It was the same dream again.

He was wandering through the corridors of Hogwarts, uncertain as to what he was doing and where he was going. Things were always a bit fuzzy in this dream, as if he were in a trance he couldn't shake. There was never anything to see, just long dusty corridors and a sense of despair he had trouble shaking away when he awoke.

But this time, he rounded a corner and saw Ron sitting on the floor, knees pulled up against his chest. That's odd, Harry thought, half-aware that this was new, and that it should surprise him. But somehow, it didn't.

Ron smiled sadly at Harry. “I'm sorry,” he said.

“I'm not,” Harry replied, voice barely more than a whisper. He fell to his knees then; the act of speaking had somehow sapped his energy. Ron raised his hand, and Harry reached out for him.

6 February, 2004 : Friday

The sound of his alarm clock woke Harry up, only it didn't stop when he pressed the snooze button. He hit it again, but it kept ringing. It was the phone ringing, he realized after a few bewildered seconds.

The phone. “Hello?” he croaked into the receiver. His head hurt , he realized.

“Sorry to bother you so early, Mr. Potter, but a fax just arrived for you, and it's marked ‘urgent'. Should we send it up?”

Harry could see the red numbers on the clock when he squinted, and the first one was definitely a ‘6'. “M'kay, could you... slide it under the door or something?”

“Yes, sir.”

He fell back into the sheets after replacing the receiver, and groaned. He couldn't remember feeling this badly after a night out in a long time. He drifted off for a moment, only to be reawakened by a knock and the sound of paper being slid under the door. He sat up and tossed the bed sheet aside. He was completely naked, a state he in which he didn't typically sleep. And the sheets were...

Ewwww, he thought, scrunching his nose. He vaguely remembered stripping out of his clothes the night before and pulling himself off to the memory of Malfoy getting his dick sucked in a bathroom. Why that particular image had done it for him, he really didn't want to know. He'd apparently used quite a bit of the lube that the Inn 's staff had conveniently provided on his nightstand. He'd even forgotten to recap the bottle in his haste to get the job done. He winced, which only made his head hurt more.

All disturbing thoughts were pushed aside when he picked up the fax – ten pages of random letters and numbers, across the top of which Hermione had scribbled ‘URGENT: DELIVER TO H. POTTER ASAP'.

It took him a moment to locate his wand in the pile of last night's discarded clothing. There was a time when he'd slept with it in hand, though he hadn't thought about that in years. He plucked the shirt he'd borrowed from Malfoy off of the floor, realizing with a bit of horror that it had a mysterious stain on it. It might be easier to offer to pay for it than to try to explain that .

He spread the papers across the floor and tapped each in turn with the tip of his wand, reciting the decryption spell that was unique to him. Hermione's doctoral research had involved developing magical cryptographic algorithms, and she'd been working on a public-key method based on a Muggle system called RSA. Harry had no idea how it worked, except that each of the aurors had a public key that everyone else knew and used to send them messages, and a private key only known by the individual, which was used to decode the message. She'd tried to explain how it all worked once, until his eyes glazed over. Hermione's latest breakthrough had been to develop ways to use Muggle technology such as computers and fax machines in magical communications. The encryption and decryption spells could be used when the text was printed on any sort of paper.

The letters on the pages rearranged themselves into familiar patterns of words before his eyes, and he settled onto the bed with the decoded pages in hand. It was a report containing the details of the information she'd relayed in their phone conversation the day before. According to Hermione's research, the CIA had monitored Malfoy's communications extensively while he lived in New York , at his home as well as his office. There were lists of dates and times Malfoy had received owls from unknown sources. There were summaries of reports from CIA operatives who'd followed him, lists of people he'd been seen associating with, lists of people he'd had sexual relations with.

Harry frowned. Why did they need to know that? He wondered if anyone was keeping a tally of his conquests back in England . Not that the list would be very long.

He scanned through the pages, feeling simultaneously guilty and intrigued. Malfoy had frequented a club in New York City 's wizarding district called B-Boy, and shopped for groceries at the Village Co-op. The CIA informant who had provided this information claimed to have been his lover for more than a month.

