1

Draco's head jolted up and he stared out the window, certain he had not just seen what his mind tried to convince him he had seen. A man had crossed the street, caught at the edge of Draco's vision, and something about his gait had been familiar. Draco frowned, searching beyond the glass. There had been something… It felt like a memory, long buried. He scanned the street, but no one recognizable came into view.

The door opened with a jangle of bells. The coffee shop was large with a high ceiling and several windows. Draco liked it because it reminded him of the shops back in England—all dark, polished wood and glass and worn surfaces. It felt like home.

A large man dressed in a bulky brown coat entered the shop. Draco stared at him for a moment. The man looked vaguely like Rubeus Hagrid, tall and bulky with a bushy black beard. His hair was short or nonexistent, however, completely invisible beneath a lumberjack style hat whose primary colour Draco would describe as 'bile' or something similarly unflattering.

Draco sniffed and dismissed the man, turning his attention back to the documents on the table before him. The berries were too obvious, so perhaps it was the leaves…

"Earl Grey, please, and can you make the water extra hot?"

Draco's head snapped up again, shocked completely out of his research by the voice. That wasfamiliar, and not just the tones of his British accent, but something more tightly woven with Draco's memories of home.

The large man ordered a black coffee. His bulk almost completely concealed the man who stood beyond him; only a bit of olive-coloured coat was visible. Even as Draco debated rising to retrieve a napkin or straw or something that would give him an excuse to walk past the pair, the large man moved aside.

The smaller man reached for his steaming paper cup and then turned. He froze completely when he spotted Draco and their gazes locked. Draco stared. He couldn't help it. It had to be Harry Potter, but Potter as Draco had never seen him. His dark hair was mostly covered in a knitted trapper hat and a large olive coat concealed most of his form.

The glasses were nearly the same, thick dark frames that only seemed to enhance the brilliance of Potter's eyes, but the five o'clock shadow covering his jaw was different. It made Potter look rugged and almost dangerous.

Draco opened his mouth to make a scathing greeting, but Potter's eyes widened and he gave a quick shake of his head before snapping his gaze to the other man, who turned around to catch Potter's wide-eyed stare.

The man looked at Draco curiously and then asked Potter, "You know him?"

Potter grinned. "No, but I'd like to," he said suggestively and then winked at Draco.

If Draco hadn't been seated he might have toppled over from the shock of it. The large man boomed a laugh and clapped Potter on the shoulder with a force that nearly sent him into a display of bagged coffee beans.

"Didn't know you were that type, Harold, my boy, but whatever floats your boat. Grab your sugars and let's go. The ferry won't wait for us."

Draco's brain restarted at the name. Harold. The last Draco had heard, Potter was still the quintessential Auror, so he was most likely here on Ministry business, and undercover. The latter assumption gave Draco a boost; he liked knowing things other people did not know, particularly in regards to Harry Potter.

Potter made a show of adding sugar to his tea while shooting glances at Draco, but he finally popped on the plastic lid and made his way to the door where the other man waited. Draco frowned. Was Potter leaving?

"Hold on, Carl," Potter said when the door opened. "I'll be right back."

Potter walked briskly back across the wooden floor and stopped before Draco's table to lean down. He looked even more interesting up close and his scent wafted over Draco, a curious mixture of wood smoke and heady cologne.

"Malfoy," Potter said in a low tone that was thick with intensity, "Pretend I'm asking for your number. I'll send you an owl later if you're in a place that's protected."

"They use crows here, Potter," Draco said mildly and pushed some of his papers aside to locate his planner.

Potter's lips thinned. "Crows. Yes, I'll send you a crow. Are you staying in a wizarding location?"

"No, Potter," Draco said and reached into the front cover of his planner to locate a business card. He handed it to Potter and gifted him with a flirtatious grin. Let the prat make of that what he would. "But you may send your crow."

Potter took the card and his fingertips barely brushed against Draco's. He looked thoughtful.

"I'm staying at the Hotel 1000," Draco said. "It's on—"

"I know where it is. You'll hear from me by tonight. Can you um… smile?"

Annoyed at being interrupted, Draco thought his smile probably resembled a grimace more than anything, but Potter didn't seem to mind judging by the grin he sent back to him. His murmured words were barely audible.

"Thanks, Malfoy. I owe you one."

"See you later, Harold," Draco said.

Potter turned and went out without another word.

oOOoOOo

Harry sipped his tea even though it had gone cold during the walk to the ferry. He watched as the waves churned behind the boat, leaving the dock behind. The cityscape looked beautiful in the cold, clear morning light. So far Seattle had not lived up to its reputation of being a rainy city. In the two weeks Harry had been in residence it had only rained once, and snow was predicted for coming days.

His thoughts returned to Draco Malfoy. Of all the people Harry might expect to encounter two thousand miles from home, Malfoy would not have been on the list. Harry's suspicious nature reared its head. What was Malfoy doing here when, coincidentally, Harry was looking for the British connection to a smuggling ring? It almost seemed too easy, but Malfoy hadn't seemed nervous, only surprised.

Carl stood silently beside him, watching the city recede. He reminded Harry of Hagrid, which made him feel slightly guilty to be deceiving him. Still, Carl was a link to the case, since the last shipment to the UK had been tracked to the bed-and-breakfast Carl ran from his property on Bainbridge Island.

Harry had rented a room from Carl and then accompanied him to town on the pretence of finding his way around like the tourist he professed to be. In actuality, he nearly lost sight of his mission a couple of times due to sheer fascination with the city. Seattle was so different from London with its even streets and pavement, fascinating modern architecture, and works of art on nearly every corner.

"So," Carl said, "You're gay?"

Harry glanced at him and shrugged. "Sometimes," he admitted and grinned.

"This is a tolerant place, for the most part. Not as progressive as London, but we do all right. Just… be careful."

"I always am. I might go back to the city tonight for some night life."

Carl snorted a laugh. "And some pretty blond man?"

"Hopefully. When is the last ferry back?"

"Late. Like 2am. Grab a schedule from the rack to be sure. I'm going to sit down. It's damn cold."

Harry nodded and watched as Carl made his way to one of the bolted-down chairs and sat down. It was looking more and more like Carl was a regular Muggle with no involvement in the case, which was jointly a relief and a frustration; Harry had no real leads. The recent guest roster at the bed-and-breakfast had told him nothing.

Harry reached into his coat and pulled out Malfoy's business card. The prat was also here under false pretences and a false name. The card read Brutus Black, Herbalist. Surprisingly, there was a telephone number and an email address. The thought of Malfoy using common Muggle tools made Harry shake his head in disbelief.

He returned the card to his pocket. Herbalist, honestly. Harry wondered what he was really doing here. He was torn between hoping Malfoy was involved in his case and hoping he wasn't. On the one hand, it would make solving the case easier and Harry could go home; but on the other, it would mean that Draco Malfoy was still a horrible wanker and not someone Harry would like to get to know better.

Harry reflected that time away from England had apparently done Malfoy some good. Very good. The bastard was gorgeous. The last few times Harry had seen him, Malfoy had seemed pale, stressed, thin, and petulant-looking. All of that, except the pale, was now gone. Malfoy looked healthy, peaceful, and ethereally desirable.

Harry shivered at a gust of wind and pulled his cap more tightly over his head. Bloody hell, Seattle was as cold as Scotland. And Harry was lusting after Draco Malfoy. Clearly he had entered an alternate dimension.

oOOoOOo

Carl owned the bed-and-breakfast inn on Bainbridge Island that had once been a decent-sized manor house. It was white with navy-blue trim and a wrap-around porch that looked out over the water. Harry had paid for the best room in the house, so he had an amazing view from a small private balcony.

As far as Harry could tell, Carl and all of his guests were Muggles. Harry had suspected Carl at first, but now it seemed likely he was just a scapegoat for the real criminal.

Harry cast a quick spell to call a crow to the balcony railing. The black birds were everywhere and seemed devilishly intelligent. Harry showed the message to the crow and it cocked its head at him and then stuck out a leg. Harry fastened on the message.

"Draco Malfoy, Hotel 1000," he said.

The bird didn't move and Harry frowned at it. "Caw," it said reproachfully.

"Oh yes. Treats before. Sorry." Harry went inside and spotted a bit of blueberry muffin on his plate, left over from breakfast. He carried it to the crow, who snatched it and flew off. Strange birds; Harry much preferred owls.

He went back inside and spread his files out on the desk, trying to concentrate on work instead of wondering if Malfoy would reply.

oOOoOOo

Despite Potter's surprising appearance, Draco managed to put the man out of his mind and focus on his job. He needed to take a trip to the local botanical garden, but it was too risky to Apparate in the daytime. Even in such cold weather, Muggles seemed to love walking, running, or cycling through the park-like area. Draco supposed he could take a Muggle cab, but he hated the horrible metal boxes Muggles rode around in. Also, he wanted to wait and see if Potter would owl… or crow, as they said here.

In the end, Draco dropped off his planner at the hotel and then walked to Pike Place Market to peruse the Muggle artistry and fresh fruit. There he succumbed to the temptation of yet another leather-bound journal (curse the Muggles, how did they sense his weakness?) and a silver pendant for his mother. He liked to send small gifts home with his letters.

He purchased a bundle of fresh flowers and returned to the hotel where he arranged them in the crystal vase he had bought on his first day in the city. The flowers reminded him of home and he replenished them whenever they started to droop.

He had just seated himself and opened his planner when a crow lit on one windowsill and tapped the glass. Draco's pulse leaped, but he scowled at himself and pushed out of his chair to approach the window. The message was not necessarily from Potter and why should he be excited to hear from Potter, anyway?

I am merely homesick, Draco rationalized. It had been good to hear a British voice and see a familiar face, even if it was Potter. Draco turned one corner of the glass to sand to admit the bird. Muggle-built high-rise buildings did not have windows that opened. Too much chance of Muggles leaping to their deaths, Draco supposed, which he understood. If Draco didn't have magic, he might be tempted to hurl himself, also.

The bird hopped inside and then flew around the room, refusing to give up the message until Draco located a treat. Luckily, he had bought a bag of Satsuma's, so he quickly peeled one and held it out for the crow. The bird snatched the fruit and lit upon the table, finally allowing Draco to remove the message.

Will you be available this evening at 7:00? If yes, shall I meet you at your hotel or elsewhere? ~H

Draco rolled the message and tapped it against his lip. He debated the wisdom of inviting the pretending-to-be-gay Auror to his room, but he supposed there was no harm in it. Draco was in the Penthouse Suite, after all, and the place had a small living space separate from the bedroom. He took up parchment and a quill.

At my hotel is fine. I am in the Penthouse Suite. I will tell the staff to admit you.

Draco did approve of the hotel staff. For Muggles, they were very attentive to his every need, and almost as efficient as house-elves.

The crow was still on the table, ripping at the orange fruit, so Draco attached the note and said, "Harry Potter, wherever he is."

oOOoOOo

Harry stood in front of the metal door and gave his appearance a once-over before yanking off the woollen cap and running his hands though his hair in an attempt to straighten it. When he realized he was primping for Draco Malfoy, he scowled and shoved the hat into a pocket of his coat before lifting a hand to rap sharply on the door.

