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“No, no, no – I don’t want to!” Harry crossed his arms and scowled, looking every inch the temperamental toddler that he had never been allowed to be.

“But ‘arry, Monsieur M. is ze best! ‘e will make you look like a new man!” Fleur declared.

“I’m fine the way I am, thanks,” Harry muttered darkly.

“Of course you are, Harry,” Hermione said in a soothing tone. “But you want to look your best, don’t you? This fundraiser is essential for the Sanctuary. You want to show the world that you’re a professional and that you care enough about the work to make an effort.”

Harry sighed, as usual bowing to Hermione’s infallible logic, not to mention that one generally didn't win an argument with a Weasley woman, let alone two. “Fine, fine, I’ll go to this ruddy salon. ‘Spose it wouldn't hurt to do something with this mop. But he’d better not be some airy-fairy twink wanting to hit on the ‘Chosen One’,” Harry groused.

Hermione chuckled, sharing an eye-roll with Fleur. “That’s rich coming from you, Harry.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a manly twink!” Harry grinned.

It was true. Years of working at a Magical Creatures Sanctuary, tending to the forest and its inhabitants, had given Harry a golden tan that went well with his chiselled features, and a very toned, though still stocky, physique. His work agreed with him.

After the Final Battle, Harry had gone into the Auror training programme and dated Ginny Weasley as everyone expected him to. He spoke at funerals and memorial services and appeared on the front pages of every newspaper almost every day for months. Everything from his shoes to his favourite pudding was endlessly scrutinised and analysed. The public adored him, the Weasleys stood by him, and Kingsley adopted him as protégé. Everything was perfect…except that nothing was RIGHT. Ron and Hermione supported him, but Ron was committed to helping George and the rest of his family heal from Fred’s death, and Hermione was frantically concentrating on finding her parents and restoring their memories. In short, Harry was surrounded by people who loved him but couldn't see how desperate and unstable he was becoming. His fame made it impossible to continue his Auror training or maintain his relationship with Ginny. Finding a refuge from the mythological Harry-Potter-the-Chosen-One where he could be just Harry had been his salvation.

“Not all hairdressers are gay, Harry!” Hermione chastised.

“Well, is he?” Harry challenged.

“Yes, or so I’ve heard,” Hermione sighed. “But he has class.”

"Do you really think this bloke can help my hair? Many have tried, many have cried," Harry reminded her. He had been urged by the Ministry’s image consultant to see not just one, but several stylists and all had failed spectacularly. (Yes, one stylist truly had been reduced to tears.) After his coming out he'd tried again, only to be propositioned by sycophants or run out of salons by insulted artistes whose work only made him look worse.

"We need to get you there before the fundraiser - in fact, I'd say let's do it before the photo shoot next week. I'll make us reservations at the inn in Paris," Hermione said, getting the 'I'm making plans and I'll Hogwarts Express anyone who gets in my way' look on her face.

"Magnifique! I'll owl Monsieur M!" Fleur cried, clapping her hands in glee.

"Wait, wait - PARIS? Do you really think we have time to go to Paris? There's so much to do to prepare for the fundraiser," Harry countered reasonably. In truth, he'd always had a secret dream of going to Paris since he'd heard Aunt Petunia hint to Uncle Vernon how much she wanted to go. Uncle Vernon, of course, had scoffed about "bloody frogs and their nancy food", and Harry had thought anywhere Uncle Vernon despised would be someplace he should see. Cleaning one day when the Dursleys were out taking Dudley to a friend's party, Harry had come upon a book about Paris including enchanting pictures of lovely streets, palaces and cathedrals. He'd dreamed of going there, rich and stylish - everything Vernon Dursley was not. At the moment he looked like a mountain man, only lacking a bow and arrow. (Which he actually had in his cabin for those magical creatures that needed to be sedated but were too sensitive to magic to stun with a wand.) Screw it, he thought to himself, I want to go to Paris and I'm going to Paris.

"You've run through every stylist in Britain," Hermione reminded him. "It might help if you sit still and don't fidget and act like you're being held under the Cruciatus curse while the stylist is trying to work. Monsieur M. is very good with all kinds of people and all kinds of hair. We should get you some new robes too; I doubt your dress robes will fit. I think it'll work. I've got the notebook of everything that needs to be done for the fundraiser and I think we can get away for a couple of days," Hermione assured him. "You should start a packing list - no wait, I'll get you some guidebooks first..."

"Let's do this! I'm sure Rolf and Luna won't mind holding down the fort. Fleur, will you be my translator?" Harry turned to the blonde.

"Mais bien sur! Oh, I can't wait to go to Paris!" Fleur dashed out to get her owl.

"I speak a bit of French also, Harry," Hermione said shyly, the hesitancy in her voice leading Harry to believe that she could speak much more than a bit.

"Thanks, Hermione - for everything. Let's just hope this works."

***

A few days later the three were landing at the Portkey office in Paris. The office was in a small room in the Ministere de Magique. A pretty young woman greeted them in French, which Fleur politely answered. Hermione consulted their guidebook as they exited onto the street. “The inn is just a few blocks away; let’s go there first and unpack before we look around.”

They quickly found the quaint little two-story red brick house that had been turned into an inn, which Hermione had reserved. The hostess greeted them warmly, and showed them to their rooms. The ladies had two twin cherry-wood beds with white lace coverlets and a matching dresser. A small table sat between the beds. A merry fire was already lit in the fireplace, chasing the spring chill. Harry’s room was in the attic, a similar setup with a smaller room and a single twin bed. He decided to unshrink his small suitcase and get out his shopping bag which Hermione had magically extended for him.

There were a few things in Muggle-Paris that Harry had remembered from his Aunt’s guidebooks, so they strolled about around the Muggle side of Paris, finding quiet spots to Apparate. Not normally a history buff, Harry still enjoyed the stories of Montmartre, Notre Dame, and the Arc de Triomphe. “There’s one place I have to show you,” Hermione said.

The trio approached 51 rue de Montmorency. It was a small, charming two-story brick building with a large wooden door and lattices across the two large front windows. Plants grew cheerfully in a box in the second-story window. “Here it is, Harry – Auberge Nicolas Flamel!” Hermione said with a flourish. “The oldest stone house in Paris, built by Nicolas Flamel himself.”

“How do Muggles know about Nicolas Flamel?” Harry asked.

“Oh, they all think alchemy’s bunk, of course,” Hermione replied. “He and Perenelle moved several times over the course of the centuries, but this was his original home. It’s a popular restaurant now.”

They entered the restaurant. There were tables in the centre of the room, mostly set for four, as well as some booths along the wall. An animal head, works of art, and mirrors were placed along various spots on the wall. The stark white tablecloths contrasted with the warm colours of the wood and the floor. The maitre’d spoke to Fleur and he peered in his guestbook. She spoke to the man a moment longer, and then nodded her thanks.

The three exited back to the street. “Zey have openings for tomorrow night on ze wizarding side if we wish to dine here,” Fleur told them.

“Wizarding side?” Harry queried.

“Yes, the maitre’d is a Squib – when wizarding folk come in he sends them to the other side. Muggles can’t even see it. The story of your use of the Philosopher’s Stone has made it quite popular amongst wizards.”

They Apparated back to the Wizarding district. “There certainly seem to be a number of restaurants and other dining places on this list,” Hermione commented as she consulted the guidebook again.

“Mais bien sur! Ze French are ze best chefs in ze world.” Fleur nodded.

The three friends enjoyed a beautiful spring day by exploring the main street of magical Paris. Fleur introduced them to the craftsman who had created her wand, and Harry had no doubt that this was the wizard who had handled the “temperamental” Veela hair in Fleur’s wand core. Hermione devoured the rare book store, a wondrously rickety two-story wooden building with a thin wooden spiral staircase that only appeared when the proprietor gave permission – which he happily did for Hermione. (She stuffed her bag, with mutterings of “need to build more shelves”: Harry gave Ron a pitying thought, knowing that he would be the one to build said shelves.) Harry purchased a new set of Keeper’s gloves for Ron at the Quidditch store and a small pin for Andromeda at the jeweller’s. He purchased a new set of mixing bowls for himself and a book of French recipes for Molly at the cooking store. (The clerk had sniffed haughtily when Harry had brought forward the book in English.) Hermione happily gave all of the lessons in French Wizarding history that any of them could possibly need as they passed each building and edifice. Fleur chimed in further knowledge from her own lessons at Beauxbatons.

Harry saw a little girl with dusky curls emerge from a store chattering happily away at a doll with identical dusky curls that fluently chattered back. He looked in the window of the store and saw a perfect model of the Beauxabatons carriage, horses flapping their wings impatiently as if eager to be off. He suddenly had a memory of standing outside of a toy store, waiting while Vernon and Petunia bought Dudley whatever he wanted.

“Come on, Fleur,” Hermione’s voice cut through his reverie, “I think a certain Little-Boy-Who-Lived wants to go to the toy store.” Harry silently blessed his dear friend for understanding things for which he didn’t have words.

Harry couldn’t suppress his grin as he stepped in the store. Trains huffed and puffed around a huge track in the centre of the store, baby dolls cooed and cried, stuffed unicorns opened big blue eyes and pranced around. Harry saw a whole shelf of the same kind of model dragons that had been used in the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. He decided immediately that he would bring one back as a souvenir for Teddy. The six-year-old was completely obsessed with dragons and insisted on endlessly hearing Harry’s tales about Harry’s experiences with the beasts. A gorgeous Antipodean Opaleye caught his gaze, but he knew that nothing would do for Teddy but the Hungarian Horntail that his godfather had met in the Tournament. Heeding the instructions on the shelf, he ended the spell on the model and brought it to the counter. He spent a blissful time exploring the other toys: stuffed Kneazles that meowed and licked their fur, books for small children that moved and spoke almost like a Muggle film. He didn’t find anything that he particularly wanted for himself, so he returned to the counter to pay for the dragon.

“Did you not have enough experience with the ‘Orntail, ‘arry?” Fleur queried in amusement as she paid for the toys she’d purchased for Victoire and baby Dominique.

“Oh, it’s for Teddy. He’s absolutely mental about dragons,” Harry said.

Harry marvelled at the window of the next shop: clocks and watches of all kinds ticked and tocked, some even loudly enough to be heard on the street. A huge version of Molly Weasley’s family clock showed hundreds of options for people and places. There were celestial watches like Harry’s coming-of-age gift that he still wore, and clocks and watches that reminded one of important dates and appointments.

“All right, Harry – it’s almost time for your hair appointment,” Hermione reminded him. He swallowed, but followed her with Gryffindor determination.

They stood before a shop with a large picture window. The red brick wall right in front of the window was decorated with a huge elegant "M" magically flashing blue, green, red. A giant pair of silver shears was spelled to open and close. They could see the usual arrangement of a salon inside. Harry followed nervously behind the two Weasley women as they entered the salon. He had to grudgingly admit to himself that he was impressed. The marble floors, dusty-rose and cream, shone clean and bright. Huge marble sinks matched the cream colour of the floor. The spacious leather couches and chairs, as well at the working chairs near the sinks, were made of buttery-soft black leather. Orchestral music played gently, and the subtle scent of the roses on each small table and each work station blended with the stronger scent of antiseptic and cleaning spells. He began to relax and believe that he might be in good hands when he spotted a tall head of bright blond hair. Draco Malfoy headed toward Fleur. "Bonsoir, Madame Weasley. Comment allez-vous?" His eyes widened as he saw Harry, and something flashed in his eyes before they closed off and became inscrutable - something Harry could not quite define.

Harry grabbed Hermione and steered her aside. "MALFOY? You brought me here to see Malfoy? Why the hell didn't you tell me?" Hermione looked sheepish but determined. Fleur and Draco spoke in rapid-fire French. Harry had no need of French lessons to understand what they were saying: Draco was obviously just as agitated by his presence as Harry was. There didn't seem to be any anger in Draco's tone or gestures; more like discomfort. Harry was reminded less of the swotty prat who had made the lives of him and his friends hell, and more of the young man who had looked into his eyes at Malfoy Manor.

He had to admit that Malfoy had grown up very nicely. He still had his lithe, slender build but he obviously still flew occasionally as attested by wiry muscles. He had grown in to his pointy nose and chin, looking more aristocratic than ferrety in adulthood. His slender, graceful hands were well-groomed and manicured but Harry could imagine how easily and deftly they wielded a pair of shears. Draco's black robes were tailored and pristine, showing off his pleasing frame to advantage. (Harry wondered what kind of hair-repellent charm Malfoy used to keep the robes looking so perfect.)

“He really is the best, Harry. And he’s…different, now. When I went to that conference here last year, the owner of the inn recommended his salon. I was really hesitant, but…well, he did a brilliant job.” Harry vaguely remembered how Hermione had gushed about a new hairdresser, and indeed her style had accentuated her lovely dark eyes and button nose. “And in his own way, he…apologised to me. I think he really does want to be a better person, have a better life.” Her deep brown eyes bored into Harry’s. “Please give him a chance, will you?”

Harry turned back to Malfoy, who was still conversing with Fleur. Malfoy’s eyes met Harry’s with a wary gaze.

Harry realised that he would need to be the one to break the ice. He held out his hand and Draco shook it after a brief hesitation, gifting Harry with a smile that was a shy little twist around the corners of his mouth - something that caused a beautiful ache somewhere in a corner of Harry's soul. "Hello, Malfoy," Harry's voice was quiet. "We're doing a fundraiser for the Magical Creature Sanctuary that I manage and I need to look like something resembling human. I've gone to plenty of hoity-toity stylists and none of them could do anything for this mess of hair. Think you're up to the task?"

