As I hurtle along the seemingly endless, stark white corridor with its blinding white lights, I vaguely try to recall when I have last been this utterly terrified. The only answer my brain seems to be able to provide me with is in the form of a series of mental images which flash across in quick succession: Dark Marks, Fiendfyre, hordes of screaming people running in no particular direction, and...burning red eyes, slits for a nose, long, thin fingers pointing a wand...

I turn right without slowing down and run towards the end of yet another corridor, praying frantically to whatever higher power watched over me; please let him be alright, oh God please...

I burst into the room and four sets of eyes turn sharply towards the door, stepping away from the bed as soon as they see that it's me. When my eyes fall on him lying there, still and unmoving, bare-chested, blood everywhere, pooling in the hollow between his collar bones; looking strangely young and frail without his glasses, it is all I can do not to allow my legs to give away beneath me, crumple to floor and scream hysterically.

Jesus Christ, Harry, why the fuck do you have to always play the fucking hero?

*x*

Ten years back, I'd asked him that question as we'd sat by the lake at Hogwarts, sharing a cigarette.

"Why the fuck do you always have to play the hero, anyway?"

Harry'd noted the casual tone of my voice sans any malice, because he'd grinned as he took a deep drag from the cigarette, holding it with his forefinger and thumb.

"What do you think I should have done? Stood by and let them beat the shit out of you?" he raised his chin slightly as he blew out a long stream of smoke, handing the cigarette back to me.

Our fingers had brushed; something had fluttered in my stomach.

"You could have fetched Professor McGonagall," I'd said lightly.

"She turned up anyway, didn't she," Harry'd given me one of those barely-there smiles.

"Yes, after you'd hexed those Ravenclaws," I'd tried hiding my own smile. Then he'd grinned at me, making me cringe inwardly at the way my heart had leapt.

We'd sat in silence for a few seconds before he'd abruptly spoken again.

"You need to realize that it's okay for you to pull out your wand and hex the bastards yourself if this ever happens again." He'd sounded grim.

"It's not worth the trouble," I'd aimed at sounding careless.

"Malfoy."

And he'd turned those brilliant green eyes on me. So, so fucking green. I'd gazed back, helpless and unable to look away.

"Stop being a fucking martyr," his voice had been low, but I could almost taste the fierceness in it. "You don't deserve to be beaten up by arseholes who think they're doing something noble by ganging up on someone who has a tattoo on his arm, put there by a mad man." I'd hoped fervently that he couldn't hear my heart beat speeding up. I'd been close enough to smell the faint scent of grass, mint and cigarettes on him.

As much as I'd dreaded my 'eighth year' at Hogwarts, those nightly smoke meets with Harry turned out to be something I'd begun desperately waiting for by the end of each day. Mostly we'd just sit side by side in silence, elbows brushing, finishing cigarette after cigarette, until we'd thought our arses would freeze and fall off.

Sometimes, we'd talk. About inane things like lessons, our new teachers; then about the war, the struggle to cope with the aftermath; and eventually he'd told me about Weasel and Granger and how Harry'd felt like the third wheel, like he was intruding and not giving them enough 'couple time'; and finally he'd admitted that the Weaslette was growing impatient at Harry's reluctance to resume snogging in hidden alcoves all over the castle.

I'd never asked him why, and when on that one particular night, we'd kissed for the first time, I didn't have to.

He'd snuck out a bottle of some excellent Firewhisky that some member of his fan club had gifted him, and we'd shared it, sitting there by the lake, taking turns at casting Warming Charms over the both of us.

I don't really remember the exact moment when we'd stopped pretending we weren't drunk and had just given in to the juvenile sniggering, but I do remember when for some strange reason, my hand had moved, quite out of my control, and had brushed some of that ridiculous, untameable hair of his out of his eyes. He'd blinked at me, his expression serious, his eyes shining behind smudged, lopsided glasses, and had caught my hand in his. Warm, thick fingers had entwined with mine, and I'd stopped breathing entirely.

I wouldn't be able to tell you who moved towards whom first, but when I next became aware of myself, I was flat on my back on the ground, my arms around his neck, my tongue entangled with his. He'd tasted of the whisky and something sweet and his hands had fisted in my hair until the pain had threatened to make me come right there in my trousers like a thirteen year old first timer.

When we'd surfaced for breath, he'd apologised under his breath and had made to slide off me. I can still feel my face heat when I recall the way I'd whimpered and pulled his mouth back over mine, shamelessly rutting up against him. He'd gasped and moved over me, shifting to reach between us, freeing both our cocks within seconds. I'd arched up, a scream halfway out at the incredible sensation of our cocks rubbing deliciously together, before he'd kissed me quiet.

The night had been silent save for the sounds we'd made, and later, when we were done, our loud panting. He'd gotten silently to his feet, waved his wand over both of us, cleaning up the mess on us, and had made his way back to the castle.

When he'd found me there by the lakeside the following night, I didn't let him see just how fucking glad (not to mention relieved) I was that he'd turned up as usual.

"I thought you wouldn't come," I hadn't met his eyes, staring out over the lake instead.

"I thought I wouldn't come too," he'd replied softly.

"What changed your mind?" I hadn't been sure whether I wanted to hear his answer or not. Silence for a few seconds, and then -

"I was out of cigarettes."

I'd laughed, but when I'd turned to face him, he'd only smiled slowly before cupping my face and bringing his mouth down to mine.

Nobody kissed me like Harry did. He kissed like he flew; he kissed like he duelled - with his whole being, not caring about anything else. I had never felt as vulnerable as I did when he kissed me, seizing all and any control I had over myself. But when Harry kissed me, I felt free.

I still wonder how the hell we managed to pass our eighth year with decent grades, given that we'd spent the rest of our school year shagging as hard and as often as we could.

The fear that I had felt the first time I'd revisited the Room of Requirement was quickly fucked out of me by Harry until I couldn't remember why I'd been so scared in the first place. Most nights would find us there, tangled together on the enormous four poster the room provided us with, sweaty and out of breath, sometimes exhausted enough that we fell asleep with Harry still inside me.

I secretly still thank the day I'd finally given in to my mother's repetitive requests that I consider going back to Hogwarts for my eighth year.

~

"Is he doing any better than when he was brought in?"

"Much. I think he's going to be fine."

"Really? You can be honest with me, you know that. I won't – "

"I am being honest. His ribs held together when we healed him. He just has to be on Blood Replenishments until tomorrow."

"I'm sorry you had to be called away like that... Your mother's birthday and everything – "

"Don't be ridiculous."

Hermione and I speak in a near whisper even though we were standing out in the deserted corridor. Through the glass panel on the door, I can see the Weasel sitting by Harry's bed, running his hand absently over his own recently healed cheek, two more Aurors sitting squashed together on the small visitors' couch. Ronald and Harry had been on the damn assignment together, when Harry-Head-Auror-Fucking-Potter had leapt in front of him and had taken whatever spell the illegal artefact smuggler had thrown at the Weasel; the spell that had ripped right through Harry's chest, down to his ribs, breaking four of them neatly in half.

Hermione reaches out and touches my cheek, running the pad of her thumb softly but firmly along my cheekbone.

"I can't even imagine how hard this must be for you," she says, now actually whispering as her own brown eyes shine with tears.

I tear my eyes away from Harry's white, almost lifeless face, and look down; regarding her with what I hoped is a nonchalant smile.

"Like this is the first time he's been in here with blood all over him," I say, playfully tugging at one of the dark curls that's escaped the careless knot at the nape of her neck, bouncing against her pale cheek.

"First time you actually saw him like that, though," she keeps her expression carefully blank. I fight to mirror that expression.

Nobody is as surprised as I am that my unlikely friendship with Hermione Granger has only become stronger since our eighth year. Not even her husband, the Weasel.

"How is Hugo?" I hope she doesn't catch me at my very obvious attempt at a change of subject.

"Cranky, for one," she sighs. "He was asleep when Ron fire-called me, and Ginny and Neville were visiting at the time. I quite literally ordered them to baby-sit before I jumped into the Floo."

"It'll be good practice for the Weaslette, anyway," I rub one eye with my forefinger. "How far along is she now? Five months? Six?"

"Six," Hermione confirms. "Draco, go home and get some sleep. You look terrible."

"Why, thank you," I say with feigned offence. She smiles.

"Seriously, go home," she rubs my arm gently. "I'll firecall if anything happens, you know I will."

I just stare wordlessly at Harry, again.

"I don't want him to know I was here, okay?" I finally whisper. There is a pause before she replies.

"Draco, -" Hermione begins in a patient tone.

"No," I say firmly, turning back to her. "I mean it, I won't have him know."

"Even if nobody actually tells him, he'll eventually see some sort of paper work or something and notice that you were the main Healer on this case," she frowns, crossing her arms. I glare at her.

"Then you're going to ensure he doesn't get his hands on hospital paper work of any sort, aren't you?" my tone is almost threatening. She sighs.

"Draco, please – " she tries again.

"No," I say adamantly.

"Don't you think ten years of pining is long enough?" she asks, her whisper impatient and fierce. My jaw drops.

"I... What makes you think... I have not been pining for him," I say hotly.

"I wasn't talking about you," she clarifies quietly. My heart skips a beat. I don't reply immediately.

"He's been pining for me?" I take a step closer to her. She opens her mouth, and then closes it again, frowning.

"Pining's a strong word," she finally mumbles. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, with a whoosh.

"Bint," I mutter, looking away once more.

"But I've known Harry for over a decade and a half, and I know he isn't happy," she turns my face around with a finger under my chin so our eyes meet again. "The last time he was truly happy was ten years ago, Draco."

"You mean before he broke up with me?" I shoot back, familiar anger rising up within me. Hermione opens her mouth, shaking her head, but I cut her off. "Don't," I hold up a hand. "Please, Hermione."

Her mouth falls shut and she looks away, biting her lip.

"I'm going home; my shift starts in an hour and I need a shower," I say, and then pause. "You'll let me know if anything happens, right?" I must have sounded like the insecure, pathetic fool that I am, because she instantly envelops me in one of those needless hugs of hers.

"Of course, you idiot," she says softly. When she steps back, I peck her forehead briefly and make my way to my office from where I Floo back home.

~

I stand looking out the window in my bedroom, watching the dawn play around with all its colours, shivering slightly. I cradle the steaming cup of tea closer to me, letting the familiar scent soothe my nerves. I feel high strung and almost scared when I think of going back to work. Although I'd made it clear to Hermione that I will not be going back to check on Harry, I don't trust myself. Just the knowledge that he's in the same building where I have a twelve-hour shift is going to be enough to distract me.

I sigh and start getting dressed. For once, I'm glad that it's Friday; I can escape to The Silver Dragon for a few drinks after work and then sleep right up until lunchtime tomorrow.

As I button up my shirt, out of habit, my eyes linger on the long, white scars across my chest, and like they always do, they remind me instantly of Harry – the way he would run his tongue over each pale, gleaming line of mended skin, mouthing at them over and over as I tried my best to stop shaking under his relentless tongue...

I quickly step away from the mirror, a shudder so strong going up my spine at the memory, it literally hurts.

At the hospital, I do my rounds as per usual, successfully avoiding the fourth floor entirely, requesting Healer Abbott to check in on two of my patients there for me.

I make it all the way past my four pm coffee break before caving.

When I peer into Harry's room, I feel a rush of relief when I see that not only is he still asleep, but he's currently alone, something I'm selfishly grateful for. I slide in hastily, shutting the door behind me noiselessly.

I quickly check his vitals, gritting my teeth at the scratching sound my quill makes on his chart. I'm pleased to see that the junior Healer on the case has already checked on him twice today.

Biting my lip hard, I stand over him for a second, my fingers twitching next to me. Giving in, I reach out and gently push back his fringe, tracing the tip of my forefinger over his scar, just like I used to. The rush of memory is sudden and overwhelming. I have to stifle a strange gasping sob that tries fighting its way out, and stagger back a step.

And then Harry's eyes flutter open.

I freeze, unable to tear away my gaze. Even when he is drugged within an inch of his life, in need of healing charms to hold his torso together, and half blind without his glasses, he is evidently able to hold my gaze with the same ease as ten years ago.

Some things just won't change, apparently.

Just like the way my heart begins racing at the exact moment that Harry's mouth curves into the most beautiful smile as he recognizes me.

"Draco," he croaks suddenly, startling me. "I let you get the snitch this time. I think that merits a kiss, don't you?" the corners of his eyes still crinkle like they used to.

Christ, he thinks he's dreaming.

I gulp and reach out to twiddle with the controls on one of the floating potion bags next to his bed. I count, and it takes exactly five seconds for his eyes to flutter shut once again, his breathing deep and slow.

"Draco?" I jump a few inches high at the whisper. I turn around and glare at Hermione who stares back innocently.

"Jesus Christ, Granger," I scowl. She grins and nods her head towards the corridor, holding the door open. I step out, throwing one last glance at Harry over my shoulder.

"Not here," I growl when she opens her mouth, shutting the door behind her. She follows me to my office, immediately claiming her usual spot on the brown leather couch there. I twirl my wand once and a tray appears, revolving twice before floating daintily down to the coffee table.

"How long has he been alone in that room?" I ask, careful to keep any sort of accusation out of my voice as I prepare her tea.

"About fifteen minutes," Hermione scowls, catching some anyway. "There are undercover Aurors keeping watch at either end of the corridor, for your information. And I thought you weren't going to come back to see him?"

"Oh, sue me," I snap, handing her a ludicrously bright orange mug full of tea, milky and sweet the way she prefers. She grins.

"I'm glad you did come back, Draco," she reaches out to tweak my cheek. I jerk away, still scowling. She sniggers.

"I don't need this, you know," I lean back and stretch my legs out next to the tea tray. "Harry and all the shit he brings along. Especially when I might be sort of dating this guy."

Hermione's splutter of shock is immensely satisfying and I calmly wipe away the few flecks of tea that land on my arm.

"Excuse me?" she demands shrilly.

"Oh, come on," I say lightly. "I told you about Stephen."

"You told me that a dreamy, Italian Healer visited the hospital to help out with a research case, you did not tell me that you're dating him!" she rants all in one breath, her voice rising steadily.

"I said I might be dating him," I hold up a finger.

"Draco," her voice is full of warning and I quickly decide to stop playing around.

"Alright, alright," I grin.

"Well?" she presses.

"He may have said that he'd like to take me out for a few drinks the next time he is in London," I say casually, not meeting her eyes.

"So you're actually going to be talking to him and stuff?" she asks after a small pause. I frown at her.

"What exactly are you insinuating?"

"Well, you don't usually bother talking to the men you 'see'," she supplies at once, making air quotes with her forefingers. "You usually go straight to the shagging."

"Stephen seems to be the kind who'd want to go through the whole 'getting-to-know-each-other' rigmarole," I sigh.

"And you're okay with that as long as you end up in bed with him eventually?" she blows lightly on her tea as she sips.

"I suppose," I grin.

"I think you should meet Harry and talk," she states abruptly, watching coolly as I choke on a gasp.

"What?! No!," I exclaim.

"Why not?" Hermione doesn't even blink.

"Because," I get to my feet and stalk across the room to my desk, throwing myself into my chair.

"Yes?"

"Hermione, I knew that you'd eventually bring this up -" I start.

"Then how come you don't have an answer ready?" she quirks an eyebrow.

"I do," I shoot back. I breathe in and out, shutting my eyes for a second. "Harry was the one who broke up with me, and he made it quite clear that things would never work out between us. And I don't think – "

"Really? You're going to give me that same tripe again?" Hermione gets to her feet and takes one of the chairs opposite mine. "I've heard that rant quite a few times, love, thank you."

"I'm not ranting," I offer, quietly. "If you think I'm about to swallow my pride and go beg that man to take me back, over ten years after he dumped me, you haven't managed to get to know me at all over the past decade."

"I don't expect you to go beg him," she puts down her tea and reaches across the desk to clasp my hand. "Just agree to meet him."

"I've told you before – no," I say pointedly.

"Why not?"

"Because I haven't forgiven him yet," I state calmly. Hermione falls silent.

"Oh," she says eventually.

"Oh," I nod. "What, you thought I feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside when I think about him?"

"What do you feel when you think about him?" her eyes don't leave mine.

"Anger," my reply is immediate. She says nothing for a few seconds.

"And?" she prods. I breathe in and then blow out a long breath as I stand and turn to look out the window behind my chair. It's just begun to drizzle outside and I spot a few nurses hurrying inside after a quick smoke break. I gave up smoking after Hogwarts. It reminded me too much of Harry.

My lungs are grateful, I suppose.

Hermione waits patiently as my gaze follows the course of one of the droplets that land on the glass pane.

"You want to hear me say that I still miss him?" I turn my head slightly as I speak.

"Only if it's the truth," she stands up and makes her way over.

"Fine. I miss him."

Silence.

"But you haven't forgiven him and so you don't want to speak to him," it is not a question.

"Yes."

Hermione sighs.

"Okay, love," she gives my hand a quick squeeze. "I suppose I'd better get back to Harry."

"Yes, go on," I avoid looking at her.

