4: Heretofore Immovable Force Meets Irresistible Object

Disclaimer: My costumes, my Tatiana, my misused Muggle camera, my random colorful (or irritating) party guests. The rest is on unauthorized leave from The People with All the Money.

Chapter 4: Heretofore Immovable Force Meets Irresistible Object

---

While his dragon poured another Mojito, Draco poured his heart out about his visions of hippogriff. Considering that he was a few Mojitos over the border into Slurvia, it was a wonder she understood any of it.

"All I could shink of was how gorgeoush he was. He was singin' my favorite song and lookin' like sex on legs, but he's a he, and I just want to crawl away and die."

"Now, sugar, don't do anything drastic! Maybe... maybe finding this guy attractive was a one-time thing? You know, feeling a little down about the ex, hearing a song you like, being...a few sheets to the wind?" Draco suspected that she was pretending not to see him push his glass back for a refill. He crumpled in on himself and tried to hide in his wings. Brilliant. I've turned into a gay lush, and my only comfort is a scaly bartender who may well be old enough to be my mother. I want to go home.

"Well... Lash time I felt that way...the ex and the res'...I got a bit... cuddly... with a guy." He looked up when he felt the bottle-cooled softness of her hand and the smooth, blunt points of her claws on his arm.

"Would it be so awful if you were bi, honey? I know it's not a politically popular orientation in these either-one-or-the-other days, but you could have the best of both worlds, in theory." Draco wanted to argue with her, insist that it couldn't be so, but her eyes were so gentle that he almost cried instead.

"I don't know." He wibbled. "I'm too ooold to be this confushed."

"Well, you don't look it, darlin'. In fact, there was a couple at the other end of the bar...a satyr and a unicorn...who just got into a fight over one of them ogling 'that Veela.' And they were looking at you."

"Which one was lookin'...the boy or the girl?" Draco asked hopefully.

"Um, well, I think they were both boys, honey."

Draco's head dropped to the bar again. "Bollocks."

"I've got an idea. Go find your hippogriff, sugar. I met him earlier; he's single and a real sweetie. Bring him over here for a drink and a talk, and maybe you two can figure it out?"

"I...I couldn't just tell a complete shranger 'is sort of sing." He gulped from the glass she provided and then gave it a sad stare. How come this tastes like water? "It's not the sort of sing I want known, y'know?"

"You told me."

"But, you're s...shpecial."

She smiled and gave his hand another gentle squeeze. "He's special, too. And nervous about being here if his behavior was any clue. Worst he could do is say he's not interested. It's not as if he'll tell the world who's wondering what. You're in disguise."

It took a while for Draco's wobbly brain to parse that sentence. At last the implications sunk in, and he touched one of the sparkles on his cheek contemplatively. "I am..."

I can find him... be utterly charming... have a bit of a chat... and I'll figure it out once and for all. He'll never know who I am, so if it turns out to be nothing but the pretty green drinks talking, no harm done.

The dragon chattered happily away, unaware of Draco's dawning epiphany as she sent a couple of glasses flying over to the sink and cast the charms to wash them. "Even if he turns out to be straight, you'd look mighty fine together. I could get a smashing picture! My niece and her fiancé did some fancy Charms work with a digital camera..."

Draco didn't stay to hear the rest. He wobbled off, determined to find his black-feathered destiny.

---

"If I'm supposed to be a hippogriff, why in nine Hells didn't they give me a tail, so I wouldn't be so exposed?"

Harry noticed a Jobberknoll blinking at him and clamped down on the urge to continue muttering. If you had children you'd talk to yourself, too, he thought sourly.

He pushed his way into the ballroom with the idea of finding a Floo, but somewhere on the edge of the dance floor Harry's brain caught up with him and pointed out something important. Did I just very nearly hex a shapely witch for patting me on the backside? Upon review of the evidence, he was forced to conclude that yes, indeed he had.

Reflexes. Side effect the job. She's lucky I'm slightly pissed and didn't.... Harry found the effort of convincing himself tiring. He leaned against a convenient wall and frowned dizzily at the guests who had the nerve to be dancing and having a good time all around him whilst he was experiencing an-almost-mid-life sexual identity crisis.

Do I really check out guys? Harry gave the matter serious, if sloshed, consideration. School didn't count...he'd been a mess back then. Besides, what Quidditch player didn't admire his captain or his more impressive rivals?