Draco's eyes sparkled in reaction to the challenge. "Oh, I know I am." He cocked his head and looked at Harry intently. "Figures your hair would be as stubborn and determined to do its own thing as you are," he quipped. "All right, have a seat and I'll see what needs to be done."

Harry sat down in the chair, stomach roiling with anxiety. Why in hell did I agree to this? I know Hermione wants me to give him a chance; I want to give him a chance…

Draco’s hands deftly turned Harry’s head this way and that, feeling around the shape of his face. “Yes, I definitely think I can do something with this.”

Harry’s body was instantly on high alert. Draco’s eyes pinned him as he touched the back of Harry’s neck. Harry suddenly felt lightning bolts of energy – one putting his heart into high gear, the other – the other was headed straight for his cock.

Harry's body was tensing up, terror jolting through him like a mild Cruciatus spell. He stiffened up as if he'd been immobilised even though his whole body was screaming at him to move, move, move. He jumped from the chair, uncaring whether he injured himself or Draco, and bolted for the door. He missed the clatter of the scissors dropping to the floor, and the sight of Draco's shattered face.

***

Harry gulped out huge lungfuls of air as he stood outside of the Salon, his whole body convulsing. He grabbed his wand with shaking hands and Apparated to the inn. He ran up the stairs to his room, ignoring the calls of the innkeeper. He took down the wards and flopped down on the bed, still taking heaving breaths and shaking from head to toe. He was still lying there, fighting tears and angrily wiping away the few that managed to escape, when he heard the door open. He inwardly cursed himself for not re-warding the door. He turned his face to the pillow, recognising the clack of Hermione's smart low heels. "Harry James Potter!" she roared like an angry lioness, "How could you? Draco's been trying so hard to make a life for himself..." She grabbed him with a surprisingly firm grip and turned him toward her. "Look at me..." she started to say, then stopped with a gasp as Harry sat up abruptly, crossing his arms in a defensive posture. Hers answered with open palms, a submissive and placating gesture.

"Oh, Harry," she sighed. "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to push you into something that would make you so uncomfortable. You've been doing so much better lately; I just thought it would be great to show the world how you're living your life on your own terms. I thought walking into that fundraiser looking like a million Galleons would go a long way toward proving to you and to everyone else that you've made it." She sighed. She held out her hand and Harry took it, an unspoken acceptance of her apology. "I thought you'd be all right with Draco; you spoke so eloquently in his defence at his trial and you've asked how he and Narcissa are doing several times..."

"I'm sorry I flaked, it really wasn't Malfoy per se," Harry said.

"I know you don't always like people touching you - it that the issue?" she asked.

"Most of it, yeah." Harry nodded.

“It was more than that, though, wasn’t it?” she said quietly. Harry flushed, thinking of the way his traitorous cock had interpreted Draco’s completely professional touches. Even with the stylists who were blatantly interested in him, Harry had never had this maddening mix of terror and plain lust.

“You were…turned on!”

“Hermione…no, I…”

“You so were! It’s okay, Draco’s a fine looking young man. You could certainly do worse.”

Harry groaned. “I don’t know. I’m not sure…”

Hermione sighed again. “It’s all right to think about a relationship – or just a one-night-stand with a hot guy. I know you’ve had some real losers and name-whores, but not everybody’s like that. Just think about it – and think about the haircut.” Hermione patted his hand and left.

Harry flopped down on the bed again as he heard the door close with a soft click and felt the mild tingle of Hermione's warding spell. He sighed as he remembered the poised, professional (and dare he say fit and good-looking) young man who had looked at him with such an intriguing mixture of pride, vulnerability and...hope. Harry sat up as he realised what that meant. Draco had HOPED that Harry would let him show off his skills, had hoped that Harry trusted him to do this small task for him. Harry suddenly recalled a moment from his childhood when he had gathered a few scraggly wildflowers for his Aunt Petunia in hopes that finally, at last she would hug him and tell him he was a good boy as she did for Dudley. Aunt Petunia had impatiently thrown them into the trash and gone back to helping Dudley prepare for school. Harry had rejected Draco just as thoroughly, just as cruelly.

Harry, being much more a man of action than deep thought, immediately called for his owl. He'd been a long time getting another owl, feeling a harsh pang of grief for his feathered friend who had so bravely sacrificed herself to save him, but he couldn't resist when he met this little owlet whose parents had been attacked in the forest. He'd almost missed her on a night hike, but had just managed to see her yellow-orange eyes and hear her hoot of distress. She had been close to flying on her own and had learned to do so with assistance from Harry. She was a long-eared owl, small and slender with feathers the colour of bark. Harry summoned parchment and a quill.

Malfoy-

I'm really sorry I flaked out on you. It wasn't you, I'm sure you do a great job. Would you accept dinner as an apology?

-Potter

***

Harry waited a fair amount of time for a reply, and then decided that Draco was either busy or too annoyed to want to reply. Harry decided that if Draco wasn’t able to reply, he’d have to go find him. With determination he Apparated to the Salon. He peered in the window and spotted Draco busily styling the hair of an older witch. Harry thought that forgiveness would be more easily bought than begged, and decided to find a gift. He remembered passing a patisserie down the street.

With a few twists and turns Harry found the patisserie. His mouth watered at the amazing creations in the cases. Crème horns, lemon tarts, iced croissants - delectables of all sorts delighted his senses. He remembered that Mrs. Malfoy had always sent Draco chocolates while he was at Hogwarts. A sample of chocolate éclairs drew his attention. The patissiere, a plump, immaculate-looking middle-aged witch approached with a smile, speaking sweetly in French. "Je ne parle pas Francais," Harry said, as Hermione had taught him.

"How many?" she said haltingly.

He held up two fingers then, deciding he was peckish himself, added a third.

"Bon, bon.” She wrapped up three of the pastries.

Harry looked at the price listed in the case, multiplied by three, and started to gather his money. "Monsieur M. is on the next street over?" He didn’t want to get lost getting back to the Salon!

Her eyes widened. "Monsier M.? Oui, oui. A right on ze next street. Are zeze for heem?"

Harry nodded.

She waved away his money. "Pour Monsieur M.? No charge. Bonsoir, monsieur." She gestured him out merrily.

"Merci beaucoup!" he called as he exited.

*** 

Draco was just locking the door of the salon. He’d had back-to-back appointments and was dead on his feet. A figure stepped out of the shadows. "I'm sorry, I was...What are you doing here, Potter?" Draco said, attempting coldness but merely succeeding in sounding weary.

Potter was munching on something, looking embarrassed. "I wanted to apologise. I...sent an owl..."

Potter had, and Draco had Incendioed it immediately after reading it. The first months after the war, Draco had been nigh invisible in Britain, scorned and ignored by everyone, even those who’d once courted his father’s favour. When Granger had contacted him about a full cut and shave for Potter, he’d really hoped that Potter would not be one of them. Remembering that Potter had been the one person to speak for him at his trial, he’d hoped…but he should have known better. "What, you're so used to all of your adoring fans that you can't take a hint when someone doesn't want to talk to you? Saint Potter has a hissy fit and expects me to pat his head and tell him what a wonderful hero he is? Never have, never will. I had hoped you would go away. Now please leave."

“Look, I’m trying to do the right thing here!” Potter groused. He licked chocolate from his fingers. Draco didn’t want to think of the small fission of energy that went through him at the sight of Potter putting his fingers in his mouth – his too-lush, too-pink, too-tempting mouth.

“Aren’t you always?” Draco sneered.

"Fine, forget it. I should have known better. I brought these for you. I remembered you have a sweet tooth; or at least you used to." Potter handed him a bag and turned to leave. "I really am sorry. I'm glad you have a life here, and I hope it's a good one." He looked back for a moment. “For the record, it wasn’t you. I had… a panic attack. I get them sometimes. One of the reasons I live out in the woods.”

“What, the Great Hero is afraid? I thought you were the poster boy for walking boldly where angels fear to tread.” Draco tried to sneer, but he simply wasn’t the arrogant brat he had once been.

“Yeah, well, maybe you thought wrong,” Harry tossed back.

Draco sighed. He of all people could relate to panic attacks. He’d lost count of the number of nights when he’d awakened screaming in a cold sweat. "So am I really finally good enough for the Golden Boy or are you here to placate the Missus Weasley?"

"I spoke up at your trial because I thought you deserved a chance to have a future, to be something better. I really am glad you took that second chance. I might...actually like to get to know this Draco Malfoy. At least get that haircut."

Draco hesitated. The green eyes that gazed at him were completely open and without guile. Damn, how could he hold on to his pride when Potter was looking at him like a hopeful Crup? Draco squared his shoulders. "Fine, but you owe me dinner. I think L'Isle Magique should do it." Why not go all out on Potter’s Galleon?

Potter snorted, grinning. "Of course you'd pick the swankiest place in Paris – at least that’s what the guidebook said."

"Naturally." Draco smirked. "And I think we might want to work on your wardrobe before we get you back in the chair - that would probably be more comfortable for you."

"I know I need to go, but I hate shopping,” Potter sighed. "I always feel like a spectacle, people are always following me around. I know you think I like it, but it really makes me uncomfortable. Not to mention I have abysmal taste in clothes."

"Well, you shouldn't have to worry as much about your mob here in Paris. And yes, you do have abysmal taste in clothes," Draco looked pointedly at Harry's t-shirt and faded jeans, "But I, however, do not. Stick with me, Potter, and you may actually enjoy it."

"I'll give it a try - and I'll do my best not to flake out again. So...dinner?"

"I'll make reservations for tomorrow night after you get a decent wardrobe and haircut," Draco decided. "In the meantime..." he looked in the bag. "Oh, Merlin - orgasm in a bag! You must have gone to Madame Metier." He took out a pastry and began to savour it.

"The one just down the street." Potter nodded, wiping crumbs from his face.

“I have a couple of appointments that I can’t reschedule tomorrow, but I can definitely assist with your wardrobe and do your hair,” Draco said. “Let’s meet in the morning at the Salon and we’ll take it from there.”

“Sounds good.”

“Goodnight then – Harry.” Draco tried the name on for size. It tasted like honey in his mouth.

“Goodnight, Draco,” Harry said. The sound of his own name on Harry’s lips was even sweeter. He smiled as Harry Apparated away.

***

Harry Apparated back to the inn and knocked on the door to Fleur and Hermione’s room. Hermione was studying her guidebooks while Fleur was tweezing her eyebrows with her wand.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I hope you don't hate me - Draco wants to go with me and help me pick out a new wardrobe," Harry told her.

"DRACO does?" Hermione's eyebrow lifted. "When did you talk to Draco?"

Harry flushed. "Just now, after the shop closed. I felt really awful that I'd flaked out on him. Turns out éclairs and an invitation to dinner go a long way in getting him to accept an apology."

"Really? You're going out on a date with Draco Malfoy?" Hermione squealed.

"Well, it's not really a date..." Harry protested, not sure if he was telling the truth.

"You're spending the day shopping and going to dinner...That constitutes a date in my book," Hermione declared. She gave him a serious look. "Harry, if you don't know what you want from him, be careful. Don't lead him on. I think he's a lot more vulnerable than he wants people to think he is."

"Come on, there's no way Draco Malfoy is interested in me. I'm definitely not his type," Harry scoffed.

"I wouldn't be so sure," she said.

Fleur's eyes twinkled. "Monsieur M. is definitely a beautiful man – a date with heem would be a pleasure, would it not? Come, 'ermione. I zink zat you and I can find plenty to do on our own, non?"

"Oh, I'm sure we can. You go enjoy yourself, Harry.”

“Great, I’m surrounded by fag hags!” Harry muttered under his breath.

“I heard that!” Hermione chuckled.

“Did ‘e just call us ‘ags?” Fleur sniffed.

“Erm, well…” Hermione’s voice trailed off as they left the room.

Harry smiled and shook his head. He wished that Draco Malfoy wasn’t quite so beautiful – and that such a man really would want a date with him.

***

Draco was already at the Salon when Harry arrived. Harry waved once the blinds had flown open, and Draco waved back, beckoning him inside. “I’ve a few things to do here before Celeste arrives, then we can go. I suggest we get your robes taken care of first.”

“All right,” Harry reluctantly agreed. He set his shopping bag, empty and ready for another day’s purchases, down next to him. He sat and perused the magazines, most of which were about fashion and had very little interest for him. A pretty blonde woman arrived, perfectly dressed and coiffed. Draco chatted with her for a moment, indicated Harry, and gestured more. The woman replied, and Draco turned to Harry. “All right, let’s go get you some proper robes.”

The two men entered the store of Draco’s choice, which was wall-to-wall fabric. A tall, grey-haired witch emerged from between the stacks and began to talk to Draco.

"Couldn't I just buy a robe?" Harry sighed.

"Of course not! We must find you something that is made for you, moulded to you. We must show off that fine physique you've been working on out there in the wilderness," Draco said.

Harry blushed at the unexpected compliment.

“You’ll need one serviceable robe for a photo shoot and one formal robe for the fundraiser,” Draco decided. Draco combed the racks, fingering fabrics and studying colours. Harry covertly feasted his eyes on Draco’s face as the blond shopped intently. Harry’s eyes moved without his permission to Draco’s arse as he bent over the stacks of fabric. “Here it is!” Draco cried in triumph, making Harry jump, blushing at the possibility of being caught out staring. Draco handed two bolts of fabric to the witch.

The first material was the smoothest silk, midnight black. The seamstress held an emerald green up against it. Harry couldn't tell what the witch and Draco were saying, but it seemed positive. "This is perfect." Draco smiled, and Harry's heart stopped.

"I'll take it," Harry said decisively.

Draco spoke to the witch, who immediately grabbed the usual tools of her trade and gestured Harry to a stool. Harry sighed and did as he was bid, having done so many times over the course of the years since his first fitting at Madam Malkin's. The witch jotted down measurements as the tape measure did its work. Draco indicated another stack of navy blue cotton. The witch spoke to Draco, who turned to Harry to translate. "She said she'll have them done in a couple of hours. Why don't we go get something to drink while we wait?"

