh-faced young man with thick dark hair and a sparkly shirt. “And this is Jeremy.” Jeremy reminded Harry a bit of Ron; his features were long and narrow and his hair reddish-brown. Harry smiled politely and shook both men's hands. They grinned at him. “Where's Manny?” Malfoy asked, glancing around as they sat.
“Running late,” Jeremy quipped. “Even later than you, and that's an accomplishment.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes and then winked at Harry.
“Well Harry, you've certainly been keeping Derek busy this week,” Jeremy said, signaling the server. “We've hardly seen him. Had to threaten him with bodily harm just to get to meet you.”
Colby grinned at Harry across the table. “Anyone who can capture Derek's attention for more than a few hours is certainly worth meeting. Where are you from?”
“London , actually,” Harry replied. “I've never been to San Francisco before.”
“Ooo, listen to that accent!” Jeremy cooed. “So cute!” Harry blushed.
“What about me?” Malfoy pouted.
“You've been in the States too long,” Jeremy replied. “Now you just have that weird Madonna accent.” Malfoy gaped at him, clearly offended.
“I'm sure Derek's showed you around,” Colby said to Harry. “The Wharf, cable cars, Chinatown , and all that?”
“Ummm...” Harry looked at Malfoy cautiously. “No, he hasn't, actually. We haven't gone out at all, except for meals.”
“Ooooh,” both men said at once, and Harry turned red. Malfoy grinned and nudged Harry with his knee.
“That's not what I meant,” Harry said.
“Sure it wasn't,” Colby replied, winking at Malfoy.
“We'll have to remedy that, won't we?” Malfoy said. Harry's eyes widened – surely he hadn't meant... that . Malfoy smiled. “Tomorrow we'll see all the touristy sights, I promise.”
The server appeared, and Malfoy ordered a variety of items for the table, along with a pricey bottle of ‘96 Bordeaux . Jeremy and Colby seemed content to let him take charge, and Harry wondered if this was typical.
“So you two were schoolmates then?” Colby asked. Harry nodded. “Tell us what Derek was like when he was a little school boy.”
“Was he as big a slut then as he is now?” Jeremy interjected. Malfoy casually flipped him off.
Harry glanced at Malfoy, hoping he would give him a hint, but Malfoy only smirked in response. Thanks a lot , Harry thought. “He was certainly much more of a prick than he is now,” he said at last. “Quite the elitist snob, to be honest.”
Colby and Jeremy laughed, and Malfoy snorted. “All lies,” he said with a dramatic sigh.
“We had far too many classes together for my liking,” Harry continued, starting to enjoy Malfoy's squirming, “but we were never in the same dorm, thank god.”
“Dorm?” Jeremy repeated, grinning. He poked Malfoy in the arm. “You never said it was a boarding school! Oh, you must have delicious stories – late night clandestine meetings, sneaking into each others' rooms–”
“Blow jobs in the shower room,” Colby added, grinning. They looked expectantly at Harry.
“Ummm...” Harry began.
Malfoy rescued him. “Harry spent his school years laboring under the impression that he was straight, so he wouldn't know, to be fair.” Harry tried not to look relieved, and Jeremy and Colby groaned. “And I hate to disappoint you, but I hardly have any thrilling stories of my own. There were only two other boys near my age who were gay.” At their incredulous stare, he added, “It was a small school.”
“Who?” Harry asked.
“Not counting you?” Malfoy replied. Harry smirked.
The server arrived with two more glasses and opened the bottle of wine. Harry watched Malfoy perform the wine tasting ritual, and ran through a list of boys in his mind. He hadn't been aware that anyone in their year was gay.
After the wine was poured and the server away, Malfoy grinned at Harry. “You're dying to know, aren't you?”
“No,” Harry lied.
Malfoy took a sip from his glass. “Neville and Colin.”
“Neville?!” Harry repeated, gaping. “You're kidding!” Colin seemed quite obvious, now that he thought about it.
“I'm surprised you didn't know. You were his friend, after all.”
