Play The Game

Blaise strolled down the hall leading toward the Library at a leisurely pace, avoiding anyone and everyone that he could. So many things were changing; he was finding it harder than he thought possible to keep up with it all. Draco, Harry, Voldemort, the Deatheaters, Dumbledore... They all seemed to be doing things that at one point in time people wouldn't have believed would ever happen.

The dark haired boy turned the corner and continued to walk, not really seeing where he was going as he did so, but nodding to the occasional person who acknowledged him. Absently, he played with the fabric inside his pockets and continued to think.

"Hey, I thought you went to that party." It was Dean Thomas. He pulled his hood down and stuck his hands into his pockets. "What are you doing poking around here?"

Blaise looked up and blinked, bringing himself out of his thoughts. "Changed my mind. What about you?" he asked.

Dean blinked slowly, frowning at Blaise. "I wasn't invited. Not really my crowd. I didn't think it was yours, but then you're still here, so I guess it's not."

"I meant, what are you doing poking around here," Blaise all but snapped, restraining himself slightly. Honestly though, some Gryffindors couldn't half be dense. Though, they were supposedly good kissers.

"I just came back from Hogsmeade, actually," Dean admitted, wrinkling his nose and looking up at the ceiling, as though that would aid him in avoiding the question.

"Sorry," Blaise apologised. He followed Dean's gaze and looked at the same spot in the ceiling.

"I'm staying in the dorms tonight," he decided suddenly. "Hope you don't mind."

"Our ones? But what about your own place?" Dean asked, frowning. "Well, I guess a guy could get lonely. I bet it's not very welcoming there. Want to go back to the common room now? I don't think anyone'll ask too many questions. You've been in there since, after all."

Blaise checked the watch around his wrist before answering, "There probably won't be many people anyway, it's late. I need to go get something from the... library... first... so... I'll, see you in a few minutes?" he asked.

"Yeah, want me to come along?" Dean asked, scratching his shoulder absently.

Blaise shook his head suddenly. "No, I'll be fine. Not worth it."

Dean shrugged. "If you insist. When you get back, knock a couple of times on the portrait and we'll sneak you in so no one bugs you about it." With that, he walked off into the shadows of the corridor and out of sight, appearing every now and again in the strips of moonlight from the tall windows.

Blaise took a deep breath, and pushed some hair back out of his eyes, running a tongue over his bottom lip thoughtfully. 'Well, that wasn't so bad,' he decided silently, turning on his heel and walking down to the Entrance Hall absently, not really paying attention to where he was going.

As he placed a hand on the entrance doors he frowned. 'Who did I just talk to?' he asked himself, stepping out into the bitingly cold wind. 'Where am I going? Strange, I can't remember.'

He continued to walk, feet crunching on the hard grass and robe flying in the wind. It was getting toward the end of January and the weather was still protesting that it should be almost unbearably cold in Scotland, which had begun to grate on the nerves of most of the students at Hogwarts, who were now wishing for the fur robes of Durmstrang.

He was heading for the Forbidden Forest, as if some invisible force to which he didn't object was pulling him. The same force he felt to hurt and annoy people, especially Hufflepuffs. Though for a Slytherin, this invisible force was considered normal. That is, when it wasn't dragging you into the Forbidden Forest.

There was a crack and he whirled around, only to hear another crack, this time the crack was his head hitting a tree trunk, followed by a third crack which was the sound of his body falling onto the ground. Everything swam out of focus, and then there was darkness.

***

The feeling in Draco's head was reminiscent of a small, smelly creature, such as a skunk, in a bad temper, having eaten curry and wielding a sledge hammer. He snorted out of his nostrils as he pushed himself gingerly upright.

Snoring people were scattered all across the floor. Draco was lying in a pool of alcohol wearing nothing but a party hat and a kilt.

