sweet subtle alchemy

Title: One Bitchen Summer
Author: anthimaeria
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Excessive California dialect, drug use, non-canonical as far as plot. All references to Republican Death Eaters are meant in fun and are not intended to disparage anyone’s sincerely held political beliefs or affiliation.
Disclaimer: All characters are the copyrighted works of J.K Rowling. No profit was made by the writing of this story, nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author.
Summary: Forget canon. Forget magic. What would Harry and Draco be like if they grew up in Los Angeles in the 1980’s? Sort of like a gay version of Beavis and Butthead, maybe? Total crackfic featuring Surfer!H/D, Stoner!Ron, and Valley Girl! Hermione.
Word Count: 5920
Notes:: This fic is dedicated to yammango, because she asked for it! Not beta’d, because the bad grammar, OOC-ness, and redundant vocabulary are entirely intentional. Go get your old copy of Back in Black and crank it to 11!


Harry Potter was totally bummed. It was like the perfect day to go surfing, but when he went to grab his board, he noticed there was this huge crack down the middle. And he didn’t even have to guess who was responsible. Fucking Dudley! What did he do, sit on it or something? Shit! It would take weeks of working some crappy job just to be able to afford another one. He looked around for some method of retaliation, and decided to borrow Dudley’s Walkman for the day. It wasn’t as though Dudley would miss it, what with all the crap he owned.

Even though surfing was now out of the question, Harry decided he was just going to go to the beach anyway. It was three weeks into summer, and he needed something to do. Ron had told him about this hidden spot out in Malibu that like no one knew about, which was supposed to be awesome. Originally he was like planning to go with Ron, who had a car, but then Ron said that something came up, so whatever. At the very least, he wanted to check the place out.

Harry found his sunglasses, and put them on over his regular glasses. He was obliged to wear this double set of frames because the Dursleys viewed the prescription sunglasses he needed as a ridiculous extravagance, even though they were always buying Dudley new sunglasses whenever he broke or lost a pair. Dudley had tossed this particular pair of Ray-Bans last year when the right arm and nosepiece snapped off. Thinking fast, Harry had crudely repaired them with black duct tape, which he didn’t think looked bad at all. Kind of cool, even. And one good thing about Dudley’s sunglasses was that they were always wide enough to fit comfortably over Harry’s usual glasses, due to the size of Dudley’s big fat head, so Harry could totally deal.

Harry slipped on his flip-flops and walked outside, headed for the bus stop on Pico. The Dursley family and Harry lived in Beverly Hills, but just barely. Their small but respectable stucco duplex was not only south of Sunset, but also south of Olympic, a block or so away from the city limits. The Dursleys felt that it was important to live in Beverly Hills so that Dudley could attend Beverly Hills High School and mingle with the better people, especially since Dudley had flunked the admissions exam to every reputable private school in L.A.

Notably, Harry didn’t go to Beverly with his cousin, although he was about the same age. Thanks to a scholarship funded by his late parents before their untimely deaths, he went to this experimental school in Santa Monica called Las Verrugas del Cerdo. Most people referred to it as Hogwarts, except for his aunt and uncle, who preferred to call it “that freak school for retards.” Hogwarts was totally cool, and Harry loved it there for the most part. The principal, Al Dumbledore, was this brilliant old hippie dude who looked like a wizard or something with his long gray hair and beard. He was totally on Harry’s side and often helped get him out of trouble. Even the Dursleys listened to him; if it wasn’t for Dumbledore’s efforts, Harry would still be sleeping in a closet under the stairs.

Harry hated taking the bus, but he wasn’t allowed to use any of the family cars, even though he’d had his driver’s license for nearly a year. It always took forever to wait for the RTD, and Harry wondered once again why it was called the Rapid Transit District. The bus was hot and crowded, filled with the usual fat, sullen people, and the odors of grease and gasoline mingled with those of sweat and cheap hairspray. He walked down the sticky aisle and found half a seat way in the back, which he was forced to share with a large, surly looking nun. Yeah, pretty much any way you sliced it, the bus fucking sucked, Harry reflected. He shifted around on the hard vinyl seat, put on his headphones, and tried to unwind.