And now it was his job to give everyone the once (or twice)-over. Perhaps Luna had just imagined it... and he had only Luna's word for it that Ginny had noticed. Right?

Harry was just pissed enough to subject the question to an investigation.

That big, hairy bloke dressed as a werewolf reminded Harry slightly of Hagrid, and that just wasn't on. The willowy girls in pixy costumes weren't too bad. Harry's eyes passed over several fanciable faces, male and female, and settled a couple of times for a longer look. I can't help it if I like to look at lean, flexible, pretty people and don't bother about their specific plumbing while I look.

"Well, hello."

Harry looked up into the face of a blond with a convincing golden horn rising from his forehead. "Er, hello." He did a bit of a double take upon noticing the white shirt read 'I'm horny...fancy a ride?' It didn't help that it covered a body that matched the fit-and-flexible criteria he'd pretty decisively identified. "Unicorn?"

The blond grinned saucily. "Right in one." He turned halfway and wiggled his slim backside, complete with a small tail, in Harry's direction. The gesture just escaped being crude. "Like my tail?"

"Enviable." Harry was thinking of his desire for said costume feature. He belatedly realized it could be misinterpreted when the unicorn's smoky eyes narrowed in a way that made Harry rather nervous.

"So, why aren't you on the dance floor?"

"I've never been one for dancing."

"Start a conga line...all you have to do is give your bum a shake and wait for everyone to queue up. Of course, they'll have to settle for being behind me." He leaned on the wall, displaying a mile or so of slender arms and legs to good effect.

"Sorry? I don't believe I'm getting you."

"That's easily fixed." His eyes roamed Harry's body in blatant appraisal.

Yes, the conversation is going where you think it is, Harry. "I'm... that is..."

"Is it just me, then? I was watching, and you were practically feeling up some of the blokes out there with your eyes."

Pot, cauldron. "But, I'm not...look, a friend mentioned earlier tonight that she thought I might be bi, so I was just... making comparisons. Looking at both."

"Oh?" The unicorn's soft voice deepened slightly in amusement. "Then this is your lucky night. I can give you a little of both, if you're so inclined."

The most articulate response Harry could devise was, "Huh?"

"Ever heard of a drag king, luv? It's all girl bits under the costume. But, with a few charms, I can accommodate... different anatomical requirements."

Harry gaped at the shirt again, this time ignoring the lewd print. A sweet tenor laugh brought his eyes back up to his...her?...smiling (and, now that he thought of it, remarkably smooth) face. "They always look for the tits first. I've got them strapped down well; you'll not see them...unless you'd like to."

"Er, thanks... I think... but I'm not quite sure what I'm ready for." There was something about that insolent smile that got to Harry, never mind the intriguing either/or possibilities. Harry needed to get away from that even, dangerous, androgynous voice before he got even more confused

The unicorn looked a little wistful, but not particularly upset. "Pity, that. If you change your mind..."

"What are you doing?"

Harry turned to find a black-haired satyr advancing on them, practically crackling with possessive magic. It had to be a 'him' this time unless that bare, fuzzy chest was cloaked in some advanced glamours.

"Do you care what... or who... I do anymore?" the unicorn purred.

"Look, I'm sorry! That Veela had me a bit turned 'round, but..."

"Wasn't a real Veela, luv." Harry belatedly recalled that unicorns could be dangerous when crossed.

The satyr pushed his way in front of Harry to gaze up at the unicorn, who had a good three inches in height on him. "You know that you're the only guy... and girl... for me."

It was evidently the right thing to say. The unicorn twined long limbs around her diminutive suitor, and Harry took the opportunity to slip away.

Right. Time to find...

Harry stopped in mid-thought at the sight of a dazzling flash of white wings across the room.

---

Draco caught a glimpse of black wings and practically flew across the room. Perhaps it was undignified, but he had to do it before he lost nerve. He started to turn on his best Charming Smile when he came up short.

Gah! This isn't my hippogriff! It's the fugliest Thestral ever!

The man looked up just as Draco realized his mistake and started turning off the smile. "Sorry," Draco muttered, and made a quick turn. The man made a quicker grab for his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, you know no one can resist a Veela, little lady."

