"Well, I guess we should start at the beginning then. I'm sure, after the shock wears off, everyone's first thought will be to wonder how it could have possibly started."

Harry chuckled, pausing long enough to take a deep drag from his cigarette. They were finally to the part of the story Harry wanted to talk about, however painful the ending might be. He leant back in his chair, rolling his shoulders to work some of the tension free. Truthfully, he felt more relaxed than he had at any of his previous meetings with the inquisitive young woman. She seemed less surprised by his latest revelation that he'd expected. After all the surprises he'd already sprung on her, Harry supposed she was getting used to it.

"I'm not exactly sure how it all started, to be honest. I suppose it was a few months after the final battle, although I certainly didn't recognise it at the time."

"That long? But that's been ... nearly ten years now."

This was more like the reaction Harry had expected in the first place. None of Harry's life story was even remotely close to the public's perception, but the idea of him and Draco, together, would be the hardest to swallow. He'd always known that. That had always been at the heart of the problem.

Harry took his time stubbing out his cigarette and reached for his glass of Firewhisky, balancing it precariously on one knee. "Yes," he answered, nodding thoughtfully. "Almost ten years ago, Draco Malfoy showed up, unexpectedly, on my front doorstep." Harry smiled at the memory. Had he only known then what he knew now, things would have happened differently. Of course, he'd been young and scared then. "I was so surprised I didn't even let him in, much less offer him tea."

"Malfoy? What—"

"I'm sorry to intrude," Draco interrupted, surprisingly polite in both words and demeanour. "I'm ... leaving the country with Mother and I just—" He swallowed nervously, fidgeting with the sleeve of his blue robe. "—I just wanted to say thank you before I left. For, you know, for the Fiendfyre. For saving my life."

"Oh." Harry stood in the doorway, speechless.

"So ... anyway, thank you." Draco turned to leave but then paused, turning back round. "And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry. For ... well, everything. I—" He swallowed again, his Adam's apple bobbing, before taking a deep breath and blowing it out in an exaggerated whoosh. "I'm sorry for the way things were ... between us. That's all, I suppose."

"He'd just turned again, to leave, when I reached out to grab his robe. I still, to this day, don't know what made me do it. It was just ... instinct, maybe. But he stopped and studied me for, I don't know how long, before he held out his hand. It was odd. Like a flashback from when we were eleven, but something in his eyes was different. He wasn't the same snobby boy I'd met then. War and death have a way of changing people. Some for the worse, but some for the better. That one look told me more about Draco Malfoy than I'd ever known, and that time, unlike when I was eleven, I felt compelled to take his hand."

"So you shook hands? That's all?" the woman asked, a bit incredulously.

"Yeah. That's all." Harry laughed again, setting his glass on the table so he could pull another cigarette from the packet. The woman waited patiently whilst he lit it and took a deep breath. As he exhaled, he watched the wisp of smoke swirl and disappear into thin air. Just like Draco had. "I don't think I ever even said anything. We just shook hands and then he was gone."

"But then you saw him again?"

"Not for a while. It was probably a good year, year and a half, but I thought about that moment quite a lot. Something about that handshake, or maybe it was just the look in his eyes - I don't know really - but I couldn't stop thinking about it. It took a certain amount of courage for him to just show up like that and offer a genuine apology. I think it made me realise how very little I actually knew about who Draco was. Shortly thereafter, I read an article in the Prophet about the Malfoys. I'd known, of course, that Lucius was in Azkaban, but when I read that Draco and his mother had gone to France, I ... well, I told myself it was just curiosity, but I subscribed to the French newspaper just to keep an eye on them." Harry chuckled. "I told myself I just wanted to make sure they weren't causing any trouble. The truth of the matter was, I was floundering a bit, unsure of what to do with myself once the war was over. I'd lost my direction, and it gave me something to occupy my time."

"Then one day, out of nowhere, Draco showed up on my doorstep again, as if we were old friends or something." Harry couldn't help but smile at the memory. He'd been surprised, but then, not. Somehow, even then, he'd known Draco would be back. "At least I had the good sense to invite him in that time."

Harry wasn't expecting anyone, so he wasn't sure why he rushed to the door as though he were. And he certainly wasn't sure why he was so unaccountably happy when he saw Draco standing there, covered from head to toe in a heavy wool cloak. "Draco. Hi."

"Harry." Draco nodded politely, glancing over Harry's shoulder to the warm fire that was roaring in the living room.

"Oh, er ... would you like to come in? It's rather cold out there." When Draco smiled, something in Harry's chest twisted.

"It is, and I'd love to, if you don't mind."

Harry moved from the door, motioning Draco forward. It was odd, how, even though Draco had never been in Harry's home before, he removed his cloak and hung it on the hook by the door as if he'd done it hundreds of times. Harry followed as Draco strolled towards the living room, his long, graceful strides carrying him so smoothly, Harry wondered if it could be called walking at all. He seemed completely confident that he had every right to be there. That Harry did, indeed, want him there. And he did. As strange as it seemed at the time, he really did.

Draco sat on the sofa next to the fire warming his chilled hands, his knee bouncing in an odd rhythm as he glanced around the room. After staring for what seemed like forever, Harry finally remembered his manners and offered Draco tea.

"Yes, please. Tea would be lovely," Draco answered quickly.

Harry suddenly felt like he was back in fourth year, staring at the doors that led into the Yule Ball. He wasn't sure how he managed to pour their tea without spilling.

