Title: Non Faux Pas
Author: 
thesamanthahope
Team: AU
Prompt: 3. A poisonous toadstool never changes its spots.
Wordcount: ~6000
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-magic, slight OOC, graphic sex, rimming, top!Draco
Summary: When Harry agrees to take etiquette lessons with his best friend, he learns much more than he planned.
Author's Note: I'm so not a deadline person, so this was a challenge for me in many ways. I may actually be more proud that I completed this on time more than the fact that I completed it at all. I absolutely could not have done it without my ljbff lotus_lizzymrdavismdmaccalla
Non Faux Pas
If someone had asked him yesterday if there was anything he wouldn't do for his best friend, Harry would have been hard pressed to think of anything. Pub crawls, spontaneous trips to see Arsenal, late night prankings; He was always ready and willing to follow Ron on his crazy adventures. But, he mused, he probably would have never considered that his best friend would ask him to attend etiquette lessons with a "personality makeover specialist." as a part of his Best Man duties. Maybe it was all a prank. They'd make it all the way to the office and Ron would turn around and say "just kidding!" He hoped that'd happen anyway.
Ron thumped Harry on the shoulder, jarring him from his thoughts. "Come on, mate. Let's get this over with."
Damn, it wasn't a joke.
Harry nodded and followed Ron through the ornate door leading to the offices of Non Faux Pas, Etiquette Professionals. After a receptionist took their names, they were directed to a sofa that looked so expensive, Harry was a bit apprehensive about actually sitting on it. It was leather and shiny, and Harry was pretty sure he'd slip off the minute he tried to sit down.
Fortunately, Harry was saved the decision by the arrival of a dour-looking man wearing an expensive, but very drab black suit. The suit matched his hair, which was jet black and slicked to his scalp. Harry wondered if the man used product, or if his hair was naturally oily. He’d bet his own hair on the latter. The most unusual thing, Harry noted, were the man's shoes; he wore what looked like boots with a pointed toe. Upon closer inspection, Harry realized they were actually women's stiletto heels. Harry barely had time to register this fact before the man spoke.
"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter. Welcome to Non Faux Pas." the man said, his voice like silk. I am Severus Snape, the owner. Mr. and Mrs. Granger intimated that you required my services."
"Intimated? Er, yeah, that's right," Ron stammered. "They seemed to think I needed lessons before the wedding. I don't know what the big deal is."
Snape gave Ron a long look from head to toe. The look on his face made Harry wonder if he’d stepped in something on the way. The scorn in his tone was evident when he replied, "No, I'm sure you wouldn't understand the importance of proper grooming and etiquette. I can see why the Grangers felt it necessary to seek our services."
It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to ask how wearing women's shoes fit into proper grooming, but he stopped himself. Just. However, when he felt the man's critical gaze sweep over his body, he couldn't stop himself from speaking.
"Look, there's no need for condescension. You've made it clear you find us lacking, but we are here to learn. So why don't we cut the commentary and start learning?"
Snape's lips curled into what could almost be called a smile. It wasn't a nice smile. It was a smile that alluded to the death of kittens and crushed flowers.
"Very well. It's obvious that the two of you need our help desperately. I'm assigning my best personality makeover consultant to help you. He will want to observe you in a public environment before he begins training. Be at Shadow Martini Bar at 8pm sharp tonight." With that, Snape gave them a dismissive wave and turned to leave.
"Wait," Harry called. "What does he look like? How will we find him?"
Snape gave his dead kitten smile again. "Trust me. He'll find you."
Harry understood Snape's statement the moment he stepped into Shadow Martini bar. It was not the kind of place Harry and Ron generally frequented, and he had a sneaking suspicion that they stuck out like two sore thumbs in the swanky crowd. He tried to act as casual as he could, as if he went to this kind of place all the time. He glanced at Ron and saw that it was a lost cause. His best friend was looking around the bar with wide eyes, and his face was a peculiar shade of pink. Ron shuffled his feet, then stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and stared at the floor.
Harry sighed and grabbed Ron's arm to pull him over to a table in the corner. A waiter appeared almost immediately to take their order. After the waiter informed them that the bar didn't serve beer, Ron ordered a vodka martini, and Harry ordered an Appletini. Harry tried to keep a conversation going while they waited for their drinks, but Ron was too nervous to be much of a conversationalist.
