Satin Sheets

"Harry are you going to spend all day looking at your ugly face in the mirror or are you going to get your arse into gear and get bloody ready?!"

Harry Potter caught Ginny's eye in the mirror and, smiling broadly, winked as he said, "I think I'd rather spend the day staring at my gorgeous face in the mirror. In fact I'd rather spend the day in bloody purgatory getting pokers shoved up my arse," he added bitterly, in a near whisper. Unfortunately for him Ginny Weasley had ears like a bat.

Ginny rolled her cyan blue eyes and put her hands on her shapely hips, in a gesture that reminded Harry spookily of Mrs Weasley. It scared him that Ginny seemed to be becoming more and more like Molly every day, a fact that was proven when she grabbed Harry and spun him round to face her before hissing, "Harry James Potter. It is our best friend's- in fact it is both of your best friends'- engagement party and while everyone else wants to have fun, you would prefer to sit up here and sulk? Well I don't give a flying fuck what you want to do because, frankly, I only care about how Ron and Hermione would feel if their best friend decided not to show up! Especially if that best friend lived in the same fucking house! So do your hair, get out of that dreadful T-shirt and into some decent clothes, then get your ass downstairs so we can all have a good time. And," she spat out, stabbing him viciously in the chest with her index finger, "believe me you will have a good time!"

The slender redhead spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, making sure to slam the door. Sighing deeply, emerald green eyes wide, Harry turned back to the mirror and dragged a hand through his dishevelled, jet-black hair.

"I tell you something, mate," he murmured to his reflection, "I seriously cannot believe that I wanted to screw her." He shuddered and turned away from the mirror. "Bloody evil little witch."

*

Harry spent the next few hours being greeted by people he didn't know, thrust among groups of people he didn't like and repeatedly getting threatened by Ginny to "cheer up and stop looking like you just found out your dick is going to be chopped off tomorrow morning." By the time the formal dinner party Ron and Hermione had planned had drawn to an end, Harry was gagging for a proper drink after spending the night sipping Chardonnay.

"What kind of self-respecting, red-blooded male drinks Chardonnay, for God's sake?" he grumbled as he threw himself into a recently vacant armchair.

He had been aware all night of the guests' stares boring into his back and knew they probably thought that he was secretly in love with Hermione, but, for the first time in his life, he couldn't have cared less. He had arrived at the dinner party in jeans for one reason and one reason only; they were the only clean, presentable trousers in his possession and not because he wanted to show his anger towards Ron and Hermione's planned union.

It wasn't that he was annoyed that Ron and Hermione were getting married- if anything he was relieved. Since third year, Harry had been the one who acted as the go-between. He'd been the first to pick up on the sexual tension between his best friends, the one each ran to with their complaints about the other, the one who told them to either shag or stop talking to each other completely because he was sick of being the middleman. Hell, he'd helped Ron pick out the ring for Hermione, and had helped him practise the speech he was going to say at the engagement party, something he now regretted as he no longer found originally witty jokes funny but instead tedious and rather boring. For God's sake, he'd agreed to be best man and to help Hermione organise everything for the wedding. Would he have taken on so much- would he have agreed to take on so much for someone else's bloody wedding- if he disapproved of it?

Of course not, he thought bitterly, but none of these stuck-up arseholes get that do they?

He was so fed up with each and every one of the pompous twats that when the door closed behind the last of the elderly guests he cheered loudly and celebrated by downing a glass of Chardonnay in one- a feat Ron found impressive, having gagged on his first glass of the foul tasting liquid. Hermione and Ginny, however, were nowhere near impressed- in fact they both looked absolutely disgusted.

"Harry," Ginny began, her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes flashing with an unadulterated fury. Before she could get any further however, Hermione launched at him, like some kind of possessed woman.

She grabbed the front of Harry's T-shirt, curling the cotton material around her surprisingly strong fingers. "You are nothing but a self-centred, selfish fucking cock-sucker. This is my effing engagement party- hopefully the only one I ever have the misfortune to plan- and you have to fuck it up? There are only two people in the whole world that could make something as important as this," she gestured around the room with her free hand, "all about them and that's you - and Draco bloody Malfoy!"

