Wanting and Kneading

Authors Note: And here is part two of the twoshot. Many thanks to Shannon for her beta work and I hope you all enjoy.

Chapter 2 Ruby Slippers

Nothing in his closet seemed appropriate to wear for a dinner with an old flame. Not even a flame really, but more of a faint sizzle that got doused with water before a spark could occur. Harry was past it though; he had moved on and he was no longer harboring romantic feelings for the man who had tracked him down.

Of all the people to have located him, why did it have to be Malfoy? Ron or even Hermione would have been far preferable to the blonde he just couldn’t seem to say ‘no’ to. He didn’t even know what it was about the former Slytherin that made his knees so weak and his belly flutter, but there was something there before he left London, and it was still there now, just waiting to attack him if he got too close.

He’d be lying if he said that his leaving had nothing to do with the Death Eater turned charity mogul, but he’d also be lying if he said it was only about him. It may have been the final straw, but it was by no means the only straw that had broken that particular camel’s back.

Beyond his growing and nonsensical affection toward the man he had loathed before the war there was also the fact that his job was terrible. He hated being an Auror, hated it with his whole being. It kept him on an insane schedule that never allotted much –if any- time for a personal life. When he was home he was lonely, when he was at the office he was bored out of his mind with paperwork and when he was in the field he was constantly wondering what had made him want the job in the first place. His debt to the wizarding community should have ended with Voldemort’s death and Harry no longer felt the nagging desire to help people in a way that put himself in danger at every turn.

He far preferred the job he had now, working with his hands to bring people relaxation and pleasure. It suited him and he left every day feeling content and warm, if still a little lonely.

His job back in London was probably the worst factor, but then there was also the celebrity and pomp he had to deal with on a daily basis. After a string of sour relationships, most of which went directly to Witch Weekly to blab about their dates with the reclusive Harry Potter, the reporters vying for his photo or a scandalous interview nearly quadrupled. By the time he left it had become impossible to even take out the garbage without running into a tabloid leech.

This had an even worse impact on his love life, which was virtually nonexistent at the time he decided to flee London. All the people he met within his last year there either wanted only to glean their own fifteen minutes of fame from his reputation or they wanted nothing to do with the publicity and therefore kept their distance.

Seeing Ron and Hermione made it even worse because they were so busy with their own relationship and family and all the other things Harry wanted to experience for himself. It hardly seemed fair.

Then came Malfoy. He was right though, at the end he wasn’t Malfoy at all, he was Draco.

It had all began one afternoon at a luncheon devoted to the protection of muggles who had magical family members. The Ministry was trying to be proactive in making sure these families would remain safe in the event of another magical war. The host of the party was none other than Draco Malfoy and his non-profit agency ‘Magical Executives Opposing War’, whose acronym Harry always found hilarious.

Harry hadn’t seen much of his formal rival before that luncheon; he occasionally read an article about Malfoy schmoozing some foreign diplomat, or some blurb about an award he had won, and even sometimes a tabloid cover with him snogging a supermodel. None of it ever really stuck with him though, and as he made his way around the room chatting with fundraisers and Ministry officials, he was surprised when the ambitious blonde approached him as if they had always been the best of friends.

“Harry,” he called smoothly across the short distance between them. “So good to see you, again.”

Harry simply rolled his eyes and wondered how much of a donation he would be expected to make toward Malfoy’s cause-of-the-week. “Nice party,” he replied, ignoring Malfoy’s extended hand.

“I’m happy you could make it. Come with me, there’s someone I would like you to meet,” Draco replied with a slick grin.

Silently groaning to himself, Harry followed dutifully, as was custom at these sorts of events. The Potter image was a hot commodity at any fundraising event and he always did his part to raise money for people affected by the war.

“Harry, this is Madeline Forester, chairwoman for the American Magical Alliance. She’s working with our company to develop an alert system for everyone in the magical communities for when a Death Eater is spotted in their area. With both our groups working together, there will be far less places for the scoundrels to hide,” he explained.

“Brilliant,” Harry replied with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. It really was a good thing they were doing, but Harry just wasn’t in the mood for any of it. He had just broken up with another bloke the night before and Luna had informed him that his ex was already snooping around the magazines looking for a reporter to pay him for his story. Harry just couldn’t seem to win.

