Ambrosia Salad

Ambrosia

A sign above the door flashed bright red against the dark night and dim streetlights- Ambrosia. From inside, a heavy, bass-driven song could be mutedly heard, its frantic beat in synch with the pulsating lights shining through the club's small, high-set windows. The building looked old and well-used, with the most recent coat of dark paint peeling around the doorframe and across its long, rectangular wall. An air of sex and booze surrounded the place like saran wrap, blocking out everything else besides this temporary world and the people in it.

Draco Malfoy smirked to himself- This club looked promising. The area was buzzing with a relaxed excitement, and from what he could tell, the DJ played some kick-ass music. It could very well serve as a suitable replacement to his old club in Hogsmeade. Who needed that stuck-up place, anyway? If you're not supposed to climb on the speakers, then they shouldn't make them so bloody big.

Draco grabbed the slender, rusted handle and swung open the heavy black door. A blast of the music that had been so muted from outside hit Draco as soon as he entered the club, and he looked around appraisingly.

The club's design was simple, yet effective. The huge dance floor sitting in the middle of the large room was currently covered with a mob of scantily-clad teens, who were rocking and swaying against one another to the rhythm of the newest seductive club hit. The club was sparsely decorated, with a bar on the wall behind him, a few random couches and chairs, and a DJ booth against the wall opposite him. Anything else was lost in the constantly flashing lights that lay scattered about the ceiling and walls.

The handful of people who weren't dancing were seated at the bar, sipping on their brightly-colored, alcohol-packed drinks. Most of these young people were talking and laughing in small groups, but one person in particular caught Draco's eye. He was sitting by himself at the far end of the bar, surveying the crowd of dancers contentedly with a sparkling red drink in hand. Draco let his gaze linger on the boy a little longer, and soon enough, he turned and locked eyes with Draco. Surprised, bright green eyes met shining grey. Draco smirked.

'Perfect,' he thought.

* * *

'Perfect,' thought Harry Potter, sitting with his clean, white shirt against a particularly filthy bar, and not caring in the slightest that he was. The dirty bar in question belonged to the Muggle night club, Ambrosia, where Harry was currently lounging, far away from his friends, from Hogwarts, and from the wizarding world as a whole, drinking his new favorite (and definitely alcoholic) drink- an Atlantic Passion. Simply lying back, watching the grinding bodies on the floor, and occasionally refreshing his beverage was enough to make Harry feel quite peaceful at the moment.

Finding peace and solitude like this at Hogwarts was beginning to become more and more of a challenge for Harry. Recently, everyone- especially Ron and Hermione- seemed freakishly Hell-bent on the idea that Harry needed to "talk" with someone, whether it be about Voldemort, Sirius, or (in Hermione's case) his dangerously low Potions grade. And, everyone seemed to think that the someone he needed was them.

"Harry, you can talk to me, you know that, right?"

"I'll always be here if you need to talk, OK?"

"If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you, mate."

It was enough to make Harry seriously consider jumping in the lake and moving in with the giant squid for a couple hundred years. Sure, the squid was big, slimy, and probably didn't look very good in a bathing suit, but at least it was incapable of speech.

Harry was perfectly fine not talking about it, really. Sure, most people would deal with their problems by talking about them, but Harry wasn't most people- that fact had been established over 16 years ago.

So, after a day of politely acknowledging and dismissing his friends' concerns, Harry had come to Ambrosia, a Muggle club on the outskirts of London, to find some quiet (kind of), peaceful (sometimes), solitude (relatively).

As they say, to each his own.

At that moment, Harry happened to look up from his study of the dance floor and towards the entrance of the club. Harry's eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he found himself looking directly into the piercing silver eyes of none other than Draco Malfoy.

'Perfect,' Harry thought again, with much less enthusiasm than before.

