Shut Up and Drink Your Gin!

Shut Up and Drink Your Gin!

Story One. Tyler Luke Malfoy Potter.

"I want a baby," said Harry to Draco one morning while making tea. "I want a little baby with blonde hair and green eyes and thick black glasses, and I will name him Tyler." He pondered this for a moment, and then added somewhat maliciously, "And I don't care if you don't like it; I'm naming him that and that's final."

"You're a cruel bastard, Potter." Draco informed him, sitting at the island and looking over his copy of The Guardian. "Muggles are so mundane...all they care about is murders and car crashes and teenagers saving the environment." He flipped through a few sections, and signed in a way that suggested he was suffering greatly for some great cause, and he'd just have to deal with it. "At least they have crosswords, I suppose." He read a few of the clues and then sighed again. "Bugger. Star Wars trivia again. I don't understand you people's fascination with that stuff."

"You've never bothered watching it, have you?" Harry replied sharply. Draco pouted at him. "Would you like Earl Grey, or this...exotic African stuff Hermione sent us?"

"You really want a baby, Harry?"

Harry's grip on Draco's teacup suddenly faltered, and it fell to the floor with a great crash. "What?" he asked, magiking it back together.

Draco's usually callous, uncaring face was decidedly troubled. "Do you really want a kid so badly that you've given it a name?"

Harry contemplated this for a moment. "I suppose I do, yes."

Gray eyes became over-bright and their gaze landed on a highly interesting bit of refrigerator. "Earl Grey is fine for me, thanks."

Harry nodded. Odd silence settled over the kitchen for a moment.

Finally Draco said, not without hostility, "I'm not adopting."

Harry set the tea in front of him. "I don't mean to adopt. I don't want to."

Draco looked scandalized, and what little color was in his face drained away. "Are you meaning to say you're breaking up with me?"

"No!" Harry cried, putting his hands up in defense.

Draco groaned, and slammed his cup against the counter in frustration. "What do you want, then?"

Harry stood before him, silently considering the question, and then brightened. "I want a nephew! Because then I wouldn't have to change his nappies, or put up with him waking us up at two o' clock in the morning."

His boyfriend smiled in relief. "Oh good. I was beginning to think that you'd wanted me to get...magically pregnant or some such nonsense." He took a sip of his tea calmly, but then furrowed his brow, his look turning curious. "Why Tyler, though?"

"It's pretty, and regal," Harry said happily, sitting down beside him on the other bar stool.

"That's not it. I can see it."

He colored. "Well, er, before...you know, back when you...and I...um...well, I had taken a trip to America with the Weasley's when I was sixteen and had an...encounter in a mall. With. Um. A boy named Tyler...and...um..."

"You are breaking up with me," Draco growled, hand clawing at his newspaper. "You want another man. You selfish son of a-"

"I do not want another man! He was just very nice, and listened to my problems, and he looked a great lot like you and we both know that we were harboring unfulfilled lust-"

"You sound like a bloody self-help book."

"Listen for a minute, will you?!! He reminded me of you, and he was very wanting and young and he wore very tight vinyl pants. I haven't spoken to him since, and all I want is you, because you're wonderful and...and...shit. I've gone all fluffy now. Bastard."

Draco looked smug. "I do have that affect on people, don't I?" Harry gave him a look that clearly suggested he did not agree with that statement at all. Draco, however, ignored him. "So you want to name a nephew-son-whatever after a slutty American you met in a mall."

Harry chose to change the subject. "I want to take him out clubbing. That would be fun."

Draco looked rather put out. "That's disgusting."

"It is not, you pervert," Harry snapped, smacking him. "I didn't say I wanted to dance with him!"

"Or shag him?" Draco replied doubtfully.

"That is ridiculous Draco! You're positively mental," he told him spitefully. "Besides, you've got nothing on me. You shagged your own cousin."

"Distant cousin! And I was young and horny, so that doesn't count!"

"Sort of like 'shagging your brother' doesn't count?"

"I haven't got a brother," he replied irritably.

Harry's cheeks went bright flaming red. "Oh. Um. That was...erm. Right. Never mind. Anyway..."

Draco, himself, turned green. Together, they looked quite festive...despite it being August. "Merlin, that was more than I ever needed to know about your friends, Potter."

"...or Luke," Harry replied out of nowhere. "That's a lovely name."

"Hmm...that is rather nice. Luke Tyler Malfoy Potter." Draco rubbed his chin in consideration.

"Why 'Malfoy Potter?' Why not 'Potter Malfoy?'"

"Because my way is alphabetical," he told him quite matter-of-factly.