The waiter reappeared with their drinks. As he handed Harry the Appletini, he said, "The gentleman at the bar wanted to buy you this drink."
Harry followed the waiter's pointed finger and found himself staring into the eyes of a stunningly attractive man. He had platinum blonde hair that set him apart from everyone else in the bar, and he carried himself with a casual confidence that couldn't be faked. Harry gestured to his drink and nodded at the man. The smile he received in return made his breath catch. Harry was jerked from his trance by Ron clearing his throat.
"Er, mate? Are you going to invite him to our table, or are you just going to stare at him all night?"
Ron had been Harry's best friend since they were eleven years old, when Harry transferred to Ron's school. They were instantly inseparable, and a few months later, Hermione insinuated her way into their friendship, making the pair a trio. Now twenty-nine, they had seen each other through some hard times, and the friendship between the three of them had never wavered. Even now that Ron and Hermione were getting married, the three of them were the best of friends. When Harry had told Ron and Hermione he was gay, he had prepared himself for just about any possible reaction. Hermione had simply nodded, as if she had finally found the last piece to a puzzle; Ron, however, had jumped from his seat, pulled Harry into a rough hug, and said "You think I care who you sleep with? If you were sleeping with an orangutan, I'd still be your best friend. I would recommend therapy though."
Harry hadn't had many friends before he met Ron, and his unwavering support had always been a comfort. That was part of the reason that Harry agreed to the etiquette training. Ron had always been there for him, and it had seemed like an easy way to repay the favor.
Harry turned to his friend in disbelief. "You're okay with me calling him over?"
Ron shrugged. "Why not? He seems a decent enough bloke. Chat him up. Just don't forget to keep a lookout for our 'personality makeover consultant.' It's gone 9 already."
Harry glanced up to see the blonde man looking at him again. He gestured toward the empty chair at their table and nodded. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when the man moved from his place at the bar and made his way to their table.
"Hi, I'm Harry," he said as the man approached. "And you are?"
This time, the blonde gave a very different kind of smile, and Harry was eerily reminded of Severus Snape.
"I'm pretty sure that, while you know the proper procedure for pulling a random bloke, I still have my work cut out for me."
Harry's face fell. Ron's turned red with fury. He half stood from his seat and gave the man a threatening look.
"Now see here, first of all, we have just been sitting here minding our own business before you approached us. Second, Harry is not the type to just 'pull a random bloke,' so shut your face about him. Third, if you hadn't lead him on by buying him a drink and staring at him all night, he wouldn't have even looked at you!"
Harry was torn between wanting to hug his best friend for the defense and wanting to punch the smirk right off of the blonde git's face. He compromised by touching Ron's arm in an attempt to calm him down.
"Ron, don't worry about it. He was pulling my leg, but now he's had his fun and he's going to tell us what we need to do." Ron didn't look convinced, so Harry played his ace. "We're doing this for Hermione, remember? She's worth dealing with this git."
The words worked immediately on Ron, and he calmed visibly, as Harry had known he would. From the day they met, Hermione had the power to both calm Ron and irritate him within an inch of his life. Harry thought it probably had something to do with being in love with someone since age twelve. Ron nodded to Harry and sat back in his seat, all the while still glaring at the stranger at their table. When Harry looked to the stranger, the man had a contemplative look on his face. When he spoke, his voice had lost the scorn it had held earlier.
"You didn't cause as large a scene as I really expected you to, which is a good thing. The Grangers are one of the top families in the London upper-class society. They despise a scene. So you have to make sure you keep your temper in check while you're at an event. However, there are still several issues I will have to work on with you. Both of your wardrobes are atrocious, your manners need serious help, and I won't even start on your hair," the stranger said, pointing at Harry’s. "We need to get started as soon as possible. When is the wedding?"
"Er, uh, in two months," Ron stuttered.
"Worse than I thought. I should have been working with you two months ago. Oh well, there's nothing for it. We will start tomorrow." He handed Ron a card. "Be at that address first thing tomorrow morning." With a wink at Harry, the stranger was gone.
