Seven Days in June

June 17^th, 2005

Harry was feeling rather cranky when he stepped out of the lift in the hotel lobby the next morning. He hadn't slept well; he'd woken up a few times from strange dreams he couldn't remember once he was awake. This wouldn't have bothered him a few years ago, but it hadn't happened for quite some time now, and he was a bit worried about the relapse.

Still, if the state of his pyjamas in the morning had been any indication, it just might have been the fact that he'd enjoyed last night's ballet quite a bit more than he'd realized at the time. Which was just as well, given that he probably wasn't in for much enjoyment during the day ahead of him.

It was only twenty minutes past eight, but Malfoy was already waiting for him in the lobby. He was wearing black jeans and a green t-shirt and had a backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder; today his hair wasn't tied in a ponytail, but held back by his sunglasses which he wore like an Alice band.

Harry rolled his eyes and wondered if the poncy git had a second pair of sunglasses in his backpack - in case he actually wanted to use them for their intended purpose.

"You're early, Malfoy."

"Good morning to you too, Potter." Malfoy's smile was so perfectly polite it was downright infuriating. "Decided what you want to do today?"

"If I knew what I wanted to do here, I wouldn't need you to show me around, would I?"

Malfoy sighed. "I see. I suppose it's the standard 'squeeze all of Vienna's tourist hot spots into one day' tour, then?"

"You don't seem thrilled about that."

"You can hardly expect me to be. I could do that one blindfolded by now, and it was already boring the first time."

Harry was about to say something along the lines of 'tough luck', but then he hesitated; he'd just had a strange idea. "Then why don't you show me the places you like to go to?"

Malfoy frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your favourite places, Malfoy. I'm sure you have some."

"You really want to see my favourite places in Vienna?" Malfoy still seemed uncertain whether Harry was serious.

Harry shrugged. "You know this place well, so I guess the things you like should be the really good ones."

Malfoy cocked his head. "You're full of surprises, Potter."

"You'll do it, then?"

"Of course I will. Professional, remember? Come on, we've got a tram to catch."

+++

While the Vienna underground system was fairly easy to manage, Harry had known better than to try his luck with the complicated system of tram routes that criss-crossed the city. Now he felt a bit like a child looking forward to its very first train ride when he got into the old-fashioned, red and white car at the tram stop right opposite the hotel.

Malfoy pushed him into one of the wooden seats and sat down next to him. "Never taken a tram before in your life, have you?"

Harry just shook his head. Malfoy grinned. "You're lucky that this is one of the old ones. They're a bit grimy, but I prefer them to the modern cars they've started using. Those are terribly uncomfortable, and since they're a lot lower, you don't see a damn thing. With the old ones, you've got a nice view right over the rest over the traffic."

"Why did they change them?"

"Wait until you see a woman trying to get into this car with a pram, and you won't ask again."

Harry turned to look out of the window. This clearly wasn't one of Vienna's touristy districts, probably not even one of the better living quarters. There were mostly huge apartment blocks, although the green of a row of trees between the pavement and the street softened the dull colours of the buildings. "I suppose not many tourists get to see this part of the city?"

"Only when they're passing through it. We're moving along one of the main traffic routes right now; we'll be going through a few different districts that are mostly living quarters for those who can't afford a flat in a greener or quieter neighbourhood."

"Doesn't sound too inviting." Harry had never developed a taste for living in the city; he was forever thankful that he could Apparate to work and didn't have to stay in the vicinity of Auror Headquarters.

Malfoy shrugged. "I lived ten minutes away from here for a while, and it wasn't so bad - it was loud, but one gets used to it."

Harry still had a hard time imagining Draco Malfoy living in a Muggle neighbourhood, let alone in one of the poorer districts of an unfamiliar city. There were a lot of questions he'd have loved to ask, but since the only answer he was likely to get was a 'mind your own business, Potter', he stayed silent.

It was quite a long ride, and the scenery remained bleak; Harry was beginning to wonder where exactly they were going. They got off the tram in front of a huge, incredibly ugly building that looked like a train station. It was right next to a very busy street; the roar of the traffic was so loud that Harry had to shout at Malfoy to make himself heard over the noise. "Don't tell me this is one of your favourite places?"

Malfoy merely smiled. "Turn around, Potter."

Harry did.

Right across the street, a huge park with carefully trimmed bushes and colourful flower beds was separated from the traffic by an elaborate wrought iron fence. Behind the fence, the outline of a palace, built from some kind of greyish-white stone, was visible in the distance.

Malfoy's smile widened. "Close you mouth, Potter, and come on."

+++

The Belvedere Palace was unlike any castle Harry had ever seen before, all flowing curves and rounded ornaments that almost looked as if they were moving. The effect was heightened by the huge, artificial pond that mirrored the facade of the castle in front of it. Harry stopped for a moment on the white gravel path that led towards the palace to enjoy the view. "Wow. I can see why this would be one of your favourites, Malfoy."

Malfoy shrugged. "Actually, it looks better from the other side. Over here..."

As it turned out, the other side of the palace faced another, much bigger park, filled with statues and flowers which were planted to form intricate patterns. It sloped gently downhill where, quite far in the distance, another, matching palace came into view.

"That's the Lower Belvedere," Malfoy said, smoothly slipping into what Harry recognized as his professional voice from the day before. "It was built for living there, while the Upper Palace war merely for representation and society events."

Harry looked around, trying to wrap his mind about the concept of building an entire palace just for partying. "Who built this? The emperor?"

Malfoy shook his head. "Prince Eugene of Savoy. Famous Austrian military leader in the early eighteenth century. This was his summer palace, built well outside Vienna in the countryside; the city has grown around it since then."

"He could afford a place like this for a summer residence?"

"Oh yes. He pretty much saved the emperor's arse in the wars against the Ottoman empire..."

"Against who?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "The Turks, Potter. Heard of them? Fine. He was French by origin and wanted into the French army, but the French king wouldn't have him because he seemed too short and too frail for a soldier. So he fought for the emperor and became famous and rich by doing so. Quite an interesting personality, too."

"How so?" Harry looked around again. "Apart from building things like this, I mean."

"Well, he was very much into the arts, as you can see, and spent a lot of money on them. He was also quite openly gay, which was rather unusual at the time - people did whatever they pleased behind closed doors, but they were careful to keep up public appearances and made sure to marry and produce heirs regardless of their preferences. He felt he was famous enough not to give a damn about appearances - never married, spent his money on art and lovers, threw huge parties, did drugs and was still everybody's darling."

