Part 1
Breakfast at Malfoy Manor was a sedate sort of affair. Or at least, Lucius Malfoy - Lord of said Manor - would like to think so. Expensive silverware clinked pleasantly against fine china and the Daily Prophet felt new and crisp in his fingers. Golden sunshine trickled in from the bay windows and bathed the room in a soft morning light, complementing the pleasant conversation at the table. Lucius allowed himself a nod of satisfaction. Everything was in order. In fact, he would go so far to say that everything was just...
Crash!
"Mon cher, please! I only meant..."
"Get out! Get the fuck out of my house now!"
"Really, Draco! This behaviour is most unbecoming of a...wait, what are you doing with that...Draco, no!"
Crash!
"Get! Out!"
A house elf yelped and bolted for the nearest exit, upsetting a suit of armour in the process. Lucius sighed and folded up the Prophet. Seconds later, a series of loud thuds, shrieks and crashes heralded a hasty descend down the Main Staircase and a weedy, young man stumbled into the dining room. His collar was askew, his expensive robes were singed at the hem and Lucius noted - with an arch of his eyebrow and a barely there twitch of his lips - that he was sporting a rather large bump on his forehead.
Apparently, Draco was aiming better these days.
"Lord Beaumont. How nice of you to join us."
Only decades of diligent practice in the fine art of self restraint could have enabled Lucius to greet his hapless guest with such a politely detached expression.
Augustus Beaumont didn't have the benefit of such refined training. He just stood there, sputtering with outrage and flushing a very impressive share of magenta. Lucius waited patiently until the man was coherent enough to commence his tirade.
"Manuscripts! Side tables! Silverware! And that's not all he threw at me!" He gestured wildly to the swelling lump on his head. "That was a First Edition Most Potente Potions which your son used as an assault weapon!"
There was a snort of laughter from the table and Lucius raised a stern eyebrow. Blaise Zabini pressed his mouth in a thin, straight line and closed his eyes, apparently willing himself not to laugh. If Lucius listened carefully, he could almost hear the lad counting to ten. To his immediate right, Andromeda Tonks née Black continued to butter her toast as if nothing was amiss. Nevertheless, there was a quirk to her lips that suggested she was trying very hard not to smile. Lucius gave up and turned back to Beaumont who was by no account, finished.
"...a host of maisons in France! A lineage dating back to the Crusades! An ancestry that would make any pureblood green with envy! And your son treats me like a...like a..."
"I believe the phrase you're looking for is 'crash test dummy'" Blaise obliged helpfully. "Admittedly, a muggle concept but Draco has it down to a science."
"Eat your toast, young man," Andromeda ordered sternly. Lucius gave her a grateful, if slightly weary nod. Blaise smirked and returned to his breakfast and Beaumont treated him to a withering look before turning back to Lucius.
"Consider this courtship rescinded, Lord Malfoy! The Beaumonts know when to cut their losses. Good luck finding a rider for that - that wild horse of yours!"
And with that he stormed off dramatically - the effect somewhat ruined by his smouldering robes and shaky gait. Lucius sympathized deeply. Most Potente Potions was a formidable piece of work. He would know - it had been Narcissa's weapon of choice. Thoughts of his late wife sent a twist of pain to his chest and he distracted himself by glaring at Blaise, who had succumbed to gales of laughter.
"Are you quite finished?" he asked dryly as the boy howled with mirth, thumping helplessly at the table. Andromeda watched the scene with a quiet expression that was certainly not approval, but she didn't seem less amused for lack of it.
Finally Blaise emerged, gulping in deep breaths of air as he did. "I doubt it," he admitted with a grin that made Lucius wish he hadn't completely given up the Dark Arts. He subjected the impudent brat to his best Malfoy Glare. There was another crash from the North Wing, followed by a snarling diatribe on pompous wankers and just what they could do with their oversized egos...
Lucius shook his head hopelessly. "Make yourself useful and see if you can calm him down," he ordered flatly.
Blaise promptly stopped his sniggering. "Excuse me?" he blurted, looking absolutely horrified. "Did you not get a good look at the last bloke who went down that rabbit hole? I don't know what you look for in a good heart to heart but I happen to prefer mine concussion free!"
Lucius opened his mouth to argue and/or hex the annoying little snip, but Andromeda mercifully cut in. "I'll have a word with my nephew," she announced, standing up and making her way towards the stairs. She turned and smiled at Lucius. "Cissa had her moods as well. On a good day, I could talk her out of a strop."
Lucius chuckled. "Let's hope it's a good day then," he commented. Andromeda's smiled again, and then she was gone. Blaise watched her leave intently, waiting until she was well out of sight before emitting a low whistle. "Morgana's lacy underpants! If I was twenty years older and a foot taller, I'd... ow!" He rubbed his head ruefully and glowered at Lucius. "What's that for?"
"Inappropriate breakfast conversation and leering at my guests," Lucius supplied, rubbing his hand. "Additionally, I find you annoying."
"So that's where Draco gets it from," Blaise remarked sulkily.
"Hardly," Lucius replied. "He has his mother's spirit." His steely eyes softened slightly and even an ever tactful fellow like Blaise could sense the need for a change of subject. Thankfully, there was another crash from upstairs as Draco discovered an unfortunate something that had somehow survived his rampage. Blaise chuckled. "So, I take it we need to find another rider for your wild horse. I'll spread the word, shall I?"
Lucius groaned and buried his head in his hands. Blaise smirked and resumed his breakfast. He never said it was a good change of subject...
****
Andromeda swept up the marble staircase and made her way over to the West Wing. She suppressed a slight smile. Draco's rooms were always the easiest to find in the Manor. All you had to do was follow the sound of an utter and absolute conniption fit.
She did exactly that and found herself walking a familiar path.
Her nephew was in his half decimated study, pacing like a caged jungle cat. His slim frame was taut with tension and his silver eyes were dark and clouded, giving the impression of a raging thunderstorm. A dark glare marred his patrician features and his blond hair fell over his eyes as he clenched his fists. To the uninformed observer he looked absolutely livid, the very personification of blinding, murderous rage. To Andromeda - who had had the benefit of dealing with Narcissa's volatile mood swings for the better part of her youth - this barely qualified as a temper tantrum.
