Harry had never been on holiday before, so he wasn't aware of the concept of 'holiday blues'. If he had been, he might have felt like it slapped him in the face the second he and Draco stepped outside the Floo station on Diagon Alley.

The sky was grey and pouring with rain, and people with miserable looking faces bustled by, unaware of the two boys huddled under the awning staring out at the grim street in dismay. It was four in the afternoon local time, being six hours ahead of Peru, and the sky was so dark despite the fact the sun wouldn't be setting for several hours yet. "Welcome home," Draco said sardonically, and Harry let out a remorseful sort of chuckle.

"There goes our holiday," he said gloomily, but then felt like a complete prat, remembering all the things he'd told himself on their last night. He bounced his shoulders up and down and cleared his throat. "It's fine, I'm sure the sun will be back tomorrow. Do you want to come over for some tea?" He indicated down the winding road of shops where his flat was waiting for him.

Draco smiled gratefully at him and sighed, giving his hand a quick but firm squeeze. "I'd better head home to Mother," he said. "She's still got a couple of months left on her house arrest, and I think me going away not only made her a tad jealous – I'm concerned it also might have made her worry about...things." After an enforced year living with Voldemort, Harry could well imagine what 'things' those might be. "We can talk later though?"

Harry nodded, quashing the twinge of disappointment he felt. Of course Draco had to go and see his mother, she was probably in desperate need of the company, and Harry had monopolised her son for the last week exclusively. "Sure," he said, then suddenly feeling a little awkward, looked down at the damp pavement, feeling his ears heat up. "Um, thanks for, well, a bloody brilliant holiday."

Draco stepped into his line of sight, and he peeked up to see his boyfriend grinning at him. "You're welcome," he said. It was funny, how unsure they could be with each other still, or how confident, depending on what the other needed. Harry had started out totally in charge, it had been easy when it had just been the two of them, but as the outside world made its presence more and more know, he found himself faltering more often than he would like. "I think we should think about another one, soon. This one involving less specimens in jars, and more cocktails by the beach, hmm?"

That cheered Harry up no end. "Definitely," he said with enthusiasm.

Draco would simply apparate directly to his front door from here, so Harry glanced around to make sure no one was specifically gawking at them, then leaned over for a quick kiss on the lips. It lingered a little longer than anticipated though as Draco grabbed his wrist and held him close, and Harry moaned into his mouth. "Call me," Draco mumbled.

"I will," Harry promised.

And then he was gone.

If anyone had noticed their parting embrace, Harry couldn't tell as he cast a deflection charm on himself and his luggage, and stomped off into the downpour.

"Don't be such a brat," he muttered to himself as the colourful edifice of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes came into view. "You'll probably see him again tomorrow, give the poor boy some space."

He fumbled for his keys. He'd never felt like this before, like half of him was missing when he and Draco were apart for too long. It had been different at school, where they had always been under the same roof, even if they hardly saw each other all day. They had almost every night together, and Harry could breathe knowing if there was anything wrong, Draco could contact him at a moment's notice.

Now, he was all the way over in Wiltshire, and Harry wasn't there to protect him.

"Mr Potter?"

The voice startled him so badly he dropped his keys onto the cobblestones of the alley beside the Weasleys' shop, and disrupted his charm so he was suddenly completely soaking wet. He huffed in annoyance, and once he'd rescued his keys, looked up to see who had addressed him. His skin may have been cold from the unexpected dousing of rain, but at the sight of the woman before him, his blood boiled.

"What do you want, Skeeter?" he growled, tempted to ignore the reporter and try and open the door that led into the back stairway behind the shop, all the way up to the safe haven of his flat. But he didn't want to turn his back on the meddling cow, nor did he fancy opening the door and giving her unwanted access to his home. So he stood defiantly in the rain instead.

"Now Harry dear," Rita Skeeter said with forced sincerity. "Is that anyway to talk to an old friend?" Harry's glare probably gave her all the answer she needed, but she remained standing before him with a faux smile regardless.

She was poised underneath a frilly puce umbrella, lavender dyed fur trimming her coat and neat silver buckles on her violet Mary-Jane heels, all preserved in the dry by more than just the shield of the umbrella, Harry suspected. A pink feathered quill hovered by her ear, eagerly waiting to write on the blank sheet opened up in the small notepad by her shoulders, leaving her hands free to clutch at the curved umbrella handle.

"No comment," Harry snapped, glowering at the pad, as if daring it to write anything.

"But I haven't asked you anything yet?" Rita said in a hurt tone. "I am here on official capacity you know, for the Prophet."

"I don't care if you're here for the Queen herself," Harry snapped. "I have nothing to say to you, about anything."

At that he did try and turn around, figuring it was worth risking a hex in the back if he could slam his door on the terrible woman's face.

"Not even about Draco Malfoy?"