Once in Santa Monica, he transferred to the bus that would take him to Malibu. The air was a lot cleaner near the coast, and Harry felt refreshed. He got off at the stop closest to this famous seafood restaurant where people sometimes took their dates, and walked north along the cliffs. After about half a mile, he noticed the slightly disturbed shrubbery that Ron had told him to look out for at the side of the road. He parted the branches and smiled with satisfaction at the sight of the rocky cliff leading to an empty, undisturbed stretch of sand and ocean. This was definitely the place.

A crude staircase had been cut into the rock, and Harry carefully wended his way down to the isolated beach. He was completely alone, and he reveled in his privacy, which was at a premium in the Dursleys’ cramped house. Harry was considering whether he should take his trunks off and be like all Nature Dude or something when he noticed he was not alone. A lone surfer was riding the waves, some distance away from him. The surfer was too far away for Harry to be able to see if he was anyone he knew, but close enough for him to tell the guy had some pretty stylin' moves. He watched in admiration as the dude expertly shot a tube and rode his way to shore.

As the surfer approached the beach, Harry could see that he was tall, tanned, and thin-yet-buff, with longish white-blond hair. To his annoyance, he recognized him. It was Draco Malfoy, who he’d gone to school with for the past six years. Draco was this stuck-up rich asshole who Harry had never really gotten along with. He had been nice to Harry for maybe like one day back in seventh grade, and then after that, he was always trying to fuck with him, and not in a good way.

For example, take what happened a few weeks ago before school let out for the summer. Harry had been late to first period Chem with Mr. Snape, mainly because he was getting high in the bushes a few blocks away from school. Honestly, it was totally necessary to smoke out simply to be able to deal with Snape first thing in the morning. The dude was always so harsh, especially to Harry, for like no reason at all.

When he finally made it to class, of course Snape totally whaled on him for being tardy, in front of everyone, and Harry was obliged to come up with a plausible explanation. “I was like helping my neighbor, she’s this old lady, get her cat down from this huge tree, you know?” he lied, thinking of Mrs. Figg from next door. “I had to like, totally scale it and everything!” he added creatively.

Snape regarded him in like this fully pompous, I’m-the-boss-of-you way, the nostrils of his hooked nose flaring. “ ‘Like’ is not a word in the English language, Mr. Potter,” he reminded Harry.

Harry stared at his teacher. Oh my God, he was so totally wrong and he didn’t even know it! “Like is absolutely a word in English,” he retorted. “Have you like even looked in a dictionary lately?”

That totally got Snape all mad and stuff. “Mr. Potter,” he went, “I will not tolerate such blatant disrespect in my classroom. That’s detention for you today! Now back to your seat- I have a class to teach!”

Harry sullenly walked to his desk, accompanied by the hostile snickering of Draco and his pals. As Harry passed him, Draco smiled maliciously. “Oooooh, bust-ed!” he mocked, under his breath so that only Harry could hear him.

“Ah, go fuck yourself, Malfoy!” Harry snarled, either forgetting to keep his voice down or not caring.

“That’s it, Mr. Potter!” snapped Snape. “Go to the principal’s office right now and explain why you cannot restrain yourself from acting out in my class. And detention for the rest of the week, too!” Harry boiled inside as he walked out, ignoring the faces that Draco was making at him.

Yeah, Malfoy was a total dick. But he was a radical surfer. And really, really hot looking too, Harry noticed for the first time. As Draco walked toward him, he realized he wasn’t pissed off any more at having to share the beach with him. His stomach felt all funny, but in a wonderful way that he couldn’t really describe. He found that he couldn’t take his eyes off Draco as he emerged triumphantly from the surf, his board tucked under his arm.

Draco scanned the beach as he waded through the receding tide. He was surprised to see someone on the sand, since it was usually pretty empty. As he got closer, he realized the dark-haired guy implausibly wearing sunglasses over eyeglasses could only be Harry Potter, that geek who everyone at school thought was so great. But Harry didn’t look so dorky today, not like he usually did, even with those stupid double glasses. Draco realized he’d never seen Harry without his shirt before, at least not recently. Dude is fully ripped, he thought in delighted amazement. And those pecs are fuckin’ outrageous! In fact, he thought he might be in danger of getting a hard-on just looking at him. He covered his crotch with his board and flashed Harry a dazzling smile.

Harry beamed, without even thinking about what he was doing. “Dude, you shredded out there! Seriously, that was totally awesome!” he exclaimed.