"Well, we won't be seeing him again in a hurry," she commented lightly. Draco whipped around to face her, his features morphing from scowling displeasure to relief when he saw who had intruded into his quarters. Some of the tension left his shoulders.
"I thought you were Father," he muttered. He walked over to a chair, the broken glass crunching under his leather loafers as he seated himself in a chair. Shrewd, grey eyes swept her face searching for some sort of a reprimand for his behavior. Andromeda smiled and took a seat next to the boy.
"I think he'll keep his distance for a while," she smiled, slipping a slender hand over his. "Your Father has a remarkable sense of self preservation."
Draco's lips quirked but he returned the gesture with a gentle squeeze of his own. "So he sent you into the dragon's lair? That sounds about right."
"I volunteered," Andromeda retorted dryly. "Believe it or not nephew, but you're not as tough as you look."
"Says you," Draco smirked, nudging her gently with his shoulder. It was a simple gesture - one of trust - and Andromeda appreciated it. She was a woman who treasured her family and it had nearly killed her to walk away from them all those years ago. But those had been different times. She had been young and in love and Ted - bless him - had been wonderful to her. The War had taken him and not long after, Narcissa's illness had set in. She had never felt so utterly bereft, so completely alone.
Lucius' letter had come as a shock, to say the least. Not one to offer forgiveness lightly - particularly to the man who had kept her from her sister for a good twenty years - she had Incendio-ed it on the spot. Then another had come and another and another and long story short, Lucius Malfoy proved without a shadow of a doubt that as far as persistence and sheer stubbornness went, Malfoys trumped Blacks hands down.
She finally succumbed to his seventh letter. For someone with very little experience with humility and contrite apologies, he managed beautifully. Andromeda found herself writing back. In his quiet loneliness, she recognized a kindred spirit and in Draco she saw glimpses of the sister she had lost, this time for good. Four years since that first awkward meeting and Andromeda had come to the realization that they were the last of her family. And she didn't have it in her to turn her back on them.
Especially Draco. She sifted a gentle hand through the boy's hair, pushing the blond strands out of his eyes with her fingers. Draco sighed and leaned into the gesture, making her smile fondly. "So just out of curiosity, why was a certain Lord Beaumont evicted from your quarters sans ceremony?"
Draco huffed petulantly. "He's lucky I didn't hex him."
"That, I believe," Andromeda mused. "I assume he put his foot in it something proper then?"
Draco smirked. "Let's just say his choice in literature leaves a lot to be desired," he drawled, passing her a rumpled leather bound book, bent at one of the edges. Not surprising, considering it had recently been used as a launch missile...
"The Taming of the Shrew?" she groaned, reading the title. "Oh, he didn't..."
"Oh, he did," Draco drawled. "He thought it would be funny to give me that as a courting gift. Suffice it to say, I did not see the humor in it."
Andromeda shook her head and tossed the book away, well out of sight. Honestly, of all the idiotic things to do... well, it was probably for the best. Beaumont had been a particularly vile specimen and Draco had resented him from the start. He was hardly worthy of a Malfoy. But then her nephew had rejected almost every man to walk through those doors. It shouldn't be a surprise that they were scraping the bottom of the barrel now...
"They're probably not going to get much better," she admitted. "Your suitors, that is."
"Then perhaps I shouldn't be forced to deal with them," Draco snapped, standing up abruptly and starting to pace. "I'm sick of them - witless, spineless, arrogant, bleating twits who think they can have me, that they're entitled to me just because they're Lord this or Baron that or whatever. Thinking they have the right to stand there in my presence and tell me that I should feel honoured that they're considering me. Talking about how it's the best decision for me considering the Malfoy name is what it is since the War and..." He broke off, apparently too enraged to even finish his tirade. Andromeda sighed and shook her head.
"Oh Draco," she said softly. "It's not as bad as that. Sooner or later, the right man will find his way to you and things will change."
"I don't care!" Draco snarled, whirling back at her. "I am not some cheap trophy to be won at a fair game!"
Andromeda kept her expression neutral as he glared witheringly at her. Finally, the boy hunched his shoulders and retreated. He sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair, messing it up completely. "I'm sorry, Andromeda. I didn't mean to snap at you. I just... I hate this whole charade. I hate them all, every single one of them. It makes me furious and... and now I'm taking it out on you. Please don't be angry with me? I just..."
"Of course not," Andromeda interrupted him softly. She stood up as well and placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "You're my nephew and I love you like a son. I want the best for you, you know that don't you?" She smiled as he nodded quietly. "Then please just trust me. I know you don't like this, I know you're upset. But you deserve to find someone who will make you happy. That's all we want for you. Now there's a gentleman your father would like you to meet this evening..." She paused and waited politely until he stopped groaning. "Yes I know. That being said, he seems... better than the others."
"Really?" Draco demanded dryly.
"No," she admitted. "But at least he's your age. And it will do you good to get out of the house for a while. Who knows, he might just surprise you."
Draco snorted inelegantly. "I doubt it."
"What do you have to lose?" the older witch shrugged. She crossed her arms firmly, standing her ground until the sulking boy was forced to relent for once.
"Fine, I'll go," he muttered. "But if it all goes to Hades, it's your fault."
"Fair enough," she laughed. "I'll go and tell your Father the worst is over." She kissed his cheek affectionately and turned to leave. "And remember Draco," she added, facing her nephew again. "If he can't handle you at your worst, he definitely doesn't deserve you at your best."
Draco's grin would have frozen a Basilisk. "That's what I'm counting on."
****
Harry James Potter stomped down the corridors of Chudley Cannons Inc. looking particularly grim. One might even say that he was pissed off, except that one would be dead wrong. Dealing with a murderous Dark Lord for seven straight years had pissed Harry off. Losing the World Cup to Puddlemere United on the other hand, made him fucking furious. Plus, it didn't help that he was being doggedly pursued by the last person he wanted to see under any circumstances- unless a casket and shovel was involved.
"So Potter, any comment on your devastating loss to Puddlemere United? The readers would love to know how you plan to stage a comeback from this shocking fall from grace."
"Go away, Rita."
"Are you planning on switching teams? Mind you, I'm talking about Quidditch here but while we're on that subject, word has it that you've been cruising around town with a string of new boy toys. We'd love to put names to those cute faces."
