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You Were Crushed (Just Like Me)

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“Motherfucker,” Ron said, then, “No, don’t look!”

But it was too late; Harry had already turned to look over his shoulder. And despite having an entire crowded pub between them, his eyes met Malfoy’s as effortlessly as could be. For a moment, everything else faded away; the din of a dozen boisterous conversations dwindled down to a muffled static, and Harry forgot all about Ron entirely until Ron jabbed him sharply in the ribs. Harry swatted his hand away without breaking eye contact with Malfoy.

Then Malfoy rolled his eyes, over-exaggeratedly to be sure that Harry would see him do it, exactly as he’d done across the Great Hall more times than Harry could count. Harry rolled his eyes right back at him, because honestly, what a git. Malfoy grimaced and looked pointedly away, nose in the air, and Harry smirked at him being the one to break eye contact first.

“Unbelievable,” Ron said. “Fucking unbelievable.”

“I know,” Harry sighed, turning back to face the table. “Out of all the pubs in London, right?”

Wrong,” Ron said incredulously. “I meant that you’re unbelievable.”

Harry frowned. “What?”

“You’re…” Ron trailed off and gestured between Harry and where Malfoy was now approaching the bar. Ron jabbed him in the ribs a second time, and Harry turned round to face him again. “That. That right there. That is what’s unbelievable.”

Harry frowned. “What?”

“You and your Malfoy-watching. It’s--Harry.”

Harry turned around again. “Ron,” he said, mocking his tone.

But it didn’t distract Ron. “Harry. It’s--”

“It’s not a big deal,” Harry insisted. “Look, it’s fine. It’s just. It’s… fine.”

“It’s just that you haven’t said anything about him in a while,” Ron bulled onward. “I sort of thought maybe you’d moved on.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Harry muttered. “Heart, absence, something something, fonder.”

“Harry,” Ron said, a bit desperately. “How long has it been since the last time you saw Malfoy?” Harry opened his mouth to answer, then saw the way Ron was watching him, and closed his mouth again. “It’s been. Erm. A few months, I guess,” he said carefully.

Ron gave him a flat look. “Harry,” he said. “How long?”

Harry shrugged and sneaked another glance ove at where Malfoy had settled down at a table along the far wall. “The 12th of April,” he sighed. “It was a Tuesday.” He shrugged again. “He wore those blue robes I like.” He slumped down and slapped his hands over his face. “I know, I know, I know. Fuck, I know. It’s a problem.”

“A serious problem,” Ron agreed solemnly.

“A very serious problem,” Harry told him.

He’d always been able to admit to himself that Malfoy was an attractive man. It had been easy to admit, back when there hadn’t been any feeling behind it. Yeah, the sky was blue, the sun was bright, and Malfoy was fit. So what? It’d been a little less easy during 8th year, when, in the wake of fighting a war on the losing side, Malfoy had stopped being so aggressively arsehole-ish to everyone. But he’d been too quiet, and Harry hadn’t quite known what to do with that sullen and subdued version of him. Then they’d spent a few years apart, while Harry completed his Auror training and Malfoy had traveled to the Continent to pursue a Mastery of Potions. And that had been fine, because while Harry had appreciated looking at his body, he hadn’t much cared for the rest. So when Malfoy had gone, Harry hadn't even missed him.

No, the trouble had begun when Malfoy had returned to England and taken up a position with the Ministry as Expert Consultant. Harry had worked several cases with him, and found himself increasingly helpless to resist Malfoy. Like a moth to a flame, and Harry too bloody stupid to resist being drawn in. They still bickered, and engaged in stupid childish staring contests, but there was a decided lack of animosoity behind it. And sometimes, well. Sometimes it felt almost teasing. And some of the looks he sometimes caught Malfoy sneaking at him were speculative. And almost fond?

Harry had always been afraid to think on it in too much detail. A part of him still sort of hoped one day he’d wake up and find that this ridiculous infatuation will have run its course. The last thing he wanted to do was encourage it by engaging time with pointless what ifs. Hermione returned from the toilet just then, looked at Ron, looked at Harry, looked at Ron again, and sighed. “What did I miss?”

“We’ve got a Code Blond,” Ron told her, and Harry scowled.

“Oh dear,” said Hermione as she took her seat again, and then looked over to where Ron gestured and caught sight of Malfoy, and said again, “Oh dear.”

