Archive of Our Own ^beta

Thud.

Thud.

Thud thud.

"Malfoy!!"

Draco looked up from his favorite chair to see the remnants of a snowball drip down the window. Frowning, he rose from his seat when another snowball hitting the glass pane made him jump.

With a growl, he moved toward the window and opened it to chastize whatever teenagers thought themselves comedians by pelting his window with snowballs.

He opened the window and rolled his eyes. Really, he should've known.

“Potter! Stop your incessant snowball throwing! You’ll break the windows!”

Harry smirked. “Then let me in!”

"Why should I, Potter? You've interrupted a perfectly peaceful afternoon."

"Draco! Come on, I want to talk about this!"

Draco scowled. “I’ll call the Aurors, you know.”

“No you won’t,” Harry’s smirk widened as he crossed his arms in challenge. “Admit: you think it’s romantic.”

“I certainly do not,” Draco scoffed. “Romantic would’ve been if you had the good sense to kiss me back, you git.”

“I was shocked! I'm not perfect, Draco! It’s not every day your work colleague you’ve been pining after for months finally kisses you. I didn’t expect it and you Disapparated before I could kiss you back!”

“Wait—you were pining for me?”

“Yes!” Harry threw up his hands in exasperation. “I’ve been trying to tell you that!”

Draco turned up his nose. “Well, too little too late, Potter.”

“Are we really back to Potter? Draco, please, we both want each other and now you know! Let me in—or don’t, but you’ll have to face this sometime. I’ll stay out here all night—rain or shine.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Draco chewed his lip in indecision. On the one hand, his pride screamed at him to let Potter suffer in the cold. Serves him right for not kissing Draco back immediately. But then...

Draco sighed. “Fine. You may enter through the front door, after which you have 30 seconds.”

Harry grinned and dashed away toward the front door. Draco Apparated to the front of the Manor, smoothing his robes and breathing deeply to make it look as if he wasn’t nervous.

There was a knock on the door and Draco waited a second before he answered it with a raised eyebrow. "Well?"

Harry didn’t waste any time. He stepped forward and threaded his fingers through Draco’s hair, kissing him deeply. Draco was ashamed at how quickly he fairly melted into it, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck. Too soon, Harry pulled away.

Harry checked his watch with a lopsided grin. “30 seconds, as promised. That’s how I wanted to kiss you back before you left.”

Draco pursed his lips in a show of false nonchalance. “Better late than never, I suppose.”

It sat openly on His chest, an almost exact replica, but where the original had been gold, this was a startling, strange silver.

Draco had to admit, the redesign was an improvement. The jade green of the S inlay stood out against the silver doors of the locket.

The stones were almost as glittering green as the eyes of the man who wore them.

"Draco, do stop staring. It is unbecoming."

Draco bowed his head. "Apologies, My Lord."

He smirked. "Come closer, Draco. Let me see you."

Draco tried to keep his feet from shuffling against the cold porcelain floors as he approached Him where He sat on His throne, a regal silver to match His locket.

His mouth twisted into a wry grin; gone was the goofy, easy smile Draco'd resented from their youth. In its place was this amused grimace that filled its targets with dread.

"Yes, My Lord?"

He shook his head. "No, Draco, I want to see you."

The only warning Draco had was the split second when He reached up and flicked open the locket doors to reveal a living eye with a green pupil, a ring of silver wrapped around it.

At first, it was euphoria.

Being bitten was unlike any pleasure Harry'd ever known; teetering on the knife's edge of life and death and knowing he was safe in Draco's arms, under his teeth, no matter which side he ended up on, whether his heart was still beating afterward.

It didn't matter, because even before the first bite, the first kiss, Harry's heart and his blood had belonged to Draco from the first time their eyes had met across the crowded Muggle bar.

Harry pitied the living; he pitied those who feared the bliss of a bite, the thrill of being the prey; and now he pitied himself.

But it hadn't just been the intoxicating pleasure; no, Draco made Harry's blood rush and his heart quicken in moments that Harry'd nearly forgotten about the sharp canines that were hidden beneath those wryly smirking lips.

Their...liaison, as Draco had called it, had been a flash in the pan, in retrospect. It was a quick but enormous, blazing fire that threatened to swallow them both; Harry was willing to burn, but Draco extinguished it before Harry's skin could be more than warmed by the flames.

"It's not safe," Draco'd said, tears in his eyes, clenching his fists. "I can't control myself around you, Harry. It was fun while it lasted."

Harry pressed a hand against his chest, just to feel his heartbeat, to confirm it was still there, taunting him.

*beat-beat* He's gone. *beat-beat* He's gone.

He ran a hand over his neck, shuddering as he fingered the scars left by Draco's teeth, his favorite of the permanent marks that marred his flesh.

Harry'd never considered the sound of his own blood before; Draco said it was like listening to a rushing waterfall on a scorching day, coaxing you to just dip one toe into the precarious but cool waters.

Now, Harry could almost hear it; but to him, it sounded like tears, hot and grieving sobs that flowed of their own accord.

His heartbeat mourned.

*beat-beat* He's gone. *beat-beat* He's gone.

“Harry Potter. We meet again.”

Harry clenched his jaw, his just-shed invisibility cloak dirtied on the forest floor. He ignored the Death Eaters surrounding Voldemort, instead staring at the man head-on.

“Tom, good to see you.”

Voldemort glared—or he would’ve if his eyes weren’t already snake-like slits. “And see, here I thought you might want to spend your final moments playing a little game.”

Harry’s nostrils flared, just because he could. “What sort of game?”

Voldemort’s mouth twisted into what was probably supposed to be a grin. “Truth or dare. I think you might be familiar with it?”

“A children’s game? Trying to connect with your more innocent years, Tom?”

Voldemort smirked. “Only trying to give you the childhood memories you never had, Potter. It’s the least I can do, really.”

“Fine, Tom. Go ahead.”

“Truth or Dare, Harry?”

“Dare.”

“Crucio!”

Harry didn’t bother to clamp down the scream that rose up in his throat at the blinding pain. The spell ended, and he fell to his knees, panting and ignoring the titters from the surrounding Death Eaters.

“Truth or Dare, Harry.”

“It’s my turn, Riddle.”

Voldemort clicked his tongue. “I’m afraid that’s not how this particular game will work, boy. Now, answer me.”

“Truth”

“Legilimens!”

Harry closed his eyes.

Late-night meetings with Draco in their Room. Stolen kisses in abandoned classrooms. Longing looks across the Great Hall. Passing notes in secrecy. Staged fights to keep appearances, and the real fight in the bathroom. Draco casting his first Patronus. Seeker’s games late at night. Falling in love.

Harry felt Voldemort pull sharply out of his mind. He blinked at Harry in astonishment, and Harry just smirked.

“He was never yours, Tom. He was mine.”

Voldemort snarled. “Truth or Dare, Harry Potter.”

“Dare.”

“Avada Kedavra!”

___________

Harry had a choice, at King’s Cross.

“I dare.”

"Potter! Pay attention."

"Back to Potter? Really?"

"You're Potter when you're not paying attention to me."

"I'd say the issue is I'm paying too much attention to you, and not to what you're saying."

*blush* "Potter, focus. Now, look into my eyes the whole time."

"That definitely won't help me focus."

"Merlin you're impossible."

"I'm trying! I'm not a good dancer."

"Yes, my toes and I are well aware."

"Sorry."

"It's okay, Harry, that's why we're here. Our first dance will be beautiful."

"You mean you'll be beautiful. I'm going to be a stumbling mess."

"Anyone would seem like a stumbling erumpent next to me,"

*laugh*

"But really, Harry, you'll be great. You just need a bit of help. Now, take my hand again, yes good, and the other on my shoulder, right, there you are. And my hand goes on your waist. Now we move. Just follow my lead."

.....

.....

.....

"Ow!"

"Sorry."

"It's alright, let's keep going."

.....

.....

"There you are, Harry, just keep following my lead. Yes alright you can look at our feet for now, but eventually you'll have to keep eyecontact."

.....

.....

“Can you look at me now, Harry?”

…..

*breathily* “There…good.”

…..

“Ow!”

“Sorry, Draco.”

Draco tried not to grimace as he climbed into a pathetic excuse for a bed. The comforter was more of a sheet than anything else, and the linens were like sandpaper against his delicate skin. He lay his head against the scratchy pillow and stared at a blank, foreign ceiling for the 60th night.

60 days, they'd been on the road: him, Harry and Teddy. If you'd told him a year ago that this was how he'd be spending the first 60 days after Voldemort's victory in the war, he'd have called you loonier than Trewlany.

It was a miracle that Harry'd escaped with his life, truth be told. But in the end, Voldemort had killed enough of the Order that the Light defenses dwindled. Draco'd defected early on, realizing quickly that his father was involved in a cult-like organization that no amount of prestige was worth the price of joining. Draco hadn't returned home after Sixth Year, instead being transported by a determined Harry, a wary Granger and a nearly green Weasley to Grimmauld Place.

His stomach twisted when he thought of Harry's friends; they'd gone missing days before they had, not leaving a note or a trace of any kind. It was safer, that way, for Granger especially. But that didn't keep the tears from rising in Harry's eyes when he thought of his friends--which was anytime they weren't worried about the infant in their care.

Teddy. Sweet, innocent Teddy whose parents and grandmother had been killed fighting to give him a better world. Harry was already a wonderful godfather, and Draco had done his part as Teddy's cousin and now caregiver, but there was only so much that two young men knew about raising a child.

Teddy had a family, though; Draco and Harry were going to make sure of that. Even if their now year-long relationship failed at any point, Merlin forbid, there was a solid unspoken agreement that they'd both care for Teddy, no matter what.

Draco felt the bed dip next to him, Harry's weight next to him solid and reassuring--even if neither of them knew what they were doing.

"He's down for the night," Harry said, running a hand through his hair.

Draco nodded. "I'll get him if he cries, so you can sleep. We have a long day of driving tomorrow, don't we?"

Harry pressed his lips together, nodding. "We do, if we're going to make it to the flat in Chicago."

"How many galleons have you converted to Muggle American money?"

"Almost all of both of our vaults, now that we've both signed the papers," Harry said. "We should be fine; thank Merlin for the goblins' discretion."

Draco sighed. "Where're we going tomorrow?"

Harry took the map he'd placed on the bedside table earlier. "Right now we're here, in Lancaster, Pennsylvania," Harry pointed at the map. "If we wake up at 7 tomorrow morning, we should make it to Chicago by about 7 or 8, with a few breaks along the way."

"Are you sure you're alright to drive that long?"

Harry shrugged. "We don't have a choice, do we? You don't have a license--and why would you? Besides, you're great at looking after Teddy in the car. This set-up works, and it's for one more day."

Draco closed his eyes, blindly reaching for Harry's hand. One more day of feeling displaced, being lost in a new country. One more day until they were at their new home, with their new family, starting their new life.

Draco turned to look at Harry and squeezed his hand. Harry squeezed back, twisted around to turn off the lamp, and returned to pull Draco into his arms.

"We'll be alright, Draco, I promise," Harry whispered into Draco's hair, kissing the top of his head.

Draco reached up to kiss Harry properly on the lips. "I know, Harry," he said when they pulled apart. "I have you, and I have Teddy. I'd follow you both to the ends of the earth."

Harry's eyes were shining. Draco hardly heard him when he whispered, "To the ends of the earth."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I'm sorry, have we met?" He held out a hand. "Hi, I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, and I've never cooked a day in my life."

Harry chuckled. "Come on, Draco, cooking isn't that hard. It's just like potions, which I remember you excelling at."

Draco lifted his nose in the air. "That's because I excelled at everything."

"Yes, yes, O' Smart One.  So surely if you can manage potions you can figure out how to cook! It's basic chemistry!"

"What's chemistry?"

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not nearly patient or knowledgable enough to explain the concept of chemistry to you, Draco, that's like asking what magic is."

Draco huffed. "Well, what do you want from me? How am I to learn without a competent teacher?"

Harry glared a little. "I can teach you to cook, I just can't explain why everything works the way it does. Here, let's make something simple, like pasta."

Twenty minutes later, after quite a bit of explanation and teaching, they had a pot of boiling water on the stove. Draco was leaning over, looking at it curiously.

"It's like a small cauldron," Draco mused.

Harry grinned. "Exactly! Alright, now that the water is boiling, we add the pasta." Harry reached for the open box of spaghetti, removed the lid from the pot, and poured the dry noodles into the water.

"Okay," Harry said, his back now to Draco as he looked in the refrigerator. "Now we let it cook for about ten minutes. In the meantime, we have to consider the sauce. We can do marinara, pesto, or just put parmesan on it, really. I like it best with just garlic and parmesan, but you—"

"HARRY!"

Harry whirled around, heart racing. "What—oh, Draco," Harry couldn't help the giggle that escaped him.

Harry walked over to the pot and removed the lid, which Draco must have put back on over the pasta, causing it to boil over. When the water calmed down, Draco looked at Harry with wide, curious and slightly shaken eyes. "What—what did I do?"

Harry's heart melted. "It's completely fine, love. You just put the lid back on the water when the pasta was in the pot, which made the pressure build and the water spill over the side. It's alright! All fixed. We'll have delicious pasta."

Draco nodded, seemingly mollified. Harry distracted Draco with choosing the sauce and the appropriate wine, courtesy of the Grimmauld Place wine cellar. When Draco came back into the kitchen, Harry had already drained and served the pasta onto two plates, one with a marinara sauce for Draco and the other with parmesan and garlic for Harry.

They sat at the table and Draco took a large bite before grinning in satisfaction.

"This is amazing! I made this?"

Something swelled in Harry's chest. "Yes you did, love. You made that."

A small, rare smile crossed Draco's face, and Harry's breath caught at the sight.

"Harry."

"Yes?"

Draco bit his lip, twirling his fork into his pasta. "Will you tell me more about Muggle cooking?"

Harry grinned. "I'd love to."

Dear Potter,

Did you know I knew?

I knew it was you.

I write this after your escape from my house. I wish I'd gone with you.

Do you still have my wand?

If I join you can I have it back?

Can I still join you? This is hell.

Hell with you is better than heaven without you.

