Promises to Keep

by SilentAuror_HPworks

Summary:

Written for The Eros Affair: Harry to Draco: I promise to go down on you.

Notes:

Originally posted in August, 2007.

**Please note that I will not be answering comments on these stories for the most part. (You're still welcome to comment if you wish!)

Promises to Keep

"Higher!"

Harry snapped back into focus, not even sure where his thoughts had gone for a moment. The swing bumped against his hands and he reacted at once, giving a mighty push. He could have done it magically, but there were a few things in life that he firmly believed should not be done by magic, and pushing his young son on the swings was one of them.

"How's that?" he called.

James shrieked with glee. Harry took it as a positive sign and automatically pushed again, his thoughts wandering once more.

"Dad?" A small hand was tugging on his shorts.

Harry glanced down to see his other son. "What's up?"

Albus looked anything but certain of himself. As always. Was it a second-born thing? Harry wouldn't know. "Can I go on the horsie?"

The horsie in reference was a small metallic one mounted in the sand on a large spring. Harry nodded. "Hang on tight," he said.

Albus nodded solemnly and tottered off toward the other end of the sandbox. If he fell, it was barely half a meter from the ground. The swing began to slow. "Da-ad!" James whined.

Harry, his attention still on the four-year-old, remembered himself and pushed again. "Sorry, mate," he said.

"I want to go higher!"

He was insatiable. Harry stifled a yawn and pushed again. Maybe some things could be done magically after all…

A movement near Albus caught his eye. Another child and his parent were approaching the painted horses, a rather well-dressed man helping a boy about Albus' age onto the one furthest from his son's. The father had his back to the swing set and his voice could just be distinguished, though not the words. The tone was sharply cautionary. The man backed away, surveying the child with hands on hips. He glanced at Albus, looked away, then looked again. Albus stared back at him, forgetting to rock. The man turned, looking around the play park.

It was Malfoy. Their eyes locked. Harry pushed James' swing, but he was a little late and the push was feeble. Harry managed a nod in Malfoy's direction. He was too far away to really say anything without shouting, but it seemed rude not to acknowledge him somehow. Malfoy gave him a cool nod in return, then turned back to his small son.

James was oblivious, demanding to be pushed again. Harry covertly studied Malfoy, noting that Albus was also observing the newcomers. The two boys looked to be the same age. Malfoy's son looked ridiculously like him - slight, blond, his features all small points. Both he and his father were in Muggle attire, given the neighbourhood, and the boy was too neat for a child. In contrast to Albus' untucked t-shirt and jeans with the holes in the knees that he wouldn't part with, Malfoy's boy was clean and tucked in with a deliberation that struck Harry as familiar.

And Malfoy… Harry pushed the swing automatically, aware that Malfoy probably knew that he was being watched. In school, he'd been short and scrawny, much like Harry himself. They'd always been close to the same height, but Malfoy might be taller now. It was difficult to tell from this distance. He was still slim, but he moved with an assurance Harry realised only now he'd been lacking back then. He wasn't skinny. He wore fitted trousers that hung perfectly from slim hips, a white shirt tucked in like his son's. Harry thought ruefully that he looked more like his sons than like Malfoy, rumpled in well-worn jeans and a t-shirt that was faded and a little too small. His hair was probably a disaster, as always. His glasses were new and he knew they looked better than his old ones, but still. Malfoy's hair was mid-cheek length, falling around his face.

"How's that?" Harry asked James, raising his voice.

"I want to go on the monkey bars now!"

Harry caught the swing and brought it to a stop. James was off without waiting for an answer or for the swing to stop, racing across the sand to the other side. Harry looked after him and, after a moment's thought, added a very small cushioning charm to the ground just beneath. "Be careful!" he called. James ignored him. Harry smiled to himself and stood about halfway between the horses and the monkey bars.

Albus had resumed rocking, absorbed in some private fantasy of racing. He was going rather quickly and Harry was just about to say something when Albus lost his balance and was thrown from the horse.

Malfoy was there in an instant, his wand out, and the boy landed softly, sand flying out from beneath him as the charm scattered it. Harry ran, arriving a second later. Malfoy was crouching, helping him up, his son craning to see what had happened. "Are you all right?" Malfoy was asking. His voice was exactly the same, but the sneering drawl was missing.

Albus nodded, seeming unconcerned. Harry bent down and brushed off his jeans. "You sure?"

"I'm fine," Albus said. "Sorry. I wasn't careful."

"It's okay. Do you want to go back on?" Harry asked.

Albus looked back and forth between the two men. "I think maybe I'll go on the swings now."

"You want me to come and push?"

"No," Albus said. "I can go myself."

"All right," Harry said, and restrained himself from telling him to be careful again. He straightened up, Malfoy doing the same beside him. "Thanks," he said. "That was quick work. I appreciate it."

Malfoy nodded again, looking over at his son. "Having small children has a way of sharpening one's reflexes," he said dryly.

Harry laughed and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Tell me about it," he said. The boy was obviously Malfoy's son, so he didn't ask to confirm it. "How many have you got?"

"Just the one," Malfoy said. "You have at least two, I see."

Everything was very carefully polite, Malfoy meeting his gaze evenly. Harry nodded. "Three, actually. The youngest is a girl. How old is your son?"

"Four," Malfoy said, confirming Harry's thought.

"Albus is four, too," Harry said.

"Albus?" Malfoy repeated. "Interesting choice. Hardly surprising, though."

Harry turned to watch Albus on the swings. He was propelling himself but not going too high. Always a little cautious. "Albus Severus," he expanded.

Malfoy's brows rose. "Interesting," he said again. "Less expected." He nodded at his son. "Scorpius Cygnus, after relatives. It's traditional in my family."

"Scorpius," Harry repeated, strongly tempted to laugh. He managed not to. Just. "Who was that?"

"Phineas Nigellus' father," Malfoy said, his chin rising ever so slightly. "Cygnus Black was my mother's father."

"I see," Harry said, not trusting himself to say anything else about the name without putting a foot in it.

Malfoy glanced at his son, who was speaking quietly to his mount in some sort of private game. "How have you been, Potter?"

"Good," Harry said. "Fine. All's well. You?"

"Fine," Malfoy echoed. "I heard the Auror Department's been fairly quiet."

Aware that this was potentially sensitive ground, Harry nodded again. "Yes. We do have work, but it's nothing like it would have been before the war, or during it. What do you do?"

"I'm in potions," Malfoy said. "I supply quite a few of the stores and distributors around Britain."

"Ah," Harry said, somewhat impressed. "That sounds like quite a lot."

"It is." Malfoy was matter-of-fact. "Snape used to do a bit of that, but Hogwarts kept him fairly busy. Among other things."

He said this without any particular expression. Harry stole another look at him, but Malfoy's son had said something, drawing his father's attention. Harry watched James dangling upside down and was glad he'd put up the cushioning charm.

"What's his name?" Malfoy was speaking again, nodding toward James.

"James Sirius," Harry said.

Malfoy almost smirked, some of the careful façade falling away and looking more like he had during school again - before the war, at least. "Good to see you're keeping the traditional pureblood names in use," he said.

Harry realised it was meant to be a joke, as Malfoy would obviously know the actual reason he had chosen those names. He gave a short laugh, not sure what to say. Malfoy went on, not looking at him.

"Any of your wife's relations named?"

Harry shook his head. "I thought maybe we should name someone after Fred, or maybe her father, but she didn't want that. Our daughter is Lily Ginevra, after her and my mother."

James jumped off the monkey bars, discovered the cushioning charm and began to jump on it as though it were a trampoline. Malfoy watched him for a second, then jerked a chin in his direction. "You might want to stop him doing that."

Harry sighed. "If it's not one thing… " He raised his voice. "James! Stop that!" Or better yet - he drew his wand, aimed subtly and said, "Finite." His son found himself on solid ground.

"Aw, Dad!"

Harry didn't respond. Turning back to Malfoy he said, "I'd better get these two home."

Malfoy nodded, looking at his son again. "His attention doesn't usually hold for that long. We'll be on our way, too."

"Where do you live?" Harry asked, curious.

"Two streets over," Malfoy said, indicating the direction. "I believe I know where you live. It's not far."

"Ah," Harry said. "Well. It was nice running into you again. I'm surprised we haven't been here at the same time before this."

"We haven't lived in the neighbourhood long," Malfoy said, but didn't elaborate.

Harry nodded, not sure what to say to this. The Prophet had ensured that everyone in the wizarding world likely knew where he and his family lived, so there was no need to divulge. "See you around, then," he said, and held out his hand.

Malfoy looked at it. The air between them seemed to thicken. Then he took Harry's hand and shook it.

A jolt like an electric current went through Harry in less than a second. It was stronger than that; it was as though Malfoy's very aura had entered through his palm and sped instantly through his blood stream, his magic. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Malfoy still bore a Dark Mark and Harry didn't. Or did he? Harry didn't know. Perhaps their magic was clashing. It didn't feel like a clash, however. It was warm and tingled slightly, but what occurred to Harry even more strongly was that it felt familiar in a way that nothing else did. It was like stumbling into some piece of piercingly nostalgic memory from his childhood, but nothing from his childhood had been this pleasant, unless it was from before his time with the Dursleys. The entire effect startled him. Touching Malfoy, even through this simple handshake, should not feel like this. He let go as though it had shocked him, and looking up into Malfoy's face, he saw his own, startled expression reflected.

Neither of them seemed to know what to say. Malfoy looked distinctly awkward. Suddenly Harry wondered if it was about their wands. He had given Malfoy's hawthorn wand back after the war, since he preferred his own. Perhaps that explained the strange connection. He was about to say this when Malfoy spoke first.

"My wand," he said. "It has to be. Or maybe because of the Elder wand. Either one."

"Or both," Harry agreed. "I was just about to say something about that."

"I… that was strange," Malfoy said, uncomfortable. He looked at something just over Harry's right shoulder for a second, then bit his lip and stood straighter. "Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that you saved my life," he said with surprising directness, looking Harry in the eye. "Maybe something in both of us knows that."

For some reason, Harry felt faintly embarrassed by this, as though Malfoy had mentioned something that should not be spoken of in public. "Malfoy," he said, not sure what he wanted to say. "Erm, I… don't worry about that."

"I owe you," Malfoy said, his voice low but unwavering. "I know that. You know that."

"I haven't even thought about that in years and years," Harry said. "Besides, you might have saved my life at your… at the Manor."

Malfoy's brow furrowed. "When?"

"When you didn't confirm my identity," Harry said quietly. "I haven't forgotten that, either."

Malfoy looked down at his son, who had appeared silently beside him. "You looked a mess, Potter," he said, refuting the point.

"Your mother also saved my life," Harry said. "I would have died if she hadn't done what she did."

"That's different. That doesn't rule out what you did for me. Twice. You and your friends. I never acknowledged it before, but I know." Malfoy spoke very definitely, still looking away.

Harry shrugged, trying to dispel the heaviness. "We didn't exactly stay in touch," he pointed out. "But we're practically neighbours now, so…"

Malfoy smiled slightly. "That's right. Well. I'll see you, then."

"Maybe," Harry said, trying to sound positive. Truthfully, he was still shaken by the strange sensation. He didn't want to admit that he wanted to feel it again.

Perhaps Malfoy was thinking along the same lines, because he looked at Harry's hand and quickly looked away. "Take care," he said. Then, to his son, "Come along. It's time to go."

The boy never said a word, but gave Harry a long, scrutinising stare. He and Malfoy turned and left the play park. Harry watched them go, then raised his voice to call his own sons over.

* * *

It wasn't even midnight and he was exhausted. Harry staggered into the bathroom to brush his teeth, relieve himself, and stared at his haggard reflection in the mirror. He was twenty-nine. Nearly thirty. He grimaced at the thought and examined the new scar on his cheek, shining whitely through his stubble. It was a recent acquisition, thanks to the band of Death Eater wannabes or whatever they had called themselves. Amateurs. They were all in Azkaban, and the hex had healed. No matter. He'd been injured worse when James' undeveloped magic had got out of hand several times already, though none of those incidents had left scars. Dark magic seemed to leave its mark a little deeper, apparently.

He went back into the bedroom where Ginny was already asleep and held his breath getting into bed. He didn't want to wake her. Things were in a rockier patch at the moment, and he wasn't up for another Talk. In general, things were okay. It was in bed that they were less okay and he was tired of defending himself. He eased himself under the blankets with practised skill and listened for her breathing to change.

It didn't. Thank goodness. Harry settled himself with as little movement as possible. It wasn't that he didn't like sex. He liked sex very much, if he didn't think about it too much. The last conversation came back to mind despite himself.

"Come on, at least think about it," Ginny had said coolly, sitting up in bed with the blankets tucked defensively around her hips. "You have issues with physical contact. How could you not?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry had asked sullenly, sitting back on his heels, glad for the pile of blankets covering his nudity.

She gave him a look that was possibly intended to look sympathetic but just looked condescending to him. "You grew up in a cupboard," she said, as though explaining it to a child. "No one ever touched you except in anger. It's understandable to have sexual issues."

It was infuriating. "I do not have sexual issues," Harry had said, teeth gritted tightly. "I just don't happen to want to do that."

"It's a perfectly normal activity," Ginny told him, the tips of her ears going red. A sure sign that she was either angry or embarrassed. "Most normal couples do it!"

Angry, then. "I always thought," Harry said, willing himself to be calm, "that 'normal' was defined by every couple for themselves. And we've talked about this so many times. Why can't you understand that it's just not something I enjoy? I tried it. I find it a turn-off. I'm sorry, but I do. And I'm tired of apologising for that."

Thankfully, she didn't cry, either out of anger or wounded pride. Not this time, at least. Her tone grew sharper. "Have you thought about why that might be?" she snapped. "I mean, what man doesn't enjoy oral sex, Harry? Honestly!"

"Why that might be?" Harry had repeated, not sure what she was trying to insinuate. "I don't know what you mean. And whatever it is, no, I don't think so. There are just some things people don't like. Why don't you like green beans? Normal people like green beans."

She rolled her eyes in disgust. "That's a ridiculous analogy. And most people hate beans, for the record."

