Original Sinn

~~~~~

Chapter III - Gluttony

~~~~~

Harry heard the knock on the door, and quickly made sure the towel around his waist was secure before saying, "Come in."

Malfoy opened the door and shoved a piece of hotel stationary at him. "Here's your cover story."

Harry arched an eyebrow, taking the paper. "My what?" he asked, holding the paper close to his nose and squinting at the neat script. Malfoy's handwriting was, for lack of a better word, "pretty".

"Your cover story, Potter. What, were you just going to avoid talking about your life?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't really think about it."

"You weren't going to tell him you're a bobby, were you?" Harry remained silent, and Malfoy groaned. "Use your head, Potter! Do you really think a man who fences illegal objects is going to want to date a cop?"

Harry set the paper down and went back to fiddling with his hair. "Then what do I do for a living, Malfoy?"

"You're a school teacher."

Harry whirled around. "What?"

"A school teacher," Malfoy said with a devious grin. "Primary school. You teach Physical Education. You love the kids, and enjoy coaching football after school for the local children's league. You know a foreign language - but of a long lost culture called the Dravidians of the Indus Valley, a culture that lived over 32,000 years ago. You learned that language because you're fascinated with ancient and old cultures, which leads into your interest of antiques and strange objects of the occult, which is your hobby on the side. It's your next 'in'."

Harry stared at Malfoy, unblinking, for several minutes. "Was I in the shower for a day or something? When'd you have time to think up all that?"

"I think fast, Potter. Just memorise what I wrote down, will you?"

"And what happens if he wants to hear that language I supposedly know? I don't know any other languages...besides a tiny bit of Gaelic."

"You know Latin."

"Not really. I understand enough to break down a spell and figure out what it does without casting it. So I can't use Latin."

"Well, I wasn't thinking you'd use Latin anyhow."

"Then what did you want me to speak? Goblin? I don't know that either."

"Parsel tongue, Potter. Just speak Parsel tongue."

"I generally need to be looking at a snake to speak Parsel tongue."

"Then here," Malfoy said, taking off a ring from his left hand, "wear this. But it's an heirloom, so don't lose it." He tossed it to Harry, who caught it in mid-air.

Looking at the ring, he slipped it onto his right ring finger, feeling the cold smooth metal slide tantalisingly up his skin.

"No Potter! Not on your-"

"Ow!" Harry had just been admiring how the snake curled around his finger when it uncoiled and bit him, drawing blood. "Malfoy! Get it off!"

Malfoy stepped forward quickly, grabbing Harry's wrist, and holding his other hand out. The snake uncurled from Harry's finger and slithered over to Malfoy's, curling back around his. "It's an heirloom, Potter. You can't actually wear it, you have to put it around your neck, or carry it with you. It knows you're not family."

Harry sucked angrily on the small wound on his finger. "You could have said that. How was I supposed to know?"

Malfoy sighed and conjured a silver chain to put the ring around. "Here. Wear this."

Harry took the chain, and looked at the snake, unmoving and dangling from the silver links. It had emeralds for eyes, and looked completely harmless. His smarting finger knew better.

"Give me your hand," Malfoy said, holding his own out.

Harry took it from his mouth and placed it in Malfoy's, who took out his wand and whispered, "Episkey", healing the wound. "There. I'm sorry...I didn't realise you wouldn't know not to put an heirloom on."

"Well...in my defence, you did say 'put this on'."

"No, I said, 'wear this'."

"Whatever. It's practically the same thing."

Malfoy sighed. "Move aside, Potter. Let me do your hair. I've already laid out an outfit for you."

"I could have figured out for myself, Malfoy. That was what those lessons were about today, weren't they?" he said as he moved to let Malfoy in, passing off the comb.

"Yeah, but you're still hopeless."

"Gee, thanks."

Malfoy smiled. "You're welcome."

While Malfoy fiddled with Harry's hair, he slipped his glasses on and started reading the cover story the blond wrote for him. "Hey, Malfoy?"

"Yeah, Potter?"

"How'd the Dravidians die out?"

"They were over-taken by the Aryans. A race from the north with lighter colouring. Like me," he added, looking down into Harry's dark mass of hair.

"Oh. What was the Dravidian civilization like? In case James asks," Harry added. "I suppose I should know a lot about it, if I bothered to 'learn their language'."

Malfoy chucked. "I'm actually really hoping we can use it against him...if things get out of control."

"What do you mean? Like sic a snake on him?"

"Precisely."

"You're sadistic, Malfoy."

"No, I'm ambitious and smart. I know how to use someone's strengths and exploit their weaknesses." Harry frowned and was about to retort when Malfoy went on. "The Dravidians were a very powerful civilization. Like long-lost Atlantis, but on land. They had complicated sewage systems, and had their own belief system, which meshed with the Aryans when they took over, spreading all over Europe and Asia as the Aryans conquered most of the continent."

"Is this for real? How do you know about this?"

Malfoy leaned down to talk directly in Harry's ear, locking eyes with him in the mirror. "The Dravidians were the beginning of Magic, Potter. Their beliefs started the relationship between humans and the natural Magic Mother Earth had to offer."

"Oh. Well...that's important then."

"Yes, and all the more irony that you would know so much about them, being a 'Muggle'. Your 'interest' in ancient and strange artefacts might lead James to show you the missing artefact. Then, perhaps we can put a tracking spell on it and record its movement."

"Do you think we can use magic on something like that? Patt said it has a lot of inherent magic... I'm not sure it'd be wise to try and put a tracking charm on something like that."

Malfoy shrugged. "It's worth a shot, if we have a window." He set the comb down. "Okay. You're done. Off to the wardrobe."

Harry looked at his tousled coif in the mirror, tilting his head. "Thanks, Malfoy."