Merlin even with a stinging hex on your face I still wanted you.

I'm so sorry, I never wanted it to get this far.

I hope you win. You'd better win, or the world will end.

My world ended the moment the Mark was seared into my arm. Yours might as well go on. It's meant to. I know that now.

I can't go on without you. Please don't die. I need you, the world needs you.

Potter, I lo--

The door to Draco's room swung open. He jumped from his position at his desk, his heart dropping to his stomach when he saw Bellatrix's looming figure, her face twisted in her signature cross between a devilish grin and a sneer. He cast a quick Vanishing spell and his letter, his salvation, his one chance, disappeared into thin air.

"We know what you did, Draco."

Draco closed his eyes, braced himself.

Bellatrix stepped forward, closing the door with a flick of her wrist. She was always the most powerful of the Black sisters--the whole family, really. Madness makes the sane underestimate you.

"You're a cheater, Draco. You cheated me out of my reward, cheated the Dark Lord out of his prize, and cheated the world of ending this rubbish war sooner. You are a dirty little cheater, aren't you?" Her voice was quiet and precise, like torturous water droplets that made Draco feel like he was drowning.

"What, nothing? No defense, no denial? At least you're not lying to us--again." Bellatrix was snarling now.

"I suppose there really is only one way to get through to cheaters like you. Crucio!"

Pain, blinding and sharp and burning raced through his body, his bones, his nerves. He started a new letter in his head, wishing beyond all rationality that Potter could read it.

Potter, I knew it was you. I love you.

Dear Potter,

Did you know I knew?

I knew it was you.

I write this after your escape from my house. I wish I'd gone with you.

Do you still have my wand?

If I join you can I have it back?

Can I still join you? This is hell.

Hell with you is better than heaven without you.

Merlin even with a stinging hex on your face I still wanted you.

I'm so sorry, I never wanted it to get this far.

I hope you win. You'd better win, or the world will end.

My world ended the moment the Mark was seared into my arm. Yours might as well go on. It's meant to. I know that now.

I can't go on without you. Please don't die. I need you, the world needs you.

Potter, I lo--

Harry stared at the letter, brow furrowed. It had been at the Shell Cottage mailbox--a wedding gift from Arthur to Bill and Fleur. Arthur'd been delighted to learn about the Muggle mail system. He'd even subscribed to Muggle catalogs to find more "treasures" and to see how it worked. And, naturally, when his son and daughter-in-law moved into their own cottage, he was ecstatic at the chance to have a pen pal using the Muggle system.

Harry'd been sent outside to collect that day's mail haul when he saw one with his own name on it. After casting the protective spells, he'd opened it to see an unfinished and then scratched-out letter.

Of course, from the first sentence, he'd known it was from Malfoy.

Malfoy, who'd just lied to his own family to save Harry and his friends

Malfoy, who now wanted to join him.

Malfoy, who didn't want him to die.

Malfoy, who wants Harry to win.

Draco, who might--just might--love Harry.

Harry ran inside, letter in hand, to find Ron and Hermione. There'd need to be one more step in their plan.

The old grandfather clock in the living room of Grimmauld Place struck 2am. Harry paused as he was bringing the glass of firewhiskey to his lips to acknowledge the time, allowing a voice in his head that sounded far too much like Hermione to say its piece.

"Nothing good ever happens after 2am"

Harry told the voice to shove it. Nothing good happened at any other time in the last few days. He'd drink if he wanted to.

"Fucking Draco." He mumbled into his glass before letting the amber liquid burn the back of his throat, just to feel something there other than the telltale lump that always preceded tears.

He was exhausted from crying. That's all he seemed to be able to do, these past few days. He was lucky to have some time off from work, summer hols at Hogwarts and all that, because having the Defense professor greet his class with red-rimmed eyes and smelling like firewhiskey wouldn't be a very good example to set for the next generation of wizards.

He sincerely hoped the next generation of wizards wouldn't fall in love with someone who was engaged to be married.

It was his own damn fault, too. Draco'd made it explicitly clear at the beginning of their little...liaison that it could never go further, never be more. It was simply a way for Draco to blow off steam and stay within Pureblood social customs. While he and Astoria were betrothed, it was accepted for their pre-marital affairs to be an open secret until the rings were exchanged and vows said.

It was the night before Draco was to be wed, and just a week ago had been their agreed-upon final meeting.

Harry'd held himself together the entire time, plastering a small smile on his as Draco stepped into the Floo for the last time. As Draco had disappeared from Harry's life like the smoke surrounding him from the green flames, Harry'd wondered if he'd seen pleading in those gray eyes. As if he'd been willing Harry to say something to make him stay.

But Harry couldn't. Despite every Gryffindor urge in his body, every impulse that screamed at him to show up on Draco's doorstep in the pouring rain with flowers and 'I love you' on his lips, he knew it wasn't his place. Draco could resent him for the rest of his life if Harry pushed him to end things with Astoria just to end up brokenhearted with him.

So. Firewhiskey it was.

A knock on the door registered in Harry's tipsy mind. When he rose from his seat on the couch, he found himself much less inebriated than he'd thought. That would have to change once he sent the visitor away from his doorstep.

Harry opened the door.

"I love you."

Draco was soaked from the rain, the flowers in his hand unharmed, likely because of an impervious charm. His blonde hair was stuck to his forehead, and it looked darker from the water. His clothes were dripping, too, his white button-down shirt nearly see-through and his dress pants clinging to his legs.

Harry had a million questions. Why was Draco here? Was he alright? Why didn't he use an umbrella charm? What happened with Astoria? Was he drunk?

Instead, Harry went with, "What?"

"I love you," Draco said panting. "I can't get married to someone if I don't love them, I refuse. I refuse to make my parents' mistakes. And as I sat there in the Manor, talking quietly with Astoria about the plans for tomorrow, I just realized that if I went through with it I'd be doing this for the rest of my life.

I missed you. I missed your passion, how you bring out the fire in me like no one else can. Astoria, lovely and sensible though she is, could never do that for me.

Harry, you made a rebel out of me. I never thought I'd be making love proclamations and ending wedding contracts and willingly standing in the middle of the rain but nothing with you has ever made sense but it's always felt right. You're mine. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and I refuse to do anything but love you, forever."

Harry was speechless for a moment, unable to do anything other than look at Draco, before he saw Draco brace himself and start to give Harry a resigned look.

Harry grabbed him by his sopping shirt and pulled him in for a kiss that warmed them both to their cores.

"I love you too. I love you, I love you. You're mine and I love you."

Draco grinned, bringing his lips down to Harry's for another kiss. The grandfather clock ticked away, counting the seconds until forever.

Draco was greeted by two furry faces and wet noses when he crossed the threshold into Grimmauld Place. One of the dogs jumped up, but Draco was able to gently correct the pet before his clothes became more dog hair than fabric.

"Hello to you, too, Orion. And you, Diana. Any idea where Harry is? No? I'm talking to two dogs who can't respond to me? And I've lost the plot? Okay, good, good," he said with a wry grin as he gave loving scratches and pets to the greedy dogs.

"Hi, love! Welcome home!" Harry grinned at Draco, revealing his adorable dimples. Harry's smile always did him in, making his knees a little weak. Even after all this time, seeing Harry's joy and love directed at him still took his breath away after years of scowls and sneers and cruel smirks. Draco collected those smiles in a little corner of his mind, bringing them to consciousness when he needed to remember that he was loved.

Still, even Harry's brilliant smile wasn't enough to distract from the obvious slight anticipation in Harry's deep green eyes.

Or from the wriggling bundle currently lodged underneath Harry's shirt.

"Harry, what's going on?"

Harry pursed his lips. "Nothing?" The questioning lilt of his voice betrayed the attempt at nonchalance.

"Care to tell me what you've got hidden under your shirt?"

"Nothing?"

Meow

"Harry"

The smile Draco loved so much melted into a frown, and he hated the sight. "Alright," Harry said with a resigned sigh. He carefully removed the bundle from underneath his shirt, revealing an adorable black and white cat with a blue collar.

Draco's heart melted as he watched Harry cooing at the kitten, which licked the tanned wrist of the hand that gave it comforting strokes across its head.

Draco sighed. "Where did you find this one?"

Harry's eyes were bright, slightly wild and protective. "I found her in Diagon. She was so lonely; her fur was all matted and dirty, I couldn't just leave her! She didn't have any tags or a collar."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Then I'm to assume this is your doing?" he ran a finger over the collar at the cat's neck. Harry blushed.

"I took her to the animal healer, and they said she was fine. She’s a British shorthair by the way. But they also said if someone didn’t take her she’d go to the pound and she’s so small and vulnerable and she nee-“

Draco pressed into Harry, kissing him gently to stop his ranting. “It’s alright love. We’ll keep her. I’m sure we can figure out how to train her, seeing as neither of us has ever owned a cat.”

Harry nodded. “Hermione will help. She probably has books left over from caring for Crookshanks as a kitten.”

Draco pressed his lips together and gave a resigned sigh. “I assume you already have a name picked out?”

Harry flushed slightly. “I, er…”

“Come on, out with it.”

Harry looked a little sheepish. “Sierra.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Really? We’re not staying with the mythology theme?”

“Do you have another one in mind?”

Draco hummed. “What about Athena?”

Harry’s easy, blinding grin was worth it. “Welcome home, Athena.”

"Potter, wait up!"

Harry turned around to see Malfoy approaching him in the otherwise empty corridor. He nearly sighed. He was so relieved to finally have some space to himself without having to hide under his invisibility cloak. And here Malfoy was, albeit unknowingly, disrupting his respite from the pestering fans.

"Yes, Malfoy?" Harry tried not to let his annoyance show in his voice.

Malfoy didn't seem fazed. "I have a proposal for you."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Alright?"

"We've been getting on this year, no?"

Harry considered this for a moment, before nodding slowly. Malfoy's apologized to everyone at the beginning of the year, and he'd thus far followed through on his promise of having changed. The two of them had managed to partner in Potions without fighting, which was a refreshing change of pace for them; of course, not trading punches and cutting insults meant that they cleared a bar that was set at the core of the earth. Still, it was an improvement, and there were even times that Harry found himself being amicable with the git.

Such as right now.

"...it would only require one or two dates in public, only to get people off our backs and--"

Harry shook himself. "Wait, back up--what did you say?"

"I said I think we should date."

Harry sputtered. "W-what?"

"Well, you are bisexual, right? You came out in the Prophet over the summer after your break up with Ginevra?"

Harry frowned. "Yes?"

"Well, I'm gay. We've both been harassed by other students this year--you for being the Savior and me for...my past. It might make people at least physically stay away from us both if we pretend to be romantically attached."

"Why can't we just be friends?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "That won't work; they'll think McGonagall put us up to it to 'set an example.' This is just insane enough to be true."

"So what would this mean, exactly?"

Malfoy pursed his lips. "I think a couple of dates in Hogsmeade, sitting with each other's friends at meals, and some hand-holding should be plenty. No need to snog or anything--such a stark difference in our interactions will do the trick. Then we just gradually spend less time together and they'll assume we're broken up and by then they'll be used to not harrassing us."

"Alright," he said, trying not to stare at Malfoy's lips and consider what it might be like to kiss him.

Those lips curved into a small smile. "Okay then, Potter, since today is Friday, shall we meet at the entrance and walk together to Hogsmeade for our first date?"

Dazed, Harry nodded. "Sounds good Malfoy."

Malfoy's mouth twisted. "You should call me Draco."

"Er, what?"

"Couples don't call each other by their surnames," Mal--Draco rolled his eyes. "We've got to be believable."

"O-kay Draco."

Draco gave him a pleased smile that made Harry's insides flip. "Alright then, Harry, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sure, yeah."

Draco smirked a little. Then, suddenly, he leaned in and planted a quick kiss on Harry's cheek. He was gone from the hallway an instant later, and if Harry didn't know better he'd think Draco had Apparated.

He stood there, his mind whirling with images of pale hair, glittering grey eyes, and softly smiling lips that leaned in to press against his skin.

Harry was totally fucked.

To the untrained, unknowing ear, Parseltongue sounded like hissing.

But it wasn't.

No, Harry knew all too well that Parseltongue was like the wind created by a dagger flying past his ears, whispered threats and atrocities that kept him wide awake at night. The words spoken so softly echoed endlessly in his ears.

Voldemort had spent years whispering in Harry's ear, telling him lies, showing him visions of disturbing torture and murder to the point that whispering made Harry frantic, defensive.

So when Harry walked into the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione for the first day of eighth year, and the entire room broke out into whispers that made them sound like a snake pit, Harry froze.

Ron and Hermione had walked a few steps ahead of him and, noticing that he hadn't turned around, looked back at him in confusion and concern.

"Harry are you al-"

"POTTER!"

The shout of his last name had Harry glancing over at the Slytherin table where the sound had come from, only to see a pale-faced Draco Malfoy rushing toward him. The whispers rose in volume. Harry's jaw tightened.

"Are you alright?" Harry would have almost laughed at the look of genuine concern on Malfoy's face if he wasn't on the verge of tears.

Harry could only shake his head.

Malfoy nodded. "I understand, Potter. It does that to me, too. C'mon," he grabbed Harry by the arm and started to pull him out of the room, Harry's legs willingly following.

"Er, mate? What's going on?" They stopped at Ron's voice.

"It's okay, Ron, I promise," Harry croaked.

"But--" Ron's protests were cut off by a now embarrassed and frustrated Hermione, who pulled Ron over to the Gryffindor table as Malfoy pulled Harry outside.

They stopped in the blessedly quiet corridor, looking at one another in silence.

"So, the whispers...it sounds like Parseltongue to you, doesn't it?"

Harry blinked. "Er, yeah, how'd you know?"

Malfoy shrugged, "It does to me, too, and when everyone started whispering when you walked in, that must've been...intense."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, it was, thanks."

"Potter, I--" Malfoy stopped for a moment. "I'm sorry. For everything. I know that doesn't make up for--what I did, but I hope maybe I can show you that I've changed over the summer."

Malfoy stuck out his hand automatically and then immediately seemed to regret it, his eyes widening. Still, he kept his hand out, committing to the gesture.