"I'll see you later," she picks up her purse from where she'd left it on the sofa. I nod silently, and when I hear the door close behind her, I let the stiff line of my back relax and let my forehead rest against the cool glass. Everything looks grey and dull outside and my eyes fall shut in defeat as I reluctantly recall the last time Harry and I'd been together, ten years back.

~

It had been bright and hot outside that day, and I sat curled up next to the window, watching the scenery fly past. The Hogwarts Express hurtled along taking us back to London, and I was filled with an inexplicable sense of dread.

"Hey," his voice had greeted me. I'd turned to find him letting himself into the compartment and locking the door behind him.

"What's wrong?" I'd asked immediately. If I hadn't known him as well as I did by then, I wouldn't have noticed the expression that crossed his face before he'd quickly hitched on a smile.

"Does something have to be wrong for me to ask you to meet me in an empty compartment?" he'd grinned, looking sexy as fuck as he'd shrugged off his jacket. Momentarily, I'd forgotten to be worried, and I'd smiled back, laughing aloud when he'd pulled me to my feet and nuzzled my neck.

"Okay, so you just wanted a last fuck?" I'd murmured, pressing kisses along his jaw. "We'll meet up, we've talked about that..." I'd heard the quick intake of breath but before I could investigate, he'd kissed me. And he didn't stop until I was painfully hard and whimpering for mercy.

Of all our countless sessions of love-making throughout the past months, that had been our longest. Harry had traced every inch of me with his tongue and mouth and hands; he'd licked and sucked and bitten me in places I can't even speak of and all I could do back then was beg incoherently. For hours we'd made love, the steady, rhythmic clattering of the train out of synch with the sounds we'd made.

I'd been startled at the way Harry had taken me repeatedly. He'd gone from heart wrenchingly gentle, to mind numbingly, almost painfully rough and back to tender and careful with every fuck, and if he hadn't been so good at shutting me up with sex, I'd have dragged whatever was on his mind out of him a lot sooner.

It was dark outside and the train wasn't going as fast anymore when we'd come together one last time, my hands scrabbling against the glass of the window behind my head, Harry's teeth firmly clamped in the curve of my neck, his body stiff as he'd come inside me. We'd lain together gasping quietly, and when Harry finally turned his head to kiss me, I'd thought I'd felt something wet against my cheek.

I'd grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled hard, forcing his head back so I could look at him. Before I could look properly, he'd pulled away and crawled off me.

"Better get dressed, we're there," his voice had been low and he hadn't met my eyes.

I'd given him the full three minutes it had taken us to clean up and get dressed.

"Spit it the fuck out, or I'll hex your balls off," I'd said calmly, casting a charm to brighten the lights in the dimly lit compartment. Harry'd squinted in the suddenly bright lights, biting his lip.

"Draco," his voice had come out hoarse. He cleared his throat before trying again. "Draco, I – " but suddenly, I'd known what he was about to say, and decided to spare him the pain of saying it out loud.

"You want to break up," I congratulated myself at how cool I sounded. Harry had just stared at me helplessly.

"It's for your own good," he'd had the gumption to say. I think I'd been justified in punching him across the same jaw I'd been nibbling at as he'd fucked me a few minutes back.

Harry had merely staggered back a step and rubbed his rapidly bruising jaw. What had made me livid was how defeated he'd looked.

"Don't patronize me, Potter," I'd spat.

"I'm not parto-" he'd started wearily.

"Atleast have the courage to say that it scares you to announce to world that you, their fucking hero, would rather have his cock buried up a bloke's arse than some bint's twat," I'd snarled. Harry's eyes had widened for a second.

"You don't get it!" his voice had risen. I had held a hand up to silence him and then tried to make my way past him to the door. He'd stopped me with a hand on my arm. "Draco, please," he'd whispered. "Please understand that I'm not happy about this either."

"Let go of my arm, Harry," I'd said without looking at him.

"Draco." For a second, I thought that his eyes had glittered wetly when I'd glanced at him. "Draco, I love y- "

"Don't!" I'd whispered fiercely, cutting him off, whipping around to look at him, our noses almost touching. "Don't you dare," I'd hissed, sounding venomous to my own ears. Harry'd blinked once, and then his face was impassive.

My heart had sunk further as his grip had loosened on my arm. I'd wanted him to hold on tighter, to say those words again, this time uninterrupted. I'd wanted him to pin me up against the door, kiss me and take it all back, the whole conversation we'd just had.

I'd wordlessly unlocked the door, and hurried to retrieve my luggage, ignoring Hermione's shrill 'Draco, wait!'. I'd practically jumped off the train, dragging my trunk behind me, spotted my mother in an instant, grabbed her arm and Disapparated us home.

~

A week after that, Harry had made his sexual preferences public with an interview in the Prophet. I remember the way my heart had leapt and for a whole two weeks I'd waited for him to establish some form of contact with me. The bastard had never bothered. He'd melted out of my life as if he'd never been there in the first place.

I start when a knock sounds at the door. Ronald Weasley pokes his head into my office.

"What do you want, Weasley?" I ask immediately, trying to sound bored, shuffling a pile of parchment to seem busy. After all these years, it still pleases me when the Weasel's nostrils flare in irritation like that. I don't think I'm ever going to grow up.

"Harry woke up," he says with a frown.

"All by himself? Oh my!" I say in mock astonishment, even as my heart begins to race. "Has he been given a medal for that yet? Another Order of Merlin, perhaps?"

"Jesus Christ, Malfoy, why do you have to be such an arsehole every-" Ronald explodes at the exact moment Hermione bursts into my office, interrupting him as she runs right into his back. "For heaven's sake, 'Mione," he mumbles, turning and frowning down at her.

"Ron, go back to Harry and if you tell him that Draco is the Healer on this case, I will hex your nose hair into six foot long braids," Hermione rants fiercely at her husband. I snort.

Ronald, apparently, is wise enough to know when his wife really means business, and hurriedly backs out of my office. Hermione turns to me, panting slightly.

"So, the Saviour hath risen from drugged slumber," I raise an eyebrow at her.

"Yes, and guess what he asked us the second after his eyes opened," Hermione crosses her arms, her back straight.

"'Is my scar okay?'" I venture, grinning. Hermione makes an irritated sound and I laugh at her. "Do tell," I nod.

"He asked, 'was Draco in here just now?'" she bites her lip and my stomach drops down about three floors. I jump to my feet.

"Did you tell him?" I ask urgently. "I am not coming back there to talk to him, Hermione, I told you, I – "

"Draco, I am not going to ask you to come back to meet him," Hermione interrupts calmly.

"Good," I say irritably, sitting back down, ignoring the disappointed wiggle my stomach does. Neither of us speaks for a few seconds. "What did you say anyway?" I finally cave.

"I said, 'no Harry, he was not'," she replies in a monotone. I look up at her and sigh through my nose.

"Why did you come back here then?" I raise my chin defiantly.

"To ask you when we can take him home," Hermione shrugs. Again, the stupid stomach-wiggle. I really should get some dinner.

"Tomorrow, if he does well through tonight," I say casually, getting back up to my feet, and picking up my coat. "I'm leaving now, but you can consult with Healer Lewis if you need anything else. I've already updated him about Harry's case and made my excuses." Hermione frowns, opens her mouth, closes it and looks away.

"Okay, Draco," she looks back at me and smiles. I nod and make my way over to the fire place. "Harry sends his thanks," she says quietly. I whip around and stare at her, the Floo powder shimmering down to the floor from my hand.

"But you just said – " I start to hiss.

"He just asked me to thank the Healer who healed him, Draco," Hermione says patiently. "He babbled a lot in his semi drugged state."

"He doesn't need to be drugged to babble, he almost never makes much sense," I mutter, looking away. I hear Hermione snort and then she walks up to me.

"He's going to find out," she says softly. "You know as well as I do. He always does find out about the stuff he expressly shouldn't. What are you going to do then? Turn around and run away?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead," I frown down at her.

"Well, maybe you should," Hermione raises a dark brow at me. "Since you're so stubborn about never facing him again."

"I didn't say never again," I mumble before I can stop myself. Hermione's eyes glitter, but her expression remains neutral.

"Goodnight, love," she kisses my cheek. I grunt in reply and grab another handful of Floo powder.

*x*

"I have to speak to him, 'Mione," I try yet another time. Hermione doesn't look up as she pours out three glasses of wine, kneeling by the coffee table. She gets to her feet holding a glass in each hand, and hands over one to me.

"You dreamt about him again?" she asks, sinking down sideways on the sofa armchair, so her legs dangled over the arm rest. I nod. "I can't force him, Harry," she shrugs. "Besides, what do you want to speak to him about?" her tone suggested nothing but nonchalance, but I noticed the way her hand gripped her wine glass, and I could have sworn she was holding her breath.

"I don't know," I say truthfully. She seems disappointed. "Were you hoping I'd say I wanted to ask him to get back together?" I ask, the idea making my stomach flip flop.

"Well, do you want that?" Hermione shoots back at once. I don't answer immediately.

"I don't think he'd want me back," I finally say, my voice no louder than a whisper.

"You don't know that," she bites her lip, frowning.

"Well, you're closest to him, you tell me then," I say, frowning back.

"I don't know," Hermione suddenly seems irritated. "He refuses to meet you or speak to you." The wine in her glass swirls violently as she clamps her free hand over her mouth. I sit up from my lounging position on the sofa.

"He.. He told you that?" I feel something tighten in my chest. Hermione regards me carefully.

"He's just... Draco's just..." she looks as though wondering how to make something sound gentle.

"He's what?" I lean forward.

"Draco is still hurting," she blurts out. "Jesus, what is wrong with me?" she groans, letting her head drop back. "He's going to kill me," she adds miserably.

"He told you that?" I ask after a moment of stunned silence. I feel like I'm going to throw up with the sudden onset of familiar guilt.

"No!" Hermione all but shouts. "He told me he hasn't forgiven you yet. He's still angry, Harry. Do you blame him?" she raises her eyebrows.

"No," I say softly, and then fall silent.

"You did what you thought would protect him," Hermione says softly, after a minute. "It was a good idea at the time, anyway," she doesn't sound very sure.

"Yeah, except now it sounds fucking flimsy and cowardly," I lean back, running a hand through my hair. "No wonder he's still angry."

"You weren't being a coward, Harry," Hermione says patiently. "You came out right after we finished school; never bothered pretending."

"Or maybe I just did that to prove Draco wrong," I voice out for the first time in ten years. Hermione opens her mouth, and then closes it, biting her lip.

"Did you?" she asks, softly.

"I don't know," I set my wine glass aside. Suddenly, I just want to go home and go to bed.

Just then, the Floo bursts into green flames and Ron steps out, shaking his head like a wet dog, his fingers already undoing his Aurors' robes.

"Pizza's here, thank God," he says, throwing open the lid of the pizza box and wrenching out a slice. He kisses Hermione long and hard, and then sinks onto the floor at her feet, biting into the pizza.

"So, what are we talking about?" he asks with his mouth full.

"Harry thinks he is ready to get back to work," Hermione says hurriedly. As if I'm stupid enough to talk about Draco in front of Ron. I still remember how uncomfortable Ron was when Draco and I were together in our eighth year.

Ron simply snorts.

"You know what Kingsley said, Harry," he shrugs, stuffing a huge bite of pizza whole into his mouth.

"Yes, only paper work from home for a month. Don't need a fucking reminder," I reply. I feel petulant and irritable.

"Sorry, mate," Ron says, helping himself to another slice. "Kids in bed?" he asks Hermione, craning his neck as he turns to look at her. She nods, sipping her wine.

"Hugo was a perfect angel tonight, fell asleep in about three minutes," she seems quite shocked. "It scared me a little, actually." Ron snorts and downs his glass of wine in a single gulp.

"It's going to take me about half that time to fall asleep tonight," he informs us, pouring himself another glass. "With Harry gone, and Frost on vacation, Harvey and I were forced to investigate seven different matters today alone," he leans back against Hermione's sofa, rubbing his eye with two fingers.

"Why the hell aren't you talking to Kingsley about cutting my leave short then?" I ask irritably.

"Because I agree with him about you needing time to recover," Ron shoots back at once, all signs of exhaustion gone. "He's right, you know. That spell you took for me, it would have killed a normal wizard," Ron pauses as I scoff and look away. "It's true. Malfoy said the same thing, he said if he hadn't stopped the bleeding at the exact time he did, you could have bled to dea- " he stops suddenly, his eyes widening. Behind him, Hermione's eyes are closed and her lips are pursed.

Suddenly, I can't breathe.

"Malfoy? Draco?" I ask, not daring to hope.

"Yeah...Yes, him," Ron looks desperately back at Hermione, who is glaring down at him. "Sorry" he adds to her.

"Hermione?" I look at her. "Draco was the Healer on my case?" She sighs and nods. "You said Healer Lewis was," I say blankly.

"Draco... Um.. He didn't want you to know," Hermione mumbles, twirling the stem of her glass nervously between thumb and forefinger.

"Oh." Of course he didn't want me to know. Draco's been very careful about running into me. By making sure he never runs into me, of course. In the few Ministry events we've both attended, our eyes would meet over the crowd, I'd blink, and he'd be gone.

"Harry." Hermione's voice sounds muffled. I look at her, feeling slightly dazed.

"I think I need to lie down," I hear myself say.

"Shall I get you a blanket?" Ron looks worried.

"No, no," I get to my feet. "I think I'll go home."

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione sets her wine glass down and grips my arm.

"Of course," I smile. "Those damn potions make me sleepy as hell," I know what a pathetic excuse that makes. I don't care.

"Okay," she looks uncertain.

"I'll be fine, I promise," I stumble towards the fireplace.

"Take care, mate," Ron calls.

"Yep. 'night," I say over my shoulder.

"Goodnight, Harry," I hear Hermione reply just as the flames engulf me.

~

Deciding to break up with Draco had quite literally been the toughest decision of my life. At the time it felt that way, of course, with Voldemort and all that mess safely behind me. I found myself slipping deeper and deeper in love with the blond, who was much more than sneers and rude comments, as I'd discovered.

The war had changed him to the point where he seemed like a new person. He was still as infuriating as ever, though, and there were times when we'd quarrelled to the point of throwing hexes at one another. But as I soon found out, I couldn't go very long without meeting him, touching him, kissing him...

Merlin knows that no other man could ever match up to Draco in bed. Ten years, and a lot of men later, there was no doubt of that fact in my mind. Sex with Draco had been something life-altering. Each and every time.

Watching his pale body writhe and thrash below mine, listening to all those incredible sounds he'd make, his incoherent begging, and the knowledge that I'd reduced him to that state, had become like something of a drug to me. The more I'd had of him, the more I'd wanted. The more I got, the deeper I fell.

When Ginny had found out, she'd been furious. She hadn't screamed or cursed me though, no. She'd chosen to lash out in another way.

"Oh, I can't wait for people out there to find out," she'd said, a cold smile on her face. "Can't wait to see what they do to him."

And that's all it had taken for me to panic and decide to push Draco away – to safety. Ginny wouldn't tell anyone, that much I'd known. But I also knew I wouldn't manage to keep it a secret for very long that we were together, given to the amount of attention I still received from the press back then. I knew I'd be putting him in some kind of jeopardy, physical or mental. He'd still been fragile then, flaring up or shutting down at the mention of Voldemort or his father or the war. I'd wanted to protect him from any kind of accusation; from any sort of attack – verbal or physical.

Sometimes I think Draco was right in accusing me of suffering from Hero syndrome.

I turn over with a sigh, still wide awake. Sometimes I wonder if he'd been right; if I'd simply been afraid of what people would say to me about being with him – with a Malfoy, an ex-Death Eater.

Suddenly furious with myself, I rip off the duvet and stalk down the hall to the living room. I pour myself three fingers of whiskey and sink into the couch, waving my hand at the fireplace where flames flicker to life. Letting the warmth wash over me, I lean back and close my eyes.

Suddenly, I need to see him. I need to talk to him. I need to explain. I need to apologise.

I need to touch him...

Something aches in my chest as I let the memory of my recent dreams wash over me. At first, I'd just dreamt of him standing over me as I lay in bed, looking down at me with no particular expression.

Recently, the dreams had gone further. Draco had smiled down at me, run his fingers through my hair, traced my scar, exactly they way he used to.

I down the whiskey in one gulp and Summon the decanter.

*x*

"I always knew that your husband would meet his end at my hands," I growl, stirring the sauce in the pot so vigorously that some of it splashes out onto the cooking range. "Apologies in advance for your widowhood." To my irritation, Hermione simply snorts.

"Really, Draco, you're more dramatic than Rose is when she is in one of her 'moods'," Hermione waves her wand and the colander full of pasta she's just drained zooms out of the sink and hurtles toward me before stopping dead and hovering patiently over the range, dripping starchy water onto the sauce I'd just spilled on it.

"Hermione, I don't understand how you can be so calm about this!" I snap. "I thought you're on my side in this whole 'avoiding Harry' mission."

"Okay, first, I don't have a side," Hermione leans against the sink. "With two children, I can't afford to ever take sides anymore. Secondly, I don't see the point in throwing a fit about it. Harry knows, and unless you want me to attack him with a Memory charm, there isn't anything you or I can do about it."