The door opened just when Harry was about to knock again. Malfoy looked immaculate, as expected, but very casual, which was not expected. He wore a white button-down with a few buttons open at the collar, and dark olive-coloured trousers with a neat cuffed hem. His feet were encased in white socks, which made him seem oddly vulnerable, somehow.

Harry cleared his throat and dragged his eyes up to meet Malfoy's.

"Come in to my humble abode, Potter," Malfoy said with a smirk and gestured at the room with a flourish.

Harry entered and could not help but be impressed. The room was gigantic for a hotel suite, and contained two full sofas, a gas fireplace, and a dining table with six chairs. Everything was covered in cream-coloured leather or gleaming dark wood that practically screamed "expensive". It was a distinct change from Harry's single, small room at the bed-and-breakfast.

Two large windows looked out over Puget Sound and Harry admired the lights of commercial ships dotting the bay for a moment. It was pitch dark already and bitterly cold outside. "Nice view."

"Thank you. Would you like some tea? Coffee? I haven't figured out how to work the contraption," Malfoy waved towards the Muggle coffee maker in the kitchenette, "but room service is very quick at bringing me whatever I require. You can toss your coat on a chair, there."

Harry turned away from the windows to raise a brow at Malfoy. His tone had been polite, but not quite friendly. "I'm surprised to find you in a Muggle establishment. There are wizarding hotels here, you know?"

"Diving right into the interrogation, I see. No beverage, then? I have a fine Cabernet, or are Aurors forbidden from drinking on duty even when thousands of miles from home?"

"I'm not on duty," Harry said awkwardly, even though it was not quite true. Harry slung off the satchel that contained his invisibility cloak, a map of Seattle, and the ferry schedule, unbuttoned his coat and shrugged out of it, tossing them and his accompanying scarf onto an uncomfortable-looking chair.

Malfoy snorted. "I cannot imagine you ever really being off duty, Potter. Wine?" The last word was a taunt as Malfoy lifted a bottle.

"Yes, please," Harry said and then frowned when Malfoy's lips twitched. Damn it, he had been in Malfoy's presence for less than five minutes and already he was becoming irritated and falling for manipulative Slytherin techniques.

Malfoy turned away to remove two glasses from a dark cabinet. "Have you eaten?" Malfoy asked casually as he spelled the cork free and then poured two glasses.

"Yes," Harry replied, although that wasn't completely true, either. He had eaten a late lunch and wasn't particularly hungry, but he probably shouldn't sit around drinking alcohol with Draco Malfoy without eating a more substantial meal. Not that he planned to "sit around", either. He intended to ask Malfoy some questions and then catch the ferry back to Bainbridge Island.

"Have a seat, Potter. We might as well be comfortable while we stare at each other suspiciously, yes?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but walked into the soft glow from a tableside lamp and sat down on a cream coloured leather sofa. It was cold to the touch, but warmed quickly. Harry wondered if Malfoy was the same way, and snatched up a magazine from the table to cover the path of his thoughts.

The Herb Companionread the title, just above a photo of a savoury-looking soup that had Harry suddenly feeling hungrier.

"Are you serious about this 'herbalist' thing?" Harry asked.

Malfoy glared as he handed Harry a goblet half-filled with red wine. Before he could reply, a ringtone sounded from across the room. Harry blinked in surprise. Even though Malfoy's business card had listed a telephone number, he had not actually expected him to possess a phone.

"Pardon me," Malfoy said politely and set his glass on the coffee table. He made his way across the room and picked up the black rectangular phone. "Brutus Black," he said. Harry snickered and Malfoy threw him a quelling look over his shoulder. "No, Sylvia, it's no bother. Tomorrow? What time?"

Harry watched as Malfoy walked across the room to the desk and flipped opened the planner Harry had seen him using at the coffee shop. Malfoy turned a few pages. His arse looked exceedingly fine encased in his trousers, and his legs were longer and fitter than Harry remembered. Harry took a gulp of his wine and focussed on the magazine, opening it to a random page.

"Yes, I am available. Of course, it is no problem at all. I look forward to it. You have a pleasant evening, as well, Sylvia. Goodnight." Malfoy's tones were borderline sycophantic until he pressed the button to end the call. "Tomorrow. Damn her, she loves to do this to me. What I wouldn't give to tell her to bugger off." He sighed and scribbled something into the planner with a Muggle ink pen.

"Problem?" Harry asked mildly and took a sip of his wine. His curiosity was near to bursting and for just a moment he wondered if Malfoy had turned into some high-class rentboy and the whole "herbalist" thing was just a façade. Harry took a larger drink of his wine when the thought of paying for a night of sex with Draco Malfoy caused his heart to race and a part of his anatomy stir with interest. Down, boy, Harry thought.

"No," Malfoy replied and turned around. "Yes. Care for a walk, Potter? I have to meet the wretched cow tomorrow morning, at ten bloody a.m., no less, which means I have to go and fetch her favourite treat right now, while the shop is still open. Showing up tomorrow without them will cause my immediate fall from favour and I cannot allow that, not after all the work I've done to get there."

Harry blinked in surprise, realizing it was possibly the most Malfoy had ever said to him in one go. It was a pity that none of it made sense. "A walk? Where to?"

"Not far. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes if we dawdle. I'll buy you a coffee. It's right next to a Muggle coffee shop."

"Isn't everything next to a Muggle coffee shop here?"

Malfoy smiled, which was a very nice look on him, indeed. "You noticed that, did you?"

Harry snorted. It was hard not to when there were at least two coffee shops on every stretch of pavement between streets. "Trained Auror," Harry said in a confidential tone. "I notice things."

Malfoy's smile widened, but he shook his head and turned away to walk towards another door. "Let me fetch my gloves. Be right back."

Harry downed the rest of his wine, coughed at the burn as it went down, and then got up to put his coat back on. Malfoy returned, dressed smartly in a black wool coat with a double row of flat black buttons. A green scarf was draped over his shoulders, missing only a hint of silver to declare his everlasting allegiance to Slytherin house. Malfoy tugged on black leather gloves and gave Harry an unreadable once-over as Harry fastened the buttons on his own coat and slung his satchel over his shoulder.

Malfoy said nothing, however, and merely walked to the door and held it open for Harry. As an apparent afterthought, he let the door swing shut, leaving Harry in the hallway alone. He returned a moment later with the phone in his grasp.

"I wouldn't put it past her to call and cancel," he muttered as he slipped the phone into a pocket of his coat and pulled the door fully shut.

They walked down the hall towards the lift and Harry glanced at him askance. "Doesn't magic interfere with that thing?"

"Dreadfully. I've gone through three of them so far, and that's with taking care not to cast any spells near them. Sometimes I forget and do something wandlessly." Malfoy grimaced. "Muggles can't function without them and I have to admit, I've grown fond of the instant communication. If I need to reach a Muggle, I just push the buttons for their identifying number and speak directly to them. Waiting for owls—or crows—is becoming a bit of a bother."

Harry shook his head in amazement as the doors opened and they stepped into the wood-panelled box. "Using Muggle devices and appreciating them. Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?"

Malfoy snorted. "I am Brutus Black and Draco Malfoy remains back in England where he belongs."

"Why Brutus?"

"Ancestor."

Harry nodded. "The name doesn't suit you. But the clothes certainly do."

"Why, Potter, if I didn't know better I would swear you are flirting with me."

Harry blushed and fixed his gaze on the rows of numbered buttons. Malfoy pressed L, which Harry tried to recall the meaning for. Lowest level? Lounge?

"What do you mean 'if you didn't know better'?"

"I still receive the Daily Prophet, Potter. I might not be in England, but I keep abreast of the news. I have not seen any recent headlines announcing your breakup with the She-Weasel, nor a single scandalous hint that you might be less than Golden-Boy Straight."

Harry threw him a lingering glance and then said, "It's nice to know the Daily Prophetdoesn't know half as much about me as they think they do." Harry enjoyed Malfoy's off-balance look until the doors opened. He suppressed a chuckle and exited the lift.

Out on the sidewalk, the cold hit Harry like a Bludger; the wind had picked up and made the icy day seem pleasant. The bellman was warmly dressed, but looked fairly miserable. "Good evening, sir," the man said in a friendly manner.

"Isn't it supposed to rain in Seattle?" Harry complained.

"Yes, sir, this is very unusual. We're hoping it will break soon and get back to normal. Enjoy your evening, sir."

"Complaining about a little cold, Potter?" Malfoy asked and wrapped his green scarf twice around his face.

"This is not a little cold," Harry replied. "This is bloody frigid." He yanked his hat from his pocket and pulled it over his head, nearly sighing with relief as the wool covered the vulnerable tips of his ears. "Where are we going?"

"This way. Don't worry, I promise not to let you freeze." Malfoy turned and headed south, crossing the first street and continuing past a large yellowish skyscraper. Many of the buildings in Seattle were architectural marvels. Others, not so much.

The walk warmed him and by the time they reached a small park-like area with a scattering of huge trees wrapped in white lights, Harry was feeling less chilled, except for his face. Every gust of wind felt like it took another layer of skin from his cheeks.

He wanted to ask how much farther, but did not want to seem like a petulant child.

"Nearly there, Potter."

Homeless people huddled on benches at the small park and several people in various types of clothing waited near a sign that announced a bus stop. Malfoy led him past them all to the corner and then said, "Come this way. I want to check on something."

They crossed First Avenue and then crossed another street—James, Harry noted with a pang. A chocolate store on the corner caught his eye and he thought it was Malfoy's destination, but Malfoy veered and headed towards the waterfront. The street here was dark and the area seemed more menacing than the brightly lit region they had just left.

"Where—?" Harry began, but Malfoy suddenly grabbed his lapels and pushed him, not overly harshly, into the stone wall of the nearest building. Due to the lack of aggression in the motion, Harry did not fight back, but only waited to see what Malfoy was up to.

Malfoy leaned close, until his breath mingled with Harry's. For the first time since they left the hotel, Harry felt excessively warm. It seemed astonishing that Malfoy meant to kiss him, unprovoked, and in such a strange locale, but there seemed little other reason for Malfoy's odd behaviour.

"Don't look now," Malfoy said quietly, "but we're being followed. Back on the corner, the bloke in the black trench-coat. He picked us up just after the hotel and now he is lurking over there. The light has changed once already and he's been examining the flyer on that light post long enough to have it memorized twice over."

Harry glanced past Malfoy's shoulder with his peripheral vision and caught sight of a black shape. It was too dark and the man too far away to make out any details, other than the fact that he had long, dark hair, or possibly a scarf draped over his head. Or a hoodie, dammit. How had Harry not noticed him?

Because he had been too focussed on Malfoy's attractive presence, obviously. The moment that idea registered, Malfoy's lips pressed against his. Harry's sharp intake of breath was muted by Malfoy's mouth. Harry's heart was thudding so loudly he would not have been able to hear it, anyway. He wanted to push Malfoy away and demand to know what he was doing; he wanted to pull Malfoy closer and sate the insane need that suddenly seemed to be the most important thing in the world.

"Make it look good," Malfoy murmured against his lips and then pulled Harry roughly around the corner by a firm grip on his coat. Harry stumbled after him, willing his brain to catch up to his libido. An alley opened up before them and Malfoy released his coat and grinned at him.

