All Bets Are Off

All Bets Are Off

Epilogue

Cue the violins

This chapter: Happy ending, anyone?

Harry swanned into breakfast with Jennifer Mews on one arm and Susan Bones on the other, chattering madly to Ron who was walking backwards in front of him and gesturing wildly as he explained some Quidditch theory or other whilst Hermione watched indulgently from the sidelines. The picture was the same as it had always been, as though the entire month of The Bet (or, as Harry privately referred to it, 'The Month in Which the Boy Who Lived NearlyDidn't) had never happened.

Amazing, thought Draco, as he watched with simmering jealousy from the Slytherin table. Just like nothing's changed. He looked down at his hands, unable to bear the sight of his ex-nemesis sashaying about like he was exactly the same as ever when Draco himself felt so profoundly changed. It was fucking unfair really. So he sat there, slowly shredding toast and pondering ways in which he would Get Potter Once and...er, For-Ever, actually. For his private collection. You know, on a purely artistic basis.

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, indulging Jen's need to feed him strawberries with her mouth, and studiously avoided looking at Draco Malfoy, despite wanting to very, very badly. He felt funny. Just a little off-balance. Like being back to the old Harry Potter Sex God Extraordinaire was wrong or something. Like he had changed. Like he was somehow unsatisfied with the idea of shagging a different person every day. Like he wasn't even himself anymore.

Which sucked, really.

Fucking Malfoy, Harry thought redundantly. This is all his fucking fault.

Funny how quickly things had settled back to normal. Three days was all it had taken for Ron to finally close his wide-open mouth. Three days for Hermione and many, many others to stop sulking about Harry being even richer; for the Ravenclaw girls to forgive his rejection and start trying to shag him again; for Cho Chang to ring and apologise; for Ginny Weasley to do a very big something about Blaise Zabini's famous V; for Professor Trelawney to change back from seductress to bizarre fruit bat hag; for Snape and McGonagall to get over their mutual disappointment, declare mad, passionate love for each other, and run off into the Forbidden Forest, never to be seen or heard from again; for Dumbledore to purchase some really spiffy Hawaiian shorts and decide to wear them, showing a truly terrifying portion of knobbly old knees; and for Draco Malfoy to forget that Harry existed.

Three days is not, after all, particularly long to get over someone you supposedly love.

Fucking fast-rebounding, never-really-loving-at-all, git-faced Slytherin ponce.

Harry, suddenly disgruntled, pushed a surprised Jen away into the arms of a very cheerful Justin Finch-Fletchley at the Ravenclaw table, and tried to start up a conversation with Seamus, who was wrapped around Neville and stealing his breakfast. Apparently the Potions Incident had led to something more where those two were concerned, which was at once surprising and completely expected. Neville, after all, did own leather trousers. Sort of speaks for itself, really.

Still, Harry couldn't help but feel a little twinge of jealously at how happy they looked snuggled together and fighting gleefully over toast. He couldn't actually imagine fighting with Draco Malfoy over something as mundane as toast, but that didn't mean he didn't still want to. It was all very unfair.

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione who were bickering over the fat content of bacon rinds.

"They are not good for you, Ron Weasley," Hermione announced. "They'll make your arteries close and then you'll die." She said this with much relish.

Ron paled. "Bollocks, I've been eating bacon rinds my whole life and there's nothing wrong with me!"

Hermione looked him up and down derisively. "That's a matter for debate."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Ron shouted.

Hermione gave him a superior look. "If you don't know, I'm certainly not going to tell you_"

Harry hated that line. It was another one of those woman-speak things that men just never got.

It briefly appeared as though there would be respite as Ron turned puce and seemed to mull this over.

Then, much to Harry's dismay, the never-knowing-when-to-quit redhead went on, "I don't care anyway."

"Good," Hermione hissed.

"Fine," Ron hissed back.

"Great!"

"Wonderful!"

They were liable to go on like this for hours. Harry, sensing a perfect trouble-making opportunity and wanting an excuse to wipe the superior look off Hermione's face, waited for an opening. Hermione gave it to him when she broke established protocol and said, with greatest scorn and frustration, "Urgh! MEN!"

"Speaking of men..." Harry said with a mischievous grin, "what ever happened with you and that guy, Herm?" He began to innocently fork up his own bacon.

Hermione went very, very still. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Harry..." she said with affected confusion.

"You know, the one you were snogging the night of the Aphrodisiac Potions Incident," Harry said with a wicked smile. He finished with his food and stood, preparing to leave.

