So, I wrote this fic over the course of two years and now it's finally finished! I started posting this on AO3 (I recommend reading it there, because that's the only place where I'll correct typos if I find some later) and have uploaded up to chapter 26 as of now, which means I'll be uploading those chapters now as well and then do daily uploads from there on.

I hope you have fun! Please consider leaving a review to tell me what you think! :)

1. A little party never killed nobody [Sunday, August 1st 2004]

There were good ways to start a conversation and then there were bad ones.

"Malfoy? Like the Death Eaters?" – Bad. Patients usually demanded another Healer after that sentence.

"Hey Draco, there's a guy in bed seven who got his head shrunk." – Good. Draco liked those freaky cases.

"Your patient's results came back ..." – Very bad. Healers never paused before telling you good news.

"Cortez will be at a conference in Spain for the whole next week." – Very good. Life was always easier without the Chief of Healing breathing down his neck.

"I think I killed Harry Potter!" – The worst. People generally liked their Harry Potter alive.

Draco whipped around to stare at the head of Blaise Zabini, which had just appeared in his fireplace.

"You what?!"

Contrary to his expectations, Blaise didn't appear to be joking. He did, in fact, appear rather panicked, which was a look Draco couldn't recall ever having seen on him.

"Pretty sure it's him! He's just lying there; I think he hasn't moved in about an hour! You have to come through, hurry!"

"You fucking kill someone and wait an hour until you get me?" Draco patted his scrubs to check if his wand was still in its designated front pocket and went through the Floo. To his surprise, Blaise had actually fire-called from his home.

"You kill a Potter look-alike and take him to your house? What were you thinking?"

Blaise had already grabbed his arm and was dragging him towards his bedroom. Draco wondered if he had ever smelled a dead body. Probably not, or he wouldn't have stowed it there.

"He doesn't just look like him, it is him," Blaise whispered as he opened his bedroom door warily.

Draco peeked inside eagerly. There on the bed lay a man with wild, curly hair and tan skin. His face was buried in a pillow, the bedsheet loosely bundled beneath his almost naked body. Draco didn't have to see his face to know it was Potter. Apart from the fact that nobody else had hair that stupid, the rising sun clearly illuminated the massive purple bruise that spanned half of Potter's torso where Draco had healed two broken ribs just two days ago.

"Fucking hell, Potter is in your bed. Naked! What the fuck, Blaise?" Draco hissed.

"I didn't know it was him," whispered Blaise desperately. "He only turned back into himself a few minutes ago. That's why I decided to get you."

With a flick of his wand, Potter was lifted up and flopped back down, now face-up. Neither did Blaise react to his question nor did Potter protest to being manhandled like this.

"Well he's definitely not asleep. What did you do to him?" Draco asked, sitting down on the edge of Blaise's bed.

"Sooky knocked him out. It wasn't even my fault, I swear! At first, I thought he was just unconscious, so we put him here. But it's been over an hour now. Please tell me I didn't kill Harry Potter. On his own national holiday. That would be, like, the worst timing."

"What could Potter possibly have done to your house-elf? Threaten to free her somehow? Rennervate!"

And then Potter was most definitely awake as his fist connected painfully with Draco's face. Draco didn't even have time to react before Potter grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him face down into the mattress, his wand-arm twisted behind his back and Potter's weight on him.

"What do you want –?" Potter growled in his ear. "Malfoy?"

"Great, you're alive," Draco wheezed.

Potter seemed to decide that he didn't pose a threat and let go of him, standing up and looking around. Blaise took a step forward from his place at the door, where he had stayed to watch the whole spectacle unfold like the useless git he was. Now that he wasn't facing the prospect of becoming Britain's most hated wizard alive, he seemed to be his usual overconfident self again.

"Harry, nice of you to join us! Anything I can offer you? Breakfast, coffee? Some clothes perhaps? Also, Happy Belated Birthday!"