"The Memory Charm thing!" I wave the spoon at her, sauce flying everywhere. "Do that!"

"No," she replies calmly.

"Bah!" I spit.

Hermione had owled in the morning to inform me that Harry had found out and that she'd come over for lunch and tell me all about it. Not one of the best starts to a Saturday.

One week. That's how long they'd managed to keep it from him. Ronald is lucky that it was Hermione my mad aunt had picked to torture all those years ago. He wouldn't have lasted a minute. What is it with Gryffindor men and their gift for babbling without thought, I think to myself as we sit to eat lunch at my two-seater table by the kitchen window.

Hermione is silent, tucking into her pasta without a word, humming appreciatively as she takes her first bite. I eat a few forkfuls of my lunch, barely tasting the fresh tomato and herb sauce I excel at making. I count up to ten in my head before pushing my plate away and breathing out violently through my nose.

"Fine! Tell me what Harry said when Weasley told him!" I snarl, sounding as if she'd been pestering me to listen all this while.

Hermione chews her mouthful carefully before taking a long sip of wine. She swallows, licks her lips, dabbing at the corners with her napkin, and finally meets my gaze to find me glaring at her.

"He looked terrible," she didn't bother sugar coating it. My heart, which seemed to have had stopped beating for a few seconds, suddenly thuds painfully in my chest. "He was white as a sheet – not as white as my husband though," she adds grimly, her eyes narrowing. My glare intensifies. "Oh give him a break; he'd had a horrible Friday."

"Every Friday is horrible for everybody who works," I say expressionlessly. "What did Harry say?"

"He went all quiet. And then he left," she shrugs, poking her fork into the pasta.

"He left? Just like that?" I hope my disappointment isn't heard too clearly.

"Draco, you should've seen him," Hermione sighs and tucks her hair behind her ear, looking out the window at the Muggle vehicles roaring past in the street, two stories below. "He looked... I could see he was struggling to get his mind around the fact that you had been so physically close to him so recently, and he hadn't even known. He looked, well, devastated," she turned to me, a small frown on her face.

"Ah..." suddenly I don't know what to say. If I was being honest with myself, I'd hoped Harry would be upset when he found out. I'd thought I'd feel satisfied upon learning that he'd been hurt because he hadn't been told. And by the sound of it he had.

I feel miserable.

"And then he excused himself and left," Hermione shrugs again. "I checked on him this morning but he didn't answer his Floo. I just hope he's alright," she bites her lip and I suddenly want to throw something brittle at a wall.

I swallow hard. I suddenly wish it wasn't the weekend and that I had work to distract myself with.

"Are you really sure you don't want to speak to him?" Hermione sounds defeated.

"Yes, I'm sure," I say stubbornly.

"He's been dreaming about you," she informs me quietly. My neck twinges painfully as my head snaps up hard as I regard her with my mouth slightly open.

"I beg your pardon?" I splutter.

"You heard me," she continues eating. "He's been dreaming about you... Er, watching him sleep or something."

Shit.

"He remembers," my voice is hoarse. Hermione nods, taking a bite of bread, her expression unreadable.

I realize my mind is completely blank. I suddenly don't know what to think or feel. There is just a nagging urge to see him again. An urge I've been studiously avoiding paying attention to over the last week.

Hermione helps me clean up and wash out the lunch dishes, knowing not to talk to me any further about Harry. I try to pay attention to the conversation, offering short responses, but my thoughts are firmly on the green eyed arsehole I can't seem to get over.

"I need to get back now, love. Ron and I are taking the kids to the Burrow," Hermione says to me now, picking up her coat. "I hope Ron's managed to feed them, and get them dressed and ready to go," she grumbles, checking her reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece as she slips into her coat.

"Okay," I say absently, throwing myself across the sofa and picking up The Prophet.

"I'll see you tomorrow evening," I hear her say. "By what time are you going to be there?"

"What?" I look up. "Where?"

Hermione gives me a funny look. "The event the Ministry has planned along with St.Mungo's. Aren't you winning an award of some sort tomorrow?" she looks slightly incredulous that I've forgotten.

"Oh, that," I make a face. "And the award's not for me. My department at the hospital is winning an award for that research case that Stephen was helping us with."

"So he's going to be there tomorrow as well?" Hermione grins.

"I suppose," I shrug, giving her a small smile.

"Well, I hope you get lucky tomorrow then," she takes a handful of Floo powder. "Don't forget to pick up your dress robes from the cleaners today."

"Oh, shit," I groan. "Fine. I'll go down to Diagon in the evening."

"See you, love," she blows a kiss at me and vanishes into the Floo as I wave absently.

~

I end up falling asleep on the sofa and wake up to my mother's owl hooting at me from the coffee table. It sticks its leg out and I groggily reach out to untie the small scroll tied there.

The letter, as it turns out, was from my mother asking to meet me for tea at Diagon Alley, after her appointment at the new designer boutique there that evening. I send the owl back with a suitable time for the meeting and then firecall the hospital to enquire with one of the weekend shift nurses about one of my patients.

By five that evening, I'm waiting for my mother at the little tea shop tucked away in a corner at Diagon Alley that she loves. It's an old fashioned little place that serves its tea in delicate silverware that belonged to the owner's great grandmother.

I rise to kiss my mother when she arrives, looking as elegant as ever in tasteful robes of slate grey, a single string of pearls around her neck, her hair, now more silver than blonde, pulled into a neat chignon at the nape of her neck.

"Darling," she greets me softly, kissing me on the cheek and squeezing both my hands gently. "How are you?" she asks warmly, the scent of her rose and sandalwood perfume calming me somehow. I smile back the first genuine smile I've smiled in a week.

We order tea, cucumber sandwiches and scones. Knowing full well that my mother can spot a bad mood in less than a second, I pay full attention to our conversation. So naturally, it takes her all of two minutes to notice something is amiss.

"You seem disturbed, Draco," she observes quietly, pouring out two cups of tea. "Is everything alright?"

"Of course, Mother," I say quickly. "I've had a hectic week at work, that's all."

"Are you sure?" her pale blue eyes scrutinize me carefully as she adds sugar and a splash of milk to one of the cups before handing it to me. I nod, accepting the cup without meeting her eyes, sipping the tea too quickly and scalding my tongue in the process. "Please, darling, talk to me," she insists softly. I sigh. She'll find out sooner than later anyway, if not from me, from Hermione.

"It's Harry," I say, putting my cup back in its saucer and finally looking up at her.

Mother seems surprised for all of one second before that knowing look creeps across her face. She knows of course, about Harry and me. I'd had to tell her after Hogwarts, when I'd refused to come out of my room and had barely eaten for the first few weeks. When I'd finally told her, she'd simply kissed me on the forehead and told me to take however long I needed to recover.

"So Harry would like to meet with you?" she asks me now, after I've told her everything.

"I suppose he wouldn't mind it," I say, folding my napkin between two fingers.

"And you..."

"Don't want to see him, that's right," I say firmly.

"Alright," she says lightly, picking up her cup. "Although you ought to realize that you might feel a lot less... restless, if you talk to him."

"Why does everybody keep telling me that?" I ask irritably.

"Probably because we can see that you never really got over that boy," she replies calmly. "Maybe you ought to meet him if only to get closure and move on." I stare at her.

"What do you know about these things, you were married off to Father when you turned eighteen," I scowl. She laughs. I'm thankful that she has managed to make her peace with Father's suicide although it took the better part of the last decade.

"You children think we're too old to understand love and how it works," she shakes her head.

"Who said anything about love?" I try hard not to raise my voice.

"Nobody had to."

I fall silent. Mother takes a bite out of her sandwich and wipes her mouth delicately.

"I don't love Harry," I say, my voice faltering a little.

"Of course not," Mother nods. "But Harry isn't letting you move on either, is he?"

I don't answer.

"You – you think I should move on?" I frown into my tea.

"What were you expecting me to think?"

"I'm not sure," I drink some more tea. "I think Hermione still hopes that Harry and I will get back together."

"And how do you feel about that?" Mother places her cup back in its saucer and then looks at me squarely.

"I think that it is ridiculous, it's been ten years," I say quickly, scowling once more. Mother doesn't reply immediately.

"Draco, time doesn't play a role here," she tucks a stray strand of her fine hair behind her ear. "Clearly, even ten years later, the boy affects you, how you feel, your moods even," she adds.

"Mother, anybody as vexatious as him would affect my moods," I state. "Anybody as... Gryffindor as him would do that." Mother simply smiles.

"Let me just say this," she reaches across the table and takes my hand. "I learnt many years ago that when you decide to forgive someone, you must do it for yourself, more than you do it for their sake. Grudges weigh you down, Draco. Grudges also interfere with true feelings," she holds my gaze firmly as she says the last part.

I don't know what to say.

When I bid goodbye to Mother and watch her Disapparate back to the manor, darkness has begun to fall. I pull my coat tighter around myself and walk quickly to the robe cleaners on the other end of the Alley, my head full of Harry once more.

Mother and her stupid advice, I frown to myself. Nobody understands what it was like - getting over that bespectacled git. I'd hated how weak and vulnerable I'd felt. I'd cursed myself for letting someone get so deep into my life.

When Hermione had finally relented and told me why Harry had decided to break up with me, I'd nearly hexed her simply because there was nobody else in the room at the time. I hadn't known what to be more furious about – about the fact that he'd made the decision by himself without letting me have a say in it, or whether he'd, yet again, made a decision out of an impulse to protect.

I don't need him to take care of me, I think angrily to myself now. I don't need anybody to protect me or look out for me. I stomp up the steps to the cleaners and reach for the door -

- at the exact same moment that someone pushes it open from the inside, sending me toppling backwards with an inelegant shriek.

And then I feel a hand wrap around my forearm and pull, sending me straight into a broad chest with a shocked 'oof!'.

So much for taking care of myself.

"You okay?" a deep voice sounds near my ear, warm breath huffing against my neck. I feel myself go stiff as a board. I know that voice.

Suddenly breaking out into shivers, I look up slowly. Right into ferociously green eyes, blinking at me from behind black framed spectacles.

"Draco." One word – my name, on his tongue - is all it takes for me to break out into full fledged trembling.

I haven't been this close to him in ages. He smells of aftershave and a faint hint of cigarette smoke. Although I saw him up close at the hospital, it's still hard to believe how drastically his once puny body has transformed into that of a fully grown, man – that of an Auror. He's filled out magnificently. His shoulders shoot out straight and broad, his chest a hard plane under my hands. Although I cannot see them now, I remember his rippling, muscular arms, currently under his well worn brown leather jacket. His scar shows clear and bright against his suddenly pale skin and his lips are wet and slightly parted.

I gulp and take a hasty step back, instantly missing his warmth around me.

"Harry," I manage to sound held-together, thankfully. He smiles, and I almost lose myself at the sight.

"How are you?" he asks, his eyes drilling through me. I see there is one thing that hasn't changed about him – his hair. It's still bloody impossible.

"In a hurry," I say coolly. His smile falters and suddenly I want to grab fistfuls of his thick, jet black hair and kiss him hard.

"Oh, okay," he says, his disappointment clear.

"And next time pull, not push, the door open while exiting a shop, Potter," I say, raising an eyebrow. "You're less likely to kill someone that way." He throws and holds a set of dress robes, carefully packed into its case, over his shoulder, looking guilty.

"I know, I'm sorry," he pulls at a earlobe before scratching behind the ear. His uneasiness is oddly satisfying.

"Excuse me," I make my way past him.

"Draco."

I stop, gulping again before turning around to look at him, making sure to look aloof.

"I just... I wanted to say thank you," he looks right at me. "For, you know, healing me on time."

"Just doing my job, Potter", I turn away.

"I – " he sounds desperate this time, so I turn around with both eyebrows raised.

"Yes?" I ask.

"I – Well..." He's Head Auror and he still struggles to form a sentence. I frown. "It's nothing," he says suddenly, and before I can even blink, he's jogged down the steps and with a last glance at me, he Disapparates.

*x*

"What the fuck just happened?" I ask out loud to my empty apartment. I throw the cleaned dress robes onto the sofa and head to the kitchen, still winded by my sudden encounter with Draco.

I grab a beer from the fridge and sink down at the kitchen table, downing half the bottle in one gulp. I notice my hands are shaking. I put the bottle down with a thud and hold up both my hands before my face. I touched him today...

I actually touched him; held him against me. His scent still lingers around me, sharp and sweet. I cover my face with my hands and inhale deeply, and then feel like a lunatic.

I'd wanted so badly to talk to him; to tell him everything that had been running on my mind all day since I'd found out last night that he'd been the Healer on my case. To tell him how thankful I am that we'd got an opportunity to talk; how glad I am to finally meet him; that I needed to talk to about why I'd broken up with him and how, even after all these years, I miss him so much..

But he'd seemed so disinterested... I'd lost my cool. Can you blame him, a voice inside my head asks. You were something of a prick to him, you know.

A short, bitter laugh escapes me and I dig out a cigarette from my pocket. I'm trying to cut down on these and I've been some what successful, but running into your ex (who just happens to look like he belongs on the cover of one of those glamorous wizarding-fashion magazines) is something that, I think, merits a smoke.

I take a deep drag, holding the smoke in for a few seconds before letting it stream out of my nostrils. Fuck, he's gorgeous. He had been even in school.

But now he takes my fucking breath away, I think to myself, dragging a hand through my hair. I shut my eyes and picture him once more – still tall and thin, although he isn't as skeletal as he used to be after the war; fine, glossy, impossibly golden hair framing his pointy face, falling into those huge grey eyes, had made me itch to reach out and push it aside; upturned, Pureblood nose and that scowling, pout of a mouth.

I then realize I have a raging erection in my jeans. I groan and let my head fall forward onto the table. Even after all these years, one meeting with him is enough to make me randy as fuck.

I can picture him laid out on my bed, naked and moaning my name, writhing and flailing under me as I take him...

"Not helping," I say loudly. I finish my cigarette and head for a shower.

I don't tell Ron or Hermione about my running into Draco when I head to the Burrow for dinner later. There are too many people and too many simultaneous conversations anyway, and I manage to keep my social mask on.

Hermione, however, pulls me aside after dinner and drags me into the kitchen where Mrs.Weasley's dishes hop in and out of warm, soapy water, being scrubbed and washed and wiped dry, all by themselves.

"You met Draco?" she asks without any preface.

"He told you?" I ask incredulously. So Hermione really means it when she says that Draco and she are close friends; I've always had trouble accepting that they didn't need me as a common link to their lives to continue being friends. A surge of jealousy shoots through me, and in the next instant I feel silly. Hermione and Draco had gotten along like a house on fire, back in our eighth year; something that had traumatized Ron for quite a few months before he'd reluctantly accepted it; and something that had pleasantly surprised me, not to mention made me feel proud that Draco had been the one to offer the olive branch. The branch had extended only up to Hermione though; Draco'd had way too much fun annoying Ron.

"Why, yes Harry," Hermione scowls now. "He, unlike you, is a true friend. He tends to mention things like these."

"Look, 'Mione, it wasn't a big deal, alright," I sigh. "I ran into him at the robe-cleaners and he totally blew me off," I realize I sound quite miserable.

"He ranted at me about you attempting to kill him by throwing him off the top some stairs," Hermione looks bewildered. I snort.

"And you think that's true?" I ask sceptically.

"Well, of course not, this is Draco we're talking about," Hermione rolls her eyes. "He can be very dramatic when he's upset."

"Wait, he was upset?" my stomach clenches. Hermione chews her lower lip for a few seconds, her eyes scrunched half closed as she regards me.

"Let's just say he wasn't expecting to run into you and when he did, it shook him up a bit," she finally replies, speaking slowly and carefully.

Hermione's continued friendship with Draco since school ended had never been allowed to turn things between her and me weird or sour. I'd ask after him once in a while and she'd answer with minimum detail. I'd never let myself give in to the impulse of asking her about his personal life. Now however, all I want to do is sit her down and have her tell me every single detail about him and his life.

"Hermione, what does he have to say about me?" I blurt abruptly. She doesn't even blink.

"He tells me he doesn't wish to speak with you although I believe there is a lot more to what he really feels," she says all in one breath.

"So should I go talk to him?" I ask desperately. She shrugs.

"If you have anything important to say to him," she examines her finger nails and then gives me a pointed look. I feel my face heat.

"But you just said he doesn't want to speak to me..." I mumble, not looking at her.

"Yes, but maybe he'll listen," she smiles softly. "You could try if you think he's worth it."

Oh he is so, so worth it.

~

I look over the top of the crowd gathered for the Ministry function, searching for the head of blond hair I know should be present tonight. I grab a flute of champagne from a tray that floats by and down it in a single gulp.

"Harry!"

I whip around to spot Hermione and Ron waving me over and hurry toward them.

"Hello, gorgeous," I smile, bending down to kiss Hermione on the cheek. She looks stunning in a shimmering plum coloured Muggle gown with a slit all the way past her knee, her lips painted to match the dress, her hair glossy and smooth, set in a low, voluminous bun. "You look fantastic." Hermione blushes and grins.