"Sounds good," Harry agreed.

The two men strolled down the lane, chestnut blossoms landing in their hair. Draco pointed to a café on the corner. “Why don’t we stop here and have a bit of coffee and quiche?” he suggested.

“Don’t think I’ve ever had quiche – what’s in it?” Harry asked doubtfully.

“It’s a pie crust with an egg and cheese mixture – you can put any kind of meat or vegetable in it,” Draco explained as they entered the café. “This is one of the more popular ones, Quiche Lorraine,” he said, pointing at a piece in the display case. “It has Emmental cheese, bacon and onions.”

“Sounds good,” Harry agreed.

“Coffee?” Draco asked.

“I usually prefer tea,” Harry said.

Draco placed their order, and they took seats outdoors. “So what made you decide to start managing a magical creatures sanctuary?” Draco queried, with a hairdresser’s practiced ease of conversation.

Harry sighed and settled back, having answered this question many times. Draco gazed at him with simple curiosity, and Harry didn’t feel the usual irritation about being asked a question that should be no one’s business but his own. Draco’s question felt like that of someone who wants to get to know…a possible friend. “Well, things in London were a total and complete zoo. Everyone wanted to talk to me, thank me, touch me – over something that was accomplished mostly with a lot of help and sheer dumb luck. Ginny and I were the IT couple, but we just couldn’t make it work. We’d both changed too much. I was starting to realise that I might not have the normal…physical feelings toward women. If I was feeling lukewarm about a pretty girl like Ginny, maybe I was right in thinking that I didn’t like girls at all. On top of that, she’d been one of the leaders of the resistance at Hogwarts, a strong and capable witch on her own who didn’t want to be an ornament on the arm of the Great Hero,” he said the last part mockingly. “When we broke up the reporters and muckrakers only got worse. I couldn’t even do my field training because someone was always popping a camera in my face. A bit hard to sneak around looking for Dark Wizards with someone following me down the street screaming for a quote! Ron suggested that I take some time off and visit his brother Charlie at the Dragon Reserve in Romania. Things were just so insane that I jumped at the chance.”

“I thought working with dragons would be a really great challenge and I could live with people who didn't have all of these expectations for me. It was just as fun as I'd hoped. The dragon reserve was gorgeous, the dragons were awesome, and the folks there treated me like any other trainee. The panic attacks and nightmares got better. Yeah, dragons are powerful and dangerous creatures that'll fry you to a crisp if you look away for a moment, but I felt like I could handle them as long as I was careful and respectful. I even felt safe enough without a target on my back to start dealing with the fact that I liked blokes." Harry took a long draught of his tea to hide his face. Discussing his sexuality was never something he was comfortable with, but he felt that Draco would understand. "One of the other young blokes was very fit and good looking and, well...we had fun." Harry smiled a bit wistfully. Janos, a fun-loving young man from Greece, had been so very beautiful with his curly black hair, perfect olive skin, merry dark eyes, and the body of one of the statues from his homeland. He had shown the naive Harry the joys of the male body with no expectations and no strings. Their relationship had ended amicably when it became clear that Harry wanted more than the casual fling that Janos was looking for. "The reserve manager said I had a way with magical creatures, so I did some formal study there too. I stayed there for a while but I really missed the Weasleys and I wanted to spend more time with Teddy. I didn't want to miss him growing up. When the position at the preserve here in Britain opened up I was thrilled to come back. Luna and Rolf have been great about teaching and helping me too. I really enjoy working with creatures - they don't have all of the complications and deceptions that humans have. They're pretty much true to their nature. Understand and respect that nature and you'll usually be okay. Of course sometimes understanding their nature means letting them be and staying the hell away from them."

“Wish Hagrid had known that,” Draco muttered.

Harry started to bristle with indignation, then, conceding that Draco had a point, chuckled. “Yeah, well, true enough. So how about you – how on earth did you end up as a hairdresser? Doesn’t sound like something that was your lifelong dream.”

“Well, things were pretty heinous for us after the war too. Everyone on both sides hated us, either because we’d supported the…Death Eaters or because Mother saved you. We could barely walk down Diagon without being jeered or threatened. Mother didn’t want to leave Britain because she wanted to be able to visit Azkaban, but when Father was killed…well, she didn’t have the heart to stay in England. We moved to the chateau, and I decided I needed something…something of my own. I went to get my hair done one day and I kept making so many suggestions, both for myself and for the other patrons that the stylist told me I should learn to do hair. I thought about it and asked if he was serious about the offer. He was, and I started to study with him. I really loved the look on a person’s face when they realise how great they look, how much more confident they feel – and that I gave them that feeling. Doesn’t hurt that I’ve been able to make good money at it too. I worked at his salon for a while, got my own clientele, and then opened my own place. The rest is history.” Draco’s watch played a blast of music, and the words “Appointment in 10 minutes” flashed on the face of the watch. “Speaking of my career, must dash. I hope you can entertain yourself without me.”

“Oh, I think Paris has plenty to offer in addition to the amazing Monsieur M.!” Harry teased.

 ***

The two men returned to the robe shop when Draco had finished with his client. The seamstress triumphantly handed them both robes, perfectly tailored and pressed. Harry marvelled at the amazing things that magic could do.

Harry tried on the first robe. It was a simple design, much like his Hogwarts robe. It fit him well and he was definitely pleased. He took the other, holding it a bit more carefully.

The robe had a shallow v-neck, the edges of which were the green fabric. The cuffs matched, ending just at his wrists. The green fabric ran down the centre of the robe, wherein there were tiny black buttons. The black silk folds slid over Harry’s body perfectly, seeming to wave gently with each motion. A smart white shirt was tied with a matching green tie.

Harry's chest monster purred loudly at the look Draco gave him. Perhaps Hermione had been right. Harry knew the flare of interest from a man when he saw it, and Draco was definitely flaring. Harry had never thought of himself as particularly good-looking; he'd had men who were thrilled to date him when he first came out, but he'd never been sure whether they wanted Harry or the Chosen One - he generally sussed out that it was the latter. Here was a handsome, elegant, fit young man who didn't care a fig about the Chosen One and obviously found Harry attractive.

"It's...wow," Draco breathed. "Now let me work my magic on your hair and I'll wager you might just do."

"You're...not so bad yourself," Harry stammered. He'd never been good at flirting, but he felt like Draco's compliments definitely deserved a response. Draco’s sweet smile was the most radiant thing he had ever seen. He wondered if his life would be any different had he seen that smile when they were boys.

***

Harry stood in front of the salon, determined to give Draco a chance to show off his expertise. He opened the door and entered. “Come on in, Harry,” Draco gestured him to a chair. “I’m going to give you a shampoo, cut and shave. If at any time you start to feel uncomfortable, let me know and I can stop. All right?”

Harry nodded. He sat down in the chair, his hands tensing.

"Relax, Potter," Draco's voice soothed. "Do you often get nervous when getting a cut?"

Harry nodded. "I...have problems with people touching me unless I know them really well - sometimes not even then."

Draco nodded. "Have you ever had an instance where your hair grew back on its own or the style disappeared immediately?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Several times. The first time was when my aunt tried to cut it. I felt like she hated me and wanted me to change and I didn't want it cut. Several times the stylists have been jerks and I didn't like their attitudes."

"Just what I thought. Remember what I said about your hair being stubborn? You're one of the most independent and strong-willed wizards I've ever met. If you don't really want your hair cut, your magic will simply reject it."

"You mean all this time I've sort of been doing it to myself?" Harry said.

"Probably. I'd imagine if someone you trust cuts your hair it stays cut."

Harry remembered the times when Mrs. Weasley or Hermione had cut his hair. "Yeah, pretty much."

Draco looked him in the eyes, searching and demanding. "Harry, do you trust me?"

Images flooded Harry's mind, flashes of those eyes: Cold and arrogant, "I can help you there"...Angry, "I hope it's Granger"...Smirking, "Potter Stinks!"...Trapped and hunted, "Crucio!"...Terrified and helpless, "I have to do it, he'll kill my family!"...Lost and alone, "I don't know, it might be him"... Harry squared his shoulders. "Yes, I do. I want you to do this for me."

Draco nodded, and summoned an apron. It neatly tied around Harry’s neck. Draco took Harry’s head gently in his hands, turning it this way and that. The softness of Draco’s touch made Harry long for….something, someone to touch him like that before he fell asleep at night and wake him that way in the morning…

He almost jumped out of the seat again as Draco lowered it to the sink. Draco filled has hands with a spicy-smelling shampoo, and then began a slow rub around Harry’s head. Harry leaned back into the sink, nearly groaning with pleasure as the talented hands massaged his sensitive scalp. It was like taking Felix Felicis and a Calming Draught all in one. He felt like he was fifteen again as his cock became very interested in the proceedings. This time the thought of Draco Malfoy with his hands all over him was sending slow tendrils of pleasure throughout his body. Draco rinsed his hair, taking care to get the last vestiges of shampoo out. The chair lifted again, and Draco was staring at him with wide grey eyes that were trying to remain professional and objective, but Harry could tell that Draco was just as affected as he was. The spelled shears began to make slow cuts into his hair. The length on the back was snipped away; the front was lifted up and rearranged. Draco ended the spell and the shears flew back to the counter. He grabbed a bowl of warm water and a brush with cream on it.

“I’m going to shave the back for you,” Draco told him as he moved behind Harry. “I like to do the more…detailed work with my hands – I think it helps me to perfect the look if I don’t rely on a wand.” Harry shivered as Draco brushed the cream onto his neck, and then set it back on the counter. Draco grabbed a small straight razor. (Harry mused at what his teenaged self would have thought had he known that he would someday be reclined in a chair with Draco Malfoy aiming a razor at his neck.) Draco resumed his position behind Harry and slowly scraped Harry’s neck. Their eyes met and held in the mirror, and Harry couldn’t stop the intake of breath. “I…usually talk more to clients,” Draco murmured as he shaved around the back of Harry’s neck.

“It’s okay,” Harry whispered. He couldn’t imagine that either of them could have actually strung together a coherent conversation with the tension, the heat, the magic flowing in the air between them. Draco took a warm, wet towel and wiped the back of Harry’s neck. He came around to Harry’s face and lathered it with cream, taking the straight razor in his hand. Grey eyes met green as Draco applied the razor to Harry’s beard. Harry knew there were others in the Salon, but suddenly the scritch, scritch of Draco’s razor to his face was overwhelming every other sound. Draco’s fingers sliding around his face was somehow as intimate, as arousing as some of the acts of sexual foreplay that Harry had experienced. Draco grabbed the warm towel again, wiping the cream and hair from Harry’s chin and face. The slender, clever fingers caressed Harry’s lips, and he couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped them. Draco’s eyes were wild. “I’ll...I’ll finish your bangs,” he stuttered as he turned away to pick up the shears. He fussed at Harry’s front and bangs with the shears, making minute corrections and driving Harry completely spare. Draco applied a small amount of product and stepped away from the mirror.

“What do you think?” Draco demanded eagerly as a small mirror flew to Harry’s hand. Harry gazed at his reflection, smiling as he realised that it was not the boring professional look that Hermione had probably envisioned. The sides and neck were short but the bangs were tousled artfully, rather than the flyaway disaster his hair looked like naturally. Though Harry didn’t normally care for or use much product, he felt like this was a style that he could keep up on a daily basis. “Brilliant!” he smiled.

“I know!” Draco crowed. “It’s a more ‘hip’ style, and it really sets off your eyes.” Harry was warmed from the inside out at the proud smile on Draco’s face. “I know you probably don’t want a manicure, but I’d like to at least buff your nails.”

Draco took Harry’s hand in his, and clipped the nails neatly. Harry began to feel the room spinning as Draco’s fingers slowly slid around his, caressing and tickling his fingertips as the emery board did its work. Draco’s touch felt so unbearably…sweet, so full of care and attention, that Harry suddenly felt the kind of soul-draining loneliness he hadn’t in a long time. At the same time his prick was definitely screaming at him to follow where it wished these touches were heading. The two men sighed in unison as Draco lowered Harry’s hand.

“You did it!” Harry grinned at Draco. “I look human enough for the photo shoot. You really are amazing at this.”

“Of course.” Draco smirked.

One of the other stylists, on seeing that Draco was finished with Harry, called Draco over.

“Do you want to meet at L’Isle Magique?” Harry said.

“Yes, reservations are at eight o’clock,” Draco said as he headed toward the other stylist.

“All right, see you then,” Harry called out as he exited the shop.

Harry whistled his way down the street, enjoying the lovely sunset. He thought of the gifts that he had purchased, and smiled. He so loved to do things for the people he cared about – and seeing the glee on Teddy’s face when he opened a present was one of Harry’s favourite things.

He suddenly decided that he wanted to do something special for Draco too – and he knew exactly what it was. He walked quickly back to the toy store and found the shelf on which he’d spotted the model of the Antipodean Opaleye Dragon. It reminded him so much of Draco - pale, eye-catching, unusual and breathtaking; reluctant to kill and only aggressive when faced with a perceived threat. He cancelled the spell and lifted the lovely dragon off the shelf. He took it to the counter and paid the clerk, carefully setting it in with his new robes.

***

Harry’s breath stopped as he caught sight of Draco coming toward him. Draco’s robes, like Harry’s, were designed to catch the eye. The robe was a deep blue satin, with a black cord going around the collar, which fastened with a single silver button. The cuffs also buttoned at the wrist with silver cufflinks, and slightly more slender black cord wrapped around the cuffs.