Malfoy gave him a puzzled look and excused them from Mrs. Forester’s company, pulling Harry gently by the arm toward the bathrooms. “Harry, are you alright?” he asked when they were out of earshot. “This is your arena; you should be a pro at this by now.”

“Would you stop acting like we’re best mates?” Harry hissed. “It’s unsettling.”

“I’m only trying to be friendly, Harry,” Draco replied, looking taken aback.

“Stop calling me ‘Harry’. Since when do you do that?” he spat. “And not that it’s any of your business but this luncheon is the last thing I need today.” He carefully rubbed his temples as he tried to stave off the headache that was tromping through his brain, and also trying to ignore Draco’s look of incredulity.

“Stay right here,” Malfoy ordered at last and then strode back to the group in the dining hall.

Harry had no idea what to make of the Slytherin’s erratic behavior, but thought the idea of staying put by the loo and out of the way of chatty guests sounded like a brilliant plan, so he obeyed.

A few moments later the man returned looking purposeful and looped his arm through Harry’s. “Ready?” he asked expectantly.

“Ready for what?” Harry asked in return, but instead of a verbal answer he got a lurching feeling in the pit of his stomach as Draco apparated them away from the luncheon.

He wobbled on his feet for a second as the world shifted and reformed in front of him and once he had his bearings again, he rounded on the intrusive blonde. “What in bloody hell do you think you’re doing!” he shouted, shoving the man away from him. “You can’t just side-apparate without any warning, I could have been splinched you ignorant prat!”

“I had everything under control, Harry. Why don’t you just calm down and come have a drink with me?” he asked coolly as he headed toward the entrance of a nearby pub.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Malfoy,” he spat, putting extra emphasis on the man’s last name in order to show him how inappropriate it was for Malfoy to be using his given name.

Draco however seemed unfazed and merely shrugged. “Suit yourself, you know where I am if you get lonely out here.”

Harry scowled across the sidewalk at his former schoolboy rival and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly as Draco disappeared into the pub. He must have stood that way, outraged by the liberties Malfoy had taken with him, for nearly ten minutes before he started feeling childish and followed the man inside.

He nearly walked out again when Malfoy shot him a knowing smirk but in the end he decided a pint might do him some good to ease the stress he was feeling at the eminent release of another sordid breakup tale in the papers.

“I ordered you a Beamish,” Draco announced when Harry took his seat next to him.

“You were that confident that I would join you?” Harry asked, one eyebrow cocked into the fringe of his hair as he observed Malfoy’s easy smile. He didn’t bother asking how Draco knew what he would order because it had to have been a coincidence.

“A Malfoy is always confident,” he replied, shifting into another smug grin.

Harry rolled his eyes and focused his attention away from the Slytherin’s pale and smirking face and over to the worn wooden counter. He took the mug of beer when the bartender passed it to him and gulped at it greedily while Draco sipped at whatever he had ordered.

It was halfway empty when he finally sighed and relaxed a bit. “I needed that,” he groaned, leaning his elbow against the counter and turning his attention toward Malfoy once more. “So tell me about this new cheery Malfoy.”

Draco chuckled and shook his head. “You’re the one in need of a listener, not me. What had you moping about my fundraiser?”

He watched the other man hesitantly for a moment, wondering why he would even care. Would there be a new article running the next day on ‘suicidal Harry Potter confesses depression to oldest enemy’? It was then that he realized he didn’t care. If that was what Malfoy was after, he could have it, the entire juicy gossip of Harry’s life would be laid out for him to judge as he saw fit.

“I broke things off with my boyfriend last night,” Harry admitted.

“And now he’s going to the papers?” Draco observed smartly.

“Exactly,” Harry replied with a nod.

“And what will he be saying?” Draco asked, shifting a bit closer to where Harry sat, still nursing his pint.

Harry shrugged and tried not to shift away. “Who knows? Truth, lies, take your pick, it hardly matters to the public.”

“True,” Draco agreed. “It was like that tabloid they did on me and Giselle. Sure I was molesting her in public, but they failed to mention that we had been dating for nearly a year. She sacked me after that article came out.”

“They’re always twisting things,” Harry muttered.