Malfoy had a telephone in New York , and the line had been bugged. The transcripts of his phone conversations were classified, but there was a note saying they contained no valuable information. His rubbish had been sifted through. His Muggle post was monitored. His owls were intercepted starting in July, after an informant reported seeing a piece of parchment in Malfoy's flat listing the names of known Death Eaters in the US and a password to use when contacting them. Malfoy had been officially listed as a suspected “magical terrorist” on 5 July, 2003 , under the conditions established by the Patriot Act.

Harry's head began to pound. He hadn't seen any evidence that Malfoy was doing any of these sorts of things in San Francisco . He wondered if this was the sort of investigation he was supposed to be doing. He certainly had no interest in sorting through Malfoy's rubbish. The very idea turned his stomach.

Or maybe that was the hangover. He shoved the papers into his rucksack and slid under the dirty sheets again, hoping he'd feel better in a few days. Then he could think about this. All of this. He drifted off, the words on the pages dancing before his eyes, spelling out all sorts of strange things about Malfoy.

The phone rang. This time he remembered it was the phone, though it still took several rings before he could wake up enough to answer it.

“Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?” Malfoy asked, voice far too cheery.

“What?” Harry mumbled. “What time is it?”

“Nearly ten.” There was a pause during which Harry imagined Malfoy was rolling his eyes. “I suppose you'll need more than fifteen minutes, then?”

“What are you talking about?” Harry was aware that he sounded whiny, but didn't care.

“Tour of the city today, remember? I promised.”

“Oh, no, Malfoy,” Harry groaned into the receiver. “I'm not up to it today. I feel like shit.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” he heard, and Malfoy hung up.

Sleep, Harry thought, returning the receiver to its cradle and snuggling into his pillow. He had nearly fallen asleep again when he heard a small popping sound and felt the mattress dip. He scrambled to a sitting position, crying out in surprise.

“Drink this,” Malfoy said, holding out a steaming mug.

“What the...?” Harry blinked. “Fucking hell, Malfoy, you scared the shit out of me!”

Malfoy smirked. “If you don't want strange wizards apparating into your room, you should put up the proper wards.” He gestured with the mug. “Drink.”

Harry stared blankly at him for a moment. Why hadn't he put up any wards? It was standard field procedure, but he hadn't even thought of it. Shaking his head, Harry took the mug and sniffed the contents. “Hangover potion?”

Malfoy nodded, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He really did feel terrible. He downed the contents of the mug in a few gulps, only belatedly wondering why he trusted Malfoy so easily. He looked up and realized Malfoy wasn't looking at his face. Harry pulled the sheet across his lap, feeling too terrible even to glare in return.

Malfoy grinned. “It's not like I haven't seen it before,” he said, taking his mug back.

“You haven't,” Harry countered.

“Communal showers can be quite educational,” Malfoy said with a wink. “I used to do a lot of looking. So, I'll meet you downstairs in thirty minutes?”

Before Harry could answer, he disapparated once again.

Harry could feel the potion beginning to take effect. It lifted his spirits, despite having just been ogled – whilst naked and wrapped in a spunk-covered sheet – by Malfoy, of all people. How embarrassing.

He made Malfoy wait for ten extra minutes on purpose, and then headed out the door. Malfoy was leaning against the side of the building, smoking a cigarette. Harry fought an urge to snatch the cigarette away and stomp on it.

“Feeling better?” Malfoy chirped. He couldn't have looked any gayer, Harry thought. Under his open sherpa coat, he wore a cream-colored turtleneck shirt that just grazed the waistband of his trademark black chinos, and a rainbow-striped scarf was wound around his neck.

Harry smirked in greeting, eyes fixed on Malfoy's shirt. “Gap?”

“Fuck, no. This is J. Crew.” Malfoy took one last drag from the cigarette and then put it out against the side of the building. “Honestly.”

Harry stifled a laugh and fingered the end of the scarf. “Could you be any more obvious, Malfoy?”

“I'm not ashamed of who I am,” he replied, tilting his head. A lock of auburn-streaked hair fell across his forehead and he blew it out of his eyes. “Besides, I'm your date, so what does that say about you?” Harry rolled his eyes.

They walked down to the streetcar stop at 17 th and Castro and took the F-Line to Union Square . Harry'd never ridden in a streetcar before – he felt like he was in an old Muggle film. They disembarked after an uneventful ride and walked down to the queue for the Powell-Mason cable car line.