Harry stopped short and gaped incredulously at the infuriating woman. "How have you not been lynched yet?" It was a sincere question - hell, he'd do it for a Sugar Quill.
"Talent, Potter," Skeeter replied smugly as she adjusted her spectacles and wielded that damned Quick Notes Quill of hers. "Something you're probably not all that familiar with considering the Cannons' dismal performance this season. Do you blame your captain? Your teammates? Perhaps a new lover is a cause for distraction? How about ..."
Harry couldn't take any more. Desperate times called for desperate measures. He turned around to face the infuriating reporter and promptly groaned.
"Damn it," he snapped, gesturing exasperatedly at something behind her. "Who told the shirtless male models to show up today for the new campaign?" Rita squeaked and whirled around at once, giving Harry just enough time to turn tail and bolt for the nearest door. He slammed it shut and put up eight different locking charms before pressing himself against it for good measure.
"Alone at last," he sighed in relief.
"Yeah, not quite," a voice replied promptly. Harry yelped and cast a frantic Lumos, immediately sagging against the door again when he caught a glance of his cubby buddy. "Oliver," he greeted his morose team captain. "What the hell are you doing in a broom closet?"
Oliver Wood sighed tragically. "What am I doing in a broom closet, he asks. What does anyone do in broom closets, Harry?"
"Erm..."
"I am - as is customary in broom closets - reflecting on my shattered dreams, my broken hopes, the tragic comedy my life has become," Oliver informed him tonelessly.
"Oh," Harry felt obliged to say. "That."
"Plus that Skeeter woman's out there and she scares me."
"Join the club," Harry muttered, flopping down beside him. They sat together in the companionable silence that only blazing victories or grim defeat ever seem to inspire. The only noise came from Skeeter who was still banging up and down the corridors, looking for another hapless victim. Oliver sighed. So did Harry.
"We lost the Cup," Oliver mumbled.
"I'm aware of that," Harry retorted dryly. He was still feeling rather touchy about the whole thing.
"You caught the Snitch," Oliver continued undeterred. "And we still lost the sodding Cup."
Harry bristled. "I hear that can happen when your Chaser decides to host an impromptu rendition of Swan Lake mid pitch."
"Hey, it's not Heidi's fault her broom spun out of control," Oliver said sagely. "Poor kid's riding a Nimbus, for Merlin's sake. And ease up on the dance cracks, yeah? Last I heard she gave Andrew a black eye for running his mouth."
Training for the ballet, Potter?
"Yeah, I can see how that could be annoying," Harry admitted. "Still sucks though. You know what hurts the most? We have the talent, the best sodding players in the game and we lost because of a busted broomstick."
"You're telling me," Oliver grumbled. "Sponsors are fucking bastards is what the problem is. They take one look at the score sheet and they run. It's always the same. The Cannons haven't won a game in a century, they say. Why haven't we won a game in a century, you ask? Because we have lousy fucking brooms, that's why!"
Harry scowled at a rusty bucket, mentally willing it to turn into a pile of galleons. "How much do we need anyway? For new equipment and all that?"
Oliver raised an eyebrow and pulled out his wand, scribbling in thin air. Harry swallowed at the golden number shimmering in front of him. "That's a lot of zeros," he said finally.
"And that's just new equipment," Oliver muttered bitterly. "If we can't even cover that, it's goodbye Cannons." He shook his head and got up, dusting himself off. "Well don't let it bother you, Harry. Head in the game, yeah? Something will work out. Always does, in my experience."
Harry nodded reluctantly. Frankly, he didn't feel all that positive. And he was sick of losing, just because. But there was no point arguing with Oliver about it. So he said goodbye to his captain and decided to head out into civilization again. A night out was in order to forget this hellish day. Maybe that place with the cute blond bartender... Harry grinned. Life was starting to look a little better.
"Potter, Potter, Potter. Coming out of the closet again? You do make a habit of things."
So much for the day looking better.
Harry found himself scowling at a very familiar, very annoying set of features. "Right," he drawled. "Because this is a broom closet and I'm coming out of it. Hysterical, Zabini. You slay me. Now go away before I return the favour."
Zabini - arse that he was - took this as an invitation to walk alongside him, chortling all the way. Harry despaired. It was just that sort of day. "Who let you in here anyway?" he grumbled. "This is a strictly Puddlemere Prat free zone."
"I was in the neighbourhood," Zabini replied blithely. "Thought I'd stop by and say hello. Also, we won and you lost. Neener neener and all that."
"Very original," Harry replied dryly, raising an eyebrow at the Puddlemere chaser. "At least Malfoy's insults always rhymed."
Zabini raised an eyebrow of his own. "He had a lot of practice. Funny you should mention him out of the blue."
"He tends to pop into my head when I come across something particularly unpleasant," Harry retorted, giving the Italian chaser a pointed look. Zabini didn't retort. He was looking thoughtfully at Harry, almost as if he was... analyzing him. Harry could think of few prospects less pleasant than being analyzed by a former Slytherin. "That's your cue to go away," he added helpfully.
Zabini started slightly, then shook himself and smirked. "Because I'm just dying for your company, Potter. Believe me, I have better things to do. People to see. Trophies to polish."
"Don't let me keep you." Harry smirked back. "Have fun 'polishing your trophy'. And when you're done with that, try a cleaning charm on the Cup."
Blaise chuckled, caught somewhere between amusement and surprise. "I always liked you, Potter."
"Likewise. Oh and just so you know Zabini, if you want that Cup next season, you're going to have to fight for it. Because I'm going after it with everything I've got."
Zabini's grin widened. "I'll hold you to that, Potter."
Harry grinned. "Say hi to Malfoy for me." And then he was gone.
****
Blaise watched Potter's retreating back, making a mental note of his confident stride and quiet intensity. There was something about the man that appealed to his inner Slytherin. A fire smouldering beneath all that sweetness-and-light shite.
Interesting.
Blaise's smirk made a reappearance as he made for the nearest fireplace.
Seconds later, Lucius' irritable scowl flickered in the flames. "This better be good, Blaise," the older man snapped. "I was in the middle of something imp..."
"It is," Blaise cut in smoothly. He grinned as Lucius' eyes flickered with mild interest. "I found him."
****
"How about another one, handsome? It's on the house."
