Harry stumbled through the fireplace with Orion tucked into his arms. After what just happened, he couldn’t risk the kitten getting out again. Once he got his bearings Harry put Orion on the floor so he was free to explore, accepted a cup of tea from Neville, and sat in the comfy overstuffed chair in the drawing room. Across from him, Blaise was sitting on sitting on the matching couch dressed in what was left of a pearl-grey suit. Harry knew it was pearl-grey because that was the same color of the cabinets he’d chosen for the kitchen in the Burrow. The jacket was slung over an armrest, Blaise wasn’t wearing a tie and had the top two buttons of his shirt loosened, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. Neville sat down beside Blaise, in jeans and a Puddlemore t-shirt, and gathered up the magazines that were scattered across the coffee table that sat between himself and Harry.

“Excuse the mess,” Neville said, “we were looking for new trends.”

Harry looked at the two of them, they were both attractive men. He searched his feelings, imagined kissing them but he felt nothing. He felt for his magic, to see if it was building into a wild frenzy. Still nothing.

Fuck, he thought to himself.

“Harry?” Neville said his name gently.

Harry cleared his throat, realizing that he’d been staring, “Sorry. I- I’m distracted,” he said, focusing his eyes on the tea in his hands instead.

“It’s all right. How did you find out about Malfoy?”

Harry nearly felt himself wince at the question. “I was in the hallway looking for Orion. He came into the hallway and we saw each other,” he replied. “He was in dragonhide boots, Neville.”

Neville pressed his lips together, looking suspiciously as though he was trying to hold back a smile, and glanced at Blaise.

“I had no idea you lived in the Vista apartments Harry,” Blaise said.

“You knew that he lives there?”

“Of course. We’ve been friends since we were 3 years old.”

“So you know that he…” Harry trailed off, unsure how to phrase his suspicion.

A smirk played on Blaise’s lips, “I know that he what?”

Harry set his tea on the coffee table so he could put his face in his hands. He couldn’t look people in the eye and talk about this. He tried to make the rest of the question come out, but all his throat could produce was a self-pitying groan. Orion came over and hopped up on the chair next to him, snuggling himself in between the plush cushions and Harry’s leg.

“Is there some part of this conversation that I’m missing?” Neville asked.

“I think Harry has come to the correct conclusion that Draco is an escort,” Blaise spoke the words so casually it sounded like he was talking about how often it rained in London.

“Oh,” Neville’s voice was a whisper. Harry looked up at him as Neville said, “I’m so sorry Harry. What are you going to do?”

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For a brief moment, Harry marveled at his friend. They had been somewhat close at Hogwarts, but nothing like Ron and Hermione. Over the past couple of years, they’d certainly built more of a friendship, but Harry hadn’t realized that Neville knew him quite this well. Maybe Hermione had talked to him.

“What’s to do?” Blaise asked. “Draco is trying to keep his head down. The war changed him, he isn’t a bigot anymore. That’s one of the reasons he lives in a Muggle flat. I’m sure he won’t bother you. Just ignore him, Harry.”

Harry and Neville both turned to look at Blaise as though he’d sprouted a banana on his nose.

Blaise looked between them, his brows furrowing, “Ok, now I feel like I’ve missed something.”

“Blaise, I know you can be a bit oblivious,” Neville said, placing a hand on the other boy’s thigh, “but please trust me when I say that there is no circumstance in which Harry Potter can ignore Draco Malfoy.”

Harry huffed a laugh, then remembering why they were having this conversation, and put his face back in his hands. “Fuck,” he said. In the quietness that followed, Orion’s purring seemed to echo.

“Ok, just so I fully understand,” Blaise said, his tone cautious, “are you upset because he was a death eater, or do you have a moral issue with his profession?”

Harry looked up at him, heaving a sigh and tried to decide how to answer. “Blaise, I wish either one of those ideas had even crossed my mind, it would make this a lot easier. Instead, all I could think about was the way his leather jacket fit, how his voice has been getting me hard for a week, and those fucking dragonhide boots.” As Harry talked he watched Blaise’s eyes go from inquisitive to saucer round with shock.

“You’re gay?” he asked.

Harry managed a self-deprecating smile. “Again, I wish it were that easy,” he said, not fully evading or answering the question.

Harry wasn’t gay. He was bi. But really what did it matter? Straight, gay, bi, pans. Anger, attraction, love, obsession. None of it mattered. He’d looked at plenty of men and women over the years, regardless of gender no one ever made him feel everything at once the way Malfoy did.

“Luna and I joke that Harry is Malfoy-sexual,” Neville said, starting to laugh.

“What?!” Harry cried.

“Oh come on,” Neville said, still chuckling, “her and I have known you were gone for him since 5th year!”

“5th year?!” Blaise broke in, “Is that true?”

Harry ducked his head, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “No,” he replied petulantly, “of course not. I’ve never been gone for Malfoy.”

When he looked back up both men were staring at him expectantly.

“Noticing that someone is fit is not the same as fancying them!” Harry said, trying to build a wall of defense against the two of them. He glared at Neville, “And you can wipe that knowing smile off your face because it certainly wasn’t 5th year that I noticed he’s fit.”

Neville did no such thing, instead, he asked, “What year was it then, Harry?”

Harry grimaced, debated leaving without a reply, realized he still needed help, took a long sip of his tea, and mumbled, “When I heard him speaking french to the Beauxbaton's students.”

The two boys dissolved into giggles. Which, Harry thought, was just ridiculous. Grown men are not supposed to giggle, much less dissolve into them.

“Salazar’s snake, Harry! 4th year?” Blaise said once he’d recovered.

“It didn’t matter. Malfoy was still an asshat.”

“No,” Neville said, “It wasn’t that, so much as it was the war. At least that’s what Luna and I think.”

“Merlin! How much time do you spend talking about my thoughts on Malfoy?”

“Not as much as you’ve spent thinking them.”

Harry scowled, “I liked you more when you were too nervous to stand up to me,” he said.

“Harry, I stood up to you in first year.”

“Yeah, well it’s been a while since I've liked you.”

Blaise started to laugh, “You two sound like Pansy and Draco,” he said.

Both Gryffindors turned a look of concern on the Slytherin who just gave them a charming smile.

“Come on Harry, let’s teach Blaise how to play poker to get your mind off of things for a bit. It will help,” Neville left the room to get a deck of cards.

Three games later Harry realized it was 1 am. He thanked Neville with a strong hug and shook Blaise’s hand. Before he stepped into the floo Blaise said, “Good luck with the Wallbanger, Harry. Draco is going to love that nickname.”