The Boy Who Rescued Draco Malfoy From Involuntary Chastity

"Draco?" Harry called, knocking lightly on the door to Draco's bathroom suite. "Are you decent?"

The door swung open revealing the blond, resplendent in silver corset and what would probably pass for a sinfully tight skirt if the sides closed with more than buckles and didn't leave quite so much thigh and hip exposed between the edges. As it was, it made a rather distractingly close-fitting loincloth. "Unfortunately, I am, but you can come in anyway."

Harry looked him up and down, eyes lingering on the tall silver boots which had, combined, more surface area than the entire corset and skirt if he was any judge. "That's a matter of opinion, Malfoy. Aren't you missing a little fabric along the sides?"

"Makes for better access," Draco answered, patting a patch of exposed skin by way of demonstration.

"Oh, for-"

"You are back for more of me then, gorgeous?" Draco asked offhandedly, and returned his attention to the mirror and the can of hairspray which was slowly but surely turning fine blonde hair into somewhat dangerous looking icicles.

Harry shook his head, grateful that he and Severus weren't along for this date. With Malfoy dressed head to toe, or at least nipple to groin in silver, he wasn't certain Sev would fare well being seen together in public with him. For that matter, he wasn't certain Ron would, but reckoned the skin on display would make up for any discomfort. "No. You've got the last jar of Mrs. Mender's diminishing salve in here you greedy twit."

Not budging from his place before the cabinets in the least, Draco devoted his utmost attention to getting the points of hair that framed his equally pointy jaw just so, replying absently. "I shouldn't think you'd have had need of diminishing anything the way you were going at it with Severus last night." His eyes flicked briefly to Harry's in the mirror, assessing him. "And if it's left you bruised and sore this morning, you should appreciate it because there are poor buggers living downstairs here who are having to go entirely without--and some of us use the salve on bruises received in actual Quidditch practice so that we may go out looking presentable and not like the wrong end of a Holyhead Harpies match." So saying, Draco punctuated his point with a haughty little sniff and a cloud of hairspray that left Harry choking and violently waving a hand before his face to clear the air.

"You act as if you're never going to get laid again, Malfoy."

Draco's fingers slowed on the lock of hair he was twisting, and paused thoughtfully. "Well it's been a rather long time, and it's not for lack of trying that I haven't had any action." A note of doubt crept into his voice.

"True," Harry had to agree. "You flirt with everything that moves."

"And a good many things that don't," Draco added solemnly, giving his hair a last satisfied 'ting' with one fingernail. "But I must say that batteries are one of the most marvellous inventions Muggles have come up with yet, did you know?"

"Dead serious half the time too, aren't you?"

"Half? I am always serious. And I have a fine assortment of battery-operated companions beneath tbe bed to back me up."

"Sad tosser," Harry said with a fond smile, and leaned against the wall to watch Draco set to work on painting his lips.

"Not always?" The words were muffled by Draco's efforts to keep his lips still as he lined them.

"Eh?"

Draco set down the pencil, his lips comically stylized with their exaggerated outline. "Not always serious. Not with you." He half turned to look at Harry directly, and reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

"Not anymore," Harry agreed, though he remembered a time when that squeeze might have accompanied a 'friendly snog' that these days would be more likely to leave Draco turned into a toad.

"No," Draco said almost wistfully.

"Why's that?"

Draco snorted quietly, rummaged for a lipstick, quickly filled in the lines, and blew Harry a shimmery pink kiss. "Your paramour would likely poison my soup."

Harry knew he really shouldn't like watching those lips with that glossy glittery pink on them so much. "Ice cream more like the way you go at it. It's almost obscene," he added, though thinking about ice cream wasn't really helping.

"That's why he'd poison the soup instead," Draco said agreeably. Thinking of Snape helped.

Although it was somewhat distracting. "Eh?"

"And deprive himself of the show?" Draco's lashes lowered and he ran a rather pointy and definitely provocative tongue over his upper lip, coming to rest just against one canine, framed by an open-mouthed smirk.

Possessiveness absolutely helped. "Hands off! That one's mine." Not that he thought Draco would try anything--or that Snape would let him try anything, but--but it was the thought that counted!

Draco dismissed him with a wave of one well-manicured hand. "Then be quiet and help me land my own. I have it on good authority that Weasleys are skittish."