"I know, right? I almost didn't let her out the bedroom," Ron says, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Ronald!" Hermione looks scandalised, as Ron and I laugh. "And Harry, why are you always late?" she frowns at me. "On the plus side, I'm glad you've worn your good dress robes," she inspects me from head to toe, smoothing out a few imaginary creases in my black silk robes and white shirt.

"Give him a break, 'Mione," Ron looks over the top of the crowd. "Looks like they're starting."

"We'd better go find our seats," Hermione grabs my hand and I hurriedly snatch another glass of champagne with my free hand before being dragged to the front of the room where hundreds of chairs have been arranged to face a lit up stage. I follow Hermione and Ron, waving over to a pregnant Ginny and a beaming Neville a few rows down.

I yawn my way through the ceremony for half an hour, grabbing glasses of champagne every time a tray floats by. Ron keeps up a constant stream of comments under his breath about the wizened medical practitioners who are being awarded on stage, making me snort into my champagne every few minutes, Hermione tutting at the both of us, and for sometime, we're back in class at Hogwarts.

At the next announcement, however, I nearly fall off my chair when I hear a very familiar name being called out.

"I'd like to call upon stage Healer Malfoy, Healer Lewis, and Healer Bassi, who was kind enough to join us all the way from Italy."

I automatically join in the applause as three men walk upto Kingsley and Mungo's Head Healer, and shake hands with both of them in turn, before turning to face the audience.

Draco looks incredible in robes of dark, midnight blue, his shirt a shade of classy ivory. He stands next to who I assume is the Italian Healer, who, I am rather unhappy to notice, is terribly good looking. I frown over at the stage, barely listening to Kingsley explain how these Healers had researched for months before finally coming up with a way to reverse dark spells that had shut down a wizard or witch's nervous system, successfully healing several patients who'd been in a vegetative state for decades at St.Mungo's.

Pride nearly overwhelms me as Draco accepts his award from Kingsley, smiling courteously, tilting his head down to hear what Kingsley was saying to him and nodding. I clap vigorously, for one bizarre moment wondering what it would have been like had Draco and I still been together.

I'd probably have been waiting for him as he got off the stage and kissed him straight on the mouth, just so every single witch and wizard in the room would know that this gorgeous, brilliant Healer is taken.

Instead, I watch him climb off the stage, laughing lightly at something the Italian git is saying to him. I wait impatiently for the award ceremony to end and jump up to my feet as soon as Kingsley brings it to a close. But before I can look around for the head of light blond hair, I am distracted by all the furniture rearranging itself. Little round tables appear at intervals and five chairs fall into place around each of them. An orchestra sets up on stage and begins to play a light waltz, and while most people take their seats around the dinner tables, some couples, including Ron and Hermione, make their way over to the clearing in the front of the room to dance.

I go over to where Neville and Ginny are beckoning me over, and briefly sit down and chat, my eyes scanning the crowd constantly. Finally, I spot him and my stomach flips over. He is standing at the back of the room with the Italian Healer, their heads close together, his faint blush visible all the way across the room.

And then they make their way across the room to the men's room outside which they pause, look around once, before disappearing inside.

Something cracks inside me. I even hear it.

"Harry! Are you alright?" I hear Neville ask.

I look down and see that I've crushed the delicate champagne glass in my hand.

"Fine, fine," I mumble, depositing the remains of the flute onto my side plate before jumping to my feet. "Be right back."

I'm halfway across the room before Neville or Ginny can say anything. I catch Hermione's eye and instantly I realize that she knows what I saw. She bites her lip worriedly and I can feel her gaze on me as I make my way inside the men's room.

I open and close the door soundlessly and wait, hardly breathing. I take two steps down the short corridor and then peer around the corner.

The place was empty.

I blink and step towards the sinks, when I hear it - a soft gasp, followed by a low cry.

Before I can think my wand is in my hand, and the next second, the doors of all five stalls have been blown off their hinges, landing at my feet. I stand there, pointing my wand in the general direction of the now wide open stalls, and I can't take my eyes off the sight before me. Draco is pressed up against the side of the centre stall, his eyes wide as he stares, stunned, at me, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, his robes hanging off one bare shoulder, his lips wet and swollen and a bright red love bite burgeoning under his ear.

There is a furious rushing sound in my ears as I turn my eyes on who has now officially become my least favourite person in the world.

The Italian Healer is pressed up against him, his dark hair dishevelled as if someone had been pushing their hands through it repeatedly (which, knowing Draco, is what I know must have happened), his dark green dress robes pooled around his feet, his erection a very evident bulge in his black trousers.

The few seconds that it took me to take in the sight before me seem to go on forever. And then Draco's nostrils flare.

"And just what the fuck do you want, Potter?" he all but snarls. I take a step back.

"I... I didn't – " suddenly I don't know what to say. I had a very good idea of what I might find Draco upto when I followed him in here, and now that I've caught him at it, I don't know what to do or say.

Silently, I wave my wand without looking at the two entangled wizards, and the doors to the stalls soundlessly attach themselves onto their respective hinges. The second before the door to Draco's stall shuts him off, I catch the look on his face.

Draco's expression is that of sheer irritation, but his eyes are unreadable. The look in them makes my stomach flip and my throat turn dry.

I stare at the door for a few more seconds before turning around and making my way out. I head straight to the table I'd left a few minutes ago, where Ron and Hermione have now joined Ginny and Neville, and ask the nearest house-elf to bring me three fingers of Firewhiskey, no ice. Ron is deep in conversation with Neville and Ginny about his latest case at work. Hermione, however, turns to me and silently questions me with a raised eyebrow.

"Hermione, you somehow failed to tell me he is seeing someone," my voice and my hands are shaking and when the house-elf turns up with my drink, I down it in one gulp, and thrust the glass back into the creature's hands, requesting a refill, relishing the burn down my gullet.

"Harry," Hermione's eyes are full of sympathy. "He isn't seeing Stephen. Atleast, he wasn't until just now, I suppose," she glances over at the men's room looking guilty.

"I see," I have to physically stop myself from throwing something or screaming my lungs out. I haven't felt this kind of rage in years.

"Harry, it doesn't mean a thing," Hermione says quietly. "He is never serious about these flings." Just then I see Draco and the other man exit the men's room and hurry over to their table discreetly, their robes and hair in place.

The sound of breaking glass tinkles around me suddenly; every single glass of wine and water at my table explodes as my temper suddenly shoots even higher.

"Merlin's arse!" I hear Ron exclaim, even as Hermione casts the quickest Shield Charm in history, over all of us.

"What the hell just happened?" Ginny stares around in shock. Our table is attracting a good many eyes and as I look around covertly, I see that Draco is looking over as well, his face impassive, but his eyes gleaming intensely.

A house elf hurries over and snaps its fingers, and just like that, our stained table cloth is replaced with a fresh one, and the water and wine glasses are restored.

I don't say anything even as Ron looks over at me worriedly, and I proceed to spend the rest of dinner downing as much Firewhiskey as I can, avoiding looking over at both Draco and Hermione.

Before heading home, I excuse myself for a few minutes and head up to my office, stumbling slightly. I need to look something up if I want to go ahead with what I'd planned. A voice in my head that sounded like Hermione's insists that it is a terrible idea, and that I should go on home and to bed.

And then the image of Draco pressed up against some other man floods my woozy mind and everything suddenly seems sharper as I sway into the lift.

*x*

I sit stretched out on my sofa, barefooted, staring into the fire, cradling a snifter of scotch, recalling the look on Harry's face when he caught me with Stephen. Suddenly my heart races, my face heats and bizarrely enough (well, maybe not so bizarre), my cock stirs as his expression swims into memory; surprise quickly turning to shock – and then, pure fury. I'd nearly yelled out to Harry fearing that he would hex or curse Stephen into a pile of rags.

Not out of concern for Stephen though, I snort. I wouldn't have wanted Harry to lose control because I know how the idiot's mind works. He'd act rashly whilst angry and then spend an eternity regretting it.

Still, an angry Harry, is a sexy-as-hell Harry. He looked fucking perfect tonight in those robes of jet black silk, the first couple of buttons of his white shirt left undone, revealing that triangle of neck and collarbone that just begged to be licked.

In those few seconds in the men's room, as we'd stared at each other, I'd wished it was him against me instead of Stephen. And later, I'd caught the glassware on his table exploding and instantly knew it was him losing control. I'd never before been so glad to have been wearing dress robes, because instantly, I'd turned hard.

Not surprisingly, I don't care for Stephen anymore. I'd had to lie to him, saying that I'd been called to the hospital for an emergency, to get rid of him after the event. I hate Harry, I think angrily. One minute I'm being snogged senseless by a ridiculously hot Italian, and then next second, Harry's blasted apart the men's room and suddenly he is so much hotter. And I can't even have him.

I have literally never wanted him so bad. And that's saying something.

Suddenly the fire flares up but doesn't turn green. I frown, staring down at it and then it starts - the air in the room begins to shimmer and suddenly, the air around me crackles.

The wards, I realize, as I jump to my feet, pulling my wand out of my robes that are lying draped over the back of the sofa. I point my wand upwards and begin muttering the incantations to strengthen the wards, suddenly a little scared.

Just then there is a loud crack and a blinding flash of light as the wards give away, and a second later Harry Potter appears a few feet away from me, his wand held loosely against his thigh, his eyes bloodshot but his gaze dead steady as he regards me.

"What the fuck?" I yell. "Potter, did you just break through my wards?"

"How else do you think I am standing here, Draco?" he asks calmly, swaying slightly.

"What are you doing here? I nearly called for the authorities," I grit my teeth, crossing my arms. I wonder if I am dreaming or whether Harry is, in fact, standing before me, having just broken into my house.

"I am the authorities," he replies, putting away his wand. He doesn't have his black robes on anymore, and is dressed in only his white shirt, still revealing that patch of tanned neck and collarbones, and tailored black trousers that fit him bloody perfectly. His sleeves are rolled back to his elbows and his bluish green veins stand out starkly in the tense, tightly drawn muscles of his thick, hard forearms.

"How did you break through my wards?" I hiss, torn between wanting to drag him into bed and hexing him.

Harry merely gives me a 'look'.

"Right, because you're Harry-fucking-Potter," I snap. "Saviour of the Wizarding world. Hero to a million wizards and witches."

He sighs. "Don't be silly, Draco, every Auror is trained to know how to break through wards."

"For personal uses?" I ask sceptically. He blinks and then shakes his head. "And don't call me 'Draco'," I glare at him.

Harry doesn't seem be affected by my last statement. Instead, a small smile creeps on to his face, much to my indignation.

And then my stomach drops as he takes a step towards me. I stand rooted to my spot, my wand held loosely in my hand, barely breathing, watching as he takes another step, and then another until he is standing a bare two inches away. He smells of whiskey and cigarette smoke, and his breath is warm against my face.

"Draco," he whispers. He reaches up and pushes my hair off my forehead, making me tremble. "Draco," he repeats. My eyes flutter shut as he crooks his forefinger under my chin, tilting my head back.

And then I feel his mouth, hot and wet against the side of my neck, as he bites and sucks, before licking over the spot twice.

"Draco," he whispers again, against my neck. I can barely hold myself upright; I grab his shoulder tightly, barely aware of myself. Harry still has this effect over me.

Damn him.

Damn you, Harry, but don't stop.

He doesn't. He licks and bites and marks me as he moves his mouth along my neck.

"Draco," he all but moans, now. "Do you know what it was like to see you standing there, with that bloody Healer wrapped around you?" Lick, bite.

No, Harry, tell me what it was like, I think desperately.

"Do you know what it made me want to do?" Bite, suck.

No, but I want to know. I'm quivering all the way down to my toes now, holding on to him hard.

"I've never used a killing curse in my life, Draco." Bite, lick.

Jesus Christ, Harry.

"I wanted to kill him, Draco," he whispers, moving his mouth along the side of my neck and coming up to nibble at my jaw. "I wanted to see him dead. I wanted him to die for touching you. For having laid his fucking hands on you."

And then he looks at me, and all I can see is green. I'm drowning in those magnificent green eyes.

"For kissing you..." he whispers. Harry has his arms around my waist, holding me pressed up against him, toe to chest. If he hadn't been holding me so tightly, I'd have been on the floor by now, given to how violently I was shaking.

"Draco." He takes my face into both his hands.

And then we're kissing, and it's messy and wet and brilliant, and it feels like I've been dead all these years and I've only just been brought back to life, and I can taste the whiskey and cigarettes on him and suddenly I'm being filled by some sort of brilliant light.

I kiss him back desperately, praying that the whimpers I can hear are not mine.

Harry is kissing me hard, bending me back over his arm, his other hand holding my head in place by gripping my hair. My arms are around his neck as I cling on hard, moaning into his mouth as he traces the tip of his tongue along the roof of my mouth.

I nip at his lip - hard, and then I can taste blood, warm and coppery. Still, we don't stop. I find myself on the bare floor, Harry atop me, and I feel like I'm going to pass out from lack of air.

And then he pulls back; his glasses are gone, there's blood on the corner of his mouth and his eyes bore into mine for a second before he's kissing me again, holding my face tightly and tracing his thumbs over my cheek bones. I undo his shirt buttons swiftly, running my hands over his chest and shoulders, feeling familiar skin over the new physique.

Damn him but he's beautiful.

I comb my hands through his hair. God, I've missed doing this; missed feeling his weight on me - now so much heavier; so much hotter. I've missed the way his tongue battles with mine and explores every inch of my mouth as he kisses me into submission, usurping all control I have over myself.

We kiss, all teeth and tongue, no sign of restraint. It's fucking incredible.

Harry breaks away and buries his face in my neck again, biting hard and licking quickly to soothe the sting, ripping open my shirt, buttons pinging across the floor. I throw my head back, moaning helplessly, completely unaware of myself or my surroundings. We could be back at the Ministry event surrounded by hundreds of important people for all I care, and I still wouldn't be able to stop. The only thing I can think about is Harry's mouth on my nipple, nipping and sucking, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my cock, his hands running over my sides, his erection pressed against mine.

I rut up against him, my heels pressing into the floor, making both of us moan hoarsely in unison. Suddenly, we're back at Hogwarts, down by the lake, just like the first night we'd kissed.

"Draco," Harry pants, leaning back to look at me. "Christ, Draco," he gasps as I lift my head and latch onto his earlobe, sucking hard. And then he grinds against me, making my breath catch in my chest.

"Harry," I sob shamelessly.

"Baby," he covers my mouth with his, sucking painfully. My hands are in his hair again, tugging and stroking, my cock straining against his.

I don't ever want this to stop. I want the last ten years to turn into a long nightmare where Harry and I aren't together, and now I've woken up and everything is alright once more. I want this, now, forever.

And then, he stops.

Harry pulls away, gulping for air, and hurriedly rolls off me, leaving me on the floor on my back, fighting for breath and in a complete daze, my shirt hanging open. He reaches down and pulls me up, and I stumble sideways so I can hold on to the sofa for support, my legs threatening to give away any second.

"This... this isn't why I'm here," his voice cracks. I don't even know what to say as I attempt to regain my breath – and my sanity.

"You never should have come here", I manage to croak finally. "Why did you come here?"

"Draco, believe me," Harry holds up his hands. "I only came here to talk to you. I want to talk to you, Draco."

"There is nothing to talk about," I reply with as much dignity as I can scrape together. I hold my shirt closed with one hand while still holding onto the sofa with the other.

"There is, Draco," Harry says softly, He bends down, retrieves his glasses from the floor and puts them on. "I want to talk to you about us, about our – "

"There. Is. No. Us," I interrupt through gritted teeth. "Please leave."

"You cannot say that," Harry says beseechingly. "Not after what just happened."

"Harry, please," to my utter horror, I can feel a lump rising in my throat. "I want you to leave. Now."

Harry simply stares a few seconds longer, and then I see his shoulders sag.

"I'm sorry, Draco," he speaks so softly that I have to strain to catch what he says. "I'm sorry I left you all those years ago. I'm sorry for breaking us." He looks at me steadily, and I remain silent. "It was a moronic decision, which I made in a panic." He takes a step towards me. "You should know that I have never regretted anything as much as my decision to break up with you. And you should also know that I have never been truly happy since that day on the train."

"And yet you never came back sooner to tell me all of this," I whisper, now shaking with a mixture of anger and something else – something that was threatening to rip me open from the inside.

"I was a coward," he runs his hand through his already wild hair. "I was terrified of coming to you and telling you all of this because I thought you'd ask me to go shove it, and that you don't want anything to do with me again."

"What makes you think I'm not going to say those exact words to you right now?"

"I don't know that you won't," he admits. "But I know that I'd never forgive myself for as long as I live if I don't try to get you back." His glasses reflect the light from the fire but I can see the green of his eyes shining through even from where I stand; his lip is rapidly swelling from where I'd bitten him, and there are scratches, red and raw, on his chest from where I'd absently dragged my nails over his skin.

I'm the world's biggest hypocrite. I've never wanted anyone as badly as I want Harry; always wanted him. And yet -

"Please leave, Harry," I finally repeat. "Leave me alone."

