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The Fortunate Fall	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 5162 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Fortunate Fall
- 1
Title: The Fortunate Fall

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these
characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.

Pairing: Harry/Draco.

Rating: R/M.

Warnings: DH SPOILERS, sex, profanity, disfigurement.

Summary: Draco�s sure he suffered an irreplaceable
loss at the end of the war. Harry�s not.

Author�s Notes: Written at the request of <lj
user="twistedm"> for a post-DH one-shot, with Harry returning
Draco�s wand to him in a Muggle residential neighborhood. The title refers to a
Christian doctrine, felix culpa or
the Fortunate Fall, stating that the Fall from Eden was a good thing because it
made way for the advent of Christ. It�s since been adopted as a term for a long
series of miserable events with a happy ending.

The Fortunate Fall

     Draco never saw the face of
the wizard who hurt him. He wasn�t allowed to see the face of the wizard
who hurt him.

      He only knew that
someone had snatched him from his seat in a Diagon Alley pub, where he rested
with his head on his arms, more than half-pissed and sobbing over the
unfairness of the Wizengamot decision that he wouldn�t be allowed to possess a
wand for two years. No one could have known his plans, when his own parents
didn�t know, so they must have followed him. But anyone could have done that;
it didn�t rule any suspects out.

      Then there was a
Side-Along Apparition that squeezed Draco through endless heartbeats of
darkness, and came as close to a Sobering Charm as anything non-magical could.
He came out shivering and crying and certain that the Apparition had been just
at the legal limit of distance. And then he spun on his heel and tried to
run.

      A heavy hand knocked him
to the ground, and then his captor crouched down in front of him. Draco lifted
his head, panting dryly, but saw nothing; the other man wore a cloak with a
deep hood, and a bonfire flared behind him, wherever they were, throwing his
face into further shadow.

      His voice was unfamiliar
when he whispered a few words about vengeance that Draco didn�t listen to�the
threats from people disappointed at a Death Eater�s survival all sounded the
same after a while�and incanted a spell that slashed open a burning hole in his
right cheek. Draco screamed and tried to lift a hand to touch the wound, but the
pain had made him light-headed.

      �There,� the
wizard breathed, sounding much too rational for someone who had just hurt Draco
that badly. �That gives you a scar you can�t hide like you can that Mark.
And to make sure that you don�t cover it up with a glamour, even when you get
your magic back�� He swung his wand down and incanted again.

      Draco passed out then,
from agony and fear, and woke on the doorstep of the Manor, with a house-elf
hopping around him and squeaking in worry. Draco hauled himself to his feet
without speaking to the creature and stumbled towards the gardens. He had to
confirm before he saw his parents, he had to�

      And there it was. He
hung over the shallow pool between two hedges in silence and stared at his own
reflection. He only had half a presentable face left. The right cheek was
marred with a long, jagged black scar that crackled outwards from a gaping
center in all directions, reaching towards his eye and ear. Draco shuddered and
shut his eyes, already seeing, in his mind, the pitying stares he would receive
if he went out in public.

      And what was that last
spell his enemy had cast? A Permanence Charm? Yes, to be sure that any glamour
he cast on his cheek, even if he was allowed to cast one, would simply wear
away in a short time and expose the scar to public view.

      One thing was certain on
that gray, cold morning, as Draco stood among the ashes of his ambitions and
his old self:

      The life he had planned,
if it would even be worth anything after two years of living like a Squib, was
over.

*

      Harry drew carefully
back from the snapdragons, watching them with narrowed eyes. Two of the tall
crimson flowers stood still, but the third swayed slowly after him, at least
until it reached the limit of its roots. Then it thrashed in indignation,
coiling its leaves up and straining as if it could yank itself out of the earth
and walk by sheer willpower.

      Harry laughed and
extended his hand until his fingers touched the outermost petals. The
snapdragon stopped moving and wrapped the edges of its flowers around his palm
like a nursing baby. Harry let it taste his skin for a few more minutes, then
hissed at the flower in Parseltongue. The snake-shaped flowers retracted
reluctantly.

      And Neville told me
that I wouldn�t be able to breed flowers that responded like snakes in only two
years. Of course, he was right about the roses and the sunflowers. I should
have started with snapdragons from the beginning.

      Satisfied, Harry turned
and strode down the garden pathways, between the twisting, curving beds of
flowers. He tended and raised them for sale and for use in experimental
potions, but he also delighted in them for their own sakes. Roses, sunflowers,
snapdragons, daisies, violets, kingcups, even flowers like dandelions that
other people thought of as weeds�so long as they bloomed, he wanted to keep
them.

      He had gone through a
bad period shortly after the war, when the mere thought of being around death
was enough to drive him into a deep depression. That had been the reason he
gave up his ambitions to become an Auror. He wouldn�t have been able to kill if
he had to, or, more to the point, deal with murder victims. Being in the
garden, surrounding himself with life endlessly budding and blooming and
flourishing, was what he liked best.

      He ducked under a
hanging arch of trained hollyhocks and came to the one perch he kept for owls.
To his delight, Pig, whom he was taking care of while Ron and Hermione went on
a Continental training trip with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had
returned. He whirred excitedly in a circle around Harry�s head, making Harry
wish he could use Parseltongue to coax the owl to him, but at last Harry got
the letter away from him.

      The letter was short
enough. Harry really hadn�t expected anything else, given whom he�d owled.

      Potter:

      Your offer to return
my wand is much appreciated. As I assume you know since you referred to it in
your letter to me, my probation ended the twenty-seventh day of May. I am now
free to possess a wand.

      You may bring it to
me at the following address, between the hours of nine and noon tomorrow.

      Harry frowned at the
address that followed, and ransacked his brains for a moment. He�d come to know
the neighborhood of wizarding London fairly well in the last two years, as that
was where he took a good portion of the flowers sold to apothecaries,
homeowners, and shopkeepers who wanted to improve the look of their plain
windows. He didn�t remember any street like the one Malfoy listed near the
area, though.

      That left Muggle
London.

      The mere thought of
Malfoy deigning to breathe the same air as Muggles, let alone coexist with them
for however long he�d been living there, made Harry shake his head. He felt
like owling Malfoy�s neighbors before he arrived. Yes, excuse me, have you
noticed a general chill in the air whenever a certain blond bloke walks by?

      And there was the
question of why Malfoy hadn�t wanted to meet Harry in the exact center of
Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, so that as many people as possible would see him get
his wand back and know he was no longer fair prey for their hexes.

      But maybe Malfoy had
changed�

      Unlikely.

      And maybe he didn�t want
his enemies to know that he would have the ability to do magic again�

      That�s much more
likely.

      And anyway, it wasn�t as
though it would cause Harry to go much out of his way. He was also curious to
see how Malfoy might have changed in the last two years, when he had all but
vanished from public sight; the last rumors Harry had heard, months old now,
said that Malfoy saw no one but his parents and the Auror assigned to monitor
his probation.

      Indulge your
curiosity, then.

      One thing flowers had
taught Harry was honesty with himself. It was no good pretending to be stoic
when a variety he was hoping for failed to meet expectations; the flower would
hardly care if he only nodded or if he threw a full-fledged tantrum. He would
indulge his curiosity and Malfoy�s skittishness both.

      And you never know, the
optimism that seemed to have become part of his life since he started gardening
chirped in his head. You�ve changed. Maybe he did, too.

*

      �Malfoy?�

      Harry knocked on the
door a moment after he spoke the name, though he was sure that wards and
monitoring spells must have told Malfoy who was approaching. Then he remembered
that Malfoy hadn�t been allowed to do magic for the past two years and rolled his
eyes at himself.

      That, of course, was the
moment Malfoy put his head around the door. He had a politely frozen expression
on his face, but he stiffened at once and tossed back his head when he caught
sight of Harry. �I�ve done something to displease you already, Potter?� he
muttered.

      �I�m sorry,� Harry said,
and took some pleasure in the way that Malfoy�s mouth fell slightly open before
he could help himself. �Just thinking of a stupid mistake I�ve made.� He waved
a hand. �Can I come in?� The corridor outside Malfoy�s flat seemed to have been
decorated by someone who assumed that gray was the height of any and all color
schemes.

      �Why should you need
to?� Malfoy demanded, lowering his voice. �Give me the wand and be on your
way.�

      �Your neighbors are
Muggles,� Harry said. �I�d like to give you the wand in private.� He glanced
down the corridor, certain he�d heard a door open and seen the corner of a
sharp nose appear. �Besides, I find myself curious to see where you live.� He
looked back at Malfoy and tried to paint the most honest expression he could on
his face. He wasn�t afraid that he would look dishonest; he was just
afraid that Malfoy would have trouble recognizing it.

      �Pull the other one,
Potter.�

      �No, really.� Harry
shook his head. �Look, two years with no contact should be enough to mellow
some of the bitterness, shouldn�t it?�

      �No.�

      Harry pushed ahead,
ignoring the storm gathering in Malfoy�s eyes. �I really am just
curious. Not a spy for the Ministry, not a reporter for the Daily Prophet,
not someone who wants vengeance on your family and is out to get it.� Malfoy�s
expression changed again, displaying such pain that Harry found his voice
gentling, the way it did when he spoke to young seedlings straining for the
light. �I promise, I won�t stay long. And I�ll even invite you to come to my
home in return, if you�d like to.�

      Malfoy stared at him in
silent hostility for some moments more. Harry didn�t think he could make a more
eloquent appeal than he had, so he stood and waited patiently for his rival�s
decision.

      Former rival. And
that was not, Harry told himself, just because Malfoy�s liveliness and
latent magic shone like a beacon in the midst of all this depressing gray. Two
years should have cured the bitterness.

      �All right,� Malfoy said
at last, with a distinctly ungracious tone to his voice that Harry was sure his
mother would have disapproved of. He tugged the door open and stepped out of
the way. �Come and laugh, then.�

      Harry was very far from
laughing when he moved into the flat. Doubtless Malfoy had had someone else,
probably one of his parents, come in and cast spells for him since he hadn�t
been able to. But the overall effect was one of comfort, not overwhelming
luxury as Harry had seen in the interior of Malfoy Manor. The walls were a
soft, dusky yellow that pressed close to the color of lamplight. Polished dark
wooden furniture, every chair leg ending in a dragon�s claw or a phoenix�s
foot�not that a Muggle would recognize the latter�occupied every corner, and
cushions occupied their seats; Harry thought he could sink into the largest
armchair and never come up for air again. Beyond the drawing room was a kitchen
that certainly looked big enough for heavy-duty cooking, and a narrow corridor
that hid any sight of what the doors down it opened onto.

      �This is nice, Malfoy,�
Harry said, turning around. He briefly thought it strange that Malfoy had
arranged himself so that only his left profile was turned towards Harry, but he
reckoned it was Malfoy�s right to act strangely in his own home.

      �You�ve seen it, Potter.
Give me back my wand.�

      Harry took the hawthorn
wand out of the waistband of his jeans and tossed it underhanded to Malfoy.
Malfoy caught it and held it for long moments, staring at it, moving his
fingers delicately over the wood that Harry had so often felt thrumming warmly
in response to him.

      And his face
transformed.

      Harry caught his breath.
Malfoy had been attractive enough before; he was willing to admit that. But it
was an attractiveness soured and baked by too much heat and pain into a clay
mask. Now his features were moving again, and suddenly the potential was
brought to life. It was the difference between considering the statue of a
living man and seeing the model walk into a room.

      Malfoy lifted the wand
in a hand that trembled and intoned a quiet spell, so much beneath his breath
that Harry couldn�t make it out. And then he rolled his head forwards so he was
staring straight on at Harry, and his lips worked up into a smirk with sharper
edges than any he�d worn at school.

      �My, my, Potter,� he
drawled. �You�re staring as if my younger and much more handsome cousin just
walked into the room.�

      Harry grinned at him,
not caring that he probably looked like an idiot. This was too new for
him to be worried what Malfoy thought. So far as he was concerned, at
least, things were different. And that meant he would start out on a new footing,
and see if he couldn�t draw Malfoy along with him. �Care to introduce
me?�

      The other man�s face
went flat.

      �To your younger and
more handsome cousin, I meant,� Harry elaborated.

      He watched, entertained,
as Malfoy scrambled for knowledge as to how to deal with a Potter who could banter,
and then drew himself up with a haughty sniff. �It was a simile,� he said.
�Surely you�re familiar with them?�

      �Well, I�ll content
myself with you, then.� Harry cocked his head. �Care to have dinner?�

      �In Diagon Alley?�
Malfoy looked rather as though Harry had announced to him that the moon was
made of green cheese. Probably because of the person doing the asking, Harry
thought. Surely he�s not short of dinner invitations.

      �Or Hogsmeade,� he said.
�Or even Knockturn Alley, if you want to be adventurous. I�m not particular.�
He smiled.

      Malfoy shook his head. �You
don�t invite me to dinner,� he said. �That�s not how it�s done.�

      �Oh, you want to be the
aggressor?�

      �Potter�� Malfoy drew
one hand over his face. That seemed to give him the necessary balance, because
when he lowered it again, his look was cold, closed, haughty. �I meant that I
would never consent to spend time with you, willingly. You must have known that
I only asked you here to return my wand.�

      �This time, yes.� Harry
thought �baffled� was a good look on Malfoy. �That doesn�t mean it can�t be
dinner next time. If you don�t want to go out in public, and I suppose I can
understand that, I�d like to invite you to dinner at my house. I only make a
few meals well, but I�m damn good at them. At everything I do, actually,� he
said, and winked.

      What are you doing? the
more cautious part of him demanded.

      Having fun, Harry
answered, which was the signal for the more cautious part of him to fuck off,
at least since the war. He gazed at Malfoy peaceably and awaited his
answer.

*

      Draco wanted to order
Potter out of his flat. He wanted to scream at him that he had a scar on
his cheek, under the glamour he�d cast the moment he had his wand back, and
that it would wear through the illusion in just a few hours, which meant he
couldn�t go out in public. He wanted to do something that would knock
that intrigued, compelling expression off Potter�s face and force him to
realize that Draco was a victim.

      Except�

      Why had Draco cast the
glamour, if he didn�t care what Potter thought? Why did he want Potter to leave
him alone?

      Like it or not, this was
the most attention he�d had in two years. He had moved to a Muggle flat when
the constant tears in his mother�s eyes and his father�s cold stares grew to be
too much, and he�d insisted on a vow of secrecy when he found out an Auror had
to visit and question him every month. He�d been alone for two years now. Nosy
Muggle neighbors didn�t count.

      And Potter was
gazing at him with something like admiration in those green eyes.

      Only because he can�t
see how ugly you really are, whispered the hateful voice Draco had grown
used to hearing every time he glanced into a mirror or into his assigned
Auror�s eyes. He imagined it was his captor�s voice, sometimes.

      But Potter didn�t
know how ugly he really was. And if Draco was half the Slytherin he�d thought
he could be in school, he never would. It might be fun to string the
Boy-Who-Lived along for a little while.

      Even if he did have hair
that went every which way but the proper one, and dirt crusted under his
fingernails.

      �Say that I accept this
invitation, Potter,� he began, and stopped when Potter gave him an excited
grin. God, that makes him look about thirteen years old. �What dreadful
poisons would you lace the food with?�

      Potter laughed,
apparently mistaking his acidic tone for flirtation. Draco was doubly glad he
hadn�t been put in Gryffindor, if this was the quality of brainpower one got
out of six years in the House. �Nothing, Malfoy! I can�t promise to cook just
what you want, because I only make a few things really well��

      �You said that already,�
Draco felt compelled to point out.

      �I know.� Potter was
smiling anyway. Perhaps he had hit his head on the wall in despair one
day over being a half-blood, Draco speculated, and forgotten how to frown as a
consequence. �But I can tell you what I make, and you can choose from among
them.�

      �Tell me.� Draco had to
admit he was enjoying this; it was like being back at the Manor and having one
of the house-elves attending on him.

      �Poached eggs,� said
Potter at once. �Fish and chips. Gazpacho. And certain desserts that I�m
certain you wouldn�t want to hear about. Just hearing about them might
cause you to put on weight, and why would you want to ruin perfection?�

      Draco thought that being
in the same room with a flirtatious Potter was rather like being strapped to a
cart in Gringotts with no goblin to control the mechanism. He coughed and
managed to sound sufficiently like himself when he spoke again. Or, at least,
he hoped he sounded like the suave and reserved Draco Malfoy Harry
Potter had always known. �I�the gazpacho, then.� He rallied when Potter just
went on smiling. Hit his head on a wall, definitely. �Where did you
learn to make that, in any case?�

      Potter�s smile shaded
into reminiscence for just a moment. �A friend.�

      �Please do not tell me
that the Weasel decided to take a cooking class.� Draco shuddered theatrically.
He would refuse to eat any food the Weasel had taught Potter to make on
principle, no matter how good it might be.

      �A different kind of
friend.� Potter gave him a frank once-over, ignoring Draco�s stare. Then his
eyes returned to Draco�s face, and he smiled like a child again. �Anyway. What
night would you like to come over?�

      �I�tomorrow,� said
Draco, deciding that he might as well get it over with, and not wanting to give
Potter any extra time to impress him. �At six. And I can only stay for an hour,
mind.� That was the shortest limit of the glamours he had found that would
conceal the scar. Possibly he could remain in company three hours before
the illusion would really start to tatter, but Draco was taking no
chances.

      Potter laughed. �I�ll
see you at six, then. Nice chatting with you, Malfoy.� He swept a bow that left
Draco unable to tell, for the life of him, whether it was mocking or not, and
then trotted out the door.

      Leaving Draco to wonder
exactly when and how Potter had managed to persuade him into dinner, let alone
dinner in a house that was probably a rathole.