Harry looked at him for a moment before a lovely, friendly voice seemed to whisper in his ear, "Go for it. Shake his hand. You won't regret it."

Malfoy's eyes lit up when Harry took his hand. Harry might not like whispers, but maybe he could trust them when they came from his heart.

Dear Diary

Dear Journal

Dear--

Oh, sod it. Hi, Harry.

I'm sure you're wondering why I'm writing in this journal once again since we discovered at the beginning at the year that they were linked. I'm still not sure what magic caused them to be connected in such a way, but part of me suspects in retrospect that it was my dear Pansy realizing what I'd written and trying to get me to confess my feelings prank me.

Either way, despite my embarrassment, I find I wouldn't change a thing. Even though you drive me mad half the time, you bring out a side of me that used to be rude and angry and bitter. Now, I see that I was angry that you made me want to be a better person. I lashed out all those years because I couldn't handle the fact that you made me want to change, after being told all my life that my blood made me perfect.

And I'm far from it--perfect--but you still inspire me to be better every day. I know I'm not the most...forthcoming with my more vulnerable emotions; you've always worn your heart on your sleeve while I tried convincing myself and the world that I didn't have one.

But here, in the comfort of my dorm and with the distance of this journal, I feel ready and able to say the things I want to one day vocalize. But for now, let my written words be enough.

Harry, I love you; I've been in love with you since the day we met, but I think I realized it around fourth year.

Of course, I don't know how you feel with regards to me, other than the confession of some romantic emotions when we first accidentally used this linked journal. But this is me trying to learn from you how to be more gracious, bolder. One step at a time, right?

Harry, I do hope you respond when you read this, but--

Hold on someone's knocking on my--

Oh Merlin it's you.

Maybe I should keep you waiting if you're going to be so rude...

Alright! Salazar, I'm coming! See you in a second, Harry.

Draco enjoyed his life.

It was quiet, simple. He went to work as a potions master and came home to his flat, where he made dinner and read a book while he ate. Then he was in bed by 10 p.m. and asleep by 11.

It was routine, easy. Just the way he liked it.

When he thought about it, Draco couldn't believe he'd been willing to disrupt all of that after three silly dates with Harry sodding Potter. To think he'd ever considered himself important enough to the Savior to merit more than three dinner engagements and one rather fantastic shag.

Potter had left his flat early in the morning with an emergency work call. "Shit, I've got to go. I'll Owl you!" was all he said before he left in a hurry, just barely getting both his shoes on his feet.

Draco liked his men with both shoes on right, thanks ever so.

A knock at the door disrupted Draco's thoughts just as he was picking up his book. He frowned, a little miffed. He'd just been getting to the good part, where the two boys were about to drive off into the sunset together. He couldn't be arsed to take off his reading glasses when he answered the door.

"Draco! Good you're home I--when did you get glasses?" Potter had the audacity to look confused.

Draco sputtered. "I-they're reading glasses, Potter. What are you doing here?"

"I came here as soon as I could! I left your flat in a rush a couple weeks ago because of an emergency call and it turned out to be a really time-sensitive mission. I was only allowed to go back home and pack a bag before I had to take a Portkey to--it doesn't matter. Basically, we were only supposed to be there a few days but it turned into two weeks and we weren't allowed any Owls or a Floo and I felt terrible but we just got back and I feel terrible and so I came here and--"

"Potter, Potter, slow down," Draco said, holding up a hand. "Would you like some tea? And perhaps a shower?" Draco wrinkled his nose.

Potter chuckled sheepishly. "Yes, tea would be great. Sorry, I really did come straight here."

"I can tell," Draco muttered as Potter swept past him.

When they finally sat down, tea in hand, Draco spoke.

"First of all, are you alright? From your mission--I wouldn't put it past you to forego St. Mungo's in your haste to get here."

Potter blushed a little, ducking his head. "I'm alright. Just a little cut on my side, but I healed it."

Draco scoffed. "We both know you're pants at healing spells. Come on, show me."

"No, really I'm fine. It doesn't hurt."

"Potter, I am a potions master. That requires extensive medical training and knowledge. If you won't go to the hospital, at least let me look at it."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Fine."

Draco made a Mistake. A Very Big, No Good Very Bad Mistake because Potter was unbuttoning his shirt and Draco forgot about Potter's toned abdomen and he thought he himself might require medical attention if he wasn't allowed to lick them and--

"Er, Draco?"

Draco shook himself. "Right, sorry." He hissed when he caught sight of the gash along Potter's side, poorly healed as predicted. Draco cast the appropriate charms and Summoned a potion from his stores. After Potter chugged it without question, his immediate trust doing funny things to Draco's insides, the gash was healed.

"Thank you, Draco."

"You're welcome, Potter."

Potter frowned. "Why are you still calling me that?"

Draco blinked. "What?"

"Potter. I told you to call me Harry, remember? On our second date."

Draco flushed. "I, er, you didn't Owl me, and the letters I sent just got returned so I thought..."

Potter groaned. "Merlin, I'm so sorry. I thought about you the whole time. How much I wanted to see you, or at least send you a letter."

Draco bit his lip. "I thought about you, too, Harry." Pot-Harry grinned.

"Well, in that case, how 'bout we take that shower now?"

Harry cast several detective charms on the enormous box. The words “Handle with Care” were stamped on it in large red letters. There wasn’t a return address, making the package all the more suspicious.

When he found no reason for alarm, he frowned and kept his wand at the ready as he opened it.

When he lifted the flaps, he stepped back in shock.

“Took you long enough, Potter!” Malfoy stepped out of the box, sputtering through the wrapping. Harry’s eyes widened.

“Malfoy? How long have you been in there? Who did this to you?”

“I’m not sure. One moment I was having dinner with Pansy and the next I was stunned and put in this box next to your door.”

Panic rose in Harry’s chest. “Merlin, okay, do you want to sit down? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Potter. Just a little stiff. My captor was kind enough to poke holes in the back of the box.”

Harry let out a shaky breath. “Okay, do you want to use my Floo to call Pansy?”

Malfoy paused for a moment, before realization, and then anger dawned over his face. "That won't be necessary, Potter, I'll just be on my way--"

"No, no Malfoy wait it's not safe. Clearly someone has it out for you and I can help you figure it out--"

Malfoy scowled. "Of course you can, Auror Potter to the rescue. Fortunately, I shan't be needing your heroic services today. I think I know who's to blame."

"Who?"

Malfoy grit his teeth. "I think this is Pansy's idea of a prank. As my memory returns to me, I remember her getting that gleam in her eye after I brought you up in conversation and she said 'You just need a push, Draco, tell him how you fee--" Malfoy's eyes widened.

"M-Malfoy?"

Malfoy shook his head rapidly. "Nothing. Forget I said that. I must still be lightheaded from the box--"

"Malfoy--Draco, what feelings?"

"I sort of have feelings for you," Draco mumbled under his breath, barely loud enough for Harry to hear.

"Really?"

There was that scowl again. "Don't be a git about it."

"No no! I just--I like you too."

"You do?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I mean we work well together when they pair Aurors with Unspeakables, and I--I like you."

A small smile took over Draco's face. "Oh, that's alright then."

"Good," Harry said with a grin.

A little nervousness crossed Draco's face. "Well, Harry I am sorry to bother you, perhaps I could Owl you, or--"

Harry chuckled and took Draco's hands in his own. "Don't worry, Draco, I might not have expected this delivery, but I won't return it to sender."

"Watch where you're going, Scarhead." Malfoy sneered at Harry, bumping their shoulders together as they passed by.

Harry clenched his jaw, ignoring the worried expression on Hermione's face and the stormy one on Ron's, turning to Malfoy with a dark glare. "You bumped into me, and you know it."

"As if," Malfoy scoffed. "I'm graceful and dignified. You, however, have the gait and balance of a drunk erumpent."

Harry smirked. "If you're so graceful, why am I the better flyer?"

"If you think that's true, you're more delusional than I thought. Ever think about getting those pretty eyes some better glasses?"

"I will when you get that gorgeous head of yours looked at. You must've hit it pretty hard to think you're better."

Malfoy took a step closer. "I know I'm better, Potter. A player like you should know how to recognize talent."

Harry matched him, glaring. "I recognize it, Malfoy. I see it all the time staring at you from across the field. But clearly not enough to catch the Snitch when I'm too distracted by you!"

"Er, what's happening?" Ron whispered to Hermione, who grabbed his arm to silence him.

Malfoy was right in front of Harry's face now. There were flecks of blue in the grey eyes. "Talk about distracting! I can't walk down the same corridor as you without walking into you with how much I'm staring!"

"I'll show you staring," Harry said, his eyes on Malfoy's lips. Quickly, he grabbed the front of Malfoy's robes and smashed their mouths together. Malfoy adapted quickly, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck to deepen the kiss.

"Well, at least they're done with insults now," Ron said resignedly.

Hermione chuckled. "No, Ron, I think they're just getting started."

A bright light came into view, making Harry squint as he opened his eyes.

His body felt heavy and sluggish, which wasn't helped by the stiff, unfamiliar mattress beneath him.

Someone stood over him, muttering something that sounded like his name. but his brain was slow to process the image and accompanying sound of the person's voice.

"Harry, it's me. Can you understand me? NURSE! Harry, look at me, it's--"

"Draco?" Harry's voice was scratchy, his throat parched.

Harry blinked rapidly to make sure that the sight of tears welling in Draco's eyes was, in fact, real and not another strange dream.

A new person--someone Harry was confident he didn't know--suddenly appeared at his bedside, looking over him with a stoic expression and checking some beeping machine beside him. They came and went quickly, shutting the door behind them. Harry turned his attention to Draco, who he now realized was clutching his hand; Harry was grateful for the sensation, grounding and real.

"Water," he rasped, and Draco immediately reached onto a nearby table and placed a glass of water into Harry's free, shaking hand. It was probably from a sink in the hospital bathroom, but it was still one of the best cups of water he'd ever had, a cool relief sliding easily down his throat.

"What happened?" He said once he felt able to speak.

Draco bit his lip. "We were in an accident. You were driving us--we're using a Mug--a car because the suspect is--"

"Right, I remember that part. How did the crash happen? Are you okay?"

"It was dark and you couldn't see very well. You hit the breaks too soon; we ended up driving into a tree in a nearby forest. I'm fine, other than a little whiplash, but you just came out of surgery."

"What'd they do?"

"You've got 20 stitches, along your stomach." Draco closes his eyes, his own voice quieter than the steady beeping of the machine next to Harry.

"So I'm in a Muggle hospital?"

"Shh," Draco looked around them before nodding. "Yes, careful of the statute."

"Right. So where's the doctor?"

"She'll be in soon. I thought you might be a little less overwhelmed with just me here."

Something opened up in Harry's chest, warm and pleased. "I am. Glad you're here, I mean. Just us."

A smile tugged at the corner of Draco's lips. "Me too."

Harry didn't understand how someone could still look so gorgeous under hospital lights, but Draco managed it somehow. He had bags under his eyes and his lip trembled every so often, but Draco still managed to be more beautiful than anyone else Harry'd ever seen.

"C'mere, I wan' tell you something." The words were out of Harry's mouth before he knew it, but he didn't regret them.

Draco's eyebrows knit. "What--are you alright?"

"Yeah just--c'mere."

Draco bent down slowly, hesitatingly, just enough for Harry to finally close the distance and capture his lips.

Harry moved his lips against Draco's still, shocked ones; he started to pull away, an apology at the ready, when Draco finally responded, moving against Harry's mouth with passion.

Draco pulled away in shock, and Harry's stomach dropped.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I--"

"Don't be, Draco, it's--"       

"You've just had surgery, you've got to take it easy. No more snogging until you're recovered."

Relief wrapped around Harry's heart like a warm blanket. "We'll see about that," his mouth stretched into a grin, cracking his slightly chapped lips. Draco's look of fond exasperation was worth it.

Outside, the sun rose over the horizon, its rays illuminating a lush green forest and bringing the dawn of a new day.

It wasn't a smile; it was a grin.

After the war, everyone had been surprised to see Harry smiling--all the time. Most people chalked it up to relief at having finally killed Voldemort, but some others took his apparent joy for apathy toward those who'd lost their lives in the war.

Still, Harry grinned through it all: the pictures, the interviews, the galas, the fundraisers, the random interactions with weeping fans. He grinned even as his cheeks ached, his friends' expressions shifted to worry, and he could only move his mouth to speak and eat.

The potion had seemed like a good idea. It had been advertised as a surefire way to force your brain to be happy.

"Turn That Frown Upside-Down!" the cheery slogan was written in optimistic, curvy letters. "After the war, you'll grin like never before, with the Smiling Serum!"

And when the potion had slid down Harry's throat for the first time, and his mouth had stretched wide, he thought it might just clear the fog in his mind and give him the kind of happiness that'd always eluded him.

His friends grew more and more concerned, Hermione's face becoming increasingly pinched with worry. Harry knew that thread would snap eventually, but he'd just flash her a smile to show her all was well.

He really shouldn't have been surprised to see Hermione's owl pecking at his window one day--and he definitely shouldn't have been puzzled by her message

Harry, I know what you're going to say, but I've sent someone to help you. If this doesn't work to snap you out of the potion's hold, I don't know what will.

There was a knock at the door.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed for a moment--before he realized how ridiculous that would look combined with a wide smile--and he moved to greet his visitor.

"Oh, Merlin, she wasn't joking," Malfoy sneered.

Harry's smile faltered, but it jumped into place. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Malfoy barged in, smirking in a way that sent a familiar jolt down Harry's spine. "Just here to see how the Savior's holding up. Honestly, Potter, this is a bit sacrilegious, isn't it? Living in the house that should belong to a proper Pureblood?"

Harry's eyebrow twitched. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"I suppose I get why you'd want to live somewhere other than Potter Cottage. The scene of the crime, isn't it?"

He clenched his jaw. "Malfoy!"

"It's where your blood traitor father and mudblood mother took their last breaths to save you. Gods, they must've regretted it when they saw how you turned out. They should've handed you over to the Dark Lord when they had the chance."