“The boots were a nice touch,” Draco said, upon seeing Harry’s black dragonhide boots. “You clean up pretty nicely. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

Draco led the way into L’Isle Magique. Harry was overwhelmed by the tanks of tropical fish, glowing with eerie blue light. Mermaids painted on the ocean wall mural swam along with happily jumping dolphins, occasionally blowing kisses to the diners. Harry spotted an ominous fin gliding slowly along the waves of the mural. Sounds of ocean breezes and seagulls filled the air.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur M.!” the maite’d greeted with a bow. He spoke to Draco and led them to where the lighted magical arrow pointed to their reserved table. Harry and Draco were seated, and menus flew into their hands.

Harry looked at the menu in despair, having no idea of what any of the selections were. Draco spoke to the waiter, who bowed again and left.

“So…did you order?” Harry asked, feigning nonchalance.

“I ordered some wine. They have some superb vintages here.”

“I’m glad it meets with your approval,” Harry snorted.

“It should – the Malfoys have owned the vineyard for centuries,” Draco said offhandedly.

Harry was struck again with the merman-out-of-water feeling. This was such a completely alien universe; could he ever belong here? He’d been floored by the ways that he and Draco seemed to be able to read each other’s thoughts, but when it came down to it, they’d been raised in such completely different worlds. I’m a grown-up now, he reminded himself firmly, and I can learn to belong anywhere I please.

The sommelier appeared with the wine and presented it to Draco. Draco nodded and gestured at him to pour. Draco raised his glass to Harry, who raised his in answer.

“To new beginnings,” Draco toasted.

“New beginnings,” Harry smiled and clinked their glasses. He took a long drink of wine.

“Really, Potter, inhaling such a marvellous vintage? My ancestors would weep! This wine must be sipped,” Draco demonstrated by taking a delicate sip of his glass. Harry couldn’t stop the blood from heading to his crotch as he watched the wine slide down the elegant throat.

“I’m not sure what to order,” Harry confessed with trepidation.

“Well, let’s start with something fairly basic. Do you like chicken?”

“Sure, I’ll eat chicken,” Harry said.

“Coq au vin is chicken in wine sauce. Sound good?”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “I can live with that.”

Draco gave their order to the waiter, and the menus vanished from the table.

"Ah, bonsoir, Monsieur M.!" a witch said with a heated blush as she passed their table.

Draco answered her formally in French, making her giggle like a schoolgirl. Harry was blindsided by Draco’s confident, welcoming smile that was directed at the witch. This self-assured, gracious young man was completely captivating, and Harry couldn’t help wanting him just a little more. Draco indicated Harry and Harry heard his name.

"Bonsoir, Madame," Harry said, "Je regrette, je ne parle pas Francais."

"Ah, such a handsome Anglais! What a lovely couple you make. I am very pleased to meet you, Monsieur," she said coyly. "Enjoy your meal."

"Merci beaucoup, Madame," Draco said. "So I'm not the only one talented in charming bored, married witches."

"They seem to have a...thing for gay men, don't they? At least it was a member of your fan club this time and not mine," Harry said.

The two men conversed as they waited for their meal, discussing the merits of various Quidditch teams and sipping the wine. A loaf of hot bread was placed in front of them with creamy butter on the side. The food arrived in good time, and Harry gazed at his plate. He took a tentative bite. “Pretty good,” he said, continuing to eat.

“Philistine!” Draco sniffed. “That is a traditional French dish prepared by one of the best chefs in Europe and all you can say is pretty good?”

“Not quite up to bangers and mash, but it’ll do,” Harry said, mischief in his green eyes.

Draco rolled his eyes heavenward. “Whatever am I to do with you, Potter?”

Harry’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. He knew exactly what he wanted Draco to do with him: he wanted those quicksilver eyes gazing on every part of his body, he wanted those long legs and firm thighs wrapped around him, he wanted that gorgeous round arse opened up and begging for his cock… He gulped more wine.

Wine and conversation flowed freely as the two wizards enjoyed this five-wand-rated meal. Harry was flabbergasted that one of the first people he’d felt comfortable with since living at the Preserve was Draco Malfoy – and that Draco seemed comfortable with him.

“So how do you think your life is different than you imagined when you were a child?” Harry said, emboldened by the wine. He flushed with embarrassment, inwardly cringing at how crass the question sounded after everything Draco had lost.

Draco stared away with the look of someone who was searching for a ghost. “As a child, everything in my life was centred on my father. He was the sun around which we all orbited. It’s…hard sometimes to not look around to see if he likes or approves what I’m doing. I still sometimes have nightmares of everything that happened - well, you get it. I have to say, though, that I think my life is better than it would have been if the war hadn't happened," Draco mused. Seeing Harry's stunned face, he spoke again. "Maybe I should say that I’m better than I would have been. All through my childhood I wanted to be an exact carbon copy of Lucius Malfoy. I knew what was expected of me: that I would be top student, dress perfectly, speak perfectly, be the perfect Pureblood heir. I'd take over the family holdings, marry a perfect Pureblood witch, have perfect Pureblood children; keep it all going ad infinitum. I never asked whether this was actually a good thing, or even what I really wanted, until the Dark Lord came back and I found out it wasn't what I wanted at all.
The war showed what an insulated, isolated world it was and how easily the illusion crumbled. The world fell apart and had to put itself back together again, and so did I. I found out that I don’t want to marry a witch and prefer the company of men. I found out that I enjoy drawing and playing the piano. I found out that I feel good when I make other people feel good. I don't think my 12-year-old self could have imagined that."

"I don't think my 12-year-old self could have imagined that," Harry murmured.

Harry knocked over his glass of wine with his elbow, spilling it all over the table. He managed to dodge getting any on his new robes, but the perfect white linen was a mess. The waiter returned and scourgified the area, giving Harry a baleful look. Draco was holding his napkin to his lips, trying to suppress a smirk.
"All right, now that I’ve humiliated myself in one of the fanciest places in Paris, you have to tell me your most embarrassing moment," Harry said.

Draco pinked as he picked up his glass of wine. "It had to be my fifteenth birthday...Father bought a prostitute for me," Draco said into his glass.

Harry almost spat his wine. "You've got to be joking!"

"I wish! I was already afraid that I was gay, and so was he. I'm sure he heard rumours about me and Theo playing around - Crabbe was a dunderhead but he knew which side his bread was buttered on. He must have told Father. Father was determined to make sure that I wouldn't be a disgrace to the Malfoy name. I had no idea where we were going until we got there and he was picking out this pretty young thing for me."

"What did you do?"

"I did my best. I managed to...manage. She could tell I really wasn't into it. Most humiliating moment of my life! She was great though, told me it was best for both of us if she told my father I'd done fine. She also told me that she'd seen plenty of blokes like me, trying to be straight and at some point I'd have to face it and be honest."

“Sounds like good advice – similar to what Hermione told me.” Harry nodded.

The two men drank, ate, laughed and conversed long into the night. They half-stumbled out of the restaurant. “I’d better get back while I can still Apparate,” Harry sighed.

“Me too,” Draco yawned.

“I had a great time tonight. I’m really glad we could talk like this,” Harry admitted.

“It was surprisingly…pleasant. I don’t usually tell people things like that but, well…you were the only person who spoke up for me after the War. I feel…Safe. Comfortable. Like I don’t have to be a Malfoy. all right with you.”

“I’m glad. Well, I’ll be off in the morning.”

“Want to stop by and say our farewells in the morning then?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Harry promised. “See you then.”

***

Fleur and Hermione were still preparing for bed when Harry returned. They spent a pleasant time discussing their dinners.

"Well, the thing is...I want to go by the salon and say goodbye to Draco tomorrow," Harry said nervously.

Hermione's eyes sparkled. "Seeing Draco again? Sounds like fun."

“I’m sorry…I feel like you made this trip for me and I’ve ditched you,” Harry said, taking his friend’s hand. “Thanks for being so understanding about…this.”

“Fleur and I had a great time. Frankly, I’m glad to see you actually showing interest in a man. We’ve been a bit worried that you’d become some kind of hermit for the past couple of years. Go…enjoy your life. Have screaming monkey sex if you want to. Now, get some sleep.” She kissed his cheek.

***
Draco smiled to see Harry striding toward the shop, a bag from the patisserie in hand. “Thought you might like some more.” Harry grinned.

“It’s probably a good thing you’re leaving – I’d gain a tonne if you kept bringing me sweets!” Draco teased as he greedily took the bag from Harry’s hand.

“Well, I need to be going before too long. You could come visit, you know. You should really see the Sanctuary sometime. It’s so beautiful and definitely worth protecting,” Harry said, his eyes brightening.

Draco felt as though he’d taken a Bludger to the heart. That was what it was all about – the camaraderie; the bumbling flirting was all about fundraising. His father had told him to always assume that everyone wanted Malfoy gold. True it wasn’t the vast fortune it had been before the War, but it was still substantial, especially when he added his own income from his well-known and profitable business. Why hadn’t he been more aware, more conscious of the realities of the Game? Why had he let himself dream that someone could want him for more than his money? How had he been outmanoeuvred by a Gryffindor? Something that had been growing, sweet and lovely twisted itself around his heart and squeezed as it died. As it crumbled, the empty space where it had been was almost larger and more terrifying than he could bear. He drew out the bag of gold that he kept in his robes. “There’s no need, Potter,” he said, keeping his voice cool and composed. “I’m sure it’s a worthy cause. Next time you need gold from someone, you will be best off simply asking for it.” He handed the bag to Harry. “I’d imagine you’d best get back to it – put this in the coffers for all the poor little Kneazles and Crups.” Draco stiffened his back and walked away.

He didn’t even know where he was going until his mother’s delicate face appeared before him and he remembered that he had Apparated to her chateau. The afternoon sunlight illuminated her fair hair as she carefully pruned her roses. A rainbow of roses from palest white to deepest purple flourished in her care. “Hello, darling!” she greeted him happily as she presented her cheek to be kissed. “I… heard you were entertaining. Have you brought Mr. Potter here? I’d love to see him.” She peered around, obviously looking for Harry…Potter. Draco had the fleeting thought that he wished he knew how his mother found out her gossip. Soon after arriving in France her network was almost as good as it had been in England before the war.

“No, I gave him a haircut and the donation he wanted. Our business is concluded,” Draco said, trying to keep his voice perfectly even.

“Draco, what happened?” Narcissa said gently, taking his hands and sitting him on a bench.

“He wanted a donation, I gave it to him. Quick and clean. All about money like everything else.”

Narcissa’s face seemed to age a decade. “Oh, my sweet boy – I wish that I had spent less time trying to be a perfect wife and more time being a better mother. Maybe I could have prevented Lucius from passing his own pain and loneliness to you. Draco, despite what your father told you, there are real people in the world – and I believe Harry Potter is one of them. He saved your life when you’d never been anything other than rivals, kept both of us from Azkaban when many thought we belonged there. Never in all of these years has he asked anything in return. Don’t make assumptions without talking, darling. He might actually like you.” She stroked his cheek with a gentle finger. “You are a likeable person, you know.”

Draco sighed. He hadn’t dated much, no one in Britain had wanted to publicly admit to being involved with a former Death Eater, exonerated or not. (Though several had enjoyed his youth and beauty in dark alleys and smoky inns.) Once he moved to France he was so involved in making his business work that he seldom had time to pursue a relationship. This was the first time he’d really had more than a fleeting interest in a man in a long time.

***

“Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry said, his heart pounding as he observed the slim, delicate figure coming toward him. Three small glass domes trailed behind her, spelled to follow her wand. Narcissa was still beautiful, though lines marred the perfection of her lovely face, and her misty blue eyes seemed a bit darker than they had before the War. She wore a light silvery-blue robe, not formal but still somehow setting her apart from the other witches seated around the Inn’s lobby. “I got your owl. I was just about to leave. What can I do for you?”

“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” she answered as she guided the domes gently to the floor. Each dome held a small rose bush in stasis: one a blush pink, one a sensual burgundy, and one a pale yellow.

“I think the woman who saved my life should be allowed to call me Harry,” he said with a smile.

“You know that I would have done anything to save my son, but I will take you up on the invitation to informality, Harry. And the man who kept my son out of Azkaban may call me Narcissa.”

“I did it because it was the right thing to do. Now that we’ve established that no one owes anyone anything and the formal informalities are out of the way, what can I do for you?” Harry asked, trying to keep his tone light. The whole conversation about debts and payment brought a fresh, painful memory of his recent conversation with Draco.

“I’d like to donate these to the Auction for the Sanctuary’s fundraiser. Given regular care and refreshment of the spells, which I’ve included, they should bloom throughout the year.”

“They are exquisite, Mrs. – Narcissa. Neville will probably snatch them up himself.”

“I’d be honoured to have such a renowned expert caring for them,” she replied. The young Herbologist’s reputation amongst gardeners and Potion makers was steadily growing, and several of his published articles had created a buzz.

“You know that you don’t have to do this,” Harry said, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“I don’t have to do anything – I choose to make a donation to a worthy cause, founded by a worthy man,” she replied. The amused lift of her eyebrows reminded Harry so much of Draco that he suddenly wanted to cry.

“Some people seem to think that’s all I’m after,” he muttered to the table.

Narcissa gently lifted up his chin. “Some people were told all through their childhood to assume that everyone wanted their money, and that any contact with another person other than family was ultimately a financial transaction. Some people have a very hard time trusting – but once that trust is won their loyalty is forever.”

Harry nodded, his throat unable to force out words. He handed the bag of gold that Draco had given him to Narcissa. "Will you give this back to him, please? And give him...this?" Harry reached in his bag and retrieved the model Opaleye. "I just thought he might...like it."

He started to walk away when he heard another voice. "Ready, Mother?" He turned in time to see a pair of startled grey eyes staring into his.