Draco thanked him as he took his tea and they sat in silence next to the fire, their hands wrapped around their cups.

"I was just—"

"So how's Fran—"

They both chuckled, the awkwardness of the situation suddenly settling around Harry.

"Sorry," they said in unison, drawing another quiet laugh from them both, releasing the tightly drawn string of tension that had been stretching out since Harry had opened the door.

Draco relaxed, leaning back against the sofa as he propped one ankle on a bent knee. He made a dramatic gesture with one hand. "Perhaps we should try this again," he said, smiling.

Harry returned the smile easily, curling one leg underneath himself so he could sit sideways on the sofa, facing his guest. "Er ... I was just going to ask how you liked France. I saw ... I read it in the Prophet ... that that's where you'd gone."

"Ah. Well, France is ... lovely this time of year."

Draco's sarcastic expression brought to mind the Draco Harry remembered from school, but with a softness that he'd never seen before. Or at least that he'd never noticed. "Um. Does that mean you're back?" Harry wasn't sure why there seemed to be hint of hope in his voice when he'd said it. From the slight arch of Draco's brows, he'd heard it too.

"No," Draco answered, taking a slow, leisurely sip of tea. "I'm just here for the day. Pansy and Blaise are finally tying the knot, but I told them I wouldn't believe it until I saw it with my own eyes." He grinned mischievously. "I just thought I'd drop by and ... I don't know. See how you were."

"That should have been the most bizarre statement ever, but it wasn't. It just ... it felt right. We talked for hours after that, before he had to leave for the wedding."

"What did you talk about? I mean you were ... virtually strangers at best, weren't you?"

Harry blew out the last drag of smoke, running his finger along the wet rim of his glass. He'd never really thought about all these things before, and now, looking back on them, he fully appreciated how remarkable they all were.

"Yeah, we were, but we weren't at the same time. We had history. A lot of it, actually, but it wasn't exactly the kind of history you build a friendship on. Nevertheless, after the initial fumbling, I found it amazingly easy to talk to him, and I'm sure he felt the same way. We never once struggled to find a topic; everything was fair game. He talked at length about life in France and about his mother. I talked about Hermione and the Weasleys. We argued over Quidditch teams and house-elves. I tried to impress him with my extensive knowledge of dragons and he tried to convince me, without much luck, that I should brew my own potions. The time flew by and ... I don't know how, or why, it just ... by the time he left the entire visit seemed like the most natural thing on earth."

"And then he left?"

"Yes, he left, again. I think I knew then that something was happening, but I wouldn't admit it. I didn't want to be different again. I'd grown up being called a freak because of magic. I'd found a home where people loved and accepted me. I didn't want to risk losing that. I didn't want to be a freak again." Harry took a large gulp of liquid courage. The idea still terrified him – the thought of having strangers stare at him in the street, thinking he was twisted or unnatural.

"When did you next see him?"

"A couple of times over the next few years. He'd always drop by unannounced, saying he was in town for whatever reason – the birth of Pansy's first child, a New Year's Eve party ... to pick up a set of his mother's favourite china from the Manor. The reasons seemed to get flimsier as time went on. It was eventually obvious the reasons had turned into excuses, but I don't think either of us was ready to admit that yet."

"And you never told anyone?"

Harry shook his head. "I know now why I didn't, but at the time I ... it wasn't something that just came up in conversation."

"But you dated during that time, correct? There were always reports in the paper—"

"Yeah, there was always something in the paper, whether it was true or not." Harry was unable to keep the disdain out of his voice. "I guess you could say I did, if you want to call it that. Ginny and I were on again off again for a year or so, and I at least made attempts to date other women, but ... well, for obvious reasons, none of them worked out very well."

"When did you finally admit that you'd come to care about him?"

Harry rested his head on the back of his chair and sighed. "It was probably ... I don't know, four years after Pansy's wedding. Well, not quite, because it was autumn when his father died. I'd read about it in the Prophet and I wanted to write him – to tell him I was sorry. But I wasn't sorry, not really. I hated his father." Harry reached into his pocket to pull out another cigarette. It was an awful habit. He'd started the day after Draco had left for the last time and he hadn't seen a reason to stop.

"Did you tell him that?"

Harry snorted, tossing the pack of cigarettes to the table. "I didn't have to tell him. He already knew."

"Hi." Harry had known who it was before he opened the door. The paper with Lucius Malfoy's picture staring up at him was still on his kitchen table. "How're you doing?"

"Can I come in?" Draco's voice reminded Harry of the crunch of dry leaves that covered his front path.

"Yeah. Come on in. How 'bout a drink? Something stronger than tea this time?"

Draco nodded, heading straight for the fireplace. There was no blazing fire this time, but Draco didn't seem to notice. His shoulders were hunched and his hair fell in strings around his face. He looked as though he'd not slept in days.

"The funeral was today." His tone was lifeless, empty.

"I know," Harry said softly as he came up behind him, handing him his drink. Draco took it without moving his blank stare away from the stone grate.

"I thought you might be there." There was no accusation in Draco's tone, no blame, but Harry instantly felt both guilty and angry. He couldn't be sorry that Lucius Malfoy was dead. Harry thought it was what he deserved. "It was foolish of me to think ... I know how you feel about him, but he was my father, Harry. He was stupid and arrogant and ... he made the wrong choices, but he was still my father and I'd hoped you'd be there. For me."