"Everyone I know likes green beans except for you. Even the kids like them."

"You like fucking me, and that's it. Have I got that clear?" Ginny ignored what he had said, staring him down, arms crossed across her camisole.

Harry squirmed. "I like being with you," he said evasively, uncomfortable. "I like… the stuff we do. I just don't like that." He didn't say that he was longing for a blow job, himself. How could he, when he didn't want to reciprocate? He understood that this was fair, but it didn't stop the desire. And he had hated it the two times he'd let himself be talked into it. Guilted into it, more like. It was too revolting for words. And maybe he did have a problem, because while he enjoyed the feeling of sex - which he did, a lot - he couldn't think about it while he was doing it. He always felt dirty afterward, and couldn't bear to stay in bed with Ginny, needing a shower in the worst way. He liked the thought of getting off with someone else, particularly given that it was his wife, but there was so much less drama involved in just doing it himself, in the shower. He didn't like touching her there with his fingers, either. He did like her breasts. They were small, but nicely shaped and he enjoyed them. Below the waist was another story, however. So maybe he had a problem. But he sure as hell did not want to talk about it with her, and he didn't really have any desire to make himself like what she wanted, either.

An impasse. She had gone to sleep angry, and that was the last that anyone had said about it. Harry lay awake for a few minutes. It was amazing that she could even sleep resentfully; her elbow was jutted out so far onto his side of the bed that he was forced to sleep on the very edge. Which he eventually did with his back to her.

* * *

Dean's birthday celebration took place in a pub that Seamus had picked, which meant that Ginny found it far too loud and went home early, relieving the sitter. Since she was full of nothing but catty remarks about Dean's wife anyway, Harry was just as glad. Many of the wives had gone home, Hermione included, and as it was Friday night, Harry didn't have to work the next day and could stay late. He didn't know a lot of Dean's work friends, but it was still fun. Ron was in the corner, singing lewd songs with Seamus and Lee Jordan. Harry got up and wandered over to the bar to get another drink.

It was crowded, but he shouldered his way in and managed to make himself heard, asking for another pint. The pitchers on the tables were empty, but Harry had not had all that much. Ginny's influence, partly. That, and he'd got over the phase of getting drunk enough that he spent half the night with his face in a toilet. Ron hadn't, but that was Ron. He handed over some cash and turned to extricate himself from the mangle at the bar, only to find himself face to face with Malfoy.

"Malfoy," he said loudly over the noise. "Long time!"

"Since Tuesday afternoon, was it?" Malfoy said, raising his own voice over the fracas. "I assume you're here for Thomas' birthday."

"Right," Harry said. "I take it you saw them."

"No, I heard Finnigan from across the room," Malfoy said, with no discernible trace of humour.

"Am I in your way?" Harry asked, still speaking loudly enough that he felt he was nearly shouting.

"Not really," Malfoy responded. "I'm just settling a bill. Are you leaving?"

Harry thought about it and shrugged. "Wasn't planning to. Why?"

"I'd buy you a drink," Malfoy said, "but I see you've already got one."

Harry gestured with it. "Join me, then."

Malfoy hesitated. "All right."

Wondering if this was at all a good idea, Harry waited while Malfoy edged over to the bar, shouted something to the bartender and came away with a short glass of something clear, ornamented with lime. He raised his eyebrows in question, so Harry abandoned thoughts of backing out and led the way to a small table in a quieter corner. Ron wouldn't even notice his absence, more than likely. Not for a few minutes, anyway. It couldn't hurt. And he was still curious about what had happened during the handshake.

Malfoy pulled out a chair and sat, facing him. "This is a little quieter," he said. "Makes it a bit easier to be heard."

"Who are you here with?" Harry asked, letting his shoulders hunch forward, cradling his beer with both hands.

"Some people I know from the apothecary in Hogsmeade," Malfoy said, shrugging. "Nothing special, and they all just left."

"Was your wife here, too?" Harry asked.

"My wife? Hardly," Malfoy said. He looked mildly uncomfortable. "We don't really spend time together, Potter."

"Why not?" Harry found himself still more curious about Malfoy's life.

"We… you could call it a marriage of convenience," Malfoy said, squeezing the small lime wedge into his drink. "I was the only child in a very traditional pureblood family."

He said this as though that would make everything clear to Harry. It took him a second before it clicked. "You were expected to produce an heir?" he said, trying to mask his distaste at the notion.

"Right in one." Malfoy lifted the glass and sipped, still looking distinctly awkward.

"Are you… not happy?" It seemed too personal to ask.

Malfoy coughed. "Maybe we should talk about something else. That's a nice shirt you're wearing."

Harry looked down at himself in surprise. "Is it? I've had this forever." It was just an old, long-sleeved black shirt that he often wore on the weekend. It was a little too small, though, and fit rather tightly. He wasn't sure what the appeal was. "Uh, thanks. I like your ensemble, too. Much classier."

Malfoy was wearing a dark jacket with a white t-shirt with the name of a designer that Harry didn't recognise on the front. He lifted a brow as though amused by this. "Thanks," he said. He leaned forward. The table was small and this brought their faces closer together than Harry might have liked. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Harry said. Something in his belly tightened with apprehension.

"Why are you being so nice?" Malfoy asked. The tension in his voice did nothing to help the knot in Harry's abdomen. "By all rights, you should hate me."

His eyes were very intense. Harry didn't back away, though he wanted to. "I never really hated you," he said, truthfully.

A strange expression flickered over Malfoy's face. Suddenly Harry could see him exactly as he had been at eleven, his hair slicked back from his forehead, his features pointed and haughty. Now Harry could see what he had not been able to see at eleven, the raw uncertainty and self-consciousness behind the lofty stance. He remembered the exact moment he had chosen not to shake Malfoy's hand and the split-second expression on the other's face then. Malfoy spoke, interrupting the illusion, reminding Harry that this was eighteen years later. More than half their lives. He wondered what he was not seeing this time; Malfoy was still an enigma to him.

"Never, Potter?"

"No," Harry said. "I mean, I know we didn't get along. You were nasty to my friends and to me. You were the best rival to have in Quidditch, though. I didn't exactly think of it that way then, but I've played a bit since school and it's not the same. Plus which, the war is over and I've moved on, or tried to. There's no point in remembering some things."

Malfoy picked up the lime again and dropped it into the glass, poking at it with his straw. "My father died last year. You might have heard."

"Of course," Harry said automatically. "I'm sorry."

Malfoy shrugged, still playing with the lime. "It changes things. I've been re-thinking some things."

"We don't have to talk about all that if you'd rather not," Harry said, feeling awkward.

Malfoy looked up. "Let's not, then."

Harry didn't say that he hadn't brought it up. Malfoy's face was still all angles, but somehow they didn't suggest the word "pointy" now. Perhaps he had grown into his features. He was actually very attractive. Harry felt a twinge of envy. He could not have looked that put-together for all the stores in the world. It was just a way Malfoy had.

"Give me your hand," Malfoy said.

Harry looked up, jolted out of his thoughts. "What?"

"I want to see what happens," Malfoy said, pinning Harry with a look he didn't comprehend.

He was torn between the same curiosity and a strange reluctance. Harry slowly turned his palm upright and slid it to the center of the table. Malfoy laid his hand on Harry's, palm down. The effect was instantaneous, the warmth spreading through Harry's body, and the sense of familiarity and long-lost something, something that Harry couldn't identify springing into his senses. It was like getting a whiff of grass and wind that put him back in a specific day or place and he couldn't figure out where or what it was. It just felt right. It also felt strangely good. Malfoy's fingers closed around his hand and something else ran through Harry with a shudder. The feeling plunged below the waist and Harry was suddenly very aroused and horrified by the fact. He jerked his hand away, quickly, before people could think he was holding hands with another man, and especially before it could get preposterous.

The look on Malfoy's face was a little too knowing. "What does that feel like to you?" he demanded.

"I don't know," Harry muttered, looking for an escape, his beer forgotten.

"Come on," Malfoy pressed. "It feels warm to me. How does it feel to you?"

"It feels warm, yeah," Harry said. He surreptitiously pressed his thighs together. He had an erection. He was sitting in a pub across a table from Malfoy, and he had an erection. He was so mortified he could barely speak.

"I wonder if it really is the wands," Malfoy said thoughtfully, appearing not to notice. "Our wands wouldn't have a connection, would they? I mean, you used mine and generally handled it for a few days, or maybe a few weeks, I can't remember. How did it feel to use it? Did it perform well?"

Harry took a slow, deep breath and tried not to think of 'wands' in the euphemistic way that Ron liked to. "Well, I ended up picking it because it felt more right than any of the others did. I don't know what that means, if anything. My own wand is best for me, though."

"I'm sure it is," Malfoy said, and definitely smirked.

Harry felt heat colour his cheeks. "Maybe there is a connection now," he said, hardly paying attention to a word he was saying. His problem was getting worse, not better, with all this talk of wands. And what the hell was that about?! The strange warmth had done something to him. Something horrible, even if it had felt rather nice.

Malfoy had drawn his, glancing at the people around them. "I'd cast a Disillusionment, but there are Muggles everywhere," he said softly. He kept the wand flat on the table. "I assume you have yours here."

"Of course." Harry slid his out and laid it on the table. "Did you want to see it?"

"I just want to touch it," Malfoy said, a smile playing around his mouth. He didn't look Harry in the eye as he said it and Harry was relieved.

They traded, pushing their respective wands across the table to each other. Harry closed his hand around the end of Malfoy's and it felt the same as it had. It tingled the way a wand should, but it didn't fit as well as his own, nor did it give him that same feeling as Malfoy's hand had. Malfoy took his and ran a finger down it. Harry's mouth seemed to fill with saliva and his mortification grew too great to bear. He reached across the table and took his wand back, his chair skittering away.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "Have to use the loo. It's - I'll be back!" Without another word, he rushed away from the table and found his way to the dimly lit toilets at the back of the pub. It was empty. Harry went into the end stall and locked the door, his other hand already pressing at his crotch. He was so humiliated he nearly could have cried, nearly-thirty or not. How could his body betray him like this? He could not deny that he was ridiculously turned on. His cock was pushing against his trousers, trapped and harder than it had any right being. It was too hard to just go down on its own. And besides that, Harry was dying for a wank now. The sound of his fly being unzipped seemed unnaturally loud in the bathroom, but at least he was alone. He shoved his shorts down and tried to stifle his breathing as he started. He leaned back against the tiled wall and used both hands, the way he really liked it - one cupping his cock from underneath, sliding up and down, while the other one pulled at his balls. Moisture was beginning to gather at the tip. Harry smeared it around and tried not to think of Malfoy, of that shock of warmth… his breath sounded heavy in his ears, his pulse thudding against his skull.

The door to the bathroom opened. Harry's eyes snapped open and his hands froze. Whoever had come in let the door close softly behind him, and suddenly Harry knew who it was. He fought to hold his breath. There was silence for a moment. Harry willed his cock to go down, but knowing that Malfoy was that close by made it impossible. Steps came closer to Harry's stall, and then there was a whisper of cloth on wood and a voice said, very quietly, "Alohomora."

The bolt on the door slid open and Malfoy slipped inside the stall like a shadow.

Harry was panic-stricken, his heart in his throat. "Malfoy! What are you doing? I - " he was struggling to cover himself, force his stiff prick back into his jeans, but it was so obvious what he was doing and Malfoy had clearly already had a good eyeful of Harry standing there with his hands all over himself. His face had already flushed with heat, but now he thought it might actually explode from sheer humiliation. And arousal, oh yes. But he was trying not to let his thoughts go there at all.

Malfoy shook his head. "Don't even try, Potter," he said, his eyes narrowed, and it felt like they were back in school "I know what you're doing."

"You have no right to just walk in here like that!" Harry said angrily, trying to overcome his shame enough to turn the tables on Malfoy.

"No?" Malfoy pulled the door of the stall closed and locked it again. With another flick, the main door locked, too. When he turned back to Harry, he was much closer. Harry's cock throbbed. "I think I do," he said pointedly, looking down at Harry's dishevelled, still-open trousers. "You ran away from the table to deal with this. I felt whatever you felt. It's okay. I'm… it had the same effect on me."

Harry couldn't bring himself to meet Malfoy's eyes. "Did it?" he muttered. "I didn't see you getting… you know, like this."

Malfoy made a derisive sound. "Looks like there's something I'm better at after all," he said. "Namely, hiding the fact that I'm harder than wood, Potter. Thanks to you."

Some of the humiliation drained away a little. "Really?"

"Oh, definitely." Malfoy was reaching for the button of his trousers. Harry watched with a fascination he could not deny. "So as long as we're both here - "

Harry spluttered. "Wait! Malfoy, what are you - no!"

Malfoy slid the zip down and held Harry's horrified gaze. His eyes were challenging and very Slytherin, somehow. "What are you afraid of, Potter? I've already seen your cock and what you were doing with it. You're halfway through and still hard. There's no one here and I'm not going to say a word. And I don't feel like going to a different stall, just so that we can jerk off at the same time and pretend we're not. You're hard over me. I'm hard over you. You don't have to get it. Just do it."

"N-no," Harry said, awash with shame. "I can't! It's not - I'm not - "

"Stop worrying about definitions," Malfoy said. His voice was very smooth and persuasive and seductive as hell. When had that happened? 'Seductive' was not previously a word Harry would have thought to apply to Malfoy. Malfoy's wrist moved so subtly that Harry barely saw it, his cock slapping gently into his palm. He was right; it was harder than anything.

Saliva filled Harry's mouth again and he swallowed, unable to take his eyes off it. Questions rose in his throat and were strangled by the lump of desire there, of naked want. His hand was moving again before he could stop himself, while the one holding his jeans half in place over himself falling limply to his side. Malfoy's eyes were on him, watching his fist, the head of his cock winking out between strokes. He was watching Harry and rubbing himself, leaning back against the opposite wall, his legs spreading a little, his breath slipping out between his teeth. Just the fact that Malfoy was watching him do this and seemed to find it arousing did something to him that made the humiliation dissolve, forgotten. Ginny thought that wanking was disgusting. He could not think of Ginny now. Not here, locked in a bathroom stall with Draco Malfoy of all people, jerking his fist over his steadily leaking cock. He could feel his hips trying to buck off the wall to thrust harder into his fist, and knew from the look Malfoy gave him that it had not gone unnoticed.