Despite the fact that there was an empty cable car on the turntable, the crew were in no apparent hurry to load it with passengers. They waited for nearly half an hour; Malfoy passed the time by chattering away about nothing and everything, occasionally poking Harry in the stomach to make certain he was paying attention. Harry bought them coffees at a nearby café, and was rewarded with a squeal of delight from Malfoy when he produced a croissant for them to share.

As Harry held out the croissant for Malfoy to pinch off a bit, he became aware that people were staring at them. He'd been stared at for most of his life, but not like this. This was different – disapproving, rather than awed and curious. It didn't bother him that people thought he and Malfoy were a couple, but it unnerved him to see them quickly look away when he confronted their gazes with his own. He wondered if this was what life was like for Malfoy, who didn't seem to notice the attention they were getting.

People didn't really stare at Harry anymore, and hadn't done for several years. Or had he simply stopped noticing?

The cable car ride itself was fun, though chilly. Malfoy leaned against Harry in the crowded car more than was strictly necessary, but Harry didn't mind. Malfoy was being alarmingly sweet today, even flirtatious, and even though the behavior was suspicious, Harry found he liked the attention. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like that, or smiled at him so much, or laughed at his jokes. Not even Hermione did that anymore, and Cho had stopped smiling at him a long time ago.

They got off the cable car near the wharf and walked along the fish market stalls, staring at some of the stranger sea creatures displayed in glass cases. They bought clam chowder in bread bowls, and ate it while Malfoy told Harry what he knew about the history of the wharf, how it was no longer a commercial fish market, but a tourist attraction. Harry listened, but more to the timbre of Malfoy's voice than to the words themselves.

They walked along Pier 39 and stopped to peek in shop windows and applaud street performers. They watched the sea lions bask in the sun, and peered at Alcatraz through a telescope that cost a quarter. Malfoy hogged the viewer, and kept holding his hand out for more quarters. Harry didn't complain, and gave him all the quarters he had.

They walked down Beach Street towards Ghiradelli Square , bumping shoulders occasionally and ignoring the pointed stares of passers-by. Malfoy wanted ice cream, so Harry stood in line at Ghiradelli while Malfoy scanned a street merchant's wares. Harry returned with two cones just as Malfoy was examining a ring for sale by a man with two gold front teeth.

“This is real silver?” he asked, a skeptical expression on his face. The man insisted it was, and Malfoy snorted.

“Now that's an interesting piece,” the man said, eyeing the silver bracelet on Malfoy's wrist. “What would you take for it?”

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he handed the ring back to the man. “It's not for sale,” he stated.

Harry handed him his ice cream as they walked away, and caught a glimpse of the bracelet again. He hadn't noticed it before. It was clearly of magical origin, possibly made of a special kind of silver mined by dwarves deep in the earth. The design gave the subtle impression of a snake wrapped around the wrist.

“Where'd you get it?” Harry asked, indicating the bracelet.

“My mother gave it to me,” he replied.

Harry nodded. Malfoy's mother was dead, so Harry assumed it was a special possession. He fingered his ring self-consciously.

“Is that your wedding ring?” Malfoy asked.

Harry looked up at him, surprised. “No,” he replied. He wasn't ready to tell Malfoy any more than that.

Fortunately, Malfoy took the hint. “Cherry cheesecake,” he cooed at his ice cream, grinning. “Want a taste?” He held out his cone, and Harry took a huge bite out of it, prompting a laugh from Malfoy. Harry laughed too, feeling ice cream starting to drip down his chin. He froze awkwardly when Malfoy swept a thumb across Harry's lips, then sucked the sticky cream off, eyes twinkling.

They settled on the beach to eat their ice cream, staring out across the bay at the bit of the Golden Gate Bridge visible through the fog. It was cold sitting by the water, and Harry silently questioned the wisdom of eating ice cream outdoors on a foggy February afternoon. They were both quiet for a long time, watching small waves lap up onto the shore. Malfoy stretched his legs out in front of him and closed his eyes. Neither of them had mentioned the incident in the bathroom the night before, Harry realized. He wondered if Malfoy even remembered.

“Are you going to tell me about Neville?” Malfoy asked, eyes now focused on his ice cream.

Harry studied him for a moment. “What do you want to know?”

Malfoy shrugged, and then looked thoughtful. “What happened?”