Draco whirled, caught his robes on something, and swore as he heard the sound of silk tearing. He slapped the man's hand away. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You've, you've torn my robes, you heathen! And I'm NOT a lady."

"My mistake. Still hard to resist. And you don't need to wear robes on my account."

"I was married! To a witch!" Draco couldn't quite bring himself to state unequivocally that he wasn't gay, considering that his motives for seeking the hippogriff were not the most heterosexual imaginable. He was also afraid that the words wouldn't quite come out right because they were having a bit of difficulty getting from his brain to his mouth just now.

"Oh?"

"'Twasn't my idea to divorce...she left me. She left me." Draco repeated the last bit, not quite certain that his audience would fully appreciate the implications without the added emphasis. The fellow's eyes were certainly glazed-looking. Probably pissed as a newt.

"Right cow, she was," the man mumbled.

Maybe not pissed, just that stupid. "Look, you, tha's no way to talk 'bout the mother of my son," Draco said, and decided that the poor acoustics of the room must be doing something adverse to his voice. There was no way that he sounded so nasal and prissy.

"Aw, don't get shirty, princess. She was prolly tired of you being prettier 'an her," and of all the nerve, the uncouth sod leered at him. "Besides, we both know she wasn't quite your type, now, was she?" To Draco's abject horror, the bastard followed it up with a grab at his wand...not the hawthorn one.

Draco punched him.

He couldn't be entirely certain that the brick-skulled cretin actually noticed the impact because he continued to stare at Draco, looking dazed and possibly wondering why his nose felt wet. Draco positioned his hand over his wand in case the lout had any notion of coming close enough to bleed on him (or something equally unpleasant).

"You arse! If I was gay as a picnic basket I shtill wouldn't let you put a paw on me, not if you were the last thing on earth with a cock!"

Some combination of insults and pain finally penetrated the man's lizard-like brain and assured him that, no, he was not wanted here, and he had best depart posthaste. "Fuckin' little twunt," he slurred back over his shoulder as he lurched away.

Draco didn't feel the least bit sorry for hitting the bastard in the back with a jinx Scorpius and Albus had devised. He wondered if the idiot would be thrown out of the party or if he would be sufficiently embarrassed at letting loose an enormous fart every third or fourth step and leave on his own.

Speaking of which...

"Oh, bugger. I need the loo."

---

Merlin's girlfriend in a thong... It's... it's an angel.

Harry angled for a better look at the gorgeous white-winged creature that was floating across the dance floor. He fumbled around in his well-buzzed brain for signs of Veela influence, which he was just as adept at identifying and resisting as he was 'Imperio,' and found none. Apparently it was the person in the Veela costume that had caused the trouble between the satyr and unicorn. Harry could see where the problem lay. She... He? It? No, it had to be one or the other, drag notwithstanding. Boy or girl. Whatever. It was beyond sexy, and Harry was going to ogle its cute, feathered backside for a while.

That was his plan at least, until a very curvy Cleopatra barged into his line of sight and sank all his fun.

"Hey there. Bet you think I'm at the wrong party, eh?" A witch in a white gown with a flashy collar cut in front of Harry. Though her endowments weren't half as impressive as those of the phoenix, Harry was rather forcibly reminded of Bludgers as she forced them as close to his face as she could manage.

Well, I'm pretty sure I am. "I hadn't given it any thought. Sorry, I need to get through." He attempted to sidestep, but she followed.

"Look, I'm Cleopatra. Cleo-PAW-tra. Get it? Paw?" She pointed to the tufts of fur sticking out of her headdress which might, with imagination, be mistaken for cat's ears.

You're going to get it, if you don't barge the fuck out of my way so I can eye up my Veela. "Yeah, it's got. Now, if you'll excuse me..." Harry dodged around her, not caring if he was rude or not. A funny feeling was brewing in the vicinity of his sternum.

Want. VEELA.

She spluttered angrily after him. "Don't you walk away from me! You tell me, what haven't I got, huh? What, are you a fag or something?"

Harry looked over his shoulder with an expression that had made braver and stupider people turn tail. "If you were all that was left of witches, I'd be a fag, thanks!"

'Cleo's' indignant hissing was smothered in applause led by the unicorn and a merry band of eavesdroppers. Harry walked off, head held high; but his elation at having got the upper hand was short-lived.

