Draco looked up at the sound of howling laughter, and after several seconds of unsuccessful focusing, admitted to himself that he was sloshed. He blinked a couple of times, pushed his wine glass away, and propped his cheek onto his fist because it felt like that might make everything stop spinning.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked in as scornful a voice as he could manage.

Pansy, Weasley, and Granger continued to stare down at the newspaper on the table and howl. Weasley actually had tears in his eyes. Fortunately, Potter looked just as confused as Draco felt, so there was that.

"What are you laughing at?" He tried again, and this time he managed to catch their attention.

Unfortunately, that only served to make Pansy squeal even louder and lean on Granger's shoulder for support.

"Can you imagine it?" she gasped, burying her face in Granger's neck. "The two of them?"

"They'd hex each other within a day!" Weasley cackled.

"A day?" Granger snorted.

She appeared to be the soberest of the lot as she affected an incredulous and vaguely superior expression. It was only somewhat spoiled by the green silken tie knotted around her head. Draco looked down at his shirt; so that's where that had gone.

"They'd be covered in boils within the hour," she finished, and then fell sideways off her chair, laughing all the way to the ground.

Potter thumped his fist on the table, and everyone jumped.

"What are you talking about?" He looked around at the lot of them, confused and bleary-eyed.

Draco held up his hands to remind Potter that he, at least, was the picture of innocence. For once, they were in this together.

"Skeeter thinks the two of you are dating!" Weasley finally spat out, shoving the paper across the table to them and then joining Granger on the floor.

Draco couldn't decide if the move had been intentional or not. Then, he processed what Weasley had said and shuffled awkwardly sideways across the bench seat until he and Potter were pressed together from shoulder to hip, staring down at the offending article in horror.

"Lovelorn gazes?!" Potter spat, gripping the paper so hard it tore a little. "What the hell does she mean lovelorn gazes?! I haven't been doing any of that!"

Draco smirked. "Are you sure about that, Potter? You always were obsessed with knowing every little thing I was— poorly disguised pining?! Potter, no matter what she says, I have not been staring at you for six years with poorly disguised bloody pining."

"Oh?" Potter turned to him and propped his chin on his hands in a gesture that was entirely too sober. "So, has it been longer, then?"

"Stop! You're killing me!" Pansy wheezed, plopping her head down on the table.

Draco shoved the paper onto the ground beside him and lit it on fire.

"Oi!" Weasley yelped, climbing back onto his seat and sliding closer to Pansy. "Watch it!"

"It's cobblestone, Weasley," Draco drawled, though he dutifully put it out with a well-aimed Aguamenti. Moderately-well-aimed. Third time was the charm.

"Anyway," Harry said. "Why are you lot laughing? It's not that funny."

"Oh no, Harry, it is," Weasley snickered.

"He's right." Granger grabbed hold of the table and pulled herself back onto the bench, nodding across the table at the two of them. "Even excluding how viciously you both hate each other, neither of you possess the maturity to carry out a relationship together."

"We don't hate each other anymore!" Potter said, pulling a face. "We're sitting here together right now, aren't we?"

"Yes, and you complained the entire time you were getting ready," Granger said, failing to hold back another laugh.

"You what?" Draco drew back indignantly. "I'm off'nd'd! Offended. I'm offended."

"Draco, why don't you tell everyone why you picked that tie you were wearing earlier?" Pansy asked, giving Draco a sweet smile.

"Because Potter's an idiot who still wears Gryffindor colours even though he's twenty-four years old, and if he's going to insist on being a twat then I'm going to remind him that Gryffindor isn't the only house in existence," Draco answered promptly.

Then he mentally cursed himself, his family, Pansy's family, and her cat, for good measure.

"Fine," he muttered. "Perhaps we have some," he hesitated, "bad blood between us. Nonetheless, I'm a bloody catch, and Potter would be lucky to have me."

Potter snorted. "Mate, if you landed me you wouldn't dream of giving me up."