      But he shook his head
and told himself to cheer up. He needed to get used to being around people
again, now that he would be able to make short forays into public. Potter was
the perfect place to start. And if news of Draco�s visit to his home just happened
to find its way into the Daily Prophet�

      Well, that would not be
Draco�s fault. It would be Potter�s, for not thinking of the consequences of
inviting a Slytherin over.

*

      Harry stepped back from
the bowl and considered the blending of the ingredients in the gazpacho one
more time, then nodded, satisfied. He wondered for a moment what would happen
if Malfoy complained that it was cold, and snickered. But no, surely Malfoy was
cultured enough to know how gazpacho was supposed to be served and would like
it.

      Unless he complains
just to complain.

      Harry hummed under his
breath as he waved his wand and sent cutlery flying to set the table in his
small dining room for two. It was always seating either two, three, or four,
depending on whether Ron and Hermione felt like cooking for themselves or not,
and sometimes Ginny made the fourth. She�d become a good friend since she fell
madly in love with a Muggle and Harry discovered he was gay in the same week.
Occasionally she brought her boyfriend with her, but he�d shown distinct
uneasiness in the presence of a gay wizard�one difference at a time seemed to
be all Paul could tolerate�and so he usually stayed home.

      And, of course, Raphael
was sometimes a guest. But he wouldn�t be tonight.

      It seemed that Raphael
didn�t know that, though, because the wards around Harry�s garden had picked up
his approach. The snapdragons Harry had altered to be sensitive to the sound of
Parseltongue had oriented on him, in particular, and Harry could almost feel
the flowers plotting to bite him if he didn�t intervene. He rolled his eyes and
wondered for a moment if they would like Malfoy.

      Probably. Snakes have
an affinity for each other, don�t they?

      Harry stepped out
through the large, folding panels, half-windows and half-doors, that led from
the dining room into the garden, and then Apparated. He landed neatly in front
of Raphael on the path that wound through a maze of sunflowers towards the
house. Raphael jerked to a stop at the sight of him, startled. He had never got
used to the speed of Harry�s magic.

      �Harry,� he said a
moment later. While he wasn�t used to Harry�s magic, he never allowed himself
to be startled for long, either. His eyes traveled a slow, admiring path along
Harry�s shoulders where they were pressed against the robe and up over his
face. �Care to have company for dinner?�

      �I�m expecting company,
actually,� Harry said. �Just not you,� he added, as Raphael opened his
mouth.

      Raphael laughed and
shrugged. �You can�t blame me for trying, can you?�

      Harry stared back in
silence, keeping a faint smile on his face for courtesy�s sake. Raphael Morgan
was one of Ron�s friends at the Ministry, but several years older and already
out of the Auror training program. Ron had recommended him to Harry as a gay
wizard who wasn�t impressed by the mystique surrounding the Savior of the
Wizarding World, and he had certainly been a good boyfriend, a skilled lover,
and a wonderful teacher in the matter of making gazpacho. And he was handsome
enough, even resembling Malfoy in some ways, though his brilliant blond hair
and blue eyes had depths of color Malfoy�s would never reach. But in the end,
he hadn�t been what Harry wanted�just a little too ambiguous, a little too
impressed by celebrity in spite of himself, a little too slow to take a hint.

      And here he is again,
not taking the hint I gave him the other day about enjoying my solitude while
Ron and Hermione are gone. Harry folded his arms and dropped the smile
altogether, because Raphael was just lingering, looking at him
expectantly.

      �I�m hurt, Harry,�
Raphael said after a moment, and placed his hand over his heart with a dramatic
sigh. �I might almost think you�d broken your vow to me about spending the week
alone, and that you�re inviting some other young wizard around to shag behind
my back.�

      �There is no �behind
your back,� since you and I broke up,� Harry pointed out. �And it�s none of
your affair whom I invite over and whom I don�t.�

      Raphael blinked. Harry
felt like blinking himself. He hadn�t ever spoken that coldly to Raphael, since
their breakup had been nearly as amicable as his and Ginny�s.

      But damn it, Harry was
interested in Malfoy, and he wanted to be inside adding the final touches to
the dinner, such as a wine that he was sure would actually impress Malfoy, not
standing outside in flower-scented twilight and arguing with an old lover who
couldn�t believe Harry had moved on.

      Now, though, Raphael
studied him with narrowed eyes and a kind of cool respect on his face, as
though he hadn�t appreciated Harry�s ability to make a point before. Harry took
a step nearer, forcing Raphael to back up or come uncomfortably close.

      Raphael, being his
infuriating self, chose the latter option. And his eyes had started to sparkle
with laughter again. Harry rolled his own. What does it say about me, that
I�m attracted by smarmy blond blokes with superiority complexes?

      Except that it was more
than just a superiority complex Harry had seen in Malfoy�s face the other day,
and more than a smarmy blond he was interested in pursuing. If Malfoy was
agreeable, of course. If he would stay for more than an hour, someday.

      If he didn�t arrive, see
Harry standing with Raphael, assume he�d been invited for some kinky sex act,
and Apparate back home.

      �Have I ever told you
how much you turn me on?� Raphael murmured, and lifted a hand to stroke Harry�s
cheek.

      �Constantly,� Harry
snapped, recalling entire conversations that consisted solely of that, and cast
a nonverbal spell. The arch of hollyhocks above them promptly released a shower
of water from their roots, drenching Raphael thoroughly enough to make his hair
lie flat on his skull and get his fine robes all wet.

      Raphael took a step away
with a cry of shock and fanned ineffectually at himself with both hands. Then
he drew his wand and cast a drying charm�which did nothing for the stain on his
robes or just how disordered his hair was, of course. Harry just raised an
eyebrow at his glare, unimpressed.

      �Leave, Raphael,� he
told him. �You don�t want to see what my marigolds can do.�

      Raphael just shook his
head and took a step backwards, an expression somewhere between a sneer and a
true smile playing on his mouth. �I told you, Harry, I�d be quite ready to
accommodate you if you just decided what you wanted.�

      �I told you what
I wanted.�

      �And I told you, no real
gay man wants that. For fuck�s sake, Potter, you�re acting like a girl.�
Raphael rolled his eyes and Disapparated.

      Harry took several deep,
calming breaths. He wouldn�t feel bad that Raphael had got the last word. He
was firm in his position, and what he had asked for was only reasonable, not
silly and not stupid, not childish and not girlish. He wanted more than sex.
That was all, and yet Raphael hadn�t even been willing to talk about living
together.

      And he had a dinner to
finish.

      Five minutes later, he
was back in the dining room, chewing his lip and pondering whether candlelight
would be too intimate.

*

      Draco arrived at
Potter�s house exactly on time, not a minute before and not a stroke after six.
The most powerful glamour he had been able to find in two years of study was
affixed to his right cheek, and Draco had checked in his mirror to make sure it
was undetectable so many times before he left that the mirror had threatened to
shatter itself. He put one hand up now, by habit, as he neared Potter�s gates,
and then dropped it again. The spell would be fine. It wouldn�t do to draw
Potter�s attention to that area of his face, though.

      He opened Potter�s
gates, and then stopped, astonished.

      He had never seen such
gardens, such rich and flourishing life overflowing its bounds. The late
sunlight stroked red flowers whose name Draco didn�t know, which were already
almost closed, as though anything less than perfect noon made them hug
themselves shut. A chain of white flowers he didn�t recognize either danced up
and down and in between stands of irises. Mingled petals strove against each
other for the light�or was that only the many-colored petals of a single
flower?

      And there, off to the
side�

      Potter had black roses
growing in his garden.

      And there was Potter
himself, probably alerted by his wards, moving easily down the scalloped path
towards Draco. He was far more appealing than he�d looked in Draco�s flat,
though Draco didn�t know how that could be; even if he wore robes instead of
Muggle clothing, his hair was still unkempt, his chin hadn�t seen a Shaving
Charm since that morning, and his eyes were too wide and too earnest behind
those ridiculous glasses.

      But�

      It was a matter of
environment, maybe, Draco deduced quickly, to keep himself from staring when
Potter took his hand and bent over it like a courtier. Potter was out of his
element in Draco�s drawing room. Here he was on his own ground, proud and
graceful as some ancient sacrificial king of the woods in the midst of all the
life around him.

      And if you don�t stop
thinking in absurdly poetic metaphors soon, you�ll embarrass yourself, Draco
thought sharply, and cast a subtle Tempus Charm as he sneered at Potter.
Five minutes he�d been here. Fifty-five minutes left before he would start
distrusting the glamour and need to leave.

      �Did you pick up those
manners from the same friend who taught you to make gazpacho?� he
demanded.

      Potter grinned at him.
�Maybe.� He stepped out of the way and gestured Draco to the house. Draco shook
his head. No way he was walking in front of Potter and making a spectacle of
himself if they came upon something remarkable and he just happened to
gape at it.

      Potter only nodded
amiably, as if he had been prepared to take �no� for an answer, and then turned
and led Draco up the path, telling Draco the names of the flowers they passed.
Draco listened with half an ear; he had just discovered that being behind
Potter lent him a nice view of the man�s arse.

      �I breed angels here,
too.�

      Draco snapped back to
full attention. Never mind about Potter�s arse, he couldn�t let a statement
like that go unchallenged. �You have a lot of faith in your breeding
abilities, I suppose, Potter?� he drawled.

      �That�s just what I call
them,� Potter said, with a shrug. �Their full name is this incomprehensible
Latin mouthful that I�d embarrass myself trying to pronounce.�

      �You notice when you�re
embarrassing yourself, now?�

      Potter just laughed, a
sound that did not have permission to send thrills up and down Draco�s
spine, thank you very much, and then stepped out of the way to reveal a tall
stand of flowers to Draco.

      Draco�s breath caught.
His first, traitorous impulse was to say that the house-elves at the Manor
couldn�t have done better, but of course they could have. They were working
with elf magic, which was superior to wizard magic for any menial task.
Everyone knew that. And everyone knew gardening was a menial task.

      But the flowers in front
of him�

      Well, all right, he
wouldn�t have turned one away if it was offered to him as a gift. Let Potter be
content with that, if he were foolhardy enough to ask.

      The flowers were the
exact lavender color that Draco often saw in sunset clouds and had never
thought he would see anywhere on earth. They were open, flaring, their petals
spread to the June sky above them like praying hands. Their stems were green
corkscrews, bearing their uplifted hands at the end of such a long, delicate
span that Draco thought the weight must beat them down and snap them,
eventually. But it didn�t. They hovered at the ends of those impossible stems,
like angels in flight.

      Potter watched him with
a faint smile. Draco cleared his throat, realizing he was waiting for some
compliment on or reaction to the flowers.

      �Yes, very nice,� he
said.

      �Your eyes say more than
that,� Potter murmured, but not in a challenging tone, more as if he understood
how hard it was for Draco to speak the necessary words aloud. He cocked his
head towards the house. �Shall we?�

      Draco gazed at him, more
appraisingly this time, and then nodded. Potter simply looked delighted, as he
did with every motion Draco cared to make.

      Such delight around
Draco, such careless ease and grace in his own surroundings, such pride in his
eyes when he gazed at the flowers.

      Draco might not object
to letting a Potter like this stick around for a little while. If he was very
good, of course.

      *

      Harry watched out of the
corner of one eye as Draco ate. He was not sure when he had started thinking of
Malfoy as Draco, but he had, so he might as well continue it. If nothing else,
it made sense to differentiate the man he hoped to flirt with, and maybe seduce,
from the man who had attacked Harry and his friends in the Department of
Mysteries.

      Draco was at least
proving very different from Raphael in one respect. Raphael would have made a
face if he had disliked his gazpacho, or smiled and told Harry it was good
immediately. Draco sipped it slowly, his eyelids fluttering shut now and again,
but he seemed more overtly interested in the wine. Harry noticed, though, that
he always put down the glass of wine after just a few sips, to devote more
attention to the soup than he wanted Harry to see.

      That was perfectly fine.
They ate in silence, and it was a comfortable silence, at least for Harry. He
could sip, and gaze at Draco in the light of the lamps placed about the room�he
had decided not to use candles after all, fearing it would make Draco turn tail
and run�and rejoice in both Draco�s presence and the fact that they were in the
same room without sniping.

      When Draco finally did
pick up the conversation, his subject wasn�t one Harry had expected, but it was
one he probably should have. �Is there any particular reason why you didn�t
become an Auror, Potter?� he demanded, in between one flourish of his wineglass
and another. His gray eyes glinted at Harry across the rim of the glass, as if
he thought Harry would scramble after an answer to the question.

      �Of course,� Harry said,
glancing at him sidelong. �Too many people I loved died during the war. I
decided that was enough death for me. I didn�t want to hunt anyone anymore,
even Dark wizards.� He closed his eyes so that he could more fully enjoy the
taste of the tomato in the soup. Even gazing at Draco couldn�t make that
particular experience better for him.

      Of course, it would
help if I knew what Draco tasted like.

      Harry drowned such
thoughts with a little more soup.

      �That�s rather a
sentimental reason,� Draco said.

      Harry shrugged. He had
heard the same thing from Ron, and, far more endlessly, from Raphael. �It�s my
reason.�

      �That�s another thing I
wanted to ask.� Draco set down his wineglass hard enough to make it ring. �When
did you become so�� He paused, evidently casting about for a word.

      �Handsome?� Harry
offered helpfully.

      �Calm,� Draco
said, with a freezing glare to show that he did not appreciate Harry�s
flirting, which made Harry leer at him. Draco glanced aside, a faint flush
creeping over his cheeks. �Mellow. You�re acting as though the war never
happened, even though you say that you couldn�t become an Auror because of it. So.
What�s the answer? Why the contradiction?�

      �The answer�s simple
enough,� Harry said calmly, and ate a few more spoonfuls of gazpacho, which
made Draco tap his fingers impatiently on the tablecloth. �And no, it�s not a
contradiction. Gardening suits me. Bringing things to life suits me. That�s
helped me forget a lot of the trauma from the war. Not everything.� He
still woke up screaming from nightmares regularly enough, which Raphael had
always complained about. �But enough that I�m happy from day to day, instead of
mourning. Becoming an Auror would simply have depressed me.�

      �I�m surprised that you
haven�t settled down to raise little Potters, if you enjoy bringing things to
life so much,� Draco muttered.

      �Rather hard to do that
without a willing woman, and most willing women would prefer that their
husbands weren�t dating blokes on the side,� Harry said. �And I don�t care what
Hermione says about experimental potions that will be properly advanced
sometime within the next century or so, I don�t think I could bring myself to
get pregnant or ask my lovers, who should always be very male, to get
pregnant.�

      Draco stared at him.
�You�re bent?�

      Harry laughed outright.
He would have been afraid that Draco had somehow mistaken the signals, but no,
he couldn�t be that dense. �Of course I am! Unless you think that I just
like gazing soulfully across the dinner table at handsome wizards, and then I
go off and fuck a witch.�

      Draco choked, but Harry
wasn�t sure if it was at his honesty or at his use of the word �fuck.� After a
long, delicate pause, he said, �I try not to assume about people. You could
have been bisexual, for all I knew.�

      �If you�re worried about
that, please be assured that I am one hundred percent an arse man.� Harry
leaned across the table. Maybe it was just Raphael�s earlier appearance, but he
found himself rapidly tiring of ambiguity. Flirting was one thing; finding out
that he might have flirted with a completely uninterested target was something
else altogether. �And what about you, Draco?�

      Oh, yes, that got
him. One other useful thing Harry had learned from Raphael was that he had a
sexy voice when he lowered it. Draco�s sudden flush and slightly parted lips
said his attention had been caught.

      �I didn�t give you
permission to use my first name,� he said, when he spoke again.

      �Draco, Draco, Draco,�
Harry said, teasingly the first time, but with greater and huskier emphasis the
other two. Draco�s eyes darted to Harry�s lips, and then away, as if he
couldn�t quite decide where to rest them.

      In the silence, Harry
heard a soft chime, the kind that might come from setting a Tempus Charm
to go off a certain hour.

      Draco�s face turned
completely white, and he rose to his feet. Harry rose after him, concerned.
�You don�t want to stay for dessert?� He tried to sound hurt. In truth, he was
less worried about losing Draco�s company than he was about the sudden cause of
Draco�s pallor.

      Draco gave him a sickly
smile. �It�s all right,� he said. �Just something I have to do. I did
say that I would leave at seven on the hour, didn�t I? That was my charm
reminding me not to spend much time in your uncivilized company.� He turned
hastily for the door, one hand hovering near his face as if to cover his cheek,
but he did turn back long enough to add, �Thank you for the lovely meal.�

      Harry narrowed his eyes.
He was thinking of the odd way that Draco had stood when he first visited his
flat, with his head turned in profile so that Harry couldn�t see his cheek. �Is
something wrong with your face?�

      �Nothing!� Draco
spat the word, and pain and panic were flashing through his eyes. Harry took a
step backwards. �Don�t�just don�t ask about that, all right? I�ll go on another
date with you, but don�t ask about that.�

      �You don�t need to go on
another date with me,� Harry murmured. �I don�t do blackmail. You have a right
to your secrets.�

      Draco closed his eyes
tightly, and Harry had the oddest feeling he was fighting tears. Wonder stirred
through him. Had Draco really had so few people in his life who would offer to
respect his privacy?

      �Thank you,� he said in
a tiny voice, and then ran through the folding windows. Harry heard him
Disapparate a moment later.

      Well, that was
certainly strange.

      But only one thought was
on Harry�s mind as he turned to gather up the dinner dishes and fetch the flan
to eat by himself. He wanted to do this again.