If it had been Ron or Hermione in Draco's place, Harry would have been there. He should have been there. Not for the dead, but for the living. "I'm sorry." It was all he knew to say, and he meant it. He rested a hand on Draco's shoulder, trying to give comfort even if it was too late.

Draco took a long drink of his Firewhisky before turning to face Harry. His eyes were no longer blank. They were a bit glassy with unshed tears and they were so vulnerable, so needy, that at that moment Harry knew if he could bring Draco's father back, he would. "I'm sorry, Draco. I should have been there, but ... I'm here now. Does that count for anything?" Draco didn't answer, not with words. He twisted to wrap an arm around Harry's waist and as he placed his head on Harry's shoulder, Harry felt him nod.

"And?"

"And we stayed that way for a long time. I didn't want to let him go."

"But you did let him go."

Harry stubbed out his cigarette, running his hands through his tangled hair. "Yeah. I did. He went back to France with his mother. If I'd asked him to stay, I don't think he would have. His mother needed him. At least that's what I kept telling myself. The truth of the matter was ... I was just scared. I'd only barely admitted to myself that I was gay. How in the hell was I going to explain to anyone that I was..."

The woman waited patiently for Harry to continue, but when he didn't, she prodded gently. "That you were what, Mr Potter?"

"That I was falling in love with Draco Malfoy." Harry poured another glass of Firewhisky and stared at his packet of cigarettes, pushing them away. "You can only imagine how that would have gone down. I wasn't ready to face it yet."

"How long before you saw him again?"

"I wrote to him right away. Fuck. I missed him and we hadn't even kissed. I didn't know if I was reading more into it than I should. I convinced myself that Draco had just needed comfort and that it was nothing, but I wrote to him anyway."

"Did he write back?"

Harry chuckled. "Yeah. He did."

"After that we wrote to each other every week. At first they were casual – Draco's potions, my research, family, friends – but over time they became more personal and, some days I ... some days I thought it was all just too insane and I wouldn't write. But then I wouldn't get a letter from him and I ... I missed hearing from him. I still thought it was insane, but I couldn't seem to stop myself."

"How long did this correspondence go on?"

"Almost a year. He came back in the summer with a Portkey that took us to a little island in the middle of nowhere. He never told me where. Said it was a Malfoy family secret. We stayed for a week. It was the best week of my entire life."

"So, what? You're kidnapping me?" Harry asked, laughing as Draco tugged him down the beach.

"Yes. Exactly. I'm kidnapping the saviour of the world!" Draco yelled for anyone to hear. His voice disappeared across the ocean, swept away with the breeze. "Although—" he came to an abrupt halt, making Harry run into him. His eyes travelled the length of Harry's body. Harry had to fight not to squirm. "I don't think you can call it kidnapping. You're not exactly a kid anymore, now are you?"

Harry knew he was blushing, but he didn't care. Draco was looking at him with blatant desire and it felt good. Better than anything Harry had felt in ages and he didn't understand how he could want something so badly, but still be terrified of it. "What are we doing here, Draco?" he asked, more seriously.

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's neck. The sand was squishing between Harry's toes and the sun was beating down on his head and the wind was whipping at his hair and he knew this would be one of those moments that he would remember for the rest of his life.

"I'm going to kiss you, and I didn't want you to have anywhere to run."

"Who says I'd run?" Harry snaked his arms around Draco's waist, pulling him closer and fuck it felt so good to have their bodies pressed together. He couldn't imagine ever running from this.

"I can see it in your eyes. You're petrified."

He leant his forehead against Draco's and sighed. "You're right. I am. But I can't seem to let you go." Harry felt Draco's long fingers toying with the hair just above his collar, almost like he wanted to run his fingers through it but didn't know if he was allowed.

"Harry, if you—"

"Just shut up and kiss me, would you?"

Draco did. And it was fabulous. Better than fabulous. Better than perfect. Astounding. Draco was all teeth and tongue, but in a good way. If Harry could bundle this energy, this passion and sell it, he'd be the wealthiest man alive.

"Your first kiss was on a secluded beach with waves crashing around your feet? That's a bit romantic, wouldn't you say?"

Harry could tell by the way the woman smiled, that his eyes showed just how much that memory meant to him. "It was. Turns out Draco Malfoy is the biggest closet romantic ever. Who would have guessed?"

"You had fun, then?" she asked, her brows arching ever so slightly.

"Yeah, we did. I'll leave out the details to save a bit of embarrassment for both of us." Harry couldn't help but smile at the blush that tinted the woman's cheeks. He pretended not to notice. "The house wasn't huge, but there was an army of house-elves that waited on us hand and foot. It was right on the beach and the balcony off the upstairs bedroom overlooked the ocean. We sat there every night and watched as the sun disappeared over the horizon. We held hands as we walked along the beach, talking about our pasts, our futures, our hopes and our dreams. The whole week was magical. I think I smiled more in those seven days than I had in the previous twenty-three years of my life combined."

"It sounds wonderful. What happened at the end of that week?"

"The Portkey took us back to my flat and ... that's where I made my first mistake. The first of many, I'm afraid."

"I think that was the most fun I've ever had. Thank you." Harry leant in to kiss him. It had seemed so natural all week on the beach, but somehow, here in his living room, it seemed strained. Forced.

"You're not going to ask me to stay, are you?" Draco asked quietly. Harry could see the resignation in those grey eyes, like a sharp knife slicing him with guilt.