This time, he doesn't argue. He licks his lip slowly, and then sighs. He takes his wand out and waves it over his head in a circle. I feel the familiar shimmer of the wards falling back into place. He makes his way over to the fireplace and reaches for the Floo powder.

"Goodnight, Draco," his whisper lingers around me for several seconds after the fire has swallowed him up.

I finally let my legs give away and sink onto the floor, where I draw my knees up to my chest, lean back against the sofa, and for the first time since Harry left me ten years ago, I let myself cry.

~

Monday morning, I heal the few hundred love bites along my neck and bags under my eyes before forcing myself to Floo to work. The day passes by in a haze of sleep deprivation. I haven't slept a wink all of the previous night, no thanks to my little episode with Harry. I'm horrified that I let myself go as far as tears.

And yet, after a very long time, years actually, I feel oddly calm. It is almost as if I was high strung about something subconsciously, and I only just have realized it after I've been relieved of the stress.

I don't think I have forgiven Harry yet, no. That bit is going to take a lot more than some sentimental speech and a bit of snogging.

Very, very hot snogging. Christ, I can still taste him, smell him, feel him atop me...

I blink and shake my head violently, scowling at myself. Damn him. This is the enth time I am drifting off into memories of last night today.

I don't feel quite so violently angry anymore, though. Now when I think of him I feel... Well I haven't quite figured out what I feel yet. Atleast that's what I'm going to tell Hermione. That one needs answers to every question she asks or she won't shut up. So that's what I'm going to tell her - I haven't figured it out yet, so shut up and let me, please?

I'm certainly not going to tell her that now instead of feeling anger and butterflies in my stomach when I think of him, I feel only the butterflies. And oh yes, there is the heat – first filling up my face, and then frustratingly enough, travelling straight down south to create quite a disagreeable situation for me when I'm sitting in a very crowded hospital cafeteria along with four other very senior colleagues.

After work, I've just settled down in my favourite armchair with a goblet of some of the exquisite oak barrel aged wine that Mother has sent over when the Floo begins to ring. Sighing and bracing myself, I crouch down and answer the call.

"Hello, there," Hermione greets me cheerfully, and I scowl suspiciously.

"He told you," I state. Her smile fades though her eyes twinkle.

"Who?" she tries nonchalance.

"Stop that," I say irritably. She grins.

"So," she moves closer toward me through the flames. "What happened?"

"You know what happened," I grouch. "He told you everything, didn't he?"

"He didn't give me any details about the snogging at all," she looks disappointed.

"Hermione!" I glare. She instantly arranges her face into a serious mask, although the corners of her mouth are a clear betrayal of her urge to grin.

"Alright, alright," she pauses. "So, Harry apologised".

I snort.

"He confessed to you that breaking up with you was the worst mistake he could've made."

"Something like that."

"Come on, Draco," she tilts her head. "You're not still angry, surely?" I fiddle with the tassels on the rug I'm kneeling on.

"No, I've sort of moved past the anger," I finally admit.

"But you haven't forgiven him yet."

I stare.

"How did you - ..." I begin.

"Contrary to what you might believe, Draco, I do know you and the way your mind works," Hermione raises an eyebrow. I give her a half smile. "I just called to ask if you're alright."

"I suppose," I shrug.

"Good," Hermione smiles.

"How – " I clear my throat. "How was he doing when he told you this?" I manage to ask, avoiding eye contact.

"Well, when I went over this morning, he was coughing over a phial of hangover potion, actually," she frowns. "He went a little overboard with the Firewhiskey last night after he.. umm..." she frowns at her hands.

"Caught me snogging Stephen, yes", I nod. "I realised he was completely wasted the second he appeared here, after breaking through my wards, mind you," I glare at her. Hermione quickly claps a hand over her mouth to mask her giggling.

"I'm sorry," she adds at once. "I was horrified when he told me. He could've been in serious trouble had you reported him."

"Yes, well, tell him I haven't ruled that out yet," I mutter.

"He wouldn't hold it against you," she says with a suggestive smile.

"I'm sure," I mumble, feeling my face heat at once.

"To answer your earlier question, he wasn't doing so well even after he got rid of his hangover," Hermione continues. "He thought he, well, to quote him, 'fucked up big time'," she rolls her eyes. "He hadn't planned on getting mindlessly drunk, steal into the Auror offices, find your records, look up your current address and break into your house."

"Oh, so he had another plan entirely?" I ask, aiming at sounding sarcastic but ending up sounding curious instead. Idiot, Draco.

"Well, the plan was to meet you and apologise," she looks thoughtful. "Atleast, that's what I hope it was. He certainly hadn't mentioned that there was snogging on the agenda," she grins.

"Oh, go away," I bark as Hermione laughs.

"Alright," she relents. "Just be prepared to see a lot more of him hereafter, though."

"What – why?" I cringe. I don't think I have it in me to be anywhere close to him for a very long time. Not unless I plan on flinging myself at him and letting him snog me into oblivion and maybe do more... Focus, Draco, for heaven's sake!

" - told me he doesn't intend to give up on this, that's why," Hermione is saying, poker faced. "And Harry's approach has always been the taking-the-bull-by-its-horns kind and less... I don't know, subtle," she says, making the last word sound like a bewildered question.

I snort. "Nothing about that man is 'subtle', Hermione."

"That's Harry," she shrugs, smiling fondly. "He walked right into the Forbidden Forest to face Voldemort." I suddenly shiver slightly. "I wouldn't be surprised if he walked right into your house or office and snogged you again," there's an almost evil glint in her eyes.

"Did he say he is going to be attempting something like that in the near future?" I demand after mouthing at her like a goldfish for a few seconds.

"I think I hear Hugo crying," Hermione looks over her shoulder.

"You do not!" I protest.

"Goodnight, Draco," she says hurriedly.

As she pulls out of the fire, I am almost completely sure that she is hiding another grin.

Bloody Gryffindors.

*x*

It's over two and half weeks before I have gathered enough courage to go look Draco in the face again. As I wait outside his office at St.Mungo's, leaning against the wall, there is a dull, nervous buzzing that's sounding at the back of my head and I shake my head vigorously to get rid of it. Just then I see him approaching from the other end of the corridor, nose buried in some file he has open in his hand, frowning thoughtfully.

How can anybody look so damn gorgeous in those damn lime green Healers' robes, for heaven's sake! He looks so bloody fuckable that it takes some seriously disturbing thoughts of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia in bed together to stave off my impending erection.

His office door swings open on its own just as he turns towards it. He walks in, the door swings shut, and I gulp hard. I look around once and lift the Disillusionment Charm I'd put on.

I raise my fist, take a deep breath, and knock thrice.

"Enter," he calls coolly.

With a last burst of courage, I turn the door knob and step in, quickly shutting the door behind me in case he chooses to start screaming.

"Hey," I say nervously, trying to flatten my hair. His head shoots up and he regards me with a completely blank expression for a full two seconds before his eyes go impossibly wide.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he jumps to his feet.

"Isn't a patient allowed to visit his Healer?" I can't help but grin – agitated Draco is precious to watch.

"I am not your Healer, Healer Lewis is," he crosses his arms, patented Malfoy glare in place.

"Healer Lewis was in Russia when I was brought here three weeks ago," I say calmly. "You were called in for an emergency surgical healing procedure to -"

"I know the whole case history, thank you," he cuts in irritably.

"So I came to you," I shrug.

"What do you want?" he sits down once more. He reaches into a tray on his table and picks up a pair of thin, silver framed glasses, tapping them with his wand once to clear them of smudges and then putting them on.

My jaw drops. Draco in glasses is a whole new level of sexy. I want nothing more than to lock the door, seal his Floo and fuck him through the rest of the evening and night.

"Do you plan on telling me what the bloody hell you barged into my office for without an appointment, might I add, or do you plan to simply stand there looking like a vacuous primate?" he cocks an eyebrow at me and I nearly lose control over myself.

"Er.. " I clear my throat and try again. "I need an, umm..."

"Don't you dare tell me that you want me to check your prostate or something equally absurd like that," he rants all in one breath, glaring daggers at me over his spectacles.

I snort, and then I am laughing uncontrollably. I'm bending over, my palms resting on my thighs, and I am laughing. Oh Draco, how I've missed you. How I've missed laughing at your ridiculous, pre-emptive comments and threats.

When I straighten up, Draco is still glaring over at me, although the thin line of his mouth is quivering beautifully as he stops a smile from taking over.

"No, I rather value my balls, thanks," I grin. "I came here for something a lot less...erm..."

He blushes then, and it's the most stunning sight I have ever laid eyes on. How could I have forgotten how breathtaking he looks with that particular shade of pink rising steadily across his aristocratic cheek bones?

"I wanted to ask if you could write a letter directed to Kingsley declaring that I'm fit to rejoin work," I finally manage to say. "He said I could go back to work in a month's time and that he will require such a letter from the Healer on my case, so he could file it," I roll my eyes.

Draco doesn't reply at once. He listens carefully, his head turned slightly to one side, his eyes narrowed a tiny bit as he takes in what I'm saying.

When I'm done talking, he simply stares at me for a few seconds, his eyes narrowing further.

"Have you been in for your weekly check ups?" he finally asks, turning away to rustle through a pile of parchment on his table.

"Every week since I was discharged," I reply honestly.

He once again regards me, not raising his head, but simply looking at me over his silver frames. He licks his lips, suddenly looking nervous.

"Very well," he takes off his glasses, shuts his eyes for a second and then gets to his feet. "Hop on here, if you would," he walks over to the examination table against the wall, and pats it twice.

I gulp. I hadn't foreseen this. I didn't know there would be physical contact. I don't think I've prepared myself enough to ensure I don't jump him again.

"Today, if you will, Potter," Draco frowns.

I bite my lip and walk over, hopping onto the table, letting my legs dangle.

"You need to..." Draco is blushing furiously now. "You need to take your shirt off," he says, his voice barely audible.

I draw a deep breath. If this is me being tested, I vow to pass. I want Draco back and I will go through such torture if I must.

Oh God. Why didn't I wear looser pants?

I quickly pull my t-shirt over my head and let it drop behind me onto the table.

"Lie down," Draco all but whispers.

He is going to touch me, and he is going to bloody feel and hear the way my heart is desperately trying to fucking fly out of my chest.

Draco raises his wand, and a soft, blue light suddenly glows over my torso. I don't feel a thing but Draco frowns, apparently concentrating hard on something. He waves his wand once more, this time directly over my sternum, and the light changes to a green, before slowly fading away.

And then Draco touches me. He moves closer, and gently presses the tips of his cool fingers over my side, studiously avoiding my eyes. Instantly, I get goose bumps, and warmth erupts in my belly.

"Do you feel any kind of pain here at all?" he asks softly, flicking his head to shift the hair that had fallen over his eyes. I want to scream in frustration.

"Nope, I feel great," I say instead.

"Does it hurt when you cough, sneeze or bend down?" his hands move lower. The warmth begins proceeding downwards, threatening to embarrass me for the rest of my existence.

"Not one bit," I reply through gritted teeth.

"Have you been doing any sort of heavy lifting since your healing?" he frowns down suspiciously at me, his hands now feeling under my nipples, gently pressing along the rib there.

"No, I was specifically instructed not to," I raise a brow.

"Which is quite enough to promptly make you want to rearrange the furniture in your place without using magic," Draco says dryly. I laugh even as the warmth creeps past my navel.

"I promise I haven't moved a single photo frame on the mantelpiece even," I grin. His eyes narrow. "I promise!" I chuckle.

"Fine," he says shortly, now applying steady pressure with his thumbs. "The spell I'd had to use to mend your bones seems to have done its job efficiently enough. It didn't wear off until after your bones had completely mended and set, which would have been sometime last week."

"Wait, magic takes that long?" I ask incredulously. Draco purses his lips as his nostrils flare.

"That was a dark curse you took, Harry," he says in a low voice. "It should have killed you. The spell I used is something highly advanced and almost never used - it certainly isn't used for a simple healing procedure like mending bones. But I had to do whatever it took to – " he abruptly stops, looking away quickly.

"Hey," I sit up in a trice, so suddenly that we're now nose to nose as he stands before me. "You did great. Better than great. I'm in bloody perfect condition," I give him a tentative smile.

One corner of his mouth slowly lifts up, and I'm staring once more.

"Yes," he whispers, nodding slightly. "You're fine now." I don't dare to hope but it almost sounds like he is reassuring himself rather than me.

"Thank you for that, by the way," I whisper back. Draco's lips are wet and soft, his eyes wide and shining.

If he doesn't step away in the next three seconds, I'm going to kiss him again.

We don't seem to have lost the strange, telepathic connection we'd established while we'd dated, because Draco steps away suddenly, almost as if he'd heard my exact thoughts. I'm smiling before I can help it.

"Put your shirt back on," Draco orders me, sounding irked.

Congratulating myself on holding off my erection throughout the examination, I happily obey.

While Draco writes out the letter to Kingsley, I look around his office, pausing to read the titles of some of the enormous volumes of medical books he has stacked on his shelf. Really, it is no wonder that he and Hermione are so close.

I watch him now, a small line between his eyebrows, his glasses perched halfway down his straight nose, his lips moving silently along with the words he's writing, his head tilted to one side, making his blond fringe fall forward again. The desire to touch him is almost overwhelming - even if just to hold him. I can still taste him every time I think back to that night; still smell the incredible sweetness of him.

I love him so much, it aches. Why haven't I tried to win him back sooner than this? I suddenly despise myself.

"Alright, here you go," his voice breaks my reverie. Draco rolls up the letter and carefully seals it with a tap of his wand. "Tell the Minister that he is welcome to owl me if he has any more questions about the health of his precious Head Aur-"

"Draco, would you care to have a drink with me?" the words are out of my mouth before I can think them over.

He freezes, the scroll half extended towards me, his mouth open slightly. I wait, a steady chant of please, please, please sounding in my head. By this point, I'm not past begging.

Finally he moves, blinking rapidly and looking away, raising his eyebrows as he slowly takes his glasses off and puts them down, inhaling deeply.

"I don't – " he begins to say and I panic.

"Please, Draco," I urge in quiet desperation, my words starting to run into one another. "I need you to give me another chance. I know I fucked up. 'Fucked up' doesn't even begin to cover what I did. And I know I've waited too long to make amends but I'm trying now and I need you to trust me and just give me another chance to – "

"Would you stop with the tedious babbling?" Draco looks exasperated. "I wasn't going to decline."

"Oh," I wait, feeling like the utter moron he'd always assured me I was.

Draco is definitely hiding a smile this time.

"I was about to say that I don't think I can leave for another two hours, atleast," he says, picking up the scroll once more and holding it out towards me. I step forward and accept it, deliberately letting my fingers brush over his. He bites his lip at the contact, looking away at once.

"But you wouldn't mind meeting me after that?" I ask hopefully. He nods. "Great," I grin. He looks up at me and frowns.

"Just one drink, Potter," he holds up a finger. "And I'll be paying for mine." Anything - I'll accept anything.

"Whatever you want," I'm gushing and I can't seem to stop myself. "Where do I meet you?"

"At The Silver Dragon, eight thirty," he replies shortly, pulling a file towards himself and picking up his glasses again. "And don't be late," he warns, pointing the delicate silver frames at me.

"You have my word. Hell, I'll go over right away and wait if you'd like," I grin.

He stares at me incredulously for a moment and then looks down at his paper work again, shaking his head, and I hear him muttering to himself and catch a few words that sound like 'sap' and 'Hufflepuff'.

"Thanks again for this," I wave the letter once, wanting to linger and chat some more. Draco looks up, and his expression is akin to something I might even dare to call 'friendly'.

"You're welcome," he replies gently. "Now get out of my office, Potter," he adds.

I laugh as I let myself out, glancing back at him discreetly, my stomach flip-flopping when I see him smiling a small, crooked smile to himself.

~

True to my word, I arrive at The Silver Dragon nearly three quarters of an hour early. Mercifully, it isn't very crowded, and I gladly duck out of the cold drizzle that has just started up and hurry into the warmth of the wood panelled pub. The place is usually frequented by the older, working wizards and witches. Younger, noisier crowds are usually found down the alley at The Fiery Snitch, where music can be heard pulsing late into the night.

I smile over at the bartender who nods back in delight. I sigh and order a pint of lager for myself. I avoid frequenting these places alone; somehow company makes all the unwanted attention seem easier to handle. When the barkeep hands me the cold, damp bottle, declaring that it's on the house, I decide I'd rather not argue.

I thank the bald, muscular man and make my way over to a private booth right at the back where I sit facing the door, so I'd spot Draco when he arrives. As I take my jacket off, I'm suddenly aware of how nervous I am. This is the first time Draco and I have planned a meeting since the break up. I pray fervently that it isn't the last.

I sip the beer slowly, ducking my head every time someone glances over at me. I'm pretty sure most of the patrons have recognised me but so far, none of them seem the sort who'd walk over and insist on making overly enthusiastic conversation. I spot a couple of Ministry officials across the room and nod in reply when they smile over at me.