“We don't really know,” Harry sighed. “It was Terry Boot who found him, along with the corpses of a few Death Eaters, in a muddy field near Cornwall . The last four spells he'd cast were the killing curse. The healers said his coma was probably due to the effects of several prolonged cruciatus attacks, maybe more than one at a time.” Harry paused. He hadn't thought about Neville in such a long time. Did that make him a bad friend?

Malfoy's ice cream was melting down his hand, but he didn't seem to notice. He was staring at the ocean.

“How did you two... ummm...” Harry winced at his own tactlessness, and mumbled, “Never mind.”

They were silent for a long time. Malfoy finally noticed his ice cream was melting, and tossed the remainder of it in a nearby rubbish bin. Harry sucked melted ice cream out of the bottom of his cone to keep it from dripping all over him.

“We had detention together,” Malfoy said, wiping his sticky hands on the napkin that had been wrapped around his cone. “It's almost a cliché, isn't it? Neither of us knew the other was gay until we caught each other ogling Professor Riley.”

“Riley,” Harry repeated. He'd been the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor during Harry's sixth year. He was young and handsome, and it seemed every girl in the school had been hopelessly smitten with him. He'd been killed in a battle in the Dark Forest near the end of that year, just a few feet from Harry. Protecting Harry, in fact.

“If it hadn't been such a mutual revelation, I probably would have used it against him,” Malfoy continued. “I could have made his life hell.”

“More than you already did?” Harry snorted.

“But I was intrigued by the idea that someone might understand,” Malfoy said, ignoring Harry's remark. “We made an agreement, a sort of truce. By the beginning of seventh year, it had turned into something else.”

“Until your father took you out of school?” Harry asked.

Malfoy nodded, studying the sand beneath his feet.

“We thought... well, you can probably guess what we thought happened to you after that.” Malfoy didn't look up, but smiled, almost sadly, and Harry decided to push a little more. “Why did you decide to become an auror?”

Malfoy took a deep, calming breath, closing his eyes. “Because I knew it would irritate the piss out of my father,” he said at last. “He thought I was sick , you know? He thought it was just a phase I was going through.” He opened his eyes and picked up a handful of sand, letting the grains fall through his fingers. “He thought he could wear me down, make me normal. After about six months of that, he caught me sucking off my tutor, and he just... exploded. To make a long story short, he told me that if I was so determined to waste my DNA, I could at least make myself useful to him by offering my services to the cause.” He shrugged, and Harry wondered what he meant by services . “At that point, I wasn't going to do anything he wanted. I'd turned eighteen in March anyway, so I had my trust fund. I figured there was nothing he could do to me. So I left.”

Malfoy stared out at the bay, face taut. Harry waited for him to continue, but he didn't. “Were you on your own after that?”

Malfoy nodded. “I went a little crazy, moved to London . After a few months, my father found me, and wanted me to come back. He wasn't going to let me refuse, so I decided to do something to protect myself.”

“So you applied for auror training?” Harry watched Malfoy's face.

“Yes. Had to take my NEWTs first, though. You know the rest.”

“No,” Harry retorted. “In fact, I don't.”

Malfoy shrugged and stood, dusting sand off of his trousers. “I'm getting cold. Let's go shopping.”

Harry allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, pleased he'd learned so much about Malfoy. Maybe this plan of making friends with him would work, after all.

Hours later, they were finishing dinner at the North Beach Restaurant. Harry poured the dregs from the bottle of Chianti into Malfoy's glass, watching him pick at the remains of his osso bucco.

“Anything you didn't get to see today?” Malfoy asked, tentatively sampling the marrow from his veal bone.

Harry considered. “There is one place I'd still like to go.”

Malfoy scrunched up his face and left the rest of the marrow alone. “Where?”

“Haight-Ashbury , of course.”

Malfoy's face froze for a moment, then he looked down at his plate. “You'll have to go there by yourself.”

“What?” Harry asked, surprised. “Haven't you been?”

“No.” Malfoy sipped his wine.