Harry narrowed his eyes, but really, he was very pleased. "Luke Tyler Malfoy Potter. Absolutely lovely."

Draco looked wistful. "Aw, Harry," he whined, "now you've gotten me wanting one."

"You're such a prat," was what he got in return.

He chose the mature route and stuck his tongue out at him, turning back to his crossword. "Damn it, I hate this thing! Fucking Muggles." He glared at Harry maliciously. "And I suppose 'Luke' is another American you slept with, then?"

"Nope," Harry replied with a shrug. "It's the name of the main character in Star Wars, to be honest. Um...and a saint or something too, I guess."

"YES!" Draco hollered suddenly, jumping ten feet out of his chair and grabbing his quill. He frantically scribbled something onto the newspaper, and then stood back, admiring his work.

"And what was that all about? Surely a saint isn't that exciting."

"I've just answered my first Muggle trivia question! I'm a cross-cultural-fucking-genius! And I didn't even have to take Muggle studies!"

Harry raised an eyebrow at him doubtfully, but upon seeing the mischievous look that had just crossed his face, he decided not to press the issue.

"Harry?" he asked after a moment of deliberation.

"Yeah?"

"We can't exactly conceive our Tyler Luke, can we?"

"No, of course not."

"Well...we can always try..."

And with that, tea, crosswords, and all other pressing issues were pushed aside and forgotten as the two ravished each other right then and there.

Story Two. Girls in the Closet.

"Letter for you, Draco," Harry said, bringing in the post after a horribly long day at work. Draco was slouched, gracelessly, upon the sofa, eyes glued to some sort of periodical. "What is that, then?"

"Magazine," he muttered.

"What magazine is it?" he asked tiredly.

Draco's reply was something along the lines of "mmffguh." Harry, who was exhausted anyway, was in no mood whatsoever to deal with his crap, so he decided to give up and plopped down beside him (or more accurately, on top of him). He let out a protesting grunt, but Harry paid it no heed, and nestled back against his chest.

"Did you hear me before? I said you had a letter."

Draco sighed dramatically and tossed his copy of The Magical Man onto the floor. "Oh. Do I. How lovely."

"It's from your cousin," Harry offered hopefully. "You know, the one you can actually stand?"

Draco looked up suddenly, as though something had jumped up and scared the ba-jeesus out of him. "You mean Hart?"

Harry nodded, twisting around and shoving the envelope into Draco's right hand. He stared at it for a moment, and it opened itself with a spray of green sparkles. Harry couldn't help it. He "ooed."

A rather pricey looking piece of parchment appeared then, the envelope dissolving away, and words in green ink began appearing.

Harry watched, curiously, as Draco's eyes widened to a size rivaling Dobby's. "What is it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Draco, in reply, dropped the letter as if it had burned him. This made him worry.

"What, Draco? What happened?" he asked, his own eyes widening.

"Harry? We need to go away for a while. Far away."

"What?!! Why? Is-is someone after you? What did that letter say?"

"It's far, far worse than that."

"What do you mean?" He gripped Draco's pale arms and shook him gently. "Draco, what's happening?"

"I...I've. Um. Been invited to...to..."

"What?!!"

"...a f-family reunion."

Harry was about ready to scream in terror when Draco's words registered in his brain. "Family Reunion? I almost wet myself because of a family reunion?"

"You don't understand. It's a Malfoy family reunion. It's no simple 'family reunion.' It's a bloody, wretched..." he shuddered. "Let's go on vacation. NOW."

"But-but-I mean, I thought you'd be glad to see your family again-glad they were talking to you again-"

"Oh, honestly! I mean, they're only inviting me because they have to, because I've got all of the inheritance!"

"I'd love to Draco, honestly I would, but I've got work-and I don't see why us taking a vaca-"

"No, really! They hate me! HATE! Want to cut my nads off and all that!"

"Whoa. I thought that was only your father."

"Oh no. Father never even knew about this."

"What is it, then?"

"You've got eighty accumulated sick days! Come on! Please!" Draco was practically begging him...no, not practically. He was flat-out begging him.

Harry watched him for a moment. Shaking, paler than Tom Riddle's ghost, eyes huge and-by God-were those tears?!! He was suddenly overcome by the great need to give him a hug. Instead, however, he just turned around so that he was straddling him. He wrapped his hands firmly around Draco's wrists and stared into his eyes, as a primary school teacher might to a petrified student.

"Honey, why are you so afraid of a family reunion? Well, I mean, besides that whole...hating you stuff."

Draco swerved into his shoulder. "I...I...I can't tell you."

