Wiltshire, England 2002 Wiltshire on a late Autumn morning is even colder than his nightmares.

Draco pulls down the sleeves of his jumper, bracing himself against the wind. It whips his hair into his eyes and makes the tip of his nose tingle, but he likes it this way. It wakes him up. Reminds him theres real blood flowing through his veins. He sits on the steps leading to the front garden, holding his cup of freshly brewed tea in his palms. Its weak and milky and sweet enough to rot his teeth exactly the way he likes it. He blows the steam off the rim and stares vaguely off into the distance, stretching his long legs and taking in the few moments peace before the start of his daily work assignments. The sky is pewter grey, and he can just make out the curve of the hillside on the other side of the valley. The small farm huddled further down the valley is barely visible, puffs smoke floating merrily from the chimney. The soft morning light is only just beginning to touch the tips of the leaves when the owl with the Ministry seal appears in the grey horizon. Draco sighs resignedly and sets his teacup down on the stone step beside him. The owl pecks him as he retrieves the letter but, being used to the treatment, Draco only waves him off and unfolds the parchment.

Friday 29th November, 2002 Parolee 94637,

As you know, come December 1st, the Voldemort Manor is scheduled to host a month of festive events commemorating the Wizarding worlds fourth Yuletide season without taint of Voldemort. Of course, we expect the Manor is ready to host a series of gala events, that the exhibit rooms will be ready for viewing, and that the ballroom will be presentable. A representative for the Ministry of Magic will be there in a few short hours to inspect the Manor and ascertain if you have been adequately fulfilling your role as caretaker. Your compliance is expected. There is no need for a response.

Senior Undersecretary for the Post War Relations Commission

What was this business about as you know? Of course he didnt fucking know. The Ministry never tells him a damn thing. Was he supposed to read about this in the Prophet? He almost never has access to a copy unless he nicks it from the little shop in the East Wing. In two days hes supposed to have the entire Manor prepped and ready for a fucking gala. Of course, the Ministry wont send a single house-elf to assist him - that would be too much. They must want him to fail. Hes almost to the end of his parole, mere weeks before hes completely free. It must be some sort of test, designed for him to fail. Could he really be expected to have the entire oversized ballroom completely prepared for use, despite the fact that its been cordoned off since the end of the war, and it hasnt even been used in almost a decade?

Draco banishes the letter and gulps the rest of his tea, barely resisting the urge to pelt the cup against the stone walls just for the grim satisfaction of watching it shatter. He stalks up the stone stairs onto the pathway that wraps around the house and slips into the side entrance to the kitchens. Inside, he pulls off his jumper, and sets his tea cup down in the steel basin before leaning over the sink, clutching the rim with his fingers. His mothers voice echoes in his head, reminding him to breathe. Theres no reason to panic. Hes had consistent positive reports on his duties as caretaker at the Manor. All hell have to do is open up the ballroom, cast some cleaning charms, open all the windows to air it out and he should be fine. This isnt a test. He isnt going to fail. Draco turns on the faucet and splashes some ice cold water on his face, scratching his two day stubble and slapping his cheeks to wake himself up properly. When he looks down at his hands, theyre shaking. He turns them over, staring at his now-calloused knuckles. His fingers are still long and slender, but rough with use. His nails are cracked, and no matter how much he scrubs at them, he cant get all the dirt from beneath. The letter was signed by a Weasley. The same Weasley, hes certain, will be by to check on his work, and Draco knows theres no Weasley in the world that would go easy on him. If he fucks this one up, hell be sent back to Azkaban. Draco closes his eyes briefly, and then straightens his spine and sets his jaw. Hell never go back there. Theyll have to kill him first.

He is knee deep in the muck and grime of the ancient ballroom when someone calls his name from the doorway. Draco glances back absently, and then every muscle in his body stiffens. As he thought, its Weasley himself -the officious one- looking prim in over-starched robes and long, slicked-back hair. Draco straightens up from his task, his heart thundering in his chest. After three hours, hes only a quarter of the way finished with the huge ballroom, because his cleaning charms are

shit, and hes had to stop at least six times to stop Mindy from hurting herself because she couldnt help. Weasley steps in gingerly, carefully avoiding the several buckets and pails, and selfscrubbing brushes Draco charmed to get most of the grime off the floors. Draco cant help but be mildly grateful for the courtesy, then annoyed with himself for being pleased in the first place. Ive been calling your name for ages, Weasley says as he stops in front of Draco. I wasnt sure you could hear me. Draco pushes up his sleeves, and stows his wand in his pocket. Im sorry, he says. I was distracted. Weasley raises his eyebrows, as though the last thing he expected was an apology from a Malfoy. He clears his throat awkwardly, and glances about the room. I see the ballroom is still unfinished. Draco shrugs, even though he knows he really shouldnt. It wouldnt do to seem nonch alant in front of someone who could very well send him back to Azkaban, but the urge to set Weasley off is so engrained in him, its hard to be polite. I did what I could in the short time I had, Draco says tersely. Weasley frowns. What do you mean the short time? We sent you a letter almost a month ago explicitly stating that the East Wing of the Manor was to be prepared. Draco clenches his fist briefly, biting his lower lip and trying to think of a response that doesnt put the Ministry at fault. Percy looks at him expectantly, and Draco stares at a spot just beyond his head fighting against the part of him that wants to tell Weasley to go fuck himself. I didnt receive anything like that, Draco says, in what he hopes is a fairly diplomatic tone. Oh, for goodness sake, Weasley says suddenly, pushing his glasses up his nose. Its my fucking assistant. Im almost sure of it. Draco chooses not to respond to this. Weasley looks around the half-finished ballroom. The useless prat, he murmurs. I sacked him last week.

He gestures to one of the buckets with his foot. I cant believe you did all this in a few hours, he says. I apologise, Malfoy. I was certain the Manor would be ready because I told my assistant to never mind. It doesnt matter now. We need to get this sorted. He looks around the room, pinching his lower lip between his fingers. Ill instruct your house-elf to assist you, he says importantly. With this room only, of course. Cant have her doing everything for you. Draco digs his nails into his palm again. Thank you, he says quietly. Percy looks at him again, as if just taking him in. An apology and a thank you, in less than five minutes, he says. Im surprised, Malfoy. Draco offers a tight smile. Prison humbles you, he says, knowing its the sort of tripe Weasley will appreciate. Percy raises his eyebrows. Well, its certainly made you a bigger person, he says. You must be at least as tall as Ron. Am I? Percy nods, apparently choosing to ignore Dracos bland tone. Oh yes. Hes an Auror now, Im not sure if youve heard. Draco looks away. Yes, he had heard, but only because of a chance glance at a copy of the Prophet. After the trials, he was sent straight to Azkaban, and then without warning, they sent him here to live out the remainder of his sentence on parole. Perhaps they thought that by sending him back to the scene of his crimes, he might learn how to be a productive member of society again. Perhaps they simply wanted to humiliate him into submission. Draco doesnt care much either way. The only date hes consciously aware of is the 5th of January, 2003. The date of his promised release. Malfoy? Percy says, waving his hand. Draco shakes himself back into the present. Lost you there for a bit, did I? Draco shakes his head as if to clear it. Im sorry. Percy studies him carefully, ghost of a smile on his lips. I was saying that tomorrow, the caterers will be sent to the kitchen to do whatever it is they do. I reviewed the West Wing

myself and all the artefacts and exhibits, and I was quite pleased Malfoy. Youve done a fine job here. Draco nods absently. Thank you. Weasley gives him a pompous nod. You understand youll be expected to attend the opening gala, dont you? Draco doesnt say anything, even though hed very much like to ask what the fuck for. Hes never been asked to attend one of the Ministrys self-congratulatory arse-kissing parties. Weasley glances at him. Not as a guest, of course, he says, but to keep an eye on things. Make sure everything is as it should be. You may be introduced to the party as the Manors caretaker. Who knows? It depends on if the Director himself takes a fancy. Hes a vacillating sort, that man. A trickle of sweat rolls down Dracos spine and he flattens it through his shirt. He wishes very much that Weasley would leave. His mere proximity makes Draco uncomfortable. He folds his arms across his chest as Weasley goes on about the upcoming events, the Ministry officials expected to appear, the number of events set to take place over the next few weeks as if Draco gives even the smallest of fucks. Of course, wed expect the Charity Burbage exhibit to experience the most traffic, what with that snake corpse on display. It would be best, Malfoy, if you just spruced it up a bit. The Minister himself is expected at the opening ceremonies and theres a walk-through of the entire museum. Im quite certain hell want to stop at that particular exhibit. Draco unconsciously grips his elbows a little more firmly. The Charity Burbage room is one hes neatly avoided in all his time working at the Manor. No ones ever stayed more than a few seconds at the display. Its the most unpleasant exhibit in the entire Manor: the long dining table, the chairs, everything is set up exactly the way they were that night. The clear glass box with the severed pieces of Nagini the snake, magically preserved, her unblinking eyes gazing upon the room like some unseeing but completely sentient being. A Horcrux, embalmed and on display for everyone to see. Draco cant stand it. Hes always tossed a cleaning charm in the rooms general direction and hoped for the best. Hes almost certain that this time, that method just wont cut it. Draco swallows the bit of bile down his throat, then starts violently when Weasley puts his hand on his arm.

Malfoy, are you quite sure youre all right? Draco nods. Im fine, he says. He gestures vaguely. I really should get back to it. Of course, of course, Weasley says, stepping aside as if to take his leave. He pulls out an envelope from the pocket of his robes. This is the guest list, please make note of the names at the very top; those are the more important members of the party. Id expect you to pay particular attention to them. Weasley steps back, eyeing Dracos outfit of threadbare linen trousers and his cream coloured jumper critically. Also, please be certain to dress appropriately. Im sure the Ministry can spare you a set of robes. I have robes, Weasley. Ah. Good, Wesley says. Though, Id prefer you call me Percy, if you dont mind. Draco nods, but makes no attempt to do so. Right then. Weasley turns on his heel, presumably heading to the fireplace in the entryway to use the Floo. When the roar of the flames settle, Draco is again surrounded only by the sounds of the fluttering curtains and the pulse of his thumping heart. Draco sits cross-legged on the bare marble floor, gently touching the spot on his arm still burning from Weasleys touch.

There are few things that frighten him more than cold steel bars, a stone floor or the touch of a smooth wand against his cheek. The strange thing is, Draco didnt dream in Azkaban. Not once. Here, he is plagued by nightmares, forever stuck in an endless loop of his worst memories. He is grateful though, that he doesnt live inside the Manor proper, but in one of the small servant houses hidden away behind the gardens. Tonight is no different. When he wakes, it takes him more than a few minutes to remind himself of the reality. He is Draco Malfoy, Lord Voldemort is dead, the war is over, and so is Azkaban. He sits up, swinging his legs out of bed, grabbing his wand from his side table and flicking it towards his window curtains. They float open, revealing a pale moon still hung in the slowly brightening sky. In Azkaban, it was rare for him to ever see such a thing. He could only wake with the sun when he slept in the Wardens quarters, and that happened more often than he cares to remember. He pads naked to the bathroom and quickly takes a piss, pressing his palm flat against the slightly cold stone wall, closing his eyes and loosening the tight muscles in his neck. After he shakes the last few drops of piss from his cock, he wanders sleepily into his room and slips on a dressing gown, grabbing the bit of parchment he neglected to read yesterday and sticking it under his arm. In the kitchen, he waves his wand, setting the kettle to boil to make the beginnings of tea. The cupboard above the sink opens, and a tea cup floats down just in time to collect the free tea leaves floating from the tea jar on the worktop. The chalk calendar on the wall glows bright red, signalling his daily schedule, sent directly to him from his parole officer. Its nothing Draco isnt used to, garden maintenance, and keeping the rooms of the Manor well-kept enough for visitors. Not that many visitors ever come - most prefer to visit the

happier exhibits at Godrics Hollow or the monument in Hogsmeade. But after the regular list, a new set of instructions flash from Percy Weasley himself. Draco rolls his eyes, turning his back on it and unfolding his parchment. He Summons his cup of tea, sits at the table and settles in to read. Draco,

You seem to think I have chosen exile, or that my leaving England is a reflection on you. This could not be further from the truth. Exile chose me. England is a constant reminder that my husband is imprisoned, and my son is a slave to the will of those who seek retribution. I do not have the stomach to watch you labour in your own home. Your inheritance. Its disgusting, what theyve done. I cannot bear to see you that way. I want you to understand that I am not afraid, Draco. Im angry. However, I do hope you are well, and that the salve I sent was of use to you. I wish they would at least allow you an Elf to help with things. It cant be easy running the entire Manor on your own. At least you are allowed magic. That is of some comfort to me. Ive sent you some sweets as well. I know how much you favour them, and I dont expect your proximity charm allows you any reasonable distance from the Manor. It will soon be over, Draco. Then, I will see you in Paris. Love, Mother Draco sighs and gently sets the parchment down. He looks through the window, at the early morning sun just beginning to flicker through the wispy grey sky, tracing his finger around the rim of his coffee mug. When he leaves this place, he has no intention of going into hiding. Not in the slightest.

The Charity Burbage exhibit could have been plucked directly from Dracos nightmares. If he looks up at the ceiling, hes certain hell see her again: Professor Burbage herself, hanging there upside-down, rotating ever so slowly. The snake, Nagini almost looks innocuous lying there, dead - sliced in half and magically preserved in her glass cage, but he knows better. He has seen her maw stretched wide, seen an entire body swallowed in her length. Draco moves closer to the glass cage as if moving through water. The plaque reads 'Nagini the Snake, the final Horcrux defeated by Neville Longbottom, 2nd May 1998. Draco lightly fingers the plaque, idly wondering about Neville Longbottom and what hes made of himself. Thoughts of Longbottom lead him to thoughts of Snape, and the grey morning they retrieved his body from the shack. He remembers the shattered look on Potters face. The stories that followed. The war, everything, every dark moment floods into his brain, as though hes stuck his head into a Pensieve full of his darkest memories. Get a grip, Draco, he whispers to himself. He casts a cleaning charm at the snakes glass cage, but the table and the chandelier above it both need personal attention. Draco pushes up his sleeves, grits his teeth and gets to work. ~ It takes him over an hour to make the room completely spotless. In that time, he dry heaves twice and properly vomits once. In addition to making all the exhibits acceptable, he still has to carry out his daily chores: making sure the weather spells hold inside the walls, keeping out the worst of the chill, working in the magical garden even the bloody peacocks fall to his charge. By the time his daily chores are over, hes tired, hes sore, and more than anything, he just wants a drink. Occasionally he can sneak a finger or two of Firewhisky from the kitchen in the Manor when Mindy isnt looking. Shes absent minded about leaving alcohol lying around -thank Merlinbut today hes certain only half a bottle will do. He distracts Mindy by telling her theres a Floo call, and since hes strictly forbidden by the Ministry from even looking at the Floo for too long, Mindy rushes of to the fireplace in the entryway, muttering about the late hour, ringing her hands. After a brief surge of guilt, Draco sneaks into the pantry and grabs a bottle of Ogdens finest. He nicks a few slices of cake while

hes at it, and trots across the lawn, past the garden and into his little cottage, closing the door behind him with the heel of his boot. Dracos skin is burning with unease. He sets the bottle on the tabletop and hastily tugs off his clothes, then he sits down in only his briefs and uncaps the bottle, pulling it straight to his lips. Draco closes his eyes at the wonderful, glorious burn, and the eventual oblivion it promises. On the table is the parchment Weasley had given him yesterday. Draco licks the alcohol from his teeth and picks it up from the table, scratching his thumbnail absently against the thick parchment. The usual suspects are there. The Minister of course. Dawlish, Robards and most of the MLE officials hed rather avoid. Randall Newman, the head of the Post War Relations Commission, Arthur Weasley, McGonagall... a few other names hes only vaguely familiar with - mostly politicians and their ilk. Then theres the Golden Trio themselves. Potter, Granger and the Weasel. Draco sips on his Firewhisky again. He knows Granger and the Weasel are married, even though - as far as Draco could tell - they hated each other in school. Potter had his own public scandal a few months back when his girlfriend married a Muggle. His scowling face was on the cover of the Daily Prophet for weeks. Mindy kept glancing at the paper and bursting into sobs, then shoving it into Dracos hands as if he could do something about it. When Rita Skeeter penned a speculative piece about Potters reaction to his girlfriends sudden elopement, Potter himself made a statement in retaliation, announcing that he was gay and that Ginny Weasley never broke his heart, So would you all just leave me alone, please? Draco follows the news with only a vague sort of interest. The pictures are what interest him the most, having not seen any of his year mates since the end of the war. Potter had grown into a mans man, with chiselled cheekbones and broad shoulders. When Draco studies himself in the mirror hes not quite sure he sees a man. In his mind, he is still eighteen. Just out of Hogwarts. Pure, and untouched.

He knocks back another glass of Firewhisky, teetering on the very brink of a pleasant slide into drunkenness, and reads further down the list. Percy Weasley is there, too, of course. A few of the Wizengamot members who sentenced him to Azkaban for three years. Wankers. Healers at the top of their field. He absently fingers the long, jagged scar just beneath his ribcage as he flips over the parchment. More useless names, senior undersecretaries and their secretaries. Almost to the end of the list is a name that makes his mouth go dry and his fingers clench into fists. His nails dig into his palms. Marcus Flint, Head Warden at the Azkaban Prison. Draco grabs the Firewhisky by the neck of the bottle and brings it to his lips, knocking back two full swigs before he sends the bottle flying across the room, smashing against the wall. The dark brown liquid snakes its way down to the floor in tiny rivulets, and he stares at the wall for a full minute before he can move again. His chest heaves as he tries to suck in some air and his mothers calming voice sounds a warning in his head. Breathe, Draco. Just breathe. Draco drops his forehead slowly to the table top, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Hell just have to make himself scarce, thats all. Keep himself busy with the running of the Manor and stay out of sight. If he encounters Flint on his own Hell just

By midday, the Manor is crawling with caterers and decorators, house elfs and wizards alike, moving frantically through the house, and asking Draco all kinds of stupid questions. At quarter to one, he steps out into the garden to escape, walking quickly to the stone bench he always favoured. He would hide here from his mother when she wanted to comb his hair. His father gave him the sex talk here when he was twelve. Draco almost smiles at the memory - his father red faced and stiff with embarrassment but he stops short when spots the tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in scarlet Auror robes, standing a few feet away. His back is turned to Draco, and so he tries to slip back inside unnoticed, but Potter turns and spots him. Hes holding a cigarette between his fingers, releasing a thin stream of smoke through his nostrils. They simply look at each other for a long moment, and then Potter steps through the grass, squelching mud beneath his boots, and dropping his cigarette onto the brick path where Draco is standing, motionless. Malfoy, he says quietly. Potter. Potter mashes the cigarette beneath his boot and walks past him, moving to sit on the same bench Draco had intended to inhabit. For some reason, all Draco can think to say is, Youre not allowed to smoke here. Potter shrugs. I was dying for a fag, he says. Its chaos in there. Draco banishes the cigarette and drops of mud from the walkway with a scowl. And you always do exactly what you want, dont you, Potter? he gripes. Sod the rules. Potter waves his hand. Can we do this some other time, Malfoy? My day is shit as it is.

Your day? No doubt youre receiving some kind of ridiculous award. Free dinner and a date seems far too much for a single person to handle. Youre right, Potter, your life is shit. Potter simply looks up at him through his lashes, mouth twitching. And I was going to sit there, Draco adds. Potter stretches one arm across the back of the bench. Youre welcome to join me, you know. Draco scowls. Why the fuck are you even here? Potter raises his eyebrows and gestures to the crest on his chest. Im an Auror, Malfoy. The Minister is going to be here. I needed to check the premises. Ah, Draco says, folding his arms across his chest. So, they sent you to make sure the Death Eater didnt curse anything. How charming. Draco chews on his lower lip, concentrating even harder to affect an air of nonchalance rather than revealing the unease working its way into his stomach. I thought someone with your standing wouldnt have to make house calls anymore. Potter narrows his eyes slightly. I asked to come. Ha. Wanted to get a glimpse of me for yourself, did you? I knew anyone else would be a right shit to you. Draco scoffs. Oh, are you supposed to be my saviour now? Is that what this is? Oh, shut it, Draco. Stop being such a shit. The use of his first name sends another prickle of unease down his spine. He shuffle back a few paces, and lifts his eyebrows. Well then, Auror, he says. Have I passed inspection? Potters gaze slowly slides down the length of Dracos body, and his mouth twitch es. Draco self-consciously folds his arms across his chest. Potter meets his gaze and lingers there for a moment before he says. Sure thing, Malfoy. Dracos face heats. You know, he says by way of deflection. I would have never thought the Saviour of the Wizarding world was a queer.

Potter smiles slowly. Sticks and stones, Draco, he says. Then he turns on the spot, and Disapparates.

There are rooms in the Manor that only a Malfoy can access. In fact most other Wizards dont even know of their existence. His fathers study, his parents shared boudoir, two rare collection rooms and his parents private wine cellar are hidden within the Manor, and the Manors inherent magic prevents even the most skilled Wizards from finding them. Dracos certain the Ministry would love to get their hands on the items in the cellar and the collection rooms, loaded with ancient Dark artefacts as they are, and it gives him just the slightest bit of pleasure that theyll never even know it exists. He doesnt venture to that wing of the Manor very often - it holds too many memories - but now he has to pilfer one of his fathers old robes to wear to this ridiculous gala, so memories be damned. With half an hour to spare, Draco slips away, headed to the East Wing and stopping off in a corridor just before the dungeons. Its been cordoned off by Ministry barriers, but Draco easily bypasses them and taps his wand on the Malfoy family tapestry. It shimmers and magic wafts over his skin, seeking out either Malfoy blood or bond. After only a moment, the tapestry disappears, revealing a small door in the stone wall that wasnt there before. Draco passes through the doorway, up the stone steps, opening the large oak door that leads to his fathers study. He doesnt stop to look too closely at anything, choosing instead to swiftly make his way to the bookshelf, and ignore the way his father is imprinted in every corner of the room. He touches his wand to Most Potente Potions and the shelf opens up to his parents secret boudoir. On his fathers side of the room, dozens of formal robes hover in the air. They smell so much like Lucius like the ridiculous scented potions he favoured. Sage and silk. Draco fingers the fine, elf-woven fabric. It is like butter in his fingertips. On the stone floor are rows upon rows of dragon hide dress shoes and boots. His father is still in that place in Azkaban. Draco wonders briefly if Lucius experience is anything like his own.