Harry snarled, his mouth twisting into a fierce scowl. He pointed his wand at Malfoy's neck, and the other man's eyes widened, his mouth twitching into a relieved smile.

"Finally, I was starting to think Granger was wrong."

"What?"

"She said you've been under the influence of a potion--that's why you've been forced into smiling. So she asked me to, er, snap you out of it."

Harry blinked. He felt his mind shift, the artificial haze fading to leave a dull ache; still, he felt the relief of clarity and reality settle in his chest.

He swallowed. "Thank you."

Malfoy nodded. "No problem, Potter. I'm sorry about...what I said."

"It's alright, you were trying to help."

"Still...I hated it. I don't believe those things anymore, Potter, you have to know that."

"I do."

Malfoy nodded. "Good. Right then. Oh, Granger wanted me to give you this," Malfoy reached into his pocket and handed Harry a note.

"It's the Floo address of a Mind Healer. They'll be able to help you find...well, some other way to help your mental health."

"Thanks, Malfoy."

"Sure," Malfoy cleared his throat and stuck his hands in his pockets. "I'll, er, be going then."

Malfoy turned, and Harry acted on impulse and reached and gently grasped his wrist. Malfoy looked at him in surprise.

"D'you, uh, want some tea?"

Malfoy regarded him with narrowed, scrutinizing eyes, and Harry tried not to shift under the gaze.

"Okay," Malfoy said with a slow nod.

Harry smiled softly.

'Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes.'

'You do look extraordinarily like James. Except for your eyes - you have your mother's eyes.'

'Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus. He looks exactly like James.' 'Except the eyes,' said a wheezy-voiced, silver-haired wizard at the back. 'Lily's eyes.'

'Except for your eyes. You've got –' 'My mother's eyes, yeah.'

Harry clenched his jaw, head spinning. He closed his eyes and opened them.

His face looked back at him in the mirror; he saw the same familiar collection of features. His father's hair and face, and his mother's eyes; none of it his own.

The scar on his forehead was Voldemort.

The bump on his nose was from Draco.

The bruise on his cheek from last week's raid was slowly healing, despite the Healers' best efforts.

His face was plastered on the cover of the newspaper, grinning from the cards of chocolate frogs, painted solemn and heroic in a painting in the Ministry.

It was his face, but it didn't belong to him.

He stared at the mirror, the face reflecting back at him now twisted in a scowl. He wondered how the public would feel about how he was defiling their precious, living war monument.

"Feeling a bit vain, are we?"

Harry startled, turning to look at Draco, who was raising an eyebrow.

"The opposite, actually."

Draco rolled his eyes and walked toward Harry. "You don't need me to remind you of how handsome you are, do you? Trust me, I wouldn't date someone ugly."

Harry let himself laugh a little. "It's not that either. It's just--none of this," he waved a hand lazily at the mirror, "is mine. Everything in the mirror is from someone else. And that's all people care about. They see my face and think about what belongs to them or to someone else and they don't think about the fact that it's mine. It belongs to me, not them."

Draco shook his head. "Do you know what I see, when I look at you."

Harry shook his head.

"I see love. I see kindness, and strength. I see humor and bravery. Yes, I see your adorably messy hair and gorgeous eyes. But when you wake up and it's static-y and sticking up everywhere, that's yours. The fire in your eyes when you duel, or the twinkle in them when you're laughing, or the way they light up when you're excited. That's yours, Harry. That's what I and everyone else who loves you sees. And that's all that matters."

Harry glanced in the mirror once more, this time seeing Draco standing next to him. He pulled Draco close to him and pressed a kiss to his forehead before Draco nuzzled wordlessly into his neck, eyes closed.

Harry looked in the mirror and smiled softly. This would always belong to them.

It was now or never.

Harry smiled and reached into his pocket only to find it terrifyingly empty.

He hoped his face didn't look as green as he felt, but if Draco's concerned expression was any indication, he was unsuccessful.

"What's wrong, love?" Draco's eyebrows furrowed.

Harry plastered a wide smile on his face; he didn't miss Draco's eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. "N-nothing! Just--" he glanced quickly out the window of the restaurant on the boat, looking at the spot where the horizon met the sea. It looked to be just a few minutes until sunset. They'd just ordered their food; it would probably give him just enough time.

Harry patted his hand reassuringly. "I'll be right back. I've got to use the restroom."

Harry rose from his chair and dashed out of the room. He barely heard Draco calling, "The bathroom's the other way, Harry!"

He made it to the elevator in just enough time before it closed, smiling apologetically at the crowd of people packed inside. He tapped his leg nervously as he watched the floor numbers get higher and higher until finally the car reached the 15th floor.

He fumbled with the room key, cursing under his breath when it slipped from his nervous fingers. It finally opened and he stumbled in, almost falling on the rug.

He scrambled around the room, opening every drawer, checking every carry-on, and scanning the area for the tiny velvet box. It wasn't in his trousers from yesterday, it wasn't in the sock drawer, it wasn't in the bathroom, it wasn't--

His suitcase. Why didn't you check the most obvious place first, Potter?

He rolled his eyes at the inner Draco in his mind and practically dove toward his suitcase. He ripped open the main zipper searching every crevice, every pocket he could see.

"Packing already?"

Harry jumped, his head jerking up to see Draco looking at him blankly, which made Harry's stomach twist with guilt. Draco made his face unreadable when he was internally panicked.

Harry smiled softly. "No, I'm--just looking for something."

"Can I help you find it?"

"NO!" Hurt flashed across Draco's face for a moment before he schooled his features once more. Harry closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry for shouting, Draco, I just--" He looked out the window, his heart sinking when he saw the darkened sky outside.

"Damn it, it's too late," Harry mumbled.

"What? What is going on, Harry?" Draco's voice was brimming with exasperation and anxiety.

Harry felt pained, a lump rising in his throat. "I was...Just, give me a second." He felt around in the suitcase once more, checking the only pocket he hadn't opened. He was filled with relief once his hand clasped the box. He pocketed it quickly.

Draco'd closed the door behind him when he came in, and he was still standing. Harry was already kneeling on the floor in front of the suitcase.

He shuffled toward Draco, still on his knees, as Draco's expression shifted from neutral to one of total confusion.

Harry took a deep breath and pulled the box out of his pocket, watching as Draco's eyes widened, his lips parting slightly in shock.

Harry gave him a small, sheepish smile. "I was waiting for the perfect opportunity. I wanted to do this at sunset, at the restaurant, looking out over the ocean on the last night of our cruise. I thought I put the box in my pocket but I left it in my suitcase and--well, you know the rest."

Harry held Draco's gaze. "I know I missed the opportunity to make it perfect. To make it romantic. But we've had tons of wasted opportunities, right? And they all turned out okay. The times we could've been nicer to each other in school, the months we spent dancing around each other and dropping hints before we finally got our shit together. Draco, this is just one more incident where I messed up the timing, but I'm not worried because we're always right on time. So, Draco Malfoy, will you marry me?"

Draco was still shocked, and Harry felt irrational, intense fear well up inside him before Draco's face broke out into a teary smile.

"Yes."

Draco's lips were perfectly parted, and Harry saw his chance. He stood abruptly from his knees and pulled Draco into a kiss.

They missed the rest of their reservation at the restaurant, deciding to take room service later on in the evening instead. It didn't matter. They'd have tons of opportunities in the future.

The thing about Draco Malfoy is that he's not a very nice person.

Harry'd known this when they'd first started dating; his scathing retorts, now no longer malicious and more of a bone-dry wit, were harmless, even funny.

But with someone like Draco, you'd think there'd be a softer side, one that only Harry got to see. You'd think that when they were alone together, in the quiet of their bedroom, he'd be sweet, romantic. He'd give Harry his private smile, the one where his mouth curls up the corners and his eyes go a little hazy and it makes Harry's heart skip a beat.

But no, not quite.

When the two of them attended posh social events--Harry being dragged there either by Draco or his official obligations--and were temporarily separated, guests would gush about their clear affection for each other.

'Oh, he's so devoted to you, Harry,' their voices saccharine, practically dripping with it. 'He just speaks so highly of you, so very smitten. You must be so happy together.'

It made Harry want to laugh; he wasn't sure if he should dismiss the theory that Draco had some clone of himself made for the sole purpose of attending these events and putting on a show of blissful, perfect domesticity while his real self scowled and sniped at Harry.

Truthfully, he wouldn't put it past him.

Finally, after yet another night of hearing about how 'clearly besotted he is with you Harry, you're so lucky,' he'd had enough.

"Do you even like me?" Harry blurted that night once they'd stepped inside their flat.

Draco scowled, a comforting, familiar sight. "What in Merlin's name are you talking about?"

"Well, I-" Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "People are always telling me how highly you speak of me, how much it's clear how you feel about me and, well, I never hear any of that from you."

Draco blinked. "Are you not happy in our relationship, or something? Am I not enough for you?"

"Merlin, no! That's not it at all, I guess I'm just...I'm confused!" Harry sighed. "I don't know...how you feel about me, I guess."

Draco looked at him flatly. "Harry, you absolute idiot, of course I like you! Why do you think I'd be here if I didn't?"

Harry just shrugged. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Honestly. Of course I tell people those things! It's a protective measure, so they take us and our relationship seriously."

"Then why don't you say it to me? Why don't I get to know how you feel?"

Draco's face went soft, all of a sudden, his scowl dropping. "I thought you did. Don't you? I tell you how I feel, all the time."

Harry thought about this. The way Draco brings home treacle tart and leaves it in the refrigerator for Harry. The way he silently, wordlessly draws a bath for him when it's clear Harry's had a long day. The way he factors in twice-monthly dinners with Ron and Hermione and Sunday dinner at the Burrow, despite his discomfort. The way he gets up before Harry every day to get the Prophet and throw away every article with his name in the headline or his picture in the columns.

"You do, I guess," Harry said quietly. "Just never...hear you say it, around me."

Draco smirked. "I'm pretty fond of you when you're not around."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Are you?"

At Draco's challenge-filled look, Harry pulled him in quickly, wrapping him in his arms.

"Well, I know one thing you're pretty fond of--and being around me is pretty much essential."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Potter." And, leaning in, he did just that.

Draco stood in front of the class, surveying the room and trying his best to affect the holier-than-thou air he'd perfected over the years. Green eyes stared sharply as if trying to penetrate the facade, but he ignored them.

After this, he wouldn't care anymore.

After this, his moment of seizing the closure that Potter's stupid bet had necessitated in the first place, he would move on.

But first, it was time to indulge every Hufflepuffish instinct in his body, purging the emotion from his heart and wringing it of pain until it was shriveled in his chest.

"Mr. Malfoy? Your poem, if you please."

Draco nodded, not looking at the professor. He took a deep breath.

"I hate the way you talk

And how you take your tea.

I hate it how you balk

When I eat jam and brie.

I hate your stupid face

And all your too-wide grins.

I hate your rapid flying pace

And the way you always win.

I hate your calloused hands

And how they fit with mine.

I hate the way you dance

And how you suck at keeping time.

I hate it when you smirk

And when you stare maliciously.

And how it always seems to work

Every time you rile me.

I hate you 'cause it hurts.

I hate you 'cause you lied.

I hate you 'cause at first

I thought for once I might just try.

I hate it when you're smart

And how to others you're divine.

I hope that someone shares your heart

Because you ruined mine.

Above all, I hate the truth

That despite our violent past

I loved you in our youth

But I finally hate you, at last."

Draco felt the tears welling in his eyes as he glanced around the room. He could feel Potter staring at him in shock, lips parted as if about to speak.

Draco refused to hear it, suffer through it anymore. This moment would scar more deeply and painfully than the ones Potter'd left across his chest. His skin wasn't enough; no, Potter had to slash through Draco's heart, as well.

Draco ran from the room, ignoring the professor's shout and Potter's stare at his back.

He wouldn't give Potter the satisfaction of watching him bleed again.

Never let it be said that Harry Potter does things halfway.

Hermione had told him he needed to get out more, to see people, to "socialize, Harry, go meet someone..."

The rest of that sentence, they both knew, was other than Ron and me, but Hermione was too kind and Harry too self-conscious to voice it.

So when Harry stood in the middle of downtown Muggle London facing the entrance of "Deliquesce," the gay club he'd heard about from a too-knowing, winking Seamus, he knew there was no turning back.

He let the light of the glowing neon sign draw him inside. He suppressed a bubble of relieved laughter that rose in his chest when the bouncer gave him a bored look and matter of factly asked for his ID.

He shuffled awkwardly away and into the club, his breath catching at the crowd of people dancing en masse in the middle of the dance floor. Harry wondered if it was accurate to call what they were doing "dancing;" it was more like dry-humping, with arses pressed against groins and hands on hips and groans drowned out by the heart-pounding music.

Harry blinked. He needed a drink.

Harry weaved through the crowd, murmuring apologies and blushing profusely when he bumped into gyrating bodies, but no one seemed to mind, lost in the haze of alcohol and catchy music.

He finally reached the bar and caught the bartender's attention long enough to order a shot of whiskey. While he waited, he turned to survey the crowd.

From this angle, Harry could see people who hadn’t been visible from the entrance and his heart stuttered in his chest when he caught a flash of white-blonde hair.

No. It couldn’t be.

He took a step forward, trying to get a closer look and wishing the blonde man would turn his head even slightly from where he was dancing with a tall, fit, brunette bloke.

Harry didn't bother to hide his curiosity, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when the bartender tapped his arm to hand him the shot.

Harry brought the glass to his lips and tipped his head back, letting the liquid burn a trail down his throat and settle in his stomach, already calming his nerves. He blinked and looked back at the dancing pair when finally the blonde man turned his head to kiss his dance partner.

The smirk, the eyes, the cheekbones. It was unmistakable.

The gray eyes locked with his, staying open and full of a challenge, a dare, even as he kissed the stranger. Harry felt his breathing go heavy, his heart thumping.

Later, Harry would wonder if it was the whiskey, the music, or Malfoy's bloody infuriating smirk that did him in, but before he knew it he was pushing through the crowd as if on a mission.

He tapped the brunette bloke on the shoulder and was greeted with an exasperated look.