"No problem, Potter."

~~~~~

Draco pursed his lips nervously. He'd done a good job. If it wasn't Potter, or rather, he didn't know it was Potter, he might jump him himself, right here, right now.

The problem, of course, being that he'd done such a good job, he was afraid James might have the same idea, and scare the ever-loving shite out of Potter, and the poor man would freak and blow his cover.

Sighing, he slipped on his own suit jacket. "Try to get him to tell you where exactly you're going, Potter. I'd like to get there before you, so if he sees and recognises me, he'll think it's just a coincidence that we're all at the same restaurant, okay?"

"Yes, Malfoy," Potter said, adjusting his collarless black jacket over the red and black embroidered sleeveless shirt he was wearing. The frog closures down the front had been tricky for the shorter man, and Draco had spent a few strange moments fastening all of them for him. The black slacks also fit perfectly, and Draco was desperately telling himself that he had only ogled Potter's ass for a second; making sure the fabric lay the right way.

"Have you thought about a temporary eye-correction spell?" he said, adjusting his silvery tie over his blue dress shirt.

"Yes, but I don't like the thought of using magic on something that's directly connected to my brain."

Draco chuckled. "Good point."

"Malfoy, are you sure this isn't too dressy? Sameson said semi-casual."

"This is semi-casual, Potter. You're not wearing a full suit, and there is not tie or cummerbund. You're good. Trust me. He'll want you. That's the important thing."

Potter made a face in the mirror above one of the dressers. "God, he's probably going to expect sex, isn't he?"

"You set the boundaries, Potter. Tell him to stop if he's going too fast."

"Holding my hand is going too fast."

"Stop being a prude."

Harry looked at his watch. "He's probably expecting me downstairs. Com spell?"

Draco nodded and pointed his wand at Potter's head. "You ready?" he asked when he finished the incantation.

"As I'll ever be," Potter said after a long exhale.

"Off you go, then, lover-boy. Remember - I need to know your location so I can Apparate there ahead of you."

"Gotcha. See you there."

"Bye Potter."

~~~~~

"You look amazing, Harry," James said, putting out a fag on the cement and standing up from his lean on the bright red motorcycle behind him. He was wearing all black again, but with a dress shirt instead of his regular tee, and slacks instead of jeans.

Harry flushed pink and looked to his shoes. "I didn't know you rode a bike," he replied, gesturing to the motorcycle as James stepped forward and took Harry's hand. He felt it immediately break out in a sweat. He could smell the cigarettes on James' clothes, and it was horrible, but he could also smell the cologne James was wearing, and it was a musky-sweet mixture, which Harry found surprisingly pleasant.

"Yeah. Do you mind? Have you ever ridden on one before?"

"No, but I wouldn't mind trying."

James smiled. "Great. Here's your helmet," he said, pulling it out of a backpack that was sitting on the bike. "Just remember, don't try to counter balance. That's my job. Just lean with the bike, and I'll take care of the rest."

"Okay. Where are we going?"

James grinned. "A cute restaurant that serves the best Chinese in London. Choy's."

"Sounds good." Harry took off his glasses and put his helmet on, slipping the spectacles back on his nose through the visor. "Did you get that, Malfoy?" he whispered.

"Loud and clear, Potter. See you there."

James slid onto the bike, and slipped on his own helmet before putting his backpack back on. Gesturing behind him, he snapped up his visor and said, "Get on and hold on tight."

Harry nervously got on the bike behind him, finding the footholds and grabbing onto James' waist and holding on tightly.

"Ready?"

"Yes!"