Ron looked down at the card in his hand. "Why am I not surprised that a git like that has a ridiculous name like Draco Malfoy?"
Standing outside the non-descript building waiting for Ron and the git with the ridiculous name, Draco Malfoy, to show up was boring and nerve-wracking at the same time. Harry straightened his shirt for the third time in a minute. He had taken extra care in the selection of his clothing that morning; all the while telling himself that he was decidedly not trying to impress Draco Malfoy. He was merely offended by Malfoy's comments about his wardrobe the previous night. He didn't actually care what Malfoy thought of his outfit. Really.
Harry hadn't realized he was being watched until he heard a somewhat familiar voice say, "Well, this is a slight improvement from last night's attire."
Harry spun around to find himself face to face with Draco Malfoy. Harry flushed in response to Malfoy's praise. He shrugged. "What, this? I wear this kind of stuff all the time."
Malfoy opened his mouth to respond when Ron walked up. He spit out a greeting at Malfoy, then turned to look at Harry. "What are you doing so dressed up, Harry? Who are you trying to impress?"
Harry felt his face heat and he stared at the sidewalk. When he finally lifted his eyes to meet Malfoy's, he found that Malfoy was giving him a soft smile that held just a tiny bit of smugness.
"You could learn a thing or two from Potter, here." Malfoy stated. "You're marrying into one of the richest families in the UK. You will have to adjust how you dress in public, Weasley. There will be certain expectations of you that you will just have to learn to live with."
Ron huffed. "That is ridiculous. I'm marrying Hermione; as long as I love her and take care of her, what other expectations could there be?"
Harry noticed that Malfoy's eyes softened a bit at this, but his voice remained stern. "You'll find that the Grangers can and will have many more expectations of you, Weasley. But we'll get into that some other time. For now, we're late."
Malfoy held the door opened for them to enter. Ron went first, and as Harry passed through the doorway, he felt a slight pressure on the small of his back. He realized that Malfoy was leading him into the room. Harry was torn between enjoying the intimacy of the gesture, and letting Malfoy know in no uncertain terms that Harry was not a bloody girl. However, as his mind quickly thought of a few particularly obscene ways that Harry could make the point, he decided to let it go. Malfoy was playing games with him, and Harry did not intend to give him the satisfaction of knowing the effect of his games.
They entered a large room with mirrors completely covering one wall. In one corner, there was what looked like a makeshift changing room, as well as a dais set in front of a three-way mirror. In the opposite corner, there was a dining table, complete with four place settings. The rest of the room was bare.
"What is this place?" asked Ron.
"This is my top secret workshop." Malfoy replied. "When a client needs as much training as the two of you do, no offense of course, I have found that it is easier to bring the training to you here, instead of running you all over town. For now, let's have a quick lesson on dinner etiquette."
Malfoy led them over to the dining table. "Potter, you'll have to stand in for Miss Granger so that Weasley can practice. Weasley, pull the chair back slightly so she can sit down."
Ron did as instructed, and Harry sat, all the while muttering under his breath about being referred to as 'she.' Either Malfoy didn't hear him, or chose to ignore him, as he didn’t acknowledge the comment.
"Ok, this is a lot to remember, so we will probably have to go over it several times before it sticks. As soon as you sit down, pick up the napkin from the table and drape it over your lap. Make sure not to unfold the napkin above the top of the table." Malfoy demonstrated by elegantly flipping his napkin across his lap, mostly out of sight. "If you have to leave the table, place your napkin on your chair, or to the left of your plate. This indicates to the wait staff that you plan to return to the table. When you are done with your meal, place your napkin to the right side of your plate. This indicates that you have completed your meal and are ready for your place to be cleared."
At this point, Harry knew they were in trouble. He had to be conscious of where he left his napkin? Did people really pay attention to that stuff?
"It may seem insignificant, but I can assure you that wealthy families have been taught this since childhood, and they will be watching to see if you know it as well. Now, on to the place setting. It can seem intimidating, but there is an easy way to handle it. With the silver, work from the outside in. The fork on the far left of your plate is the salad fork, and the fork to the far right is the seafood fork. These will be the ones you start with. Then you'll move on to the soup spoon, then the dinner knife and fork. Your dessert silver is set above your plate. Understand?"
