Venture

Harry felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Voldemort was gone. Defeated. Dead. Hogwarts, incredibly, was still standing. The wizarding community was fully intact. Muggles were as deaf and blind to wizards as always, as if a war hadn't been fought right beneath their noses.

Harry didn't belong in this world.

It was a great world, a world he had sacrificed to keep and protect. He liked it. He took great pleasure in walking the streets at noon, smiling at all the laughing people. He liked playing chess with Ron while Hermione studied and the stereo blared. He enjoyed his flat, and filled it with all the amusing gadgets he'd been denied as a child.

Life was great.

All in all, Harry rather hated it.

Hermione sat a cup of coffee in front of Harry, taking the opportunity to scan his face. Harry pretended not to notice, staring at the coffee. He hated coffee, too, and abruptly, he vowed never to force the stuff down for the sake of politeness again.

"You're stewing again, aren't you?" Hermione asked.

Ron, playing a forlorn game of chess since Harry wasn't in the mood, asked, "When isn't he, lately?" in an unusually thoughtful voice.

Harry threw a scowl over his shoulder. "I'm not stewing."

"Sure you aren't." Hermione clutched her own cup of coffee, sitting across from him at the tiny dining room table.

Harry resisted the urge to kick the table legs - chances were good he'd miss and hit Hermione instead. The table was too small, really, but so was the rest of apartment. Ron and Hermione were living together (as roommates) and neither of them were rich, after all. Hermione's parents, still unused to all things magical, didn't like to lend their daughter money unless it had a Muggle purpose. And Ron's parents couldn't afford to lend any of their seven children money.

Harry felt cramped. He was used to his flat, which was, if not luxurious, at least more spacious. One of the benefits of having rich parents and a rich godfather - all dead, of course.

"I'm just . . . not in the best mood today," Harry hedged, forcing himself not to think about his lost family. There were some things you just didn't want to dwell on, really.

"Harry, you need to get a job," Hermione prodded. She took a sip of her coffee when Harry glanced up at her. "You're going mad, trapped in that flat of yours."

"There's nothing wrong with my flat."

"Of course not," she soothed, "but Harry, everybody needs something to do with their spare time. Even you. Especially you - you've never liked sitting back, twiddling your thumbs."

And that, Harry supposed, was very true.

"Too bad all of the forces of evil have retreated for the night, huh?" Ron asked, abandoning his game. When Harry continued to look sullen, he snatched up a small bag of fudge from Mrs. Weasely and threw it at his head. "Cheer up, mate."

Harry glanced at the chessboard. "Who won?"

Smugly, Ron said, "I did."

"What about being an Auror?" Hermione persisted, ignoring their banter. "You graduated from the Auror's College. All you have to do is apply to the Ministry - I thought that being an Auror is what you wanted?"

"It is," Harry said. They stared at him, amused, suspicious. "It was."

"Ah-hah!"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron. "Well, then, do you have any other ideas of what you'd like to do? Your transcript from Hogwarts was very impressive, you know -"

"Thanks to you," Harry interjected with a grin.

"- and you're famous, intelligent, and not so bad in the looks department." She rapped him on the crown of the head as she stood to refill her cup, lips twitching into a smile.

In a stage whisper, Ron said, "She's flirting with you. Run!"

She tossed him a dirty look and re-took her seat. "You could do anything you want to, Harry," she said, very earnestly.

"I'm not really good for much," Harry confessed glumly. Since he wasn't drinking his coffee, he decided to poke it. "Just playing Quidditch and -" with a glance at Ron "- defeating the forces of evil."

"Well, there's an idea," Ron said, ignoring the jibe. "Quidditch."

"True," Hermione said. "There's scarcely anyone better than you, or so I've heard." At their glances, she added, "Because, you know, I couldn't tell a good Quidditch player from a bad one if they ran up and bit me."

Harry snorted at the visual. "Thanks," he said, "I think. But I don't want to play professional Quidditch. Too much attention."