Harry's intelligence finally kicked in. To onlookers, it would have appeared that he and Malfoy had been overcome with passion and ducked into the alley for some private time. "Thanks," Harry said, more breathlessly than he'd intended. He reached into the satchel and tugged out his invisibility cloak, thanking his stars that he carried it with him at all times.

Harry slung it on, fighting a blush, ready to conceal himself from Malfoy's curious stare. Harry grinned at him. "Be right back," he said and then paused. He leaned forwards and pressed a quick kiss to Malfoy's lips before stepping away and letting the hood drop. Let Malfoy make of that what he would.

Invisible, Harry jogged into the street, eyes searching for the man in the trench coat.

2

Draco sagged against the wall as Potter's footsteps faded. The Auror might be invisible, but he certainly wasn't quiet.

Draco lifted a gloved hand and touched his lips. Potter had kissed him. Draco had expected a hex after he had placed a mischievous kiss under the guise of giving Potter's tail something to see. He had not expected Potter to reciprocate.

He flicked out his tongue and tasted a hint of Potter's flavour. The kisses had been borderline chaste, a brief press of lips to lips, but Draco still felt shaken. This morning he had awakened, eaten breakfast, and gone for coffee with a mundane, borderline existence stretching out before him. Now, less than twelve hours later, Draco's entire world felt tipped on its edge. Possibilities stretched out before him and each one seemed more terrifying than the last.

Draco sighed, creating a silvery cloud of his own breath. Potter was synonymous with discord. Draco would do well not to involve himself in Potter's life in any way. The sooner Potter did what he'd come to Seattle to do and went on his merry way, the better.

So deciding, Draco peered cautiously around the edge of the wall. Not a soul was in sight. Draco shook his head, left the alley, and headed for the sweet shop before it closed. Potter could find him at the hotel when he finished chasing down dark wizards or whatever he was up to.

Draco was just leaving the shop when he nearly tripped over Potter, who leaned against the wall next to the door, smirking at him. He wondered when Potter had learned to smirk. It should not have looked adorable on him.

"Catch your man?" Draco asked.

"Bastard jumped a bus," Potter said. "Doors shut just as I reached it."

"Bad luck."

Potter shrugged. "If he was tailing me, he'll be back. Although I suppose he could have been tailing you…"

Draco cocked a brow. If that was Potter's idea of subtlety, then his stint with the Aurors hadn't taught him very much.

"Highly unlikely," Draco said.

Potter made a noncommittal sound. "I think I'm ready for that coffee now. My face is half frozen."

The coffee shop whose green-logoed presence blared from nearly every Seattle corner was only a few steps away, so they pushed inside and joined the queue. The place was busy, likely due to the frigid temperature.

"What'll you have, Potter?" Draco asked.

"Surprise me."

"Try to snare us a table, then. I'm not quite ready to go back out into the cold."

Potter nodded and moved away. Most of the tiny tables were taken, but one couple looked to be putting their things away, so Potter walked over and treated them to a disarming smile and a few words Draco could not hear. Of course they were instantly smitten—Draco knew well how a British accent turned Americans into willing slaves, and Potter had an excess of charm that the idiot did not even know how to wield properly. Even so, it did the trick.

A peppy barista asked for Draco's order, so he rattled off his usual complicated coffee request and added a Chai tea latte for Potter, extra hot.

The table was in the farthest corner near the window, so their conversation would be relatively private. The person closest them was engrossed in a tattered looking book, so it was likely she would pay them little mind, anyway, not that Draco planned to divulge any secrets to Harry Potter.

Drinks in hand, Draco approached the table and handed one over. Potter wrapped his hands around the cup, took a cautious drink, and nodded his approval. "It's good." He pointed at the logo blazoned on the bag. "What's a cow chip cookie?"

Draco reached into the bag and pulled out the single cookie he had purchased for Potter on a whim. "Sylvia's weakness. The bint must subsist on them and little else because she's thin as a reed. They are fairly decadent."

Potter broke off a piece of the chocolate-laden cookie and closed his eyes with an expression akin to bliss. "Oh god," he mumbled. He stopped chewing and kept his eyes shut. Draco stared at him, his mind going to dark and forbidden places at the look on Potter's face. The green eyes snapped open and fixed on him, and then the chewing resumed, slowly, as if Draco had brought him a treat from Mount Olympus.

Draco smiled, willing himself not to think about seeing that same expression in a more intimate setting. "It's good, then?" Draco asked.

"This is fucking ambrosia. What is it called and do we have time to go back and get more?"

"I think that one is the Double-Chocolate Amaretto. I prefer white chocolate and macadamia nut myself, although with the number of chocolatiers not far from here, I normally indulge in truffles, fudge, or chocolate dipped huckleberries."

Potter finished chewing and swallowed. "You still have your love for sweets, then?"

Draco took a drink of his coffee and glanced away. He did not want to remember their school days. "You too, I see."

Potter nodded and took another bite of cookie, then chewed and swallowed before replying. "Yeah, I could never get enough sweets as a child. I guess I'm still trying to make up for feeling deprived. These are really good, though."

Draco chuckled. "I suppose we should go back and get you a box, lest you attempt to wrest Sylvia's from my grasp."

"Who is Sylvia?" Potter asked.

Draco frowned at having provided Potter with an opening for his questions. "Who was following us?" Draco countered.

"I don't know," Potter replied.

"But you know why."

"Maybe." Potter shrugged. "Sylvia?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Sylvia Spagnola is the Chairwoman of the Pacific Northwest Orchid Growers Society."

Potter's brow wrinkled, marring the edge of his scar, just visible beneath his messy black fringe. He had thankfully yanked off the woollen cap. "Herbalist?"

"Yes, Potter. Herbalist. Do I need to find you a dictionary?"

"No. I just don't understand. Why? And why here?"

Draco glanced out the window. "As much as I would love to regale you with the story of my life, or the last ten years thereof, I have a very early meeting tomorrow and should probably retire early."

Potter got to his feet. "I'll see you back to your hotel."

"I'm not a damsel in distress."

Potter grinned. "I'm going that direction, anyway. We might as well walk together."

"As you will." Draco picked up Sylvia's cookies and tossed his coffee cup into the trash before heading back out into the cold with Potter on his heels. After a moment of mental debate, he returned to the cookie shop.

The clerk looked up in surprise when Draco walked in, trailed by Potter. "Bru! Is everything all right? Did I give you the wrong ones?"

Draco smiled and shook his head. "No, my… friend, here, has suddenly become obsessed with your Double-Chocolate Amaretto. Can you wrap up a half dozen for him, please?"

Potter started to reach into a pocket of his coat, but Draco waved him off. "Never mind, Potter. I'll expense it as another Sylvia-related charge." Draco handed the clerk his Muggle credit card and took the package of cookies. Draco gave them to Potter.

"Any friend of Bru's is a friend of mine," the clerk said with a grin as he rang up the charge. Draco frowned, thinking he should try harder to remember the man's name, but he gave it up as a lost cause. He scrawled his fake signature on the tiny piece of paper and took the receipt, tucking it away with his credit card. Draco had fallen in love with the little plastic rectangle. He could purchase any Muggle item he wanted simply by handing them the card. Gringotts could learn a thing or two about trade from the Muggles.

He glanced at Potter, who smiled and mumbled thanks. Of course, Draco would never admit to Potter that he admired anything Muggle, be it cookies or credit cards, or those amazing coffee drinks laced with peppermint flavouring and chocolate syrup.

The air seemed to be even colder when they exited and Draco pulled on his gloves with a sense of relief. Already the sidewalks gleamed with ice, sparkling in the dim light of the streetlights like crushed diamonds.

"Why Seattle?" Potter asked finally. Draco had been impressed with his silence, but it was no surprise when Potter broke it.

"Why not?" Draco countered. "Plants grow everywhere. Same question to you."

"Criminals grow everywhere, too."

"How long will it take you to investigate me?" Draco asked.

For only a moment, Potter seemed ready to deny it, but then he shrugged. "Depends on logistics. Could be finished tomorrow, could take a week. It would be easier if you would simply tell me why you're here—what sort of Herbology and why?"

"I've never felt particularly cooperative where you were concerned, Potter."

Potter huffed a breath that fogged the air before him. He walked through the cloud as it dissipated. "Don't I know it." His tone did not sound bitter, but amused.

Draco lifted a brow and looked at him again. He wanted to ask what Potter had meant about the Daily Prophet not knowing everything about him, but assumed he would get nowhere with that line of questioning after rebuffing Potter's own request for information. He wondered if the new thingbetween them would ever become something tangible, or if it would be smothered by their mutual lack of trust before it could germinate.

If there even was a thing and Potter wasn't simply playacting. It was possible he had learned subterfuge during his stint as an Auror.

They said nothing more until they reached Draco's hotel. He thought Potter would leave him in the lobby, but Potter asked, "Do you mind if I use your loo? It's a long ride back to the… where I'm staying."

Apparently so, if Potter planned to take a ferry. That left only a few options, actually. Draco thought he might do some investigating of Potter in his free time. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

"Of course." They took the lift and Draco fished his card key from a pocket. He tried to be careful around the door, as well, since his magic had also destroyed the electronic locking device once, much to the confusion of the hotel management.

Draco took off his coat and gloves and waved Potter towards the bathroom. He assumed the man could get into little trouble in there on his own.

oOOooOOo

Harry set the package of cookies on the edge of the fancy sink. He glanced into the mirror and grimaced at his appearance. He looked like a Muggle lumberjack beneath the woollen hat. He was surprised Malfoy had kissed him at all. And hadn't that been a surprise? He still wondered why Malfoy had done it. Shock value? Slytherin amusement? Or had he simply wanted to? It was probably too much to hope he had wanted to.

Harry attended to his business and washed his hands with forest-scented soap. The towels were a marvel—thick and gold and ultra-absorbent. Harry thought about stopping by the front desk to ask where they purchased them. He dried his hands and then hung the towel back on the shining silver bar, patting it down and straightening it when it threatened to slide off.

Below the towel rack sat several bottles and jars. Harry lifted one, curious.

"Did you die in there, Potter?" Malfoy called.

Harry rolled his eyes and left the bathroom. Malfoy was seated at the desk, planner open and papers scattered over the surface. He glanced at Harry, but it was plain his mind was elsewhere. The unspoken dismissal was heavy in the air.

Harry pulled his gloves on en route to the door. "Well, um. See you later?"

"Most likely, Potter," Malfoy said and waved a lazy hand. Harry was glad to see he still wrote with a quill and not a Muggle biro.

Harry sighed and went out, feeling oddly bereft. They had been getting on better than expected and he was somewhat surprised by Malfoy's brush-off. Not that he had expected to be invited to stay…

Scratch that; he had been hoping for another drink and possibly more talking. And more kissing, his traitorous mind supplied helpfully.

No more kissing, he countered firmly, although he felt somewhat idiotic arguing with himself.

Outside again, a few flecks of snow drifted from the sky and Harry wrinkled his nose. Carl had mentioned that any amount of snowfall would shut down the entire region. Such a thing would put a serious crimp in his investigation.

He started down the street, eyes scanning every shadow for possible lurkers. He wondered if the man in the trench coat had actually been following them, or if Malfoy had made that up in order to (kiss him) be a prat.