Putting on his best Auror glare, Harry crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Get lost," he said, warning lacing his tone.

The other man raised his hands in surrender, his eyebrows reaching his hairline as he backed away, giving Malfoy an apologetic glance.

Malfoy merely cocked his head and looked at Harry with the same irritating little knowing smirk.

"Now, now, Potter, that wasn't very polite of you. I was rather enjoying my dance partner."

Harry sputtered. "You call that dancing? You were basically dry-humping!"

"As if you'd know the first thing about club dancing etiquette. Gryffindors are such prudes."

Harry growled. "Not a prude, Malfoy."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Prove it."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed Malfoy's hips and spun him around, bringing Malfoy’s arse against his crotch and his back against his own chest.

From across the club, Harry hadn't taken the time to admire Malfoy's outfit before storming toward him, but from up close, he was able to run his hands across the front of Malfoy's chest, surprised to note that the sheer button-down was undone all the way down near his navel. Malfoy bent over on the beat of the song and pressed up closer against him, giving Harry easy access to that firm, leather-clad arse. Harry’s eyes trailed down to admire Malfoy’s lean, long legs, accentuated by dragonhide boots. As Malfoy continued to grind his arse against Harry, he felt his cock stir in his trousers, starting to press against the zipper.

Malfoy rose back up again, throwing his head back onto Harry's shoulder. His breath was hot and panting and his smirk was almost a smile, but all Harry could focus on was Malfoy’s gray eyes enhanced by thick, black eyeliner, slightly smudged and running with sweat and exertion.

Harry wanted to see if he could make it run down Malfoy's face.

He grabbed Malfoy's hips once more and spun him around so they were face to face, chest to chest, groin to—

Harry groaned. "Merlin, you're hard, Malfoy."

Malfoy chuckled. "Well spotted Pott—" his words were cut off with a gasp when Harry squeezed his arse through the leather trousers. Harry felt a jolt run through his blood when his hand felt no layer of fabric between tight leather and hot skin.

"Are you—are you not wearing pants?" he blurted into Malfoy's ear.

Malfoy gave a little shrug. "Only one way to find out, Potter."

At that, Harry grabbed Malfoy by the arm, and the other man let himself be dragged through the crowd and into the thankfully empty bathroom.

Harry pushed Malfoy against the tile wall and locked the bathroom door with a casual flick of his fingers, watching with satisfaction as Malfoy's eyes went wide and dark.

Harry placed a firm hand on Malfoy's shoulder, making direct eye contact but saying nothing as he gave the other man a chance to back out, to step away before they went any further. Nerves filled his stomach for the first time since he’d spotted Malfoy across the club, and the sight of his hand boldly clasping Malfoy’s shoulder in a silent request brought the gravity of the moment to the forefront of his mind.

But Malfoy’s confident smirk as he sank to his knees made warmth pool in his groin, his hesitation lost to excited anticipation. Harry suppressed a groan and felt his cock twitch.

He helped Malfoy undo his zipper and push down his trousers and pants, freeing his cock to bob eagerly in the air.

Malfoy licked his lips and looked up at Harry through his lashes before wrapping his mouth around his cock.

Harry's eyes fluttered shut, focused on the wet heat of the mouth around him. Malfoy explored his cock eagerly, running his tongue over the shaft and nearly up to the base before coming back down to tease the slit, coaxing out more precome and lapping it up.

Malfoy licked and suckled his cock with abandon, and Harry opened his eyes when he felt Malfoy's hand move Harry's from his shoulder to place it in his soft, silky hair. Harry moaned and took the hint, gripping his hair and thrusting into his mouth, making Malfoy swallow him almost to the hilt.

Malfoy gagged a little as Harry’s cock hit the back of his throat, but he recovered quickly and continued his ministrations as his tongue brought sweet torture to Harry's cock.

Harry's breathing grew labored. "M gonna come," he breathed, expecting Malfoy to pull away. Instead, he merely moaned and took Harry in deeper.

The sight of Malfoy with his smudged eyeliner and his lips stretched around Harry's cock did him in. He spilled down Malfoy's throat, shuddering as he felt Malfoy swallow and gently suck at his sensitive, softening cock.

Malfoy pulled off with a pop, standing on wobbly legs as he licked a drop of Harry's come from his lips. Harry's cock gave an excited twitch at the sight of Malfoy's swollen mouth, flushed cheeks, and mussed hair.

Harry let his gaze fall to Malfoy's groin, where his cock pressed an obvious bulge in his tight trousers. Harry's mouth watered.

He pulled Malfoy against himself, letting his fingers trail over his cock; Malfoy let out a sharp gasp. Harry leaned in, his breath against Malfoy's neck, his lips hovering over the sensitive skin.

"You know, Malfoy, you never did tell me if you were wearing pants."

Malfoy laughed breathily, pulling back to look Harry in the eye. "And what will you do about that, Potter?"

Harry smirked. A flick of his hand unlocked the bathroom with a click, followed by the soft crack of Apparition, unheard by the oblivious Muggles over the thumping music.

Harry didn't care about the grass ticking his skin, or the tiny bugs flying above his head as he lay on the ground in front of the Black Lake. He didn't mind the humidity or the fact that his left leg was falling asleep. He didn't care about his cheek getting dirty or his neck straining from turning so long in the same direction.

How could he, when Draco was next to him, talking animatedly, his smile almost as bright as his eyes? How could he move an inch when Draco's hand was clasping his arm, warm and sure and real?

No, Harry would endure almost any physical discomfort if it meant Draco would keep talking until he was out of breath. Until he ran out of words.

Or until Harry couldn't take it anymore and finally kissed him.

He was proud of himself, really, for holding out so long without risking their friendship and pouncing on the other boy with Gryffindorish reckless abandon. It was his fear of losing Draco after only just moving from awkward acquaintances to genuine friends that kept his impulsivity in check. That held him back from seeing if Draco's lips were really as soft as they looked.

"Harry, are you even listening?"

The hand on his arm squeezed gently, rousing Harry from his daze. He blinked and shook his head, his eyes focusing on Draco's entire face rather than just his mouth.

"Sorry?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Never mind."

"No, wait, tell me," guilt curled in Harry's stomach. "I want to hear. I'm listening now, I promise."

Draco huffed. "Well, I was just saying that there's an incredible potions apprenticeship at this brewery in Diagon, and--"

Harry grinned. "That's great!"

"Yes, it is--and it would be even better if you let me finish my bloody sentence," Draco scowled half-heartedly.

Harry had the decency to look sheepish. "Sorry."

"Anywho, it's incredibly prestigious, and it would give me the chance to experiment far beyond the bounds of Hogwarts."

"So, when do you apply?"

Draco looked away with a sigh. "I can't."

"Why not?"

That earned him a scathing, you-complete-idiot, look. "You, of all people, cannot possibly have forgotten the most regrettable, unremovable tattoo on my arm, have you?"

Harry flushed, both from embarrassment and indignation. "The war's over! You deserve the same chance as everyone else."

"No, I don't," Draco said waspishly, eyes flashing. "I don't need your pity, Potter."

"It's not pity!" Harry's voice rose defensively, his blood boiling. "I didn't fight a war just so that everyone would go back to hating each other."

Draco huffed harshly, causing one of the locks of his hair on his face to flutter in the air before falling back onto his forehead. "Well, Harry, not everyone is quite as forgiving as you."

Harry scowled. "Seeing as I had more to forgive than almost anyone, it's pretty self-righteous of them to think they're above it all."

"It's performative, Potter. Most of them don't actually care," Draco shook his head. "It's easy to point fingers at a former Death Eater who's trying his best than it is to confront their own prejudices."

Harry blinked, then he smirked. "You've been talking to Hermione, haven't you?"

Draco flushed. "I approached her to apologize and then she wouldn't bloody stop talking at me. I just sort of...sat there and nodded occasionally."

Harry snorted. "You're a fast learner. Took me and Ron years to learn to just let her rant. We absorb what we can, but when she really gets going..." He trailed off, a soft, fond smile taking over his face. Merlin, he loved his friends.

He looked back to find Draco silent and staring at him curiously. Harry flushed under his searching gaze.

"So, are you really not going to go for the apprenticeship?" Harry asked, eager to bring his complexion back to normal.

"No," Draco said. "I have some pride left. I don't need to see my dreams denied to me explicitly in some passive-aggressive rejection letter. 'Dear Mr. Malfoy,' it'll say, 'We regret to inform you that while your credentials are extraordinary and your NEWTS have the highest marks we've ever seen, you are, unfortunately, a disgrace to all Wizarding kind. You should retreat to some distant corner of Knockturn or take refuge in the Muggle world until you either die or give in to your evil tendencies and end up in Azkaban where you belong.'"

Harry blinked. "I'd say that's less passive and more aggressive."

Draco waved a hand. "I might've embellished a little, but that would be the underlying message. So, as I said, it's a waste of time to even consider it."

"Well--is there some way I can help? Maybe--"

Draco scoffed. "I told you, Potter, I don't need your pity! Don't sully your good name on my account."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I think you know me well enough to know that's not what I mean. I want to help you like a normal friend would."

"Friends? Is that what we are?" Draco's tone was dry, but his eyes held a flicker of anxiety.

Harry bit his lip. "I don't think I could ever just be friends with you," he said quietly.

Draco's eyes flashed with hurt, his face turning otherwise blank. "Of course." He started to move to stand up.

Harry's heart stuttered. Unthinkingly, he reached out and grabbed the pale wrist. "No, Draco, you misheard me. I said I could never just be friends with you."

Draco inhaled sharply, sucking in his lip. Slowly, he knelt back onto the ground, this time closer to Harry. "Then what do you want to be?" If they weren't so close, Harry wouldn't have heard him speak.

Gathering his last scrap of courage, he looked Draco in the eye. "I want you to be mine."

Draco surged forward then, bringing their lips together. Harry met the kiss eagerly, moving his own mouth slowly against Draco's because for the first time in his life Harry realized there was no hurry.

They pulled away to breathe, and Draco's eyes were bright, his lips swollen and well kissed. Harry's need for oxygen was all that stopped him from leaning in again.

Draco scooted closer to Harry, tucking his hair into the crook of his neck. Harry wrapped his arm around Draco, not caring that it would eventually get tingly and numb.

"We'll figure this out together, Draco," Harry whispered as they both gazed up at the sleepy, twilight sky. "We're a team, you and me."

Draco nuzzled closer in answer, wrapping an arm around Harry's waist and closing his eyes.

The grass itched his skin, he swatted at the bugs, his arm was already losing blood flow, his cheek was dirty, and his neck was sore.

And yet, Harry didn't have any complaints.

Harry had been called many names in his life.

With the Dursleys, he was a "freak." He was "Boy!" He was "a bloody waste of time."

Ron and Hermione were two of the first people to call him "Harry." He made friends over the years at Hogwarts who called him by his first name, informally and friendly.

With professors, it was "Mr. Potter," whether said with McGonagal's fond, stern exasperation or Snape's chilling drawl.

Voldemort, often, called him by his first and last name. "Harry Potter," he'd say in his soft, almost hissing voice. Because with Voldemort, he was neither Harry nor Potter--he was Harry Potter. He was the enemy. The target. The child who wouldn't die at his hand, no matter how many times he tried.

The papers called him the "Chosen One." He was the "Boy Who Lived," the "Golden Boy," the "Savior."

But more than anyone else in his life, Draco had the most names for him.

In school, he'd been a "speccy git," a "stupid tosser," a "half-blood prat," and an "idiot Gryffindor."

And no one says "Potter" quite like Draco, spitting it from his mouth like it tastes foul. Now, Draco only calls him "Potter" when he's frustrated with Harry, but it usually doesn't pack quite the same punch. Harry loves trying to see if he can rile him up enough to say his last name like he used to, shooting from his lips like a bullet.

Because when he's with Draco, he doesn't feel like a "freak," nor is he the "Golden Boy." He's Harry, and he's a speccy git and he's an annoying prat and an idiot Gryffindor.

And he's also a "sappy sod," and a "fucking tease" and "my fiancé" and "the future father of our children, so you better not die today, Potter!"

Harry's allowed to be himself. He can be in the middle between angelic and subhuman. He can be anything, as long as he's with Draco.

"I can't do this," he said to Ron, a month into Auror training. He'd expected anger, shock. Instead, Ron just clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a thin-lipped smile that said I understand, in that way that can only come from your best friend.

"I can't do this," he'd whispered to Ginny as they pulled away from their first kiss after the war. His hands slid off her soft hips and her hands untangled from his hair. She looked suspicious, "Is there someone else?" "No, I swear. You're great, I just...it doesn't feel right, anymore." She nodded, her brown eyes knowing and no longer naive.

I can't do this, he'd thought when he'd bent down to sign his name to the deed of Grimmauld Place. "Is something the matter, Mr. Potter?" "Yes, I'm sorry, I've decided not to live here, after all." "A-Are you sure?" "Yes, quite. I'm sorry for the inconvenience." "Not at all, sir."

I can't do this, he said, hands shaking as he held the Prophet in his hands. Between the glaring headline: 'The Bi Who Lived?' and the moving picture of himself snarling at the photographer, he was sure it sold plenty of copies. And this time, Harry couldn't just toss it away with a laugh. He couldn't just roll his eyes. Seeing the truth--his private, secret truth--broadcast for the world's hungry eyes was the last straw.

It was time.

I can do this, he reassured himself as he approached Draco Malfoy at a Muggle bar. "Potter, what are you doing here?" "May I sit?" "...I suppose."

"Can I do this?". Malfoy's lips were soft, warm. His hands squeezed lean hips. Nimble fingers gripped his hair. "Merlin, yes, this feels so right," he whispered into Malfoy's mouth as he rutted against him. They spilled in their trousers not long after, clinging to one another as they gasped their release.

I can do it. Harry took a deep breath and walked into the classroom. He waited for the stares, for the astonished gasps, for the wide eyes. But the Muggle students just saw "Mr. Harry" with his funny scar and his great stories and his patient smile.

I can do this. Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He held his wand firmly in his hands, letting the magic course through his body one last time. Snap. The pieces landed in the water, floating away as useless kindling. He looked at Draco's proud smile.