"Um, outside in, got it." Harry said. Ron nodded emphatically.
"Right. Now on to glasses. There are generally four glasses to look for. The sherry glass will be the smallest, followed by the white wine glass, then the red wine glass, and the water goblet, which is the largest. You don't have to worry as much about these because the wait staff will bring them out when appropriate. However, when in doubt, just stick to water and use the largest glass."
Harry looked over to Ron, whose eyes had begun to glaze over. If today was any indication of what was a head, then both of them were in trouble.
For the next few weeks, Harry and Ron met with Draco almost every evening at his workshop, learning the proper procedure for everything from introductions to leaving a party. For all his sneering, Malfoy proved himself a capable and patient teacher; surprisingly, Harry had found himself enjoying the lessons. Harry honestly thought he was looking forward to the lessons a bit too much, but he decided not to think about that.
After a grueling session of coaching on hosting an upper-class cocktail party, Malfoy decided that they each needed a suit. The next day, as the tailor was taking their measurements, Draco approached them.
"The Grangers have made reservations at the Chateau Fountaine for dinner tomorrow evening. Your attendance is expected."
Ron gulped audibly. "Hermione hasn't mentioned it to me."
Draco nodded. "I rather believe this is a test of your skills; a glimpse of what they have to deal with at the wedding."
"Oh. Do you think we're ready for that?" Harry asked.
"Not really. However, I'm not sure that you have much choice. To cancel would be a sign of weakness."
The three were silent for a moment. Then Ron spoke. "Why don't you just come with us? We could follow your example, and you could signal us if we're going to do something really stupid."
Draco shook his head. "Do you really think it's a good idea to bring your personality makeover consultant along for dinner? I said that canceling would show weakness; bringing me with you would show insanity."
"There is that," said Ron as he scratched his head. "I also…haven't exactly told Hermione that we're doing this. I wanted to surprise her. So she doesn't know anything."
They fell silent again, watching as the tailor packed up his supplies and said goodbye to Malfoy.
Ron's head shot up. "Harry!"
"Yeah?"
"No, I mean, Malfoy can go as Harry's date. No one will suspect a thing!"
"Weasley, I'm not so sure—"
"I can't believe you'd even think—"
Harry locked eyes with Malfoy when they spoke at the same time. The brief lapse gave Ron time to interject.
"It's the perfect idea! Malfoy poses as Harry's boyfriend, and we can copy his movements, and he can keep us from making complete arses of ourselves."
Harry had to admit it was a good idea, although the thought of pretending Malfoy was his boyfriend… What scared Harry most was that the thought of Malfoy as his boyfriend was not as repulsive as he would have liked it to be. Still, Harry wasn't sure if he could handle an evening in Malfoy's company, much less pretend to enjoy it. From the look on Malfoy's face, he seemed to be having the same doubts.
One look at Ron's face, however, sealed the deal. He had a hopeful, pleading expression, and it was then that Harry realized how important this was to his friend. He knew he couldn't say no.
"Alright. Let's do it."
Both Ron and Malfoy looked shocked at his decision; then Ron grinned hugely and threw his arm around Harry.
"Thanks, mate! This means the world to me!" Then he turned to Malfoy. "So we're all set?"
"Not quite." Malfoy said. "Let's rehash our dining crash course, and then we'll have to have a quick dance lesson as well."
Harry knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't help it. "Tonight? Are you joking, Malfoy?"
Malfoy shook his head. "No joke. You have to at least learn the basics tonight. The Chateau Fountaine has a beautiful dancefloor. The Grangers will most likely want to dance."
Malfoy paused for a moment. "And since we're boyfriends, don't you think you should call me Draco, Harry?"
Harry woke late the next morning, due to the late night etiquette study session with Malfoy – Draco – to prepare for dinner with Hermione's parents. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out the puzzle posed by Draco Malfoy, the man with the ridiculous name.
Harry really didn't know what to make of the man. At a glance, there was sarcasm and scorn; superiority and snobbery. However, with a deeper look, there seemed to be much more than an admittedly bad attitude.