“You've lived here for six months, and you haven't been to the wizarding district at all?” Harry couldn't stop his eyes from narrowing at this potential clue. “You're an auror, Malfoy. Isn't that what concealment spells are for?” Malfoy shrugged and tried to change the subject, but Harry wasn't ready to let it go. “Surely you need some potions ingredients, or a book, or something . Haven't you missed being around wizards?” Malfoy shook his head. Harry pursed his lips, wondering how far he could push the issue. If he could get Malfoy to agree to go to Haight-Ashbury , it might lead to a break-through in his investigation. “We should go, then,” Harry said, as decisively as he could manage.

“I don't want to go,” Malfoy replied.

“We'll go tomorrow. It'll be fun.”

“I have to work tomorrow.”

“Then we'll go when you get off.”

“Damn it, Harry! I said no!” Malfoy's voice was just sharp enough that several heads in the restaurant turned their direction. Harry folded his arms across his chest and looked away.

The taxi ride back to Malfoy's flat was uncomfortably silent. Harry struggled not to fidget, worried he'd ruined everything he'd managed to gain that day in a single moment. Of course, he couldn't really blame Malfoy for not trusting him. Perhaps it was an indication of how deep in trouble Malfoy really was.

He followed Malfoy inside his building, not willing to walk away until one of them spoke. Malfoy was amazingly stubborn, so it looked like it would have to be him.

Fine, he thought. He'd been married. He was used to taking the blame for shit he didn't even know he'd done until it was too late. Malfoy unlocked the door and switched on the lights, and Harry opened his mouth to apologize.

“I'm sorry,” Malfoy said, so quietly that Harry wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Harry gaped at him for a moment, and Malfoy continued. “I have my reasons for not wanting to go there. I'm asking you to respect that, for now.” He looked up, and Harry could see that his eyes were concerned, even though his face was expressionless.

With a start, Harry realized Malfoy didn't want him to leave. He didn't want to lose Harry's company, even though he was wary. I'd be wary too, if all of my friends and lovers had been spying on me, Harry thought.

He nodded and tried to smile. “All right.”

Malfoy looked relieved for a moment, then regained his composure completely. “Going out with us again tonight?”

Harry's face fell. “I suppose.” He'd been hoping they could just hang out, talk more. He wasn't sure he was up to another night like the previous one.

Malfoy's lips twisted into his customary condescending smirk. “Don't worry. It'll be much more low-key. Just cocktails, and we may even come back here afterwards and relax.”

“Do I have to change clothes again?”

Malfoy grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”

Malfoy took a quick shower and then walked around the apartment naked for a good ten minutes, much to Harry's discomfort. His outfit had already been picked out and put on, so Harry sat on the bed and waited, trying not to look, but looking just the same. Malfoy was more wiry than skinny, Harry noticed, and he had a tattoo of a celtic knot at the base of his spine. Harry stared at the tattoo each time Malfoy walked by, and wondered if it had hurt. Malfoy was searching for something in his closet when Harry realized that the tattoo had morphed into a small dragon. He looked closer, and the dragon stretched its wings and yawned. Harry gasped, then immediately blushed when Malfoy's head snapped around.

“I... that tattoo... surprised me,” he stammered, feeling himself turn red. Malfoy grinned and walked closer, turning so that Harry could have a closer look.

“Touch it,” he said.

“Sorry?” Harry felt his cheeks flame even further.

“Go ahead,” Malfoy laughed, glancing over his shoulder.

Harry swallowed and tentatively pressed one finger to the dragon. It skittered out of his reach, glaring at him with its beady black eyes. “What the...?” Harry tried to touch it again and it moved away, shaking its head at him. Harry watched it dance across Malfoy's pale skin, dodging his attempts to catch it. He pressed the flat of his hand against Malfoy's skin, effectively trapping the dragon.

He smiled, and then he realized his hand was on Malfoy's backside. He froze for a moment, uncertain whether he should jerk it away or simply make a casual remark about the magical tattoo, as if there was nothing weird about having been fondling another man's arse for the last minute.

Malfoy cleared his throat and smiled over his shoulder. “Cute trick, isn't it?”

Harry stared up at him and let his hand fall away. “Do you show that to all the boys?”

Malfoy grinned. “It only moves for wizards, you know. It looks like a celtic knot, unless you look very hard.”

Harry blushed, realizing he'd been caught. Malfoy proceeded to get dressed and said nothing more about it, much to Harry's relief.