"Ready?" A pale hand extended.

Harry took it in his own, lacing their fingers. "Let's go."

Draco's head pounded in protest as he forced his eyes open against the streaming sunlight. He raised a feeble arm to defend against it, squinting and using the other hand to rub the sleep from his face.

Then, someone shifted next to him, and Draco was suddenly very much awake.

He nearly yelped in shock but bit his tongue just in time to block the sound. A tanned, muscled back rose and fell with sleep-heavy breaths, and a head of black, messy hair was pressed into the mattress under Draco's spare pillow.

Can a hangover cause hallucinations?

Just to be sure, Draco Accioed a hangover potion and drank it down, wincing at both the bitter taste and the fast-acting effects. He shook his head and looked back at the source of the disturbance.

Sure enough, Potter remained. Very much real, and very possibly naked, though the bedding covering his lower half left that fact a mystery.

Draco cringed as memories from the previous night came in flashes. Being stood up by his blind date and going to the Leaky to drink his sorrows away. Running into Potter, who'd met his half-hearted insults with mirthful, bright green eyes and easy grins. Being persuaded into joining Potter at his table in the corner. Talking the evening away, trading light banter and stolen glances and tentative, friendly touches. Having too many shots of firewhiskey and Potter offering to see him home safely.

The last thing he remembered was Potter holding the door for him as they left the bar.

Panic twisted in Draco's stomach. And he and Potter....?

And he'd missed the whole thing?

Draco closed his eyes and thumped his head back against the headboard. Of course. He'd finally had Potter in his bed, after years of fantasies and pining, and he couldn't remember any of it.

Potter stirred, then, and Draco froze.

What if Potter didn't remember what happened? What if he thought Draco took advantage? What if--

"Stop that, will you?"

Draco didn't hold back his yelp this time, Potter's interjection startling him from his thoughts.

"S-Stop what?"

"Overthinking--whatever it is. I can practically hear you panicking internally," Potter's rough, sleepy voice was far sexier than should be allowed. "It's fine."

Draco felt the knot in his chest begin to loosen. "Do you remember last night?"

The black-haired head nodded from its face-down position. "Gimme a second."

Draco held himself back from shaking his leg nervously against the bed as he watched Potter shake off the sleepy cobwebs in his mind. Finally, Potter sat up and turned, revealing taut abs and the waistband of his pants, the latter of which Draco noted with a mix of relief and disappointment.

"So, last night. We ran into each other at the Leaky, and--"

Draco waved a hand. "I remember all that. What happened after we left?"

Potter looked at him with amusement. "Bossy. Anyway, I brought you back here. You managed to put on your pajamas, but after that, you climbed into bed, you pulled me down. Said I was in no state to Apparate. I reminded you that I wasn't nearly as drunk as you and that I could just use the Floo, but you wouldn't take 'no' for an answer."

Draco's heart sank. "Potter, I sincerely apologize if, in my inebriated state, I was, er, less than--"

Potter interrupted him with a chuckle. "No, nothing happened. You just wanted me to sleep in here. I was just too tired to argue anymore."

"Then why, pray tell, are you wearing only pants?" Draco drawled, finally regaining some of his pride.

But Potter raised an eyebrow. "You said, 'Potter!'" Draco rolled his eyes as the other man put on an affected, exaggerated impression of him. "'Do not soil my silk sheets with your street clothes, you heathen! Sleep in your pants or borrow something of mine!' And none of your clothes fit me, so," Potter shrugged.

Draco nodded. "Well, thank you for your help last night, Potter. I very much appreciate it."

"No problem. You're not bad company, Malfoy," and Potter gave him another one of his easy smiles, like Draco was someone he just...smiled at.

"So, er," Draco coughed. "What happens now?"

Potter pressed his lips together. "Well, the way I see it, we have two choices. The first is, I can go and leave you to your Sunday morning. Or--" Potter looked away. "We could get up, I can make us breakfast, and I can get to know you better."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Wh...why?"

"Like I said, you're not bad company. Maybe we can continue our conversation from last night--just with less alcohol," Potter smirked.

It would be easy to send Potter away. It would preserve his pride, that's for certain. And perhaps Draco of 18 hours ago would've done just that.

But, sometime last night, Draco had decided to give himself the chance that Potter seemed to think he deserved. The chance to change things. To have a fresh start. To make up for lost time.

Draco smiled. "Breakfast sounds great."

The Marauder touched down on the ground, kicking up red dust. Landing the ship used to be Harry's least favorite part of flying; at first, his instinct had been to fight against the pull of gravity, but Captain Lupin had taught him the art of using the force to his advantage, a guide to a smooth landing.

With a turn of the keys, the engine ceased its vibrating roar. Harry put on his high-crowned, wide-brimmed hat and cast a protection charm to shield himself from the potentially toxic elements on the foreign planet. He'd learned that lesson the hard way when he'd landed on Kuragin for the first time; the noxious fumes of the uninhabited planet made him nearly lose consciousness.

Harry stepped off the ship and relished the way his boot left a footprint. He smirked as he surveyed the area: empty and ripe with potential. To the untrained eye, the planet would look like a wasteland. But the greatest kingdoms could be built from nothing but rubble. The Minister would be pleased; with some charmwork, this would make for a great expansion site.

Being a Ministry-hired Explorer meant a life of solitude, but Harry wouldn't have it any other way. There was nothing quite like the rush of finding a completely uninhabited planet, imagining all the ways his country could improve the lives of its citizens.

Still, Harry knew better than to assume that a place was uninhabited simply because it appeared empty at first glance. His home planet, Hogwarts, had been diligent about educating its citizens about the horrors of colonialism on Earth. Seizing land through subjugation and slavery and violence, humans of the past had been barbaric, inhumane.

Now, exploration and expansion was still an accepted practice, but taking populated land from another group was strictly outlawed.

But Kuragin would be a prize; Harry was lucky to have reached it before a rival Explorer from another planet got his greedy, posh little hands on it.

Suddenly, a large rope wrapped around his arms and midsection, tightening and pulling him backward. Harry fell to the ground with an oof and struggled to rise back to his feet. His hat had fallen off his head during the fall, now sitting just a couple feet from his trapped body.

He didn't need to hear the cackle to confirm where the rope had come from, but it certainly squashed any doubt he might've had.

"Sorry, Potter, but I'm afraid Truiepets has this planet all, well...tied up."

Harry struggled under the binds, undulating his arm enough to cast a wandless, nonverbal slicing spell to both free himself from the rope and retrieve his hat. He didn't miss the brief widening of his attacker's eyes as Harry jumped to his feet with ease.

Other than the standard wand and lasso, Draco Malfoy's Explorer uniform was unlike Harry's own. While Hogwarts required its Explorers to wear black steel-toed boots, trousers, a button-down shirt, and a badge, it seemed that Explorers from Truiepets dressed in a uniform reminiscent of old English military garb. While it lacked all the same accouterments and the iconic red color, the striking midnight blue military-style waistcoat, black trousers, and high boots gave the rival Explorers a much more posh, distinguished look than Harry's own country demanded.

And, when paired with Malfoy's mischievous gray eyes and taunting sneer, it made Harry's blood boil.

Harry glanced around for Malfoy's ship, wondering how he'd missed it in the initial sweep of the planet. "How'd you get here? Where's your ship?"

Malfoy smirked. "Portkey, of course. Surely you've heard of such a device?"

"How--how did you set up a Portkey connection to an unowned planet?"

"You see, Potter, when your little toy ship landed here, it set off the wards on my planet to alert us that we had an intruder."

"You set up wards on Kuragin? But Truiepets hasn't made a proper claim yet! You can't land on an empty planet and call it yours! That's a violation of intergalactic law!"

Malfoy cocked his head. "But that's what Hogwarts was going to do, right? Send you here to look around and then have you scurry right back to report your findings before claiming it for your own?"

"Y-yes, but that's in congruence with generations of treaties!"

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Congruence? My, what an advanced word for you, Potter. Someone's been reading big boy books!"

Harry scowled. "Cut the shit, Malfoy. What's your planet up to?"

"We're looking out for our own interests, Potter. We merely decided to speed up the process."

Harry huffed. "You won't get away with this. Hogwarts won't let you. I won't let you."

Malfoy moved toward Harry, leaning so close their breaths mingled.

"Bring it on, Potter."

Suddenly, Malfoy stepped back and retrieved a quill from his pocket. He winked as he was pulled away by the Portkey, disappearing as quickly as he'd come.

Harry raced back to his ship. As he turned the keys and felt the engine growl back to life, a surge of adrenaline coursed through his body. He firmly steered the ship into the air and broke through Kuragin's atmosphere with a pop, racing through the sky.

Draco clutched the bathroom sink, resenting the sight of his tears dropping onto the porcelain. He scowled when they didn't erode the porcelain, that they weren't acidic after burning in his eyes. How unfair that only he should be the only one to feel this pain.

"I know what you did, Malfoy."

Draco spun around and turned his scowl on Potter, wiping the wetness from his tender cheeks.

"Get back, Potter. You've no idea what I'm capable of." A warning, not a threat.

Potter's eyes flashed. "Try me, ferret. You're pathetic."

Draco felt something foreign unfold in his chest; it was desperate, unstoppable.

"Why don't you love me?" he whispered.

Potter's mouth parted in shock. "What?"

"Love me!" Draco's shout echoed in the empty bathroom, reverberating in a shameful echo.

Potter shook his head. "Why would I love you? You've been a bully for six years, Malfoy. I hate you."

It rolled off Draco's tongue more easily than it should've for a boy his age. His blood raced as he felt the hatred eat away at the last glowing embers of love he had for Potter, righteous and furious.

Unforgivables must be cast with feeling; like a Patronus.

"Crucio!"

"Sectu-"

Potter dropped to the cold tile floor with a scream. Draco tasted acid as he watched the other boy writhe in pain as the spell wracked his body, an agony Draco knew well.

He stood over Potter and saw green eyes grow wet. He wondered if Potter's tears were a sweet relief.

Perhaps tears burn in punishment when you don't deserve their healing.

Draco took a deep breath, willing his heart to freeze over, to be numb.

He stalked out of the bathroom, leaving Potter to endure his torture.

His hatred, no longer suffocated by love, would be the source of his power.

Draco gripped his wand, clenching his jaw as he ignored the acid leaking from his eyes.

It wasn’t like a flower sprouting through the earth, or the sun peering through the clouds; it couldn’t be compared to a bullet piercing the air and rupturing its target, or jumping from a waterfall into a crystal blue lake.

No, for Draco, falling in love was like boiling a pot of water; no matter how many times he impulsively lifted the lid to check for bubbles, it appeared undisturbed until his back was turned, and then it was nearly overflowing.

He wasn’t sure when it started. Maybe it began when Harry extended his hand in friendship at the opening banquet in Eighth Year. Or perhaps it was when they were in potions and Harry asked him to pass the moondew and their fingers brushed. It could have been when Harry’s approached him at a Muggle bar with a determined gleam in his eye and a quiet, “May I sit here?” and they’d left two hours later, cheeks flushed with laughter and firewhiskey.

Love was slow, subtle and inconspicuous—and then it was all-consuming. And frighteningly easy.

Of course, that didn’t mean he and Harry had a smooth relationship; but if Draco wanted it to be easy he’d have signed his love on a dotted line next to Astoria Greengrass’s name, sired an heir, and let himself fall into complacency. If there was anything his father had taught him about relationships, it was the luxury and convenience of apathy.

Harry had always brought out Draco’s emotions in their strongest, most concentrated form. In his youth, the jealousy, resentment, and anger were acidic on his tongue; he’d spit them into the force of his words, hoping Harry could feel it, too. Now, the love and exasperated fondness he held for Harry melted in his mouth like his favorite decadent dark chocolate: rich and satisfyingly bittersweet; he wondered if Harry could taste it on his tongue.

They still bickered, occasionally fought. The sight of them having boisterous arguments over trivialities might raise a few eyebrows, but one downward glance at their tightly clasped hands swinging casually between them would dispel those rumors.

There were moments when panic held Draco’s mind, his heart, in its icy grip, making him shake at the thought of losing Harry, of not being enough for him—of all of it being a dream from which he’d surely wake up to find himself in a dark, damp cell in Azkaban.    

But then Harry was at his side, rubbing comforting circles into Draco’s back and pulling him into strong, firm arms. I’m here. I’m here, and I love you, Harry would whisper into his ear until Draco stopped trembling and relaxed into the embrace.

Draco once thought he would forever be defined by his name, or the mark on his arm, or the wealth in his family’s vaults. He thought that his value came from power, influence, and self-determination.

But with Harry, he could be his truest self, letting his love and happiness bubble up erupt within him, reckless and free.

I'm going to die.

Draco hoped the flames would be kind enough to swallow him quickly, but with the way that the lifeless furniture and dusty baubles around him seemed to cry out in pain, he felt his skin prickle in anticipation.

Ironic, that he should die with a preview of the afterlife.

Even as instinctual fear wrapped his heart in an icy grip, he closed his eyes, preparing to be consumed by the fire. Soon, he would be mere ashes, indistinguishable from the remains of the Room.

There was peace in that; in his insignificance, in the fact that his young life would end among these magical objects left behind to the slow death of neglect. He'd not have the dignity of decay, but at least his body would be spared the same punishment as his soul.

Smoke pricked at his eyes, so he closed them, attempting to belie the suffocating heat with images of cool darkness. Perhaps he could pretend he was sleeping before he was denied eternal rest.

"Malfoy!"

I'm dreaming already?

"Malfoy!!"

Funny, he usually calls me Draco in my dreams.       

"Malfoy open your fucking eyes and give me your hand, you pillock!!"

Draco blinked his eyes open. He reached up to let a strong, calloused hand grasp his own and pull him up and onto a broom.

Cool wind kissed his skin as he and Potter flew out of the Room and into the outside air. They landed on the ground with a thud, tumbling off of the broom, followed shortly thereafter by Greg and Weasley. Potter managed to stand first, dusting off his clothes and Summoning his broom.

Draco watched in shocked silence, trying to still his trembling body. He observed Potter, Granger, and Weasley huddle together and talk in hushed voices.

