The Mystery Wife

The next morning at breakfast, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas and Theodore Nott were all still bristling and glaring at each other across the Great Hall. Finnegan had apparently gotten his hands on a bit of firewhisky, shared it with Thomas, and gone looking for a fight in the old Irish tradition. And Nott had been on his way to the library for a last minute bit of research, and happened to run into them. Or so he'd said.

The Headmaster, of course, had had no sympathy for any of them, oversaw their detention himself, and in the spirit of preparing them for their Potions NEWTs, he'd set them to peeling apart Glumbumbles into their various potions components, without benefit of either gloves or magic.

The morning did bring one bit of good, at least. The Daily Prophet had been forced to retract the breaking news of hot gay love between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, in favor of "a harrowing tale of heroism" in which they had uncovered a Death Eater conspiracy. Potter actually approached the Slytherin table after breakfast was cleared away.

"Can I have a word?" he asked Draco, looking rather sheepish.

Draco tried not to give him too obviously suspicious a look. He sighed and shut his potions textbook, which he'd been rereading one last time.

"Alright," he drawled, grabbing his coffee mug as he got up. Scalding hot coffee, everyone, see? My hands are thoroughly occupied with neither my wand, NOR Potter's. Mind your own bloody business. "You look like you want a private word. Best we're going to be able to do is the courtyard, I suppose."

Potter nodded. "Yeah. Thanks," he said lamely, pouring himself a bit more coffee and following Draco out.

A few whispers followed them, and the word 'breakup' was clearly audible. Potter went red as a beet, but kept walking. The courtyard was just outside, they'd stay perfectly visible through the windows, and there would be no Hot Gay Sex, which would hopefully dispel the rumors somewhat.

Then again, they'd be in a romantic, flowery courtyard together. A great deal of snogging went on in courtyards. Not to mention other things.

This, of course, was occurring to Draco as they walked outside, just a little too late to turn around. At least two dozen pairs of eyes were watching them from inside the Great Hall. Predictably.

"So, I wanted to ask," Potter began, "if I was remembering right about there being a woman in the fight the other night. Dark hair, really pretty?" He sat down on the nearest bench.

Draco hesitated, then sighed and sat on the edge of the fountain. He was not, repeat, NOT sharing a bench with Potter in front of all those hopeful perverts peering through the windows.

"'Really pretty' is putting it mildly, I must say, but yes. You remember right," he admitted reluctantly, downing more coffee. He hadn't had a restful night.

Unfortunately, he hadn't had an eventful night, either. Not unless you counted things you did while dreaming. Severus had been looking hollow-eyed even for a ghost, when Draco came to pick up Theo from his detention. Draco hadn't quite been enough of a selfish bastard to suggest that he come back to the Headmaster's office afterwards. A meaningful 'Good night, sir'--translation, 'Take some painkillers and go to bed, Sevanna, for the love of Merlin'--was about all he could bring himself to do.

Potter was looking curiously relieved. "Good; I wasn't hallucinating! Who was she? Did you know her? Why was she following us in the first place?"

Draco made bloody sure that he wasn't facing the windows. Merlin only knew if anybody watching could read lips. "Try not to go spare on this next bit, Potter, or they'll think I've just told you about the other woman... Although I suppose that's true, in a bizarre fashion, because that was my Mistress."

"THAT was your MISTRESS?!" Potter glanced uneasily at the window. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "That was your Mistress? Wow..."

Draco covered his face with his free hand in wildly aggravated despair, not caring who saw it or how they interpreted it, at just that moment.

"Bloody hell, could you be any less subtle... Yes, it was. And yes, WOW. She seemed to think I needed looking after. I'm really bloody sorry she was right. You cannot imagine how sorry, unless we return to the important and extremely pertinent 'WOW' bit..."

Potter grimaced. "Sorry about that. It was my fault, really. If I hadn't gotten drunk and announced to everyone at the Hog's Head Inn that we were going to be staggering around outside and getting even drunker... I couldn't have set us up as bigger targets if I'd taken out an ad in the Prophet. I just... wanted to do one normal teenage thing before I left Hogwarts, you know?"

Draco gave him a reluctant smirk. "Yeah, I know. I did, too. Sad, really, given how it turned out. Catch me ever going on a bender again."

"Aw, come on. One more. The Leaving Feast is tonight. I seriously doubt anyone in the history of Hogwarts has ever gotten through it sober, not the students, anyway. You'd be breaking a thousand years of proud Wizarding tradition if you didn't get drunk with the rest of us! Actually, it was why I really wanted to talk to you. Everybody's partying in the Room of Requirement after the Leaving Ball, and we really want the Slytherins to be there. Seriously. The war's over, and I don't think any of us are sorry about that. Let's get drunk and play stupid and embarrassing party games and bury the hatchet. Can we?"

Draco stared at him.

"You want the Slytherins there," he repeated blankly. Then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Do you want the Slytherins there, or does everybody want the Slytherins there? Because I'm suddenly recalling that some people, when drunk, think it's a fun party game to go looking for a Slytherin to hex."

"That was Seamus being an idiot," Potter said gruffly. "Dean was actually trying to stop him, and he got caught in the crossfire. Trust me, the Gryffindors have been giving Seamus what-for all morning. We want you there. All of us. Okay, all of us except maybe Ron and Seamus, but they can suck it up. Hermione was actually the one who suggested it, but only because she thought of it before I did. She thinks of everything before I do."

That open grin was actually almost appealing. In a stupid, stupid way.

Draco glowered at him for a long moment. "God, I hate you, Potter," he drawled. Even to his own ears, he didn't sound particularly venomous. More like exasperated. "So very bloody much. My hatred is unequaled in the entire history of wizardkind. Fine, I'll talk to them. We'll come to the party."

"Great," Potter said, bemused.

They headed back inside to dose themselves with coffee for their exams, and the watchers at the window looked singularly disappointed not to be able to report any hot gay action to their friends.

All they'd done was smile at each other.

Then again...