Unexpectedly, Draco threw his blond head back and laughed. “Not even! Like the whole time, I was all ‘Dude, you’re about to totally wipe out!’”

Harry loved that Draco talked to himself while he was surfing. Was it too much to think that maybe he might want to hang later and smoke a bowl or something? Ron always had the good stuff, and Harry had scored from him yesterday.

Impetuously, he threw his arms around Draco, inhaling his ocean-fresh scent. “You rock so hard!” he shouted into his wet hair.

“Okay, like, whatever, Potter,” Draco said, and silenced him with a full-mouthed kiss that Harry was unable to tear himself away from. He kissed Draco back, and then Draco dropped his board, and they were like all holding each other and everything.

Harry was stoked. This was getting good beyond his wildest imaginings. “Hey, you want to party?” he asked hopefully.

“Sure, let’s go to my Jeep,” Draco said, gesturing to the bluffs where his car was parked.

Harry couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He was going to be alone with Draco Malfoy, in his car. He shivered with excitement. Who knew what could happen?

“Awesome!” he managed.

*** *** ***

Hermione Granger drove sedately up Pacific Coast Highway in her white VW Rabbit, ignoring the multiple drivers who honked at her for daring to drive less than 85 mph. Ron Weasley, her sort-of-unspoken-boyfriend, rode beside her in the passenger seat. He was excited to show Hermione his secret beach, and was looking forward to catching some waves and hopefully some hot blanket action with her later.

Hermione was looking forward to a perfect day of beach reading. She had filled the hatchback compartment of the Rabbit with all the textbooks it could carry, as well as the novels she was supposed to read for AP English next fall. Senior year would be tough, and it was always wise to be prepared.

Ron’s surfboard was strapped to the Rabbit’s roof. He also had wanted to bring his bong so that he could get loaded, but Hermione absolutely refused to allow it in her car. “What if we get pulled over by the LAPD?” she asked.

“Like that would ever happen! God, you drive slower than my mom, even!” Ron complained, but he knew Hermione was not to be disobeyed. Especially if he wanted things to go his way once they got down in the sand.

Hermione took several sharp curves at a ridiculously relaxed speed. They were almost there, and Ron yelled for her to stop. Dutifully applying her signal, Hermione slowed even more and made a careful left, parking on a dirt path along the ocean side of PCH.

As Hermione stepped out of her car, Ron discreetly admired her. She was looking particularly tasty today in her Save the Bay t-shirt and overdyed Guess! turquoise denim mini-skirt, and he hoped there was a bikini underneath. Her poufy hair was restrained in a pink scrunchie which perfectly matched her plastic jelly sandals and the heart-shaped frames of her sunglasses. He couldn't remember when he first knew that Hermione was the one for him, but it seemed today like he'd always known it.

“Ron, this is like totally beautiful!” she exclaimed, after they had made their way through the foliage that blocked the view of the beach from the street.

She took her binoculars out of her purse and looked out over the ocean. “I wonder if we can see any gray whales from here? One time, I was up at Dana Point and saw like this whole school of them. It was so classic, you would have totally loved it! But like, I heard the pollution here is getting so gnarly that they’re totally bailing on us and like going up to Monterey or some place.”

Ron was just about to reply when Hermione dropped her binoculars in shock. Without saying a word, she picked them up and handed them to Ron.

He gasped. What the fuck was his best friend doing with that douchebag Malfoy, all hugging and kissing him and stuff? Was Harry now like, totally gay or something?

“Noooo way!” he croaked.

“Way,” Hermione confirmed grimly.

“Fuck, this was totally the wrong day to leave my bong at home. I cannot even deal!”

Hermione leaned over the cliff for a better view, transfixed by the tiny figures of Harry and Draco locked in embrace. She didn’t realize the extent to which she was bent over until her sunglasses slipped off her head, landing in a crevice near the sand.

“Oh my God! I have to go down there! These are like my favorite shades!” she moaned.

Ron gave her this totally incredulous look. “As if!” he remonstrated. “Come on, what would we say? We’d be like all, ‘Oh, hi Harry, don’t mind us, just go ahead and keep waxing Malfoy’s board and everything, we’re just going to hang out and chill, okay?’”

Hermione looked at him pleadingly, but he shook his shaggy red head. “You don’t understand... this like totally messes with my world, y’know? Fuck, why did Harry have to harsh on my mellow today? I can’t hang here at all. Zuma’s just down the road. I say we split.”