Most likely not. Lucius was stronger. Smarter. More like a Slytherin. He would have bargained his way out of things. Draco pulls an emerald green robe from the rack. Its strangely delicate and embroidered with fine silk threads in the shape of peacocks. He pulls it on over his cotton shirt and fastens each of the hooks, stepping in front of his mothers vanity to look in the mirror. A few of her things are still there, her brush, her scented potions, skin potions, blemish fading pastes. Draco only glances at them briefly before studying his reflection in the mirror. He still hasnt shaved. Fuck them. His pale blond stubble covers most of his jaw and chin, and he likes it that way. He reaches into the pocket of Lucius robe and finds the thin leather band he expected to find. His father kept one in each of his robes. Draco ties his hair back with it, knotting it loosely at the nape of his neck. He studies his reflection in the mirror, tilting his head to the right. He almost looks like the man he always thought he would be. A mix of his fathers height and sharp jaw, his mother s cheeks, her slightly full lips, and his own tapered fingers and pale hands. He stows his wand in his sleeve and grabs a pair of socks and boots and slips through the secret door leading to his parents old room, back in the West Wing of the Manor. When he was younger, he always wondered how he could move from the dungeons to his fathers study to the boudoir and back to the West Wing without having felt like he moved at all. His father would tug on his ear and say Thats magic, Draco, in a deep rumbling voice that made him giggle. Draco sits on the edge of the ottoman and laces up his boots. Nothing in this room looks the way it was. When Voldemort moved into the Manor, he had taken over his parents suite. The Ministry, in their genius, chose to call it The Voldemort suite, Percy Weasley says as he steps through the door. Draco jumps up from the ottoman, standing stiffly in the middle of the room. Its far too late for him to try to escape. Weasley is flanked by the Minister for Magic, and a tall middle aged man, with sandy blond hair and a half smile on his lips. A dark haired, smiling woman is latched on to blond mans arm and Draco can only assume it is his wife. A few others Ministry stiffs follow, making up a fairly large party. Percy looks at him with mild surprise. Malfoy, what are you doing here?

Draco swallows. Just making some final adjustments. Percy waves him over. Minister, Im sure you already know Draco Malfoy, hes the caretaker here at the Voldemort Manor. Weasley introduces him proudly, as though he had raised Draco from a child and is showing off his drawing to a teacher. Shacklebolt nods. Malfoy, he says warmly. The Museum is in perfect condition. Congratulations on such an opening. Draco smiles tightly. Surely, the Minister knows he has no choice? Surely he knows that Draco would rather stick needles in his eyeballs than kowtow to him and his asinine friends? Thank you, Sir, he says. And this, Weasley says, Is Randall Newman. The head of Post War Relations Commission, and his wife, Thea Newman. The man reaches out to shake his hand, and Draco briefly allows it before pulling away and stuffing his hands into the pocket of his robes, to avoid any further attempts at handshakes. Its a pleasure to meet you all, he says. If youll excuse me, I must check on things. He nods at them all and slips out of the room, walking down the hall where a few other patrons are milling about, glasses of elf-made wine swirling in their glasses. Draco pushes past them all, heading for the refuge of the kitchen. He crosses the hall and takes the stairs in twos, absently noting the several heads of flaming red hair and Grangers bushy mane as he walks swiftly past the ballroom, and down the stairs into the kitchen. The kitchen is still bustling with caterers, and Draco slips between them, easing out the back door and into the garden, straight to his bench where again, fucking Potter is sitting smoking. What the fuck, Draco murmurs, more than a little annoyed. Potter looks up at him vaguely, his eyes are bloodshot, and the hand holding his cigarette is unsteady. The heady scent of Mallowsweet lingers in the air. Are you seriously getting high at a Ministry dinner, Potter?

Potter smiles slowly at him, and sucks on the end of his - from what Draco can smell - extremely potent blend of Mallowsweet. Would you like some? he says, exhaling smoke from his nostrils and holding out his hand. And when they test my piss in two weeks, I bet youll be right pleased when they chuck me back into Azkaban. There are Potions to cover it up. I should know. I get tested, too, Malfoy. Draco sighs heavily and, for some reason, moves to sit beside Potter. Im not allowed potions ingredients, Potter. Certainly not the kind to make a potion like that. Potter turns to him, holding Draco firm in an intense, searching gaze. That sounds really terrible. How high are you, Potter? Potter chews on his bottom lip. Im not sure, he says. I hope Im not too bad off. I have to make a speech. Draco glances at him. Potters shirt is undone at the collar. His jacket is draped across the arm of the bench and his pupils are blown so wide, Draco cant see any hint of the usual vivid green. Youre completely buggered. Potter shrugs. Think anyone will notice? A warm bubble of laughter escapes Dracos lips. Im not sure, he says. Potter smiles briefly at him. He takes another drag and looks away from him, the skin around his eyes tight. Have you seen what theyre calling the Voldemort Suite? he asks. What a load of tosh. Draco decides it would probably be too much to explain to Potter that, as the caretaker of the Manor, hes seen the Voldemort Suite more times than he cares to remember. Ive seen it. Potter glances at him. Theyre calling your room The Fallen Souls Exhibit. Doesnt that completely piss you off? Draco leans back against the bench. I how did you know it was my room?

Potter shrugs. I just did, he says. His eyes flick to Draco and then he looks away, out into the garden. It felt like you, he adds quietly. Draco cant think of anything to say to that. He rolls a few pebbles around with the heel of his boot. They remain in only a slightly uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, until Potter speaks again. This whole fucking thing is such a joke. I dont disagree, Draco says carefully. Im surprised you feel that way though. Potter raises his eyebrows comically. You think I wanted this for you? he asks. I wouldnt wish this on anyone. The Charity Burbage room it makes me sick. The whole thing. Its sick and disgusting. Draco studies him for a few moments and then hastily looks away when Potter catches his eye again. You know, Potter says. I did try to help you. Draco looks up, pushing a lock of hair that escaped his leather band behind his ear. Must not have tried very hard, he says lightly. Everyone knows the Ministry does anything the golden boy wants. Potter frowns. I did try. Draco sighs. It doesnt matter, he says. My probation is almost over. Potter waves his hand vaguely. Its all bullshit. Everything. Things are taking too long to change. I thought that after the war it would be different, but it isnt. Not yet. Youre just too idealistic, Potter, Draco says tiredly. You dont understand the way things work. Harry sucks on his cigarette again. Maybe I didnt try hard enough. Draco rolls his eyes. Oh please. Dont start feeling sorry for yourself now.

Potter stubs his cigarette out on the bench and runs his fingers through his hair. Only then does Draco notice how much his hands are shaking. I fucking hate these things, he murmurs softly. Potter holds head in his hands, rubbing his face and messing up his hair even further. Slightly alarmed, Draco pokes at his arm. Get it together, Potter. Its just a fucking speech. Potter reaches out and holds Dracos hand and doesnt let go. I think Im going to be sick, Potter says, and promptly leans over the side of the bench and heaves, squeezing Dracos hand hard. Draco hastily pulls his hand away and stands up, looking down at Potter in disbelief. Did you just vomit into my mothers flowerbeds? Potter heaves again and then he sits up, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and closing his eyes. I feel so much better now. Ugh. Draco Vanishes the mess and kneels in front of Potter, roughly grabbing his hand and casting a cleansing charm on his sleeve. Potter opens his eyes and looks down at him. Thanks, he says quietly. Draco sits next to him again, and points his wand again. Lean forward, and hold your hands out. Potter follows the instructions without question, and Draco casts a light Aguamenti charm, filling Potters cupped palms with water. Potter washes his mouth and spits it out onto the floor, which Draco cleans up again, rolling his eyes slightly. Potter takes off his glasses, resting them in his lap and then cups his hands again, and Draco obliges. This time Potter washes his face, wetting his too-long untamed hair, attempting to brush it off his face, but it only springs back into madness again. Potter dries his face with his jacket, and Draco tuts at him. Merlin, Potter. Dont you have any sense at all?

He dries Potters jacket with his wand and takes his glasses, cleaning them carefully before handing them back. When he looks up, Potter is watching him with a bemused expression and Dracos face heats. Potter puts on his glasses and jacket, all without turning his gaze away from Draco for a second. You clean up well, Malfoy, he says. And I like the beard. It suits you. Draco touches his cheek absently. Er. Thanks. Potter runs his hands through his hair again. God. Please, dont make me go back in there, he says. He holds his hand out for Draco to see. Look at this, he says. Potters hands are still shaking. Im rubbish at public speaking, he says. Always have been. Draco cant tear his gaze away from Potters shaking hands. For some reason, they unnerve him even more than the slight waver in Potters voice. Then why do you do it? Potter drops his palms into his lap. I have to, dont I? Theres a plaintive note in Potters voice that Draco doesnt know how to respond to. I always thought you liked the attention, he says lightly. Potter merely shakes his head. I hate it. I hate this place. I hate these celebrations. Do you know there are three more galas this week alone? He looks up at the sky and scoffs. The Voldemort Manor. What a disgusting title. Draco ignores the way his heart thumps when Voldemorts name slips so casually from Potters lips. He thought hed got used to hearing it by now, so long after the war, but for some reason, hearing Potter say it makes it more real. It was a real thing that happened, to all of them. The way Azkaban was real. Potter turns to him to say something again, but his expression falters when he spots something behind Dracos head. Draco turns to see what it is, and Randall Newman is there, leaning against the doorway in his plum coloured robes, half smile on his face. Thought Id find you here, he says. Draco turns to face Potter, who wont meet his gaze.

Potter gets up and strides towards Newman without a hint of the unsteadiness that plagued him only a moment ago. I needed some air, he says. Newman smiles, revealing a dimple in his left cheek and a slight overbite. Come on then, you. Youve got a speech to make. He puts his hand at the base of Potters spine and guides him away. Potter tosses Draco a fleeting glance before disappearing inside, and Draco moves to follow, but Newman stops him with a hand on his chest. Fetch me a glass of that elf wine would you? He needs to relax. Draco hesitates. I really dont think he should Im not sure I asked your opinion, Malfoy, Newman says. I simply require you do what youre told. Yes? Draco scowls, and bites his cheek to prevent him from saying what hed really like to. Certainly. Newman smiles. Outstanding.

Draco hovers in the doorway as Potter gives the opening speech. Potter is straight backed, confident. His voice spreads across the room and everyones eyes are fixed on him. Draco almost cant believe its the same man who vomited all over his mothers hydrangeas, after getting high on Dracos favourite bench. The audience claps when Potters speech is over, and Percy Weasley takes his place at the podium. Draco nods to Mindy when she gives him an anxious look, and she sends out her army of house elfs with trays of champagne, just as Weasley had asked. Weasley sends him an approving nod, and Draco steps back into the shadows as the party toasts to five more years of peace. He starts slinking off to the kitchen when a hand closes itself around his wrist, and Draco turns around quickly, only to be confronted by the one man he would give absolutely anything to avoid.

Draco, Flint says quietly. Draco cant bring himself to speak. He only blinks rapidly, and then Flint pushes past him, into the dark stairway leading to the kitchen, grabbing his arm and pulling Draco along with him. When theyre further away from the noise, he turns suddenly and Draco backs up against the stone wall. Flints eyes flick over him with interest. You look well, he says. Draco licks his lips. His mouth has turned very dry and his heart is beating so fast hes certain Flint can hear it. Flint steps closer and smiles, reaching out to tuck a strand of Dracos h air behind his cheek. Dont touch me, Draco says tersely. Flint pulls his hand away and smiles ruefully. Were not in Azkaban anymore, are we? he says. No. Were not. Flint folds his arms across his chest and steps back, leaning against the opposite wall. You really do look good, Draco, he says. Youve filled out. Must be all the yard work, eh? Draco looks away. Perhaps. They stand in awkward silence for a moment. I should go, Draco says. Flint reaches out for him. Wait, he says. Let me just He leans forward and presses his lips against Draco, cupping his cheek and pressing Draco against the wall. Draco allows it (hasnt he always?) He opens his mouth and Marcus deepens the kiss, pushing his tongue deep into Dracos mouth, possessing him once again. After a few seconds of this, Draco pulls away and puts his hand over his mouth. Flint moves as if to try again, but Draco sidesteps him. Marcus, he says quietly. I swear, if you touch me again, I will kill you.

Flint raises his palms in surrender, and then he steps back a few paces. I saved your life, Draco, he says. You needed me. Draco sighs. I did. I dont anymore. Flint scoffs lightly. You wanted it. Draco has no response to this. He did want it. But only because the alternative well the alternative had almost killed him. Marcus had saved him. That much was true. Go home, Flint, Draco says, then he turns away and flees to the kitchens.

The dreams that night are particularly unpleasant. When Draco awakes with a start, the room is pitch black. He waves his wand, and the lamps flicker on, then he swings his bare legs over the side of the bed and slips off, padding naked to the small kitchen in his quarters. Hes still not grown into the habit of sleeping clothed, or wearing clothes at all for that matter. In Azkaban, it wasnt necessary. Flint would say Strip, Draco, and Draco would do it. After taking a three inch knife to the ribs, he made a deal with the warden - with Flint - to protect him if Draco gave him his due. And he did. It wasnt always unpleasant. Sometimes Draco would enjoy it. Sometimes - he hates to think about these times - he would even beg for it. Its sick. Flint isnt something that Draco should want. He shouldnt miss itbut sometimes he does. In the kitchen there is already a pot of tea waiting for him, and a few fresh scones. Draco spares a small smile for Mindy, who always seems to know when hell be up before dawn. He opens the windows facing the garden, and sits at the short thick wooden table and sips on his tea. Flashes from his dreams threaten to make him falter, but he pushes them aside.

Sometimes he can still feel the touch of a warm palm ghosting down the length of his spine, gently, but with purpose. Draco takes a large sip of the scalding tea, burning his tongue, and firmly tugging his mind away from that line of thought. He grabs a scone and dips one crumbly bit into his tea, chewing thoughtfully. The weather charms inside the Manor walls keep out most of the biting cold, but theres still a chill in the breeze, and he should get dressed. Its raining lightly outside, but the owl with his mothers daily missive comes gliding through the open kitchen window, shaking herself a bit before bringing Draco the parchment. Draco smiles, feeding her a bit of scone and opening todays letter.

Draco, Ive discovered something quite wonderful and Id like to share it with you. Youll be surprised, I think, when you see it. Attached to Breidas leg is a small pouch. Youll need to set the contents on somewhere solid, a table, perhaps. Use whatever enlarging charm you think best, but do be gentle Im told its rather delicate. Curious, Draco drops the letter and takes the pouch from Breidas leg as she nips him affectionately. He sets it on the table and waves his wand, enlarging what looks like a small gramophone and a package of records. Draco laughs softly, remembering writing his mother about the Muggle culture exhibit in the Manor, hesitantly admitting to her that hed like to try the playing records for himself. Hes watched the Museum curator set up the system numerous times, so its with ease that he sets up a record at random to play. After a few seconds of crackling noises, the music is unfamiliar but soothing, and Draco picks up his letter and sits back down at the table. Youll find it works quite well with magic. The composer is a famous Muggle, Wagner, and I think youll like him. Even I have to admit, there is some beauty to it. I hope youve been eating well, and this gift finds you in good health.

Draco can almost feel her hesitation. If there was anything wrong, you would tell me. Wouldnt you? Love, Mother Draco folds the parchment and sets it aside, feeling ill at ease. No. He would not tell her at all.

Most of his required tasks for the day are in the garden, which pisses Draco off quite a bit. Its cold and wet, and his boots sink into the mud, but he grits his teeth and does all the gardening at once, so he can sleep in for the rest of the day. Around noon, Draco pulls off his gloves and wipes his forehead, pushing back the lock of hair that escaped his leather band and sighs. Its not that the work is particularly hard, his frustration comes from knowing that its all been designed to humiliate him as deeply as possible. Its working all too well. By the time his parole is over, Draco isnt sure hell ever be able to experience a thing as simple as pride once more. He straightens up, deeming the weather charms on the garden ready to withstand the lowest temperatures and the likely frost. He stuffs his gloves into his pocket, pushing up his sleeves and trudging alongside the perfectly manicured hedge to check the charms on the water fountain, as hes been ordered to do. He ends up spending fifteen minutes resetting all the charms and by the time he walks into his cottage all he wants to do is sleep. He closes the door behind him, pulls off his jumper and t-shirt and smiles at the waiting pot of hot tea on the worktop. Mindys doing, and from the smell of it, its a simple Earl Grey. Perfect. He waves his wand at the gramophone in the small sitting room, and Wagner starts to play again. Draco sinks down into the sofa, toeing off his boots and resting his feet on the coffee table, sipping slowly on his tea and closing his eyes. Hes just about ready to fall into a good doze when someone knocks on the door. Draco groans and rubs his face, irritated by the interruption of his sleep. He blearily rises off the sofa, yanking the leather band from his hair and scratching his scalp as he shuffles to the

door. He peeks out the kitchen window to find Harry Potter standing in his walkway, dressed again in his Auror robes, rocking on his heels and nervously pushing his glasses up his nose. Draco waves his wand, and the music abruptly stops and then he steps back from the window, distractedly tying the leather band around his wrist. What could Potter possibly want with him? Draco startles slightly when Potter knocks again, and he pushes his hair behind his ear, nervously looking around to make sure he doesnt have anything remotely suspect lying around. When he opens the door, Potter stares at him. Malfoy, hello. Potter looks him firmly in the eye for all of two seconds before his gaze wanders down. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Draco finds himself tickled with the knowledge that Potter cant seem to look away from his bare chest. Interesting. Draco folds his arms and leans against his doorframe. Potter, he says. Is there a reason youre ogling me in my doorway? Potters flushes prettily, but then he seems to steel himself and look Draco in the eye. You really shouldnt answer your door dressed like that, he says. Or... not dressed as the case might be. Draco raises an eyebrow. Duly noted, he says Why are you here? Am I being arrested? Are you going to let me in? Certainly not if Im being arrested. Potter rolls his eyes. Youre not being arrested, Draco. Again, the use of his first name. It sets Draco on edge. Draco steps aside in the narrow doorway, and Potters shoulder grazes Dracos nipple

as he passes. Potter doesnt seem to notice Dracos sharp intake of breath and he moves further into the kitchen and looks around the room curiously. Draco closes the door behind him. Since Im not being arrested, why are you here? Potter shrugs out of his robes, revealing a crisp white shirt and fitted jeans that hug the curve of his arse. He walks past Draco into the sitting room, resting his robes across the arm of the sofa and nods to the pot of tea on the coffee table. May I? he says, sitting on the sofa and gazing up at Draco expectantly. Draco nervously chews his lower lip, and waves his wand to set a warming charm on the cooled pot of tea. Its nothing special, Im afraid, he mutters. Just your basic tea. He summons the jars of milk and sugar from the kitchen, somehow knowing Potter isnt the kind of man to take his tea black. Its perfect, thank you. Potter says, pouring copious amounts of milk into his cup, but neglecting to add sugar. Draco grimaces slightly and sets about adding at least half the jar of sugar into his own cup and about a dash of milk. When hes finished, Potter is staring at him with an expression of mild amusement. Draco looks away, and sips his tea. This is a nice place, Potter says. Draco grunts softly in response. The cottage holds mixed memories for him. Its a relic from a time when the Malfoys had human servants, usually squibs. But that was before his Grandfather Abraxas became Lord of the Manor. Hed sacked all the human servants as soon as he could. He couldnt stomach the idea of non-magic blood living on his land. Draco would hide here when Voldemort was on the prowl in the Manor, and here his mother would find him, and coax him into returning before the Dark Lord noticed his absence. Draco sets his tea down and eyes Potter warily. Is there a reason youre here? Potter sets down his cup as well, and his eyes flick briefly to Dracos. You disappeared last night, he says. Draco raises his eyebrows. I didnt know you were keeping an eye on me. Potter rolls his eyes, but he gives Draco a small smile. Look, he says, absently twisting a small silver band on his middle finger. I just wanted you to know that what you saw last night

You mean when you vomited in my garden, or do you mean the illegal drugs you were smoking? Mallowsweet is perfectly legal. Not at the concentration you were smoking. And certainly not at a state function in a state museum. Harry looks at him hesitantly. A second ago you said it was your garden. Dracos face heats. Force of habit, he says. Harry watches him for a second. Yes, he says. Thats what I was referring to. I just wanted to be sure you understood. Thats not the typical way I behave, it was unprofessional of me. Draco fingers the rim of his teacup. Are you afraid Ill rat you out to the Ministry or something? Potter shakes his head, resting his cup down on the coffee table. No, I just didnt want for you to think I do that kind of thing often. Why the fuck would you care what I think? Potter shrugs. You were decent to me, he says, meeting Dracos gaze. You didnt have to be. I wanted to thank you. Draco eyes him warily. Sure, he says. Okay. Theyre opening a new wing of the Manor, did you know? Draco makes a small sound in his throat. Im not high on the Ministrys need to know list, Potter. The curator announced it after you disappeared, Potter tosses him a curious glance. Where did you go? Draco frowns at him. Potters doing a fairly good job at making the questions seem offhand, but theres a tightness around the corners of his eyes that makes Dracos palms sweat a little. Im not certain thats any of your concern.

Potter opens his mouth to say something but then closes it again. Potter, youre freaking me out, Draco says. Am I under investigation or something? A look of surprise creases Potters face. Dammit. No, Im sorry. No. Youre not under investigation, he says quickly. Potter gives him a wry smile. Im just a nosy sod whos pants at casual conversation, Im afraid. Draco shakes his head. Why are you trying to converse with me? he asks slowly. Is this some sort of undercover thing? Potter laughs softly putting his hands in the air. No. I swear to you. Im not investigating anything. I just His face heats and he pours himself a fresh cup of tea. His hands are shaking. Potter Theyre opening a new exhibit in the dungeon, Potter says hurriedly. Theyre calling it The Heros Incarceration. Where do they come up with this stuff, I wonder? Theyve made a plaque with some sort of rubbish about Luna and Ollivander written on it.' Draco scoffs lightly, hunching forward and scratching his beard. How do you feel about that? Potter shrugs, and then he stands and walks across the room with his hands deep in his pockets. He stops in front of the gramophone sitting atop a small desk, peering at it curiously. Why do you have a gramophone? Draco stands swiftly and moves to stand a few paces away, eyeing Potter warily and cursing himself for not covering the gramophone with a Disillusionment Charm. Strictly speaking, he shouldnt be accumulating possessions during his probation. Potter could report him if he wanted to. My mother sent it, he says. She thought it would be a healthy diversion. Potter raises his eyebrows. Your mother listens to records.

Draco sighs. Yes. Shes living in Paris right now and she chose, for some reason, to integrate with the Muggles. He studies Potters face briefly, but his expression is inscrutable. I dont think shes ever been to the Wizarding district. Potter makes a small sound in his throat, and Dracos throat burns with a surge of annoyance. He steps forward, fingering the edges of the gramophone protectively. I wouldnt expect you to understand. I do, Potter says, looking back at him earnestly. Believe me, Malfoy. I understand. They stare at each other for a moment before Draco looks away, fiddling with his hands for something to do. He looks down at his bare chest, suddenly remembering hes been half naked the whole time, and feeling strangely aware of it for the first time in years. He moves to grab his jumper, and Potter clears his throat behind him. Will you be there? Draco pulls the black jumper over his head glancing at Potter as he pushes up his sleeves. Where? The opening. I cant imagine why you think my presence was requested, Potter. Especially as they didnt even bother to tell me it was happening. Potter looks confused. But you were there last night. Draco pulls down the hem of his jumper, pulling the strand of hair caught inside and tying it back with the band on his wrist. The only reason I was there was so that Weasley could show me off as his little pet. Percys not like that. Draco raises his eyebrows. Isnt he? He doesnt mean anything by it. Percys always been A prick?

