Queer & There

Chapter Three
A Rude Awakening

The rest of the day went fairly quickly, largely because Draco found himself drinking quite a generous amount of what actually was vodka, and then the day turned into night and the night turned into about one o'clock the next morning. Still no sign of Harry, Draco labelled him extremely impolite and made his way to bed.

Draco fell asleep just as quickly as the day had gone, once again thanks to the vodka consumption, and was happily dreaming about Corinne, a large vat of marmalade and Harry sulking in the background, trying to catch Draco's attention long enough to say that he did find him sexy after all, and here was a gun and he would shoot himself to prove his undying love for the other man.

A bang woke Draco up with a start. He rather hoped the dream had been true, and that had been a gunshot. However, his dream had taken place on a beach in Hawaii, and this was most definitely not any sort of beach or Hawaiian Love Festival. Instead it was his bedroom, and it was dark, and he was now a bit scared.

The thing with waking up in the middle of the night after hearing a loud bang, Draco found, was that it could only really be one of a few things - burglars, ghosts or yourself going insane and hearing things. None of the three options were very appealing, so Draco decided the best one was that it would be a burglar. Grabbing a nearby tennis racket, for which he had no explanation as to why it was in his bedroom, Draco tiptoed to the door of his room and listened carefully.

It took another bang for Draco to realise it was the door, and somebody was knocking at it. It took only a second for Draco to get very pissed off and wonder who exactly was dropping by at - he squinted to read the clock - 1.47a.m. 1.47a.m was mostly definitely not visiting hours, unless it was Corinne and that vat of marmalade. Draco smiled now. Maybe it was Corinne, begging for sex even though he was 'gay'. Draco was almost certain Corinne would be able to turn him back straight again. Heh.

Boxer shorts on now, Draco decided that no other item of clothing was needed for this sexy little scrumpet that was waiting so patiently at his doorstep, and he flung both his bedroom door and the front door open, turning on a light in the living room somewhere in between the two.

"Malfoy, why are you practically naked?" Harry was standing in the doorway, looking a bit ruffled and now slightly scared, his eyes nervously looking Draco up and down as though he was unsure of what exactly he was supposed to do.

Draco, on the other hand, didn't look ruffled, scared or nervous, and instead just very put out and annoyed that it wasn't Corinne. It was Harry. "What are you doing here?" he said, finding himself a bit sleepy now. He was sure Corinne would have been able to wake him up properly. This just wasn't fair.

Harry shrugged. "You said to come over later."

"Potter, do you have any idea what time it actually is?"

Giving a bit of a tut, Harry glanced around for a moment, before looking at Draco and asking, "Do you really want me to have to start a run of 'I don't have my watch' jokes? Because that's been done far too many times for it to actually be successfully funny."

Well, he had a point there, Draco had to give him that. "It's nearly two in the morning, Potter. I was fast asleep, having a very good dream, and I don't appreciate being woken up by you, of all the people in the world."

"I told you, you did say come over later. So here I am." Harry made a little 'ta-da' motion that was completely lost on Draco, who was now tired and cold.

Draco sighed. "That's all very well and good, but it's not later, it's just late."

"Can I come in though? It's really cold... but I guess you noticed that." Briefly surveying Draco's near naked form, Harry couldn't help but smirk a bit, which once again did nothing for the other man's mood. However, Draco seemed defeated, because he rolled his eyes and walked inside, leaving the door hanging open for Harry to enter the apartment.

Harry took this opportunity to follow suit, and also to have a good look around the apartment. He had heard all about these places, they had been obsessed over by the Daily Prophet and other wizarding house magazines, and Harry had always wondered if they were as perfect and 'peaceful' as they boasted. It seemed they were both, and that the apartment suited Draco down to the ground.

Draco had collapsed onto the couch in the living room now, having put on a slightly crumpled dark blue shirt by Jacques Von (or his street name JV, according to his new line of clothing) Harry peered at him, frowned a bit and asked, "Did I mess up your interview thing earlier?"

"It wasn't an interview, that was my landlady. She's going to evict me if I don't - something or other. I wasn't really listening." Draco sighed a bit now, picking up a magazine and fumbling with it for a moment before deciding he wasn't fully awake after all, and throwing it on the floor. "I was going to seduce her, but unfortunately you interrupted."

"You were going to seduce your landlady?" Harry looked surprised, and almost a bit disgusted, which Draco thought was rich coming from somebody who knocked on people's doors at two o'clock in the morning and demanded entrance. Very hypocritical indeed.

Instead of saying this, however, Draco just rolled his eyes and gave Harry a bit of a steely glare as he replied, "Yes, I was. I thought having sex with her might prevent her from, you know, kicking me out."