"I ... I don't think I'm ready for ... I just—"

"—have a lot more to lose than I do. I know." Draco tried to pull out of his arms but Harry held on tightly.

"Don't. Please. I just need time, all right? Just ... please?"

Draco relaxed, going limp in Harry's arms. "You can't hide forever."

Harry cupped Draco's jaw in his hand and tilted his face up. "I'm not hiding. I'm just..."

"Hiding?" One side of Draco's mouth quirked up into a teasing grin and Harry kissed him so he didn't have to answer. He just needed time to work things out. Just time. That was all.

"So we hid. I hid it from my friends, from everyone. And then after a while ... it just seemed normal to hide, you know?"

"But you continued to see him. Didn't your friends suspect something?"

"Not really, no. I'd become pretty private after the war. Ron, as you probably know, had gone on with his Auror training, but as I said a few weeks ago, my heart just wasn't in it anymore. I was tired of fighting. And after Hermione and Ron split up it was hard for either of them to be in the same room together. They went on with their respective lives and I went on with mine."

"And that life included Mr Malfoy."

"Amazingly enough, yeah, it did. My fascination with dragons had been well known since the war—"

"You mean, since you rode one during your unbelievable escape from Gringotts?"

Harry shrugged. He thought it had started earlier than that even, but there was no logical way to explain that, so he let her believe what she wanted. "Well, something like that. So any long absence could easily be explained."

"Ah, yes. The dragon research you're so famous for." She nodded in understanding.

"Yeah. It became a bit of a running joke between us. I always told Draco that of all the dragons I'd met, he was by far my favourite."

The woman laughed. "I'll never be able to think of all those rumours of you riding dragons without blushing now, Mr Potter."

Harry smiled, remembering all the times Draco had said the exact same thing.

"How often did you see each other after that? Obviously enough to build a rather solid relationship."

"As often as we could. Whenever I would go on a trip for research, Draco would meet me, no matter where I was. He was just as interested in the dragons as I was, just for different reasons. You'd be surprised by how useful dragons are in potion making."

"So it was something you both enjoyed?"

"Yeah, we did. We travelled every country in the world together. We still had to be careful, so we spent a lot of our time in Muggle areas. I was less likely to be recognised outside of Europe, but I didn't want to risk it. Plus we were both experts with Disillusionment Charms. He actually helped me a lot with those, and yeah, they did help with the dragons, but that's obviously not the only reason we became so good at them."

"Mr Malfoy didn't mind all the ... precautions?"

"Not at first, no. I think he enjoyed the thrill of it actually. We both did. And he rather enjoyed having me all to himself without the need to deal with my friends. He never found a way past his dislike of them. It was a topic we usually avoided at all costs. After a while though, he started to tire of it and we argued occasionally."

Looking back, Harry knew the exact moment that Draco had become unhappy with their arrangement. It hadn't seemed like such a big deal at the time, but now ... Harry sighed, wondering how he could have ever disregarded Draco's feelings so callously.

"About two years into our relationship I'd received word that an egg from a rare Chinese white-tipped dragon was about to hatch. They're a very private breed, and no one in known history had ever got close enough to witness a hatching before. I owled Draco immediately so he could meet me there. We had an agreement that I'd never enter a dragon reserve without him. I'd always thought it was just because he didn't want to miss anything, but ... well, I guess it was more than that."

"In what way?"

"He worried about me. Funny, my friends had stopped worrying about me a long time before that."

Harry received a reply immediately but it wasn't one he was happy with. Draco's mother hadn't been well since her husband's death, but apparently, she was having what Draco lovingly referred to as 'an episode'. He needed to arrange for someone to stay with her before he could leave for China. Harry waited as long as he could, but the egg wouldn't wait forever, and he thought Draco would rather at least one of them got to witness it.

He left a note at the hotel counter and made his way to the reserve where the dragon had nested. The mother dragon was on high alert, but with the Disillusionment Charms that camouflaged both his visual presence and his scent, he was able to get close enough to watch as the lonely egg rocked back and forth, almost vibrating with the same excitement Harry felt. When the beautiful animal finally broke free of its confinement, Harry turned to share his amazement with Draco before remembering he wasn't there. That moment of interrupted concentration had been enough to interfere with his disillusionment, and the last thing Harry remembered hearing was the roar of an angry mother.

The woman gasped, her expression full of excitement. "How did you escape?"

Harry sighed, taking the final swig of his warming Firewhisky. The thrill of adventure was always what interested people the most; always Harry Potter and his daring escapes. But this time, as with so many before them, he had not been the real hero.

Harry awoke sluggishly, momentarily disoriented. The room was dark, or maybe it was just that his eyes were having trouble focussing. There was a low murmur coming from somewhere near his left side and he tried to turn toward the noise, but his body didn't seem to be cooperating. He felt a cool hand on his arm and the murmuring paused.

"Don't move. I'm almost done."

He still couldn't see past the colourful bottles that lay tipped over on the floor next to his head, but he didn't need to see to recognise that voice. "Draco?"

"Don't move." The murmuring continued with a litany that Harry finally recognised as Healing Spells. He waited, shuddering slightly from the chill seeping through his clothes. He wasn't sure how long he lay there before his eyes gradually adjusted to what little sunlight managed to filter through the filthy window. The stone floor was dusty, sprinkled with decaying leaves and broken bits of what was likely once furniture. "Draco, what hap—"

"Don't say a word, Potter." When he finally managed to turn his face to look at Draco he was glaring in a way he'd not done since they were sixteen. Harry thought it best to do as he was told.