Potter gives him a look. Not intuitive. He wants to make a name for himself. He thinks he has a lot to prove. Either way, Draco says. I wasnt summoned. Potter eyes him for a long moment. Pity, he says. For some reason, Dracos face flames. Hes quite sure that Potters managed to make him blush. Potter seems to have noticed. He smiles and scratches the back of his neck in a strangely endearing sort of way. I meant what I said last night, you know, he says. Which bit? You clean up well, Potter says. Are you making a pass at me, Potter? Potter shrugs, edging closer to him, passing the tips of his fingers over the back of the threadbare chaise lounge beside him. Maybe, he says, stopping in front of Draco, and sitting on the armrest. He stretches his legs in front of him, tilting his head up to look Draco square in the eye. But I also meant it when I said I wanted to help you. Ah, Draco says, grabbing his wand and using it to levitate the empty tea cups ahead of him. More of your saviour complex, is it? he says, walking past Potter and into the kitchen. Potter follows him and Draco deposits the dishes into the sink and sets them to wash. I dont have a saviour complex, Draco. Dont call me that, Draco says. Dont. You dont even know me. Potter rolls his eyes and folds his arms across his chest. Ive known you since you had a cowlick, and I know you didnt deserve the sentence you got. Draco leans against the sink, gripping the edges of the worktop with both of his hands.

Oh, didnt I? How would you convict three attempted murders? Because thats what I was charged with, Potter. One of them was your friend. Dracos voice wavers slightly, but he presses on. Lets not forget to mention the gross misuse of Dark artefacts, practicing Dark Magic on school grounds, and letting the Death Eaters and a fucking werewolf into a castle full of children. You were under duress So were you! So was everybody else. If Id just What, Draco? What could you have done? You lowered your wand, you showed Dumbledore who you really were. He would have saved you. Draco shakes his head. Why are we even talking about this? It doesnt matter what you think. It already happened. My sentence is almost over. Potter begins moving closer to him, and then seeming to think better of it, stops abruptly in the middle of the kitchen. Im sorry, he says. I didnt mean for things to be so intense, I just wanted you to know that I didnt think what happened to you was fair. II wanted to help you. They stare at each other from across the room for a few long seconds, and then Draco licks his lips and carefully says, Thank you. Harry shoves his hands into his pockets, and a few moments pass in awkward silence. So, your house elf Shes isnt mine, Draco says automatically. She belongs to the Ministry. Harry raises his eyebrows. Not sure shed agree with you there, he says evenly. She showed me to the cottage and shared some choice opinions with me on the way you take care of yourself. Draco sighs. She always does this to me. He releases his grip on the counter top and pushes his fingers down into his pockets. God. This was so embarrassing. She was he begins haltingly. Well when I was born

Potter gives him a confused, expectant look. Draco huffs a breath of air and looks up at the ceiling. She was my nurse-elf, okay? Potter lets out a startled laugh. Was she really? he says, still laughing. Oh, God. That explains so much. Draco rolls his eyes. Shut up, Potter. Whats she complaining about now? She says you swim naked at night, Potter says, cheeks burning red. Shes convinced youre going to catch your death out there. Or at least get eaten by a Lethifold. For goodness sake Ive been given strict instructions to tell you never to do it again. Shes quite convinced youll listen to me. Potter grins at him. 'Since, you know Im Harry Potter and all. Draco sighs. Yes. She thinks the world of you, of course. He looks away, completely disgruntled by the whole thing. It was Mindy who would repeat all the Harry Potter stories to him as a child, but not the way his father would tell it. In Mindys stories, Potter was always the hero. Mindys version was better. More fun. When he looks up again, Potter is looking at him expectantly. What? Well, Potter says. Arent you going to show it to me?

Somehow, he manages to spend the rest of the day in Potters presence, a few uninterrupted hours showing him the wilder gardens. Theyre much further away from the Manor proper, in an area sealed off by the Ministry and blocked off by misdirection charms that for some reason have no effect on Draco. He has to hold Potters hand to get him through the barrier. When he was very young, Draco would run through these gardens and straight down to the river for a swim. His mother never wanted to venture through the mud and high grass, so she would send Mindy with strict instructions that Draco mustnt drown. Draco only nearly drowned twice. He never told his mother though. They walk along the muddy path, Draco with his hands in his pockets, occasionally glancing at Potter and waving away any particularly curious Tentacular vines. His fingers are slightly numb from the cold, and he pushes them into his pockets, staring pensively ahead. Potter keeps glancing at him from the corner of his eye, and Dracos not quite sure what to make of it. He stops abruptly, and after a few paces, Potter stops ahead of him. Potter, he says. Whats really going on? Did they ask you to monitor me? Potter sighs. No, Draco A sliver of dread stabs him in the chest. Is it Draco pauses, licking his lips and drawing in a much needed breath. Is there something wrong with my father? What? Draco, no. I told you Then what? I dont Draco gestures vaguely. Why are you being... like this? I dont understand it. I fuck. Draco. Can I just walk with you? What? I dont want to Potter chews his lower lip. Cant you just trust me? Trust you.

Yes. Can you just trust that Im not trying to investigate you, or turn you in for anything? I just Im just here. Okay? Draco frowns. Potter, I swear, if youre fucking with me Im not, Potter says. I swear to you, Im not. Draco forces himself to relax. Okay, he says. He begins walking along the path again, and Potter falls into step with him. A slight chill breeze blows between them, and the leaves on the trees rustle loudly. Were not far, Draco says. They walk the rest of the way in silence, with Potter still glancing at him every five seconds, and Dracos heart slightly racing in his chest. When they reach the river, Potter pushes up his sleeves and kneels at the bank, dipping his hand in the water. Fucking hell, Malfoy! Its like ice. Draco shrugs, peering down at Potter with his hands still in his pockets. Potter swishes his hand around in the water a bit more. Its not that bad, Draco says, looking out towards the opposite bank. Its invigorating, Potter stands and looks around. Its quiet here, he says. Peaceful. Draco pushes a strand of hair behind his ears and surreptitiously studies Potters profile: the curve of his jaw, the beginnings of a five oclock shadow on his cheek, his prominent Adams apple, the pale expanse of his neck. It is, Draco murmurs. Is that why you come here? To get away?

Potter turns to meet this gaze and Draco, caught staring, fumbles for a response. What do you think, Potter? he says gruffly. Potter doesnt look away. I think, if I were you, Id need a place like this. Somewhere I could escape. Potter licks his lips, and Draco is struck by the sudden glimpse of a pink tongue on full red lips. Draco forces his gaze up to Harrys eyes, but he finds no quarter there - theyre fixed on him, with an intensity that makes his stomach flutter. Potters eyes are so bright green in the fading light that theyre almost luminous. His mouth suddenly dry, he has to swallow a few times before saying, Perhaps. Potter finally looks away. The wards probably let you in because its what you need, he says, glancing back at the footpath. Draco forces a derisive laugh, though it comes out more thick and moist than he intended. He digs the toe of his boot into the muddy embankment. Its your home, Malfoy. No matter what the Ministry thinks, Potter continues. The wards still listen to you. Its not my home, Potter, Draco says softly. Potter gazes at him for a moment. In Grimmauld Place he says, The wards respond to me. I cant really explain it, maybe its something inherent in the magic of Wizarding houses, but it always seems to know what I need. Draco grits his teeth. Potter, this house hasnt been my home since the Dark Lord came in and threw my parents out of their own bed. When they were asleep. Harry sighs and looks away. Im sorry, he says. Draco kicks at a loose stone in the mud. Why are you apologising to me? Why are you doing any of this? Why are you here? As if to add drama to the moment, a few heavy droplets of rain batter down on their shoulders. Draco looks up for a few startled seconds and then the sky opens up and it begins

to pour. Draco throws his hands up in the air, looking up at the sky in outrage and then Potter grabs his hand with a laugh. Come on, you lunatic! They run, Potter in the lead, partially dragging Draco through the mud as the rain bears down on them, heavy and ruinous until they find shelter under a Holly tree. Potter leans over, resting his hands on his knees, his shoulder heaving. It takes Draco a few moments to realise Potter is laughing and then a small smile tugs at Dracos lips. We ought to run the full way to cottage, he says. The rain wont let up for a bit now its really started. Potter just waves his hands absently and peers through the leaves up at the sky now rapidly turning black. His breath fogs in tiny puffs from his lips. Im surprised you didnt just Apparate, Draco says. What, and leave you here? Draco shrugs. I wouldnt blame you. I wouldnt do that, Draco, Potter says softly. You cant Apparate. Its rude. Draco leans back against the rough bark of the tree, resting the back of his head against it as well. A few determined raindrops still make it through the thick branches, but its certainly better than being under the full brunt of the rain. You were right, Draco says without looking at Potter. I need an escape, sometimes. This is it. When I come here, I dont even know what Im doing. Its like a trance. I get in the water and I cant hear, its dark so I can barely see. And I just He looks to his right, finding Potter staring at him avidly. Draco shakes his head. I disappear. I forget, for a few minutes where I am. Who I am, even. Potter nods slowly. I understand, he says. Completely.

The expression on his face wavers for a moment, and he bites his lower lip. Sometimes you just do things that dont make sense just to get away. Pretend youre someone else. Pretend your life isnt as fucked up as it really is. Draco shifts his feet from where theyve started to sink in the mud. The steady patter of rain makes the silences between them seem softer. Less ominous. Strangely enough, Potter, Draco says. You might be the only person who actually gets it. What that says about my life... I dont know. Potter laughs softly. It says were both fucked, maybe. Maybe. Draco briefly looks up at the sky again. You know I But he doesnt finish his sentence because suddenly Potter is much too close, leaning in and brushing his lips against Dracos. Draco remains utterly still, until Potter leans in even closer, his hips brushing against the top of Dracos thighs. The tips of Potters fingers press at the base of Dracos spine, and Potter swipes his tongue against Dracos lips, seeking entry. Draco tentatively opens his mouth, letting Potter slide his tongue inside, searching out the corners of Dracos mouth. Its strange, the rough texture of Potters tongue against his. He tastes like tea and something else, something Draco cant quite place. Potter releases a small sigh and it puffs against Dracos cheeks. Draco doesnt know what to do with his hands, so he simply wraps his fingers around Potters firm biceps, allowing himself to be kissed. Potter pushes him up against the bark of the tree, and Draco starts to feel the first small stirring of panic rise up in his chest. It feels too much like surrendering. Like Azkaban. The memory of Flint cornering him flares in his mind, and he roughly pushes Potter away. Potter stumbles backwards and Draco takes a few steadying breaths and puts a hand to his mouth. Potter reaches out and touches Dracos forearm. Are you okay? Draco closes his eyes and nods briefly, fervently avoiding Potters worried gaze. He swallows down a brief surge of nausea, embarrassed with himself for being so He doesnt even know what to call it, except that its completely mortifying.

Im sorry, Draco says. No, its my fault, Potter says looking at him with a wary expression. I thought He shakes his head briefly. I dont know what I thought. But I shouldnt have just sprung on you like that. Draco straightens up, wiping his damp palms on his thighs. The rain is letting up a bit, he says. We should go. Potter nods, stepping away from him, and shoving his hands into his pockets. Are you sure youre Im fine, Potter. Dont get sentimental. It was just a mistake thats all. Potter nods and his Adams apple bobs when he swallows. Okay. Draco steps out from beneath the cover of the tree. The rains become a light drizzle, and he crouches a bit, running through it, not waiting to see if Potter follows his lead.

Draco, I cant understand why you would say such things to me. Why wouldnt you want to come here? Youve always loved Paris. Why would you stay in England? You dont know what its like out there. Youve been under probation all this time. You dont understand the way they stare, and the talk. Do you know in some places they refused to even serve me? Is that what you want? Do you honestly think theyd let you travel the way you want to, Draco? At best theyd put some sort of tracker on you, at worst theyll put you back into probation for even asking. Im worried about you. You say that Potter could become your ally, but how do you know for sure? How do you know he hasnt been sent to keep an eye on you, to trip you up now that your freedom is so close? Please, darling, keep one eye open. I dont trust his sudden interest in you. Ive sent you the records you asked for. Where have you heard of these Muggle composers? Did Potter tell you about them? Love, Mother

Dracos never been one to hover where he isnt wanted, yet he finds himself lurking during the opening of the dungeon exhibit. The Manor is crowded with many more people than the opening gala, and Draco can only assume there is some kind of money changing hands. Things never change. Draco slips into the kitchen, unnoticed by the harried caterers and house elfs. He makes his way down into the cellar and past the secret entrance to his parents boudoir, exiting through the Voldemort suite. He peers inside, grateful to find it empty, and then he slips out the door, walking down the empty hallway. The West Wing is eerily quiet. The Ministry must have cordoned it off in an attempt to get people to actually visit the wretched exhibit. Hes never been curious to see one of the openings, but this time he finds his heart beating a little faster as he heads to the East Wing. He doesnt want to examine too closely why hes intrigued, because then hed have to think about that kiss again, and hes not quite certain hes ready to go there just yet. He trips on something in the halfway, but when he looks down, nothings there. He pushes at the invisible object with his shoe and it shimmers slightly. An Invisibility Cloak. The only person he knows with one of those is Potter. The door to one of the unused bedrooms is halfway open, and Draco, smiling slightly, pushes it a little wider. He cant see past the entryway, but he can hear Potters voice, low and husky. bad idea. I dont like leaving my cloak out there. No ones going to see it. Its invisible, dont you remember? I know I just ah. Fuck, Harry. Youre tight. Draco hastily steps out of the room and leans his back against the wall, his breathing heavy and unsteady. Theres a thud against the wall, a low moan, and Draco flicks a silencing charm in the general direction of the room. His back slides against the wall as he slips to the floor, and he reaches out, absently fingering Potters Invisibility Cloak. He lifts it up, and without even really realising what hes doing, he brings it to his nose.

It smells like Potter. Its a scent he cant even describe, but it reminds him of flying. He pulls the cloak over himself and pulls his knees into his chest. He knows he should just walk away, but he wants to see who Potters fucking in there. And while he knows he has no right to feel the level of betrayal he does, he feels it all the same. Almost twenty minutes pass. Being unable to see or hear whats going on doesnt make it any less upsetting. Draco has his imagination to fill in all the gaps. Suddenly the door bursts open, and Potter comes out first. His hair is severely mussed, but he looks otherwise impeccable in a midnight blue suit and black tie. Behind him follows Randall Newman, in deep purple robes, brushing his hair back and looking around for witnesses. Potter bends over grasping around for his cloak. Its gone. Newman looks down on the marble floor, frown on his face. Are you certain? Yes. It was right fucking here. Potter puts his hands on his hips, looking distraught. Draco remains very still and tries to breathe lightly, and through his nose. Well perhaps one of the house elfs took it. You should check with them to be sure. Potter glances despairingly at Newman and folds his arms across his chest. I cant believe this shit. Come now, Newman says. Dont pout. Youll find it in no time, Im sure. Newman pulls him close by his hips but Potter remains stiff in his arms. You are so fucking sexy in this get up. Fuck off. Im not in the mood. Newman kisses Potter softly on the lips. Youll find it, Harry, just calm down. If you hadn't been in such a rush. Newman smirks down at him. I couldnt help myself. Ill be sure to tell that to your wife.

Newmans gaze hardens and he digs his fingers into Harrys hips. Dont make idle threats, Harry, we both know youll never come through. Potter just grits his teeth. For a brief second, his gaze flicks to Draco. Draco freezes, his heart thudding in his chest, ready to make a break for it, but then Potter looks away. Go on downstairs, he says. Ill go to the kitchens myself. Newman kisses Harry on the cheek. Ill miss you. He turns and walks down the hallways in the opposite direction, and Potter stands with his arms folded, staring at the wall for a few minutes before turning and following suit. Draco releases the breath he didnt know hed been holding and stands shakily from his position on the ground. He stays hidden beneath the cloak and walks back to the cottage, only vaguely aware of his surroundings, almost causing a mishap in the kitchen involving a floating pot of soup, and a confused chef. He slips out the back door, past the bench where he first saw Potter that night and through the grass to his cottage. The walk is long enough that his head clears slightly and hes able to actually replay the scene in his head with any kind of understanding. He should have seen it. That night. He knew something was off between Newman and Potter, but he wasnt sure what it was. He scoffs. Typical. The Boy-Who-Lived: the other woman. Whether the twinge in his chest is anger, jealousy or an unholy mix of the two, Draco cant be certain, he only knows that he doesnt like it. He hates that already Potters found a way inside. But then, Dracos always been weak when it comes to him. He opens the door to his cottage, rests the cloak on the kitchen counter and slowly makes his way to the sitting room where Potter himself is sitting on his sofa, top buttons undone, his jacket draped across the chaise longue. Dracos not surprised. He slips out of his shoes and looks down at Potter. How did you know it was me?

I heard someone. I figured with my luck, it had to be you. Draco sits in the chair opposite him. Your cloak is in the kitchen, he says. You can take it on your way out. Draco, its not what you think. It doesnt matter what I think, Potter. It does to me. Draco looks up at him. Potters leaning forward, chewing on his lower lip nervously. Draco looks away, picking at a loose thread on the armrest of his seat. If youre worried Im going to tell someone I dont care about that. Of course you care. Youre Harry Potter. Hes a married Ministry official. Theyll tear you both apart. How much did you see? I didnt see anything. I walked in on you and turned the fuck around. Then I cast a silencing charm. Why didnt you think to do that? Or at least a locking charm would have sufficed. Potter chews on his thumb nail. He likes the risk. Fucking me in public. Draco shifts in his seat. And you? Potter shrugs. I dont know what the fuck Im doing. Draco looks at him. The v of his collar is wide enough that Draco can clearly see his collarbones, and the rapid beat of his pulse. Potters Adams apple bobs. Im sorry you saw that, he says. I wouldnt want you to think After what happened the other day. I dont want you to think I was leading you on or something.

What does it matter? Draco says with an elegant shrug. Were not anything, Potter. You shouldnt care what I think. Harry makes a frustrated noise. Stop acting like this means nothing to you. I can see it in your face You cant see anything, Potter, because I dont care. So you kissed me once in my fucking garden. Why do you think that means I give a shit what you do with your cock? Draco leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. Now, if you please, Auror Potter. Id appreciate it if you left. I have things to attend to. Draco doesnt move until he hears the shuffling of Potters cloak as he swings it across his shoulders and the thud of the cottage door when he leaves. ~ The following Monday, hes instructed by owl to decorate the entire Manor in a Christmas theme. A large crate with several enchanted fairies, baubles and garlands arrives in the entryway, and Draco spends hours with Mindy hanging things all over the place in a haphazard sort of way. On Tuesday, Weasley comes again to inspect his work, and promptly hires a professional decorator more up to the task, with an apologetic pat on Dracos back. Draco fumes about this for a few short hours, vowing to disappear into a bottle of Scotch for the evening, and he decides to try to nick a copy of the Daily Prophet from the little shop in the East Wing. The curator raises her eyebrows when she sees him. Draco never comes to the small shop unless he has to check the maintenance spells. They sell everything from miniature Harry Potter figurines to highly crafted replicas of Potters wand. Draco gives her a small nod, pretending to check security spells in the doorway and when she finally looks away, he pulls a copy from the shelf and slips off, sticking it under the crook of his arm and taking it back with him into the cottage, grabbing a bottle of Scotch from the pantry on the way back. The object of his many recent thoughts isnt exactly on the cover, but he still has a full page spread about his latest work in the Auror department, and speculation on whether hes headed for the Head Auror position. The photograph of Potter is almost as intense as the real thing. Hes standing on the Ministry steps with his friend Granger, both seem to be in deep conversation, but then he looks up at whoever is behind the camera and scowls.

Typically, even Potters scowls are endearingly attractive, his brow furrows in such a way that his eyes brows seem perfectly sculpted. A muscle twitches in Potters jaw. Draco spends a few minutes staring before firmly closing the paper and pushing it away. ~ His presence isnt requested again until three days later when a letter comes from Weasley, asking him to be present for a daytime event dubbed The Heros Luncheon. Apparently he was so well behaved at the opening, that the Minister specifically requested his presence. Bullshit. Draco chooses a set of cream robes, and opts to shave his stubble. He considers giving himself a haircut, but decides instead to leave his shoulder length hair loose. Fuck them if they think he looks too much like his father. He never wants them to forget hes Draco fucking Malfoy. The Heros Luncheon is particularly pointless. Nothing more than a collection of war veterans telling their stories at a podium in his parents ballroom, patting themselves on the back for surviving, and eating hors d'oeuvres off trays levitated by house elfs. Draco stands at the edge of the room, watching as a distressed Hermione Granger gestures to the house elfs in their formal tea cosies, a look of distaste on her face. Beside her is her husband, Weasley, with a hand on the small of her back. He whispers in her ear and she slowly relaxes, laughing softly and kissing him on the cheek. Lovegood is here, so is Longbottom, Dean Thomas, and everyone else who was in the castle that night. Draco shouldnt be here. A deep rumble of a laugh pulls his attention to where he does not want it to go. Potters standing across the room with Newman and the Minister, frowning down at his shoes. Newman prattles on incessantly, gesturing with the tumbler of Scotch in his hand. The Minister keeps nodding his head, as though barely listening. Potter looks up, catching Dracos gaze. Draco doesnt look away. Apparently its Potters policy never to wear traditional Wizard robes. Today hes dressed in a charcoal grey shirt and black trousers, his shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbow. His hair flops over his forehead in the usual haphazard waves, hiding his famous scar and curling over his

collar. A few strands sit definitely on the rim of his glasses. The glow from the fairy lights makes his hair seem a lighter brown that it really is, and his eyes Well, theyre just as mesmerising as the last time Draco checked. Potter nods his head towards the exit and raises his eyebrow, but a touch on Dracos arm pulls him out of his trance, and Percy Weasley is there, introducing him to more people as an example of the great reformation work the Ministry has done since the war, Draco grits his teeth and bears most of the conversation in silence, occasionally glancing out the corner of his eye at Potter and Newman. He doesnt like the way Newman angles his body possessively in front of Potters, or the way he absently places his palm at the base of Potters spine. He notices, however, the way Potter frequently steps out of his grasp, the way he stiffens whenever Newman touches him. Draco excuses himself not long after, heading straight for one of the many French doors leading out to the path around the house. Its cold and a little bit damp from earlier showers, but its still better than being inside with those people. He leans over the stone banister, gripping the edges with calloused palms. It doesnt take long for Potter to find him; one minute Dracos alone, counting his breaths, and the next, Potters there beside him. He remains quietly by Dracos side, and though he doesnt do or say a thing, Potters mere presence is enough to soothe him. Draco resents that. What do you want, Potter? Potter digs his hands into his pockets and shrugs. I saw you leave. Thought you might need a punching bag. A what? Oh, a punching bag Muggle thing. You get the idea though. The general idea that Id like to punch you? Potters lips quirk. Yes. That.

Draco sighs and stands up straight, resting his hips against the banister. What are you doing with him? he asks. Potter looks at him surprised, and then licks his lips carefully. Im not with him, he says quietly. I just fucked up one time, and for some reason I keep going back. Im completely out of order, I know that. Draco turns to face him. Then stop. A few other guests walk out onto the pathway, including Granger and Weasley. Granger watches them curiously as she passes, and Weasley does the same, except his gaze is less curious and more extremely exasperated. Potter steps closer to him when everyone else is far enough away. You look amazing, by the way, he whispers. I really want to kiss you again. Draco looks away from his gaze. You cant, he says, looking down at the gardens. You shouldnt even be talking to me. Draco, look at me, Potter says. I dont think thats a good Harry, there you are, a deep voice says from behind. Draco closes his eyes and Harry steps away from him. Minister, he says. Draco turns around wearily, expecting the Ministers reproach for behaving like a guest and not a caretaker, but the Minister only nods briefly in his direction. Good to see you again, Malfoy, he says, before turning to Harry again. Harry, I was hoping I could introduce you to a few people? He holds out his arm, to suggest that Harry should follow him into the ballroom, and Draco watches as Shacklebolt leads him away, just as Newman walks past them, heading straight for Draco. Potter notices, and gives Draco a worried glance, but theres little he can do with a determined Minister for Magic leading him to a meet and greet. Newman stops just before him, looking him dead in the eyes with a faint, false smile on his lips.