They met Colby and Jeremy at the Pilsner Inn on Church Street , a charming neighborhood bar that was packed with people. Mostly men , Harry thought, looking around. He was surprised at how easy it had been for him to blend into the scene. Fortunately, Colby and Jeremy had arrived early enough to snag a table for them. They smiled as Harry and Malfoy wound their way through the crowd. Colby gestured for Harry to sit next to him, grinning shyly.

“So, did you actually make it out of bed before dinnertime today?” Jeremy quipped. Colby elbowed him, shooting him a look .

“We rode a cable car, and went to the Wharf,” Harry supplied. “It was fun.”

“Good to hear Derek knows San Francisco is more than great nightlife,” Colby said with a wink.

“I venture out during the day quite often,” Malfoy replied, leaning back in his chair with an air of boredom. “I even leave the Castro on occasion.”

“And the earth somehow doesn't spin off its axis,” a voice behind Harry said. He saw a grin spread across Malfoy's face just before a man appeared and kissed him.

Kissed him, and not in the friendly, hello-how-are-you way Malfoy usually kissed people. The man wedged himself between Malfoy and Jeremy at the table, nodding at everyone else in greeting.

“This is Harry, a friend visiting from London ,” Malfoy told him. “Harry, this is Manny Padilla.”

Manny smiled as he reached across the table to shake Harry's hand. “Derek's told me a lot about you, Harry. It's great to finally meet you.” His eyes flicked up to Harry's forehead briefly.

“Yes, pleased to meet you as well,” Harry managed, wishing he could return the first part of Manny's comment. Manny's smile was charming, reminding Harry of Gilderoy Lockhart for a moment – but much hotter. He was approximately thirty, immaculately dressed, and was staring adoringly at Malfoy. Harry felt something twist inside his gut.

“How did the deposition go?” Malfoy asked, attention fully on Manny.

Manny flagged down the server with a casual wave and ordered a Heineken. “Horrible. The fools don't know what they're getting themselves into.” Manny shook his head, and he and Malfoy seemed to exchange a meaningful glance.

“You're a lawyer, then?” Harry asked, suddenly wanting to be part of the conversation.

Manny smiled. “Corporate, for engineering firms. It's really boring, actually.”

“But it pays well,” Colby muttered under his breath. Manny didn't seem to have heard. Malfoy asked him more questions about the deposition, and Harry found he couldn't follow the conversation. He cast a glance at Colby and Jeremy, and realized they were watching him. Colby offered him a small smile and nudged his knee under the table. Jeremy nodded his head towards Manny and rolled his eyes. Harry stifled a grin, and then it hit him.

Malfoy had a boyfriend.

His smile faltered, and he forced himself to look again. Manny had taken Malfoy's hand and was stroking his palm with a finger, and Malfoy was smiling and listening as Manny spoke. They looked like a couple to Harry, inasmuch as someone as promiscuous as Malfoy could look like he was in a couple.

Harry was angry, suddenly. Why hadn't Malfoy mentioned this before? They'd spent four days together, and Malfoy hadn't even hinted that he had a boyfriend. Wasn't that the sort of thing one went around telling people? Why hadn't anyone else told him? Manny's name had come up a few times the previous night, but he hadn't really paid attention. He'd just figured Manny was another of Malfoy's friends.

He'd felt so good about his investigation not an hour ago, thinking that Malfoy was opening up to him at last. This was quite a large detail to leave out. Harry scowled into his beer, not caring if anyone noticed. In fact, he hoped Malfoy noticed. He looked up again after a moment, but Malfoy was still talking quietly with Manny. Manny smiled and leaned forward to kiss Malfoy.

“Anyone want another round?” Harry asked. “I'll buy.”

“Sure,” came the chorus of replies. Malfoy beamed at him and turned back to Manny. Harry tried not to frown.

“I'll help you,” Colby said, to Harry's relief. They wound through the crowd towards the bar. “I take it he didn't tell you about Manny,” Colby said, that sympathetic look in his eyes again.

“Not a word,” Harry snarled, surprised at the venom in his tone. It probably wouldn't hurt to play the jealous lover, though. It was a good cover story, anyway. He scowled. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

Colby looped an arm through one of Harry's. “Oh, sweetie, Derek is just like we'd all be if only we had the balls. He does what he wants, when he wants, with whomever he wants.”