"Impressive." Harry was careful to keep his tone neutral, but Malfoy gave him a quizzical look nevertheless.

"Jealous, Potter?"

Harry froze. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't seem too pleased about the idea that someone could get away with anything and still be a hero."

"Malfoy, I'm paying you to be my tour guide, not my therapist."

"Thank God." Malfoy nodded briskly, which made his sunglasses slip down to his nose - a casual movement that he'd probably practised for hours in front of a mirror. "I very much doubt I'd be done with you in a day if I were."

+++

Half an hour later, Malfoy ushered Harry onto another tram that would take them into the inner city. Despite the uncomfortable start, Harry had to admit to himself that he'd rather enjoyed the tour of the Belvedere gardens. Malfoy had gone back to behaving like a proper tour guide after that one jibe at the beginning, and as long as he was talking about nothing but art and history, he wasn't making a bad job of it. The day before, Harry had been too distracted by meeting his former arch-rival again to listen to anything he had said during the tour, but now it seemed to him that Malfoy was actually quite good at what he was doing. It seemed strange somehow, Draco Malfoy being good at a Muggle job.

"Where are we going now?"

"The Imperial Palace in the first district; I'm taking you to the National Library and to the Capuchin Vault."

A library didn't seem that much of a sight to Harry - he'd spent more time than he ever wanted to over dusty books during his school days. Still, Malfoy's first choice of destination had been well worth seeing, so perhaps this one would be interesting, too. Somehow, Harry doubted that Malfoy would turn out to be like Hermione, who considered all libraries incredibly fascinating by default.

"What kind of vault is that?"

Malfoy shook his head. "Potter, did you actually open that guidebook you were carrying around yesterday? Let me guess, Granger forced it on you, and you didn't have the balls to tell her to bugger off."

"Are you this insolent to all your customers?" Harry fought very hard to keep the irritation out of his voice; even after all those years, Malfoy still hadn't lost his knack for getting under Harry's skin.

"No, this is my special VIP treatment, so consider yourself lucky." Malfoy pushed his sunglasses up his forehead again and tucked his hair back behind his ears. "But to answer your question, the Capuchin Vault is the tomb of the Habsburg family - the place where most of the monarchs and their family members were buried since the sixteenth century. It's considered one of the most popular sights in Vienna, so you'll have to forgive me for presuming that you had heard of it."

Harry frowned. "What is it with this place and cemeteries? I never thought that graveyards could be tourist hot spots!"

Malfoy actually grinned at this. "This city has a morbid streak a mile wide. I don't think I've ever been to a place where people were more obsessed with death. Already been to a crypt or something?"

"St Michael's."

Malfoy gave him a sidelong glance. "I see."

Harry, uncomfortably remembering the faint tingling of dead magic under his palms, decided not to pursue the topic.

They got off the tram right outside the huge complex that was the Imperial Palace; it was easy to realize they were back in the heart of the touristy part of the city. Malfoy led Harry across the huge square in front of the palace; then they had to make their way through several courtyards that were packed with people who stood in each other's way while they were busy looking at the buildings, going through their guidebooks or taking pictures. Harassed-looking guides were ushering groups of tourists through the crowd; a few of them waved at Malfoy as he passed them by with Harry in tow.

Malfoy, waving back left and right, was grinning again. "It looks like my colleagues are envying me because I've just got you to shepherd, Potter."

"I wouldn't blame them." It was hard enough for the two of them to navigate their way through the crowd without losing sight of each other; Harry couldn't even imagine how one would keep a huge group of people together in these surroundings.

"Neither would I; this is what a tour guide's nightmare looks like. After a few hours, you're usually itching to strangle someone with your bare hands."

"Strangling? How very Muggle of you, Malfoy." Harry couldn't help the jibe; he reckoned Malfoy deserved it after all those snide comments Harry had already had to endure.

"Yes, I seem to recall that lethal hexes were more your style," Malfoy replied placidly.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, feeling as if he'd been slapped around the face. The image of a younger Draco Malfoy, his hair still blond and his face ashen, on the bathroom floor in a pool of his own blood was flashing through his mind, as vivid as if it had happened only yesterday, and for a moment, Harry was afraid he was going to be sick.

Malfoy walked on, seemingly oblivious to the effect of his remark. After a few seconds, Harry pulled himself together and hurried to catch up, scolding himself for overreacting so stupidly. He'd done worse on countless occasions during the war and had learned to live with it; there really was no reason to let the memory of this particular event get to him like this.

The obnoxious git had probably just brought it up to get rid of him ahead of schedule. In that case, Harry thought with grim determination, he'd have to try a lot harder.

+++

The main hall of the National Library made Harry regret that he'd rejected Colin Creevey's offer to lend him one of his cameras for the trip. The huge, cavernous room was an explosion of light and colours, from the marble floor to the frescoed dome of the ceiling; thousands and thousands of books on the ornate shelves that were lining the walls filled the air with the strong, heady smell of leather and old paper. If it hadn't been for those bookshelves, Harry would have felt as if he were in a church rather than in a library; although this hall was clearly just for exhibition and not for actual reading, people were talking in hushed tones and moving as quietly as they could as they walked around between the showcases where all kinds of precious books were on display. The effect of the whole ensemble was almost overwhelming; Harry couldn't help imagining how Hermione would freak out at the sight of this place.

He'd been staring at the paintings on the ceiling for so long now that his neck was starting to hurt. When he finally lowered his head, he noticed that Malfoy had wandered off; Harry found him perched over a display case where he seemed to admire a manuscript that didn't strike Harry as particularly impressive.

"What's so interesting about this that it makes you press your nose against the glass?"

"Hm?" Malfoy seemed almost startled by the fact that Harry was beside him. "I was just trying to see whether I could still read it. It's been a few years since I've last tried it."

Harry squinted at the spidery writing on the pages. "You can actually read that?"

"More or less. I took a few classes on palaeography when I started studying, but I'm a bit out of practice by now."

"Studying? You went to school here?"

Malfoy sighed. "You know, Potter, for someone who allegedly grew up in the Muggle world, you're surprisingly clueless about it. Do you really think that six years of Hogwarts education would have enabled me to work in a Muggle profession?" He didn't wait for an answer, but glanced at his watch. "We'd better be going, it's already past eleven, and the Capuchin Vault tends to fill up rather quickly past noon."

+++

There was a small crowd gathered at the entrance of the Vault when Harry and Malfoy arrived there. Malfoy surveyed it with a practised eye. "Not too bad for a Friday. Potter, you wait here, I'll go and get the tickets."