"Oh, Merlin, they're delirious!" Weasley snorted. "Quick, let's get them home before they try to snog and end up stabbing each other with dessert forks."

Granger stood up, wobbled a little, and tried to usher Potter out of his seat, but he only crossed his arms over his chest and glared up at her mulishly.

"What do you mean we're too immature to have a relationship? I'll have you know I've held relationships with very high maintenance people in the past—remember Sarah? Malfoy would be a breeze."

"Potter, if you are for one second implying that I am difficult to manage, then I'll thank you to recall just the other week when we evacuated these very premises at what can only be described as emergency level haste, for the express purpose of avoiding your confrontation with a past beau." Draco sneered.

A panicked expression crossed Potter's face. "Tim," he breathed and fell silent.

"Tell you what," Pansy said, wiping away several tears with a napkin. "If you two ever manage to pull off a relationship, we'll all have dinner at Bentley's, that new place in Diagon, and the three of us will pay."

Weasley's eyes grew dazed. "Their courses go on for hours." He shook his head. "We'll pay? I can't afford Bentley's! It's like a whole month's salary!"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "As if these two could ever have an honest to Merlin relationship. Even if they try to fake it, they wouldn't last. And in the bizarre likelihood they do pull it off, I won't make it an even split, Weasley. I'm not that awful."

Weasley looked relieved.

They made their way out of the pub, leaning on each other's shoulders and stumbling to a nearby alley where they could use the Portkeys Granger had brought with her.

The last thing Draco saw before he disappeared back to the comfort of his own flat was Potter's thoughtful expression. He rather thought it mirrored his own.

*

Draco was working his way through his neglected pile of correspondence, when Potter showed up in his fireplace.

"Christ, Malfoy." He coughed, stumbling through onto the carpet and rubbing the soot from his eyes. "Don't you ever clean your Floo?"

"I hardly use my Floo," Draco said, putting down his quill and Vanishing the specks of ash that fell on the carpet. "Anyone with decorum knows to Apparate to the foyer where the elves can announce them."

"Wasn't sure if I was on the wards," Potter admitted, glancing up at him briefly before turning his attention back to cleaning.

Draco blinked but said nothing. They'd been friends for years now—why would Potter question whether he was welcome in Draco's house? Although, come to think of it, this was the first time Draco could recall him visiting on his own.

"Well," he said slowly. "You are. So, next time, you can use the front door like a normal person. Is everything all right?"

There was a frantic edge to the way Potter was moving, like he was pushing his way through mud and kept getting caught. Then, he looked up at Draco, his expression calm and ordered, and the moment passed.

"I've been thinking," he said, taking a seat on the arm of the couch and drumming his fingers on his leg.

"Shocking."

Potter rolled his eyes and continued. "Remember how Ron and Hermione kicked our arse at pool three weeks in a row?"

Draco frowned. "Yes? But I don't see what billiards have to do with anything."

"And remember how Pansy keeps borrowing my jumpers at the end of the night and not giving them back?"

At this, Draco huffed a laugh. "I learned how to avoid that one by the age of fourteen. How many of them does she have now?"

"Nine. And remember how the three of them got together and rigged the karaoke machine so that it played nothing but 80s love ballads, just before they blackmailed us into going up on stage?"

Draco grimaced at the memory. That night had been particularly awful. "Yes, yes, Potter, I remember. Are you going to get to the point any time soon, or do I check back in with you in thirty minutes?"

"I think it's time we got them back." Potter's eyes lit up with a fierce determination.

"How do you propose we do that?" Draco asked slowly, wondering if Potter's thoughts could possibly have taken the same turn that his had been obsessing over ever since the other night.

"Let's convince them we're dating. I know we can pull it off."

Draco's stomach did a little flip for no reason that he could identify, but outwardly he didn't move a muscle. After a moment, he asked, "Can we?"