"What guy?" Ron asked Harry, who simply smiled and turned away. "What guy?" he repeated to Hermione, who went scarlet.

"Erm..." Hermione said fretfully. "Well...it's quite a long...er, it's sort of like...well, it's kind of involved, really, because..."

"What guy?!"

Harry grinned as he walked away. Some things, at least, would never change.

* * * *

He was in the library again.

Dead weird, really.

Harry returned The Applied Textbook of Getting Yourself Out of the Shite to its home on the Cunning Plans shelf, and smiled a little nostalgically. That chapter 'How to Win an Unwinnable Bet' had certainly come in mighty useful, he thought complacently. His smile faded. Pity there wasn't a chapter on How To Get Over That Guy You Fell For Whilst Winning Said Unwinnable Bet, his subconscious piped up. Yeah, Harry agreed with it. Pity.

Harry turned from the shelf and found himself looking at an artfully arranged Draco Malfoy, who was oh-so-innocently pulling books off a shelf labelled "General texts, D". Harry didn't stop to appreciate the irony. He was far too busy gawking.

Draco looked up from the volume he held in his hands and started theatrically when his gaze collided with Harry's.

"Oh, hello Potter," he said, trying for suave but missing by an inch or so. "Didn't see you there."

Harry just stared at him, hollow-eyed. The bastard. How could he just stand there, all smug and blonde and gorgeous and unconcerned when Harry was dithering madly between panic, adoration, outright hatred and heartbreaking love, and was certain it was all showing on his face like a black and white art house film.

"Nothing to say?" Draco asked, a little miffed at Harry's lack of reaction. Why wasn't he saying something? "Quite possibly a first, methinks."

"Did you just say 'methinks'?" Harry asked, bemused. God he wanted to kiss him.

"What're you reading?" Draco asked quickly, just to have something to say. God he wanted to push Harry against the nearest shelf and shag him senseless.

"Nothing," Harry said quickly, shoving 'Getting Yourself Out of the Shite' behind him. "You?"

"Nothing," Draco grinned, hiding his own book in his charcoal-coloured robes.

"You pulled it off the D shelf," Harry pointed out. "Sure it isn't something like Disgusting Rashes and How to Treat Them? I've been told it's one of your favourites..."

Draco sneered. "Surely if I had some kind of fungal problem, you'd've pointed it out to me when you decided to map every inch of my body with your tongue three days ago," he said with a sexy pout.

Harry gaped, gobsmacked. Did he just say that out loud? he thought. What happened to pretending nothing happened?

Did I just say that out loud? Draco thought in panic. Time to change tack. "I read your note," he said quietly.

Harry looked away, embarrassed. "Yeah, well," he said dismissively. "I was still bitter at that point. I'm over it."

Draco watched his face. "You sure?" he asked, holding his breath. "It was quite an informative sort of missive. You didn't mean any of it?"

Harry looked up. "No," he lied unconvincingly.

Draco tried to hide his disappointment. "Shame," he said.

"Look, Malfoy...." Harry said suddenly. "What is it that you want? I don't really have time to dick around with you here all day, you know. Things to do, people to see, girls to screw, etcetera etcetera. The life of a Sex God isn't all roses and afterglow you know."

Draco held back a snort by the upmost force of will. "Did you enjoy spending your many thousands of galleons?" he asked instead, ignoring Harry's previous hurry-along.

"Did you enjoy spending your own thousand?" Harry returned, also forgetting that he had other things to do.

"I thought I might use it to launch my own line of hair-care products," Draco said idiotically, staring at Harry with a mixture of adoration and exasperation.

"I'm shocked," Harry said, deadpan.

"I'm in love with you," Draco returned in exactly the same tone of voice.

"That isn't funny," Harry said angrily.

"I'm not really a very funny person, though, am I?" Draco returned with sudden earnestness.

Harry looked at him in silence for a very, very long time. He was terrified of what he read in Draco's suddenly sincere grey eyes, because it was exactly what he wanted to see, and that scared him more than anything ever had.

Disconcerted, Draco felt compelled to speak. "Am I?" he asked again, pushing, hoping for...anything from the other boy. Something. Anything other than a blank stare and a lot of incomprehensible thought processes.

"Bit of an odd thing to say, then," Harry finally said musingly.

"You've no idea, Harry Potter, just how queer I can be," Draco smiled mischievously.

"I wouldn't say no idea," Harry replied with a smirk. "I did manage to get that impression at some point."