*

      The smell slowly
traveled into Draco�s dreams, stirring him from uneasy contemplations of the
night before. He had arrived back at his flat just in time. When he glanced in
the mirror, he could already see the glamour tattering over the scar, as the
Permanence Charm his attacker had put on the wound came through. He had stood
there with his fingertips tracing the circumference of the hole, bitterly
wondering if Potter would be quite so enthusiastic about him if he knew what
Draco�s face really looked like.

      And then he had fallen
asleep and dreamed about his own ugliness and loneliness.

      What good was it to be
able to do magic again, if it couldn�t bring him the respect and the ability to
go out into public that he desired so much?

      But now there was this
smell.

      Draco opened his eyes
slowly and rolled over. A quick glance around his bedroom revealed that nothing
in here smelled like that. In the end, he rose, secured his pyjamas
around himself and cast a quick glamour over his cheek, and then padded out
into the drawing room.

      Nothing there, either,
but the scent was stronger. Draco, his fingers shaking for no good reason,
opened the front door of the flat.

      Sitting on his threshold
was a vase of the angel flowers that Potter had shown him last night, bobbing
brilliantly on their impossible stems, smelling like ripe oranges. Their petals
were open, stubbornly, as though they only needed dawn to call them to their
fullest extent, and a card nodded in the middle of one of them, lightened by a
charm. Draco plucked it out, waited a moment for his hands to calm their stupid
shaking, and opened it.

      Draco, I wanted to
share these flowers with you, since I knew that you admired them. And I have to
admit, they remind me of you now, with everything�including gravity!�against
them, and yet determined to stand up to the world.

      Dinner in Diagon
Alley tonight?

      -Harry Potter.

      Draco closed his eyes
and swallowed. Then he heard his neighbor open her door, and scooped up the
vase hastily, retreating into his flat with it. He wouldn�t share the sight of his
flowers with her.

      Besides, there was the
chance that she might see his scar.

      He stood just inside the
door for a long moment, breathing in the angels� scent, and then sat down to
owl Potter. Dinner in Diagon Alley was not an option, not when their meal might
take an unknown length of time to arrive and his glamour could fade, but the
least he could do was return the invitation.

      A squirming warmth in
the center of his belly announced that it was more than that, that he was
looking forwards to seeing Potter again.

      Ridiculous, Draco
thought firmly. I�m just returning a favor, that�s all.

      That Potter looked good
was fortunate for him, as he would never get dates otherwise, but it had
nothing to do with why Draco was doing this.

*

�� Going out
again, Harry?�

�� Since
Raphael had appeared suddenly behind him as he got ready to transport several
large loads of flowers on floating wooden carts to Diagon Alley, Harry didn�t
spare the time to hit or hex him. He just rolled his eyes and Apparated, after
making sure that all the carts were attached to him with lengths of rope.

�� He
appeared, with all the carts and Raphael still beside him, in an alley off Diagon
often used as an Apparition point. He wasn�t surprised. Raphael had stayed
around long enough to know his most common destination.

�� There was
something you wanted?� Harry set a brisk pace. It looked like rain, with the
sky frowning over the shops, and there were several flowers that needed as much
sun as possible but also needed to be protected from the heavier raindrops.
Harry had never yet mastered the spell that would pull a cover over them the
moment the rain began to fall, so he had to do it by hand.

�� Always.�
Raphael reached out and tried to wrap his arms around Harry�s waist. His breath
was hot and hungry in Harry�s ear.

�� Harry drove
his foot backwards, connecting with Raphael�s knee. The move was one Raphael
had taught him, which meant he could mostly twist out of the way to accept the
blow, but it made him curse and let go of Harry.

�� I see that
you still haven�t advanced in your courses on the meaning of �no,�� Harry
murmured, and ducked through the door of Paley�s Poisonous Potions. The name
was a simple advertising mechanism, of course; the Ministry would never have
allowed Paley to sell true Dark potions here. �Afternoon, Joseph.�

�� Joseph
Paley looked up with a faint smile. He was an older wizard whom some accident
had deprived of both his eyes; he had magical replacements, which didn�t whiz
around his head but still reminded Harry painfully of Mad-Eye. �Harry! Good to
see you. I said to myself, �Just where am I going to get more pollen for that
Deafness Potion I need to brew this afternoon?� and lo and behold, you appear.�

�� The
usual?� Harry asked, turning to one of the carts that floated off his left
hand. He could feel Raphael leaning against the doorway of the shop, watching
him, but he knew the Auror wouldn�t come further inside. He disdained Paley�s
as too common for him. Or maybe he was just afraid of tripping over something;
the shop was, admittedly, dim, and Raphael had never had the best eyesight.

�� Two dozen
roses, yes indeed,� said Paley, and chuckled under his breath as he took the
cart from Harry. He always paid scrupulously, Harry thought, amused, and yet he
had to laugh like this, as if he had got one over on the Savior of the
Wizarding World.

�� Harry held
his hand out for the Galleons, nodding as they dropped into his palm. His
parents had left him a small
fortune�not enough to live on forever.�
Keeping the garden took up a worrying amount of funds, sometimes, but
selling what he produced made up for it.

�� Especially since I live alone most of the
time and don�t spend loads on my own entertainment.

�� Idly, Harry
wondered what Malfoy�or Draco, though it felt less natural to call him that
when he was out of the git�s presence�did for fun. The stiff invitation he�d
received to dinner that night didn�t promise much. And then there was his
apparent paranoia about going out in public. Harry would sound him out tonight,
though, and perhaps discover that Malfoy retained his schoolboy fondness for
Quidditch or enjoyed the theater.

�� I don�t
understand why you degrade yourself like this,� Raphael murmured, falling into
step beside Harry as he ducked back into the sunlight.

�� Harry
sighed openly. That had been another reason he and Raphael were no longer
lovers; Raphael might not have a lot of awe for the Savior of the Wizarding
World, but he thought the job of gardener infinitely too humble for Harry. Harry
sometimes wished he could simply tell him to fuck off, but Raphael was Ron�s
friend, too, and Harry enjoyed his company when he wasn�t being a prat.

�� You never
did understand a lot about me,� he said, and had the satisfaction of seeing
Raphael�s mouth tighten in irritation.

As he swung into the next shop
along his route, he wondered what Malfoy looked like when he was irritated.
Harry had seen more anger than irritation, he thought.

And
what he looks like when he�s tired, and satiated, and frustrated, and happy�

You
do have it bad.

Harry shrugged. He didn�t consider
having a passion for Malfoy a problem, not since he had gained the clarity of
mind and strength of will necessary to go after what he wanted.

*

�� Draco was
nervously conscious of the finery of his dress robes as he stood aside so
Potter could enter his flat. He had spent at least three hours this afternoon
arguing with himself as to whether he needed
to dress up. Potter seemed perfectly happy to parade around in scruffy Muggle
clothes. He probably wouldn�t know good taste if it shat on his head. And since
when did Draco want to look good for Potter?

�� Since he�s the only person in a hundred-mile
radius who looks happy to see you?

�� Draco shook
his head. In the end, he�d chosen the frost-blue dress robes with silver
filigree around the collar and the sleeves and hoped for the best. He steeled
himself as Potter turned around to survey him by the light of the lamps.

�� The scar on
his cheek itched under the glamour. Draco forbore from scratching it.

�� Potter�s
eyes turned so warm that Draco could feel his face yearning to follow them with
a blush. �You do look wonderful,� Potter said, and strode over to clasp Draco�s
hand and play with the edge of his sleeve in the same movement. His smile was
sly, at least as much for Draco�s face�

�� The face he thinks is perfect.

�� --As the
robes. Draco told himself he didn�t care, and since when had any interaction
with Potter ever been on a fair footing? He raised an eyebrow and scanned
Potter�s own Muggle clothing. A clean white shirt and jeans, and that was all
that could be said for them. Though, after the work he�d seen Potter do in the
garden, maybe that was miracle enough in and of itself.

�� He said as
much, and because of it, he got to hear Harry Potter laugh.

�� Don�t prompt that again, Draco thought,
as the shout of unrestrained merriment went straight to his belly, and the
squirm of warmth he�d felt that morning was joined by a sharp coil of interest.
You�re already playing a dangerous game.
Flirting is fine, dinner is pleasant, but no farther than that. You know why. The
last thing you ever want to see is Potter looking at you with pity in his eyes.

�� Though,
watching the way he took a jest against himself, Draco was tempted to say that Potter
might actually understand him, or only feel sympathy, compassion�

�� No. That�s the first step on the road to
making yourself vulnerable.

�� He shifted
the position of his hand so that he held Potter�s arm, and inclined his head
towards the kitchen. The house-elf he�d borrowed from his parents promptly
appeared and bowed low. �Shall we dine?�

*

�� Harry
sighed and pushed his plate away from him. He�d had enough duck in orange sauce
and hot rice and steamed vegetables to last him for six more meals, though of
course Draco murmured and urged more on him.

�� The meal
had been delicious, the equal of any he�d ever eaten at Hogwarts, but what made
it special was Draco. Less self-conscious in his own home than he�d been in
Harry�s, he had sharp words for Harry�s table manners, Daily Prophet reporters, the latest piece of Ministry
scandal�something about Shacklebolt�s niece marrying a Muggle and bringing him
around for a tour without properly warning him�the deplorable lack of proper
cooking in households without elves, flowers, the weather, Harry�s clothes,
Harry�s daily routine, and Quidditch.

�� It�ll be the way I play Quidditch next, Harry
thought.

�� And sure
enough, Draco, lounging back in a chair as if he had almost forgotten his fine
robes�though of course they never wrinkled�looked at him thoughtfully and
murmured, �Think you could still catch a Snitch? Or will those thick gardener�s
calluses of yours prevent it?�

�� I could
catch one right now,� Harry said, even as he lazily rubbed his full belly.

�� Liar.�
Draco snorted at him.

�� Not a
liar,� Harry countered. �Do you have one?�

�� Spots of
color took over Draco�s cheeks, and he set his wineglass down a little harder
than strictly necessary. �We couldn�t play Quidditch here, Potter. This is a Muggle residential area, in case you
haven�t noticed.�

�� I have noticed,� Harry said, and stretched
his arms over his head. He was content, far from thoughts of the war, which
lately was all he needed to stimulate his courage. He cocked his head at Draco.
�Care to tell me why?�

�� Draco�s
pause as he picked up his glass again was barely perceptible, but Harry saw his
wrist tremble. He waited, trying not to make it obvious, in the meanwhile, how
keenly he was trying to picture Draco�s skin under the robes and deduce his
taste from his scent.

�� Tell you
why what?� Draco asked, trying for an aristocratic sneer.

�� And failing, Harry thought. He leaned
forwards. �Tell me why you�re living here instead of the Manor. I saw how much
your parents loved you in the final battle at Hogwarts. They would never have
turned you away. So it must have been your own choice that led you here��

�� Never.�
Draco slammed a hand sharply on the edge of the table the house-elf had put between
them and stood up, turning away in a swirl of robes.

�� Harry
sighed, sad to ruin the mood that had settled between them, but badly needing
to know the answer. He watched Draco�s pacing without attempting to interfere
for a few moments, then said, �Does it have anything to do with the Tempus Charms you keep casting?�

*

�� Draco froze
between one stride and the next. He tried to bring his foot down calmly in the
next moment, tried to show that he was unshaken, but the shock had been
obvious, even for an unobservant cretin like Potter.

�� I thought I had done those subtly.

�� Draco
suffered a moment�s wild yearning to tell Potter the truth. Would it be so bad?
Potter had a healthy distrust of the Daily
Prophet and would hardly sell the story to them. He wasn�t in contact with
any of Draco�s old school chums, either.

�� That you know of. He hadn�t known that
Potter knew how to make passable gazpacho or would be content to retire to a
life of raising flowers, either. Anything
could have happened in the past two years. Even if Potter didn�t have a coterie
of Slytherins hanging on his every word, he could still know someone whom he
wouldn�t be able to resist telling the story to, and who would relish the tale
in turn by spreading it to everyone who �should� know. Draco lived in dread of
the glamour failing in front of someone else. How much more horrible would it
be to face widespread laughter?

�� Soft
footsteps sounded behind him. Draco closed his eyes when a warm hand came to
rest in the middle of his back. It should be illegal, or at least impossible by
the laws of nature, for one single hand to be so warm.

�� You still
don�t have to tell me if you don�t want to,� Potter murmured to him. �It won�t
make any difference in the amount of interest I have in you��

�� Oh, how little you know, Draco thought
bitterly, remembering the way Potter�s eyes had rested in fascination on his falsely
smooth, perfect face.

�� Or how
much I enjoy your company. But I hate to see you looking as if someone�s about
to chase you out of your own home at any minute. And I remember how confident
you were in the wizarding world, how much at home there. That�s where you belong.� Potter�s voice dropped and turned softer,
to the point that Draco found himself straining to hear. �I think you look good
in this flat, with your own choice of furniture surrounding you, but the
thought of you in the Manor, or a flat where you could openly have moving
portraits on the walls and use your wand to your heart�s content�I can�t even
imagine what you�d look like then.�

�� And I want to see it, were the unspoken
words.

�� Draco
swallowed several times. His hand rose to rub his cheek; he stiffened just in
time and dropped it. No matter how much of a habit it might be for him to touch
his scar in private, like some animal licking its wounds, he wouldn�t do it in
front of Potter.

�� But he was
considering telling him.

�� Are you mad are you mad are you mad? his
mind chattered. This is the one person in
the wizarding world who could get attention from the Prophet for the way he walks, and you�d trust him
with this secret?

�� But Draco
wanted to trust someone. And God, he was so lonely, and Potter spoke so
sincerely, and this was the first human contact he�d had in two years that
wasn�t full of awkward stares and cold, icy mutters�

�� And maybe
he did want to know what would happen
when Potter learned the truth. Better to suffer some pain now and be done with
it, after two days� acquaintance, than clutch after scraps of real affection
for months and lose them when Potter recoiled in horror. Draco knew how to
spare himself pain.

�� With a
quick flick of his wand, he ended the glamour on his scar and turned around.

*

�� Harry had
expected something like this. When he concentrated, he could sense magic, and
he had sensed the slight flicker of a glamour around Draco. He had assumed it
was to make the dress robes sparkle more, though, and why should he be angry at
Draco about that? He�d put up with far worse vanity from Raphael.

�� But then
he�d seen the constant times that Draco almost touched his cheek, and his mind
had leaped to the fact that his own scar wore through any glamour he tried to
put on it, and he had wondered�

�� Now he
didn�t have to wonder.

�� He gravely
examined the pitted, black scar on Draco�s cheek, bearing down to a central
hole that went nearly deep enough to show teeth, and writhing out from there in
a shape like a starfish with extending arms. One arm extended towards Draco�s
right eye; two more reached for his chin. The rest sidled towards his ear. With
one fingertip, Harry traced them, and found that they continued the scar onto
his scalp.

�� Someone had
burned a hole in Draco�s face and then used a Permanence Charm to be sure he
couldn�t hide it for long. Which, given that he hadn�t been able to use magic
for two years, meant he couldn�t hide it at all.

�� Anger
flared inside Harry like a kindled star, but he made sure not to show it. Given
the half-panicked rasp of Draco�s breathing, any negative emotion right now
would be interpreted as a rejection of him.

�� Harry let
his fingers roam back over the scar�which was rough and uneven, and probably
not sensitive�and looked into Draco�s eyes.

�� Even Ron
might have felt pity for him if he could see him now. There was terror there,
and dread, and a fear of rejection so keen that Harry wanted to embrace him
simply to take it away. But no, he couldn�t rush this. He had to show Draco the
absolute truth, not anything that could be misinterpreted, and give Draco no
option to talk himself out of trusting Harry.

�� He kept his
expression gentle, serious, solemn, not smiling and not looking away. He held
the silence until Draco was shifting nervously from foot to foot.

�� Then he
leaned in and kissed Draco gently on the mouth.

*

�� Draco was
drowning.

�� There was
no pity in Potter�s eyes. There was no
pity. There was gentleness and regret and tenderness for his fear, and
there was something Draco would have called lust except that it seemed too soft
for that. Desire, maybe. But the important thing was that there was no pity.

�� Draco had
looked into the eyes of someone who knew, someone who wasn�t his parents or his
Ministry caseworker, and survived.

�� He put a
hand on Potter�s shoulder and was humiliated to see it was shaking. He opened
his mouth to gasp out something�warning, denial, accusation, who could say?�and
Potter took the chance to slide his tongue gently inside.

�� The
sensation undid him. He hadn�t had someone who cared to do this in more than
two years. And, educational as wanking and certain books Draco had ordered from
Flourish and Blotts were, they couldn�t compare to the sensation of someone
else kissing you slowly and thoroughly, pausing now and then as if he had
discovered some new treasure, lingering in other places that provoked moans.

�� Draco shook
for another reason now. He swallowed, and it still didn�t help. He let his
tongue twine with Potter�s, the only cure he hadn�t tried yet.

�� That
increased the tremors.

�� He wrapped
his arms around Potter�s shoulders with a low groan of capitulation. Fine. That
was it. Potter wanted to win? He�d won. Draco had learned to count on spite,
triumph, contempt, and that insufferable hero complex which had led Potter to
save lives just so he could say he�d saved lives. But understanding this
powerful, this real, this deep, had never been an expectation, and if Potter
struck now, he would crumble Draco completely.

�� It was odd
how terrifying that wasn�t, and how
the sensation of how vulnerable he was, coupled with the knowledge that Potter
would never betray that vulnerability, increased the warmth.

�� Potter
pulled away from him and urged a hand behind Draco�s head, lifting it until
their eyes met. Draco swallowed a whine. He hadn�t wanted to stop kissing,
hadn�t wanted to stop until he had Potter naked. Under or above him could come
later, but naked was a good first
step.

