Queer & There

Chapter Ten
Sleuthing, Soothing & Suing

Draco spent a lot of the same Monday morning locked away in his bedroom. He pretended that he couldn't hear Harry talking to Whoever was in his room with him (naked) and pretended that he didn't care when Harry went to shower (naked) without even asking him if he were okay. Draco was very annoyed that he couldn't stop thinking about the stupid newspaper, but nonetheless was surrounded by pieces of parchment with messy scrawl on them by noon.

He was trying to write a strongly worded letter to the Prophet, denying all their illegitimate claims, but it was hard to find the right words, words that did not start with the letter 'f', generally. It was also very hard trying to say what he wanted to say without coming across as very much a liar, or very much a homophobe. Draco highly resented both of these possible accusations, and by the time Draft #23 came around, he was hungry.

Whoever had been in Harry's room had now left, but Draco had trouble not hearing him arguing with Harry about- something. Draco had not heard the words exactly, just a few muffled sounds that he had at first thought were moans and been ready to take out his own eardrum with the sharp tip of his quill. Then he had realised that Harry and Whoever were fighting, and this made him somehow smugly satisfied, and a lot happier.

So Whoever had left, and Harry hadn't been in to see Draco still, once again leaving the blond rather offended. If he couldn't even be bothered to try and be sympathetic when he had created a bloody awful mess, Draco had to muse, then he was a bit of a horrible excuse for a person, really.

Of course, all this thoughtful musing was doing nothing to help Draco and his hunger, and so he felt forced to get something to eat. There was rarely anything by way of food in the apartment though, which Draco kept thinking was his apartment and not Harry's, thank you very much Daily Prophet, and Draco would never move into any apartment of Harry's because it would probably be full of old Quidditch socks and crumbs that hadn't been tidied up. If they were Draco's old socks and crumbs, it was obviously a very different matter altogether.

"Done sulking yet?" was the question that greeted him; Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the rest of the newspaper. Draco plucked it from between his fingers and threw it into the bin, which set it alight without request. Harry stared for a minute, and then said, "It's done that to everything I've put in there today. What have you been teaching it?"

Draco glared for no reason other than the general burden that Harry always seemed to impose on him. "Nothing. It likes setting things on fire, that's all."

Raising an eyebrow, Harry picked up another copy of the Prophet that someone else (Draco decided it was probably Hermione) had sent him via owl post, and started to flick through it again. Draco found this annoying on a scale he didn't know could be worked up. Harry vaguely looked at the other man then, commenting, "Funny, I didn't know you could get arsonist bins." He looked, and sounded, irritated.

"Seriously," Draco started, "why are you such a bastard?" He wasn't serious, although he very much wished he were because the comment would surely have sounded far more effective had he been. Not that Harry would have taken it seriously, because he seemed to be engrossed in the process of ignoring Draco. "You were really horrible to me this morning, you know."

Harry shrugged and didn't look up. "Maybe I'm sick of being nice to you," he suggested. "Maybe I'm sick of letting you have your way all the time and acting like a complete fucking baby. Maybe I realised that."

"And maybe you're a bloody drama queen," Draco shot back, although he had to fight off an urge to pout, because Harry was being far more sincere in his approach of this conversation than Draco was. He actually sounded angry, and it worried Draco a little bit. He wasn't sure why.

"You are such a hypocrite," was the clipped response, before the pages of the newspaper rustled as Harry turned one. "Honestly, Draco, did you hear yourself this morning? Do you remember how many times you told me you hated me? And I know you don't, so what does that make you? A drama queen, too? Or is it different when it's you?"

Draco was silent. He didn't feel like answering that question, because Harry was just being plain unfair and, once again, horrible. Draco decided he didn't like this new, horrible Harry, and that if the new, horrible Harry was going to insist on hanging around then he had at least better put on a more acceptable outfit.

Unfortunately, Harry seemed to want to talk now, and he repeated, "Or is it different when it's you? Is there some unspoken Draco Malfoy code that we're all supposed to know because you're too much of a twat to actually tell people anything?"

"What the pissing hell are you talking about?"

"Draco." Harry sighed now, setting the paper down quite heavily on the table and looking at the other man now with a hint of resigned impatience in his eyes. "Are you gay, or what?"