"Er – that's alright, I'll just take my wand and leave, thanks," Potter replied, looking slightly dazed. His hair, which was longer on top and usually styled forward to hide his scar under an abundance of curls, was all over the place.

"You will sit your arse right back down and let me examine you properly. Blaise, you can go get his stuff," Draco commanded, pushing Blaise through the door before slamming it shut. "And you'd better knock before coming back in!"

"Well this is awkward," Potter said, already back on the bed. His hair was even more of a mess than it had already been, probably because he kept running a hand through it.

"Being naked in Blaise's bed or getting your arse handed to you by a house-elf? Or maybe you are referring to the fact that I specifically told you to treat your bruise with essence of arnica twice a day and judging by that," Draco gestured at the whole of Potter's torso, "you clearly disregarded my medical advice?"

"I don't like the smell of it," Potter lifted his chin defiantly. "And you are not the boss of me."

"Thank fuck for that," Draco said, beginning his examination. "I can't even imagine how you managed not to die this far. It certainly wasn't for a lack of trying."

For once, Potter didn't seem to have a response. He just fumbled with the waistband of his pants (red – of course) and mumbled, "I'm not naked."

Draco finished his diagnostic spells in silence. As it turned out, the Boy Who Lived would live on. When Blaise came back (knocking first like Draco had told him to, because at least one person in this room wasn't a giant prick and still followed his instructions – sometimes), Potter took his clothes and wand, got dressed in a hurry and was out the front door about two minutes later, Disapparating not three feet from the threshold just as Blaise, ever looking for a business opportunity, called after him, "Hit me up if you ever need a decent broom!"

Draco promptly turned to Blaise, a gleeful look on his face.

"You owe me big time. And by that, I mean a first-hand account of everything that happened last night. Into the sitting room!"

Blaise sighed, but led Draco into the sitting room regardless. "You're a menace. Incredibly rude and intrusive. I don't know why I put up with you, honestly."

"Shut up, just concentrate on Potter," Draco aimed his wand at Blaise's face. "Legilimens!"

Blaise's face vanished before his eyes and was replaced by flashes of his memory. He was in a dark club. Colourful orbs were dancing through the air while dozens of wizards and witches were dancing with each other. On a stage up front, a Weird Sisters cover band was playing their latest hit 'Fiendfyre inside'.

Through Blaise's eyes Draco looked around and realised he had definitely gone to last night's underground Poly-Party. And then, without further notice, Blaise was snogging a handsome young man with short blond hair who looked exactly like at least forty of the other wizards present in that club. He was also wearing the same outfit Potter had just put on.

The scenery changed and they were kissing in a dark alley, hands wandering. Then they Apparated directly into the same sitting room Draco and Blaise were currently occupying, where the fireplace instantly came to life, casting a soft, warm light upon them. Clothes went flying as Blaise and the man he was suspecting to be Potter went at it again, landing on top of each other on the sofa.

This seemed to be the limit of Blaise's exhibitionistic tendencies, because there the scene ended abruptly and was replaced by the image of Poly-Potter putting on his pants, back turned on Blaise, who appeared to be just opening his eyes again. Draco guessed that he'd fallen asleep.

Blaise got up slowly while Poly-Potter picked up his jeans. He must've been somewhat absent-minded, because he flinched massively when Blaise put a hand on his arm. He twisted with considerable speed and slammed Blaise against the wall with an arm against his throat and a hand around his wrist.

"Who are you? Are you with them?" he demanded roughly, a wild look on his face.

"Blaise Zabini," he answered feebly, trying to pry away the arm at his throat with his free hand. "And I have no idea who they are, but this is my house, so take your bloody hands off me! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"No!" another voice squeaked from farther away. "Sooky cannot let the stranger hurt Master Blaise!"

What followed were a loud bang and all the lamps coming to life at once as Harry Potter, saviour of the Wizarding world, was flung across the room, hit the far wall and instantly went down like a flubberworm. Draco didn't know what exactly was in elf magic, but it seemed powerful. Potter's crash against the wall seemed to generate a small pressure wave that rustled the curtains.