"Yes you can, Draco. We already had this conversation, remember?" He stroked the blonde hair that was tucked under his chin. "You can tell me anything you need to."

"No, I can't!" he hollered, pulling back and shaking him violently. "It was the most mortifying moment in my life and I will never live it down and they will keep reminding me of it and I'll have to act dignified and they'll tell me how I was such a disappointment and I'll have to apologize eight thousand times and my grandmother will glare at me over the pudding and then I'll get beaten for not hanging my head!"

"Don't be daft, they can't do that anymore! You're twenty years old! Your relatives cannot beat you anymore!"

"Psychological warfare, Harry! It's a horrible thing!"

No argument there. "Well, at least you get to see Hart,"

"I can see Hart anytime I want to! That's what aparation is for!"

"Draco-"

"No, Harry! Don't even try to reason with me! I am completely un-reasonable! So...just...stop!"

He tried to stand, but with Harry on his legs, he wasn't doing very well.

"What happened, love? Draco? What happened?"

"I can't tell you," he muttered, head hung in shame. "Now get off my bloody legs before I hit you!"

Harry decided to change his tactics. "Oh come on, Malfoy, it couldn't have been as bad as the whole...well, the us situation."

Draco winced. "Yes, Potter, if you're going to be that way, it was. A lot worse, in fact."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really."

"When is the thing scheduled for?"

"Two weeks from now, on Saturday."

He stood then, and balled his hands into fists, and placed them firmly upon his hips. "Look, you. I'll give you till the Friday before to tell me what happened. If it's that horribly bad, I'll take off work and we can go down to Brighton for a bit."

"No."

Harry gave him a very angry look, and up his arms went into the air. "Draco!"

"No. Farther. Like...Japan or something. Or Antarctica. Or Mars." Harry stared at him in furious amazement. He tried to lighten it a bit. "If we stay anywhere near here, they'll search me out and drag me to the damned thing!"

Harry looked down at him, face pained. Draco hated when he did that, but...well, the situation was desperate. He could endure it.

"Alright. Further. How's...some backwards little French village filled with Cabarets and whatnot?" Harry offered. "We'll use fake names."

Draco looked very hopeful all of a sudden. "Can...can I dye my hair green?"

Harry sighed. "If you must."

Draco grinned, but it faded quickly. "Harry..." He reached out a hand, and it was shaking. "I...I don't want to see them."

Harry dropped the "Responsible!" act and took the hand that was offered to him. "I haven't seen you this scared since...well...seventh year."

Draco laughed uneasily. "Well, fuck, it is my family we're talking about here."

Harry nodded, understanding completely.

Nine days had passed. Draco had confessed nothing. Harry was so completely on edge-due to worrying about him, oddly enough-that the dense-est, busiest friend he had actually noticed: one Ronald Weasley, fast on his way to be married to Hermione.

"What the heck is wrong with you?" he asked, scratching his nose in that typically Ron fashion.

"Erm...um, trouble at home."

"I'll kill him for you if you'd like," Ron replied brightly, cracking his knuckles over his large stack of paperwork. "No skin off my nose. Just his."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I knew you'd be understanding and compassionate, Ron. Thanks so much for helping me get through this difficult time."

"Ouch, no need to get cheeky! What's the wanker gone and done now, then?"

Harry sighed. "He won't talk to me, and it's really important, because he's upset, and...and...I'm worried."

"Ah. How 'bout this. I use the Chinese water torture on him until he gives up and spouts it. Or, better yet, the Crucio! Great fun! I'm a fucking genius!"

"RON!"

"Sorry, sorry." He scratched his nose, again. "Just...ew, still can't believe I'm thinking kindly about...Ferret Boy... but get him in bed really late. Keep him up 'till morning...doing...shit. Ew. Just do something...be grateful I'm your friend. Otherwise I'd be chucking chips all over you right now."

"Ron, get on with it. You were almost helpful up until two seconds ago."

"Yeah yeah. So let him fall asleep a bit, and when he's almost incomprehensible, which he usually is-erm, sorry-talk to him about it."

"That, Ron, is underhanded and sneaky. You're brilliant."

"Well, it worked on you during school."

Harry stared at him in shock. "You...you...ergh. I hate you."

"'Course you do. That's why I'm your best friend. Good luck!"

Harry shook his head dully, but the method sounded pretty good, and it cleared his conscience a bit.

It had undoubtedly been the roughest go that he and Draco had ever had, and it was evident by the way that Draco collapsed after it was over. That, and his arse felt as though an unusually thick lamppost had been shoved up it without the aide of lubricant.

He waited until Draco's eyes were fluttering closed to say anything to him.