The expression on Draco's face was hard, and set.

"No. No, I'm fucking not." His voice was slightly unconfident, but somehow firm at the same time, and Draco suddenly wanted to be out of there, out of the apartment, out of the city, and he really didn't want Harry's attention anymore. It occurred to him that when Harry was finally being nicer, more patient, Draco couldn't get away fast enough. And yet he didn't seem to be going anywhere, so he just repeated more firmly, "I'm not."

Harry was quiet for a very long moment, and then he just gave a small nod. He looked almost childlike, Draco thought, like he had done when they had been at Hogwarts and Draco had dealt him a particularly harsh insult. "Okay."

* * *

"I'm going to sue," Draco announced as he sat down beside Hermione in Diagon Alley, where the two had met up after Draco's persuasion and insistence that he needed to get out of the apartment. He hadn't mentioned the argument with Harry, but was sure Hermione probably knew anyway. Hermione somehow knew everything that Draco would rather she didn't, one of her many qualities that Draco would like to surgically remove. "I'm going to bloody well sue the stupid bloody Prophet." He paused. "Would you help me if I wanted to?"

Hermione quirked one eyebrow at him without actually looking up from her own copy of the newspaper. This particular edition seemed to have sold far more copies than usual, and considering the Prophet was delivered to almost every household in Wizarding London, this probably meant people were holding onto more than one copy. Draco found this most, most worrying.

"Would I help you?" Hermione echoed, a little smile curving her lips as she rolled her eyes a bit. "Draco, you can't sue them. Well, I suppose you could, but would you really want to? It's only a short article."

Draco sighed, stared at her a bit and then pouted fully. "I bloody would sue. This is defamation of character, is what it is. They're ruining my reputation, you know."

The smile on Hermione's lips broadened, and Draco thought she looked particularly gorgeous today. It must be the natural lighting, he decided, and he mentally told himself that it was moments like this that really reinforced his confidence that he was straight. Straight, straight, straight, and not even a little bit gay.

When she laughed, he forgot all about how gorgeous she may or may not be and felt rather hostile, not for the first time that day. The hostile expression became a scowl when she said, "Draco, you're living with more or less the official representative for the gay wizard community, or at least that's what they've all decided. I think you're risking ruining your own reputation just as well as the Prophet."

Draco gave a little huff, stole the paper from her to pull it to his side, and had a look at the crossword. The empty tiles were flashing, and displaying words that were clearly not meant to be in the spaces. Some would flash, "Idiot!" or "Try again!", and this was one of the games that Draco preferred to play the Muggle way, if Harry ever brought home Muggle newspapers.

"Three down is... wait, no - it's four down now, it keeps changing." Draco frowned. "Well, anyway, it's plethora. You should know that, Granger." Hermione looked up, as though curious to why she should know. "Anyone would think you were stupid or something."

Hermione smiled faintly, apparently not about to get into a war of wit with Draco, because it was clear he would win anyway. The boy quite possibly had the sharpest tongue of anyone she had ever known, and did not only use it for good. "Of course," she replied agreeably, taking a sip of her milkshake. "You're being very..."

"Very what?" Draco asked almost immediately, looking as though he had already been accused of something and clearly ready to jump on the offensive. "What am I being?"

There was a pause as Hermione seemingly considered this, as though she hadn't really known exactly what Draco was being after all, and then she finally decided, "Avoidant," with another soft smile, her lips still around the straw. Draco couldn't help but look at her mouth for a moment, his own curved down in a frown now.

"I am not avoidant," he insisted, the frown turning into a pout. "What exactly am I avoiding?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Well, you seem to be insistent that you're going to sue the Daily Prophet, and yet you haven't once mentioned why, and you've also been skirting around the fact that you tried to imply some sort of- relationship between us." She did not sound angry, just slightly and quietly amused.

Draco thought that this last point should at least bother her a bit more than it seemed to, and he objected to the mention of the first. This of course saw to proving Hermione's point, but it was unlike Draco to acknowledge anything like common sense unless it suited him. In this case, it didn't. "I'm not bloody skirting around anything."

At her challenging look, which was more 'yeah, right' than 'I'm really interested in you Draco', he rolled his eyes. "I'm not. Bloody hell, what is the matter with you today, Granger?"