There was a collective gasp around the room, simultaneous and so scarily loud and drawn out that Harry could have sworn the oxygen was drained from the room.

Ron stepped forward and rested a caring hand on his fiancé's shoulder. "Hermione," he said, carefully, his voice low and anxious, "Hermione, please let Harry go."

Slowly she obliged and Harry smiled broadly at her. A look of complete shock crossed her chocolate brown eyes and then she returned his smile, cautiously, letting her weak grin spread slowly across her face. Harry reached forward and enveloped her in a hug.

"You stood up for yourself, 'Mione. Good on you," he whispered into her ear. "But next time do you think you could possibly remember that I'm ill- and only having a laugh?"

Hermione nodded into his shoulder and chuckled slightly. He pulled back and glared at her, his piercing eyes pinning her on the spot and for a moment she thought he was genuinely angry. It was then she saw the faint spark of amusement in the depths of those emerald eyes. "Also, Hermione, never mention my name in the same context as Malfoy's again, you hear?"

Again his friend nodded and, incredibly relieved, he glanced around the room to see an expression exactly duplicating his painted on both Ron and Ginny's faces. He sighed deeply then clapped his hands loudly for attention- although he knew everyone in the room was already looking at him.

"Well ladies, gentlemen and um, Ginny," he boomed out, earning himself a glare from the twenty year old, "after this absolute cock up of an evening what do you say to going out and getting absolutely hammered!"

Not surprisingly there were shouts of agreement all around the room and, beaming widely, all four began running round the room and up the stairs, desperately searching for a suitable outfit- any suitable outfit to go out clubbing in- or rather to go out drinking so as to put the memories of the stoic, tense engagement party behind them.

*

Hermione stood, slightly off to one corner, a content smile on her face, watching her best friend and fiancé- God how good it felt to say that- argue over which nightclub to go to. Strange names floated through the air to where she and Ginny were standing, causing more than a few smirks between the two as inexcusably raunchy, depraved names left the men's lips.

"What about the Horny Hare?" Ron asked, almost pleadingly.

"How about we just stay here and piss on each other? It'll be just as much fun!" Harry drawled, sarcastically.

"Then why don't we go to The Bog's Breath?"

Just as easily as that Ron and Harry managed to draw Ginny into the pathetic argument as she strode over to them and began arguing the downfalls of going to a club which the Zabini family owned- regardless of how cheap the alcohol was there or how 'bloody effing hot' the girls who went there were.

She watched them; her friends faces animated with emotion and could have laughed at how trivial their worries were. None of them had to worry about losing a stone so they could fit perfectly into the world's most gorgeous, most expensive wedding dress, none of them had to worry about who to invite to the wedding and who not to, none of them had to worry about how their non-existent chest was going to look in a strapless dress or how on Earth they were going to get their miserably unruly, horribly frizzy excuse for hair to behave for a whole effing day. She was well aware of the fact that, only four years before, Harry had spent a year with the constant fear that Voldemort would kill him in the next second hanging over his head and the constant need to be prepared- but honestly what was Voldemort compared to her bloody wedding day?!?!

She breathed in deeply and blew a strand of hair out of her face. She and Ron had agreed on a short engagement so the wedding was going to be on the 31st of December, which was just three and half short months away. All of the preparations for the wedding had her not sleeping well at night- although nothing seemed to disrupt Ron from his sleep no matter how strenuous a day they had had- and she knew that the reason she had snapped at Harry was because of all the pressure being heaped upon her. And she knew that Harry was aware of how she felt- after all he was the one who'd very nearly went through with a disastrous marriage to Parvati Patil, just to try and prove to himself that he wasn't gay. He had talked things through with Parvati though, a week before the wedding was scheduled for and thank God, Parvati hadn't been as narrow minded as they had all originally feared, as she had accepted it- even saying she had suspected as much. As Harry had experience with arranging weddings and engagement parties, Hermione was grateful to him, but God, how she wished he would stop being so aggravating at social functions.