Ron and Hermione made noises of agreement. After ten years of friendship with the Boy Who Lived, they had both suffered through their fair share of 'too much attention'.

"Not all Quidditch positions are professional, though," Hermione said. "You could be a teacher - at Hogwarts, maybe? - or a coach or something."

Harry tried to picture himself coaching a Quidditch team, and felt his head start to ache. He had very possibly been the worst Gryffindor Quidditch Captain ever, even if he had been the best Seeker. The thought of teaching Quidditch was mildly excruciating.

Ron spared him the task of replying. "No, Harry wouldn't be good at teaching Quidditch. He's too much of a natural - it's why he was such a bad Captain." As an afterthought, he added, "No offense."

"None taken." Harry put his elbows on the table and looked inquiringly at Hermione. "What else?"

While Hermione normally resented being treated like the group brain, she was in Deep Thought Mode, and didn't notice. "What about teaching Defense? You're good at it."

Quietly, Harry said, "I don't think so."

Hermione sighed. "Then I don't know, Harry. What else are you interested in?"

Harry gazed out the nearest window, thinking. Quidditch - they'd covered that. And that was it for his hobbies.

"I'm not interested in very much," he realized.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance. "Maybe that's the problem," Ron guessed.

Harry only nodded.

"Career advice? Well, I've had odder requests."

Immediately, Harry wondered what they were.

Remus didn't wait for him to guess. "I'd be glad to help you out," he said. "Come on in, Harry. Would you like some coffee?"

"No thanks," Harry said truthfully. Remus changed course from kitchen to living room, Harry trailing after him a bit awkwardly.

His first glimpse of the living room took him by surprise, although he couldn't have said why. The balcony door was cracked, letting in cool springtime air. Sunlight poured through the glass doors, illuminating a sparse, rather boring room -- aside from a couch, a chair, and a table, it was empty. Patches on the wall showed where pictures once hung.

Remus sank comfortably onto the couch. Harry took the chair.

Immediately, Remus went into Deep Thought Mode, which resembled Hermione's quite a bit, except that he didn't bite his lip the way she did. Harry felt extremely awkward, tapping his fingers in agitation. Remus noticed.

"My first advice," he said in his slightly hoarse voice, "would be to figure out what you want to do. What are you interested in?"

Harry smiled wryly. "Quidditch," he said. "And that's it."

Remus mirrored his smile with one of his own. "Professional Quidditch? No, too much media, I suppose."

They fell into a companionable silence. Harry broke it.

"The problem with me," he said, "is that I'm too famous. Anything I do will be - different. Because of what I've done."

Remus watched him intently, nodded thoughtfully. "I thought you wanted to become an Auror? Professor McGonagall told me," he added, at Harry's glance.

"I did, once," Harry said. Uneasy memories tightened his stomach, made it a little hard to breathe. "But I don't feel like fighting anymore. I've had enough of that, too."

Remus looked sympathetic. "That puts you in a bit of a bind," he said. "Even if you find another career you're interested in, your first inclination has always been to help people. Becoming an Auror would be perfect for you - anything else, and you'll be left unfulfilled."

Harry rested his weight on his elbow, frowning to himself.

"There are other careers, of course," Remus continued. "You've quite an aptitude for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Before Hermione helped me get a job at the Ministry, I traveled about, dealing with Dark Creatures. You'd have a more difficult time of it with your prestige, although I imagine that you could do much the same." He paused, thinking. "Or you could travel. You're not so well known in other countries, and could probably achieve a fair amount of anonymity in the States, or in other parts of Europe."

Harry felt his eyebrow twitch. He'd never been outside of Britain.

"I don't speak any other languages," he remembered.

"That's not a problem." Remus leaned back into the couch, resting his right ankle on his knee. He looked very comfortable, very relaxed. Harry still felt like a nervous teenager. "I know some Spanish, and French is my first language. Hermione also knows French. It wouldn't be hard to learn - you're a quick study."