Once he was alone, Harry noticed that somebody else was speaking in English nearby. He looked around; a bit to the side of the entrance, there was a small group of youngsters who somehow broadcast the fact that they were American although neither of them was saying anything. The speaking was done by a woman who seemed to be in charge of the group and was explaining something about Habsburg burial customs. None of the youngsters looked particularly thrilled, but Harry decided it was more interesting than just standing around and sidled over to listen.

After a while, the woman gave a little wave into his direction; only now, Harry noticed that Malfoy had returned and was standing beside him. Malfoy waved back; once she was done with her explanations, he walked over to her with Harry trailing after him.

"Doing my work for me, are you?"

The woman smiled. "No thanks, I've got my own charges to look after. Besides, you know I have no patience with tourists."

"Says the lady who's here with a bunch of students."

She gave him an impish grin. "Yes, but I can tell them to shut the hell up when they're bothering me. See you!"

"Another colleague of yours?" Harry asked when the woman had ushered the youngsters through the entrance.

Malfoy shook his head. "Former instructor. She's teaching in the training program for tour guide hopefuls."

"I didn't realize there was an official training for it."

Malfoy tapped the little red and white badge he was wearing on his t-shirt. "You have no idea, Potter. Didn't you notice this?"

Actually, Harry had already noticed the badge - reading Austria Guide and another line in German - the day before, but he hadn't really given it any thought. "Okay, I'm noticing it now. What's up with it?"

"It proves that I took the state exam to become a certified tour guide. It's a big deal in front of a committee of officials from the Chamber of Commerce; there are a couple of theoretical exams in history, art history, geography, legal matters and so on, then there's the practical where they drag you to some random sight in Vienna and tell you do an impromptu tour of the place in at least two different languages. Before you can even take the exam, you need two years of training, and that's no walk in the park either."

Harry reminded himself that this was still Draco Malfoy and most of the things he'd just told him were likely exaggerated. "And you need all that just to do guided tours?"

Malfoy graciously ignored the implications of the word 'just'. "Legally, yes. There are travel agencies that hire uncertified guides because they're cheaper, but the Chamber is after them like Filch was after curfew trespassers. If I wandered around with a group of tourists without wearing the badge, you can be sure the first certified guide who spotted me would be filing a complaint before I was done collecting the tips."

"Would you, if you saw one?"

"In a heartbeat." For a moment, Harry got a glimpse of the old Malfoy sneer. "Don't give me that look, Mr Rules Happen To Other People. It's my job or theirs - not a hard choice if you have to make a living."

"Especially since you didn't have a problem with reporting someone to the authorities even before you had to make a living."

"And you gave me plenty of opportunities, didn't you? Ah, those were the days..." Malfoy looked almost wistful for a second.

"What do you miss most?" Harry had asked without really thinking what he was saying, and there was no way to take it back now.

Malfoy stared at him. "You mean apart from my family, my home, my friends, and the world I grew up in?"

Harry looked away. "I'm sorry; it was a stupid thing to ask."

Malfoy didn't answer. They went down a flight of stairs that led to the entry of the crypt in frosty silence, with Malfoy always remaining half a step ahead of Harry.

Only when they had entered the low, vaulted room filled with elaborate coffins, he turned back to face Harry and said briskly, "Flying."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"The thing I miss most. It's flying. Now do you want that tour of the crypt or not?"

+++

Morbid streak or no, Harry thought as he followed Malfoy through the low, gloomy halls of the Capuchin Vault, there was such a thing as taking the celebration of death a bit too far. As they were walking between the coffins of emperors, archdukes and their assorted family members, they were surrounded by bronze skulls and bones of every variety. Some burial places were so heaped with the things that it was hardy possible to make out the shape of the actual coffin underneath. The triumph of death was everywhere, as if the rulers buried here had thought they'd be able to take their glory with them by handing their insignia over to the Grim Reaper. The coffin of one particular emperor, surrounded by whole skeletons dressed in funeral garb and wearing the crowns the man had owned during his lifetime, made Harry's skin crawl.

Malfoy had slipped back into professional mode and was ticking off the coffins as they walked by, listing names, dates of birth and death, and achievements - or the lack thereof - of the Habsburgs buried in the Vault with the bored voice of someone who'd repeated the same words a hundred times before. Harry was profusely glad when the tour was finished and they were back on the sunlit street; he'd begun to experience a faint trace of claustrophobia down there.

A growl from his stomach reminded him that it was already past noon. Malfoy must have heard it too, because he raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Hungry?"

Harry shrugged and tried not to show his embarrassment. "I wouldn't say no to a lunch break. Do you have any recommendations?"

"That's my job, isn't it? Besides, you can't do a tour of Vienna without at least one stop at a café. Come on, Potter, I know just the place."

+++

Harry gratefully sank into a seat at the small round table; he hadn't really noticed until now how sore his feet were. The Café Griensteidl that Malfoy had taken him to looked nice enough, all dark wood and white marble, with the red plush that seemed a recurring theme in Viennese interior design covering the chairs and benches. The menus were in three languages and the prices rather high, which was only to be expected right in the centre of the inner city, but Harry saw many people in business clothes at nearby tables who clearly were on lunch break from work, so he guessed it couldn't be the worst tourist trap in the book.

He let Malfoy order the food, which turned out to be a reddish, rather spicy kind of beef stew that, according to Malfoy, was a popular adaptation of a traditional Hungarian dish - "Viennese cuisine is the result of stealing recipes from all over the Empire for hundreds of years, Potter" - and tasted okay. Harry ate in silence; out of the corner of his eye, he was watching Malfoy, who had his Filofax open next to his plate and seemed busy organizing his timetable.

The grumpy waiter had already taken away their empty plates when Malfoy snapped the Filofax shut and looked up.

"What are you staring at, Potter?"

"I'm trying to figure you out, Malfoy."

Malfoy sneered at him; in moments like these he looked exactly like the boy Harry had known and hated back at school, black hair nonwithstanding. "Good luck with that."

Harry shrugged and changed track. "Can I ask you something?"

"As I already pointed out, that's what I'm here for, isn't it?"

Harry handed him the business card Malfoy had given him the day before.

Mag. Draco Malfoy

Staatlich geprüfter Fremdenführer / Certified tour guide

Tel.: +43/699/9100860

[email protected]

"Is that an academic degree in front of your name?"

"Five points to Gryffindor for stating the obvious. It's short for Magister, in my case Magister philosophiae. A Master's degree."

"You need a Master's degree to do guided tours?"

"No, but it will get you the more interesting tours." Malfoy signalled the waiter. "Coffee, Potter?"

