Author's Notes: This is my first foray into HP fanfic, and it's a ficlet at that. Contains hints of M/M, so run away if that offends you.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone.

Rating: PG-13 for one risqué glimpse.

Complete: May 18th, 2006.

Shivering Glimpses

Irritated, the words flung out loudly in the suddenly-too-quiet room, "You're a snake!"

Quieter, "You like snakes." A smirk, though slightly unsure given the looks that both were receiving.

"I know." Shiver.

Heated glances - all others forgotten. Eyes sparkling, sparking.

A tense moment.

And then, hands clenched firmly at their sides, Draco Malfoy stalked out of the elaborate party, closely followed by an equally agitated Harry Potter.

The heavy oak door swung silently closed behind them, magicked to move gently even in a slam.

From across the room, whispers began to circle at another infamous "fight" between the two. Many had begun to wonder whether or not the two were actually a couple, or if it were simply an elaborate publicity stunt to…

To what?

Nobody could decipher what the possible gain could be for Harry and Draco to pretend to be a couple. Certainly, both had enjoyed more than enough celebrity even before the very public announcement of their status.

If anything, they guarded their privacy viciously - seemingly nothing but irritated by the additional prestige they were now subjected to.

And, despite Draco's long-ago switch to the Order's side, despite the war being over, despite Harry's very publicly admitted (thanks largely to his failed romance with Ginny Weasley) preference for men, despite both Draco and Harry having grown to quite attractive men… despite all that, nobody could fathom their attraction to one another.

Stumbling out of the ballroom, having had a bit too much to drink, Neville Longbottom attempted to locate the toilets.

The first door he opened, which had looked to be the right one, revealed the two missing partygoers tangled amongst the bed, clothes scattered, half off, very much not fighting. Harry was on his back, glasses off, eyes screwed closed, head thrown back, and Draco was…

Discretely, Neville shut the door, trying to stifle his blush, and turned farther down the hall, intent on continuing his original search.

Whatever the public could or could not decipher, it didn't matter. Harry and Draco understood each other perfectly.

Fin.