James snapped down his visor, and Harry did the same, and then James started the bike with a roar, and Harry found himself gripping tighter as they entered traffic and sped on down to Chelsea.

~~~~~

Harry got off the bike with somewhat wobbly legs, handing the helmet back to James. "That was awesome," Harry said, smiling.

"It is, isn't it? I love this bike," Sameson said, running a hand along the casing.

"What kind is it?"

"A Yamaha YZF600R. Cherry red with a 599cc, liquid-cooled, DOHC, inline 4-cylinder 16-valve engine."

Harry blinked. "Alright. I have no idea what that means."

The older man laughed. "Not a machine man?"

"Not really."

James took their helmets in one hand and slung an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Come on, let's eat."

"This place looks nice," Harry said, feeling a little uncomfortable with James' arm around him.

"It's great," Sameson said. "This place makes the best Mongolian beef and sesame chicken anywhere. I come here all the time."

"I may have to have you order for me then."

Harry entered the small shop first, taking in the pretty lanterns and dark wooden tables, and the tasteful décor that was lining the walls. A short Chinese man came out from the kitchen area, smiling and holding out his arms.

"Mr. James! So nice of you to come by again!"

"Oh, Mr. Choy, you know I can't stay away."

Harry took a glance around at the small amount of patrons in the restaurant. He spotted Malfoy, sitting alone and reading a book against the wall, and the blond caught his eye for a moment before going back to his book and tea.

"Is this a new friend?" Mr. Choy asked, smiling at Harry.

"Yes," Harry said, holding out his hand. "My name is Harry."

Mr. Choy took his hand with both of his and shook it gently. "Welcome, welcome. Let me show you to your table."

He led them to a table near the back, on the opposite side of the room to Malfoy. They sat down, and Mr. Choy promised them tea and soup in a moment. The menus were already at the table, and Harry looked up at the sweet little candle lantern mounted to the wall above their heads, before taking his.

"What do you like, Harry?"

"What?" he said distractedly. "Oh, um...I don't know. I like food." He heard Malfoy snicker in his ear as Sameson laughed.

"Well, this place does have food, but what I meant was, do you like noodles or rice? Chicken or Pork? Or Beef? Sweet, spicy or plain?"

"Oh...er...I don't know. I like fried rice. And both chicken and beef. And I like noodles too. And as long as it's not too spicy, I'm okay. Sweet's fine too. I like sweet and sour pork."

"Alright, then I think...we'll do a sampler platter. Mr. Choy will make us five dishes of our choosing, with white rice and egg rolls. Sound good?"

"Perfect," Harry replied, wondering how what seemed like such a neat guy could be involved in moving illegal objects around the country. "What dishes should we choose?"

"Hm... How about sweet and sour pork, Mongolian beef, sesame chicken, chow mein, and..."

"The dumplings are looking very tasty tonight, Mr. James, if I may make a suggestion," Mr. Choy said, setting down a china tea pot and two small handle-less cups and two small bowls filled with broth and vegetables with sort of strange looking spoons.

"Dumplings it is, then. Did you get the rest?"

Mr. Choy nodded. "I did indeed. It shall all be ready shortly. Enjoy." He bowed shortly, and scurried back into the kitchen, yelling out some orders in Chinese to his kitchen staff.

"You must come here a lot to get such good service from Mr. Choy himself," Harry said.

"Oh, yes. I do. Chinese is my favourite, and I can't cook, so I let Mrs. Choy do it for me."

"Oh, Mr. Choy's wife works in the kitchen?"

"Yes, but only as a prep chef. But she also makes the desserts. They really are divine. If you're not too full, we should get something afterwards."

"Maybe."

They paused in their talk as a gorgeous young Chinese woman dressed in a dress that resembled Harry's shirt came out of the kitchen and served Malfoy a small noodle dish, and the smell wafted over to them.

"Smells good," Harry said.

"Tastes better," James replied. "Hey... I...think I know that guy."

"Oh?" Harry said nervously, waiting for the ball to drop.

"I think...well, he sort of looks like the bloke that hit on me last night...before you did," he added, shooting Harry a seductive smile.

"Oh. Well...if it is him, he doesn't look all that bad." Harry knew Malfoy wanted to make a comment, but couldn't on account of his being watched.

"I told you he wasn't my type," Sameson said.

"And I am?"

"More than you know, Harry."

Harry felt himself getting red, and looked down into his soup, picking up the flat-bottomed spoon and dipping it into the broth. God, this was so uncomfortable, with this guy obviously flirting with him...small talk Harry could do, but what would happen when he wanted to kiss Harry? Or worse...take him home?

"That embarrasses you, doesn't it?"

"I just...don't know how to react."

James slid a hand across the table and placed it on Harry's free one. "You don't have to react. I'm attracted to you; that's all there is to it at this point. We're having dinner to get to know each other, Harry."

Harry nodded, smiling nervously through his fringe. "Okay."

James withdrew his hand and started in on his own soup. "Was I mistaken in assuming you asked to buy me a drink last night because you're attracted to me too? Was there some other motive?" There was an extremely subtle edge to his voice, but Harry heard it and waved his own red flag.

"What? Oh, no. I thought you...well, you looked kind of lonely, and in need of some company-"

"You have to tell him you thought he was hot, Potter, or he'll never believe you."

"...and...I thought you were...hot," Harry blurted out, feeling absolutely ridiculous.

Sameson smiled. "What do you do for a living, Harry?"

"I'm a...school teacher. Primary school. I teach Physical Education." Was he sweating? Oh, Merlin, please let him not be sweating... Damn this lying shite.

"A school teacher?" James smirked. "You don't seem like the type. Or, rather, I think I'd personally be worried about some parents finding out I was gay and going after me because they'd think I was molesting their children."

"Oh. Oh, well, it's not like that. The parents don't know. It's not that I hide it or anything...but I'm only with their children for an hour once a week, and I coach most of them after school for the Youth Football League...I think they trust me, and don't ask questions as to why I don't have a wife. I'm only twenty-one, after all," he finished, drinking some tea too help calm his nerves.

Another couple came in the door, and the young Chinese woman from before came out to greet them and seat them near the window. The restaurant was really very empty, even for a Sunday evening. It was only himself and James, Malfoy, the other couple, and an older woman sitting nearer to the door.

"Twenty-one, eh? How old do you think I am?"

Harry already knew this from the information in the file Malfoy and he had received on James. "Twenty-eight," he answered with a smirk before pouring himself some tea.

"Spot on...how'd you guess?"

"Just lucky, I guess."

James sat back, giving Harry a calculating but friendly look. "I think I'm the lucky one."

"How so?"

"You're a school teacher. Who wouldn't want to date a school teacher?"

Harry chuckled. "Lots of people, I'm sure. What do you do for a living?"

Harry could hear the pause before Sameson answered. "My job is far less glamorous. I'm a Pawn Shop Dealer. I own the pawn shop with a friend."

Interesting...he didn't lie. Let's step this up a notch.

"Hey, that sounds like fun. I bet you have all sorts of interesting things come through the shop."

"Yeah, we do get some pretty neat things. Sometimes we even get things that should probably be in a museum or an antiques shop."

"Make sure he invites you to the shop, Potter."

"Really?" Harry said with enthusiasm. "I'm really interested in strange artefacts; it's sort of a hobby of mine."

"Maybe I'll have to bring you by the shop sometime."

Right then, Mr. Choy and his hostess came to their table bearing several plates heaped with different types of food, and a large bamboo steamer filled with white rice, along with a side of egg rolls and a few different sauces.

"Wow...how are we going to eat all this?" Harry asked.

"We can always take some home," James replied.

"But you have a bike."

"I have an expandable tank bag in my backpack. I can hook it up to the tank and it'll keep it warm."

"Oh. Neat."

"Thank you, Mr. Choy. It looks wonderful, as always," Sameson said, picking up the wooden chopsticks the hostess placed by his new plate.

Mr. Choy bowed. "Always a pleasure, Mr. James." Then he and his hostess scurried off.

"Um...where's my fork?" Harry asked, lifting up his plate and looking around the table.

Sameson burst out laughing. "You have to use chopsticks, Harry. No forks allowed."

"Don't tell me you've never used chopsticks before, Potter. Sweet Merlin."

"Well, it's not like I've spent time over there, Malfoy," Harry mumbled, fiddling with getting the chopsticks out of their paper wrapper.

"What was that?" James asked.

"Nothing...I just...how do you use these things? I've never had to..."

James smiled. "Here, I'll show you. First, you've got to break them apart. But carefully, or they'll-"

Harry pulled, and one of them broke in two, leaving the other one holding on to the other half.

"-break unevenly," James finished, trying hard not to laugh, Harry was sure. "Mr. Choy! Could we get another set of chopsticks out here? We've got a first-timer!"

Mr. Choy came running out, chopsticks in hand. "Oh, dear me. Here you go, son." Then he bustled over to check on his other guests.

"Thanks," Harry said, feeling utterly mortified. Malfoy was laughing hysterically but quietly in his ear. And so were the rest of the patrons.

"Oh, don't look so glum, Harry," James said. "Just...gently."

Gritting his teeth, Harry took the two sticks and pulled, gently, moving his thumbs up to get closer to the point where they were joined, and pulled again, snapping them somewhat perfectly.

"There you go!" James said.

"Okay...but how do I use them?"

"Hold your hand like this," he said, showing Harry with his own hand. "Now, put the chopsticks in your hand like so, and scissor them back and forth to pick up your food. See?"

"Sort of..." Harry replied, trying it. It was kind of hard, but it wasn't anything he wasn't willing to tackle. Hell, if he was willing to pretend he was gay for the sake of this bloody mission, then he should be able to use a pair of chopsticks. Of course "willing" probably wasn't the right word. "Pushed" or "forced" would probably be a better choice.

He stabbed at a piece of sweet and sour pork, putting it on his plate. He couldn't do this; he was straight. He liked women; soft, curvy, dick-less women. A part of him shuddered.

"Get that scowl off your face before James sees you."

Harry rolled his eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

"Would you like some rice?"

Harry blinked, startled. James had the bamboo steamer open and was holding a rice paddle in his hand, looking at Harry expectantly.

"Oh, sure," Harry replied, picking up his plate and holding it out.

Malfoy was going to get a piece of his mind when he got back to the hotel.

And Patterson McGuire was going to get an owl. Possibly a Howler. After all, if it weren't for him, he wouldn't be sitting here playing "Gay Charade".