* * *

Harry sighed as Draco began to make his way over, smirking like a madman the entire time. His stride was in synch with the rapidly pounding music, his hips unconsciously swaying to its up-beat tempo. Draco's soft, white-blonde hair fell to the sides of his face elegantly, just grazing the tops of his ears in light, artistically-placed clumps. It delicately- too delicately, even- framed his handsome face and caused his silver-flecked eyes to stand out even more. Draco's clothes were appropriate, if nothing else. He wore tight black leather trousers that looked as if they were tailored specifically for his long, Quidditch-toned legs. 'Which,' Harry thought to himself, 'they probably were.'

...not that Harry thought Draco's legs were either long or Quidditch-toned.

The rest of Draco's ensemble was also black, and his shirt hugged every bit of his lightly-muscled torso as did his trousers. He looked even paler surrounded by so much dark material, but it definitely suited him- he looked almost angelic, in an evil, "I'm a conceited asshole" sort of way.

'Well, it was fun while it lasted,' Harry thought as he took a long drink from his Atlantic Passion, preparing himself for the verbal onslaught that was inevitably coming.

Draco calmly reached Harry and took the seat to his right. Harry's shoulders tensed involuntarily, awaiting the sarcastic comment, derogatory statement, or biting remark that was expected of the Slytherin. But, none came. Instead, Draco motioned to the bartender, politely ordered a Mai-Tai, turned around and leaned back against the bar, all without so much as a nasty look towards Harry.

After a few minutes of confused silence from Harry, in which Draco absently stirred his drink, Draco turned to face him.

"Hello, Potter," he said, at last.

Harry stared at Draco. Draco stirred his drink and discreetly took in the sight of a shocked, speechless Harry Potter. He looked different, to say the least. Harry wore a pair of baggy Muggle jeans and a white wifebeater that showed off his muscular arms and torso favorably. If it weren't for Harry's astonishingly green eyes and his mess of short, black hair, Draco wasn't sure if he would have even recognized him.

'Well, well. The Wonderboy cleans up nicely. Either that or these lights are giving me a mild seizure,' Draco thought, 'He almost looks... good.'

With a shake of his head, Draco cleared his mind just in time to hear Harry's oh-so-sophisticated reply.

"Um... hi, Malfoy."

"Glad to see you're still with us," Draco responded, and before Harry could retort, "So, tell me, what exactly is the Gryffindor Golden Boy doing out on a school night? Isn't it past your bedtime?"

Harry, who was still more than a little dazed, reacted rather quickly to Draco's remark.

"Clever, Malfoy. But shouldn't you be off sacrificing some babies or something?" Draco's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here, anyway? You do realize that this is a Muggle club, right?"

Draco took a sip of his Mai-Tai and scanned the club slowly.

"Yes, actually I had noticed that. It's the smell that gives it away," Draco grinned. "But, I believe I asked you a question first. What exactly are you doing here, and without your little groupies, even?"

Draco looked up at Harry questioningly as he twirled the small green umbrella in his drink. His eyes were wide and the club's flashing lights were dimly reflected in their mercury depths, swirling and twisting almost hypnotically so. Harry sighed, took another large gulp of his Atlantic Passion and set it down with a thump on the sticky counter behind him.

"I just wanted a drink and to get out of Hogwarts for a bit. Not that it's any of your business," Harry finished defensively.

"No, it's not. But I know what you mean all the same," Draco replied sincerely.

This being far from the answer he had been expecting, Harry turned curiously toward Draco.

"You're being awfully... agreeable tonight," he said suspiciously, "What happened to the arrogant bastard we all know and... well, know, at least?"

Draco shrugged and looked back towards the dance floor.

"Oh, he's back at Hogwarts, probably off sacrificing some of those babies you mentioned earlier."

With that, Draco turned back to Harry and smiled playfully. Harry couldn't help himself- he smiled, too.

'Well,' Harry thought, 'this certainly is interesting.' A pause. '...But it's not all that bad. Malfoy is actually being pleasant. And, his jokes are pretty funny when they're not aimed at me,' Harry concluded, and then decided to voice his opinion.