The look nearly undid him - Malfoy's unmasked awareness of the state Harry was in. The very openness of the unspoken knowledge caused something in the pit of Harry's belly to thrill, his hands tightening in anticipation. Malfoy's thighs were quivering, his cock flushed dark in his white-knuckled hand. He was breathing harder. Harry sensed that he was getting close, almost ready to come. He pulled at his balls with his other hand, forgetting that he wasn't going to do that in front of Malfoy. Malfoy dragged his eyes up, off Harry's balls to his face and pushed himself off the wall. He was in Harry's face, his thighs pinning Harry's back against his own wall, his fingers brushing Harry's as they both rubbed faster still. Neither of them said a word, though there were certainly unformed words trying to organise themselves in Harry's lust-addled head at this. He should protest. He should push Malfoy away. Say that it had already gone too far and then find a way out of this mess. Malfoy closed his eyes and moaned through clenched teeth. It sounded terribly loud to Harry, but there was no time to think about this. Malfoy opened his eyes again and looked down between them. Steel-like fingers pried Harry's off his cock and just as quickly replaced them, Malfoy's cock rubbing alongside Harry's in his fist. Harry almost panicked now. He made to pull away, but there was nowhere to go, and the sensation of Malfoy's cock actually touching his felt so dreadfully, achingly good that he was rendered speechless. Malfoy's gaze locked to Harry's and his other hand took Harry's and placed it firmly around his so that both their hands were holding both cocks. Held in place, Harry found he didn't even want to move, not at this very second, though somewhere in the back of his head he knew that he should be running for the hills right now. Should have run several minutes ago, but it was far too late now. He thrust violently against Malfoy, coming and coming and gasping incoherently, the pleasure so overwhelmingly good that he could barely breathe. A second later, still reeling from his orgasm, there was another burst of hot fluid, followed by another and another as Malfoy came on him, and fuck if that didn't make something low in his belly ache with something he had no name for, too.

The stars began to fade as Harry started to get his breath back. Malfoy was leaning against him, breathing into the wall. After a bit, he straightened up. "Scourgify," he said, still panting. The wetness disappeared. It was a thorough spell, leaving even Harry's teeth feeling clean, his clothes a little crisper. He didn't quite look at Harry. "So," he said.

Harry took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt, then busied himself with zipping his jeans and buttoning them. "So," he said.

"That was interesting," Malfoy said, an eyebrow flicking upward.

"I don't know if that's the word for it," Harry mumbled. The reality of what had just happened hadn't set in at all yet, but when it did, he was quite sure that there would be a serious headache. At the very least. He hadn't left. He had let this happen, gone through with it. And if he'd had the chance to go back… he probably would have done it again. Harry couldn't make himself feel anything, not shame or regret or relief or anything.

"Whatever it was, it was…" Malfoy trailed off. "Look. It was fucking fantastic. I'm not going to lie. I'm sure you're not going to be very happy about it, but if you ever want to do this again, I'll be more than up for it. If you will. Not that I'm expecting you will, but there it is."

Harry couldn't even figure out what to say first to any of this. "Are you gay?" he asked, not caring how blunt it was. He glanced at Malfoy at last.

Malfoy looked at him as though he was completely dense. "Yes. Obviously."

"I'm not," Harry said, not even sure how this could be true, but insisting nonetheless.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, still looking away. "I'm sure you're not."

"I don't know what just happened," Harry said. "Or why. But I'm not gay. I can't be gay. I have three kids. I'm married."

"None of those counter the gay part." Malfoy unlocked the stall door. "I'll see you around, Potter."

Harry followed him out of the stall. "Malfoy - "

At the door, Malfoy turned. "Yes?"

Harry floundered. "I don't - I don't know what I was going to say."

To his surprise, Malfoy laughed. "I'm sure you don't. Good night, Potter."

He opened the door and was gone by the time Harry had mustered himself to follow. He went back to the others. Ron was slumped over the table, passed out. Seamus was weeping softly onto Dean's shoulder, singing something that might have been Danny Boy had it been in tune, and Dean was carrying on an overly animated conversation with someone from his workplace about centaur laws. Harry gave Ron a sharp jab in the shoulder, said his goodbyes and hauled Ron home to sleep it off. Normally, he would have brought Ron to his own house to sleep on their couch, but as Harry planned to sleep there himself, this was out of the question. He needed the space tonight, as he was now thoroughly confused.

* * *

The truth was that he didn't regret it. It was strange, and he was filled with remorse, but he didn't regret it for a second. And he knew that, had he known what it would feel like beforehand, he would have done it. Harry ducked the accusatory voice in his own head, the one that tended to sound the most like Hermione, and stubbornly held to this. It had been the most satisfying sexual experience he had ever had, barring none, and it was barely a hand job. He didn't even know what to call it. The fact that it had happened with Malfoy was the complicated bit, but he didn't know how to think about that or what to think about it, either. It was confusing and difficult. Ginny was still upset with him and they didn't have sex for almost two weeks after Dean's birthday. But he wanked a lot more, and couldn't stop himself from thinking of it.

He wondered if she wished now that she had stayed with Dean. Every so often, another remark about Dean's wife would come out and Harry couldn't think of a single thing to say. He played with Lily and wondered if he'd always had some sort of closeted thing for men, unacknowledged but dormant, waiting for a chance to emerge. He stuck Albus' drawings to the fridge with magnets and wondered if he could keep himself from wanting it again, or if he would always feel less satisfied now that he knew how much better it could be, how much more aroused he could be. He'd never felt unsatisfied with Ginny. But this was different. He took James to the play park and wondered if Malfoy would be there. He found himself always looking over his shoulder, waiting for that familiar voice that didn't appear. He went to work and forgot it all, absorbed and busy and grateful to be.

It could not happen again. That much was clear. But he was glad to have experienced attraction that strong, arousal that powerful, a climax that intense, at least once. Perhaps it was because of the link through the wands, but at the time, Harry had not been thinking of that at all. It was having rough hands on him, a cock sliding against him, Malfoy's eyes pinning him like a silver Basilisk stare to the wall - Harry dropped the potato he was attempting to peel manually and it rolled to the edge of the counter and onto the floor. Biting back a bit of profanity, Harry picked it up and put it in the compost bin under the sink, rinsed his hands and reached for another one. Albus sat behind him at the table, colouring. James was at the Weasleys, and Ginny had taken Lily for a walk in her stroller. The house was quiet. Too quiet.

Harry finished peeling the potatoes and left them on the cutting board temporarily. Pulling out a chair near his son, he sat. "What are you working on?"

Albus didn't look up. He reached for a green crayon and began to draw squiggly lines all over the purple mass that was already on the parchment. "It's a Hippogriff," he said, concentrating.

It looked like purple egg covered in the cellophane grass that came in Muggle kids' Easter baskets, some of which Dudley had once forced Harry to eat. "I see," Harry said gravely. "Is he flying?"

"No. He's sleeping," Albus said. He deliberated a moment, then chose a blue crayon and drew what appeared to Harry to be a small V near the top of the blob. "That's his eye."

"And… his wings?" Harry asked carefully.

Albus pointed silently at the green scribbles.

"Ah," Harry said.

The door banged. There was a thump and the unmistakeable sounds of his toddler running toward the kitchen. "Daddyyy!"

Harry got to his feet and went to catch her, swinging her up. "Lily! Did you have a nice walk?" Ginny came in, leaning against the doorframe. "Hello," Harry said in a different tone of voice.

"I see a kitty," Lily informed him excitedly.

"A kitty! Was it a grey kitty?" The neighbours at the end of the block owned a large grey cat, the source of frequent excitement on Lily's walks.

"Yes! And it has a tail!"

Too exciting for words. "My," Harry said, hoping he sounded impressed.

"Are you going to do something with those potatoes, or are you just going to leave them there for me to do something with them?" Ginny asked.

She sounded tired. It was Friday and it had been a long week. The boys went to nursery school, but they were home by three every afternoon and Ginny had them to herself until Harry was home around seven or eight, depending on the day. And much as they both loved the kids, it was very tiring.

"No, I said I would make supper," Harry said. "I just got distracted by the Hippogriff on the table."

"Hippogriff?" Ginny sounded disinterested, but came to inspect the picture anyway. "Very nice," she said. "Al, you've left paper peelings all over the table. Put those in the trash when you're done that picture and then come upstairs and change your shirt."

"I don't want to." Albus sounded very definite.

He could be intensely stubborn at times. Harry met Ginny's eyes. "It's not a choice," she told him shortly. "Harry, soon would be good. Ron and Hermione are coming over after supper, remember?"

"Right," Harry said.

"And you, young man, will do as you're told."

"Don't want to," Albus repeated.

"Al. That's enough," Harry said.

Albus gave him a disgusted look and put his crayon down. "All done," he said. Many of the paper peelings from his crayons made it into his hands and many of those made it into the trash before he stomped upstairs behind his mother. Harry sighed, picked up the rest of the peelings and went back to his own.

* * *

The Lestranges' creepy house was filthy and filled with all manner of evil and unpleasantness, both living and otherwise. The attack had been brutal - as expected, but Harry and his teammates all looked a little worse for the wear afterward. Rabastan was in custody. Ron and McFayden had managed him without a problem. Rodolphus was dead, which was his own fault. He could have gone to Azkaban with his brother, but had preferred to fight to the death instead. He had eventually been killed by one of his own deflected curses before his team had been able to get a Stunner past his shields. Harry was exhausted. The mission had accomplished exactly what it was intended to, and they had also recovered several highly valuable artefacts to return to the Ministry. It had lasted several hours, though, with patches of action so furious and fast that there had barely been a moment to breathe. Harry went back to the Department with the others and left as quickly as possible.

Ginny had asked him to pick up a new pewter cauldron for the kitchen, as James had decided to try "brewing" Albus' crayons just the previous day. Harry had no idea what sort of magic could make a cauldron and some wax crayons explode that way, but it was rather beside the point now. Ginny had already replaced the crayons, so he was left with the task of going to Diagon Alley to buy another kitchen cauldron.

It was pleasant to be in Diagon Alley on a warm, spring afternoon. Harry could almost forget the cuts jagging down his legs, the temporary healing spells a bit shaky. Never his strongest suit, that. There was also a burn on the back of one shoulder that pained him a little. The sun was warm, though, a light breeze whisking through the air. It felt almost like summer. He went into Vonda's Cauldrons and began poking around, not really interested in cauldron shopping as he was in passing the time. It was a long, narrow shop, cauldrons stacked all the way up to the ceiling on shelves that seemed precarious, but would never collapse, Harry knew.

Musing over this, he turned the corner at the end and discovered Malfoy turning a small gold cauldron over in his hands. He stopped. Malfoy hadn't seen him yet, but -

Malfoy turned. For a moment, his expression was completely neutral. "Potter," he said expressionlessly.

"M-Malfoy," Harry said. His pulse was racing, his hands clammy. "What are you doing here?"

It was a moronic thing to say and Malfoy rolled his eyes. "What does it look like, Potter?"

He was dressed appropriately for Diagon Alley, dark dress robes with the sort of metallic design down the front that his father had favoured. His hair was swept back from his face but not slicked the way it had been in their youth. He looked good, well-dressed and attractive. Harry felt instantly sloppy and straightened his glasses self-consciously. He fumbled after something to say. "I, er, I… right. Sorry. Buying a cauldron, I guess."

"Clever," Malfoy said, sounding quite indifferent, though Harry suspected it was a front. "How are you, Potter?"

"Fine," Harry said quickly. "Just fine. You?"

"I'm splendid, thank you," Malfoy said, looking pained at Harry's awkwardness. "Best two weeks I've ever had."

Harry was forced to laugh. "Sorry," he said, feeling stupid. "I just - it was - I don't know. I just wasn't expecting to see you here. It took me by surprise."

"I noticed," Malfoy said.

Harry looked around and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Um," he said, not sure where to go with this. "It's not that I don't like you, Malfoy. I just - I shouldn't see you. Not alone like this."

Malfoy's brows rose, clearly unimpressed. "We're hardly alone," he said, unmoved. "We're in the middle of a public shop."

"Back corner," Harry contradicted, still unable to look him in the eye. "I just - I - "

"Would you spit it out?" Malfoy looked disgusted. "I know what you're trying to say. Or what you don't want to say because you can't even acknowledge that it's true. You know it's true and I know it's true, so there's no point in us standing here for half an hour while you try to muster the balls to get it out of your mouth."

"What?" Harry demanded, startled by Malfoy's vitriol. "What's true?"

Malfoy took a step closer and lowered his voice and his gaze both, focusing on Harry's chin. "That that was the hottest thing you've ever experienced, and that your wife pales so far in comparison that you don't know where to leave yourself. You're afraid of being close to me, in the same room as me, because you're terrified of how much you liked it and how much you still want it. It's true, isn't it? I know it is."

His proximity had the effect of constricting Harry's breath. He drew a shuddering breath. Malfoy was only inches away, and his traitorous body knew it. "Even if it is," he made himself say, "I couldn't. Not again. I have a family, kids… no matter how much I might want it."

"Potter." Malfoy's voice was quiet but firm and something in it dragged Harry's eyes to his. "Where you put your cock doesn't affect your children. It only affects you. And me."

"I don't see how it can't," Harry said flatly. "I - you're right, okay? It was, uh, really good. But how much I want it or don't want it doesn't come into this."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "You'd rather go the rest of your natural life without ever being that aroused again instead? That's insane."

Anger helped clear his head, though it didn't help what was inevitably happening below his waist. "It's not about what I want," Harry said, his voice rising a little. "It's about what's best for everyone in my life. In my family, I mean," he clarified, not intending to hurt Malfoy's feelings.

Malfoy shook his head. "It's never been about what you want," he said. "Maybe you prefer it that way. Funny. And here I thought you were the archetypal Gryffindor." He took a step away, put the gold cauldron down, and left the shop without a backward look.