~~~~~

"It's a...duck?"

"It's a swan, Harry," Sameson said, laughing at Harry's conjecture about the foil animal that Mr. Choy had placed in front of him.

Harry picked it up, dubious. "It's...inventive."

"You act like you haven't seen one before."

"I haven't." Realising what he just said, Harry added, "Only on the telly, I mean."

Sameson shook his head smiling. "I'm going to go take care of the bill. I'll meet you outside with the swans," he said, gesturing to his own swan. He stood, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, and picking up the helmets in one hand. With the other, he ruffled Harry's hair and brushed a finger down his cheek. "See you in a minute, gorgeous."

Harry gulped and resisted the urge to rub at his face. Grabbing the swans, Harry stood and walked through the restaurant, passing the other patrons by and stepped outside, taking the biggest breath of cool air he could to calm his nerves.

Okay. The home stretch. Just get through this, and your night will be over.

"Potter, I'll meet you back at the hotel. Obviously, don't invite him up."

"Like I would anyway, Malfoy. Think about who you're talking to."

Harry was still rather upset with Malfoy, and cut off his end of the com abruptly, thankful that his wandless magic had developed enough that he could do some spells with just a flick of his fingers.

I'm doing just fine, and I don't need his help.

Sameson came outside just then, smiling at Harry. "You ready for your trip back?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah. I think so. Where do you want these?"

"In the tank bag. Here," and Sameson set down the helmets and took the tank bag out of his backpack, opening it and letting Harry manoeuvre the swans inside.

"I don't think they're going to keep their shape," he said.

"Probably not. But at least it'll keep them from flying around." He zipped up the bag and strapped it onto the front casing of the bike. Slipping his backpack back on, he handed over Harry's helmet, before putting on his own. "Let's get out of here."

Harry followed suit, and looked back to the restaurant just as they roared away, watching as Malfoy came outside to look for him.

He held a grim satisfaction in his chest as he saw Malfoy Apparate back to the hotel, and realised just what he'd do the next time he saw him.

When they arrived back at the hotel, Harry got off the bike having the distinct feeling that he was being watched, and knowing Malfoy, he probably was. Bloody, blond bastard.

Sameson continued to sit on the bike, but took off his helmet, his longer dark hair falling around his eyes.

"I had a nice time, Sameson," said Harry, handing him back the passenger helmet, which he put back in his backpack.

"Please, Harry, call me Jamie. Or Sam."

"Jamie," Harry tested.

"You're not going to invite me up?" Jamie said, and Harry was having a hard time of keeping track of what to call this guy.

"Oh. Er...I don't think my roommate would care much for company right now."

"Your roommate?" Jamie asked, obviously sceptical.

"Yeah. He's been a bloody mess after the fire. I think he blames himself. He's a total drama...queen," Harry finished, feeling a bit more of that grim satisfaction, and hoping that Malfoy could hear him.

"Oh. Alright." Sam or Jamie or Sameson said.

They stood there for a silent moment, and then "Jamie" held out his hand and said, "Come here."