Finally, with a tinkle of the bell above the door, Draco glides in. He is dressed in perfectly tailored charcoal black trousers (which are practically begging me to cup his perfect arse) with a pale lilac button down shirt tucked in, the first button undone and displaying his sharp collar bones, his sleeves rolled back to his elbows, his Dark Mark faded to a dull grey on the pearly white skin of his inner arm. His Healer's robes are flung over one arm and he's carrying a small briefcase. His hair is neat but looks like it has been hurriedly hand combed into place, and he has those light shadows under his eyes that I've come to attribute to Healers in particular, what with their work schedules and those ridiculous fourteen hour shifts. He spots me instantly, almost the second he enters, his eyes brightening for the briefest moment before fading away to his trademark impassive expression, and then makes his way over to the bar.

I shift restlessly in my seat as he leans over the bar to order his drink, the bartender smiling and speaking to him in a fashion that is way too familiar for my liking.

Oh relax, he is allowed to talk to other men, a voice inside me snaps.

Draco accepts the glass of chilled white wine the man hands him, says a few smiling words and then heads over to me. I don't manage to change my expression quickly enough and Draco rolls his eyes as he catches it, probably knowing exactly what I'm thinking.

Some things just don't change.

"Potter," he greets me, sliding into the booth and taking his seat across the table from me, setting down his briefcase and robes next to him.

"Draco," I reply, tilting my head in a nod. He leans back into his seat, and surveys me for a few seconds. It doesn't help my nerves. I'd put on a fresh white shirt and had even tucked it into my blue jeans, something I almost never do. Hell, I'd even combed my hair; although it hadn't exactly helped. I flatten my hair nervously.

Draco's purses his lips on a smile and picks up his wine.

"How was your day?" I ask lamely. I receive a raised eyebrow in reply. I wait stubbornly.

"Fine," he finally sighs. "My day was alright, Potter. Would you like me to ask you how your day was?" he mocks. I shrug.

"If you want to know," I say lightly.

"I don't", he says immediately, and I grin. God, how could someone so arrogant be so damn desirable?

I wouldn't have him be any other way.

"It was alright, thanks," I say, just to annoy him. It works like a charm as he rolls his eyes in irritation and looks away with a huff.

He's never going to want me back unless I atleast attempt to be a grown up.

And now I don't know what to say to him.

Fucking hell.

"I – How have you been?" I ask in a wild attempt at conversation. "You know, since school." Draco sighs again, but thankfully plays along.

"Not too bad, Potter," he shrugs. "Award winning Healer and all that. I'd say I didn't end up too badly," he raises a brow, a half-smile lighting up his face.

"I never congratulated you for that," I remember suddenly.

"No, you were too busy breaking into my apartment," he quips, and thankfully he doesn't seem angry.

"Yeah, er..." I clear my throat. "Sorry about that." Draco merely looks amused now.

"Why'd you ask to meet me, Harry?" he says abruptly, but calmly.

The sudden switch to my first name and the lack of any negative emotion steals me of an immediate response. Why did I ask to meet him? So I could start somewhere, of course; so a drink could maybe progress to a dinner? Or a Quidditch match maybe?

This is the first step that I could take to hopefully bring us back together again – to win him back.

Not that I could say it in those many words, of course.

"I just thought that the last time I tried to talk to you didn't really go as planned," I finally say, without thinking it through as usual. Draco turns pink and stares determinedly into his glass. "I mean," I then desperately think for a way to put that a different way.

"I know what you mean," he says serenely, sipping his wine, leaning back and folding his free arm across his chest. "What do you want to talk about? You've already apologised – twice – so please don't bother again."

I bite my lip. Twice is not nearly enough, Draco, I want to say.

"Alright," I accept softly, instead. "Although I still feel that I owe you an explanation."

Draco looks away and scoffs in a manner that is meant to seem disinterested, but the slight frown and the flicker of hurt in his eyes tells me otherwise.

"It took you ten years to figure out what you owed me?" he finally asks, still not looking at me.

"No," my voice is low. "But it did take me that long to gather the courage to face you."

We both are silent for a few seconds. I drain the last of my lager, and in about two seconds, the bartender is over at our table with a fresh pint and a huge smile. I look around slowly, not really taking in individual faces, but vaguely aware of some eyes flickering over to Draco and me, and whispers being exchanged behind cupped hands.

I sigh and drink some more beer, waiting, for what exactly, I don't know.

"Alright," Draco finally breaks the silence softly. "What did you want to tell me then?"

"I wanted you to know why I broke up with you."

"I know already," Draco says curtly. "You wanted to play the hero as usual – thought I needed to be 'protected' – " he makes air quotes. " – from the world and its opinion of our relationship."

"Draco, can you not be so cynical for one single minute?" I say exasperatedly. He sniffs and sips at his wine. "I never wanted to 'play the hero'," I continue heatedly. "But yes, I did want to protect you. That's what people who love each other do," I add fiercely.

His eyes widen and dart over to meet mine, his thin chest heaving very slightly as he breathes through his slightly open mouth.

He finally licks his lips, straightening in his seat. "I didn't need to be protected," he frowns, turning his glass by the stem. "You didn't even talk to me about it first."

"And in that, I was wrong," I admit at once. "But you don't know what it was like for me; how it was to see the way something inside you broke every single time someone hurled an insult at you or referred to you as 'Death Eater' or even mentioned Voldemort, or the war, around you," I speak quickly, everything that had been buried in me all these years, finally spilling out.

My stomach clenches as, instantly, he cringes back into his seat, a look of torment crossing his pale, perfect features, his right hand seemingly moving on its own accord to rub the grey skull etched onto his left arm.

"See?" I whisper calmly through gritted teeth. "It still happens. And it still makes me want to break something when it does." His expression immediately turns inscrutable.

"Still not reason enough," he mutters under his breath. "Selfish, even... Hard for you to see me..." he drifts away and falls silent.

"I didn't want people to accuse you of having tricked me or Impriused me into it," I shake my head at how bizarre it now sounds. "I'd heard a few whispers of that sort floating around Hogwarts and I knew that it would only be a hundred times worse out here once it got out," I finally catch his eye and look right into the stormy grey orbs as I talk.

"And so you thought, 'why not just nip it in the bud before people find yet another thing to write about me in the papers'?" his tone is bitter.

"You don't get it," I shake my head. "I didn't care about what they might write about me. It was what they'd say about you, and the consequent effect it would've had on you, that... well, frightened me," I confess.

"You make it sound like I was some sort of an emotionally beaten, ultra-sensitive basket case back then," he accuses me.

"You were," I tell him quietly. He glares. I shrug.

"You're saying you thought breaking up with me was the answer, instead of sitting and talking to me about it like an adult?" he continues to glare as he talks.

"It was never the answer," I examine the label on my beer bottle. "I'm sorry."

"I wouldn't have exactly gone about publicising my relationship with you, you know?" he adds.

"People would've found out eventually, Draco," I sigh, shaking my head slowly.

"And that wasn't acceptable, of course," he taunts. I look up angrily.

"Left to me, I'd have told everyone myself," I inform him. "It wasn't them knowing that frightened me, it was their reaction."

"And now?" he whispers suddenly. "Are you still frightened?" I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. My heart leaps as I suddenly realize just how much he's lowered his guard in just asking me that.

"Are you?" I whisper back, holding my breath.

Draco bites his lip, and then looks away once more.

"Refill, Draco?" the voice makes us both jump slightly and look up at the barkeep.

"Er, right, thank you," Draco blinks. I chew my lower lip nervously.

I officially have run out of things to say.

"When are you rejoining work?" his soft question makes me look up in surprise.

"Next Monday," I inform him. "Have to wait for the four week mark and all."

"Tell Weasley to learn how to cast a decent Shield Charm," Draco's tone is dry. "He can't always wait around for the Head-Auror to jump in front of him the next time a curse is thrown his way."

"Ron feels miserable about that, come on," I grin.

"Oh, I'm sure he does," Draco says sarcastically, sipping his wine. "How he was made Auror, I'll never figure out," he adds under his breath.

"I think sheer determination to prove you wrong got him there," I laugh. "He never quite forgot your barbs from our eighth year."

"I'm flattered that he never quite managed to get me off his mind all these years," Draco rolls his eyes.

"He wasn't the only one," I mutter before I can stop myself.

Draco coughs and quickly raises his glass to cover his mouth, blushing fiercely.

"Shut up," he mumbles.

"Make me," I grin. He glares at me. I rest my chin on a fist and stare unblinkingly back.

"I think I'll head on home now," the blond quickly decides. I don't object and watch as he pulls out a few coins from his pocket and places them neatly in front of him. I pull out my share and place all the money together before gesturing to the barkeep. The coins vanish and the bald man grins and nods a thanks.

I pull my jacket on, noticing from the corner of my eye that Draco is watching me. When I look over at him, he quickly looks away, getting to his feet. We nod to the barkeeper on our way out, and pause outside the pub, the chill seeping through our clothes.

"When may I see you I again?" I ask without preface. Draco turns toward me, opening and closing his mouth a few times before answering.

"I'm free this weekend, I suppose," he finally says to his gleaming black loafers.

"Great," I smile. "Lunch on Saturday?" I wait as he fidgets with his Healers' robes.

"Yes, alright," he finally consents.

"Goodnight, Draco," I say softly, quickly running the pad of my thumb along one of his high cheekbones – I can't help myself. His eyes widen and his lips part in surprise, but he doesn't flinch away.

"Goodnight," he whispers. I watch as he turns around and walks a few steps before glancing back at me once and then Disapparating.

*x*

I bounce Hugo on my knee and smile as he reaches up for my face, planting a quick kiss on my godson's tiny palm. Just over a year and a half old now, he babbles some of the words he's recently learned in a jumble of nonsense, as he swings the stuffed Hippogriff I'd just gifted him by its tail. The purple toy lets out a pitiful groan, its large black and yellow eyes rolling.

"You're really good with him," Harry comments walking in with my scotch and his pint.

"Don't bother masking your surprise or anything," I raise an eyebrow, allowing myself to smile up at him anyway. He grins as he throws himself onto the sofa next to me.

"Well, you're not really into kids, are you?" he asks cheekily.

"First of all, I literally delivered these two myself," I say loftily, nodding down at Hugo and then toward Rose who's kneeling on the carpet, peering closely at a half finished puzzle. "So Merlin help me if I don't spend my life spoiling them rotten until Hermione kills me."

Harry laughs and I can't help but grin back.

It's been a pleasant few days, I suppose. Harry took me out to lunch last Saturday, as we'd planned. It had gone on all the way upto tea time once we'd begun discussing interesting cases in our respective fields of work. The man, as it turns out, is as rash and stupidly brave as he'd been as a teen, going after suspected criminals alone on more than one occasion, when he had expressly been asked not to, simply based on his gut feeling.

"Instinct and gut feeling are an Auror's best friend," he'd claimed, waving a forkful of steak at me. I'd felt a compulsive need to strangle him several times that afternoon.

But fuck, he is so bloody hot, it isn't even funny.

Even when he has foam on his upper lip from one of those fancy coffees he likes to drink everytime we stop at one of those stupid Muggle coffee shops he seems to enjoy visiting. Even when he runs his hand through his hair a dozen times a minute, leaving it standing on end, as he rants about being given all the light weight cases at work. And especially so when he bestows one of those open-hearted grins of his on me, or throws his head back and laughs, the sound seeming to emit right out of his flat planed belly.

I try not to let on how my heart instantly swells to twice its size everytime that happens. Or at the way I feel ridiculously pleased when he remembers and makes my tea the way I like. Or the way he'd casually take my hand everytime we're in Muggle London and crossing a busy intersection.

Although physical contact is something we both consciously avoided at first, it turned out to be easier than I thought it would be to let the initial awkwardness slip away into calm familiarity. Hermione says it's because we both are nearly back to being a couple now, but I don't tell her about how I'm constantly on edge, waiting for something to happen and fuck things up again.

I'd been on the verge of admitting to these uncertainties when she'd dropped in at the hospital last evening, but she'd been in a hurry and had rushed off after inviting me to dinner tonight.

So, a half an hour ago, I found myself dusting ash and Floo powder off my favourite ivory-cream shirt, not at all surprised when I see Harry already there, hoisting a giggling Rose up onto his shoulders, his eyes lighting up when he turns around and spots me stepping out of the green flames.

He always looks so darn happy to see me. Each and every single time. It's really rather maddening.

And I feel like a loon when I become aware and find myself grinning like a besotted fool everytime I set eyes on him.

"Dinner's ready," Hermione calls out now, and I hoist Hugo onto my hip as Harry and I make our way to the dining table.

"Roast lamb with a rosemary and scallion sauce," Weasley announces proudly. "My mum's recipe."

"Ron's cooked all by himself today," Hermione says fondly, unfolding her napkin.

"Everything looks and smells brilliant, mate," Harry says enthusiastically.

"Should I Floo Poison Control and keep them on standby?" I offer, depositing Hugo in his high chair. Harry barely conceals a snort and Hermione sighs wearily.

"For your information – " Weasley begins loudly.

"Ron, he was kidding," Harry cuts in quickly.

"Do sit down, boys, I'm starving," Hermione passes Harry the potatoes as she glares at me. I grin and shrug, gesturing for Weasley to sit, bowing slightly.

I behave as we eat, even managing to mumble a compliment in Weasley's general direction. I'm rather enjoying the 'double date' of sorts, when that familiar tug in my chest brings back the gnawing worry, a reminder that I mustn't let my guard down – not just yet.

'Nothing bad's going to happen, Draco," Hermione says warmly, spelling another wet plate towards me. I wave my wand carelessly and it spins thrice, before settling atop the other dried plates.

"You don't know that," I say calmly, holding her gaze.

"I do. You and Harry have waited all these years and now – "

"And now we're just happily making up and getting back together. Just like that!" I hiss testily. "Nothing is quite that easy, Hermione - especially when it concerns Harry and me. I mean, we broke up around four times a week back in school – "

"And always made up," Hermione smiles, drying her hands and leaning back against the sink.

"This isn't even close to some silly teenage drama bickering, 'Mione," I say seriously.

"Do you still love him, Draco?" she asks softly. Outside, I can hear Harry's throaty laugh and Rose's high pitched squeals. I can picture Harry pretending to bite Rose's leg as she sat on his shoulders and realise I'm smiling to myself.

"I think so," I whisper, not looking at her.

"Well, Harry feels the same way about you," she says firmly. "And don't ask me how I can be so sure," she adds, as I open my mouth to ask just that. "I just know."

"No, you don't," I mutter grouchily, just as Hugo's loud, mewling wail sounds. "You go, I'll finish up here," I say, waving my wand at the remaining few dishes in the soapy water.

"Thank you, love," she says gratefully, hurrying out.

I realise that I want to believe her, simply because I want to be with Harry again. I wish I could convince myself that that alone is reason enough. The way Harry looks at me should be proof enough, I suppose.

I arrange the dry dishes back in their cupboards and pour myself another glass of wine on my way out of the kitchen, vaguely wondering what Harry had wanted to talk to me about earlier, before dinner; whether he would ask to 'drop' me home tonight...

I feel my face heat and pause outside the living room, needing to gather my stray thoughts before I let Harry see me looking like an eager, slobbering idiot. I can hear the three of them talking.

"I'm just saying," Weasley's voice sounds clearly. "After all these years, I cannot believe that you'd let that blond git back into your life." I freeze.

"Ron," Hermione says, the warning clear in her voice.

"No, I'm just saying," Weasley repeats. "After all those years of being a complete and utter arsehole to you, he comes waltzing back in and you're okay with it."

"He didn't waltz in Ron – " Harry begins with a sigh.

"I don't see why Harry has to justify his choices, Ron," Hermione cuts in firmly.

"Oh, as if he is ever going to complain!" Weasley shoots back. "He's never going to look back at the ugly past."

"Then why must you?" Hermione sounds irritated now.

"Ron, you do realise I'm not doing this for his sake?" Harry says softly.

"Why then?"

"Don't you realise that I would have to live with a tremendous amount of guilt for the rest of my life if I don't do this?" Harry sounds tired now. "I don't want that."

"Yes, but he doesn't even deserve it, the slimy bastard – " Weasley breaks off suddenly, his mouth still open mid sentence, and I realise I've dropped the glass of wine. Hermione is holding a sleeping Hugo and Harry is sat on the floor, leaning back against the sofa. The three of them stare at me in impassive silence.

"I'm sorry," I manage to say through grit teeth. "Do carry on. Just pretend I didn't walk in as you expressed how you really feel about me."

"Wha-" Weasley manages intelligently.

"Draco, no," Hermione frowns incredulously.

Harry jumps to his feet, looking stricken, shaking his head.

I slowly raise my wand and Disapparate, looking right into his eyes for what I hope is the last time.

~

Draco,

I didn't even know what to think when they told me at the hospital that you're in India. I realised you're really mad at me when you wouldn't open your Floo to me, nor accept any of my owls, but to actually leave the country without even telling me?

If you'd read any of my other letters, you'd know by now that we were NOT discussing what you so brilliantly assumed. I am not going to tell you anything else over owl post. Come back home, and for heaven's sake call me first thing.

This owl has strict instructions to not leave your shoulder until you have actually read the letter completely. If I had any inclination toward cajoling you out of this tantrum of yours, I lost it when I found out that you've been in India this whole past week. I don't think I've been this mad at you ever. Come. Home. At. ONCE.