Harry flushed with pleasure, shifting slightly in his chair. His spine ached dully -- it did that occasionally, the last vestiges of a break it sustained during the final battle with Voldemort. Hermione always insisted that he learn to sit properly, not leaning every which way, or he'd have problems later on. To be fair, he did try to pay attention to how he sat, but it was a lifelong habit to rest his weight on his left elbow.

"Maybe," he said belatedly to Remus' suggestion. The thought was nice - going some place far away, away from the unhappy reminders, and the street of London that he couldn't bear to walk down. "But no matter where I go, I'll still have the same problem I do now."

"True enough." Remus paused sympathetically. "Try exploring other interests, Harry. You've got plenty of time."

Harry nodded. Hermione had said much the same thing.

Remus went on. "I think that your problem is that your entire life has been structured. Even when you lived with the Dursleys, you had a constant goal."

"To escape," Harry murmured.

"Exactly. At Hogwarts, you were involved in your studies, and active in the battle against Voldemort even as an eleven-year-old. You've never been forced to sit back and decide what to do with yourself. Even Quidditch was someone else's idea."

Harry realized it was true. He felt incredibly discouraged.

"I think that if you open yourself up to the magical world - and the Muggle one - you'll find that there is plenty for you to do." Remus watched him with probing, pale green eyes. "Like I said, you've got plenty of time."

Harry sank back into the recliner, sensing that the conversation was drawing to a close. He didn't want it to end.

Remus seemed to read his mind, and changed the subject. "Have you talked to Ron and Hermione lately?"

"Just a few hours ago," Harry said, grinning faintly. "Hermione's the one who suggested that I get a job - it's not like I really need one, but she says I'm 'stewing' because I'm bored."

"She's probably right."

"She usually is," Harry admitted. "She and Ron are doing well."

"How well?"

Harry sniggered. "Not that well, yet."

Remus shook his head, smiling. "You know, Minerva and I had a bet on when the two of them would get together. We'd assumed it would be sometime before sixth year, at least . . ."

Harry choked. "The teachers made bets about us?"

"Constantly." Remus laughed softly at his shock. "For instance, Professor Dumbledore and I were at odds as to whether you'd ask Miss Weasely out - I said no, but he said yes."

Harry grinned. "He won."

"He usually does," Remus said, echoing Harry's words ruefully. He got to his feet, heading into the kitchen. "I figured you'd ask out Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy?!" Harry couldn't see his face to tell if he was joking. "We couldn't stand each other!"

"Neither could James or Lily," he was reminded, as Remus re-entered the room, cup of coffee in hand. "Would you like some, Harry?"

"No, thanks," Harry said again. "Malfoy. Ugh."

Remus chuckled. "I figured that he was secretly in love with you."

"Thank goodness the exact opposite was true," Harry said. He gave a little mock-shudder, and regretted it as his back twinged.

"It seems to be that way," Remus agreed. He eyed Harry over his coffee. "Are you all right, Harry?"

Embarrassed, Harry sat up straighter. "Yeah, it's just my back."

Remus nodded, eyes concerned.

"It aches sometimes," Harry said hastily. "Just a little."

Remus took another sip of coffee. "You need to be careful, then," he said at last. "It would be very easy to injure yourself -"

"Permanently, I know." Harry rolled his eyes. "Hermione's told me."

"I'm sorry, then."

Even more embarrassed, Harry shook his head. "Don't be." He got to his feet, feeling his face beginning to color. He'd lost his taste for conversation, he found. "It's just, you know. I'd better get going."

Remus escorted him to the door. "Good luck with your job search, Harry."

Harry turned to flash him a slightly shaky grin. "Thanks," he said. His eye caught on a bit of white. "You have a letter," he observed.

Remus glanced curiously at the envelope taped to his door. "So I do," he observed, taking it down. He opened it quickly as Harry hovered uncertainly, having already said his good-byes but stricken with the strange thought that, perhaps, something bad was going to happen.

Remus read the note quickly and pocketed it. "A prank," he said lightly.

"A prank?" Harry asked. Alarm bells sounded in his bead. "Are you sure that's it?"