Harry put his hand in Jamie's and was led to stand close to him still sitting on the bike. "Harry, I want to kiss you. Is that okay?" he asked earnestly, looking up slightly into Harry's eyes.

Harry swallowed a little uncertainly and steeled his nerve. "Yes," he replied, feeling that nerve threatening to dissolve as his stomach flipped.

Jamie pulled him closer, and brought a hand up to his cheek. Harry, feeling very brave, did his part and leaned in farther; bracing himself on one of the handlebars, waiting for that inevitable moment when Jamie's lips would meet his own, and he would be involved in something he couldn't deny.

Then it happened, and Harry had to keep his eyes open, or he knew he'd get too caught up in it - but it wasn't what he thought it would be. Other than the fact that he felt totally out of control of the kiss, it wasn't bad. It was just a pressing of lips, and while Jamie obviously smelled like a man, his lips were still soft, and it felt only slightly different from the lack of lip gloss and the addition of some light stubble brushing his chin.

And then it changed; and Jamie broke the kiss for a second before kissing him again, and Harry found himself responding; closing his eyes and falling into it - just like he didn't want to. But it was good, and it had been such a long time...

And just as it was growing deeper, and Jamie's tongue brushed his lips, Harry pulled back, gasping for air, although he didn't need it - not from the kissing, anyhow.

Am I having a panic attack? Oh, Merlin, I hope not.

"Come with me to Original Sinn on Friday," Jamie said, still holding Harry's cheek.

"Okay," Harry said dazedly, still trying to decide his stance on the kiss.

Jamie kissed him one last time and opened the tank bag. "Here's your swan. Somewhat worse for wear, but still warm."

Harry smiled. "Thanks Sameson - I mean, Jamie."

Jamie smiled and put his helmet back on. "I'll call you on Friday."

"Okay."

Then Jamie flipped his visor down and restarted the bike, roaring it a little before entering traffic and speeding off down the road.