�� I can
understand why you�re here,� Potter said quietly, firmly. �And maybe that�s
what you needed as long as you didn�t have your wand. But now that you do�will
you consider joining the wizarding world again? Or walking around in public
with me? Without the glamour?� His
hand brushed across the scar, causing odd bursts of sensation in Draco�s face
as it traveled over skin that could feel it and then onto skin that couldn�t.

�� I�can�t,�
Draco said. He fought the temptation to look away from Potter and bury his face
in the other man�s shoulder. Those steady green eyes demanded almost too much
from him, but that Potter thought he could bear the demand made Draco want to bear
it. �The way people would stare��

�� He trailed
off, wondering if he could explain. He was Draco Malfoy. He always needed to be
Draco Malfoy. Seclusion was preferable to suffering any change in the way
people thought of him.

�� Potter
cocked his head and gave him another deep look. Draco wondered what he was
thinking.

*

�� So he�s not ready yet. But �not yet� is the
key phrase. I want him willing and able to face the world, to show that his
worth isn�t tied up in the way he looks. If he�s not ready yet, I won�t push
him. But I�ll try to get him there.

�� All
right,� Harry whispered. �I understand that.�

�� Draco
hauled his face up and kissed him again.

�� That surprised Harry. He had meant to
continue on with his reassurances, to let Draco know that at least one person
in the world who wasn�t related to him by blood gave a damn what happened to
him, and then to give him one more gentle kiss and take his leave. Surely what
they had done was enough for tonight. Draco needed time to rest, to reflect and
come to terms with it all. And Harry was in no hurry.

�� But from
the way Draco insistently slid his hands into Harry�s hair and down his back,
and moved against Harry�s limp arms in a signal for him to do the same, �resting
and reflecting� were gifts for other people. Harry returned the kiss with
interest, and shuddered when his fingers curled into sharply defined muscles
beneath the robes. Draco didn�t feel as thin as he had feared. �Athletically
slender,� Raphael might call it.

�� Harry threw
all thoughts of Raphael from his mind and drew back to gasp, �You�re sure?�

�� It�s been two years,� said Draco, as if Harry
might have missed the fact, and hauled at him again, this time nearly sending
them both over backwards.

�� Harry was
busy imagining what it would have been like for him if he hadn�t been touched
in two years, but he still managed to catch them with a splayed hand on the
wall behind Draco�s head. He held him there while he continued the kiss.
Draco�s clutching hands began to tremble again, and he started a low, delicious
moaning in the back of his throat that sounded half-involuntary. He probably didn�t want to show so much of his
helplessness in front of someone who had been an enemy, Harry thought, but he
had no choice.

�� Harry felt
a sudden, intense joy take him over as he backed away from Draco a bit�keeping
in contact with hands on his hips so that Draco wouldn�t panic and think he was
going anywhere�and dropped to his knees. He had never made anyone react like
this. Ginny was always a bit wistful when they were done, and Harry had known
why when she fell in love with Paul; they just weren�t sexually compatible.
Raphael had retained his distance even in the midst of sex, because that was
what he considered manly. Letting Harry know just how much he was affected
would have given him serious doubts about his masculinity.

�� But Draco
trusted him. Completely, Harry thought, or so completely as made no difference.

�� And that
made his breath catch and his head whirl and his resolve to be a good recipient
of that trust harden like the erection he was currently facing as he folded
Draco�s dress robes back. Harry was giving Draco something he had probably
never got from anyone else, but in the doing, Harry himself had a gift beyond
price.

�� He lifted
his head to see Draco staring at him, gray eyes so wide that it seemed as if he
would faint in a moment. Harry smiled at him and splayed one hand over Draco�s
groin. �Second thoughts?� he whispered.

�� Draco�s
head twitched. �I just never�it�s surreal to see the Boy-Who-Lived on his
knees,� he whispered hoarsely.

�� So long as
it�s only that,� Harry said agreeably, and then moved his head forwards.

�� And you better not get any spots on my dress
robes, Potter,� Draco said, in the moment before Harry took his cock in his
mouth.

�� Harry
laughed, but made sure to keep his lips wrapped around his teeth. One thing he
agreed with Raphael on; there was no
excuse good enough for forgetting that. And the last thing Draco needed right
now was a painful nip to diminish his confidence or make him think that Harry
was anything less than a careful, gentle lover. Harry wanted him to value this, after all, and come back for
more.

�� Harry had
paid attention when Raphael taught him how to suck cock, and it was something
he genuinely enjoyed doing. If nothing else, it exercised all the parts of his
body. His tongue flexed and darted around Draco�s erection in constant new
patterns, while his brain was occupied in cataloguing the sounds he elicited by
doing that and marking the spots that won particularly praiseworthy notes. His
hands smoothed up and down Draco�s body beneath the cloth, now bracing his hips
against the wall, now finding and rolling Draco�s balls. His knees ached from
the cramped posture, but that was all right; Harry knew just how one should kneel when doing this so as not to get gagged
by involuntary thrusts, and his knees didn�t have much to do when he played
Quidditch or gardened, either.

�� Draco
moaned and sighed and rattled on with a long, breathy exhalation that sounded
almost as if his teeth were chattering when Harry touched his tongue to the
spot just beneath the head of his erection. His skin was so warm that Harry
might have worried he had a fever if he didn�t know better. His scent was
intense; he had perspired out of fear recently, of course, and that increased
the musk rising from his crotch. Wiry hair scraped Harry�s cheeks, making him
wonder if the hair on Draco�s head would be as rough.

�� Almost too
soon for him, though his jaw was getting sore, Draco said, �Coming!� in a
half-sob, half-shout. Harry adjusted his hold on Draco�s hips with his right
hand and moved just a bit further away.

�� He slipped
his left hand into his own jeans, wanking with several quick flicks of his
wrist. He only had a few moments more of sharp scent and rough jerks to absorb
before Draco�s orgasm struck and he had to concentrate on swallowing, but what
moments those were! And his own pleasure hit him the harder for the awkward
position his body was in, the tight spirals tracing into his belly like
fireworks and then exploding in showers of sparks.

�� Draco came
down slowly, his body so limp that Harry adjusted his hold again so the other
man wouldn�t fall over. He looked up at him and licked his lips, then nodded at
Draco�s spotlessly clean dress robes�well, at least they were free of semen,
anyway. There did seem to be some
sweat stains on the pale blue cloth.

�� Your wish
is my command,� he said.

None of his fantasies had ever
included kneeling at Draco Malfoy�s feet and grinning up at him like a fool
while his own come cooled in his trousers, but then again, his fantasies hadn�t
included a lot of things.

*

�� Draco had
never felt like�that.

�� Oh, he�d
had orgasms before, of course. Sometimes it seemed as though the most
productive activity he�d performed in the last two years was wanking. At least
it didn�t hurt anyone else and soothed his loneliness for a bit.

�� And he�d
had orgasms in company, or he would have been even more worried about what
might happen next when Potter knelt.

�� But he�d
never experienced the feeling that his lover was just as happy to give him
pleasure as to take it, and he�d never seen anything like the shining grin
Potter directed at him now.

�� I suppose that I must call him �Harry.� It
would be the expected thing to do.

�� Not even
his own mental sneering could diminish his wonder, though. Draco reached out
and touched Harry�s cheek quickly, so that there was less chance of the tremors
in his fingers being noticed.

�� I should��
he began.

�� Already
taken care of.� Harry withdrew a wet hand from his jeans to prove it, but wiped
it off on the floor at Draco�s warning growl. He rose and leaned in for another
kiss, much too light and short for Draco�s mood, then wrapped an arm around
him. �Come on, let�s go to bed.�

�� Draco
opened his mouth to protest that he wasn�t tired, but a yawn ambushed him, and
from there called on its fellow yawns, and by the end of a few minutes his head
was falling on Harry�s shoulder and he was mumbling sleepily that lethargy
normally never took him like that, but he�d been up late the night before, and
did Harry mind staying near enough to�

�� I�ll
stay,� Harry whispered. Draco felt smooth cloth slide around him as Harry
placed him on his bed and began to undo his robes.

�� And then
the darkness came and brushed smoothly around him instead. He was certain he
fell asleep with a sated smile on his face.

�� For the
first time in two years, worry about the way he looked didn�t pursue him into
the darkness.

*

�� Harry
braced himself on one elbow, gazing down at Draco. Draco had let himself be
rolled to the center of the bed, talking softly and happily under his breath
all the while, little half-baked nonsense fragments of words. He hadn�t even
awakened when Harry had to move his legs to pull off his socks. Harry had left
his pants and the shirt he wore under the robes on, because he wasn�t sure how
comfortable Draco would be naked. Maybe he would
wake, as Harry thought he might, and try to smother himself with the pillow in
sheer embarrassment.

�� But Harry
would rescue him, and show him that morning blowjobs in bed could be just as
good as evening blowjobs up against the wall. He would talk Draco gently past
the attempts to deny what had happened, if there were any. He would coax Draco
to come to the garden with him tomorrow, and to do it without wearing a
glamour.

�� He thought
he could trust his instincts to guide him with Draco. He had tossed off while
he was sucking Draco because he had known that having to give something back
might cause Draco awkwardness and make him feel too obliged.

�� He�ll be obliged in the end, if I have
anything to say about it.

�� Raphael�s
mocking voice was in his head in an instant, telling Harry that if he wanted
commitment, he should date a witch, because no real man would want any part of the hearts-and-flowers soppy nonsense
that Harry seemed so fascinated by. Harry rolled his eyes and cast a cleaning
charm on himself, then removed his shirt and took Draco in his arms.

�� He would
take as long as Draco needed, persuading and sheltering and pulling gently on
him when he hesitated. In the end, though, he fully intended for Draco to take
his place beside him as an equal partner, and someone not at all ashamed of his
appearance, even if nothing could be done to remove the scar.

�� And there probably can�t be, Harry
acknowledged to himself. He was forbidden
a wand, but he wasn�t forbidden books. I�m sure that he looked for a cure every
other moment of the past two years. If he didn�t find one, there isn�t one.

�� So Harry
would show Draco that neither his vanity nor his pride needed to take such a
dent, and there were more than enough wizards in Britain willing to share everything
they had with him.

�� Why? This time, the voice in his head
wore Ron�s disapproving face. He had taken it badly when Harry and Raphael
broke up; he had been so sure they were perfect for each other, and he hadn�t
understood when Harry explained that Raphael wasn�t what he was looking for. If my friend, an esteemed Auror, and someone
who�s never made fun of you in school like Malfoy did, isn�t good enough, why
is Malfoy good enough?

�� Harry
shrugged and buried his face in Draco�s shoulder. He had wasted enough breath
defending his own choices to his friends and to former lovers. He wanted to
save it to answer Draco�s questions, which were surely more important.

�� Just before
he drifted off, he noted that the hair on Draco�s head was definitely softer than the hair around his cock.

*

�� The
angels?� Harry tilted his head over his shoulder in a maneuver that made Draco
shudder. He was already standing on a rickety ladder�for some reason, he didn�t
think a Levitating Charm was good enough�that leaned against nothing more than
a pitiful slat of fence, trimming a climbing rose threatening to overgrow an
arch supporting several other flowers. Draco had volunteered to hold the bottom
of the ladder.

�� Harry had
blinked at him and asked, �Why would you need to do that?�

�� Draco had
stood with his hands folded behind his back since then, making sure not to
move; even a slight vibration in the earth could send Harry tumbling to his
death. Harry, of course, blithely hacked away at the stubborn vines and thorns
and leaves of the rose and whistled under his breath.

�� Except when
he turned around almost completely on the ladder�s rungs to ask a question that
wasn�t really all that relevant. Like now.

�� Oh, I
didn�t breed them. I told you, their name is some incomprehensible Latin thing.
Scholars discovered those flowers, not me.� Harry gave the smile that Draco
would have found irritatingly full of false modesty when they were in school,
but which simply seemed justified
now. If anything, Draco thought, admiring the way the dark hair curled around
the flushed cheeks, Harry was undervaluing his own accomplishments. �But I�m
the first gardener who managed to convince them to grow this far north.�

�� He caught
the edge of Draco�s nervous gaze and hopped up and down on the rungs of the
ladder, laughing. �It�s sturdy, I promise!� he exclaimed, whilst Draco held his
breath, certain a loud crack was
about to follow the bouncing any moment. �And anyway, even if I fell off, I�m
certain you�d catch me.� He winked at Draco and once more turned back to the
climbing rose.

�� Draco
swallowed. Each time he started to grow uncertain about his sudden whirlwind
romance with Harry or wonder what the hell he was doing here, Harry would say
something like that, sweet and full of trust.

�� And more
than trust. Faith. He thought Draco
was good for something besides brooding uselessly in a Muggle flat or trying to
take his social place in a wizarding world that had moved on without him since
the war. And he expressed it so casually, as if he couldn�t understand why
Draco found it remarkable that someone would have any faith in him at all.

�� It was all
so new, and fresh, and extravagant, and dazzling. And it made Draco�s head
hurt, just a little.

�� Harry had
done the impossible. He had persuaded Draco to come to the garden not wearing a
glamour. He had promised Draco that his friends wouldn�t intrude, since they
were on the Continent for a month, and his customers never came here. Besides,
there were wards to warn him if someone did
approach the garden.

�� Draco had
forgotten how it felt to stand openly in public without protection of some kind. When he�d had to go anywhere in
the Muggle neighborhood he�d chosen as his own, he�d smeared thick concealing
cream over the scar, and he�d still attracted stares that made him writhe in internal
agony every moment. He knew someone
would turn around in an instant, point at him, and shout out, �Look at the
freak, everyone!�

�� He�d once
wanted to be noticed, and flaunted himself at Hogwarts for that purpose. Now he
scurried about, paid for his purchases or completed the necessary errands as
quickly as he could, and then rushed back under shelter.

�� Or he had.

�� He had his
magic back. He could venture into wizarding areas again, and he could do it
fairly secure in at least the first hour of his glamour.

�� But Harry
had argued that it would be a good idea for Draco to come to the garden
unshielded. Draco could only assume that Harry must have sucked a good deal of
his brains out of his cock along with his come this morning, because he
couldn�t remember why he had agreed to this.

�� Something
about feeling fresh, cool air against the scar.

�� The air in my flat is cool enough, thank
you.

�� Draco
wondered idly what would happen if Harry fell from the ladder and broke his
neck. Someone would probably blame Draco for the accident, of course, and call
it murder. He�d have his wand taken away again after less than two full days of
possessing it, and he�d go on trial before the Wizengamot in thin, unflattering
robes and with the scar on his cheek fully exposed.

�� He cast
another anxious glance up at Harry. He didn�t want the git to hurt himself and
get Draco accused of murder.

�� That was the
real reason he jumped every time the ladder gave a warning creak, of course.

�� He was so
occupied in watching Harry extend himself dangerously off his perch and then
somehow sway back to safety again that he nearly missed the movements under the
rosebush beside him, swift and shadowy and stealthy. He whirled around to face
them when he did notice, his wand clutched
tight.

�� A snake
slowly emerged into the light and lifted its head to look at him. Draco licked
his lips in response to the forked tongue that darted out and tasted the air. The
snake was a soft, rain-washed gray with a black zigzag down the middle of its
back, and Draco shuddered. He recognized an adder when he saw one.

�� The adder
glided forwards so quickly Draco yelped in surprise, and the Stinging Hex he
instinctively fired went wild. The snake advanced more rapidly after that, as
if it thought the fact that Draco couldn�t actually hurt it meant he would make
a good meal.

�� Philip!�

�� Harry
hurtled downwards with such rapidity that Draco would have yelped again if he�d
seen the full descent. He only had enough time to draw in a shocked breath,
though, before Harry stood protectively between him and the snake. A long
stream of hissing, savage Parseltongue emerged from Harry�s mouth, and he shook
his head and crouched down in front of the adder when it tried to get past him.

�� The adder
hissed back and seemed to be arguing with some decision Harry had made. Harry
reached out and gripped it just behind the head. The adder promptly began a mad
thrashing, but Harry laughed�laughed,
as if this was a game�and lifted it from the ground. He turned around, making
Draco back up warily. One hand still held the snake behind the head; the other
was tickling its belly, and Draco wondered if it was his imagination that the
dark, flat eyes were glazing over with pleasure.

�� Draco,�
Harry said wryly, �this is Philip. It seems that he hasn�t kept his promise not
to startle visitors to the garden. I assure you, he normally eats the pests I
can�t control with magic. Occasionally, he likes to imagine he can tackle a wizard.�

�� Harry
rapped the snake in the middle of the back and hissed something else. The adder
hissed in a disagreeable manner and coiled itself around Harry�s neck. Draco
didn�t think it deserved the name Harry had given it. Philip sounded like a
normal, nice young wizard Draco himself might date. It didn�t sound like an
adder staring sullenly at Draco around a twist of its own body.

�� He won�t
bite you,� Harry added encouragingly. �Did you want to touch him?� He extended
his hand.

�� Draco
stared. �Philip?� he asked, because he couldn�t quite take up Harry�s
invitation yet.

�� Well,
yeah.� Harry reached behind his head, and Draco couldn�t tell if he was
scratching the nape of his neck, like a normal person, or if he just wanted to
pet the (deadly, dangerous, deranged)
snake clinging around his neck like a noose. �I saw a picture of King Philip II
of Spain
in one of the books I read after the war. His profile looks a little like this Philip in the right light.� He
flicked the adder�s chin; it hissed and bared its fangs, but didn�t actually
bite. Yet, Draco thought mutinously.
�And he likes it, of course. He likes to think he looks royal.�

�� I didn�t
know you read books like that, Harry,� Draco muttered.