Finally, he rose from the ground and brushed the dust from his robes just as the trio turned to run off into the night. He watched them leave, even as Potter turned around to glance back at Draco.

Their eyes locked. Potter slowed his pace to a stop.

They stared; not in competition, not daring the other to turn away first. They just stood there, looking at one another.

He felt a shift in his chest; something dormant, now active.

"Harry, let's go!"

Potter blinked, shook himself, and jogged to catch up to Granger and Weasley.

Draco breathed deeply, relishing the air and the rise and fall of his chest. He gazed up at the sky, the vast firmament above him; fear unclenched its freezing fingers from around his heart.

He had never felt so alive.

He lets his wand fall loosely from his fingers and clatter to the ground, likely getting wet from the pooling water that's sure to damage the floor, but he doesn't care. He thinks he hears it clink against one of the two empty firewhiskey bottles scattered on the ground, and he doesn't care.

Because it's 6 in the afternoon on a Tuesday. And if Harry could be arsed to do the math, it would make it about 65 hours since Draco had whispered, "I've got to go," and left Harry with nothing to kiss his lips but the rim of a firewhiskey bottle, nothing to caress him but the sheets of his bed, and nothing to fill his heart except the pain of loneliness.

Harry throws his arm over his eyes, his head throbbing. He rubs a hand over his face, the stubble feeling foreign on his cheeks. But Draco isn't there to tell him to shave, or to pick up after himself, or to dry water when it spills on wooden floors.

Harry turns back onto his side, willing himself not to vomit and not knowing whether it was from the firewhiskey or the poison of heartache.

They've done this enough that they have a system.

It's delicate. A relationship such as theirs required discretion, balance. It's a mutual agreement--don't get attached, don't ask for more, and don't fall in love, whatever you do.

"Love isn't real," Draco'd said blithely the second time they met, flicking the ashes from his cigarette. "It's a lie we tell ourselves to avoid being lonely. I don't mind it, loneliness." He blew a puff of smoke that curled into the black night air.

Harry'd grabbed the hand holding the cigarette, gently prying it from Draco's nimble fingers and putting it out against the table at the outdoor bar. Harry kissed him, tasting tobacco on his tongue.

Two days ago, they stumbled laughing into Grimmauld Place, warm and pink-cheeked and light. Harry pulled Draco toward himself, kicking the door closed behind them.

"Bedroom?" he whispered against Draco's pale pink lips.

Draco flashed him a devilish grin, running his hand down Harry's arm as he stepped away, holding on to his hand. Draco walked backward to lead Harry up the stairs, eyes glittering.

They've done this enough times that Harry knows not to rip Draco's clothes and Draco knows to put Harry's glasses on the bedside table, taking care not to knock off the glass of water that sits precariously on the edge. Their socks pad against the wood floor, practiced enough now that they don't break the kiss as they fall breathlessly onto Harry's bed.

It's delicate, the way they kiss and touch each other, and it's mutually beneficial, their needs matching perfectly. The roughness is practiced, deliberate, and the rest is smooth, like Harry's cheek against Draco's stomach as he trails kisses down down down down.

They're a sweaty, panting tangle of limbs when they're done. Harry doesn't know where he ends and Draco begins.

They've done this enough times for Harry to know he hasn't felt this tightness in his chest before. They've done this enough times for Harry to know that he can't ignore it, that it's new and different and strange but not unpleasant.

They've done this enough times for Harry to have known how Draco would react when he told him a myth like it was the truth.

"I love you."

Draco blinked. "No you don't."

Harry nodded. "Yes I do."

"Y-you're delirious, Harry. You won't feel like this in the morning. Go to sleep."

Harry grunted but turned over onto his side, pulling Draco flush against him.

Harry'd woken before Draco and was already cooking breakfast, flannel pajamas soft against his skin, when he heard footsteps coming into the kitchen. Harry smiled, turning to face Draco.

Draco was dressed in his clothes from the night before, his hair perfectly in place. His expression was blank, neutral. Harry's stomach twisted.

"I, um, thought you'd stay for breakfast. I made eggs," he held up the pan for Draco to see. "I wasn't sure how you liked them so I made them how I like mine. I like scrambled eggs but I can make them however you want--I mean I've never made every kind of egg but it can't be that hard and--"

"Potter--" Draco stopped him. Harry deflated slightly, setting the pan back on the stove.

"I've got to go."

"Oh," Harry blinked. "Okay, well then I guess I'll see you later then?"

Draco shook his head. "Do you remember what you said last night?"

Harry knit his eyebrows, trying to remember through the fog of his mind before the memory came back to him with a wave of anxiety and dread. "Draco, I--"

"Potter," Draco's eyes were hard. "We said. We said we'd never--you said you'd never."

Harry swallowed. "I know, but it's okay, it's--"

"No. Potter it's over. We've no choice."

Tears pricked at the back of Harry's eyes. "B-but why? If you don't believe in love, and I do, and I'm in love with you then what does it matter?"

"Because love can be real if two people believe in it, but I'll never make that mistake again." Draco shook his head. "I'll never hurt you again and if I stay it'll only make you miserable."

Anger tore through Harry's body, rising from his toes all the way up to his head, making him lightheaded. "If you didn't want to hurt me, you'd stay. But you're too selfish to even try, aren't you?" Harry spat.

Something flashed in Draco's eyes. "Don't Owl me. Goodbye, Potter." Harry's protests and apologies were lost in the crack of Apparation, Draco easily sliding through the wards to which Harry'd added him just last week.

The eggs burned on the stove, shriveling to ash like droppings from a cigarette.

Harry manages to rise on shaking legs, stepping over the puddle of water and the firewhiskey bottles. He stumbles into the living room, clumsy from sleep and residual drunkenness and haste. He kneels down in front of the fireplace and places a call to the only place he thinks can help.

"Mr. Potter, to what do we owe the pleasure?" Narcissa Malfoy looks a little older through the green flames of the Floo.

"I'm sorry to bother you so early, Mrs. Malfoy, but I was wondering if you'd seen Draco recently."

Narcissa frowns in confusion. "I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, I haven't seen Draco since Friday afternoon. Can I pass along a message for you?"

"No I--" Harry hesitates. "Actually, if you see him soon, just--tell him to Owl me."

Narcissa regards him suspiciously but she nods. "I will do so, Mr. Potter. Is there anything else?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, ma'am, thank you. I'm sorry to bother you."

"Not at all, Mr. Potter. Good evening."

"Is it real?"

When no response comes, Draco kicks at the wet ground beneath him, stirring the soil.

"Answer me. Is it real?"

The rain continued falling on and around him, soaking through his clothes and sticking his hair to his forehead. He shivers, and a drop of water falls down his cheek, whether from tears or the rain he can't be sure.

"You always said it was real. You made speeches about it, grand ones, and they always seemed to fool the others but never me. I saw through it. I knew it was a lie to keep us all in line. I knew it was propaganda, though--" Draco chuckles humorlessly, "I suppose I can't really talk about propaganda, now can I?"

Silence.

Draco closes his eyes. "I can't love him, you know. And he can't love me. And I can't pretend for him. I refuse to pretend any longer to be something I'm not."

He opens his eyes. The grave of Albus Dumbledore still manages to be grand and imposing against the gray clouds and flashing lightning.

"I always pitied you," Draco said quietly. "I wonder now if you ever pitied me."

He turns on a heel and walks away. The rain is cleansing. He doesn't use a drying charm, doesn't cast an Impervius. He lets it wash away everything. He lets his heart fill with loneliness, familiar and cold.

"Captirevero"

The spell settled over the Pensieve, causing it to glow for just a moment before the light sank into the metal.

Hands shaking, Harry poured the vial into the basin, the cloudy substance stirring with the addition. Once it settled, he took a breath, closed his eyes, and let himself fall.

His younger body feels familiar, but a bit snug, like an old t-shirt that just barely fits but not the way it used to. His hands are in the pockets of his robes as he slowly paces around the Room, restless. He runs a hand through his hair before placing it back into his cavern of fabric, clenching both of his fists and grabbing at the cloth.

Finally, the door creaks open and Draco--he was still 'Malfoy' back then--steps into the room. Harry looks up with a start, forcing himself to stop walking.

He lets the other boy approach him, a wary look on his pale, aristocratic features. Draco swallows nervously.

"Thanks for meeting me," Harry said, hating the way his younger self's voice cracks.

Draco doesn't seem to catch it, or he does he doesn't comment; he just nods. "What did you want to talk about, Potter?"

"I'm sorry. For what happened today."

Draco's jaw clenches. "It's fine. You have to keep appearances, I understand."

Harry shakes his head. "No, Malfoy that's the thing. I didn't expect her to kiss me; I pushed her off a second after you turned away, really. It's my fault for not being clearer with Ginny earlier. It's over between her and me, for good this time, and I'm tired of keeping you a secret."

Something shifts in Draco's eyes; gods, they're just as grey as Harry remembers. "You don't have to do this, Potter," his voice is quiet, unsteady.

Harry feels himself smile softly. He reaches out and takes Draco's smooth hand in his own calloused one. "I know, Draco. I'm doing this because I want to."

And Draco's smile is as blinding as he remembers.

The scene shifts to him struggling to open the door to his flat while simultaneously balancing a large, heavy box in his arms. The aching soreness of his arms is familiar as he blindly reaches for the handle, only to meet resistance and a lock. He fumbles for the key but is unable to reach it properly in his back pocket without losing his grip on the box. Finally, he kicks at the door and calls Draco's name. Merlin, he knows he can't have lost it already. What is taking so long? Harry doesn't remember what's supposed to come next, but he's fairly certain that--

Draco opens the door and nearly runs into Harry, a look of surprise on his face falling into exasperation, laced with fondness. He steps back and lets Harry through, rolling his eyes.

"Harry, honestly, I told you to leave the door open when you got the next box. Why didn't you set it down first and get your key properly, at least?"

Harry puts the box down on the newly set up kitchen table and turns to Draco with a grin. He shrugs. "It was easier my way."

He revels in the familiarity of Draco's derisive, yet heatless scoff. "Merlin, you're impossible."

Harry smirks and walks into Draco, taking him into his arms before he can protest.

"Mm, yes but I'm your impossible."

Draco gives him a strange look. "What does that even mean?"

Harry shrugs and nuzzles his face into Draco's neck, letting out a contented sigh as the ache in his muscles fades. "I dunno. Like you said, I'm impossible."

Draco huffs and strokes Harry's hair. "Yes, yes you are," he says softly. Harry smiles and closes his eyes.

With each new scene he enters, his nostalgia and joy become increasingly tainted by foreboding. He knows the irony of his smile when he and Draco promise to love one another in sickness and health. He watches the years of dinners and cuddles and bickering and fights. He is surprised by old forgotten jokes and can still recite every word of their favorite stories.

He recalls the terror when Draco is diagnosed and he is helpless to do anything other than hear himself repeat to Draco the same assurances of hope that he knows all too well are doomed. He is forced to watch as Draco lies in the hospital bed, unconscious and kept alive under a stasis spell, his outward self seeming anxious and sick with uncertainty while his inner self awaits the inevitable.

And anticipating the deep and intense sadness of watching Draco's casket get lowered into the ground doesn't make the experience any less painful.

The memory dissolves once again and Harry knows he's drunk.

He remembers this day as if it were yesterday: the dull ache of grief, that a hole had been ripped out of his heart through his chest, and how he'd tried to fill it with firewhiskey. He is sitting in the recliner in the living room and decides he is tired of living in the present.

He stumbles into the bedroom and opens the closet door, revealing the only thing that's been able to give him a reprieve from the pain over the last few months. The Pensieve sits, inviting and beckoning him to take a break from his mourning. And every time it's ended, he's always been more depressed than when he'd started, knowing the breath of air was over and the sensation of drowning would return.

But not this time. After this, he would be drowning no more.

He picks up his wand and casts.

Harry feels a sudden jolt, causing him to stumble back. He is still in his normal body, but this time he's at King's Cross. He waits for the eerie sense of dread to wash over him, but all he feels is peace, contentment. He sees a figure sitting on an otherwise empty bench, and the calm feeling dissolves and is replaced by anticipation twisting in his stomach. He clenches his fists and walks toward the figure, ready to have the confrontation with Albus Dumbledore he'd always craved, but his heart starts pounding as he starts to make out a lithe figure and white=blonde hair.

Despite his disbelief, he jogs toward the bench to confirm his hopes, his worries. His breath catches in his throat when the figure stands and turns piercing, stormy grey eyes at him.

"Hi Harry," Draco says. "Having a stroll down memory lane, are we?"

Harry nods. "Yeah, I...But usually it--wait, what are you doing here?"

"Love, do you know how long you've been here?"

Harry furrows his eyebrows. "Just a few minutes, right?"

Draco presses his lips together. "No, you've been here for the last ten years."

Harry's breathing grows shallow. "T-ten years? Am I...am I dead?"

"Harry, do you remember what happened?"

Harry shook his head. "I thought I was just watching our memories. I do that when I miss you."

Draco gave him a soft smile. "You've been reliving our memories over and over for ten years, love. You cast a spell on the Pensieve to pull all of you in here and to keep yourself in here until you caught up to where you left off. "

"So, I'm not dead, then," Harry knits his eyebrows.

Draco nods. "Correct."

"Then why am I here."

"Because you have a choice. You see, you used a rare spell that allows the caster three choices when the run of memories is over. You may return back to the real world and live out the rest of your life. You can stay in the loop of memories until the end of your natural life. Or you can come beyond the Veil."

Harry's breath catches. "You mean I can--I can go with you, now? If I want to?"

A gentle smile settles on Draco's lips. "Yes, Harry, you can. If you want to, that is." Draco takes a deep breath, seeming to steel himself. "But you've got to decide."

Harry smiles. "I want to go with you."

Draco's mouth opens slightly in shock. "You don't have to do this for me, Harry, really."

Harry grins. He walks up to Draco and takes a smooth hand in his own. A sense of deja vu washes over him, the sensation welcome and warm.

"I know, Draco," he says. "I'm doing this because I want to."

And Draco's smile is as blinding as he remembers.