“What was his name, Otis right?” Draco asked.

“Yeah, how did you know?” Harry replied curiously.

“Horrid name,” Draco responded with a mock shudder.

Harry chuckled and shook his head. “Right, and your name is so much better?”

“I’ll have you know ‘Draco’ is prestigious and strong in magical background. What the hell is Otis? The brand of muggle lifts?” Draco countered.

“Oh, and what about your company’s name? Meow?” he asked, unable to withhold his laughter. “What kind of nonsense is that?”

“I meant it to be funny,” Malfoy protested. “It’s easier to remember it that way.”

They laughed and talked for the rest of the afternoon, arguing first about who started what fight in school and then moving onto debates over muggle rights in a magical society. They never once grew angry at one another, though Draco would get snippy on occasion and Harry would grow quiet when certain touchy subjects came up. All and all it was a very companionable evening and Harry couldn’t believe he felt so comfortable with Draco Malfoy of all people.

It was later that evening that he first noticed the color of Draco’s eyes.

They had left the pub and were walking in casual silence when Draco whirled Harry around to face him. “You deserve better than the rubbish you keep dating, Harry,” he told him firmly. Harry could smell the faint aroma of the alcohol they had been consuming, but under that was the fragrance and flavor of power.

Harry always knew the taste of power because he had seen and felt his fair share of it throughout his life, but what Malfoy was exuding was different. It was far more subtle, and it filled his eyes with a stormy glimmer.

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry muttered, thinking more about how attractive Draco was than what Draco was talking about. It didn’t matter what he thought of his former rival though, the man was straight and just being friendly, and further more- it was Malfoy.

“Exactly,” He replied, ignorant to Harry’s inner monologue. “Whatever he says about you doesn’t matter, none of it does. You can’t let a few cross words bring you down. You’re better than the whole lot of them.”

Harry grinned up at his new friend and blessed his stars that he hadn’t had more to drink, otherwise he would have no doubt thrown himself on Malfoy only to look a fool in the end when Draco rejected him. “Thanks,” was all he said in return.

“For?” Draco asked, looking perplexed.

“For skipping out on your fundraiser to talk with me and for being kind in spite of the git I was being to you,” he answered.

A soft smile broke upon Draco’s lips and he leaned into Harry, making his heart flutter at an indecent pace. For a brief moment he thought the blonde was going to kiss him, and he did, but not as Harry had hoped. Tender lips pressed against his forehead for a fraction of a second and then he pulled back again, intently studying Harry’s face.

“I should go,” he announced hastily, dropping into a low and patronizing bow. At some point Harry might have been offended by it, but after spending hours with the Slytherin he understood –or at least thought he did- that obscene formality was just Malfoy’s way. “It was a pleasure, Harry, and I hope to see you again soon.”

With that and a wink, he was gone, having spun into a fluid apparition and left Harry alone on the sidewalk.

The memory slowly faded as Harry looked down at the choices of clothing he had pulled from his closet. He had to keep telling himself that it wasn’t a date, and that there was no need to stress over it, but it mattered very little what his mind said. In the end his willpower did win out though, and he went with a casual pair of dark gray denims and a thin vintage green tee-shirt, nothing fancy, nothing terribly flattering, nothing that would indicate he had been worrying over the decision for hours.

He tried not to scrutinize his hair, but still managed to spend more time on it than he normally would have if just going for drinks with Emily. With a deep breath and a muggle military jacket slung over his shoulders he left the quiet solitude of his cottage and headed toward the main hotel building and the ghost from his past that awaited him there.

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Fidgeting was not a pastime that Draco typically participated in, but as the clock struck quarter past eight, he began to nervously tap his glass thinking that Harry might have decided to stand him up. If that was the case, he had no idea what recourse- if any- he would have with the missing brunette.

Years of searching and hoping only to finally find his target and being shooed away left a bitter taste in his mouth. Had Harry been so oblivious to his affections when he decided to leave? Or was he all too aware of them and so disgusted by the idea that he felt the need to avoid Draco- and even London- altogether?

Draco shook his head, trying to clear away the negative cobwebs. There was a spark between them, even after all their years apart and he was certain that Harry must have felt it too. He’d have to be daft not to.