�� Harry�s
mouth grew tight for a moment. �Well. After the war, I was rather�out of sorts
for a few months.� He shrugged. Draco wondered just what indiscretions the
words and gesture concealed. �Hermione introduced me to some books that had
fuck all to do with magic. That was where I learned to garden. You didn�t
really think I�d managed to do all of this out of my lousy memories of
Herbology, did you?� His eyes shone now, inviting Draco to share in the joke.

�� Draco
smiled, reluctantly, and moved a few steps closer. Philip did not lunge and
sink his fangs into Draco�s throat. That was an improvement over the way Draco
had thought things might go a moment past. �But you read about the history of
Muggle Spain?�

�� Yes. That
was one of the books. Philip in the books was a bastard, but, well, so�s this
one.� Before Draco could think about what he was doing, Harry had captured his
hand, brought it closer, and smoothed his fingers down the adder�s scales.
Philip hissed and turned around to look at Draco with a little less blind
malice in his gaze than before. �There,� Harry continued softly. �Not so
difficult, is it?�

�� Draco
looked up at him. Harry�s eyes had the same soft expression Draco had seen that
morning when he woke up, intending to explain the experience of the night
before as a bad dream. He�d realized a moment later that he�d never be able to
do that, not as long Harry was next to him and watching him with that
expression.

�� I reckon
not,� he found himself answering in the same tone. He moved closer to Harry.
Philip reared back, but refused to either strike Draco or abandon his perch,
though Draco, at least, would have been happy with the second course.

�� I had to
learn how to touch him,� Harry continued, his voice so low only small puffs of
breath traveled over Draco�s lips. �It took some time, and it took gentler
handling than I�d anticipated. But everything that needs to be treated gently
is worth the wait, don�t you agree?�

�� Draco found
himself kissing Harry without being quite sure how it had happened, or who had
initiated it. He leaned closer in and found his chest bumping Harry�s, his hand
rising to tangle in the unruly hair. Philip slithered away until he was more
properly coiled on Harry�s shoulders than around his neck. From the small happy
noises he was making in the back of his throat, Harry had no objection to this
state of affairs.

�� Draco
wondered for a moment just how soft the earth of the path underneath them was,
and then realized it didn�t matter, because they were about to find out.

�� And then
Harry hissed under his breath, and not in Parseltongue, and pulled away. He
kept one hand on Draco�s shoulder, but his voice was tense. �It seems that
someone has found us, after all,� he said. �Best put on your glamour.� His gaze
grew searching for a moment. �Unless you�d rather meet them face-to-face?�

�� Shaking his
head, his nervousness rushing back so quickly he wondered he�d forgotten it,
Draco took up his wand and cast his glamour over his cheek. He thought a
moment, then added a second illusion that dampened the aroused flush in his
face. �Who is it?� he asked, when he thought he looked calm.

�� Harry had
turned his head, staring down the path Draco had come up that morning with an
unfriendly expression. His green eyes snapped and his mouth was curved in a
half-snarl. Draco scolded himself for finding even that sight interesting.

�� A
distinctly unwelcome guest,� Harry said. �Who shall be told to fuck off with extreme prejudice.�

�� Draco found
himself moving closer, pressing his hand hard into the crook of Harry�s elbow.
Philip hissed a warning. Draco ignored it. �So long as it�s only fucking off
and not fucking,� he whispered into Harry�s ear.

�� The joyful
surprise in Harry�s face when he craned around to look at Draco made the risk
he�d taken worth it. Draco leaned his shoulder against his lover�s and turned
to await this unwelcome guest.

*

�� Harry could
tell the exact moment when Raphael caught sight of Draco. His smooth stride
wavered, becoming clipped, as though he�d suddenly stepped on a stone and
needed a moment to recover himself. His head lifted like a hound scenting
danger, and his nostrils flared slightly.

�� The signals
were so small that Harry doubted someone else would have noticed them. Unless
they�d slept with Raphael, of course. Or unless they were a Slytherin, maybe.
Harry could feel Draco�s fingers pressing into his arm when Raphael stumbled.
He risked a quick sideways glance and saw Draco�s eyes narrowed, as though he
were trying to figure out where he knew Raphael from.

�� Harry,�
Raphael said, halting several feet away. His hands were lightly clenched at his
sides. He was staring at Draco so steadily that Harry would have checked to see
if the glamour had fallen, except Draco would have been sure to make it thick.
�And who�s this?�

�� An old
school-fellow of mine,� Harry said calmly. �Draco Malfoy. You�ve heard of him,
I suppose.�

�� Of
course.� Raphael�s eyes narrowed further. �How charming, Harry. A snake around
your neck and one on your arm. One would think you�d taken up herpetology in
preference to gardening.�

�� Draco
stiffened. Harry moved a little closer to him, subtly putting his body between
his old lover and his new one. It was a precaution, just in case Draco lost his
temper and launched a hex�Raphael wouldn�t; he preferred lashing out with
words�but it was also sheer instinctive protection. He didn�t like anyone
looking at Draco the way Raphael was looking at him.

�� I�ve
already heard more than enough of your opinions on my livelihood, Raph.� Harry
hid a smile at the way the other man�s face paled. He hated any sort of
nickname. �Months of denigration didn�t convince me to give up gardening. You
have no say over who I date, either. Go away.�

�� And leave
you to the fangs of a serpent like this?� Raphael laughed unpleasantly. �I
don�t think so.� He ran a shaking hand through his hair. �Do you have any idea
what he�s done, Harry? You didn�t see
the reports that come across my desk in the Ministry. Of course, if you had
joined the Aurors� ranks the way you should
have��

�� So far as
I�m concerned, Draco�s paid his debts.� Harry didn�t raise his voice. He had
hoped to get Raphael out of the garden without resorting to humiliating him,
for the sake of future peace, but he had finally presumed too far. Harry
glanced down at Philip and spoke in Parseltongue. �Just take care of the annoying man, if you wouldn�t mind.�

�� He didn�t
have to look at Raphael to know he was going still paler. Raphael was afraid of
Harry�s snake-speech; he always had been. And he was afraid of Philip�

�� Who had
slid down Harry�s shoulder with little hisses of glee and was now gliding
straight up the path towards Raphael, his head weaving back and forth. In this
case, the antipathy between man and snake was mutual.

�� Raphael
stood his ground longer than Harry would have thought he could; Philip�s head
swayed about an inch away from his foot before he uttered a warbling little
shout and sprang sideways. Philip whipped around to follow him, but Raphael had
already raised his wand and incanted a Shield Charm. The adder halted at the
sight of the spell; hard experience with it, before he and Harry had made their
truce, warned him not to dash his head against the silvery barrier.

�� Harry snickered,
and made very sure Raphael could hear him. Draco was a still statue pressed
against his side, and Harry was not sure why; he wanted his old lover gone as
soon as possible so that he could attend to Draco�s fear, or any of his other
needs.

�� Raphael
glared at him. He was trying to hide it, but there was hurt under the anger.
Harry had never mocked him like this when they were together, which had made
Raphael confident enough to reveal what he didn�t like about Harry.

�� No, mocking was your place, Harry
thought, as he returned the stare. And I
never realized how goddamn sick of it I was until now.

�� Draco was
barely breathing. Harry put an arm around him, mostly for comfort and only
partially for show, and leaned his head on Draco�s shoulder. For a moment,
there was silence, except for the slight shuffles of Philip�s body in the dust
as he reared up and looked for a way around the Shield Charm.

�� I never
thought you would do this, Harry.� Raphael was using the tone that had once
made Harry melt after any argument they had, because he knew it promised
fabulous sex�as soon as he apologized.

�� I always apologized. He never did. Harry
glanced at Raphael and raised an eyebrow. �Yes, well, you never thought the
Savior of the Wizarding World would become a gardener, either,� he said. �The
power of your words to control reality appears to be severely limited.�

�� Raphael
flushed. He also opened his mouth as if he would say something else. Harry
waited, patient and a little curious. Now that his heart was no longer in
Raphael�s grasp to be wounded, he could almost enjoy the contest of wits.

�� But in the
end, the Auror just turned and stomped away. Philip flowed after him under the
bushes, even though Raphael had cast a moving Shield Charm that surrounded him
in a circular barricade. Philip was quite the optimist for an adder, Harry thought
fondly.

�� He turned
to Draco, ready to laugh with him over Raphael�s ignominious retreat, and found
Draco�s face so white it hurt to look at. Amusement gone, Harry took his hands
and chafed them gently. They felt cold, and the fingers only slowly detached
from their tight curls and moved within his grasp.

�� Draco drew
several whistling breaths, and finally forced out, �Who was that?�

�� Harry
blinked. �My old lover,� he said. �Raphael Morgan. An Auror Ron works with.� He
rolled his eyes. �I promise you, I have no interest in him anymore, though he
continues not to get the point.�

�� He was
more than that,� Draco whispered.

�� Whatever
rumors he may have spread, I assure you I don�t have a case of one true love��

�� His voice,� Draco broke in, shutting his
eyes as though to block out the sun. �I�ve heard that voice before. I think��
He shuddered and lifted his hand to touch his cheek, his fingers rippling the
glamour as they passed through it. �I think he was the one who did this to me.�

*

�� Draco had
never known such hatred could exist in the world.

�� He had been
unsure, when he first heard Raphael Morgan�s voice, of more than that it was
familiar. But as the git had spoken, and spoken, and spoken again, Draco had
forgotten how to breathe.

�� That was the voice that had spoken those
words of loathing and contempt two years ago, when the unknown wizard burned
the scar onto Draco�s face and so destroyed his life.

�� That gives you a scar you can�t hide like
you can that Mark. And to make
sure that you don�t cover it up with a glamour, even when you get your wand
back��

�� And then
pain, and fire, and darkness.

�� Draco
clawed his way back to sanity, only to find that Harry was holding him, his
arms clasped tightly around Draco�s shoulders and his cheek resting in his
hair. He was humming beneath his breath, a soft, soothing, wordless sound.
Draco grabbed Harry�s forearms and held on, shuddering. He wanted to keen, to
curl up and drive everyone away, but that came from still not being used to
warmth and comfort like this. He forced himself to believe that here was
someone who wanted to hold him,
instead.

�� Slowly, the
shadow lifted from his mind.

�� Will you
tell me what happened now?� Harry whispered.

�� Draco did,
in whispers of his own. Harry�s grip grew steadily tighter as Draco recited the
details of his kidnapping, scarring, and the Permanence Charm, but never
unbearable. Draco thought hazily that he really should become a spokesman
recommending Harry Potter�s hug to every wizard or witch who had suffered similar
injuries from the war.

�� Almost
immediately, however, a flash of jealousy turned his vision yellow. No, let
them suffer. Harry�s hug was his.

�� When he
finished, Harry rocked him and cradled him for a long moment. Draco swallowed
back the offended pride that told him he was too old to be held like a baby. He�d already seen Harry had good
control of the wards around his garden and would warn Draco if someone
approached. He could live with comfort like this so long as it was private.

�� Finally,
Harry whispered, �It seems so unlike him. Raph is stupid and thoughtless, but
he�s not malicious.�

�� Draco
shivered as pain went through him like a lightning stroke. �So you don�t
believe me, then,� he said flatly, and set about trying to detach himself from
Harry�s arms.

�� Harry
snarled. Draco jumped. He sounded like a
wolf. Do I know that he didn�t get bitten by a werewolf since I saw him last?
What proof do I have?

�� For God�s
sake, Draco.�

�� No, not a
werewolf; just ordinary anger, then. Except that it wasn�t ordinary anger to Draco, not when Harry was the only person
in the world who believed in him right now. He strove to keep his chin up as
Harry gripped his shoulders and turned him around so they were face-to-face. It
wasn�t easy looking into those green eyes and watching them flash at him, though. Draco supposed he would
have to concur with Harry�s pronouncement of Morgan�s stupidity.

�� Listen to
me.� Harry�s voice was low and very intense. �I don�t disbelieve you as such.
For all I know, Raphael did do that.�
One of his hands rose from Draco�s shoulder and ghosted up to touch the scar on
his right cheek, but dropped and held him again a moment later, just as
strongly. �My main point is that you can�t accuse him just off a memory of his
voice. We�ll look about, and see what evidence we can uncover. He hasn�t told
me much about what happened to his family during the war. Maybe he did want to
take vengeance on any Death Eater who didn�t die or get sent to Azkaban.

�� Understand
this, though. I am going to protect
you. I�ll protect you from Raphael, if he�s your enemy. I�ll protect you from
anyone else who comes after you to renew the scar or the Permanence Charm. I�ll
protect you from the dangers of investigation into an Auror�s past. You are not doing this alone.�

�� Harry�s
face grew both fiercer and more tender, like the expression of a hawk gazing at
its mate. Draco swallowed. Lovely as the expression was, he didn�t think he
wanted to hear the words that came next.

�� And he was
right.

�� I�ll also
protect you from yourself,� Harry whispered. �I won�t let you creep back into
the shell you endured for the past two years. You are not less than you were just because of your face. I happen to think
that any man who jokes and eats and makes love like you do is far more than a
pretty face, or a scarred one. I want you to get back into wizarding society
and show everyone that Draco Malfoy cannot
be brought down.�

�� Draco shook
his head so fast his neck hurt. He could feel his eyes blurring with the tears
he had fought so hard not to shed. �No,� he whispered. He tried to turn away,
or bend down so he wouldn�t have to meet Harry�s gaze any longer. �No, you
don�t understand��

�� Harry
pulled him upright again, and held him there, as much with the terrible,
coercive force of his eyes as with his hands. His words cut into Draco without
pity, leaving him sick and shaken.

�� You�re the
one who doesn�t understand, Draco. You�ve let your terror of other people rule
you for too long. What�s the worst they can do? They can stare at you. They can
whisper. They can laugh. Will you really let that, the weak weapons of weak people, ruin the rest of your life
for you?�

�� Call it
vanity, then.� Draco�s voice was thin and desperate; he hated the sound of it.
He lunged backwards against Harry�s grasp, seeking escape, but there was
nowhere to go. He was being flayed, he was being flayed alive, and Harry was
too merciless to notice. �Call it whatever you like, but don�t make me��

�� Don�t make
you what?� Harry�s voice leaped as quick as scorn. �Live?�

�� Fuck you!� Draco hadn�t screamed like
this since the night he was scarred. He surged forwards and tried to hit Harry,
though with the moisture in his eyes it was even chances he�d hit anything.
Harry caught his arm and held him easily, effortlessly motionless, while his
words slid on like acid.

�� I reckon
you�ll ask me what I know about it. And the answer, Draco? Is an awful lot.

�� I had the
choice of remaining a recluse after the war. I could have done it, too. I�d
done my duty to wizarding Britain.
What more did they need me for? If I went outside, the world was an endless
stream of reporters and well-wishers and people who assumed they had the right
to claim a share of my time and attention just because they recognized my face. Those gaping mouths� I had
nightmares that they might swallow me, or just tear pieces off me until there
was nothing left.

�� But I
realized I couldn�t allow them to control my life, and I couldn�t wish what I�d
done undone, either. I lived. I
stepped outside and cast spells that reduced their voices to buzzes in my ears.
I ate where I liked and refused to budge just because there were reporters
swarming around me; when it was necessary, I compensated the owners of the
restaurants and the shops they crowded. I ignored their requests, even the ones
that tugged at my heartstrings. I was a hero, once. That doesn�t make me a hero
for all time. Once I accepted that, it was a lot easier to make other people
accept it from me.

�� You�ll go
through the same process. As long as you allow others to�to brand you, you�ll just be a Death Eater.
The lowest of the low. The black sheep cousins even paupers won�t touch. You
told me this wizard��

�� Raphael��

�� Whoever he was, he wanted to give you a
visible mark to replace the Dark Mark. And don�t you see what he did?�

�� Ruined
me.� Draco thought he had mastered the tears. At least a blurry image of Harry
came into focus when he looked in more or less the right direction. �The cases aren�t comparable, Potter. You have that
scar, yes, but it never destroyed your beauty��

�� Flattered
as I would be to hear you sing my praises,� said Harry, in a tone that
indicated he wasn�t flattered at all, �you�re not understanding, Draco. He
branded you. He tried to ruin you. And
that�s exactly what you let him do.�

�� Rage reared
up in Draco. He tried not to meditate on the fact that it was the most
life-giving emotion he�d felt in two years, excepting whatever he felt when
Harry held him. He took a step forwards and shoved with both hands at Harry�s
shoulders. Harry rocked on his heels but didn�t retreat, for all that he was
half-a-head shorter than Draco. He was too solid.

�� I didn�t
let him do anything! I didn�t ask for this, I didn�t��

�� You don�t
control what he did to you.� Harry grabbed Draco�s wrist and surged up into his
face. �You only control your own reactions. So why the fuck are you doing what he wants? Why are you cringing,
hiding away, as if you were a criminal, when he should be the one agonized with
shame over what he�s done? You are the
one who should be able to walk free and look whoever you want in the eye. But
you�ll never do it, as long as you�re cowering behind closed doors. You�ll be his slave, a slave to the fear he wanted
to cause, when you deserve every freedom and every shaft of sunlight he tried
to deny you.�

�� Draco
stepped back. He needed room for the yell he was about to give, because he
didn�t want to deafen Harry, for all that the prat deserved it.