"I'll be a moment, darling - I must powder my nose. Why don't you talk to Harry until I return?"

Harry and Draco stared at one another. "Manipulative bitch," Draco muttered.

"She meant well." Harry smiled.

The two men stood silent, unsure how to begin to untangle the snarls in their newly-knitted bond.

"I didn't mean..."

"I'm sorry I..."

They both chuckled weakly. Draco gestured to Harry.

"I would never use my friends for money, Draco." Draco's heart skipped on being referred to as Harry's friend. "If that's all you think I'm after, you can keep it. Of course I'll take any help for the Sanctuary that anyone wants to give, but you don't need to do anything." Harry fished in his bag. "In fact, I got this to thank you for all of your help. You've been great this trip and I appreciate it." He handed Draco the box. Draco opened it tentatively, looking at the dragon inside. His breath hitched as he lifted it into the palm of his graceful hand. “It’s gorgeous,” he whispered. “Thank you, Harry. Are you really serious about being…friends?” He felt like he was eleven years old again, hoping that this time Harry Potter wouldn’t reject him. Part of him ached that the possibility of touching, stroking, fucking that tanned, fit body was obviously out of the question, but the rest of him was thrilled to finally have what he’d wanted from the start – Harry Potter’s friendship.

Harry took the hand that wasn’t carrying the dragon and shook it. “Friends,” he agreed solemnly.

“I’m…not sure what to do. I never had real friends growing up. Crabbe and Goyle were henchmen, Pansy expected to be the next Lady Malfoy, Blaise didn’t take anyone or anything seriously until he knew which way the wind was blowing, and Theo was pretty much a loner except when he wanted to fool around. I chat with my clients and meet some of the other merchants for drinks sometimes, but…” he dropped his eyes helplessly, not at his usual standard for social interactions.

“Friends…write to each other,” Harry said quietly. “They share their lives when they can’t be together.”

Draco nodded. “I’d like that.”

“And friends don’t owe friends anything. They can give gifts of gratitude if they want, but a friend hangs out with you just because they want to. Took me a long time to learn that. I didn’t have real friends growing up either; my cousin ran off anyone who might want to talk to me. Ron and Hermione taught me what real friends do.” He gently handed the bag of gold back to Draco.

Draco’s face got hot. “So my money isn’t…” he bit back the rest of his sentence.

“Come visit the Sanctuary, see what you think about what we’re doing. If you like what you see, you can make a donation. If not, just hang out with me and we’ll have drinks by the fire in the sitting room.”

Draco took a deep breath, and then took the bag from Harry’s hands. “I will. Looks like you’d better be going – the Missus Weasley will hex you if you miss your Portkey.” He gestured to Harry’s bags.

Harry nodded and shrunk the bags. “Yeah, they’ll be down any minute. I…” he stammered and looked down at the floor.

Draco lifted his chin and caressed his cheek. He leaned forward in a daze, Harry leaned toward him…Are we really going to do this?

“Are you ready, Harry? Oh, good morning, Draco,” Hermione’s voice shattered the moment. Harry shot him a wry grimace.

“Good morning, Madame Weasley and Madame Weasley,” he greeted. “Take care of yourself, Potter – and that haircut!” Draco waved as the three Disapparated.

Draco: Thanks again for everything. Paris is beautiful and I’m glad I got to know the grown-up you. The photo shoot was gruelling – I hate the bloody things! At least my hair and robes looked good. Things are pretty busy here; we’ve had a couple of Thestral colts and a unicorn colt born. They’re all in great health. Luna and Rolf are traveling again but I know they’ll be so excited when they get back. So what’s new in Paris?
-Harry

Harry: Really busy here too. I must tell you the funniest story. Madame B. and Madame G. are both longtime clients who became friends while chatting here and started scheduling appointments together. Madame B. has been bemoaning her husband’s inattentiveness and lackluster interest in the boudoir. Madame G sighed that her boyfriend was very sweet and giving, always sending her flowers and gifts and goodnight Floo calls, but seemed afraid to commit to anything further. In their conversations they learned that M. Lackluster and M. Afraid-to-Commit are one and the same! They went together to confront him: M. won’t be doing anything with any woman for a while until the healers are finished with him! Just thought about how that would make you laugh.
-Draco

Draco: I definitely got a laugh out of that one! I’m basically writing because I’m bored. I do enjoy the quiet around here, but it does get lonely. Luna and Rolf took off to Madagascar the day after I got back, so right not it’s just me and the critters. Spent some time with my favorite Abraxan – he’s a gorgeous fellow and a joy to ride. Spring is so beautiful here, but pretty rainy – I’m glad Hermione turned me on to reading for pleasure.
-Harry

Harry: Yes, the photos looked great – I put one up at the Salon as a sample of my work. It’ll be great publicity for the Preserve and drum up interest in the fundraiser. Are you still up to having a guest? I can spare a couple of days next week.
-Draco

Draco: Let me know when and I’ll meet you at the gate to the Preserve!
-Harry

***

Draco landed as gracefully as he could on the dirt road directly in front of the massive wooden gate. He looked out at the acres and acres of deep green treetops in front of him and nearly Apparated away. His heart was trying to get out of his chest. What on earth have I agreed to? He asked himself, trying to stem his panic. A couple of days together and Harry Potter's got me totally and completely barmy! But then again, since when is that new? He thought of how devastated he'd been when Harry had panicked and left when he’d first come to the Salon, and was determined not to let his cowardice get the better of him.

His yellow side was almost winning when he saw Harry's beaming grin from the other side of the gate. Draco loved seeing the blush on Harry’s face as he nearly ran to him, then stopped and put his hands to his sides. "Come on in, Draco - I'm so glad you came! Let me show you around." I trust you, he remembered Harry's voice saying. I trust you, too, Harry, Draco told him silently. Draco smiled back and stepped through the gate.

Harry led him down the road to a small wooden structure. There was a small herb garden and some outdoor furniture in the front. “Luna and Rolf have a cabin on the property and I have one too, but this is where we mainly bring guests. We have an office in here, a common room and a guest loft. Should be comfortable enough for you to stay the night there.” Harry showed him the tiny office, with several file cabinets. Harry had obviously been working before Draco’s arrival; there were folders out on the desk detailing the health of a small herd of thestrals on the property.

“Let’s walk a bit,” Harry suggested. Draco tried to slow his breathing as the path led them deeper into the woods. He had to admit it was amazing; the daytime sounds were soothing, the air smelled of spring earth and everything was alive, expanding, growing. It felt as if the forest was a living, breathing entity of its own. He’d never been much for wild places and his few forays into the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts had terrified him more than he’d ever let on in a million years. Even so, he felt safe with Harry. (He thought that it was ironic how frightening the feeling of safety was.)

They came upon a small waterfall, both men standing silent to listen to the sweet melody created by the water cascading down the rocks to the small, clear pool below. Draco gazed on the rainbow created by the spraying water and was happy to enjoy such simple beauty. He started as he heard hoof beats approaching, and nodded as Harry put a finger to his lips. Several unicorns approached and began lapping at the water. A tall, handsome, muscular stallion, his white coat gleaming like a drift of snow, nudged a small colt that was frolicking on wobbly long legs. Draco lost a breath as the stallion seemed to gaze directly at him. Tears sprang unbidden to Draco's eyes as he realised how much this strong, proud, perfect beast's sleek pale beauty and regal bearing reminded him of the Lucius of his childhood. Draco watched the little colt try to imitate his sire’s stance, and sighed. Harry stood with him in silence, placing his hand atop Draco’s and absently running his finger along Draco’s. Draco had never imagined that such rough, work-calloused fingers could touch with such delicacy, such tenderness. Draco let himself enjoy the perfect moment – something that he rarely did. He wanted…he wanted so much. He had learned after the spectacularly violent end of his spoiled-rotten childhood that he simply couldn’t have everything he wanted. He knew that he had felt definite interest from Potter, but it could never last. No one would ever allow The Great Harry Potter to tie himself to a former Death Eater. Harry obviously knew that – hadn’t he made it clear that he wanted to be friends and nothing more?

The unicorns slowly moved off, breaking the spell on the two men. In companionable silence they followed the path further. A small green monkey-like creature startled Draco with a happy cry as it swung between the trees. “What on earth is that?”

“It’s a clabbert. They’re pretty harmless but they can be a bit annoying at times,” Harry said. The clabbert reached over and mussed Harry’s hair. “Hey, that was styled by the famous Monsieur M., ya little menace!” Harry groused.

Draco snickered. “How dare he disturb such perfect artistry?”

They walked a bit further, and Draco instinctively ducked as a small blur of gold whizzed by. "Is that..." Draco breathed.

"Yes, it's a Snidget," Harry nodded. His eyes danced with mischief. "Wanna chase it?"

Draco's eyebrows rose. "Saint Potter is advocating for something illegal? Aren't they protected?"

"Yes, there are certain restrictions. They like to be chased for short periods but Quidditch games got too long. Also, don't grab it - you can injure it, especially at high speeds. So - are you up for it, Malfoy?"

"Do you need to ask, Potter?" Draco replied haughtily, his eyes catching the spark.

"Accio two Lightning Bolts!" Harry cried, and two brooms landed in his hands. He handed one to Draco. Both men mounted the brooms. "No cheating, you!" Harry said. "On three...one, two, THREE!" The men took off.

Draco couldn’t stop a good old-fashioned war whoop from escaping his mouth. He flew fairly regularly, but nothing could compare to being in the air with Potter again. The rush of speeding along next to the only person who’d ever outflown him was intoxicating, like the buzz from the finest elf-made wine, like the jolt he’d felt when he’d first touched his wand, like the moment of orgasm when in perfect sync with a partner…

The two men chased each other gleefully, taking turns in the lead. Draco wished he’d been able to just play with Harry in their youth, to share the simple joy of freedom instead of the stress of constant rivalry. The forest was alive and dense with colour, scent and sound as they whizzed through it. They skimmed over majestic oaks, silvery birches, and hardy pines. All too soon, Harry dipped his broom twice to signal descent. Draco followed him down, loving the impish sparkle in Harry’s emerald eyes. He couldn’t help wishing, hoping that sparkle was at least partly for him. The two men trooped back to the house.

As they entered the common room, a feminine head of curly blonde hair looked up from the paper upon which she’d been sketching, along with a masculine one of dirt-brown.

"Hey, Luna! Hi Rolf!" Harry cried, embracing his old friend and shaking her husband's hand. "When did you get back?”

"Just last night – we had a bit of a lie-in today in our cabin then came here to do some work for the fundraiser. It actually worked out well. It was very pleasant to have a returning mating rite in our own bed," Luna said in her usual ethereal voice.

"Erm...yeah," Harry said, still unsure how to respond to some of Luna's more blunt statements even after all of their years of acquaintance.

"I...think I'd better go. Thank you for showing me around, Harry," Draco said, turning to Disapparate. He really had no idea where he’d go, but he couldn’t stay there, not with…

"Oh, please don't go, Draco. I never had a chance to thank you," Luna said serenely.

"Thank me? For what?" Draco replied, obviously gobsmacked.

"For keeping me and Mr. Ollivander safe," Luna answered.

Draco turned away, and the look of devastation on his face shredded Harry's heart. "But I didn't! You were innocent, both of you and I didn't...I didn't do anything!"

Luna gently turned him to face her. "Look at me, Draco. You did everything you could. You fed us and made sure that you were the one to check on us. If it had been anyone else, things would have been much worse for us." Luna patted a seat. “Come join us – we’re working on some decorations for the fundraiser. Dean drew these,” she held up several skilfully-rendered drawings of various animals of the Preserve, “and I’m doing the place cards. Do you draw?”

“Yes, a little,” Draco said, itching to pick up the paints but not wanting to humiliate himself.

“Come on, Draco – give it a go and I’ll put together some dinner,” said Harry.

Draco was relieved to not feel obligated to draw in front of Harry, and summoned parchment. He began sketching the waterfall and the unicorn family that he had spotted. He lost himself in his attempt to capture the handsome stallion’s pride, the mare’s delicate loveliness, and the colt’s vibrant energy. Did he remember a family like that, once upon a time – or had it ever been real? He had rendered and painted the scene before Harry’s return.

“Oh, that’s exquisite!” Luna beamed as she saw the painting. “It looks so realistic!”

Draco flushed at the praise.

Luna waved her wand and the unicorns moved almost exactly as they had in life. “May we use this for the place cards? It’ll be perfect.”

“Of course,” Draco said.

Harry emerged from the kitchen, bearing a hearty stew and homemade bread. “I just bought this at the village yesterday,” he said as Rolf summoned bowls and spoons. The foursome ate congenially, Luna and Rolf keeping them all entertained with stories of their travels. After dinner, Luna and Draco copied the artwork on to the place cards and wrote the names of those who had RSVP’d in elegant longhand with special quills.

“Oh, look!” Luna cried as she ran to the window. The others followed. “The mooncalves are dancing!”

Indeed, they could see clearly by the light of the full moon several mooncalves, pale and ethereal in the moonlight, dancing on their spindly hind legs. “Mating energy is in the air!” Luna said. “Don’t you feel it?”

Draco’s eyes involuntarily went to Harry, whose gaze dropped when it met Draco’s. Yes, Draco thought, stifling a groan, I wish to Merlin he was feeling it too.

“C’mon, Rolf,” Harry said in a hoarse voice, “we might as well go collect the dung for the herb garden.”

“So, do you normally live here at the Sanctuary?” Draco asked Luna.

“We have a small cabin here for when we’re in England. We’ll have to expand the house soon as we’ll be staying put for a while and we’ll need more room for the baby,” she answered dreamily.

“Oh, you’re expecting? Felicitations!” Draco felt a lump in his throat at the knowledge that not only was one of the people to whom he felt he owed a debt living, but thriving, healthy and loved.