"Of course." Potter scoffed. "We're both adults, despite what Hermione suggests. Why on earth couldn't we? It's not as though we'd be actually dating."

"No. We just have to convince the harpy, the strategist, and the inhumanly obsessive intellectual."

Potter cocked his head, an infuriating smirk appearing on his lips. "If I didn't know better, Malfoy, I'd say you were scared we were going to lose. What's it matter? It's not like it was a bet. If we can't convince them, we lose nothing. If we can, we get dinner at Bentley's and the chance to rub it in their faces for months."

What was there to lose, indeed? Something niggled at Draco, but he didn't have words for it, and he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been thinking of attempting something like this too.

"All right." He propped his chin on his fist and studied Potter carefully. "If we're going to pull this off, we're going to need some guidelines."

Potter grinned. "So, you're in, then?"

"Not so fast."

Draco rose to his feet and crossed the room to retrieve a bottle of scotch from the liquor cabinet. He poured two glasses and sent one floating across the room where Potter took it with a nod of thanks.

"What type of arrangement are you considering?" Draco asked, leaning back against the bench. "The beginning of the relationship is going to be the hardest part to pull off, since they're going to suspect something like this after they all laughed themselves stupid at the prospect the other night. Ideally, we'd have to begin the process of infatuation in front of them, but I don't know how good an actor you are."

"Malfoy." Potter stared at him over the glass. "I'm here because I think I can pretend to be so madly in love with you that even Hermione is fooled. I think I can manage a little swooning."

Draco's stomach did that funny thing again, and he covered it by swallowing half his drink in one go. "Right. I guess we'd better start planning, then."

"Good." Potter took a sip. "Any ideas?"

The liquor was beginning to warm Draco, and he felt relaxed enough to prop his elbows back on the bench and study Potter—something he didn't often do. While they might be friends now, it still didn't take much for them to get into some argument or other, and he'd found the easiest way to avoid it was to keep their interactions light and easy. The gentle lamp light made strange shadows flicker across Potter's face; it made him look skittish again, just as he had when he'd first stepped through the Floo.

"I have one idea," Draco said slowly. "And I think we should discuss a time frame as well."

Potter shrugged and waited for him to go on.

He cleared his throat, trying to work out the best way to begin this. "We need to make them think they have the upper hand," he said. "No matter how natural we make it, if we act like we're falling for each other out of nowhere, they'll suspect we're up to something. But if we let them think they've foiled our attempt at tricking them, but that we accidentally stumbled on something real in the process... well." He finished his drink and poured another.

"So you want to pretend we're pretending to fall in love, and then pretend to fall in love along the way," Potter summarised, smirking a little into his glass.

"That's a rather inelegant way of putting it." Draco sighed. "But unless you have any better plans?"

"I like it. You're right; they're going to be expecting this. If they think they've beaten us to it, they might let their guard down."

Draco watched him, taking in the tired lines of his face, the strange spark of something unidentifiable in his eyes. He was missing something here, but he couldn't put a finger on it. There was something in the way Potter was sitting, something brittle in the way his mouth formed the words. Was he always like this, and it was just that Draco was looking at him properly for the first time?

He sent the bottle floating over and forced a smile, despite his reservations.

"Well then," he lifted his glass in a toast. "Shall we plan how you're going to fall desperately in love with me?"

Potter laughed and took the bottle, pouring himself a new glass and raising it in the air. "To true love."

*

Weasley floated the tray of drinks onto the table and slid in next to Pansy with a grin. "It's nice to be in a magical pub for once."

Granger rolled her eyes, but it was lost beneath Pansy's effusive agreement.

"Here, Potter," Draco said, reaching for the drinks. "I'll get yours."

Their fingers brushed deliberately as he passed the glass over, and Draco made a point of lingering before he drew away. He glanced at Potter, fighting back a smirk at the way he flushed and looked away. Surprisingly, it turned out Potter was a good actor after all—at least, when they were trying to be painfully obvious. The true test would come later.