When his wounds were finally healed to Draco's satisfaction, his words were sharp as razors. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Um ... that the egg wouldn't wait and that you wouldn't want me to miss a once in a lifetime chance to see it."

"Oh, of course. I'd much rather you died, right?"

"I wouldn't have—"

"No?" Draco asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, that's right! I forgot for a moment that you were invincible. I suppose I should have simply waited at the hotel for you to come back and tell me all about it then?"

"Draco—" Harry tried to sit up but a sharp pain shot through his left thigh and Draco snarled, shoving him none too gently back to the floor. He paused just long enough to spit out a few more spells before he continued yelling as if he'd never stopped.

"Because if I had waited, all anyone would have found of their precious saviour would have been the bones that the fucking dragon had spit out!"

Harry managed to prop himself up on one elbow, but when he tried to reach for him, Draco abruptly pulled away. "Fuck, do you realise if you died I couldn't even attend your funeral? All your little Weasley friends would make sure of that. Don't you ever think, Harry? About someone other than yourself?"

Harry didn't think that was very fair, but by then Draco was practically trembling with rage and he didn't think it was the right time to point out he was overreacting. "I'm sorry, but I didn't ... I was just so excited that I didn't—"

"Didn't think! Didn't think about anything but your stupid dragons and your stupid research and your stupid self!"

Draco's robes were covered in mud and his teeth were clenched. The muscles of his jaws were jerking sporadically and something occurred to Harry that was so obvious he couldn't believe he'd missed it. He reached up again and this time Draco didn't pull away. "I love you, too," Harry said as he linked their fingers together. He couldn't believe he'd never said the words. It had never seemed important before, but he knew, at that moment, that it was important. It was important that Draco knew Harry loved him, even if he couldn't tell anyone else. He tugged gently, and Draco dropped to his knees like a fallen tree. His anger seemed to have evaporated, and there was nothing there to take its place. "I'm sorry, Draco. You're right. I didn't think, and it was stupid. I'm sorry."

Draco's eyes hardened, the anger returning full-force. "If you ever, ever, do something so completely, idiotically stupid again, I swear to you I'll personally rip you limb from limb."

Harry recognised the words for what they were. It was probably as close as he would ever get to a declaration of love, but it was enough to make him smile.

"You think I'm joking?" Draco asked, seriously. "I'm not, Harry. I mean every word. If you ever—"

"I know. I won't. I promise."

"Neither of us ever went close to a dragon alone again."

"You're saying he saved your life that day?"

"He would never tell me the whole story, but yeah, I'd say he did."

"Yet you still wouldn't acknowledge your relationship publicly?"

"I tried after that. I tried a few times, actually, but every time I'd open my mouth to say it, I'd get that same bone crushing feeling I used to get when I was locked under the stairs when I was really little. It was irrational, but it was a real fear for me. Draco used to tease me and say I was supposed to be afraid of being locked inside a closet, not afraid of coming out of one." Harry smiled sadly. As much as he missed everything about Draco, he missed the teasing the most.

"Why were you so scared? There were rumours that Dumbledore was gay, you know."

"Yeah, I know, and look what happened. Those who knew and loved him were outraged that anyone would even insinuate such a dreadful thing and those who didn't know him said horrible things about him for it. Off the record, I think he probably was, and if a well-loved, powerful wizard like Albus Dumbledore felt the need to hide it for his entire life, then who was I to think I could do what he couldn't? I know it's accepted in some places in the Muggle world, but here, in our world, we're stuck in the eighteenth century and I don't know that we'll ever get out."

"And Mr Malfoy didn't force the issue after that?"

Harry pulled out another cigarette. This was where the story got difficult and he'd need all the crutches he could get. "Not really, no. He understood. That was the worst part, I think. He knew all about my childhood by then and ... well, you know. He reacted the same way you did a month ago when I was telling you about it. So he empathised. He'd still ask periodically if I was ready, but he never pushed. I always expected him to throw a temper tantrum and demand that I announce it to the world, but he never did. He constantly put my wishes before his. Not in everything, not by a long shot, but in this, he always did, and I loved him for that. I love him for many reasons. That was just one of them."

"If he understood then ... I'm sorry, I don't understand what happened."

"I hadn't understood either, at the time, but it ... it was his mother. We'd just spent two weeks in a remote area of Africa tracking down a wounded Crystal Spined dragon. I hadn't been home for more than half an hour when he showed up on my doorstep. "

"Miss me already?" Harry joked when he opened the door, but his smile faltered the second he saw Draco's face. He didn't make a move to come inside as he normally did. He just stood on the front steps, looking completely lost for words. Harry pulled him inside and led him to the sofa. "Draco, what's happened?"

"Mother. She's—"

Harry knew without Draco having to say it. The helpless expression in his empty, red-rimmed eyes was one that Harry had seen more than enough of in his lifetime.

"I'm so sorry." Harry wrapped Draco in his arms as grief silently took its toll. His body quaked with the effort to retain some semblance of control, but how could he? Not when he'd lost so much. The quiet chokes and gasps of anguish left Harry heartbroken. He would have given anything to be able to make things better, but all he could do was hold on, to lend Draco as much strength as possible. He wasn't sure how long they sat there before Draco spoke again.

"She died in her sleep," he finally whispered, his face still buried in the crook of Harry's neck as his silent tears soaked Harry's collar. "The Healer said her heart had just given up. I think she missed my father so much she just..." He stopped, as if he couldn't say the words. Harry wondered if it was really possible to die of a broken heart.

