The Kind of Almost Maybe Sex

Harry'd had sex last night.

He had to have. There was no other explanation.

Right?

Harry had woken to a killer headache and a mouth that tasted like he'd been sucking on a cotton ball all night. He'd been out at Ron's birthday party and got smashed, as was customary, and after the third firewhiskey everything had gotten a little bit hazy. He remembered talking to a fit bloke, and Harry had definitely been interested. But when he'd woken up, the other side of the bed was empty, there were no used condoms anywhere, and virtually nothing out of place.

But he definitely had sex last night – how did he know?

His arse hurt.

What other reason could anyone possibly have for a sore arse than anal sex, right? Harry knew exactly what he was talking about.

Well, okay not really.

He'd never actually had sex before, which was embarrassing. He was twenty-five, almost twenty-six! Harry knew he was probably the last one in his circle of friends to have had sex. When they got together, they'd all talk about their recent sex escapades, and all Harry could do was sit there in silence and hope no one asked him what was new in his sex life. He couldn't very well tell them about his new masturbation techniques.

It was awful hearing about everyone else having sex with other people, while he was only intimately acquainted with his right hand and/or his dildo, when he could be bothered to use it.

Ron's birthday celebration had been the night where he planned to change that, but now, the morning after, he couldn't even remember if he'd managed to get the fit bloke back to his house for a shag or not. He knew nothing about the fit bloke; not his name, age, the street he lived on – nothing!

Harry got out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen to find a hangover potion. If he was going to freak out about whether or not he got rid of his virginity, he was going to do it sans pounding headache. He downed the potion, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to keep from spitting it out, and waited until it kicked in.

"Harry!" Hermione's shout from the Floo startled Harry so badly that he dropped the vial, which shattered. His left hand, which held up most of his weight, slid out from under him and he crashed against the table. Looking around for the source of the noise a couple of seconds before he registered what it was, he realised that he hadn't even attempted to go for his wand, which proved that drunkenness made him extremely sloppy.

"Hermione?" he muttered, pulling out his wand and repairing the vial with a flick. In the living room, Hermione's head sat in the centre of the writhing green flames. Harry knelt down in front of her. "Oh, good. You're alive and awake, then. I was so worried last night."

"What happened?" asked Harry, hoping that she'd give him the answers to his questions.

"Well, you were completely out of it!" she said reprovingly. "I've never seen you so drunk, Harry. What in the world got into you last night?"

"Besides the alcohol, you mean?" asked Harry wryly.

Hermione wasn't amused. "Don't joke, Harry. It's amazing that you didn't get alcohol poisoning. You were downing shot after shot like they were glasses of water!"

"Well, I'm alright, Hermione," said Harry. "Do you know if … I was talking to anyone?"

Hermione pondered his question for a moment, tilting her head upwards to stare at a spot over Harry's head. If she had the use of her arms, Harry knew she'd have pressed an index finger to the right corner of her lip.

"There was this one man," she said slowly. Harry perked up. "You both disappeared after a while."

"Any idea where we went?" asked Harry. "This is important, Hermione!"

Hermione looked nonplussed. "Why is it important?"

"Because! For once in my entire life I could've had sex, and the worse thing about it all is that I don't even remember! It's imperative that we figure out exactly what happened," said Harry gravely. He didn't really care about the guy he'd been talking to, he just wanted to know if either of their dicks had ended up in the other person, so he could finally say he'd had sex.

"Harry, sex isn't all that it's cracked up to be," said Hermione. "It doesn't really matter that you're a virgin."

"Truer words have never been spoken by someone who has had sex multiple times," said Harry. He sighed, running his hands through his very messy hair, his fingers getting caught in some knots. "It's all I ever hear from you guys whenever we all get together. Sex, sex, sex. And I can't contribute to the conversation, because I've done absolutely nothing with another person except kiss! I'm twenty-five, Hermione!"

"Harry, if it upsets you, all you need to do is tell us and we'll stop talking about it –"

"You're missing the point! I don't want you guys to stop talking about it, I want to finally join in the conversation," said Harry, resisting the urge to sprawl backward dramatically like a child. "I don't care whether you're going to help me or not, but I'm going to find this guy and I'm going to ask him what we did last night."

"Do you even know his iname/i?"

"Well, no … But I'm not going to let a little thing like that stop me!"

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Harry, that's not a little thing! That's a very, very big thing! You can't try and find someone when you don't have their name or what they look like," she said. "Harry, you're making a mountain out of a mole-hill here. Sex is really just sex. It's not that important."

"Hermione, I know you're trying to stop me from doing this, and I have to tell you it's not working whatsoever," said Harry stoutly. "So you might as well stop and save your breath."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, seemingly at a loss for what to say. Harry watched her struggle, his lips twitching in amusement. It was a rare moment where Hermione had no clue what to say, and he savoured it.

"Fine," she said. "Fine. I won't say anything. But when this blows up in your face – and trust me, Harry, it will – then I won't say I told you so."

"Yes, you will," said Harry, grinning. "You absolutely will."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she didn't defend herself. "Just try not to do anything stupid," she said, in a resigned tone. "I'll see you later, Harry."

"See you," said Harry.

He pushed himself to his feet as Hermione's head disappeared from the fire, brushing the knees of his trousers off. There was no other explanation, he thought to himself, heaving a great sigh. He must've had sex last night. He ignored the tiny voice in the back of his mind telling him snidely that the memories of a drunk man weren't meant to be trusted. He'd find out whether he was still a virgin or not soon enough.

If only he had a Pensieve, he could've looked into the past and figured out what happened, but because he was Harry Potter, life wouldn't be so easy on him.

His stomach rumbled at the same time his headache decided to make itself known to him again. Groaning, his posture slouched as he stumbled his way into the kitchen. Nothing was so important that it couldn't wait until after he had breakfast, right?

He ate his cereal with one hand propping his head up. At one point his chin slipped off his palm and he nearly went face first into the bowl. It was then that he discovered that more sleep was definitely the biggest priority and dumped his half-full bowl into the sink and dragged his feet across the floor as he went back to bed.

Harry woke up feeling somewhat back to his old self. His headache had gone away during the – Harry leaned over and checked the clock beside his bed – nine hours of sleep he'd got. It was late afternoon now and the sliver of sunlight coming through the window gave the room a soft orange glow that he really liked.

He laid in bed, one arm flung above his head and starting to go numb, and watched the dust particles float through the air. It was probably more entertaining than it should've been, he reckoned. Saliva ran down his throat and threatened to choke him as he rolled over onto his side, and he spent a good ten seconds coughing and spluttering, his heart beating frantically against his ribs.

When he finally got himself under control, he slid a hand across the expanse of empty mattress beside him, feeling a pang of loneliness. iThis/i was why he wanted to find the guy he possibly had sex with. For the love of Merlin, he didn't want to be lonely any more. This wasn't how he'd thought his life would be post-War.

With the speed that everyone else settled down at, Harry fully expected to have at least maybe a stable relationship right now, if he couldn't have a happy marriage and perhaps a baby. At seventeen, that was how he'd expected his life at twenty-five to be. Not a single virgin who pined away for a life that he couldn't have. It was pathetic.

So Harry knew he needed to find that person he'd had sex with. Could've had sex with. It was all he could think about and he had no idea why it was so important, but it was. This would be the moment where he turned his life around and seized the one thing he'd grown up deprived of and always wanting.

Happiness.

Draco heard about it accidentally as he sat a booth in the Leaky Cauldron. Well, if you could call telling your best friends to shut the fuck up so that he could hear Granger moan and complain to Weasley about Harry Potter's sex life 'accidental'. Honestly, though, it wasn't his fault; if those two idiots didn't want anyone to find out, why speak about it so publicly? Any fault rested purely on their shoulders.

They had come into the bar with the sole intent of downing at least half of the supply of alcohol, it seemed, for whenever Draco looked at them their glasses, no matter how empty they'd been on the last time he'd looked at them downing it, always seemed to be full again when he'd looked back. Also, they were discussing rather inane things that made Draco tune them out occasionally. Something, however, told him that he should pay attention to them – a gut instinct that he'd grown to depend on so much over the years that he'd never ignore now.