"You know, Malfoy, you're a lot funnier when it's not me you're making fun of."

Draco gave Harry a mockingly offended look and said, over-dramatically, "What do you mean, 'pretty funny'? I'm bloody hilarious! But, I don't blame you for not noticing. Your goody-two-shoes little mind probably couldn't see 'funny' if it was doing the Tango with a six-foot turtle while singing 'I Believe I Can Fly' right in front of you," he finished with a flourish.

"Goody-two-shoes?" Harry replied indignantly, choosing not to acknowledge the turtle remark. "I am not! I happen to break a lot of rules, you know."

"Is that so? Name one."

"Well, I... I come here!" Draco rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. Um... oh! Sometimes, at night, I sneak out and nick food from the kitchens," Harry said triumphantly.

"Wow, you are a rebel. Because we all know how hard it is to get anything from a house-elf. Those buggers are nasty little hoarders, aren't they? Never give you anything that you want," Draco said with an all-knowing smirk. Harry's resolve weakened.

"Well, I've done tons of things. I just can't remember them all right now."

"Right," Draco said, all the while grinning fetchingly at Harry, obviously just joking with the Gryffindor. Harry smiled in return, pleased to note how easily it came to his face.

'This night is turning out better than I'd thought it would,' Harry thought, '... It's a bit scary that Malfoy is the reason for that, though.'

Suddenly, Draco's easy expression changed and he looked contemplatively at Harry.

"You know what we need?" Draco asked seriously, peering at the now empty glass in his hands.

"What?" Harry replied, and Draco's eyes sparked maliciously.

"More alcohol."

Harry looked down at his drained glass and agreed by turning on his stool and calling the bartender. When he turned back around, he held two Muggle beer bottles in his hands.

"I couldn't agree more," he said cheerfully, handing Draco one of the dark amber bottles, which he accepted graciously.

"So," Draco said, taking a sip of his beer, "Where are the freckled one and your other bushy little friend? Other plans? Or were they not invited?" Draco raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

"Hang on," Harry responded, "I've already answered my question. It's your turn now." Draco dipped his head in acquiescence, so Harry continued, "What are you, Draco Malfoy, Lord of Slytherin and all that is unpleasant, doing in a Muggle night club on a Wednesday night, chatting and drinking with your enemy?"

Draco smirked. "That is quite a question, Potter. But, luckily, the answer isn't so elaborate. I'm here for pretty much the same reasons as you, actually. As for the chatting and drinking with my enemy, I just felt like it. So there."

Harry "hmm-ed", not exactly satisfied with Draco's answer, but feeling much too relaxed to care.

The two boys fell into a comfortable silence, both looking around the dance floor and sipping their beers thoughtfully. The dancers showed no signs of stopping, now grinding to a pounding, guitar-driven song while the lights flashed madly overhead.

"Hey, Potter," Draco finally said, "You're single, right?" Harry turned to stare at Draco warily.

"Um, yeah... Why?"

Draco leaned in and smiled dazzlingly at Harry.

"Oh, no reason... I was just thinking about how cute we would be together, holding hands, taking sunset walks across a sandy beach, staring lovingly into each others eyes..." Draco sighed and propped his head up on an elegant hand, batting his eyelashes dramatically at Harry.

Harry, however, was unfazed.

"Don't be cute, Malfoy. It's painful."

"Really?" Malfoy retreated a little and looked thoughtful. "Then what happens when I'm incredibly sexy? The death rate must be atrocious." Draco struck as suggestive a pose as he could while sitting on a wobbly foam bar stool.

Harry chuckled, "No. More like Hell freezes over."

"Ah. So that explains why Hogwarts is always so bloody cold." Draco smiled innocently and Harry rolled his eyes, hiding his smile by taking a large gulp of his beer.

"You know, I didn't ask you that question for my own benefit," Draco said, "I actually had a reason."