“You’ve got a bloody code for it?” Harry stared at them in disbelief. A bloody code. Codes meant problems, and. Well, all right, this was a problem. Harry had just said as much. But it wasn’t a problem of the sort of magnitude that required codes. Frankly, that was just unnecessary. Also, they shouldn’t be talking about him behind his back.

“A code for what?” Ginny asked as she appeared at the table, pint glass in hand, and, oh wonderful. She had Dean and Seamus along with her. This was going to go poorly, Harry just knew it would.

“Code Blond,” Hermione said with a bit of a grimace.

“Ah,” said Ginny, sliding into her seat, and Dean and Seamus stole seats from the nearest table and squeezed them in.

“All of you know the code?” Harry demanded, looking round at these people who were ostensibly his friends. He scooted his chair a little closer to Ron’s to give Seamus more room.
Ginny looked up at the ceiling to avoid his eyes. Dean and Seamus looked down into their pint glasses. Ron and Hermione exchanged a look and some very pointed eyebrow-raising.

Hermione looked reluctantly to Harry. “Well,” she said, drawing out the word.

Harry put his head down on the table. “I regret telling you anything.” More specifically, he regretted to the five gin and tonics that led to him telling them anything. But one of them was his fault and the other was… slightly less his fault. Probably.

“Mate,” Ron said, slapping a hand againt Harry’s back. “All of us regret you telling us anything.”

“I regret that I wasn’t drunker when he told us,” Seamus put in. “Then maybe I wouldn’t have to live with the memory of Harry waxing rhapsodical about Malfoy’s arse.”

“I didn’t mind that so much,” Dean said. “It was when he went on about--”

“Oi,” Ron broke in. “I already sat through that conversation once. I don’t need a line by line review of it.” He stabbed a finger at Seamus. “Also, that one was egging him on. You don’t get to complain about it when you were encouraging it.”

Seamus snickered. “It was like a trainwreck. I couldn’t stop.”

“Well if you hadn’t, I would’ve,” Ginny said, propping her chin up on her hand. “It was sort of hot when Harry started speculating about Malfoy’s cock. Especially the part about--mmph!”

Ron clamped his hand tighter over Ginny’s mouth. “No,” he said firmly. “No, no, no. You are my baby sister. I don’t want to hear this.”

Ginny bit him and Ron yanked his hand away with a yelp.

“Cock, cock, cock,” she said, leering at him, and Ron clamped his hands over his ears.

Harry hoped that they would keep bickering, and kindly keep the subject changed safely away from his stupid crush on Malfoy. He glanced over at where Malfoy say, still alone. Was he waiting for someone else?

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed.

“Oh,” Ginny said, leaving off tormenting Ron. She apparently saw the same thing on his face that Hermione had. “It’s not just about his dick anymore, is it.”

“Nngggh,” said Harry, putting his head down on the table again.

“I’d wager his cock’s still a big part of it,” Dean said, and Seamus snickered as he repeated, “A big part of it.”

“Right,” Harry said. He sat up and drained the last swallow of his pint, and then stood up. “I need to be a lot drunker to deal with you. You’re all terrible.”

“Not too much drunker,” Dean said.

“Yes too much drunker,” Seamus said with a grin, and Harry walked away more quickly in an attempt to avoid hearing wahtever he was about to say next. He miscalculated; the distance between them only meant that Seamus raised his voice when he said, “I want to hear more about Malfoy’s cock!”

Harry winced, because Malfoy was only six tables away and Seamus’s voice carried exceptionally well. Malfoy’s back was to them, so Harry couldn’t tell whether he’d heard or not. Maybe he hadn’t…

Harry scowled. He had no idea why he even bothered to think it. Of course Malfoy had heard. Because that’s just how Harry’s life went.

He stalked over to the bar and waited a few minutes before he could catch the bartender’s attention. He ordered another pint, and counted out coins when the bartender brought it over for him.

“Dare I ask why you lot were discussing my cock at volume?” Malfoy asked from directly behind Harry, and Harry made a small half-strangled sound and knocked his pint across the bar, nearly dousing the bartender.

“Shit, fuck shit!” Harry said with feeling.

“I mean, I know that it’s very interesting,” Malfoy went on.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Harry said, ignoring Malfoy as the bartender dried his shoes off with a spell.

“Not that you’d know, of course,” Malfoy continued.