There were moments in their grueling training session the night before when Draco had seemed funny, almost friendly. And Harry could have sworn that Draco was flirting with him throughout the night. Lingering touches, teasing innuendo, and intense looks from the blonde had wreaked havoc on Harry's libido. He had come home and wanked to thoughts of Draco, his pent-up energy making him come much faster than usual. He had been mortified with himself when he realized his wanking thoughts had not been of obscene sexual fantasies, but of seemingly innocuous touches, like the light pressure of Draco's hand along his back and they entered the building.
Now here he was, lying in bed mooning over Draco sodding Malfoy. Like a bloody virgin. Harry got out of bed, and muttered, "Bloody Malfoy."
"He's certainly got your number, eh mate?"
Harry spun around to see his best friend leaning against the door frame, still clad in pyjamas, a bowl of cereal in his hand.
Harry tried not to blush, but he was pretty sure it hadn't worked. "I don't know what you're talking about." Ron waved his spoon at Harry. "Oh, I think you do know. You know how I know that you know? That little blush you get whenever Malfoy touches you, or winks at you, or speaks to you."
Harry threw a pillow at Ron and walked to his closet to decide his attire for the day. "Shut it, you. I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Or it could be that boner you had last night during dance lessons, because I don't think I caused it. Or maybe it could be that I heard you wanking last night as soon as we got home. Just a thought."
"Ugh Ron! Don't I have the right to privacy around here?" Harry hid his face in his hands and could feel the heat radiating from his cheeks.
"You'll have all the privacy you want in a month's time. For now, you'll just have to deal with me. And your crush on Malfoy. Honestly Harry, I haven't seen you act like this since your crush on that Neville bloke."
Harry wrinkled his nose, remembering his brief relationship with Neville. Neville had been sweet and even-tempered, and in hindsight, Harry thought that might have been the problem. Harry and Neville had been great companions, and were still good friends, but there had been no spark, none of the passion that Harry longed for.
"Mate, Malfoy can be a right prick sometimes, but he's a decent enough guy." Ron dropped his spoon back into the bowl and turned to leave. He paused at the door. "For what it's worth, I think you're having the same effect on Malfoy that he's having on you."
With that, he left. Harry stared after him, mouth gaping open. Then he groaned.
"I'm fucked."
The dinner had progressed well, in Harry's opinion. Mr. and Mrs. Granger had appeared friendly, if a little aloof, and they had accepted Draco as Harry's date without question. Hermione was another story. She had graciously greeted Draco, all the while giving Harry a look that clearly said We will discuss this later.
Draco had been simply charming, and had won the Grangers over almost immediately. He’d also managed to discreetly direct Harry and Ron the few times it was needed, but Harry was pleasantly surprised to realize that the lessons had paid off. He felt completely confident and at ease in the fancy restaurant.
Or he had felt at ease. That is, until Mr. Granger turned to his wife and asked, "Shall we dance?"
The Grangers rose and headed toward the dancefloor. Hermione gave Ron an expectant look, although she looked mildly surprised when Ron gallantly extended his hand to pull her to her feet. Harry returned her brilliant smile as she passed, and watched them as they slid gracefully into a slow waltz.
He felt a hand on his arm, and turned to see Draco looking at him with a softness in his features that Harry had never noticed before.
"Shall we dance, Harry?" Draco asked softly.
Harry didn't speak; he simply nodded and slipped his hand into Draco's, pushing back his chair. He let Draco lead him to the dancefloor and automatically slid his hand around Draco's shoulder.
At that moment, Harry looked up and locked eyes with Draco. He couldn't quite name the emotion he saw in Draco's eyes, but he found himself unable to look away. He was vaguely aware of the other dancers; barely cognizant of diners seated around the dancefloor. Harry's world began and ended with step of the dance, the feeling of Draco's hand on his back, the depth of grey in Draco's eyes.
Suddenly, Draco’s mouth was beside his ear. Harry’s heart stuttered, skipping a beat in the sheer pleasure of the moment before he realized Draco was whispering something.