"So what did you ask me here for?" asked Weasley. "Not like you to want to come to a pub. Usually have to beg and negotiate before I can drag you out of your office."

"It's about Harry," said Granger, an edge of despair in her voice.

Draco's attention was immediately caught. He shut out Pansy recounting her last shopping trip and how she'd been so appalled at a woman's fashion choices. For now, they weren't important. He was glad that his table was rather close to theirs, so he didn't have to strain his ears much to hear them over the other patrons.

"Harry?" asked Weasley. "What about him?"

"He refuses to give up on this ridiculous notion that he has to find the man he'd been drinking with the other night," said Granger. "He's convinced that he finally had sex."

Draco waggled his brows, biting the inside of his lip to keep from laughing aloud. That bit of information was music to Draco's ears. The great Harry Potter, still a virgin! Ha! Across from him, Blaise knocked his knee against Draco's and arched his brows suggestively, aware of the direction Draco's mind had turned to.

"He's not still going on about that?" demanded Weasley with a groan. "Bit obsessed, ain't he?"

"I can't wait until we hear the end of it," said Granger tiredly. "Honestly, I wish someone would just shag him and get it over with."

Pansy giggled, clapping a hand over her mouth as she stared at Draco, amusement gleaming in her eyes. She was also aware of what Draco was thinking. Honestly, it wasn't so hard to guess.

iBe careful what you wish for/i, thought Draco slyly. iBecause you just might get it/i.

Already, he was planning.

It didn't take Granger and Weasley long to down a couple of drinks and leave again, Weasleys arm wrapped around Granger's shoulders. As soon as they were out the door, Blaise and Pansy started.

"So, what, you're going to seduce him now?" asked Blaise. "If word got out about Harry Potter's virginity being intact, there'll be bets all over the place to see who'll be the first to shag him."

"Could make millions off of bets like that," said Pansy thoughtfully. "Shall I start the betting pool?"

"If you do, don't put your bet on Draco," said Blaise, pinching his lower lip between his index finger and thumb, sliding a little lower in his seat. "He definitely won't be the first."

"And why is that, dear Blaise?" asked Draco with false-sweetness.

"Because we all know how much Potter loathes you," said Blaise, with a casual one-shoulder shrug. "He'd punch all your teeth down your throat before he let you up his arse."

"Charming, Blaise," said Draco dryly.

"I try my best," said Blaise, casually.

"So what're you going to do?" asked Pansy, after rolling her eyes in annoyance at Blaise. She placed her forearm on the table and leant forward. "Anything you'll be needing … ihelp/i with?"

"I never reveal my secrets or my intentions," said Draco, sniffing. He leaned back in his seat, dusted off the front of his shirt importantly, and ignored the way Blaise snorted in amusement. "You'll just have to wait and see when it all plays out."

"When it all crashes and burns is more like it," said Blaise. "You'll never convince Potter in a thousand years – actually no, wait, make that itwo/i."

"Oh Blaise, my dear," said Draco softly, smirking. "How much money are you willing to put on that?"

Harry had no idea where to start looking, which he thought was quickly becoming the story of his life.

He thought about maybe borrowing someone's Pensieve and looking at the memory, but he knew it wouldn't work; the memory was clouded by the effects of the alcohol he'd drunk. All he would get was outlines of people, vaguely familiar voices, swirling patterns of colour. He knew that from experience.

iMaybe I should ask the people I was with last night? Ron, Ginny, Hermione … one of them would have to know/i, he thought.

Harry bit his lip, contemplating it. It would seem rather embarrassing to go up to his friends – maybe not Hermione, because she already knew what he was doing – and ask them to describe in detail what the bloke he was with looked like. Ginny would probably tease him about being a virgin still.

No, no, that'd definitely be a last resort. He wasn't about to open himself up to that much humiliation unless he absolutely had no other choice left. No. He'd do this on his own for now.

He was starting to hope that maybe his fame would work in his favour this time. That the person he may or may not have slept with would see his name and face and decide to just approach him out of the blue and let him, Harry, know that they had slept together. Or at least talked to each other in a drunken stupor. He entertained the thought for all of thirty seconds before snapping himself out of the trance.

Life didn't work that way, not even for him.

"Harry!" Ginny snapped her fingers in front of Harry's face, bringing him back to the present. "Where in Merlin did you go?"

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, a bit irritated at being pulled out of his thoughts. "I'm right here."

"No, you were a million miles away," said Ginny. "What's going on?"

"Uh, ah, nothing. Nothing." Harry couldn't tell her out of fear that she'd laugh at him. The first time he'd told her he was a virgin, she'd laughed so hard her drink came out her nose, and she had to plead for about five minutes to convince him to stay.

Ginny gave him a narrow-eyed stare. "You sure?"

Feeling caught out, Harry was silent for a moment before he choked out, "Y-yeah – yeah! Of course I am."

"Of course you are, what? I didn't ask how you were, Harry, I asked if anything was up."

"I meant, of course there's nothing wrong!" said Harry quickly, berating himself silently.

"Uh huh," said Ginny, unconvinced. Thankfully, she let the subject drop. "So, are you coming back to the pub tonight? I asked Ron and Hermione; they're both coming."

An idea struck Harry. He could go back to the pub and search for the guy that he'd possibly might've slept with! Okay, so the chances of him actually being there when Harry wanted him to be was kind of low, but no matter. If Harry and the Bloke-He-Could've-Slept-With were there, then maybe the guy would re-introduce himself to Harry, explain who he was. Oh, it was brilliant, why hadn't he thought of it before?!

"Harry?" prodded Ginny, peering at him.

"I'll be there, Ginny," said Harry. "What time?"

"'Bout eight o'clock, same as usual," said Ginny, shrugging as she leaned back in her seat. "Are you going to get smashed like you did the last time?"

"Probably not," said Harry. "I could do without the hang-over."

Ginny grinned. "That one must've been a doozy."

"You have no idea."

Draco's plan to seduce Harry Potter came to fruition not even a couple of days after he decided his course of action. At the bar of one of his favourite pubs sat none other than Potter himself, hunched over, trying not to make eye contact with anyone else. He obviously didn't want company, so what did Draco do? He went right on over there, sat down and ordered a bottle of fire-whiskey. Once he got it, opened it and took a long draw from it, he leaned toward Potter.

"Potter," he said amicably.

"Malfoy?" asked Potter incredulously, his head snapping up. "What are you doing here?"

Draco lifted his firewhiskey bottle. "Having a drink, what's it look like?"

"Didn't know you drank."

Smirking, Draco said, "There's a lot of things you don't know about me," as he touched the rim of the bottle to his lips.

Potter huffed, signalling for the bartender. "Sure there is."

"For someone out for a drink on a Saturday night, you're kind of miserable," said Draco. He sipped at his drink again, staring at Potter with furrowed brows. "Shouldn't the Saviour be neck deep in women by now? Or men, if that floats your boat?"

"I'm not drunk enough to mingle," said Potter. "Being in a crowd makes me … nervous."

After he spoke, Potter looked surprised, as if he couldn't believe he would ever divulge that kind of information to someone like Draco. He shifted awkwardly in his seat, letting out an embarrassed cough, and mumbled what drink he wanted to the bartender.

"Does it?" asked Draco, feigning interest.

"Yes," said Potter guardedly. "Not that you'd care."

"Don't presume to tell me what I do and don't care about," said Draco lightly, drawing a line through the condensation on his bottle. "You don't know me."

"Yeah, but trust me, I know enough," said Potter, angling himself away from Draco now, looking out toward the crowd of people presumably to look for his friends. "Enjoy your night, Malfoy."

Draco's expression fell. Well that hadn't gone the way he thought it would. Potter hadn't spared him more than about three minutes without looking bored. Rolling his eyes, he slammed his half-empty bottle on the bar and marched out. He had no interest in sticking around any longer; he had to go plan his next method of attack.