Remus's expression was darker than normal. "I'm quite sure," he said.

Remus had the decency to leave off questioning when Harry was obviously uncomfortable; the least Harry could do was the same. Ignoring the twisting in his stomach, Harry stepped back. "I'll talk to you later," he promised.

Remus met his eye. "Yes," he agreed. "Thank you."

Harry left quickly.

Hermione was waiting inside of his flat when he got home, hair pulled up smartly, clothes ironed and neat, cackling in delight as she played his Playstation.

Harry reached over her shoulder and hit the pause button. She whipped her head around to look at him. "Harry!"

"Enjoying yourself?"

Hermione grinned, looking years younger, She brushed a wisp of hair from her face. "Quite," she said, tossing the controller onto the table. "Watch out for the left passageway, it's -"

"Trapped, I know." Harry tugged her loose curl and sat beside her. "I've gotten further than you."

Hermione tugged the hem of her shirt prissily. "Well, you've had a great deal more time than me to play, too."

Harry didn't argue with that, propping his feet on the table and snatching up the remote. He changed the channel to the Wizarding News Network and muted it. "So, what's up? Just breaking in to play my video games?"

Hermione looked at the Playstation longingly. "Actually, you know . . ."

Harry nodded. "That explains why the cheese keeps disappearing."

Hermione punched him, laughing. "Of course not, you git. I broke in so that I could give you this." She drew a piece of parchment from her pocket and handed it to him. "You might find it helpful."

Harry unfolded it and scanned it quickly. It looked like a list of call numbers - books, then, which shouldn't surprise him.

"They're about wizarding careers," Hermione continued earnestly. "We used them in our fifth year Career Advisory, d'you remember that?"

"Yes," said Harry quietly.

"Well, you might want to look at these." She eyed him intently. "I'm not being nosy, am I?"

"No."

Hermione sank back into the couch cushions, watching him closely. Suddenly, her face fell. "Ah. I'm sorry -"

"It's all right." Hermione shouldn't have to be afraid of mentioning their fifth year, just because Harry was an idiot at fifteen. Just because he was spectacular at getting the people he loved killed.

Hermione reached over, rubbing his shoulder in a sympathetic fashion. It felt very nice, and Harry resisted the urge to lean into it, to let her work away the knots of tension. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him at all.

"Your back's paining you, isn't it?"

"A bit." Harry kissed her on the cheek and got to his feet. "D'you want to grab a bite, or have you got to get to work?"

"Work," she said apologetically, standing alongside him. "Remus is covering for me right now."

Harry nodded. "You'd better get going, then," he said, watching the TV so he wouldn't have to look her in the eye. "It would be a shame if the Great Hermione got in trouble for being late, of all things."

"Oh, you." She swatted him lightly. Harry barely noticed - he was reading the words scrolling along the bottom of the television with faint alarm.

Hermione turned her eyes to the television. "What is it?"

Harry reluctantly tore his eyes away. "Just the news," he said. "Something about an anti-Pureblood group."

Hermione wore an expression of contempt. "I've heard about them," she said. "Idiots. They think that all Purebloods are to blame for what Voldemort did - they're just trying to stir up trouble."

"They're going after Voldemort's supporters?" Harry asked.

"No." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just anyone they can associate with him. Even people like Neville Longbottom, if you can believe that."

"That's insane," Harry murmured. He was thinking of the note that had been left on Remus's door: just anyone they can associate with him. Would that include Dark Creatures?

Hermione was trying to read his mind again. Harry shook himself free of his thoughts. "You're going to be late," he reminded her.

"Oh!" She snatched up her purse. "You're right! Harry, I'll call you later - or you can stop by, Ron and I don't have any plans -"

Smiling, Harry returned her brisk hug and watched her Disapparate. He stared at the spot she'd vanished from, mind racing with thoughts - was Remus in danger?