“Yes, I’ve planted a juniper bush outside of our garden. It attracts brillthigs.”

“And what are those?” Draco queried, not sure he wanted to know.

“Oh, they’re little light-based creatures that stimulate mental processes in babies,” Luna explained matter-of-factly.

“All right, then,” Draco said. A peaceful silence descended as they waited for the others to return.

“I suggest that you remove yourself to the shower immediately, Potter!” Draco made an exaggerated show of pinching his nose and blowing away the stench.

“Yeah, yeah – I think I’m going to shower and go to bed. Let me get you situated, Draco and then I’m off. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

Draco schooled his face from showing his disappointment that Harry would not be staying. The others took their leave as Harry grabbed towels for Draco and pointed him to the small daybed. Draco looked at it for a moment.

“I know it’s not what you’re used to,” Harry bristled.

“It’s fine – as long as I can lay down on it it’ll do. Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Draco.” Harry gave him a dazzling, stop-your-heart smile and left to return to his cabin.

Draco took his own shower – and if he rubbed himself off to dreams of a muscled chest, toned thighs, emerald eyes, and a well-groomed thatch of black hair – well, who was to know?

***

Draco awoke to the sun streaming through the loft window. Harry was fixing breakfast, humming to himself as Draco donned his clothes and went downstairs.

“I have some paperwork to do before my rounds, so you can rest a bit if you’d like,” Harry told him.

After breakfast Draco purloined one of Harry’s books about magical creatures. Though it would never be a true passion for him, a few of the facts did interest Draco. (He wished he’d been this willing to learn when he’d been at Hogwarts!)

Harry took him a different direction than he had the previous day. This area seemed to be a bit denser, a little cooler. Draco startled, wide-eyed as a low, mournful wail filled the forest.

"An Augurey. Looks like it'll rain tonight," Harry said.

"My nanny always said that an Augurey’s cry meant that someone was going to die." Draco shivered.

"A lot of old-school people, especially witches, still say that," Harry nodded. "They only cry when the moisture starts to come in; rain or snow. They're pretty shy otherwise."

They walked and talked, joked and ate a picnic lunch which Harry had provided and shrunk. Draco found himself not minding its simplicity, though he would have preferred something a bit more upscale.

Further along the path, a huge golden stallion galloped up to Harry, nudging him in demand. Harry laughed and held out the slice of apple in his pocket. "Here, you greedy beggar!" Harry nudged back. He fished out another slice of apple and handed it to Draco. "Would you like to feed him?"

Draco gazed at the stallion in wonder. The Abraxan was perfectly proportioned from head to tail, the slight crook in his gleaming wings seeming to make him more beautiful for its imperfection, proving that the proud beast had survived. The animal gazed back at him, sizing Draco up as much as Draco was to him, with intelligence in his soft brown eyes. Draco reached out his hand and presented the apple to the stallion, which nodded as if in thanks and took it gently. "He's gorgeous," Draco breathed.

"I have to admit I'm pretty partial to this chap," Harry said, patting the horse's rump affectionately. "I guess he just makes me think of us: all of the children of the war. You, me, Ron, Hermione, Pansy, Goyle, Ginny, Neville...we're all injured in our own ways, but we can still be strong and keep going."

Draco was stunned at hearing his own thoughts echoed so perfectly.

"Would you like to ride him? He can't fly but he can still do a pretty damned good run," Harry said.

"Yes, I...I would," Draco said breathlessly. "My grandfather used to keep a stable of Abraxans. I had a beautiful pony named Apollo that I could ride when I came to visit. Father sold them all when Grandfather died - I think he was afraid that Grandfather loved those horses more than he loved him." Harry helped Draco mount, and Draco stroked the stallion’s golden mane. “Fast as you like,” he whispered to the horse, and they were running. The pounding of the hoof beats matched the beat of Draco’s heart. It was a different rush from flying – he felt tethered to the earth, glorying in the magic of his forefathers.

Draco began to get a bit apprehensive as night fell. Neither of them had realised how much time they had spent just ambling along, going where they would and stopping where they would, sometimes just sitting on a log and admiring the colours of the wildflowers. He was just about to tell Harry that he thought they should go indoors when he felt a drip.

“Guess the Augurey was right,” Harry grumbled as a drop of rain hit his nose.

The two men ran through the clearing to avoid the slow drips of rain. Draco cast a quick charm to keep them from getting drenched.

“Let’s get inside,” Harry suggested.

“Where are we going?”

“Follow me.” Harry grinned.

A small but liveable cabin nestled among the branches in a grove of oak trees. A set of wooden stairs wound around one of the trees leading up to the cabin.

Draco stood, staring. "You mean you have a house...in a tree?"

"Isn't it awesome? I liked climbing trees as a kid - my whale of a cousin couldn't get me then. I found out that there were spells that would make a small house stick in a large tree. Magic is amazing!"

"I never really climbed trees as a child - as you can imagine, the heir of Lucius Malfoy was not exactly allowed to do much of that sort of thing," Draco said.

Harry snorted in response as the two men began climbing the spiral staircase

Harry gave a series of complicated gestures with his wand and opened the cabin. He felt an uncomfortable tightening in his throat. What was he thinking, bringing Draco Malfoy to his sad little cabin? This man grew up in a mansion with more rooms than anyone probably even knows about, would Draco think as little of Harry as he had of Hagrid? Well, Harry told himself, if he feels that way, maybe he has not grown in to the man I think he has - a man I could love.

Harry lit a fire in the red brick fireplace. It illuminated the sitting room, all warm wood floors and coffee-and-cream coloured walls. A comfortable matching couch and loveseat set were wicker with green and brown cushions. A wicker rocking chair had a handmade earth tone afghan knitted by Hermione. Pictures adorned the mantel: Weasleys waved and jostled each other, Ron and Hermione kissed in wedding finery, Neville shyly held up a new breed of plant and the award that he had received for its cultivation, a little boy skipped happily, his hair rapidly changing colour.

"You could use an interior decorator too." Draco smirked.

"Are you applying?" Harry challenged.

"Perhaps." Draco picked up the last picture, gazing at it thoughtfully. "Is this my cousin?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "Yes, that's Teddy. Little bundle of mischief, he is. I keep a small room for him here. He loves coming to visit and roaming around the woods with me." He looked at Draco. "Maybe he could come sometime when you're here - I'll bet he'd love to meet you. Probably beg you to fly him around on your broom."

Draco swallowed and looked away. "I don't think that would be...a good idea. I doubt Mrs. Tonks would allow it."

"I think she might. I know that she and your mother have worked on patching things up. It would be good for Teddy to meet you. He doesn't have much family."

Draco winced. "He asked me if I wanted to babysit the cubs. The...him. When Professor Lupin and Nymphadora got married. He asked me..."

“Say it, Draco.” Harry captured Draco’s eyes.

“Say what?” Draco stalled, but Harry could see the fear in those eyes.

“You don’t have to call him Voldemort, call him by his real name – Tom Riddle. That’s who he was, just a wizard.”

“He was more than just a wizard,” Draco whispered.

“No, Draco – that’s what he wanted you to think, what he wanted everyone to think. Tom Riddle was just a man who could be defeated by an exhausted, half-starved teenager with mediocre talent using a Disarming spell. He was brilliant and ruthless and had a million tricks up his sleeve, but in the end he was just a man, a coward who killed others because he was too afraid to face his own death.”

Draco seemed to breathe a bit easier then, and Harry smiled.

“Enough of that! Ugh, let’s get out of these wet clothes,” Harry said, removing his shirt. “I probably have something that will fit you in my closet.”

Draco followed Harry to his room. The room was simple; a double bed with a wicker headboard was spread with another multicoloured handmade afghan, this one courtesy of Mrs. Weasley. Harry threw a quick Incendio at the candles on the bedside table, and they softly lit the room. Harry threw off his t-shirt, rummaging through the drawers of a small dresser and tossing a shirt to Draco. “Here, this will probably…” he started, stopping upon seeing the look on Draco’s face. It was a predator’s look, and Harry shivered as he realised he was the prey. He grinned, showing his own feral side as he stalked toward Draco and pinned him against the wall. They both knew that the moment had finally arrived. Draco’s mouth curved into a slow smirk, and Harry was determined to wipe it right off of his face. Harry could feel their magic expanding, growing, and curling between them like a glittering knot. Harry took Draco’s mouth, exploring the sweetness with his tongue. Draco melted against him, twirling his own tongue around Harry’s. Harry wondered for a crazed moment if he’d been born to kiss Draco Malfoy. He couldn’t get enough of the feeling of Draco’s broad shoulders, of Draco’s elegant hands dancing up and down his back.

“I want you,” Draco said breathlessly. “I want you so much.”

Harry let go, harder than he had been in years, and stared at Draco. He touched the light scar lines on Draco’s chest.

“No,” Draco said, reading the regret in Harry’s eyes. “We all have scars, Harry.” He touched the locket-shaped scar on Harry’s chest. “What’s in the past is not important. What’s important is right now. And Merlin, I want your cock in my mouth RIGHT NOW.” He gently made Harry sit on the bed.

Draco moved gracefully to kneel on the floor, balancing his hands on Harry’s knees. Harry ran his fingers through the soft blond strands of hair.

Harry looked down at Draco, kneeling before him. He thought of the vivid fantasies he’d had, stomping back to Gryffindor Tower after a confrontation with the blond, of barking “On your knees, Malfoy!” and ordering Draco to suck his cock. He mused that this should have given him a clue to his real sexual orientation, but he had dismissed it as mere adolescent horniness and desire to humiliate the bane of his existence. Together they made quick work of removing Harry’s trousers and pants.

Draco took Harry’s cock, which stood proud and hard, in hand and raised it to his mouth. He gave little kitten-licks around the tip, circling it in slow careful movements. Harry groaned in sweet agony. Draco licked the tip of his tongue around Harry’s balls before taking him into his mouth again, and Harry yanked at the bright hair to keep from coming on the spot. Draco began to suck Harry’s cock slowly as his hands worked Harry’s shaft. A flash of lightning threw Draco into sharp relief, and the sight was unbearably erotic. Draco sucked him expertly. “I don’t want to…” Harry breathed.

“It’s okay, go ahead. We’ve got all night.”

Thunder boomed as Harry threw his head back. It had been so long, so long… “I’m going to …”

“Come,” Draco said.

Harry’s orgasm ripped through him as the lightning flashed again. Thunder sounded and the house swayed slightly. Harry sat, panting, for a moment, and then hauled Draco to his feet. “My turn,” Harry growled. He knew that he could not hope to match Draco’s finesse, but he hoped to make up for it in enthusiasm. He grabbed Draco’s cock, loving the weight and feel of it in his hand. He licked and sucked at it with abandon like a child with an ice lolly. Draco clung to Harry’s shoulders as his breathing became harder and more erratic. “Harry…” he groaned, digging into the skin of Harry’s shoulder, and Harry was certain he’d never think of himself the same way after hearing his name dripping from Draco’s mouth with that much desire. Harry’s mouth was flooded with bitter liquid, and he swallowed it down.

Draco slumped against him, and Harry rolled them both onto the bed. They gazed at one another as they lay side-by-side in the candlelight. Harry tried to memorise Draco’s face with his fingers, sliding along the strong chin, sharp cheekbones, and straight nose. Draco’s eyes were wide with wonder as he nipped at Harry’s lips. Harry deepened the kiss, wondering if he were a bit mad for liking the fact that he could still taste himself in Draco’s mouth. Draco arched his head back, and Harry feasted on the pale, slender neck. Thunder and lightning washed over them again, and Harry almost felt as though the passion that had woven through his interaction with Draco Malfoy from the very first day (though in different forms) had manifested itself in the storm. (He heard Hermione’s voice lecturing him in his head that magic couldn’t really change the weather.)

Harry stroked along the pale expanse of Draco’s back. “So fucking beautiful,” he said as he kissed along the smooth skin of his neck and shoulders. He lightly tweaked the dusky nipples standing out on the sturdy chest, causing a humming sound from Draco’s throat. Draco’s hands and mouth were busy too, exploring every inch of Harry’s skin. Harry lightly gripped Draco’s arse. It was round, tight, and oh so perfect. Draco hummed in encouragement.

“Prepare me,” Draco whispered.

“You want me to…”

“Yes, Merlin yes!” Draco rolled over on his stomach, letting his legs fall apart. “Want you.”

Harry reached over and opened a drawer of his nightstand, pulling out a jar of lube. He slowly slid a finger into Draco’s hole. “Good, so good…” Draco breathed. Harry gently swirled the finger in and out of Draco’s hole, feeling it loosening and welcoming his questing digit. He soon added another, making Draco whine. Harry carefully searched for…

“There, right there!” Draco howled as Harry found his prostate.

Even after having come just a few moments earlier, Harry felt as if he were about to burst. He thanked Merlin and every other wizard that had existed before and after for his youth and healthy vigour. He added another finger, loving the way Draco opened to him.

“Fuck me, please fuck me!” Draco cried.

“Ride me,” Harry suggested.

Draco crawled up Harry’s body, sinuous as a leopard, and eased himself onto Harry. The two men slowly found a rhythm as Harry’s cock pounded with more and more force into Draco, and Draco’s greedy hole demanded more. Their rhythm was one with the howling of the wind, the creaking of the trees, the cry of a bird, the pounding of a horse’s hoof, the beating of their own hearts. Harry forced himself to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss a moment. When a flash of lightning illuminated Draco’s face in complete ecstasy, Harry thought that he could happily die knowing that he’d been alive to experience this perfect moment. Their very magic wove them together as they fell under the oldest of time’s spells.