Hermione sighed. She had to admit that Ron did have a point. With a last reluctant look back at the speck of pink wedged within the rocks below, she followed Ron back through the barely perceptible gap in the hedge they’d come through. There was still ample time for studying in the sun, and hopefully, they’d be able to find parking.

** *** ***

As they made their way up the cliff, Harry noticed a flash of bright color amid the grayish rocks. “Dude, these look just like Hermione’s sunglasses!” he remarked, picking them up.

Draco sniffed. “I don’t know why you hang with that chick… she lives in Van Nuys!”

“Dude, she does not!” Harry shot back. “Her street is totally like in Sherman Oaks. She even has a Sherman Oaks zip code!”

“So what? It’s still the Valley,” Draco said. “I don’t go over the hill. It’s a fuckin’ wasteland out there.”

Harry opened his mouth to disagree, but found he was physically incapable of contradicting Draco, who was just too beautiful for words. He thought he could be happy simply watching him all day, the movement of his sure golden limbs as much a part of nature as the changes of sea and sky.

He recognized Draco’s brand new green Cherokee from the school parking lot. It smelled new and fresh on the inside, too, and was soon comfortably cool once the air conditioning had a chance to kick in. Harry filled a pipe, and was soon swapping it back and forth with Draco, giggling whenever the light went out due to the fan.

“Dude, you got any tunes?” Harry asked, taking a hit and passing the pipe to Draco.

“Sure,” Draco said, turning on the car stereo. Harry noticed he had it turned to 106.7 – KROQ, the new wave station. George Michael was singing “(Wake Me Up) Before You Go-Go.”

Draco frowned. “Fuck, that shit is so gay,” he said, sliding in a tape.

Harry looked at him questioningly. If Draco wasn’t, then why did he kiss him and everything?

The tape clicked in and started playing. Harry grinned as he recognized the opening tones of “Hells Bells.” It was the first song on “Back in Black,” his very favorite AC/DC album.

“Fuck!” he shouted witlessly. “I love AC/DC!”

“Yeah, me too, like, totally,” said Draco. He held his hand up and made the devil sign with his fingers while banging his wet blond head up and down to the beat of the music.

Harry laughed. Draco was being ironic! It was like so totally cute, he couldn’t even believe it. He offered the pipe again, but Draco shook his head and reached out for Harry instead.

By the time the first song on the tape had finished, had finished, Draco was leaning over into the passenger seat, holding Harry in his arms, insistently kissing him. By the first chorus of “Shoot to Thrill,” Draco had maneuvered Harry into the pulled-down back seat/ cargo area, and was playfully biting and sucking his nipples. When “Givin’ The Dog A Bone” started, Harry’s fly was open and Draco’s mouth was in Harry’s lap, doing incredible things that Harry hadn’t even thought were possible. By the middle of “Let Me Put My Love Into You,” Harry found himself lying on his belly with his trunks pulled down, his hips elevated by virtue of a damp towel rolled underneath them. He looked behind him, only to see Draco ripping a condom from a foil packet.

“Dude, what are you doing?” he asked. Draco was totally hot and everything, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for this.

“Safe sex,” Draco said rhetorically. He slipped off his shorts, and Harry caught sight of the totally huge boner that had pressed against him earlier. He decided he could deal. Besides, he was too wasted to even move much.

Harry heard a squelching sound and saw Draco squirting suntan lotion into his hands. “Gotta have lube, dude,” he explained. He sat down and pulled Harry onto his lap, looking appraisingly at Harry’s erection, which hadn’t subsided since Draco first kissed him. Draco thoughtfully rubbed more lotion on his palms, and seized Harry’s cock in his fist, moving up to the head and twisting his hand to go down the other side, over and over until Harry just lost it completely and his come spurted over the back of Draco’s hand. Draco lifted his hand to his mouth, and very slowly and sexily licked it all off, then looked suggestively at Harry.