He couldn't imagine it, somehow. For as long as he'd known Remus, the man had shown himself to be quite apt when it came to looking after himself. Surely he would know if that prank was a sign of something worse. Surely he had wards up on his house, surely he would be careful . . . .

He glanced at his Playstation, contemplating which game he felt like playing least, and then realized he was still holding the list of books that Hermione had given him. With a shrug, he Disapparated.

Affecting a casual air that he did not feel, Harry made his way through the stacks of the Ministry Library.

He fully intended to hunt down the books Hermione had recommended, but for the moment he found it much more pleasant to simply wander. The air was thick with the smell of old leather, old parchment, and the whispers of his robes were the only sound. He could see why Hermione liked it here.

He avoided the library's patrons out of sheer habit, turning his face away when he was forced to pass them. He was paying so little attention that he didn't notice the very familiar young man who lifted his head when Harry slipped by.

"Potter."

Surprised, Harry lifted his head, and found himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy," Harry said, startled. "What're you - hello."

Draco smirked, holding up a thick, dictionary-looking thing that Hermione would have loved. "Research," he said, answering his unspoken question. "Yourself?"

"The same," Harry said, not entirely truthfully. He didn't feel like pouring his dilemma out to Draco Malfoy, no matter how civil his tone, or how charming his smile was, or the strange, androgynous appeal of his slender body. Remus' words about Malfoy being secretly in love lodged in his brain and refused to go away.

"Planning to oust another corrupt regime and defeat international forces of evil?"

"You know," Harry said, thoughtfully, "for two people who dislike each other so much, you and Ron really have a great deal in common."

Draco snorted. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, in a tone that suggested he would do no such thing. "So, what are you really doing here?"

Caught. Harry forced a light-hearted grin that he didn't mean. "Is it really that important?"

"No," Draco said, walking and nodding for Harry to join him, "but I'm curious. It's not everyday that you meet your arch-rival in the library. You could at least have the decency to make it a worthwhile journal entry."

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm just looking for something to read," he said, amused. "Personally, I think you should go with the research angle. It'll make an interesting footnote in your memoir."

"Duly noted." There was a brief lull as Harry kept his eyes forward, manfully resisting the urge to look at Draco. The bold, drawl of his voice started him a beat later. "What has the Boy Who Lived been up to lately, anyway?"

Harry glanced at him. "What, you let your subscription to Teen Witch Weekly lapse?"

"When I came out, they stopped writing about me. What was the use in keeping it?"

Harry snorted, but filed the information away for further use. He hadn't known that Draco was gay.

"I'm looking for a job." Draco shot him a look. "Not exactly thrilling."

Draco stopped walking, leaning against a shelf and watching Harry with an inscrutable sort of expression. "You're rich, right?"

"More or less." It was nice that, with Draco, he didn't have to worry about being modest.

"Why, then?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm bored."

Draco gave him a cock-eyed look for a little longer, then shook his head and brushed past him, touching their shoulders together quite deliberately. Harry turned to watch him walk away, trying not to appreciate the view too much.

Just before he stepped out of sight, Draco turned and caught his eye, flashing him a charming smile that would have fit a shark. "By the way, Potter. The Auror's College is holding a small reunion for those of us who graduated last year."

Harry watched Draco intently. "Is that so?"

Draco's smile grew. "It is." He left with a flourish. Harry stared after him, ignoring the intrigue mounting in his gut.

The ballroom, sparkling with golden light and silver trim, was crowded with well-dressed witches and wizards. Many of them Harry remembered from his college days. But there were far too many people here for this to be simply the graduating Aurors of 2001; the flash of a camera, and Colin Creevey's loud, excited voice proved it. "Dennis! Move over! The lighting is horrible --"

Harry dove into the crowd with an unusual self-assurance, sipping at something he'd picked up somewhere. It had been a long time since he'd willingly inflicted this sort of torture upon himself. He was confident, however, in the fact that he was well-dressed, having been subjected to a round of 'Ginny and Lavender' before showing up. He wished he'd thought to invite Ginny, at least -- if Draco had tipped him off about the party and then decided to skip it . . . it would be just like him.