Well, shit. The Veela's flown.

---

"Tatiana, I need..."

"Luna, honey, you're just in time. Can you handle the bar for a few?"

"Well, all right. But I need you to take something to H...my friend, the hippogriff."

"Oh, I was just going out to look for him. And I need to get that poor, unhappy Veela. I'll bring him by when I've found him, okay?"

"Okay." Luna felt rather as if she'd just been maneuvered around... or misunderstood... or something of that nature. The steady stream of customers didn't give her time to consider it.

After a brief while, one wheedling voice pierced the general buzz. "Dragon? Bother, I don' even know your name. Dragon, help me!"

Luna tried to peer over the heads of the people in front of her, but all she could see were white wings and a glimpse of a feathered head. "She's away. Can I get you anything?"

A gray eye peered sulkily past the Erumpent who was first in line. "Yes, the way to the loo."

"There's one just the other side of the Karaoke area, across from the bar..."

"Right, thanks."

"...but that one's nearly always occupied. You'll probably have to go back to the rotunda just opposite the entry."

"What? Where?"

"Other side of the ballroom. Walk anticlockwise 'round the Wrackspurt trap just to be on the safe side, then take the first right hand corridor under the stairs. It'll be on the left."

"How...oh, never mind!" Luna looked up again only to find the wizard gone. She shrugged and went back to pouring as her mind replayed the conversation and images in its own leisurely fashion.

Was that Tatiana's Veela?

The glass before her overflowed, but the squawked protests of the customer went unheeded as her brain wandered down various pathways in an effort to identify that annoyed whine.

Tatiana's Veela is... Draco Malfoy?

"Might want to give Harry the heads up about that," Luna mused. It finally registered that she was causing a bit of a flood and no little consternation among the patrons, and by the time the resulting kerfuffle was smoothed over, she'd rather forgot.

---

Everyone and his Kneazle thronged the ballroom in anticipation of the unmasking.

Draco, where the hell are you, you great, rat-arsed, ponce?

Millicent was not renowned for her patience, and she was on the verge of casting 'Sonorous' and yelling for Draco through the ballroom, embarrassment factor be damned.

Then she got distracted.

Helloooo, horns!

A pair of puffskeins squeaked in fear and fled at the predatory grin on Millie's face. She brushed them off the back of her feathered sleeve, focused completely on the Minotaur with the red bull's head dancing in a crowd of enthusiastic admirers. Fuck, he must wrestle hippogriffs for a living, with all those scars. And what a torso! It's almost enough to make me swear off arses. She cast a critical eye over said body part. Although I bet that's just as impressive, once he's out of those idiotic, red fur trousers.

Millie turned on her flames, turned up her smile, and started her inexorable sway towards him. It was the work of a moment to nudge...okay, knock...some twiggy little witch out of the way so that she was dancing directly in front of him. Bugger off, you dozy cow. MY bull.

"What's a healthy bloke like yourself doing at a sedate, little charity party?"

He couldn't have minded her presumption much, judging by the broad grin that lit up the shadow under the bull's snout. "The Dragon Preserve benefits from the event, too. The least they can do is spare a dragon tamer or two to liven it up."

The words 'dragon tamer' stirred something non-sexual in Millie's mind, but her hormones stomped on it. "Well, Dragon Tamer... is it safe to say you like a fiery date?" She wiggled her flames.

"I don't do anything safe...and call me Charlie," he answered, lifting his bull's head to add wicked eyes to his freckle-faced grin.

Well, hell. Looks like a Weasley. An older one, at that. Still... Merlin knows their cocks have lifetime warrantees.

Millie grinned back. "Call me anytime... Charlie." Somewhere behind her, applause broke out.

What was I supposed to be doing? Never mind, it can wait until I've crossed Charlie off my 'to do' list. Shouldn't take long...

---

As predicted, the closer loo was occupied. Even as drunk as he was, the sounds from within gave Draco a pretty good idea of how. He pounded on the door in desperate annoyance.

"Thisizz a fuckin' mansion--find an empty bedroom! There're people who actually need the bloody plumbin' fixtures, you know!" Apparently the pounding from without simply blended with the pounding from within. By the sound of it, they were against the door, and all Draco was accomplishing was adding additional vibrations to the experience.