"Nothing," she said sweetly, finishing off her milkshake before speaking again. "Look, I thought we were supposed to be sorting out the club. We arranged this days ago, we should be getting on with it. I have to go back to work in an hour, you're lucky I got this long a break."

Draco scowled. "We're not doing that anymore."

"Doing what?"

"The club thing. I don't want to do it now." Draco was pouting again, and clearly attempting a look of contempt that would be aimed at Harry were he here, or a member of the Prophet. Incidentally, it was instead fixed on the corner of the table.

Hermione spoke, causing Draco to look at her instead of the tablecloth, which was white with "Finnigans" scrawled across it in a messy handwriting style print. "Oh, for goodness sake, is this about the article as well?"

The look of contempt was once again replaced by a pout which was quickly followed by an expression that seemed to indicate this fact was the most obvious thing in the world. Hermione had to wonder how she put up with Draco, while Draco was thinking exactly the same thing about how he put up with the rest of the stupid world. "Of course it's about the article."

"Because everyone will obviously think you're gay if you're opening a club with Harry?"

Draco sighed heavily, looked very dramatic and glared at something inanimate again before transferring it to Hermione. "Exactly."

"And everyone will automatically start chasing you down the street with pitchforks, right? Because being gay is so unacceptable in the wizarding world nowadays." At Draco's 'hmph' of indignation, it was Hermione's turn to sigh. "Honestly, Draco, don't be so stupid."

"Look," he started after a minute to apparently hone his tone of disapproval, "I wouldn't care if I actually was gay, but I don't want people getting the wrong idea."

Hermione took back the newspaper and quill, as she had apparently just spotted that forty-one across was 'vulgarity'. She filled in the blank squares, and gave a little nod of triumph that Draco thought was rather un-Hermione like. Then again, he supposed, he didn't really know what was and wasn't Hermione like, as much as he liked to pretend he knew her well. This was the first time they had actually gone anywhere together and had what could constitute as a proper conversation, and this had been very much in the vein of Harry, the Prophet, and Draco's sulking.

She set the quill down finally, pursed her lips as though to talk, and then stopped. It was a moment before she started again, "But- Draco, look, you're Harry's friend. Why do you care what other people think?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know."

"Are you sure you don't?"

There was a long pause. Draco didn't answer, and instead filled in seven down on the crossword in bold letters, pressing down hard with quill. Finally, he said, "Yeah, I'm sure I don't."

Hermione sat back in her seat and sighed.

* * *

After meeting Hermione, Draco walked around alone for a good long while. Once again, he very much was feeling the need to just be on his own. His brain was swimming with thoughts, most disconcerting thoughts that he had been having for the past two and a half years since his meeting with the barman, but more recently upon meeting Harry again.

Draco was very much considering that the best thing to do was just to stop seeing Harry, be this by forcibly disposing of him or just going out of his way to avoid him. It was, however, very hard to avoid someone who you lived with and were supposed to be starting a business with, and more or less supposed to be very good friends with.

This last factor was what made Draco very insistent that he didn't simply want to stop seeing Harry, because he could be very entertaining, whether he was happy or sulking. Either way, Draco got a certain amount of enjoyment out of the other man's company, and couldn't really imagine not seeing him. It was quite a depressing thought, actually, despite how annoyed Draco was currently trying to be at him because of the Daily Prophet.

The business with the Prophet was of course not Harry's fault at all, but Draco was very aware that he was quick to place blame onto the nearest and most obvious person, rather than waste time and energy considering the issue properly. Currently the issue on Draco's mind was the newspaper's assumption that he and Harry were indeed, a couple. This was more or less everyone else's initial assumption too, and Draco supposed he could see why they might think this if Harry had liked Draco for a very long time and now they were friends.

But the point was, that Harry hadn't liked Draco for a very long time, as far as he knew, and this was what was starting to bother him. If Harry did indeed have - for want of a better word, as Draco wasn't fond of making this anymore feminine than it had to be - feelings for him, then he should just bloody come out and tell him. Draco supposed Harry was assuming it wouldn't do any good or make any difference if he did, which was fine by him. Harry was clearly learning.