He continued very slowly, the beginnings of a grin starting on his lean, handsome face, "A very odd thing to say. Not a lot of charm there, either."

"Sorry," Draco replied unrepentantly, gazing into lost green eyes with something akin to desperation.

"A bit forward, really. Maddeningly overbearing. Completely arrogant. Certainly a taint of vanity and pride to it also. Quite a prickish sort of thing to say, really. Bit like the person who said it, I suppose," Harry continued blithely.

Draco gaped.

"Cute though," Harry said, a full smile breaking across his face and lighting his eyes up in a way that made Draco want to weep.

"Cute?" Draco asked incredulously. "Cute?!"

"Definitely cute," Harry agreed.

Draco looked dumbfounded. "How about suave...sexy, even...or perhaps, more appropriately, absolutely gorgeous...? I'll even settle for edible..."

"I'm gonna stick with cute, thanks," Harry smirked adorably.

Draco pouted. "I am not cute."

"Actually, you sort of are," Harry said conspiratorially, as if imparting a great national secret.

"Sort of?" Draco asked, refusing to be placated.

"In a very edible sort of way," Harry whispered. He was very close now, and Draco could feel the heat of his brown skin, smell the delicious scent of his aftershave, and he couldn't help but step closer and slide his body into Harry's with a very small groan.

"So I take this to mean," Draco said with a little gasp, as Harry ran gentle fingers through his platinum hair and pushed him against the shelves, "that you aren't entirely adverse to the idea of being loved by a Misbegotten Spawn of Evil?"

"Not really," Harry whispered into Draco's mouth, and touched a soft kiss to his upper lip.

Draco moaned.

"That's assuming, of course, that you don't absolutely hate the idea of being loved by the Boy Who Lived," Harry continued, ignoring the bewildered, incredulous expression of elation that crossed Draco's face. "I am, after all, scourge of dark wizards everywhere. Imagine taking me home to your family. I might try to off them all...Can't really be trusted. I seem to have this pressing need to get my wand off."

Draco laughed. He soon stopped as Harry slid his oh-so-interested pelvis into Draco's. "So I see," Draco replied archly.

Harry looked at him seriously. "You're a Slytherin," he stated without inflection, but it was a warning nonetheless.

Draco looked bored. "Yes, and you're a Gryffindor." He gave a theatrical shudder that was belied by the grin on his face. "Barely housebroken...Still, I'm sure we'll manage to get past that small obstacle."

"Oh yeah?" Harry asked.

"You'll just have to sleep outside," Draco drawled with a straight face.

Harry considered this. "All on my lonesome?" he finally asked, stroking a hand down Draco's chest in a most inviting manner.

"Perhaps not," Draco replied quickly.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Well, there's always the floor," Draco continued blithely.

Harry corpsed with laughter.

"We are so fucking wrong for each other, Draco Malfoy," Harry groaned helplessly into Draco's neck, and then started touching hot, sweet kisses to his throat and collarbone.

Draco pulled his head away and looked at Harry seriously. Then one of those once-a-millennium, breathtaking smiles broke out across his beautiful features and Harry forgot how to breathe.

"That's what makes it so damn great," he said, and kissed Harry with so much force and want and love and aching, aching need that Harry felt his heart break apart in his chest and it was the most astonishing thing he had ever experienced. There's something about this Malfoy boy, he thought irrelevantly. Seems to have an uncanny ability to make me squick. Dead annoying, that.

"Only 'great'?" Harry gasped indignantly when Draco pulled back for air.

Draco grinned sexily as Harry started to explore his ear with his tongue. "Exceptional?" he said. "Fantastic maybe?...oh, right there....absolutely fucking brilliant....umm...utterly and completely amazing?"

"That the best you can do? You're resorting to multiple adjectives..."

"There are no words..." Draco trailed off as Harry claimed his mouth again.

"Well, perhaps you'd better show me instead," Harry invited mockingly, with a sexy smirk.

Draco quickly reversed their positions, so Harry was the one shoved against the shelves, and proceeded to do just that. In the ensuing commotion, which involved a serious snog, a screech from Madame Pince, a whole lot of running and laughing and then a whole lot more snogging, Draco's book fell to the floor, unnoticed. Its gold etched title pronounced it to be Dating the Enemy - What to Do When You're in Love with the One You Hate.

Well, at least it wasn't Disgusting Rashes and How to Treat Them.

That would've just been gross.

FIN.