Harry kissed along Draco’s spine as he spooned behind the blond. He thought about cleaning up but decided that he couldn’t be arsed to care. Draco’s normally cool skin was warm and smooth in his post-orgasmic lassitude. He combed his fingers though the fine, fair strands of Draco’s hair. It was as soft and silky as he’d imagined. Draco lazily ran his hands through Harry’s too.

“Going to have to fix that in the morning, you know,” Draco yawned as he mussed it further.

“I never dreamt this could happen,” Harry said.

“I did,” Draco murmured as his eyes closed.

“I think I love you,” Harry whispered into Draco’s skin, but the wind and rain blew the words away.

***

Draco woke and cursed the morning sun as he blinked his eyes open. He immediately felt the heat of Harry’s body nestled behind him, and instinctively curled into the warmth. Harry tightened his arm around Draco, but didn’t wake. He closed his eyes again, praying that he would not awaken again in his lonely flat in Paris. He slowly recalled calloused hands stroking him in the night and a low, gentle voice soothing him back to sleep from a nightmare. “I’ve got you,” he remembered the voice saying, “I’ll never let anything happen to you.” Draco’s throat closed as he skimmed the thick dark hair, heavy brows, and strong jaw. This was what he had waited for all of his life – someone to be there for him just because they wanted to be.

He cursed his morning wood and started to sit up to head to the loo, when he felt Harry’s erection poking at the crack in his arse. Despite his soreness and the workout he’d got the night before, Draco felt his own cock respond. He turned to face Harry, who was just stirring. Draco took Harry’s plump, hot cock in his hand and slowly stroked it. Harry hummed with pleasure as his eyes opened slowly. Draco had never known contentment like looking into Harry Potter’s sleepy green eyes and receiving a sloppy kiss in response. Draco returned the kiss with gentle reverence. This was not the frantic jumble of emotions and desires of the previous night; this was a strolling, rambling promenade into wakefulness. Draco grabbed his own cock and lightly rubbed them together in a lazy rhythm. Harry’s hands were caressing Draco’s face with a tenderness the blond didn’t think he’d ever experienced, as if Harry wanted to touch his body for the sheer joy of worshiping it. Draco’s orgasm was like floating in the ocean with the summer sun smiling down.

Harry grabbed Draco and wrapped him safely in his powerful arms. Draco closed his eyes, feeling completely safe and at peace for the first time since Voldemort’s return. Harry stroked Draco’s hair, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Would you like some breakfast, love?” he murmured into Draco’s hair. “I’ll go fix us something. Do you like bacon and eggs?”

Draco nodded, having no words. Love. Harry had called him love.

Harry felt for his glasses, and Draco handed them to him. He pulled on his pants and a pair of shorts and headed for the kitchen.

Draco flopped down on the bed. He could hear Harry whistling a jaunty tune and the sizzle of bacon frying. The sheets smelled like Harry, smelled like them. Draco could see a thousand hot, steamy nights and lazy peaceful mornings with Harry. His heart told him that he’d found a place in the world, that he belonged at Harry Potter’s side. But I already have a place, a place I’ve worked hard to build. I can’t give it all up just because I want to prove I’m good enough for Harry Potter. In his soul, in the depth of him where his magic began, he knew that it was more than that – that it had always been more than that.

Draco snuggled in the sheets for a moment, breathing in the scent of Harry. He knew he should shower, wash that scent off of him before he craved it again, but he couldn’t bear to do it. If this was the only time he would get to be with Harry, he didn’t want to bring it to an end.

Draco finally dragged himself to the shower. As he scrubbed himself raw, he let the hot water wash away his tears.

***

Harry emerged from the kitchen, carrying a large platter of bacon and eggs and two place settings. When he reached the bedroom, Draco was already dressed to leave.

“Are you…leaving? I thought we could spend some time together,” he said, attempting to keep from sounding like a little child – like the little orphan boy who’d seen way too many people leave and never return.

Draco took a deep breath. “I don’t think we should take this,” he indicated himself and Harry, “any further.”

“Draco, what are you saying?”

“This, I mean…us.” Harry felt as though someone had AK’d his heart and pulled it out of his chest. He looked into Draco’s anguished grey eyes, trying to divine his meaning.

“You really feel like this was a one-off?”

"Harry, you have to face facts - it just won't work. I need to stay in the city for my work; you need to tramp around in the woods. You're a hero; I'm a coward ex-Death Eater. You hate publicity and attention; I need them to grow my business. I love fine food and wine, you love traipsing around in the woods with the critters. You're a stubborn, reckless Neanderthal and I'm a poncy arrogant snob. You keep your life and your career as you like it and I keep mine.”

“You think you can just turn my life upside-down, touch me in a way no one ever has before, and then walk away? Draco, that’s…” Harry began, reaching for his lover, but Draco had already Disapparated.

***

Harry sat on the couch in his pants, drinking out of the Firewhiskey bottle. He let out another roar of frustration, one of many, as the poor exhausted owl came back once again with empty talons. Harry’s life was in shambles. He’d spent the past week barely covering his duties to the Preserve, patrolling only because he was concerned for the health of his charges, as he obsessed over Draco’s final words – and his ensuing silence. Floo calls to his flat had gone unanswered; those to the Salon had been answered by an assistant who’d snootily informed Harry that “Monsieur does not weesh to speak to you.” He’d resorted to sending his owl across the Channel far more often than was comfortable for her, with no success. Harry let the whiskey burn his throat as he wished that once, just once, something beautiful in his life would stay. He thought of how many times he’d thought he’d found exactly what he’d dreamt of, only to have it snatched away. He instantly felt gnawing guilt over not feeling grateful for the things he did have: the Weasleys as surrogate family, Teddy and Andromeda, the joy of working with magical creatures… Dammit, he cursed to himself, I can’t even hold a proper pity party! I’m allowed to let myself be miserable when something I thought was perfect just walked out of my life.

His heart lost a beat as he heard the Floo whoosh to life. More guilt tortured him as he swallowed the bitterness of his disappointment at seeing Ron’s freckled face in the Floo instead of Draco’s cool visage.

“Hey mate!” Ron called cheerfully. “Whatcher up to?”

“Drinking,” Harry answered morosely.

“C’mon, mate – don’t get pissed by yourself! Want to meet me at the Muggle pub you like?”

Harry sighed. He just wanted to drink until he passed out – that was the only way he could imagine that he could forget about Draco Malfoy. He reasoned that it would probably more fun to get pissed with Ron than by himself. “Sure, sounds good. Meet you there in about a half-hour?”

“Cheers!” Ron nodded, and his head disappeared.

Harry showered and dressed quickly. This was something else he had been neglecting over the past few days. He’d been exhausted from dreams in which Draco kissed and touched him, made love to him with all of the abandon he’d showed in the night and the tenderness of the next morning. He Apparated to the alley outside of the village pub stowed his wand and went inside. “Hi, Harry,” the bartender greeted him. Harry didn’t venture into Muggle territory often, but he did like human companionship outside of his close circle of friends now and then, and most of magical Britain was out of the question if he wanted a simple night out. The Muggles knew him as the quiet, unassuming security guard for the old abandoned warehouse. (This is how they saw the gate to the Sanctuary.) “What’ll you have?”

“Couple of pints – my mate’s joining me,” Harry told him. The bartender poured his drink, and Harry turned to absently watch a football game on the telly. He didn’t know much about football so he didn’t pay all that much attention to the game. “Hey, mate!” Ron called, and beckoned him to a small table. Harry retrieved both pint glasses and headed toward his friend. Ron snatched up his pint eagerly. “So Luna said you might need some company.”

Harry sighed, and cursed yet another too-perceptive female friend who had decided that he was too lonely and needed a man in his life. “She did, did she?” Harry groused.

“You know she might be loony about beasts and such, but she still sees loads of things everyone else misses,” Ron pointed out.

Harry had to nod his agreement on that; the very war itself would have been lost were it not for Luna’s ability to see and accept what others could not.

“Does this have to do with…Malfoy?” Ron said, saying the word like someone looking at a strange-looking new dish and trying to decide whether or not to eat it. “Hermione said you two had gotten…close in Paris and he’d stayed at the Sanctuary. I wasn’t sure I believed it – I mean, Malfoy?”

“He’s really grown up, mate. I mean, all of us have – we couldn’t have gone through what we did and not, but he’s turned into an amazing person. He and I have always been able to push each other’s buttons, but now it’s in a good way, you know? Just seeing him smile…” Harry sighed, knowing he could never explain it to anyone.

Ron made a slight face, but nodded. “So what happened?”

“I thought we could maybe be friends, wondered if he might be open to more…then we…then he…he just left! Said it wouldn’t work and we should quit before we started anything. But I’m already in too deep,” Harry said into his pint. “I felt like we really talked, like we were really getting to know each other. I talked more to him than I’ve talked to anyone in a long time, and I think he did too. During the war I thought I’d see glimpses of what he could be, glimpses of real compassion and loyalty in him. He seems like the kind of person I saw, like he’s real. He’s funny, smart, talented, elegant…”

“Was it more of a…fling for him?” Ron said carefully, remembering Harry’s experience with Janos.

“I didn’t think so. I really thought he…felt something too. He…he let me in. I’m not just talking about…you know – I thought he really wanted more too.”

"Did you tell him you wanted to give your...whatever a chance or did you let him walk away?"

"He didn't give me a chance to talk!" Harry cried, throwing up his hands.

Ron stared into his pint as if it held the wisdom of the world, then looked back at Harry. "I never thought I'd hear myself saying this, Harry, but I think you and Malfoy might have it. You know, IT. And IT doesn't come along every day. Don't let him fool you, Malfoy's always acted like he doesn't really want something when he thinks he can't have it. You, on the other hand, go after it with both hands and never let go. Go out there and get him. Make him listen to you. You're HARRY FUCKING POTTER, for Merlin's sake - you never give up!"

“It may not be that easy, Ron,” Harry said, wishing he were a little more drunk. “He does have a point. He has a life and a career there; everyone knows him and loves him. I feel…at peace at the preserve. How do we work all that out? Do we just give it all up?”

“It’s all about compromise,” Ron said, nodding at his pint as if it had given him the answer. “One of you…or both of you have to do something. You gotta make it work. Me and Hermione have to do that shit all the time. You know she likes to read and study, I like chess and Quidditch. Sometimes it’s rough, but we make it through. Sometimes she’ll find an area of history or law that I consider pretty cool, sometimes she likes going with me to watch Ginny play. Sometimes we have to find something completely different – point is, we want to be together enough to work at it.”

"When did you become Mr. Advice Wizard?" Harry groused.

"I think it started in the fall at Shell Cottage, five years ago," Ron said quietly. Harry immediately met his eyes; the two wizards had not talked about that particular incident since its occurrence. "I realised that nothing means anything without the people you love; family, friends, lovers - whatever. If it's real, it's worth the risk and the sacrifice. There's nothing I wouldn't do for Hermione, for you or my family. You've always known that - you even protected that lout of a cousin of yours. Malfoy knows it too; look what he was willing to do for his family. I think he WANTS you to come after him, to prove that you're willing to do what it takes." Ron looked at the telly and watched a man in green and white score a goal. “Yeah, SCORE!” he yelled, having learned a little about Muggle football. The room went silent. Several of the pub’s patrons, dressed in brown and red, stared daggers at Ron.

“Erm, mate, I think you just rooted for the wrong team,” Harry muttered to his friend. “I think we’d probably best get going.”

Ron gulped as he saw a couple of large blokes head in their direction. Harry threw down some coins on the table and the two headed quickly for the door.

“G’night, mate – think about it, will you?” Ron said. “It could be worth the risk.”

“I will. Thanks,” Harry said, and Disapparated. 

***

Draco stood at the gate of the Sanctuary, trying to muster the courage to ring the bell. I have to see it one more time, he told himself. I have to see where Harry belongs, where he’s made a life, so I can know that I’m doing the right thing. I have to remind myself that I could never ask him to leave here. He sneered at himself, setting aside the obvious lie. Lucius would probably rise up from his grave just to cane my arse if he knew I’d wasted an expensive Portkey just to be here, just to…

“Oh, Draco, how nice to see you,” Luna said in a dreamy voice. “Harry’s not here, you know. It’s a good thing you’re here; his aura has been particularly dark recently. Perhaps a good round of sex will cheer him up.”

“I know he’s not here,” Draco said quietly, trying to keep his mind from images of Harry’s beautiful toned body and hypnotic jewel-green eyes giving Draco everything he’d ever dreamed. “I just wanted to…”

“To be where he’s walked?” Luna queried simply. “Like the oriental aifu bird. If they are separated, one will fly near where its mate has been, hoping the beloved will return.”

“I don’t want him to return!” Draco cried, trying to make it truth.

“Don’t you?” Luna’s soft blue eyes refused to let go of his.

“No! I’ve worked too hard for everything I have. I have a life, a career, a world I’ve made for myself where I don’t need anyone else.”

“Don’t you?” Luna repeated, but Draco knew her meaning was completely different.

“I don’t want to…need anyone else.”

“Everyone needs someone else.”

Luna smiled her usual serene smile. "Draco, don't you think a caterpillar feels quite comfortable in a cocoon? I'm sure it's very safe and warm there." She pointed to a cocoon stuck to a branch, almost finished opening completely. "But that's not what it's meant to be, is it?" They stared in wonder as a pair of colourful damp wings emerged. The butterfly burst through the cocoon and sat sunning itself, opening and closing its wings to dry them. “It’s meant to fly, Draco. People are, too.” She patted his shoulder. “Take a walk. Think about it.” She drifted away.

Draco sighed; glad he had worn his walking shoes.

***

"Kreacher!" Harry called.

The wizened old elf popped in to the room. "What does Master want from Kreacher?" he croaked.

"Can you help me make Grimmauld Place into a home worthy of a Malfoy?" Harry asked, bouncing on his heels.