"I told Blaise I'd wear one..." he murmured, but talking echoed in his head, bashing against his temples. Shivering, Draco crawled across the floor, picking his way through the passed-out partygoers until he found Harry. Music still drawled weakly from the speakers, the spell diminishing pathetically.

"Harry," he croaked, tapping him on the shoulder. Harry was dressed in a pair of pink hot pants and a bikini top, stubble shaded his chin dark blue and an innocent smile was spread across his face. Draco felt like a vandal for waking him, among other things, but it had to be done.

Harry shot awake, hands waving wildly around and grabbing the only thing they could, which just so happened to be Draco's kilt. He shook his head from side to side, hair plastered to his forehead by sweat. "Hello," he greeted weakly, holding onto the kilt tightly so he didn't topple over sideways and go back to sleep.

"Feeling shitty?" Draco asked conversationally, holding onto his head. "I think I need to drink from a toilet..."

Harry grunted, releasing his hold on Draco and falling backwards. "I can't remember a thing," he groaned. He threw an arm over his face to block the glare from one of the strobe lights.

"You won't for a while," Draco told him, struggling to his feet. "I'm going to get pissed again so I stop shaking..." He staggered off in the general direction of the bar.

"Hey!" Harry called, his voice cracking. "W-wait for me!" He staggered to his feet and grabbed hold of Draco's wrist to steady himself. "Maribellas."

"There, there," Draco mumbled absently. "Do you know where your clothes are?" he drawled, grabbing a bottle of something innocuous and pouring it down his throat. "I can't make Mariwhatsits."

"Man, they were good," Harry mumbled, vaulting over the bar and searching for a nice looking bottle of something. "And no, I've no clue. What did we do last night?"

Draco turned to him, licking his lips. He looked at him speculatively. "You don't wanna know. Wait till you're healthy again."

Harry narrowed his eyes into slits, frowning as he couldn't remember. "That bad?" he asked.

Draco laughed. "You'll have to wear black instead of white," he summarised, drinking from the bottle.

Harry blinked, his eyes narrowing more. He turned and rooted through one of the cupboards, coming up triumphant with a bottle of a silver liquid which he downed in one go. "Come again?" he asked between coughs.

Draco snorted, spraying Smirnoff across the bar. He couldn't seem to speak for holding in his laughter. He held the back of his hand against his mouth and leaned on the bar for support.

Harry frowned, looking at Draco with a slightly confused expression. "I missed something," he stated, downing another drink and turning away from Draco to find more.

"I hope you didn't," Draco said vehemently, putting the bottle down. He held out his hand experimentally, watching his fingers shake. "It's dying down. Want to go and find a train?"

"In this?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow and looking down at what he was wearing. "You have to be kidding me."

"So nick someone else's clothes," Draco said, sticking his tongue out and straightening his party hat. "I need to find my boots."

"Don't stick it out unless you're going to use it," Harry replied with a smirk, vaulting back over the bar and going in search of something to wear.

"I already did use it...." Draco frowned, wandering away in search of his clothes.

Harry pulled his jeans on, after finding them squashed between Alexei and Rafe. He found Mitzi wearing his shirt, and decided to let her have it, finding his jacket and pulling it on after taking the bikini top off. "Draco?" he called, wondering where the other boy had got to.

"Over here," Draco called, pulling on his boots and slipping his shirt on, but not buttoning it up. "Lost the trousers, but I have more."

"I wouldn't expect less from a Malfoy," Harry admitted, looping an arm around Draco's waist.

***

Draco wordlessly left paying for their tickets to Harry, standing a safe distance from the Muggle ticket officer with a haughty expression on his face, the hot smoky breeze from the London Underground tunnel stirring his tousled hair. He stood with one leg bent and one hip jutting out, arms folded across his chest. The long kilt flared slightly in the slipstream from the trains, and several schoolgirls were watching him avidly.

Harry frowned at the slow woman who was the ticket officer. She seemed hell bent on examining his notes to check they weren't fake, and that the Queen didn't have a moustache or anything. When he received his change, he bit the coins, with a haughty, "Just checking," In the woman's direction.