Harry stood where he was, rooted to the spot, frozen in his thoughts. Then he bolted into the street after Malfoy, cauldrons forgotten.

Malfoy was only a few shops away. Harry hurried through the crowd, not wanting to call him. He caught up, breathless, and touched Malfoy's elbow. Malfoy twitched him off without a word, looking determinedly straight ahead. "Malfoy!" Harry grabbed him again, pulled him off the main alley into a dark, shadowy one.

"What, Potter?" Malfoy glared at him and wrenched his arm back. "What do you want?"

Harry stared at him. "Uh, I - "

Malfoy glared fiercely back. "You are the most hopeless loser I have ever known," he said, sneering.

The strength of his own fury took Harry by surprise. His fist connected with Malfoy's shoulder hard, with a dull thud of flesh on flesh. Malfoy snarled, his wand appearing in his hand in seconds, sending a slicing pain down Harry's already-battered left shin. Harry made a sound of outrage and lunged for Malfoy's wand, tackling him. The alley was both dark and deserted, or someone might have called Magical Law Enforcement. Somehow or other he was on top of Malfoy and they rolled over and over until the wall on the far side of the alley put a stop to that. It was then that Harry had a chance to notice that they were both hard. Malfoy's eyes reflected the same realisation. There was a split second when no one moved, and then it started again, but this time Harry wasn't fighting. And neither was Malfoy.

He ground himself into Malfoy's body, his cock jutting into Malfoy's and it felt so good, so right, even through two sets of robes and trousers. It didn't matter that anyone could come by, that anyone could see - he needed this, needed it so badly he might have died if someone had come and forced him to get off Malfoy. Malfoy let go of his arms and dug all ten fingers into Harry's arse. They were rutting together like animals, not two grown men - well, twenty-nine was still borderline, in Harry's opinion, but still - and Harry was seconds away from coming in his pants like a fourteen-year-old. A strangled sound told him that Malfoy had just done exactly that, the pressure between them easing into a warm pool of release. Harry was almost there, almost - Malfoy forced his hand under Harry's robes and down his trousers, jerking frantically at his cock, and it was exactly what Harry wanted, feeling so good that he could - Harry felt himself shooting into those long, slim fingers, panting into Malfoy's flushed face.

After a moment, Harry pulled himself to his feet. Malfoy got up and dusted himself off, glancing apprehensively toward the entrance to the alley. They were still alone. Relief. Harry felt a sort of gut-clenching misery knot in his belly in a way that had nothing to do with the enormity of his orgasm. Again. He'd done it again. He'd cheated on Ginny twice now. With Malfoy, of all people. And it had felt just as good, and he knew already that the next time he saw Malfoy, he would want it to happen again. He took a stumbling step away, pulling off his condensation-smeared glasses to clean on his robe and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do about this.

Uncharacteristically, Malfoy didn't say anything to rub it in. He was busy fussing with his clothing, his hair. "I guess I should be on my way," he said, his tone unreadable.

Harry nodded jerkily. "Okay," he said.

"I'll see you around," Malfoy said, as he had the time before. Harry looked up and had just time enough to see the look on Malfoy's face before he hurried out of the alley. It did something to him, something that added to the knot already residing in his stomach.

In short, he felt wretched.

* * *

The wretchedness lasted him through the next week. He could barely look Ginny in the eye. She put it down to his supposed shame over the oral sex thing and went about the house with a faint air of triumph. Though if she thought that was going to change anything, she was in for a surprise, Harry thought. If he so much as remembered either incident with Malfoy, he got turned on. As for Ginny, Harry was dreading the night she finally spoke up and initiated. He spent all of his home time with the kids, hiding behind them from his marriage and his own thoughts.

Harry didn't know what to think. He genuinely did not think that he was gay. Everyone had incidents like this, surely. He'd just been too busy saving the world back during his teen years when people usually had their experimentation stages. Except that he was married and had children now. It wasn't something he could keep doing. He knew this. Reminded himself of it every time thoughts of Malfoy came up. It was just… that didn't seem to factor into it. Harry knew it was awful, but he did want it. He wanted it enough to call Malfoy (but he didn't have his number and didn't know exactly where he lived) and see if they could get together again. Maybe, some part of his mind was suggesting, he could just see Malfoy a little bit. Just here and there. No one would have to know.

He knew that he would know. Know, and feel terrible. But would he feel badly enough not to pursue Malfoy? He couldn't answer this. The thought of finding some other bloke to hook up with had not occurred to Harry. It was Malfoy in particular that he wanted. He had acknowledged this quietly to himself but didn't know what to make of it.

He was withdrawn around Hermione especially, whose questions could probe like a scalpel. Uncharacteristically, she didn't seem to notice anything awry. Maybe they all thought he was just tired. Rabastan Lestrange's trial had taken a full week, half a day spent solely on cataloguing his crimes. Harry was required for all of it, and it did tire him. He was angry, angry that there could still be people who didn't understand what Voldemort had been and still wanted to forward his agenda. Angry at the patent lack of remorse. He clung to the notion that it was important for the Ministry to respond dispassionately, to lock Lestrange away rather than to authorise his death or a Dementor's kiss. He resolutely ignored Lestrange's repeated threats against the Weasleys. Revenge was out of the question now, for either side. The war was over.

Malfoy did not attend the trial. Harry heard a rumour that he had not been at any of the trials other than those at which he was required to give testimony. As for his own, Harry had been there. Malfoy had been tried along with his parents, and in light of his father's sins, both his and Narcissa's had faded utterly into the background. Both had been released without sentence. Harry had provided the details of Malfoy's refusal to identify himself, Ron, and Hermione to the Wizengamot before the trial had begun, and knew that it would factor into the sentencing. Lucius had died in Azkaban years later. Harry had never known the precise reasons why, had never asked.

It was all history. The important thing was for everyone to move ahead in the best way possible. Which all sounded very good when one was talking about societies and the larger picture, but how did that apply to someone like Malfoy? Harry thought of this, too, and it made a welcome relief from thinking about himself and his own life.

* * *

The grocery store was bustling on Saturday evening. Nearly closing time, half the neighbourhood seemed to be crammed inside, intent on picking up those last few necessary items before night. Harry carried a basket containing one red bell pepper, two tomatoes, a box of linguine, a loaf of ciabatta, a bunch of fresh basil, a bottle of red wine, and was currently wandering in search of a jar of minced garlic. He never knew where to look for that, or perhaps it was because it was never in the same place twice. After trying the aisle where salad dressings were kept, Harry decided to look in the produce section. Heading back down the aisle, he spotted a flash of blond hair. His heart quickening obnoxiously, Harry dismissed the thought. It couldn't be Malfoy. Well, it could; Malfoy did live in the area. Harry found himself speeding up despite himself, just to see. Or so he told himself.

Malfoy replaced a glass jar of some sort of sauce on the shelf and saw him. His bored expression lightened. "Potter," he said.

Harry couldn't tell exactly; Malfoy was being too careful, but it sounded to him as though Malfoy was trying not to sound pleased to see him. "Hi," he said. He smiled cautiously. "Packed in here, isn't it?"

Malfoy made a distasteful face. "It's a terrible time to shop. I wanted to get a few things, though, and now was the only time. I take it you're in the same boat."

"It's been a busy week," Harry said.

A flicker of recognition went over Malfoy's face and Harry wondered if he was thinking of Rabastan Lestrange's trial. All he said was, "I'm sure."

"Excuse me," an irritated Muggle woman said, squeezing past Harry's basket.

"Sorry," Harry said. To Malfoy, he said, "I'm just headed over to the produce section to see if I can find some minced garlic."

"They have it," Malfoy said. "It's where the pre-prepared salad mixes are. I'm going that way, too. I'll come with you."

Harry agreed. Malfoy gestured, indicating that Harry should go first. Harry brushed past him and thought he could hear Malfoy's sharp inhalation. His senses sharpened instinctively. He did not see how he could possibly get himself into trouble in a crowded grocery store on a Saturday evening, but he found himself looking forward to even this small thing. He made his way to the produce section and found the garlic exactly where Malfoy had said it was. He put a jar in the basket and watched Malfoy examine a sheaf of organic parsley.

Malfoy looked up. Their eyes met and he smiled, shrugged, and put the parsley back. "Got it? I want to see what their oranges are like."

Harry followed him to the oranges, thinking how strange it was to see Malfoy in such a domestic situation, picking out fruit. It barely registered as the same, pointy-faced git who had been first his rival and then his enemy. None of the remembered images lined up. He remembered Malfoy's face in the cracked mirror above the basin in the abandoned bathroom where Myrtle crooned somewhere overhead, ravaged with fear. He remembered Malfoy's hand slipping out of his grasp as the Fiendfyre raged around them in the Room of Requirement, and remembered that Malfoy owed him a life-debt. How things had changed. The fear was gone. Malfoy seemed like anyone else, if a little more snide, a little more burdened with personal baggage than the average person.

It was strangely comfortable too, and it had no right to be. Granted, Harry's nerve endings were tingling with Malfoy's proximity once again, and if Malfoy was standing deliberately too close to Harry and pretending that he wasn't, Harry was going along with it. Their arms brushed as Malfoy put four oranges in a plastic bag and knotted it. He turned. "Your pepper inspired me," he said, nodding toward them. "So I suppose we just don't talk about last time, either. Too complicated?"

"It's easier if we don't," Harry said warily.

"Fine. I'd rather let the subtext do the talking, anyway," Malfoy said breezily. His hand, as they went around the stacks of apples, brushed Harry's arse. Harry flinched, immediately cursing himself for his jumpiness. Malfoy chuckled under his breath. "I see you're not arguing for once," he murmured.

They were walking down the aisle to the peppers, too close together. Would people be able to tell just by looking? "I don't want to argue about this here," Harry said, his own voice low and intense. He stopped, facing the vegetables and not Malfoy.

"But you're not running away this time," Malfoy said. He stood slightly behind Harry, their bodies overlapping. "Pick one for me," he said, and it didn't matter what he was even saying; his voice was seduction in itself.

Harry reached for a bag and prised it open, his fingers shaking. Malfoy's shoulder was leaning into the back of his own, his left leg behind Harry's right, his hip pressing into Harry's arse. Harry didn't want to move away, didn't want even this small thing to end. Warmth was spreading through him, warmth that had possibly nothing to do with wands or life-debts or any other sort of magical connection. He picked up a shiny red pepper and held it up for Malfoy to inspect. "How's this?" he managed to say, surprised at how calm his voice sounded when he felt so out of control.

"Brilliant," Malfoy said, his voice like a caress. His breath touched Harry's ear, making him shiver.

Harry knotted the bag the way Malfoy had done and gave it to him, moving away with reluctance. He glanced around to see if anyone had seen or if there was anyone of his acquaintance nearby. "Anything else?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from betraying him.

"No," Malfoy said, sounding a trifle reluctant, himself. "I think this is it."

Harry went to queue up to pay, very much aware of Malfoy standing close behind him again. The warmth was addictive. Once they were standing between the shelf dividing the lanes and the counter, Malfoy put a hand firmly on Harry's arse and left it there, rubbing a little, his body shielding it from view. Harry's cock stirred keenly, arousal curling down his spine, into his mouth, the roots of his hair. He leaned into it, too interested not to.

"Mr Potter! Hello!" Startled, Harry didn't move, but he looked around and recognised a lady from down the street two cashier lanes over, a neighbour to the owners of the grey cat. He couldn't recall her name, but gave a feeble wave back.

"Hello," he called. "Bit busy in here, eh?"

Malfoy's hand tightened its hold, his hips closer to Harry's arse than they should be, heat gathering between them. Harry missed whatever the woman said back, his focus distorted between Malfoy and the cashier telling him his total. He found his wallet and paid, took his groceries and went to wait for Malfoy at the end of the counter, ignoring the voice in his head that was telling him to just leave.

Malfoy joined him seconds later and they left the store. Once they had reached the cobbled sidewalk, Harry felt the tension increase. Malfoy's arm kept touching his as they walked in the general direction of both their houses and Harry couldn't think of anything safe or reasonable to say.

"Here," Malfoy muttered, nodding toward a narrow lane between buildings and steering Harry into it. His wand appeared in his hand and Harry felt the cold trickling effect of a Disillusionment. "Now," Malfoy said, stowing his wand. "Don't say anything. Don't argue. You don't have to… just let me."

Harry looked into his intense face. "Malfoy," he said softly, but he couldn't bring himself to say it, to force Malfoy away.

Malfoy shook his head, refusing to listen, his hands touching Harry's firm abdomen through his t-shirt, sliding over the bony jut of his hips. Harry watched his fingers slip the button out of his jeans, his cock waiting inside as though it had known this was going to happen all along. With one hand, Malfoy took the bag of groceries from his hand and set it beside his on the pavement, the other rubbing gently. Harry heard his breath hiss between his teeth, shuddered as the cool air moved against his cock as Malfoy exposed it to the evening. Malfoy glanced at him once before swiftly dropping to his knees and touching his mouth to it. To his cock. Harry felt tremors of anticipation run through his entire frame.

Malfoy held his hips as his mouth slid hotly, wetly down the length of it. Harry's breath sucked in so sharply that he thought his lungs might have shrivelled. He'd only felt this once in his life before, before he and Ginny had been married, and… well, there was no comparison. Ginny had tried to fake some enthusiasm for it, but it was clear that the thought rather disgusted her. And it hadn't been very good. She'd licked at it half-heartedly, sucked ineffectually, then said her jaw was sore and that he should fuck her now. It had been limp and wet and not very good, though Harry could easily imagine how it could have been. Like this, in a word. Malfoy's mouth was strong, his lips firm around Harry's cock, his tongue skating tantalisingly down the thick vein on the underside. It was everything he had thought a blow job could be. As Malfoy's mouth travelled down to the sensitive skin of his balls, Harry hastily revised: it was far better. He gasped, his fingers scrabbling at the grimy wall behind him, his head coming into sharp contact with it. The visual was too breathtaking, though - Harry opened his eyes again as Malfoy shifted and the wet warmth enveloped the head of Harry's cock again. Harry saw his hand moving: Malfoy had his hand down his trousers, which were pushed down to reveal the rosy tip of his cock just showing through his fist. The sight struck a nerve with Harry, the thought that Malfoy was this turned on from doing this. His own need rose urgently, the need/pleasure ratio locked in vicious battle. His hips pushed forward without his meaning to, craving the depths of Malfoy's mouth. Malfoy let go of Harry's hip with the one hand that had still been holding him back, moving to the base of Harry's cock, stroking in rhythm with his mouth. The suction intensified and the pleasure spiked sharply. With another gasp, Harry felt himself stop breathing for a moment, the wet rush following, pouring into Malfoy's mouth. Into his mouth, Malfoy had let him come right in his mouth. It felt, in a way, more intimate than anything he had done with Ginny. Malfoy let him finish, swallowing. Recovering, Harry looked down and saw that Malfoy's hand was wet with his own release and wondered when that had happened.