He pulled an olive from his martini glass and popped it into his mouth. His tastes had transfigured from lager and firewhiskey into more mature drinks, but his craving for Harry hadn’t died; instead it intensified with each year he remained mysteriously unaccounted for.

Briefly he let his mind wander back to the time he had first had the nerve to speak to the hero after the war. Harry was looking morose and bored out of his mind at the luncheon he had thrown for a cause he knew Harry would show up for. Every other invitation Draco had sent to the elusive boy had gone unanswered, but that time he knew he had Harry just where he wanted him, and it was the perfect mood to find him in.

Had it not happened that way, and if Harry had shown up as his normally chipper self, no doubt Draco would have simply faded into the background in the sea of faces Harry greeted that day. Events might have turned out quite different, and he might not even be sitting there pining over someone who had run off and left him broken hearted.

Not that he could completely pin that on Harry. If he had been bolder, more blatant with his affections than perhaps Harry might have stayed to see things through. As it was Draco had waited a day too long even though the rest of his timing had been perfect.

He gave Harry room to make mistakes, figure out what he did and didn’t want from a relationship, then he swooped in like a knight in pale armor and showed him that there was more for him out there, bigger, better things than what he had been wasting his time on. He could clearly remember the look in Harry’s brilliant green eyes that first evening as they were walking from the pub. Draco fell, right then, head first into the pool of jewel tones as he told the man he had been thinking about for months that he was better than all the rest.

It was true too. The longer Draco thought about it the less people he could think of that compared to how strong, brave, beautiful and powerful Harry Potter was. And it only compounded when he had the chance to talk to him –really talk to him.

Then he nearly flubbed everything up because he almost kissed Harry right there in the street. What a mess that would have made, he could just imagine Harry shocked and running off or returning the kiss and then attributing it all to the alcohol later, and that was the last thing Draco wanted. So, instead of trying to fight temptation, he left and went back to his flat and stood under an ice cold shower.

He waited a week before contacting Harry again, and even then he made it more formal than he felt. It was a simple invitation to the same pub the following night, nothing abnormal- just a boy’s night out. He thought that might be more appropriate than a ‘hey Harry, I think about you all the time, fancy a date and maybe a shag’ kind of letter.

Much to Draco’s delight, Harry actually showed up and not only did he show up, he seemed genuinely pleased to be there. Things progressed much as they had the first time, a scathing comment here, an elbow to the rib there, all in good fun and they laughed at themselves and each other until the bar closed.

“Shit,” Harry shouted, talking a bit louder than necessary because of the amount of Beamish in his system. “I had no idea it was so late.”

“Have someplace to be tomorrow?” Draco asked, knowing full well that tomorrow was actually later today and that it was Saturday.

“No, I don’t,” Harry announced as if he were proud of the fact.

“Then perhaps we should take this party back to my flat?” Draco asked as casually as he could muster. Truth was he was dying to get Harry alone, partially so that the Gryffindor would feel more comfortable talking about more intimate things than favorite Quidditch teams and what his workweek consisted of but mostly he wanted him alone so that he could seduce him.

Despite his slight intoxication, however, Harry seemed on to his plan. “I think I might call it a night,” he said, staring at Draco intently.

“Right,” Draco agreed, albeit dejectedly. “Well, can I walk you to your apparition point?” he teased.

Harry chuckled and nodded so Draco looped his arm through the stumbling Gryffindor’s and walked him down to the corner and into the mouth of the alleyway there. “Same time next week?” he asked hopefully, and Harry nodded, a cheeky grin forming on his usually pouting lips.

It happened that way for almost two months. Some nights Draco would suggest they go back to his place and every time Harry would refuse. He never bothered making excuses, just simply said that he thought he should ‘call it a night’ same as he had that first time. Every night Draco wanted to kiss him, and every night he refrained when Harry gave him mixed signals. Occasionally he thought he was on the same page as the Gryffindor Golden Boy, but other times he thought that maybe he had read Harry all wrong and that the raven-haired boy was truly only interested in friendship.

It wasn’t until that final night, the Friday before the Ministry ball –the Friday before Harry left, that he knew he had to either lay it all out on the line or keep dancing back and forth and never really learn how Harry felt. Even if Harry rejected him outright, he figured it would be better than the cat and mouse game they had been playing for months. Not knowing was killing him.