He walked over to Draco and handed him his ticket wordlessly, yawning and stretching his arms above his head.

Draco barely glanced at the slip of card before handing it back to Harry to get him through the barrier.

"I hate this place," he said in a languid drawl. It was one of the many things that Draco considered himself above.

Harry rolled his eyes and yawned, slipping both tickets into his pocket. "You're too fussy, you know."

"I was brought up that way," Draco admitted, pushing through the barrier and out onto the platform. He marched right up to the yellow line and peered down the tunnel, strands of silken hair billowing away from his face.

"When's it coming?" he asked Harry, not looking at him.

Harry glanced up at the clock, which was broken, and then down to the watch Draco had given him. "About five minutes from now."

"Hnn," Draco grunted, wheeling and walking over to the plastic seats. He slumped down, bending one leg and stretching the other out in front of him. "It could be so much faster than this, but they don't seem to understand that," he said loudly, tossing his head. The schoolgirls were clustered at the barrier, casting covert glances at him.

Harry noticed the girls out of the corner of his eye, and wondered what they would do if he turned around and proceeded to snog Draco senseless. A thought that wasn't helped much by Draco's attire. 'Damn you, Draco Malfoy,' he thought bitterly, knowing that he liked the boy all too much.

Harry slumped into a seat and leaned his head against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "Won't Alexei mind that we just left?"

"Everyone there knows we're still at school." Draco shrugged, inspiring an excited titter from the girls. "They couldn't stop us. Besides, the earlier we leave, the less pranks we get pulled on us." He scratched his thigh absently, then frowned. Lifting the edge of the kilt slightly, he pulled a lacy garter down his leg with a laugh.

"I wondered what that was," he murmured, pulling it off over his dragonhide boot and examining it. The girls standing by the barrier were now discussing this in great detail. "Must have been some kind of strange commitment," Draco surmised. "I expect I'll find out who it belongs to when whoever she is sobers up."

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Ten galleons on Mitzi."

"You're on," Draco said flatly, staring straight ahead at the advertisement on the other side of the tunnel. "You know those girls are staring at you."

:

Harry rolled his eyes, giving Draco a side-long glance. "They seem to be a lot more interested in your kilt, or more precisely, what's under it," he grinned, before looking back up at the ceiling innocently.

"I'm still mildly pissed. If they're curious, they should say so."

He turned his head slowly to cast a look at the girls, dropping his eyes and running them back up the girls' bodies with a practiced seductive expression. He let a languid grin slide across his face before looking back to Harry again.

"They're looking at you too," he confirmed.

The mild blush on Harry's cheeks was not unnoticed by the girls or Draco. "We have to get pissed more often," he decided, some of the memories of the night before finally coming back to him.

Draco laughed. "My little angel, you're losing your innocence." He gave Harry that look. "Or at least the innocence you had left. Are you walking straight this morning?" he asked suggestively.

Harry sank down slightly in his seat, fighting to control the blush. "Mostly. And yourself?" he asked in return, willing the train to appear.

"I've had more practice at walking straight," Draco said dismissively, rising to his feet. He stepped right up to the edge of the platform again, watching for the train.

Harry relaxed slightly and, unable to resist, glanced over at the girls who were watching both him and Draco. They started giggling.

In a split second decision, he got up and walked over to Draco, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy's waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.

"I still need practice, special teacher, sir," he said innocently, breath stirring the hair at the base of Draco's neck.

Suddenly, the train was coming and he stepped backwards, taking his arms from around Draco and pulling the tickets out of his pocket.

"There's a lot of homework and extra research you can do," Draco told him, stepping up onto the train and walking down to the end of the carriage. The girls followed them, staring unabashedly at the two boys.

Harry flashed the tickets to a guard, and followed Draco to the end of the carriage, dropping into a seat and crossing his long legs out in front of him.

"They're following us," he insisted, keeping his voice low.