Harry sat back in his chair and picked up his wine glass. “I don't suppose you–”
“Fucked him? Yes. Several times.” Harry had been thinking more along the lines of dating , but he tried not to react to Malfoy's crudeness. “That's actually why my father pulled me out of school,” Malfoy continued, then paused as if remembering. “He found out about Neville and brought me home to finish school through tutoring.”
“No shit?” Jeremy said. “Your father did that?”
“Oh, honey, mine would have strangled me,” Colby quipped. “Actually, he still would, if he had any idea.”
“My father was and probably still is an arrogant, self-righteous, narrow-minded bastard,” Malfoy stated, tone as matter-of-fact as if he'd just commented that the wine was lovely or that Harry's shirt was wrinkled. Harry stared at him, realizing this entire story constituted the first bit of personal information Malfoy had offered so far. Assuming, of course, that it was true.
He clearly remembered Malfoy's father arriving at Hogwarts one day in the autumn of seventh year and departing with his angry son in tow. Everyone had just assumed Malfoy was going to become a Death Eater slightly ahead of schedule. They'd even had a “Good Riddance” party in the Gryffindor common room that night. Neville hadn't participated, now that Harry thought about it, and had been very withdrawn and depressed during that term. It had never occurred to him to connect that with Malfoy's departure.
“You and Neville?” he mused. “I had no idea.”
“Aren't you two still friends?” Malfoy asked.
“We were, until he died,” Harry replied. The table was silent for a moment. Malfoy studied his wine glass, expression controlled. Jeremy and Colby watched him, exchanging glances. “It wasn't... he wasn't sick or anything,” Harry added, realizing they might misunderstand. “It was an accident. A car crash. Drunk driver.”
He glanced at Malfoy, who stared back at him. It had been prolonged exposure to the cruciatus curse, and Neville had never regained consciousness after they found him. He died in hospital, and Harry privately thought he'd simply given up. He'd been tortured beyond what anyone else had suffered. Malfoy swallowed and looked away. Harry would tell him later, when they were alone. For now, he sipped his wine and pressed his knee into Malfoy's under the table, feeling sympathy for him for the first time. Malfoy had left everything behind and started his life over at least twice – but why?
A fondue pot and a plate of fruit slices were set before them, interrupting the somber moment. They watched the server light the flame beneath the pot in silence. Harry cast about for a new topic for conversation, to no avail.
“So if you two weren't a couple in school, when did you hook up?” Colby asked at last, glancing back and forth between Harry and Malfoy.
Harry panicked and stuffed two slices of pear into his mouth. Malfoy smiled. “Just the usual. You know, too much to drink at a party, hadn't seen each other since school ended, conversation led to flirting led to a kiss in the garden...”
Harry stared at Malfoy as he continued to weave a tale of their first night together, complete with the awkward – and hung over – morning after. He hoped he wouldn't have to retell this story later.
“And we broke it off when I moved to New York ,” Malfoy finished, not looking at Harry.
“Awww, tragically torn apart by your careers,” Colby said. “Met at the wrong time, in the wrong place. Sounds familiar.” He raised an eyebrow at Malfoy, who ignored it.
A muffled melody started playing, and everyone but Harry began searching his pockets.
“Mine,” Malfoy said, pulling a small mobile phone from his jacket.
Harry was stunned yet again. He didn't know any wizards who carried mobiles.
“Where the fuck are you?” Malfoy said into the phone by way of greeting. “Well, get down here... Oh, please . You need to have some fun... We'll be here for a while, and then we're going to The Café...” Malfoy got up from the table and walked a short distance away, and Harry could no longer hear the conversation.
“That would be Manny,” Colby said, dipping a slice of apple into the bubbling cheese sauce. “He's a lawyer, and he's got a trial next week, so he's really busy.” Jeremy elbowed Colby in the ribs, and they exchanged a meaningful look.
“What?” Harry asked.
Colby popped the apple slice into his mouth. Jeremy sipped his wine and smiled. “That's an impressive scar,” he said, squinting at Harry's head. “I'm sure there's a story behind that.”
“A long one,” Harry replied.
Malfoy returned to the table. “He's probably going to be a while. The defense produced a new witness and they had to investigate, or something.” He shrugged. “Fuck him. We'll have more fun without him.”