"Honey?" he asked as softly and gently as possible, running his fingertips over Draco's pale eyelids and cheekbones. He loved it when he did that.

"Mmmffh."

"Do you want to tell me anything yet?"

"Esshilggh,"

"Was that a yes?" he asked hopefully.

"Kiss my ass, Potter."

Harry kept himself from saying something decidedly cliché as a response to that. He instead picked up the pillow sitting next to him and used it to cuff his lover hard.

"You son of a bitch," Draco replied from beneath the large, almost heavy roll of contained fluff that now rested atop his head.

"I've been very patient with you, Malfoy. I've gotten the days reserved for a holiday should it actually happen. I've got hotel reservations. Hell, I've even picked out the nightclub we are going to on our first night there. However, all of that will have been done in vain if you do not tell me what happened!"

"Why is it so important that I tell you?"

"Because you don't keep secrets from me. That isn't like you."

"I do too! You don't know that I fucked a Huff-erm..." Draco threw an arm over his face in annoyance. "Well, shit, now you do."

Harry gave him a very deadpan look. He sighed.

"Alright, so I don't keep secrets. But, well, this is really embarrassing. More than that...I'm kind of ashamed of it."

"Oh come on. It can't be that bad, right?"

"I've already told you. It is that bad, and I wish you'd trust me."

"I do trust you!" Harry cried. "It's just that...well, I'm worried about you. After all, it isn't everyday that a Malfoy boy goes all white and jittery over something so silly as a little old invitation."

Draco's face went from being highly annoyed to positively livid. "It wasn't any little old invitation, you dumb-ass."

Harry suddenly had a brilliant idea. "Alright then, if that's how you like it. No sex."

"What?!!"

"Sure, Malfoy. We'll go on the vacation. We'll live together. It's easy enough."

"No sex? No sex?" Draco looked as though Christmas had been cancelled permanently. "FINE! I'll tell you! It...well...oh, come off it, you prat, don't look at me like that."

"Mwahaha," said Harry.

"It was Christmas, and I was...young."

"Young? How young?"

"Don't push it," Draco snapped. "So let's leave it at that. Anyway. You know how close I was to Hart."

"Close. By close you mean on an 'I know your favorite brand of condom' basis, correct?"

"That's it! Sex isn't worth this!"

Now those were words Harry never expected to hear Draco say. "Whoa. I'll shut up, I promise."

Then the inevitable stifled breath, and a sigh. "Alright. So...so, well, um. I...well, my...Aunt...well..." his voice lowered to a soft, nearly inaudible whisper. "Goffukindaclst."

"Say again?"

"I hid him in the closet, because...well, I could and we got caught....um..."

"Having sex, perhaps?"

"That's only the half of it. We...got caught...well, we got caught looking at..."

"Gay porn. Regular porn. Kiddie porn?"..."Well, spit it out man!"

"Well...we sort of...oh shit, Harry..." he fell, again, into the pillows. "We'd had a bit of a mix up with a potion, and we were trying to transfigure ourselves into other, you know, things? And we were looking at this fashion magazine and...well...we...we had sort of, well, managed to turn ourselves into girls. And with the situation we were in-despite us not actually being in it, we were just hiding-"

"Oh my god. No. No way."

"They never blamed Hart for it; don't know why, really. But me? Pheh. Just because we went off and turned ourselves into lesbian cousins who did stuff with each other." All this was said sincerely. Harry gaped at him. "What?"

"Maybe we should...you know...vacation in Japan."

Draco smiled dreamily. "Haven't had decent sushi in a bit, yeah? You?"

"Sushi it will be, Draco. And I never want to hear that story again." As an afterthought he added, "My arse hurts."

But Draco hadn't heard him; he'd fallen back asleep.

Story Three. The Sound of Silence.

The sign read Jolindopi.

Harry stood at the front of Hogsmeade's "special interest" music store, bags in hand. "Alright you little shit. It's just you and me. I have you now." He crossed the threshold; listened to the little bell ring as he did so. The shopkeeper watched him enter, and a look of extreme pain took residence upon her pierced, pale face. This was Potter. This was...That Customer. The one who could never, ever find what they wanted and were thus never satisfied. The one who lived for indies records that he would never, ever be able to get a hold of. She, ultimately, cowered.

He stalked up to the desk, chest puffed out, surely confident that "this time they'd have it in."

"Hello, Minnie," he said in his pleasant voice, all smiles and green eyes.

"H-hello M-Mr. P-Potter," she replied, visibly shaking. "H-how might I h-help you today?"

"Ah, no need for formality with me. You know what I'm here for," he said, still smiling.