"Maybe they're going the same way as we are," Draco pointed out reasonably. "This is a public service." He spat the words out as though it were one of the most disgusting notions on the planet.

Harry rolled his eyes, stretching his arms along the top of the ridge behind them. "It gets the job done."

"Slowly," Draco added critically, moving carefully so that none of his skin touched the lurid-patterned seat. "It'll take us a year to get back to school at this rate."

"The longer the better," Harry muttered. "We still haven't decided what we're going to do in public yet."

Draco looked exasperatedly at Harry. "Does that matter so much to you? Can't we just ignore each other and leave it that way?"

Harry shrugged, rubbing his jaw absently. "So long as you don't punch me again," he replied, glancing out of the window.

"I'm over those raging urges," Draco said, smirking and sliding further down in his seat. The girls were shifting slowly up the carriage towards them.

"And the other urges?" Harry mused aloud, conscious of the girls as well. Two seats away, and still moving.

"Not nearly over those yet." Draco grinned, glancing across at the girls. "Though I'm not the only one, apparently."

Harry smirked, raking a hand through his hair. "Good." One seat away.

"How are you feeling?" Draco asked, laying a hand against his own temples as though to see if they were actually being thumped with a mallet. He had always seemed able to accept hangovers as a punishment that he deserved, and did not bother to complain about them.

The girls shifted into the seat next to them, and Draco felt a flush of irritation.

"Can we help you?" he asked them in a civil drawl.

Harry glanced over, no longer looking out of the window. There were three girls in total, two with brown hair and one with dirty blonde. His eyes slipped over their clothes, noticing that they were Muggle girls, before he went back to looking out the window.

'They must be mad to think Draco might be interested in them,' he thought idly, neglecting to say anything.

One of the girls cleared her throat. "Hi," she greeted shyly, most of her friends giggling.

"Hello." Draco smiled flatly. His eyes clearly showed that he had deduced the same thing as Harry had. "Have we met?"

As one, they all shook their heads. Harry wondered if they were all programmed as such. "No, sadly."

"Would be great though," started one, flicking her hair and smiling at Draco.

"To get to know you better," the other elaborated, edging slightly closer to Harry but watching Draco intently.

"Mm." Draco almost grunted his assent. "And who might you be?"

He looked them up and down again without embarrassment, flicking his tousled blond hair from his lidded grey eyes.

"I'm Cassandra, this is Maisy, and that's Lucile," Cassandra introduced them all, nodding to the girl who was still edging toward Harry last.

"Who are you?" She batted her eyelashes.

"Draco," Draco introduced himself, splaying his fingers against his chest. "That's Harry," he added, pointing. He had hesitated before using his rather unique first name. It often gained him odd looks, either by way of recognition or just because it was different. One can never be anonymous with a name like Draco, he mused.

Shaking himself from his thoughtful reverie, Draco smiled to Cassandra. "So why are you three out and about on a ... Saturday ... morning?" It took him a moment to remember what day it was.

"We spent the night partying with our-" her friend hit her in the ribs, catching Harry's attention. "...friends."

Lucile, noticing that Harry was looking slightly more awake now, smiled over at him sweetly and he closed his eyes. 'Too bright... makeup... sore eyes,' his thoughts assessed.

"You have a wonderful name, Draco," cooed Maisy.

"Thanks," Draco said doubtfully. "Sounds like we did pretty much the same as you did." He passed a melodramatic hand over his eyes. "I swear, I feel like a whole different person this morning."

Harry resisted the urge to elbow Draco in the ribs. Hard. "Where are you girls off to?" he asked.

Lucile jumped at the chance to talk to him, but apparently didn't know the answer as she mouthed wordlessly in Harry's direction.

"Liverpool," she croaked eventually.

Draco thought it over quickly. 'They'll be going the same way as us. Oh hell.'

Harry was evidently thinking the same thing, his mind quickly running over the various things that might get the girls to go away.