"Come on. I'm going to get you a sleeping potion and put you to bed." Harry had to practically carry Draco up the stairs to the bedroom. It was as if his body refused to move of its own accord. He didn't protest when Harry placed the cool potion to his lips and tucked him under the covers.

"I need to ... make arrangements for the funeral," he said quietly.

"Tomorrow, yes, but tonight you need to sleep."

"Stay with me?"

Harry swallowed back his own tears. The fire that always burned in Draco's eyes had disappeared so completely that Harry could scarcely believe he was the same man. So this was what it was like to lose a mother when you're old enough to remember. It was almost enough to make Harry glad he'd only been a baby when his mother had died. "Of course," he answered, pulling away only long enough to remove his shoes before climbing into bed behind Draco and cocooning him in as much love as he could possibly give.

"He was fine the next morning. Stoic, but he had his mind set on making arrangements and it was at least a distraction. I wanted to help, but when I asked what I could do, he said it was something he needed to do on his own. Looking back, I can see that he refused my help because he knew it would raise questions I wasn't prepared to answer. Even then, even when he was hurting more than he'd probably ever hurt in his entire life, he thought about me instead of himself."

"I remember reading about her funeral in the Prophet. It was quite an outlandish affair, as far as funerals go."

"Draco said she deserved the best, even if she wasn't alive to appreciate it."

"I don't recall if you attended the funeral."

"I did, but not as myself. Draco insisted it wasn't necessary, but I wanted to be there for him. I used Polyjuice so I could at least sit next to him if he needed someone to lean on. Only he didn't. He barely spoke to me the entire time. I thought it was because he wanted to hide his orientation as much as I did, but looking back, I can see that had nothing to do with it. He wanted me there, not some stranger that he'd never met. I rationalised that it was me on the inside, but that's not how Draco thinks about things. Every time he looked at me in my Polyjuiced form, he saw a stranger. Or worse, he saw someone who professed to love him, but was too afraid to stand up and say it. I didn't realise at the time that being ashamed of who I was meant that I was ashamed of who he was too. But he did. And he loved me in spite of it. It wasn't until later that night that I understood how much hiding our relationship had hurt him."

Draco had been making every effort to act as though he was all right, but Harry knew him well enough not to be fooled, so when he left that evening, Harry followed him. He kept telling himself it was for Draco. That he needed to make sure Draco didn't do anything irrational. When they ended up at Narcissa Malfoy's freshly covered grave, Harry watched as Draco sat at the foot in the damp earth, his face paler than the moonlight that lit up the otherwise black sky. He sat for a long time, his gloveless hands shaking as he caressed the roses he'd gathered on his way. Harry wanted to go to him, to hold him and warm his frozen fingers, but knew this was something Draco needed to do alone.

Harry shivered underneath his Invisibility Cloak. He thought Draco must be freezing, dressed only in his wool cloak with no scarf or hat to protect him, but he didn't seem to notice the harsh wind that howled around him, whipping strands of blond hair into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mother," Draco finally whispered. "I should have told you, but I thought—" His voice trembled and the next words, spoken so softly, sliced Harry's heart in a way he'd never thought possible. "—I always thought there would be time. That Harry would come round eventually, and then I could ask for your blessing. Now I can't help but think ... if I'd told you, if you'd known that I was happy, that I'd found someone who loves me, if maybe you'd have held on. Maybe you wouldn't have given up." Draco's shoulders sagged as he blew out a ragged breath, a visual reminder of the bone-chilling cold. "I should have introduced you properly. We should have dined together. You should have had a chance to get to know him the way I do. You would have loved him, Mother. I know you would have. Forgive me. Please."

"I'm sorry, Mr Potter."

Harry looked away, ashamed of himself. He'd never told Draco he'd been there that night. He'd wanted to, but he'd never ... just like Draco, he'd always thought there'd be time. "Draco was never the same after that. He tried, but I think the guilt ate away at him and bit by bit he slipped away without me even knowing it."

"You broke up?"

"Not exactly, no. Things sort of got back to normal. We stopped travelling so much and spent most of our time at the stone cabin in China where he'd taken me after the incident with the dragon. He'd had two Portkeys made, so it was easy enough to go back and forth. I never understood why he liked it so much there. It was comfortable, but there were no house-elves to cook or clean and the furniture was a mismatched jumble of things that we'd somehow accumulated over the years. I always liked to think it was because that was the first place I'd ever told him I loved him. He was such a bloody romantic that it made perfect sense. Then one week he asked me, quite out of the blue, if I was ready to tell my friends about us. I tried again to tell Ron but it just wouldn't come out. The next week..."

Harry paused to take another sip of Firewhisky. His expression must have been as gloomy as he felt. "If this is too hard we can—"

"No, it's all right. It's just ... it's the last time I saw him."

"So, Mr Dragon Slayer, how was your week?" Draco was lying on the small sofa that he'd brought from the Manor. It was ivory - perhaps crushed velvet, Harry couldn't be sure - but it was soft and plush. It looked completely out of place surrounded by slate grey stone and age-darkened wood. Almost as out of place as Draco did.

"The same as always, Mr Man of Luxury, how was yours?" Harry teased. He lifted Draco's legs so he could sit, and then let the long legs fall back into his lap.

"A little of this, a little of that," Draco answered, bending his knees so he could sit up. "Did you tell anyone?"