Taking a moment to cast a booby trap on the door (Draco regretted not having the concentration to do anything more painful than a delayed Trip Jinx), he set about following the Snorkack's directions. Or at least, he thought he did.

"Rotunda... clockwise? Anticlockwise? 'Round the whatsits trap? Bugger! Stairs, left, right... no, left." The corridor was getting colder, which was not helping.

He opened the door on the left, only to find a room with a huge fireplace. "Bloody hell! I asked for the loo, not the Floo!" He knew better than to take an emergency piss in an open Floo. Less intoxicated men had wound up in St. Mungo's from standing with their bits at incoming skull level before a fireplace.

The draft caught him again, and he stormed out into the corridor. No plumbing in evidence, but there were French doors leading to a little terrace of some sort, overlooking the garden.

You're not seriously considering...your mother would be mortified!

"She's not here...as usual. To hell with it!" Draco's hand was on his fly before he'd wrestled one half of the door open.

---

Fucking hell. No Veela. I seriously need some air.

Harry wandered down the corridor, blinking his crumpled contact lenses and trying to remember something of the last time he'd visited the house. He took the inevitable wrong turn at the Wrackspurt trap and wound up in a bathroom, where at least he was able to right his eyewear. Shoving his Hippogriff beak up and out of the way helped, too. I may not know where I'm going, but at least I'll be able to see when I get there.

The odd, grumbly feeling in Harry's chest was getting worse. He tried to pretend it was alcohol or indigestion, but the beast would not be denied.

Oh, no. Not you again. Weren't you a byproduct of teenaged glands?.

The grumbly thing stirred arthritically.

Grr. Want Veela.

Finally, a welcome cold draft got Harry's attention. He followed it, shivering with the waning protection of the Warming Charms cast on his harness and spotted a partially open French door.

If this doesn't work on you, Mr. Chest Monster, we're heading back to the loo and giving you a cold bath. I'm too old for this shit.

And stopped dead just the other side of it when he was confronted with the sight of sweeping white wings rising from a slim back covered in tattered silk. Above, they framed a mane of shining, moon-touched hair; below, that delightfully pert backside.

Veela.

Harry was so awestruck that it took him a moment to register the sound of a tapering-off stream of liquid. A relieved sigh from the Veela snapped him out of his idyll.

"Hey," Harry managed to blurt out, not without difficulty, "were...were you peeing over the rail?" He felt rather proud of himself for not slurring any of that. It had been a near thing, even with the word 'hey.'

The Veela turned, also not without difficulty. Given that it had been pretty certain that said Veela had been relieving himself off a balcony, it was rather drunk of Harry to sound so puzzled when he remarked, "You're a guy." A sparkly, poncy-looking guy, but Harry was quite sure there was nothing 'strapped down' under the translucent remains of the pale, silky robe.

"I shay, doesn't anyone 'round here know that theresh...therrer...damn it, Veelas have cocks, too!" The voice was drunk, petulant, indignant... and familiar.

"Malfoy?" It was Harry's night to blurt, it would appear.

"Which...oh. Right. I'm the only one here. All by myself, no Mummy, no Daddy, no wife, even my baby boy sh-shtolen away by some pretty lil' green-eyed Potter." He stopped in mid-sniffle to blink confusedly in Harry's direction. "Speaking of... Potter? Potter, where'd you lose the specs? And when'd you grow feathers? And pecs?"

"Didn't grow'em... Kids made me wear 'em...er...them." He thought for a moment. "The wings, I mean. And I think you're confuseded, Malfoy. Your son's taking my little girl away to live at that musty, old manor of yours."

"Oh. Always wanted a lil' girl." Draco sighed. "It'll be nice. We can play dress up."

Dress... dressed... hang on. Harry's sharp Auror observations skills swam courageously forward through the rising tide of alcohol in his brain with a little prompting from the line of conversation. Not only was his Veela not a Veela, he was a boy, and not just any boy, but a thoroughly pickled Draco Malfoy with his boyness still in evidence.

Stick with 'Malfoy.' Especially while he's still... like that.

"Malfoy, your dick's kinda sticking out."

Draco...no, Malfoy...looked down in apparent surprise. "So i'tis. Didn't realize this party was all that exciting."

"Um, I think it had more to do with peeing over the rail. That was pretty rude. You should use the loo."