Malfoy looked up at him, wordless. The moment stretched out between them, Malfoy kneeling, Harry's now-limp cock just inches from his face. Harry let go of the wall and put his hands in Malfoy's hair, gentle. He didn't know what to say, but there didn't seem to be any need to say anything just then. Unspoken things crowded the air between them, but neither of them put voice to any of it. Malfoy's hair was very soft, the curve of his throat exposed above his loosened tie and pristine white shirt. It was a strangely tender moment, Harry holding Malfoy's face in his hands, fine blond stubble rough under his palms. After a bit, he said, "I have to go."

"I know," Malfoy said starkly.

Harry let go of him and did up his jeans, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and removed the Disillusionments. He wanted to say something. Not thank you, which would almost be rude, but something more complimentary. To say it would be too much, though. As if the rest of it wasn't already. The now-familiar knot returned to his belly as he bent to pick up his groceries. He had to leave. If he said anything or did anything or touched Malfoy again, all would be lost. He would kiss him. It would be unavoidable. No. Harry looked at Malfoy and sort of nodded. "See you," he said.

"Right," Malfoy said neutrally.

Harry couldn't bear it. He would have walked, but he had to get away. He Disapparated.

His unannounced Apparition in the front hall of the house made Lily shriek, Albus jump, and James give a yell of what Harry could only assume was joy. All three children surrounded him, and he knelt to hide his face in their hair, their undemanding familiarity. Everything in him was swirling. He did not want to lose this. He could not lose this. And yet he seemed to have no power to say no to Malfoy, no power to make himself want to say no in the first place. Only Albus noticed anything, giving Harry a slightly quizzical look. But he didn't say anything and Harry was relieved.

* * *

It was two nights later when Ginny initiated something. She turned onto her back when Harry got into bed. He had thought she was sleeping.

"Where have you been?" she asked, not sounding sleepy at all.

"James wanted another story," Harry said.

"I thought we agreed not to give in to him all the time."

The tension was palpable. "I wasn't giving in," Harry said. "He asked nicely. He'd only had one story before that."

"It's past his bedtime," Ginny said. "You've been keeping them up too late."

"Sorry," Harry said. The word dropped like a stone, unaccepted.

She moved over to him, putting a slim arm over his torso beneath the blankets. "Let's fuck," she said, her voice half attempting to be seductive and half pleading.

One of the things Harry had always liked about her was her refusal to use silly euphemisms, but this time, it made him wince. If she'd phrased it some other way, it wouldn't have sounded so… plain. Like that was all it was. And he knew already that he couldn't. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. "Not tonight. I'm not… I'm sorry."

He could feel her hurt radiating out like some sort of reproachful sun. Then she said, "You've had a long week or two, with the trial. You're tired."

"Yes," Harry said. He should elaborate, but the one-word lie was bad enough. Though he was tired, but he'd been tired with Malfoy, too.

She waited for him to expand, and when he didn't, turned over to face the opposite wall. He hoped she wasn't crying. He could handle her anger, though it frustrated him, but this… remorse ate at his stomach lining. He could just hold her, maybe, but he didn't want to. The memory of the moment after his last encounter with Malfoy was still vivid. He did not want to touch her. He looked at her, and the angle of her shoulder said that she was angry, not weeping. "Maybe some other time, then," she said acidly.

"Maybe," Harry said. "Look, Gin, I'm sorry. I just - it's been a long week and - "

"And Rabastan hexed your cock off?" she snapped, still facing away. "God, Harry. If we didn't have children, I'd think there was something wrong with you."

Anger swiftly replaced the remorse. "There's nothing wrong with me," Harry said stiffly, trying not to think the word gay.

"Is it some sort of war trauma thing? I remember what it was like right after the war," Ginny said. "You never wanted to do anything except kiss. I thought then that you must have been overwhelmed by everything that had happened, by losing Fred and Remus and Tonks. I gave you time, and finally, you came around. And then it wasn't exactly like you were firing on all thrusters, was it?"

"Pardon me?" Harry said, with a very bad feeling about where this was going. Ginny had never said any of this before.

"You only ever wanted to fuck, and even then I had to initiate most of the time," Ginny said, twisting back to face him, eyes blazing. "And now we're back to this. If I didn't know better, I would think you were asexual or queer or something. What kind of man doesn't like sex?"

Harry bit back a sharp retort concerning his sex drive that he would have instantly regretted. Instead he said, "Maybe that's just one of the problems with marrying the Boy-Who-Lived."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ginny was suddenly on her guard, eyes on his suspiciously.

"It means that maybe I have more to deal with than you do, and maybe you could bear that in mind the next time you decide that I should be like any other man alive," Harry said, his voice rising, the anger growing steadily. She tried to interrupt, but he overrode her. "You mentioned Fred and Remus and Tonks, but you didn't mention Dumbledore, Dobby, Snape, Cedric, or Wormtail. You didn't mention the fact that I died and came back to life again, that I had to make everyone I've ever cared about think I was dead. Do you have any idea what any of that was like, having Hagrid carry me back to the castle, sobbing the whole way, or hearing McGonagall scream when she saw me and thought I was dead? Do you know what it was like to keep meeting Voldemort over and over and over again, thinking I was going to die every single time?"

"Harry - "

"You don't know," Harry said loudly. "And as you just said the last time we talked about this, yeah, I grew up in a cupboard. Maybe I have some issues. But you knew all of this when you married me, and when we got first together at Hogwarts. Maybe what was really important to you was getting the Boy-Who-Lived and not me."

"Harry, you do not have any right to say stuff like this to me!" Ginny was incensed, sitting up now. She switched on a light near the bed. "How dare you! I have always loved you, always, no matter what you put me through!"

"What I put you through?" Harry repeated, disbelievingly. "And since when is always? You had a crush on me before we had even met. You knew who I was. You knew who and what I was up against. Did you think it would all be sunshine and rainbows the instant the war was over? Give me a fucking break."

"Watch your language!" Ginny snapped, red in the face.

"The kids are in bed," Harry said, past caring about her sensibilities.

"You're accusing me of having loved you just for being Harry Potter," Ginny said, jaw clenched. "Have I got that right?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "You tell me. When did it become more? When did you realise that I'm a real person and not just an icon? I'm not perfect."

"That much," Ginny said nastily, "is very clear. I can't even believe you're saying these things to me. We've been married seven years. Seven years, Harry. I've known you for much longer. Of course I know you're a 'real person'! And give you a break? What else have I ever done?"

It was getting to the point where they were going to say things that could not be taken back. Harry knew this, felt the thin ice. It was too late to turn back now, though. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Ginny crossed her arms. "I waited for you," she said. "I waited for you all those years when you were too blind to even notice my existence. I waited for you through the war - "

"Which lasted less than a year, really," Harry said. "You went back to school."

"You excluded me from the entire Horcrux search," Ginny went on, as though he hadn't said anything. "Which is something I will never understand. I don't see why you couldn't have included me."

"Dumbledore left it to me, Ron, and Hermione," Harry said. "How many times have I told you that? It wasn't my choosing."

"You didn't have to break up with me before you went!"

"Yes, I did," Harry said bluntly. "I wasn't interested in having a relationship while everything else was going on. I missed you in there, but I had a job to do."

"And my brother and Hermione got to be with you and I didn't. You've made it clear that I'm second-rate, compared to them and always have been," Ginny said.

"They're my best friends," Harry said.

"I'm your wife."

"I know that."

They were facing each other, neither about to give any ground. "This is what you put me through," Ginny said. "And then after, you made me wait so long before you were willing to get married, and after all that, to find out that you're sexually defective - well, it's a bit much."

Harry's face grew very hot. "I am not," he said slowly, as angry as he'd ever been, "sexually defective."

Ginny treated him to a supremely contemptuous look. She opened her mouth to make a comeback that would, Harry knew from past experience, likely make him feel two inches tall and peel his skin off with sarcasm. Suddenly he'd had enough.

"I don't want to talk about this any more," he said, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Where are you going?" Ginny demanded.

"To sleep on the sofa," Harry said shortly, not looking at her. He walked out of the room, trembling with rage (and something that might have been humiliation), went to the closet in the hall and pulled out a spare blanket and pillow. These he took downstairs and stretched out on the sofa. It was a very long time before he was able to sleep.

* * *

Ginny didn't speak to him at all the next day, nor the next. Harry stayed on the sofa and nothing was said about that, either. He spent more time at work and tried not to think about it. Thinking about Ginny made him feel sick to the stomach. Thinking about Malfoy, though… it had a very different result, and it wasn't the now-familiar one. It was Friday, past six in the afternoon. Harry got up abruptly from his desk and went to stand near the window. It was underground, of course, but the illusion was that of a view from the seventeenth storey of an office tower. Rain was falling lightly, the sky muted with piles of light grey cloud.

The sky was the colour of Malfoy's eyes, he thought. He thought of Malfoy's eyes during that moment in the alley, his face cradled in Harry's hands, his arms hanging in loose surrender by his sides. Harry saw the expression in Malfoy's eyes again, and something in his chest gave a fierce twist.

Perhaps his decision had been made. He went down to the clerical end of the Department and requested an owl.

* * *

Malfoy opened his front door when Harry knocked. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Malfoy said, "I got your owl."

"I had to see you," Harry repeated.

"That's a switch," Malfoy said. He did not ask how Harry had found his address and Harry did not volunteer the information.

"Can I come in?"

Malfoy held the door open and stood back. As Harry passed him, he said, "I'm alone at the moment. My wife and son are at her parents' for the weekend." His tone was casual, but Harry heard past that.

The hall was wide, revealing a long hallway leading to the back of the house, rooms opening on either side. It was tastefully appointed, though not ostentatious. He didn't look at Malfoy as he responded. "Good."

Malfoy paused. "Would you like a drink?"

"No," Harry said, turning around. "I need to talk to you."

Malfoy's expression grew imperceptibly more closed. "I assume this is where you say things about your marriage and children and that we can't continue… whatever this is. That you aren't going to see me again. And so forth."

Harry shook his head. "That's what I should be saying," he said. "But it's not what I want."

Malfoy was watching him guardedly. "Meaning what? Where are you going with this?"

They were only separated by a few feet, but Harry moved closer, kept going until he was standing right in front of Malfoy. Malfoy didn't move or back away, his eyes riveted to Harry's. Harry could feel it without touching Malfoy, the warmth hovering between them and around them. He didn't know how to explain himself. Perhaps he didn't need to. He and Malfoy were almost the exact same height. The space grew smaller and smaller. He put his mouth on Malfoy's and from the instant it started, he knew that he had crossed the threshold.

Malfoy held him like a drowning man, his mouth opening against Harry's. The foyer was silent but for the sounds of their breath, their kissing. And the fact that Malfoy was male and he was male had nothing to do with anything. It felt as though everything had clicked into place; the world had finally shifted into a proper orbit. He never wanted to let go or to stop this. Malfoy's tongue was soft and strong and felt exactly as he had known it would not only from the way it had felt on his cock, but by the way Malfoy cursed, the way his mouth moved when he said the letter o, the way he held his mouth when he was plotting something. It shouldn't have felt so right, so natural, but it did.

It became a struggle to get closer together, Malfoy moving his arms from around Harry to pull him closer by the arse, by the jaw, swaying together in some sort of primeval dance. The explanation was given in full; Malfoy understood him. Gasping, Harry finally broke away to breathe, to attempt to put some of it in speech anyway. "After last time," he said, his heart pounding, "I couldn't walk away again. Not from this. Not from you."

"You bloody idiot," Malfoy said, his voice rough. "I own you."

"I think I'm in love with you," Harry told him soberly.

"I know you are," Malfoy said. "I knew it last time. I didn't think I would see you again, though. Not like this."

Harry didn't know what to say to this, so he kissed Malfoy again, and it was long and hard and so knee-shakingly passionate that it nearly undid him. He knew without a doubt that he had never felt this way about Ginny. Not a shadow of it. His hands roamed, pulling Malfoy's shirt out of his trousers to touch his back, feel the warmth of his skin. Malfoy let go of him long enough to unbutton his cuffs and Harry tugged the shirt off him altogether. Next it was Harry's, dragged off over his head, nearly getting his glasses along with it. Malfoy removed these, too, setting them on the table in the hall next to a large vase of flowers.

"Upstairs," he said. It was only one word, but Harry had the sense to know that if he acquiesced to this, it would seal everything. There would be no going back.

Harry nodded, took a deep breath, and followed Malfoy up the carpeted staircase. Near the top, Malfoy stopped two stairs above Harry and took Harry's face in both hands and assaulted his mouth with a passion akin to fury, nearly suffocating in its intensity. Harry responded in like fashion, and after a bit he and Malfoy had ended up on the stairs in a tangle of arms and legs and mouths and as long as he could go on kissing Malfoy, Harry was fine. His heart was beating wildly, his entire body more alive than it had ever felt before. Eventually Malfoy struggled to his feet again, pulling Harry bodily with him. Arms still twined around him, Malfoy stumblingly led them to a room, neither of them willing to let go even for this. Malfoy couldn't seem to find the light switch. In annoyance, he finally lit candles around the room with a wandless wave, revealing a lush bedroom suite in the flickering light.

They were both hard, a fact that had made itself known on the stairs already. Malfoy let go of him and they faced each other for a moment. "Are you ready for this?" Malfoy asked, angling his chin forward as though in challenge.