"You thought having sex with her would prevent her from kicking you out?" Harry once again appeared shocked, to say the least.

This was becoming very annoying, Draco decided, wondering how long Harry was actually going to stick around before he got bored and went home and let Draco sleep instead of being forced to entertain. "Will you please stop echoing everything I say? For fuck's sake, if I wanted a parrot - well, I'd get one, wouldn't I?" Draco frowned now, considerably unimpressed that his humour was definitely not at its best. He was tired, after all, and in no mood for this conversation.

Harry shrugged and, much to Draco's further irritation, took a place on the single seater sofa that was adjacent to Draco's chair. "I just think it sounds a bit cheap, that's all."

Draco raised an eyebrow, looked at Harry and simply said, "How many people have you had sex with on a whim? I bet you don't know the name of the half the men you shag-" Ah, that was better. He had clearly hit a soft spot somewhere, because Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked out of the window. Wonderful.

"Hah, I knew it," Draco continued, grinning now and feeling a bit better. It was amazing to him that even after all these years, getting one over on Harry Potter was very rewarding. Suddenly spotting Harry's watch sitting on the coffee table under a stray magazine, Draco cheered up further. "There's your stupid watch, you can leave now. And I can sleep." The silent 'woohoo' on the end was only implied, but it was quite clearly there.

Sliding his watch across the table and picking it up once he had followed Draco's gaze and spotted it, Harry then put it on and stood up. "I didn't mean to wake you up, I thought you'd be a night bird type."

"Oh, I am a night bird type," Draco replied with a smirk. "I love my ladies to stay up all night, believe me."

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes now. "Calm down, Malfoy. I would hate to witness you having an orgasm when I was sober." At Draco's near-horrified expression, Harry couldn't help but laugh, although he did add in his best reassuring tone, "I'm joking." There was a pause. "I don't even think being drunk would help..."

Much to his own bother, and surprise, Draco gave a little smirk at this and stood up, nodding towards the door and saying in an amused voice, "Okay, Potter, you've proved you can make me a crack a smile, now you can go home. I'm tired."

There was a long silence, and then - "Am I going to see you again?" Harry's question was neither demanding or particularly suggestive, not even really very eager, but it was simply curious, and it caused Draco to give an "Oh-" of surprise, before adding, "I dunno. I suppose if I see you in Diagon Alley, I might be able restrain from killing you and actually say hello instead."

Harry nodded, a slight smile brightening his face. "You're not really all that annoying, I suppose. It might be alright to catch up or something."

"Yeah, well, don't get your hopes up too high," Draco retorted, although he too couldn't help but smirk still. "I suppose I might see you in Wizzards sometime. That quench your desire?"

"You wish, Malfoy."

Draco gave him another pointed Look. "I think we already established that I don't, Potter. You're just very lucky I've grown in a well rounded, lovely sort of individual who will give even the most idiotic twats a second chance."

Instead of looking insulted, Harry just seemed further amused. "Right. Well, one idiotic twat to another, I suppose I might see you around then." There was a short pause, and then Harry smiled again and walked to the door, opened it and left before Draco could retort.

* * *

Draco wanted to cry. Although he had fallen straight back to sleep last night after Harry had left, surprised that he was in a much better mood than before Harry had been round, Draco had woken up with a knot in his stomach that he couldn't quite place. He usually got them when there was something he had been supposed to do, but now he just couldn't work out what it was that he had forgotten.

The answer to this was on the front of his door when he opened it to look for his newspaper, which wasn't even there. An eviction notice in deep red block letters was taped to the door, announcing that he had a week to clear out all his things, pay his last rent and find somewhere to live. It was signed, 'Corinne Faithful', in a script-like handwriting. There was a piece of paper taped next to it in the same handwriting:

Called by at 3 o'clock this afternoon and nobody answered. Unfortunately, the block owners cannot account for the fact that you were unavailable, and that was truly your last chance, Mr Malfoy. Good luck in finding a new place to stay, there are some lovely blocks in Riverdale View.

-- Corinne Faithful

The only thing Draco could find himself able to say was, "Bitch," before tearing both notices off the door and stalking back inside, newspaper-less and suddenly also quite homeless.

Draco was now quite impressively without a job, without a shag, and without a home. He also felt that the fact that he was also without the day's news was a personal insult sent down from some sort of bitter and ugly semi-God who had a thing for beautiful people, the same God who did things like kill cheerleaders and make the prettier animals an endangered species. This was just awful, that was the only word Draco could pin on it.