Thank God he always fared better at nightclubs.

"Hey what do you all say to going to that new one in London- Erised?" she said, loudly, trying her hardest to remember what Lavender Brown had told her the club was like. If she remembered correctly she had said it was something to do with a body part and a mammal... What the Hell was it? Oh yeah, she'd said her best friend thought it was 'hip' and she reckoned it was 'cat'. What the fuck? Since when had people started calling things after mammals! Anyway what did it mean? Why couldn't Lavender just tell her whether the club was good or not?

Three pairs of eyes turned to stare at her- two identical, cyan blue in colour, whilst the other pair was a vivid green colour.

"Hermione," Ron said, slowly, "you are a fucking genius!"

He reached out and pulled her close, curling his arm round her waist as he lovingly caressed her mouth with his tongue. Just as she reached up to wrap her arms round his neck- a task that always put considerable strain on her arms- Ginny cleared her throat loudly.

"OK, so I have been saying this from day one so if you haven't gotten it by now you are both seriously a lot denser than I thought you were- stop doing that in front of me! He's my brother; you're my best friend. That is too weird, even for me." Ginny pointed at the clock on the wall behind Harry. "Anyway, Erised doesn't let non-card carrying members in after twelve and it's nearly half eleven. If we want to get in, we gotta leave now."

Hermione rolled her eyes and, slowly, brought her arms down to her sides again. Smiling brightly she lifted her bag from a side table and said, "Well, let's go. I'm going to get pissed tonight, have fun, and Erised is the place to do it! It's cat!"

Again three pairs of eyes swivelled to stare at her but it was Harry who spoke first. "Hermione, that's just too much too soon. Stay weirdly, old-fashioned for a while yet, 'kay?"

She nodded, giggled and then, smiling sheepishly, turned on the spot and Apparated to outside Erised nightclub.

*

The dance floor was packed, a mass of glistening, sweating bodies, each one of them throwing themselves into the music with a reckless abandon, letting the thumping bass beat tell their bodies when to sway, when to surrender to the music completely and when to hold back, hold back until another louder, deeper bass line came along. Draco Malfoy watched the nameless, faceless people in front of him dance as if their lives depended on it and felt strangely in awe of them. He wanted to lose himself in the music, in the thumping bass line, in the orgasmic rush of adrenaline the people in front of him were enjoying. Hell, he would love to lose himself in anything- but something wouldn't let him- something always held him back. He had the sneaking suspicion that it was the idea he had had drilled into him from birth that Malfoys never lost control, not even over something as enjoyable as music.

Fuck you, Father, he thought bitterly, and then, placing his trademark smirk on his face, strutted forward into the throng of strangers. He walked slowly, casually, purposely slowing down his movements, a trick he had learned years before. The more deliberate his movements were, the more drawn out they appeared; the more people seemed to approach him.

He'd only shared this theory with one other person- one night when he has been drunk he'd told his mother about it and his mother, the one person who had never doubted him and had never laughed at any of his failures, had roared with laughter for so long tears had spilled from her icy blue eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous, Draco, darling," she'd snorted, "people approach you because you're incredibly handsome, you idiot. You look like a bloody angel for God's sake- albeit an angel with a dark side. Girls love that sort of thing. Merlin knows I did!"

She'd chuckled loudly, took another long gulp of whiskey and drifted off into an alcohol-induced sleep, unaware of how deeply creeped out and utterly embarrassed she'd made Draco feel.

He still shuddered now thinking about it.

Thankfully- or sadly he wasn't sure which- he managed to reach the bar without anyone trying to molest him or grab his genitals. He waved to a barman he remembered meeting before, but for the life of him could not remember the other man's name. He thought it was something like Nick but with his memory for Mudblood's names it could be Hercules. For all he knew or cared. Nick- was it Joseph? - walked up to where Draco was sitting and smiled, showing off disgusting, yellow teeth that reminded Draco of a three headed dog he had had the misfortune of seeing being led away from Hogwarts in first year. This close to the Mudblood, Draco could smell the whiskey on the other man's breath and read his nametag- Cole.