"Who were you talking to at the bar?" asked Ginny, grinning at Harry as he approached. "He looked interested."

Harry huffed, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension that had formed. "It was Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" said Ginny, shocked. "As in Draco Malfoy? Sarcastic prat in your Hogwarts year?"

"If there's another one, please let me know. It's a long-shot, but maybe that one would be nicer."

"What was he doing talking to you?" Ginny's hands clenched into fists, her arms ramrod straight at her sides. If it wasn't for the low rock music, Harry probably could've heard her grinding her teeth. "What did he want?"

"Just to chat, I s'pose."

"I don't trust him. He must have an ulterior motive of some kind. He's a Slytherin, it's in their nature to have a scheme hidden up their sleeves."

Over Ginny's head, Harry saw Ron and Hermione approaching, hand-in-hand with Hermione just slightly ahead of Ron, pulling him along.

"Hi, everyone!" said Hermione, beaming. "We're not too late are we?"

"Not at all," said Ginny, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "You'll never guess who Harry was talking to just now."

Harry groaned, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Ginny –"

"Who?" asked Ron, whilst Hermione shot Harry a piercing stare.

"Malfoy, that's who," said Ginny, folding her arms across her chest. "Seemed to be getting quite cosy."

"Really?" Ron asked in disbelief, his eyebrows in danger of getting lost in his hairline. "You and Malfoy?"

"There is no me and Malfoy!" said Harry sharply. "He was just … talking to me, that's all."

"Flirting would be the word I'd use." Ginny huffed, cocking one eyebrow at Harry. "You'd have to be blind not to have noticed. Malfoy was definitely trying to pull you."

She didn't sound very pleased about that.

Hermione said, "Well that doesn't matter now, does it? Malfoy's gone, Harry's clearly not interested, and now we're all here to spend the night together. Let's not let the subject of Malfoy bring us all down!" She released Ron's hand, wound an arm around Ginny's shoulders, and led her off to the nearest booth.

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm missing something here?" said Ron, sounding weary. "Come on, better follow them before we get lost …"

Together, Harry and Ron navigated their way past people, apologising whenever they accidentally brushed up against or elbowed someone.

"... I thought I was okay with it," Ginny was saying to Hermione glumly. "I thought I was, but …"

Hermione silenced Ginny with a look. Ginny glanced over her shoulder, saw Harry and Ron approaching, and quickly turned away with a rather sullen look on her face.

"You alright, Gin?" asked Harry, as Ginny shuffled across to make room for Ron, who now sat across from Hermione. Harry slid into the booth next to Hermione.

"Fine," said Ginny, in a tone that clearly said she wasn't fine at all. She had a fake grin plastered to her face.

Harry didn't miss the worried look Hermione shot at Ginny. He decided that this wasn't a conversation he wanted in on. Whatever Ginny's business was, it was obviously between her and Hermione only – probably girl stuff that he wouldn't understand. He didn't need to know.

Ron quickly turned the topic of conversation to Quidditch. He'd long since given up hope that the Cannons would win the League, but not the hope that they'd win a match.

"Do you think they'll win this one?" asked Ron, leaning forward and drumming his fingers against the table. He stopped, smiling apologetically at Hermione, who had laid her hand atop his. "The Cannons, I mean."

"When was the last time they won?" asked Hermione. "From the sound of it, they haven't won in years."

"Try decades and you'll be a little closer." Ginny snorted. "The team is crap."

"Or was it a century?" asked Harry, pinching his chin thoughtfully between forefinger and thumb. "Hmm."

"Yeah, yeah, alright," said Ron, holding up his hands as if to shield himself from their jibes. "The Cannons are pretty awful, but I'm not going to stop supporting them!"

"Stubborn as usual," said Ginny. She flapped her hand at him, telling him wordlessly to get out of the booth and let her through. "Move it, Ron! I'll get the drinks, shall I?"

She didn't wait for a response; as soon as Ron got out of her way, she stood and marched off toward the bar. Ron slid back into his seat the second she left.

"So Harry," said Hermione, planting her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her clenched fist. "Still set on finding the guy you may or may not have had sex with?"

"Why do you think I'm here in the first place?" asked Harry. "Of course I am."

Hermione clicked her tongue reprovingly. "If I were you, I wouldn't waste my time on something so trivial as that. I don't see the point."

"Why're you worrying so much?" asked Harry, narrowing his eyes at her in confusion.

Hermione tried to answer quickly but choked on her response. After a few seconds of spluttering, and then Harry having to pound her on the back, she said, "Because you're my friend, Harry, and I don't want to see you hurt!"

"Who says I'm going to get hurt?"

"I just have a … I have a bad feeling about it, okay?" Hermione bit her bottom lip, glancing between Ron and Harry. "If the guy you were with the other night wanted to get to know you, wouldn't he have still been there the day after – wouldn't he have tried to communicate if there was something keeping him from staying back? I think you should just let it go."

"It's his decision, Hermione," said Ron, rather fondly. He shot Harry a look and shook his head slightly, as if to say 'good old Hermione, eh?' "Just leave it be."

Hermione opened her mouth indignantly, but was interrupted when Ginny slammed the drinks onto the table and sat down.

"Here you are!" said Ginny brightly. "Drink up!"

Hermione grabbed her beer and held it close to her chest, simmering silently. While the others were quick to drink, she kept hold of it, too deep in thought to consider getting intoxicated. Harry knew she was planning on interrogating Harry the moment that Ron and Ginny weren't around to back Harry up, and this right here was her planning what to say. Harry vowed not to wander from Ron and Ginny for the rest of the night.

"Harry Potter?" an unknown voice asked, coming from behind Harry.

Harry turned. The saliva in his mouth immediately dried, and he bit his lower lip to stop his jaw from dropping open. The most gorgeous man he'd ever clapped eyes upon stood right in front of him, smiling at Harry shyly. Olive-skinned and broad shouldered, the man was the epitome of "tall, dark and handsome". His chin-length, wavy brown hair hung across his slightly freckled face.

"Yes?" he managed to choke out. "Can I help you?"

"Forgive me if I'm interrupting," said the man.

"No!" said Harry, a bit too loudly. He berated himself silently. The man blinked in astonishment. "I mean – no, not at all. You're not interrupting."

The man huffed a laugh, his wide-mouthed grin displaying very white, even teeth. "I'm relieved."

"W-what can I help you with?" This was the one of the rare times he wasn't upset that a stranger had pulled him aside to talk to him. At least this one was attractive and not ogling him like a particularly juicy piece of meat. Or screaming shrilly – he hated those types of fans. They always made his ears ring for hours.

"Ah, so you don't remember me, then?" The man's gaze flitted away for a moment, slightly disappointed. He still managed to keep the grin on his face, though, even though it faltered.

"We've met before?"

"We have." The man inclined his head. Then, as an afterthought, he stuck his hand out. "I'm Patrick Norton. I'm the man you were with the other night in this pub. I should've known you wouldn't remember me; you were quite inebriated at the time."

How could Harry have gotten this lucky?!

"Right," said Harry, shaking Patrick's hand, feeling as if the world would rush out from underneath him at any moment. "Right, it's good to see you again."

"I was wondering … if you might like to have dinner with me?" Patrick asked. There was a moment of silence, then he ducked his head and chuckled in a way that made Harry want to lunge forward and kiss him senseless. "Excuse me if I'm being too forward. We've only just met, kind of. I can understand if I've put you off –"

"No, no!" said Harry quickly. "You … you haven't put me off. I – well, I'd like to have dinner with you you, yes."

Harry couldn't quite believe the words tumbling out of his mouth. He would've never believed that he'd be the one to fall for a pretty face, but there he was, falling.

Patrick beamed. "Great!"

"Harry, who's this?" Ginny appeared at Harry's shoulder, staring curiously between him and Patrick.

"Do you remember the guy from the other night?" asked Harry. "The last night we spent at the pub, I mean."

Ginny frowned. "Not really. Everything from that night's a bit hazy …"

"Well, this is the bloke I was with," said Harry, waving a hand at Patrick.