"Erm, sure..." Before Harry could say more, Malfoy had placed the order and turned back to him.

"I started studying at the university during my second year in the tour guide training programme. Everyone in the business told me that you need extra qualifications if you want to do more than drag Americans and Japanese through Schönbrunn Castle five times a day for the rest of your life. You can make a living like that, but it would have driven me crazy within a few years. On the other hand, if you are able to do themed tours on various topics, you'll get hired for guiding those tourists who are actually interested in the history or the culture of a place and don't just want to take fifty pretty photos between meals. Much more interesting, and it pays better, too."

"What did you study?"

"Art history, mostly. I wrote my Master's thesis on the representation of death in Austrian baroque art last year."

"Ah, so that's where your love for crypts is coming from?"

"Partly, yes. Besides, you could say a certain fascination with death runs in the family." He smirked as Harry's face darkened, but didn't pursue the topic. "From your expression down there, I'd say it's not your thing, is it?"

Harry shrugged. "If I never see a skull again in my life, it will be too early. Once burned and all that, you know."

"You're telling me?" Malfoy's tone was laced with contempt, and Harry couldn't help casting a glance at the smooth, unmarred skin of his bare arms. He'd been certain that Malfoy was marked ever since that day he'd seen him in the shop with Mr Borgin during the holidays before sixth year, but he'd obviously been wrong. Still, Malfoy had his own experiences with the Dark Mark, whether he'd been marked himself or not.

Their conversation seemed about to take a very unpleasant turn when the waiter returned, placing a coffee cup, a glass of water and a piece of cake in front of each of them. Harry, rather grateful for the timely interruption, threw Malfoy a quizzical look.

"I don't remember ordering this."

Malfoy, unfazed, was stirring an indecent amount of sugar into his coffee which was covered by a thick layer of whipped cream. "You'll like it. If there's one thing to be said for the Austrians, it's the fact that they're doing fabulous sweets."

"Still, you could have asked. Besides, I prefer my coffee black."

"You've never left Britain before, have you? In this case, you don't want to drink your first real coffee black, it'd give you a heart attack and burn a hole into your stomach. Trust me."

Harry, forgoing the urge to point out that Malfoy was the last person on the planet he'd trust, nevertheless tried the cake, which seemed to be made of layers of spongy biscuits held together with a rich yellow cream, and had to admit it was fantastic. Still, Malfoy's presumption rankled, so he didn't say anything, not even when he took a sip of coffee and found that even with milk and cream, it was indeed twice as strong as anything he was used to.

When he looked up, Malfoy, who had an almost rapt look on his face, was slowly licking a layer of creamy coffee foam off his upper lip. Harry bit the inside of his cheek in annoyance. Whatever had become of him, the git certainly had no business making Harry's stomach flip. He was easy enough on the eyes with his dark hair that made for a striking contrast with his pale skin and eyes, but that didn't mean Harry would ever forget himself to the point where he found anything Draco Malfoy did even remotely attractive.

Seizing the chance for a snide remark of his own, Harry pointed at Malfoy's card that was still on the table. "You know, I really wouldn't have thought I'd live to see you having a telephone number, let alone an email address."

Malfoy was unfazed. "It's rather hard to communicate without a phone, isn't it? Besides, it's not exactly a huge task to use it, once you've figured out the basics. Although I admit I'm rather surprised you know about email."

Harry frowned. "In case you didn't notice, I grew up among Muggles."

"And left when you were eleven, didn't you? Hogwarts isn't exactly keen on encouraging the Muggleborns to remain functional in their own world."

"That's because 'their world' is the wizarding world, Malfoy!"

"Yes, yes, I didn't say anything against that, did I?" Malfoy raised his hands in mock surrender. "Still, after learning a bit about the Muggle world myself, it seems to me that your average Muggleborn would have a hard time returning to it after Hogwarts, don't you think? Have you ever seen Granger use a computer? I bet you haven't, and I suppose that goes for the rest of them, too."

Harry frowned. "You don't know that for certain."

"Oh, but I think I do." Malfoy's grin was infuriatingly superior, as if he were laughing about a joke that had gone over Harry's head. "The fact that you were so surprised to see me was all the confirmation I needed. Ironic, isn't it? Everyone back in Britain is probably still wondering what became of me when all it would take to find me is a bleeding Google search."

+++

"Wow."

Harry couldn't help staring. He'd never seen such a huge bell in his life; it made him feel almost tiny by comparison. "That's... impressive."

Malfoy smiled. Harry recognized his "professional" smile that seemed to have taken a break during lunch, and to his own surprise, he realized that he felt slightly disappointed. "I told you this was worth seeing, didn't I?"

Harry made a face. "I'll never doubt your expertise again, your omniscientness." He'd protested when Malfoy had led him back to St Stephen's, reminding him that he'd already seen it the day before, but Malfoy would hear none of it. Now they were standing at the top of the second, unfinished spire that obviously served no other purpose than to house the Pummerin, Austria's biggest church bell.

"Careful with the big words before you hurt yourself, Potter."

Harry bit back a grin; the real Malfoy was definitely still there under the thin veneer of professional politeness. He was aware that he was beginning to get used to the constant flow of jibes and snide remarks; in a way, they were an almost refreshing change from the behaviour he encountered back home. It had been a long time since any wizard or witch in Britain had dared to say a harsh word to Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Chosen One and Hero of the Second War.

"So what's up with this bell, other than the fact that it's huge?"

"It's something like a national symbol of modern Austria. The original bell had been made from the bronze of Turkish cannons after the Turkish siege of Vienna had been broken in 1683, but it was destroyed during the last days of World War Two when the remainders of the Nazi troops were fighting against the Red Army in the streets of Vienna. The cathedral caught fire then, and the bell fell down inside the spire and shattered. After St Stephen's had been rebuilt, the new Pummerin was cast from the pieces of the old one and brought back to its old place in 1951. It's the most famous church bell in the country and only used on special occasions. Most important, every new year begins with the Pummerin tolling, which is broadcast both on radio and TV. You could say it has become a symbol for a new beginning."

A new beginning. Harry looked up at the looming bulk of the bell, lost in thought. The fact that this was one of Malfoy's favourite places in the whole city seemed rather significant, given that Malfoy had managed to rebuild his life from the debris of the old one here. Once more, Harry tried in vain to imagine how the spoilt, bratty child he'd known back home had coped in a society that he neither knew nor understood, and a country whose language he probably didn't speak then, surrounded by people he'd considered both inferior and dangerous his whole life.

"So it's only used once a year?"