Rubbing his mouth absently with the back of his hand, Harry turned and went into the lobby of the hotel, heading straight to the elevator. He had a feeling Malfoy would be waiting for him in the room, and flexed his free hand in anticipation of seeing the arsehole.

~~~~~

When Potter finally entered the room, Draco felt one part relieved and two parts upset. The bloody half-blood had cut off the com! And at a critical time, as well. What if James had taken Potter away somewhere and Draco couldn't track them? What if Potter needed Draco's help and didn't have any way of contacting him? That complete moron.

Thankfully, after Draco watched them speed off and he went back to the hotel, he heard James' bike roar up to the hotel moments later, and the relief started in. Draco ran to get some omnioculars, and watched from the balcony in great detail, actually, as James pulled Potter in for a kiss. He watched in mild amusement at Potter's obvious discomfort, but then when the kiss changed, Draco's opinion about the kiss changed. He couldn't admit it to himself of course, but hell, he was going through all this trouble to make Potter a passable gay Muggle, so the least he should get was Potter's first gay kiss.

He stopped himself from thinking it wasn't fair. He didn't care. Really.

And the last thing he wanted to do was kiss Potter. Really.

But then Potter walked in the door, and by then, Draco's old resentment had settled in, and he was ready to give the bloody social martyr a good verbal lashing.

However, he had only gotten so far as watching Potter come in the door and set down his stupid swan, and saying to him, "For Merlin sakes, Potter! Don't you ever knock me off com again-" before immense pain interrupted the workings of his jaw and he was looking at the wall instead of glaring at Potter's hate-filled face.

Potter had hit him.

Punched him, really fucking hard, actually, and it only took two extra seconds than Draco would have liked to whip around and respond.

"What the fuck was that?" he stormed, touching his now bloody lip. That was going to be swollen tomorrow...

"You goddamned son of a bitch," Potter swore. "I am a respected Auror, Malfoy. The absolute last thing I should be doing for a case is trying to get into some stupid Muggle's pants. A man's pants, no less. No, Malfoy. If you're going to be on com with me, you're going to keep your filthy mouth shut, you got that? If you want a lay, go get one yourself. Don't expect my work to keep amusing you. I'm not some silly homo's plaything-"

Now really, Draco Malfoy could only take so much shit from Harry Potter. In fact, he thought he'd done a good job of listening, and even started feeling a little bad about his teasing behaviour until Potter had to not only call his mouth filthy, in obvious insinuation, but also had to call him a silly homo - and that was just not on.

Not that anything between the two had ever been, anyhow.

So Draco punched him. He gave as good as he got, and in result, wound up on the floor with Potter on top of him, giving it back again. They punched and rolled, and bumped into a dresser, and then a bed, spilling minute amounts of blood and bruising skin. Draco was sure that both of their jackets or pants had ripped or the stitching had come loose as a result of their tussling, but at that moment, he didn't care. All he wanted was what he had wanted six years ago when they were fighting in the grass - to do as much damage as possible. A few spells would clean all of this up, he knew.

And Potter seemed to know it as well. There was a manic and fierce light in his eye, as though all he had gone through in his life had led to this moment; a moment where he could finally make Draco Malfoy cow before him.

Well, it wasn't going to happen.

He wasn't sure what it was; because he honestly wasn't much taller than Potter, nor much heavier, but he managed to pin the lion, and he only stopped his continued beating of Potter because a drop of his own blood from his twice-busted lip landed on Potter's cheek, and something about that struck Draco as grotesque and defamatory; as if he had marred a beautiful painting.

Granted, that painting had bent glasses, a cut under his eye that was bleeding rather heavily into his dark hair and the cream carpet, and probably a few bruises on other covered parts of his body.

"Malfoy, get off," Potter all but snarled, trying to push his arms up from their pinned state. He bucked his hips once too, before turning flush red and stilling, staring challenging up at Draco.

"Malfoy, I said, get off." He tried pushing again, but Draco held firm, locked in a revelation that shattered his perceptions about not only himself, but of Potter as well.

"I mean it, Malfoy. My stomach - it's full, and you're hurting me!"

Potter's last shout jumpstarted Draco's reflexes, and he scrambled off of Potter to lean against the nearest bed; watching as Potter exhaled in a big whoosh and relaxed all his muscles, spread-eagle out on the floor. Draco gazed in some strange fascination as Potter closed his eyes and breathed deeply, swallowing and probably taking a mental tally of damages.

"Your cheek..." Draco murmured, forcing his hand not to reach out, "I cut it. I'm sorry." He then realised it was the same cheek Sameson "Jamie" James caressed twice in as many days.

"I'll live, Malfoy. I did manage a good knee to the ribs, and a split lip, you know," Potter replied, opening his eyes. "Twice."

Draco belatedly noticed the throbbing pain in his ribs, and winced as he tried to move; the adrenaline was definitely starting to wear off. "Yes, but it's bleeding an awful lot..."

"Then we'll just have to fix each other up, won't we?" Potter said, sitting up gingerly, touching his face. He took off his glasses, and fiddled with them a moment before putting them back on, all straightened out.

Draco reached around to feel his side and swore he felt a few unnatural bumps and dips where there shouldn't be any. "I think you broke my ribs, Potter."

"Really?" Potter said, sounding worried. "Well, don't move. You're probably worse off than I am." He stood slowly, wincing as he did so. "I think I twisted my knee."

"Is it the one you broke my ribs with? Because that would be fitting."

"Oh shut up."

Potter shrugged off his jacket, noting with disinterest that the slit in the bottom hem was longer than it should have been, and then noticed with less disinterest the tear in the crotch of his slacks. "Great," he muttered. "I think your shirt is fine, though."

"We can mend them in a second. Help me with my ribs."

"Just a minute, jeeze." Potter hobbled into the bathroom, where Draco heard him conjure a basin and run some water into it. He came out a moment later with the small basin and a washcloth, setting it on the table between the beds. Then he turned to Draco, holding out a hand. "Here, I'll help you up and we'll lay you down on the bed."

"Okay."

With one good heave, and a lot of grunts of pain from Draco, they got him up on the bed; which was, coincidentally, Potter's.

"Okay, don't lie down yet. We need to get your shirt and jacket off."

"I will refrain from teasing you about being a shirt-lifter. I might receive more broken bones."

Potter rolled his eyes. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I realise I shouldn't have gone after your sexuality like that. I was kind of on a roll."

"But that's how you feel, isn't it?" Draco said, allowing Potter to help him shrug off his jacket, being careful not to move the arm on his injured side too much. "You don't like homosexuals. You think we're dirty. Filthy."

"Malfoy, that's not true. I don't care that you like guys. It doesn't bother me. What bothers me is that you seem to be taking it upon yourself to make me like you. I'm not gay. Deal with it." He undid Malfoy's silver tie and slipped it out from under the collar of his dark blue shirt, curling it up on the nightstand.

"Potter, I'm not daft. I know you're not gay. I'm just laughing at your expense. I'm having fun with it. I'm sorry if it seems like I'm patronising you."

Potter sighed. "Apology accepted. Can you unbutton your shirt by yourself, or do you want me to do it?"

"No, I don't want you to do it. Do I have a choice? No. So you have to. I really can't move my arm. I'm in enough pain."

"Well, I'm not a mediwizard, Malfoy, but I'll probably be able to patch you up enough until we can get you St. Mungo's, and make sure you're really okay."