"Hiya, Cole," Draco breathed, "how're you?"

"Alright."

"The girlfriend?"

"I'm gay, Draco."

"Oh. Aye. Whoops. Forgot." They paused for a moment, an uncomfortable silence that put Draco on edge. "Cole, do you think I could have a Sex on the Beach?"

Beside him, a voice purred in his ear, "Anytime, baby. Just say the word."

He turned his head slightly- and stifled a groan. Sitting beside him was Ginny Weasley, obviously drunk, and staring at him like he was a piece of meat and she hadn't eaten in a week.

"Weasleyette," he said, his tone clipped.

He watched absolutely horrified as Ginny lazily close one eyelid and opened it again- obviously going for a wink but looking more like she was the lovechild of Marcel Marceau and Jade Goody. "That's not the right word, big boy."

He couldn't help it. His mouth opened and he began to laugh, so loudly that people passing by inched their heads in his direction. He attempted stifling his laughter but it was no use. All he could think of was the absurd fact that Weasleyette- someone who had never shown him anything bar contempt- had referred to him as 'big boy'.

From the corner of his eye, he was aware of a tall, slim man walking forward to place his hands on Ginny's arms.

"Come on, Ginny," he said, his voice soft but firm, "let's leave the nice man alone and go get a drink shall we?"

Ginny's eyes suddenly sparkled with interest. "DRINK!" she shouted loudly and, for some unknown reason, stood up and walked straight past Draco into the men's bathroom all the while shouting out, "DOUBLE WHISKEY! NO! I WANNA TRIPLE! GIMMEE A TRIPLE!"

Draco, who had been following Ginny's progress to the men's toilets with interest, turned back 'round to see the man who had rescued him from the blood traitor's daughter laughing. "Sorry," the man spluttered, "she can be really bad when she's drunk!"

It was only then Draco realised who he was looking at- his hair was a bit of a giveaway. He'd never seen a brighter red colour in his life, or a more lacklustre blue. But then one could not fault Ron Weasley's appearance. He had been, unfortunately, born into a dysfunctional gene pool and could not be held accountable to the fact that he was in fact rather unattractive.

Out of the sauc-sass-sauc.... Oh fuck it. Out of the stupid bloody Muggle thing into the fire.

"Hello, Weasel-ey. Hello, Weasley." Draco corrected himself and watched as Ron finally took a second and glanced at the man he had rescued from his lustful, highly inebriated younger sister.

"Malfoy?!" The surprise was evident in his tone.

"The one and only," Draco drawled, almost delighting in the pained expression on Ron Weasley's rubber face.

*

Harry had no idea how much alcohol had entered his system since arriving at Erised two hours beforehand but he would almost- but not quite- swear that in a few short hours he had managed to consume three times the legal limit to drive one of those things that had steering wheels.

Embarrassingly for him, he happened to say this out loud and received a vicious glare from a pink-haired teenager. "You mean cars?" She snapped, disgusted before moving away. To Harry's drunk and confused mind she looked like the Devil reincarnated, encased completely from head- well um shoulder- to toe in red leather, storming across a suffocating sea of people and killing them in her way. Well, why else would people be moving so willingly out of the cheeky bugger's way?

Harry snorted to himself and began to look around the vast nightclub for John and Melanie- or whomever the Hell the people he had came to this club with were called. It didn't take him long to find the redheaded man even in the nightclub's sea of green-haired punks, the stark red colour stood out and, relieved, Harry began to pick his way across the club to were John (?) stood.

As he pushed his way through the last group of giggling hen party participants, he was shocked to see a real live one sitting on the stool in front of um...um... Oh for God's sake what's the redhead's name? After the shock of seeing a living, breathing, talking demon here was another miraculous apparition- a walking, talking, breathing, living angel. He was almost certain it was anyway. After all what worldly creature had that halo of white-blonde hair and silver eyes?

Shaking his head slowly, he stumbled forward and, aware both the angel and the redhead were looking at him smiled goofily.

"Hi!" he said, cheerfully. "I am broke, peoples."

John (?) raised an eyebrow. "You came here with over a hundred Galleons, Harry. What in Merlin's name did you do with all of it?"