"No thanks, don't have to anymore."

Harry was having an inordinate amount of trouble thinking with Draco's...Malfoy's!... fly open. This was a slightly alarming state of affairs. "Then you should put it away."

Malfoy looked down and blinked at the opening in his trousers. "How awkward. I... I can't seem to 'member how."

Oh, hell, no. I am NOT doing up Malfoy's trousers for him. He can just wander around with egg on his chin for all I care.

Draco Oh, give up gave him a round, fragile, Luna-like stare. "Help me out?"

Well, shit.

"Are you sure? I...that is..."

Draco jerked his head up with such suddenness that he swayed precariously in place. "Wait, you're my hippogriff!" He leaned back on the rail, grinning and looking quite cheerfully debauched between his torn robe and the trousers situation.

Harry felt a prickle of foreboding below his bellybutton, a place that had absolutely no business prickling with anything while contemplating Draco. "Um, it's all right. Not a real hippogriff. Not going to bite." He reached forward carefully to get that damned fly buttoned because it was becoming painfully obvious that he'd be a mental wreck until it was.

"Hee! You wicked sing, you. Just can't keep your hands off my wand, can you, Potter?"

"What the...OOF!"

Draco squirmed and overbalanced himself. The next thing Harry knew, he had an armful of fabulous faux Veela, a distinct sense of déjà vu, and rather little air in his lungs. Harry grasped desperately for a handhold that was not male organs, fragile wings, or tangled silk, and found himself clutching Draco's absurdly perky leather-and-feather-clad arse.

Purrr...

Nobody asked you.

Rather than take offense, Malfoy was, of all things, giggling.

"Um..."

"I'm flattered, Harry, but I don' know if we should be doin' this on the firs' date."

"Uh, M...Draco...We should get you home." Something told Harry that he really ought not be hanging onto Draco's arse like that. But Draco obligingly wrapped his hands around Harry's own leather coated derriere and thus, in some warped manner, appeased his inner sense of fair play. Either that or befuddled his drunken brain sufficiently to forestall his objections.

"Mind, I'm not easy. I need to be drunker 'an this before I let some strange man take me home." Harry noted abstractedly that Draco was able to fondle condescendingly.

"Draco, you've known me for years. Our children are engaged." Harry tried to get a hand in between them in such a way that didn't imply anything but buttoning. He sincerely hoped that Draco was too drunk to... expand beyond the trousers' capacity... should Harry's hands make an accidental lascivious detour.

"Oh. Right. Well, that's all right, then." He gave Harry's bum another friendly squeeze and nuzzled his neck, making odd, little happy noises.

Harry had the distinct feeling that he was failing to communicate. He also had the distinct, disturbing feeling that he actually rather enjoyed feeling other male backsides and dealing with other male trouser fastenings and fervently wished that he, too, was blitzed enough to be unable to fill his codpiece to capacity. "Draco..."

"Hmm?"

"We should find a Floo. We're too drunk to Apparate. Well, I know you are, and I'm not in such great shape, myself." Though thanks for making the whole bisexual thing a bit clearer.

"In great shape from where I'm standing," Draco said with another giggle. He stroked Harry's chest hair, forcing Harry to choke lest he make a more undignified sound. "Warm, too."

Well, shit. It's the engagement party all over again.

---

This is more like it. If I'm going to be gay, it's going to be for someone hot.

Draco made himself comfortable against Harry's chest, which was a wonderful place to feel the vibrations from Harry's voice. Every nuzzling action left a trail of silver makeup, giving Draco a primal rush at marking his territory. "Are you sniffing me?"

"Why not? Smells good." Draco inhaled again. Leather and Harry. Mmm. Those badges were sooo off-base. Draco nuzzled his way back to Harry's neck, where he was somewhat annoyed to find his feathers and hair getting caught. The coordinating costumes are brilliant, but that stubble is murder on my skin.

Draco managed to unclamp one hand from Harry's very touchable backside and fished out his wand. "Tha's gotta go." He tried to bring the tip of the wand up to Harry's chin, but Harry kept wobbling for some reason.

"It's a charm, 'Finite' it." Draco wondered why Harry sounded so anxious.

"'Kay. Hol' still." Apparently Harry couldn't hold still without grabbing Draco's wrist. Oh, well, whatever it took. "Finite... Finite In..."