"No way!" exclaimed Ginny, sucking in a loud, shocked breath. "You actually managed to find him?"

"Well I didn't find him; it was the other way around –"

Patrick interjected. "You were looking for me?"

"Are you kidding?" said Ginny, before Harry could open his mouth to respond. He was visited by the urge to slap a hand over Ginny's mouth, embarrassed and scared about what she'd say. "I'd say he was nigh on obsessed with finding you! Not many people have been graced with Harry's obsession, mind you. The last one was –"

"Alright!" yelled Harry, making Ginny jump. "Ginny, why don't you get another drink, yeah? Way, way over there at the bar. Preferably far away from us."

Ginny pouted. "But I wanted to talk to your new friend." Despite her protests, she allowed Harry to gently push her away, her lips beginning to twitch in a smile. She stood on the tips of her toes, craning to see over Harry's head to say to Patrick, "It was nice meeting you!"

"Go find Ron and Hermione!" said Harry, with one last firm push. He heard Ginny's laughter ring out above the noise from the other patrons. Turning back to Patrick, he cleared his throat awkwardly, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "That was my friend Ginny Weasley."

"Rather exuberant, she is," said Patrick, grinning.

"That's putting it mildly."

Patrick let out a gasp, jerking back the white sleeve of his shirt to check the time on his wristwatch. "Damn! I'm going to be late for my shift," he said.

"Oh, really?" asked Harry disappointedly. He'd hoped to have more time to spend with Patrick. He couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that he'd found the person he'd been looking for, the one he possibly had sex with. Which reminded him that he still had to ask about that one.

"Yes." Fishing a piece of parchment out of his pocket and a self-inking quill, he scribbled something on it and handed it to Harry. "My address. Come around at noon tomorrow?"

"Y-yeah, definitely."

Patrick lunged in, kissed Harry on the cheek and then marched to the door. He was gone as quick as he'd arrived, leaving Harry with a sense of vertigo. Spinning around, he went to rejoin Ron, Hermione and Ginny at the bar, the latter of whom was regaling the other two about meeting Patrick. Hermione looked grim, whilst Ron and Ginny were laughing.

Just what had he got himself into?

"Hey guys," said Harry as he joined them.

"You, Harry, have the luck of the Irish, it seems!" exclaimed Ron, slapping Harry on the back jovially. "Pity that you're not actually Irish, though."

"Harry, I don't like the idea of you meeting up with this stranger," said Hermione quickly. "I could see him from here. He looked a bit … shifty."

"You worry too much!" Ginny tossed her head back and laughed, winding an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Everyone's a stranger until you get to know them better, Hermione!"

The topic swiftly changed, but Harry noticed that all through the night Hermione looked a bit troubled.

Clutching the parchment containing Patrick's address in hand, birds twittering happily in the trees across the street, Harry approached Patrick's house with caution at around one o'clock in the afternoon the next day. He was so nervous he felt about ready to fall apart. Everything just seemed so crazy. How could something like this be happening to him, of all people?

He barely rapped his knuckles against the door when it was ripped open so suddenly that Harry almost toppled inside in surprise. Steady hands gripped his shoulders, holding him until he got his feet back under him.

"Sorry," said Patrick. "It's just that I've been excited to see you all morning. I've barely been able to sit still."

Harry grinned, a pool of warmth settling in his chest. "Really?"

"Come inside," said Patrick, stepping out of the doorway to permit Harry entry. Harry stepped inside with trepidation. "To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure you'd turn up."

"How come?" asked Harry, surprised.

"Well, I thought I was being a little too forward last night. I'm not usually so bold."

"I like boldness," said Harry, grinning, as he was led into the living room. "I was in the Gryffindor house at Hogwarts, you know."

"I know," said Patrick. "You were telling me about it the other night when we met. Well, slurring is more the word I'd use. You were very chatty that night."

"Oh right." Harry blushed. "Sorry about that."

"I didn't say I minded!" Patrick said quickly. "It was rather endearing."

"If you say so." Harry cleared his throat. "Hey, about – about the other night. Did we have sex?"

Patrick laughed. "No, no. But we were going to. However, you tripped on some clothes on the floor and landed arse first on the bedpost. You were in pain so I thought I'd just put you to bed and try and find you later."

Disappointment flashed through Harry. "Oh."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"No, it's … fine." Trust Harry to do something stupid like that.

They spent the afternoon together, talking about themselves. By five o'clock, Harry found himself dozing off on the sofa with his legs tucked underneath him, nursing a cup of tea in his hands. It was then that Patrick gently roused him, taking the cup of tea from him, and showed him to the Floo. They kissed goodbye and promised to see each other again soon.

Draco was reading the morning newspaper in the dining room when Ninny appeared at his elbow, bowing so low that her pointed nose brushed the floor.

"Master Draco, sir, Ninny is seeing Miss Parkinson's head in the fire, sir," said Ninny, her naturally high, squeaky voice making Draco wince. "Is Ninny to be bringing her through, sir?"

Sighing, Draco closed and folded the iDaily Prophet/i in half, setting it down on the table. "Yes, I suppose so."

Ninny bowed again, then disappeared.

Minutes later, the sound of Pansy's heels against the floorboards announced her arrival, accompanied by the high, mocking sound of her laughter. Draco tensed in his chair, his fingers twitching toward his wand. The sound of Pansy's laughter reminded him uncannily of Aunt Bellatrix's. Whenever Aunt Bellatrix laughed like that, Draco knew that trouble was always about to follow – to himself or someone else.

"So it seems that Harry Potter is taken," she said. "Looks like your plan to snag him has gone a bit … awry, shall we say?"

She sat down at the table without invitation, grabbed the iDaily Prophet/i and unfolded it to reveal Potter and an unknown man smiling at each other. Potter was standing at the man's front door, and they were talking to each other. Neither of them realised that there'd been a photographer for the Daily Prophet nearby. Holding it up for Draco to see, even though he'd just been reading it, Pansy smirked at him.

"Looks like not even a Malfoy can have everything they want."

"Relationships fall apart easily if you know where to put the pressure," said Draco. He grabbed the Daily Prophet off Pansy, putting it well out of her reach. He knew she wasn't that interested in the article enough to summon it back over; she only cared about tormenting him with it. "The only thing I really have to do is figure out where to apply said pressure."

Pansy rested her chin on her hand. "Blaise is looking forward to the ten Galleons you both bet."

"He'll be getting no money out of me, of that you can be certain. I intend to win."

"I just thought I'd remind you of what you stand to lose," said Pansy. "Other than Potter's delectable arse, that is. I wonder if this … what was his name? Patrick? … man will get into Potter's pants."

"Then I must move quicker if I am to get rid of my competition."

"That you do, Draco dear, that you do." Pansy sighed, sitting up straight in her seat, smoothing out the front of her knee-length black dress. "Mocking you is not the only reason I'm here, however."

Draco snorted indelicately. "Could've fooled me."

"My sources tell me that fooling you is not as hard as you would lead people to believe." She blinked owlishly at him for a moment, as Draco spluttered in offence, then continued talking calmly. "As I was saying, it's not the only reason I'm here. I have information about where Potter's going to be next."

"And why would you want to help me?"

"Because I like watching Blaise lose. He's rather attractive when he's sour-faced and moody."

"That's debatable."

"Opinions usually are, my dear."

They were silent for a moment, before Draco sighed and asked, "So where's he going to be?"

To say that Harry was surprised to see Draco Malfoy at one of the Ministry's charity functions was an understatement, as was the two of them talking for most of the night and Malfoy being surprisingly well-mannered, even charming! Harry wondered where the old Malfoy went, the one who was snotty, prim and posh and never missed an opportunity to insult someone. But Harry much rather liked this version of him and wasn't that sad to see the old one had disappeared.

"Would you like another glass of champagne?" asked Malfoy, stopping a passing waiter, who nodded his head politely to them. When Harry shook his head – he wasn't quite done with his third yet, and he didn't want to overdo it – Malfoy shrugged his shoulders as if to say 'your loss' and took one of the glasses.