Love,
Hermione.

P.S. I met Harry today and he looked a whole lot worse than he'd looked when Ron and I found him in, and nearly carried out of, a Muggle bar three nights ago. Stop punishing him. It honestly isn't what you think.

I roll up the scroll for the enth time that morning, sighing as I rub the sleep out of my eyes. I'd caught the next available Portkey the minute I'd read Hermione's letter the night before. I'd been on the verge of Flooing her the second I Apparated home but then decided it unwise to call on someone who has two children under five at half past three in the morning.

Sleep evaded me through much of the remaining morning. But after over a week of barely sleeping, that bit wasn't surprising. By the time a more decent hour of the morning arrived though, I'd lost the nerve I'd built up to speak with Hermione. I'd worked on it all the way from Mumbai, but after sleeplessly tossing around, dwelling on the topic of our impending discussion, I'd chickened out.

My morning rounds done, I'd finally shut myself up in my office and read and re-read the letter until, now, the very thought of facing Hermione made my stomach churn.

I was worried that she was mad at me, yes; Hermione rarely admitted she was angry. But the very reason I've been avoiding her since that fucked up dinner was because I'm pretty furious with her myself.

Somebody knocks just then, and I quickly pull on my glasses, pulling a blank sheet of parchment towards me.

"Enter," I call out.

The door opens and Weasley pokes his head in. I realise my mouth is open as I stare.

"Got a minute?" he asks gruffly.

"No," I say at once.

"Thanks." He shuts the door behind himself and shuffles upto my desk – his maroon Auror robes suit him, I grudgingly accept. He drums his fingers on the back of one of the high-backed chairs opposite me as I continue to stare blankly. "Fine, if you're not going to do the polite thing – " he grumbles and throws himself onto the chair.

"What do you want?" I ask tonelessly.

"We need to talk, Malfoy," Weasley leans back and crosses his arms.

"We don't have to do any such thing, Weasley," I pull the file I'd put together on the Mumbai conference out of my briefcase.

"Fine, don't talk," he shrugs. "Just listen then."

I look up, sighing, and roll my eyes before I lean back and raise my eyebrows in an invitation to begin.

"You think Harry wants you back because he's guilty for jilting you all those years ago?"

Straight to the point, then.

"I can only think based on what I hear, Weasley," I blink slowly, my stomach clenching at the memory of what I'd heard.

"Right." A pause. Then, "Why are you avoiding Hermione?" He leans forward and places his interlocked fingers on my desk.

"Because I'm mad at her," I blurt out before pursing my lips and looking away.

"What?" he looks genuinely bewildered. "Why?!"

"If it hadn't been for all of her meddling and pep talks, I never would have given that arsehole a second chance," I hiss. "Hermione was cheering me on, assuring me she knew how Harry really felt. Well, for once in her life, she was fucking wrong," I realise I'm nearly screaming right into Weasley's face and hurriedly lean back, my breathing suddenly a little heavy.

Weasley looks incredulous, his mouth opening and closing several times before he presses a thumb and forefinger over his tear ducts. Then, shaking his head he sighs.

"First of all, Hermione is never wrong," he holds up a finger. "Like, literally never." He pauses for effect as I raise my eyebrows. "Secondly, you're a complete git."

"Okay," I say coldly.

"Shut up," he says irritably. "You just keep that gob shut and listen to me, okay?"

I roll my eyes and huff, but there is some sort of drum roll playing in my chest suddenly.

"Harry loves you," he says the words, sounding resigned. "He never really stopped. And we were not talking about you that night."

I say nothing, just waiting for him to go on, my heart already beating just that slightest bit faster at that first bit.

"We were talking about his cousin Dudley," he leans back once more. "I'm assuming Harry has mentioned his... extended family to you before?" he tilts his head.

I nod mutely, my heart thudding in my throat.

"Dudley's six year old son got the broccoli on his plate to fly out the window without even touching it" he informs me. "Ickle Diddykins nearly wet himself. He'd ignored several other such feats but when this happened right before his wife's and his eyes, he couldn't anymore."

I clench my hands into fists when I realise they're trembling, and my stomach feels like I've swallowed a bucket of ice.

"He didn't know what else to do so he wrote to Harry," Weasley raises a shoulder in a shrug. "I mean, not that the bloke had much choice regarding people he could reach out to. Harry received his letter the day of the dinner at ours. He was about to cancel with us but he decided he'd deal with it later when Hermione told him she'd invited you as well," he raises an eyebrow pointedly.

I suddenly feel a strong urge to throw up.

"Do you have any idea what Harry's been like since you freaking disappeared that night?" Weasley now looks truly disturbed. "It was worse than when he broke up with you after Hogwarts. The only thing that's kept him from staying at home with his Firewhiskey all day is Dominic – his nephew," he adds when I open my mouth to ask.

I'm suddenly cold; I stuff my hands under my arms and examine the nearest file.

"You really fucked up, you know," Weasley says bluntly, and I'm nearly positive that I hear a note of smugness in his voice.

Unfortunately, he is right.

"I – " my voice is rough so I clear my throat. Then I realise I don't know what to say.

"How'd you know I was back in London?" I ask instead.

"I'd asked the hospital to owl me as soon as you got back," he stands up. "I've said what I needed to. Talk to Hermione, will you? She's... not happy," he says grimly before turning around and heading toward the door.

"Weasley!" I've called out before I can stop myself.

He stops and turns, but doesn't say anything as he looks expectantly at me.

"Thank you," I mumble, not looking up at him. He doesn't say anything immediately but after a couple of seconds -

"I may not like you all that much, Malfoy," he pauses as I snort and look up at him, smiling wryly. "But I want Harry to be happy. And unfortunately, the git's happiness lies with you."

I swallow with some difficulty and look away once more, not looking up even after I hear the door open and close.

That night, I finally make my way over to Hermione's. When I step out the Floo, I see Weasley collecting a variety of toys scattering the floor, depositing them into a box in his other hand. He straightens up when he sees me, staring wordlessly. I walk over, fidgeting with the hem of my sweater.

"Where's Hermione?" I ask lamely, watching him dump the box of toys on the sofa.

Weasley turns around, pats his hands over his pockets and looks back at me with wide eyes.

"I don't know," he says in a hushed voice. "She was right here a minute ago," he pushes his hands into each pocket by turn. I feel my lip curl and he looks mighty pleased with himself.

"Draco?" I whip around and see Hermione carefully closing the door to the nursery, a feeding bottle in one hand, a towel thrown over her shoulder, her hair in a messy top knot.

"Hey, there," I smile tentatively, waiting for her to narrow her eyes or chuck the bottle at my head.

However, Hermione stops next to her husband, placing a hand on the small of his back.

"I got the little one down," she looks up at him. "Could you read to Rose tonight?"

"'course," Weasley presses a kiss to her forehead with a smile. He throws a final glance at me as he makes his way to his daughter's room.

"Please don't hex me," I say nervously as soon as Weasley is out of ear shot.

She finally smiles. She walks up to me, stands on tip toe and plants a kiss on my cheek.

"Idiot," she says, the familiar fondness in her voice soothing my frayed nerves a little.

"I know," I bury my face in her hair for the briefest moment before pulling back.

"Tea?" she asks, making her way into the kitchen.

"Something stronger, perhaps?" I ask hopefully. The glass of wine I'd consumed to give me the courage to face Hermione was wearing off.

She laughs but opens a fresh bottle of red, and we sink into the sofa, both of us sipping gratefully.

"So, you talk to Ron but not me?" she asks flatly. "Who'd have thought."

"The idiot barged into my office," I reply. "Hermione, I fucked up," I add.

"Yup," she nods as she sips more wine. "Glad you came to the point."

"Is he as bad as you hinted in your last letter?" I ask quietly.

"Yes," she sounds calm. "But that little boy seems to have kept him afloat these last couple of days."

"Dominic."

"Yes, him. He sounds like a handful, but Harry adores him already."

"He's great with kids," I smile. "Rose is lucky to have him for a godfather."

"Hey, Hugo's lucky too," she pats my hand. "How are you, Draco?" she asks suddenly.

I look at her and see the line between her eyes; she's worried.

"I feel like the most moronic arse ever," I admit. "And I grew up with Vince and Greg so that's saying something."

She smiles. "What are you going to do about Harry?" she asks and I can see she's been waiting to ask this question since she first saw me this evening.

"Is there anything I can do even?" I feel helplessness bubble up my throat and turn into a lump, and quickly gulp more wine.

"Whatever do you mean?" she asks wide eyed. "Of course there is! Go talk to him."

"Why would he want anything to do with me now that he knows I was simply looking for a reason to walk away?," I ask, my voice low. "I literally stomped off without even waiting to talk about what I overheard first. I'm always on the verge of a tantrum, Hermione; I'm so fucking dramatic. It's not cute when you're nearly thirty and still pining over your lover from ten years ago." The wine has loosened my tongue and I allow myself a rant, Hermione's expression patient as she holds my hand firmly. "Harry was clear that he wanted me back, even a blind idiot could've seen it. But I'm so paranoid – so self absorbed, that I couldn't see past the fact that he left me once – all those years ago. I was on edge all the time, almost like I'm waiting to point and say, 'Ha! I knew you weren't serious!'"

"Draco – " Hermione begins.

"He loved me and I chose to walk away because I wanted to prove to myself – and even to you - that I was right in holding back," I continue without drawing breath. "I didn't for a moment believe in Harry," I finish, my voice finally breaking.

"Stop," Hermione squeezes my hand. "Breathe."

I obey, breathing deeply before draining my wine glass.

"Draco, you were simply trying to protect yourself from heartbreak," she says gently. "I know how bad it was the first time; I remember what it was like for you. Any sane person who is not a masochist would want to avoid another round of that," she dips her head, looking right into my eyes. "Harry doesn't blame you for leaving like that," she says softly.

"He doesn't?" I ask, holding my breath.

"No," she shakes her head. "He's been on your side the whole time. When I went over to his place he told me he completely understands what it must have sounded like to you. He just wishes he had told you about the whole Dominic thing sooner."

"How was he to know how things would turn out," I mumble.

"Precisely what I said," Hermione's eyes twinkle as she smiles. "He wrote to you a couple of times but he said the owl came back with the letter still attached. If you'd read them, this mess would have been done with ages ago," she scolds gently, refilling our glasses.

When I stand to leave half an hour later, Hermione squeezes my arm, her eyes wide with hope.

"Good luck," she says teasingly. "Tell me how it goes."

I nod and make my way over to the fireplace.

"How do you think he'll react when I just land up at his place?" I ask, sounding doubtful as I pick up some Floo powder.

"Would you like me to give you the explicit version of that?" she grins.

I huff and roll my eyes, my heart in my throat as the flames turn green and I call out the address Hermione had given me.

*x*

I stumble and fall forward onto my hands, a plush, onyx coloured rug soft under my fingers. I look up and around the room quickly, fervently glad that it was empty. I stand and dust myself off, taking in the large, cozy and surprisingly neat living room. The television across from the huge, incredibly comfortable looking sofa is playing some sort of animated children's show and a nearly empty bowl of ice cream sits atop the glass topped coffee table.

I look around again before calling out a tentative, "Hello?"

"With you in a sec," I recognise Harry's voice and the butterflies in my stomach go insane. "There, all clean," I hear him say and frown in confusion.

The next second Harry walks in and, fuck, he's shirtless and so fucking beautiful and... leading a small boy by the hand, who is wiping his wet chin on his sleeve.

"Draco," he doesn't seem surprised to see me. His face is open, but curiously and uncharacteristically devoid of any emotion. I find myself unable to reply.

The kid, who had to be his nephew, jumps onto the sofa and stands on his knees, only his eyes peeking over the back, staring unblinking at me, his eyes large and blue, his hair a soft brown.

"Nick, you want to get your shoes on?" Harry's voice was soft, adoring, but still had a gentle ring of authority to it – it must be an Auror thing.

"I have to go now?" the boy looks up sideways at his uncle, his eyes large.

"Mhm, your dad's going to be here any minute," Harry picks up the TV remote and turns it off.

"Are you going to tell him we had ice cream?" the boy slides off the sofa, walks up the short hallway and comes back with a pair of red and white shoes, before settling down on the floor with a soft thump.

Harry laughs. "Not if you don't," he crouches down next to Dominic and softly guides him as his little fingers fumble with the laces.

Harry suddenly stands up and walks towards the front door as, sure enough, a second later there are three soft knocks.

I'm still rooted to the floor so when Harry opens the door I can clearly see the man outside. Tall, broad, blond and slightly paunchy, it had to be Dudley Dursley, peering into the apartment, his watery blue eyes pausing when they reach me.

"Hey, Dud," Harry walks up to Dominic and swings him up into his arms before placing a huge, wet kiss on his forehead.

"Hi, sorry I'm so late," Dudley rocks back on to his heels and that's when I realise that I'm glaring openly at him.

"That's okay, I got your message," Harry says, walking back over. "Little tyke refused to go to sleep," he laughs as he deposits his nephew near his father who immediately takes him by the hand.

"How was he otherwise?" he asks tentatively.

"He's doing brilliantly," Harry grins down at the kid who smiles back in delight. "Next Friday, same time?"

I watch as Harry sees his cousin and nephew off and shuts the door softly, locking it wandlessly, almost without thought, as he pads back into the living room, his bare feet thudding softly against the wooden floorboards. His blue jeans sit low on his hips, ripped over one knee, frayed at the hems and faded. His torso is bare, tanned and he's definitely lost some weight.

He looks like he belongs in a fashion photo shoot for denim wear.

His eyes bore into mine as he pauses across the room from me.

"Guessing you know who that was?" he jerks his head slightly towards the front door, his arms crossing casually over his muscled chest. I nod, gulping discreetly. "Hermione tell you the whole thing?

"It was Weasley, actually," I finally speak. My voice sounds funny – wobbly.

He lets out a surprised bark of a laugh. "Wish I'd been there to see that," he shakes his head, walking over to the sideboard. "Drink?" he adds over his shoulder.

"Whatever you're having," I'm beginning to quake from the nerves – I need something to steady me.

I hear the clink of a decanter being opened and the gush of liquid as it hit glass. I'm still standing there like a fool when he turns around, two snifters of amber whiskey in his hands. He tilts his head towards the sofa as he makes his way toward it.

I nod and cross over to where he's standing, gratefully accepting the offered glass and giving my shaking knees a break as I sink into the sofa.

Harry however, remains standing.

I avoid looking up at him at first, sipping large mouthfuls of whiskey instead.

"What can I do for you, Draco?" he asks quietly – suddenly. I purse my lips and finally look up at him.

"You could forgive me for being a rash fool," I say, my steady voice surprising me. "I'm so very sorry, Harry."

Harry doesn't even blink. He simply stares down at me, his eyes burning, too many emotions in there for me to even begin wrapping my head around.

I want to kiss him so bad.

Then he drains his glass in one smooth move, and the moment is gone. He bends sideways, placing the glass on the coffee table, next to the, now, melted ice cream, and turns away, both his hands jumping up to comb through his wild head of hair. My eyes, unhelpfully, are drawn towards his sharply jutting hip bones. I hurriedly look away, drain the last of the whiskey and place my glass next to his.

"Draco, what makes you think you owe me an apology?" he asks suddenly, turning around, his hands on his hips. I open my mouth, but close it again, confused.

"For the reason I just gave you," I say slowly. I feel like an imbecile suddenly. This is how Harry must usually feel while speaking to me.

"You owe me nothing," he says shortly. I blink. He looks furious suddenly.

"Am I missing something over here?" I ask, frowning. "What the hell are you mad about?"

"That I haven't been clear enough with you from the start," he says, his voice a low, gravelly growl that makes me break out in gooseflesh.

"I don't underst – " I begin lamely.

"I love you," he interrupts, looking me dead in the eye, making my stomach clench and causing my heart to repeatedly fling itself against my rib cage.

And yet I just sit there, mouthing soundlessly, each second, feeling more and more dense. I want to so badly throw myself at him, tell him I love him too, so, so, much, and then kiss him for a few long days.

All I come up with is a tremulous, "Oh?"

He sighs, hanging his head.

"What I mean to say is, I never stopped loving you," he doesn't look at me this time. "That's why I broke into your house that night – to apologise and to tell you that I love you - so much that it hurts. Hell, I wanted to come after you in the train the day I..." he pauses, his voice breaking. "All this... drama – none of it would have happened had it not been for my stupidity all those years ago... I should've listened to my heart and followed you that day and taken it all back - everything I said..."

I had never known it possible to feel so warm, so overwhelmed, all while feeling a cold fury spread through me like poison. I blink when I realise I'm on my feet.

"Seriously?" I hiss, and I suddenly know that I have absolutely no control over what I'm saying. "You really think it's a good idea to tell me those things now? Don't you know me at all, Potter?!"

Harry blinks, looking taken aback. "I didn't – " he begins to say.

"Yes you didn't," I spit, lunging forward and pushing at him hard; he barely budges. "You didn't stop me that day. You didn't tell me you love me," I punctuate each accusation with a rough shove. "You didn't come after me that night of the dinner – "

"I did!" he protests, holding his hands up as I continue to shove him. "Your wards were shut tight!"