It didn't help, of course, that Draco knew his mother would be visiting the next day, which was a Sunday. Narcissa always liked to pop over for tea and some sort of new magical cake that she had found in GoldWeave's, a department store in the very back of Diagon Alley that sold almost everything you could need, but only if you were incredibly wealthy and prepared to spend absurd amounts of money. Narcissa Malfoy was definitely both of these things, and she could often be found browsing the cakes in the food hall to look for the newest and most expensive brand she could find. She seemed to like cakes, which Draco couldn't understand, but it was free food and so he could never bring himself to say no.

Draco couldn't be sure that the reason his mother visited wasn't just to acquire some new gossip to tell her other witch friends, and so he made sure to be as uninteresting as he could manage, if only in the hope that she might just leave early and go and spend some more money somewhere. Draco had seen the light years ago that Narcissa was a nosy busybody who had really only been good for giving birth to him, and he could always be doing better things with his time. However, she insisted on spending the whole of Sunday afternoon with him, telling him how he could be better and how other people were much worse.

Now that he was getting kicked out of his apartment, Draco was certain that tomorrow's meeting would be very noisy and very unwelcome. Narcissa Malfoy might be a harmless gossip, Draco knew that much, but she was not one to be contended with when angry, particularly if the anger was aimed at her son. She was a firecracker, that one, and Draco almost wished she didn't exist at all. Dealing with problems was far more complicated than simply avoiding them.

He wondered if he would be able to get away with an owl claiming that he was sick, but in reality, Draco knew this would not go down well at all, and would probably be promptly ignored anyway. So instead, he just sat in the middle of the floor and fretted about the situation for about twenty minutes, before looking at the fireplace and blinking.

It tuned into the entertainment flames immediately, and Draco muttered, "Quidditch," and the image slowly changed from bluish purple flames (the representative colour for the entertainment visuals system, according to the Ministry) to the National Quidditch Station, which was currently showing a game between the Leicester Light Years and the Oxfordshire Rabbits. Draco scowled a bit at this and announced, "Muggle", causing the image to go from green (sport) to red (Muggle), and then showed a series that Draco couldn't remember the name of, but recognised it as typically Muggle. He then just said, "Off" and there was the red glow again before the fireplace cut out and turned into a fireplace again.

Usually on a Saturday, Draco went shopping, but he had done that yesterday and now wasn't really sure what he could find for himself by means of entertainment. Five minutes of pondering later, he supposed it would be useful to get some groceries in - the bread had told him twice that it was stale, and the only other edible food in the house was a packet of Jammy Dodger biscuits, a half eaten Twix and some frozen peas. Draco also thought that there might be some gone-off gammon steaks, but he didn't dare to check. There were, of course, litres of vodka and white wine left still.

And so Draco decided that shopping was something to do, after all, and he didn't want to starve despite all his misgivings, and he got to his feet, grabbed his robes and wand, and left the apartment that was now no longer really his.

* * *

Seeing Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley kiss was bad enough, but witnessing it in the frozen goods aisle was far, far more horrifying.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Draco's exclamation had caused the two to break away and look incredibly shocked (Hermione looked far more embarrassed, which Draco supposed was some sort of consolation at least), and then frown in annoyance because it was Draco Malfoy who seemed to be giving them a telling off. "Can't you people go and do - that - in a place where no-one will ever, ever see it?"

Draco didn't want to know anything about Ron and Hermione's love life, or in fact their life in general, and so he was more than prepared to just walk away and ignore them. However, when Ron had retorted in the same grating voice that hadn't changed since Hogwarts, "Please, Malfoy, just because you're not getting any," Draco had found himself far too in need of correcting the redhead to go anywhere.

Narrowing his eyes, Draco had picked up a packet of chicken nuggets, thrown them in his trolley and spat back, "I'm getting plenty, Weasley. I'm sure if the poster boy for Anti-Attractive can get laid, then we can all safely assume that I'm not experiencing any sort of draught." The chicken nuggets landed pointedly with a thud that Draco thought was extremely effective.

"Ron, come on," Hermione was saying, but ego and testosterone were stuck in a hapless battle now, and there was nothing she could have done to move either of the men from their positions, one standing beside the sign for Frozen Chips (Draco), and the other still clutching a bag of mixed vegetables as though it was personally offending him (Ron).

"No, Hermione," Ron protested, "he thinks he's so great, look at him. First he tries to get you into bed with him in Wizzards, and now he reckons he can just go around shouting at people for doing something perfectly natural and enjoyable. Arrogant bastard." The last comment was directed at Draco, who narrowed his eyes a bit.

Apparently both the men were still intent on doing their shopping, and to remind himself of this, Draco glanced at the varying prices for the aforementioned frozen chips before he said, "It's only natural and enjoyable if it isn't in a public place and it isn't you two. Then it just makes it seem dirty somehow. Gryffindors having sex is not on the top of my things I want to think about to get my jollies."