"So I didn't know you were interested in these charity functions," said Harry, out of a lack of any good conversation starters. "I've never seen you at one of them before."

"Been looking for me, huh?" asked Malfoy, cocking a brow.

Inexplicably, Harry felt himself blush. "No! I was just –"

Holding up a hand, looking as if he was fighting back laughter, Malfoy said, "Don't freak out on me. I was only joking. Turns out, I'm not very interested in these functions at all."

"Then why'd you show up to this one?"

"Something about war orphans just … pulls at my heartstrings, really."

"I hope you're not joking, because it's not a laughing matter."

Malfoy shook his head solemnly. "I'm not. The war made me realise how fragile the human life is. I remember vividly how close I came to being an orphan myself. One never really knew what the Dark Lord was going to do next, or who he would kill for pleasure. Awful times."

At times, Harry forgot that Malfoy was actually participating in the war on the opposite side. There was some part of him that wanted to blame Malfoy for what he'd done – torturing people, standing aside and watching others get murdered – but he'd always remember that day in the bathroom, before he accidentally sliced up Malfoy, and reminded himself that some people just didn't get to decide which side they were on. Some people had the choice made for them, whether they liked it or not.

Harry glanced around the room. Many people were glaring over their shoulders at Malfoy, whispering furtively to the people standing next to them. No doubt the whispers were malicious.

Malfoy must have noticed where Harry was looking, because he said, "I don't worry about them. There's nothing that they can say about me that I haven't heard before – or that I haven't thought about myself before."

"You've thought awful things about yourself before?" That didn't add up to the cocky, self-absorbent Malfoy that Harry knew. He couldn't wrap his head around it.

"I've done a lot of things that I regret." Malfoy stared levelly at Harry, but Harry saw the haunted look in his eye. "Why wouldn't I say and think awful things about myself? Lots of people were hurt because of me. Or killed."

In that moment, Harry knew they were both thinking about Dumbledore.

"Luckily the Saviour was here to save us all, hey," said Malfoy, smirking as he nudged Harry in the side with his elbow.

For once, Harry found that he didn't mind someone calling him 'Saviour'. "Right."

"Harry!" Patrick appeared at Harry's side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "What are you doing here? There're people who want to talk to you. They've been asking me to find you all night!"

For all intents and purposes, Patrick acted as if Malfoy wasn't standing right beside him.

"I was just talking to Malfoy," said Harry.

"Come on, you have people to talk to," said Patrick, without even acknowledging what Harry said.

"Hello!" said Malfoy loudly, stepping closer to Patrick, forcing him to look up. "I'm Draco Malfoy."

"I know who you are," said Patrick, baring his teeth in disgust.

"Well, when you approach someone you know and they're talking to another person, it's considered polite to at least say hello and introduce yourself to that person as well." Malfoy drew himself up haughtily. "Someone ought to teach you some manners."

"And why would I talk to a Death Eater scum like you?" demanded Patrick.

"Hey!" said Harry sharply, but was ignored.

"I don't know what you're here for," said Patrick, speaking over the top of Harry, "but you might as well leave. No one wants you here to sully the function."

"This was an open charity event, let me remind you." Malfoy's cheeks were splotched red in anger. If looks could kill, then Patrick would've been eviscerated from the intensity of Malfoy's glare. "I am here to support the orphans of the war."

"You mean the children that you helped make orphans?"

"That's enough!" shouted Harry, just as Malfoy opened his mouth to respond. "Patrick, just go. Go away, over the other side of the room. Now."

"But Harry –" Patrick reached out to grab Harry's elbow, but Harry quickly stepped out of reach.

"No. Don't touch me. We weren't here to cause a scene."

"If you weren't talking to this riff-raff –"

Harry slid his wand out of his pocket. Even though he held it by his side, the threat was still there and wisely Patrick backed off, muttering under his breath. Everyone in the ballroom was staring at them at this point, mouths agape and eyes wide at the promise of a fight.

"I'm sorry about that," said Harry, turning back to Malfoy.

"Don't worry about it." Malfoy's face was blank of expression. He took a step back, away from Harry. "I must be going now. I'll talk to you later, Potter."

"Wait! You don't have to go –"

But Malfoy was already marching across the ballroom, and out of Harry's line of sight.

Fuming, Harry found Patrick standing next to the punch bowl, talking to a man with brunet hair that wore a really fancy set of violet robes that must've cost him an arm and a leg. Harry marched over to them.

"If you could please excuse us, sir," he said to the man, who jumped in surprise at his sudden appearance and the fact that it was Harry Potter who'd interrupted him. "I need to have a quick chat with my … friend."

"Why y-yes of course!" stammered the man, already hurrying away.

"That was uncalled for, what you did back there," said Harry, lowering his voice so that no one except Patrick could hear him.

"He's a Death Eater!" said Patrick. "He doesn't belong in our society."

"If you recall, I testified for Malfoy's freedom," said Harry, balling his fists in anger. Sparks shot out of the end of his wand, still clutched in his hand, but neither of them noticed. "A freedom that Malfoy was granted, which means he does belong in our society. Your sort of thinking is what created these past two wars in the first place!"

"Don't align me with scum like that!"

"Then don't act like them!"

Patrick's face was quickly reddening in fury. "So, what? He just gets to parade around in here like he owns the place, calling you 'Saviour' in a mocking tone?"

"He said it in jest!" snapped Harry. "I think I know the difference between a joke and an insult – especially coming from Malfoy! I've known him far longer than I've known you, after all."

"Whatever, Harry, just keep defending him like you always do. I'll still be here when you come to your senses, if you're lucky." Patrick spun around and stalked away, his posture rigid with fury.

The only reason Harry stuck around at the charity function for another couple of hours was that there were still people that wanted to talk to him. About business, politics, his future prospects and their families. It was all so very dull, and he was still so very upset, but he toughed it out until the hour of midnight finally came and he bade them all farewell and Apparated home alone.

Unbuttoning his robes, standing alone in his bedroom, Draco decided that it would be the last time for a while that he'd confront Potter again. He was still shaken up by the reaction he'd got from Potter's boyfriend, although he was pleased to know that it would come between the two of them. For now, his work was done.

Three Months Later.

"Harry, I don't understand why you always have to stop me!" exclaimed Patrick, rolling off the bed and to his feet. He cared little about his nakedness as he paced Harry's bedroom like a caged animal. "Why do you let it get to that point where I'm hard and want to fuck, then you stop me?"

"Why do you always have to assume that I want sex?" demanded Harry. He felt exposed in a way that he didn't like, as if all of his secrets were written across his skin for Patrick to see. Grabbing the covers, he lifted them up to his chin, beginning to tremble.

He hated nights like these. Patrick had been Harry's boyfriend for all of three and a half months, and he had little control over his own libido. When Harry wanted to kiss, Patrick wanted to fuck. When Harry wanted to snuggle, Patrick wanted to fuck. No matter how much they tried to compromise, the fact was that Harry wasn't ready for sex, and most of the time Patrick couldn't stand it.

"We've been together three months!" Patrick gripped his hair like he was about to rip it out. "Surely that's enough time to get over your fear of sex?"

"I don't have a fear of sex!" Harry threw the blankets off and stood up, too. Unlike Patrick, however, he still had his pants on. "I'm just not – I'm just not ready!"

"And when, pray tell, are you going to be ready? When the fuck am I supposed to stop using my own fucking hand to bring me off? Because I'd really like to know!"

"I thought you understood," said Harry. "I thought you'd be patient."

"I've been patient!"

"Oh, so you've had to wait three bloody months, big whoop for you! You act as if it's been three years!"

Patrick snorted derisively. "At the rate you're carrying on, the relationship won't last until then."

Harry's jaw dropped open in shock. "The way I'm carrying on? You act as if I've asked you to kick baby crups! All I'm asking you to do is wait until I'm ready for sex, not assume that I want it whenever you do."