"Did you know, Potter," Draco said, deliberately lowering his voice in a way that would capture attention. "That your eyes are Slytherin green?"

"Oh barf," Pansy's dry tones interrupted them. "Look at these two! What are you playing at, Draco? I've known you since you were small and stupid. I've seen you try to trick your poor mother into at least three different kinds of sponsorship schemes; don't think you can fool me like this."

"Whatever are you talking about?" Draco turned to her with an affected air of innocence. "Sponsorship schemes? Your overactive imagination is truly rearing its head tonight, darling."

"Come on," Weasley said with a snort. "Jig's up. We saw you whispering in the doorway."

"That's right," Pansy added, smirking at the two of them over the top of her wine glass. "You know, I was only joking when I made that bet, but this is just too good. Well, I wasn't joking, I was drunk. But now, I'm neither!" She smiled brightly at them. "I hereby declare this a genuine bet." She leaned across the table and grabbed each of their hands and shook them. "If you two genuinely fall into a real, honest, happy, mature relationship, I will buy you that stupid dinner at Bentley's."

Weasley looked pale. "A real bet?"

Pansy waved a hand. "You're off the hook. And besides, look at them!" She nodded in their direction. "They've made some half-arsed attempt at trickery and expected it to work. Even if they put all their effort into convincing us, they're still going to fall through because you can't fake that sort of thing." She broke up into hysterical laughter. "And can you imagine that?"

The three of them fell back in their seats in laughter. Draco tried to contain his smile; it was all going perfectly.

"This is going to be brilliant," Pansy enthused. "Please do try. I can't wait to watch you attempt to make it look real."

"You'll have to get married before we'll believe you're properly dating," Granger agreed, hiding her smile behind her glass. "And even Harry's not that pigheaded."

"Oi!" Potter interrupted. "Firstly, rude. Secondly, do you really think that if we were trying to trick you, we'd whisper in front of you?"

"I think you'd make a quick distraction, like complaining loudly about the signage above the bar, so we we're all looking at it, and then quickly confirm you were going ahead with things because you're both so terrible at working together you couldn't trust that one of you wasn't going to hang the other one out to dry," Weasley suggested, smirking. "Am I right?"

Weasley was good. Fortunately, they had anticipated as much. Draco raised his eyebrows, pretending to be impressed.

"Well, Potter, it would appear our charming acquaintances have such a low opinion of our intelligence that they think we would attempt such a gauche act." He turned to Potter and had to fight back a laugh at the narrowed eyes that met him.

"No, Malfoy, it would appear that your complete inability to trust I'm a capable human has given the game up before we could even begin." Potter shoved his glass away and glared at Draco with disgust.

Draco was impressed. Game on.

He threw his hands up in the air. "Heaven forbid I treat the Saviour like a real human, capable of mistakes just like the rest of us. Silly me—I forgot you're some kind of demigod instead." He gave an elaborate bow. "Would you like your tribute in cash, or do you take credit?"

Potter rolled his eyes. "Christ, Malfoy. Can you not be a giant git for just five seconds? I don't know why I even bothered."

"You were wooed by my irresistible charm. It's okay to say it, Potter. The truth will set you free."

The other three were stifling laughter across the other side of the table, which was precisely what he and Potter had been angling for. Now came the difficult part. Draco glanced above them, to where the hovering candles cast gentle light across the table. It made everyone look just that little bit ethereal, like they were one breath away from melting into the shadows. Places like this made a person feel like they were removed from time, like anything could happen. It was perfect.

"Do you really think that little of me?" Potter asked suddenly, and Draco's breath caught in his throat.

He looked back down to see Potter watching him. Potter's eyes shimmered in the unsteady light of the candles, making him look like he was crying one moment and fiercely bold the next.

"What?" Draco asked, making sure his words came out just that little bit uncertain.

It wasn't difficult.

"You heard me."