"Unless something important happens. Of course, what with the pope dying and a new one being elected, we already got to hear it a few times this year." Malfoy grinned. "I was on a tour with a group of Italians in the first district, and I didn't even notice at first that the bells were ringing at the wrong time of day, when suddenly one of the tourists yelled 'Habemus papam!' and everyone freaked out. Took me a moment to get what the big deal was."

Harry tried to remember if he'd heard anything about a new pope being elected lately and drew a blank. Well, it wasn't as if it was a matter of much importance in Britain anyway. "Most Austrians are catholic, aren't they?"

"Yes, but most Austrians also don't give a damn about the church. Those Italians, however, seemed to take the matter rather seriously. A few of them actually hugged me, which thankfully isn't something that happens every day."

Now it was Harry's turn to grin. "Doesn't it? Yesterday, a few people in our group seemed rather taken with you. That old American woman all but pinched your cheek!"

Malfoy shrugged. "You get pinched in worse places in my line of work, Potter."

Harry did his best not to laugh. "How do you manage not to throw hexes?"

Malfoy gave him a shrewd look. "Who says I don't? There's more inconspicuous stuff than Jelly Legs and Bat Bogey, you know."

His deadpan expression didn't give any indication whether he was joking or not.

+++

Back in the street, Malfoy checked his watch. "Three o'clock. We've got plenty of time, the Treasury is open until six, and that's the last thing I've planned for today. I don't know about you, Potter, but I'm dying for an ice cream."

Harry, who had still been pondering Malfoy's remark about hexing Muggles, was quite thankful for the distraction. "Let me guess: your favourite ice cream parlour is right around the corner."

"Almost, yes. It's the best in Vienna - believe me, you don't want to miss this."

"If you say so. But cake for lunch and ice cream in the afternoon? You'll go out of shape rather quickly if you keep it up, Malfoy."

Malfoy winked at him. "Was that a left-handed compliment about the shape I'm in right now?"

Harry snorted. "You wish."

"Now where have I heard that before? Oh, never mind, here we are. Any preferred flavours?"

Harry shook his head. "Whatever you're having."

Malfoy dove into the crowd that was clustered around a tiny shop in a street corner; whether the ice cream they sold here was any good or not, Harry reckoned, it was clearly popular. Malfoy was back surprisingly fast (people here really didn't seem to think twice about queue-jumping) with two dripping cones and pressed one into Harry's hand.

Harry eyed it critically. "What did you get?"

"Chocolate, pistachio, and strawberry. I'd start eating if I were you, this stuff is melting rather fast."

Harry tried his ice cream and found it was indeed quite good, although it was rather difficult not to dribble it all over himself while walking. He polished off the top layer as quickly as possible and then looked over to see how Malfoy was managing. This, however, turned out to be a mistake.

Malfoy's way of eating ice cream, Harry realized with a strange twisting feeling in his gut, would have made any porn star green with envy. Technically, he wasn't doing it differently than anybody else, alternating between licking around the rim of the cone and sucking off bits from the top, but somehow, he managed to make the whole procedure look incredibly... dirty. The blissful expression on his face didn't help matters, either - Harry had seen people on the brink of orgasm who seemed to enjoy themselves far less than Malfoy at the moment.

Then Malfoy turned his head and saw Harry staring. "What?"

Harry fervently hoped he wasn't blushing. "You're really enjoying your ice cream, aren't you?"

Malfoy, completely unfazed, carefully licked a smear of pink off his finger. Harry started to sweat. "I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I? Ali keeps complaining that my way of eating ice cream borders on public indecency."

Harry, desperate to change the topic, seized the occasion. "Who's Ali?"

"Ex-girlfriend." Malfoy had finished the strawberry layer and was now attacking the pistachio. "The 'ex' part doesn't keep her from nagging me, though."

"I didn't think Ali was a girl's name."

"It isn't, but she says it's the best you can do if your parents saddled you with Alienor-Isabel."

Harry almost choked on his ice cream. "That's a rather... unfortunate choice of name."

"You bet - especially since no one in their right mind would name a girl either Alienor or Isabel around here."

Still, Harry was quite grateful for the unknown lady's naming problem since it had got him over what might have become a rather embarrassing moment otherwise.

"Where are we going now?"

"Back to the Imperial Castle. The Treasury is in the inner courtyard that we crossed in the morning, and by now, it shouldn't be quite so crowded any more." He gave Harry a rather malicious grin. "Few tourists last into the late afternoon - but they aren't heroes, are they?"

+++

The only appropriate word for describing the Imperial Treasury was "overwhelming". Harry felt his eyes grow huge at the sight of room after room full of gold, jewels and precious garments in every possible shape and colour. They walked past crowns, gem-studded swords, coronation robes, crosses and other religious items made of marble, rock crystal, ebony and ivory, and huge portraits of sour-looking rulers who seemed close to collapsing under the weight of the regalia they wore. At first, he tried to take a closer look at each individual item, but after a while, everything started to blend together into one huge, glittering mass of priceless trinkets that would have put a dragon's hoard to shame.

Malfoy just went for a couple of particular pieces; he gave Harry time enough to look at everything else, but he only pointed out a few selected items, giving a detailed explanation about their background and the reason they were special. It was, Harry had to admit, definitely the best way to visit the Treasury unless you wanted your head to start spinning.

There were only a few artefacts which he probably would remember afterwards: a picture of St Mary in the most brilliant colours he'd ever seen, made entirely from the feathers of humming birds; an emerald the size of his fist that had been hollowed out to form a little container with the part that had been cut out becoming the lid; the coronation mantle of the Holy Roman Empire, almost a thousand years old, with its strange embroidery that depicted camels and lions. Malfoy actually admitted that he rather liked the mantle, too - in spite of the fact that it was red and gold all over.

Still, Harry wasn't entirely sure why Malfoy had decided to take him here; so far, none of the items on display seemed to be the reason he counted this place among his favourites. It wasn't until they found themselves in a rather unspectacular corner that Malfoy waved his hand in the direction of the other visitors around them, who promptly began to wander off.

Harry frowned. "What was that you cast?"

"Muggle-repellent hex," Malfoy replied, "I rather wouldn't risk a Muggle overhearing what I'm about to tell you."

Harry gave him an incredulous look. "Isn't that a dark spell?"

Malfoy shrugged. "It may well be, I can't say I care. It isn't as if this place had any wizarding authorities that could come after me for hexing Muggles. Besides, I didn't do anything to them other than send them away, did I?"

