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It was dark out, and the rain fell in sheets. He huddled in the doorway, trying to get his cigarette to catch. He finally took a long drag and looked around, stepping aside as someone tried to enter the loud club behind him. Another night, more of the same. He'd never been to this place, but it seemed identical to all the others. Overly-loud music with a beat that he felt deep in his chest, pounding until he thought it would drag his heart along with it. Flashing lights in the darkness, all colors, moving, shining, blinking. Men dancing, grinding, jumping in place. The smell of sweat, alcohol, the sickly sweet smell of the things smoked in the darker corners and the loo overwhelming the smell of other things that happened there. There was nothing to differentiate this place from any of the others. Even the bars tended to be in the same location, crammed against the long wall on the right, so tight the bartenders barely had room to move.
He found his attention caught briefly by a figure walking in this direction, hair catching in the light of the muggle lightpost. Bright white, and skin nearly as luminescent, undimmed by the drenching rain. He quickly stepped away from the door, turning slightly, attempting to become simply an anonymous smoker outside an anonymous club on an anonymous street in the middle of Muggle London. The door opened behind him, and the white-blond head went inside.
Well, maybe not so identical to all the others as he had thought. He quickly stubbed out the cigarette and returned inside. Maybe there was something worth coming back here for, after all.
The scene was unchanged as he reentered, shaking his head and sending droplets flying. His eyes scanned the crowd, the flashing lights and crowded dancers hiding his quarry in a dizzying mass. He dove into the crowd, jumping and grinding along with them as he made his way through, suppressing a growl of frustration when his search led to nothing.
He finally made his way back to the bar, half convinced he’d imagined the entire thing and ordered another whisky. He had a mouthful when the familiar voice breathed into his ear, “looking for someone, Potter?”
He spun quickly, sloshing the drink over his hand and down the front of Malfoy’s shirt. “What the fuck, don’t sneak up on me like that.”
Malfoy simply grimaced and wiped his hand down the tight white shirt, now bearing an amber stain. “Careful, bastard, this shirt cost fifty galleons.”
Leaning back against the bar, he ignored the whining and instead let his gaze rove over Malfoy’s lean frame. The tight white shirt was partially buttoned, exposing tantalizing glimpses of pale neck and chest, and the white leather trousers were tight enough Harry suspected they must have been magicked on, for they left nothing to the imagination. “I told you, don’t sneak up on me.”
“I thought they taught you Aurors to not be surprised by anything. Just think-- if I were a dark wizard--”
“I wasn’t exactly expecting to be jumped by a dark wizard here of all places. What are you doing here?”
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here, Potter?” Malfoy repeated the question in a mocking drawl that instantly made him think of Hogwarts. “You honestly expect simply turning your back would make that thing you call hair unrecognizable? I wondered what the Savior of the Wizarding World would be doing outside a muggle club. My question is answered.”
“Oh and you just happened to be walking by?”
Malfoy’s face twisted into a familiar sneer. “No, but unlike some, I’m not ashamed and hiding behind my best friend’s little sister.”
“I’m not having this argument with you.”
“Oh of course not. We’ve already had it, and I do so hate repeating myself.”
Draco rolled his eyes and turned away, taking a step into the crowd before Harry sighed and reached out, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. “Draco, wait--”
“Why? We’ve proven we’re unable to have a conversation without rehashing the same thing over and over again.” Draco kept his head turned, his attention seemingly on the dancers, though the tense set of his shoulders betrayed his desire to shake off Harry’s grip. “Let me go, Potter.”
“I’m sorry, Draco. I am.”
Draco snorted. “If you’re that desperate for a shag, save it for someone else. I’m not going back to being your dirty little secret.”
“Why did you come over here, then?”
“Why did you follow me in?”
“I...” Harry ran his hand through his hair, tugging in frustration. “I miss you, alright?”
Draco’s head finally turned and he faced Harry again, his expression full of surprise and hurt and something else he couldn’t identify. “You miss me? You miss me. Six months of sneaking me in and out the floo, six months of 'sorry, Draco, I’ve a date with Ginny,' six months of hiding under the blankets in your fucking bed when your friends came over unexpectedly and you miss me? Do your friends even know you’re gay?”
He hated arguing with Draco; hated the feeling of being slowly backed into a corner, and retorted, stung. “Yeah, well, don’t lay this all on me. I’m not the one engaged to Pansy Parkinson!”
Draco’s laugh had no humor in it. “Of course I’m engaged to Pansy. We were betrothed while we were still in nappies. Unlike your little Gryffindor friends, she knows where I go and what I do there because we are honest with each other. It allows my mother to keep the happy illusion that even though I’m gay, I’ll still do my duty and provide a new generation of Malfoy heir and allows her to continue shagging whatever Brazilian poolboy has caught her fancy this week. None of the above think we’re actually ever going to marry.” He aimed a sharp shove at Harry’s shoulder, causing his back to make painful contact with the bar and breaking his grip. “And it’s not like you gave me any incentive to end things with her, now did you?”
Draco turned again, but Harry reached out again to stop him. “They know I’m here....”
“What?” Draco’s voice was abrupt and his expression impatient.
“They know I’m here... Well, not here-here specifically, but...” He sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair again. “Ron, Hermione... The Weasleys, they all know I’m gay. Have done since... since you left.”