Across the table, Pansy, Weasley, and Granger had stopped laughing. The way Potter was looking at him was like nothing Draco had ever experienced before. They'd argued in their time, even after they became friends of a sort. It was nothing like this. Potter argued like he was wielding a sword, righteous and full of fury, no quarter given. But the way he was arguing now was as if Draco had already drawn the first blow.

Draco cleared his throat, as uncomfortable as if this fight was genuine. Potter was too good at this; it felt real.

"Of course I don't think little of you," he insisted.

"Are you sure about that?" Potter's eyes flashed—again with that curious mix of pain and anger. "Because you went through the plan so many times, I felt like an actual child by the end."

"I wasn't—"

"I know this is all fun and games to you, but it's no wonder they were pissing themselves laughing the other night." He jabbed a finger at their friends, before turning immediately back to Draco. "You have no respect for anyone but yourself. How could you possibly pull off a functional relationship?"

Every word had been planned, but Draco saw red.

"Me?" he gaped, incredulous. "What about you? Open up the dictionary to 'anger issues', and it's got your face printed right there beside the definition!"

Potter laughed—a humourless sound that sent shivers down Draco's spine. "Right. Well. Enjoy your night, guys. I'm suddenly not in the mood."

Then, he got up and stalked away. The plan was that Draco would follow, insisting to the others that he needed to fix things, but he found that all he could do was stare after Potter's retreating figure in shock. Finally, he turned back to the others and saw a mixture of confusion and pity on their faces.

"I'm—" Draco began, but then he stopped.

He wasn't sure how to properly convince them that he was going to go after Potter and fix this. How on earth could you come back from an argument like that?

"It's all right," Granger said kindly, giving her head a little shake and turning to face him. "It's not your fault. He gets like this sometimes."

"Yeah," Weasley said, still looking at the space where Potter had disappeared. He looked like he was about to say more, but he fell silent.

"He'll be fine in a day or two," Granger went on, reaching across the table and patting Draco's hand. "You've just never seen it before. He'll hardly even remember what he said."

"Right," Draco said slowly.

His heart was racing so fast in his chest that he felt like he was going to throw up. He never wanted Potter to look at him like that again. It made him think of bathrooms and more blood than one person should be able to spill and still live.

Then, he remembered the plan. He stood up.

"I'm going to go after him," he said firmly.

"Oh, I wouldn't!" Granger's eyes widened in shock, and Weasley shook his head furiously.

"It never helps, mate," Weasley insisted.

"I'd listen to them, Draco," Pansy said, still looking a little stunned at the whole thing. "They know best."

Suddenly, Draco's uncertainty was drowned by a flood of rage. They were Potter's friends, and for all they knew Potter had just exploded—irrationally and full of pain. It was obvious something was very, very wrong, and they were just going to let him isolate himself for days?

"No," Draco said icily, stepping away from the table. "Don't think I will, Pansy dearest. Enjoy your night."

Then, he turned around and pushed his way through the crowd to the front door. It was freezing outside, and a light snow had started to fall. Potter was nowhere in sight, but they had planned to meet back at Draco's place, so that was no surprise. With only a small amount of trepidation, he turned on his heel and Apparated away.

When he steadied himself against the wall of his foyer, it took him a moment to discern the shadowed figure leaning against the stairs.

"Why didn't you turn the lights on?" he asked, waving his wand.

The part of him that was still in full-blown flight mode after their 'fake' argument flared into life the second he saw Potter's face. A thin sheen of sweat covered Potter's face, and his eyes stared blankly ahead. If Draco didn't know better, he'd think Potter had just been tortured.

The knowledge that he looked this way because of their argument made Draco feel despicable.

"Are you all right?" The words came out before he could rethink them.

Slowly, Potter turned to face him. He blinked, like he'd only just realised Draco was here, and then his face changed. The vacant stare fell away and his face broke into a smile. If it wasn't for the sweat and his sickly pallor, Draco would have thought he'd imagined the whole thing.

