Draco broke away like he was yanking a cord from an outlet, the light in the room fading, and Harry realised there was a problem.

In the few moments of complete, overwhelming feeling, when his accidental magic had turned on all the lights, it had also cleared the orange stuff from the rest of the room. Including the windows.

Cameras flashed at them, and Draco jerked back, doing his best to hide right in front of the door, hoping he wouldn't be seen. But every square inch of the windows was suddenly filled with faces, so it was very unlikely that it worked.

"Fuck!" he breathed, and Harry was too stunned to agree. "Potter, I've got to— fuck! If they got a picture..." he was wringing his hands, looking like he'd begin pacing if he could.

Harry stayed still, lying on the floor, not entirely sure he could process what had happened.

"Are you just going to sit there? We need to spell blinds on the window— no! Wait, no, because then they'll tell the Prophet and they'll for sure know we were... I have to go. I have to talk to my boss, and, and, I don't know, fucking bribe Rita fucking Skeeter and shit! I'm going to lose my job over this. You're going to lose your job over this."

Draco had his wand out, and he was gesticulating about with it frantically, and then he focused on Harry one more time.

"I have to go, Potter. Don't owl me—not about anything. We can't risk it right now. I'll get in touch at some point. Just, stay calm, and don't do anything."

And then he was gone. And Harry was still sitting alone on the floor while a hundred faces peered in at him, and Verity and Luna tried to steer people away.

And all he could think was that Draco had called him Harry once. Just the one time.

He Disapparated.

ϟ ϟ ϟ

Another owl tapped its beak on Harry's window, and he hurled his shoe at the glass so hard it sprang back and hit in the thigh. As he hopped about, clutching at his leg, he almost felt bad for the whole thing. It wasn't the owl's fault, after all.

Two more flew up beside the first, and he spelled a curtain over the window, and a charm to block the sound.

The first letter had come at 6 o'clock that morning.

Ginny and Ron sat with him around the kitchen table in the pre-dawn dark, still in their pyjamas, mugs of tea clutched in their hands, reading aloud the ones that Harry was too scared to open himself. The owls had woken them up too.

"Mister Potter," said Ginny, "In light of recent events, we regret to inform you that Draco L. Malfoy is no longer working for the British Ministry of Magic—"

"Bugger," Ron cursed.

"—and thus can no longer provide the service of unbiased inspection for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes (WWW). All past assessments that Mister Malfoy provided regarding the shop's aptitude will henceforth be void. The Ministry cannot currently offer a replacement, but will notify you if that changes prior to the week proceeding December 31st, 1999, when the final claim will have to be filed regarding the quality of WWW's products and services, and its economic value."

"The grand re-opening was supposed to be on the 11th," said Harry. "Without an inspector attending and seeing how many people are interested... even if we could find one by the 24th, what good would it do?"

"With how many people were in the shop yesterday—" Ginny started.

He cut her off. "To see me. That will lose its appeal eventually if I'm there often enough, and it won't work if I'm not. There's no way anyone competent would think that was a good business strategy: to whore out Harry Potter."

Ron gave the tiniest snort.

"And the inspector would need proof that our new products will sell," he continued, "and..."

Ron picked up the next letter.

"Mr Potter, it would be a pleasure to be the first to interview you about your clandestine affair with Mr Malfoy. Shall we say Thursday at 4 p.m.? Rita Skeeter."

Harry let his head slump down and hit the table.

Ginny spoke next, the crinkling of paper coming just before.

"Harry, you should be disgusted with— skip! Harry, I used to think you were cute but now— next. Ah, here. Harry, Molly and I saw the latest article the Prophet published about you. We'd like to have you over for supper if you're able. Please let us know." She placed a hand on his arm. "From Dad."

"Do you think they..."

"Don't know. They had no idea you were trying to save the shop, first of all. And then now that's in jeopardy. Then, of course, there's the fact they published a photo of you kissing a man."

"A Draco Malfoy man," Ron added helpfully.

"Oh Merlin," he moaned. "It's as if my own parents walked in on me snogging somebody in my bedroom and now they want to have a talk."

"I can promise you that'd be much, much worse," said Ron.

They both looked at him doubtfully.

"What? Not me, Bill!"

"I remember that," said Ginny after a moment's thought. "They called a family meeting. Percy took minutes."

"Of course he did," Harry sighed.

Ginny took another from the largest pile. "Good old Luna," she said, clearing her throat. "I just saw the loveliest article about you and Draco in the paper, Harry. I didn't know you were involved, congratulations! Also, you may want to come by the shop. There are a couple of problems I could use your help with. Lots of love, Luna."

"Oh, Merlin. I forgot that the fate of my designs is resting in the hands of Luna. Mind stabbing me in the eye with that fork to see if I can forget it again?"

Ginny shook her head. "Too early in the morning. Might accidentally remove the part of your brain that's specially designed to feed and compliment me."

"Well, we wouldn't want that."

"No," she agreed.

Ron picked up the next letter, but he paused. "Er, you might want to read this one yourself, mate."

"Huh?"

"I think it's from Malfoy."

Harry took it gently, running his thumb over the front, where his name was written in a careful, cursive hand. He'd been worried Draco wouldn't write. Now he was almost as worried to learn why he had.

He tore it open.

Potter,

I'll be back in England within a fortnight. I am sorry for any undue challenge you have faced because of this. I will find a way to fix things.

Don't expect any replies.
D. Malfoy

"He left the country... He like, actually fled the bloody country."

Ginny frowned, but she eyed the owls clustered at the window meaningfully, and the stack of letters still sitting in front of them.

"If this is what you're getting," she said, "just imagine what the reaction has been like for him, getting photographed kissing the wizarding world's Golden Boy. We heard the crowd at Wheezes. That was before they knew about any of this."

"Yeah, mate, I wouldn't take it personally. I doubt he hated the taste of your tongue down his throat so much he decided to move."

Harry gave Ron a withering glare, which he returned mock-solemnly.

"At least he told you," Ginny insisted.

Harry sighed sharply. "Can we look at the reality for a second? I lost him his job, I got him outed by the Prophet, and I'm the reason he's probably getting hounded by Howlers right now because of my stupid bloody feelings fucking up my accidental magic."

"Howlers are the least of his worries," Ron said.

"He also told me again not to write him, at least indirectly. 'Don't expect any replies.' Does that sound promising to you, or are you going to keep trying to brighten the whole disaster up? Can I mope in peace, please? You're both usually so good at letting me do that."

"When there's reason to mope," Ginny muttered, but she threw her hands up in surrender.

"I have no inspector, Draco won't talk to me, Luna's in charge of product manufacturing, and your parents want me to come over for supper. There's reason."

They spent the rest of the day like that, slumped over the table reading. The letters got worse from there.