An Extremely Odd Evening

It was a late evening sometime in the Christmas holidays, and Draco was sprawled on his bed in his very private, very green and very old bedchamber, reading through 'Ways You Know You're Not Quite Right And How To Combat It (Wizarding Version)', which, he had to conclude, was not very helpful if you were a guy.

The advice that chocolate and an aromatic bath might help when you felt down seemed a little redundant, despite the fact that Draco already knew from experience just how great a lavender scented tub could really be.

He shifted his leg to cut the cramp that was starting to tickle him and was vaguely considering suicide when suddenly:

whumpf!!

Something hard and heavy knocked him right into the bedclothes, pinioning him down and obscuring his vision. Whatever it was, it was about Draco's size, and smelled a little of spiced orange and a heavy scent that was appealing but unknown to Draco. The sensation of being pinned to his bed beneath a sprawled and breathing object was not entirely - wait a minute, Draco thought, snapping to his senses. Breathing!

"Fuck!" Draco said. "Who the fuck is that?"

He rolled himself over, pushing away the extremely strong body under him and looking at what he saw in absolute disbelief. It was a very muddy, dishevelled, red-faced Harry bloody Potter pressed under him

"Get off me Malfoy!" Harry said furiously, pushing against him. Draco swiftly moved himself off Harry, but kept one arm firmly pinned to Harry's chest, which seemed to be juddering rapidly.

"Excuse me; it's you that's the breaking and entering guy in this scenario," Draco snapped, trying very hard not to wonder if this was a flight of his previously uninspired imagination or a really dumb version of reality. "What the hell are you doing in my bedroom, at my house, and - and - you're bringing mud onto my sheets!"

Harry stood up, and shuffled to the side of the bed.

"Look," he started, "I know this is all a bit unbelievable, but the thing is, I'm looking for someone."

"And you couldn't have just put an ad in the paper?"

"No, not to date," said Harry hurriedly, and Draco noticed that his robes were absolutely filthy. "Someone...evil." Harry finished, in an extremely suspect tone of voice.

Draco swiftly put two and two together. It couldn't be though, could it? It really couldn't be -

"Are you at my house looking for Voldemort?" he asked, disbelieving that even Harry Potter could be quite so breathtakingly stupid as to swan into his enemy's bedroom, looking for his even worse enemy, without any backup plans. Talk about world-beating ideas. "How did you even get here, Potter? We've got a ban on apparating."

"I didn't apparate," Harry said simply. "And no, I'm not looking for Voldemort, per se. I mean - you know. If he happens to be here - well - could you point me in the direction?"

"NO!" Draco exclaimed. "I'm going to hex you in thirty seconds if I don't get a decent explanation, Potter. This is my bedroom, and you are seriously not in a position to piss me off. Do you know how many evil people there are downstairs?"

Harry quirked his eyebrows. "Five?" he guessed.

"More like fifty five. My mother is hosting a cocktail party. You might hear the screams any second."

"Screams? What screams?"

"Mmh. We've got an All Beverage Cascade. People like to shower under it, and every time my Aunt Odessa wants tea, they get a frightful shock. Burnt to raw, some of them are."

"What's an -" Harry started to say, but thought better of it. "Oh never mind. I don't want to know what iniquity goes on in this house of deepest evil."

"Hey, we've got a lovely collection of renaissance art in the Drawing Room." Draco said feeling slightly confused as to why he hadn't yet screamed for the death eaters below stairs to get the hell up here and annihilate Potter from the face of the earth. "That's not evil. Although on reflection, actually one of the paintings is quite obnoxious. It tried to skewer me the other day."

"Right," Harry said, sounding as if this were distinctly uninteresting. "The thing is this, Malfoy; I think Voldemort is downstairs. Right now. I could ...um...catch him unawares. Your father is not downstairs, and you're much too hell bent on our rivalry to even bother trying to stop me going. Hermione found a spell - it brings you to whoever you're thinking about. Well. We didn't know it would be quite so literal bringing - sorry for landing on top of you."

"I don't believe you," Draco said shortly, definitely not looking at Harry. No way. He wasn't looking at how hot Harry looked in his robes, stood against the backdrop of his bedroom. "That's an idiotic excuse, and I think you're an idiot. I want you to go now, or else I am yelling for everyone to come up here and kill you. It will not be a loss to me."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, and he rubbed his cheek slightly with his hand, leaving a tinge of red that served only to add to his healthy chimney-sweep-without-a-shower look. "You could have yelled hours ago you know."