Harry was certain. "Yes."

"I'm no woman, Potter." Malfoy's eyes were sharp.

"I know that." Harry moved to him and deliberately put a hand on Malfoy's crotch, his palm pressing into the hard length. He had never touched Malfoy's cock before. He had never touched anyone's cock before. His eyes on Malfoy's, Harry carefully took off the rest of his clothes. "I want you," he said.

Malfoy smiled. In the candlelight, he looked predatory. Something about it reminded Harry of the expression he had often had during Quidditch matches. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet Malfoy was the same. Only there was no fear. He was smiling. "You can have me."

"Take off your clothes," Harry said. Malfoy stripped in seconds, his hands coming for Harry's cock, his arse gripped firmly enough to be nearly painful, in the best of ways. Harry got his own hands on Malfoy, his fingers exploring. Malfoy kissed him again, his arms around him, their bodies aligned from chest to knee. Malfoy half walked, half pushed him to the bed and they stumbled onto it, Malfoy willingly rolling onto his back and pulling Harry onto him. It felt good enough like this, with the barest of moisture to ease the rub of skin against skin, but Malfoy summoned something from the bedside table and spread it liberally between them. They moved together, still kissing, everything turning to liquid bliss with the lubrication slick between them. Malfoy wrapped his legs around Harry's and used this as leverage to push himself against Harry, his fingers digging into Harry's arse. Harry was on the verge of coming when Malfoy stopped.

"Wait," he said. Harry tried to protest, but Malfoy shook his head. "I want you to fuck me."

A jolt of something completely unlike anything else went through Harry, leaving him breathless and shaking. He nodded and swallowed again, his mouth suddenly too wet. "Okay."

Malfoy pulled him down and kissed him. "Good boy," he purred. He pulled his knees up as they kissed, and after, "It's a bit different like this, but you'll figure it out." His fingers found Harry's cock and guided it to the right place. "Like this."

"Okay," Harry said again, wholly unsure of himself, but strangely sure of Malfoy. He followed Malfoy's fingers until his cock was pushing against Malfoy. It felt too small, too tight for him. "Are you - is this - "

"Yes," Malfoy said, forestalling Harry's question, his eyes holding Harry's like magnets.

Harry's cock was throbbing softly with need. He nodded, momentarily unable to speak, and pushed himself into Malfoy's body. It was tight, so tight, and he was holding his breath. Malfoy made a sound that was either pain or immense satisfaction - or both - and Harry echoed it in a sound he'd never heard himself make before.

Malfoy's laugh was coloured with his own breathlessness. "Exactly."

"Oh - fuck - " Harry could still barely speak.

"Now move," Malfoy ordered. "Exactly like that. This is perfect."

Harry's control was hanging by a thread already; he began to thrust at a barely-moderated speed, the lubricant easing the way. The warmth was all-encompassing now, his cock surrounded in heat pressing into him in pleasure that was mounting far too quickly. Malfoy was moaning wantonly, fisting his cock. "Touch me," he gasped, his voice even rougher. "My cock - you - "

Harry shifted his balance and replaced Malfoy's hand there, still moving rhythmically within him. Malfoy's cock was hard and wet and his fist was flying along it as he fucked Malfoy, getting faster now. "How's - how's that?" he panted.

"So - fucking - good - ohmyGod Potter - " Malfoy's words cut off abruptly, his breath catching, and then he howled, bucking wildly and shooting come everywhere.

"Oh - " Harry couldn't take any more. With what must have been an agonisingly hard thrust, his hips slammed against Malfoy's arse and he came, too, pulled back to thrust again, more of it spurting out of him. It felt so blindingly good that he could barely breathe.

Malfoy's legs fell open and Harry collapsed onto him, both their chests heaving. Malfoy put both arms around Harry's neck, pulling him down. They kissed for a long time, panting into each other's mouths. It turned slow and languorous after a little, and was still intensely passionate. Harry had never known that it could be quite like this. There didn't seem to be a need to say anything. Harry didn't want to talk about logistics and specifics just yet. Not now.

Perhaps Malfoy was having the same thought, because after awhile he said, "Let's not talk about the rest of it. Not yet."

Harry agreed readily. Later, they got dressed and Malfoy went downstairs with him to find his shirt and glasses. They went to the front door and kissed again. Malfoy unlocked the door and took down the wards.

"I have to say, I never thought you would come around," he admitted.

Harry shrugged and sighed. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he said. "But I need this. I need you. I don't even know you all that well yet. I mean, since the war and everything…"

"You know me." Malfoy dismissed this, but sighed. "This isn't going to be easy, you know."

Harry opened the door and looked outside. It was only mid-evening, which felt strange. It seemed like the entire world had changed in two hours or so. "I know," he said. He looked back at Malfoy. "We'll figure it out."

Malfoy nodded. He looked worried but not afraid, and something about that made Harry feel a little better. "I'll talk to you soon," he said.

Harry nodded, too. He opened his mouth to speak and found himself pinned against the doorframe, Malfoy's hands on his face again, his mouth on Harry's again. Harry surrendered without protest and kissed Malfoy for a long minute. Malfoy released him and stood leaning his forehead against Harry's. "Don't you dare deny this later," he said fiercely, his voice low. "Don't you dare walk away now."

Harry's voice cracked and it came out in a whisper. "I won't. I can't."

Malfoy's eyes were like lances, searching Harry's relentlessly. "You'd better not." He sounded as insecure as though he were sixteen again. "I can't promise that everything will be okay. But we will figure things out."

"I know," Harry said, and he didn't know who was reassuring whom now. He kissed Malfoy one last time and took a step away. "Good night."

"Good night," Malfoy said. He closed the door after Harry and Harry, looking back, saw the light in the hall turn out a few moments later. The sight caused a pang of agony. He wished he were still inside, with Malfoy. Nonsense, he told himself sternly. He had to go home to the kids. It had to be past eight by now; to stay away any longer would require explanations that he didn't have or wasn't ready to give.

He walked the three blocks home, feeling both happier and more lost than he had ever felt before, and wondered that he could feel both at once.

* * *

He tossed and turned on the sofa that night, debating whether or not to take Hermione into his confidence. The problem was that she was so close to Ginny, her best friend and sister-in-law. Ron was out, obviously, but Harry desperately needed advice. For once, his gut instinct was letting him down. He'd followed it to Malfoy and could not seem to trace it back to what to do about the rest of his life. Hermione would find out eventually, either way. In fact, she probably knew Ginny's side of it already. She had been his friend first, and if anyone would understand this, she would. Besides, there was no one else he trusted enough. Neville would be sympathetic but he wouldn't have any concrete advice. Luna would assume it was that Harry and Malfoy had known each other in some past life and were currently being connected by the Singing Trumbleby Spirits or some such thing. It had to be Hermione. His mind made up, Harry fell almost immediately into an exhausted sleep.

In the morning, he got the boys up and made them breakfast. Lily was still asleep, and it was nice to not have a busy two-year-old running around under everyone's feet for a little longer, so Harry didn't wake her. He heard her high, piping voice as he cleared the dishes, Ginny's answering. The boys went into the living room to play. He went to put his shoes on. When Ginny came down, he said, only partially looking at her, "I have some things to do. I'll be back in a little while."

Her eyebrows rose. "Good thing I'll be home, then."

"Good thing," Harry said. He waved to the boys, his stomach full of knots. "See you two later. Don't make a mess with those," he added to James, who had just pulled out Albus' new box of crayons.

"I won't," James said, looking slightly disappointed.

"Bye, Daddy." Albus didn't look up, absorbed in racing two miniature cars against each other.

Harry left and walked quickly to Ron and Hermione's. They lived very close, one street over in the opposite direction from Malfoy, and it was a short walk. He knocked, praying that Ron wasn't up yet. Hermione answered, wearing slippers and reading glasses and holding the Prophet. Her face smiled immediately upon seeing him and she opened the door. "Harry! Come in! What are you doing here so early on a Saturday morning?"

Harry tried to smile back. "I need to talk to you," he said. "Is Ron around?"

"Sure, but he's asleep," she said, the smile fading. "Is something wrong?"

The way she asked it said that she already knew the answer. "Yes," Harry said bluntly. "I need to talk to just you." He followed Hermione into the kitchen where she was already putting the kettle on. Pointing her wand at it, steam billowed from the end and Hermione poured the hot water into a small teapot. She pointed at a chair next and it skittered back from the table. Harry sat down.

She carried the teapot over with a cup for Harry and sat down near him. "So," she said, fixing her eyes on him. "Is this about Ginny?"

Harry gave her a suspicious look. "Why do you ask?"

"I have my reasons," Hermione said. "For one thing, I've known that things weren't going particularly well for awhile now."

"Did she tell you that?" Harry asked defensively. He'd known that Ginny was likely to have talked to Hermione about them, but still.

"Yes," Hermione said, with her usual directness and honesty. "I also have eyes, Harry."

Harry fell silent. Hermione poured him a cup of tea.

"I've seen the dynamics between you two," she said. "I wouldn't have said anything, but it's obvious now that you both know that things aren't going well."

"Can we talk about it?" Harry asked. "I mean, I don't want you to feel like… I mean, I know Ginny's already said all sorts of stuff, but I need to talk to someone."

"Of course," Hermione said, taking off the reading glasses. She refilled her own cup and leaned toward him over it. "If you can talk to anyone, I would think you can talk to me."

Harry hedged. "What do you know?"

Hermione stirred half a teaspoon of sugar into her tea. Calmly, she said, "I know there are physical issues between you. I think that's probably what started all this."

He had to tell her. Not mentioning Malfoy would just be counter-productive at this point. "Hermione."

She waited patiently, looking at him.

"I… I guess I'm gay," Harry said slowly, forcing the word out.

Hermione didn't look shocked, though her face was very carefully lacking expression. She put her cup down precisely and cleared her throat. "I wondered," she said.

"You did?" Harry's stomach tightened. How could it have been obvious to her when he'd only just realised himself?

"I just wondered," Hermione said, shrugging. "It had crossed my mind, that's all."

"Did you tell Ginny that?"

"Of course not," she said loftily. "Please, Harry. Look, what makes you think you might be gay?"

Harry took a sip of scalding tea and it steamed his glasses. He took them off to clean them, stalling. He knew that she knew he was stalling. Putting them back on, Harry bit the bullet. "I'm in love with Malfoy." He said it without further prevarication, no dodging around who it was or any of that.

Hermione did look shocked now. "Malfoy?" she repeated blankly. "Are you sure? I mean - Harry, I - when did this happen? I wasn't aware that you were even in contact with him!"

Harry could feel his cheeks burning. "He lives around here," he said, holding his cup with both hands. "I saw him at the play park with his son one day."

"And you just - " Hermione shook her head as if to clear it. "Tell me more about it."

Harry sighed and looked somewhere else. "I kept seeing him here and there, after that. I don't know. I can't really explain it, Hermione. It barely makes sense to me. All I know is that I definitely have feelings for him that I can't ignore - and believe me, I've tried - and I don't know what to do now."

"What about Ginny?" There was no judgement in the question, just curiosity.

Harry shook his head and shrugged at the same time. "Did she tell you about the fight we had the other day?"

"Parts of it," Hermione said cautiously. "Is that still… you haven't made up?"

"We're not going to," Harry said. "It was too…" he trailed off.

"Too cruel?" Hermione suggested softly.

"Too honest," Harry corrected, his voice hard. He met her eyes. "It was, Hermione. I don't even think it's me she really loves so much as the idea of who I am."

Hermione sighed. "Oh, Harry. I don't know about that. I do think that she thinks she loves you, at least."

"Hermione, she's had a crush on me since before we'd ever met," Harry pointed out. "And if I'm honest with myself, maybe I wanted her family more than I wanted her. It sounds awful. It is awful. But I can't help how I feel."

Hermione was silent for a few minutes, thinking. Harry drank his tea and watched her carefully. She looked up. "This thing with Malfoy," she said, turning her spoon over her hands. "It's serious? It's not just a thing you're doing because you've realised your orientation and he was… convenient?"

"No." Harry looked at his hands on the cup. "It's more than that. It's because of him that I know I'm… like this. I didn't want to be."

"I'm sure." There was sympathy in Hermione's voice now, and while he didn't really want that, Harry was relieved that she hadn't thrown him out of the house for having cheated on Ginny. "And he feels the same way?"

Harry nodded. A different sort of warmth filled him, thinking of the previous night, of Malfoy's uncharacteristic passion, his arms around Harry's, his hands on Harry's face as they kissed. "Yes," he said. "And we don't know what to do, where it's going, but we both want it." He looked her directly in the eyes. "I need him, Hermione," he said desperately. "I can't keep up a façade with Ginny, especially now that it's already broken. But the kids - I don't know what to do."

Hermione looked troubled. "I don't know what to tell you," she said. "I think that - well, I think that when the sexual stuff in a relationship isn't working, then not much else is going to, either. That's what the experts say, at least. I think it would be nice if you two could find a way to be friends. I mean, if neither of you is happy or satisfied with the other, then you're bound to go looking for someone else, aren't you?"

"I wasn't looking," Harry said aggressively. "Hermione, I wasn't. I resisted this with all of my - "

"I wasn't talking about you," Hermione said, very quietly.

Harry stopped. "What?"

She kept her eyes lowered. "I didn't want to tell you. I haven't known all that long, myself, and I wasn't exactly happy about it."

"What?" Harry repeated, leaning over his forgotten tea toward her. "What are you saying? Has Ginny been cheating on me?"

Hermione's eyes were bright as they met his. "Does that make you jealous?"

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. Then said, "No. Not really. Angry, but not jealous."

Hermione looked a bit relieved. "It's not anything emotional, I don't think. But when she told me about your fight, she told me that she'd been, well… erm, seeing other men now and then. Just for… you know. Sex."

Harry felt himself flush. "I guess because she wasn't getting enough of that at home," he said, sitting back again. He felt vaguely humiliated, but beneath that there was definitely some relief. He wasn't the only guilty party, then.

"I guess so," Hermione said, biting her lip.