“I know you will,” Colby said with a smirk.
“Oh, fuck you,” Malfoy teased, grinning over his wine glass.
“Already did,” Colby countered.
Malfoy held up his little finger and studied it. “So I remember.”
Jeremy laughed, and Malfoy ducked as an apple slice flew at his head. Harry couldn't help but grin. Mrs. Weasley had always been fond of saying, “Boys will be boys.” Apparently gay boys weren't an exception to that rule either.
Two hours, several platters of tapas, and four bottles of wine later, the group headed to The Café, a disco on Market Street . There was a bit of a line to get in, and they huddled together, laughing and talking, and everyone but Harry smoking. Harry was surprised at how much fun he was having. He'd expected to feel uncomfortable going clubbing with a bunch of gay men, but Malfoy's friends had been nice to him, even welcoming, to an extent.
Colby and Jeremy got into a shouting match with a man hanging over the second floor balcony above, and Harry took the opportunity to pull Malfoy aside.
“I'm just going to tell you this once,” he whispered against his cheek, feeling Malfoy shiver in response. “I don't dance.”
Malfoy laughed and slid an arm around Harry's waist. “You just haven't been drunk enough then.”
“Derek,” Harry warned, but it was too late.
“I'll buy a round for anyone who can get Harry on the dance floor!” Malfoy announced. Not only did Jeremy and Colby cheer, but the surrounding crowd joined in as well. Harry groaned, and Malfoy planted a wet kiss on his cheek.
Once inside they found a table – at Harry's insistence – and Jeremy returned with the first round of drinks.
“What the fuck?” Harry asked, squinting at the brightly colored martini that had been set before him.
“Ooooh, that's a strong one,” Malfoy said. “Midori and vodka, I think.” He waggled his eyebrows at Harry. “Hope you wore comfortable shoes.”
“Fuck off, Draco,” Harry muttered. He took a sip of his drink before he realized what he'd said.
“Draco?” Colby repeated, looking surprised. “What the fuck kind of nickname is that?” Malfoy looked a little pale, though it was hard to tell in the dim colored light.
Harry swallowed. “Ah, just a... yeah, a school nickname.” He grinned sheepishly at Malfoy. “I suppose you prefer not to be called that anymore?”
“No,” Malfoy replied smoothly. “It was a stupid name, anyway.”
“There has to be a story behind that,” Jeremy said.
Malfoy grinned, composure regained. “It was a sport nickname. Harry and I played on the school team together.” He winked.
“What, soccer?” Jeremy asked.
“No, no, no,” Colby interrupted, and adopted a strangely familiar expression. “It's called football , you ignorant American.”
Jeremy laughed, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Yes, and I was bloody good at it, too.”
“Oh, did you tear off your shirt when you scored? I love it when they do that!” Colby grinned.
Malfoy's face was blank for a split second before he wrinkled his nose. “Why on earth would I tear my shirt off?” Everyone laughed, and Malfoy joined in, though belatedly.
The ringing of the mobile drew Malfoy away from the table once more. Harry took a few sips of his drink, which he'd found he liked, and smiled at Jeremy and Colby.
“While we're on the subject of school days,” Jeremy began, “tell us more about Derek.”
“Yeah, what did he do in New York ? Why did he move to San Francisco ? He must have had an amazing job, to have all that money. Why quit and work in a coffee shop here?” Colby asked.
Harry stared at them. “I...” he began, and then pursed his lips. Malfoy hadn't told his friends anything about his past? Did he trust no one? Or had he put them up to this somehow, as a test? “He's rather secretive, isn't he?” he said after a moment. “He'd kill me if I told you anything.” He smiled in what he hoped was a charming way and took another drink.
Colby smiled back, a bit coolly. “Ready to dance yet, Harry?”
“Nope.”
“Let me buy you another drink, then.”
Malfoy returned as the second round arrived. “He's not coming tonight,” he said, looking mildly irritated.
“Lucky for Harry,” Jeremy muttered, and Colby smirked at him. Malfoy seemed not to have heard the remark.