Regardless, he saw no one other than a few well-bundled pedestrians, most of them obviously heading to or from their cars. Harry crossed a few streets and had just started down the elevated pavement that led to the ferry terminal when he realized he had left his cookies on the counter in Malfoy's bathroom.

He stopped and pushed the fingers of his gloves more tightly onto his hands as he pondered. He could leave them and it would give him an excuse to return the next day, but it might seem like he had done so on purpose, or worse, that he did not really want them. Harry did want them, not only because he was getting hungry, but also because Malfoy had bought them for him. His former enemy had bought him confections. It seemed like a turning point.

Harry had only been gone for a few minutes. Surely Malfoy wouldn't mind one last interruption? He would be in and out before Malfoy had time to be distracted.

So deciding, Harry turned round and headed back to the hotel. He gave the doorman a sheepish smile and mumbled, "Forgot something."

The lift stopped three times on the way up. Twice to let off serious-faced businessmen, and once for an older couple who moved in shuffling motions, the man solicitously holding out his arm for the woman to grasp as he gave Harry a friendly smile. The sight gave Harry a pang. Sometimes he wondered if he would end up old and alone, still lurking at the Burrow during holidays in lieu of having a family of his own.

Harry shook off his maudlin thoughts and walked to Malfoy's door. He raised his hand to knock.

A muffled sound from inside stilled his hand. Something about it gave him a twinge of unease, so he rapped sharply on the portal. "Mr Black?" he called loudly, changing the name from Malfoy at the last moment.

Harry thought he heard his name, quickly cut off. His wand was in his hand in an instant and he cast Alohomora, killing the Muggle lock in a shower of sparks. The door flew inwards and Harry dove inside, crouching as he rolled. A red bolt hit the door where his chest would have been had he remained standing.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted.

A dark wand tore from the hand of a round-faced man and spun behind one of the sofas. Harry's quick gaze took in Malfoy, bound to the desk chair in the centre of the room. A dark figure stood next to him, wand at Malfoy's throat.

The man ducked behind the chair, using Malfoy as a shield, and Harry's Stunner clipped the ends of his hair.

"Bloody hell!" the first wizard yelled as he dove over the sofa, obviously going for his wand.

"Fuck this!" cried the second man and Harry heard the pop of Disapparition. Harry shot to his feet and sent another spell after the first man, but he had got his hands on the fallen wand and used it to cast a hasty Shield Charm. Lucky bastard. Harry swore.

Harry's shouted, "Incarcerous!" surely caught the man, but it was too late. He disapparated, Harry's spell binding him as he vanished. Harry cursed again, angrier this time, incensed at having allowed them to escape.

Malfoy watched in silence, only lifting a brow when Harry's attention returned to him.

"Any idea who they were?" Harry asked, flicking his wand at Malfoy and casting a wordless Finite Incantatum. Malfoy's bonds disintegrated and he flexed his hands as he pulled them round in front of him.

Malfoy shook his head. "They were looking for you. I suppose I should be grateful you came back."

Harry scowled. "Why wouldn't you be grateful?"

"Because if you hadn't been here, they wouldn't have been here," Malfoy snapped. He got to his feet and stalked to the door where he examined the destroyed mechanism with a loud sigh. "Damn it, now I will have to explain this to maintenance." He moved to the desk and picked up the cream-coloured telephone, only to grimace and slam it down. "Salazar, not the phone, too."

"Well, what did they say?" Harry demanded.

Malfoy snatched up his cell phone and hissed. "Bloody everlasting hell! I really liked this one." He threw the apparently dead phone down atop his planner and headed for the bedroom. "They said 'What is Harry Potter doing in Seattle traipsing about town with the likes of you?'" Malfoy snapped in falsetto mimicry and then disappeared into the bedroom.

A moment later, Harry heard him talking to the hotel staff, explaining that the door lock was broken—again—and also the telephone. And probably the thermostat. Harry winced and looked around, wondering what else had been affected.

Malfoy entered the room once more and picked up the wine bottle to pour another glass, stopping only when the red liquid threatened to spill over the lip. He lifted the glass and took a healthy gulp. It was only then that Harry realized Malfoy was more shaken than he had let on.

"Is there anything you want to tell me now, Potter?" Malfoy asked without turning around.

Harry sank down onto the sofa with a sigh, still holding his wand in case the men returned. "I'm here to track down a smuggling ring. There has been an influx of magical artefacts from Hawaii. It started as something of a novelty and quickly grew into a problem. Many of the items are embodied with a curse that activates the moment they leave the islands, some with horrific results. The Ministry has sent several groups to port cities to try and locate the smuggling route."

"Looks like you got lucky," Malfoy said with a sneer. "You found them on your first try."

"Yeah, lucky me," Harry agreed dryly. His steady gaze met Malfoy's. He didn't bother to mention that there was no guarantee that the attackers and the smuggling ring were related. They could have been following Harry for a different reason completely.

A knock sounded on the door and Malfoy strode over to admit a dark-haired Muggle with a large toolbox and several electronic parts. The man immediately began to tinker with the locking mechanism.

"I suppose I should go," Harry said and got to his feet. He paused, thinking he ought to cast some wards to keep the culprits from returning, but was unable to do it while the maintenance man was working.

"You are not going anywhere!" Malfoy said, his eyes flashing.

The workman glanced at them and Harry sat back down, unwilling to get into an argument with an audience.

Malfoy ignored Harry to hover near the man and chatter away at him, talking about some Muggle sport, of all things. Harry thought Malfoy's proximity to the door was more to deter Harry from leaving than anything. He rolled his eyes and retrieved his empty wineglass in order to pour the remaining wine from the bottle into his glass.

He carried it to the window and looked out into the dark Seattle night, lit up with Muggle lights as far as he could see, and highlighted by the flakes of falling snow that were much larger now and beginning to stick to the rooftops and roadways.. It was really rather beautiful.

oOOooOOo

Draco paused in his casual small-talk, utterly distracted by the sight of Harry Potter standing near the window. He had removed his outerwear and retrieved another glass of wine, and Draco had to admit his relaxed pose was stirring.

Harry Potter, the world's fittest Auror and extraordinarily powerful wizard, was in Draco's hotel room drinking a glass of wine. The Daily Prophet would have paid handsomely for such a story.

Tuan finished installing the new card reader for the door and then gestured at the telephone across the room. Draco nodded, wishing Tuan could fix his destroyed cell phone while he was at it.

Tuan tsked when he picked up the handset and pressed on the buttons. "You a menace," he announced in his heavily accented voice. "How you break all the things, Mr Black?"

Potter snorted a laugh from the window and Tuan grinned and gestured at Potter with a Muggle tool. "He know. Mr Black break your things, too?"

"You have no idea," Potter replied, lips quirking an amused smile and eyes sparkling. Draco felt it was hardly fair that the bastard was not only good-looking, but also charming enough to win over the normally-reticent maintenance man. And the nerve, accusing Draco of breaking his things. He had never broken a single thing of Potter's.

"You," Draco said sternly to Tuan, "Fix things. And you. Silence." He glared from Tuan to Potter.

"Yes, Mr Black, sir," Tuan said, but he was grinning widely. Potter only gave him an enigmatic stare and turned back to the window.

Tuan finished quickly, swapping out a new phone for the broken one. He checked the thermostat and pronounced it functional, and then packed up his tools and smiled at Draco. "You break anything else, Mr Black, you just call. I come back and fix for you."

"Yes, yes, thank you, Tuan. There will be a substantial tip left for you at the front desk tomorrow, as always."

"Goodnight, Mr Black. Goodnight, Mr Black's friend." Tuan gave a half-hearted bow and went out. The door locked with a satisfying click.

"A menace," Potter said without inflection, as though it were a curious concept.

"You are the menace! I was perfectly fine here until you came along. You come back into my life and within a single day I've been followed, attacked, and had half my room destroyed."

"The room is fine!" Potter protested.

"And tomorrow I have to go and replace my cellular phone before Sylvia tries to contact me."

"Would you rather I hadn't hexed them?"

"I had rather you hadn't come here," Draco complained, but before Potter could retort, he added, "But since that's a moot point now, and since you have seen fit to drag me into whatever bloody mess you have stirred up here, then I expect you to put it right."

"How do you propose I do that?"

"You're the Auror, you figure it out. I don't particularly care, but you are not going anywhere as long as there is a chance of random criminals popping in and demanding to know your whereabouts."

"Are you suggesting I stay here?"

Draco rolled his eyes. Honestly, how the man had lived so long already was a mystery. "No, Potter, I am not suggesting it, I am demanding it. Unless you know of some way to keep the mayhem that follows you from fucking with my life more than it already has."

"I was going to set some wards…"

"This is a Muggle establishment, Potter. How do you propose to do that without destroying even more Muggle devices?"

"I do have some skills," Potter replied dryly. He arched a brow and Draco tried valiantly not to think about Potter's skills.

Draco glared at him. "Whatever, but if I wake up with a wand at my throat, I will hunt you down and hex your balls into aubergines." He started for the bedroom and then paused. "That sofa there pulls out into a bed. It's not Transfiguration, but it's serviceable. Should you care not to abandon me to your stalkers, that is."

With that, Draco entered the bedroom, walked to the mirrored wardrobe, and pulled out his dressing gown. A long, hot bath would do him good, and if Potter was gone when he finished, well, he would deal with that if it happened. Truthfully, he trusted Potter to do the right thing. When had he not? 

3

Harry watched him leave with a frown. He had not intended to stay the night, even with the threat of someone returning. He had planned to cast some wards and Apparate back to the island for some sleep, trusting his wards to alert him if he needed to return to Malfoy's hotel. He no longer needed to use the ferry now that his pretence of being a Muggle had been uncovered.

He heard the bathroom door close and then running water. Malfoy was showering, or perhaps taking a bath; he did seem more the bathing type. Harry allowed himself a moment to think about all that pale skin sliding into a pool of hot water before he swallowed hard and shifted his thoughts to business.

Wards, first.

Harry hadn't been lying when he had mentioned skill to Malfoy. Aurors were required to do a stint with Obliviators in order to learn the best ways to use magic without alerting Muggles, which also included performing it around Muggle devices. Of course, those lessons counted for little in a crisis situation.

He took his wand and walked to the window. With the tip almost touching the glass, he whispered a spell and drew a complicated sigil. In the cold air just outside, a web-like pattern glowed with a faint white light and then faded.

Harry moved to the next window and did the same, and then stepped into the corridor, making sure to block the door open. He doubted Malfoy would be pleased to let him back into the room, although the thought of calling him from the bath did have its appeal.

After ascertaining the corridor was empty, Harry cast another spell on the floor outside the door and then went back inside. A few carefully cast charms linked them all together and provided a vague network of protection over the room. Interlopers would not be permanently harmed by crossing the wards, but Harry would be alerted instantly and the trespassers would certainly feel a sting.

When he finished, Harry sprawled on one of the sofas and picked up the remote to turn on the telly. He was familiar enough with the telly in his own Muggle accommodation that it only took him a few minutes to figure out the unfamiliar buttons. He flicked through the channels and stopped on a news station. Muggles seemed to be fascinated with the weather, as several stations were broadcasting the same topic.