"Oh, great."

"Well, if you're so good, why don't you do it yourself?"

"Because I'm not, Potter. I can heal cuts, bruises and some wounds, and even mend the occasional broken bone, but I can't mend my own ribs back together. Oh, Merlin, this hurts." He sighed shakily in pain as Potter slid his shirt off his shoulders. He didn't even notice that the man had unbuttoned his shirt and cuffs until he was taking Draco's shirt off.

Potter gently yanked the shirt out of Draco's pants before sliding each arm off and tossing the shirt on the other bed with the jackets. "Okay, lie back."

Draco did as his was told, and was surprised when Potter slipped off his shoes as well. "Do you like undressing me, Potter?"

"Malfoy, what have we been talking about?" he scolded.

"Yeah, yeah. No patronising. Get a sense of humour, Potty, please."

"Just lie still." Potter sat next to him on the bed started to gently press his fingertips against Draco's ribcage.

"Ow! Potter, you're supposed to fix it, not make it hurt more!"

"This is going to hurt, Malfoy," Potter said with a smirk, still prodding. He started lightly running his fingers along one area, feeling the dips and bumps. Then he began murmuring a few spells that Draco couldn't quite make out, and he could feel the bone move back into place, quite painfully, and then Potter was smoothing his fingers over the newly knit bone.

"Ow! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"I'm sorry we don't have any pain-killers, Malfoy."

"Its fine, Potter. I'll live. Ow..."

Potter smirked that irritatingly adorable smirk (When did he start smirking? Wasn't that Draco's trademark? Topping that, when did Potter become adorable?), and started on the next rib.

"Malfoy, I'm going to need to move your arm slightly for the rest of these. They reach back a little far." Draco nodded.

Slowly, with Potter's help, Draco moved his arm out, keeping it as straight as possible. "You're starting to bruise," Potter added, looking at Draco's torso.

"Well, mend that too, while you're introducing me to increasing amounts of pain."

"Do you always use sarcasm as a defence mechanism?" Potter asked, starting back up on the next rib.

"I don't know, do you always use unwarranted accusations and physical violence as yours?"

"I walked into that one, didn't I? And I am not violent. And my accusations usually have good reason behind them, thank you very much."

Wincing as he tried to chuckle, Draco said, "Your sense of reason is beyond normal realms, Potter. You're a maniac. You stalked me sixth year."

"I knew you were up to something. Something bad. No one believed me. But I was right, wasn't I?"

"You know, I honestly thought that other than the fact that you were being your usual annoying nosy self, that you had a crush on me or something. Ow."

"Sorry. And no, I didn't. I wouldn't. I couldn't. I was dating Ginny Weasley."

Draco was quiet for a moment before venturing, "Have you...dated anyone else? Since her?"

Potter's expression turned grim. "No. I loved her. I'd probably be married to her right now, if..."

"If she hadn't been sent to St. Mungo's, you mean?"

Potter swallowed. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry, Potter. For what he did to her. I'd have killed him myself if I knew. He was already dead before I found out."

"You really would have killed your own father?"

"Yes. He was mad, Potter. Before, he never would have...tortured people like that. He used to only use spells."

"He did use spells, Malfoy."

"I meant...he wouldn't have touched anyone. He would have thought it beneath him; to touch what he thought was 'dirty'. But he defiled her. And I'm sorry for that."

"You didn't do it," Potter muttered, and it sounded like he was forcing back emotions.

"Yes, but I'm related to the man that did."

"Have you ever told her family that? That you're sorry, I mean." Potter asked, and the pain in his chest didn't matter anymore.

"I tried. Once. I couldn't get past the front gate. And I don't mean that literally. I got there, to the Weasleys' home, and saw it for the first time. And I couldn't. I think Mrs. Weasley saw me from the window, but I Apparated before she could come out and approach me."

"Oh. Well, I'm done."

"What?"

"You can sit up now. I'm done."

Draco, slowly, sat up, putting his palm to his ribs in support. "I'm still sore."

"Well, you might be. I don't have any pain-killers. You know, you're kind of a sissy when it comes to pain."

"Get stuffed, Potter."

"Hopefully you don't have any internal bleeding that exceeds a bruise," he said with a light smile. Draco rolled his eyes. "I still need to take care of that split lip." Potter took the washcloth and dipped it in the water, squeezing out the excess liquid. Then he reached over and took Draco's face in his palm. "This might sting," he said, before lightly dabbing the wound.

Draco hissed in pain, but watched Potter's intense face as he gently cleaned the wound. Then he whispered "Episkey", and his lip was healed. Potter took some extra time to wipe the rest of the blood from Draco's face, and Draco took the extra time to stare unabashedly at Harry Potter.

Even with all the blood on his face, he's still gorgeous. That Muggle arsehole was right.

Gorgeous in that annoyingly boyish, bookish way, of course.

"It's your turn," Draco said, taking the washcloth from Potter and dipping it back in the basin, rinsing it and wringing out the rest of the water. "This might sting," Draco said in a half-mocking tone, and tended to the gash on Potter's cheek. It was sort of deep, and Draco wondered how he managed to cut him like that when he noticed the Malfoy heirloom dangling from Potter's neck.

"I think the ring cut you at some point," Draco said, cleaning the blood from Potter's temple, hair and ear. He lingered over the drop of his own blood, now dried, before gently wiping it away.

"Probably. Remember, it hates me?"

"Only if you try to put it on, Potter."

"Still."

Once Draco pulled away, having healed the cut, Potter took off the chain. "Here, you should have this back."

"Yeah..." Draco took the chain and unhooked it, slipping the ring off and back onto his finger.

"It looks better there, I think."

"Because I'm like a snake?" Draco asked, feeling rather sullen, unexpectedly.

"No. Because green and silver suit you," Potter replied, looking at him oddly.

"Let's look at your knee," Draco said, putting the washcloth and chain on the nightstand.

Potter stood gingerly. "It'd probably be easier if I just take off the pants, rather than rolling them up," he said, as he did just that.

Draco's heartbeat fluttered a little faster, just as that realisation from several moments before hit him again, but harder.

It was just that fight. Roughhousing with Potter had excited him, that's all.

Oh my god, I'm losing my mind.

Potter sat down again, and Draco moved his seating so he could better examine Potter's...knee. He placed his palms on the joint, noticing that it was slightly bigger than the other uninjured one.

"It's already swelled up," he stated, then started prodding the tissue around the knee cap, feeling for anything out of place.

"Ow," Potter breathed.

"Sorry," Draco muttered softly, still feeling the knee cap and then back around the back of the joint. "It seems fine, Potter. I think you just twisted it, like you said. It'll probably be swollen for a while, but you should keep off of it for the next few days and keep it elevated. I'll make you an icepack."

"What about the case? I'm supposed to go to Original Sinn with Jamie on Friday."

"'Jamie'?" Draco said in disbelief. "How many names does this guy have?"

"It's a nickname, Malfoy. He asked me to call him that instead of 'Sameson'."

"Oh Sweet Merlin." Draco sighed heavily. "Okay. Well, it should be good by then. I could try to find a mending spell for a sprain...I mean...sprains don't usually ever heal, right?"

"If you're a Muggle," Potter said, shifting.

"Right. I'll go back to my flat and see if I can't find something. Or better yet, I'll bring books for you to find something while you're laid up. I've got to keep tailing James."

"What? On your own?"

"I can follow a man by myself, Potter. Just...lie down. I'm going to go find something to make into an icepack. Put a pillow under your knee."

Potter grumbled something unintelligible, and did as he was told as Draco stood and searched through the room for something to transfigure into an icepack.