“And what does his boyfriend think?” Harry asked, not having to work hard to sound sarcastic.

“He puts up with Derek's shit, just like we all do.” Colby smiled and squeezed Harry's arm. “You either put up with it, or you move on.”

“Which one did you do?”

Colby shrugged and looked towards the bar. “What kind of beer did we want to get, again?”

The rest of the night was excruciating for Harry. He hadn't realized the extent to which he'd been the center of Malfoy's attention until he wasn't anymore. The more he thought about the fact that Malfoy hadn't told him about Manny, the angrier he got. After an hour, he was barely participating in the conversation, despite Colby's attempts to re-engage him.

“Well, boys, I gotta get up early in the morning,” Jeremy said around midnight . “Time to call it a night.”

“What?” Malfoy pouted. “We always go back to mine on Friday nights!”

Jeremy shrugged and glanced at Colby. Colby studied his watch for several seconds before looking up. “Sorry, but I'm beat. You boys are on your own tonight.”

“I can come over for a while,” Manny said. Harry felt his heart sink a bit.

“What about you, Harry?” Malfoy asked, directly addressing Harry for the first time in nearly an hour.

Harry considered. He really wasn't in the mood to be a third wheel, but he also didn't want to think about Malfoy and Manny going back to the flat together, alone. “Of course,” he said. I've nothing better to do.

Besides, he reminded himself, he was here to investigate. Malfoy's relationship with this lawyer could be an important clue as to why he was hiding here. Harry sighed. He was here to do a job, not to make friends or get involved in other people's lives. It was best if he'd remember that.

They said their good-nights to Colby and Jeremy outside, and then walked towards Malfoy's flat, which was less than a mile away. Malfoy chattered happily as they walked along, Harry on his left and Manny on his right. A muffled tune started playing, and Manny searched the pockets of his stylish wool coat.

“Sorry boys.” He squinted at the display on the phone and cast a glance at Malfoy. “I have to take this one. Diga?” Manny shrugged at them and walked a short distance away, speaking quickly and quietly. “Claro que sé quién es. Sólo me gustaría que alguien me hubiera dicho ..”

Malfoy turned to Harry and smiled, tilting his head. “Have a good evening?”

Harry snorted, resisting the urge to snap at him in response. “I suppose.”

Malfoy frowned. “Is something wrong?”

Harry cast a glance at Manny, who was gesturing broadly to no one while talking on his mobile. “No. Nothing is wrong.” He sighed and looked at his feet.

“Harry...” Malfoy started, reaching for Harry's hand. Harry jerked it away before he knew what he was doing. “What the fuck is with you tonight?” Malfoy snapped. “I tried ignoring you, and I've tried to be nice to you, and you act like a prick either way.”

“I'm being a prick?” Harry retorted. “Oh, for fuck's sake–”

“What? What did I do? Is this about Haight-Ashbury , still?”

Harry groaned. “It's not about Haight-Ashbury .” He sighed, and tried to pull himself together. Why was he so angry about this? He glanced at Manny again. The bastard was even gorgeous standing there in his coat in the dim streetlight, talking to no one.

“Oh my god,” Malfoy said. Harry looked back at him. “It's Manny, isn't it?”

Harry didn't know how to respond, even though it was the truth. He settled for a shrug. “I just... wish you'd told me.”

Malfoy made an exasperated sound. “Told you what? That he was coming tonight? He was supposed to come the first night – you know that.”

“That you had a boyfriend,” Harry said, very glad it was dark enough that Malfoy couldn't see the color he was probably turning.

Malfoy held his hands up in protest. “First of all, he's not my boyfriend. I don't do boyfriends.”

Harry smirked in response. “Didn't look that way to me tonight.”

“Second, I don't think who I'm fucking is any of your business.”

Harry struggled to contain the hurt he felt at that comment. It was true, though; it wasn't any of his business.

Then again, that was why he was here, wasn't it? He was supposed to learn as much as he could about Malfoy's contacts and activities. He managed a cool smile. Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

“Sorry about that,” Manny said, rejoining them. “I wish I could just turn it off, but that's what they pay me for.” He glanced back and forth between the two of them, as if sensing the tension.