Harry blinked blearily at the pretty thing currently flashing him a billion galleon grin. The blond batted his lashes coquettishly and shot him a come hither look. He'd have been more subtle if he'd been waving a flag that said "Do me in the men's!" in Harry's face. The Boy Who Lived groaned and thunked his head against the bar.
"He'll take it," his companion replied cheerfully. "And make it a mint julep, will you, hon?"
The boy nodded eagerly and took off; leaving Harry to scowl at the redhead sprawled beside him. Ginny gave him an unrepentant grin and swiped his beer. "That's the fourth free drink in two hours," she chirped happily."And I didn't even have to flash anyone! This gay ex-boyfriend thing is seriously underrated."
"I'm so glad you're having fun pimping me out,"Harry groused. "No really, it's what I live for."
Ginny rolled her eyes and lit a cigarette with her wand. "At least pretend to be having a good time, Harry. For Merlin's sake,you're out with me. Most men would kill to be in your shoes."
Harry grinned. That much, at least was true.Ginny was a gorgeous woman, all fire and curves and flirty smiles. Frankly, it had freaked him out something awful when he realized he wasn't as into her as he should be. In hindsight, that should have been a sign. Nevertheless it had taken six awkward months of post War dating and an unfortunate, drunken night with Justin Finch-Fletchley to put things in perspective for him.
Ginny had forgiven him easily enough, as had the other Weasleys. Okay, so George had slipped him a Nosebleed Nougat a couple times, but all in all it had been pretty easy coming out to them. Now Ginny was as good a mate as they came and Harry at least, felt that they were closer than ever. Ron and Hermione were amazing, but they had little Hugo taking up every waking moment of their lives now. Their own little family, while Harry had a losing Quidditch team and a string of one night stands. Merlin, that was depressing. He sighed and glowered morosely at his beer.
"Right, that's it," Ginny declared, flicking the cigarette away carelessly. "All this whining and moping is ruining my night.You," she declared, slamming down the beer (Harry's beer) and fixing him with her I'm not taking your crap anymore look,"...are getting shagged tonight if it's the last thing you do."
Harry snorted. "Yeah, because that's my problem."
"What is your problem?" Ginny demanded. "You're rich, you play Quidditch, you saved the world for Merlin's sake - why can't you just get laid and be happy about it like the rest of us?"
"I don't know. It's a little more complicated than that," Harry replied thoughtfully. "I mean, it gets old after a while. All I've been doing for five years is riding broomsticks and chasing snitches..."
"And that's just your sex life."
"You're disgusting. And I'm ignoring you. What I mean is... is this it? Playing Quidditch and having meaningless sex with barely legal airheads. You could write my life down on a napkin." He sighed and shook his head, trying to ignore the alcohol induced haze. "After a while you start asking yourself... what's left? Where's the challenge? What the hell am I doing?"
"Oh please," Ginny retorted. "You're bloody morbid is what you are. So you want the happily ever after with the white picket fence and a crup running in the yard. Who doesn't? I mean look at Ronand Hermione, they're so happy. Ron's always got a huge smile on his face." She scowled petulantly. "Merlin, it makes me want to punch him."
Harry couldn't help a tired chuckle. "I know.It's what I want though. I'm just so damn tired of looking."
"Well you can't stop now," Ginny announced firmly. "For all you know, Prince Charming is right here in this bar and you're can't be bothered to get your head out of your arse. Now shut it. I'm going to find your future husband and you're going to buy him a drink."
Harry groaned. "Ginny..."
"Shh," she waved him off, craning her neck to get a look around the bar. She swivelled around with easy grace and promptly froze. "Oh damn."
Harry did not like the sound of that. "What?" he demanded.
Ginny turned to him, grinning ominously. "I found him."
Harry raised a suspicious eyebrow and turned as well, trying to get a good look at her latest victim. A flash of unmistakably blond hair assaulted his vision. Sharp features. Pale, smooth skin. Silver eyes. Harry blinked. Then he swallowed and took a deep breath. Neither helped.They rarely did with Draco Malfoy.
"Rather fit, isn't he?" Ginny mused, sweeping an approving glance over Malfoy - who was apparently seated at a table as if he had every right to be there and turn Harry's world upside down without so much as a 'by your leave'.
That being said, Ginny wasn't wrong. Truth be told, Harry hadn't seen Malfoy in years. They hardly travelled in the same circles and frankly, Harry had little reason to seek out his old school rival.Now though, as he took in Malfoy's lithe frame, his patrician features and that fine, fine arse he wondered if looking him up would have been the worst thing in the world.
"You're not serious, are you?"
Harry was promptly startled out of his less than innocent musings and turned to face a vaguely amused Ginny. "What?" he managed.
"Well, it's Malfoy," she chortled, shaking her head as if the notion was ridiculous. "That's just asking for trouble."
Trouble. Harry could do trouble. He could do Malfoy too, but that was a different story. "I'm going over there," he declared, eyes still fixed on the blond.
"Yes, you do that," Ginny snorted. "I'll just stay here, far far away from the firing zone."
Harry ignored her and slipped off his stool. His footsteps quickened as he approached Malfoy. Damn, but he looked good. What had it been? Five years? Six? Nothing had changed, really. It felt like he was in Hogwarts all over again. Just looking at Malfoy made him want to storm up to him, grab him by that prissy silk shirt and attack him with his fists and his lips and... okay, so maybe some things had changed.
He was barely halfway across the bar when someone else broke into the Malfoy zone. Harry stopped short as a tall, dark haired bloke slinked over and placed a hand on the blond's shoulder. Malfoy turned and greeted the stranger with a nod. The man grinned and slipped in beside him. Harry froze, standing still as a rock as the stranger's hand travelled up Malfoy's leg. He leered and whispered in the blond's ear. Malfoy sneered in response, which only seemed to encourage his companion. Harry felt his fists clench and something in his chest growled warningly as the man barged further and further into Malfoy's space. The growling turned into an all out roar as he reached out suddenly to grab Malfoy's chin and pull him into a kiss.
Harry snarled out aloud, inexplicably furious at this turn of events. He hadn't even been aware of Malfoy's existence until a minute back, and now he was physically fighting the urge to yank that bastard away from the blond and grind him into the pavement. The roaring was so loud he was surprised everybody couldn't hear it and...
And then it happened.