�� Malfoys
are not slaves!�

�� Excellent.�
Harry leaned forwards, eyes shining again, and Draco thought he should have
yelled harder after all, because Harry did not look at all put out, which had
been the purpose of Draco�s shout. �Then show him that. Come with me into public spaces where everyone can stare
at you, and then ignore them. Make
them work for your attention, instead of causing you to fear theirs.
Demonstrate that you�re still master of whatever part of the wizarding world
you want to walk all over.�

�� Draco was
breathing fast enough to make his throat hurt. His head was spinning with fear
so wild it was close to exhilaration. He lurched towards Harry, silently
impressed that he didn�t measure his length on the garden path, as he was
dangerously near to doing.

�� He seized
Harry�s face and pulled it close to him. A moment later, they were kissing, and
it was nothing like the kisses, both sensual and chaste, that Harry had given
him last night. This was a messy smushing of lips, an inexpressive inarticulate
tangle of tongues, the kind of kiss Draco thought they might have shared when
they were eleven, if they had known what they wanted then.

�� Harry
laughed into his mouth, laced his hands through Draco�s hair, and tugged.
�Yes,� he said.

�� I didn�t
even ask if you�d be part of the
wizarding world I�m master of,� Draco whispered.

�� You didn�t
have to, I could see it in your eyes.� Harry tugged on his hair. �But just
because I�ll support you and help you get over your fear doesn�t mean I�ll lie
down and let you do whatever you like to me, you know.�

�� Draco
cupped Harry�s cheek and the back of his neck, unable to calm down, but not
wanting to dash around in circles, either, because that would require him to
let go of Harry. He flexed his fingers back and forth in an attempt to relieve
some of his excitement. Then he leaned his head into Harry�s shoulder and bit
the base of his collarbone. Harry accepted this with no more than a slight
jump.

�� I know,�
Draco whispered. �But we�re going to show
him, aren�t we?�

�� We
certainly are,� Harry murmured.

�� And do
research on Morgan�s background at the same time?�

�� Harry�s
muscles tightened for a moment, as if to show that he still thought this was a bad idea, but his nod was firm all the
same. �We are. All I really know about Raphael�s past is that his family went
to France
during the first war with Voldemort and he attended Beauxbatons. They came back
to Britain
a few years before the second war started, though, and he began studying to
become an Auror. There are probably records in the Ministry of Magic��

�� I know how
we can get to them,� Draco said, thinking, for the first time in years, of the
letter he�d received from Theodore Nott the same day the Wizengamot had decreed
he could not use his wand. Theo�s mother had attained high rank in the
Department of Magical Law Enforcement, her ties to the Death Eaters never
suspected, since she�d discreetly divorced Theo�s father a decade earlier. Theo
had childishly hinted that he could call in favors from the Ministry now which
Draco could only dream of.

�� And it just
so happened that Draco knew a few secrets about Theo Nott that the passage of
time would only make him more eager to bury.

�� Then we�ll
start this investigation as soon as you can get access to the documents,� Harry
promised. �And you�ll go shopping in Diagon Alley with me a week from
tomorrow.�

�� Draco
swallowed, the sudden flush of triumph vanishing into the prickle of fear along
his spine. �Glamoured?�

�� For now,�
Harry said.

�� It was only
then that Draco realized he hadn�t thought about his scar for nearly ten
minutes. It was the longest period of time he�d concentrated on something else
since he received it.

*

�� Harry looked
through the records Draco had owled him. He really had retrieved them with
impressive speed.

�� Slytherin speed.

�� Harry
shrugged. He was dating a Slytherin; he should get used to his lover acting
like one. And if he played his cards right, Draco would continue to use his
Slytherin prowess to benefit himself,
looking more to his ambition than to his self-interest.

�� Draco had
neatly organized the documents into several piles. Some concerned Raphael�s
scores during his training to become an Auror; others were medical records,
covering his wounds in the field; others were transcripts of interviews and
past history. Harry shook his head again. No, he didn�t think he would ask why
Draco had thought it important to acquire all of these, or how he had. A
relationship could thrive just as much on the silences as on the sounds.

�� Draco had
underlined and circled several phrases on a piece of parchment titled simply
�Applicant�s Family.� Harry picked it up and scanned it.

�� Auror trainee Raphael Morgan was asked if he
had any family members who had been involved in the Dark Arts. He took some
time to answer the question, but admitted that he had a twin brother who became
infatuated with Dark magic when they were both fifteen. Thanks to more relaxed
laws concerning such spells in France,
Gabriel Morgan was able to become a fairly accomplished Dark wizard. He also
learned Defense against such spells, so his family was not overly concerned.

�� Auror trainee Morgan appeared somewhat
emotional in speaking of his brother. He would not reveal his ultimate fate,
saying only that he was �lost,� and that it had been the fault of someone else
and not himself. He did assure the Auror training program that his brother was
no longer in a position to cause trouble, and that the French Aurors knew more,
if the committee deliberating his entrance wished to contact them.

�� Harry
frowned and leaned back in the chair. He could figure out Draco�s line of
reasoning from here. Voldemort had been recruiting heavily in other European
countries during the first war; that had come to light during the Death Eater
trials the summer after Harry defeated him. It wasn�t out of the question that
loyal French adherents had lain low when he vanished after his attack on
Godric�s Hollow and begun recruitment efforts again some years later. They
could have made contact with Gabriel Morgan, enchanted him, and then led him
into the Death Eater fold. And it would be like Raphael to decide that Death
Eaters had been responsible for his brother�s demise, or imprisonment, or
whatever had happened to him, instead of Gabriel himself. The last serious
argument he and Harry had had before their breakup concerned Raphael�s mother
Lucy, who didn�t accept her son�s sexual orientation. Raphael had screamed
himself hoarse, claiming that that wasn�t Lucy�s fault, but rather the fault of
his grandparents, who had made sure to raise her with as many prejudices as
possible.

�� Raphael
might have decided to target the remaining Death Eaters who had got off with
light punishments�in his eyes�and could have scarred Draco out of revenge.

�� But that
was a long chain of suppositions to
hang guilt off the end of. And just because Draco and Harry could both see a
possible reason Raphael might have blamed Draco and sought revenge on him
didn�t mean that was what had happened. Really, they could not be sure.

�� Harry shook
his head and scribbled his own refutation in the margins of the parchment. He
would need more evidence before he condemned Raphael for losing his twin
brother.

�� Raphael had
never spoken of Gabriel.

�� But then,
there was an awful lot that Raphael had never spoken of, wasn�t there? And most
of the time when he spoke, Harry had wished he would shut up.

�� Harry
rubbed a hand over his face and turned back to the Ministry records. He had a
new lover now, and he had refused to change his life to the blank sketch that
Raphael approved of. His ex-boyfriend should not occupy such a persistent place
in his head.

�� So what if he laughed at you, Harry told himself brutally. So what? You told Draco that he ought to get over the laughter of others. Aren�t
you willing to do the same yourself?

*

�� Draco
rubbed his hands together, until he realized that only increased the amount of clammy sweat between them, instead of
wiping it away. He tried to look down Diagon Alley directly, but found himself
turning his face away each time. His hand rose, for the seventh time in a
minute, to touch the glamour that covered his scar.

�� Harry
caught his fingers and kissed the back of his hand. �It�s fine, I promise,� he
whispered. �Come on. We�ll walk past
a few of the shops and then go into Flourish and Blotts. No one I know works
there. No one you know works there. It�s all fine.� He put his hand on Draco�s
shoulder and tugged him along.

�� With a deep
breath, Draco stepped out of the alley where Harry often brought his flowers
and into the center of Diagon Alley.

�� No one
seemed to notice him at first. Then a few people noticed Harry and waved. And
then a few people saw him and stared.

�� Draco�s
skin crawled and his breath came short. He had to stop himself from simply
Apparating on the spot. It was not as though Harry could hold him there if
Draco didn�t want to stay. If he Apparated, Harry would be dragged along with
him. And then Draco could pin Harry to the mattress in his flat and demand more
of that talented mouth. Or he could finally see about exploring Harry�s arse or
offering him his own, something Harry had explained he was waiting on because
�he didn�t want Draco to feel that he wasn�t special.�

�� Draco felt
special enough just at that moment, with more than a few people gathering in
small groups to discuss him. Their gazes swung to follow him; he was their
topic of conversation, no doubt about it. More than a few people pointed.
Someone, an elderly witch with even less taste in clothing than Harry, giggled
behind her hand.

�� It was
instinctive. Draco drew back his head and shot her a polished sneer. She
dropped her hand and gazed down at her robes for just a moment, before she
seemed to figure out his game and shook a small fist at him.

�� He�d done
it. He�d intimidated someone else. He�d embarrassed a woman who had tried to
embarrass him.

�� And it
hadn�t hurt at all.

�� Draco was
still sick and shaking, and he wasn�t sure he�d want to make these shopping
trips a feature of his daily life. But he was out in public, and he was still
alive. The Tempus Charm chimed
reassuringly in his head, telling him he still had most of an hour before the
glamour wore off.

�� He was alive.

�� Oi!
Harry!�

�� Draco
turned sharply. Heading towards them down the middle of Diagon Alley was a
figure with long limbs and red hair. Weasley, Draco knew, though from this
distance he couldn�t tell which one.

�� Then he
remembered which Weasley brothers had kept a shop in Diagon Alley.

The
twins. And this one will probably blame me for the death of his twin brother,
as people have a habit of doing.

�� He lifted a
hand to his cheek again, and moved closer to Harry. It was a small movement, he
told himself. No one who was watching could see it, and no one would know that
it signified he wanted protection.

*

�� Harry felt
Draco�s arm start trembling in his hand the moment he caught sight of George.
He shot Draco a reassuring smile�though he wasn�t sure Draco saw it, so focused
was he on the approaching Weasley�and slung an arm around his shoulder. He saw
George slow and stare. He might have assumed the blond man with Harry was
Raphael, until he saw the arm. George, just like the rest of his family, knew
that Harry and Raphael hadn�t been an item for several months now.

�� Cautiously,
George approached. Harry did his best to ignore his own consciousness of the
empty space walking at George�s side. Fred wasn�t there and never would be
again. Harry was only grateful that Hermione had made him face those realities
during his own months of depression and mourning after the war, or he might
have slipped into delusions, as George had for a while, that Fred was only on a
journey and would soon return safe and whole.

�� But George
had recovered, and Harry smiled at him, ignoring the way George gawked at
Draco. �Good morning,� he said. �I don�t reckon you need another load of
foxglove for the shop already, or you would have asked me, wouldn�t you?� A
running joke between him and George was that one day George would wake up,
realize Harry�s supplies weren�t actually all that good, and buy from a
different gardener or herbologist.

�� Not
foxglove, no,� said George, and turned to face Draco. That was one thing that
had changed about him since the war, Harry thought; George had become more
direct, less playful and teasing, and he was grateful for it at the moment.
�But I might need some pomegranate juice for a Strengthening Solution. Do
excuse me if I faint dead in the street.�

�� Oh, yes,�
Harry said. �You would recognize Draco Malfoy, of course, and I don�t think a
formal introduction is necessary��

�� George
moved near so quickly that Harry had to fight not to take a step back. �No,� he
hissed under his breath, �but an explanation as to why you�re walking around
with that bloody snake holding your
hand sure as hell is.�

�� Harry
merely raised an eyebrow, and went on standing like that until George began to
look a bit abashed. Then he said, quietly, �It�s my choice as to whom I date,
George. Draco�s probation has passed. He can use a wand again now��

�� And
George�s wand was in his hand.

�� Harry�s
shoulders stiffened, but he reminded himself that he couldn�t constantly
intervene between Draco and the Weasleys without damaging the intimacy he hoped
for from both of them. He flicked his wrist, catching hold of the end of the
holly wand up his sleeve, but he would only interfere if matters actually came
to hexes. For now, he waited, glancing from one face to the other.

*

�� Draco
breathed shallowly, every muscle in his body quivering with the need to run.
This had been a lesser reason for his reluctance to venture into public: even
if no one saw or everyone ignored the scar, there was sure to be at least one person who would hold his past
against him.

�� But Harry
stood there, unconcerned.

�� The
remaining Weasley twin was more terrifying to Draco than any member of his
family had ever been. Armed and glaring as if Draco had personally killed his
brother, he could hurt him badly, in a blink, before Draco could do anything
about it. He prided himself on the quickness of his spells and how many Dark
ones he knew, but he had never had any illusions about how he might measure up
to the twins. They were cleverer, more malicious, and, above all, faster.

�� But Harry
stood there, unconcerned.

�� Draco put
his chin up and endured. Those were perhaps the hardest four heartbeats of his
life, with the tension between him and the Weasley building like a fire and all
his Slytherin instincts screaming at him to get the first curse in; if he hit
hard enough immediately, he wouldn�t have
to hit again.

�� But he
ignored his instincts, and he stood there, refusing to be the one who would
bring magic into the battle.

�� With a loud
exclamation of disgust, the Weasley brother put his wand away and turned on
Harry. �Why do you want to date him?�
he demanded.

�� Well, you
see,� Harry began in a brightly condescending tone that Draco would never have
used on anyone who�d been glaring at him like this man had, �when two wizards
are attracted to each other, they sometimes want to go on dates. That�s
called��

�� Bollocks,
Harry,� the Weasley said, with a shake of his head, but he had actually calmed
down. Draco swallowed. Apparently jokes
can tame the wild Weasley. Best wait before you try that strategy, though. �Tell
me the real reason.�

�� Harry was
quiet. Draco turned to add the force of his stare on his lover, rather
interested in said reason himself.

�� You�ve
asked me to describe something I�ve never been good at describing,� Harry
muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. It didn�t escape Draco�s notice that
he�d started speaking only when Draco glanced at him. It was comforting to know
that there were some things Harry
wouldn�t do at the behest of a Weasley. �I know when I saw Draco again�when I
gave him back his wand, I mean�he had a spirit in his face that I�d never seen
before.�

�� You�re
right,� the Weasley interrupted. �You�re not very good at describing this.�

�� Draco shot
him an irritated glance. He wanted the git to be quiet so he could listen to
his own praises. Good words for him had been so rare in the last few years that
he wasn�t willing to give up Harry�s.

�� Shut up,
George,� said Harry, which at least let Draco know which of the identical
menaces had died. �I meant what I said. With his magic back, he looked as if he
could take on the world, when just a few minutes earlier he was so dejected I
could have passed him in the street without recognizing him.� He turned around
and faced Draco. There was a small, solemn smile on his face. He reached out
and tugged on a lock of Draco�s blond hair, which Draco couldn�t even scold him
for. �I wanted to know what kind of man he�d become, especially when I saw his
eyes light up. And maybe, just maybe, I wanted him to look at me the same way.�

�� Draco took
a step nearer. �If I haven�t yet,� he whispered, �it�s only because you haven�t
done quite enough to merit it.�

�� Arrogant
Malfoy,� George Weasley muttered.

�� Draco cast
him a haughty glance. There was only one person on this street who had just
been told he was wanted by Harry Potter, and he wasn�t him.

�� You know he
wasn�t involved in Fred�s death,� Harry said quietly, with a seriousness of
tone Draco hadn�t expected. He looked back to see Harry leaning forwards, his
arms folded and his eyes keen. �I can understand if you don�t want to see him.
But I won�t have you accusing him and attacking him for crimes that weren�t
his, and I won�t give up dating him just to please you.�

�� George
pursed his lips and looked thoughtful. Then he nodded. �I won�t take issue with
your choice of boyfriends, Harry,� he said. �On one condition.�

�� Which
would be?�

�� That you
invite me over when you plan to introduce him to Ron.� Weasley�s grin was
wicked. �I want a ringside seat for that
explosion.�

�� Harry
grinned back. �Agreed.�

�� And then he
and the Weasley shook hands, and the Weasley wandered down the street on
whatever aimless errand he�d been on in the first place, while Harry guided
Draco towards Flourish and Blotts with a hand on the small of his back.

�� Draco let
the stunned silence stretch until he realized that Harry had no intention of
breaking it, and it was once more up to him to do the work in this relationship.
�Why did he just�accept it?� he asked.

�� Harry
leaned over to kiss his cheek. Someone in the small crowd following them gasped.
Draco felt his skin itch with self-consciousness, but he refused to look around
and try to identity the culprit. He concentrated instead on the soft, chapped
feeling of Harry�s lips and the warmth of the arm around him.

�� Because,�
Harry whispered, �not everyone is like the wizard who cursed you, Draco. Some
people have managed to grow up and accept their losses.� He paused long enough
that Draco knew the next declaration was going to be terribly significant,
because Gryffindors liked the dramatic effect of silence. �Can you?�

�� Draco
deliberately didn�t lift his hand to touch his cheek, but he did cast a Tempus Charm. Half-an-hour left on the
glamour.

�� Maybe,� he
said.

�� Harry
grinned blindingly, as though he�d just received a confirmed promise, and drew
him into the bookshop.

*

�� But that�s
too much of a coincidence,� Draco argued, leaning over the book he�d brought to
Harry�s house and shaking his head. �The Morgan family never recorded the birth
of a second child. Why wouldn�t they? Most pure-blood lines like this would be
proud of the birth of two healthy sons, because God knows they don�t have
wealth or strong magic to comfort them.�

�� Harry
rolled his eyes. When his lover wasn�t listening to himself, he had no idea
what a snob he sounded like.