Kreacher's rheumy eyes lit up. "Master Malfoy will be coming to the House of Black at last?"

"I hope so. I'd like to make it as clean, comfortable and grand as we possibly can."

"Kreacher can. Kreacher knows old Malfoy elves looking for a place. Kreacher will call them." The old elf disappeared.

****

Harry tied the letter to the owl's leg, struggling with his gloved hands. "Sorry to send you out again, girl," he told her at her baleful look, "but I have to get this to him. I have to try."

***

Draco looked around him wildly, breathing hard in a panic. "What the fuck?" he shouted, drawing his wand and taking a defensive stance.

"Peace, Draco!" Harry held up his hands. Draco glared and did not lower his wand. "Welcome to 12 Grimmauld Place, London - my house," Harry said.

"You fucking kidnapped me, Potter!" Draco cried. "What the hell are you doing?"

Harry's eyes communicated his apology. "I had to talk to you. I couldn't...let you leave things like this. Just hear me out and you’re free to leave whenever you want. Draco, I want to be with you, more than I've ever wanted anything else.”

“We’ve already discussed this, Potter.”

“No, YOU decided that it wouldn’t work. WE didn’t discuss anything.”

“Look, Harry,” Draco softened his tone, “I admit there’s a spark; passion, lust, whatever. But that doesn’t make a relationship. It was sex – it was good, hell it was great, but…”

“You know it was more than just sex, Draco – how can it not be? Everything between us has been life-changing, WORLD-changing since the day we met. Nothing could possibly be this right, nothing ever will.”

Draco looked into those killer green eyes, so open and bleeding emotion; begging, pleading… he needed to leave, he needed to leave right now…

“I had Kreacher fix something for you,” Harry said. “Come with me and look –just for a minute.”

Draco sighed inwardly, knowing that all of the strength and fortitude he’d used to stop the runaway broomstick of their feelings for one another was rapidly disappearing, followed. Harry led him to the drawing room which had obviously been recently refurbished. The rug was maroon with brown and gold interwoven. The furniture looked classic but comfortable. A sofa, covered in soft maroon velour and two armchairs beckoned one to sit near the large fireplace, and along the other wall…

“This is yours,” Harry said, indicating the large mahogany grand piano. It gleamed like new, and the padding on the bench matched the furniture. A vase held a white rose, emblem of the house of Malfoy. (Draco could tell immediately that it was from his mother’s garden; her roses had a unique scent that had never been reproduced.)

Once again Draco felt himself drowning in those hopeful green eyes. Harry had fixed everything up for him, done all of this for him. He’d fixed the piano just because Draco’d said he liked to play. But hadn’t he sworn he’d never let anyone control his life again, that, right or wrong, he’d make his own decisions? “I don’t…I can’t…I need to think. Let me think.”

Harry nodded, his eyes unable to mask his disappointment. “It’s a bit too much, isn’t it? If you’re ever ready, it’s here for you. I’m here for you.”

Draco nodded, and touched the Portkey again.

***
Harry looked around the reception room with wide eyes. Taper candles glimmered on the tables and small candles floated above. The tables were decorated with brightly-coloured paper versions of the animals at the preserve. Clabberts swung, screeching among the paper trees, Snidgets zoomed around the treetops, unicorns pranced, and Jarveys cleverly insulted the party guests. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had purchased an entire table with an obnoxious flashing sign brightly advertising the WWW logo. At the table were George and Angelina, Ron and Hermione, Arthur and Molly, Bill and Fleur, and Lee and Verity. Harry walked over to greet his adopted family and was enveloped in a Mama Bear hug. "Harry dear, this is such a lovely event! I'm sure that this will help the Sanctuary to function for a long time to come."

"Thank you so much for coming, Molly," Harry hugged her back. Harry circled the table, giving and receiving hugs and handshakes. "Thank you so much for buying the tickets, George," Harry said quietly.

"You're a big reason the shop is a success today," George's eyes were unusually solemn. "You believed in us from the start, gave us the hand up we needed. He took Harry's hand, and it vibrated and buzzed. "Gotcha!" George grinned.

Harry rolled his eyes and chuckled. Looking around the room for a head of bright hair, he spotted Narcissa and Andromeda at another table and moved toward them. His heart was beating like the wings of a captured Snitch. “Is he…” he demanded breathlessly to Narcissa.

He saw the witches exchange glances. He remembered his first meeting with Andromeda and how closely she resembled Bellatrix; he now saw a similar uncanny resemblance between the two sisters before him as both pairs of eyes looked at him with pity. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter,” he mumbled. The empty chair holding the place card with the lovingly-rendered drawing of the unicorn family and the name that Harry had spat in loathing and moaned in ecstasy seemed to mock him.

“You may have to give him some time, Harry,” Narcissa’s gentle voice brought his gaze away from the empty chair. “If your feelings for him are anything like mine for his father, you will not have an easy road – but you will see things in him that others are not allowed to see.”

“He’s also had an advantage growing up that Lucius didn’t,” Harry said.

“What is that?”

“He had you.”

Narcissa smiled sadly. Harry greeted Andromeda and spoke to her for a few moments and left to return to his table with Luna and Rolf. He ate and talked to his friends but could not have recited anything he said or anything he ate. He signaled for more wine far more often than he should have. (He sincerely hoped that he wouldn’t be too drunk to make his speech after the auction.)

The elves made their usual quick work of clearing the tables and putting them away. George, who’d volunteered as auctioneer, took his place at the podium to begin the auction with Hermione and her clipboard seated next to him ready to write down the winners and their bids. Ron beckoned Harry over to sit with him, Neville on his other side with Hannah Abbott. Luna and Rolf joined the group as the auction began. George moved the auction along at a lively pace, earning many laughs and groans at his constant jokes and patter. Harry tried to pay attention to the auction (as Harry had predicted, Neville’s fan went up when Narcissa’s roses were offered for bid, and he won one of them.) He also noted Ron’s bid on an exquisite tiny pearl choker that would look elegant against Hermione’s slender throat and her tender smile as she wrote down his winning bid. Harry spared a thought at how thrilled he was, even with the dark void in his heart where he had hoped Draco Malfoy might be the missing puzzle piece, that his friends were successful and able to buy these sorts of luxuries for themselves and each other to support the Sanctuary.

“Monsieur M!” The words brought Harry out of his reverie. “This full package includes cut, colour, shampoo, manicure, and massage. What am I bid for a spa day at the hottest salon in Paris?”

Harry looked around frantically as a number of fans went up. He saw a pale, elegant blond figure silhouetted in the doorway. “Going, going, gone to Mrs. Shacklebolt,” cried George. Harry saw that the First Lady of Magical Britain was indeed clapping her hands in delight. “Ah, Minister, you’re one lucky bloke. This lady is going to come back even lovelier than she already is!”

Harry’s gaze followed Mrs. Shacklebolt’s air kiss toward the tall, fair-haired figure. He almost Apparated to Draco’s side. The solemn grey eyes were locked on his: wary but pleading in a way only Draco Malfoy could.

“You put in a prize for the auction,” Harry said stupidly.

“You said if I want to,” Draco answered somewhat defensively, “and I wanted to.”

“Thank you,” Harry said softly.

“And now I’ll turn it over to the Sanctuary’s manager, Mr. Harry Potter.”

Harry begged Draco without words to stay, to talk to him. Draco nodded.

Harry went to the podium, his muscles protesting with every step. No matter how many times he’d been forced to speak in public, he’d never felt comfortable with it. He met Draco’s gaze and remembered the passion that he always felt about the Sanctuary. He spoke of the many amazing creatures that thrived there, the wood that many wandmakers needed, the herbs and flowers gathered by herbologists for potions. The Preserve had been his home, his refuge, his salvation, but he knew that he was ready to move on, to let himself trust and enjoy the company of other witches and wizards than just his circle of friends. “Ladies and gentlemen, I do have an announcement to make. While the Sanctuary has been my home for several years, it is time for me to step down. I will still keep a home there and stop by now and then, but the day-to-day running of the Sanctuary will be taken over by noted magicozoologists Luna and Rolf Scamander, who have travelled around the world discovering and cataloguing unique magical creatures. Luna will be writing about the Sanctuary and its inhabitants in the Quibbler newspaper. Please give them both a round of applause." Harry gestured to Luna and Rolf. Polite applause followed the announcement.

Harry strode over to Draco and stood next to him. “Hello,” he whispered, his breath hitching.

“Hello.” Draco smiled back, his grey eyes shining like polished pewter. Harry took Draco’s hand gently.

A strident cough caused them both to turn. "Mr. Potter, I really think you should choose your company more wisely. Do you know with whom you are...associating?" The elderly witch's eyes were as hard as the diamonds clasped around her throat.

"Of course he does...with the ex-Death Eater who makes his living putting a razor to people's throats!" Draco quipped with a serpentine smile.

"With all due respect ma'am, I am perfectly capable of choosing my own company and I know exactly with whom I am associating," Harry said. "I am associating with a man who did what he had to do to save his family. I am associating with a man who saved my life at great risk to himself during the war. If you would like to know who did what during the war, I would suggest that you look at Hermione Granger-Weasley's excellent book on the subject. It's always helpful to have information from someone who was actually there.” If looks could kill, Harry’s AK-green eyes would have done it on the spot.

“Oh, good evening, Mr. Malfoy!” Atlantia Shacklebolt’s voice broke in. “I can’t wait to get back to Paris so I can have my spa day. Gladys, have you met Monsieur M? His salon is simply the best – you must try it sometime!” Mrs. Shacklebolt winked at Harry as she led the woman, still looking daggers at Draco, away.

"Merlin, do you know how hot you are when you're pissed off?" Draco whispered in Harry's ear, eliciting a shiver from Harry.

"You know I've never been able to stand someone telling me who I should and shouldn't listen to," Harry said.

"How could I forget?" Draco drawled. "Now, will you dance with me, you stubborn, reckless Neanderthal?"

"Of course I'll dance with you, you poncy, arrogant snob," Harry replied, sliding his arm around Draco's waist.

Draco was embarrassed at how hard he became as Harry’s lean, muscled body pressed against his. “Follow my lead,” Draco whispered, and Harry closed his eyes and relaxed into his arms. “I’ll allow you to court me, Mr. Potter,” he said into Harry’s ear, “but I’ll take a loft of my own for a while, get set up in London. We need to take this slow, see where it goes. If it’s real, it’ll be even stronger with some time to grow.”

“I don’t want to go slow,” Harry whined, pressing his hardness against Draco’s.

“What, you don’t think I deserve to be courted?” Draco sniffed haughtily, his eyes sharing mischief with Harry’s.

“I suppose. And I assume you’ll want presents?”

“Of course.”

Harry looked at him with serious green eyes as their bodies melded together. “Draco, if we’re going to start something real we have to trust one another. We both have to deal with things instead of running off.”

“Yes,” Draco whispered. “I want that too. To learn, to try, to let this grow – to let love grow.”

The two men were silent then, simply letting the magic of the music settle between them as they moved in rhythm. The fundraiser fell away and it was as if someone had thrown a Protego between them and the rest of the world. The two former enemies shared promises without words.

Epilogue

The bell on the door of Magical Menagerie and Creature Care jingled merrily. The dark-haired young man at the counter looked up and smiled at the golden-haired little girl clutching a Kneazle in a cage. The creature was softly moaning. "Mr. Harry, Circe hurt her leg. Can you make her better?" the anxious little voice pleaded.

"Here, hand her over, Esme - let me take a look at her." Harry gently took the large fluffy grey feline from the child's arms. The Kneazle hissed half-heartedly, and Harry could see where the furry leg was hanging askew. "Poor kitty - looks like she broke it. I'll have her right as rain in no time." Harry set Circe on the counter and retrieved a bit of milk and some pain-relieving potion. He presented it to Circe who turned up her little pink nose at it, finally deigning to down the mixture. Her posture instantly relaxed. "Episkey!" he called and the break healed instantly. "There now, all better. Be gentle with her, she'll be sore for a little while." He turned to the child's mother. "I'm giving you some pain potion, just put three drops with a cup of milk once a day for the next couple of days and try and keep her as quiet as possible."

"Thanks, Mr. Harry," Esme said brightly.

"Thanks, Harry," the woman said. "Is...is Draco here?"

The bell jangled again. "Bonjour, Madame Bayberry. Are we still on for three o'clock?" the tall blond man queried politely.

The woman flushed and stammered. "Of course, Monsieur. We're meeting Bradford for lunch and then I'll be over to the Salon."

"Daddy's taking me to Quality Quidditch while Mummy gets her hair done!" Esme announced as she bounced on the balls of her feet. "Maybe he'll get me a new broom for my birthday! I wanna be a Chaser for the Harpies when I grow up!" She pulled up her jumper to show her Ginny Weasley t-shirt. The redhead on the shirt sat atop her broom and winked a bright brown eye, waving and blowing kisses.

Harry shook his head fondly as Draco gave a moue of distaste. "I'll bet you'll be even better," Draco assured her.

"Why don't I keep an eye on Circe here while you do your errands?" Harry suggested.

"Thanks, Mr. Harry! See you later, Mr. Draco!" Esme blew them both kisses and bounced out of the store. Her mother gave her farewells and followed her out the door.

"C'mon, Draco - you know Ginny's a good Chaser!" Harry put a gentle finger to his boyfriend's pout.

"It's not her Chasing skills that concern me," Draco groused, but the pout eased off.

"Do you have any more clients after Mrs. Bayberry?"

"No, I just have to do a quick clean-up," Draco assured him.

"Could you wait on that clean-up? I think I might need a trim," Harry said with a heated glance.

"Yes," Draco agreed, running his slender fingers through Harry's hair, "I think you do."