"That's not the point!" Actually, Harry wasn't sure himself why he made such a fuss since there really hadn't been any harm done. In fact, he was rather impressed with Malfoy's casual display of magical ability; it was fiendishly difficult to cast wandless hexes at the best of times, and to do it here, in this place that seemed to drain most of the force out of every spell, was a sure sign of someone who not only knew very well what he was doing, but also had an unusual amount of raw magical power at his disposal. He'd never considered Malfoy a particularly powerful wizard before, and the realization that he'd underestimated the git irked him a bit.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Potter, you can drop the act, there's no one around who expects you to be the embodiment of wizarding virtue. Look over there, this is the reason I took you to this place."

Harry looked in the direction Malfoy had indicated and did a double-take. Set into the ground like a maypole and reaching up to the ceiling of the room was a huge, straight horn, as thick as his arm. "Don't tell me that's -"

"Any Muggle guide worth his salt," Malfoy interrupted him, "will tell you that this horn, once considered the most precious treasure of the House of Habsburg, was believed to be the horn of a unicorn in the dark and superstitious centuries past. Today, of course, it's widely known that it's actually the tusk of a narwhal, a sea creature with a single huge tusk on its head. When the whales died, their tusks were sometimes found on beaches, and the people had no other explanation for them than the myth about unicorns."

Harry took a step closer. "So this actually isn't the horn of a unicorn?"

Malfoy merely smiled. "Why don't you find out for yourself?"

Harry cautiously stretched out his hand, fingers spread wide, and closed his eyes. The tingling was barely perceptible, but it was there - dead magic again, this time the lingering remains of a magical creature that must have died centuries ago.

"This is the horn of a unicorn."

"Ironic, isn't it? The one time Muggles get it right, they're being laughed at by their descendants."

Harry shook his head in amazement. "They're incredibly rare, aren't they? Other than on a living unicorn, I've never seen a whole one, just tiny pieces."

Malfoy nodded. "Worth a fortune as a potion ingredient, too. Actually, that was the reason Muggles treasured these horns so much: they were believed to protect the owner against poison. I suppose this is a remnant of the contacts with the Muggle world that existed before the Statute of Secrecy, because unicorn horn is a key ingredient in many antidotes."

"Forever the number one Potions student, are you?"

"Yes, and a fat load of good it's doing me." Malfoy grimaced slightly. "Although you can achieve quite impressive results with Muggle ingredients. I've come up with a rather effective Hangover Potion, for example."

"Need it often?"

"This is a wine-growing country, Potter; it comes in handy occasionally."

"Hm." Harry turned back to the horn. "So the fact that it's so precious is the reason you like coming here?"

"Not quite." There was a sudden tension in Malfoy's voice. "What makes it special for someone like me is the fact that, to the best of my knowledge, this is the only magical object in the whole city of Vienna. Apart from my wand, and now yours too, of course."

"Oh." Harry wasn't quite sure what to reply to that; there were a lot of questions he'd have liked to ask, but given Malfoy's expression, he didn't think there'd be any answers.

+++

Malfoy snapped out of his rather sombre mood the moment they stepped out of the Treasury. "And that's it for your tour, Potter. I hope you enjoyed it and won't come bothering me again."

Harry couldn't help grinning; there hadn't been any real venom in the jibe, it had sounded as if Malfoy had simply said it out of habit. "I still owe you the money for the entrance fees, don't I?"

"That you do." Malfoy did a quick calculation is his head and made a face - on anyone else, Harry would have called it a pout - when Harry, after handing him the money, pointedly kept waiting for the change. "What, no tip?"

"I could still ask for that receipt, Malfoy."

Malfoy gave him a baleful look. "Fast learner, are you?"

"Well, how about dinner instead?"

Harry bit his tongue a split second to late. The idea had come absolutely out of nowhere, and he'd spoken before the rational part of his brain had been able to catch up. What had he been thinking?

Malfoy didn't seem overly surprised, though; he just raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me out, Potter?"

I am not going to blush. Am NOT. "All I asked," Harry replied as evenly as possible, "was if you wanted to have dinner, nothing else." Remembering the blond young woman from the day before, he added, "If you don't have any other appointments, that is."

Malfoy shrugged. "Actually, I don't. All right, then, Potter, where would you like to go?"

"You are the one who knows this city inside out, Malfoy, so it's up to you. And don't make it the Hotel Sacher because even I have heard of it."

Malfoy grinned. "Don't worry, they wouldn't let you in there dressed like that anyway, Potter. Come on, I think I know a place you'll like."

It only occurred to Harry a few minutes later that he might have pointed out how Malfoy wasn't exactly dressed to kill, either. Even if these jeans fit him quite well.

Harry shook his head and tried to think about something else.

+++

"Something wrong with my choice of restaurant, Potter?"

Harry looked around the small, dark room, taking in the chipped wood panelling, the rickety tables and the garish spray-paintings on the walls. The air was thick with the smell of spices and cigarette smoke. "It's just that this isn't the type of restaurant I expected you to choose."

Malfoy leaned back in his chair, heedless of the fact that he bumped into the back of the man sitting at the table behind him. The place was packed; it was still early in the evening, but they had arrived just in time to get the last free table. "How so?"

"I don't know, I didn't think you'd be very fond of curry."

"That sounds like it's actually you who isn't."

"Well, it's Indian takeaway three times a week back home -"

Malfoy gave him an affronted look. "Don't let the owner hear you compare his food to takeaway of any kind. Besides, he's from Sri Lanka, not from India, and he insists there's quite a difference. I wouldn't know, of course, but I certainly know the food is good."

Harry shrugged. "It's fine. Seems a bit strange to go to Austria and then eat curry, though."

Malfoy made a face. "May I point out that most of the people in here are Austrian? Potter, there's nothing more touristy than trying to stick to 'typical' food all the time. Believe me, after doing tours with foreigners for a year, the mere sight of a Wiener Schnitzel will make you nauseous."

"Okay, okay, point taken." Harry opened the menu and closed it again when he realized it was entirely in German. "I suppose it's up to you to order the food, unless you're willing to translate the whole menu for me."

"Definitely not when I'm off-duty." Malfoy gave him a grin. "You'll have to trust me again, I'm afraid." He signalled the waiter, who greeted him in a way that indicated he was a regular patron, and placed the order.

"So, Potter," Malfoy said when the waiter had left, "after answering your questions all day, it only seems fair that I get to ask a few of my own. Why is it that the wizarding world's boy hero lives on takeaway curry? Is there no red-headed wife back home to cook for you?"