"That hasn't stopped you before, has it?!" I'm in his face, screaming my lungs out. I'm also shaking uncontrollably.

"Fine!" he yells back. "I'll break in again the next time!"

I feel my eyes bulge.

"Next time?!" I'd be embarrassed at the unnaturally high pitch of my voice if it weren't for the rage that was making my ears ring. "You mean to say something like this will happen again?!" I give him my hardest shove yet.

Except that this time he catches hold of my forearms, spins me around, and slams me into the wall, my breath leaving me in a gasp.

"I sure as hell hope not," he growls again, his face less than an inch away, his eyes gleaming. "But you know... This is us we're talking about. I wouldn't be surprised. Only next time, I'll follow you and break down those damn wards you keep putting up – and then possibly never leave again."

I let out another shuddering breath, and then try to breathe in – it's next to impossible. What with everything he just said... With Harry pressed so close; Harry's bare chest radiating heat through my sweater and shirt and enveloping me with it; Harry's warm breath huffing against my cheek making me lean up involuntarily; Harry's hands holding mine above my head, his grip tight enough to cut off blood circulation; Harry...

"Draco," he whispers, and that's when I realise I've said his name out loud. His face is glowing as he releases my wrists to cradle my face with his large, warm hands, his eyes ablaze as he looks right into mine.

"If you ever, ever let me go again," my voice is shaking as I press my fists into his chest. "I swear to Merlin, I'll – "

"Never." It's one word, but the promise in it assures me that I never have to doubt him again. "Never ever again." He presses his forehead to mine.

"I love you," I say it quickly, the words clashing, feeling like an idiot when my throat closes up on cue.

"I love you more," he whispers, his eyes wet, gleaming fiercely. "God, Draco, I love you so much."

Then his mouth closes over mine and the tears leak out the corner of my eyes. I kiss him back desperately, my eyes clamped shut, and my palms spread over his skin, my tongue seeking his.

His arms move to my waist and then he's crushing me against himself, lifting me right off the floor. I snake my arms around his neck, kissing him as hard as I possibly can. He's devouring my mouth, his tongue pushing into every corner.

I suck hard on his lower lip before nipping it. I feel his mouth curve into a smile as he deepens the kiss once more. My erection is suddenly raging in my trousers and I need him inside me pronto.

"Fuck me," I gasp, pulling back. He looks at me, panting hard, his lips already crimson and swollen, his glasses long gone. "Harry," I let his name linger for a second. "Take me to bed."

He can't seem to stop himself from leaning forward and sucking at my lips again. I kiss him back for a few seconds, before pulling away.

"Undress me so you can fuck me, Harry," my voice sounds alien to me as I whisper into his ear, wrapping my legs around his hips.

He groans in reply, pressing in even closer, rendering me immobile between him and the wall as he sucks in a mouthful of my neck, letting his teeth sink in deep.

I arch, whimpering. "God, yes." I push my hips forward so he can feel my erection, eliciting yet another groan from him.

He suddenly pulls away from the wall, his hands dropping to cup my arse as he carries me down another hallway. He shoulders a door open, squeezing my bottom hard, our mouths fused together, my legs wrapped around his hips as I toe off my shoes.

It's several more seconds before he deposits me on a bed. My eyes don't leave him – the room is dark and there's moonlight filtering in, dappling across his skin and I've never wanted him so badly in my life.

In a single, smooth movement, Harry's divested himself of his jeans and is climbing onto the bed, his hard, fantastic, cock bobbing against his flat belly. My mouth waters as I imagine the heaviness of it against my tongue, the bitter-sweet taste of it...

But Harry is pushing my sweater up and over my head, his hands fumbling with the buttons on my shirt for a second before he rips it cleanly open and off, his head dipping down quickly so he can lick my nipple hard. I arch, my fingers combing through his hair, my cock protesting against its constraints, my breath coming out in a whoosh when she shifts his head to suck zealously on my other nipple.

I reach down to give my poor cock a squeeze but then Harry's hands are there, undoing my belt buckle and fly and then roughly tugging my trousers and pants off, my cock springing free and hitting my stomach to weep there as the belt buckle clangs against the floor. My socks follow and then Harry is sucking at two of my toes and God I'd forgotten how he loved doing that...

I'm trying to keep my mouth clamped firmly shut as I writhe against the suddenly too hot sheets, Harry's mouth steadily making its way up my legs. But when the soft warmth of his mouth engulfs my cock, his tongue dipping into the slit, I'm suddenly crying out, my hands gripping the sheets, nearly tearing them.

"Harry," I'm panting already, and trying valiantly to keep my voice steady. He hums in response as he bobs his head, his tongue stuck firmly to the underside of my cock. "I..." I'm forced to stop as he sucks particularly hard, my hips involuntarily bucking violently. "Harry, please!" I cry.

With a delicious, wet pop, he's releasing my cock and moving up over me, his eyes gleaming predatorily. Desperately, I lean up and kiss him hard, my hand snaking its way between us and groping around...

His gasp against my mouth is most satisfying as I pull and tug at his thick cock, thumbing the slit and spreading around the precome there. "Fuck, Draco," he breathes, burying his face in my neck, his tongue licking firm, warm stripes everywhere.

"I'd like that very much, thanks," I say, pleased to note that my voice doesn't shake all that much, my hand still wrapped around his erection.

He huffs a laugh, still licking and sucking along my neck, slowly progressing to my shoulder. "God, you taste..." he whispers, and then bites into the soft flesh where neck meets shoulder, hard.

My free hand flies up to his back and my nails dig in as I arch beneath him, whimpering disgracefully. "Please," I manage. My arse clenches ruefully, desperately begging to be filled. "Harry, I need you in me."

I give his cock a twist as I stroke upwards and with a shudder, he pulls back.

I watch eagerly as he leans over to his bedside table, grabs a tube and then sits up, his knees planted firmly on either side of my hips. Now able to stroke his hardness freely, I lean up on one elbow, my hand moving steadily over his cock.

He tips his head back for a second, his mouth open as he pants, and then gently knocks my hand away. I watch, biting my lip hard, as he lubes himself up.

Suddenly, he hitches my right leg over his shoulder, and leans over me once more. I'm reaching up to kiss him but then his finger is prodding at my entrance and I fall back with a moan. The cold lube is almost painful against my overheated flesh and when his finger pushes in, I have to grit my teeth firmly shut so I don't scream with the pleasure that shoots through my veins.

I'm vaguely aware that I'm panting like a bitch in heat as he begins working his digit in and out of me, his mouth never leaving my skin, leaving countless little nips along my neck and shoulder. He adds a second finger and it makes the most incredibly filthy squelching sound as he works me open, scissoring his fingers.

I tug at his earlobe with my teeth, leaving my own marks under his ear and across his rippling shoulder muscles. When he pushes in a third finger I nearly lose it, calling out his name in a garbled mix of sounds, my nails digging into his back.

Harry pulls back and catches my eye and I pant helplessly up at him. Slowly, deliberately, never breaking eye contact, he pushes in a fourth, thick, warm finger and I'm certain I'm about to die.

I thrash below him as he stretches me mercilessly for a few more infinite seconds before pulling out his fingers with another wet squelch. He sits up, my leg sliding off his shoulder and I'm suddenly breathless at the loss of his heavy, hot weight. I look down, my vision swimming and see him fumble with the lube again for a second before he's hoisting both my legs up onto his shoulders again, leaning forward over me.

His cock slips between my arse, running up the crack, and I'm bucking upwards mindlessly, begging in in fervent whispers.

"Yes. God, yes," I'm babbling unthinkingly already and he hasn't even entered me yet. "In me, now, get inside me, now now now, Harry, oh God, please-" Harry desperately kisses me shut, his body taut and quaking at my openly wanton begging. He shifts, the blunt, leaking head of his cock catches on my arsehole and we both stutter out a breath--

And then in a single thrust, he's finally, finally inside me, and I'm screaming and can't seem to stop, relief warring with unadulterated ecstasy.

Harry's leaning over me, his mouth peppering kisses over my face as he bends me neatly in half, his arms on either side of my head trembling. He buries his head in my neck again, whimpering and I catch the words 'God, Draco, so tight' and 'fucking gorgeous', and feel like I'm going to die if he doesn't move.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I whisper, "Move," before I kiss him hard. He kisses me deeply for a second before drawing his hips back and slamming back into me.

I see stars for a moment but I'm pretty sure I'm begging for more because then Harry is working me open with full, long, hard strokes, and I scrabble for purchase before reaching behind me to grab the headboard. It crashes into the wall because that's how hard he's fucking me and I know that I can happily die now because this has got to be the best fuck of my life and Christ, Harry is so fucking hot.

He slows for a second and my eyes fly open in confusion but then he thrusts back in at a different angle and I'm screaming again because his beautiful cock is battering that spot inside me as he rams in and out, his hips pistoning furiously.

I vaguely realise that the sobs I'm hearing are my own but I'm beyond caring by this point because I can feel the heat build and reach a crescendo and with a final stab of his cock against my prostate, I'm coming, my orgasm glorious and seemingly never ending, my vision going white.

I'm clutching him now, whimpering into his shoulder, my nails embedded in his back, our torsos slippery with my come. Harry's thrusts are uneven now, his hips faltering, and his breath loud in my ear, his hands using the headboard to pull himself into savage thrusts that burn me open in the most mind-numbingly glorious way.

I grab a fistful of his hair and pull him into a kiss, my tongue swirling around his mouth, muffling his shout as he comes, his come flooding warmly inside me, his arms collapsing, his hips shuddering as he rides out his orgasm, our mouths moving ceaselessly.

Our heart rates have returned to normal, and the sweat on his back has cooled before we finally pull away, our mouths smacking apart wetly, my legs slipping off his shoulders. Harry looks down at me, his mouth wet and swollen and his impossible hair in his eyes.

"I love you," he whispers, rubbing his nose against mine for a second. I push his fringe back and lean up, kissing him again, nibbling his lower lip as I pull back.

"I love you," I murmur back, running my finger tips over his face. "Stupid Gryffindor," I add as an afterthought.

Harry laughs softly as he looks down at me, the expression on his face making my stomach clench. He slowly pulls out of me, kissing me again when I hiss at the discomfort. I watch as he fumbles behind him for a moment and then he's waving his wand over us, the cleaning charm tingling against my skin and between my arse cheeks.

Setting his wand down, he pulls me onto my side and against him, grabbing my leg and draping it over his waist. My breath catches sharply as he traces teasing circles over my tail bone.

"You know you're stuck with me forever now right?" he asks, his expression serious, his tone playful.

"Promises, promises." I huff, tracing the scar on his chest – from the wound I'd healed.

"I promise," he says, and I look up to see that he meant it. I nod, gulping, tucking my face into his chest.

"Good," I reply after a moment. "Promise me one more thing."

"Anything."

"No more playing the hero," I look back up at him. "Ever."

He grins. "Done."

"I will kill you."

"I know."

*x*

Epilogue

"Seriously, Harry," a stern voice sounds somewhere in my dream. "Wake up. We're going to be so late."

Draco?

"Yes, that would be my name." Suddenly something soft thumps over my head – a pillow I think. "Get up, you big lump!"

I stir, my eyes opening a slit before closing again against the bright morning light. I groan, turning over onto my back, feeling around blindly before finding and pulling on something smooth.

"Oof!" Draco lands on me, his arm trapped between us. "Unhand me, brute!" he protests, and I can't help laughing, my eyes finally opening.

He's squirming next to me, trying to free his arm, his expression indignant.

"Morning, love," I grin, turning over and kissing him soundly, wrapping my arms around him tightly. He thrashes for all of two seconds before giving in with a moan, his mouth opening, his tongue reaching for mine.

When I pull back he looks dazed, and I happily push my face into the crook of his neck.

"We're already late, seriously," he gasps. "Your nephew's going to miss the train."

I give his neck one more lick before pulling back with a groan.

"Fuck."

"Yes", he says, pushing me off and jumping off the bed, clad only in pyjama bottoms, his arse swaying deliciously as he heads towards the bathroom.

Five minutes later, I'm roughly fucking him into the tiles, the shower gushing down upon us and drowning out all of Draco's delicious little moans. My fingers dig into his thigh as I hold his leg up, my knees bending with every thrust forward.

"God, yes," his head falls back onto my shoulder. "Please... Harry – " and then, " – harder!"

I pound into him until that beautiful, pink cock of his is painting the tiles with long, white stripes of come, before being washed away.

A few more thrusts and I'm emptying myself into him, biting him a new bruise on his sharp, bony shoulder.

By the time I've shaved and headed out, Draco is seated, fully dressed, on the bed, pulling on socks.

"Where's the watch we bought him?" he asks as I'm pulling on my jeans.

"Check my drawer" I towel my hair with one hand, picking up the shirt he's laid out for me.

Draco drapes himself gracefully across the bed, pulling my bed side drawer open, the framed photo of us from our wedding day wobbling precariously. Draco, utterly gorgeous, his hair perfect as always, his eyes shining beautifully, laughs into the camera as I press a smiling mouth to his temple, my arms tightening around his svelte waist.

"Not here," he calls out. "Harry!"

"Look in the back, love," I try desperately to push my hair down flat.

"Found it," he says. "Wait... What's this?"

I turn around, sighing as I give up and pick up my glasses. "What?" I ask, jamming them on.

He's reading from a wrinkled, old sheet of parchment, holding it at arm's length and peering . "Isn't this..." he frowns.

I walk around the bed and dip down to scan the piece of parchment before snorting. "Oh, that."

He looks up. "Yes?"

"You wrote that," I say lamely.

"I see that," he frowns back at the letter.

"I told you Kingsley asked for a letter from my Healer," I say, noting the exact moment the light clicks on behind his eyes.

"You didn't actually need the letter," he states it, not bothering to ask it.

"I needed a reason to visit you," I grin. "I'm confessing!" I laugh as he scowls.

And then he bites his lip, and I'm instantly curious.

"What?" I say.

"Since we're admitting stuff..." he says slowly, and I see that delicious colour creep up his neck and face. "You remember the examination I performed before writing this?"

"God, yes," I say fervently. "Still consider it one of my biggest achievements that I kept my cock under control the whole time."

"Well," he looks up at me through his lashes. "I didn't really need to touch you, I could have just done the spell," he grins cheekily, and God he's beautiful and I've got to touch him.

Turns out, we're very, very late.

We rush towards platform nine, Draco still trying to tug his shirt collar upwards to hide the fresh love bites. As we near, I spot Dominic, bouncing up and down as he scans the crowd, his eyes lighting up when he sees us.

"Uncle Harry!" he shrieks, throwing himself at me. I laugh, picking him up, and twirling him before turning to smile at Dudley and his wife Mary.

"Sorry we're late," I say sheepishly.

"Yes, we really need to get in there," Draco wheels Dominic's luggage around to face the barrier leading to platform nine and three quarters, ignoring Dudley and Mary entirely. Dominic's barn owl hoots mournfully as he's jostled. "We don't want to miss the train."

Dudley and Mary kiss Dominic goodbye, Mary fussing with the kid's jumper, Dudley wringing my hand asking me to promise him that the train won't derail on the way to Scotland.

"He's going to be fine," I say for the thousandth time. "Nothing's going to happen to Dominic. Jeez, Dud, relax," I clap him on the shoulder as Dominic screeches goodbye one last time.

Draco wheels the luggage forward, walking nonchalantly into the barrier and disappearing.

Dominic's mouth hangs wide open as I take his hand, grinning at his parents' terrified expressions.

"See you," I call. We walk forward, Dominic's hand warm in mine, and I softly reassure him one more time.

Dominic is beyond ecstatic when we successfully walk through into platform nine and three quarters and runs jubilantly at Draco, who laughs and ruffles his hair.

He's delighted with the watch we've bought him, his eyes wide as he admires the little moons circling around inside the dial.
We don't get too long after that and quickly load his luggage in as the station master clangs the bell in warning. Dominic hops on and I shut the door, leaning forward to quickly peck his forehead.

"Remember to write," I tell him. And you can always go talk to Professor McGonagall if you need to, okay?"

"Don't let the seniors bully you," Draco sounds fierce, and I can't help smiling. "Remember the hexes I taught you?" he adds in a low voice.

"What hexes?" I ask, shocked, as Dominic nods eagerly. Draco and he exchange grins as the train starts with a slight jerk. "Seriously, what hexes?" I call loudly, as Dominic laughs and waves. Draco wraps both his arms around my waist.

"Nothing dangerous, I promise," he grins.

"I learnt long ago not to trust that smile," I try to scowl but fail as Draco laughs into my shoulder.

We wave until the train curves out of sight.

"Say," Draco says as we walk hand in hand towards the Disapparation point. "How'd you feel if we had some of our own?" he jerks his head towards where the train had disappeared.

I don't have to ask what he means.

"Are you serious?" I ask, my heart thumping in my throat, turning to face him fully.

"Will you let me name them?" he retorts, deadpan.

I kiss him full on the mouth, tongue and all, right there on the crowded platform.