"Did it work?" Potter asked, brushing his hair back out of his eyes and adjusting his position against the balustrade.

Now that Draco was paying attention, he noticed a rigid tension to Potter's posture.

The casual angle of his lean seemed suddenly deliberate, forced. Draco willed himself to act normal, like he was talking to a wild animal who was about to spook.

"It worked excellently," Draco admitted. "They are convinced we've had a truly dreadful fight—our worst since Hogwarts—and that I've come chasing after you to soothe your poor, bruised ego."

When in doubt, proceed as normal.

Potter tilted his head back and laughed. "God, so they actually bought it?"

Draco blinked. What was happening here? Potter had given a performance so realistic that even Draco had doubts it had been faked, and now he was saying it was nothing more than a joke? Even without the fact that Draco had come home to find him looking as though he was about to pass out, it didn't add up.

"It was a convincing act," Draco said carefully. "Quite convincing, actually. Are you sure there wasn't some truth to it?"

Potter looked at him like he was barmy. "Truth? To what?"

"Well, you said I didn't respect you, for a start."

Potter waved his hand. "You don't respect anyone. What does that matter?"

Draco gaped at him. Potter's expression morphed slowly into confusion.

"Malfoy, did you actually think I was serious? We scripted it, for Christ's sake."

"You just seem a little... upset."

"Upset?" Potter frowned and pushed away from the stairs. "I'm not upset. Shall we have a drink?"

Having few other options, Draco followed him into the kitchen. Potter looked around, clearly about to start rifling through cupboards, so Draco stepped in. He found a bottle of aged mead on the top shelf and poured two glasses.

He wondered whether to tell Potter what his friends had said about him but decided against it. There was a tiny part of him that urged caution right now. Something wasn't right, and it was never smart to reveal one's hand too early.

"What's the next step, then?" Draco asked once they'd clinked their glasses together.

He held off drinking for the moment, instead watching the way Potter downed an entire glass of hundred-year-old mead in less than three seconds.

"Well, we let their imaginations run wild," Potter said with a private smile. "Refuse to fill in the gaps, and then—" he paused, mulling it over.

Against his better judgement, Draco refilled Potter's glass. Fortunately, Potter chose to sip this time.

"Then, we start to treat each other a little differently," Potter finished.

"Right," Draco agreed. "I go out of my way to be respectful to you, and you—"

"I control my temper," Potter said with a laugh.

Draco couldn't find it within himself to laugh. What the hell was going on with Potter? He looked down at his glass and found he'd already emptied it, compulsively sipping and sipping while Potter talked until it was all gone and he hadn't tasted a drop.

"Well," Draco said, staring at his empty glass like it might hold the answers of the universe.

"I've got to go," Potter said reluctantly, sliding his glass back across the table. "Work's calling me in early tomorrow. Got to run through a new operation."

His eyes weren't even bright; it was like he'd been drinking water.

"Right," Draco said, and then, because something more was expected of him, "I'll owl you."

Potter winked. "It's a date."

Then, he left, leaving Draco feeling more wrong-footed by the second.

*

Draco had appointments all of the next day, and half the day after that, so he didn't see any of his friends until lunch time two days after the fight. They acted like nothing had happened. Even though it suited their purposes, since they clearly didn't suspect anything was up, a part of him strongly objected to their apathy.

"So, I went after Potter," he said pointedly.

The man in question had yet to join them, and Draco intended to take advantage of those free minutes to get to the bottom of the Potter mystery.

Weasley winced. "How'd it go?"

Draco pressed his lips together. He didn't want to tell them that Potter had laughed it off, since the entire purpose of the exchange was that they imagined that he and Potter had bonded.

He finally settled on, "Unexpectedly."

Pansy narrowed her eyes in suspicion, but Granger only laughed. "Yeah, well, we did warn you. Did he throw things at you? Or did he just kick you straight out?"