Their eyes met. "So what do you think I should do?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Hermione said again. "It's the kids that concern me."

"And me," Harry said. "I guess that pretty much settles it, that Ginny and I are finished, regardless of Malfoy. But the kids - I can't lose them. I don't want to relegate them to only seeing me on alternate weekends or whatever. They're little. I want to have them around. I want to be in their lives."

"Maybe you and Ginny can work something out," Hermione said. "Depending on how she takes the news, I guess. Maybe you shouldn't talk about custody issues right after you tell her about Malfoy. That might not go over well."

"When else am I supposed to bring it up?" Harry drank his cold tea and poured himself some more. "It's going to come up either way."

Hermione sighed. "I suppose it probably will. When are you going to do it?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "I… this thing with Malfoy is pretty new. I don't even know exactly how things are with him or what he wants to do. I can't just let things go on like this, though. I'll have to talk to him first. Don't say anything, all right?"

"My lips are sealed," Hermione said.

"There's something else, too," Harry said. "We seem to have some sort of strange connection going on. Something magical, I mean."

"You and Malfoy?" Hermione frowned. "How so?"

"I noticed it that day at the park," Harry said. "I shook his hand, and it felt all warm and sort of tingly. That sounds ridiculous. But he felt it too and he suggested that maybe it was because I saved his life in the Room of Requirement and that something in both of us knew that."

She was still frowning. "But nothing like that happened with your father and Snape," she pointed out.

"Maybe it did, or would have, but they never came into physical contact," Harry said.

"No, that doesn't fit," Hermione said positively. "Lots of people have had their lives saved by other people, especially during the war. We'd have heard if there was something like that."

"Malfoy thought maybe it had something to do with our wands, too," Harry said.

"Maybe," Hermione said dubiously. She sat back for a few minutes, thoughtful. "Some things aren't that simple, though."

"What do you mean?"

"I think we make too many distinctions between the physical, the magical, and the emotional," Hermione said. "If working at St. Mungo's has taught me anything, it's that. It's not always that easy to separate."

"I don't really get what you're saying," Harry said, frowning back at her.

"Maybe," Hermione said slowly, "it's a combination of things. You and Malfoy have always had strong feelings for each other, regardless of whether they were good or bad. Your wands were involved all throughout the war - maybe even from the day in second year when you beat him in the duelling club, all the way through to all that stuff with the Elder wand. And then he's all bound up in the life-debts from the war, and most of them ended up involving you somehow. Dumbledore set you up to die after making Snape promise to kill him, Snape saved Malfoy for your mother's sake - and by proxy, your sake - Dumbledore saves Malfoy from his assignment, you die and come back to life, Malfoy's mother saves you, you saved Malfoy from the Fiendfyre, and he sort of saved all three of us by not identifying us clearly. It's all so tangled and confused. I can easily see all of that merging somehow and building a connection between the two of you. Actually, it makes sense to me that you would have feelings for him, Harry."

Harry hadn't quite followed her logic, but this made him feel a little better. "It does?"

"In some ways, I think that your experiences with the war happened on a more similar level, even if they were rather different," Hermione said seriously. "I mean… Ginny never really lived through the war in the same way that you did, did she? It has to be hard to share that. Even though you and Malfoy were on opposite sides, I can see the experience being more similar."

"We haven't even talked about the war," Harry said. "But what about the gay part? I mean, do you think it's some sort of war trauma or something? Ginny says the reason I'm, er, sexually defective, as she put it, is because I grew up in a closet and have war trauma."

Hermione's brows came together. "Harry, the war's been over for eleven years."

"I know that!"

"You have three children," she said dryly. "I hardly think you're 'defective'. And I don't think that homosexuality is caused by trauma. It's just the way a person is."

Harry glanced instinctively at the doorway, but there was no sign of Ron yet. "But…"

"It's not something to be ashamed of," Hermione said firmly. "If this is what you really want, then maybe you should think of yourself first, for once."

"What are you saying?" Harry asked, his voice a little unsteady.

"Maybe you need to just do this, for yourself," Hermione said gently. "You can work things out with the kids. They're young and they'll adapt to whatever arrangement you and Ginny make. You'll still see them. But maybe, if you and Malfoy want to be together, maybe you should be. Maybe you owe yourself that much."

Harry was quiet for a minute, thinking about this. He didn't know what he'd expected Hermione to say, but it wasn't this. Eventually, he said, "I thought that this was exactly what I wanted. Having Ginny and being part of the family and having kids. Having my own house - that wasn't Grimmauld Place - and teaching the kids about Muggles and magic and Quidditch."

"I know," Hermione said softly. "I know all that, Harry. Especially the family stuff. I know how much you wanted all of that. When you've been through as much as you have, though, maybe it's too much to expect you to just settle down to such a stereotypical life."

"So you do think it's war trauma that made me gay." Harry needled her with his eyes.

"No," Hermione said, floundering a bit. "I just think that maybe it's understandable that the person who works for you is someone else who's been through similar things, and someone that you already had a lot of connection with because of the war. And before that, too. What I'm trying to say is that I think it might have more to do with the person than the gender here. And after all you've been through, it's only natural that you might need some time to catch up with yourself a little. Maybe you're just finding out what it is that you really want now."

Harry didn't know how to respond to that. It made sense, though. Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed when Hermione filled his cup again and got up to put refill the kettle.

* * *

It was Thursday before he saw or heard from Malfoy again. He was at the Ministry as usual, just coming out of a long Department meeting and thinking of where he wanted to go for lunch. Heading back to his cubicle to deposit his files, he stopped suddenly upon seeing a familiar figure sitting in his chair. "Hi!" he said, feeling a smile trying to sneak its way across his face.

"Hello," Malfoy said, looking far too relaxed, leaning back in his chair. "Long meeting."

Harry shook his head. "How did you know I was - "

"Read your memos," Malfoy said, indicating a small stack of them. "Dawlish is a bitch. Are you free now?"

Warmth was colouring Harry from limb to limb. "Sure. I was about to go for lunch. What are you doing here?"

Malfoy shrugged, smiling. "I had to deliver something here, and it seemed a good excuse." He got to his feet. "Lead the way. I get lost in your Department; it's crowded."

"I know," Harry said. "It's like a maze. Sometimes I wonder if someone's performing psychological experiments on us or something."

Malfoy snickered. "They probably are."

They reached the end of the Department and went into the corridor leading toward the lift when Malfoy took him by the elbow and steered him toward a small men's room. "What - " Harry began to say, but quickly stopped talking when Malfoy looked over his shoulder and sent him a look that made everything clear. Malfoy held the door for him and sent a locking charm at it the instant it had made contact with the door frame. It was a small bathroom with only two stalls. Malfoy inspected and found them both empty. He caught Harry's eye and smiled again.

"Six days is too long," he said, and put his hands on Harry's hips and his mouth on Harry's. Everything slid into place for Harry again, a completion he hadn't realised he was missing until very recently. The warmth surged through his chest and he engulfed Malfoy with his arms, pressing his hips, his stomach to Malfoy's as they kissed. Malfoy's arms were around him, too, moving down his back to his arse to hold him even closer. Harry's mouth was open against Malfoy's, but this time he was the first to stretch out his tongue to touch Malfoy's, and the touch sent a strong tendril of desire directly to his cock. He could feel it hardening against Malfoy's, and Malfoy was moving in rhythmic circles against him. His hands were on Harry's face again, far more tender than anything Malfoy had ever said to him. It had the effect of making Harry feel so very important to Malfoy, and the thought warmed him still more.

Malfoy broke off for breath, his heart thudding against Harry's chest. "Let's do this," he said, his voice both lower and breathier than normal, and illustrated what he meant by grinding his hips against Harry's again. His hands were back on Harry's arse, and the friction between them was gathering in a way that already felt very good.

"Okay," Harry said, closing his eyes as Malfoy's mouth found his neck, his throat, his tongue and lips and teeth stroking the skin like a newly-discovered sweet, not really caring how they got off, as long as they did. Malfoy's tongue and the pressure of his cock rubbing against Harry's through their trousers was a surprisingly breathtaking combination. His fingers curled in Malfoy's hair and onto his arse, at least until he had backed Malfoy into the wall, which he discovered only when his knuckles scraped against the painted concrete, or whatever it was. His hips seemed to have become independently operated; he was thrusting against Malfoy without any specific thought about wanting to do so and Malfoy was gasping hotly against his neck. Harry's shirt was roughly untucked and Malfoy's warm hands were exploring his back. Harry retaliated by unbuttoning Malfoy's shirt with shaking fingers, only getting about halfway before he was distracted by the sight of Malfoy's left nipple. It was rosy pink and peaked with lust and Harry knew he had to get his mouth on it at once. He did, tonguing it with a fierce enthusiasm that made Malfoy's back arch, his cock moving noticeably in his trousers. Harry wrapped his fingers around it through Malfoy's trousers and rubbed hard. His nipple was firm on Harry's tongue and he pressed it mercilessly, loving the way it made Malfoy gasp. The gasp turned into a shuddering moan and Malfoy came, wet pulses of come suddenly softening his trousers.

He exhaled and pulled Harry's face back up to his own, kissing him with the same ferocity Harry had just demonstrated on his chest. His hand came between them to rub at Harry through his trousers, his long fingers seeming to find the exact right place to stroke. Suddenly he seemed to change his mind and dropped to his knees, fingers manipulating Harry's zip with remarkable speed. Harry's cock sprang out in a way that would have embarrassed him if it had been with anyone else, but Malfoy was grabbing it, his mouth coming around it hungrily. Harry was already so turned on that he knew the end was near. Malfoy's mouth was hot and wet and tight around him, and his tongue stroking in all the very best of ways - it was coming - Harry was groaning, the muscles of his arse clenching violently, and he came in a rush into Malfoy's mouth. His cock kept going, pumping out droplets of come and Malfoy caught them all and kept swallowing. When it was over, Malfoy got to his feet. He looked at Harry, raising his eyebrows in question, and Harry answered it by kissing him. By tasting himself in Malfoy's mouth, a wholly unfamiliar experience. Harry let himself lean into Malfoy and got his arms between the wall and Malfoy's back.

Later, when his heart rate was back to normal, Harry finally said, "So where do you want to go for lunch?"

* * *

The next few weeks felt like a dream. Harry had never fallen so hard and it changed everything for him. There were plenty of complications, but it didn't change the fact that something so novel was happening in his life or that he was fantastically happy. He avoided Ginny at every point and she ignored him, too. They had seemingly come to a tacit agreement not to talk about it. Or at all, really. Ginny spoke to him only in front of the children and only for the most necessary of communications. Harry spoke to her even less. He was still angry about her accusations and her refusal to see things from any perspective other than her own, and he knew from past experience that she was not about to make any moves toward resolution until he apologised. That could be a long wait, Harry thought. He was angry with her for having cheated on him numerous times and thinking that she had any right to be angry with him. It would be difficult not to let slip that Hermione had told him, but he wondered if Ginny would deny it if he asked. He also knew that the subject of what to do about their marriage and more specifically about the kids had to come up soon.

He saw Malfoy whenever he possibly could, which wasn't easy. One evening, Ginny had taken the kids clothes shopping and Malfoy came to the house. Harry fucked him on the sofa in the basement with a silencing charm and three alerts set, and Malfoy Disapparated directly from the stoop of the back door when they heard steps on the front walk. He came to the Ministry at least once or twice per week and found Harry in his cubicle. They met over the noon hour, and in a particular alley between their mutual Underground stop on the way home from work. They talked. They talked about the war, about Snape and Dumbledore, their parents, the fact that their parents' choices had become their own by necessity. It was hard for Malfoy to talk about and Harry let it go. In the meantime, Harry was seeing new sides of Malfoy that he'd never known were there - not only his sharp wit, but how easily it was to make him laugh, his gentleness, once the aloof exterior disappeared. His playfulness. The way his face softened when speaking of his son. The look in his eyes when they were together. They talked about Ministry politics, their neighbourhood, their favourite parts of London, Quidditch, restaurants, books they'd both read. The best were the weekend evenings at Malfoy's house, as his wife nearly always took their son and went to her parents' for the weekends. Ginny never asked where he was going and Harry let her think whatever she wanted. Since their fight, all of his illusions about her had fallen away, his interest dwindled to nothing. It seemed to colour his memories of her backwards, revealing her as a spoiled youngest child with a crush on a hero figure she'd never met, who had conveniently became best friends with her brother. Constantly whinging about feeling left out by the Harry/Ron/Hermione trio, she'd devised other ways of getting his attention when it was clear he hadn't been interested until something like the propinquity factor took over, or else the desire to join his best friend's family. It was ugly and Harry didn't like thinking about it. He suspected that his fall from whatever hero's pedestal she had built him up on in her mind had done the same for her.

They lay in Malfoy's bed one night - and it was Malfoy's bed; his wife had her own bedroom - and Harry curled himself around Malfoy from behind. Malfoy's chest was still rising and falling quickly, still out of breath. Harry settled himself with his arm around Malfoy's middle. "You all right?" he asked lightly.

Malfoy sounded amused, his eyes closed despite the drawl. "Do I seem like I'm not?"

"I don't know," Harry said musingly. "That noise you made there, toward the end…"

"Stop fishing for compliments," Malfoy said, his eyes still closed, smirking.

"I wasn't," Harry said, grinning at the back of Malfoy's head.

"When you hit my prostate like that, I can't be held responsible for the sounds I make. You should know that by now." Malfoy delivered this very calmly, but one of his hands moved to cover Harry's, fingers pushing between his.

Malfoy wasn't much of a pillow talker and Harry knew he was pushing his luck. Still, though, he wanted to at least open the topic for discussion. He braced himself mentally.

"What?" Malfoy didn't move.

"What do you mean, 'what'?"

"You went all tense. What's up?"

Harry hesitated. "I was wondering if we could talk."

"We are talking, you imbecile."

"You know what I mean," Harry said.

There was a pause. "Yeah, I guess I do," Malfoy said.

"So," Harry said, and trailed off.

"Hang on. I'm thirsty. Do you want something to drink?" Malfoy let go of Harry's hand and pulled away, sitting up.