The conversation continued for a while, until Jeremy declared it was time to dance and left the table in pursuit of a man who'd caught his eye. Before long, Malfoy and Colby had left as well, and Harry found himself sitting alone.
Not that he really minded. It was good to have a moment to collect his thoughts, jumbled as they were. After several days of spending more time with Malfoy than he'd ever imagined tolerable, he'd learned nothing about why the auror had left New York in such a hurry.
He caught a few glimpses of Malfoy dancing in the crowd, and he couldn't help but shake his head in astonishment. Malfoy wasn't trying very hard to hide. If Harry'd found him so quickly, perhaps others had found him as well. Was he in danger here?
Harry pushed his drink away and sighed. At least he'd learned Malfoy hadn't become a Death Eater. Harry had briefly considered the possibility that Malfoy was working as a double agent, but he'd seen no evidence of that. Malfoy had been in enough immediate danger in New York that he'd fled at a moment's notice, but he seemed to feel safe here, safe enough that he'd only altered his name and appearance slightly. Harry had tried every angle he could think of to get him to open up, but Malfoy hadn't revealed anything.
Harry, on the other hand, hardly had any secrets left to tell. Malfoy knew nearly as much about him now as Hermione did. No one – not even his drinking mates from the Ministry – knew how he'd really felt about Cho, or how much he still wanted to be a father. Not even Hermione knew about that drunken threesome he'd had with Cho and Ginny years ago. Malfoy had managed to drag the details out of him, listening with an expression of fascinated horror on his face.
And he'd never told anyone else about the time he and Ron had shared an experimental kiss after the Yule Ball sixth year. Ron had freaked out afterwards, and Harry's feelings were hurt for weeks. Malfoy had smiled and bought Harry another drink, but didn't share any first kiss stories of his own.
Harry downed the rest of his second drink, then closed his eyes and let the swirl of sound and light wash away his sudden anxiety. Malfoy was the one hiding, after all. He had more to lose than Harry did.
Colby returned to the table with more drinks – shooters now – and tried to coerce Harry into dancing. Harry distracted him with a few questions about Derek, and convinced him to tell the story of how they'd become friends. Just as Colby was getting started, a man wearing very little clothing came around selling drinks in long tubes. He grinned and said, “Blow job, boys?” Colby bought four tubes on the spot, downed two of them himself, and left in pursuit of the vendor.
Harry's head was starting to swim from the amount of liquor he'd consumed in the last hour. It was a stupid thing to do, really, but he could cast a sobering spell on himself if he had to. It actually felt nice to be a little numb, to release his anxiety for an hour or so. His mind had been spinning strangely these last few days, and he needed a break from thinking about everything so very much. He rested his forehead on the table, finding it surprisingly comfortable. He realized he could feel the vibrations of the subwoofers through the table. Interesting...
“Hello,” he heard, and lifted his head. A young Asian woman was sitting next to him, grinning. She glanced over her shoulder at the blonde girl standing behind her and looked back to Harry. “So you see, that dude over there,” she indicated Malfoy with a pointed glance, “told us he'd buy us a round of drinks if we could get you to dance for two minutes.”
“Oh, fuck,” Harry grumbled.
“Oh, c'mon!” the blonde pleaded, leaning forward on the table until her breasts nearly spilled from her tiny top. “Pleeease? We're students, and this place is expensive.”
Harry kept his eyes on the girls' faces, which was a challenge considering how little clothing they were wearing. “Look, ladies, I'm sorry, but–”
“Hey, we get it,” the Asian girl interrupted. “You don't like girls. Well, we don't like guys! Nothing to worry about! You make your boyfriend happy, and we get free drinks. Everybody wins.” She pulled one hand and the blonde grabbed the other, and the next thing Harry knew he was standing awkwardly on the dance floor in the middle of a small group of scantily-clad lesbians.
A small part of his brain said, “Holy shit!” – and the rest panicked. He started to back away slowly. “Oh, no you don't!” he heard in his ear, and several pairs of hands pulled him forward again. He turned to see another girl with short red hair grinning at him. He looked around, and realized the girls were all dressed similarly.