"Um..." she had to think of some way to stall the inevitable. "Um, n-no, not really. Um. Might...might I interest you in-in our d-discount-"

He began to look impatient. "Down Yonder, Min. You know, Seamus Finnigan's band?"

Minnie's eyes grew wider by the second, and seeing as she was very small, her resemblance to a house elf skyrocketed by the second. "I...well, it's not in."

Harry's smile vanished as though Voldemort had just popped out of her mouth. "Oh. Really."

"I'm sorry, it's just that...it's very popular over here! I mean, you must realize that there are hund-"

"You said it would be in today."

"The band supplies the records, Mr. Potter!"

"Cheap git; never could do anything on time."

"Well, really, there's no need to be rude-"

"Oh, Seamus. Not you."

Minnie wrung her hands, which were currently streaked with bright black and green magical tattoos, together. "Have you tried any Muggle stores?"

"Yes. And the Internet. So don't even bother."

"Oh. Well. Erm."

"Yes. Erm indeed." He'd taken on the air of someone who had just been informed that his brother had been gutted by a wild three-legged llama: sad that his brother was dead; astounded that it was by so ridiculous a thing as a three legged llama. "Guess I will come around next Tuesday, then."

"You might try Monday, that's when it's being shipped."

"Hmm. Perhaps." He left to wander the shelves, and Minnie sunk back into the shadows, heaving a sigh of relief. Perhaps she would quit before next Tuesday. Lousy job didn't pay enough anyway.

Ron plunked down beside Harry, gin and tonic in one hand, and something weird and fruity looking in the other. He handed the latter to the latter.

"Bad day, hmm?"

"I can't get my hands on that damned record," Harry muttered miserably. "It's so quiet with Draco being away and all-"

"Draco is away? Now where has he gone?" Ron took a gulp of his drink. "Perhaps it's somewhere with great swarms of mosquitos carrying the West Nile Virus?" He sounded hopeful.

Harry glared at him. "Hopefully Harrogate does not fit that criteria."

"And what's he doing there then?"

"Some ridiculous business transaction with a great lot of stupid Muggles."

"You let Malfoy loose on a bunch of unsuspecting Muggles?" Now he sounded rather worried. "And you trust him?"

"Implicitly," he replied, the sarcasm dripping off of his words into large puddles on the carpet.

Ron smiled sympathetically. "Oh, come on old boy, don't look so glum! It's just a record."

"But it's so quiet here!" he wailed. "And I want that stupid record!"

"So why don't you give him a ring? Seamus, I mean."

"I can't. We haven't got a phone."

"Call him through the hearth, then."

"Don't you remember what happened last time when Seamus tried to use that method?"

"Oh yes. The eyebrow thing."

"The 'eyebrow and cheese sandwich and Santa Clause' thing."

Both cringed at the memory. "And I can't exactly get a hold of Draco."

"Why not?"

"Because he's off in some shit little cabin somewhere. Doubt that the people who built it even knew what 'fire' was. Besides, it'd give away his location."

"Oh, rot." Ron thought over his last statement, shook his head at the archaic-ness of it, and decided to let it pass. "Well, that doesn't leave a whole lot of options, does it?"

"Might you and Hermione stay over a bit? Just for a few days. None of us are working."

Ron looked thoughtful. "Hmm. Might not be a bad idea."

"So...is that a yes?"

"Let me ask Hermione."

Harry latched onto him as though he'd aided Christmas in coming early. "Thank you Ron!"

Ron, however, looked dubious, and had a bit of trouble trying to walk with the Savior of the World latched onto his torso.

Speaking of the Savior of the World, all twenty years of him was jumping on his bed like he'd been transformed into eight. "Let's make fluffer nutters! Let's do a make over! Let's watch porn!"

"Harry, knock it off," Hermione growled, throwing a pillow at him.

"Oh come on," Harry whined, shoulders sagging. "Have some fun."

"You sound as though you've never had a sleepover before."

"I haven't! Well, not where I wasn't shagging the people sleeping over."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Then you're saying you shagged every boy in the dorm at school?"

"That's not a sleepover," he snapped.

"What about staying at the Weasley's?"

"I've never had a sleepover at my own house, then."

"Hmm," she replied doubtfully.

"Oh my gosh!" cried Ron from somewhere in the front room. "B Movies! Ooh!" The sounds of feet thundering upstairs followed, and Hermione groaned. "Look, Herm! 'Sex Offenders from Mars 3!'"

"Hmm."

Ron ignored this. "Can we watch it, Harry?"

Harry brightened and practically threw himself off the bed. They bounded into the front room, leaving Hermione in the room with her book.