Curious that of all people, you should be out here talking to Harry Potter, he says. A light breeze blows in whipping his sandy brown hair into his eyes and causing the sleeve of his robe to flap against his cheek. Draco swallows. Curious. Newman flashes a toothy grin. Ha, he says. You Malfoys have always been the clever sort. He pushes his hair away from his face, the bright gold of his wedding band gleaming in the fairy lights. Youre free to leave and return to your lodgings Mr. Malfoy, we no longer require your presence. Draco forces himself to take a few calming breaths before he responds. Certainly, he says. He turns on his heel and takes a brief step before Newman stops him by grabbing Dracos arm, digging his nails into Dracos robes. Pursuing Harry wont win you any points with the Ministry, he says through a strained smile. In fact, it violates the terms of your probation. You should keep that in mind. He releases Draco just as abruptly as he took hold of him, and Draco walks away, down the steps to the walkway around the garden, and trudging back to his cottage. ~ Draco steals a bottle of Firewhisky from the cellar and stalks down to the hidden gardens just after six, still darkly brooding over the days events. When he passes the wards, he unshrinks the bottle, taking off the cap and tossing it somewhere in the vicinity of the Venomous Tentacula and bringing the bottle to his lips. He has to take a break from stomping through the gardens in order to bear the burn of the whisky as it slides down his throat. He rests his palm flat on a tree, and closes his eyes, letting himself slip into the almost instant headiness the drink evokes. He takes a few more swigs in quick succession, ignoring the little voice in his head telling him to slow down. Fuck that. Fuck all of them. Potter, too. Vengeful little shits. He cant prove himself to any of them even if he tried. His mother had it right all along, slipping off into hiding, pretending the entire Wizarding world didnt exist was probably the best thing she could do. Maybe he should join her. Hide for the rest of his miserable life.

He pushes himself off the tree, stumbling slightly as he digs his heels into the mud and pushes on towards the river. When he reaches the bank, he slips off his shoes and strips off his clothes, taking deep swigs of the Firewhisky anytime he can manage it. It would be a complete violation of his probation to be found intoxicated on the Manor grounds, but Draco cant bring himself to care. Let them find him. Let them throw him back into a cell in Azkaban and let him rot. Let the shadow of the Dementors suck his fucking soul. He doesnt care. He doesnt even really know why hes so angry. He sets the bottle down in the mud, pushing it slightly into the earth so that it remains up right, then he wades into the river, and dives in head first. The water is like ice, Potter was right about that, but its brisk and rejuvenating. The sluggish headiness of the drink, mixed with the heart racing rush of adrenalin from the cold collides and Dracos head spins. He remains underwater, swimming out to the middle of the river until his lungs burn and panic flares and he cant stay under any longer, then he comes up, shuddering and gasping for air. He treads the water for a few minutes then he ducks under again, holding his breath until it burns and then coming up again. You fucking idiot! Draco turns around, treading water. Potter is standing at the edge of the bank looking furious. Are you trying to kill yourself? he shouts. Draco wipes the water from his eyes and pushes his hair back from his forehead. Fuck off, Potter, he murmurs, knowing he wont be heard. He considers ignoring him and swimming further away, but the idiot would probably come in and drag him out anyway. Draco sighs and slowly swims towards the bank. When he reaches the shallows, he stumbles in the stony waterbed, and almost falls on his face as he steps up onto the bank. His teeth chatter from the cold. Potter makes a soft sound of annoyance and picks up Dracos robes from the ground, draping it across Dracos shoulders. What the fuck are you doing?

Draco steps back, pushing his arms into his sleeves and holding his robes closed in front of him. I should have never shown you this place. Well Im glad you did, he says, pointing to the half empty bottle of whisky. Youve been drinking. Draco yanks the bottle out of the mud. Still am, actually, he says. He narrows his eyes. How did you get past the wards? I think your house likes me, Potter says. Or at least it thought you needed my help. I dont need your help. Draco sways slightly on his feet. And its not my fucking house, Potter. Would you stop saying that? Potter gently takes the bottle from him and sets it back on the ground. He pulls Draco close, stroking his arms repeatedly in an apparent effort to warm him. Dracos teeth are still chattering slightly, and breaths rattle in his lungs. He tentatively wraps his arm around Potters waist, and Potter moves in closer, resting his forehead on Dracos shoulder. Youre shaking, he says. Im cold. Potter looks up at him and lifts his hand, pushing Dracos dripping hair behind his ear. Youre such an idiot, he says softly. Potter kisses him and Dracos grip on Potters waist tightens. Draco deepens the kiss, letting go of his robes and threading his fingers in Potters hair. Its softer than he thought it would be. Thicker. Potter sighs against his lips and shifts, and a chilly breeze whips between them causing Draco to shiver even more. Potter slips his hand beneath Dracos robes, sliding his palms on the bare skin of Dracos hips and Draco shudders again, breaking out in gooseflesh all over. He breaks the kiss, his hand still in Potters hair, and he leans in to press a kiss on Potters neck, and then he stiffens and pulls away, dislodging Potters hands and bending over to retrieve his Firewhisky.

I can smell him on you, Draco says, straightening up and gripping the bottle in his hands. Dont fuck him and come looking for me, Potter, he says. Im no ones second course. Potter closes his eyes briefly. I didnt fuck him, he says. And I dont think of you as a second course, come on, Draco. Draco stuffs his muddy feet into his boots, swaying dangerously. I dont give a toss what you think of me. He pushes past Potter, walking unsteadily in the direction of his cottage. Im not seeing him anymore, Potter says. I dont care about him. I told him its over. Draco turns around and stalks back to him, not stopping until hes close enough to feel Potters breath on his cheeks again. You wont give him up, he says, waving a finger in Potters face. Its too good. You said he liked the risk, fucking you in public. I think you like it, too. You love it. Youve been good for too long. You want to taste what being bad is like. Thats why you want me. You want to fuck a Death Eater. Potters mouth opens slightly, and he folds his arms across his chest. Fuck you, he says. You think youre a fetish for me? Draco grips the bottle of Firewhisky, avoiding Potters gaze. Potter sighs. I like you, Draco. I think about you all the time. Draco closes his eyes, and Potters lips brush briefly against his earlobe. I want you, Draco, he whispers in his deep baritone. Well, you cant have me. Draco opens his eyes, stepping away from Potter and breaking the spell. He keeps stepping backwards, stumbling slightly and waving the bottle of Firewhisky around in his hand. Ive already been sold, Potter. He turns around and stumbles away, back to his cottage his prison.

The following week goes by without Draco seeing Potter once. Well, Draco sees him at parties and events, but he never actually looks at him. He avoids looking at him at all costs. This way, he cant pay much attention to the way Potter carries himself, or the apparently effortless charisma he possess. The way people gravitate to his corner of the room without even knowing why. He doesnt look at Potter, when hes finally awarded the Order of Merlin First Class, and he makes his speech, calmly and confidently. He doesnt say a word when he sees Potter stumble out of the bathroom half an hour before, wiping his face and holding his stomach, looking green in the face, his fingers shaking. Potter had seen Draco then, his face brightened and he looked around first before walking in Dracos direction, but Draco simply shook his head and walked away. When Draco does finally see Potter, is when hes confronted by his presence, after eleven on a Saturday night, just as Dracos about to turn in to bed. Theres a loud banging at the door, and Draco starts. He looks down vaguely at his naked body and moves into action, grabbing an old dressing robe of his fathers and tying it around his waist. He looks out of the kitchen window but its dark outside, and he cant see a thing. Someone bangs on his door again and Draco yanks it open, annoyed. Potter materialises out of thin air, taking off his cloak and bundling it up in his fists. Hes sopping wet from the rain, his hair plastered onto his forehead. Can I come in? he asks softly. Draco simply stares at him for a moment, and Potters face falls. Draco, please. Draco wordlessly steps aside and lets him in. Potter drops his robes on the small table in the kitchen and walks straight into the sitting room, casting a drying charm on himself as he goes.

Draco follows him in and leans against the doorframe, waiting. Potter pulls an evening Prophet from his robes, levitating it towards Draco, and then pulls a cigarette from his pocket, lights it with his wand. He sits on Dracos sofa, resting his boots on Dracos coffee table. Dracos about to ask him what the fuck, when the Prophet hovers close enough for him to read, and he catches the headlines. THE POTTER-NEWMAN SCANDAL! Details on the Boy Who Liveds torrid affair, page 2. Oh my God, Draco says, grabbing the paper from the air. Potter looks up at him, and takes a particularly deep drag on his fag. Hermione had a similar reaction, he says. Do you know, she wanted me to demand a retraction for slander? Draco opens the paper to page two. She didnt believe it? he says absently scanning the details of the article. Not until I told her it was true. Hmm, Draco says, quickly skimming the article. Its not that bad. Of course, they tear Newman to shreds. They still seem to love you though. Typical. The room is thick with the scent of Mallowsweet, and Draco Summons a saucer from the kitchen. Dont get ash on my floor please, Potter. Draco continues skimming the article, reading on until Oh my God. Youve reached that part, have you? Potter laughs bitterly, and leans his head back, blowing smoke into the hair. Hes got kids. A whole fucking second family. Draco lowers the papers and steps forward. You didnt know? he says. Of course I didnt know! Potter looks at him, wide eyed, and takes another deep drag. He kept them in the States. Not even his wife knew. He drops his head on the back of the sofa and looks up at the ceiling. I knew I was being a shit, but I never thought... Draco sits beside him, gently takes the Mallowsweet and stubs it out on the saucer. Potter doesnt move, he keeps staring, his body loose and languid.

Im sorry, Draco says. I had it coming, Potter says. I just. He has kids. I would have never Draco tentatively puts his hand over Harrys. I know, he says. Harry turns his palm over and links their fingers together. Draco looks down at their intertwined hands -Harrys slightly shorter, darker fingers intertwined with Dracos long, pale ones- and he is mesmerized. What are you going to do? Draco asks without looking away. Potter laughs shortly. Hide. Draco looks up at that. What, here? Potter looks at him, his pupils are already blown wide from the Mallowsweet in his system. If youll let me, he says. He squeezes Dracos palm. Please let me. Draco pulls his hand away. Potter, are you crazy? If they find you here They wont. Why would they even look for me here, Draco? I swear they wont. No one knows Im here. I used the cloak. Potter Potter sits up, facing him and shifting closer. Draco, please. Draco looks at him for a long moment. All right, he says with a sigh. He releases Potters hand and walks into his bedroom, pulling out a few spare linens from his closet. You can sleep on the couch, he says when he returns. Potter nods solemnly, and Draco sets up the couch with blankets, and grabs a pillow from the chaise lounge. Its old and smells like doxies, but youll have to suck it up, Potter. Potter kicks off his boots and drapes his robes on the chaise lounge, lies down on the sofa and covers himself. Its a tight space. Potter has to curl his legs into himself to fit, but he does, and Draco spells the lights off and slips off his robes, sinking beneath the covers, relishing the feel of it against his bare skin, and pretends to go to sleep.

Its four in the morning when the bed shifts beside him, and Draco rolls over and finds himself confronted by Potters face, lit only by the moonlight reflecting against his glasses. Potters hair is sleep mussed and his eyes are puffy and red: the absolute picture of vulnerability. I couldnt sleep. Potters voice is deep and scratchy, and Draco knows hes lying. You didnt want to sleep alone you mean. Potter mouth twitches. It was torture knowing you were in the other room. Draco raises his eyebrow. Especially seeing as Im completely starkers. Are you really? You knew I was. Potter shifts closer. I did. Draco laughs and shifts closer, burrowing deeper into the warmth of his blankets. Potter is lying on top of them and he struggles to yank a bit more over his shoulder. Want me to get under there with you? Potter says, deceptively casual. Not quite. Potter shrugs, and pulls the blanket he dragged in with him over his shoulders and they lie there, facing each other in the near darkness. The only sounds are the rustle of the trees outside, and that of their breaths. When Ginny married that bloke, it wasnt like the papers said, you know. Draco shifts slightly. Hes not certain he wants to discuss Ginny Weasley while lying naked in bed with the object of a good few of his teenaged wet dreams. I didnt think so, he says.

Wed broken up months before. She met him. She fell in love, and I was okay with it. I was happy for her. Draco frowns. But? But I lied when I said she didnt break my heart. Potter shifts closer so that their noses almost touch, and Draco feels some sort of unnameable emotion begin to swell in his chest. The soft hairs on his arm stand on end and he shivers slightly in anticipation of what, hes not quite certain. She did break me. But not in the way you might think. I loved her. Or, at least, I thought I did. I loved the idea of her. The idea of a family. Kids. Everything. And when we were over, I knew I wouldn't have that. You can still have that, Draco whispers. Potter shakes his head, and the silence stretches between them for a while before Potter speaks again. I fought for you, Draco, he says softly. I got you into solitary. I nicked your file and marked you down for an early probation, I didnt think theyd put you here, but I made sure you got out. I did what I could. The words hang between them like heavy stones, and when Draco gathers his breath to speak again, his voice cracks. Youre lying, he says softly. Marcus he was the one to get me out of there. Harrys furrows his brow. Flint? The warden? Did he tell you that? Potter props himself up on his elbow. Draco, when you were stabbed, I was on duty when the call came in. I got a Healer to come see you, and then I signed off on the paperwork to move you into solitary. Draco simply stares at him. Youre lying, he repeats. Ginny said I was fixated on you, Potter continues. You featured in a few of our more spectacular rows. But, she was right. I was always thinking about you. Talking about you. When she left me I didnt handle it well. I started this thing with Randy, and then I didnt know how to get out. I think I needed something, you know? A distraction. To be wanted. Im not sure. But then, that night at the gala Draco grips his blankets in his fist, holding it against him protectively. What?

I knew what I wanted, Potter says. Its always been you, Draco. Draco looks at him for a moment and then scoffs weakly. Dont be such a romanticist, Potter. So you realised you wanted to fuck me. Big deal, Dracos breath shudders in his chest and he breaks eye contact. Loads of people want to fuck me. Thats not what I mean, and you know it. Draco turns on his back and stares up at the ceiling. When my probation ends, Im going to travel. Im never coming back to England. Potter says nothing for a moment. Youre just going put yourself in exile, is that what you want? Draco shoots him a withering glare. Im already in fucking exile. But youll be running away, Draco. From everything. From me. Potter doesnt exactly say it, but the implication is clear. Ill not be running away, Draco says. Ill be... But his voice tapers off into nothingness. Harry reaches out, and gently turns Dracos face towards him. Dont run away, Draco, he says, before he leans in and kisses him. Draco instantly responds, parting his lips, surrendering to Potter for once in his life. Potter slides one long leg across Dracos body. Hes already hard, Draco can feel the warmth and firmness of Potters erection even through the thick blankets hes cocooned himself in. Draco shoves his covers down slightly and Potter pushes himself up on his knees and hovers over Dracos body, his palms on either side of Dracos head. Potter leans in and kisses him again and Draco makes a small sound into his mouth. He gently pulls Potters glasses off and rests them on the other side of the bed. His heart beats furiously in his chest, and his breath comes in a faint gasp. Potter pulls away slightly. Are you all right? he asks, breathlessly. Draco nods and Potter pushes Dracos blanket down to his waist, so that his chest is exposed. He traces his fingers

over the thick skin of Dracos knife scar. Draco stiffens, but then he threads both his hands in Potters hair and pulls him in closer. No dittany in Azkaban, he says. Harrys eyes lift to his face, and then he kisses Draco again. His tongue slides over Dracos with a curious intensity, as though hes mapping all the corners of Dracos mouth and memorising his taste. Potters hard cock presses into Dracos hip bone. He wants it he wants everything, but hes not sure what to do. Before Azkaban, there had been nothing. He hadnt even been pro perly kissed. He doesnt count the awkward, fumbling snog with Pansy once in the Slytherin common room, because that had been a dare. His only sexual experiences had been Azkaban. With Marcus. Potter is decidedly different from Marcus. His kisses go straight to Dracos toes. Draco arches his back, wanting to be closer. Potter rests his weight full on Dracos body and Draco spreads his thighs, letting Potter fall into the space between his legs. Hes caught between wanting to be touched, taken, caressed everywhere, and the terrifying fear that hell do something stupid. Untoward. Mortifying. Potter, pulls away, gasping for breath. Fuck, Draco. I want you. He lifts his hips slightly and Dracos hands fall to Potters sides, his fingers ghosting along the firm muscle beneath Potters ribs. Potter reaches between them, leaning to one side and pushing the blanket all the way down to Dracos thighs, exposing his fully hard cock, flushed pink and leaking against his stomach. Dracos face heats, and he almost wants to cover himself up again, but Potter straddles his thighs and kisses him. Youre perfect, he breathes against Dracos lips. Youre a really good kisser, Draco replies awkwardly. Potters body shakes with silent laughter. Well, he says. Thanks for that. Potter pulls off his shirt and unbuckles his belt, slipping it off and throwing it across the room. It clacks against the wall loudly and Draco just gazes up at him, saying nothing. Potters broad chest has only a smattering of chest hair that darkens into a thin line of dark hair leading into his trousers. His chest is flat and taut and Draco wants to touch him everywhere.

Draco tentatively reaches out his hand and strokes Potters skin, moving upwards from the muscles on his side to the planes of his chest. He brushes his thumb over a pert, brown nipple and Potter gasps, sucking in his stomach and jerking his hips. Pleased at the reaction, Draco does so again. Potter fumbles with his zipper, closing his eyes, absently rocking his hips and making the tiniest breathy sounds and Draco teases his nipple. Draco stares avidly at Potters face, loving the way he absently bites his lower lip. The way his face twitches with arousal. Draco licks his index finger and swirls it around Potters nipple and Potter ducks his head. Fuck, Draco. He finally gets his trousers undone and he pushes them down over his hard cock, now poking beneath the underwear bunched up around his hips. He leans forward and pushes them lower, and Draco helps by pushing the jumble of underwear and trousers down with his legs until they finally slip all the way down, and Potter kicks them onto the ground. Draco looks down at Potters thick cock, and reaches between them, wrapping his hand around it, and swirling his thumb around the slick head. Yes, Potter hisses, staring down at Dracos hand around his cock as though transfixed. Draco strokes Potters cock lightly, teasing him until Potters entire body shakes and he groans out loud. Dracos own cock twitches on his stomach, leaking prec ome and aching to be touched. Potter shifts to the side, lying next to Draco and Draco kicks all the blankets off the bed, just before Potter hooks his leg across Dracos hips, bringing their cocks closer together. Potter, Draco says, not knowing how he wants to finish the sentence. Potter looks up at him, his lower lip is swollen, his hair mussed, panting slightly. He looks about seconds from coming and the thought makes Dracos cock ache even more. I havent Draco says. I dont want Potter leans in and kisses him, and their cocks brush against each other. Its okay, he says. Lets just

Potter wraps his hand around both their cocks, squeezing them together and rolling his hips. Their cocks slide against each other, and Dracos breathing falters. Oh my god, he says weakly. Potter wraps his arm around Dracos shoulders and pulls them closer together, hooking his leg even more tightly around Dracos body and rocking against him, setting a slow, torturous pace. Draco slips his hand around Potters waist, burying his face in the space beneath Potters neck. Oh fuck. Fuck. Potter threads his fingers into Dracos hair and pulls Draco up for a bruising kiss, and Draco rocks against him, feeling his orgasm building up inside him, his balls drawing in close. Potter pulls away slightly, his mouth loosely covers Dracos, and Draco moans into the kiss, puffs of air brushing against Potters stubbled cheek. He digs his nails into Potters back. Im going to Dracos orgasm hits him hard, and his entire body convulses with the intensity of it. Potter moves his mouth against his and Dracos body tenses with shuddering aftershocks that seem to go on forever. He holds on to Potters waist like a lifeline, gasping loudly, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh. He only vaguely realises when Potter comes as well, making even more of a mess between them. Potters fingers are still in his hair, his lips are still against Dracos mouth. Draco kisses him deeply, and then pulls away, breathing heavily and dropping his head against the pillow. Potter looks at him with glazed eyes for a few seconds, and then he swallows. All right there? Draco nods. Ive never done that before, he says. Potter smiles. Did you like it? Draco rolls his eyes. No, I hated it. It was terrible. Harry snickers and pulls him close, and Draco allows it, needing to be held more than hed ever admit, not giving a damn about the sticky mess between them. Ill try to be better at it next time, Potter says.

Draco buries his head beneath Potters neck and smiles against his skin. ~ Draco thought hed be the one to wake first, but when he opens his eyes, Potters face is only inches away, and hes looking down at Draco with a small smile on his face. Morning, he says. Draco eyes him warily. What are you doing? Potter smiles. Oh, this and that, he says. I cleaned you up a bit. He gestures to Dracos stomach and Draco moves his blanket and looks down at himself, finding his chest clean of any evidence what happened last night. Thanks, he murmurs. He yawns and stretches, popping the bones in his back. Potter, we should But Potter cuts him off with a kiss, and Draco freezes mid-stretch, falling back against the pillows, lifting his palm and resting on Potters biceps. Potter pulls away and reaches between them, slowly peeling away Dracos blanket. Potter reaches for Dracos cock, already halfway hard and Draco slightly arches his hips. Potter strokes him lightly, teasing the head and bringing Draco into full hardness. Draco groans deeply. Sgood, he murmurs. Potter leans in closer and kisses him deeply, not slowing down the movement of his hand. Draco whimpers beneath him, arching his back and pushing himself into Potters fist. Mph, God, Potter. Yes. Potter abruptly pulls his hand away and Draco pushes himself up on his elbow, frowning, with a petulant retort on the edge of his lips. Potters lays down beside him, a playful smile on his lips and a challenge in his eyes. Potter what are you? Potter puts a finger to his lips. Shh.