The goofy smile was still plastered over Harry's face as he swayed slightly to the music playing loudly behind him. "Drank it."

Beside him, the angel snorted.

"You drank money?" The angel murmured, a sarcastic drawl, combined with the snort, tainting his perfect image.

It was Harry's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Nope. I'm not that drunk- yet. Unfortunately. I came over here to plead for money because I wanna be drunk enough that I would drink money!"

"Well you sure as Hell aren't getting any more money out of me- it's all I ever seem to get off you! You're a bloody alcoholic- 'Ron can I borrow twenty Galleons? Ron can I borrow ten Galleons? Ron will you please pay for this round?' Well no, Harry I have no money left. This time. Which I think is a good thing because you've already drunk way too much and I am sick of paying for you! You can clean up your own messes and pay for your own drinks from now on because Ron Weasley is SICK of it!"

Harry let out a loud cheer. "Your name's Ron then?"

Ron whimpered loudly. "Oh my God. Of course it's my bloody name. We should know that we have only been for friends for- Oh Merlin, you're that drunk aren't you. Harry? What did you think my name was?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. John or something like that, so I was close enough. Where's Melanie then if you aren't going to give me any money? Maybe she'll pay for a few?" Harry's eyes glittered with anticipation at the thought of the alcoholic beverage slipping down his throat.

As a look of complete confusion passed over Ron's features, the bartender- Cole- leaned across the counter, a wicked grin on his face.

"Even if you get money, Hell, even if you gave me a million quid, I wouldn't give you another drink! You're drunker than my Great Aunt Tessie at Christmas!"

*

Draco watched Harry Potter's expression change to one of complete dejection and almost laughed- almost, but didn't. He hadn't recognised Potter at first he had changed so much in the four years since they had last seen each other. In fact, the last time he had seen the other man in person was just before the Last Battle when Draco had revealed to a room full of Aurors and Order members that he had never been branded as a Death Eater because of his ineptitude. The Dark Lord had said he was not worthy of either his family name or the Dark Mark as he had failed to manage his first killing, which should have been a relatively simple one given the state Dumbledore was in that night. Draco had left the meeting that night and gone straight to the Ministry, not fearing the Dark Lord any longer. He had told them he had information they would find useful and the Ministry had rounded up a dozen Aurors and Order members many of whom he recognised. In the group that night he had seen Mad Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Remus Lupin, his old professor, as well as Minerva McGonagall, who had then been and still was the Headmistress of Hogwarts. All had been quiet in the room for well over twenty minutes and Draco had wondered why until the door had burst open behind him. He could still remember the scene like it was yesterday;

The door hit the wall behind it with an almighty bang and a relatively normal sized man strode into the room, black cloak billowing around him, blood running down his face, large gashes in his clothing and mud splattered across his robes. Emerald eyes glittered with ill concealed rage and messy black hair was sticking out, in a desperately untidy manner from the boy's head. It was the first time Draco had seen Harry Potter looking like he had just strode out of battle, looking angrier than he ever had around him and he couldn't help but feel frightened. Not just the normal kind of fear either, or the prickling fear he felt whenever he was in the Dark Lord's presence. No, the fear he was feeling now was born because of something else- it was the way the anger seemed to emanate off Potter in waves, making the air particles around him want to start beating the shit out of each other. He had never felt such sheer anger just by looking at a person and he doubted he would ever again. If there was ever a doubt in his mind as to who exactly was the more powerful wizard, it evaporated at that second.

Draco watched in awe as Potter stormed across the room and threw himself into an armchair, not even bothering to shrug out of the mud-caked cloak.

It was obvious to everyone what kind of mood Potter was in as he managed to glare at each and every single person in the room with only a quick, one second glance around the room. "Well?" he barked, loudly. "We're here to do something so we might as well bloody get on with it!"

Draco watched many of the supposedly world-weary and experienced Aurors swallow, a hint of fear on their faces in the presence of such raw anger. He couldn't blame them. He felt the same way.