Draco blinked at her. "Neither." And then, because he had to give the right impression, "We talked."

Granger's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Well, that's more than we've ever gotten." She shared a rueful glance with Weasley.

"Why didn't you try harder?" Draco asked before he could stop himself, acid in his words.

Weasley's eyes flashed. "What are you suggesting, mate? We did all we could."

Granger placed a placating hand on his shoulder. "He's right to ask, Ron. It doesn't sound like we did."

"Well, what does he care?" Weasley spat, still clearly incensed. "He doesn't care about Harry. He doesn't know what we—" He broke off.

Draco raised his eyebrows in polite curiosity. "What you—?"

Granger cast a glance towards the door and worried her lip with her teeth. Finally, she turned back to him and leaned closer. Pansy and Weasley leant in unconsciously.

"After the war, Harry was all over the place," she said in a hushed voice. "He'd be crying one moment—never in front of us, mind you—and then the next second he'd be laughing hysterically over nothing. We could say the stupidest joke, and he'd be off. We figured he was grieving, so we didn't want to press him, but eventually it just got..." she trailed off.

"Too much?" Draco suggested.

"Yes," Granger confessed, looking guilty. "We cornered him and tried to get him to talk about it. I tried to get him to see a Mind Healer. Merlin, I don't know how many times I tried to get him to go."

"It wasn't pretty," Weasley interjected.

"In the end, we realised it was making him worse." Granger looked like she was about to cry. "He was spending more and more time just crying. It was awful." She took a deep breath. "Then, once we stopped pushing him, he started to get better. He still has his moments, but he's got it together now, so whatever he's doing, it's working."

Draco frowned. None of that sounded right, but he couldn't put his finger on why.

"So, you just ignored him?" he asked finally.

"No!" Granger insisted, while Weasley glared at him. "Aren't you listening? We gave him space. He knew we were there for him if he needed us, but whatever he was going through, he needed time to work it out on his own. He's better now."

"I see."

Draco was prevented from saying more by the arrival of Potter, himself. The doors to the Ministry cafeteria swung open, and Potter stood in the doorway, looking around until he spotted them.

"We couldn't have picked somewhere better today?" He asked, sliding into the seat besides Draco and wrinkling his nose.

"Draco and I both had appointments with investors," Pansy said, propping her chin on her hand and regarding Harry with an expression that made Draco deeply concerned. "So, Potter, did you and Draco kiss and make up last night?"

She knew. Or at least suspected. Thankfully, Potter's immediate reaction was one of shock. He leaned back in his seat.

"I'm sorry?"

Pansy blinked—a subtle sign that she was taken aback. Potter was really too good of an actor.

"After your argument," she continued, ignoring the less-than-subtle looks she was being given by Granger and Weasley, telling her to cease and desist. "Did you smooth the waters?"

"Oh." Potter cast an uncertain glance in Draco's direction, and Draco felt his stomach flip. "Yeah. Yeah, we're good."

It was too real. Everything Potter said and did sank beneath Draco's skin like an anchor, and the worst part of it all was that every word was fake. Draco swallowed, forced himself to drag his eyes away from Potter, and nodded.

When he looked up from the table, he saw that Pansy was watching him. Her brow was furrowed, but he couldn't tell if she had caught onto their act, or if she knew what he was thinking right now. It couldn't be the latter; even he didn't know that.

He couldn't risk Pansy catching onto them already. They needed to move forward.

He cleared his throat. "Potter."

Potter turned to him, green eyes wide and guileless. They hadn't planned this, but it was hardly out of the bounds of what they had discussed. Now Draco just had to get the words out without feeling like he was somehow doing something he was going later regret.

"I heard you worked on a large security breach case recently?" He was surprised he remembered that detail. Potter had only mentioned it in passing.

Potter blinked in surprise. "Yeah, the Barkley's case. All the wards were shattered. How come?"