"I tried, but I ... I panicked and I –"

"I know," Draco covered his lips with a warm finger. "It doesn't matter. I won't ask again." Then Draco was straddling him, kissing him like there was no tomorrow. They made love all night long, like they hadn't done in years, and just as Harry was close to passing out from exhaustion, Draco leant over him, kissed him softly and whispered, for the first time ever, "I love you."

Harry fell asleep happier than he ever thought possible.

"When I woke up, he was gone. I was worried something bad had happened, so I Apparated to his house in France. His bedroom was empty. I mean, empty – no furniture, no clothes, no paintings – nothing but empty walls and bare floors. His room at Malfoy Manor was the same. The pictures of his parents that usually hung in the hallway were gone, too. Everything - every trace of the man I loved - was gone. I haven't seen or heard from him since."

"How long has it been, Mr Potter?"

"Three hundred sixty two days, ten hours and—" Harry paused to look at his watch, "—thirty-two minutes, but who's counting?" Harry hated the look of sympathy in the woman's eyes, but there was nothing for it. He couldn't hide his pain anymore. It was time everyone knew what Draco meant to him.

"Then why are you doing this now? I mean, this book. Won't it ... do more damage than good?"

"I've never purposefully used my name to influence people. I thought I was being noble, but I realise now I was just being cowardly. If this book will help one person avoid the mistake that I made, then it will be worth it. Besides, after all the time he waited, I owe it to Draco, don’t you think?"

The chair creaked as Harry stood, leaning forward to stub out his last cigarette with a finality that seemed somehow crushing. He'd done what he set out to do, said all that could be said about his life, and now it was time to move on. "That's it. That's where my story ends. There's only one person I want to see and he should know where to find me."

"Mr Potter," the woman said quietly as she, too, stood. "There are worse things than being gay."

Harry smiled sadly. "Yes, there are, but can you honestly say you didn't recoil when I told you?"

"No, I'm afraid I can't. What I can say, though, is that now, after talking to you for almost a month and listening to your story, after seeing how much he has meant to you, watching your eyes light up at only the mention of his name, and seeing how memories of him make you smile, I can honestly say that I'm ashamed of my reaction."

"Well. I suppose that's a start then, isn't it?"

The woman smiled and held out her hand. "What's the old saying, Mr Potter? All it takes is an ember to start a wildfire. Perhaps this is just the ember our world needs."

Harry shook her hand before picking up his empty cigarette box and chucking it into the nearest bin.

"That's it, then. You're really not coming back?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "That's entirely up to Draco."

And with those words, Harry pictured in his mind a little stone cabin in the middle of a forgotten wood where he hoped he wouldn't have to spend the rest of his life waiting.

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

Harry was sitting by his favourite brook when he heard the words, and he'd never been so happy to be called an idiot in his entire life. He twisted from his position on the damp grass to look up. The bright light of the midday summer sun reflected off Draco's hair like a beacon. His hands were shoved deep in his robe pockets and his skin had a light brown sheen as if he'd been in the sun for weeks. He was scowling, his usually soft pink lips chapped and dry. He was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen.

"Yes. So I've been told," Harry answered calmly.

"Did you honestly think you could just disappear without telling anyone?"

"I did tell someone."

"In a book, Harry?" One foot lifted, ever so slightly, as though Draco wanted to move forward, but then stopped and rested once again in the plush grass. "It's been six months. Do you know how many people have been looking for you? How many people are worried sick about you?"

Harry bent his knee up so he could rest his chin on it, shading his eyes from the sun's glare. "I don't care how many people are worried. I only care about one person and I'm sorry if I upset you. I was sure you'd know where to find me if you wanted to."

Draco's mouth opened then closed again. "I didn't know you were gone until today. I haven't exactly been following the news. I assumed you'd moved on with your life and I—"

"I didn't want to move on. I've never wanted that."

"So you decided to stop hiding and start running instead?" Harry couldn't tell what Draco was thinking. He looked resigned, but to what, Harry didn't know.

"I wasn't running. I just ... couldn't stay any longer. Not without you." Harry wanted to reach up and drag Draco to the ground, but he wasn't sure what reaction he would get from that. He'd said a lot in that book. Things that perhaps Draco wouldn't have wanted anyone else to know. Harry would understand if he was angry, but at least he was here and that had to mean something.

Draco must have seen the desperate need in Harry's eyes because he finally moved forward and sat down next to him, tugging a patch of grass up with his long fingers. He stared out across the rippling water as he let the small blades slip from his hands and fall to the ground. "You went off without thinking again, didn't you?" The words were softly spoken this time, hesitant and unsure.

"I was thinking this time, Draco. Maybe more clearly than I ever have." Draco turned, his grey eyes staring into Harry's – confused, hesitant, hopeful. Harry brushed the strands of Draco's too-long fringe from his eyes and cupped his face with one hand. "I was thinking that nothing matters if I don't have you to share it with."

"You didn't have to do it, you know," Draco said, seriously. "I didn't leave to manipulate you into ... you didn't have to go and tell the whole world."

"I know. I ... I tried to find you but ... it was the only way I could think of to maybe reach you. Of doing what I should have done a long time ago. I was hoping that after you saw the book, you'd know ... that you'd want to find me. That maybe we could try again, or start over, or ... I don't know. I just missed you and—"

"Harry—" Draco lifted his hand to Harry's lips, running the back of his knuckles along Harry's sunburned cheek. His eyes softened and the corners of his lips tipped up with a hint of amusement. "—will you just shut up and kiss me?"