Malfoy pushed the stranger back and his eyes narrowed with sheer, unbridled rage. It all happened so quickly that Harry would have missed it if he had thought to blink. Malfoy swiped a wine glass and promptly emptied what was no doubt a rather expensive Cabernet all over Lover Boy.
Harry's jaw dropped and for a second, he was too stunned to even register the thrill running up his spine.
And then the bloke roared and lunged at Malfoy and Harry found himself running head first into the fray.
****
It had taken Draco precisely three and a half minutes to decide that he absolutely loathed Roland Blake. In said time frame, the man had leered at him, made any number of tasteless comments, ordered the wrong wine and spent the remainder of his time perfecting the art of being an arrogant, entitled, self important worm.
"It does get tedious, of course. It's not like I asked for the physique of a model and the stamina of a racehorse..."
Draco kept his gaze firmly on his fork, trying to remind himself that stabbing someone in the throat was frowned upon in polite society.
"But enough about me," Blake blathered on. He fixed Draco with an insolent grin that made the blond stiffen. "I'd rather talk about the reason we're having this little tête-à-tête wouldn't you, kitten?"
Draco's eyebrow twitched. "I have a name, Blake," he gritted. "Use it."
Blake smirked. "Of course, Draco. Although if I may be so bold, I prefer 'kitten'. After all," a hand dropped down to Draco's leg and traced an idle pattern. "It suits you to a hilt."
"Is that supposed to be charming?" Draco spat, shifting away. The hand on his leg tightened a fraction and Blake's hand snaked around his waist, pulling him uncomfortably close.
"Oh, I can do charming," he purred. "Whatever it takes, so long as I have you on your back and me between your..."
That was the proverbial last straw. Draco snarled and pushed back, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and this... this excrescence. Blake staggered and teetered in his chair, giving Draco just enough time to grab a glass and subject Blake to a face full of his deplorable choice of wine. There was an audible splash and a hushed silence ensued as every eye in the bar turned on them. Somewhere the whirring click of a camera sounded. Great. The Prophet was going to have a field day with this.
Draco wasn't the least bit bothered. All he cared about was making Roland Blake pay. Besides, he had a lifetime of making public scenes behind him and one more was hardly going to ruin his sterling reputation.
"The hell you will," Draco spat, hatred radiating off of him in waves. Blake blinked stupidly, still dripping. A drop trailed its way down his chin and Draco smirked as he wiped at his face in disbelief. Whatever he had expected, that hadn't been it. Then Blake's face contorted in rage and he was lunging for the blond with a howl. "I'm gonna kill you, you little..."
Draco backed up against the bar, intending to get enough space to retrieve his wand. Unfortunately, Blake had other ideas. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the slender blond cornered against the bar and he growled and extended a meaty hand, clearly intending to grab Draco by the collar and haul him forward. Draco steeled himself, prepared to go down fighting if he had to - a likely possibility considering that Blake had at least two stone over him. His heart hammered as a fist flew towards him. Meaty fingers were just inches away from Draco and then... then a firm hand closed around Blake's wrist, wrenching his arm back before he could even touch Draco. The blond blinked as the man was firmly hauled back, bellowing all the way.
"Oi! What the..."
"Not the best idea in the world, mate," the intruder said smoothly situating himself between the two men. Draco blinked as he was presented with a lean, toned back, broad shoulders and a messy mop of dark hair. Interesting. He shifted discreetly, trying to get a glimpse of his saviour. He certainly sounded familiar... not to mention, intriguing. Very intriguing.
Blake wasn't quite so taken. He was leaning more to the side of fucking furious. "Get out of my way, mate," he spat, trying to wrench his hand free. "This is between me and that..."
"Perhaps you misunderstood me," the other drawled. His fingers tightened imperceptibly around Blake's wrist and the man winced. "Touch the blond and I'll beat the shite out of you in front of all these nice people. Now I suggest you take what's left of your dignity and Get. Out."
Draco shivered slightly. Obviously, he was experiencing the after effects of shock after almost attacked. It had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with the man's low, possessive growl and the clench of his fist - suggesting that he'd like nothing better than to tear Blake apart with his bare hands if he so much as looked at Draco again. No, it was definitely the shock and... and... yeah, all of that.
Blake seemed to be contemplating his options. His eyes flicked from his opponent to Draco to the crowd milling about them. Draco watched with bated breath, as did the rest of the pub. Finally, Blake took a step back, scowling as he retreated. He turned to shoot one last, hateful look at Draco. "This isn't over, Malfoy," he spat.
The man growled and pushed him roughly, shoving him into a table. "You don't talk to him anymore, creep. You go through me, got it?"
Draco resolutely ignored that damned shiver. Blake spat and turned on his heel. Draco watched him storm out of the pub, sagging against the bar. The other patrons shuffled about and dispersed quietly, whispering and shooting him dark looks. Another whirring click of a camera. Draco sighed and rubbed his face wearily with his hand. Talk about embarrassing. Oh, Father was going to love tomorrow's Prophet...
"Alright there?"
Draco nodded shakily, unwilling to make eye contact. A conversation with the man who'd just swooped in and saved him like some sort of damsel in distress was not exactly what his ego needed right now. No, hiding behind his hand was infinitely better. Now if he could just harness the self-will to just Apparate away and never, ever set foot in public again...
"Hey, it's okay. He's gone." The voice was softer now. Concerned. Draco started as firm but gentle fingers wrapped themselves around his wrist, carefully prying his hand away. "Can you look at me, please? I feel like I'm scaring you."
The blond shook his head vehemently. He was definitely not scared. Just mortified. Somewhat dazed. Maybe a little turned on... he started at the amused chuckle from his new companion. "Then could you maybe look at me, Malfoy?"
Malfoy? Draco frowned. That was odd. No one had addressed him by his last name since school. Hell, the last person who had called him that was...
Oh no.
Oh dear Merlin, no.
Suddenly it was all came together. Badly. Very badly. Head pounding and heart hammering, Draco looked up into unmistakable green eyes.
Merlin on a pogo stick.
"Potter," he croaked. His throat felt very parched all of a sudden. Of course. Of course it would be Potter. Why bloody not?
"It's been a while," Potter chuckled. "Still can't stay out of trouble, I see."
Draco opened his mouth to say something scathing. Unfortunately, his mental faculties had somewhat deserted him in the face of Potter showing up and saving him. Again.