"I've been experiencing a little problem with pranksters recently. I wondered if you might take a look at the wards at my home? Share some of your expertise with me?"

This much was true. He kept getting problems with local teenage wizards breaking into his backyard and egging his house. He didn't particularly care; he usually just egged them back.

Potter caught on quickly. His eyes flashed in understanding for the merest second, and then he adopted a sheepish expression. "Look, Malfoy... I know I called you disrespectful and everything, but you don't need to prove anything to me."

Draco lifted one shoulder in a shrug and turned away, poking his fork idly at the food on his plate. "I'd like your help nonetheless."

Potter's eyes held his for the longest moment, like he was studying Draco—curious, interested. It felt real, even though Draco knew it wasn't. Then, he nodded and the moment passed.

"Right. I'm going to grab something to eat, then." Potter left them at the table and headed towards the sandwich display.

When Draco turned back to the others, Pansy was still watching him.

"Draco, can I have a word?" she asked quietly, and that caution in her voice, more than anything else, sent warning bells ringing in his head.

"Am I going to like it?"

"Do you like anything?"

Draco snorted, though his heart was racing in his chest. Weasley and Granger were already deep in some conversation about someone or other's niece, and so he had no excuse not to follow Pansy when she stood up and led him out into the hallway.

"What's going on?"

She never had been one to mince words. Draco's chest spiked in irritation; couldn't she stop analysing everything for five seconds? They'd only just begun to put their plan into action, and she was already stomping all over it in six inch stilettos.

"I haven't a clue what you mean," he said and was relieved to hear it came out just as insulted and angry as he intended it to.

Draco only got angry when things were personal, which meant that Pansy wouldn't have a reason to think that he was trying to fool her. After all, this wasn't meant to be personal, was it? It was just a stupid little bet. Which left the question—why was he so angry?

"Something happened that night," Pansy went on. "I'm still not sure it isn't some big scheme of yours, but I'm beginning to think that less and less."

She eyed him shrewdly. He said nothing. He could still feel the anger burning beneath his skin.

She sighed. "Draco, talk to me, please."

"I don't understand what you're asking." She was onto him; that was the only explanation.

"I'm asking you if you're about to get hurt."

Shock cut through his anger and left him reeling. "Get hurt? How on earth am I possibly about to get hurt? Potter's going to help me with my security problem, and while that's happening maybe he'll realise he can actually come and talk to someone when he loses his temper instead of being abandoned by the people who call themselves his friends."

Draco froze. Where had that come from?

Pansy jabbed a finger straight into his chest. "That's what I'm talking about—that, right there. You're obsessing over Potter again."

"Excuse me?" Draco said before he had properly processed the words, then, "Again?"

"Oh, come on. We were all there; don't try to pretend it didn't happen. Every other second it was 'Potter this' and 'Potter that'. I was always worried it was going to be worse when you became friends, but it never happened so I thought you'd gotten over it." She took a second to roll her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose between two manicured fingernails. "Of course, now that you've discovered he's got some deep and tragic story to go along with the bad hair and glasses, you can't take your eyes off him."

"He always had a tragic story, Pansy. He's the Boy Who Lived."

She levelled him with a stare. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Stop pretending."

He stared at the wall over her shoulder and pretended not to know.

"You're attracted to arseholes, Draco. You need to accept this."

Broken people. He was attracted to broken people. He understood them in a way that he didn't understand anyone else these days, not any more.

But he was not attracted to Potter.

"You're worrying over nothing, Pansy," he said as seriously as he could manage. "I'm not obsessing over Potter, and I'm not about to start just because the idiot has proven he gets a little cranky from time to time. We've always known that; it's nothing new."

She glared at him for long moments before finally nodding. He moved to go back inside, but she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"And if this all turns out to be some elaborate plan to win that drunken bet," she said sweetly, "then I'm going to castrate you."

Using every ounce of control available to him, he forced himself to smile. "Of course."