“Thanks,” Harry said as the bartender set a fresh pint on the bar for him. Harry slid several coins over to him and waved off the change.

Malfoy gave him a blatant ogle. “Although,” he said, sweeping his gaze up and down Harry’s body, lingering a little on his groin. “I suppose I’d let you find out, if you asked me nicely.”

Harry whipped his head around. “What?”

Malfoy kept up his leer for a moment, and then it began to fade, and a flicker of something crossed his features. Hope? Wait, fuck, did he…?

“Are you serious?” Harry asked. It came out softer than he’d meant it to.

“I…” Malfoy said, and swallowed. “Well, I suppose that depends on your answer,” he said coolly, recovering himself somewhat.

Harry glanced over to the table where his friends waited, watching Harry tensely. Ron’s fist made a lump in his pocket where Harry knew he kept his wand. Harry gave him a look that he hoped conveyed, No, I don’t need to be hexed for my own good.

Ron would disapprove of it if he went home with Malfoy. Good god, would Ron disapprove, loudly and emphatically and probably for the rest of Harry’s natural life. Hermione would sigh and roll her eyes beseechingly skyward at his poor choices. Ginny would, well. She’d probably try to punch some sense into him. Dean and Seamus didn’t bear thinking about. Because while all of his friends were more than happy to poke fun at Harry about his crush, he didn't think that any of them ever expected anything to come of it. Accepting that Harry liked Malfoy was one thing; accepting that he intended to do something about it was entirely another.

But they didn’t have any say in this, did they? This wasn’t their choice, and ultimately it didn’t matter what they thought. They’d all been through a war together; they’d still be his friends no matter who he stuck his dick in. Or who stuck their dick in him.

His breath caught at that, because he wanted. Good god, he wanted.

And Harry thought to himself, Fuck it. I’m allowed to be selfish sometimes.

He could do this for no other reason than he wanted to. Malfoy had offered, and Harry wanted to say yes, so he was going to. It was exactly that simple.

Besides. He’d quite literally saved the world. After some of the shit he’d been through, Draco Malfoy’s cock was the least of what the universe owed him at this point. And it didn’t matter that this was inadvisable, or that he might regret it later. Or that Malfoy wouldn’t mean it the way Harry did, or that there probably wouldn’t be anything beyond tonight.

Tonight would be enough.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, and Malfoy blinked at him, and Harry had a sudden sinking feeling that Malfoy hadn’t really meant it. He’d only been trying to get a rise out of Harry, and now that Harry had responded to it seriously, he was going to mock Harry, and even though Malfoy being an arse to Harry wasn’t anything new, this was going to hurt. Oh, was this going to hurt. He braced himself for it.

But Malfoy recovered quickly, all traces of surprise vanishing in seconds, and instead of turning vicious, his gaze heated. “Well,” he said, a slow smirk spreading across his face, all curled smile and coyly-lowered lids. “I have to admit, I didn’t really expect you to say yes.”

Harry shrugged and smiled a little, near-giddy with relief. “I guess I didn’t really expect it either. So, uh.” He swallowed, and hoped he didn’t look too eager. “Now what?”

“Well, I did say you’d have to ask nicely, first off,” Malfoy said with an expectant lift of his eyebrows.

That got an unexpected laugh out of Harry. “Such an arse,” he said, shaking his head.

“As delighted as I am that you keep discussing my best features, I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of seeing that yet, either.” He paused. “I’m still waiting, Potter.”

Harry glanced over at his friends. Ron’s eyes had gone wide and desperate. Hermione had placed a restraining hand on his arm. Ginny gave him a big thumbs-up, and Dean and Seamus raised their glasses at him. Harry turned away from them, hunching his shoulders a little, and jammed his hands into his pockets.

Malfoy was still watching him expectantly.

“Oh, fuck off,” Harry said.

“Really, Potter? That’s the best line you’ve got?”

“Best line you’re going to get,” Harry said. “You want to fuck me or not?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes a little, but he was smiling. “Well, when you put it like that,” he said. “Your place or mine?”

“Mine,” Harry said. “All the people I live with are here.”

“I don’t live with anyone,” Malfoy countered.

Harry glanced back at his friends, who were still watching with great interest. “Right. Yours it is.” Malfoy tipped his head at the door. “Shall we?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said and followed Malfoy across the pub.