“Britney Spears look-alike contest tonight?” he quipped, trying to start moving in a way he hoped wasn't horribly dorky.
“No, we just came from a Mardi Gras costume party,” the blonde said.
“Know who we are?” the redhead asked, pulling the Asian girl close.
Harry's brain began to shut down at the sight; he could only shake his head in response.
“Charlie's Angels, silly!” the blonde giggled, and wrapped herself around Harry.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jeremy and Colby waving at him, laughing hysterically. He searched until he found Malfoy, leaning against a pillar and grinning at him. Harry rolled his eyes. The girls danced around him, pressed tightly against each other.
He wasn't that bad of a dancer, he reflected. He wasn't feeling so self-conscious as usual, and he couldn't imagine anyone would really pay him any attention while he was surrounded by half-naked girls.
The song changed, and someone's arm was around him. “Having fun?” Jeremy asked. He put another shooter in Harry's hand, and raised his own in salute. Harry grinned and clinked the small glass against the other man's before downing it.
“Ugh,” he said, making a face. The drink was horribly sweet. Jeremy took the empty glass and slipped away.
“There you are,” he heard, and hands were pulling him back again, into a swirl of bodies. The Asian girl was grinding against the redhead, and she pressed her ass against Harry's groin. When two of them started kissing a few inches from his face, his jeans got a bit uncomfortable.
“I think it's been two minutes, ladies,” he said, backing away. They grinned at him and waved as he headed towards the bathroom, trying not to walk too awkwardly. It was ironic that one of his biggest sexual fantasies would be played out in front of him on a night he was pretending to be gay.
He pushed open the door of the bathroom only to find it was being used as much for sex as for its intended purpose. There were several couples grinding against each other along the walls, and muffled sounds were coming from the stalls. He steadied himself and walked toward the urinals.
He unzipped his jeans and found he was still too hard to piss. He waited, trying to block out the sounds of sex all around him, but it wasn't going to work. Maybe if he just sat down for a while, he thought. He sighed and fastened his jeans again, turning to leave.
And froze – Malfoy was leaning against the wall a few meters away, and a man was on his knees before him on the grimy floor, sucking his cock. Harry blinked, unable to keep himself from staring. He'd only occasionally seen sex happening right in front of him like that, and certainly never sex between two men. Of course, a blow job was a blow job, and this one didn't look any different than he would have expected.
Except that it was Malfoy with his black chinos pushed to his knees, fingers tangled in the dark hair of the man before him. The expression on his face was guarded, and his eyes were tightly shut. The man's head bobbed quickly, one hand wrapped around the base of Malfoy's erection and the other either braced on the wall behind him or doing something interesting to Malfoy's arse. Malfoy's breath was ragged, and he was biting his lip, not making a sound.
He's a bit of a screamer, Harry heard in his head, and wondered if Malfoy was making an effort to hold back. Malfoy's hands clenched tighter, and Harry found himself hypnotized by the motion, the engulfing and revealing of slick skin, the rhythm of Malfoy's breathing.
He looked up to see Malfoy staring back at him, eyes glazed and wide. Harry froze, uncertain what to do. Should he apologize? Leave? Join in?
The last thought startled him so much he took a step away. Malfoy's head snapped back against the wall, and he grimaced, coming. Harry became acutely aware of his resurging erection just as Malfoy's eyes raked over him again. Panicked, he left the bathroom, pausing outside the door to adjust his dick to a more comfortable position before winding his way through the crowd on the dance floor, feeling more and more claustrophobic with every second.
“Harry!” A hand on his arm stopped him, and he turned to see Colby smiling at him. “Where ya going?”
“Home,” Harry said. “Hotel. I can't... I've had enough, for tonight.” He tried to pull away.
Colby pulled him closer. “Harry, you know what he's like. He's not exactly the boyfriend type.” His eyes were sympathetic.
Harry shook his head. “I'm going,” he said, and pulled away. The night air was cool, and he walked two streets before hailing a taxi. He collapsed into the back seat, aroused and confused, and far too drunk to think about it all now.