More cold temperatures were predicted for the next few days and local newscasters lamented the cold spell and joked about missing the rain that Seattle was apparently famous for. Harry hadn't seen a drop of rain since his arrival and it made him wonder if Malfoy had been around long enough to experience a more seasonal climate.

Harry switched the channel to a dramatic film done in black and white that seemed to involve men wearing suits and being sardonic and witty while women chain-smoked cigarettes and rejected them disdainfully. Harry found that both sorts reminded him of Malfoy, so he quickly changed the channel to a Muggle sporting event. It made no sense to him, but he watched the burly men rush to and fro with an oblong ball and wondered if his cookies were still in the bathroom with Malfoy. He was getting a bit hungry.

The game was actually becoming interesting by the time Malfoy walked out wearing a fluffy white dressing gown and towelling his hair. Harry felt a strange surge of emotion at the sight of Malfoy in such informal dress—for a moment his mind handed him a fantasy of similar scenes made up of him and Malfoy in domestic bliss. Harry chastised himself for it, which was made easier by Malfoy waving a hand towards a cabinet.

"There are linens and blankets in there. Do you need anything before I retire? I have to rise early and go phone hunting."

Harry hesitated, his desire to tell Malfoy to fuck off warring with his hunger pangs.

Seeming to read his mind, Malfoy strode to the desk and lifted a laminated card. "If you are hungry, you may order room service and put it on my tab. It's the least I can do to repay you for guarding me." Sarcasm dripped from every word and Harry glared as he snatched the card. "I assume you know how to use the phone. Goodnight, Potter."

With that, the prat sauntered into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Harry sighed and looked at the card in his hand. All of the selections sounded delicious, but he settled on clam chowder, having acquired a taste for it since he'd been in the city.

He had just hung up the phone after placing his order when the bedroom door opened and Malfoy's head appeared around the edge of the jamb.

"I'll leave this door open in case felons decide to Appararate into my bedroom. Perhaps you'll actually hear them and not sleep through my kidnapping."

"Your screams would most likely awaken me," Harry replied dryly.

Malfoy sniffed and added, "I'll also leave it open in case you get lonely." With that cryptic remark, Malfoy disappeared. Harry stared at the empty doorway, slightly stunned.

Surely Malfoy had been joking? Or had he?

Harry shook off his bewilderment and set about making up his bed. He did not bother to convert the sofa to a bed, instead spreading a sheet and blanket over the cushions, intending to make do. It would be less confining in the event he needed to move quickly. He really did not expect the interlopers to make another attempt on Malfoy tonight, but stranger things had happened and it paid to be prepared.

A knock sounded on the door a few minutes later and Harry gladly accepted a tray from the young woman at the door. He handed her a few Muggle dollars and sat down at the desk to eat. The chowder was delicious.

Malfoy's planner sat atop the desk and Harry debated with himself before giving in to curiosity and flipping it open. Potter 7pmcaught his eye immediately and he felt a silly jolt of pleasure to have been included in Malfoy's obviously hyper-organized day.

Harry flipped back a page and found penned-in notes

10am Mandolin Gardens

1pm Library

6pm Pat – ask about charcoal enhancement

The day before had more of the same.

8am Coffee with Charles, Four Seasons

11am Nail appointment

2pm Bellevue Arboreteum, arrange for Muggle taxi

6pm Collect Coreopsis and post them to Eugenia

Several more days contained similar cryptic notes. Very few of them elucidated, although one page three weeks earlier had the margin note section filled in with several lines of Malfoy's careful handwriting:

Sylvia – the cow might actually possess Cephalanthera austiniae– woo carefully. Is addicted to Cow Chip Cookies, according to Charles – how fitting. Will pursue contact method per Charles. Remember to send him Spanish wine if successful. He prefers white.

Harry frowned, wondering at the identity of "Charles". He took a piece of paper from the hotel notepad that rested in the wooden holder on the desk and wrote Cephalanthera austiniaein order to look it up later. He also wrote down the names: Charles, Pat, and Eugenia.

Harry ate as he snooped, mopping up the chowder with delicious sourdough bread. The meal was exceptional, as opposed to Malfoy's notes, which were sketchy at best and written in a different language at worst. A folded piece of parchment bookmarked one page, written completely in French. It resembled a letter, but was unaddressed and unsigned.

One notation in September—Arrived Seattle—made no mention of where Malfoy had stayed upon his arrival. Had he checked in at the hotel that day or boarded elsewhere? He had been in Seattle for nearly three months, apparently, a far longer stretch than Harry had imagined. He frowned as he worked out the dates. The smuggling problem had first begun six months ago. Or had it been four and Harry had merely forgotten?

He itched to Apparate to the island and examine his notes, but he supposed it could wait until morning.

He suddenly realized that Malfoy could have taken the planner into the bedroom with him and had most likely left it on the desk to be a temptation to Harry. It was even more likely that he knew Harry would not be able to resist snooping. Following that thought to its conclusion led him to believe Malfoy had nothing to hide—or perhaps that was only what he wanted Harry to think.

He sighed and closed the planner. Sometimes he thought he had been an Auror too long. Suspicion was becoming second nature and he could hardly remember when he had trusted someone at face value.

With one last glance towards the darkened bedroom, Harry finished his meal, set the tray outside the door for the staff to pick up, and turned off the telly. He undressed before sprawling on the couch and noted that Malfoy had not offered him any clothing to sleep in. He doubted he would sleep much, especially with Malfoy's last cryptic comment turning itself over and over in his mind.

Finally, however, the silence lulled him into slumber.

oOOoOOo

A sharp cry woke him sometime later and he sat bolt upright, wand in hand. Before he could process that he was even awake, his feet were carrying him in the direction of Malfoy's room. Another muffled sound reached his ears, this one clearly identifiable as, "No!"

He rushed into Malfoy's room, wondering why his wards hadn't alerted him. The answer became immediately obvious. Malfoy was alone, thrashing on the bed as though in the clutches of some invisible demon.

."No!" Malfoy shouted hoarsely. "Not again! Stay away!"

Harry's mind raced, reaching into his memory and discarding possibility after possibility and rejecting spell after spell to determine what curse might have afflicted Malfoy. In the end, he settled for sitting on the bed and gripping Malfoy's shoulders to give him a sharp shake.

"Malfoy!" he said. "Wake up!"

Malfoy's fingers scraped over Harry's bare chest in an obviously-groggy attempt to push him away. "Don't…" Malfoy's voice was a tortured moan.

"Draco!" Harry shook him again, more forcefully.

Malfoy's eyes snapped open and his fingers went rigid against Harry's skin. For a moment Harry thought he would be violently shoved away from the bed.

"You're having a nightmare!" Harry said quickly, hoping to avoid a half-conscious hex. He had little doubt Malfoy could manage formidable wandless magic when provoked.

"Does this nightmare involve mad Aurors attacking me in my bed?" Malfoy asked, obviously attempting his usual dry sarcasm, but the breathless quality of his voice caused it to lack much of its luster. Malfoy's hands stilled, but did not move away from Harry's torso.

"You tell me," Harry said softly.

Malfoy took a deep breath and shut his eyes. He relaxed into the pillows. "What time is it?"

Harry glanced at the bedside clock. "It's a quarter past one." Malfoy's shoulders suddenly felt warm beneath his hands. Harry knew he should let go and stand up. He should return to the other room and try to catch a few winks before morning.

But Malfoy hadn't removed his hands, either. They still pressed lightly against Harry's skin, fingertips digging into his ribs, almost holding him in place. Harry hated to dislodge him. He hated to move.

Malfoy said nothing, nor did he open his eyes, but the air suddenly seemed thicker, charged with a quality that made breathing difficult. The light from the digital clock seemed bright in the dark room and Harry could see that Malfoy's hair was mussed. For some reason it made him even more attractive. Harry squeezed his shoulders in a friendly fashion, a prelude to pulling away and escaping, mostly because Malfoy's shoulders were bare, which meant his torso was bare, and possibly the rest of him, and that thought was making it even more difficult to find the proper levels of oxygen.

"I… I'll just…"

Malfoy's hands tightened. "Don't go yet," he whispered. When Harry stilled, he added, "It was a bad one. I will be fine in a moment, but sometimes it's nice to… to reaffirm that the nightmares are not real. You can probably guess the content of mine."

Harry swallowed at the memory of untold nights spent waking on a scream, bolting upright in bed and staring into the darkness, wishing for the touch of another human being to ground him to reality. His heart lurched. Voldemort might be gone, but sometimes his legacy of pain lived on.

"Yeah," Harry whispered. "Yeah, okay." He leaned down, intending to give Malfoy an impulsive, comforting squeeze, but the movement caused Malfoy's hands to leave Harry's ribs and curl around behind him, pulling him closer. Harry's elbows hit the bed on either side of Malfoy and sank into the soft mattress, sending his chest colliding with Malfoy's. As attempted hugs went, it was completely graceless, and ended with his mouth pressed against Malfoy's, although he wasn't quite certain how that had happened.

Once there, it was impossible to pull away. Malfoy's lips were soft and warm, and then wet and even warmer, and the surprise kiss turned into another, not-so-surprising kiss, and then another. After the third, Harry relaxed into it, despite the fact that his heartbeat had set up a staccato beat of warning and a small corner of his mind was trying to convince him this was a very bad idea.

Malfoy's hands scattered even that to the wind, sliding over Harry's back as the kiss deepened, changing from cautious exploration to something more intense and not so easily broken. Harry fell into the sensation, giving in despite the increasingly small voice urging him to stop. How long had it been? Too long to concern himself with at the moment, but long enough to make him wonder if it had ever felt quite so good.

Harry broke the kiss for some much-needed air. He panted and then tried to speak, searching his disjointed thoughts for something coherent.

"Don't talk," Malfoy said and kissed him again.

Harry's libido decided that was good advice, so he relented, pressing himself closer to Malfoy and exploring his hot mouth even as his own was being traced with an eager tongue.

Malfoy's hands were not idle, slipping into Harry's boxers and curling deliciously over his arse, pulling him even closer. Harry's awkward pose was all wrong; he needed to move. He broke Malfoy's kiss—and his grip—just long enough to straddle him, and wasn't that infinitely better? He felt Malfoy's cock, hard and warm, beneath him, causing his own to thicken even more.

Harry leaned in for another kiss and allowed his hands to roam freely, touching Malfoy's smooth chest until they reached the nubs of his nipples. Harry pulled at them lightly and felt a pleasant jolt when Malfoy moaned and shifted beneath him.

He repeated the motion and rocked his hips, rolling over Malfoy's cock and earning a strangled gasp. Bloody hell, Harry thought, I'm going to come without even touching him. Determined not to let that happen, he moved his hand down over Malfoy's flat abdomen, despite the awkward angle, and into his pyjama pants to wrap around the head of his cock.

"Oh, yes. That's good," Malfoy murmured around their kiss. His hand dropped lower, sliding over Harry's arse to slip between his cheeks and stroke lightly over his balls.

Their clothes, little as there were, became too much.

"Off," Harry said, lucky to get out even that single word between Malfoy's ravenous kisses and the lust scrambling his brain.

One of Malfoy's hands left Harry's arse to fling out and snatch up the wand Harry had dropped onto the bed prior to shaking Malfoy awake. Harry felt a single moment of Aurorly alarm when he realized he had allowed himself to be disarmed, but then a spell whispered over him, leaving him bare, and Malfoy as well.