He watched Lupin make his way over to Potter and stoop, whispering words in his ear. Draco, who had taught himself how to lip read years before, that largely was his need to know what was going on around him, could not even keep up with the flow of quickly mumbled words Lupin was relaying to Potter. Every now and then he could make out a word that made his heart jump into his throat- 'they're asking for the Dementor's Kiss,' 'Shacklebolt is set against us even listening to Malfoy', 'Death Penalty' and finally, the one that chilled him to the bone, 'many will rely on your decision, Harry, unless Malfoy gives us good enough information'. He'd known then and there that he had to tell all. There was no way he could fake his way out of this one. He knew, instinctively, that Harry Potter would not stick up for him when his case went into deliberation- Hell he wouldn't stick up for Potter. He never had, even though he had watched the boy swan 'round Hogwarts since third year, lusting after his form.

He still detested Potter's guts and he knew that Potter felt the same about him. If Pansy was here it would be so different. His best friend would know what to do undoubtedly, she always did. But for now, Pansy wasn't here. It was just him- he was finally on his own and would have to fend for himself once he left this room. He knew he was endangering himself and possibly his whole family for the rest of eternity by opening his mouth to Potter, but for once he didn't care. He was doing the truly right thing in his life for once.
Let them kill him after this. At least he would die knowing he had done one good deed in his life. He would die knowing he had accomplished one thing.

He supposed it was then that he had realised that not only was Potter an attractive creature but that when he was feeling any level of high emotion he was more than attractive- he was gorgeous. Of course, over the years his memories had become more faded. Now, normally he only saw Potter's image in his dreams- or in the Daily Prophet, glancing at them as he ate his bowl of Coco Pops.

However, the photographs did Potter no justice at all. He'd grown taller- Draco was almost certain that Potter was now taller than him- and seemed to have gained a bit of weight, although from what Draco could see he still had that pinched look about him that suggested malnourishment. His hair was still a shade darker than the midnight sky, a black with a darkest blue hue to it, his teeth still incredibly white and oddly pointed, he still had those infuriating dimples at the side of his mouth, which appeared when he smiled and his eyes were just as bright and piercing as ever. In fact the only changes Draco could put his finger on were that he had gotten a new, tighter fitting wardrobe- at least he wasn't still wearing those dreadfully baggy t-shirt on his lithe frame- as well as the simple fact that Potter now seemed to have gained grace and elegance in his stance, and his skin was a strangely pale colour. But then, Draco supposed that could have been the overhead lighting. No, Harry Potter didn't seem to have changed much and neither, it seemed, had he. The instant he had seen Potter his pulse had leapt and he had felt the all-to-familiar butterflies leap in the pit of his stomach. Oh yes, the schoolboy crush had appeared- with a vengeance.

Swallowing his anger at himself, he forced his mind to pay attention to the conversation in front of him and not the way Potter's jade green T-shirt clung to the muscles on his broad shoulders or the way the baggy jeans Potter had on only drew attention to his marvellous arse.

Cole had left by this point and Potter's startling eyes were staring daggers at the Mudblood's back.

"He's a right wee fucker. Great Aunt Tessie, my arse," Potter snorted. "I'll bet he doesn't even have a Great Aunt Tessie." Potter continued mumbling about Cole under his breath for a minute until Ron shook him gently.

"Harry, you're too drunk to even remember your best friend's name. So whether or not Cole has a great aunt Tessie is completely irrelevant. You came here to get completely hammered and you managed it. No doubt Hermione has as well- and I know Ginny did. Now sit here" -Ron took Harry's elbow and thrust him into the barstool beside Draco that Ginny had just vacated ten minutes before- "and stay there while I go and find the other alcoholics. And when I do we can finally get the Hell outta here, 'kay?"

Potter shrugged. "Whatever." His face brightened for a split second then darkened again. "Don't suppose we can go to Kitty's pub just down the road from our place afterwards? It stays open all night and Kitty loves me! She's a doll- she'll let us in! Oh, please Jo-Ron."