�� There are
all sorts of reasons why not,� Harry said, and put his feet up, ignoring
Draco�s disgusted glance. They were seated in the large front room of his
house, where two sliding glass panels had taken the place of the cramped doors
that had occupied that part of the cottage when Harry moved in. The glass let
in a flood of sunlight and permitted Harry an unparalleled view of the garden,
as well as the robins that had chosen to nest in his solitary apple tree. That
Draco would rather look at parchment on a day like this than at the wonders of
nature astonished him. The robins had already hatched a brood, and the parents were
busy coming and going from the nest to feed their young. Harry had sternly
warned Philip not to climb up that tree and investigate the nest if he knew
what was good for him. �Maybe they thought Gabriel was stillborn. You told me
that this book updates itself by magic at the moment of the child�s birth,
right?�

�� Right.�
Draco turned the tome over. Harry glanced at the leather cover. Gilt letters
spelled out some horrendously long title. Harry had never been interested in
puzzling out long titles, and still less ones in Latin, which this was. He
knew, though, because Draco had patiently explained it to him, that this was a
book that showed the lines of pure-blood British wizarding families going back
several hundred years. The Morgans were part of it, though they had never been
as prominent as the Malfoys or even the Longbottoms.

�� So maybe
only Raphael was actually born alive,� Harry temporized. �And then when they
realized Gabriel was alive, it was too late to update the book.�

�� Ha-ha,�
said Draco, and set it aside. He folded his hands behind his head and stared
intently at Harry. �You just don�t want to admit your precious boyfriend may
have cursed me.�

�� Harry
looked straight at him. He didn�t find the scar difficult to look at; it was difficult not to feel some regret
that it was on Draco�s face, though, since Draco found living with it so
difficult. �I still think it�s not something Raphael would do,� he said. �He�s
very bad about letting things go. And from what you said, this wizard hasn�t
approached you again in two years��

�� Maybe he
will now that he realizes his vengeance hasn�t worked as well as he thought it
would,� Draco muttered, face darkening.

�� Harry put a
hand on Draco�s knee and continued speaking, while he rubbed the knee in small,
consoling circles. �I think Raphael would have hung about your flat, and crowed
about it to other people. That is
strange, you know. Why wouldn�t your attacker have wanted to tell other people
what he did?�

�� Because he
could be arrested?� Draco drew the words out with the dry patience he used when
Harry was being particularly stupid. �This spell is Dark magic, and illegal.
Even Permanence Charms, used on people instead of objects, skirt the edge of
the law.�

�� Harry
flushed. �Sorry. But it just doesn�t fit what I know of Raphael. Look how many
times he keeps coming back to me, even though he knows it�s over.�

�� Draco
shifted forwards so fast Harry had no chance to anticipate the movement before
he found himself leaning deeply against the couch, Draco straddling his hips
and staring down at him. �How long were you with him?� Draco asked, a small
growl in his voice.

�� Er,� Harry
said, blinking. Thoughts of Raphael had once again fled with his new lover crouched above him, and
obviously turned on. �Six months, if you count the amount of time we spent
together fucking. Nine months, if you count from the time we started dating.�

�� I�m going
to make sure you forget him, what he�s like, what his personality may or may
not have inclined him to do, and any other comparison you�re tempted to make,�
Draco said sharply, and bowed his head. Harry opened his mouth eagerly to the
invading tongue a moment later, and wound a hand in Draco�s hair to hold him in
place.

�� This was perfection. This was what Harry
had sought in his relationship with Raphael and never found: an intense focus
on this moment and this situation, instead of the cool
holding back and playing of mind-games that Raphael assumed was natural to any
gay relationship. Draco�

�� Draco was
thinking of him, wanting to bring
Harry pleasure, wanting to know what would happen next, and involved in making
it happen. His location was the present, not some imagined future orgasm.

�� Harry
opened his legs and shifted down further under Draco, so that he could bring
their hips and their chests fully into contact. He delighted in everything: the
rasp of Draco�s robes over his skin, the sharp angles of his hips, the corded
muscles of his arms as he strove to keep the kiss steady in their new position.
And the silky hair that slid past Harry�s fingers, of course, and the thick
scent of arousal creeping into his nostrils, and the sight of Draco�s eyes
half-screwed shut, as if he didn�t dare to either look at Harry when he was
kissing or look away.

�� Harry had
never known that having a lover could be so much fun.

�� His fingers
ran over Draco�s scar. Draco started and acted as if he would break the kiss
for a moment. Harry paused, ready to let him go if that was what Draco needed.

�� Then Draco
shook his head and pressed down again, openly treating the small incident as if
it weren�t worth his time and attention. Harry laughed aloud, and then gasped
as the vibrations from the laughter joined the vibrations Draco�s tongue had
stirred up in him. He lifted his legs and wrapped them around Draco�s waist.

�� They rocked
together like that, the heat building between their bodies, the heat of the
sunlight flooding through the windows, the heat of their exertion and arousal
spiraling inwards until Harry didn�t know why he hadn�t come already. His
glasses were fogged with his panting breaths. His skin was so slick with sweat
that his hands kept slipping where they had hold of Draco�s nape and shoulders.

�� Draco�s
blond hair glinted in the light that made a hazy silhouette of his face. But he
arched his neck now and then, and Harry could make out a pained sublimity in
his face, his eyes shut as if he were striving after some lofty goal and
despaired of reaching it.

�� So much�

�� So
beautiful�

�� By chance
or luck or the destiny that had guided him most of his life or maybe just
because it was time, Harry had
happened upon the one person who seemed able to give him what he wanted. And
maybe there were other people out there who would have done just as well�maybe
Raphael was right and one bent wizard was much like another�but Harry had no
intention of searching ever again.

�� He licked
along Draco�s teeth and opened his arms and the V of his legs wider, wishing
there was some way he could bond Draco�s body into his, merge and blend with
it, dive into the heat and keep on soaring forever towards an impossible
pinnacle.

�� He reached
the mountaintop at last, and came with a sound like a cry of pain, though in
reality he had never been less hurt in his life. The sensation had simply risen
to such a pitch that any touch felt like a blow; even the brush of Draco�s hair
swept across his face as a cold wind.

�� Draco
shuddered in his hold. The trapped, limited jerking of his hips was more
beautiful than any dance Harry had ever beheld, and the way he sprawled limply
in Harry�s arms a moment later made Harry have to close his eyes so he wouldn�t
say something Draco probably didn�t want to hear right now.

�� He lay
silent on the couch instead, stroking Draco�s hair, slowly falling out of the
heat.

*

�� Draco kept
his eyes shut. He knew he would face too much truth, too much intensity, if he
opened them.

�� What they
had shared hadn�t been so much, really. One could argue that it wasn�t as
intimate as the blowjobs that Harry had already given him; then, there had been
actual friction of skin on skin, or mouth on skin, instead of the accidental
brushes they had given each other as they moved together just now. And he
didn�t have to deal with the sticky, cooling mess in his pants that he could
feel right now when Harry sucked him.

�� But this
was the first time Draco had wanted to initiate it.

�� He had been
unable to stand the shadow of Raphael Morgan hanging between them for a moment
longer. He had needed some
reassurance that Harry was only bringing up objections to the evidence that
seemed to point to Morgan�s dark past because he wanted to find the real
culprit, and not because he still longed for the other wizard. Draco wanted to
watch Harry�s face while they got off together, and see what that might tell
him.

�� It had told
him�too much. It had made him feel desired and longed for and held for the first time in his life.

�� It had told
him that if he screwed this up, he would never, ever forgive himself.

�� He held
Harry tighter.

*

�� I don�t
like this,� Draco complained in a soft whisper to Harry as the server escorted
them, with many supposedly surreptitious glances back at the great Harry
Potter, across the main room of the Whimsical Mongoose and to a small private
table. Their table was still open to the gazes of people around them, and Harry
knew Draco�s complaints were his way of dealing with his fear. The glamour
still concealed his scar, and for that reason, among others, Harry had vetoed
his suggestion of taking a booth with curtains that could be drawn around it.
�Did you know there�s a half-giant in the shadows over there? This place will
obviously let anyone in.�

�� Harry took
out his wand and rapped Draco�s hand where it rested on his elbow. Draco yelped
and glared at him.

�� One of my
dearest friends is a half-giant, I�ll have you remember,� Harry said sharply.

�� Draco�s
flush took only a moment to appear, and it was gratifying when it did. At least
Harry knew that Draco had honestly forgotten about Hagrid, and not assumed Harry
shared his prejudices.

�� Sorry,
sorry,� Draco muttered as he slid into the seat across from Harry and nodded
absently to the server�s offer of water and menus. �But you have to understand
why I�m nervous, surely?�

�� I do,�
Harry replied, picking up the menu and scanning it. The Whimsical Mongoose�s
specialty was �unusual� cuisine. From what Harry could see of the list of
foods�Jarveys packed with spinach, fricasseed mongoose, delicately fried
boomslang�that was certainly true. But being here was more important than what
they ate. �That doesn�t give you license to act like a prat.�

�� But you like me when I act like a prat.�

�� Draco
was�Draco was making large eyes at him, and sliding a foot up his leg under the
table. Harry restrained a chuckle and reached across the table in retaliation,
tracing a finger around Draco�s knuckles. �Only on certain occasions. Then, the
things you can do with your tongue are quite interesting.�

�� The young
woman who came up to ask them for their orders choked. Harry thought it served
her right for eavesdropping. And if the stare she was giving him was any
indication, she hadn�t known the Savior of the Wizarding World was gay. Harry
enjoyed that; it wasn�t very often he got to surprise people any more.

�� He
continued tracing the bones of Draco�s hand as he gave the witch a bland smile.
�The fried boomslang for me, with toast and peach marmalade.� The toast was the
only relatively normal food on the menu.

�� Plebeian,�
said Draco, tilting his nose back. �Everyone knows that the swan sushi is the
only dish worth eating as this establishment.�

�� The
server�s wide hazel eyes were darting back and forth between them, and she
seemed to have no idea how to react. Harry swallowed his laughter and nodded to
her. She came to life then, seemed to remember her duties, and scuttled off.

�� You may be
nervous, but you�re behaving as if you aren�t,� he told Draco.

�� Draco sniffed
at him and sipped his water as if it were wine, then looked around and started
deriding the other patrons� clothes in an undertone. Harry smiled, and not because�or
not just because�some of the comments were genuinely amusing instead of snotty.

�� The more
comfortable Draco became in public, the higher the chance that he would agree
to go without that damn glamour someday, and stop checking the time constantly.

*

�� Draco laid
down the old copy of the Daily Prophet
that Theo had procured for him on his orders. His hand hurt from being clenched
into a fist, and he forced himself to fold it in his lap and stare into his
flat�s useless fireplace for a long moment until his mind could clear.

�� When it
did, of course, he returned to thinking about what he had just read. There was
the damn clue, there in black-and-white. Would Harry insist now that his precious lover�s
personality didn�t resemble the personality of the wizard who had marked Draco,
who had caused him misery and degradation for the past two years? Would he dare
recite Gryffindor platitudes about the value of mercy and forgiveness, as he
had done the last time Draco pressed for going after Morgan immediately?

�� The article
was small, and had been hidden in the back pages of the Daily Prophet. At the time, just eight years after the Dark Lord�s
defeat, no one had really wanted to hear anything about Death Eaters, and only
the Aurors had cared about the recruitment efforts in other countries. The Prophet had probably only run the story
at all because it concerned an expatriate British wizarding family, and because
it had no juicy scandals occupying the front page.

�� Gabriel
Morgan, sixteen at the time, had been discovered, murdered, with a Dark Mark on
his arm. The French Aurors had thought the Mark was real, but his body had
hastily been handed over to his grieving family, and so it was never determined
whether another Death Eater had Marked him or if he�d done it himself before
they buried him.

�� Draco
grimaced and touched his left arm, thoughts whirling, even as he continued
staring into the empty fireplace. He knew well enough that only the Dark Lord
could give a real Mark. His
supporters had made due with decidedly inferior imitations in the years he was
gone.

�� But still,
that didn�t mean Gabriel Morgan�s Mark hadn�t been in earnest. And he had
probably been murdered in a scuffle between Death Eaters, as the paper
speculated. His twin brother would have gone away from that with hatred in his
heart, and the deep, sincere conviction that all Death Eaters were evil and
deserved whatever they got. Draco was glad he hadn�t met Raphael Morgan during
the war. There were rumors of vigilante squads of Mudbloods torturing anyone
accused of serving the Dark Lord. Morgan would surely have been part of them,
pure-blood or not.

�� And when he
had realized that Draco�s only punishment was not using his wand for a few
years, not exile and not execution, he hadn�t stopped to consider that not
using magic, for a pure-blood wizard, was punishment enough. He had struck out
like a mad thing, and Draco had suffered for it.

�� That had to be it.

�� Just
because he might have to reconsider his memory of the voice that had snarled at
him�

�� Just
because he was no longer sure, as he
had been in the first moments after he heard Morgan speak, that it was his
voice�

�� That didn�t
mean he was wrong.

�� His hand
closed down on his left arm and clenched there, until the Dark Mark began to
throb softly. Draco heard the robes tear. He shut his eyes, and his breath came
fast and angry.

�� Raphael
Morgan was a murdering, mutilating madman, and it was practically Draco�s duty to inflict vengeance on him in
return, since he was an Auror and the Ministry would never try one of their
own.

�� Draco had
suffered and suffered during the war, and then afterwards, with no one to
soothe him and tell him it was all right. His parents had their own affairs to
tend to, and since his scarring, they couldn�t look him in the face, either.
Why shouldn�t he get some of his own back? Except that he would be more cautious, and leave Morgan with no way to identify
his attacker. He wouldn�t kill him, though. Quite apart from the murder
investigation that would ensue, death was too easy for someone like Morgan.

�� He would do
it, and who was to know?

�� Harry. If Morgan turned up in an alley
with both his arms gone, or blinded, or with his wand snapped in half and the
pieces shoved up his arse, he would know exactly who had done it. And he might
feel compelled to go to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and give his
testimony, Gryffindor that he was.

�� More than
that, though, he would turn his back on Draco. Draco knew he would. Harry liked him for what he was, for the spirit he
showed, for the way he made love, for the snide comments he uttered on a daily
basis. He liked the less dangerous aspects of Draco. If Draco showed him the
real Slytherin lurking beneath the tame, sweet wrappings, he would have to turn
his back.

�� Was it
worth it, to have his vengeance?

�� No! screamed a voice in the back of
Draco�s head.

�� And he
reeled, because he had been expecting that the answer from his own soul would
be an emphatic yes.

�� He scanned
his memories, wondering what others who had once been important in his life
would say. His father would undoubtedly sneer and tell him that his honor was
more important than any foolish Gryffindor notions of a relationship, and part of Malfoy honor was getting revenge on those
who harmed them. His mother would tell him that going after Morgan might enable
him to reverse the curse on his face, and he should concentrate on that. Theo
would swear Draco knew how to hold grudges, and hold them well. Weasley would
probably sneer and pronounce that he knew all along Draco couldn�t be trusted.

�� Do you want to prove him right?

�� And what would Harry say?

�� Draco�s
breathing stopped. He didn�t know
what Harry would say, and he found himself intensely curious to know.

�� He had
risen and grasped his wand before he thought about it. The voice of his reason
was telling him this was stupid. He only had to calm down and think this
through, and he would come to a rational, sane decision. Harry would never have
to know how weak he had been. It was better not to say anything, surely. He
would keep his weaknesses, whatever they were, private.

�� But at the
same time, he wanted to know. He
didn�t know, and he wanted to know.

�� He had
denied himself enough of what he wanted, in the past few years.

�� He snatched
the newspaper and took it with him when he Disapparated. Surely, once Harry
realized that the story was true and Raphael Morgan really had hurt Draco, he
would have no choice but to hold Morgan down while Draco cursed him.

*

�� Harry
started when he felt his wards part; he usually dozed in front of the fire for
a good hour before dragging himself sleepily to bed, and the wards yanked him
out of forming dreams in which Draco played a large part. He fumbled for his
glasses a moment. Then he realized he�d fallen asleep with them on his face. He
rolled his eyes, sat up, and charmed the fire to rise. From the hour and the
fact that Draco hadn�t owled ahead to ask if he could come tonight, something
must be wrong, and he would probably want comfort when he arrived.

�� The door burst
open, making the robins in the apple tree, settled for the night, burst into a
chorus of scolding and scuffling. Harry was on his feet and moving across the
room before he could quite register that Draco wasn�t actually bleeding.

�� He still
made it to Draco�s side more quickly than he would have otherwise, though, and
wrapped his arms around his lover. �What happened?� he whispered. Draco shook
in his arms, his skin colder than it should have been, given the temperature of
the air outside. Harry�s worry increased, and he pulled Draco in until he could
see his face clearly in the firelight.

�� Draco
looked ghastly. His skin was pale, and his eyes stared as though he�d walked
across a war zone. The scar on his cheek looked like a wound for the first time
since Draco had showed it to Harry. Harry cupped a hand around that cheek, and
for the first time, Draco moved into the touch instead of away.

�� Read
that,� he said.

�� Harry
finally realized Draco held a newspaper along with his wand. He took it and
flipped down to the article Draco stabbed a finger at, while absently waving
his own wand to close the door. He expected Draco to collapse onto the couch in
exhaustion, but he stayed upright, leaning against Harry.

�� Harry read
through the article and closed his eyes with a reluctant sigh. It did seem rather damning evidence that�

�� That
Raphael had had a Death Eater brother who died in France twelve years ago. That
was the only thing it argued. Harry
turned to Draco and opened his mouth.

�� I wanted
to kill him.�

�� Harry
slammed his mouth shut again and wrapped his arms around Draco. Together, they
moved to the couch, and Harry spent some minutes fussing to be sure that Draco
could get the most out of both the body warmth and the fire.

�� Draco just
kept staring straight ahead. The biggest concession he made to their new
position was to lean his head on Harry�s shoulder.