Harry had come into the pub that night looking as delicious as ever in black and gray pinstriped trousers and a crisp pewter button-down shirt. The monochromatic look made his eyes sparkle against his flushed cheeks.

Harry’s Beamish had already been ordered, as was customary for these meetings, but when the bartender brought it over, Harry didn’t touch it. That was Draco’s first sign that something was different- wrong.

“The Ministry Gala is tomorrow night,” he stated, not indicating how he felt about it with inflection one way or the other.

“I’m aware,” Draco replied with a faint smile.

“You’ll be there then?” Harry asked and Draco nodded. “Are you taking someone?” he asked.

“I hope to be,” Draco answered bemusedly, wondering if right then would be the best time to ask Harry to be his date.

“Oh,” Harry replied, smiling the smile he did when he was hiding something. “Yeah, me too,” he added. “I’m thinking of asking a bloke from the legal department. He’s been chatting me up whenever I go downstairs to see Hermione.”

“I see,” Draco muttered, trying his best to look happy for this man that was supposed to be his friend. “Do you like him?”

“I don’t not like him, he seems nice enough,” Harry responded with a noncommittal shrug.

“What if we went together,” Draco blurted.

Harry nearly choked on the air. “What? You mean, you and me?”

“Sure,” he replied, trying to laugh about the apparent oddness of his suggestion. “I mean, it would keep either one of us from having to worry about lame dates.”

“Draco,” Harry began with narrowed eyes. “I know you’re clever and all, but you haven’t missed the part about me being gay right? I mean, if we show up at the Gala together, people are going to assume we’re dating.”

“I don’t care what people say,” Draco replied while never letting his gaze break away from Harry’s.

“I don’t want to ruin your reputation,” he offered teasingly.

“You couldn’t,” Draco replied seriously. “I’ve slept with other men before, Harry. I’ve just never dated another man in public.”

Harry’s grin faltered slightly as he scrutinized Draco’s face. “Are you being serious? All this time and you fail to mention…”

“It’s not a big deal, Harry,” Draco replied, trying to recuperate. The last thing he wanted was for Harry to think he was a liar. “It just never came up.”

“All this time I’ve been thinking… well it doesn’t really matter what I’ve been thinking does it?” he demanded and slid from the barstool. “I’ll see you later, Malfoy,” he muttered before storming out of the pub.

Draco followed him, but Harry was already gone by the time he reached the door. He didn’t understand what just happened or why Harry was so angry. Draco knew the Gryffindor valued honesty, but he thought the constant come-ons and flirtations would have been enough to make Harry understand that Draco was attracted to him. Clearly that wasn’t the case and now Harry was back home, probably cursing his name for being a big fat Slytherin liar.

He vowed to set everything straight at the Ministry Gala. He’d pull Harry away from the prat he would invite from Legal and tell him that he was infatuated with him. He’d tell Harry that he’d been falling deeper and deeper since that first afternoon and that he wanted a proper date with him once and for all. With his cards exposed Harry would have no choice but to be honest with him. Either: Harry felt the same, or he didn’t- Draco would have to deal with it either way.

Only the Ministry Gala never came.

Well, it did, at least for Draco, but instead of causing a scene and declaring his adulation for the stubborn Gryffindor, he was left having to mingle alone through crowds of people he had wished were Harry.

“Sorry I’m late,” muttered a soft voice behind him and Draco banished the foul memories in exchange for the enigmatic green eyes staring down at him.

“You’re always late. I should be used to it by now,” Draco replied, still feeling the sting of a rejection that was years ago.

“I’m only late with you,” Harry replied with a smug grin.

“How do you mean?” Draco asked, his head tilted slightly in his confusion.

“I always make it to work on time, I’m always early for drinks with Emily, even when Hermione and Ron invited me over I’d be there on schedule. You, however, I like to make you wait on me,” he finished with a low chuckle.

“Haven’t I been doing enough waiting,” Draco asked, reaching out a hand and looping it around Harry’s wrist. Potter tried to pull back from the touch, but Draco wouldn’t let him. “I’ve missed you, Harry.”