By the time “Back in Black” came on, Harry was in the process of surrendering his virginity to Draco Malfoy, his face pressed against the beige acrylic carpet of the cargo area as Draco straddled his back. At first it was like incredibly painful, but by the first chorus of “You Shook Me All Night Long,” Harry was actually kind of getting into it for real. Every time Draco rammed into him, his own dick would rub against the towel, and that felt kind of good, and it was starting to feel really good inside too, which he never expected. Right after the song ended, Draco started fucking him really fast, then gave him a few short, swift strokes before pushing into him a final time. The deep, almost pained groan that accompanied his orgasm thrilled Harry with its naked intensity. He wondered if anyone else had ever seen Draco like this, at the height of ecstasy, and hoped that this joy was his alone.

Exhausted, Harry lay flat on his back, looking up at the cloudless sky through the sun roof. His head was spinning as he tried to make sense of all the amazing things that had happened. A day ago, he totally hated the guy who was now lying next to him, stroking his hair. Less than an hour ago, he kissed him for the first time. Ten minutes ago, the dude was fucking him in the ass. And now, he thought he might even be falling in love with him, for real.

Draco nudged him, a half-full bottle of Arrowhead water in his hand. “Thanks, dude,” Harry said, chugging gratefully. He hadn’t realized how dry his mouth was.

“Dude, you want to come over to my place?” Draco asked. “The ‘rents are supposed to be at like this political fundraiser thing until late.”

“Ab-solutely!” he replied, climbing back in the front seat. Harry remembered that Draco’s parents were like these majorly big Republicans, which was kind of weird because there weren’t a whole lot of Republicans in Malibu. Most of them lived like way the hell out in Orange County. But Harry was glad that Draco lived in Malibu, because it would take like a million bus transfers and most of the day, even, to get out of L.A. Hermione would freak if she knew where I was going, he thought. She hated Reagan with a passion, and shared Ron’s low opinion of Draco. But no matter what Hermione might think, that wasn’t going to stop Harry from going home with his new crush.

“Dude, are you like okay to drive and everything?” he asked. He himself wasn’t in shape to do much of anything other than veg out.

“Totally – I live like five minutes away,” said Draco, making a sharp right into the Malibu hills.

A sudden thought occurred to Harry. “Malfoy, why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” he asked.

“Dude, I’m always nice to you!” Draco protested.

“Oh, you so are not!”

Draco shrugged. “I guess I just like to give you a hard time, Potter,” he said. “You’re one easy dude to mess with.”

That wasn’t exactly the most satisfactory explanation, but Harry felt it was enough for the time being. He was staring open-mouthed at Draco’s house, a shining white building perched on multi-levels against a steep bluff. Harry knew that Draco’s folks were rich and all, but this place really was completely awesome.

Draco held out his hand to help Harry out of the Jeep in what Harry thought was a very gentlemanly way, and then Harry helped him take his surfboard off the rack. He followed Draco up a private staircase which led straight to his room.

“It’s not like I can't have friends over or anything, but like the maid’s here, and you know,” Draco said, shrugging his shoulders again.

Draco’s room was a lot like those of Harry’s friends- not the neatest, and the walls were covered with surfing posters. However, it was a whole lot bigger than any guy’s bedroom he’d ever seen, and Draco had a whole queen-sized bed to himself, as well as his very own bathroom. Harry wished his own set-up was even half as sweet.

Draco put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Dude, I need to take a shower,” he said.

“Okay,” Harry said, flopping down on the bed. The pillows were all soft and everything, and he was totally slipping into the comfort zone.

Draco smiled. “I mean with you, Potter.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat, and he jumped up, eager to see where Draco’s tan lines ended. Sure, he was tired, but not too tired for this.

*** *** ****

After a nap, Harry and Draco got stoned again, this time with Draco’s stash. They lay on Draco’s bed, flipping through surfer magazines.

“Dude!” Harry said with enthusiasm, jabbing his finger at a truly awesome photo. Baja looked like a totally bitchen place to surf.

“We should totally go there sometime,” Draco murmured. He placed his hands on Harry’s cheeks and blew smoke into his mouth, laughing when Harry sputtered and coughed. “Dude, come watch the sunset with me!”

He got up and slid open the sliding glass doors that led to his balcony. Harry sat next to him in contented silence as the dark silhouettes of palm trees deepened against the sky, blazing electric hues of pink, purple and gold. It was a classic Southern California moment, and Harry sighed at the romance of it all. He imagined that the scene would appear to an onlooker just like one of those greeting cards that Aunt Petunia was always mooning over in the stationery aisle at Ralphs, except with him and Draco on the cover. How could this be anything but love?