Potter slowly slides his palm down the length of his chest, until hes holding his cock firmly in his hand. Draco swallows and lowers his gaze, watching as Potter slowly strokes himself. He remains very still, captivated by the way the swollen head of Potters cock disappears and reappears from beneath the foreskin, growing more slick and wet with each stroke Potter makes. Potter reaches for Dracos hand and guides it between his legs. At first, Draco thinks Potters going to wrap Dracos fingers around his cock, but Potter spreads his thighs and lifts his arse slightly off the bed, guiding Dracos fingers to his arsehole. Potter Shhh. Dracos finger slips easily inside Potters hole, already lubricated and stretched and ready to take him. Fucking hell, Potter. Potter removes his hand and Draco shifts closer, pushing his finger deeper inside, twisting his wrist, until his finger is all the way in. Hed always thought hed be the one it never occurred to him that Potter might offer himself up like this. Draco licks his lips and his cock twitches at the mere thought of fucking him into the mattress. He looks up at Potters face. Potter watches him through heavy lidded eyes and licks his lips. Yes, he says, answering the unuttered question. Draco slips another finger inside, and Potter shudders and groans, spreading his thighs wantonly, reaching down and stroking his cock. Fuck, Draco. Right there. Draco curls his finger upwards, and he can tell just when he hits the right spot, because Potter stops stroking his cock, and he wraps his fingers tightly around the base. Fuck, youre going to make me come, he murmurs. I want you to fuck me first. Draco swallows. Ive never Its okay. Draco pushes up on his knees, and positions himself between Potters legs, spreading the precome on his cock. He pushes slowly inside, past the brief, initial resistance of Potters

tight hole, and Potter grips the sheets in his fists, dropping his head back, exposing his long pale throat. Draco makes a few shallow thrusts before snapping his hips and pushing all the way in, gasping out loud when hes buried to the hilt. Potters hole is so hot and tight around his cock, even the smallest of thrusts is an overload of pleasure. Hes already close to coming without even having fucked Potter properly. It feels like tragedy. He stills his movements until he can calm himself down, and when he opens his eyes, Potter is looking up at him, breathing heavily, his pupils blown wide. Potter strokes his palm down Dracos chest, tweaking his nipple. I love the way, he gasps as Draco pulls out slightly and pushes in again. I love the way you look at me. Draco leans forward, hovering over Potters face, and Potter pushes Dracos hair behind his ear. How do I look at you? Draco asks, rolling his hips. Potter groans, dropping his hands to Dracos thighs and sliding his palms up to Dracos arse, gripping it tightly. He lifts his shoulders up off the bed, exposing his throat to Dracos mouth like an offering. Like, you see me, Potter gasps. Draco licks Potters Adams apple and sucks on his pulse, rolling his hips again, and driving in hard. Potter groans loudly. Me, not Potter, he finishes. Draco sucks on Potters pulse point hard enough to bruise, and he bites the curve of Potters jaw. You are such a girl, Potter, he says. Potter laughs breathlessly. Im so close. Draco lowers himself to his forearms, until his chest his rests against Potters and he can feel Potters hard cock trapped between them, rubbing against Dracos stomach. He snaps his hips as fast as he can, his thighs burning with exertion. Potter arches his hips to meet Dracos every thrust, his head bobbing, rucking up the sheets behind him, his arm curled beneath Dracos shoulders.

As Dracos orgasm starts to really bear down on him, his strokes are erratic, his arms begin to tremble. Potter licks the shell of his ear and says Come inside me, Draco, and thats all that it takes for his control to finally snap. He comes with a shout, his body going taught. Potter keeps rolling his hips until he, too comes with a low groan that rumbles against Dracos chest. He clenches his hole around Dracos cock, and Draco snaps his hips again, enjoying the too tight sensation on his sensitive cock until he cant take anymore and he pu lls out. He stares, transfixed as his come dribbles slowly out of Potter's arse. Potter reaches between his legs, dips a finger into the come pooling on the sheets beneath him, brings it to his lips and sucks on his fingers, all the while never breaking eye contact with Draco. Dracos not quite certain he remembers how to breathe, he leans in and kisses Potter fiercely, and Potter pulls him down flat against his chest. After a minute or two of lazy snogging, Draco rolls off him, lying on his side on the bundle of sheets. That was brilliant. Potter sighs. I know. Draco turns on his back. Staring at the ceiling, still panting for air. When can we do it again?

Its hard leaving the cottage to do his daily tasks, knowing Harry Potters naked in his bed, but in a way its also a relief. Draco needs some time alone with his thoughts. Its gloomy and cold, and as Draco goes through the exhibits in the Manor, absently tossing cleaning and maintenance spells, all he can think about is Potters skin against his lips, or Potters hands in his hair. The fact that not too many hours ago he was balls deep inside Harry Fucking Potter hasnt yet sunk in. Draco resets one of the weather charms turned faulty in an upstairs window, and he spends ten minutes just staring at the rolling hills outside, going over everything that happened in his head. Of course, his thoughts eventually lead back to Flint. Draco laughs. Its a short,

bitter sound, and it leaves him hollow. Flint let him think that he was Dracos saviour, when it was Potter all along. Potter was the one got him out of the prison block. Flint did everything he could to make Draco believe that he was the one pulling the strings, just to get Draco to spread his legs. How would Potter feel if he knew? Disgusted, probably. Draco has no intention of telling him. He cant lose this one good thing. Thinking about it threatens to make him sick, so Draco chooses instead to focus on thinking about Potter for the rest of the day. When its just after five he stops by the kitchen on the way back to the cottage, asking Mindy to send over some extra food because hes worked so hard and is extra hungry. Mindy is delighted, and for one horrified moment Dracos convinced shell burst into tears. He awkwardly pats her back and thanks her and she shoos him along with a fond look and watery eyes. The thought of opening the door to find Potter waiting for him is more pleasant than he ever thought it would be. Hell never admit to anyone, but he jogs the last few steps to get back to the cottage. When he slips inside, shrugging out of his damp cloak and boots, his heart warms at the sight of Potter sitting in his bed, wearing Dracos shirt and a pair of his trousers, his legs stretched out in front of him reading a copy of Jinxes for the Jinxed. The sound of one of Dracos new records wafts in from the sitting room, and Draco feels something once fragile and almost broken rise and swell. Potter looks up at him and smiles, and Draco leans against the doorframe, trying to settle his pounding heart before getting too close to Potter again. His stomach is swarming with a million tiny butterflies. Potter tosses the book aside. Hi. Hi. The stare at each other for a few long seconds, and then Potter pats the bed. Come here, you wanker. Draco bites his lip and he walks over to Potter, sitting at the edge of the bed and staring at him awkwardly until Potter rolls his eyes and pulls Draco in for a slow, lingering kiss. Draco

sighs into Potters mouth, resting his palm on Potters thigh. When they break apart, Draco glances down at the way his shirt fits Potters broader chest. Tight fit is it? he says, smile playing about his lips. Potter grins. Unlike these trousers, he says. Draco glances down at the way his trousers hang over Potters toes and smiles. He leans in and kisses the space beneath Potters ear. Its strange, he says, inhaling deeply. You smell like me. He drops a kiss on the corner of Potters mouth. This morning you tasted like me. Draco pushes Potters hair off his forehead, and gently takes off his glasses so he can have an unfettered view of Potters eyes. And now you almost look like me, he says. Its almost as if youre Mine. As if Im what? Draco brushes his lips against Potters once more, softly, and Potter pulls away, seeking Dracos gaze. As if what, Draco? Draco smiles briefly, though he knows it doesnt reach his eyes. Nothing, he says. Theres a soft whooshing sound in the kitchen, and Draco sits up. Thatll be the food, he says standing up. He reaches for Potters hand and pulls him up. Potters still watching him warily, but he thankfully doesnt push the matter any further. Come on, Draco says, pulling him in the direction of the kitchen. I asked Mindy to send me something good.

Christmas Eve He awakens with a jolt, and not from a nightmare as is usually the case, but because someone is banging on his door like a mad person. Potter wakes up too, and he puts a hand out to stop Draco when he slips out of the bed. Draco shakes him off. I have to see who it is, he says. Get under your cloak. He doesnt wait for Potter to respond before pulling on a shirt and trousers and grabbing his wand, waving his wand to flick on the lights. He looks through the kitchen window only to find a fuming, inebriated looking Randall Newman outside his door. Dracos gaze flicks to Harrys hovering head, waving for him to put the cloak on properly. Newman bangs again. Malfoy, open the fucking door. Draco takes a deep breath and pulls opens the door. Mr Newman, he says. How can I help you? Newman pushes past him and enters his cottage randomly grabbing at thin air and peering about the place, his eyes narrowed to slits. Draco follows him into the sitting room. Newman turns on him. His eyes are bloodshot, and his hair looks as though hes been tugging at it for hours. Is he here? Draco frowns. Who are you talking about? Newman laughs a shallow laugh and then points his finger in Dracos face. Dont play coy with me, boy. You know very well who Im talking about. I have no idea who youre referring to, Draco folds his arms across his chest. Youre drunk. Im afraid Im going to have to ask you to leave. Newman snarls and grabs the collar of Dracos shirt, pushing him backwards until the back of Dracos head slams against the wall. Draco grunts loudly and closes his eyes, instantly seeing stars. Newman shakes him hard. Where the fuck is he? Draco blinks rapidly, hoping that Potter wont be stupid enough to reveal himself in some kind of ridiculous effort to protect him. Newman slaps him hard on the cheek and Dracos

face stings. He digs his nails into his palms so that he wont retaliate. Striking a Ministry official would definitely put a ding on his criminal record. Draco swallows the lump of hatred rising in his chest. I dont know what youre talking about, he says. Newman releases him, and Draco staggers against the wall. The collar of his shirt slips, revealing a purple lovebite Potter left on his shoulder not an hour ago. Draco covers it quickly, but not before Newman catches a glimpse of it. Newman straightens the collar of his robes and steps away. I see, he says. Im sorry to have bothered you. He turns on his heel and lets himself out, and Draco hurries to lock the door behind him, resting his forehead on the wood for a few seconds before turning back to the sitting room. Potter is on him in an instant, holding Dracos face in his palms, his eyes wild. Are you all right? Draco pushes his hands away. Im fine. Ive taken worse beatings than that. He drops down onto the sofa, and closes his eyes. Im completely fucked. Let me look at your head, Potter says, sitting beside him. He turns Dracos head to the side, and fingers his scalp gently. Nothings bleeding, he says. Draco winces as he touches the slow forming bump at the back of his head. He didnt break the skin. It doesnt matter, Draco says. He knows. He saw this. Draco gestures to the bruise on his shoulder. That could be anything, he says. Youre a caretaker for goodness sake. Its not proof that I was here. People like him dont need proof, Potter, Draco says. Dont tell me youre still that nave. Potter tenderly strokes Dracos cheek. Im not nave. But nothings going to happen, he says. He kisses Draco softly, and runs his fingers through Dracos hair. Draco closes his eyes, and Potter kisses his temple.

I wont let anything happen to you, okay? Draco doesnt say anything. Draco, look at me. Draco opens his eyes, and Potters face is only inches away. I swear to you. Nothings going to happen, he says. Draco releases a long, shaky breath, and Potter kisses him lightly again. He stands and helps Draco up off the couch, wrapping an arm around Dracos waist. Come on, he says. Lets go back to bed. Draco follows him into the bedroom and crawls in beside him, taking the left side as has become their routine. He closes his eyes for a few minutes and then sighs. Im not tired anymore, he says. Harry shifts beside him. I was rather hoping youd say that. A reluctant smile tugs at Dracos lips. Youre insatiable, Potter, he says. Youll have to be gentle with me, Ive been manhandled. I have the perfect remedy. Come here.

Morning light is already streaming through the bedroom windows, and Draco lies on his side, shifting closer to Potters sleeping form to watch him. Potter radiates energy even in his sleep. Its a soothing energy, one that calms Draco more than anything. He hasnt had a nightmare in the three nights theyve slept in the same bed, but he isnt sure if hes more afraid or thankful about that. Potter shifts in his sleep, muttering under his breath. Draco freezes. The last thing he wants is to be caught staring at Potter while hes asleep. Potter might think hes in love or something equally ridiculous.

Potter settles again, and Draco relaxes a little. Tentatively, he reaches out and pushes Potters hair off his forehead, exposing the faded scar, which he softly traces with his index finger. Without this scar without Voldemort, all the actions of wizards that pitted them on either side of a war, without the war that steered the course of their lives, Draco wonders if hed be here in bed this way with just a man called Harry. He sighs. Its too early in the morning for an existential crisis. He moves to pull his hand away, but Potter softly touches his wrist. Do that again, he says in a deep, scratchy voice. Feels nice. Draco rolls his eyes, but does as Potter asks and slowly traces the scar with his fingertip. Potter doesnt open his eyes, but he moves closer. How long have you been awake? Draco asks, frowning. Potter lips curve into a smile. A while, he says, opening his eyes, and blinking a few times. I could hear the wheels turning in your head. Draco tries to bite back a smile, but fails. Wanker, he says, then he surprises himself by leaning forward and kissing Potter on the forehead. Potter wraps his arms around Dracos waist. Ah, he says. No I see why youre awake. He takes hold of Dracos morning wood, and Draco shudders just a bit. He rests his palm on Potters waist and takes Potters cock in hand. Its slightly hard already and Draco lightly teases Potters balls with the tips of his fingers. Potter makes a low moan deep in his chest, and Dracos cock hardens even further with just that sound. Potter isnt quiet in bed at all; Dracos more than surprised by how much he enjoys hearing Potter moan. Potter spreads his thighs, preparing to guide Dracos cock to his hole, but Draco sto ps him, and redirects Potters hand between his thighs instead. Potter looks up at him, his green eyes bright, surprise etched on his features. Dont ask me if Im sure, Draco says.

Ok, Potter says, licking his lips. He circles Dracos hole with his index finger. Do you have lube? Draco nods and reaches for his wand beneath his pillow to Summon a tube of lube from his drawer. Potter grabs it from the air. The Ministry lets you buy lube, he says, deadpan. I dont want to get into that story right now. Lets just say, I might have scarred Mindy for life. Potter sniggers and uncaps the lube, coating his cock first and then his fingers, capping it and resting it beside Dracos head. When his index finger probes at Dracos hole, he closes his eyes, willing himself to relax as Potter slowly works it in. His head falls back against the pillow and he spreads his thighs further as Potter pushes his finger all the way in. He sucks in a shallow breath as Potter slowly works his finger in and out with shallow thrusts, and Draco bites hard on his lower lip. Good? Potter says. Draco nods. Perfect, he says breathlessly. Another? Yes. Yes. Potter slips in another slick finger, and Draco cries out. Yes. Potter fucks him slowly, scissoring his fingers on every down stroke, stretching Dracos hole enough to take his cock. When he slips a third finger in and strokes Dracos prostate, Draco opens his eyes and grabs Potters wrist, stilling his movements. Get inside me, he says, breathing heavily. His lips feel bruised from where hed unconsciously been biting them to keep from making a racket. Potter nods and withdraws his fingers, taking a moment to kiss Draco softly on the mouth before lining up his cock, and pushing all the way in on one stroke. Draco gasps. Ah. Fuck. Yes. Thats perfect.

Potter slowly begins to move inside him, he hooks his thigh around Potters waist and grabs his arse, pulling him closer as he rocks his hips. Potter has his eyes closed, but Draco wants to see him properly. He cups Potters cheeks in his palms and pulls his face close to his own, bringing their foreheads together. Look at me, he says. Potters eyes fly open. Theyre glazed over, sunken deep into pleasure, and Draco reaches between them to pull himself off as Potter slams into him, brushing his prostate with each upstroke. In two strokes, he comes hard, spurting come between them with a low moan, and Potters cock twitches inside him as Dracos arse clamps down around it. His body shakes with the last few aftershocks of his orgasm, and Potter pulls out, pushing himself to his knees and lightly fisting his leaking cock. Turn over, he says, his face flushed with arousal. Draco does so bonelessly, and Potter pulls him up onto his knees, pulling him close by his waist, and slipping his cock inside again. Potter snaps his hips at a frenzied pace and Draco grips the sheets in his fingers, his cock is still hard and its very possible he might actually come again. The thought in itself is mindblowing and this time he doesnt even try to hold back his constant, embarrassing moans. Fuck, Draco, Potter says, grabbing Dracos arsecheeks and spreading them open, plunging his cock deep inside. Draco makes a low keening sound and pushes his hips back, meeting Potters every stroke. Hes close to simply whimpering, and he buries his face in the pillows, biting down on the cotton when, on one particularly hard stroke, Potter finally brushes his prostate again. Potter painfully digs his fingers into Dracos hips, but Draco doesnt have breath in him to tell him off. His cock is leaking, and hes so close to coming, if Potter would just yes. Just like that. Potter strokes become erratic and, and with a few last shallow thrusts, he comes with a shout, grabbing a handful of Dracos arsecheeks and groaning loudly. When Potter finally pulls out of him, Draco doesnt move. He cant move in fact, he just remains still, leaning forward with his arse in the air as he catches his breath. Theres a shuffling sound behind him, and Draco turns his head just in time to see Potter spreading his arse cheeks and

burying his face between them. Draco almost pitches forward with a startled grunt, but Potter grabs his thighs and holds him steady as Draco settles on his elbows. When Potters tongue flicks across Dracos tender arsehole, Draco says fuck off to dignity. Theres no stopping the desperate sounds coming from his throat. Potters sucking his own come from Dracos arse for Merlins sake. Draco loosely fists his cock. It only takes a few half-hearted strokes before his orgasm is pulled out of him, and his body shudders until he falls forward onto the bed in a heap, still shaking and burying his face in a pillow. Potter lies down beside him, breathing heavily, and when Draco is once again capable of thought he flops down on his back. I didnt know you could do that... Potter shrugs. I surprise myself sometimes, he says. Draco laughs, and it feels like hes releasing something dark, heavy and twisted from his body. He cant remember the last time he laughed like this. Potter turns and smiles at him, pushing himself up on his elbow. I think its my way of dealing with years of pent up lust, he says, waggling his eyebrows. Draco rolls his eyes, but inside, his stomach is jumping all over the place. Theres a whoosh and clatter in the kitchen. Thatll be breakfast, he says. Potter swings his legs off the bed and absently waves his wand to clean them both up. Draco sits up as well, but Potter nudges him back down on the bed. No, dont, he says. Ill br ing it here. He walks across the room naked, and Draco lies back down on the bed, enjoying the view until Potter disappears around the corner. After a few seconds sitting alone and trying to manage his out of control heartbeat, Draco buries his face in his pillow and squeals like a girl until he gets it all out of his system. When the madness ends, he straightens up, and fixes his hair, settling himself in a dignified position and crossing his ankles. He traces formless patterns in the air with his wand and considers spending the day in the cottage with Potter for a few blissful moments. Of course, he cant, each of his daily tasks must be marked as complete on his file with the Ministry, but, still, the mere idea is pleasant.

Potter calls his name from the kitchen and Draco tenses. Theres a note of something in Potters voice that sets him on edge. He stalks out of the room into the kitchen where breakfast - scones and pumpkin juice, eggs, toast and bacon are waiting for him on a tray. Potters back is to him, hes turning something over in his hands. Draco steps into the kitchen, eyeing all the food. What is it? Potter turns around, his face pale. An owl was waiting, he says blankly. I let him in. He had this. Draco frowns and takes the letter, then he flips it over. It has the Ministry seal and his name on the front. He stomach plummets. Shit, he says. We dont know what it is, Potter says. Draco looks up at him briefly, then rips open the letter, scanning it as fast as his eyes can move. 25th December 2012 Parolee 94637, You have breached section 16A of the Criminal Offences Act, 1983 which states There is to be no external fraternisation between an Azkaban Parolee and any member of the Ministry of Magic. An official from Azkaban will be there shortly to return you to Azkaban Prison where you will await a hearing to be set in the near future. If you have a solicitor of your own choosing, he or she may contact Draco crumples the letter and tosses it across the room. Potter is looking at him with wideeyed terror. Unable to face him, Draco turns and flees to his bedroom, grabbing his wand from where he left it on the bed and Summoning a pair of robes and shoes, underwear and trousers, an undershirt -its cold outside and he doesnt want to freeze. He lays them all out on the bed, and stares at it for a moment. Potter voice comes from behind him. Draco, what happened? Theyre sending me back, he says shortly.

Draco pulls on his underwear, and then his trousers. He rifles through his pockets for a leather band for his hair, but theres nothing there. Potter steps around him, into his line of sight. What do you mean, theyre sending you back? Draco doesnt look at him. He lightly fingers the edge of his shirt and then pulls it on, his fingers shaking, fumbling slightly with the buttons. To Azkaban, Potter For what? They cant just send you back without I violated my probation, Draco says evenly. Theyre sending me back. To await a hearing. In the near future. Which means never, Potter. Im never getting out. Potter steps closer to him. Draco... Draco Summons Potters clothes and pushes them into his hands. Put these on and leave. Potter drops the clothes onto the floor, stepping over them and grabbing Draco by the arms, shaking him slightly. Draco stop stop moving. Talk to me. Draco looks down at him. Theres nothing to talk about. You fucked me. You got what you wanted. Draco runs his hands through hair. Where the fuck was his leather band? You wouldnt listen, he says. I told you they would know. Didnt I? I shouldnt have let you Draco steps away from Potter, trying to make some distance between them. You should leave. If they find you here its irrefutable proof. You should leave. I need to put some clothes on. Theyll be here any minute. Potter shakes him again. Draco! Snap out of it. Im not going to just leave. Draco cant seem to grasp a single thought from the storm whirling around in his mind. He cant think for the blood rushing through his veins. His heart is pounding, his palms slick. Azkaban. Hes going back to Azkaban. The thought comes to him absently as he shoves his feet into his boots, and he pulls on his shirt, his robes. He searches through the pocket of his robes and finds the leather band there and he ties his hair back. For a few long moments, he forgets how to breathe.

Azkaban. Hes going back. Breathe, Draco, his mothers voice says. He takes a shuddering gasp of air. Potters saying something, but his voice is nothing but words spoken under water. Why is Potter still here? Why is he naked? Why wouldnt he put clothes on? Draco gave him clothes. Why dont you get dressed? Draco says, stowing his wand in his sleeve. Potter shakes his shoulders hard, Dracos teeth clack. Draco, listen to me. I will figure this out. Ok. Please. Just. Dont do this. Dont shut down. I need you to keep it together. Im fine, Draco says. You should go. Okay? Just go. They cant find you here. Theyre taking me back. Potter drops his hands and takes a few steps back, looking horrified. Draco. Draco grabs Potters things from the floor and shoves them into Potters hands. Get dressed. Go. Potter finally starts putting on his clothes, and Draco digs through the pile of sheets on the bed for Potters wand. He hands it to him when he finishes dressing, and then hands him his cloak as well. There, he says. You should go now. Theres a loud bang on the door, and both he and Potter jump. Im coming! Draco yells. He looks back at Potter. Go. Draco- Dammit, Potter!

Potter pulls him forward by the neck, and plants a bruising kiss on his lips. Ill be back, Potter says, resting his head against Dracos. The door bangs again. Im coming right back, okay? Please, just go, Draco says softly. Potter steps back and Disapparates with a faint pop. Draco stares at the empty space for a moment, then squares his shoulders and walks to the cottage door. Of course, its Flint on the other side. He pushes past Draco and steps inside, glancing at the breakfast on the table. Breakfast for two? he asks casually. Draco folds his arms across his chest. Of course youd be the one they send, he says. Flint sighs, taking off his warden cap, and pushing his hair back before replacing it on his head. I dont want to be doing this Draco, he says. Why did you have to fuck it up? After all I did to protect you. You never protected me, Draco says. Flints tighten his lips into a thin line. And who told you such a thing? he asks, raising one eyebrow. Draco shifts his stance slightly. No one did. Is he still here? I dont know what youre talking about. Randall Newmans got it in for you, Malfoy, Flint says. Hes sending you straight to block A. Draco swallows thickly, but doesnt say anything. Flint steps forward and puts out his hand. Give me your wand, he says. Draco clutches his wand tightly. Draco that was a direct order. Need I remind you Im authorised to bring you in with force?