Malfoy nodded at him and started walking again. They were silent for the rest of the walk. At the steps of his building, Malfoy paused, considering, and then looked at Manny. “I forgot – I'm out of vodka. I'll run down to the liquor store on the corner and buy some before they close. Let yourselves in.” He walked away, leaving Harry alone with Manny.

Manny rifled through his pockets and pulled out a set of keys. Harry frowned as he unlocked the main door. “Do you live here as well?”

Manny laughed. “No, I live in a loft over off of Market.” Harry followed him in, gritting his teeth. He had a key ?

Doesn't do boyfriends, he says. Ha.

He followed Manny into the flat – fucking key – and collapsed onto the squishy sofa. It had been his usual spot over the last few days. He wondered where Manny sat.

Manny settled onto the sofa beside him, smiling tightly. “Look, Harry, let's just get this over with, shall we?”

Harry forced himself to smile in return. “Sorry?”

“He obviously didn't tell you about me, and you're angry and jealous.” He settled back against the pillows, sighing. “I wish he was a little more careful with people's feelings, but–”

“Does it bother you that he fucks around?” Harry blurted, voice tight. It seemed a good question to ask. It had certainly been bothering Harry .

Manny shrugged. “He always has, and he's honest about it. He's very careful, as well. I wish he wanted to stay home and wait for me every night, but he doesn't.”

“That is seriously fucked up,” Harry grumbled.

“There've been a lot of boys just like you, Harry,” Manny said. “They come into his life, and he gets infatuated with them for a week or two, and then he gets bored.” Harry swallowed, shaking his head in disbelief. How could Manny be so nonchalant? “He just never got bored with me, so I'm still here.” He smiled, and Harry fought a strange urge to punch him.

On the other hand, Manny had clearly known Malfoy for a while, and he might be a good source of information.

“What makes you think I'm just another fling?” Harry asked, trying to mirror Manny's nonchalance. “After all, I've known him since he was eleven years old. I have a history with him no one else does.”

Manny's smile tightened again. “You're just visiting for a few weeks. You'll go back to England soon enough, and Derek will be right back in my bed, as usual. It's just as well you're here to keep him occupied, anyway. I'm going to be busy this week.”

Harry clenched his jaw and looked away.

“Oh, don't take it so personally, Harry. If it's any consolation, he's talked incessantly about you this week. I've even gotten a little jealous.”

“Really?” Harry asked, staring back at him. “What has he told you?”

Manny shifted closer, grinning. “What a great fuck you are.”

Harry's jaw dropped before he could stop it. “He said that?” He couldn't imagine why Malfoy would have made something like that up.

Manny nodded, dark eyes shining. “I can see why he's so interested in you.”

Harry swallowed, finally realizing Manny was coming on to him. He had absolutely no idea what to do. “I... erm... why is that?”

Manny cupped Harry's cheek and leaned closer. “You're hot as hell, and you have absolutely no idea.”

Harry had never been one of those men who pursued women aggressively, not taking no for an answer. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that kind of attention.

And the next thing Harry knew, he was being kissed. It had been months since he'd been kissed by anyone, and his brain shut itself down for a moment. Manny's tongue pressed into him, hot and slick, and he couldn't help but open his mouth in response. Manny deepened the kiss, sliding his arm around Harry's back. Harry heard himself moan.

Then he heard a small voice in the back of his head say, What the fuck are you doing?

He started to pull away, trying to think of way to protest without letting Manny know he wasn't , in fact, gay. Damn Malfoy for not telling his friends the truth. “Wait–” he started.

“For Derek? He'll be back soon.” Manny's mouth moved to Harry's ear and started licking in a way that had always made Harry melt. “He can join us.”

“Oh, fuck,” Harry whispered.

The doorknob rattled, and Harry leapt off of the sofa and away from Manny. Malfoy was coming in the door, brown bag in hand. He grinned at them.

“Have a chat while I was gone?”

“Yeah,” Manny said. Harry could hear the suggestion in his voice. He glanced up to see Malfoy staring at him, a strange look on his face.

Harry made a decision. “I'm sorry, but I'm really very tired. I think I'll go now.”

“Harry–” Malfoy protested.

“No, really,” Harry said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I'll... see you. All right?”

He didn't look at either of them as he walked out the door. He heard Malfoy call his name as he trotted down the stairs, but he didn't look back. He just kept walking, out the door, up Castro, and back to his room at the Inn .