"I've had it up to here with you!" Patrick held his hand up just above his head. His normally handsome face was screwed up into a look of pure anger. "Everyone has to wait for you, the great Chosen One!"

Harry reared back, shocked. Not once in the last few months had Patrick alluded to Harry's status with that amount of disdain. "Get out of my house," he whispered, numb.

Realising that he'd just crossed a line, Patrick's anger softened a bit and he stepped forward with the intent to soothe him, but Harry stepped back.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean –"

Harry jabbed his finger at the bedroom door. "Leave me alone."

"You act as if no one has said that to you before," said Patrick. "You didn't seem to mind it that day when Malfoy said it."

"He didn't say it with contempt. He said it in jest." Harry was astonished that Patrick remembered something that happened almost three months ago. Harry himself had forgotten his conversation with Malfoy until right that very moment.

Patrick snorted. "You just keep making excuses for the guy, don't you?"

"Get out before I make you get out."

Patrick scooped up his clothes and proceeded to dress himself as he left. "There's just no talking to you any more, Harry. You've changed."

Harry chose not to respond. It was only a minute later when he heard the front door slam.

It was three days and no word from Patrick when it all went to shit.

"Harry!" Hermione burst through the Floo, a copy of the iDaily Prophet/i in hand. There was a panicked look in her eyes and her hair seemed to be wilder than ever. "Harry, have you seen this?"

"No," said Harry with a derisive snort. "Why would I want to read that stinking pile of –"

Hermione cut him off by throwing the paper down on his desk.

centerbPOTTER, PRUDE?/b
iAn inside look on the love life – or lack thereof – of wizarding hero, Harry Potter!
Written by Rita Skeeter./icenter

"What the –" Grabbing the paper, he scanned through it. Two words leapt out at him. Patrick Norton. "That utter fucking arsehole!"

He stood up with the intent on getting the Floo back to his place, where he knew Patrick would be.

"Harry," said Hermione worriedly, catching Harry's arm just as he passed her. "What are you going to do?"

"Punch him hard in the face, then throw him out of my house." Harry paused for a moment. "Maybe set fire to his belongings and charm the fire to follow him."

"Harry, that won't solve anything," said Hermione. "I showed you this because I wanted you to be prepared. There'll be a lot of questions from other journalists for at least a few more weeks. I checked your house before I came over here and there's five of them outside your fence, masquerading as Muggles."

"Why is it that when I try and find a partner to spend my life with, everything must turn to shit?!" Harry yanked his arm out of Hermione's grip, turned around and kicked his chair so hard it flew across the room. Hermione let out a shocked and frightened gasp, leaping back. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth. "Everyone has to get a story out of me, don't they? Come on everyone; earn your living by putting me down! I'm not a real person, I'm just a story! I'm your big weekly payment! There's not a person with a life and feelings here!"

"Harry, please calm down –"

"iDon't tell me to calm down/i!"

Hermione flinched. "Sorry."

Seeing her frightened of him, Harry forced himself to calm down for her sake.

"Listen," he said, forcing himself to lower his voice and speak kindly to her. It wasn't her fault this had happened, and he knew that. "I'm going to go home and probably punch him in the face before I kick him out, alright? Nothing is going to stop that from happening."

Hermione sighed heavily, nodded once, then stepped out of his way. "Go ahead. Ron and I will be at home waiting for you, okay?"

"Thanks Hermione," said Harry, pressing a kiss to her cheek. He stormed over to the Floo. "See you … whenever I see you, then."

Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, he stepped into the fire, called out his destination and threw down the powder. Just before he was whisked away, he saw the upset expression on Hermione's face and his chest constricted. It was all so unfair for all of them, not just him.

All the more reason for him to get revenge for what Patrick had done.

When Harry jumped out of his Floo, the first thing he saw was Patrick sitting on the lounge with the Prophet in his hand, waiting for Harry to arrive.

Seeing him, Patrick stood up. He didn't even look guilty about what he'd done.

"I know you must be angry with me," he said softly, "but allow me to explain why I did it."

Harry said nothing. He stalked over to Patrick, looked him up and down once, then punched him square in the jaw. It was fortunate for Patrick that the lounge was behind him, for his head snapped back and he reeled for a moment before collapsing.

"I suppose I deserved that," said Patrick, pressing his hand to his bleeding lip.

"No, no you deserve more than that, you fucking prick!" Harry grabbed the paper, showing him the article written about him on the front page. "Why did you go to the Prophet about me?"

"Because I needed you to open up your eyes and see what was in front of you," said Patrick solemnly. "You wouldn't listen to me."

"So you were pissed off I didn't want to have sex with you immediately, which made you go to the Prophet?" Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. "Out of all the excuses you could've come up with, that has to be the poorest." His voice went a little higher as he, imitating Patrick, said in a simpering tone, "Oh, Harry Potter doesn't want to sleep with me before he gets to know me! Woe is me, woe is me! I have to tell the," he dropped the ridiculous tone and said in his own, very angry voice, "I have to tell the ientire fucking country/i about it!"

He threw the paper at Patrick. It hit him in the face.

"I'm going to the pub," he said. "I'm going to drown myself in a beer. I want you out of my house before I get home, or I swear to Merlin I'll hex you until you're nothing but a piece of filth on my floor – which, coincidentally, is what you are to me now."

Patrick stood up, letting the paper fall to the floor in a heap. "Don't throw what we have away because of a silly little article. I did it for us."

"That," said Harry, jabbing a finger at the paper, "was not for us. That was for you." He pointed at Patrick now. "You got your Galleons worth, and that's all you'll be getting from me."

Harry walked back over to the Floo. "I know exactly what's mine in this house and where it all is. If you dare steal something from me, I'll know about it, and I'll make good on hexing you to smithereens. So just get whatever shit you brought with you and get out."

"But Harry!" said Patrick. "I did it for us!"

Harry glared at him, grabbing some Floo powder. "There is no us. There's only you. I can't believe I didn't see that that's all that matters to you – especially when Hermione brought it up!"

"Hermione Granger knows very little about anything!" said Patrick, baring his teeth in anger.

"Then she still knows a great deal more than you," said Harry scathingly. "I want you out of my house."

He stepped into the Floo, called out his destination and disappeared, hoping fervently that Patrick was wise enough to get his stuff and go. Harry wouldn't hold back from hexing him if he was still there. His hand itched toward his wand just thinking about it.

Stepping out of the pub's Floo, Harry dusted himself off, realising belatedly that the whole place had gone quiet at the sight of him. Looking up, willing his cheeks not to flame in embarrassment, he stared around at each and every one of the patrons, daring any of them to say something. A couple of people snorted with laughter.

With as much dignity as he could muster, he went to the bar and ordered a butterbeer. Anything stronger and he'd be drowning his sorrows and getting drunk for everyone to see. Harry had no idea how many reporters were in the pub that could write articles about his drunken escapades and he had no wish to find out. He found an empty booth and sat down.

Almost immediately, someone stepped up beside him, casting their shadow over him. He refused to look up at whoever it was. They probably weren't important anyway.

"I'd say I'm surprised to see you here, but that'd be a lie."

Harry closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. "Malfoy."

"Got it in one," said Malfoy. He groaned theatrically as he sat down opposite Harry, taking the time to smooth out the non-existent wrinkles in his trousers. "I'd ask if you were attempting to drown your sorrows, but that's butterbeer. You'd need something a lot stronger than that."

"Which is precisely why I'm drinking butterbeer."

"Huh, smart. After the last article about you, you wouldn't want to feed the public any more rumours."

Harry took a swig of his butterbeer, then asked, "What are you doing, Malfoy?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Malfoy arched a brow. "I'm sitting down, talking to you."

"Yes, and why is that?" Harry sipped at his butterbeer again, then set it down on the table.

"Do I need a reason?"

Harry stared at Draco in disbelief. In the silence between him and Malfoy, someone in the background laughed uproariously. "We're not friends. We've never shared a civil conversation in our lives except for the one at the charity function."