To his utter mortification, a loud round of applause and wolf-whistling broke out from behind him, and over it all, Seamus bellowed, “GET IT, HARRY!”

Harry flipped them off over his shoulder and pushed out into the quiet night.

“Well that was interesting,” Malfoy said, amused. “I’ve never been applauded for pulling before.”

“I’m going to murder all of them,” Harry said.

“After tonight, please,” Malfoy said, stepping close and sliding an arm around Harry’s waist. “I can’t fuck you if you’ve been arrested for murder.”

“Point,” Harry said, then took a deep breath and nodded once. “Okay, ready.”

The world shuddered and twisted around them, and then they appeared in the middle of a living room. Malfoy took a step back as Harry breathed through the faint nausea that always lingered for a minute after Apparating.

“All right, there?” Malfoy asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said, breathing. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He looked around as he took a few more deep breaths.

“You look surprised,” Malfoy said.

“Hm? Oh. Well. It’s not quite what I expected, I guess,” Harry admitted.

“May I ask what you expected?”

Harry shrugged. “Something posher?”

Malfoy’s flat was, well, the first word that popped into Harry’s mind was cozy, even though it was far too large for that. The living room was broad and open, with big windows on the far wall. A plush burgundy and cream rug covered the dark wood floors, and the furniture was all overstuffed tufted leather in a rich deep green. There were three bookcases holding at least four bookcases’ worth of books, and an enormous fireplace with an ornate marble mantle housed a cheerfully crackling fire that bathed the room in soft warm light.

“Disappointed?” Malfoy asked.

“Pleasantly surprised,” Harry said, and he was. There was something about this that felt comfortable, for all its obvious luxury.

A smile tugged at the corner of Malfoy’s mouth, and he looked quite pleased. “I’m delighted to hear that. Now,” He gestured grandly, “If you’d care to see the rest? I thought we could start with the bedroom.”

“That line was awful,” Harry said with a groan. “Does that sort of thing really work on people?”

Malfoy snorted. “Well your line was ‘Oh fuck off’ so I think I’m still doing better than you are.”

“I suppose I did set the bar rather low,” Harry said, stepping closer. He trailed his fingers along the waistband of Malfoy’s trousers, felt Malfoy’s stomach jump at the slight contact. “But I don’t think I want to see your bedroom,” he went on, pitching his voice low and soft.

Malfoy’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “No?”

“No,” Harry said. “I don’t think I could wait that long.”

“Oh,” Malfoy said.

He sounded breathless and a little dazed, and Harry grinned. “Ha,” he said. “Way better than your bedroom line.”

Malfoy blinked, expression clearing. “You… Oh. You arse. Fuck off.”

“That’s my line,” Harry said. “Which, I’d like to point out, for all that you say is terrible, it worked.”

“Fuck off,” Malfoy said again, this time more forcefully, and when Harry laughed, Malfoy shoved him.

The backs of Harry’s knees hit the sofa and he sat down hard. And before he could do anything else, Malfoy was on him, straddling his lap and fisting his hands in Harry’s tee-shirt. He hauled him in roughly and crashed their mouths together.

“Ow,” said Harry, jerking back.

“Shit,” Malfoy started, and Harry curled one hand around the back of his neck and pulled him back in before he could say anything else.

Frankly it was something of a miracle they’d got here at all with as much talking as they’d done. And now that he’d had a little taste of Malfoy’s mouth on his, Harry was suddenly terrified that one of them would say something to ruin it entirely. Well, they’d simply have to keep each other’s mouths occupied. Harry didn’t think it’d be too much of a hardship.

Then Malfoy nipped lightly at Harry’s bottom lip and Harry’s hand slid down to cup Malfoy’s arse, and he stopped thinking entirely. Malfoy’s mouth was so warm and gentle against his, lips moving carefully, slowly exploring the shape of Harry’s. Harry gave Malfoy’s arse a little squeeze, and Malfoy obligingly spread his thighs wider to press his groin against Harry’s. Neither of them was hard yet, but the soft warm press of his cock and balls was enough to get Harry started. He rocked his hips lazily, rubbing up against Malfoy, and Malfoy exhaled heavily through his nose.

Malfoy’s hands found their way to Harry’s shoulder, one slipping back until his fingers tangled in Harry’s hair. Harry kept his hand curled possessively around the back of Malfoy’s neck. There was something delicate about it, something fragile, and it gave Harry a rush to be allowed to keep his hand there, to hold him like that.