Harry gulped the last of his firewhiskey, letting the burn run down his throat and trying to elongate the length of his neck as he swallowed. He nearly smirked at the feel of gray eyes following the movement, but he knew outward cockiness wasn't what he needed--what they both needed--tonight.

Tonight was about Draco taking and Harry giving what they both wanted. Tonight was about sweet surrender, about conquer and being conquered willingly and wholly.

Harry let himself glance over to the figure at the back of the bar. Draco wore a muggle suit just to drive Harry mad, everything perfectly tailored to his lithe form. Draco smirked, his lip curling slightly to reveal one of his sharp fangs, a promise for more. A quirk of a blonde eyebrow was all Harry had to see to know it was time.

Harry quickly closed out the tab and walked out of the restaurant, feeling hot hot hot eyes on his back. He stepped out into the chill night air, sticking his hands in his leather jacket for warmth while he waited.

Suddenly, familiar arms wrapped around his waist and Apparated them both to a nearby alleyway they'd come to think of as theirs. Harry turned within Draco's hold and kissed him, running his tongue along his teeth and carefully tracing the fangs, making them both shiver.

Draco leaned in to sniff at Harry's neck and Harry smirked as he felt the telltale bulge of Draco's thickening cock; Harry knew that the smell of Harry's blood through his skin was enough to make Draco half-hard.

Deceptively plush lips trailed hot kisses down Harry's neck sucking little bruises and love bites in their wake. Harry moaned, tipping his head back. He could feel Draco's smirk against his skin as he let his fangs graze across the sensitive skin there, not enough to make a dent but plenty to send tingles down Harry's spine.

"Always so responsive," Draco's voice was husky. "Can you be good for me? Let me take what I need?"

Harry groaned, rubbing their clothed cocks together and baring the side of his neck to Draco. "Draco, just do it."

Draco clicked his tongue. "Not quite, darling. I know you can do better for me. Now, care to try again before I find someone else to fulfill me for the evening?"

It was a game between them; Draco's threat was empty and they both knew it. This push and pull, tease and resist, it was part of the dance they'd always done together, except now they knew the choreography by heart.

Still, Draco's words sparked a twinge of jealousy and even more heat to pool in Harry's groin. "Please Draco," his moan was breathier than he'd intended but if Draco's growl was any indication, it did the trick.

Draco licked Harry's neck once more before gently but firmly sinking his teeth into the skin, drinking his fill. Harry groaned, his knees buckling slightly. They rutted against one another, Draco still managing to move his hips in tandem with Harry's. The heat of their clothed cocks combined with the bliss of the bite was enough for Harry's cock to twitch and spill into his pants untouched, Draco following shortly after as he licked up the remnants of his meal from Harry's neck.

It was intoxicating, the high that came whenever Draco bit him; when they rutted against each other as he drank his fill of Harry. It was about trust and mutual satisfaction. They both felt the mind-numbing effects of the bite, and Harry had learned to let himself fall into the nirvana, knowing Draco would be there to catch him.

This is the story of boys.

Two boys, to be exact.

Now pipe down the noise

And sit up now with poise

As I tell you this series of facts.

The blonde tried his hand to be mates

But the brunette rejected the shake

They sneered and they smirked

And they acted like jerks

Just to make their opponent irate.

The years passing by

They stared and they spied

On each other in halls

At class and the Ball

Steadfast and convinced of their hate.

Then finally one year arrived

The events of which may seem contrived

But the smash of a nose

Bleeding cuts through one's clothes

It's a wonder our two boys survived.

Then the boys parted ways

And began the war phase

With our blonde trapped in rooms

The brunette in his doom

And they both only counted the days.

On the field of the battle

The Dark Lord did prattle

On and on of his major triumph

When our brunette did jump

From the arms of a friend

And the blonde knew the end

Wasn't done, no not yet

For our wonder brunette.

The enemy's gone

And some rehab for blonde

Our brunette, at the feast,

Held his hand out in peace.

For this story of boys

These two men used as toys

Began with an earthquake

And it ends with a shake.

It's a small story in the Prophet. The kind of thing in the back corner of a paper Harry never reads, anyway. He only saw it because someone had left the paper on the counter in the breakroom flipped open to the society section.

Malfoy Heir to Wed Astoria Greengrass

Harry's hands shook, whether from rage or the shock of his heart breaking in real time, he didn't know.

All he knew was the steady grip of his hand around his wand while the other grasped at the newspaper, crinkling it in his palm. All he knew was raising it, closing his eyes, and breaking through layers of ancient magical wards to Apparate within the Ministry of Magic.

He landed in Draco's office with a pop, making the other man startle almost violently.

"Merlin Harry! What the fuck?"

"Me?!" Harry's body filled with white-hot indignation."I'm not the one who has explaining to do." He slammed the paper on the desk, making the furniture shake slightly.

Draco shut his eyes, not saying anything for a moment. Harry stared at him, hard, trying to put on the mask of an interrogating Auror; cool anger was easier than revealing the anguish squeezing his chest.

"I thought you didn't read the Prophet."

Harry let out a disbelieving scoff. "That's all you have to say to me? You didn't think I read the Prophet? What, you didn't think you'd get caught?"

Draco's jaw clenched. "I thought I could tell you myself."

Harry laughed humorlessly. "A bit late for that, I'd say."

"I'm sorry, Harry."

"For what? For courting a woman while dating me in secret, feeding me bullshit about being afraid to come out? Or that your well-placed ad got to me before you could?"

Draco looked at him with sharp gray eyes. "I never lied to you about being scared to come out."

"Clearly--you're so scared you're willingly entering a loveless marriage contract!"

"It's more than that, the Malfoy name--"

"You don't think being the in-laws of Harry Potter would give your parents some status," Harry spat. Draco's eyes widened.

"H-Harry," came the breathy, surprised reply. "I didn't think--"

"Why! Why didn't you think this through before I fell in love with you?!"

"I was trying to be brave!" Draco's lower lip wobbled. "I was trying to act on my feelings, follow my heart and all that Gryffindor crap!"

"There's nothing brave about what you did, Malfoy. You're a coward." Harry bit, clenching his fists.

Draco closed his eyes, a single tear falling from pale eyelashes. Somewhere, underneath the rage, something in Harry wanted to stride over to Draco and kiss it away until the blonde was laughing in his arms where he belonged.

Instead, Harry swallowed against the lump in his throat, straightened his back, and squared his shoulders, a cool, Slytherin mask of indifference on his face. He'd learned from the best, after all.

"Congratulations," Harry said evenly. He walked out of the office, the sound of Draco's soft sobs echoing in the hallway.

Dear Harry,

I sit here, surrounded by crumpled-up pieces of parchment strewn about my mahogany desk, and I expect this one will join its brethren in the pile; this taunting reminder of my cowardice, of my inadequacy for you. They are wrinkled, mangled from my hands and a few are spotted with blood from the small cuts left by their deceptively sharp edges. I haven't Healed them yet; I'm not sure I want to.

I sit here because I left your going-away party early. I know you wouldn't have asked me to leave, and I know you invited me as a courtesy, to maintain the cordial friendship we've managed in our short tenure as Auror partners.      

I'm sure things will be easier with whoever is assigned to you in America.

That's just it, isn't it? You and I will never be easy. And no one deserves an easy life more than you, Harry. I'm sorry for the times I made it difficult.

It's easy for me to sit here and write this letter knowing I'll never send it. It's easy to tell you I love you--that I've been in love with you since I saw you in Madame Malkins--when I know you'll never hear it, see it. I'm too late, anyhow.

I'm sorry, Harry. I never wanted to love you.

I'm sorry to myself. I'm sorry that I never made myself contain my love to only the things I deserve.

I'll never deserve you, Harry, and yet my traitorous heart loves you anyway.

I tried to pull away, to create distance, to escape from the intoxicating, magnetic pull that is Harry Potter. But as a mere mortal, I was nevertheless drawn to you against my will, against my pride, against the very law of nature.

Go to America. Go to your partner. Stay in touch with your friends here, and make new ones there.

And forget about me. It's what we both deserve.

-Draco

Draco folded the parchment and left it in the middle of his desk. He got up from his desk chair and climbed into bed, the unhealed paper cuts on his hands forgotten.

Harry was late.

Already, he was running late. He still had to Apparate to the Ministry to retrieve the portkey. How did he manage to cock up his new life in America before he even left England? This had to be some kind of record.

Peck peck peck

"Oh, not now!" He grumbled as an unfamiliar owl stared at him questioningly from outside his window. He hurried over to let the owl inside, giving it a treat and shooing it away. He'd read the message now and respond later. It was probably the American Ministry sending over preliminary instructions.

He sat and read the letter, his eyes growing wider with every word. He finally finished, slumping in his chair.

Was Harry too late?

He stood, his hand shaking slightly. He raised his wand and Apparated away with a crack.

“Savior Complex” by Phoebe Bridgers

“I hate him, you know.”

Harry startled, not noticing that Malfoy had come up next to him, sat on the stool at the bar and rested his elbows on the table, chin resting in his palms.

“Who?” Harry managed.

“Voldemort. My father. Take your pick.”

Harry shook his head. “What happened to not wanting to talk?”

Malfoy shrugged elegantly. “If I say it out loud, maybe my mind will stop feeling like a fork in a Muggle garbage disposal.”

Harry let out a short, humorless sound that was more of a grunt than a laugh. “Welcome to my world.”

“Now, Potter, it’s not a competition. I think we’re too old and too tired for that, don’t you?” Draco said, his tone light but still chastising. He signaled the bartender for a drink, and he downed the neat Firewhiskey in one gulp the moment the glass slid into his palm.

Harry looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Feel better?”

“Marginally.”

Harry nodded. “I find that alcohol is more of a temporary fix than anything else.”

“Yes, but I live in the moment, Potter. And in this moment, the fork has stopped grinding enough that I’m ready to talk, if you are.”

“Really. You’re sure about this?”

Draco turned to face him for the first time, his face stretched in his most wicked grin.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Kids in the Dark” by All Time Low

The glass shattered against the wall with a satisfying crack. Adrenaline coursed through Harry’s veins as he picked up a china plate and let it slip through his fingers and clatter to the floor, breaking into pieces. The rush was almost intoxicating, thrilling him to destroy it all. Make the cupboard empty, make it not crowded, not cramped, not full of things more breakable than him, things more precious and valuable, things more important than him—

“Have a run-in with some porcelain, did you?”

Harry didn’t turn around, let another plate fall and break.

When he didn’t answer, Draco came up and put a hand on his shoulder.

Silence. Then, “Need some help?”

Harry blinked. Nodded. Draco reached up and took a plate off the top shelf, handing it to Harry, who threw it away forcefully, relishing the noise it made as it joined its fallen comrades on the floor.

Draco smiled. Reached for another plate.

“Shake It Out” by Florence + The Machine

Draco woke every night, gasping for breath. He fought to forget the grip of Nagini around his throat, the Fiendfyre blistering his skin, the relentless undulation of his body under Aunt Bella’s cruel Crucio.

Harry held him every night. Let him sob. Let him shake. Let him gasp apologies, sputter out his regrets, give penance to his demons.

And every night, once his tears were dry and his throat was raw from screaming, Harry would conjure him water and whisper calming, grounding words. Harry would tell him he understood, that he knew nightmares like an old friend. And Harry would help him lie back, help his pillow seem less daunting.

And those nights became less frequent. Less intense, less and less and less until eventually, Draco’s chest rose and fell each night in peaceful slumber.

“peace” by Taylor Swift

“But what if I...“

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together, Draco. I’m in this with you, remember?” Harry’s smile was patient, kind.

“We’re going to fight. A lot.”

Harry burst out laughing, and Draco frowned. “As if that’s anything new! Draco, I want us to fight, I want us to make up, I want us to have good days and shitty days and days in between. Besides, there isn’t much either of us can do in a fight that we haven’t already done, is there?”

Draco bit his lip. “What if I’m not…enough for you,” his voice was quiet, making Harry’s tiny flat seem huge.

Harry approached him slowly, like a skittish wild animal. His arms trapped Draco in a tight embrace, and Draco let himself be captured.

“You’re enough for me, Draco. You’re everything.”

“hope ur ok” by Olivia Rodrigo

Harry had a lot of hope.

He hoped Colin was snapping pictures with his camera, assuming they had that in the Afterlife. He hoped he followed his heroes around like a shadow. Harry hoped he knew he was one, too.

He hoped Fred was watching over George, whispering new prank ideas with the wind. He hoped he was managing mischief with Sirius, Remus and his father.

He hoped Dobby was able to rest, to be free. He hoped he had someone to care for him, for once.

He hoped Remus finally made peace with the moon, that a scar would never again mar his skin. He hoped Sirius had his leather jacket and his bike. He hoped his father was still messing up his hair, and that his mother rolled her eyes. He hoped Tonks fascinated them all with her magical features and sharp wit. 

He hoped he’d know the answers, one day. And that that particular day was far, far away. And for now, as he took Draco’s hand in his, he knew they’d fall asleep in one another’s arms. He didn’t have to hope.

The beach house has been on the market for over a year.

It's a gorgeous home. It's still technically furnished, even if most of it was in disarray when officials found it. It's also just enough distance from the shore to watch the tide come in without the risk of flooding.

But ever since it was swept and searched for evidence, the house has been left to the elements, an optimistic "for sale" sign stuck into the ground.

They don't know many of the details of that fateful night. As they sorted through the wreckage, Aurors found his diary by the bed, the words slightly smudged in some places from long-dried tears.

His hands must've been shaking when he wrote of their conversation before his husband left:

It's my fault he's dead. I told him I didn't care if he was hurt on his bloody dangerous raid. I said his stupid hero complex would finish him off one day.

He should've known—he had to know—that it was as close to begging him to stay as I could ever get.

And still, he left.

Fuck this house. I can't be here anymore. He's gone but he's everywhere. It has to go. I have to go. There's nothing left for me here.

The night Harry Potter died, a single set of footprints lead into the ocean. By the next day, the tide had washed it away.

Still, locals say Draco Malfoy's ghost still wanders up and down the beach, leaving a trail in the sand. Some people claim to hear him calling his lover's name, his shouts whispered in the wind.