The Gryffindor rolled his eyes and he looked the same in that moment that he had ages ago back when they were still teenagers and enemies. “You miss me? We were only friends for a couple months before I took off. Surely there was someone else you were closer with?”

“No. You were it, Harry,” he replied firmly.

“Still,” Harry began, but Draco cut him off with a pale finger across his lips.

“Tell me you don’t miss me,” he demanded, waiting for the man’s answer, one way or the other he would settle this tonight.

“I have drinks with Emily instead of you now,” Harry replied, arms crossed over his chest in a show of solidarity, only Draco could sense that there was a hole in it, a hole right where his heart should be.

“That’s not what I asked. Tell me, Harry, do you miss me?” Draco repeated.

“Why does it matter?” Harry asked, eyes stubborn and narrowed.

“Because I asked you on a date four years ago and you left the country!” Draco shouted.

“I left because- what?” Harry asked, his eyes going from angry to gleaming with confusion.

“You heard me, Harry James Potter. I asked you to that Ministry Gala and you stormed out, then you had the nerve to leave London, even leave England,” he added, gesturing to the very Irish setting around them. “But not bother leaving a forwarding address.”

Harry shook his head and narrowed his eyes once more. “No. You asked to go with me as friends. I didn’t want that.”

“When did those words leave my mouth, Potter?” Draco asked menacingly.

“They… you… it was implied,” Harry stammered.

A harsh bark of laughter escaped Draco’s lips and he didn’t care that everyone in the restaurant was staring at him. “I implied that I was interested in you, Potter, but you didn’t pick up on that?”

“All that time I thought you were just being friendly and that I was imagining the flirtations because you couldn’t possibly be flirting with me - you were straight. Then I figure if you did want me, you’d just come out and say it, but you never did,” he growled. “Then you tell me you’d been with other men, so clearly you were not as straight as I had guessed, but that still left the problem that you clearly didn’t want me!”

“What do you call inviting you home with me every night?” Draco demanded.

“Teasing!” Harry shouted back at him. “At least for me. I wouldn’t have been able to keep myself off of you if I had been alone with you. I wasn’t going to throw myself at a straight man and ruin our friendship!”

All Draco could do was gape at Harry as the puzzle of misunderstandings fell into place. “And when you asked me if I was taking someone to the Gala?”

“You said you hoped to be,” Harry informed him.

“And you, of course, didn’t realize I was talking about you,” Draco noted, and Harry shook his head. “So you made someone up so that you didn’t look silly for asking?”

“I didn’t make him up,” Harry protested. “But obviously I never asked him.”

“Because you left,” Draco whispered with sullen eyes.

“I didn’t feel like I had a choice,” Harry replied, his posture still defensive but his eyes were pleading Draco to understand.

“You could have talked to me,” Draco reasoned.

“You could have been honest with me,” Harry countered.

“If you only left because of me-“ Draco began, still irritated at the Gryffindor for simply bolting over a silly misunderstanding, but Harry narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

“I know you’d like to think that the world revolves around you, but it doesn’t. You were only one of many reasons that I left England, Draco,” Harry told him honestly. “Work, the press, my friends… it was all falling in on me.”

“Oh,” Draco muttered, realizing for the first time since Harry left that there might be another reason, something completely unrelated to their weekend dates, that made Harry run away. Draco had always assumed it was something he did, or something he said that had caused their rift because it seemed too much of a coincidence to believe otherwise.

Harry smirked slightly and shook his head in mock dismay. “You really thought it was all about you, didn’t you?”

“I might have been under that assumption, but it’s hardly my fault. You left right after we fought, what was I to think?” he asked.

“Well, now you don’t have to worry so much,” Harry placated and placed his hand on Draco’s shoulder. “You can go back to London with a guilt free conscience knowing that you didn’t drive poor Harry Potter away from England and you can move on,” he added with a laugh.

Draco’s stomach churned at the idea of leaving there without Harry, and even more at how aloof the other man talked about it, as if it were a given that Draco would abandon him there. He wouldn’t do it though, not if there was even a chance that Harry still had feelings for him. He didn’t care what bothered Harry about London, he would drag the Gryffindor back kicking and screaming if he had to.