He groaned a little when Malfoy’s fingers twisted in his hair and tugged, tipping his head back so that Malfoy could mouth his way down the exposed column of his throat, and there was a rush in this, too, in allowing Malfoy to get close to the tender, fragile parts of himself. Harry pushed his other hand up the back of Malfoy’s shirt to sweep up the warm smooth plane of his back, fingers spread wide to touch as much as he possibly could.

Malfoy sat back suddenly, dislodging both of Harry’s hands. He grabbed the hem of Harry’s shirt and yanked it up, knocking Harry’s glasses askew as he dragged it up and over his head, and by the time Harry had righted them again, Malfoy had already undone the top few buttons of his own shirt, enough to pull it off.

It left his hair rumpled, and Harry was so overcome by seeing this version of Malfoy, all hazy-eyes, and with the faint tracings of blue veins showing through the miles of pale skin on display. Oh, he wanted. He wanted more.

His fingers fumbled with the fly of Malfoy’s trousers, and a second later Malfoy was leaning in to yank at Harry's. They clambered to their feet and stripped each other, and Harry got his hand around Malfoy’s cock and stroked, and Malfoy made a little punched-out sound and his whole body curled into Harry.

Harry mouthed at the bony ridge of his shoulder where clavicle and scapula connect, and that more than his hand on Malfoy’s cock drove home the intimacy of what they were doing. For a moment, Harry let himself think of a life where he knew all of Malfoy’s bones, the stretch and shift of muscle, the sound of his heart and the rush of breath through his lungs. Where he knew all of the secrets Malfoy kept below his skin.

“Fuck me,” Harry said. “I want you inside me.”

“Yes,” Malfoy breathed. “Get on the sofa.”

He settled on his knees, thighs spread and hands braced against the back of the sofa. He closed his eyes and breathed slow and deep and even, listening to the sound of Malfoy moving quietly behind him. A murmured Accio and then the pop of a cap. A series of soft, slick sounds. And then Malfoy’s slipperly finger touched gently to his arsehole.

“Sorry,” Malfoy murmured when Harry jumped. “I know it’s cold.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said, steeling himself.

When Malfoy touched him again, he didn’t flinch. As always, the first intrusion of someone else’s finger into his body made Harry feel strange and eager and inexplicably embarrassed all at once. Malfoy touched him slowly, stroking his finger in and out for a few moments before he added a second. Harry breathed through the burning stretch of it and palmed his cock, keeping himself hard.

“A third?” Malfoy asked, and Harry shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I want to feel you opening me up. I want to feel this tomorrow.” If tonight was all he got, he wanted to hold onto the feel of it for as long as he could.

He kept his eyes closed and listened to Malfoy pouring more lube onto his fingers and slicking up his cock. And then the sofa cushion dipped a little as Malfoy braced his right knee beside Harry’s. He lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock nudging up against Harry’s hole before slipping away. Malfoy took himself in hand, his knuckles brushing the curve of Harry’s arse, and held himself steady as he pushed inside.

“Oh,” Harry groaned, head dropping forward. “Oh, fuck. Fuck that’s good.”

Malfoy laughed a little, soft and warm. “It’s rather good from this end, too,” he said as he bottomed out and paused to give Harry a chance to adjust.

When Harry nodded, Malfoy drew back and pushed back in.

“Harder,” Harry told him. “Come on, I told you I want to feel it.”

“We’ll get there,” Malfoy told him.

He sped up his strokes gradually, each a little quicker, a little harder than the last, until he was slamming into Harry with each thrust, and it was all Harry could do to hang on so that he didn’t slam face-first into the wall behind the sofa. He gasped, whimpering as Malfoy found the perfect angle to hit his prostate each time he pushed inside.

And then he stopped.

“What,” Harry gasped, desperate. Fuck, he’d been so close. “Why the fuck did you stop?”

“Because your cock is aimed straight at the back of my very expensive sofa, and semen is impossible to clean out of all the tufting,” Malfoy told him, and gave his arse a slap. “Come on, turn over.”

Harry stared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Fine. I want to fuck you on your back so I can watch you come all over yourself.”

“See there,” Harry said, obediently arranging himself on his back. He couldn’t look away from Malfoy’s cock, hard and red and wet from fucking. “That’s all you had to say.”