"Yes," Draco admitted. "That's quite true that I could have done."

"So why didn't you?"

"I was surprised," he said. "I was just reading, and then you land smack on top of me. It's enough to throw anyone."

"But you must have been unthrown by now, right?" Harry said a little nervously. "There's no way that you couldn't have called a while since. Anyway, the reason I came was because..."

A sharp bang at the door interrupted them.

"Draco! What on earth are you doing in there? I can hear noise!" a female voice that was probably his mother's called. Draco blinked, taken aback and gestured to the door at the other side of the room for Harry to go through.

"Quick," he hissed. Harry slammed himself through the door, and found it led to a pleasant, if rather over scented bathroom filled with enough hair gel to sink a cruise liner.

Draco opened up the other door, on his mother, who peered at him closely. Harry, through the crack in the bathroom door, could see she looked resplendent in green silk robes, her blonde hair wonderfully light and shining. He wondered how many spells and surgeons had got her looking that way.

"Hello, Mum," Draco said, kissing her on the cheek with a total lack of affection. He did not however move from the door to let her in any further. "How's the party?"

"What do you expect?" she snapped back. "It's a terrible party without Lucius. He was always so entertaining."

"I know," Draco replied sociably. "The guests must really miss his party tricks. Especially that one with the bloody knives. That was always a real crowd-pleaser."

"Draco, I wish you would be serious." Narcissa sighed, and patted her hair into place. "It is not becoming for you to speak in this way. I have had enough of this now. What is that noise from your room?"

There was a pause. Harry could see Draco was doing some very quick thinking.

"I was practising my speech for the Quidditch captaincy next term," he said. "Sorry, it probably got louder than I anticipated."

"Rubbish," Narcissa succinctly said. "Let me in, would you, Draco?"

"I've got a boy in here!" Draco said hurriedly. "You know. For sex. He's naked in the bathroom, and I was just about to pleasure him again. Julian and I are very active. Behind the wall of pink and well-coordinated fabrics lies a tiger of a man."

Narcissa, it seemed, could think of nothing to say to this.

"You're gay?" she gasped finally. "What a pain! Draco, I wish you would have told me earlier; I suppose we're going to have to re-assess the marriage issue now. We'll have to get a foreigner in if you want a fake wife, you know! The Parkinson family will be so disappointed."

"Well. Do you know," Draco said suddenly, "I've had an epiphany. I don't love Julian. It was purely hormonal, and the heat of the moment. If you give us a minute alone, I'll get rid of him."

"How ever did you get him in there in the first place? I want to see him. This story sounds odd, Draco. Very odd." said Narcissa, suspicious in the extreme.

Meanwhile, Harry was trying not to laugh. He supposed the least he could do was play the part, so he gamely stripped off down to his boxers, whilst Narcissa and Draco remonstrated with each other about whether she should see Julian before he left. Turning to face the wall, Harry turned on the faucet and dunked his head in the sink. He proceeded to run his hand through his hair, making it appear disgustingly greasy.

He heard people approach him, and Draco say in a loud, rather pointed voice:

"Well. Look, there he is - my lovely ex-boyfriend, Mum."

"How did you get him here?" Narcissa repeated, staring at Harry's back and thighs, appraising her son as having good taste at least. Although Harry was wearing some questionable white boxers, he still looked good. He had a lean body that was fit from workouts, and he stood tall and firm, despite desperately trying to keep his back turned (it is almost impossible not to turn around when people are speaking about you behind you).

"He used some spell or other, didn't you Jules?" Draco said, slightly wildly. Harry spluttered, and adopted a strange low voice

"Locatrus Personae," he grunted, sounding like a troll, and Narcissa raised her eyebrows.

"Well, he's not very well-spoken, is he?" she snorted.

"Oh!" Draco replied. "He's foreign! And awfully shy, he doesn't respond well to women at all, I'm afraid. I really think it would be better if you gave us time alone."

"Can't he at least turn around?" Narcissa drawled, as she tentatively poked Harry's shoulder.

"No!" Draco said.

"Why ever not?" Narcissa said curiously, her hand now pressed deep into Harry's shoulder. Harry became uncomfortably aware of how exposed he was in just his boxers.

"Shower!" Harry grunted, and turned around so quick that Narcissa and Draco barely caught a glimpse of his face, before he ran through the shower curtain and hid behind it. For a moment, there was a temporary stunned silence at this lunacy.

"Is he," Narcissa said eventually, recovering herself, and lowered her voice to a stage whisper, "quite all there?"