�� I thought he�d
done this to me,� Draco whispered. He didn�t raise his hand to touch his cheek.
By now, neither of them needed the reminder. �I thought he went mad, and
decided that any Death Eater was to blame for what happened to his brother. I
was a convenient target, and one the Wizengamot didn�t assign to the full term
of prison they could have. He went a bit mad, I thought. That had to be it. And I was on the verge of
Apparating to his flat�I found the address in those Ministry records of
his�waiting until I saw him, and blinding him.�

�� Harry�s
arms tightened again, but he didn�t answer. He didn�t think he could.

�� Or
changing him partially into a slug,� Draco whispered. �Or inflicting a disease
on him that would make lycanthropy seem like jolly fun. Or scattering acid
across his chest. Or casting any one of a number of Dark curses which I know,
and which you probably don�t even know the names of.�

�� He laughed
suddenly, the sound so raw and ugly that it made Harry jump. �Does it surprise
you, Harry, this evil side to your lover?� His voice was light and mocking, but
Harry knew the truth of that; those emotions were just a thin bridge over an
abyss of despair and self-loathing. �You thought I was just a misguided
schoolboy, forced into things that weren�t my fault. That�s what the Wizengamot
decided, and that�s why they only took my wand away. But I�m more than that.
I�m the person who was pleased that a
hippogriff was going to die, just because he hurt me. I�m the person who really
wanted to see Umbridge cast Cruciatus on you in our fifth year. I�m the person
who was going to cast an Unforgivable on you that time you sliced me up. Or did
you forget that?�

�� Never,�
Harry whispered.

�� Draco
jerked and turned to face him. His eyes had changed again; they saw Harry, now,
but they had a feverish sheen that Harry definitely
disliked. �But you have to have forgotten,� he insisted. �Otherwise, how could
you take someone like me to your heart and your bed?�

�� Harry
pressed his lips to Draco�s temple, and held them there until he felt Draco�s
trembling calm a bit. That was at least as much for his own benefit as Draco�s.
When he locked gazes with Draco again, he had the courage to say what he needed
to.

�� You�re not
the only person in the room who�s used Unforgivables,� he said. �I�ve used them
and meant them, which is more than you ever could have.�

�� I used
them when the Dark Lord made me torture��

�� Made you torture,� Harry echoed. �No one
made me torture anyone, Draco, or control them with Imperius, either. I could
have used something else. But I didn�t.� He shivered, remembering the power
coursing through his body when he�d cursed the Carrows. �So if using certain
spells, or knowing them, makes you Dark and evil and tainted, then I�ve joined
you in the shadows.�

�� Draco�s
breathing sped up. Whatever he had expected to hear admitted, Harry thought,
this was not it. �But you regret it, don�t you?� he asked.

�� Harry
closed his eyes. It might almost be a year and a half ago, he thought; then, he
had sat in this room with Hermione, and she had asked him that same question.
And Harry had had to look inside himself, to understand his own fear, and his
guilt, and get rid of the obstacles that otherwise would have prevented him
from healing.

�� I don�t,�
he said softly. �It happened. I could have used something else. But I lived,
and escaped, and I defeated Voldemort. I can�t regret anything that led me to
that. I regret the deaths of people I knew and loved. I regret that it took me
so long to destroy Voldemort and fulfill the prophecy that everyone depended on
me to fulfill. Nothing else.�

�� Draco
swallowed. Then he swallowed again, and whispered, �I couldn�t regret it,
either. Not if regret meant�wishing I was dead instead of them. I thought it
made me cowardly, evil, unworthy of anyone�s regard.�

�� Harry took
his jaw and turned his head for a kiss. Draco accepted it, looking dazed.

�� Human,�
Harry whispered into his ear when the kiss was done. �That�s all.� He
hesitated, and then touched the scar on Draco�s cheek. �Just as this doesn�t
make you ugly. I don�t care if you disagree with me. The people who would call
you ugly are like the people who would call you evil for having used the
Unforgivables. They haven�t done those things, but they haven�t faced them, either. Someone who could
look the same terrors in the face that we did and choose differently might be
morally better than we are. But without that testing, they have no idea what
they�re talking about. They don�t know what way they�d jump. We do, and I
treasure that knowledge, as well as the fact that I�ve done more good for the
world than most of them ever will.�

�� Draco just
sat there for the longest time. Then he mumbled, �So�so the fact that I wanted
to curse Morgan, but I didn�t, and came to you instead�that makes me��

�� Someone
who did choose the undisputed right
thing, this time,� Harry whispered. �Someone who could easily do more good for
the world than any of the people pointing at you in the streets ever will.�

�� And then
Draco turned his face into Harry�s shoulder and began to weep. Harry held him,
not making an attempt to talk, just keeping his hand in constant, soothing
motion down Draco�s spine.

�� He had
offered what he could: honesty and compassion and self-disclosure and the hard
lessons he had already learned. And it had helped
Draco�helped him, when it could so easily have hurt him and driven him away.
But Harry didn�t know how to be dishonest with a lover anymore.

�� And Draco
had helped him in turn. Seeing his own difficult self-knowledge reflected and
accepted in another�s face made Harry feel as if he�d stepped out of a box he
hadn�t even known was there, and now he could see the stars.

*

�� Harry.�
Raphael put his quill down carefully on his desk and steepled his fingers.
�This is indeed a surprise, since the last time I saw you you chased me out of
your home and humiliated me.�

�� Harry
shrugged and took a seat in the chair across from Raphael. The last time he�d
been here, the day they broke up, bile had burned on his tongue and memories
inside his head. Now, he couldn�t feel anything but a calm acceptance of what
had happened between him and Raphael. The memories were part of his life,
neither more important nor less important than anything else that had happened.
�This isn�t a pleasure visit,� he said, and Raphael�s lips closed tightly. �I
came because I have a question that I can�t find the answer to.�

�� He waved
his wand at the door, locking it, and ensuring that no one could eavesdrop from
outside the office. When he turned around again, Raphael was sitting up at
attention, and holding his own wand in a guard position. �Does this have
something to do with the threats against the Minister�s life?� he asked.

�� Harry
blinked at him in bemusement, then shook his head. �Of course not,� he said.
�Do I look like an Auror to you, Raph?�

�� You look
like someone who could have been an
Auror to me. A damn good one. And you look like a waste of potential.� Raphael
gave a lazy shrug. �But I know how much you hate to hear the truth, so forget I
said anything.�

�� I need to
know about your twin brother Gabriel.�

�� Raphael�s
face changed color so fast that Harry really would have been afraid he would
faint if he weren�t already sitting down�and if he hadn�t known Raphael better
than that. He might appear fragile,
but Harry had known few people stronger. It was only a shame that so much of
his strength relied on mastering the weaknesses of others and never letting
them forget them.

�� Harry
waited, keeping his posture lopsided, casual.

�� Finally,
Raphael said in a low voice, �Blackmail, Harry? I never would have assumed
you�d stoop to that.�

�� Harry shook
his head. �No,� he said. �Two years ago, a wizard kidnapped Draco Malfoy and
cursed him with an unknown spell.� That was as close a description of the scar
as he�d give Raphael. Draco had agreed, after some persuasion, to let Harry try
this tactic, but he hadn�t wanted anyone to know the specifics of his torment. Besides,
if everything worked out as Harry hoped, Raphael would know what had happened
to Draco soon, of Draco�s own free will. �Draco believes he did it in
retaliation for some crime the Death Eaters committed, because Draco is one of
the few Marked wizards still free of Azkaban. And he also has reason to believe
that it was you.�

�� Raphael sat
straight up, revulsion clearly visible on his face. �That�s ridiculous. I despise Malfoy, but I�ve
never hurt a suspect in my custody.�

�� Harry kept
his face straight and calm, his voice deep and steady. �He said he recognized
your voice, the day you came to the garden. And when we investigated, we did
find out that you had lost a brother to the Death Eaters. I wanted to make sure
that you hadn�t�well, done something you might have regretted later.� He had
come up with an explanation of his own why Raphael, if he scarred Draco, would
not have publicized the fact. Drunk or crazed with grief, he could have acted,
and then wished to undo the act. He was forever regretting the remarks he had
made to Harry, which didn�t mean he wouldn�t make them again later. Or
apologize for them aloud, for that mean.

�� The
undeniable truth of that tried to hurt. Harry let the pain fall on him like
frost, and melt away again. He had finally moved on from Raphael, and he no
longer needed his approval, or to defend him to others so that Harry would feel
like less of an arse for dating him.

�� Raphael
stared at him searchingly. Then he sighed and sat back in his seat. �And you�ll
just accept my word?� he asked. �Without Veritaserum? Without calling in Aurors
and putting me under arrest?�

�� I�ll
accept your word.� One reason Raphael hadn�t simply pretended to like Harry�s
lifestyle and demands for more intimacy in their relationship was his ability
as a liar. He had absolutely none.

�� More
silence. Raphael stared at the floor. When he began to talk, it was in such a
fast and soft murmur that Harry had difficulty separating the words from one
another.

�� Mum found
out she couldn�t have any more children after she had Gabriel and me. The
thought of losing one of us terrified her. She always made us promise to watch
out for each other. I can�t tell you how many scrapes we got out of because of
that. We watched each other�s backs. We were friends as much as brothers, or
brothers as close as friends.� The thin French accent that Harry usually didn�t
notice at all crept into Raphael�s speech as he continued.

�� Then
Gabriel started becoming involved in Dark magic. He just laughed at me when I
wouldn�t share it with him, and said that it was because I had too little
talent to be a good vessel for anything Dark. And he was the more talented wizard, the stronger of us, the one who saved
my life with magic while I saved his with physical strength.� Raphael closed
his eyes and tilted his head back until the cords in his neck stood out. �I
refused to follow him into the shadows, but I always regretted it and wondered
if I should have, if only to show solidarity. He took advantage of that weakness
and exploited it. I didn�t tell Mum and Dad until it was far too late.

�� He�he went
completely mad, at last. I think the Death Eaters he played around with were
practicing demon-summoning.�

�� Harry
sucked in his breath through his teeth. Ron had told him about a few of the
demon-summoning cases the Aurors worked on. Even a slight rumor of that Darkest
of the Dark Arts sent the Department of Magical Law Enforcement into full alert
mode and utterly crushed the wizards who dared to hint at it.

�� A demon took
my brother.� Raphael�s hands clenched together until Harry expected to hear the
snap of breaking bone. �I didn�t want to admit it. I tried to cover for him,
even when he murdered a few children in the neighborhood near our house. And
then he tried to kill me.

�� I�I took
care of him one last time. I killed him. It was the only thing that could give
him peace. I was going to remove the Dark Mark from his arm, too, so he
wouldn�t go down in history as a Death Eater, but the spell I�d used to kill
Gabriel alerted the French Aurors.� Raphael laughed bitterly. �Funny how they
sensed that and not the demon that ate my brother, huh?

�� I
Apparated out just in time. Gabriel was found dead and pronounced murdered by
Death Eaters.

�� It
devastated my mother. And she couldn�t bear that anyone think she�d raised a
son who died Dark; it was better, in her eyes, that everyone in Britain think
she�d only had one child. She went to a great deal of trouble to remove
Gabriel�s name from all the official records she could, even the magical ones.�

�� Harry
nodded, now understanding why the book Draco had shown him only recorded
Raphael�s birth.

�� And then
she found out I was bent, and realized that meant she wouldn�t get any
grandchildren, either. Or, at least, none of her blood. And for Mum, blood has
always been all-important.� Raphael forced a rusty chuckle and opened his eyes.
They shone with tears. �Can you wonder at my defending her? She�s lost as much
as I have. And, in some ways, what she lost matters more to her than Gabriel
did to me. I�ve overcome his loss. She�ll hold it close to her heart like a
stone until her dying day.�

�� Harry
swallowed. It was difficult. �Thank you for telling me,� he said. �I�ll tell
Draco that it wasn�t you who cursed him.� It meant that they still didn�t know
who had cast the scarring spell, but for Harry, that was less important. They
still stood a chance of discovering that particular truth someday. And if they
never did, that didn�t make Draco�s life worthless. Harry gave a little nod and
stood.

�� Harry.�

�� He paused
and glanced back. Raphael was leaning across his desk with his hand extended,
palm up.

�� I
suppose,� he asked, in a level voice, �that you wouldn�t consider�getting back
together with me?�

�� Harry felt
a small smile lift his lips. Raphael had finally done what Harry had always
wanted, and shared more of himself than was absolutely necessary for fucking or
rough jokes on a date or disapproving of the way Harry had chosen to live his
life. If he had done this while they were still dating, it would have sealed
Harry to him for the foreseeable future, since it would have meant that Raphael
was putting his precious masculinity at risk.

�� But now�

�� I�m
sorry,� Harry said quietly. That was a lie, but a small one; it wouldn�t cost
him anything, and it might cushion reality for Raphael. �I�m together with
Draco now. And I can�t imagine wanting to leave him.�

�� Raphael�s
hand retracted, quickly. His face became lined as he nodded, and Harry braced
himself for one final taunt when the Auror muttered, �Give him a message from
me, then.�

�� Which is?�
Harry asked.

�� Tell him
he�s a damn lucky bastard,� Raphael said, and then turned away and stared
ferociously down at his paperwork.

�� Harry let
himself out quietly.

*

�� Draco
carefully tied a black ribbon into his hair, and stepped back to admire the
effect in the large mirror he�d recently added to the drawing room of his flat.
He�d deliberately grown his hair long so that it could sweep his shoulders and
look impressive when he tied it back, instead of looking, as Harry had teased
him, like the tail of a rat doused with Hirsute Potion.

�� That was
past now. His hair looked magnificent. His skin, now that he had spent some
time in Harry�s garden�even if he had watched more than helped�had passed the
peeling stage and the sunburned stage and settled into a healthy
golden-bronze-alabaster glow. (Draco didn�t care if those colors seemed
contradictory to fasten together; they were what he looked like). His eyes had
lost more than half the wariness they�d had on the day Harry returned his wand.
And his gray dress robes were, as ever, immaculately clean, carefully pressed,
and complimentary to his face and form, courtesy of the Manor�s house-elves.

�� Draco had
taken to spending more time with his parents lately. They didn�t always agree,
but since Draco�s father could no longer make him want to cringe with a look
and his mother�s tears didn�t call up his own, Draco found the time far more
pleasant than he had during the last few years. And Narcissa was pleased to have him home more often,
though she couldn�t understand why Draco had accepted, so quietly, that he�d
have to wait to find his enemy and have the spell reversed.

�� A soft,
sweet scent worked its way into his nostrils, announcing Harry�s presence.
Draco turned away from the mirror to open the door, flashing himself a smile
before he completely lost sight of his reflection.

�� He opened
the door to find Harry standing there with another vase of angel flowers and a
soppy smile. Draco accepted the vase and an equally soppy kiss on the cheek,
murmured thanks and exclaimed over the flowers, and set the vase carefully on
an end table next to the couch. The house-elf his parents had lent him appeared
instantly to sprinkle some water into the potted soil.

�� Shall we?�
Draco asked, and held out his arm to Harry. They had made plans to dine in
Hogsmeade tonight.

�� Harry
didn�t move to take his arm. Draco glanced at him, puzzled, and found Harry
blinking, as though he had just awakened from sleep.

�� Perhaps he fell from the ladder in the
garden today and hit his head. Or perhaps he let Philip inject him with venom. Those
were the kinds of things Harry was liable to get up to when Draco wasn�t there.
Draco had been relieved to find out that he wasn�t just a helpless child for
Harry to take care of; Harry needed quite a bit of care himself, since he
seemed to assume that just because he
was free of suspicion and resentment now, the rest of the world was agreeably free
of danger.

�� What�s
wrong?� Draco asked.

�� Aren�t you
forgetting something?� Harry whispered. His eyes moved slowly across Draco�s
face, no doubt noting that the only magic about him came from his wand and his
robes.

�� Draco
lifted his head. His head was beating very fast, and his vision wavered as if
from hunger or dizziness when he met Harry�s eyes. �No,� he said. �I don�t
think so.�

�� The smile
that crept across Harry�s lips then made Draco think he knew what an angel
flower felt when it faced the sunset. Harry took Draco�s hand in his own and
gently kissed all the knuckles. Then he leaned in and swept his mouth across
Draco�s chin, lips, and cheek, ending with his scar. Draco put a hand on
Harry�s shoulder, holding him in place for just a moment.

�� Come on,
then,� Harry whispered. �I can�t wait to show off my boyfriend. The other
people in the Three Broomsticks are going to wish they were as lucky as I am.�

�� Draco
nodded slightly, and held on to Harry as he Apparated them Side-Along to
Hogsmeade. More than a few people turned to study their sudden appearance, or
perhaps the aura of magical power that Harry never seemed to notice he
projected about him. Draco saw the stares, the dropped jaws, the beginnings of
sniggers or smiles.

�� He knew it
would be even worse when Weasley and Granger came back from the Continent, as
they were scheduled to do tomorrow.

�� He raised
an eyebrow at the people staring at him and turned to walk into the Three
Broomsticks, letting everyone in sight know that they were not Draco Malfoy,
confident, powerful, self-knowing pure-blood wizard, and never would be, though
if they observed closely enough, they might pick up some hints on aspiring
towards his greatness.

�� Harry was
close and warm at his side, chuckling with quiet joy; Draco knew that without
even glancing at him.

�� Someday, he
would find the wizard who had cursed him and make him remove the spell, Draco
thought as he ducked through the door of the pub and then straightened to look
everyone who stared at him in the eye. But it would have to be a matter of
thorough investigative work and Slytherin cunning, not coincidence and seizing
on the first victim who happened along.

�� And however
long it took, however long he walked scarred or unscarred, he was perfectly
confident that Harry would be at his side.

�� He held Madam
Rosmerta�s astonished gaze, and smiled slightly. �A table for two, please,� he
said.
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The Fortunate Fall