Draco lifts his hand and slowly places his wand in Flints hand. Flint stows it in his sleeve and pulls a familiar black threadbare cloth band from his pockets. A Dampener band. Dracos body literally sags with fear, all his former bravado turning to smoke. He licks his lips. Marcus, please, he murmurs. Ill come with you. I wont fight. Just dont put that thing on me. Flint shakes his head. Newmans orders. Says youre a flight risk. You have to be subdued. Please, Draco whispers, his voice cracking dangerously. Flint doesnt meet his gaze. Hold out your hands, Draco. Marcus, I swear to you... Fuck it, Draco! If you ask me one more time, Ill have to report you as resisting arrest. Now hold out your hands. Draco takes a deep breath that hitches in his chest and he holds out his hands and closes his eyes. Of its own accord, the band curls around his skin and latches onto his wrists, slithering itself into a tight, knotted hold, forcing his wrists together. With a sort of silent whirr the charms activate, and the band begins to suck on his magic and strength. Its like a fog descending on his brain, a parting gift from the Dementors, a sample of their cloak of darkness. This is what Azkaban feels like: despair and anguish and powerlessness, all wrapped into one. Draco stumbles and Flint steadies him. Dont worry, Draco, he says. Flints voice comes to him slowly and garbled. His heavy arms wrap around Dracos shoulders. Ill take care of you. He leads Draco out of the cottage, and Draco stumbles on the stone walkway. Flint catches him again, this time slipping his hands around Dracos waist. Theres a loud banging noise, and suddenly someone else is with them, yanking Flint away and holding Draco upright.

Draco? Draco look at me. Draco slides his gaze to Potters face, and he can feel his magic resisting the dampener band. It hurts. Potter. Potter is in his full Auror robes, but theyre hastily done up, his shirt peeks through, and one of the clasps is undone. Potter says something to Flint and then he gently pulls Draco against him and takes his hand. Hold on, Draco, he says. Youre going to side-along with me. Draco nods absently, closing his eyes against the disorienting pull of Apparition. They arrive outside of a holding cell in Azkaban, and Potter gestures to one of the officers to open it. He leads Draco inside and sets him on the cot, then he reaches for the band around Dracos wrists and pulls it off, a look of disgust on his face. Slowly the fog lifts from Dracos brain and Draco looks up at Potters concerned face. He blinks rapidly. They let you Apparate with me? Potter shakes his head. Ill take the fall for that when the time comes, he says. I wasnt going to let Flint take you anywhere like that. Draco rubs his wrists, shaking his head. Im confused. Potter kneels in front of him. I got home and changed into these. I knew Flint would think I was on official business if I were in uniform. I let him think I had the authority to take you. He was going to take you by boat. He was ordered to by the Ministry. You mean by Newman. Draco looks around at the stone walls, the iron bars. Im really here again. Potter gently squeezes his knee. Draco, Im going to get you out of here.

Draco looks at him for a few moments, and then lies back on the cot and puts a hand over his eyes. You cant get me out, he says. Potter touches his cheek. I will do everything I can. I swear to you. The gate to the cell gate slams open and Dracos gaze flicks to the commotion. Flint barges in, face red. Draco looks away from him and stares up at the stone ceiling. Auror Potter you are completely out of order, Flint says, spittle flying from his lips. You were unauthorised to take Malfoy from my custody. We do not Apparate prisoners onto the island. I can think of a few things we do not do with prisoners that Id like to have a word with you about, Flint. Draco turns his back on them both. You dont have any power here, Potter, Flint says. This is my prison. Potters boots scrape against the floor. Flint I swear, if you touch him, or remove him from this cell, I will make you regret it, he says. Draco absently registers the tapping sounds of Potters boots as he makes his departure, and the low pop of his Disapparition. He closes his eyes, willing Flint to leave him alone. So, its true, Flint says. You are fucking him. Draco doesnt move. Doesnt say anything. Eventually he hears the rattle of the gate closing him in his cell, and Flints footsteps dying in the distance. ~ Time passes. Draco doesnt move. Not for hours. Not until his bladder is so full he has to use the piss pot. Then he lies back down, and he doesnt move again. Not for hours. ~

The bars to his cell slide open with a loud bang and Draco sits up in his cot, wiping his face blearily. Its Flint, looking wild and dishevelled. His wardens cap is gone and his shirt is halfway undone. Draco looks balefully at him, lifting his chin as though to dare him to strike. Flint sneers at him, grabs him up off the cot by his collar and slams him up against the wall. Your Auror boyfriend's trying to get me sacked, he says conversationally. Draco pries Flints fingers off his shirt and pushes him off. Flint staggers back, almost falling on his arse. Dont fucking touch me, Draco says. You want to fight me, Draco? You want that on your record, too? Draco leans against the wall, breathing heavily. He straightens his shirt. Report all you want, he says. What else can they do to me? Flint straightens up, shaking his head. You know, I did care for you, Draco, he says. No matter what you think, or what Potter put in your head. It wasnt the best of situations. But I did care for you. Draco looks away. Flint staggers closer to him, pressing Draco back up against the wall, and then he lurches forward and kisses Draco briefly on the mouth. Draco doesnt mo ve an inch. When Flint pulls away, his mouth is turned down at the corners. Cant even kiss me now, can you? Now that St. Potters had you. He grabs Dracos elbow, and drags him out of the cell, past the officers desk and down the stone steps through the entrance into the main prison. They pass block A where the prisoners still in their cells start cat-calling and heckling Draco as they pass. Draco looks straight ahead, nose in the air, trying to ignore the sheer terror flooding his veins. Flint drags him past all the cells, into the showers and shoves him into a stall. Strip, Draco he says. Draco stares at him. Marcus...

Flint steps back, waving his wand as the shower sputters on spraying him with ice-cold water. Draco steps out from beneath the spray, but Flint shoves him back in. Just do what I say. I'm putting you back with the general population. Dracos stomach plummets all the way to hell. Flint looks away from him. Strip and shower. Then youll change back into your prison robes. You're sending me back? Potter said Fuck what Potter said! I told him, he has no power here. If I decide you're going back, thats where youll be. You can't fuck with my job and expect me to keep protecting you, Draco. Strip. 'You can't do this.' 'Watch me.' Draco's breath hitches in his chest. He lifts his chin. 'I wont. This is bullshit. I hope Potter gets you sacked. I hope you get locked in a cell here and everyone has a go at you. I hope Flint smacks him hard in the face, and Draco reels backwards, through the spray of water, his back hitting hard against the tile on the other side. His nose stings and his head feels as though its vibrating. He gingerly touches his upper lip and finds it already slick with warm blood. Flint gives him a steely look. You have five seconds to do what I say. Draco stares at him for a few long seconds, his breaths heaving. Flint shakes his wand into his palm, and lifts his arm, aiming his wand in the space between Draco's eyes. 'Strip. Draco.' 'I swear one day, Marcus,' Draco murmurs, voice hoarse and cracked. 'I will kill you.' Draco lowers his gaze, pushes off his clothes with shaking hands and turns around under the spray, soaping his skin with jerky movements, then ducking under the ice cold spray again. When hes finished, he is completely numb.

He doesnt register when Flint pulls him out of the stall and drags him to the racks to dry, and grab a set of robes. He holds the robes in front of his cock as Flint pushes him into the processing room, where he takes the leather band from Dracos hair, and watches him dress. Theres a dosage of magic suppressant that he must take, waiting for him on the wooden table top. Draco eyes it with a dull stare. Flint hands it to him and watches him expectantly. Come on, Draco,' he says. 'Dont make this like the last time. Draco grimaces and knocks back the potion like a shot, and sets the vial down. It rolls across the table, tinkering on the very edge. The magic suppressant feels like thick, heavy vines that latch themselves across his chest, restricting his breaths. The steady churn of his magic is brought to a shuddering halt. Flint ties Draco's leather band around his wrist. 'I'll hold on to this for you,' he says. Draco doesn't say a word. Flint sighs and moves closer to him. 'I'm putting you in a cell with your father,' he says. The tightness around Draco's throat eases just a bit, and Flint smirks at him. 'I protect you here, Draco. Don't forget that.' He rests his hand on Draco's shoulder and Draco flinches away. Flint's eyes darken slightly. 'Come on,' he says. 'I'll take you to your cell.'

His father looks old. This is the only thing Draco is able to fully register, sitting across from him on a threadbare mattress haphazardly thrown on the stone floor. Lucius' hair is long and lank. The ends that escape the thin braid at the nape of his neck are matted and dull. His beard is full and almost white. There are lines on his face that weren't there before. 'How is your mother?' he asks, in a voice more quiet than the Lucius of his memories. 'She's all right. She writes frequently.' Lucius nods. 'She writes to me as well, but I'm not always able to receive them.' Draco meets his father's gaze, his eyes are tired and weary, and Draco has to swallow a few times to quell the lump forming in his throat. He remembers a bit of what that was like. The other inmates liked to destroy his letters just for fun, too. Only to see the look on Draco's face. They did a lot of things just to see the look on Draco's face. Draco rests his head against the stone wall. The stench of piss and sweat cloys the air. Spiders scurry along the crevices in the walls, carrying on with their business. Draco shivers involuntarily. It's cold. It's always cold in Azkaban. Lucius sighs wearily. 'Dinner will be soon,' he says. He gives Draco a dark look. 'You remember, don't you?' he asks. The way it works here?' Draco rubs his face in his palms, and then he nods. He remembers. He must keep his head down and avoid eye contact. He shouldn't sit too close to the front or the back of the dining hall. If anyone from block B or C even hints that they desire his food, he must give it up without question.

He learned these things over the years as a matter of survival. But now, that goal is farther from his mind. What is the point of survival now? Regardless of what Potter says, Flint was right. He has no power here in Azkaban. No one does. No one but Flint. ~ At dinnertime, Draco shuffles out with his father and falls into the queue. He keeps his head down as they shuffle into the dining hall, his heart hammering in his chest the whole time. Lucius leads him to a table in the middle of the mess hall. As they sit, food appears before them, a bowl of thin gruel, and a battered tin cup of tepid, watery milk. With a sigh, his father begins to eat, and Draco looks at him for a long time. There was a Lucius once, who would refuse to even sit at this table. Lucius looks up, catching the look on Dracos face. Forced humility isnt a good look for either of us, wouldnt you say? Even less so for you, Draco says quietly. A wry smile is all the response he receives from Lucius before someone sits down in the space beside him, making Draco startle and knock his spoon to the floor. The man beside him is Christian Weir, an almost-squib his father targeted more than once before the war. He worked in the Ministry until his father had him sacked simply because of what he was. Draco doesnt know what happened to him after that, or why he is in Azkaban now, only that theres a scar above Weirs eye that Draco put there himself, and a scar on Dracos torso where Weir stabbed him with a knife as a few of his friends held Draco down. Weir grins at him, exposing crooked, yellow teeth. Look whos back, he says twirling his wooden spoon in his fingers. Ickle baby Malfoy. He knocks his shoulder against Dracos, pushing him almost off the seat and Draco grits his teeth to prevent himself from retaliating. Lucius gives him a warning look and glances at Weir. Do you really want to start something now, Weir, Lucius murmurs. With the warden on watch?

Both Draco and Weir look past the steel bars enclosing the dining hall, and sure enough Flint is there with two of his officers, eyeing the scene with interest. A flicker of uncertainty passes through Weirs eyes, but then he shrugs. Im sure we could get in a few good hits before your saviour gets here, Malfoy, he says eyeing Draco shrewdly. What do you think? Draco says nothing, instead he leans over and grabs his spoon from the floor, resting it beside his bowl with exaggerated care. He can feel Flints eyes on them, like a bird circling its prey. What do you want, Weir? he says. Why, only to welcome you back, of course. Weir flashes him a wicked grin and gestures to Dracos bowl. May I? Draco hesitates only for a second, but Lucius gives him a warning look with a raised brow, and Draco sighs and pushes his bowl in Weirs direction. Thank you, Weir says magnanimously. He leans over and spits into the bowl, taking Dracos spoon and mixing around the contents for a few seconds before pushing the bowl back in front of Draco. Enjoy, he says. Draco grinds his teeth together, and pushes the bowl away. If you think Im going to eat that, Weir, youre as dumb as you look. Lucius remains very still across the table, looking between them both. Flint, and a few of his guards begin their circuit around the dining hall.

With a quick glance up at Flint, Weir grabs Dracos knee under the table, viciously sinking his fingers in, slightly shifting his kneecap. Draco whimpers softly, and Weir leans over and whispers in his ear. Eat it, he says. Fuck you. Weir squeezes his knee hard again. Tears of pain burn the backs of Dracos eyes. Not sucking Flint's cock anymore to stay in cushy solitary are you? What, did you have a lovers quarrel? Draco grips the edge of the table and stares straight ahead. Maybe hes too busy fucking your Mudblood mother when she comes to visit, he says. A sharp intake of breath his only warning before Weir slams Dracos face down on the table. Pain, white hot pain, disorients him for a few moments. Lights flare behind his eyes, and he vaguely hears his father call his name. When he looks up again, blinking blearily, his father is on the ground, and Weir is on top of him hurling punches. With a yell and a surge of adrenalin, he pitches forward, pushing Weir off his father, but he only gets in a few good blows before one of the guards hits him with a stunner, and everything fades to black. ~ He wakes up on the floor of his cell, and he groans and rolls onto the mattress closing his eyes again. Dont move around too much, his father says behind him. Itll hurt less. Draco swallows the lump in his throat, and opens his eyes, blinking as the image of his father sitting with his back against the opposite wall looking bruised, but alive fuzzily unfurls before him. Are you all right? Im fine, Lucius says. He shifts slightly and winces, holding his side. Draco, you cant let them get to you like that again. You wont survive it. Draco chokes out a grim laugh. Survive, he says in a dull voice.

Yes. Survive. Its what Ive done. Its what youre going to do. Draco slowly turns on his back and stares up at the ceiling. Like you did during the war, right, Dad? Lucius doesnt answer for a long time. Maybe not quite the same, Draco. Draco swallows the sudden lump in his throat and closes his eyes again. Sleep now, Lucius says softly. ~ When he wakes again, he vomits into the piss pot in the corner of the room. His father hesitantly touches his shoulder. Lets hope you arent concussed, he says. He helps Draco back to the mattress, and gently settles him. Every muscle in Dracos body aches. Its almost breakfast, Lucius says. Ill have to leave you. Ill bring you back something to eat. Draco doesnt say anything. Theres a large bump at the front of his skull that makes speaking almost akin to agony. When his father leaves Draco turns very carefully and faces the wall. After what feels like seconds later, hes startled awake again by the sound of his cell gate slamming open. What the fuck was that last night? Flints voice grates in his ears. Were you looking to get yourself killed? Draco turns over slowly. Flint is kneeling above him. Bugger off, Flint, he whispers. Flint frowns, and then he sighs and pushes Dracos hair from his forehead. Draco, this could be a lot easier on you, if you just revert to our previous arrangement.

Draco pulls away as much as he can without grimacing. I dont need your protection. Flint raises his eyebrow and gestures to him. By the state of you, Ill say you do, Draco. Draco slowly turns his back to him and faces the wall, pulling his knees into his chest. Just let me know when you see reason, Draco, Flint says behind him. And all this can be over. ~ Draco is not sure how much time passes as he lies there on the mattress on the ground. A few missed meals and communal shower times. No one tries to force him to move. Probably on Flints orders - as if he is only patiently waiting for Dracos eventual capitulation. Draco huffs a shaky breath and stares up at the stone ceiling. Someones carved their name into one of the stone blocks.

Draco, his father says. Draco you have to eat something. Draco doesnt respond right away. Whats the point? There is a lengthy pause in which Draco stares at the carving in stone above him. Id rather not watch my son starve himself to death, Lucius says wryly. Draco turns his face to the wall and closes his eyes. ~

Strong hands turn him over and Draco blinks blearily. The cell is dark except for the flickers of sunlight floating through the very small barred window in the top corner of the cell. Dracos body is tired and weak, his stomach aches with hunger. Draco, you are going to eat this, do you hear me? A piece of soup soaked bread nudges his lips and Draco turns away from it. Draco. I know what youre doing, Lucius says. But you cant. You cant just give up. Theres a soft clatter on the ground and his father roughly lifts him up off the bed, forcing him to sit up. Lucius kneels on the floor, looking up at him through red rimmed eyes. He grips Dracos shoulders. Think of your mother, he says, his voice catching in his throat. Think of what it would do to her. His father drops his hands. Draco please, he says. For me. Draco looks down vaguely at the bowl of soup and the crust of stale bread, and then he lies down on the bed, pulling his knees to his chest and turns to face the wall. ~ Strong arms hook beneath his shoulders and lift him up off of bed. Someones holding him close to their chest, gently sliding Dracos legs off the thin mattress. That smell. He remembers that smell. Almost like flying. Potter? he says weakly. Im here, Potter says. Say goodbye to your father. Lucius is hovering behind Potters shoulder, looking deeply concerned. Draco closes his eyes as Lucius lips graze his forehead. Youll see to it that he eats, wont you? his father says. I will.

Lucius clears his throat. Potter. Will you. Ill need to know Ill send word when he gets better, Potter says, his voice tight and clipped. He carries Draco out of his cell, and Draco holds tightly onto Potters shoulder. Put me down, Potter, he says. I can walk. I doubt it. Potter. Potter stops and sets him down and Draco looks around the room, trying to gather his surroundings. Its the processing room Flint led him to when was that? Four days ago? Six? How long have I been here? Seven days, Potter says. He pulls a tarnished silver spoon from his pocket. Take hold, he says. Itll activate any second. Lifting his arm takes more energy than he thought, and Potter reaches out and wraps Dracos fingers around the silver spoon, just before the Portkey activates. He bears the brunt of the jostling and whirling wind with his eyes closed, clinging to Potters waist with his other hand. They land in the bedroom of the Manor cottage and Draco almost falls over before Potter catches him and leads him to the bed. Draco falls onto the sheets and Potter sits beside him. Draco stares at him for a few long moments. Potter looks worse for wear. There are dark smudges beneath his eyes, and his face seems pinched and tighter somehow. How did you get me out? Draco asks quietly. They had no proof, other than Randys word. Hermione made the case, and then I lied through my fucking teeth. Draco picks at his blankets. She helped you do that? Shes still extremely cross with me, but she knew what was happening to you was unfair. Ron helped me convince her to make the case. Hmm, Draco says.

Potter pushes a strand of Dracos hair off his forehead. Look at you, he says. Im so sorry. This Everything was my fault. Draco cant think of a way to respond. I was the one who leaked the story to the press. Potter looks away from him. I didnt know how to break it off with Randy, so I sent Skeeter an anonymous tip. I didnt know about his other family, Draco, I swear. And I didnt know hed go after you. Im so sorry. Draco closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. You got me out of there, he says in a dead sounding voice. Thank you. Potter glances at him. You have to eat something. You sound like my father. Draco, you haven't seen yourself, he says. Mindy should be here soon with a few things. I told her you were coming. Draco sits up slowly, resting against the pile of pillows behind him, looking at Harry for moment. I really He has to stop and swallow to prevent his throat from closing up. I really thought I was never coming back. Potter rests his hand on his knee. Well, youre back. My fathers still in there. Potter's eyes flick away for a second. Draco, I cant Im not asking you to. They stare at each other for a few seconds, until the faint pop of Mindys arrival startles them both. She scurries closer to the side of the bed, tray of soup in hand, looking at Draco with wide eyes. Master Draco is eating his soup now, she says, shooing Harry aside.

Draco eyes the bowl of thick broth and allows Mindy to rest the tray on his lap. Her eyes are brimming with tears. Mindy, Im all right, he says, awkwardly patting her arm. Master Draco is too thin! He is not all right. But Mindy will see to it that Master gets better. He shares a look with Potter over Mindys head. Mindy looks between him and the broth expectantly. Eat! Draco is startled into action and brings the spoon to his lips, and after a few spoonfuls, Mindy looks pleased with herself. Is it good? Fantastic as always, Mindy. Thank you. Mindy nods. Mindy is getting all Master Dracos favourite things, she says proudly. Master Draco is to be calling Mindy when he is needing anything, she adds, though it sounds more like a command than a request. Draco nods and she beams, then Disapparates with a pop. He pushes away the soup and glances at Potter. I cant eat anymore of this, he says. Hide it from Mindy, will you? Potter purses his lips, but he takes the tray anyway and disappears into the kitchen. Draco swings his legs off the bed and ambles into his bathroom, where he is confronted by his bleak reflection in the mirror. Hes still wearing the thin, grey Azkaban overalls with Prisoner 94637 imprinted in black letters across his chest. His eyes are sunken, his gaze is dull. His overalls hang off him in places they were once snug, his hair is matted and filthy. Draco knows he must smell, but his nose doesnt even register the odour. His hair itches so badly, hes certain he must have the beginnings of lice. He stumbles to the shower and turns the tap, stripping his clothes and tossing them aside in a heap. More than anything, he wishes he could set it to flame with his wand. He doesnt even know where his wand is, but its a moot point. The magic suppressant cant have worn off yet. Potters anxious voice suddenly echoes against the walls. What are you doing?

Draco spares him a short glance. What does it look like, Potter? Im filthy. Id like to have a shower. Potter frowns at him, seemingly going over in his head whether it will be worth the argument. Okay, wait, he says. I brought some things that might help. When he leaves, Draco gingerly steps beneath the spray of hot water and closes his eyes. Without intending to, he begins to replay the moment Flint shoved him into the ice cold spray over and over in his mind. It was that moment he made the decision not to try too hard to survive another sentence in Azkaban. Just the thought of it is enough to send tendrils of ice-cold dread flowing through his veins. Draco shudders and turns the dial as hot as he can bear it. He rests his palms against the wall, leaning forward and letting the water fall at the nape of his neck, sluicing down his chest. The pressure of the water helps to loosen the tight muscles in his shoulders and he groans softly. He opens his eyes, and stares vaguely at the tiled floor as the grime from his skin circles down the drain. As he slowly begins to lather his skin, the curtain draws back and Potter looks in. Couldnt you just wait a little? he asks, exasperated. What if you fell over in there? Draco rolls his eyes. You would have found my lifeless corpse, I suppose. Potters face pales considerably, and then he scowls. Dont joke about that, you idiot. He lingers by the curtain hesitantly. Do you want me to get in with you? Draco shrugs. Im not an invalid, Potter. He hopes Potter will take this as a Yes, please, rather than the Fuck you it sounds like. Apparently Potters grown adept enough at interpreting him, because he peels off his robes and steps in behind Draco, gently taking the soap from his fingers and massaging Draco's shoulders. I have lice, Draco says. I can handle that, Potter responds without missing a beat. Theres a spell Molly showed me.

Draco turns to face him No, he says. I want you to cut it off. Please. Potter nods slowly and rests the bar of soap in the carved out stone shelf in the wall. He strokes Dracos sides with his fingertips, and Draco closes his eyes, briefly ducking his head beneath the spray. Draco stumbles backwards a bit and Potters fingers tighten around his waist. It jolts something in Dracos brain. He steps back and pushes Potters hands away from his waist. You cant be here, he says. If they find you here again Potter stops his rant with a gentle touch on his hip. Rons covering for me, he says. I have a few hours. Potter Draco, its all right. Thats what you said the last time. Look what happened then! I ended up back there. I was powerless again. I swore to myself I would never let that happen. Ever. Potters Adams apple bobs as he swallows, his expression is pale and stricken. Im sorry, Draco. Draco turns away from him. Save your sorrys, he says, reaching for his shampoo, Sorrys are bullshit. He closes his eyes and lathers his matted hair, only vaguely registering the curtain opening and closing and the heat of Potters body leaving him cold. He rests his palm flat against the wall and lets the water strip the soap suds from his hair. Draco spies his toothbrush and paste on the ledge and he brushes his teeth once, then once again for good measure. He turns off the tap, and when he opens the curtain, Potter is wearing one of Dracos dressing gowns, and holding out a towel. Draco takes it without a word and carefully dries his skin. He ties the towel around his waist and then he and Potter eye each other warily.