Malfoy huffed a little, and muttered, “But also the tufting,” and didn’t give Harry a chance to respond before he fed his cock back into Harry’s body and resumed thrusting. Harry hooked a hand behind his knee and pulled it up, spreading himself wide open. Malfoy wasn’t hitting his prostate anymore, but this position left him with his hands free. He pushed one of them between their bodies and wrapped his fingers around his cock, and in no time at all he was nearly there again.

“Fuck,” he gritted out. “I’m nearly, I’m gonna--”

“Come on,” Malfoy panted, his breath hot against the side of Harry’s neck. “Go on.”

Harry squeezed his cock again and felt himself tip over the edge, his body going tense, arse contracting around Malfoy’s cock. He thought he cried out, but couldn’t be sure. His orgasm ebbed slowly away, leaving him loose and warm, his brain blissed out and swimming through the last murky dregs of pleasure. God, but that was good.

“You want me to come in you or on you?” Malfoy asked, still fucking Harry’s arse in little rolling thrusts.

Harry considered that. He loved the idea of Malfoy filling up his arse with come. But he also loved the idea of getting to watch Malfoy’s cock spurt.

“On me,” Harry decided.

Malfoy gave him a few more thrusts before he pulled out and took himself in hand, working himself on long, smooth strokes, the head of his cock disappearing into his fist at the end of each stroke as Harry watched, transfixed. It felt like it took barely any time at all before Malfoy gasped out, “Here, here,” and then came over Harry’s stomach, long stripes of come mingling with Harry’s own.

When he finished, Malfoy sighed and collapsed atop Harry, heedless of the mess. Harry could feel his chest heaving, and when he put his hand on Malfoy’s back, he was sweaty.

It was perfect, and Harry lay quietly and tried to commit every second of it to memory.

“Well,” Malfoy said after a while. He still sounded like he hadn’t quite caught his breath. “Are you ready to see the bedroom now?”

Harry picked his head up and nudged at Malfoy so he could see his face. “You want to go again already?”

“No,” Malfoy said with a little laugh. “Merlin, no. You wore me out. Which is why I’d like to move this to the bedroom now. There’s a wonderfully comfortable bed in there, you know. It’s quite nice for sleeping, among other things.”

“Oh,” Harry said, frowning. Because he’d half-expected to be kicked out as soon as Malfoy had had his fill of him. But this sounded an awful lot like Malfoy had just invited him to spend the night. And he didn’t know what to make of that.

“Unless you’d rather not,” Malfoy said quickly when Harry had remained silent for a beat too long.

“No, I…” Harry said. “I’d like that. I’d, erm. Like that quite a lot.” He fidgeted a little as Malfoy pushed himself to his feet, and then he was distracted by the view as Malfoy bent over to rummage through his discarded trousers for his wand. “Would you, erm. Like that?”

Malfoy paused with his wand raised. “Well. I did ask you to.”

“Yeah,” Harry said as Malfoy cast a few Cleaning Charms to take care of the mess on his stomach and chest. “Can I ask why?”

Malfoy sighed a little and tossed his wand aside. “Does it really matter?”

“Sort of, yes?” Harry said. He sat up, skin sticking a little to the sofa. “I mean, I’d like to know what to expect. Since we, you know, work together and all. If this was just a one-off, or if…”

“Would you like it to be?” Malfoy asked.

Harry gave him a scowl. “I asked you first”

“Well,” Malfoy said slowly. “I suppose this might be something that could happen again.” He smirked suddenly. “Starting with tomorrow morning, if you’re interested.” He paused. “And then breakfast, I think. And then, perhaps we could make plans for later this week?”

“Plans that involve clothes?” Harry asked.

“Plans that involve clothes and an appearance in a public place and a Prophet article that states you’re off the dating market.” He shrugged, unrepentant. “I don’t share.”

“Ah,” said Harry, nodding. A bubble of excitement swelled up in him until it felt as though he couldn’t breathe with it. “That’s quite selfish of you. And moving quite fast, don’t you think?”

“More like, I know a good thing when I see it, and I’m disinclined to waste any more time, lest I miss my chance.”

“Well, I suppose I could live with that,” Harry said grinning, and Malfoy grinned back.

“Glad to hear. Now. Could we perhaps continue this conversation in the morning?”

Malfoy offered his hand, and Harry took it, allowing Malfoy to pull him to his feet and lead him into the bedroom.