Well that explained Draco pulling out all the stops, though Harry still had his doubts that Draco was pulling out stops that wouldn't frighten Ron into next week. For Draco's sake, he hoped it was a damn good club. "Didn't look skittish with his hand up your skirt at the club last night," he said, feeling the sudden need to be reassuring to at least one of them.

"Belt up and hand me the eyeliner." Draco pointed imperiously at yet another overflowing case, this one perched precariously near Harry, who reached automatically for the one on top. "No, the Veela Smoke," Draco said impatiently, leaning over and grabbing a different pencil. "Honestly, Harry. Doxy Black with this outfit? What do I look like, a Muggle Gaul?"

"Goth," Harry corrected, feeling vaguely affronted and resisting the urge to mutter that he was the last person Draco should expect to provide expert help in girly things.

"Whatever. Barbarians." Draco set down the eyeliner, smudging the corners just a little more with his fingertips before turning back to Harry. "How do I look?" Draco stuck a pose, arms out and up in an elaborate demented ballerina position, the bathroom lights glinting off of corset and skirt just so.

"Fruity."

"Would you like a taste?" Draco did that pouting thing again, and Harry had to admit that it was somewhat more effective with the lipstick. Fortunately, the entire attractive effect was ruined every time Draco opened his mouth to speak. It was a wonderful guarantor of Harry's fidelity to Snape when the only other option in the house still seemed in need of a perpetual personality transplant.

"Isn't this where I came in?" Something like affection coloured Harry's voice however, and he found Draco smiling bemusedly back.

"Something like it." Draco bent at the knees, the tall soles of his boots requiring him to stoop even so to see into the cabinet. "Weren't you looking for salve?" He rummaged, surfacing with the little black pot labelled with the Mrs. Mender's seal and passing it to Harry.

"Thanks, mate. And Draco?"

"Mm?" A faint line of worry creased the skin between Draco's eyebrows, and Harry poked at it with a fingertip until it relaxed.

"Don't worry about Ron. I may have only lived with you for a year, but I lived with him for seven. If you didn't have that silly first date rule, you'd have been serving him breakfast this morning--or more likely, lunch."

"I am not that easy." Draco folded his arms and glared down his nose at Harry from his temporarily superior height.

"I am," Harry said cheerfully, ignoring the offended pose entirely, but pleased that Draco's worry seemed to be melting back into the familiar confident arrogance. Uncertainty had never suited a Malfoy.

"Yes," Draco said, "and the first man to bed you was such a possessive bastard you've never had a chance to put it to the test."

"Not without risking the loss of one or both testicles," Harry agreed, looking pensively down at the jar in his hands. It did have a rather nice warming tingling sensation when applied to the skin even if Sev tended to grouse that he could brew a superior salve drunk, deaf, and in the dark. "You think you're alright by yourself, then?"

Draco's eyes flicked lazily from the jar to the flushed expression on Harry's face. "I think I can manage. And Harry? You'll be owing me another jar of Mrs. Mender's. I won't be wanting that one back."

Harry flashed him a grin. "S' alright. I don't expect this one'll have anything left in it."

"Do try to have your wild screaming banshee sex out of the way by the time we're home?"

Meeting the imploring look in Draco's eyes, Harry was torn between laughing and blushing so hard his ears burned. He compromised with both. "I'll see if I can't wear him out before then."

"Thank you."

"Draco?"

"Mm?" Draco met his gaze in the mirror, eyeliner pencil hovering for a touch-up along the lower rim.

"Don't worry about bringing Ron back. I'll gag Sev if I have to." Harry's expression turned thoughtful. "Maybe tie him to the bedposts as well--blindfolded."

Draco muffled a laugh. "You're the soul of self-sacrifice as always, Potter."

"Hey, with the wizarding world safe, I need someone to save."

"Harry Potter," Draco said with utmost seriousness. "The Boy Who Rescued Draco Malfoy From Involuntary Chastity."

"And I thought defeating the Dark Lord was difficult."

Harry was half way out the door with his salve and a smug grin before Draco recovered his voice. It was strangled. "Harry?"

He poked his head back around the door. "Yes, dear?"

Draco surveyed himself one last time in the mirror from smoky eyes to silver-shod feet and nodded with grudging satisfaction. "Don't wait up."