Draco heaved a sigh as he walked down past Mimbletonia Park. His gaze, which hadn't even been focused on anything, suddenly found something it didn't want to find.

There was Harry, in more or less broad daylight, kissing the cheek of who Draco could only assume was Whoever. Harry looked very happy, relieved almost, and Draco could only think that said smile must be why most of the girls in the park were looking at him adoringly. He did have a very nice smile, after all.

Now that Whoever had a face, Draco was absolutely positive he didn't like him. He still didn't have a name to go by, but the man who was now walking away from him was far too good looking to actually be nice, Draco decided. He was tall, taller than Harry and Draco, who were of a very similar height. His skin was a very light coffee colour, and his hair was shaven close to his head. He was grinning as he walked away, which annoyed Draco because it just didn't seem to coincide with the incident that morning.

As he walked past Draco and their eyes met, the blond man's mouth opened as though to say something, but it didn't come out until he had passed.

"Dean Thomas?"

* * *

The discovery that Harry's mystery shag had actually been Dean Thomas was a disappointing one for Draco, and he was struggling to really put his finger on why, although he had a horrible idea that he just was pushing to the back of his head for the time being. He didn't want to think about that for now, but he did seem to have the unhealthy urge to find out everything he could about Dean and Harry, and Dean, and what was going on.

He had always assumed that Dean was gay, or at least bisexual, and although he certainly had confirmation of this, Draco had also just decided that Dean was dating Seamus Finnigan. The fact that he wasn't, and perhaps hadn't been for who knew how long, was not good. The fact that he was dating Harry was also not good. In fact, it was positively bad. The only thing that made it seem less horrifying was the idea that it could really only have lasted no more than a week so far, because Draco himself had only - well, Harry hadn't been single when they had had their argument about what had happened before. That had only been two days ago.

Draco couldn't help but think that Harry and Dean weren't just shagging, however, which in itself was something he had difficulty comprehending due to not ever having a real relationship. The only one that came close was a six week stint with Pansy Parkinson in the seventh year of Hogwarts. Draco didn't count this, and hoped nobody else did either, although he was certain Pansy probably did. The other thing annoying Draco was that Dean Thomas was actually a fairly nice person. He had only spoken to him a few times admittedly, but whenever they saw each other around, Dean always made the effort to stop and talk as though they had been old friends in school or something. They most certainly hadn't.

So Draco set it upon himself to spend the rest of the afternoon hunting down Dean Thomas. He had followed him from the park back where he had came from Diagon Alley, waiting for the perfect opportunity to 'bump into' him and casually ask about Harry. This made Draco feel like some sort of strange foreign spy, and very small and stupid indeed. But it had to be done, he decided, for the sake of- something.

When Dean walked into a gift shop of sorts and bought a Quidditch key ring that Draco just knew was for Harry, and Dean looked very happy with himself once again, Draco scowled impressively. When he went into Finnigans again, and Draco sat down at a table not too far away but not too close, and struck up a friendly conversation with Seamus, Draco scowled further.

"Well, it's only really been two dates," Dean said to the other man, who had clearly found the time to take a break (Draco found this very irresponsible). "We're doing it properly. Harry said he wants to try a proper relationship, I think he's a bit sick of messing about. And you know, he had that estate agent boyfriend, but he was an idiot."

Suddenly Draco didn't think Dom was so bad, by comparison. Draco wished Dean was Dom, so that he could concentrate on burning a hole through his head purely with his eyes. This was never successful, but did seem to cause the victim to look very uncomfortable and usually leave. However, Dean would not leave.

Seamus was grinning a bit, his elbow connecting briefly and lightly with Dean's side in what was presumably a teasing way. Draco thought it was very rude of the two of them to flirt when Dean was supposed to have a boyfriend. "I thought he was in love with Draco," Seamus announced with a laugh that indicated he wasn't at all serious. "I'm surprise you want to get involved with that sort of mess, mate. You're best out of it."

Draco had always liked Seamus, he decided. He was definitely a sensible sort, the Irish usually were.

Dean did not seem to agree, and he rolled his eyes fleetingly before giving Seamus a disapproving look. "Harry doesn't like Draco. He did, but not anymore. He told me the papers are just blowing it out of proportion. Draco isn't even gay." He paused. "Well-"

The expression on Seamus' face was now very surprised, practically shocked, and very interested. The expression on Draco's face was utterly scandalised.