"

Oh, yes, he's really very well educated," Draco said firmly, beginning to steer his mother out of the bathroom. "It's just his command of English lets him down sometimes. Still. We make up for it in raw animal attraction. Besides, he's a real Viking in the sack so I don't much mind how he speaks. He generally grunts a lot too."

"If you don't mind me saying," Narcissa said snippily, "he really needs to work on his manners. He seems like an absolute ogre."

"Looks can be deceptive," Draco philosophically said, with a wry smile. "Now, please, you really should return to the party."

"I suppose so. By the way, first-rate work tonight Draco. I really was quite pleased with your performance. However, I must advice you to find a more socially acceptable partner. Preferably one who speaks with more than one word at a time; I am glad you are ending the relationship." Narcissa swept out of the bathroom, then through the other doors into the hall.

Once he had heard the door slam, Draco collapsed weakly onto the bathroom floor in a heap, and Harry came out from behind the shower curtain, snorting with laughter.

"Couldn't you have told her something else than you were gay?" he said, chortling. Draco put his head in his hands.

"Desperation," he said in a muffled kind of a voice. "I was really desperate."

"I can't believe your mother wasn't more worried!" Harry gasped, still laughing with the unremitting sort of laughter that needs no encouragement.

"Oh, it runs in the family...I suppose she'll forget it anyway. The party won't end for another six hours or so, and then she'll be much too drunk to recall anything."

"I'll get dressed then." Harry said, calming down. He was in no state to ask whether Draco meant that madness, lack of worrying or just plain homosexuality was what ran in the Malfoy family. "Thanks for not telling her it was me."

"Wait," Draco said suddenly, and he stood up, moving to stand closer to Harry, who shifted slightly in position. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Harry said, crossing his arms then uncrossing them, and trying to ignore the uncomfortable feelings of attraction that were spinning down his body in sharp bursts. Suddenly the mood in the room changed, and left Harry breathlessly nervous, maybe even a little excited.

"Don't dress. Not yet," whispered Draco breathily into Harry's ear. "You look so -"

"What? I look so what?" Harry replied, half amused, but mainly still feeling very, very mesmerized by Draco, who had moved in even closer to him now, his arm circled around Harry's waist possessively.

"Beautiful," Draco finished, and pressed his mouth firmly onto Harry's. Harry gulped in surprise, but before he could respond, Draco had swiftly pulled away. He yanked his arm off Harry's waist, and moved several steps away from Harry angrily, looking as if he had violated him somehow by simply standing there in his underpants.

"What was that?!" Harry said angrily. "What's the matter now?"

"I always swore I wouldn't kiss you," Draco answered, looking livid, "and you fucking well made me do it! Why did you have to strip?"

"Well - I wasn't the one who told my mother I was gay, and my lover was in the bathroom," Harry responded angrily. "You could have told her that you were sick, or that you were - I don't know - doing something else! You could have told her anything, couldn't you?"

"Weren't you supposed to be going off looking for Voldemort?" Draco said icily, maintaining an extreme amount of dignity. "If you were, I suggest you dress first. Nevertheless," suddenly he began to smirk, "I suppose you have still got your wand with you."

Harry grinned.

"Wouldn't go anywhere without it," he said. "And that euphemism is overdone."

"I know. It wasn't my finest hour, okay Potter?" Draco said hurriedly, with only the slightest hint of a drawl. " The thing is Potter, he's not down there. I think he only comes to our parties if they're going to be a bloodbath. Oh and New Years. He always comes then. Think he gets lonely when he's celebrating alone, and he always kisses the French maid too. Poor Stessie, she doesn't know what hits her."

"That's really oversharing Malfoy," Harry pointed out, looking vaguely disgusted. "And anyway, I didn't come for him. I came to see you."

"Why?" Draco said, believing he already knew the answer.

"Why do you think?" Harry retorted.

"I don't know. That's why I asked. And Potter, could you get dressed? It's extremely distracting."

"Sorry," Harry replied, although he didn't look remotely sorry, "It's just you told me five seconds ago I was beautiful undressed. I took that to mean you liked me like this."

"Well I don't," Draco petulantly said. Harry laughed as if he knew this to be a lie.

"Give it up." Harry firmly touched his hand to Draco's shoulder, making him shudder. "You kissed me just then. You like me, don't you?"

"NO!" Draco responded. "No I bloody well do not. I may find you appealing on some level, but I most certainly do not like you."