She rolled her eyes, and had anyone been present they would have heard her ranting about stupid men.

Halfway through Killer Space Widget X Ron decided that he would fall asleep in the popcorn bowl. Harry noticed this and kicked him.

"Wake up!" he hollered.

"Don'wan'go work ri'now..." Ron muttered, words muffled by the buttery goodness that his face was currently buried in.

Harry glared at him, decided that the fight was nowhere near worthwhile, switched off the box, and skipped toward his room, having remembered that Hermione was there.

She was sitting up on his bed reading Twelve Tips for the Modern Witch (Martha Stewart's most recent contribution to suburban wizarding life). Harry hopped onto the bed, and curled up beside her.

"What readin'?" he asked, although he knew what it was.

"A book."

"Oh, really? Never have guessed that."

"That's because you're daft."

He gave her a look.

"Oh, but don't worry; we don't hold it against you."

Harry shoved her, and not without aggression. She laughed at him. "So, how was The Bikini Creature 3? Interesting, much?"

"It wasn't three. It was seven."

"Oh. Right."

"Um..." he chewed his lip. "I'm bored."

"Oh." She'd gone back to her book.

So, in a burst of great maturity, he pointed his finger at it and zapped it into oblivion. Hermione blinked at it, shocked.

"Thanks so much, Harry. Thanks for destroying my book."

"You're welcome."

"Need attention?"

"Yes," he said, nodding. "So talk to me. I'm bored, and your idiot of a lover is asleep in the popcorn."

She rolled her eyes. "He does that."

"As I have seen."

Hermione laughed and twisted onto her side. "You learn to love it though."

Harry smiled back, but softly. "You do, I know."

Hermione watched him for a moment. He'd taken on a rather sad look.

"I miss you two, you know," he said, picking at the black satin bedding. "I never see you anymore."

"You see Ron at work; don't be silly."

"Not really. I don't see...you know, him really."

"Ah."

"And I never talk to you."

"Can't argue with that, can I?"

"Not at all." He stared up at the ceiling. It offered nothing interesting. "I've missed you since sixth year, really."

"Oh, come on."

"Really. I mean, you and Ron were always somewhere, and I was off saving the world, and poof-there you were, all getting married-"

"And you being gay," she snapped. He glared at her. "Not that I object to that, it was just-"

"Draco, I know. He isn't exactly hospitable."

"No, not quite."

"I miss him," Harry muttered, burying his face into the pillow.

"In the light of the situation I have a rather pressing question to ask you." She rubbed his back. "How did you come to be with him, anyway?"

Harry propped himself up on an elbow. "Well, that's an interesting story."

"Tell me?"

"Alright." He took a deep breath. "As you know, during the Voldemort attacks I was locked in the dungeons to keep from being attacked or whatever."

Hermione shuddered. "I do remember. I couldn't forget that."

"I was so lonely. All the time; it never went away. The Weasleys were sent home; then you, and Seamus, and eventually--well, a great lot more than was expected."

"Without a doubt," she replied.

"It was March, I remember that much, and I was taking a walk, because it was the night of the huge Soho attacks and I was allowed out," Hermione nodded gravely, and he went on slowly, "and I was just...wandering basically. Alone, as usual. And...well, it's all a bit of a blur really, but...he was there, sitting in a corner, all moody and shit. It was funny, because I didn't want to see him at all, and I was vexed that, on the one night I was allowed to leave those horrible dungeons, I met up with the only person with whom I wanted nothing to do. But then, he...he said something, because I'm still not really sure if he knew it was me-may have thought I was Blaise or someone-he said, 'Come here, and listen to me talk. I need someone to talk to.' I didn't at first, because, well, it was Malfoy, but...he looked so sad. And so I sat down next to him, and we talked, and he knew it was me, but it didn't matter because...I don't know why. It just didn't. Never asked him about it, though. And then we fought in the war, and he...he lost his father. And we talked afterwards. And...here we are. Not much of a history really. But it's ours."

"Huh," Hermione replied, not looking convinced. "A short history, yes."

Harry said nothing, and resigned himself to letting Hermione massage his shoulders.

"So when did you up and stop hating him?"

"Who says I have?"

"You don't sulk around saying 'I miss him' when referring to the person you hate."

"Suppose you're right."

"Of course I am, I'm the Hermione. Now. You haven't answered my question."

Harry arched against her fingers. "I don't really remember. It just, things happened, and then...that was that."

"What 'things'?" she asked.

"Nosey, tonight, aren't we-aaah! OUCH! That's sensitive! I've been playing Quidditch again, you know!"