Harry maneuvered his way through the crowd, forcing himself to stop and chat when his progress was interrupted. After his fourth conversation, he realized that it wasn't his imagination -- people were checking the crowd around him, clearly searching for his date. Invite only. Which meant . . . .

"Potter."

Harry turned, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Malfoy."

"You came." Draco inclined his head, in a graceful sort of gesture that said, 'and you don't look like rat droppings'.

Harry grinned. "Thanks," he said, in the same wry voice he used when young girls asked him for his autograph. Draco didn't seem to catch the reference, although his eyes did narrow suspiciously. "So what is this, really?"

"I told you," Draco said patiently. He started leading Harry through the crowd again, which parted with something like reverence. Harry barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Once a Malfoy, always a Malfoy. "It's for Aurors who graduated in 2001."

"And?"

"And their dates, and a select number of friends that they chose to invite."

"It's a party, Malfoy."

Draco cast him a chiding glance. "Try not to frighten yourself over it," he said, lifting a drink off a table. Harry recognized it as the same sort as his own. So that was where he'd gotten it. "I know how anti-social you are."

Harry summoned his wry voice. "Do you really?"

Draco hesitated only slightly. He took a drink with remarkable composure.

Harry glanced at the crowd. "There's press in there somewhere, isn't there?"

"Most likely."

"Lovely." Harry drained the last of his drink and set the glass down. "So, is this a publicity shot for you?" he asked, keeping his voice light. "Or someone else?"

"What do you think?" Draco gave an elegant little gesture. "I didn't tell you where this party was going to be held, or when, so you obviously asked around."

"I asked Ginny."

"Weasely?" Draco cast a look over the room. "Did she come?"

"No."

"Pity." Draco drained another drink. "Relax, Potter, I'm not setting you up. Don't you think your freckled ex-girlfriend would have warned you? I hear she can sense Dark Magic."

"She can," Harry said, amused. It had been part of the reason that they'd split up; apparently, Harry's scar would always contain a vestige of the curse that nearly killed him. Not to mention the other scars, remnants of the ritual he'd almost been subjected to.

With an effort, Harry cast his mind away from that thought.

"So, then, relax," Draco finished, apparently not sensing Harry's dark mood. "Socialize." His lips quirked. "Try not to hurt yourself."

"Who else did you invite?" Harry asked.

"Just you." Draco grabbed another drink. "Let's go talk to Zabini, shall we? She looks lonely."

Harry cast a look towards the infamous Blaise. She was surrounded by male admirers, her pitch black hair cascading down her backless robes. She seemed to sense Harry looking at her, as she glanced over and met his gaze.

"Let's not," Harry said abruptly, turning his face away.

"Oh, come on, let her practice on you." Draco leaned against the table, looking at Harry through a flirtatious veil of lashes. "She loves trying to pick up guys who go both ways; that must be some obscure female fantasy they keep well-hidden from the rest of us."

Rather sharply, Harry said, "That's not public knowledge, Malfoy."

"Probably wise of you to keep it that way," Draco said with a nod. "You already have more female fans than you know what to do with. Encourage them, and you might not survive." He glanced past Harry's ear. "Hello, Blaise."

"Draco." She nodded. "Harry."

Harry rather resented that, her using his first name. And Draco's. Which of them was she flirting with, precisely? And why did it bother him so much?

"Hello, Zabini," Harry said. He wished he had the elegance to mimic Draco's pose, and he knew better than to even try. It had probably been a good thing that his first serious girlfriend had been gifted with a genuine sense of humor. If he had tried to charm someone like Blaise the way he had Ginny, the results would have been disastrous.

She noted Harry's coolness and continued. "How have the two of you been?" she asked, managing to ask the question in a vaguely dirty manner.

"Great," Draco said, perhaps too enthusiastically. He was drinking a lot. "Wonderful, I daresay. Yourself?"

Her full mouth was fighting a smile. "The same." She watched him polish off his fifth drink. "Be careful, Draco, dear," she finally said, "you won't be very good at this game."