It was almost completely dark when Draco beckoned Harry to follow him back to his room. “Hey, I want to show you something really funny. Close your eyes, okay?”

Harry bounced back onto the bed and closed his eyes obediently. He heard Draco opening and shutting drawers, then it sounded like he was digging through a bunch of stuff.

“All right, now check this out!”

From his back, Draco whipped out a Gene Simmons action figure clad in full KISS regalia, complete with dragon-clawed platform shoes. “EEEAAAAOOOWW!” he yelled, holding it up in the air, bugging his eyes out and striking an exaggerated rock-star pose.

Harry burst out in hysterical laughter. Draco took a flying leap onto the bed and placed Gene on Harry’s chest. “Hey Potter, ya lookin' fiiiiine tonight!” he said, talking for the doll. “Ya wanna come backstaaage?”

Gene’s voice became affronted. “Why’re ya laughin’ at me? I can totally turn ya on, y’know. Don't know if you've heard, but I've got a real long… tongue!” Draco swiped his tongue all the way up Harry’s neck, and Harry laughed even harder.

Draco plopped down closer to Harry. He was thinking that he wanted to kiss him, and maybe even fuck him again, but Harry started tickling him with the Gene Simmons figure, and he was soon laughing too hard to do either.
*** *** ***

Several hours later, Harry came to the conclusion that this had to be the best night of his entire life to date. He was sitting completely naked on Draco’s bed, three pillows propped behind him, his third slice of pizza in hand, watching Headbanger’s Ball on MTV while Draco’s silky head rubbed against the insides of his parted thighs, his mouth full of Harry. The Dursleys didn’t have cable yet, although Harry figured that they probably would soon, the way Dudley kept whining for it. It didn’t matter, anyway; Dudley was always hogging the remote, and Harry never got to watch anything he wanted to see. He was fucking sick of Miami Vice, that was for sure.

Harry’s breathing quickened, and he realized that he wasn’t chewing his pizza any more. He flung the slice down to avoid the strings of cheese that were sliding off onto Draco’s hair and closed his eyes, abandoning himself to Draco’s diligent mouth and the pounding beat of the music. The only thing that could possibly make this any better, he thought, would be if I was surfing at the same time as all this. But how was that even possible?

Draco lifted his head. Even through the din of the music, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway was unmistakable. “Oh shit, my parents are home,” he said. Harry froze.

“Don’t freak, Potter, it’s totally cool. I’ve like trained them to always knock before coming in. Maybe I should go downstairs or something. Stay here, okay?”

Harry nodded, throwing the covers over his lap. Suddenly, he felt the scar on his forehead burning like crazy. “Oh, man!” he said, putting his hand over it.

“Ah, dude, headache?” Draco asked, the sweetest note of concern in his voice. “That totally sucks!” He went to his bathroom and returned with two Excedrin tablets and a glass of water. “Take these, dude, it totally works for me.”

Draco pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and shut the door, padding down the carpeted stairs in his bare feet. He heard the sounds of talking and laughing coming from the living room, along with the clinking of glasses. It sounded like his parents had a guest, which wasn’t unusual. The Malfoys were constantly in the process of networking and recruiting new friends to their causes.

His mother smiled at him. “Draco,” she trilled in her sing-song social voice, “I’d like you to meet Laird Voldemort, who we’re confident will be the next governor of California! Laird, this is our son Draco, who we’ve been telling you about. Draco is very active in the Young Republicans!”

The man standing next to Draco’s mother was one freaky looking dude. His skin was like bleached white, and he had no eyebrows or even a real nose. He was completely bald, and he had these tripped-out red eyes. And to top it off, he was wearing this like totally normal-looking pinstriped business suit. What the fuck?

Draco felt uncomfortable. He could swear the guy was totally checking him out, looking him up and down with those beady red eyes. Suddenly, he became very conscious of his bare arms and legs, and didn’t know where to hide them.

The weird guy laughed a weird laugh. “Always glad to meet a future party member! I may even have a job for you someday, if you’re interested,” he said, extending his flat white hand for Draco to shake.

Draco flinched. The guy’s hand was all cold and dead-feeling. “Hey, like I’m totally pleased to meet you, and stuff,” he said politely, “but I’m like really, really tired. Gotta get up early tomorrow, y’know?” In fact, Draco had never gotten up early a day in his life, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

The man nodded, and Draco fled up the stairs. He didn’t even have to look behind him to know that his parents were glaring at him with disapproval. Whatever. He’d deal with them later, for sure.