"Draco Malfoy's gay?" Seamus' voice was a bit too loud, causing the rest of the café to look up. Then suddenly everybody seemed to realise that Draco was in the same place as them, and all eyes turned to him.

Draco sighed, his face sullen and full of a lazy attempt at hatred that didn't come off quite right. "Oh, don't mind me," he announced in a voice that did not bother to stretch its volume for anybody, because he really was in a foul mood now. "Just- carry on with your bloody gossip."

"Malfoy, mate," Seamus' tone was apologetic as he got to his feet and made his way to the other table where Draco was now also standing to leave. "Look, we weren't exactly talking about you, we were talking about Harry."

There was a long pause. Draco shot a look at Dean, then one at the man directly in front of him, and then one at everyone before looking back to Seamus.

"You," he said coldly, "are not my bloody mate." He then left the café, feeling very sour indeed.

* * *

"Honestly, Draco, letting yourself get into the papers, allowing yourself to be publicly humiliated, what am I going to do with you? And mind the rug beneath you, it's brand new, darling, do you like it? I got it from a gorgeous little shop near GoldWeave's, oh it sells the most lovely little things, I think you'd love it-"

Draco had by now zoned out of his mother's ramblings, as he stepped over the threshold to Malfoy Manor. He was still sulking, but had been attacked by Fabos with another owl from Narcissa, insisting he stop by. Having decided it was actually more appealing than going home for a rare change, Draco had turned direction and got the Knight Bus (which he hated with a passion) to the Manor.

Narcissa was currently leading him into the living room by one arm, her hand adorned with many rings that Draco felt were just slightly excessive. She was still speaking, and Draco was sure she probably wouldn't stop for a good long while.

Her voice was already beginning to grate. "Oh and Draco, I hope you don't mind but I booked you in for an appointment with a lovely wizard Healer, he does all of my regular check ups, just to make sure you're not catching a cold, you know." She smiled, and paused to wipe a piece of imaginary dirt from her son's cheek. "What would you do without me, honestly?"

"Probably die," Draco said bluntly and very insincerely, as he threw himself down onto the nearest sofa.

"Draco!" He had known that was coming. "Draco, that is pure dragonsilk. You can't possibly have forgotten, you do not slump around on dragonsilk, really. In fact, you don't slump at all, it's terribly uncouth. Sit up, darling." Narcissa was already adjusting his position on the sofa, and Draco allowed it because he couldn't be bothered to stop her.

Narcissa sat opposite him then, looking at him expectantly until Draco asked, "What?" in a very tired voice.

His mother scowled, looking very much like him for a moment. "Have you forgotten yourself completely, dear? Honestly, I don't think this Harry Potter has been a good influence on you at all." Draco knew what was coming again. "And while we're on the subject, would you like to explain the newspaper? Generally I don't like to read the Prophet, you know, but I was out getting my nails redone and I spotted your name and I had to check, you know, obviously to see if it was something I could tell the other ladies in my clubs-"

Draco often found his mother's ability to talk about herself, and to bring a conversation around so she could talk about herself, quite an impressive feat. It was very, very annoying, but it was at least giving him time to think of something to say in this case.

Narcissa finally remembered herself, and sat up primly, before speaking again, "So, tell me about you and Harry Potter. Obviously, you're not a couple. Obviously the paper got that very wrong, didn't they? Oh, Draco, are you thinking about suing? I certainly would if I were you, it's defamation of character you know, but you've probably already thought of that. Oh, did I tell you about the time when your father was in the paper and it was most damaging to his reputation? I had to lie down for a week, I was so ill."

Draco raised his voice above her. "Well, I'm not dating Harry, no," he said now, his voice loud enough to quiet her. He paused, and then grinned as he announced very sincerely, "But I think I'm really attracted to men, is that a problem?"

He wasn't entirely sure why he said it. But as she tried to stand up and instead rather dramatically fainted, Draco had to grin again. He wasn't sure what he would say when she came around, and so he got to his feet, ruffled the dragonsilk a bit with one hand, and left Malfoy Manor, feeling much better than he had all day.