Potter sighs. Just let me take care of you, and then Im gone, he says. You wont have to worry about getting caught again. Okay? Draco nods, and Potter hands him a smaller towel for his hair, gesturing to a chair that Draco doesnt recognise. Sit, Potter says. Ill help you shave and cut your hair. He hesitates. If thats really what you want. Draco sits in the chair, facing his reflection in the oversized gilded mirror above the sink. Yes, he said tugging at a matted end. Yes, I want it all gone. Potter does his hair first. He starts by cutting the longer, matted pieces off with a scissors, then threads his fingers through Dracos hair and cuts the strands as low as he can. Draco occasionally watches the strands flutter to the floor, but hes more fascinated by the way he can feel Potters breaths against his cheeks, and the way he smells like Dracos soap and his shampoo. Almost as if hes mine. A small smile flicks across his face and Potter softly smiles back at him. What? Draco shakes his head, then he glances at his reflection. I hope to Merlin you dont plan on leaving my hair like this, Potter, he says, looking at the mangled cut in the mirror. Its uneven and ragged, and not at all what he was going for. Potter smiles softly and rests the scissors in the sink. No, he says, pulling out some sort of loud vibrating Muggle device. Draco stiffens. Its a razor, Potter says. Dont look so horrified, I use it all the time. Potter steadies Dracos head with his palm, and Draco sits very tensely as Potter shaves the jagged patches of hair off his head. When hes finished, Dracos left with a very short, blunt cut that exposes his pointed cheek bones, but leaves him feeling... lighter. Potter uses almost the same process with Dracos beard, clipping the longer bits with the scissors and then filling the sink with warm water and lathering Dracos face with shaving cream on a brush. He leans forward and begins carefully shaving Dracos face with a gleaming straight razor. Draco does nothing but stare at Potter the whole time, focusing on the stubble on Potters cheeks, his long, thick lashes. He quickly realises the way Potter bites his lower lip and furrows his brow is just about enough to give him a bit of a halfie. He shifts

a little in his chair, but really, theres no hiding it in just his towel. Potters mouth twitches slightly, but he doesnt say a word. When hes finished, he wipes Dracos face with a warm, damp towel and places a soft kiss on Dracos lips. He pulls away, gauging Dracos reaction with a worried frown. Draco hesitates for a second before threading his fingers through the hairs at Potters nape and pulling him close, kissing him deeply. He tries to stand up, but his muscles tremble a little and Potter pulls him up by his elbows. Dracos towel slips to the floor and he pushes Potter back against the sink and kisses him again. Potter runs his palms over Dracos buzzed head. I like it, he says in a breathy voice when they part. Draco smiles slightly, glancing in the mirror behind Potters head. Its not a choice hell ever make again, but for now it will do. Im so tired, he says still staring at his reflection. Potter presses a brief kiss against his neck and helps him dress in soft tracksuit bottoms and a cotton shirt that smell new and are definitely not his. You bought these? Potter nods absently. You always sleep without clothes - I wasnt sure you had anything, so I bought some stuff. He helps Draco to his room, and Draco slips into bed and burrows under the covers. Potter watches him for a moment and then leaves his side to start pulling on his robes. Draco watches him quietly, but when Potter softly murmurs his goodbyes, planting a kiss on Dracos forehead, Draco grabs his wrist. Stay, he says. Just until I fall asleep. Potter nods, kisses him softly again and then slips into the bed beside him. Draco turns over, pressing his back against Potters chest. My mother? She knows youre here Potter says. I wrote to her. Draco swallows, briefly remembering his fathers broken words in their prison cell. Think about your mother. He shivers slightly and Potter wraps an arm around him.

Draco doesnt know what to feel anymore. He was ready to die. He had given up, he let go of hope, and now hes here in a soft bed and wrapped in Potters arms. Potter rubs his nose against the blunt edges of his hair, and Dracos mouth twitches into a smile, but it quickly fades. Even if he were a free man, this thing with Potter It would never be left alone. It would be constantly pushed and prodded, like an aching tooth. They would never be free from speculation. Dracos not sure he can put himself through that. Or Potter. Potter kisses the back of Dracos neck. Sleep. Draco nods, but its hours before he drifts into a fitful sleep. When he finally does, it feels good down to the very corners of his heart that he can feel Potter is still there. ~ In the nightmare, hes back in Azkaban, only his father isnt there to protect him. When they come for him, Draco is paralysed with fear. Someone puts a hand over his mouth. Two strong hands encircle his wrists. He fights, just like the time they stuck a knife in him. He fights. He keeps fighting. When he opens his eyes, Potters looking down at him with wide eyes, panting. Its me, Draco. Draco covers his face with his hands, trying to catch his breath. Im okay, he says. No youre not. Draco laughs bitterly and sits up on the bed. Stop trying to save me, Potter, he says. Thats what got us here in the first place. Potter opens his mouth and closes it, and Draco looks away from him, still trying to regulate his breaths. You should go, he says. He hears Potter sigh, and the shuffle of his robes as he slips on his boots and grabs the bag with his gadgets. He brushes his lips against Dracos forehead. When Draco looks up at him through his lashes, he looks as though he might have a lot to say, but he seems to catch

himself and he straightens up. He pulls Dracos wand from his inside pocket and rests it on the pillow beside him. Its after midnight, he says quietly. Happy New Year, Draco. He leaves the room, and Draco hears the pop of his Disapparition from the kitchen. Draco lifts his wand and absently traces spell shapes into the air. ~ The final five days of his probation are nothing short of hellish. Between the nightmares and a sudden high volume of daily chores, Draco finds himself doing three times as much work with only half the energy. Hes still on the mend from his return to Azkaban, but with the way Mindys been feeding him, hes sure hes put back on all the weight he lost, and then some. So it is that on the 5th of January 2002, the day of his promised release, Draco decides to sleep the fuck in, and have breakfast in bed, crossing his legs over his ankles and eating just about everything thing that Mindy puts out for him. When he is pleasantly stuffed with just the right amount of bangers and mash and steaming hot coffee, pumpkin juice, oatmeal, and black pudding, Draco twirls his wand in his hand and stares up at the ceiling. Hes still in his dressing robe, waiting for whoever it is will bring the news to arrive. When the hour passes noon, Draco begins to feel the first stirrings of unease in his chest. Maybe they decided to extend his parole after all. It wouldnt be unheard of. Maybe hell receive a missive from the Ministry telling him hes expected to remain at the Manor for another year, or two, and then Draco would really have no choice but to off himself. Draco swings his legs off the side the bed, flinging off his dressing gown and pulling on his fathers robes. After a minute of uselessly turning circles, he begins to pace the length of the room, chewing anxiously on his thumbnail. This was not to be borne. Hed fight them this time. If they delayed his freedom now, it would be clear breach of Magical Law. Hell take it to the fucking Wizengamot if he has to. Hell use the solicitors his father has on retainer. Hell hex them all to fucking hell. Hell

Theres a loud knock on the cottage door and Draco starts violently. After standing stock still for a few seconds he straightens his spine, smoothes down his robes and walks calmly to the door. Of course, as life would have it, its Weasley theyve sent. The Auror this time. Draco opens the door. Youre late, he says, stepping aside to let Weasley in. Weasley walks past him, wiping raindrops from his shoulders. Couldnt be helped, he says. Draco closes the cottage door behind him. Weasley pulls off his leather gloves and sets them down on the worktop, then turns to give Draco an appraising look. Draco crosses the room and sits at the small kitchen table, just as Weasley takes off his outer robes and pulls out three thick sheaves of parchment. It takes a lot of paperwork to give a billionaire back his gold, Weasley says wryly. Draco scowls. Or his freedom. Weasley gives him another long, measured look. Lets get started then, shall we? They both sit at the table, and Draco Summons a quill and ink. The paperwork is dreadfully boring. He has to sign Gringotts paperwork officially removing the hold from the Malfoy holdings, a form stipulating the terms of his reinstatement as the Malfoy heir. Thankfully the Goblins dont allow any Ministry interference in their capital. No doubt the Malfoy vaults would be seriously depleted if the Ministry had their way. He has to sign documents re-releasing the various Malfoy properties back into his possession. He signs a few separate parchments that reinstate him as executor of the Malfoy estate. Then there are the additional parchments he must sign as confirmation that he understood all the shit he signed two seconds ago. He officially relinquishes ownership of the Voldemort Manor to the state; he has no interest in reclaiming it. Weasley signs off on paperwork confirming his duties as caretaker were satisfactorily met. Then he signs paperwork lifting the Trace on Dracos wand. Weasley then absently waves his wand, vanishing the daily chore board from the kitchen wall. Draco stares at the empty space on the wall, massaging his wrist as Weasley signs off on the final set of paperwork: his official release papers, and slides them over for Draco to sign as well. When its all over, Weasley gathers all the papers together, waves his wand and they disappear.

He looks up at Draco, frowning. Theyve been sent straight to my wife, he says. Shell sign off on them, and then its official. Youre free. Your wife? I trust her to get the paperwork done, Weasley says. Do you have a problem with that? The tips of Weasleys ears are rapidly turning red, and Draco just nods instead of egging him on. The last thing he wants to do is thank Weasley, but he feels strangely compelled to do so anyway. He firmly resists the urge. Weasley studies him a moment further. They wanted to keep you in probation for another year, he admits. Harry found out before they set the paperwork in motion. He overturned it? Draco asks a little shrilly. If Potter keeps fighting my battles, everyone will Draco abruptly cuts himself off. Idiot, he says under his breath. He looks back to Weasley. Did he tell you the truth? He didnt have to. If he keeps poking his nose in my affairs, hes going to get himself sacked. Weasley carefully puts his gloves back on, slowly flexing his fingers. Harry didnt fight against it, he says, without looking up. I did. You? Dont think I did it for you, Ron says, finally looking at him. I did it for Harry. Hes been hard enough on himself as it is. Draco looks down at the table, tracing the patterns of the grain with his finger. Hes my best mate, Weasley continues. So I covered for him. Even if I think hes making one of the biggest fucking mistakes of his life. Draco laughs. Its a bleak, hollow sound. Well, he says quietly. Im sure you let him know that.

Several times. Draco nods, still looking down at the table. Good for you. Theres a brief, tense silence, and then Weasley sighs. So, what should I tell him? he asks. Draco looks up at him, feigning ignorance. What do you mean? Weasley raises his eyebrows. Where are you going to go? I dont know, Draco says, with an elegant lift of his shoulders. Ill figure it out. Weasley doesnt say anything for a moment. So, youre just going to disappear? After hes done all of this for you He did it out of guilt. I didnt ask Potter for anything. Weasley gives him a look of deep contempt, and Draco flushes and looks away. You know youre still such a selfish little prick, Malfoy, he says. I keep asking him what it is he sees in you, and he keeps telling me that I wouldnt understand. Hes right. I really dont. Draco swallows He knows my plans. He knew where this was going. Weasley clenches his jaw, and pulls on his robes. I knew you were just going to fuck with him. What does he expect? Draco exclaims, throwing up his hands in frustration. They sent me to Azkaban because they thought I was fucking him. You want me to run to him now? Take him for a drink in the fucking Leaky? Its impossible. Dracos not sure whether hes ranting to himself or Weasley at this point. He shakes his head. You said it yourself. It was a mistake. Potter and I it cant work. Weasley rolls his eyes. Malfoy Is there anything else you need from me? Draco interrupts. Weasley gives him a death glare, and Draco tries his best to look at anywhere but his face. No.

Brilliant. I think I can handle it from here. Weasley seems to battle with himself for a few seconds, then he presses his lips firmly together, and Disapparates.

The thing is, Dracos not sure he even believes it. Its easy to call the whole thing a mistake. Its simpler than actually thinking about the complexities of the whole thing. For Potter it was probably just another in a long list of bad choices. Draco was probably desperate for any kind of connection after Azkaban. But, still. It lingers. He laughed with Potter. When Potter was with him, his breaths were real. His existence wasnt regulated by daily tasks on a chalkboard. He wasnt afraid to sleep when Potter was around. He didnt have to remind himself to keep moving. Draco was on the brink of something dark and Potter pulled him back. Were there words to describe that? He ponders this among many things on the journey to France, looking out the window at the snowy landscape, his chin propped on his fist. He doesnt yet trust a single flick of his wand, even though he knows the Ministry were supposed to have lifted his Trace, so he decided to brave the train instead of Apparating. He doesnt move much for most of the ride. Hes terribly nervous, and occasionally he finds himself staring at a Muggle or two. He hasnt been around this many people for years, much less people without magic. His skin prickles with unease. The little girl sitting across the aisle from him smiles when she catches his eye. He hesitantly smiles back and she offers him a slice of her apple in her pudgy fist. Slightly alarmed, he glances at her mother and she nods and smiles, gesturing with the paperback in her hands. Go on, then. Shell keep trying to get you to eat it anyway. Draco laughs softly and takes the apple from her with a grave, Thank you.

He absently chews on the apple slice while curiously glancing about the carriage. Muggles are interesting to look at. They all seem terribly busy, talking on mobile phones and staring at laptop computers. His mother told him to expect all these strange things, sending him pictures of the devices and warning him not to stare. But he stares anyway. Youre pretty, the little girl says in a decisive tone. His eyes flick to her, and Draco raises his eyebrows. Erm, thank you? Her mother laughs. Thats enough from you, Ella, she says. Even if its true. She adds with a wink. Dracos face heats, and she laughs again, pushing her auburn hair behind her ear. Draco gives her a small smile. Thank you, he murmurs. She smiles again and nods before returning to her book. Draco returns his attention out the window, but he can feel her glancing at him every now and then, and he burrows down into the high collar of his coat, trying to avoid her gaze. He breathes a sigh of relief when they arrive at Gare du Nord not much long after. He quickly spots his mother, dressed in denims and a crisp white pea coat, a bright pink scarf around her neck and dark grey gloves. Draco gapes at her for a few seconds before her mouth turns upward in a smile, and she anxiously waves to him, as though afraid Draco doesnt recognise her. He waves back, hooking his rucksack over his shoulder and pushing through the throng of people to get to her. When Draco reaches her, she looks appraisingly at his denims, transfigured from formal trousers using the instructions and photographs she sent him. She beams. Wonderful job, darling - theyre perfect. Draco looks down at her and smiles broadly for the first time in weeks. Come here, he murmurs. He pulls her into a tight hug, lifting her off her feet and burying his nose in her hair. His eyes burn as she grips his shoulders tightly, laughing breathlessly and waving her feet around a bit in the air.

When he sets her down, she smiles at him at pats his cheek. You need to shave, she says. And what on earth have you done to your hair? He runs his hand through the short spikes on his head and grins, then he hooks his arm through hers. Lets find somewhere to Apparate, he says, leading her away. I have loads to tell you.

She lives in Passy-Auteuil, in a property that was part of her dowry when she married Lucius. The house is light and airy, with French doors that lead to a deck and back garden and a small bird bath beside a birch tree. They spend a few hours in her sitting room, drinking wine and talking. She keeps staring at his short hair, and shaking her head slightly and then insisting that he shave. She keeps murmuring, you look unkempt, beneath her breath, and Draco smiles softly at her and shakes his head. She has a much more complicated music system than his little record player carefully shrunken in his bag. She lifts a reflective circular thing that looks like a very small record and slips it into a slot of a much larger Muggle device. It almost looks like a Wizard wireless, but with flashing numbers and an array of buttons and plastic knobs. It is completely beyond Draco, but his mother quickly sets it all up, and then theyre surrounded by music, streaming from all corners of the room. Its called a sound-system, she tells him, watching his reactions with a small smile. This is called a CD. she says, gesturing to another one of the small disks. Dont worry, darling. Its not as scary as it all looks. Youll learn quickly.

She twists her hair into a loose plait and pulls her feet up beneath her. She doesnt wear her wedding band anymore, and this frightens Draco more than hell ever admit. She smiles a bit sadly when she catches him looking. Im not sure what it means yet, she tells him, looking down at her empty finger. It just didnt feel right to wear it anymore. Draco sips his wine and looks away. She gently touches his knee. Lets talk about you, she says. Theres a lot youre not telling me. Draco simply nods but he doesnt elaborate. He doesnt want to bring Potter up. Hes not ready to talk about that yet. And he can't bring himself to tell her any more of his darker stories. Shes already cried enough for one evening. ~ She takes him to Muse Marmottan Monet and Palais de Tokyo, dragging him through the exhibits with a laugh and a carefree smile hes never seen her wear. She teaches him how to bargain food prices at March Point du Jour, and even though his French is rust y, hes able to keep up with the rapid negotiations taking place over open trays of fresh fruit and vegetables. She smells everything. She brings fresh mushrooms and ripe tomatoes up to her nose and breathes deeply. His mother, who never even considered getting her hands dirty, is sifting through the fish on display with a determined frown. She lifts a fat trout up to his nose, and he wrinkles it. Come on, she says, smiling. You need to be sure its fresh. He sniffs it and gags, and she laughs and asks the short, fat shopkeeper to wrap it up for them to take. She takes him shopping on Rue de Passy, weaving through the high-end shops with an ease that Draco envies. He happily indulges her need to clothe and preen over him, until most of his Muggle money runs out, and he absently mentions that he will have to make it to Gringotts to convert some more. This, she brushes off with a casual wave of her hand, and he doesnt bring it up again until a week later, when hes completely stripped of cash.

I dont see why you cant just do as Ive done, Narcissa says. This is why we keep solicitors on retainer, Draco. Theres no need for us to go in ourselves. Just have Kristoff arrange matters for you. Kristoff, his mothers personal solicitor, is a severe older wizard who reminds Draco too much of a few members of the Wizengamot, and he has no intention of asking him for a damned thing. They argue about it for days, but Draco finally puts his foot down when Narcissa is herself close to the end of her monthly cash withdrawal. On a snowy Sunday, they Apparate to a secluded spot in Montmartre, largely hidden from the hustle and bustle of Muggles. He steers Narcissa through Place du Tertre, avoiding the tourists gathered to watch the artists at work. After a few minutes navigating the narrow streets, they reach a small nondescript caf, covered with a rich burgundy awning and vibrating with magical energy. They both slip inside, heading swiftly through the crowd of witches and wizards, past the back exit, leading to a narrow cobbled street, the entrance to the Wizarding Quarter of Paris. He taps the opposite wall with his wand and the stone wall slowly opens revealing Rue de Merveilles, the High Street of the French Wizarding Quarter. They both stride forward as if they both know exactly where theyre going. Draco certainly doesnt. It been years since hes been here, and it was usually on the arm of his mother. The narrow, cobble stoned streets are mostly unfamiliar to him. Draco moves forward into the fray, with one arm protectively wrapped around Narcissas waist. Her body is stiff with nerves, much like his own. Theyre both dressed in Muggle clothing, Narcissa with her nose in the air, Draco with his back proud and straight. No one looking at them would guess that shes gripping onto his forearm tight enough to leave a mark beneath the layers of his winter coat. No one even notices them. It takes Draco a while to realise it, but when he does, the ribbons of fear wrapped around his heart begin to loosen. He glances at his mother and squeezes her hand gently, and she gives him a brief smile. Perhaps theyve all been Obliviated, she murmurs. Draco makes a non-committal sound in his throat.

She glances at him. It wont be this way in England. I know. They spend the morning conducting business in Gringotts, and afterwards Draco gently steers her into the small coffee shop a few blocks away. Its filled to the brim with wizards and witches and they squeeze past a few standing patrons to grab an empty table further to the back. When theyre seated, Narcissa gently removes her hood, her gaze anxiously flitting about the room. Draco reaches across the table and gently rests his hand over hers. She looks up at him and smiles, but it quickly falters. Draco, she begins, stroking her thumb over the back of his palm. I know there are certain things you prefer not to tell me... I understand that you need to keep your secrets. Draco frowns and pulls his hand away from hers. It sounds as though youre working yourself up to asking me about things I dont want to talk about. Narcissa purses her lips, and a smiling young witch comes to take their order, they both order cappuccinos and when the girl leaves, Narcissa sits up straight and clasps her hands together, staring at him pointedly over the table. What happened between you and Potter? Dracos heart thumps a little faster, and he laughs softly, tapping his long fingers against the tabletop and avoiding Narcissas gaze. Youve been dying to ask me that, havent you? Well, what am I supposed to think, Draco? A few weeks ago you said the last thing you wanted to do was run away to hide in France, like Ive done. Now here you are. She leans forward, lowering her voice. You were in Azkaban for fraternising with a Ministry official, then the charge was mysteriously dropped. Narcissa raises a pointed eyebrow. The whole thing was a scandal, Draco. Now the head of the Post-War Relations Commission has been sacked, and here you are, hiding in France. Im not hiding, Draco mutters. Yes you are.

Do you want me to leave? Narcissa waves her hand dismissively. Draco dont be dramatic, I just want to know whats going on with you. She gives him a gentle look. Why are you so unhappy? The young witch comes back with their cappuccinos and Narcissa smiles absently at her before she flounces away. Draco stares pensively into his cup for a few moments. Im not unhappy, he says quietly. Narcissa nudges him with her foot beneath the table and he looks up. You should see your face, darling. Sometimes you look almost content, but then its like you remember whatever it is thats making you so upset, and everything in you just dies. Draco sighs and slouches further in his seat. Darling, what happened? I hate seeing you this way. Draco looks out the large glass window across the room, rapidly swallowing the growing lump in his throat. Unable to find the words, he just shakes his head. Narcissa reaches across the table and takes his hand, linking their fingers together. What are you running away from? He looks down at their intertwined fingers, thinking of the first time Potter did the same, the way he was fascinated by the look of their hands entwined as one. Nothing, he murmurs. It was nothing.

He leaves her two days later. Like a coward, he waits until night falls, when shes asleep in her room and writes her a note so that she wont be afraid in the morning.

He Apparates to the Wizarding district and gets as drunk as he can in a small French pub where a brown haired man with a wicked smile tries his best to get him into bed. Draco almost, almost goes through with it. Its tempting as hell; his cock is hard, and the bloke smells good and promises to help Draco forget about everything, but he stops himself. Instead, he takes a room in the inn upstairs and spends most of the evening vomiting into the toilet bowl. The following morning he Apparates to Luxembourg, where he spends the night in his parents villa. He isnt there for long before he decides its too filled with memories of his childhood to stay. It makes him think about catching the snitch on his training broom in the large back garden. It reminds him too much of his father, the way hed spend the evenings smoking his pipe in his office, poring over the Daily Prophet. Even if they were on vacation, Lucius never missed the opportunity to read a copy. Hed tear out the comics section and hand it to Draco over breakfast, while Narcissa rolled her eyes at them both. That night, his dreams are filled of Lucius fending off attackers in his cell, calling out to Draco for his help. In the morning he Apparates to Frankfurt. The following day, he Apparates to Berlin and after that Salzburg. He eats breakfast in Prague and takes lunch in Dresden. He keeps moving, unable to stop, needing to be on the move. To stop is to think, and to think is to remember. Unlike his mother, he finds no solace in the company of Muggles, so remains mostly in the Wizarding districts. He even considers visiting Pansy in Venice, but they havent spoken in years, and he knows it would be unnatural. Forced. Deep down, Draco knows theres only one person he really wants to see - one place he can go and not feel the same fear - but how to stop from running when running is the only way you know to survive? Sometimes, he imagines what it would be like if he were to Apparate somewhere and Potter were there, waiting for him as though theyd planned to meet. Maybe theyd go out together

in the Wizarding districts - out in the open where anyone could see them. He can just imagine Potters stupid smile. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Draco peers at his reflection in the mirror in the bathroom of a dark pub somewhere. Hes been Apparating from place to place for weeks - the Winter Palace in St Petersburg, the Hassan Tower in Rabat, Diocletians Palace in Split - almost splinching himself a few times from Apparating with only the vaguest memories of his childhood to guide him. The ceaseless movement and the strain of being in a constant state of temporal flux have confused and exhausted him. His hair is growing back, he hasnt shaved in days and the ghost of a beard shadows his cheeks. He splashes water on his face and hunches over the sink. Hes slightly pissed and tired and hungry and lonely and scared and he is so, so tired of running. Fuck it. He pulls his wand from his sleeve and pushes his shirt up to his elbows. He knows what Grimmauld Place looks like. At least, he remembers what the basement kitchen looks like, since it features in many of his nightmares. Visiting the Blacks as a child was never a happy experience. He hopes that if Potter has any wards up, they arent lethal. He stares at his reflection for a few more seconds, twirling his wand anxiously and going back and forth about his decision in his mind. He takes a few shallow breaths to fuel his courage, and then Apparates into the kitchen, landing mere centimetres away from the long wooden table he just almost splinched himself on. Its mid-morning and the house is eerily quiet maybe he got it wrong. Maybe Potter doesnt even in live the old house anymore. He should probably just turn and leave. He should. This was stupid. But then he spots the half-empty cup of tea in the sink, the fully stocked pantry shelves, and releases an anxious breath.