Harry gently pulled the wand from his hand. "Finite Incantatem," he said carefully.

"What you said." Draco nuzzled in against Harry's now-smooth neck. He hadn't been this happy in ages. Harry was so warm... so nice... had such a squeezable bum...

He talked too bloody much, though.

"It's half eleven. If we don't get out of here soon, we'll be unmasked!"

"Wha?" This sounded worrisome, though it was a bit beyond Draco's mental capacity at the moment to figure out why.

"Everyone takes off their masks at midnight."

A few more cerebral regions flickered to life, complete with emergency lights. "You mean, someone cou' know who we are?"

"Anyone who's still sober enough in half an hour."

Draco's head jerked upright. He noticed Harry 'owing' and rubbing his nose but failed to connect the events. "I know where there's an open Floo."

"Good...let's hurry."

This was easier said than done. Bipedal locomotion had never quite posed such a challenge for Draco before. Possibly the alcohol he'd just parted with had been crucial to maintaining his center of gravity. Fortunately, Harry was there.

"Bloody hell, you'll break your neck at this rate. Up, sparkles." By some combination of Draco hopping...or possibly lurching...upward and Harry cradling him close, with one arm under white-leather-clad-knees and the other somewhere under Draco's wings, they managed to stagger back into the house. Draco happily discovered that, given enough wiggling, Harry was forced to slide one hand under his backside for support.

"You'll always catch me... Right, Harry?" Draco pushed the hippogriff beak entirely out of the way so that he could see Harry's face more clearly. Harry sighed, his strained expression softening.

"I've got you; don't worry. Now, where's that Floo?"

"Righ' through there." Draco pointed to a door across the corridor. He smiled, unable to contain the overwhelming happiness he felt from just being so close to Harry. "Home, Harry! Flyyyy me home!" He giggled, wiggling his toes with the sheer joy of it. Harry wasn't a hippogriff, he was a bloody black-winged angel, offering access to that strokable chest, letting Draco drown in those emerald eyes and bask in the warmth of Harry's smile.

And how could Draco argue that Harry talked too much when he said things like, "You're ridiculously cute when you're drunk," in such a fond voice?

This is Heaven, and I have my own Harry-Angel. I've died happy.

---

Whatever Draco's personality shortcomings while sober...and Harry was honestly hard-pressed to think of any serious ones more recent than two decades past...he was an adorable, happy, cuddly drunk. His smile was wide and honest and his gray eyes were starry. Maybe they were just glazed over by alcohol, but since Harry was nicely marinated himself at the moment, they looked quite stellar to him.

"Floo's right here," Harry said softly. "You'll have to light the fire or let me put you down so I can do it."

"Fire?" The happy expression melted into a wibbly one and Draco hid his face against Harry's neck.

If Harry had any reserve or caution left, it melted along with his heart. His world narrowed down to the slim, shivering body in his arms. "Hey." Lacking a free hand, he nuzzled Draco's cheek until he turned enough to look at Harry. "It's just the Floo. I'll hold you the whole time, yeah?"

It was supposed to come out scolding, but...rather like when he tried the same tactic with the kids...Harry sounded affectionate instead. He probably was looking at Draco with a stupid, fond smile as well.

Draco smiled at him brilliantly and slid down to the hearth, leaning trustingly against Harry. Harry pulled his wand. "Incendio." Tossing in a handful powder from the little box on the mantle, Harry called the address and hugged Draco close...as promised...as they stepped in together.

---

Click.

Tatiana was speechless with the sheer gorgeousness of the image. Before she could take another shot, her subjects ducked into a room. She rushed down the corridor, holding her camera up and clicking as she got to the door. The few seconds it took for her to catch her breath were a few too many.

"Wait!" Tatiana's call came too late. "Aw, hell."

She checked the display in the back of the camera, and crowed at the images...one coolly moonlit and framed by French doors, one warm and natural in the glow from the chandelier in the back Floo parlor.

"Well. At least I have some nifty candids." She noted something glittery on the hearth and stooped to pick it up. It was one of the Veela's sandals. "And a souvenir."

---

Notes:

Um, yeah. We're getting to the juicy parts.

Hee... er... did I mention that this is six chapters in all? Thank you, SeverusLovesUs, for dealing with the verbal budget excess!