"I’m not meant to be here. It’s practically breaking every rule the agency upholds to be here pretending to be your boyfriend. But I don’t care...I want you, Harry." He swallowed. "And I want you so much that right now, I don’t care if Weasley makes a prat of himself in front of his fiancée and future parents-in-law. I want to stop pretending... And I don’t want to do it here."
Draco’s head moved away from Harry’s ear, leaving him with a slight, fleeting moment of loss, but only fleeting. There was the slightest brush of lips against his, almost immediately becoming deeper and more persistent. Then a swipe of a tongue, followed by the rush as the tongue met its counterpart. Harry felt no sense of time; the kiss was both tragically short and breathtakingly long.
When he finally pulled away, Harry noticed that Draco's eyes were glassy and his pupils were huge. Without another word, Draco grasped Harry's hand and lead him from the room. Harry hailed a cab and told the driver his address. He felt more than saw Draco shift toward him and stroke his cheek. This kiss was different. It was still urgent and full of desire, but at the same time it was also sweet and full of promise. It ended as they reached Harry's building. Draco paid the driver, and smiled at Harry as they approached his door. Harry gave Draco a shy smile in return, opened the door and entered his flat. Then he turned to Draco.
"You coming in?"
Draco gave him a lascivious wink. "Hell, yes."
Harry let Draco in ahead of him, and immediately found himself pressed against the closed door and taken in a deep, thorough kiss. Eyes closed and without breaking the kiss, Harry fumbled with the buttons on Draco's shirt until he finally felt smooth skin. Harry broke the kiss to move his mouth to Draco's chest, running the tip of his tongue along Draco's pectoral muscles.
Draco panted as he pulled slightly away from Harry in an effort to reach for Harry's shirt. Not bothering with buttons, Draco simply pulled the shirt over Harry's head. Harry's mouth went directly back to Draco's chest, this time pulling a nipple into his mouth with a slurp. Draco placed one hand on Harry's trousers, then paused.
"Harry," he said, putting his other hand in Harry's hair and tugging gently, "Harry, let's take this to your bedroom. Otherwise, I'll end up taking you right here and now."
Harry shivered at the thought, which made Draco chuckle as he pulled Harry away from the door. "Come on, let's go to your room."
Harry surprised himself by actually remembering where his bedroom was located. He had significant motivation, however; Draco was walking close behind him, running his hands anything they could reach.
Harry tugged Draco against him, backing toward the bed. When he felt the mattress at the back of his legs, he fell back, pulling Draco down on top of him.
Within minutes, they were both naked, and Draco was lying with his stomach on the bed, his head between Harry's spread legs. Harry whimpered as he felt Draco's slick finger tease around his entrance. Draco gave a soft laugh, then lowered his head to follow his finger with his tongue. When Harry felt the heat of Draco's mouth on his opening, the whimper turned into a full groan. This seemed to encourage Draco, who ran the flat of his tongue across Harry's hole again.
Harry squirmed under Draco's ministrations, and tugged at his cock. Draco reached up and stilled Harry's hand on his cock, locking eyes with Harry and shaking his head slightly. Harry groaned again, this time in frustration. Draco responded by pointing his tongue and spearing into Harry's entrance.
"Guh!" Harry's back arched up and he pushed his arse down against Draco's face. Draco worked his tongue in and out, drawing more gasps, groans, and whimpers from Harry. Finally Harry'd had enough.
"Draco! I'm ready. I'm so so so so ready!" Harry cried.
"Patience, Harry." Draco chided, all the while smearing lubricant onto his erect cock. "Flip over."
Harry moved without thought, positioning himself on all fours with his arse in the air. Draco placed his cock at Harry's opening and slowly pushed forward.
"Holy fuck," Draco gasped as he was fully sheathed inside Harry. He pulled out slowly, and followed with a swift thrust back in. Draco wrapped one arm around Harry and pulled him up to almost sit in his lap, driving his cock even deeper inside Harry.
"Oh yes," said Harry, drawing out the word as a hiss. Draco continued his forceful thrusts, pulling Harry's cock in rhythm. Harry grasped the headboard and used it as leverage to push back and meet Draco's thrusts.