"And if you keep going with that interrogation of yours, we never will have a civil conversation again." Malfoy took Harry's butterbeer right out of his hand and drank, ignoring Harry's protests. "You ought to work on your conversational skills, Potter, they're simply dreadful."

"Give me that," said Harry, leaning forward to snatch his drink back. Malfoy raised his hands, shaking his head as if Harry had disappointed him. "My conversational skills are fine, thanks very much."

"Not from where I'm sitting." Malfoy sniffed, lifting his nose into the air.

"Oh, Mr. Potter!" someone cried. Harry sighed heavily, glancing over his shoulder. A woman with cherry red hair and bright red lipstick came hurrying through the door of the pub, a photographer in tow. Her high heels clapped loudly against the old wooden floors, attracting much attention. "If I could just have a word –"

"Sorry!" said Harry in the loudest, most firm voice he could muster. "I'm actually having a drink right now –"

"Oh, but it'll only take a moment," said the woman. "I'm Felicity Smokewood, a reporter from –"

"Sorry, but I don't have the time –"

"– allegations from Patrick Norton about your sex life. What have you to say about that?" continued Felicity Smokewood, as if Harry hadn't even spoken.

"Listen!" started Harry angrily.

Malfoy cleared his throat and stood up. "If I may interject here?"

Harry groaned, rolling his eyes and resisting the urge to slap his hands to his face. Whatever Malfoy had to say about all this would undoubtedly make everything worse –

"Please, go on ahead," said Felicity. Her eyes narrowed with distrust, recognising Malfoy. But any great reporter, Harry knew, would let anyone speak their minds if it led to a great story.

"Harry Potter's sex life, lack thereof or not, has nothing to do with any of us," said Malfoy, much to Harry's astonishment. "What does it matter if he's had sex before or not?"

"Malfoy," whispered Harry, eyes wide as he stared at the man. Never would he have believed that Malfoy would come to his defence like this. He'd have expected Malfoy to taunt him about his virginity, not defend him from prying reporters.

"It's despicable that you would even come here to question him about it," continued Malfoy, glaring at Felicity, and the photographer, both of whom had the decency to blush and look ashamed. "The whole of the Wizarding world are not Harry Potter's significant other, so what does it matter to you about his sexual partners?"

"It – is –" Felicity cleared her throat, getting ahold of herself. She stood up straighter, brushing imaginary lint off her shoulders. "It is my duty to the Wizarding world to report topics that interest the public. People must remain in the know!"

"Oh look, Potter! We have a budding Rita Skeeter!" Malfoy said to Harry in a droll tone, sneering at Felicity.

"Do not align me with that scum!" cried Felicity, her face contorting in anger. "I am an honest reporter!"

"An honest reporter you may be, but you're not a very good one." Malfoy picked up Harry's butterbeer and shoved it not too gently into Harry's chest. "Harry, let's go. We've already disturbed the peace in the pub. Good day, Ms. Smokewood. I look forward to your next article."

He pressed his hand to the small of Harry's back, nudging him out the door.

"Why did you do that?" asked Harry, bewildered, once they were outside. "Why'd you defend me?"

"Because I find myself taking a liking to you," said Malfoy promptly. "I've been interested in dating you for quite some time."

"W-what … you have?" stammered Harry, shocked. "For how long, Malfoy?"

"Draco."

"What?"

"I just rescued you from a nosy reporter. The least you could do is call me by my given name."

Harry was knocked for six by that – by everything. "Fine. Draco." That sounded weird, coming from his own mouth after years of calling him Malfoy. "Call me Harry."

"Oh, I intend to." Suddenly, Malfoy – Draco – leaned in as if he were about to kiss Harry on the cheek. Harry's heart seized with fear. What was he going to do if Draco did kiss him? Instead, Draco's lips grazed across Harry's ear as he whispered, "I can see that you're thrown by all of this. So I'm going to let you have three days to make up your mind. We can date, then fuck. Or we can fuck, then date. Or we can just fuck. Whatever you want. You have three days to decide."

Draco pulled out his wand and Apparated away before Harry could think to say anything to stop him.

When Harry returned home, he was pleased to discover that Patrick was nowhere to be found, and all of the man's belongings were gone. On the kitchen table, there was a letter addressed to Harry in Patrick's own handwriting.

centeriI'm sorry that you let this ruin us,
but you know where to find me if you
want to try again. I love you, Harry.
I thought we could overcome
anything, but you refused to let us
be together. It was just a dumb article.
Write to me, please, when you get this,
Love,
Patrick./i/center

Harry burned the letter. If Patrick thought Harry was going to go back to him after what he'd done, then he had another think coming. Patrick could rot for all Harry cared.

As the letter turned to ashes on the table, Harry finally felt like he could breathe easily, as if some great weight had been lifted off his chest.

Now all he had to do was decide what to do about Malfoy.

Three days passed quicker than what Harry would've liked them to. He said nothing to his friends about Draco Malfoy's offer, because quite frankly he didn't know what to do about it. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued by it. Draco was … weird, to be certain, but it interested Harry.

Draco's forwardness was refreshing, and Harry knew that Draco would oppose him without a second thought if they disagreed on something. If there was one thing that Harry could count on, it was that Draco would never treat him as the Saviour.

On the third day, he sent Draco a note with only two words.

iLet's fucki.

"I can't believe you managed to do it!" shrieked Pansy, the day after Draco had received the note from Harry. "You actually managed to do it!"

Draco held out his hand to a sullen Blaise. "I'll have those ten Galleons now, please."

Groaning as if the action was putting a great strain on him, Blaise took out his coin purse, extracted the ten Galleons and slapped them into Draco's palm.

"I don't know how you manage to do these things," said Blaise.

"Magic," said Draco with a smirk.

"You're joking, aren't you, Harry?" demanded Ron, when Harry told them the news. "You can't really be thinking about having sex with Malfoy, of all people?"

"I knew this wouldn't turn out well," said Hermione through a groan. "This … this obsession that you had with Malfoy – and the obsession that you had with finding the person you didn't have sex with! I knew that it wouldn't come to anything good!"

"I can take care of myself," said Harry. "If it turns out that I'm making a mistake, then I'll make it. You guys … you have to trust me, okay? Let me do this."

Hermione smiled at him tearfully. "I will."

"But I'll hex Malfoy's balls off if he hurts you," said Ron fiercely. "Make sure you let him know that."

Harry chuckled. "Don't worry, I will."

Draco was glad for the fact that Harry didn't want the "rose petals on the bed, candles in every nook and crevice" kind of first-time. If it had to be as romantic as that, Draco probably wouldn't be about to have sex with him. He hated it when someone tried to inject more romance than necessary into sex.

Three candles were enough to light the room in a dim orange glow, shadows writhing in the corners. It was romantic as Draco was ever going to let it get.

Draco's bed was unmade, the sheets and duvet in a tangle on the middle of the mattress and one of his pillows falling off the bed. He couldn't summon the energy to care. If he made it, they'd just ruin it anyway so there was no point.

The hinges squealed as the bedroom door was pushed open.

"I wasn't sure what I should wear," said Harry, and Draco turned. "So I just thought maybe this would do."

Harry wore one of Draco's green silk dressing gowns that he remembered leaving on the hook attached to the bathroom door. Undoing the straps, Harry let the dressing gown fall – his face bright red from embarrassment – to reveal absolutely nothing but his own naked body underneath.

Draco's eyes widened at the sight, his breath hitching in his chest. He couldn't help but stare at the sight before him, unable to speak a word, as his cock twitched in interest and began to tent the front of his trousers. Walking across the room to Harry, Draco felt like he was moving through water.

"Is it alright?" asked Harry nervously, starting to step back cautiously. "Am I being too forward?"

Draco snaked an arm around Harry's waist and drew him flush against his body. "Not forward enough." He caught Harry's mouth in a bruising kiss. Harry gasped, his hands hovering in mid-air for a moment, before gently placing them on Draco's sides, nipping at Draco's bottom lip lightly, as if to gauge whether it was okay. "Damn it, Potter," said Draco, pulling his head back to level a glare at Harry, "if you're going to kiss me, then ikiss/i me!"