'This is going to be one long train ride,' he thought bitterly, sinking down in his seat.

***

Draco, though he was sorely tempted not to admit it to himself, was running like a ponce. He had his arms wrapped around his chest and was lifting his legs up high so that the stinging, icy dew on the wet grass did not whip his legs as he ran. The combination of the location of his arms and of his peculiar regalia caused him to turn about with each step, resulting in him looking as if he were flouncing up the lawns to the castle. For some reason, this seemed hysterically funny, and Draco was nearly pissing himself laughing.

"Come - on - Harry!" he called back over his shoulder, each word from a different direction. "I'm - cold!"

Harry strolled along at a leisurely pace, not really feeling the cold that signaled that it was in fact, quite late at night. "Maybe you shouldn't be wearing that excuse for men to wear skirts, namely, a kilt," he shouted back, catching up on Draco but making sure to not get in the way of his flouncing walk.

"It was the first thing I could find," Draco panted, taking a ballerina-leap onto the steps and bending to rub his calves. "I'm very cold. Can we go to your room and warm me up?"

Harry walked past Draco to push the door open. "And just how would we do that, do you propose?" he asked, stepping into the Great Hall and glancing around. Luckily, there was no one in sight.

"I can propose many things," Draco said, following him and stroking a hand over Harry's arse. "A nice warm blanket and a good fire might help out, though."

"As you wish," Harry murmured, glancing over his shoulder to smile at Draco before running a hand through his hair. "Those girls were annoying."

"Have you become totally converted?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. "Last I heard, you wouldn't say no to a girl. They were rather attractive once one had tuned out of the sound of their voices and ignored the fact that they were Muggles."

Harry rolls his eyes. "I still like girls. Just, not those girls." He rubbed his shoulder absently, which Lucile had used as a pillow when she fell asleep.

"Hmm, fair enough," Draco said, slightly miffed at the notion that Harry could like anyone but him, irrational though it was.

"Harry?" Dean's voice echoed through the hallway. "Harry is that you?"

"Ah, Hogwarts," Harry said, placing a hand on the small of Draco's back. "You can always tell when you're here because you can't get a moment of peace with someone without being interrupted."

He pushed Draco over to one of the windows and pulled the curtain. "Stay put," he hissed before turning to where Dean was coming from. "Hey, Dean."

"Where did you go?" Dean asked. Ron came up behind him, adding:

"We've been looking all over for you, mate."

"Where did I go?" Harry asked, blinking. "I told you I was at a party."

"I thought you said you weren't going," Dean said, bewildered. He scratched his head and looked to Ron for support.

"Dean told me you told him that you weren't going..." he said blankly.

"Dean must have been dreaming," Harry replied, looking just as lost as Ron and Dean. He had told those that were close to him that he would be spending the previous night at a party outside of Hogwarts, but hadn't mentioned the Slytherins, Draco or Alexei. "Why wouldn't I go?" he asked.

"You didn't say... Maybe you're right." Dean shrugged. "I'm like that sometimes." Still, he looked very doubtful.

Ron looked suspiciously at Harry. "Are you sure?" he asked shrewdly. "I mean... This is odd."

"This is odd," Harry replied. "But I honestly went to a party, I've just got back now."

"Oh I believe you," Dean assured him. "It's just that I definitely remember talking to you last night, then you went off somewhere and you didn't come back, so I went to talk to Ron..."

"We talked about the Quidditch World Cup," Ron recalled. "You can't have been dreaming."

"But Harry didn't remember it, so I guess I was."

"Unless someone else was pretending to be Harry, but that wouldn't happen... Would it?" Ron looked shocked. The realisation that it had reached January without any plots by Voldemort against Harry's life hit him suddenly, and he stared.

Harry could see the cogs in Ron's brain whirring. "I'm sure it's nothing guys," he said hastily, willing Ron to not start sprouting conspiracy theories left, right and centre. "Lets just drop it, OK?"