The weasel didn't dignify that with an answer, just turned and disappeared into the crowd. Draco watched as Potter's eyes followed his friend's form across the dance floor, a lost expression beginning to take root in his face. For a moment, Draco was certain Potter was going to cry, as he watched the other man's pupils become unfocused, but then Potter spun to face him a wide grin on his face, which showed off those alarmingly child-like dimples. Although they were completely out of place on a grown man's face they leant an incredibly endearing, vulnerable air to Potter that just made him seem all the more- dare he say it desirable? That was Draco's opinion anyway and had been since sometime during third year, he guessed.

"I just realised I know you!" Potter announced as he turned towards Draco, almost loudly enough for people in Tibet to have heard him.

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" he drawled. "Now how did you come to that astounding conclusion?"

Potter waved a hand dismissively. "I recognised that thing you do with your nose."

"What thing I do with my nose?"

"You know the one when you're thinking about something you shouldn't be and you twitch your nose- kinda like a bunny."

Draco drew his eyebrows down in confusion. "Potter?" He said.

"Yeeeees?" Harry responded, interrupting him.

"Potter," Draco said again, snidely, "did you just compare me to a bunny?"

Potter rolled his eyes and glanced dreamily at the rows of bottles containing alcoholic beverages in front of him, the saliva basically running out of his mouth at the mere sight of them. "I think bunnies are cute."

Draco blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Had he gone deaf? Or had Harry bloody Potter just called him cute?

"Potter," he said slowly, for once not a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "did you just call me cute?"

Potter turned and, like Draco himself had only moments before, blinked three times, before raising an eyebrow. "I did, didn't I? Whoops." Then he turned and began glaring daggers at a young woman drinking a pint of Guinness beside him, unnerving the poor woman so much she whimpered and left her seat, pint clutched firmly in hand, within seconds.

"No apology then?"

"For what?" Harry asked absentmindedly. "I can't believe it- bitch could have left her drink like."

"For calling me cute, Potter. You aren't going to apologise, are you?" Draco yelled over the music.

Potter shrugged. "Guess not. I wanna dance. Bye!"

Potter leapt of the barstool, with an ease Draco found himself envying, and walked, confidently, over to a woman with shoulder length fair hair, who looked about twenty-one and whispered something in her. Draco watched her eyes light up excitedly- something which was quite obvious even from the distance away he sat- and seconds later Potter and the fair haired woman were dancing together, bodies grinding into each other, hands on the other one's body. To Draco watching, it seemed like some kind of lewd, public sex act.

He felt a familiar rush of emotion once he had felt the night of the Yule Ball when Potter had turned up with that Patil girl, and again whenever he'd seen Potter strolling about school hand-in-hand with that Ginny Weasley- jealousy. Of course before each of these events Potter had never called him cute. He had never stood an outside chance- did he now?

The rational part of his mind was screaming at him to be more sensible than his body was currently telling him to be. After all, Potter was drunk, highly vulnerable, his capacity to make good decisions had greatly diminished and he was obviously unaware of who exactly he was talking to or what he was saying. Merlin's sake, he had talked to him without feeling the need to throw a snide insult into the bargain. Over the course of his life there was only one person that Draco Malfoy had always trusted without reason and that person was himself. He always made the right decisions eventually, even if it took him years to come to that decision. Unfortunately for him, right now the right decision didn't seem to matter. All that mattered was the burning need he felt flowing through the veins of his body but he knew from experience that it was often wrong to trust his need. His need had made him end up nearly getting off with Blaise Zabini for God's sake. The question now was: was he going to make the right decision this time round, like he had the last time?

Draco let his sparkling, silver eyes dance over Harry Potter's tall, slim, muscular body and felt his pulse give an almighty jump, could almost feel the rate of his heartbeat quicken in his chest. Potter was dancing as if it was second nature to him, all his old awkwardness gone, his agile body moving with the rhythm of the music, his strong hands pulling the fair haired woman close to his body. Draco swallowed the tidal wave of unadulterated lust and jealousy that roared to life inside of him. Was he going to make the right decision this time?

Am I, fuck, he thought and sliding off the barstool began striding purposefully over to where Potter stood, swaying sensually with someone who wasn't him.