He absently touches the cup with his fingers, and jumps when he hears the front door drag against the floor as it opens heavily. Draco bites his lower lip and walks up the stairs, vaguely feeling his way around in the dark and following the sounds of stamping boots and the crinkling of paper bags. Draco enters the hallway, and there he is, Potter, dressed in all black, resting his shopping on the floor and unwinding his scarf with a cigarette in his mouth. He drops his woollen coat on the half table in the entryway, exhaling a thin line of smoke from his nostrils. Draco leans against the wall, and affects a nonchalant stance. 'You know, you're frightfully unobservant for an Auror,' he says. Potter doesn't even flinch. 'I knew you were here,' he says resting his scarf down and stubbing his cigarette out on the leg of the table. He turns around and folds his arms across his chest, looking at Draco intensely. His black jumper and jeans make his impossible eyes stand out even more than usual, and Draco's breath catches. He'd never considered another man beautiful before now. Potter scratches beneath his chin. I do have wards you know.' They simply stare at each other for a long moment, and Draco shifts uncomfortably. 'I wanted to see you,' he says. 'Why aren't you at work?' Potter sighs and pushes up his sleeves. 'I took some time off,' he says. He hesitates. 'Recommended time off,' he adds with a wry smile. Draco's mouth twitches. Harry nods to him. Where were you?' he asks. 'My owl couldn't find you.' Draco shrugs, feeling his pulse beginning to race as Potter starts moving closer to him. 'I kept moving,' he says. 'I couldn't stop.' Potter stops just in front of him. 'And now you're here.' Draco meets his gaze. 'Now I'm here.'

Potter doesn't move, and after a few seconds of staring at his mouth, Draco realises that he has no intention of moving. He stares at Draco, challenge in his green eyes, and then Draco ducks his head and catches Potter's mouth in a kiss. Potter reacts immediately, pushing Draco back up against the wall and cupping his cheek. 'Youre such a bastard,' he murmurs softly, nipping Draco's lower lip and then kissing him more deeply than before. Their chests press together and he can feel the thudding of Potters heart. Potter pulls away slightly. I was worried about you. Im sorry. Draco pushes his fingers beneath Potters shirt, wanting to feel his bare skin. 'I want you,' Draco murmurs. 'Hold on.' He barely feels it when Potter Apparates them both into his bedroom. He nudges Potter backwards onto the bed and they both scramble out of their clothes, eager to be skin to skin. He hovers over Potter, caught in simply staring at him, the way his too-long hair fans against his white sheets. His cock presses eagerly against Draco's stomach. Draco leans forward, kissing him softly, sinking in closer when Potter spreads his thighs. Potter reaches between his legs to prepare himself, murmuring a soft spell and then arching his back. He pulls Draco against him, guiding Draco's cock to his hole, making a soft, breathy noise when Draco slowly pushes into him. He softly nips the side of Draco's jaw, licking the stubble there. 'I love this,' he says as Draco rolls his hips. 'Don't ever shave.' Draco laughs into Potters shoulder, and turns his head to press a kiss against his neck. Potter spreads his thighs wider. 'Harder, Draco,' he says. 'Don't hold back.' Draco closes his eyes, increasing his pace and pumping his hips hard, his whole body shuddering with pent up, frustrated arousal. He glances down, wanting to see his cock disappear into Potters body, whimpering slightly at the sight of Potter stretched around him. Potter meets each thrust with a snap of his hips, his heavy cock bobbing between them. Draco straightens up and pulls him in closer, grabbing Potters arse cheeks as Potter hooks his legs around Dracos waist. Potter firmly wraps his hand around his cock, frantically

stroking himself off in time with Draco's thrusts until he shudders and comes, spurting his semen onto his stomach. His arsehole clenches sporadically around Draco's cock, and it sends Draco hurtling forward into a short, but mind-numbingly intense orgasm. Draco falls to the side, wetly slipping out of Potters hole and Potter shifts with him, turning to face him. He softly strokes Draco's spiky head, pressing kisses on his eyelids as Draco slowly comes back to himself. When Draco opens his eyes, Potter sighs softly. 'So,' he says. 'What was that, exactly?' Draco rolls on his back, and stares up at the ceiling anything to avoid the way Potters gaze sears right through him. Its as though Potter can see everything. It lays Draco bare. Does he know? Does he know everything that happened to him in Azkaban? Did he know about Marcus? Does Potter pity him? He couldnt bear that. Potter touches his shoulder gently, and Draco glances up at him. Hes propped up on his elbow looking down at Draco, his brow crinkled, his gaze soft. 'Don't go back there,' he murmurs, brushing a strand of Dracos hair from his forehead. 'Stay here with me.' Draco looks at him carefully. 'That was sex,' he says, finally answering the question. Potters expression falters slightly. 'Is that all? I mean. Is that all you came for?' It would be so much easier to say yes and just leave, but Draco's tried that already. He knows how that story ends. Slowly, he shakes his head. No, he says softly. But we cant... his voice trails off, and he firmly looks away. 'Draco, there's nothing wrong about what we're doing,' he says. 'We don't have to hide anymore.' Draco touches Potter's arm. 'I'm not ready for what you want,' he says softly. Potter licks his lips. 'Ok, so what? What do we do?' 'I've been travelling,' he says. 'I want to keep moving. Just for now.'

'And what? Stop by every now and then for a quick fuck?' Draco doesnt respond. Potter sighs and drops down beside him. 'Im not going to be anyones fuck toy, Draco,' he says tersely. 'I tried that once, remember? It didn't work out too well.' Draco shifts to face him. 'I'm not asking you to be my fuck toy,' he says. 'I know what that feels like, too. 'Well thenwhat?' 'Come with me.' The words tumble out of his mouth in a panicked rush. His hands shake, and he looks swiftly away from Potters gaze. 'Draco ' Draco sighs and rolls away, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and sitting up with his back turned away from him. 'This is the best I can do right now, Potter. I can't be what you want. This... He glances back at Potter. 'Its all I can do right now. I can't stay in England. Not the way you want. You want to walk straight into Diagon Alley, holding my hand like the hero you always have to be. You want to tell everyone fuck you. But I can't do that.' Potter pushes himself across the bed and sits beside Draco. 'Why can't you?' 'It's impossible!' Draco says. 'Not to mention stupid. Everyone's going to know you lied under oath.' I don't care about that.' Draco glances at him, rolling his eyes. 'Yes, you do,' he sighs and reaches forward for his discarded trousers. 'Forget it, Potter, he says. 'It was a stupid idea anyway. Potter puts his hand on Draco's arm and Draco stills. 'I'm not going to run away and hide with you forever, Draco, Potter says. I have my friends. There's Teddy to think about.' Draco nods and stands, shoving his feet into his trousers and looking around the room for his shirt. 'Right, yes. Of course, he says. It was a foolish suggestion. I never should have'

'Draco, stop,' Potter says. He touches Dracos hip. Stop. Draco sighs deeply and straightens up. Potter hooks his fingers into Dracos belt loops and pulls him forward. 'I want to come with you. I just... I need you to understand. I'm not running away.' Draco looks down at him, nervously turning his shirt over his hands. 'Okay,' he says quietly. 'Maybe we have to wait for all of this to cool down, but we're coming back, Draco,' he says. 'Promise me that.' Draco nods. 'I promise.' Potter smiles at him and pulls him back onto the bed, wrestling him onto his back and straddling his thighs. Draco pushes himself up to his elbows and Potter cups his face in his palms. 'Then I'm yours,' he says. Dracos heart pounds in his chest, and Potter leans forward and kisses him. Draco lets Potter push him flat against the bed and he grips Potters waist tightly, swallowing the embarrassing lump in his throat. 'Harry,' he murmurs softly, catching Potters lower lip gently between his teeth. Potter laughs softly into his mouth. 'Yes, he breathes. Its Harry. Finally. Draco smiles and presses a kiss on Harrys shoulder. Yes. Finally.

Epilogue: Skopelos, Greece June, 2003

Warm, and pleasantly full after a full dinner, Draco wraps his leg across Harrys. Theyre tangled together in a white netted hammock, stabilised by magic, but still swaying slightly from their movement. The night breeze is cool, and Potter is snuggled close against him, his head on Dracos chest. Draco breathes in the scent of his hair, of sun tan lotion and the beach. He threading his fingertips between the thick strands and closes his eyes briefly. Potter lifts his head and kisses Dracos chin. We should head back to the hotel, he says. Its late. Draco hums absently, listening as the waves lap gently at the shore. The leaves of the tree theyve tethered the hammock to rustle softly in the wind. He pulls Harry up against him and leans into kiss him, slipping in his tongue and snogging Harry thoroughly and at a slow, leisurely pace. The muscles in his body are loose and languid. His mind is quiet and pleasantly sluggish. When he pulls away, Harrys expression is slightly dazed, and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. Mmph, he says. Dont start what you cant finish. Who says I cant? Youre exhausted, I can tell. Must be getting old. Draco pinches Harrys side and he yelps softly, bucking against him, and laughing against Dracos neck. Ill just make you do all the work, Draco says. You can ride me. Ha. Harry gently rolls off of him and pushes his feet into his shoes.

You know, he says. Theres this spot on the roof terrace at home thats perfect for a hammock like this. In the middle of the garden. We could spell it onto the beams. Itll be perfect for summer. He slips off the hammock, standing and looking down at Draco with a pointed look. Draco makes a non-committal sound and slips off the hammock as well, lifting his sandal to shake out the grains of sand. 'Draco, come on, we have to talk about this.' I know, Draco says, straightening up and pushing his feet into his sandals. I was just having a pleasant evening. I dont want to get into it right now. So was I, Draco. It made me think of doing this at home. Remember the house that Im supposed to be living in. Harry touches Dracos arm gently. Itll be good for you, too, you know. To go back. To have somewhere we can be grounded. Draco pulls his arm away. You mean where you're grounded, he says. I have nothing waiting for me back there. Or have you forgotten? Harry sighs You have your mother. I can see her anytime I want. The same way you can see your friends, and Teddy. Draco gestures vaguely. It just takes a trip to a Floo centre. You visit them all the time. Why isn't that enough? Its not what I want! I need my friends. I know thats hard for you to understand, but Harry sighs and looks away briefly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. A muscle in his jaw twitches and the breeze lifts his hair off his forehead, ruffling it further. Draco, I've done my half. I've given you time. But I told you this wouldn't work for me. You promised me you'd go back. Well, maybe you shouldn't have trusted me. Harry's expression hardens, and then he takes a deep breath. 'Don't be a prick, okay? he murmurs. Not now.' Draco sits on the edge of the hammock and Harry looks down and him, chewing his lip.

Draco, I don't want to go back without you, he says. But I will if I have to. Draco looks down at the sand beneath his feet and nods. I know. Just think about it. Please. I I really don't want this to end. 'Yeah,' Draco says softly. Harry hesitates. I'm tired, he says. Im going to head back to the hotel. Okay. He doesnt look up when Harry walks away. He sits for a few moments with his head in his hands and then he swings his legs back into the hammock and lies down on his back, staring up at the sky and laying his hand across his stomach. The moon is almost full and ridiculously bright, the wind brushes against his cheeks and he closes his eyes. What would it mean, to give this up? This freedom. The lack of responsibility, of schedules, and chores. The lack of expectation and instruction. Not ever having to do anything he doesnt want to do ever again. Not having to see anything he doesnt want to see. Can he give that up? Does he want to? Draco sighs deeply, and idly pokes one leg out of the hammock to set up a slight swing by pushing off the ground with the tips of his toes. The simple fact was that all these things would amount to nothing without Harry. Draco doesnt want to be without him. Not if he can help it. He makes everything better. He fills in all the missing parts. If Draco were to let him go now, hed be back to square one. But if he could just put off going back home a little longer. Draco sighs again. Its the mantra thats been going through his head the longer they stay away. Just another week. And another... and another. Harrys right. Hes given Draco enough time. The hammock suddenly stops swinging and Draco opens his eyes. Harry is there, looking down at him with his hands in his pockets.

He holds out his hand, and Draco takes it. He pulls Draco out of the hammock, and then holds him close. Come to bed, he says. Yeah. Draco kisses him softly just before Harry Apparates them both to the hotel room. ~ Harrys nightmare wakes him up with a start. Draco shifts closer to him and wraps his arm around Harrys middle, pressing his chest against Harrys back and kissing the back of his head the way he likes. Harry slowly relaxes, loosening his tight grip on his pillows and Draco kisses the shell of his ear, waiting until he fully settles again. When Harrys breathing slips back into the deep slow breaths of unfettered sleep, Draco glances at the clock on the wall. It's already after nine in the morning. He won't fall back to sleep now. He gently dislodges himself and slips out of the bed, hovering for a moment to make sure Harrys okay, and then he grabs the silk dressing gown from the arm of the sofa, the one Harry bought him in their brief stop in Breda a few weeks back. He smiles briefly and slips his arms in, tying the rope loosely around his waist. Draco glances back at Harry again, but hes still bundled up in the thick white cotton blanket, his eyes closed, breathing softly. Draco leaves the room, and steps out onto the balcony looking out to the Aegean Sea. A slightly warm breeze tugs at his hair, whipping it into his eyes, and he leans into it, briefly closing his eyes. His mothers owl swoops in, landing on the railing with a graceful little lurch and Draco smiles. 'Just in time, Breida,' he says, gently stroking her feathers. She nips him softly as he takes the letter from her. She swoops past him to perch on the back of the sofa, nicking a few owl treats from the table on the way.

Draco, I hope this finds you both well. God knows where you are now. Halfway across the world, Im sure. Harry assures me you will be back soon, but I still worry about you travelling quite so much. Though, I do admit to feeling a little better knowing he's with you. I'm quite well, you shouldnt worry so much. You were right about my sister. Though things are still tense, I can feel us getting closer. Or perhaps its my imagination Im not sure. Im certainly fond of that Grandson of hers. Do you know, he reminds me of you? Theres a quiet determination in him, part of his being a Black Im certain. Your father writes to say he is well. I'm not sure if you receive his owls. Hes being considered for probation next month, did you know? They'll be placing him in the Manor if its approved. I'm certain it's some sort of cruel joke. But you survived it, didn't you? I'm sure he will, too. As for your question, darling, you'll just know. I suspect you already do. With your father it was the same. I just knew. I woke up in the morning and I said to myself, I am in love with Lucius Malfoy. I still am. My advice: don't hide from it, embrace it. It's a wonderful thing, even though it doesnt always feel that way, and even if it doesnt work out. I am so, so proud of you, Draco. Im proud of the man youve become. Love, Mother. Draco folds the parchment into neat squares and looks back out to the sea. Harry's awake. He can tell by the way the energy in the room shifts. Is it strange to be that aware of another person? Hes more aware of Harry than himself sometimes. It scares him a little, but at the same time, it comforts him.

Harry slips his arms around Draco's waist and Draco leans back against him. 'Morning,' he says, his breath ghosting along the nape of Dracos neck. Draco closes his eyes and Potters lips brush against his nape. They stand in companionable silence for a few moments before Draco speaks. Youre right, he says. Its time to go back. Harry doesnt say anything for a moment, and he sighs and presses another kiss against Dracos neck. Thank you, he says. Youll be fine. Ill be with you.' Draco body tenses and his heart pounds a shuddering staccato in his chest, but he nods firmly. Potter trails his fingers along Dracos bare chest, slipping his hand beneath the thin fabric of his dressing gown, and sliding his fingers across Dracos naked skin. He loosens the tie holding the dressing gown closed, exposing Dracos cock. Draco shudders. 'Someone could see.' Potter wraps his hands around Draco's cock, stroking lightly. Draco leans his head back on Potter's shoulder. 'Let them see.' Draco smiles and then he gasps lightly as Potter strokes the swollen head of his cock, pushing the foreskin back then stroking him until Draco is fully hard and quivering against him. Draco turns around in his arms and kisses Potter deeply, threading his fingers in Potters hair and pushing him back inside the condo. If hes to forever give up this borrowed solitude, he might as well get in a good shag (or five) before he has to do it. ~ Of course, the last thing he expects is the entire Weasley clan, his aunt, Teddy - even his fucking mother, shouting surprise! and interrupting the perfectly good snog he had going with Harry as they stumbled through the door at Grimmauld Place. But the welcome isnt really for him.

Harry recovers first, grinning and dropping his bags and stepping forward to hug them all, leaving Draco on his own to defend himself against Percy Weasleys amused little comments, and Teddys curious stare. His mother pulls him aside, kissing him on the check and squeezing his hand lightly. Breathe, Draco, she whispers in his ear. Draco smiles and pulls her in for a hug. How are you? he whispers in her ear. She pulls away and studies him at arms length before smiling at him, her eyes bright. Im happy youre back, she says. You look so well, darling. After a short while of hovering in the corner, and with a gentle push from his mother, he steps forward to greet everyone with extreme apprehension. Molly Weasley greets him first, her expression polite but wary. He knows Harrys told them that theyre a thing, but whether he told them about the whole scandal - that he lied under oath, that he really was fucking Draco the whole time - is anyones guess. Granger shakes his hand, and after he plucks up the courage to actually thank her for all shes done for him, her gaze softens just a bit. He avoids Ginny Weasley at all costs. It isnt long before hes cornered by Harrys other half, or the Head Weasel as Draco likes to call him. After the whole debacle, Weasleys now the favourite for Head Auror, and Harrys thinking about leaving the department. Weasley gives him a shrewd look and pulls him away from the general hubbub and conversation. Draco lifts his chin a little defiantly, but then he feels a little silly, so he settles for folding his arms across his chest instead. Weasley raises his eyebrow. I suppose were going to have to learn to tolerate each other now, he says. Draco shrugs, and Weasley rolls his eyes. You know, it might help if you werent such a smug little prick all the time, he says. Draco bristles, and hes on the verge of a cutting retort, but then he catches a glimpse of Harry and his mother. Their heads are bent over something he suspects, but dearly hopes is

not, one of his baby pictures. From the delighted look on Harrys face, and the way he looks up at Draco with obvious intents of blackmail in his eyes, hes sure it is. Weasley waves his hand in front of him, and Draco pulls his gaze away. You know, Weasley says, his mouth twitching. I always thought it was you who had Harry by the balls, but I humbly stand corrected. Draco glares at him. He does not have me by anything, Weasley. Good to know, Weasley says, clapping him on the back. I hate to admit this, but Harry does seem a lot better with you around. He briefly looks over to his friend, biting his lower lip and furrowing his brow. After, you know everything, I was worried about him. He ended things with Gin and then he starting doing all that stupid shit. Then you happened. I thought hed gone off the deep end. Weasley shrugs and turns back to Draco, studying him carefully. But I was wrong, I suppose, he says thoughtfully. Eh. Wouldnt be the first time. Im sure somewhere in that drivel was an actual compliment, or something, Draco murmurs. Weasley grins. Im obligated to tell you though, if you hurt him, I will kill you and make it look like an accident. Draco looks up and meets Weasleys gaze, not at all surprised by the absolute sincerity he sees there. He nods. I know you will. Weasley slaps his back again. Good then.

The rooftop garden at Grimmauld Place has Harrys hand all over it. Theres no organisation or purpose. It hums with heavy-handed weather and maintenance charms that Dracos itching to fine-tune. The kitchen garden is beside the rose bush. The azaleas need to be pruned, the bougainvillea dont at all fit within the overall theme but thats Harry. Draco touches the edges of the delicate flowers with his fingertips and sighs. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a little garden gnome scurrying quickly out of sight. The door leading back into house opens, and Harry steps through, looking a little bit shell shocked. Draco pushes up the sleeve of his shirt, and tucks his hair behind his ear, wishing rather irritably for something to tie it back with. Its not quite back to its former length, but its long enough to piss him off in the summer heat, making him seriously contemplate the scissors again. Harry stops just front of him with a slow smile and squeezes his arm softly. I should have warned you something like this could happen, he says. I'm fine. I just needed some air. Stop worrying. Dracos hair escapes again and he threads his finger through it, pushing it back with more force than necessary. Harrys smile broadens hesitantly. Maybe we should shave it again, he says, reaching out and gently pushing a stray strand off Dracos forehead. Fuck off. I looked terrible. Harry pulls his leather band from his pocket and gently turns him around, gathering Dracos hair and tying it at his nape in a miniature ponytail. When hes finished, he kisses the shell of Dracos ear. You looked sexy, he says softly.

Draco closes his eyes and sighs. The hairs at the back of his neck stand on end and he shivers just a little. Harry turns him around in his arms, hooking his fingers through Dracos belt loops. Are you all right? Thats a stupid question, Harry. It comes out more harshly than he intends, and the look on Harrys face makes him ache just a bit. He touches Harrys wrist. I'm just on edge, he murmurs. I need a few minutes, okay? Please. Ill be fine, I promise. Harry bites his lower lip briefly, and then he nods. Ok. But if you're not back in ten minutes, Ill be back. Deal. Harry begins to walk away, but Draco pulls him close and kisses him deeply, clutching his hip with the tips of his fingers. When he breaks the kiss, Harrys looking at him carefully with his eyebrows raised in a silent question. Draco briefly touches his cheek. Im just Draco scrambles around in his head for the words. Im sorry Im such a prick all the time. You know? Harry laughs lightly and nudges Draco with his shoulder. Maybe not all the time. Draco grips his forearms and pulls Harry close, bringing their foreheads together. I mean it, he says. I have no idea why put up with me. Harry pulls away slightly, seeking Dracos gaze. You know why. Draco stares back at him, caught in those green eyes, in the flecks of hazel and grey. Yeah, I know, he says softly. Harry smiles and kisses him again briefly. Good. He squeezes Dracos hand and walks away, back into the house. Draco watches him go, struck still by a sudden surge of need for him the desire to follow him anywhere he goes. He turns his face towards the sun and closes his eyes, trying to settle the rapid pace of his heartbeat. In the distance, he can hear the screams and laughs of children and the splashes

of water as they play in the yard below. The sharp bark of a dog. The scent of gardenias lifts towards him in a breeze that pushes the stray hairs off his face. His trousers billow in the wind, and theres a slight smell of barbecue in the air. So much life around him. For the first time in a long time, he feels like a part of it not separate. Not anymore. -end