The muscles on Harry's face suddenly seemed strained and he realised only then, how long it had been since he'd smiled. "Missed me too, did you?"

"Yes, you idiot, I missed you." Draco's lips completed their journey and formed the beautiful smile Harry had missed so much. "Now kiss me before I decide to leave again."

The kiss was more needy and desperate than any they'd ever shared, but it was still just as perfect. Harry had worried that he'd never get a chance to do this again, and now, with Draco's body pressing against his, pushing him down into the blanket of soft grass, and Draco's legs straddling him possessively, he knew he would have never been able to live without it.

"Merlin, how I've missed you," Draco mumbled, his lips trailing the length of Harry's neck. He paused only long enough to tug Harry's shirt over his head before his palms spread against Harry's chest, holding Harry down as he pulled away. The need and desire in those bright grey eyes was almost enough to make Harry come undone, and when Draco began to rock gently on top of him, the friction of their cocks, even with the layers of fabric between them, was enough to tip him over the edge. He came with an undignified grunt, thinking only of how good it felt to have Draco back. He was sure Draco would have teased him about his lack of control had he not collapsed moments later, trembling as his own orgasm racked his body.

"Draco?" Harry asked later as they lay, naked and exhausted from trying to make up for the time they'd missed over the last year and a half.

"Hmm," Draco answered lazily, draped over Harry like a child's favourite ragdoll.

"What did you think of the book?"

Draco lifted his head from Harry's chest, his eyes still a bit glassy. "I've no idea. I didn't get farther than the dedication."

"Oh." Harry wondered, once again, what Draco would think of all the things he'd said. "Then you haven't read ... any of it?"

"I believe that's what I just said." Draco's brows shot up curiously. "Should I be worried? You didn't talk about that time with the feathers did you?"

"Draco! No, I ... it's not that kind of book." Harry took one look at Draco's amused smile and started laughing. "God, I really have missed you."

"Apparently." Draco's smile widened as he glanced around at the clothes that had been discarded so haphazardly. Harry returned the smile easily and knew he really could be happy if they stayed here forever. It faded slightly when he remembered he might not have a choice.

"It's all there, you know," Harry said more seriously. "Everything, Draco. My childhood, Hogwarts, Voldemort, the war, us ... it's all there for the world to scrutinize and balk at and gossip about. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to go back."

Draco propped himself up on one elbow and studied Harry's expression. "What would you do if you couldn't?"

Harry had had plenty of time to think about that possibility and he'd concluded that he would be able to deal with it. He turned to his side, trailing his hand up Draco's smooth skin from thigh to waist. "We could stay here or ... wherever you've been. We could travel. Go back to Africa or Malaysia. We could—"

"If you could, would you rather go back?"

Harry leant his forehead against Draco's chest and shrugged. "I don't know. They probably all hate me now."

Draco's fingers trailed through his messy hair for a moment before they tightened, tugging Harry's head back so Draco could see his face. "I've been on the island with no company but house-elves for over a year. I forbade them to bring any newspapers from London – I didn't want to read about you. I was afraid ... if I'd read that you'd moved on, married some little witch and ... well, I thought it'd be easier if I didn't know. This morning Jansen – remember him, the elf who practically tripped over himself every time he got to serve you tea? – he delivered a package at breakfast this morning and then promptly began banging his head on the breakfast table."

Harry cocked his head, confused as to where this was all going and what it had to do with whether or not they would ever go back.

"Harry, Granger sent me the book. I suspect she bribed the house-elves at the Manor. Or possibly threatened them, judging by how terrified Jansen was."

Harry lay perfectly still. The old familiar panic began to bubble up in the pit of his stomach. With great effort, he managed to ignore it. There were too many other thoughts careening through his mind. "I looked everywhere for you. I never thought about asking the house-elves for help."

"You always said she was the cleverest witch you'd ever met." Draco sat up, shuffling through the pile of clothes next to him until he found the pocket he was looking for. He pulled out a heavy book and handed it to Harry without a word.

When Harry saw the cover, he couldn't help but smile. He'd expected to see a huge photo of himself - his lightning bolt scar prominently displayed, but instead, the cover was solid black with blazing red letters that spelled out the word Ember. He opened it to the first page, which read, "To Draco, with all my love, Harry."

Underneath were Hermione's neatly written words:

"Then she doesn't hate me," Harry said softly, almost to himself.

"No, Harry, she doesn't, but there are those who will. If we go back, it won't be easy. Will you have a panic attack every time someone stares at you? Because they will. They'll scowl and say crude, hateful things and try to convince you that what we share is wrong or unhealthy or ... worse. Can you deal with that?"

The fear Harry felt every time he thought about going back twisted around him like Devil's Snare, squeezing his chest until he could hardly breathe. He knew Draco was right. It wouldn't be easy. Then again, it hadn't been easy to stand up to Voldemort for seven years of his life, but it had been the right thing to do. It hadn't been easy to find the Philosopher's Stone when he was eleven, or kill a Basilisk when he was twelve, or walk to his death when he was seventeen. But he'd had help with all those things.

He felt Draco's hand come up to rest on his chest, warming him from the inside, and he finally realised he'd have help with this too. When he leant forward to brush his lips against Draco's, the band around his chest loosened ever so slightly and the churning in his stomach seemed to pause for a moment.

"Yeah," he answered. "I think I finally can."