"Answer. My. Question. And I'm not nosey. I'm inquisitive."

"Oh so that's what they're calling it nowadays. Gaah! Okay, fine, right. Well, do you remember that huge fist fight we'd gotten into sixth year?"

"The one he so rightfully deserved to be involved in? The one with participants Mr.'s Weasley, Finnegan, Barnegat, Dean, Finch-Fletchley, Anderton, Goyle, Crabbe, Zabini, Bulstrode, Milligan, Leafier, Malfoy, and yourself? Involving your mother, yes?"

"Bulstrode was not a Mr.-though she might as well have been one-but besides that, yes. That's the one."

"Well? What about it? Go on, then."

"Well, I'd never actually laid a finger on him before that."

"And, so?"

"So...well, I beat the shit out of him. And he got scared, and he was all bruised, and sad looking, and I had complete control over him...and, well, that's where the nitty gritty started, really."

"Never thought of you being the sadistic type."

"He'd hurt me, and my friends," his face grew rather pained, and his eyes took on a quite nostalgic light indeed. "But...he did something I really hadn't expected. He, well, he cried. And I'm a complete sucker for assholes who turn wet eyes on me, you know that. Look how long Wormtail got to live, all because of me."

Hermione cocked her head to the side. "Continue."

"There isn't anything else to say."

"Apparently there is."

"No."

"You look so sad, though."

Harry said nothing to this.

"Darling? What's wrong?"

"Hermione, I lost him his family. I lost him everything he believed in."

"Oh, stop angsting. You didn't lose him anything. I know Malfoy. He doesn't do things that he doesn't choose to."

"But I forced him to make that choice."

"Oh Harry..."

"I miss being with you two," he said, the subject changing again. "It's never going to be like it was, will it?" He looked up at her with such sad, sad eyes, filled to capacity with fresh hot tears that made the emerald within the irises glisten like fresh fallen snow. He sniffled. "I miss us. I miss him. People shouldn't be allowed to go off on business trips. Or graduate from school, for that matter."

Hermione had never been one to be at a loss for words. Ever. But she found herself that way now.

Ron, however, seemed to be having no problem whatsoever, as was evident when waddled into the room sleepily, exclaiming loudly, "Okay, you bunnies. No shagging without the sexy Weasley male involved. Let me get in this mess. Come on, then!"

The mood was broken. The moment passed. Hermione had gotten no answers.

Thursday morning was wet and cold, but unlike before, Harry's spirits did not mirror it. He was actually quite calm as he dressed in his most complimentary sweater to go pick up Draco; a lovely, tight little green-gray thing with a great saggy cowel neck and chunky sleeves that were far too long, and covered the entire length of his fingers. He wore with it too-long, slightly flared, form-fitting black denim trousers. They had small silver dragons on the ending of the outer seams. His boots matched the sweater; charmed by Hermione, actually. He left his hair messy, and wore his rectangular spectacles.

He stood next to Ron and Hermione's car, wringing his hands.

"Do I look alright?" he asked. "Do these pants make my arse look big?"

"Your arse looks fine, deary," Ron replied loudly in a weird, squeaky tenor.

"Shove off."

"Ouch."

"Don't drive too fast, Harry!" Hermione called. "And don't let Draco hang his limbs out of the windows like last time."

"It was his first time in a car!"

"Well...just don't,"

"You sound like Mum," Ron muttered.

She glared at him.

"I'll have it back to you by Saturday!" Harry said as he unlocked the door. "Thanks so much for spending the last few days with me!"

"We should do it more often," Ron said.

Harry shrugged. "We'll see."

"Goodbye, Harry!" said Hermione.

"Bye!" Ron called.

"Bye," Harry called back. With that, he slipped into the car, and off he went down the road toward the station.

Hermione sighed. "Never again."

"What was that?"

"We'll never be the inseperable three ever again. The crew."

Ron cocked his head to the side. "I don't understand."

"We were so busy with ourselves that we never noticed as our little baby Harry went off and found himself a life. Can't exactly hold him down and take him on family vacations and have sleepovers anymore, can we? Now it's too late."

"Hermione, what's all this?"

She shrugged. "Harry said some things...but...never mind. Guess I'm just being sentimental."

Ron regarded her oddly, but did not press it. In his opinion, their sleepover had been wonderful, thanks-much. B-movies, his best friend, his lovely wife-to-be, and a roof to cover their heads. What more did one need?

Draco sat in his high-backed chair, holding a small package in his hands. Harry sat at his feet, cheek resting on the former's knee.

"Close your eyes," Draco said, putting his hand atop Harry's head. "Hold out your hands."