"What?" It took Harry a moment to get who Malfoy was talking about; the short fling with Ginny seemed so far in the past that he hardly ever thought about it these days. "Oh - no. Definitely not."

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. "You actually managed to avoid becoming a Weasley-in-law? It seems I've underestimated you."

Harry shot him a dark look. "That will be enough of my love life, thank you very much."

"Oh, come on, Potter. I'm in exile here, completely cut off from all the sources of gossip. Hell, you could have been divorced thrice and through a torrid affair with McGonagall for all I know."

Now it was Harry's turn to make a face. "Thank you for this lovely mental image. But before you keep pestering me, I never married, and I'm currently unattached. As it is, not even Rita Skeeter would find anything gossip-worthy in my life. Happy now?" He'd honed his ability to lie with a straight face during the war, and it was still useful on occasion - after all, the fact that Rita Skeeter had found out nothing about him that seemed of interest to her was due to a lot of caution on Harry's part, not to the lack of gossip-worthy things going on in his life.

"Spoilsport." Malfoy fished a packet of cigarettes out of his backpack and used the candle on the table to light one. "Do you mind?"

"Does that mean you'd put it out if I said yes?"

"Hardly." Malfoy inhaled deeply, and Harry looked away, determined to never again notice anything that Malfoy did with his mouth - the memory of the ice cream interlude was quite enough in that regard.

"That stuff is deadly in the long run, you know."

Malfoy shrugged. "So what? Your average pureblood has a life expectancy of about one hundred and fifty years, and I doubt I could hope to explain that to a Muggle doctor anyway."

Harry couldn't help wincing. "If that was meant as a joke, Malfoy, it wasn't funny in the slightest."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Harry stared at him. "Does that mean you actually expect to spend the rest of your life among Muggles?"

Malfoy shrugged, his face blank. "It certainly looks that way right now." Only now he seemed to notice Harry's expression. "What?"

"Sorry, I - I just can't believe that you of all people would be willing to simply accept that."

"Come on, Potter, there's no need to hold back - I bet you're dying to tell me that it's no more than I deserve."

"Don't ever presume that you know what I'm thinking, Malfoy."

"Right." Malfoy snipped a bit of ash away from the tablecloth. "Still, I'm sure you're not shedding any tears over the fact that the last remaining Malfoy is out of the wizarding world for good."

Harry had been studying his fingernails to avoid looking at Malfoy, but at this, his head snapped up. "The last remaining...? So Lucius is dead."

"You didn't know?"

"No one ever found out what happened after he disappeared from Azkaban."

Malfoy shrugged. "Yes, he's dead. Has been for years, in fact."

There was a pause before Harry quietly said, "I'm sorry."

Malfoy took a last drag, then stubbed out the cigarette. "No, you're not. Next topic, please."

Harry ignored the second part. "All right, I'm not sorry about the death of Lucius Malfoy. But I am sorry that you lost your father."

Malfoy's face twisted into a sneer. "I'm really touched. Feeling better now that you've fulfilled your daily quota of posturing?"

Harry bit his lip to keep himself from saying anything else he'd regret.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the table, which was interrupted by the waiter who returned with their food. Harry eyed the contents of his plate; they smelled nice, but most of them looked unfamiliar. "What is it?"

"Beginner's special." Malfoy was grinning again; it was quite astounding to see how a person who'd been able to hold a grudge for years when he'd been a child now put his anger behind him in a matter of minutes. Either, Harry reckoned, Malfoy had been forced to grow a thicker hide, or he'd become a better actor. "It's basically a little bit of everything the kitchen has to offer - for those who either don't know what they're getting themselves into, like you, or who can't make up their minds, like me."

Once he'd started eating, Harry had to admit there was nothing to be said against Malfoy's choice of restaurant; everything he tried was delicious, although he wasn't always sure what exactly he was eating. The food was spicy, but not overly hot; the plate was half-empty before Harry noticed a burning sensation on his tongue and at the back of his throat that was quickly followed by a feeling of rather intense warmth spreading through his body.

Malfoy gave him an amused look. "From the way you're colouring up, I'd say you just discovered that most of the spices they use here take some time until you feel the full impact. Here, have a sip of lassi, it helps."

Eyes watering, Harry reached for the glass of white liquid that Malfoy pushed towards him. The cool, sour taste of yoghurt took away most of the burning, although he still felt uncomfortably hot. "You could have warned me before, you know."

"Yes, but where's the fun in that? Besides, I thought you'd be used to it, what with your curry-eating habits back home. Better order a glass of your own, you might need it."

With the help of two more glasses of lassi, Harry got through the rest of his food without further incidents. When the waiter had taken away their empty plates, he shot Malfoy a glare. "You ordered it extra-spicy, didn't you?"

"Just medium, honestly. Extra-spicy is how they're eating it in Sri Lanka, and the owner tells me he has yet to meet a European who can take that." Malfoy lit another cigarette and leaned back in his chair with an almost rueful smile. "It seems there are some things you have to grow up with to be able to swallow them. My first run-in with the grated horseradish that Austrians eat with smoked ham very nearly was my last, to the great amusement of my fellow students at the uni."

Harry wasn't sure how Malfoy would take further questions about his personal life, but his curiosity won out. "How was it? Studying at a Muggle university, I mean."

Malfoy gave a one-shouldered shrug. "By the time I started, the worst was already behind me - I'd learned how to function among Muggles, I had my own place to stay and enough money to get by. It was pretty stressful, what with uni classes during the day, tour guide classes in the evening, and all kinds of odd jobs in between to pay the bills, but it wasn't so bad. Things got easier in my third semester, when I finished my tour guide training; there was more time left for studying then, and besides, I could start working in a job I was actually qualified for instead of serving burgers at McDonald's."

It was all Harry could do not to burst out laughing. "You worked at McDonald's?"

Malfoy shrugged again, his face impassive. "For a while. It was better than some other jobs I've had, trust me."

"Really." Now Harry felt even more curious than before, but Malfoy didn't seem willing to go into details. "You've come a long way since then, it seems."

"Yes, and I actually take quite a bit of pride in that." Malfoy gave him a strange look. "Ironic, isn't it? But when I came here, there wasn't much of a choice for me. All I could do was make the best out of what I had, even if it was a far cry from how I once thought my life was going to be."

"Tell me about it." Harry held Malfoy's gaze steadily. "I wasn't quite expecting to spend my late teens fighting a war and my early twenties picking up the pieces, either."

Malfoy was the first to look away. "No, I suppose not."

Taken aback by such a concession from Malfoy, Harry said the first thing that came to his mind. "I really wonder how it is for someone who grew up among wizards to be faced with the Muggle world for the first time."