Draco would have been perfectly pleased with this retort, if Ron hadn't said, "That's not what Harry told us."

So instead of being perfectly pleased, Draco instead found himself rising to the comment and spitting in a low voice, "What's that supposed to mean, Weasley?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"I got off with that idiot once," Draco insisted, finally picking up a large bag of chips along with another novelty sort of potato packet (possibly alphabet shapes but he wasn't really paying attention). "It's not my problem if he can't get it out of his head. I must just be a very good kisser."

Ron snorted, and Hermione looked very embarrassed when her boyfriend said extremely loudly and clearly, "He said you don't even know what to do with your hands, let alone your tongue. Direct quote, actually."

This gave Draco pause, because he knew this wasn't true at all. Draco had always been very proud of his kissing abilities, and the only direct quote he had ever received from Harry was a mumbled, "Do you want to come back to my house?", and so Draco was very aware that Ron was wrong.

Of course, this made Draco wonder if Harry had told Ron this, and if he had, just how Draco was going to commit the murder of the Boy Who Lived (but not for long) and get away with it. He only had to think about this until he looked at the third party in this argument - who was almost long forgotten - and the look on Hermione's face gave away that Ron was making it up after all, and so Draco was a bit torn between feeling sorry for the bastard and wanting to hit him very, very hard.

Mostly he just wanted to hit him, Draco concluded within seconds - although this was partly a given, anyway, because Draco always wanted to hit Ron Weasley - and then he retorted, "Well, I can just remain safe in the knowledge that while I'm a bad kisser, my children won't have glow in the dark hair and Roger Rabbit teeth. Nice seeing you, Granger."

And with that, he grabbed his trolley and marched away, leaving Hermione open mouthed, and Ron glaring after him.

That had gone incredibly well.

* * *

The apartment clearly didn't want to unpack Draco's shopping, but it did anyway. Draco couldn't help but feel it was done with attitude, and decided if it was going to be so temperamental about his leaving then he was probably all the better for not continuing a 'relationship' with such a fussy home.

But now that he thought about it, munching distractedly on a plate of chips that were soaked in vinegar, Draco knew he would miss living here. It was a very nice place to live, really, very quiet and friendly, and it always cleaned up after him no matter what he spilled or lost or threw up. There were much worse places to live.

Draco was starting to realise this first hand, because after he had polished off his chips, he had a flick through the Daily Prophet, which had finally been delivered by the excuse for a teenager that was the apartment block's paper boy. There was a large housing section at the back if you pre-ordered it (which meant you just pointed your wand at the newspaper, and then it added on what you wanted and put the owed money on your bill for future reference), and so Draco took the spare time he had to browse for a new apartment.

There was nothing, he found after all of about ten minutes of looking, or at least not if he didn't want to live in a giant's shack, a small house under the water - which Draco thought would be fun, but completely unconventional - or a number of places specifically built for house elves, dwarves and other small creatures. There were a few places, but mostly it was all rubbish or ridiculously expensive for what it was. Draco wouldn't usually care about the price, but 400 galleons a week for a flat that had one bedroom, two kitchens and no bathroom seemed just insane, even to him.

Finding the section entitled "Looking For A House? Look No Further!" provided more hope for Draco, as it was two pages filled with the numbers of wizard estate agents, many boasting they could find anywhere cheap, or anything that wasn't completely derelict, but neither of these options sounded completely legitimate, or like they could guarantee Draco he wouldn't end up in a chargrilled hovel by the dunes where the carnivore wizards tended to live.

Finally, he found hope in 'Dom Willick, Estate Agent', whose advert claimed he would find you anywhere you wanted, classy and beautiful, and would take as long as he could to find it. The pictures on the advert were much prettier than they had been on the others, very clean and white and modern, and Draco also found the note at the bottom about quick find apartments captured his attention.

There was a phone number (even telephones had taken off in the Wizarding World, because they provided a way to directly speak to other witches or wizards without having to see their faces - something very attractive for those with ugly friends and relations), and Draco thought it really couldn't hurt to call and book some sort of appointment for tomorrow. This would also work for both some sort of consolation to his mother, and a way to shorten her visit even further. And so Draco found his telephone, picked up it and dialled the number.

And so came the shock of the day, which seemed to be becoming a regular occurrence.

"Dom Willick is unavailable at the moment, because he's currently out spoiling his boyfriend, which is obviously far more important that being an estate agent. He'll probably be back soon and-" There was a pause, some laughter and another voice saying "Harry!" in the background, before coming onto the answer message to announce, "Please leave your name, number and requests at the tone, and we'll get back to you when we can."

The Harry on the machine was, of course, Harry Potter.