Harry thought, game?

"Maybe I don't have to be," Draco said. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, Blaise amused, Draco thoughtful. He suddenly gripped her shoulder and spun her around. "Off you frolic, m'dear. I'm afraid I have places to go, people to talk to --"

"Is that all?"

"-- former housemates not to murder, you know how it is. I believe there's a lonely young man waiting for you in some desolate corner of this godsforsaken monument of stone." He smiled faintly, razor-sharp, and ever so bitter. "One who has yet to meet She Who Consorts With All Men."

Blaise reached back without looking, slapping Draco gently across the face. "No need to be nasty," she said, "I'm leaving. Enjoy yourself, Harry. Make sure Draco gets home safely."

Harry, rather suspicious of this entire, Slytherin-ish exchange, made a noncommital sound. "I'll do that."

"By all means." She left as gracefully as she had arrived, dark hair swaying. Draco downed two more drinks in a row.

"Are you trying to get drunk?" Harry asked, helplessly amused. "And what was that about?"

"Old friends," Draco said, waving a negligent hand. "Old enemies. You know."

Harry reached out and removed the next drink from his hand. "I'm not going to baby-sit you."

"You won't need to." Draco reached past Harry, brushing their chests together, and grabbed another drink. Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. "Despite what Blaise has said, I am good at this game."

"Drinking?"

Draco cocked an eyebrow, reaching past Harry to set his empty glass down, and holding the pose. "Is that what you think I'm doing?" His breath was sharp and sweet, Harry realized dimly, and resisted the urge to step back.

"Well." Instead, he stepped to the side, knocking Draco's arm away with his hip. "Not anymore."

Draco laughed and obediently followed Harry through the crowd. He took another opportunity to touch him when they reached a pair of French doors, pressing the length of his body against Harry's back as his arms slid around him, twisting the handles and throwing the doors open. It left Harry feeling delightfully light-headed and dangerous. He sucked in a breath of cool air, resolutely not-looking at Draco as he stepped onto the balcony.

Harry was not a risky person. Not when it came to relationships. It was why he'd dated Ginny, of all people; it was why he spent so much time at his flat, instead of clubbing and using his fame to it's best advantage. He'd always believed that casual sex was a stupid risk.

But tonight, it seemed like it might be rather pleasant.

Once Harry rested his elbows on the railing, Draco levered himself up and sat beside him, staring into the ballroom while Harry overlooked the campus. They were silent for a moment.

"So," Draco said. "Read any good books lately?"

Harry smiled. "For your memoir?"

"One of them, at least."

Harry jerked his head, indicating the room and table at which they'd been sitting. "What was that about, with Zabini?"

"You're not going to let it go until I tell you, are you?"

Harry thought about that a moment, shrugged. "We don't have much else to talk about, really."

Draco turned from the ballroom to gaze at him for a moment, eyes wide and a little blank. He came back to himself with a faint jolt. "How about I ask you why you hated me at school?"

"You hated me first."

"Very mature, Potter," Draco snapped, with just a hint of true pique. At almost the same time, they adjusted themselves so that they could look each other in the face. "Wrong answer."

"Then you'll have to give me a refresher course," Harry said coolly. "Because as I recall, you started it by insulting Ron."

"I didn't say anything to you," Draco pointed out. "In fact, I offered you my friendship."

"I already had a friend." Draco's face snapped shut. "Accepting your offer meant turning my back on him."

Draco snorted. "And accepting his offer didn't mean doing the same to me?"

"He didn't make me choose," Harry said, looking back towards the horizon. "That was you."

Draco was silent a moment. Harry could feel him studying his profile, gaze as warm and soft as a caressing hand. Little shivers built up along his spine, until he had to twitch his shoulders and force himself to meet Draco's eyes. Draco smiled.

"So it was," he said, and left it at that.

"Tell me, then." At Draco's cocked eyebrow, he added, " 'She Who Consorts With All Men'. What was that about?"