"Which was...?"

Draco leaned in conspiratorially and answered, "See those two girls over there?" Draco pointed across the bar at a pair of attractive young women, who giggled and smiled seductively when they found that they had been spotted. "They've been staring at us for the past ten minutes."

"Oh. And?"

Draco tore his gaze away from the two girls to look incredulously at Harry.

"What do you mean, 'and'? There are two hot girls checking you out in a night club, and all you have to say is, 'and'?"

"Well, what do you want me to say? I didn't come here to look for chicks."

"And I don't take walks to look for money, but if I saw a bag of galleons on the ground, I'd pick it up all the same."

With that, Draco turned back to the two young women and smiled saucily. The girls seemed to take this as an invitation to head over, because after holding a brief conversation, that's exactly what they did.

"Let the games begin," Draco said quietly to Harry.

"Well I hope you enjoy single-player games, because I'm not participating," Harry replied.

"That's perfectly fine," Draco grinned. "More for me."

The boys' discussion halted as the objects of their conversation reached their place at the bar. The two girls were tall and skinny, one with brown hair and the other blonde. Both wore black, skintight outfits with plunging necklines and strappy heels, and they smelled of cheap perfume and booze.

"Hello, ladies," Draco said, wasting no time at all. "Would you care to dance?"

Just then, the music switched to a high energy techno song, and everyone on the floor whooped and began dancing more vigorously than ever.

Harry rolled his eyes- he had seen this display before. Many times before, in fact. Draco, however, looked intrigued, as did the two "young ladies" hovering in front of him. Draco stood and began leading them to the dance floor, when the blonde stopped and looked back around at Harry.

"What about you, hon? Aren't you coming?" she asked him in a sensual voice, putting a hand on Harry's bicep.

"No, I think I'll sit this one out," he replied, gently removing her hand.

"That's too bad," she said, giving Harry a not-so-subtle once-over, "It could've been fun." The blonde turned back to her friend and Draco, who shot Harry a satisfied smirk and walked off to the floor.

Harry leaned back and drank his beer, watching the trio's progress distractedly. This wasn't the first time he'd turned down an offer to dance; he received at least one every night he came to Ambrosia, but he had yet to say yes. He didn't come here to dance or pick up chicks, he came here to sit and relax, away from everything he had to deal with at Hogwarts- which, up until now, had included Draco Malfoy. But, Harry found that he wasn't as irritated by Malfoy's presence as would be expected. In fact, he was a bit disappointed when Malfoy left to go dancing. Not that he would ever admit that, though.

'I think it's time to leave,' Harry thought resolutely. He quickly finished off his beer, paid the tab, and walked across the long bar, swerving through the partying, drunken teens on his way to the exit. Before he left, Harry turned around and looked back at the dance floor. He instantly spotted Malfoy, sandwiched between the two girls, dancing confidently to the song's beat in slow, languid movements. Draco was looking right at Harry, his silver-tinted eyes visible even through the neon lights that surrounded the dance floor. Harry nodded once in acknowledgement, and Draco smirked in response. Harry smiled back, then turned and pushed open the heavy black door, disappearing into the cool summer night.

* * *

The next morning dawned early and bright, sunlight sweeping across the damp grass and sending waves of soft pastel colors splashing along the lake's glistening surface. Light, puffy clouds danced on the outskirts of a brilliant orange and pink sunrise, and the edges of the Forbidden Forest were alive with the elated chirps of lively and exotic birds. Vibrant, glowing sunbeams reflected off the smooth granite stones of Hogwarts Castle as the students inside woke up, eager to greet this beautiful day.

Lying in his sturdy four-poster bed, Harry Potter groaned and pulled the covers over his head.

Ron Weasley looked over at the lump that was his best friend, and shook his bright red head amusedly, a smile forming on his freckled face.

"Come on, Harry, it's time to get up," he called, coming to a stop at Harry's bed and yanking the bedclothes down to his waist.