Having seen enough, Draco lowered his wand to lift the spell.

"Do you have any idea how much this memory would go for if Potter hadn't been polyjuiced? Provided you weren't such a prude and would actually share the whole experience," Draco said gleefully.

"You think there are people who would be willing to pay a few thousand galleons for a Pensieve … just for porn?" Blaise asked, still a little shaky from the unpleasant sensation of having had his mind invaded just seconds ago.

"I'm certain. You should turn your back on the broom business and focus on Saviour Porn instead," Draco said. "That being said, did we know Potter fancies men?"

Now Blaise started to grin. "Well, the Prophet clearly doesn't. They have been awfully quiet about his dating life since the whole debacle with that Muggle girlfriend of his last year," Blaise answered thoughtfully.

If anybody knew about the love lives of Britain's celebrities, it was Blaise Zabini, gossip monger extraordinaire.

"Could be because they're a tad afraid of him now, don't you think? He did shrink the editor-in-chief's head to the size of a pygmy puff after that article. I was on casualty spell reversal that day, took us almost the whole morning to re-inflate Cuffe. It was brilliant."

"Now that's a memory I would pay for," Blaise said. "I just can't imagine they will keep still much longer. Potter is their cash cow. His face on the front page sells twice as many copies as Shacklebolt's and Celestina Warbeck's combined."

Draco rolled his eyes. He'd probably never understand what people saw in Potter. Yes, there was that whole saving-their-lives business, but still. Their obsession with him was bordering on ridiculous.

"Well, it's not like he doesn't benefit from that. I'd imagine his merchandise sells like crazy. And if Healer Dayal is to be believed, the Falcons' matches are always sold out, even the friendlies," Draco said.

He got up from the sofa then, and not at all because apparently, just a few hours ago, a Slytherin and a Gryffindor had shagged there, which he still had trouble accepting. Of course, they had almost killed each other shortly thereafter and that was something he could easily believe.

"Anyway, I'm going back home. Aurelius was already waiting for his breakfast when I left and I'm afraid he will raid my cupboards if I take any longer. He was alone for the last twenty hours – St. Mungo's was all wands on deck yesterday. You wouldn't believe the weird shit people get up to on 'Potter Day'." Draco made quotation marks with his hands.

Blaise followed him to the door. "That bad?"

"You have no idea. You'd think it was a crime to stay inside and act like a sane person on his birthday. Maybe they get it from him. You certainly did. Get it from him, I mean." Draco gave him a very pointed look. "And I told you not to go to that party. You don't even know who brews that Polyjuice or where they get the hair. If it even is hair they use. And you definitely don't know who goes there. Crazy axe murderers. Filch too, probably."

They both shuddered at that thought.

"Thank you very much for that disturbing thought." Blaise didn't look very thankful. "Though I doubt he could afford the admittance fee. Unless he sells his hair to the organisers. That's where they get it from, Squibs – well, only the fit ones, obviously. So yesterday was a charity event, really."

Blaise looked rather pleased with this discovery.

"There don't seem to be that many fit Squibs then, I only saw the same few faces on everyone," Draco replied.

"It's kind of a rotating system. I think they've got like a hundred samples and each month you can choose between ten of them. Who you choose indicates your preferences. There's one for straight witches, gay wizards and so on. Makes it rather easy to find someone to take home with you."

"And Potter –?" Draco began, eager to know what Potter preferred. Not that he was interested. Just for … science.

"Bisexual." Blaise didn't even let him finish.

Draco pondered this for a second and then asked, "So … how do you know you're not snogging a relative?"

Blaise hesitated before answering, "You … don't. Poly-Parties are underground for a reason."

"Well, I guess that's not something Potter has to worry about," Draco finally said.

Who would have thought there was an upside to being the last living member of your family?