~~~~~

Harry watched Malfoy putter around the room, hissing in sore pain when he bent down and reached into the chest of drawers.

Harry watched him closely; trying to figure the man out. He seemed awfully calm and, well, even "nice" ever since they had stopped fighting. Harry didn't know what to make of it. Malfoy had been odd lately; strangely patient with his "lessons" and peculiarly tender with the small amount of administrations needed for Harry's wounds.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Malfoy. You were a lot worse than me."

Malfoy paused. "It's no big deal, Potter. It's said and done. And yet," he said with much amusement in his voice, "you're the one with the bed rest. You broke my ribs; you get to stay here for the rest of the week. So fitting, don't you think?" He turned around and smirked at Harry in that annoyingly familiar way, holding up one of Harry's dreadful socks. "Do you mind?"

"Er...no, I guess not."

Malfoy found his wand and transfigured the sock into a large icepack, snagging a discarded towel from the floor as he took it to Harry and began to set it up over his elevated knee, keeping the stay-cold pack away from direct contact with his skin.

"I think your ribs were mainly fractured, by the way, Malfoy."

"Still, they were broken, and it hurt. It still does."

"Yes, woe is you. I can't leave the room."

"Don't worry, Potter. I'll let you know if your boy starts cheating on you."

"Oh shove off, Malfoy."

"I'll go buy us some pain-killer potions tomorrow, how's that?"

"Generous."

"Like I said, I'm in pain here too." Malfoy made to touch the brunet's head, Harry thought, but he dropped his arm and turned to his own bed, sweeping the discarded clothing to the floor. "I'll fix the tears later," he said, dropping his own trousers before climbing into bed.

"Um...Malfoy?" Harry asked just as Malfoy reached up to turn off the lamp between them.

"What is it, Potter? Need your pillow fluffed?"

Okay...maybe he didn't have all that great of a bedside manner. What was with this guy's random mood swings?

"Don't turn off the light. I need to get the covers out from under me."

Malfoy rolled his eyes and threw back his covers, standing. "You're not going to bed in that shirt anyhow, Potter," he said, and Harry swore he saw a slight flush brush Malfoy's cheeks.

"Yeah..." Harry sat up and started undoing the frog closures on the shirt, shrugging it off as Malfoy watched. It was weird. He tossed the shirt to Malfoy, who in turn, tossed it towards the dressers, pointing his wand at it to get it to fold itself.

Malfoy then took the icepack set-up and pillow as Harry shuffled back and got the duvet out from under him. He then settled back into a lying position on the sheets, pushing the covers aside so Malfoy could set the icepack up again.

Pulling the duvet back up over Harry's body, Malfoy leaned down and said, "I think that gash might leave a scar..."

Harry batted him away. "You're odd, you know that?" He took off his glasses and set them on the table. "Goodnight, Malfoy. Thank you for your help."

"I'm always here, Potter," he said, which puzzled Harry; especially with the weary tone he seemed to have. Mood swings indeed.

Malfoy got back into his own bed and turned off the light. After several moments of long exhales and shuffling around, Malfoy asked quietly, "Potter? Do you ever go see her?"

Harry opened his eyes, adjusting to the light of the room for a moment. After that quiet moment he replied, "I used to, all the time. But she...she's too far gone, Malfoy. Her only lucid moments are from when she was eleven, and I saved her life from Tom Riddle and the basilisk. I still go, for holidays and her birthday, though. It's just...painful. For both of us, I think."

Malfoy seemed to turn to look at him. "You're a brave man, Harry Potter. I don't think I could see someone I love like that."

"Sometimes I wonder if it's guilt," Harry murmured, feeling that choking rush of sorrow starting to come over him again.

"You have nothing to be guilty about, Potter. I heard you weren't anywhere near her when she was abducted."

"She shouldn't have been in the war at all."

"No one should have been."

"I can't talk about her, Malfoy. I'm trying to move past that. Find...something different."

Malfoy hummed in what sounded like agreement. "So am I, Potter."

~~~~~

Strangled screaming woke Draco, and he was immediately on his guard, leaping from the bed and grabbing for his wand. He squinted in the dim light to see Potter thrashing about in his bed, most likely damaging his knee worse.

"Potter! Potter, wake up!"

"Ginny no..." Potter moaned, and Draco could see tear tracks down his cheeks.

Draco set down his wand and grabbed Potter by the shoulders. "Potter, it's just a dream! Wake up!"

Potter's eyes snapped open and searched around wildly for some sense of reality. "Malfoy...?"

"Yes, Potter. You were having a nightmare."

Potter was shaking and covered in sweat. Draco felt his forehead. It was hot and clammy.

"Ginny...she was...and I couldn't...I wasn't really there, Malfoy!"

"I know, Potter. I...I'm sorry for bringing it up right before bed. Here, let's get this icepack taken away." Draco threw the covers back, having a bit of difficulty with the top sheet, as it was twisted around Potter's legs. He removed the icepack and put the pillow back up at the head of the bed. Potter was breathing harshly, rubbing at his sweaty brow, and shaking slightly. Draco knew what it was like...having nightmares that seemed so real.

He was pulling the duvet back up over Potter when the man latched onto his arm.

"Don't...leave. Yet." He breathed in quickly and exhaled. "It's just nice to know someone's here, you know?"

"Only too well, Potter," Draco said, giving the disoriented man a solemn look.

"Um..." Potter said, "Stay with me? For a little while?"

Draco felt his chest ache. "Okay." He climbed over Potter and lied down on his other side on top of the covers. "You can sleep now. I'm here."

Potter reached over and squeezed Draco's hand. "Thank you."

"I'm always here, Potter," Draco repeated, squeezing briefly in return and watching as Potter drifted easily back to sleep. When he shivered once, Draco secured the covers again.

He didn't know why, but he continued to watch him; falling asleep himself with dawn lightening up the sky and his hand on Potter's shoulder.