Feeling slightly rebuffed, Harry withdrew his arm and pushed himself up on one elbow. "Okay," he said uncertainly.

Malfoy caught the uncertainty. "Water? Juice? Wine?"

"Water," Harry said.

Malfoy leaned over and kissed him quickly. "I'll be right back." He stalked out of the room, nude, and Harry watched him and envied his obvious confidence in his body, the easy grace with which he moved. It was an act and he knew it. And the act meant that Malfoy was feeling either prickly or vulnerable. Or both.

He returned a minute or two later with two glasses of water and gave one to Harry before getting back into bed. Harry was sitting up now, leaning against the headboard. Malfoy got in beside him, settling the blankets over his legs. "So," he said. "Talk away."

Harry took a sip of water and set it down on the table beside the bed. "Well," he said carefully, "I was wondering what you're thinking about, uh, this. Us."

Malfoy's lips pursed, his expression deliberately opaque. "What do you mean, what I'm thinking?"

Harry sensed that he was stalling, equally unsure of the footing. "I mean, what do you want? What are you planning as far as your wife goes, that sort of thing."

Malfoy was quiet for a minute. Then he said, "What do you want? Surely you aren't planning on leaving the Weaselette. What sort of thing were you thinking as far as our arrangement goes?"

'Arrangement' sounded very cold to Harry. And was Malfoy trying to goad him into staying with Ginny so that he didn't need to leave his own wife? Harry didn't know what to say. What if it he laid it all out on the line and Malfoy didn't want it? As he sat trying to come up with the right thing to say, it occurred to him that his marriage with Ginny was over regardless of Malfoy. That made things a little clearer. "I want to be with you," he said quietly, looking at Malfoy. He reached for Malfoy's hand, which was given reluctantly and put his other hand on top of it. "I'm in love with you," he said. "You know that."

Malfoy looked at their hands. "But," he said, and waited.

"But what?" Harry was confused.

"You love me, but," Malfoy prompted. He was very calm, very definite, and decidedly not looking at Harry.

"There's no 'but'. I want to be with you," Harry said firmly.

"Harry, I'm a Slytherin," Malfoy said, and though his tone was cool, Harry felt a prickle of warmth at the sound of his name. "But much as I enjoy sneaking around for awhile, I'm not sure I want it to be a permanent arrangement."

The light dawned. "That's not at all what I'm saying," Harry said. "I'm not asking you to. I want to be with you. Live with you. Spend my life with you. Or - well - I mean, however long it ends up - it's too soon to say stuff like that, I guess, but what I want right now is to be with you."

Malfoy was still tense, his fingers not returning the pressure of Harry's hands. "What about your kids?"

"I'll work something out with Ginny," Harry said firmly. "What about your son?"

"I'd like it if I or we could have him at least some of the time," Malfoy said. "Not necessarily at the same time. My wife will be fine with that."

"And what about with you?" Harry asked, probing Malfoy's face. Malfoy wasn't looking back at him, though.

He shrugged. "Oh, she's known I was gay for awhile already," he said. "That's fine. We've only stayed together for Scorpius' sake. But this - if I hadn't met you again, I could have stayed here and gone on with the pretence. But not like this. Not at the cost of not having you."

"So you do want me, then," Harry said, confirming.

Malfoy finally looked at him, his face completely serious, very sober. For a moment, he just looked at Harry, his eyes searching Harry's. "Yes," he said. "It's the last thing I ever thought I - and it's going to turn both our lives upside down. I can't make you any promises, Harry. I don't know about the long term. I don't know about how it's going to work with our kids. I don't know what kind of shit storm the media is going to put you and your family through, or how far Weasley's revenge will go."

"Ron will be fine, once he gets used to it," Harry said dismissively.

"I wasn't talking about Ron," Malfoy said, very dryly.

"Ginny doesn't have a leg to stand on," Harry said, his voice flat.

There was a short pause. "Ah," Malfoy said, comprehending. "I mean, I would like to be able to reassure you that if you do this, leave all of that for me, that it will be worth it. But I don't think I can, and I don't think you can promise me anything like that, either."

Harry thought about this. He thought of something else, too. He and Malfoy had been together many times now, but he had never been the one to bottom in sex, and he had never returned the favour of Malfoy's breathtaking blow jobs. Malfoy hadn't said a word about either of those things, but Harry knew that they were both aware of it. He thought of a particular conversation with Ginny, then firmly put it from his mind. "There is one thing I can promise you," he said.

Malfoy's brows flicked up. "Oh?"

"I promise to go down on you," Harry said. He touched his mouth to Malfoy's jaw line. "I promise to touch you any way you want me to. I promise to let you fuck me. I promise to get over my issues with being gay. I promise not to deny it, or you." His mouth was moving, snagging Malfoy's ear lobe in his teeth, kissing his neck, and finally running his tongue over Malfoy's lips. Malfoy made a choked sound and closed his mouth over Harry's tongue and they kissed for a long time. A very long time. Harry was dizzy, breathless with joy and relief and desire. He had never realised just how tightly Malfoy was emotionally capable of holding another person, but some reserve had fallen away, the aloof façade dissolving.

He stayed for nearly the entire night, making good on some of his promises then and there, and while he knew that a host of complications lay ahead, at that moment, he could not believe that it would not work out somehow. Finally, close to four in the morning, Harry slipped through the front door of his house and crawled under the blankets on the sofa, sated, very sleepy, and very happy.

* * *

He woke with the sense that someone was watching him. Opening his eyes cautiously, Harry was momentarily confused, then remembered that he was sleeping in the living room. He turned his head three inches to the left and saw his son. Or the blurry outline of his son, rather. He reached blindly for his glasses, somewhere on the floor beside him and found them. With a bit of effort, he got them on his face and found Albus staring solemnly at him. "Al?" His voice was croaky. "What's up?"

"Are you sad?" Albus asked, very quietly.

As the sleep cleared from his brain, Harry realised that the boy's lip was trembling. He sat up and patted the sofa beside him. "Come up here."

Albus climbed up and sat very close to him. Harry put his arm around his shoulders and spread the blanket over their knees. "What makes you think that?"

His son was silent. Harry waited. Albus could never be rushed into anything, especially not when it came to divulging anything verbally. Eventually he said, "Mummy's mad at you."

"I know that," Harry said, tightening his grasp a little. "I'm a bit mad at Mummy, too, to be honest. Are you upset about that?"

Albus thought about this. "No," he said uncertainly.

"You sure? It's okay to be upset," Harry assured him. "It's not nice to be around people who are upset with each other."

Albus twisted his fingers together. "I'm not upset."

Harry looked down at him for a minute, but didn't challenge this. Instead, he said, "Do you remember the boy we met at the play park, on the horsies? That time you fell off?"

"I didn't fall," Albus corrected him. "That man made me not fall."

"That's right," Harry said. "So you remember the two of them?"

Albus nodded.

"Well, that man is a friend of mine," Harry said carefully, watching him. "A very special friend. I think that you and his son might get along."

Albus thought about this, too, and nodded again. "I liked the look of him," he said, in the strangely precise way that he had even at four.

Harry smiled. "I did, too." He kept his arm around Albus and fell into silence. It hadn't actually occurred to him that Malfoy's son might essentially become his step-son and his kids' step-brother. What a thought.

After a little, Albus seemed reassured. "Let's have breakfast." He slid down from the sofa. "Come on, Daddy. Let's have cereal. And you can put banana in and I can peel it."

Harry allowed himself to be taken to the kitchen, hiding a grin. Somehow, despite it all, he was suddenly convinced that everything was going to be okay.

* * *

He moved out three weeks later. The conversation with Ginny had been as ugly as he had feared it would be. He'd threatened to call Hermione to ask her to mediate and that had silenced Ginny. He then asked if she had cheated on him as well, and got a mumbled confirmation, followed by some more ugly comments about Malfoy and what the two of them did on their own. She dragged the children into it, which Harry used as the segue to discuss custody arrangements. Things calmed down. They agreed that they would both be there every time a child left for Hogwarts. They would be civil to one another around the kids at all costs. She was stubborn on the point of not wanting the kids spending time with Malfoy's son, but Harry insisted. She wanted him to stay in the area, and Harry agreed. Malfoy was talking about opening a potions shop in Diagon Alley, and they had talked about moving there. Harry thought that it would be a good environment for the kids to be exposed to on a regular basis, but agreed that it would make more sense to stay closer to the house. Besides, they could always go to the shop. Albus had already expressed some interest in potions. James was far more interested in flying and begged to be taken to visit the broom shop. Lily thought that everything was wonderful, which was convenient.

Harry had saved one promise in particular for the first night he spent with Malfoy in the new house. They had looked at flats, but none had five bedrooms, and five were needed in case all four kids were there at the same time. But tonight they were alone. Harry had poured wine and lit candles until Malfoy had drawled something to the effect of not having been warned of what a saccharine romantic Harry was turning out to be. Harry grinned and told him to take off his clothes. Malfoy did so slowly, in front of the fireplace, very much aware that Harry was trying not to steal glances at him while making his way around the room with the taper. He could have done that magically, too, but there were some things in life that were worth doing manually, after all. By the time Malfoy was nude, Harry's pulse was racing and he hurried through the last few and over to Malfoy.

"About time," Malfoy growled. "Your clothes. Get them off."

"I love it when you sweet-talk me like that," Harry said, grinning again, already struggling out of his things.

"God, Potter, you have to have worn robes and button-fly trousers and a French cuffed shirt tonight, of all nights - I didn't know you even owned anything with French cuffs, much less cuff links!" Malfoy was unfastening these as he spoke.

Harry put his face in Malfoy's hair and kissed his head. "Hurry up," he said, stifling laughter.

Malfoy's narrowed eyes met his for a second. "You're going to pay for that," he said.

"I've already chosen my method of payment, as it happens," Harry said. He snapped his fingers and the cuff links detached themselves. The shirt was shrugged off, trousers removed equally quickly, socks thrown into a corner and Malfoy's eyes made him feel trebly nude, somehow. He liked it.

"How?" Malfoy wanted to know.

In answer, Harry took his chin and kissed him deliberately slowly, hands resting lightly on Malfoy's hips. Malfoy's cock was bumping his in arousal, but he responded at Harry's unhurried speed. Harry moved his fingers to Malfoy's hair and eventually stopped kissing him. "Come over here." He led Malfoy to the wall next to the fireplace.

"Here?" Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. "Now what? Are we attempting some sort of quasi-Olympic wall-sex?"

Harry knelt between Malfoy's feet and looked up at him, meeting his gaze in wordless answer.

Malfoy understood. A look so fiercely tender that Harry almost couldn't bear it came over Malfoy's face. "Are you sure?"

"I promised," Harry said. "And I'm very sure." He took Malfoy's cock with one hand and put the tip of it in his mouth. Malfoy was extremely good at giving head himself, and Harry had been paying attention. Malfoy gasped when Harry began to suck, and flung his head back against the wall. Pleased, Harry worked more of it into his mouth and moved one hand to Malfoy's balls, just holding at first, then tugging lightly. Salty fluid leaked into Harry's mouth and Malfoy moaned something vaguely encouraging. Harry began to move his mouth back and forth over Malfoy's cock, feeling only a little self-conscious. He understood it now, why people wanted to do this for each other. It was so intimate. On the receiving end, Harry knew that it felt more intimate than some things because there was something particularly special about having all of the focus on just himself. Even if Malfoy got himself off while he did it, he was lavishing so much attention on Harry's pleasure, on finding out which specific little places and touches made him groan, what movement of tongue or lips. And giving it back was equally intimate. This was the reason he couldn't do it for Ginny: he had never been willing to be that intimate with her. Malfoy's most sensitive skin was inside his mouth, trustingly, despite whatever public face Malfoy wore most days. And when he came, Harry knew, there would be a moment of piercing closeness between them that he had never experienced with anyone else, could not have experienced with anyone else. Several minutes later, this moment arrived, preceded by a loud sound and a rush of hot fluid in Harry's mouth. He choked but didn't cough and managed to swallow a lot of it, at least. It didn't even taste as bad as he had feared, but that seemed irrelevant now, anyway.

Malfoy sank down the wall and crawled over him, pushing Harry down on the carpet in front of the fire, his mouth already on Harry's, his tongue and lips claiming Harry's in fiercely possessive emotion. Harry's legs and arms were twined around him, moving against him and they rocked together until Malfoy reversed their positions and pulled his legs up, demanding to be fucked. There was lube nearby, and in the flickering firelight, Harry did as he was asked and revelled in the sensation of joining his body with Malfoy's, another act of trust on Malfoy's part. It felt good in every way possible - it felt right, as natural as sex with Ginny had never felt, somehow. This was powerfully intimate, too, looking down into Malfoy's open face as Harry thrust into him over and over again, and it felt intensely good physically, Malfoy's body tight around him, arching as Harry angled toward his prostate despite how recently Malfoy had come. It came upon him suddenly, the pleasure simply growing and growing until Harry was awash in it, the firelight seeming to engrave itself on his mind as he came deep within Malfoy, pushing again and again until he was completely spent.

They were both breathless, sated and tangled together and eventually they fell asleep there on the floor. It was only later, in the small hours that Malfoy woke and dragged Harry to the new, unslept-in bed, where he curled himself around Harry from behind before falling asleep again. In the morning, Harry woke with Malfoy still wrapped around him and thought that if he could begin every morning like this, there couldn't be all that much wrong with the world.

They ate breakfast together (after a rather long shower) and went to their respective jobs, and Harry left early just in case Malfoy had come home early, too. He had, and this fact was celebrated instantly, clothing strewn freely about the flat. It was bliss, and Harry knew that it was the honeymoon effect, as Hermione called it, but this time, he was sure. Hermione was always right about these things. It was what he had wanted, after all, though he never would have known that at the time when he and Ginny had married. She would be fine. He had no worries about her. She wasn't the youngest (and only) sister of six brothers for nothing. She would survive.

And as for himself… Harry felt that life was finally just beginning. No - not beginning. He thought of his children one by one, then of Ron and Hermione, and of the barely visible scar on his forehead. This was the beginning of the rest of his life.

-fin-

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Promises to Keep/Worth Keeping