"Nice charm," Harry admitted and laid his bare cock atop Malfoy's before wrapping his hand around both.

"It's come in handy a time or two," Malfoy admitted.

Harry kissed him again and stroked as Malfoy's hand dropped the wand and returned to Harry's arse. His fingertips drew lightly over Harry's perineum and balls, and traced small circles around his arsehole, evoking a riot of sensation that nearly caused him to see stars. Harry had never been fucked, but he wasn't sure he would say no if Malfoy kept that up…

"I want you in me," Malfoy whispered.

"Yes."

Another quick spell left Malfoy gasping against Harry's lips and Harry's questing hand found him slick and open—two of Harry's fingers pushed inside easily. Harry swore softly against Malfoy's wet mouth, trembling with need.

"Do it now," Malfoy said. "Fuck me."

Harry pulled his fingers out and used them to guide his cock into the space they had vacated. Despite the ease of entry, it was still oh-so-tight. Incredible, really, and even though it had been a very long time, Harry thought it might have been the best thing he'd ever felt, especially when Malfoy shifted his hips and drove Harry even deeper.

Malfoy seemed to want it hard, fast, and rough. Harry had no problem with that—already he was finding it difficult to stave off his orgasm. Despite the near-brutality of Harry's rhythm—he worried a bit for the solidity of the hotel bed—Malfoy's mouth and hands never stopped moving. He bit and lapped at Harry's lips, murmuring encouragement through gasps, "Yes, yes, there, like that, good Potter, fuck" and his hands curled and skated and dug into Harry's skin, moving over his shoulders, back, arse, and driving Harry completely wild.

He couldn't reach Malfoy's cock in his current position, but Malfoy didn't seem to mind; his need to kiss seemed greater than his need to be touched, at least for the moment, and he was still hard, verified by Harry's quick glances now and again between hot kisses.

Malfoy left off kissing finally and threw his head back. His hands stilled, only to grip Harry's arse and pull him into an even faster frenzy, urged on by harsh gasping breaths. Harry was getting too close. He braced himself on one tiring arm and wrapped his hand around Malfoy's cock, stroking only once before a sharp cry left Malfoy's lips.

Hot fluid spilled over Harry's hand, slicking his movements, and the pressure around his cock increased, driving him over the edge. His toes curled almost painfully and he bit his swollen lips on a shout, mindful that they were in a hotel room with potentially thin walls.

Several more thrusts left him utterly spent and he sprawled over Malfoy in a limp heap, sweaty and tingling. Malfoy's arms went around him, holding him tightly and turning the inevitable awkwardness into something strange and almost sweet.

Harry pressed a kiss into his neck and held on tightly, not wanting to move, and definitely not wanting reality to intrude. It was far better to think of nothing, breathing in Malfoy's scent and feeling the touch of his fingers gliding lightly over Harry's back.

Bloody hell, what have I done?

The question fought through his haze of bliss, causing tension to creep back into his body. He swallowed hard and listened to the sound of their breathing, not quite synchronized in the quiet room.

"Just go to sleep," Malfoy said at last. "We'll deal with it in the morning, all right?"

"Yeah, all right," Harry whispered. Without bothering to move from Malfoy's still form, he closed his eyes and surprisingly drifted straight into sleep. 

4

Draco awoke with a sense of momentary panic at finding himself trapped. His limbs were held down, causing him to wonder if he were caught in a nightmare, until the brush of skin on skin, a soft murmur, and a familiar scent righted his world and calmed his nerves.

Harry Potter.

Memories returned with a rush, hastened by the scent and the feel of soft hair against his lips.

Harry Potter was in his bed.

Draco couldn't move, could barely breathe with Potter wrapped so tightly around him. The man was a bed-hoarding menace, apparently, all sprawling limbs and missing blankets. He was warm, though.

Potter lay mostly on his stomach, left arm and left leg thrown across Draco and face buried in his neck. The blankets seemed to have departed the bed except for a small bit left covering their feet. Draco wasn't cold, however, not with a ruddy human furnace draped over him.

Since he couldn't move enough to even glance at the clock and check the time, he simply sighed and cast his thoughts back to the night before. Potter had been a surprise; that was certain. He fucked with the same enthusiasm—and talent—that he had shown in many other areas of his life. Excellent wizard, excellent hero, excellent lover. It really wasn't fair.

He was cuddly, too, which Draco had an unexpected weakness for, apparently. Draco's lovers were generally good for a one-off and then kicked to the Floo, but Potter…

As if Draco's thoughts were disturbing, Potter sighed, mumbled something like "not the custard", and rolled away, freeing Draco completely. Draco slipped quickly out of bed, telling himself he was grateful. He stood looking at the black hair tousled over the pillow and then went into the bathroom for a quick shower.

He hoped by the time he came out he would know what to do about Harry Potter.

oOOoOOo

Draco had no idea what to do about Harry Potter.

He shaved with a Muggle razor (magic in the bathroom fucked up the lights) and stared at himself in the mirror. Were his lips swollen? They looked a bit puffy. Draco really liked kissing, and Potter was bloody brilliant at it; Draco had carried on long past the time he should have stopped.

He sighed and wiped his face with a warm flannel. Of all the stupid things he could have done, fucking Harry Potter was quite possibly at the top of the list. The prat might have been fit, and amazing in bed, but he was still the Ministry's Golden Boy, Defeater of Evil, and Upholder of Morality. Draco would never be anything more than a dirty little secret in Harry Potter's cupboard. Draco had left England partly to escape that possibility. Plenty of wizards—and witches—would have been more than happy to have Draco in their beds, but never in their lives, not publicly.

And Potter would be worst of all. A male, former Death Eater lover was no one to be seen with such a man. He would prefer to keep Draco well-hidden. Draco patted his face dry and wrapped a towel around his hips. There was no help for it. He had made a stupid decision while fighting the vestiges of a nightmare, and now it was nothing but a memory. He would put it in a vial and forget it.

He only hoped Potter would be as reasonable.

oOOooOOo

Harry sighed and stretched, then blinked awake when his hand skated over unfamiliar soft fabric. He felt as if he were sleeping on a cloud and could not remember the last time he'd been so comfortable. He was debating going straight back to sleep, but another stretch brought his hand into contact with his wand.

What was it doing down by his hip? Normally he kept it beneath his pillow or on the bedside stand. He opened his eyes to see an impressive headboard, all dark wood and cream padding.

Harry rolled over and sat up, memories of the prior night returning with a rush. The bed was empty and for a moment he thought Malfoy had gone, but then he heard the sound of running water coming from the bathroom.

Harry collapsed into the soft pillows.

I had sex with Draco Malfoy, he thought in wonder. I had fucking brilliant sex with Draco Malfoy.

Just thinking about it set his heart to racing and his cock perked up with renewed interest. He pressed the heel of his hand against it with a frown. He had to pee and a raging erection would not make that any easier.

The door opened and Harry jerked his hand away and quickly shifted his position with a guilty start.

Malfoy's eyes sought him out immediately at the movement and Harry's mouth went dry at the sight of Malfoy's backlit form, clad only in a golden towel.

"Good morning," Harry said quickly, hoping it was.

"Good morning," Malfoy repeated tonelessly. He strode to the nearest chest of drawers and pulled out some clothing before walking to the mirrored doors and removing a pale shirt and a pair of trousers.

"I'll… um. Let you dress," Harry said. He slid out of bed, cursing the growing awkwardness, but uncertain how to break through it. At least his erection had subsided, despite the towel, because Malfoy's demeanour practically exuded ice. Harry felt a twinge of dismay. He walked to the bathroom and noticed that Malfoy watched him pass, although the fact gave him no satisfaction. He shut the door firmly and leaned against the sink. Fuck, what had he done?

After a moment, he relieved himself and looked longingly at the shower, but he was afraid Malfoy would bolt if he took one now. While Harry was loathe to go back into the bedroom and talk to Malfoy through the tense web of morning-after that had overtaken them, he knew they had to acknowledge this thing between them, one way or another.

Deciding modesty was the better part of valour, Harry grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his hips before taking a fortifying breath and opening the door.

Malfoy was nowhere in sight and Harry felt a momentary spear of panic. Malfoy could not have dressed so quickly; Harry had only been in there for a minute or two. A white robe had been tossed rather obviously upon the bed and Harry gratefully snatched it up before slipping into it and hurrying into the other room.

Malfoy was dressed, and tucking his planner into an attaché case. He already had his coat on and was obviously moments away from leaving.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked and then winced when he realized he sounded a bit like a jealous girlfriend.

"Out, of course. I am going to my favourite café for breakfast and coffee and then I am going to the portable phone shop to replace my cellular device—which I will be charging to the Ministry, by the way. I trust you can find your way out?'

"No," Harry said.

"No, you can't find your way out?"

"No, you aren't going to breakfast or the telephone shop. Or wherever."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he snapped shut the twin clasps on the case before hefting it. "I assure you, I am." Malfoy's tone was implacable.

"Not without me," Harry replied, figuring he could be pretty implacable himself, when warranted.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and walked to the door. "I don't need a tour guide, or a shadow, or whatever you profess to be."

Harry moved quickly and slammed the door shut before it opened more than an inch. Malfoy spun around with a snarl and Harry crowded him against the door, holding him there with an arm across his chest and a thigh between his legs, although the latter hadn't been intentional.

"Don't," Harry said and the word was pregnant with meaning. "Don't make me put a Tracking Charm on you. It's my job to keep you safe."

It was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Malfoy might have been carved in stone, the way he looked when he said, "We certainly wouldn't want to deter you from your duty, would we, Auror Potter? Was last night also part of your job?"

Stung, Harry opened his mouth to retort angrily, tempted to remind Malfoy who had initiated what the night before, but something flickered in Malfoy's eyes, something that triggered a memory of them together, Malfoy's hands and mouth and the overwhelming sense of rightness. Harry's anger drained away.

"That had nothing to do with duty," Harry said quietly.

Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, but Harry covered it with his own. He kissed Malfoy the way he had the night before, silencing every attempt at protest, until finally the attaché dropped at their feet and Malfoy's hands twisted painfully in Harry's hair. Instead of wrenching Harry away, Malfoy pulled him closer.

When neither of them could breathe properly, Harry tipped his head back, gasping, only to lean forwards again and place soft, greedy kisses on Malfoy's jaw and neck.

"Wait for me," Harry murmured against Malfoy's throat. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I'm a big strong wizard, Potter. I've managed to survive ten whole years without you rescuing me." Despite his words, Malfoy remained relaxed and pliant, fingers stroking lightly through Harry's hair.

"Maybe I've missed rescuing you."

"Maybe you're an idiot. You've got ten minutes."

Harry lifted his head to meet his eyes. "You'll wait? Promise?"

"I have been known to keep my word."

Harry nodded apologetically, not wanting to offend him, but still not trusting he wouldn't flee and escape Harry. "I'll hurry. I just want to shower."

Malfoy sighed and disentangled his fingers from Harry's hair to push him away lightly. "Ten minutes," he repeated.

oOOooOOo

Draco remained against the door for a few of those minutes, wondering at Potter's motivation. Some of it was obvious, of course, judging by his lips and hands, but the rest was far more nebulous. Did Potter really want to protect him, or was he simply using him as bait, hoping the bastards from the prior day would reappear?