"Grr," said Harry, scrambling groggily to pull them back up.

Ron, being the only fully-coherent one in the situation, snatched the sheets away from Harry's grasp, smiling deviously. He threw the covers to the other side of the bed, then leaned down and squeezed Harry's sides roughly. Harry's eyes snapped open and he jumped away from Ron, landing sprawled, face-down on the opposite side of his bed.

"Bastard," he muttered into his pillow, and Ron snickered, walking towards his dresser to collect his school supplies.

Harry's brain slowly began to function, and he reluctantly rolled to the edge of his bed and sat up, his black hair sticking up in ruffled tufts around his face. Harry found his glasses on his nightstand, and gradually stood up, yawning loudly.

"Geez, Harry. You look like shit," Ron said, eloquent as ever.

"And good morning to you, too," Harry mumbled, searching sleepily for his school clothes among the mess that was his dresser.

Ron, having collected his things, began heading toward their dormitory door, and said, over his shoulder, "Well, I guess Hermione and I will meet you in the Great Hall. You'd better hurry up, or you're gonna miss breakfast," and disappeared through the doorway. Harry nodded distractedly, and, after finally gathering everything he needed, made his way to the showers for a quick rinse before breakfast.

* * *

The Great Hall was buzzing with chatter as Harry plopped down in his seat near the end of the long Gryffindor table.

"There you are, Harry! Ron said you really looked like shit this morning; we didn't think you were going to make it," Seamus said, as a way of greeting Harry.

"What, and miss hearing the play-by-play of my current shittiness level? I think not," he replied sarcastically, dishing himself some scrambled eggs.

Suddenly, a head of thick, chocolate-brown hair snapped up from reading a rather large textbook and faced Harry. Hermione Granger turned a worried look on her best friend.

"You do look awfully tired, Harry. Are you feeling okay?" Hermione reached up a hand and placed the back of her palm against his forehead.

Hermione, like Ron, had changed very little in the past few years, even if she had grown up quite a bit. Her hair was tamer, and now fell in delicate rivulets down her back, and her body was one of a young woman's instead of a child. Her stern obsessiveness, ruthless dedication, and slight paranoia, however, hadn't changed at all.

"I'm fine, Hermione, I promise," Harry said, politely removing her obtrusive hand from his face.

"Well, as fine as can be expected," Dean Thomas cut in. "Considering what's in store for him today, that is."

"What do you mean?" Hermione inquired, "What's in store for Harry?"

Dean's face became gravely serious, and he said in a low voice, "it's not only Harry; it's what's in store for all of us." With his friends' rapt and unwavering attention, Dean leaned forward across the table and said, "Today... at nine... we have..." A pause. "... Double Potions with the Slytherins."

Everyone around Dean groaned at his lame attempt at a joke and sat back in their seats; except for Hermione, who reached across the table and smacked Dean over the head.

"Don't you ever do that to me again, Dean Thomas!" she roared, pointing a hostile finger at him.

"Ow," Dean responded. The other students at the table laughed silently behind their breakfasts as Dean rubbed his head resentfully.

"Well, he is right, you know," Ron said good-naturedly. "Double Potions with the Slytherins can ruin anyone's day. Harry has every reason to look like shit." Ron slapped Harry's back cheerfully.

"Gee, thanks," Harry answered.

Just then, loud, raucous laughter erupted from the Slytherin table, and Harry looked over curiously. The whole table was doubled over in laughter, some wiping tears from their eyes and pounding the table with their fists.

"See what I mean?" Ron said, motioning towards the Slytherins.

"I wonder what's made them so bloody happy," Seamus said, throwing a disgusted look at the rowdy table.

"Probably celebrating another successful night of baby sacrificing," Ron suggested, and the others at the table laughed accordingly.

Harry, however, froze.