“How do you think of me now?” Draco asked, feeling Harry’s hand tense slightly on his shoulder.

“Pardon?” Harry asked, clearly just trying to buy time to form a suitable fib.

“Do you still have feelings for me, or have you moved on,” he asked delicately, trying to banish all emotion from his face.

“I’ve moved on,” Harry replied after a moment of hesitation. “I’m happy here, Draco.”

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Harry waited for Draco to respond, call him a liar, admit defeat, something – anything, but all Malfoy did was stare at him as if he had three heads and one of them was sporting vibrant pink hair. It hurt him to lie to Draco, not that it was a total fiction, he was happy there in his own way, but even upon learning that the former Slytherin had carried his own torch, he just couldn’t face going back to London.

The looks of disappointment and anger on the faces of his old friends haunted him, the lack of career options weighed heavily on his shoulders, and the press –who would make a field day out of his sudden return- would be far too brutal to deal with. He didn’t want to go back, even if he did want Draco, and he wasn’t selfish enough to make Draco leave his own life behind and stay with him.

Draco sighed then and nodded, as if resigning himself to move on as Harry instructed. He slid from the barstool and extended his hand for Harry to shake; a symbol of friendship and acceptance –or so Harry thought.

The moment he took Draco’s hand a spark went through him, electric and true and a second later Draco used their joined hands to pull Harry to him in an almost violent kiss. The world melted around him and the noise of the restaurant faded into a dull buzz in his ears as he found his lips irrevocably linked to Draco’s. The Slytherin tasted of brine and alcohol and his mouth was urgent in his attack, as if that was his final persuasive maneuver and he was putting all of his chips on the table with that one bet. Before he had time to rationalize, Harry was responding, hands moving immediately to bury themselves in Draco’s hair and pulled him closer. Tongues tangled in a dance for dominance that Draco easily won as he snaked his pale arms around Harry’s waist and buried his fingertips into the flesh over Harry’s hipbones.

When they broke apart, simply for the purpose of breathing, they just stared at one another from inches away, foreheads pressed together and eyes unblinking. “You fight dirty,” Harry whispered when he could find a voice to speak with.

“I have Slytherin in my blood,” Draco responded with a smug curl to his lips.

“I can’t go back,” Harry admitted sullenly, ignoring Draco’s joke.

“You can and you will,” Draco responded, tightening his grip on Harry’s waist.

Harry gave him a bemused smile and rolled his eyes. “What are you, my ruby slippers?”

“Your what?” Draco asked with a frown, clearly not grasping the muggle pop culture reference.

“Nevermind,” Harry chuckled. “What makes you so certain that I will?”

“Because I want you to come back with me and I’ll be deeply offended if you rejected me again,” Draco replied, his eyes more serious than the smile on his lips and the teasing in his voice. “You wouldn’t want a Malfoy to be cross with you.”

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered, his own eyes just as serious in his conflicted state.

Draco had no words for that response; instead he merely ran his thumb lightly along Harry’s bottom lip, causing a shiver to rocket through his body. “Come home with me,” he whispered softly replacing his thumb with his teeth.

Harry whimpered, having dreamed of such an intimate exchange with Draco but never imagining it could be so intoxicating. He was won over heart and soul and resented the blonde slightly for making him so instantly addicted.

“It’ll be hard,” Harry replied at last, fear of the hurt friends he had left behind flooding into his mind.

“Harder than being without me?” Draco asked, pulling back slightly to look at Harry more levelly. He seemed to be studying Harry’s eyes while his own were torn between worried and hopeful.

Harry didn’t even give it a second thought. At this point he couldn’t think of anything that would be harder than losing Draco again, especially now that he had a taste of the bond they could share. “No, nothing would be harder than that.”

A quick sigh of relief washed over him and before he realized it, Draco was pulling him away from the restaurant. “Aren’t you hungry?” Harry teased. “We never actually ate dinner.”

Exquisite gray eyes turned back to him and his lips curved into a predatory smile. “I’m hungry, just not for food,” he replied in a seductive tone. “Anyhow, you never finished the massage. You owe me,” he added with a wink and pulled a chuckling Harry close as they made their way up to Draco’s room.

FIN

Authors Note: Oiled up Draco anyone?