When Draco angled for a direct hit on Harry's prostate, Harry cried out and came, his channel squeezing Draco in a tight, hot grip. Harry slumped forward, leaning his forehead against the wood of the bed while Draco continued to move inside of him. Harry kept pushing back against Draco, and after a few more thrusts, Draco came deep within Harry, giving a guttural moan and dropping his head against Harry's back.
Draco gently lifted Harry and laid him down on the bed. Harry turned on his side and watched as Draco pulled the covers over both of them and snuggled down next to Harry.
"I never pegged you for a snuggler," Harry said, amusement in his tired voice.
"I've never been a snuggler," Draco said simply, then snuggled further into Harry's arms.
Harry tightened his hold on Draco and pressed a kiss to his temple. Then he fell asleep, a small smile on his face.
Harry was ripped from his deep and sated sleep by a ringing noise. Eyes closed, he made a wide swing at his night table, trying to stop the blasted noise.
"Harry, it's my mobile." came Draco's sleep-roughened voice from across the room. A very naked Draco had located his trousers and was pulling his mobile from the pocket.
"Draco Malfoy."
Harry couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but it didn't appear to be good news. Draco finally heaved a large sigh and hung up the phone.
"That was Severus. I have to go in to the office." Still holding his trousers, Draco began to get dressed.
"Oh, um, well okay," Harry replied. He wasn't sure what he had expected of the morning after, but Draco hurriedly dressing and leaving for the office was not it.
As if reading his thoughts, Draco smiled. "This shouldn't take long. Can I call you later? Maybe we could have dinner?"
Harry breathed a sigh of relief, even as he acknowledged how pathetic he probably looked. "Sure, that sounds good."
Draco leaned down and gave Harry a long and thorough kiss, regardless of the fact that they both had morning breath. When he pulled away, he pressed a soft kiss to Harry's forehead.
"I'll call you later."
"Maybe he meant later in the week?" Hermione said.
Harry shook his head, staring mournfully into his morning cereal. "It's been four days, Hermione. He's not going to call."
"Well I'm going to track him down and beat the shit out of him." Ron said. "In fact, I'm going down to that poncey Non Faux Pas agency right now to beat some sense into him."
Ron headed for the door but Hermione's voice stopped him. "He works at Non Faux Pas?"
Ron turned slowly back around to face his fiancé. "Um, yes. He does."
"Don't tell me he's one of those ridiculous personality makeover consultants," said Hermione with a laugh. The laugh died when she saw Ron's face. "Oh my god, he is?"
Hermione turned to Harry. "How in the world did you get mixed up with those snobs?"
Harry looked at Ron, who nodded and stepped forward. "Hermione, we've been taking etiquette lessons from Malfoy for over a month now."
Hermione gasped. "What on earth for?"
"Uh, well...your parents suggested it, actually. They said that it was important for me to learn how to behave properly in society." Ron said in a rush.
"Behave properly... What a load of rot! Ron, how could you possibly think that crap is important? And you, Harry?" Hermione looked from her fiancé to her best friend, confusion etched in her features.
"Harry came because I asked him to, so don't blame him," Ron sighed, then sat down next to Hermione and took her hand. "I know you say that money isn't important, or family names, and I know they're not important to you, but they are important to a lot of people. Hermione, when your father told me about the lessons, he told me 'A poisonous toadstool never changes its spots.' I have no idea what the hell he meant, but the only word I kept hearing was poisonous; like I wasn't good enough for you or that I was bringing you down by being with you. I just want to be someone you can be proud of."
Hermione swiped the back of her hand across her eyes to wipe away the tears. "You are someone I am proud of, you great lout," she said with a smile. "I love you, and I'm proud of the person that you are, and I'm extremely proud to be marrying you. Never doubt that."
Ron gave Hermione a quick kiss, which she accepted with a smile. Then her face turned hard for a moment. "And I will be speaking to my father about this. The nerve of him to push you into etiquette lessons!"
"Well, it wasn't all bad," said Ron with a shrug. "We did learn some interesting things, and at times I felt very gallant. And now, I am going to march my gallant self over to that agency and beat the shit out of some Malfoy!"
Ron got up from his chair, but Harry stopped him. "No Ron. If he doesn't want me, that's fine. We didn't make any promises to each other."