At the mention of "baby sacrificing", Harry's brain snapped back on and he was thrust into the memories of last night. Harry could see the bright lights of Ambrosia and how they swung across the dance floor, skimming over the dark club and dancers below. He could smell and taste alcohol, an Atlantic Passion, to be exact, and he could feel the squishy foam barstool beneath him, vibrating in time with the pounding club music.

But, most of all, Harry remembered Draco.

The way Draco sauntered in, looking like he owned the place and everyone in it, and the way he sat down so casually next to Harry and ordered a Mai-Tai.

The umbrella had been green.

Draco's hair had been messier than usual, and Harry found he rather liked it that way. It represented a nicer, less evil Draco; one with whom Harry could sit down in a Muggle night club and talk the night away.

Harry remembered how Draco had genuinely smiled and laughed, not smirked and sniggered as per usual, and the easy way Harry had smiled and laughed along with him.

Harry also remembered Draco's eyes. The way they sparkled and shimmered with the ever-changing lights, but never losing their exclusive blue-silver hue, and the way they seemed to light up even more when he smiled- when Harry made him smile.

Another thing his memory deemed worthy of noting was the way Draco's clothes had clung to his body, showing off all of his best assets, of which there seemed to be many, like his arms, his legs, his chest, and even his-

"Harry!"

Harry crashed back to reality and jumped, turning to look at the person who had interrupted his reminiscence.

"Y-Yeah, Hermione?" he said shakily.

"Well, I've been trying to get your attention for the past minute, but you were completely gone! Are you sure you're not sick?" Hermione made a move to check Harry's temperature again, and Harry recoiled in apprehension, but it was the sound of Seamus' voice that halted her.

"Hermione, settle down," he said. "Harry's not sick; he just had a late night. Didn't you, Harry?" Seamus peered at Harry with an all-knowing, mischievous look on his face.

"Uh... I..."

"Come on, mate, you can tell us. I just heard you coming in at about 1:30 this morning, and there's only one thing I can think of that would keep you out that late. So, are you gonna tell us what, or should I say, whom, you were doing last night?" Seamus said with a grin.

Hermione sighed, seemingly unimpressed with the current line of conversation. Everyone else, however, was staring at Harry expectantly, and he looked around nervously at their attentive gazes, unsure of how to answer. Then, an impish grin found its way onto Harry's face as his anxiety left him in a flash of inspiration.

"I was out sacrificing babies with the Slytherins."

The table around him burst into laughter, and Harry smiled to himself behind his cereal spoon.

"Fine then, keep your secrets," Seamus said, shaking his own spoon at Harry. "But we will find out eventually, don't you worry."

From the right side of the Great Hall, Harry heard the heavy double doors open, and he looked over just in time to see Draco Malfoy swagger into the Hall.

"And there's the great baby-sacrificer now," Ron said, following Harry's gaze. "Their session must have run behind last night. He's even later than you, Harry."

"Hmm, yeah," Harry answered distractedly. He was busy trying to catch Draco's eye, but Draco seemed disinclined to look Harry's way, and he made it all the way to his seat without one glance towards the Gryffindor table. Draco sat down and Pansy Parkinson immediately started talking to him, her brown curls bouncing along with each movement she made. Draco seemed to be listening intently, and began talking back to her animatedly.

Harry sighed and gave up. Draco seemed to be carrying on as if nothing had changed, even though it was obvious that something had. Harry supposed he should have expected that. He was about to tear his eyes away from the blonde Slytherin, when Draco finished his conversation with Pansy and lifted his head, looking straight at Harry. Draco grinned slyly, and Harry smiled in response. After a brief exchange, both boys dropped their gazes and returned their attention back to their respective tables. But, neither Harry nor Draco lost their enigmatic smiles, which prompted Ron to ask Harry, "Hey, you're looking better. Is the oatmeal really that good?" Harry chuckled.

"Not exactly, Ron. I just remembered something, that's all."

From across the Hall, Draco told Pansy Parkinson the same thing.