Draco didn't want Harry to ask for permission to do anything. He wanted Harry to take what he decided was his. Wanted to feel claimed – every kiss, every touch, an act of possession that would mark Draco as Harry's and Harry's only, beware anyone who tried to touch.

"Wait – b-but …"

"If you want me, then have me," said Draco, baring his teeth in frustration. "I'm not having sex with some passive little twit who waits for me to give permission before he does anything! Grab me like I'm about to leave and kiss me like it's the only thing that'll convince me to stay! A little passion would go a long way, you know."

Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking hesitant, but then he growled and lunged forward, grabbing Draco's face and yanking him forward for a bruising kiss. Their noses bumped and their teeth clashed and Draco was sure that the pain in his mouth was from him biting his own tongue, but he didn't care; it was perfect. He was getting exactly what he wanted and there was no room in his brain for any complaints.

"Get your sodding clothes off!" mumbled Harry against Draco's lips. His fingers fumbled at Draco's white button-down shirt. "Why am I the only one naked here?"

Draco chuckled. He grabbed at the folds of the shirt and yanked, sending buttons flying in all directions. He had plenty of shirts like that, so it wouldn't be missed. As he fought his arms free of the shirt and discarded it wherever, Harry attacked Draco's belt, pulled it free and then shoved Draco's trousers down so that it pooled at his ankles. Attempting to step out of them, Draco was recaptured in a kiss just as his foot got caught and he stumbled forward into Harry with a little yelp. Harry's quickly caught and steadied him, letting out a few breathy chuckles.

"Lie down on your back," said Draco, when he was finally free of his trousers and pants, naked now, too.

"What?" asked Harry distractedly, biting and sucking at the skin on Draco's neck in a way that made Draco's toes curl. "Merlin, Draco …"

"Bed, now. You, on your back," said Draco, giving Harry several little shoves. "Hurry up."

The few seconds that their bodies weren't touching was torture. Draco waited long enough for Harry to sit down on the bed before he pounced back on him, shoving him into the mattress. Harry grunted, his arms flying up as if to protect himself, but then he relaxed, hummed, and wrapped his arms around Draco's waist.

They kissed for a while longer, perhaps a minute or two, content for the moment with exploring each other's mouths as their hands wandered across planes of naked skin. Two naked bodies pressed together for comfort, stability and love. The world was at their feet, it seemed, just as all the love in the world seemed to be in their hearts, expanding it to the point where it should've burst long ago. It was the most amazing thing they'd ever experienced.

But the mood soon changed, sexual tension recharging, when Harry allowed his legs to fall open wider, Draco shifting to lie between the v-shape of Harry's legs, and Harry arched with a moan.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Draco, reluctantly pulling away from the kiss.

"Yes – Merlin, Draco, yes," said Harry, staring up at Draco through his eyelashes as if Draco were the moon and stars.

Draco's stomach did a funny little somersault. "Alright," he said softly. "But you can tell me to stop any time and I will, alright?" But from the way that Harry was looking at him, Draco doubted whether Harry would even want to stop this at all, which Draco was glad for.

Summoning his wand wordlessly, Draco pointed it at his fingers and whispered a lubrication charm, his fingers now coated in thick, clear gel. Rubbing his fingers together to spread the gel, he said to Harry, "This is going to feel weird, but you need to relax, alright?"

"Y-yeah, okay … Agh!" Harry jerked as Draco's fingers circled his arsehole.

"Don't tense up," warned Draco. "It'll hurt a lot more if you do."

"Easier – easier said than done!" said Harry breathlessly, his expression pinched.

To try and distract him, Draco started to palm Harry's erection, focusing particularly on the head of his cock, smoothing pre-cum around with his thumb. Harry let out a low, resonant moan, his head dropping back onto the pillow and his hips starting to jerk minutely. Within at least a minute of jerking Harry off, Harry came with a choked cry, his hands fisting into the sheets. Draco's eyes widened at the sight, his breath coming out in short, sharp pants. If anything, he only grew more aroused at the sight – something he hadn't thought possible.

"Sh-shoulda warned you," said Harry, panting, when he'd calmed down. "Sorry."

"N-no big deal," said Draco, clearing his throat. "It'll … it'll take the edge off."

Harry's loose muscles allowed Draco to push his finger inside him with little to no resistance this time. Harry let out a choked gasp, his hips jerking.

"Feels weird," he said, grimacing.

"I know," said Draco. "But it'll feel better soon. Think you can take another finger?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Go ahead and let's see."

"Okay." Gently, Draco pushed his middle finger inside of Harry, hearing him grunt. "Okay, good. Good. You're doing great, alright?"

"Yeah," said Harry quietly, his voice trembling.

Draco looked up at Harry, emotion making his chest seize and his heart ache. He loved that he was doing this to Harry, taking him apart with pleasure and putting him back together with love. The fact that he, Draco, was allowed to do this – that Harry wanted him to do this – made his head spin. He wanted to leap up and down in joy, climb onto a tall rooftop and scream long and loud and happily so that the entire world could hear him.

He scissored his fingers inside Harry, stretching him out as much as he could. He thought about asking Harry whether he could take a third finger but decided against it. Two would do for now.

Finally, he gently slid his fingers out of Harry, summoned a condom and, with shaking hands, unwrapped it and put it on.

"Alright," said Draco. He was rendered almost breathless in anticipation. "I'm going to enter you now. Please try not to tense up otherwise you'll hurt yourself."

Harry jerked his head in what Draco surmised was a nod.

Slowly, staring at Harry just in case he had a change of heart, Draco lined his cock up to Harry's arsehole and pushed in. Harry grunted, arching up off the bed slightly, his eyes going wide in shock.

"Oh, Merlin," whispered Harry, panting. "Oh, Merlin … ioh/i …"

"All good?" Draco choked out. Harry let out an affirmative moan. "Relax … just – just relax."

At that point, Draco didn't know whether he was talking to Harry or himself. As he slowly slid to the hilt within Harry, his desperation to pound into Harry rough and hard warred with his common sense. He moved slowly, sucking in harsh breaths as if the world was about to run out of oxygen.

"Draco – oh fuck – iDraco/i …" Harry grabbed Draco's hips, his fingers digging into the skin. "Harder – ifucki!"

Draco obliged, his hips snapping forward as he drove his cock harder, deeper into Harry, whose cries grew louder with every passing second. Sweat beaded on Draco's forehead from the exertion, exquisite pressure pooling into his groin as his pleasure continued to grow.

Finally, with a choked off scream, Harry came, painting his own torso with lines of his own come. His back arched off the bed, his lips parting in a wide smile, as his arse clenched tighter around Draco's cock, sending Draco over the edge as well with a guttural groan. They rode out their pleasure together, until Draco stuttered to a stop, gently pulled out of Harry and collapsed sideways onto the bed, his left leg lying across Harry's waist.

"Fuck," whispered Harry. He shifted onto his side, sliding one hand up Draco's leg as he pressed his lips to Draco's for a lazy kiss.

"Was that what you hoped it would be?" asked Draco.

Harry grinned, butting his nose gently against Draco's. "Better."

"Hmm, I'm glad." They kissed for a few moments more, before Draco pulled back and said, "We should clean up."

"Do we have to?" asked Harry, moaning pitifully. "Just wanna stay here with you all day."

Draco summoned his wand, grinning as he wiggled it in front of Harry's face. "I said clean up. I didn't say anything about having to move." His heart skipped a beat at the answering grin from Harry, so open and honest. Not yet full of love, but one day Draco hoped to see it there, etched into every part of Harry.

He cleaned the come off their bodies and the sheets, before tossing his wand aside, and draping himself over Harry, whose arms wrapped around him, warm and solid. Draco had never hoped for time to stop before, but he hoped that it would now, so that he could forever remain in the warmth of Harry's embrace.

"If this means we're dating now," said Harry, "then I'm glad."

"That's an understatement," said Draco. "We're dating now, and I'm ihappy/i."