Draco gingerly eased the key into the lock and turned it slowly, so it would make no noise. He opened the door just enough to be able to step through it sideways, and slipped into the apartment. Step by cautious step, he approached and entered the bedroom, and then neared the sleeping figure on the the bed. Picking a slipper up off the floor, he started slapping the hell out of "The Boy Who Lived".

"Don't – you – ever- leave me – alone – with Weasley – in a bar – again – Harry Potter!" he yelled, each pause coinciding with a slap of the slipper.

Shocked and surprised at first, Harry eventually got his boyfriend under control – but only by wrapping himself completely around the young man, immobilizing him.

"Now what's got you all in a dither then?" he asked quietly.

"He drank shandys, and played darts, and flirted with the bartender, and—"

"Ron flirted with the bartender? But he's straight!" Harry protested.

"Female bartender, you chauvinist! And where the hell were you when she came on duty?" Draco demanded. "For that matter, where the hell were you, period?"

"Waiting for you to make your excuses and meet me – which you never did."

"You said you were going to the loo! And that blasted redhead kept telling me you'd be right back. So where were you?"

"I told you before Ron got there what the plan was. We were going to have a drink, maybe two if things were going all right, then leave."

"You told me no such thing," Draco refuted, doubt in his voice.

"Oh, yes I did," Harry insisted.

"When?" Draco asked haughtily.

"I think it was when you were ogling the first bartender."