"Unpleasant." Malfoy made a face. "I suppose the other way round was more fun?"

"Fun is probably not the best word to describe it." Even if it seemed to have happened a lifetime ago, Harry clearly remembered the day Hagrid had first told him about the wizarding world. "It was - breathtaking, really. During the first months, I somehow felt as if I was living in a dream from which I might wake up any moment."

"Funny, that. For me, it felt more like a nightmare from which I desperately hoped to wake up."

Now it was Harry's turn to shrug. "That part came later."

"And we're back at another impasse." Malfoy stubbed out his cigarette and shoved the ash tray aside. "You know, Potter, speaking of cross-cultural experiences, I think I figured out why you were so brilliant on a broom the very first time you flew one."

"What?" Harry was quite surprised by the change of topic. "How so?"

Malfoy gave him a superior grin. "For someone who knows how to ride a bike, flying must be a piece of cake. It's all a question of keeping your balance and using your body weight correctly, and it's much easier to achieve that kind of control in the air than on the ground. Considering I had to learn it the other way round, you definitely had an advantage there."

Harry smirked. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Malfoy, but I've never ridden a bike in my life. You'll have to live with the fact that I'm just a natural flyer."

"Are you serious?" Malfoy seemed incredulous. "How's it possible to grow up among Muggles without learning to ride a bike? I thought Muggle children practically grew up on them."

"Most of them do, but my aunt and uncle would have gnawed their own arms off before buying me a bike. I once asked my cousin to let me try his, but all it earned me was a punch in the gut."

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. "I always thought those stories about your abusive Muggle relatives were just a myth to make you appear more interesting."

"I wish you'd been right, believe me."

"Strange." Malfoy shook his head. "Why would Dumbledore let them have you, then? I bet there were enough wizarding families who were gagging to take you in."

Harry felt a painful stab of bitterness at hearing Dumbledore's name out of Malfoy's mouth. No matter how much Malfoy might have changed, this was a topic he was not going to discuss with him. "Malfoy, I don't talk about your father, and you don't talk about Dumbledore, do you understand me?"

"Fair enough." Malfoy, unfazed, started rummaging through his backpack. "Let's keep talking about bikes, then." He dug his wallet out of the backpack and signalled the waiter.

"There's really not much to talk about, given that I've never ridden one."

A predatory grin spread over Malfoy's face. "Would you like to learn?"

"Don't tell me you'd be willing to teach me?"

"Of course I would - do you really think I'd pass up a chance to see you fall on your face?"

Harry scowled at him, realizing he'd just walked into a blatantly obvious trap for the second time within twenty-four hours. "What makes you so sure I would fall?"

"Experience, Potter." Malfoy gave him an angelic smile that made Harry itch to smack him. "You're welcome to prove me wrong, of course - if you think you can."

Since he'd already taken the bait anyway, Harry decided to meet the challenge head-on. "When?"

Malfoy's grin turned triumphant. "How about tomorrow morning? It would be quite convenient since I'm taking a group of Dutch tourists on a bike tour in the afternoon anyway."

"What an amazing coincidence." Harry did his best to sound sarcastic, but he realized to his own surprise that he was more amused than annoyed. Besides, he was quite confident he wouldn't make such a fool of himself as Malfoy seemed to believe.

"Yes, isn't it?" Malfoy was about to say more, but he was interrupted by the waiter who came over with the tab. Harry reached into his pocket for his own wallet, but Malfoy shook his head. "Let me get that. You already got ripped off by your tour guide today, after all."

Harry shot him a glare, which didn't seem to impress Malfoy in the slightest. "Just out of curiosity, by how much did you overcharge me?"

"About twenty percent." Malfoy paid, then turned back to Harry with a smirk. "What can I say, Potter? It has been a pleasure doing business with you."

"It's almost reassuring to see you're still the same cheating twerp you were back at school."

"Really, Potter, you should mind your temper - language like that only goes to prove you're still the poor loser you were back then."

Gritting his teeth, Harry shoved back his chair to get up, only to slump back into his seat with a yelp when his knees and feet protested violently. Malfoy, who had stood up in a fluid, graceful movement that looked far to practised to be spontaneous, gave him an indulgent look. "Sore feet? There's no need to glare daggers at me, I know how exhausting a day of ambling around can be."

"It doesn't seem to affect you, though." Grimacing and moving a lot more slowly than before, Harry finally got to his feet. He'd have loved nothing more that to stretch until his vertebrae cracked, but he'd be damned if he'd give Malfoy even more proof that he was aching all over while the git looked fresh as a spring morning.

"I've been doing it at least three times a week for a couple of years now, Potter, I'm well used to it. Take a hot shower before you go to bed, you'll be all right in the morning."

"I, er - right." Harry was still trying to recover from the shock of Malfoy advising him on his well-being when the waiter came back and placed a little plate on the table with a beaming smile. Harry didn't quite believe his eyes when he saw it held two lollipops in garishly-coloured wrapping.

"Do you have any children you failed to mention, Malfoy?"

"God forbid." Malfoy was already unwrapping one of the lollipops, which turned out to be a bright red colour. "I don't know how the owner first came up with this idea, but it has become a tradition by now that each guest gets a lollipop before leaving. Perhaps it's the proximity of the university; students are a childish bunch, if I say so myself."

The reply Harry had been about to give died halfway between his brain and his mouth when Malfoy's lips closed around the lollipop. Compared to what his tongue seemed to be doing to the innocent chunk of sugar, the ice cream display had been positively chaste.

Harry turned around abruptly and headed for the door without caring whether Malfoy followed or not; he felt in rather desperate need of fresh air all of a sudden. Malfoy only caught up with him at the corner of the small side street where the restaurant was located. "You in a hurry, Potter?"

"I'm tired." Harry did his best not to notice how Malfoy's lips were now glazed with sticky red sugar. "When do I meet you tomorrow?"

"How about ten o'clock? Take the underground line number one and meet me at the stop Donauinsel, right at the platform. If you get lost, you've got my mobile phone number."

"All right. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Malfoy smirked around the lollipop. "Don't forget to wear something you don't mind ripping."

Harry gritted his teeth. "We'll see about that. Good night, Malfoy."

"Wait a moment, you forgot this." Winking at Harry, Malfoy pressed something into his hand that turned out to be the second lollipop. "Sweet dreams, Potter."

Harry quickly pocketed the wretched thing; then he turned on his heel and fled.

In spite of Malfoy's advice, he was in for a very cold shower once he got back to the hotel.