The shower was loud and Draco realized Potter hadn't shut the door all the way. Draco thought he should just slip out and leave, go into hiding and never see Potter again. His hand reached out and caressed the cool metal of the door handle.

I've been known to keep my word, he had said, but then he hadn't actually given it. Still, Potter would act like he had, and he would come after Draco, had possibly already cast a Tracking Charm on him. And then he would be angry and shove Draco up against a wall and glare at him with those eyes…

"Not the best way to talk yourself out of leaving, Draco," he admonished himself and then pushed away from the door. The tangled remains of Potter's mostly-unused place on the sofa caught Draco's eye, as well as the jeans draped over a nearby chair. He frowned, realizing Potter hadn't brought clean clothing.

He walked into the bedroom and selected a pair of dark trousers, a green cotton shirt, and—with a wicked grin—a pair of white silk boxers so thin as to be nearly diaphanous. Draco touched them with his fingertips and imagined Potter wearing them. The rush of lust nearly staggered him and he dropped them quickly atop the trousers before locating a pair of socks to take his mind from the idea, which was only partially successful.

The shower shut off and Draco realized a wet, dripping, mostly naked Harry Potter was about to exit from the bathroom. Draco bolted.

He stood staring out the windows at the icy roads below, hoping the cold seeping through the glass would cool his libido.

"Draco?" he heard and was thrown for a moment by the unfamiliar use of his given name on Potter's lips.

"Still here, Potter," he called.

"Am I supposed to wear these?"

"If you insist upon accompanying me, then I insist you dress as something other than a renegade woodsman."

"Ha ha," Potter said tonelessly, but there were no additional protests.

Draco realised his mistake when Potter exited the bedroom, tugging his fingers through already hopeless black locks. Potter looked like a wet dream in Draco's tailored Muggle clothing, which fit remarkably well, considering. The trousers were minutely too long and pulled slightly across the hips—Draco's throat went dry as his eyes skimmed over Potter's crotch and he envisioned the silk drawers beneath…

"Acceptable?" Potter asked and quirked a charming grin at him.

Draco shrugged and turned away, affecting disinterest. "It will do."

When Potter shrugged into his bulky coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck, Draco's breathing eased. The wool hat completed the package, hiding Potter's attractiveness almost completely.

"Where is this café of yours?" Potter asked as he tucked his box of cookies into his bag.

"Up near the Market."

"Any chance we might catch a cab?"

Draco allowed a smile to curve his lips as he donned his own leather gloves and picked up his attaché once more. "Not a chance. Grow some balls, Potter, it's a five minute walk."

"Five minutes in frigid weather at nine a.m.," Potter muttered as he opened the door. He peered into the hallway in a manner that bespoke of many years of familiarity with peering around doors, ready for any sort of Dark Wizard to leap from the shadows and attack. None did, however, so Potter merely waited for Draco to pull the door shut and they headed for the lift.

It was still wretchedly cold, but at least the wind had eased and it was no longer snowing. A light dusting had fallen, covering the ice that clung to the edges of the pavement, despite relentless shovelling by store clerks and city workers. Their footsteps crunched on bits of gravel or salt or whatever had been tossed on the ground to minimize slipping.

"Do you think my attackers from last night were part of your smuggling ring? Who knows you are here?" Draco asked, mostly to fill up the silence and to give him a reason to glance at Potter's profile now and again.

"I don't know, but it seems likely. The Auror Department knows I'm here, of course, but no one else. The attack is a good sign."

"A good sign?"

Potter nodded. "Not many people know I'm here, so I can only assume someone saw me and recognized me, which means it had to be someone from back home. The only people who might know my face, and be willing to attack you for information… Well, they should be the people I'm after. It seems logical, yeah?"

It did, and Draco had worked out much the same thing.

"They seem to also know you, which is curious," Potter continued.

Draco frowned. "What makes you think they know me?"

"When you told me what they said. Something like 'What is Harry Potter doing traipsing around with the likes of you'? Isn't that right?"

Draco nodded. "That sounds about right."

"Odd thing to say if they don't know who you are. Seems a bit derogatory when you're posing as a rich Muggle businessman."

"Unless they were referring to my presumed Muggleness," Draco pointed out. "It could have been simple magical prejudice." It seemed reasonable, but the way the man had sneered at Draco led him to believe otherwise. No, Potter was probably right—the man had known who he was, although whether it was Malfoy or former Death Eaterthat had drawn the censure was anyone's guess.

"I suppose that's true," Potter admitted.

"Of course, my being here is common knowledge. I'm not on a secret Auror mission."

"Have you seen anyone else from back home?"

Draco shook his head. "No one other than you. It's been rather refreshing, actually." Except that it hadn't been, not really. Draco missed England. He missed the Manor and his own bed. He missed Diagon Alley and being jostled—even roughly—by other witches and wizards speaking proper British English and not the lazy Americanized version. He missed the smell of Gringotts and the taste of a proper cup of tea.

"How long since you've been home?" Potter asked, seeming to tap into his thoughts. Draco looked askance at him and wondered briefly if Potter's Legilimency skills had improved in the past decade.

"Seems like a century," Draco replied.

"You've been here the whole time? I know you left just after the war, but no one seemed to know where you went."

Draco's lips curled in a half-sneer, but he kept back the bitter words. Draco would have been easy enough to find, if anyone had cared enough to look.

"I've been all over. France, Africa, Madagascar. Even a brief stint in Outer Mongolia—remind me never to go there again."

"Collecting herbs?" Potter asked, prying again.

"Among other things."

"You realize it's very hard to extract information from you?"

Draco shot him a sidewise grin. "You expected it to be easy?"

Potter sighed and reached up, possibly to tug at his hair before he seemed to remember he had covered it in his wool hat. Instead he adjusted it over his scar and gave Draco a sardonic look before his attention was pulled away.

"Will you look at that?" Potter said, stopping on the street corner to stare up at the giant representation of a man holding a huge hammer. Seen through Potter's eyes, Draco remembered the first time he had seen it. It was rather awe-inspiring, if strange.

"Muggle artwork," Draco offered. "That building is the museum of art… Bloody hell, Potter, I did see someone from back home once! I'd forgotten until just now."

"Who?"

Draco bit his lip, trying to recall the man's name. "That bloke from your Order of the Phoenix. I remembered him from a photo in several of the articles worshipping you after the war. The short one, looked like he hadn't bathed this century. Horrible ginger hair, smoked a pipe."

"Mundungus Fletcher?"

Draco snapped his fingers. "That's the one. I saw him right here. Well, not right here. In there, actually. Inside the museum. I recognized him on sight, although I couldn't recall his name. He saw me, too; he did a double-take, gave me a nod, and vanished. I haven't seen him since."

"What was he doing at the museum?"

"I was curious about that myself, at the time. He was looking at a cuvette from the 1700s. I was unimpressed with it, but there is no accounting for taste."

"A cu-what?"

"A cuvette. A vase, Potter. Non-magical, but very valuable. I can't fathom his interest in it."

"I can," Potter muttered. "Bloody hell, Mundungus Fletcher. If he's not behind this smuggling thing I'll eat my invisibility cloak. I need to contact Kingsley right away. How long ago was this?"

Draco shrugged. "Two months? I can look in my planner and tell you the exact date."

"All right. Let's get somewhere warm first."

The café was not much farther, located inside Pike's Market with a view of the water. The place was less crowded than usual—the cold weather kept most of the natives locked away inside their own homes, apparently.

"Good morning, Mr Black," Elena, the matronly waitress called when they entered. "I saved your usual spot. Brought a friend today?"

Draco nodded and Potter lifted a hand to wave.

"I'll get you another menu. Be right there with your coffee, dear. What would your friend like to drink?"

"Chai tea," Draco replied before Potter could speak up. He walked to his usual seat and Potter followed, slipping into the chair across from the small white metal table. Potter seemed agitated and scrutinized each patron in the room with a suspicious air.

"See anyone you recognize?" Potter asked.

Draco glanced around with less caution than Potter had displayed. "Plenty of people, but only because we are creatures of habit. Martin, there, works on the dock. Denise has a blueberry muffin and a vanilla mocha every morning. Samuel over there will order a sausage and egg croissant and then douse it in that revolting red hot sauce. I don't see anyone threatening. Will you relax?"

Potter shook his head. "I can't. I need to let Kingsley know about Mundungus and I should check for messages. Look, order me whatever you like, as long as it's nothing gross like snails or whatever, and I'll be right back. I'm going to Apparate to the island, contact Kingsley, check to see if I've got any messages, and come back. Will you stay right here?"

"I haven't eaten yet, Potter. I'll stay long enough to enjoy my breakfast. Just be back before I finish."

Potter smiled at him. "Great. Good. I will." He got to his feet and turned away. Then he turned round, moved forward, leaned down and placed a kiss on Draco's mouth. Draco blinked at him, but Potter only grinned jauntily and left. 

5

Harry left the café and walked down the steps into the lower levels of the market. None of the shops were open and the place was largely deserted. Harry took a dark hallway, listened for any approaching footsteps, and then Disapparated.

He reappeared on Bainbridge Island in a secluded bit of forest he had mapped out during a walk. It was a short hike to the bed-and-breakfast and he used the time to mull over Malfoy's words.

Mundungus Fletcher. Harry had not seen the man since the war. He remembered trying to pry the whereabouts of the Slytherin locket from him. Harry's nose wrinkled with distaste. If Mundungus was involved… well, it would explain many things, but it also seemed a bit too coincidental that Malfoy remembered seeing Mundungus just when Harry was looking for a suspect.

Harry's feet crunched on the ice-covered ground and he pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders. He brushed past a bush and snow deposited on his shin, marring Malfoy's fine trousers. Harry sighed, wishing it wasn't so easy to believe the worst of Malfoy. Harry knew if it were anyone else, he would be giving them the benefit of the doubt. Of course, he most likely wouldn't have shagged them, either.

That had been a mistake, possibly a costly one, but Harry couldn't bring himself to regret it. If Malfoy was involved with the smuggling ring, then Harry would do his best to keep the idiot out of Azkaban, and not just because he had been amazing in bed.

The bed-and-breakfast came into sight and Harry quickly pulled his invisibility cloak from his satchel and slung it on. He did not want to run into Carl or any of the other guests; he intended to send a message and then get back to Draco.

He Apparated to the balcony and used a quick Alohomora to unlock the glass door. He was relieved to find everything apparently untouched. After the attack on Malfoy, he had half-expected his room to be ransacked, but apparently they really did not know where Harry was staying.

Harry scrawled a quick note regarding Mundungus. A tapping on the glass caught his attention and he spotted a crow watching him. He frowned. The birds gave him the shivers, frankly, and seemed far more ominous than friendly. He missed the owls of England. Finishing the message, he let it dry and walked to the door to let in the bird.

It flapped inside and landed on the bed with a flutter of black wings. Harry wrinkled his nose, realizing he would have to give it something to eat. With a start, he remembered the cookies and fished out the box. The smell was delightful and he broke one in half before tossing a morsel to the crow. The rest he ate, rationalising that he wasn't actually eating it for breakfast.

Still munching, he detached the message from the crow's leg and unfurled it.