Potter was looking him over now, apparently assessing him for injuries. His gaze raked over Draco, intense and calculating. He cocked his head, continuing his somewhat... dispassionate examination. The blond immediately crossed his arms, feeling rather discomfited by such blatant scrutiny. Then again, Potter had always discomfited him. The prat.
"You don't look hurt," said prat mused, frowning. "I don't think that bastard actually touched you. But I should probably take a look at..."
He extended a hand, obviously intending to pull the blond forward for a more thorough search. At that, Draco lost his fragile hold on his self control. "Don't touch me!" he snarled, pushing the taller man away with a strength he hadn't known he possessed. Potter stumbled, reaching back to steady himself against a table. Draco took advantage of the momentary distraction and fled from the pub.
Vaguely, he heard Potter calling his name. It only made him run faster, bolting to the nearest Apparition Point.
His lone comfort as he Apparated back to the Manor was that humiliating as the night had been, at least he won't have to deal with seeing Potter again.
Not a chance in hell.
****
"Malfoy, wait!"
The blond was out the door and running before Harry could get back on his feet. He steadied himself and took a deep breath, trying to sort things out in his head. Damn but Malfoy had caught him by surprise. That boy was like an explosion waiting to happen.
His memory flitted with recent images of the Slytherin. Malfoy snarling, grey eyes flaring and lips curled in a defensive sneer. Words as sharp as the hexes he was more than capable of throwing. And apparently, he wasn't afraid of a little physical altercation either. Harry rubbed his side. He must have bruised himself on the table when Malfoy pushed him. His blood flared as he remembered Malfoy's hands on his chest, pale fingers separated from his skin by a thin t-shirt and nothing else. It was... something. Passion and anger and just plain fight. Harry emitted a low whistle. He liked it.
And he was gone. Damn it, he couldn't let him run off like that!
He was almost ready to sprint after the blond (possibly yell at him for attacking him or snog him senseless, he hadn't decided yet) when he felt someone pull him back. "Slow down, Lover Boy," Ginny drawled. "That ship has sailed." She hauled him back easily. Sometimes it scared him how such a tiny girl could be so strong. He tried to shake himself free. "But I..."
"But nothing, Harry," she said firmly. "He's gone. You can't chase after him like some deranged stalker. And speaking of deranged..." She lifted a deceptively petite hand and smacked him on the back of the head.
"What were you thinking, almost starting a brawl like that?!" she demanded. "Merlin Harry, have you lost your mind?! I am telling Mum..."
"He was going to attack him!" Harry protested. "And ouch with the hitting!"
"Sorry," she snapped, rubbing her hand. "And you're a right moron if you think he appreciated it. I saw him push you. What a bitch."
"Yeah well, that's him," Harry chuckled. Honestly, he was more amused than indignant. It was just so Malfoy. "Right little spitfire, isn't he? Think it's too soon to owl him?"
Ginny gaped at him. "We're going home," she declared flatly. "You've obviously suffered a concussion." She shoved his coat at him and grabbed his arm, pulling him out firmly. Harry followed obediently, too preoccupied with thoughts of a certain blond to protest. "Some night, this," he said finally.
"Yeah well, at least its over," Ginny muttered. Harry smirked and she stopped to give him a look. He raised an eyebrow and she groaned. "It's not over, is it?"
Harry smirked. "Not a chance in hell."
****
Lucius sat in his study, listening to the familiar sounds of family heirlooms being hurled unceremoniously at the walls.
Crash!
There went another one - possibly a present from a Great Aunt or something... he rubbed his temples. It was one in the morning - far too late for this nonsense. He didn't even want to know what Draco was having a strop about this time. He had come raging in about an hour ago and had promptly barricaded himself in his room after kicking out the house elves. As far as Lucius was concerned, the whole charade was exhausting. He didn't even register the slim fingers brushing against his wrist, until his hand was gently pulled away.
"He's in a fine mood tonight," Andromeda commented. Her touch was gentle to his frayed nerves and he noted - as any worthy Slytherin would - that her thumb was absently rubbing his wrist, fluttering against the pulse point. It was... oddly soothing.
Crash!
"Did he say anything to you?" he asked her.
"Just something about never taking my advice again," she quipped dryly. "Which reminds me, I do recall telling you that Roland Blake was a terrible prospect to begin with."
"Ah. The secret weapon of all womankind. The infamous I told you so," Lucius drawled. "Narcissa was quite adept at that."
"I taught her well," Andromeda replied with a laugh, but she removed her hand from his all the same. He refused to acknowledge the pang of disappointment. Instead, he focused himself on the sounds of his son decimating what was left of his room.
"Perhaps I should just give up," he mused. "The boy is clearly... unstable. And certainly not ready for marriage."
"Lucius!" Andromeda protested at once. "Draco is certainly not unstable. He's just..."
"A raging pit of fathomless fury?" Lucius intoned.
The witch rolled her eyes. "I was going to say 'difficult'. He's young, Lucius. And stubborn and opinionated and proud. He needs someone who can manage him. Deal with him."
"What he needs is a leash and shock collar."
"Lucius Malfoy! That is my nephew you're talking about!" He almost chuckled at her look of indignation. Andromeda huffed, her thoughtful frown deepening. "Perhaps you should consider giving him some time. Instead of throwing random - and might I add - useless suitors at him who run for the hills the second things become a little rough."
He was about to respond that having a side table hurled at one's frontal cortex was hardly his definition of 'a little rough', when a familiar intruder barged in, interrupting them.
"Do you not have a home of your own?" Lucius demanded. "If memory serves your mother acquired a charming little chateau from her last husband. Might I suggest barging in there unannounced in the dead of the night?"
"Well!" Blaise sniffed disparagingly. "See if I do you any favours again."
Lucius raised an eyebrow and the younger man smirked, tossing some photographs on the table. "They were going to run them in tomorrow's Prophet," he explained. "I had to Confound a few people, but there you have it. You're welcome."
Lucius sifted through the photographs carefully, Andromeda leaning in to peer curiously as well. By the time they had finished, the older witch was wide eyed and apparently speechless. Even Lucius' schooled mask was somewhat strained.
"How did you come by these?" Andromeda asked carefully.