Harry did as he was told, and waited expectantly. Draco grinned. He looked like a little boy when he did that sort of thing.

He placed the little parcel in the man's palms and watched anxiously as he opened it. He'd been trying to find this for quite some time.

"Oh my fucking god. Oh no."

"Oh yes."

"Draco!" he squealed, springing to his feet. "This is so perfect! You are so perfect!"

Draco grinned. "Of course I am. Took you long enough to figure that one out, though, don't you think?"

"I've been looking for this stupid thing since forever. It was so quiet in here! I can't believe you found it!" he pounced on him (as he often did) and threw his arms around him. "I'm so glad you've come back."

"I'm so glad to be back," he murmured back, burying his face in the soft blackness of Harry's hair. "I couldn't stand to be anywhere else."

Harry squeezed his hand for good measure. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For...everything."

"No need for apologies," Draco said softly, smiling into his eyes. "I'm sorry, as well."

"And what have you done?"

"I left alone with the Weasel menagerie."

"Oh, and a right dastardly deed that was," he replied in mock disgust.

"Why did you let them in? That...Ron of yours is an absolute terror. Don't think I didn't notice that juice stain."

Harry grinned. "I got lonely. I needed them."

Draco pulled him closer; as much as he could. "I need you."

Googly eyes were shared, and then they became serious once more. "Draco, do you...you know, think all of it was worth it?"

"All of what? You mean the money I spent on the album? Because, if so, I certainly d-"

"No, no. I mean...the whole...getting together bit."

Draco took extreme offense to this and cuffed him hard. "You asshole, of course it was! And it still is! At least I feel that way." He gave him a patented Malfoy guilt-inducing pout.

"As do I!" he replied quickly. "It's just...you gave up so much-"

"We've already discussed this. I'm a good investor, Harry. Do I waste my time and emotions on things that don't matter? That I don't think will last?"

"There was that time you got me that eight hundred quid haircut."

"I wasn't acquainted with your hair at that point."

"Hmm. And what about that god awful sock obsession you had for a while? Does 'gold plated' mean anything to you? I mean, come now."

"Potter..."

This degenerated rather quickly, though, and brief snogging was the result.

"Draco?" Harry asked during a break for air.

"Hmm?"

He said nothing, but instead wrapped his arms around his pale love and hugged him hard as he could. It was gratefully returned.

No words passed between them for some time after that, and they, as wrapped up in each other as they had been the first painful year of the relationship, soaked in the warmth of each other's arms and the glorious sound of silence, free of loneliness and contempt, and without any last bit of regret.

Story Four. Ode du Draco.

Draco stood in front of the mirror admiring his reflection.

"You are one sexy bastard, Malfoy," he said in what he thought to be a seductive manner. "I want to shag the pants off you. You will be the world's most famous porn star. You are filthy stinking rich. The mere sight of you brings men and women alike to their knees. 'What cologne are you wearing, Mr. Malfoy? It's simply divine!' 'Why, thank you Mr. Versace, but that's just my natural essence.' 'Why, Mr. Malfoy! Even your smell is beautiful!' " He flashed a dazzling smile at himself, and this, in his opinion, made him that much more seductive. "Turn yourself around Mr. Malfoy, you sexy son of a bitch! Let us look at all of you!"

He spun around and stopped dead when he found Harry giggling at him from the doorway. He blushed a quite interesting purple-red, and his chin began to quiver in embarrassment.

"Well Mr. Sex God Malfoy, I'd suggest you take a break from modeling your smiley face thongs and 'essence' and put some clothing on. The wedding practice started at two."

Draco pouted. "But...aren't I fetching?"

"Of course you are, and I'd bed you right this moment if it weren't for the fact that we're ten minutes late," Harry said. He gave him a good peck on the mouth. "So put your happy little tux on and let's get going."

Pale shoulders sagged. "Oh, fine, if you insist."

Harry grinned.

"But...really though. What do you think of my smell?" Draco asked, slinging a long arm around Harry's tux-clad waist.

"Well, Draco, um...well..."

Mrs. Weatherpole in number eight Pine Avenue was rather startled to hear the sound of a very forceful slap echo across the property, and thus, yelped in surprise. None of the children were home, after all, so it couldn't have been them, and Mr. Weatherpole was in a very important meeting in Islington.

She barely contained her laughter, however, when her two gentlemen neighbors came into view. They were heading out toward their car, the little blonde one pouting angrily with his nose turned up, and the handsome one with glasses skulking behind him, rubbing his cheek disdainfully.

She chuckled to herself. The blonde must have asked about his smell again.

Fin.