Harry heard talking downstairs, and two words caught his attention. Laird Voldemort? For some reason, there was something sort of important about that name, although he couldn’t remember what. Something kind of bad, actually. But he was too exhausted and too infatuated with Draco to care, and he was also stoned out of his fucking mind. And besides, his scar was hurting like a motherfucker.

Draco found Harry curled up in the fetal position, holding his head in his hands. “Dude, are you okay?”

Harry rolled over to look at him. “Malfoy, do you ever, like, get the feeling that some really fucked-up shit is about to come down?”

“Yeah, sometimes I do,” Draco said. “Shit, you should have seen the guy my parents brought home tonight. He gave me the fucking creeps!”

Harry heard the front door shut, then a car motor starting. He sat up, feeling better. “Hey, I think those ‘Ceds are starting to kick in,” he said.

“Told you so!” said Draco. “That’s awesome.” He kissed Harry right above his left ear.

Harry looked at the digital clock next to Draco’s bed. Shit. He was about to miss the last bus, and there was like no way back home unless he could get Ron, or Hermione even, to give him a ride.

“Dude, could you, like, maybe drop me at the bus stop in like five minutes?” he asked.

“Whoa, don’t even think about it! You can crash here.” Draco patted the space next to him.

“For real?” Harry asked, hardly daring to believe it.

“Totally!” Draco said.

Harry melted into the bed and into Draco’ arms, after setting the alarm to catch the earliest bus. All too soon, he heard that annoying buzz and he quickly shut it off, dressing quickly in the near-darkness. He had already grabbed his backpack and headed for the door when he heard Draco call out in a sleepy voice.

“Hey, uh, Potter- could you, like, do me a favor?”

“Uh, yeah, maybe,” Harry said, pausing.

“Can you get me a pen from my desk and something to write on?”

“Dude, no prob.” Harry grabbed a felt tip marker and a crumpled napkin that he found on the floor.

Draco scribbled something and handed the napkin back to him. Harry looked at what he’d written, and smiled. Now he was sure that Draco wanted to see him again.

“All right, I guess I’ll head out now,” he said dreamily.

“C’mere, Potter,” Draco said. He pulled Harry into his arms and gave him a kiss that was so unbelievably soft and sweet that Harry actually stumbled, almost swooning onto the Berber carpet.

Somehow, Harry managed to get himself to the door. “Later, dude,” he said.

“Later.”

Harry whistled as he walked down the hill. It was going to be a fucking gorgeous day. The sun was already shining and everything, and from what he could see of the beach, the swells looked totally favorable. Harry didn’t exactly remember the way back to PCH, but it was pretty easy to figure out. He didn’t even mind that he almost got sideswiped by a Porsche, a Mercedes, and at least two Beemers as he made his way down the sidewalk-free roads. Nothing was going to touch him today.

The bus took forever to come, and it still reeked just as much as it always did, but somehow that didn’t bother him. It was so early in the morning that it was practically empty anyway. He took a whole seat to himself and relaxed, sitting against the window with his legs stretched out toward the aisle.

Harry wrapped his arms around himself and sighed, realizing that he had put on one of Draco’s T-shirts by mistake. The shirt and now he himself smelled just like Draco- an enchanted medley of sand, sea, and coconut oil. And now, Draco had Harry’s shirt. Maybe Draco would sleep with it or something, and think about him.

He took out Dudley’s Walkman and turned the station to KLOS. Almost unbelievably, he heard the distinct chords which marked the very beginning of “Back in Black.” A rush of intense emotion came over him, and he could practically feel Draco inside him again. “Yes!” he screamed, pumping his fist in the air.

Basking in his new feelings of love, Harry pulled Draco’s note out and read it again: 213-555-3825, and then the words; “CALL ME – DRACO.” After weighing the consequences in his head, he made a reasoned decision. He would call him Draco, Harry resolved. But only if Draco also called him Harry. He refolded the note carefully and put it back in his pocket.

Completely psyched, Harry drummed the back of the empty seat in front of him in perfect sync with Angus Young’s guitar, oblivious to the stares of the few riders who turned to look at him. For sure, this was going to be one bitchen summer.

The End

...This saga continues in This Time For Real...