Draco simply stared at him a moment, his hair changing with each flash of colored light behind him, before his expression crumpled. “Fuck you, Potter. Fuck you.” He gave a final jerk of his arm before shoving his way through the crowd and onto the dance floor, disappearing once again.
“Well, fuck.” Harry sighed and gestured to the bartender. Ignoring his smirk, he downed the new whisky.
“Bit of advice, mate?” Harry glanced at the bartender who was watching him, still with a faintly amused smirk.
“What?” He didn’t bother to keep any of the frustration from his tone, and the barman held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Just Drake, mate. I weren’t lisnin’ but you seem to know each other.”
“He comes here then?” Harry turned fully to face the bar, his attention fully caught.
A shrug replied. “Sometimes. Sometimes he don’t. He’s not the get-off-in-the-loo type. Not here at leas’. Ya won’t get him easy, I seen plenty tryin’. He jus’ comes here an’ dances.”
“You think I thought he was easy?” The idea seemed so absurd he couldn’t help laughing.
The man shrugged again, his smirk twisting into something more genuine. “No ‘fense, but it looked exactly like what I seen him with them who tries.” He leaned over the bar, his expression moving back to amusement. “He’s the relationships type. See ‘em aroun’ sometimes. Gotta tell ‘em you love ‘em before they grab their ankles.”
His laughter cut off abruptly and he turned, seeking the flash of white on the dance floor. “No you don’t,” the words were a mutter as he left the glass on the bar and waded into the crowd.
-o-O-o-
It was as claustrophobic on the dancefloor as it appeared from the sidelines, the crowd growing especially tight with onlookers around where Draco was grinding against a handsome black man wearing a dark mesh shirt. Their attention seemed riveted onto each other, paying the crowd around them no heed. Harry felt the churning of jealousy in his gut at the sight and shouldered his way into the ring.
“Can I cut in?” Draco ignored him, turning his partner’s face back with a light nip to the jaw when he glanced in Harry’s direction. Harry stood for a moment, arms crossed impatiently while he continued to be ignored by the dancers. “Oh for fucksakes...” He pulled his wand and gave two quick flicks, casting a strong Notice-Me-Not on Draco and a light Confundus on the crowd of dancers before he snagged Draco’s arm and pulled him through the now-dancing crowd toward the door.
Pushing open the heavy door, he shoved Draco out before following, cursing at the steady drizzle still falling from overhead. The rain seemed to wake Draco from his shocked passivity as well, for he rounded on Harry, flushed and angry, fist flying toward his face. Even though he’d somewhat expected it, the hit landed before he had a chance to duck, and pain blossomed in his cheek. He ignored the pain, grabbing Draco before he could swing again.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Potter?” Draco gave up on punching Harry, instead twisting and struggling to get out of his arms. Harry’s sense of self-preservation kicked in, and he continued holding onto Draco tightly, twisting them both until Draco was pressed against the wet brick.
“I’m trying to-- OW!” Harry clamped his legs together, shoving himself more tightly into Draco to prevent another sharp kick. “I’m trying to talk to you, you git.”
“Oh and what the Savior wants, the Savior gets? Is that it? So business as usual, nothing’s changed.” Draco’s words trailed off, and his flush grew more pronounced at the same time Harry realized a familiar hardness was pressing into his hip. A hardness that was echoed in his own trousers. Any hope Draco hadn’t noticed was lost when his expression hardened and he rolled his hips deliberately into Harry’s, sliding against him with a pressure that caused his eyelids to droop. “It seems I was right. Nothing has changed. I’m not looking for a shag, Potter, and I’m certainly not interested in shagging you.”
“Oh shut up for two fucking minutes, Merlin, Draco.” His head dropped, forehead hitting Draco’s shoulder, and he took a deep breath, ignoring the familiar smell of cologne. He finally raised his head, taking in Draco’s shuttered expression and sighed. “I didn’t drag you out here for a shag. I did only want to talk. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for months. I just-- I just didn’t know how to. I saw you come in and....”
His words trailed off, quiet but for the pounding bass from the club and the trickle of water puddling in the alley beginning to feel oppressive before the quiet question ended it. “And what?”
He let his head drop again, face buried in Draco’s neck, arms gentling around him. “And I miss you. And I fucked up. And I’m sorry.”
Again there was quiet, but he concentrated on the feel of Draco in his arms, the smell of him, the pulse fluttering beneath the skin. “It’s not that simple, Harry.”
He pushed himself upright again with a sigh. “I know. I just want a chance. I want to try.”
Draco watched him, eyes searching his face for something before he looked away again. “How do I know you-- I told you I’m not going to be your dirty secret anymore. Never again.”
“Never again.” Draco looked back at Harry at the response. “Never again, Draco. I’m not going to hide you. I’m not going to hide anything that happens.” He took a step back, the chill along his chest where the air suddenly touched making him shiver slightly. He ran his thumb along Draco’s shoulder, the other hand sliding down his arm, releasing him. “Have dinner with me tomorrow.”
Draco turned his head again, turning to look at the streetlights at the end of the alley. “Sometimes I still hate you, Potter.” His words were quiet, but he reached forward and squeezed Harry’s hand.