Ron looked incredibly unwilling to do that. Dean, however, shot him a warning look.

"Are you coming back to the dorms tonight?" he asked Harry, casually stepping in front of Ron.

"I'm not sure," Harry replied unsurely, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder at where Draco was. "We'll see."

"We'll be there, anyway," Dean said distantly, treading on Ron's foot as he turned to walk back down the corridor they had come from.

Once the two were out of sight, Draco pushed out from behind the curtain.

"What a load of bollocks," he laughed. "Some prankster took Polyjuice, or those two are pulling a prank on you anyway. It could just be the hangover, you know. You might well have told them you weren't going."

"Speaking of hangovers, I'm starting to get a headache from all this confusion and after effects of drinking myself under the table," Harry muttered, rubbing his head. "The better we get to my room the faster." He blinked. "You know what I meant."

"I certainly do, or at least I hope so," Draco said, and laughed. He put an arm behind Harry's legs and one around his chest, lifting him up and attempting to carry him up the stairs. There was much straining, grunting and heaving involved.

Harry smiled slightly, dropping his head so it rested on Draco's chest. "Thanks."

Draco grunted in reply, staggering.

Surprisingly, he didn't collapse until he got to the sofa in Harry's room. Then he lay sprawled on the floor, arms stretched out and chest rising and falling with his quickened breath.

Harry rolled over onto his front on the sofa and closed his eyes. He reached into his pocket and waved his wand, breathing the word 'Incendio' so that the fire lit.

"On the plus side," he said slowly. "I'm starting to remember the party."

Draco rolled closer to the fire.

"Me too," he murmured, running his silver eyes over Harry's body and smirking.

Harry would have blushed, had his eyes been open and he able to see Draco. "One hell of a party," he commented. "Great drink."

"You have a thing with those, don't you?" Draco laughed softly. "I'll have to find out what's in them... Although I doubt that you actually want to know."

He stretched languidly, linking his hands behind his head and crossing his ankles.

"Excellent company," Harry added almost as an afterthought, with a grin. "Those drinks were great. Never tasted anything like it before."

"You're such an innocent," Draco sighed. He rolled up to sit on the floor beside Harry's sofa, folding his arms and resting his chin on them. "I love you."

Harry smiled, opening one eye to look at Draco. "I know," he replied to both comments.

Draco shrugged elegantly. "Doesn't hurt to tell you anyway," he murmured, sliding a cool hand up Harry's hip and across the smooth, hot velvet skin of his stomach.

Harry lifted his hand to rest it on top of Draco's and picked it up, spreading the fingers out and then entwining their fingers before sitting up on the sofa and cautiously opening his other eye, wincing slightly at the light. "Love you too," he replied with a smile, turning his head to the side slightly.

"About time too," Draco said flatly.

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Moody," he accused playfully.

"Malfoy, actually," Draco corrected him. "The Moodys went astray long ago. I think they defected in eighteen-sixty-five, no... Seventy-five. Eighteen-seventy-five. Auberon Malfoy was incredibly pissed off with them. That was when he issued stricture six-hundred-and-ninety-eight - no Malfoy shall ever marry into the Moody family. He was also responsible for stricture six-hundred-and-seventy-four B - no Malfoy shall ever carry a duck-headed walking cane."

"Malfoy," Harry commanded. "Shut up." He leaned forward and kissed Draco softly, moving his free hand to tilt Draco's head back a little.

Draco slid his tongue into Harry's mouth, slipping his other hand up Harry's arm and gripping the sleeve of his shirt. After the kiss ended, he tipped his forehead to lean it against Harry's.

"In ten-seventy-six, one of the oldest recorded strictures was released, stricture Seven a) - Hear ye, Malefait kinsmen. Thou shalt never share thine divine company with yon curs of the house of Gryffinedores," he informed Harry in a low purring voice.

Harry frowned slightly, "Never share company with a Gryffindor. Then what, prey tell, are you doing, young master Malfoy?" he asked curiously.