"I have an... understanding with the Prophet's Editor in Chief," Blaise smirked. "Gwen is most accommodating. Very, very accommodating actually..."
"Spare me the details of your latest fling, Zabini," Lucius intoned flatly. "And tell me what these are all about."
"Well, they sort of speak for themselves, don't they?" Blaise said cheerily, taking the pictures and flipping them on the table one by one. "There's Blake starting to act a little fresh with our young Draco - terrible fellow, by the way. He supports the Falmouth Falcons, can you imagine? Oh and there's our Draco in full form, responding with a somewhat questionable Cabernet. And then there's this one, my personal favourite..."
"Potter," Lucius cut in, his eyes roving the picture of the young man. It was definitely Potter. He had situated himself firmly between Draco and his attacker. His hand was around Blake's wrist, holding him back as he shielded Draco from what promised to be a brutal altercation. And, Lucius noted with keen interest, the boy looked furious. His profile was rigid, his eyes were flashing and his jaw was clenched. The picture moved and Potter flung Blake back easily. He looked... predatory.
"I told you he was your man," Blaise put in smugly. Lucius' lip curled up in a silent smirk. This was... promising.
"Indeed," he drawled. Very promising.
Andromeda raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Lucius? Just what are you plotting now?"
"Why nothing, my dear," Lucius answered smoothly. "It's just struck me that it's been a while since I took in a Quidditch match. Zabini, surely you can arrange something?"
"I'll be glad to," Blaise chuckled. Andromeda sighed and buried her face in a slim hand. This would not end well.
****
"Damn it, Heidi!" Oliver howled; dodging as an errant Cleansweep spun right across the goal post. "Watch where you're steering!"
"Piss off, Wood! You try getting this thing to fly straight!"
Harry dodged a Bludger with practiced ease but he couldn't bring himself to search for the Snitch. Practice was a disaster and just the sight of his ramshackle team was enough to send him spiralling into depression. It was horrible. The broomsticks were practically in splinters, the Beaters bats were falling apart and he was pretty sure that Bludger was drunk. It was spinning around in circles now, buzzing in a highly non-Bludger like fashion. It was too painful to watch.
"I'm taking five," he yelled to no one in particular and swooped down. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he hoisted up his broomstick and marched for the stands, slumping down in a chair and rubbing his eyes wearily. He hadn't had much sleep the past week. Between practice and his mind working overtime on a certain, snarky blond at every waking moment that wasn't practice, he was a wreck.
From where he was sitting, he had a fantastic view of a Chaser crash head first into a Beater who wasn't paying close attention. Harry slumped further in his seat.
"Interesting manoeuvre. Although my understanding of the sport is that teams are usually on the same side."
Harry nearly fell out of his seat as he whirled around in alarm. "You!" he sputtered. "What the hell are... how did you even get in here?!"
"I have my sources," Lucius Malfoy smirked at the scowling boy.
"I am going to murder Zabini," Harry growled.
"An admirable sentiment," Lucius drawled. "And one I identify strongly with on my best days."
Harry bit back the urge to run around in circles, screaming at the top of his lungs. If it had come to the point that he was having a semi amiable conversation with an ex Death Eater who had tried to off him on more than one occasion while his Quidditch Team merrily went about sabotaging themselves, life was suddenly very complicated. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he asked wearily.
"An hour out of your busy schedule," the older man answered, running an elegant hand down his robe, smoothening imaginary wrinkles. Harry sneered, apparently in no mood to cooperate. "It's about my son," Lucius cut in before he could refuse or storm off.
Harry stopped short and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I'm listening," he said slowly.
The older man smirked. "Walk with me, Mr. Potter. We have much to discuss."
****
"You've lost your mind. You've gone completely round the twist!"
Lucius rolled his eyes at the boy's melodramatics. Two minutes and he already had something in common with Draco. He had definitely chosen well. Nevertheless, it was essential that Potter see sense and cooperate.
"You're overreacting, Mr. Potter," he drawled. "What I'm suggesting is a perfectly acceptable practice."
Potter laughed - the sound high-pitched and somewhat close to hysterical. "Oh, sure. Happens all the time, I'll bet. Do you have any idea what you're saying? You're... he... how could you possibly..."
Lucius' eyes narrowed. "What I'm saying, Mr. Potter..."
"Harry."
"I beg your pardon?"
The boy scrubbed his face tiredly. "If we're having this discussion, you may as well call me Harry. I have enough to deal with without trying to remember who the hell Mr. Potter is."
Lucius suppressed a sneer. "Very well then, Harry. I admit that you were never my first choice for this... arrangement."
"Is that what they're calling it now?"
"Or my second. Or my four hundredth," Lucius gritted out. "However, certain... incidents that have come to my attention have convinced me otherwise."
"Like what exactly?" Potter demanded. Lucius retrieved the photographs from his robes with a dramatic flair and presented them to the boy. Potter sifted through one after another, and by the time he was finished, his mouth was pressed in a hard, straight line.
"I've seen the way you look at him," Lucius said smoothly. "Don't try telling me you're entirely uninvested in this."
"He was being cornered and I helped," Potter spat. "Got pushed around for my trouble too. And I'm certainly not going to marry your lunatic son just because no one else will!"
"You're interested," Lucius repeated.
"Not that interested," Potter replied firmly. "I'm sorry but I don't see it. And by the way? You may want to check up with Draco about how he feels about throwing his lot in with me. Yeah, do that and see what happens. I hope he gives you a concussion."
"Draco will see sense. Eventually." Potter snorted disbelievingly and Lucius chose to ignore him. "He has much to gain from this match. You're a powerful wizard, more than financially established if your Gringotts accounts are anything to go by..."
"You checked my accounts?!"
"Naturally, Potter. This is my son we're talking about. And I am determined that he make the best decision for his future."
"And that's me," Potter intoned flatly.
"As much as it pains me to say so, yes. Yes, you are."
"Well thank you for that shining endorsement, but I'm going to pass." Potter's eyes glinted like daggers and his voice had dropped to sub zero. "In case you haven't noticed, I've had a lifetime of people using my name to further their prospects. So thanks for the offer, really. But I don't really see what's in it for me."
Lucius couldn't help a dark chuckle. "Gryffindor has ruined you, boy," he smirked. "Do you really think that I'd ask you for something without making an offer of my own? My dear boy, you insult me. You stand to gain substantially from my proposal."