"My feelings are hurt," Harry said sadly, sounding every bit as simple minded as Draco believed him to be. "I shall now put on my trousers."

"You do that," Draco replied with an infinite amount of patience. "Then please get out of here. If my mother comes back I'm handing you over to her."

"Don't you want to know why I came to see you?" Harry asked, and Draco had a mad urge to hit him for the silly childish voice he was putting on. "It was because I like you."

There was an ominous pause while Draco reinserted his jaw from the floor where it had fallen to.

"But we're enemies..." he said slowly. "I'm horrible to you, and I occasionally attempt to kill you or maim you, and you and your cartoon pals are consistently trying to undermine me in the corridors. Where in this relationship did the liking spring from, exactly?"

"I don't know!" Harry said sharply. "I just know that I do."

"Okay. Well. That's certainly informative," Draco began, "but the thing is Potter, you've just given me enough ammunition to sort of make your life hell for the next two school years. I struggle to understand why."

"I had to tell you. No one will believe you if you tell this story, will they?" Harry truthfully pointed out as he finally pulled on his clothes. "Hey Crabbe. Harry Potter came on top of me the other day and told me he liked me."

"Came?" Draco repeated, amused. "I don't remember that bit."

"Oh shut up!" Harry answered, without ruffling a feather. "You know how I meant it."

"Well, actually, in light of your revelations, I'm not altogether sure I do." Draco smirked. "How do I know what sick fantasies run in your mind?"

"I am going to go," Harry said, sounding as if his grasp on English was rather slight, enunciating each word. "If you could kindly let me use your toilet."

"Knock yourself out," Draco replied, and walked out of the bathroom to sit on his bed, meditatively wondering if Harry really was gay. Several minutes later, Harry emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed, although his hair was still wet from where he had dunked it into the sink.

"Your hair looks repulsive," said Draco. "Would you like to dry it?"

"No," Harry answered. "I'm sure it'll dry all by itself."

Draco gave a derisive snort that suggested what he thought of this idea.

"No wonder your hair's always a mess," he said with a grin. "You should blow-dry it, you know. With a comb, and - "

"If I want your advice..." Harry started to say, and seeing the look on Draco's face stopped short. "I'll never want your advice."

"My feelings are hurt," Draco said, echoing Harry in a sarcastic kind of voice. "And I still don't understand how you bloody well got here. What kind of spell takes you out of Hogwarts into the Manor?"

"I was at the Burrow," Harry said. "You know. That's where Ron lives. It's -"

"I don't' need a geographical description," Draco interrupted him. "It's not like I'll ever want to visit the ginger haired throng of dimwits who live there, is it?"

"They're decent people," heatedly Harry replied, and decided better of getting into an argument, "and anyway, I told you; it's a spell where you think really hard about another person, and it sort of brings you to them. Hermione either found it or invented it. It's called the Locatrus Personae."

"Well, whatever," Draco said dismissively, "but how are you getting back to this Molehill place?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "It's kind of a one way thing. Maybe if I think about Ron really hard as well..."

"Don't tell me you "like" him too. You'll get a name for yourself." Draco looked at Harry almost irresistibly, and he smiled back, sending a tiny tremble though Draco's back as if he were feverish. The moment lingered for a while, before taking flight and fading into the atmosphere. "Anyway, like I say, you should go."

"I know I should," Harry said and stumbled over the words. "Ron and Hermione will be wondering, I suppose, and you know, it's late, and you don't seem, and I, I guess this is goodbye, then?"

"I guess so." Draco answered brusquely, and he raised his eyebrows at Harry as if to say 'what else is there to say?' "Bye Potter. See you at school. Oh. Millicent Bullstrode's going to assail your Granger in the library the first day back."

"I'll pass it on," Harry said awkwardly wondering why Draco wasn't getting this. "Well...yes. Bye. Bye Draco."

"Bye Harry," Draco replied, using Harry's given name for the first time in, well, quite possibly ever.

"Bye!" Harry said, despairingly. "Thanks for everything."

"That's fine. It was marginally more fun than being roasted on a spit," Draco replied, wondering why Harry still hadn't gone.

"Bye," Harry said again, really stupidly raising his hand. Draco merely looked at him. Harry looked back expectantly, with big saucer eyes that glittered from behind their glasses.

"Are you ever going, Potter?" he said. "You've been saying bye for a really long time."

"I'm going now," Harry said clearly affronted, and he closed his eyes. Pointing his wand at his heart, he said loudly "Locatrus Personae Ronald Weasley."

And just like that, Harry was gone.