"Breaking the rules," Draco growled, pulling Harry's lips back to his.

Harry chuckled against Draco's mouth, pulling back a centimetre so that when he talked his lips brushed Draco's. "Who made all these rules and charters anyway?"

"All the heads of the family. They feel it's their duty to give us stupid rules. We're on the twelve thousand, three-hundred-and-fifth rule now. We have to learn almost all of them, as well. Father's responsible for about eighteen so far, which isn't too bad. One of them is that Malfoys must never wear orange undergarments."

"And the point is...?" Harry slipped his hand out from under Draco's and ran it up to Draco's shoulder, using it to push Draco backwards. He slid off the end of the sofa so he was now eye level with Draco and smirked, tracing the outline of Draco's lips with his fingers.

"That Father has an extreme dislike of the colour orange," Draco guessed, keeping his lips as still as possible to allow Harry's fingers to continue their tickling journey. "I wouldn't know."

Harry grinned, becoming fascinated with his fingers which he trailed down and across Draco's chin and over the pale skin that was his neck. They paused at the collar to Draco's shirt before undoing the top two buttons. He placed his hand flat on the skin that was revealed and looked up at Draco, green eyes sparkling before his lips replaced his hand.

An indulgent smile slipped across Draco's face as he tilted his head back.

"You know, there's another one that really interests me. I made a particular study into the rules issued by this particular man. Horatio Malfoy, he was tied up in a strait jacket soon after he released these rules, but they still stand. Eleven thousand and forty-eight G - Every third male Malfoy whose initials are D A J E M must have engaged in buggery by the time he reaches his eighteenth birthday. Interesting, don't you think?"

Harry smirked against Draco's skin, tongue flicking out occasionally. One of his hands set about undoing the rest of the buttons on Draco's shirt while he braced his weight on the other.

"He also decided that he should be the only Malfoy named Horatio, so stricture eleven thousand, four-hundred-and-thirty-five states that no Malfoy shall be called Horatio from the time of his death," Draco rambled, growing distinctly aroused by Harry's actions.

Harry, very aware of this fact, finally undid all of Draco's buttons and pushed his shirt off his shoulders, moving to straddle Draco's lap at the same time. His trail of kisses moved along Draco's collarbone and onto his chest where he smirked before repeating something he had done to Draco at the party.

Draco groaned happily, fingers gripping Harry's waist.

"And you know the strangest thing," he drawled, trying to distract himself. It was rather entertaining. "No one has decided to overrule him yet. Usually when a crackpot makes rules, people make more rules saying that you can ignore that rule. As it is, people just randomly give their children those initials for a laugh."

Harry raised an eyebrow, lifting his head to look Draco in the eye. "You have a very weird family," he denounced, before leaning forward and placing a kiss on Draco's nose. He wriggled out of Draco's grasp and stood up, rooting through one of the drawers for his glasses whilst taking his contacts out.

"I could have told you that without you getting off my lap," Draco accused faintly, linking his fingers behind his head again.

Harry chuckled, finding his glasses and slipping them up his nose. "I know, but I felt like you'd had enough for now." He grinned. "Unless you're going to prove me otherwise?"

"Never enough," Draco told him, shaking his head darkly. "We're greedy, us Malfoys."

"Which of your ancestors made up that rule?" Harry asked, amused, raking a hand through his hair and dropping onto the sofa again.

"What, that we're greedy?" Draco frowned. "That's just a well known fact."

Harry laughed, and then winced as his headache wasn't entirely gone yet. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Depends on whether or not you're the generous, giving type," Draco said, holding his arms out to Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes and dropped down off the sofa onto his knees again, moving to straddle Draco's lap once more.

"Hufflepuffs are generous, Gryffindors are possessive," he replied, ducking his head so his nose was almost touching Draco's. "You're mine."

"Completely," Draco agreed, smirking.

Harry returned the smirk before closing the remaining distance between them.