"There is nothing you can offer me that will make me consider spending the rest of my life with..."
"You're bored, aren't you Potter?" Lucius drawled. He gauged the boy for his reaction. His fists were clenched but he was still listening. That would have to do. "The madness, the thrill of constant danger - it's all gone away, hasn't it? Oh sure, the peace was great at first. You got your life back together, joined the Quidditch team - you lived the dream. But now... now it's all coming together, isn't it? No one is interesting enough to hold your attention. No one is talking to you - they're talking at you, what they think you are or should be. Everyone is always so accommo dating, going out of their way to please you, be seen with you, be friends with you - and you hate it, don't you? You miss the fight of it, the challenge. You need something to hold your interest. And I assure you, Mr. Potter," Lucius met the young man's stare steadily as ever. "Draco has always held your interest."
"Interest is not enough to make a marriage," Potter growled.
"No. But it's certainly a promising way to start," Lucius countered smoothly. "A courtship, Mr. Potter is merely an agreement. One that you're free to walk away from should you choose to - hardly a risky venture."
The boy tensed. He started pacing, taking in the pitch with long strides. Lucius watched his retreating back with schooled interest. Finally, Potter returned. "I'm going to need something more," he said firmly.
"And what would that be?" Lucius asked.
Potter's gaze flicked to the sky, watching his team practice. Lucius suppressed a wince as a Chaser lost control of his broom and crashed full force into a goal post. "Do something about this," Potter said. "And you have a deal. I want that Cup."
"Well played, Mr. Potter," Lucius smirked, pulling out a wand and whispering a discreet incantation. "How does this look for a start?"
Potter observed the shimmering numbers dispassionately, before letting the faintest smirk hint at his lips. "Another zero at the end wouldn't be remiss," he drawled.
Lucius smirked. He had definitely chosen well. "I'll be in touch, Mr. Potter. Welcome to the family, so to speak."
"Malfoy."
Lucius turned around sending the younger man an enquiring look. Potter frowned. "How can you trust your only son with me? How do you know I'm not going to hurt him?"
Lucius chuckled. "Have you met Draco, Mr. Potter? Frankly, I'm more worried about you. Good day."
****
When Harry went to bed that night, he was tired,confused and restless. He still wasn't entirely sure what had possessed him to go and make that bizarre deal with Lucius Malfoy. Marrying Draco Malfoy for a stash of brooms seemed a whole lot stupider in the silence of his bedroom. It had seemed like a... reasonable idea at the time.
At least Oliver was happy. Harry snorted. The man had almost burst into tears when Harry had presented him with a cheque from a 'long time Canons admirer who wished to remain anonymous'. Malfoy was definitely taking no chances. Harry had of course, been duly sworn to secrecy –not that he had any plans of shouting from the rooftops.
The idea of telling Ginny made him shudder.Merlin, she'd fly through the roof if she got wind of this. And he didn't even want to know what Ron's reaction would be. Or Hermione's. Or Molly's... oh God,what had he done? If he couldn't even talk himself throughthe whole thing without having a panic attack, how the hell was he supposed to explain himself to them?
And then there was Malfoy. Irrational,dangerous, raging Malfoy who was going to be furious at this turn of events, who was going to go in kicking and screaming all the way,who was going to make life for Harry an absolute nightmare, thank you very much... and Harry would have to court that harpy, try to convince him to spend the rest of his life with him.
Malfoy would probably curse him on sight. No,first he'd try torture. No, that wasn't it either. Malfoy would probably just lunge for his throat instead. Yeah, that sounded about right. He was just going to pounce, snarling like an animal, eyes blazing with fury as he wrapped his slim, aristocratic fingers around Harry's neck... he'd probably try scratching him too - Malfoy looked like a scratcher. He'd rake his nails into Harry's skin, digging deeper and deeper until he drew blood and left red welts allover, screaming obscenities all the way. Of course, Harry wasn't going down that easy. He'd probably be doing some fantastic screaming himself and when Malfoy went for his eyes, he would swing around and pin the poncy little brat to the floor. Malfoy's silver eyes would widen in surprise, his slim body stilling with the sudden shock of finding himself at a disadvantage. And then,that familiar flash of anger would return and he would start struggling again -except this time Harry would have the advantage. No way was Malfoy using him as a scratching post again! No, he would hold him down with one hand, and with the other he would rip that prissy,expensive silk shirt right off his body. Fabric would tear and buttons would pop and scatter to the floor and Malfoy would writhe and scream under him until Harry would just snap and silence the chit by crushing his mouth against Malfoy's and... and...
Harry blinked.
That was unexpected.
He took a deep breath and tossed the covers back, noting - with some annoyance - that that little runaway fantasy had given him something of a hard on.
Perfect.
Cursing Malfoy fluently under his breath, he sat up and scrubbed his face. Now the prat was messing with his sleep. Why did every single thing have to lead right back to Malfoy? What was it about that smarmy, pointy ferret? And why couldn't he stop thinking about him?!
Harry scowled and pushed at his bedside table petulantly, his eye catching the flutter of something falling to the ground.Frowning, he reached out and picked it up. A photograph... oh right, Lucius had given him those pictures. This one was of Malfoy shoving him right before he took off from the pub. The blond was pressed right against him with his hand son Harry's chest. His pretty mouth was twisted in a sneer as he tried to shove Harry out of the way, his lithe frame pressed against the taller boy for asplit second before he broke free and ran off. Harry felt a shiver run through his spine at the memory. Malfoy pressing against him, his hands on his chest...his photograph self didn't seem inclined to let Malfoy go either. The Harry in the picture was leaning forward as if he wanted nothing more than to grab hold of the blond and not let go. The second Malfoy pushed at him, his hand clenched in thin air. It was not an attempt to break his fall. He was trying to grab Draco, try and keep him from leaving.
And now... now he had him.
Harry grinned and let the picture fall back on the desk. Whatever life was with Malfoy, it wouldn't be boring. That was forsure. And who knew? Perhaps he would be the lucky one to finally tame the dragon. Of course, there was always the risk of getting killed in the process but since when had that stopped Harry? At the very least, the Slytherin promised to be interesting.
All Harry knew as he slid under his sheets again was that if it was a fight Malfoy wanted, he was going to get it.
Let the games begin.
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