"Why don't you try calling him, Harry? Or going by Non Faux Pas to see him? It's not unreasonable to want an explanation."
Harry really wasn't so sure he wanted to hear whatever Draco's explanation might be, but — he figured — it was worth a shot.
"Mr. Malfoy is currently suspended from Non Faux Pas," Severus Snape told Harry with a cold smile. "Having witnessed the little show you and Draco put on at the Chateau Fountaine last week, I felt it best to suspend Draco and give him ample opportunity to consider his career options."
Harry felt his anger begin to boil below the surface. "Because of a kiss?"
"No, Potter, not just because of a kiss, although how you consider that a kiss is beyond me. It looked more like you were competing to see who could eat more of the other's face. Not just because of the kiss. Draco crossed the boundaries of professionalism by even attending dinner as your date. The kiss did not help the matter. I have encouraged Draco not to speak to you if he values his job. And I assure you, Draco does value his job." With a swish of his coat, Snape left the room, his stiletto heels clacking on the tile floor.
Well. It wasn't the explanation he had wanted, but he couldn’t deny that it answered his questions about Draco's communication breakdown. Though Harry found it hard to blame Draco for wanting to keep his job, a tiny part of him wished he had meant more to Draco than employment. The fact that he hadn't stung a bit.
But there was nothing for it. Harry just needed to forget about Draco and move on. Right. That shouldn't be a problem.
Three weeks later, at Ron and Hermione's wedding, Harry was still planning on forgetting about Draco. He just hadn't gotten around to it yet. There were weddings to prepare for, and stag parties to host, and in the throes of celebration, Harry hadn't quite been able to put Draco out of his mind. He often wondered how the blond was doing, if he had returned to work, if he ever thought about Harry. But Harry fully intended to forget all about Draco Malfoy. It was on his to-do list.
Lost in his thoughts, Harry hadn't noticed someone come up close behind him, just over his left shoulder. As Harry shook himself back into reality, he turned left toward the door, thinking that fresh air was needed. Instead, he ran into a firm body, and all too familiar hands gripped his biceps in an attempt to steady him.
"Easy there, Harry. I had planned to ask you to dance, but you're not impressing me with your grace this evening." Draco said, his amused tone not quite hiding a note of insecurity.
Harry ignored the jibe in favor of gaping at Draco. "What are you doing here?"
Draco straightened his shoulders. "I was invited, of course. It's bad manners to gatecrash a wedding reception."
"It's also bad manners to fuck someone and tell them you'll call, and then disappear, so forgive me if I doubt your good manners." Harry narrowed his eyes at Draco, then turned to walk away.
Draco followed right behind him. "Harry, please let me explain-"
Harry spun around. "No, I don't think I will. Do you know when I would have listened to an explanation? Three weeks ago when you dropped off the face of the earth without so much as a goodbye. That's when an explanation could have worked for you. It's too late now."
Harry turned again and took a few steps before Draco's voice halted him once again.
"I quit my job."
This time, Harry turned slowly back toward Draco, his head cocked to the side. "You did what?"
Draco took a step forward. "I quit my job. Snape read me the riot act about you, then suspended me and told me I was to have no contact with you. I thought that would be okay, but I missed you. So I thought it through and I figured out how I felt and I quit my job."
"You thought...felt...you quit your job?"
With a nervous laugh, Draco took another step forward, stopping a breath away from Harry.
"I'm sorry for being out of touch for so long, but I had to make sure what I felt was real."
"And just what do you feel?"
Draco took his hand and Harry stopped breathing. In a soft voice, Draco said, "I want to wake up with you every morning. I want to kiss you everyday. I want to still feel this electric chemistry between us when we're ninety."
Harry smiled. "Perfect answer."
The short black-haired man pulled the git - the absolute git - with the ridiculous name to him and kissed him for all he was worth. In the distance, he heard a whistle he instinctively knew was Ron; and he heard a voice that sounded like Mrs. Granger talking about being 'young and in love.' He ignored them all and threw himself into the kiss.
This was a kiss that told of a future of contentment; of puppies and babies and disgustingly perfect happiness. It was a kiss that told of things that most people can only wish for, and Harry intended to remember every single moment.
—fin