DM is employed by Eugenia Scamander and has been for the past eight years. He is a certified Herbologist and holds a Class Four Substance license. His business at his current location is unknown. He is still on the Ministry Watch List, however. Treat with caution.

Harry frowned. Eugenia Scamander. Why did that name sound familiar? He shook his head and crumpled the note. At least Malfoy hadn't lied about being a Herbologist, or an Herbalist, or whatever his business card said these days, even though his ultimate reason for being in Seattle was unconfirmed.

Harry grabbed his own message, rolled it up, and slipped it into the holder on the crow's leg. The bird glared at him balefully and pecked at his arm.

"Stop that. I already gave you a treat, greedy bird. Take that to the British Wizarding Embassy." He walked to the door and gestured outside. The bird reluctantly took wing and soared through the portal into the cold air. It let out a rasping cry, circled once, and then took off towards the city across the water.

Harry took out his wand, Vanished the note regarding Malfoy's employment, and Apparated back to Pike's Market. He hoped the corridor was still deserted, otherwise he would have to remember how to Obliviate someone. Luckily, that skill wasn't put to the test; the place was still empty.

Harry pocketed his wand and made his way back upstairs to the café. His stomach growled in earnest, not appeased by the partial chocolate chip cookie he had eaten. When he entered the café, Malfoy's cup was on the table, but Malfoy was gone.

Harry fought down a jolt of panic and caught the attention of the woman that had called to Malfoy when they had entered. "Excuse me, miss. Do you know where Mal—Dra—Mr Black went?"

"He left with his two friends just as soon as they arrived. They did not even stay for coffee. Do you still want your tea?" Her expression was clearly disapproving.

"His… friends? Did he eat breakfast?"

She shook her head. "Paid for it, but left before it was on the table. Said he was in a hurry and couldn't stay."

"What did his friends look like? Was he behaving strangely?"

Her face closed up and Harry knew he had lost all chance of extracting additional information. "Would you like that tea now, sir?" she asked politely.

Harry shook his head and walked out of the café, biting his lip. Had Malfoy been toying with him all along?

He took the sloping ramp that led to the main market. Vendors were already setting up their wares, placing jewellery, honey, handcrafted items, and t-shirts on tables and display racks. Their breath fogged the air and they smiled and lifted a gloved hand towards Harry as he passed, or ignored him completely as they worked. Harry scanned the place and then walked out onto the street. It was paved in bricks, a throwback from days gone by, and contained more pedestrians than vehicles, and not many of those on this cold morning.

A couple with two small children hurried towards the Market entrance. Two men in business attire walked briskly near the Muggle banking machine, and three men wearing orange vests and white helmets held white coffee cups and lounged near a fenced-off section that had been partially demolished.

Harry stood where he was, indecisive, and looked the other direction. A homeless man bundled in a grey blanket huddled on one corner and—Harry drew in a breath. Three men crossed the street some distance away. Two of them were unrecognizable, but the pale blond hair of the third was unmistakable. Harry turned and ran, taking care not to slip on the icy bricks. They disappeared from sight and Harry debated Apparating, Muggles be damned.

Instead he put on a burst of speed, racing up the hill and rounding the corner. A delivery man carrying a tray of wrapped bread shouted and jumped aside. Harry dove past him, eyes scanning the street. The man's cry had caught the attention of one of the men with Malfoy—they had reached the next corner. The man gaped at Harry and then pulled out a wand.

Harry drew his own wand and cut across the empty street. The two men and Malfoy hurried around the next corner. They were on First Avenue, which was busy with traffic. Harry thought they wouldn't dare Disapparate.

He also did not think they would try to hex him, but in that he was wrong. The moment he reached the corner, a chunk of the wall just above his head exploded, showering stone bits and dust over his hair. Harry cursed and crouched. The American authorities would have his head, followed by Kingsley if he let this get out of hand. He glanced around and sent a Stunner after the man.

The men were running; one of them hauled Malfoy along by a grip on his arm. Malfoy did not seem particularly interested in escape. He pulled back and his voice reached Harry's ears. "Watch the coat! This was hand-crafted!"

"Apparate!" the first man yelled.

Harry cast just as they all disappeared. He straightened, hoping to hell the spell had reached Malfoy. He glanced around. Amazingly, there were no Muggles standing around staring at him. A couple of cars had passed, but they hadn't stopped. He shook his head. Americans were an odd lot. They had probably assumed Harry and the others to be part of a film crew. The American Aurors at the Embassy had laughed about that when explaining rules and regulations to him on his arrival.

Giving up worrying about Muggle observers, Harry cast another spell. Relief flooded him when he felt a tug on his solar plexus, as if an invisible force tried to pull at him. Tracking Charm.

Harry hated to Apparate blind. It was extraordinarily dangerous, but his instincts were screaming at him, and they had been well-honed over the past decade. Taking a deep breath, he focussed on the tug of the Tracking Charm and Disapparated.

He materialized in a thankfully large space, directly in front of Malfoy, who swore and staggered back a couple of steps. "Bloody hell, Potter!"

Someone shouted nearby.

Harry hastily erected a Shield Charm just in time; a bolt bounced off immediately. He kept his eyes on Malfoy, who stood placidly once the shock of Harry's appearance diminished. Malfoy wasn't even holding a wand, but his motives were unknown, so Harry did not dare turn his back on him.

Harry risked a quick glance around, however, to see the two men from before aiming their wands. Someone Harry couldn't see was yelling, "Stun him! Obliviate him!"

Harry's shield held as two more spells bounced away. Malfoy frowned, looking far too placid for the situation.

"I am waiting here," Malfoy explained inanely.

Equal parts relief and alarm flooded Harry. "Finite Incantatum," he said, touching Malfoy lightly with his wand tip. The grey eyes cleared immediately just as a hex shattered Harry's shield.

"Potter! What the fuck?"

Harry smiled. That was more like it. Malfoy was likely to be incensed at having been Imperiused, but Harry did not have time to witness it. He spun around and sprayed the area with multiple hexes. A sizzling bolt narrowly missed his head, but both of Harry's targets shouted and dove for cover. They occupied a warehouse, Harry noted, surrounded by wooden crates and empty pallets.

Malfoy's wand appeared over Harry's shoulder and a spell shot upwards, striking a man who stood atop a set of metal stairs—Mundungus Fletcher. Harry threw a Tracking Charm at Mundungus just in case he Disapparated, but the man simply staggered against the railing, obviously suffering from whatever Malfoy had thrown at him.

"Saving me again, Potter?" Malfoy asked in a teasing tone.

"Always," Harry replied with a grin.

A head appeared from behind a wooden box and Harry's Stunner hit the man on the forehead. A sharp cry caused Harry to spin around, wand ready, but Malfoy had got there first. The final man sprawled on the floor, hopefully unconscious.

Harry grinned at Malfoy. "You would have made a pretty good Auror."

To his surprise, Malfoy's expression turned cold. He said nothing, however, and Harry pushed down a sense of misgiving. He did not have time to pry into Malfoy's psyche. Instead, he gestured. "Bind that man and I'll see to Mundungus."

"Yes, Auror Potter, sir," Malfoy said harshly.

Harry's lips thinned. Damn it, he didn't even know what he'd done! "Sorry," he said anyway. "Force of habit."

Malfoy shrugged. "Never mind. You're just doing your job."

Harry blanched, remembering the last time Malfoy had said those words. He nodded, torn between performing his duty and trying to delve beneath Malfoy's prickly, perplexing personality.

Without another word, Malfoy walked to the Stunned man and bound him with an Incarcerous.

Harry hurried to the steps where Mundungus was lounging and singing a song, sounding almost drunk. The singsong words halted when he spotted Harry. "Well, if it ain't the Minister for Magic! Hullo, Minister!"

Harry could not quite suppress a smile. Malfoy's Confundus was impressive. "Hello, Mundungus. Time to go and visit the authorities."

"Authorities shemorities plethoraties sonoraties," Mundungus said nonsensically. Harry tied him with magical ropes just in case his wits returned. He added an Anti-Disapparation Charm.

"Wait here a moment," Harry said as if Mundungus had any choice in the matter.

"Here like beer!" Mundungus replied.

"Exactly," Harry said. Malfoy had Levitated the first man over to lie near the second. Both were bound in magical ropes, so Harry assumed they were still living.

"I am going to be late for my appointment," Malfoy said, still acting like an icy stranger. "So, if you don't mind, I will take my leave. You know where to find me." His grey eyes narrowed. "How did you find me?"

Harry flushed, knowing Malfoy wouldn't like it, particularly in the mood he was in at the moment. "Tracking Charm," he admitted.

Malfoy went so still Harry feared when he did finally move it would be to hex him seven ways from Sunday. Harry stepped towards him and raised a hand, hoping to placate him, wishing for a way to bring back the softer, pleasanter version from last night. Malfoy took a step back and raised his wand.

"Well, then, you definitely know where to find me. Later, Potter." With one last glare, Malfoy Disapparated, leaving Harry to stare forlornly at the spot he'd disappeared from. He swore softly to himself and set about contacting the local authorities to come and pick up Mundungus and his cronies.

oOOooOOo

Draco Apparated straight to his hotel room, and winced at the sting of Potter's wards. He would have to remember to have the prat dismantle them before he left, which he could hopefully do without Draco ever setting eyes on him again.

He walked to the kitchenette and picked up the box of Sylvia's cookies. As he lifted it, he remembered Potter's ecstatic expression when he'd first bitten into one. That image morphed into Potter's face above him, taut with passion, eyes burning into Draco's and lips wet from his kisses.

Draco shook off the memory. It had been a one-off, for fuck's sake. It meant nothing. Potter would leave now, would go back to England and his perfect life and perfect job and forget Draco ever existed.

If only that knowledge didn't hurt so bloody much.

Draco shook his head and forced Potter out of his mind. He had business to conduct. With a final check of his appearance in the mirror, he Disapparated, magical disruption of electronics be damned.

Draco returned four hours later, exhausted but triumphant. He walked straight to the bar and carefully placed the terrarium on the counter. He sighed with relief when the plant therein did not even quiver at the movement, although Draco would have been surprised if it had—his Stasis Charm was perfected by now.

A rustle of movement startled him and his hand moved towards his wand, but Potter's voice halted the motion.

"What is it?" Potter asked, coming closer until he stood next to Draco.

" Cephalanthera austiniae," Draco replied. "A Phantom Orchid. It's incredibly rare."

"It's beautiful," Potter said, eyes on the delicate frond and small petal of the pure white flower. Even the leaves were white.

"Beautiful and potentially useful," Draco said. "Eugenia believes it might be beneficial as a potion ingredient for treatment of certain psychic maladies. Sylvia is the first person to have successfully grown them in captivity, as it were, at least that I've been able to locate."

"That's amazing."

"Indeed. It has taken months of work to get her to part with one. If she were a witch, she most likely would have Sorted Slytherin at Hogwarts." Draco reached out and touched the glass that encased the orchid. He whispered a spell that darkened the glass. The Phantom preferred the shade.

"You really like this," Potter said, sounding surprised.

"I am good at what I do. I understand the needs and the stakes, I get to travel and spend Eugenia's money, and I enjoy parting people from their knowledge and possessions. And it was something to do when the Auror Department rejected my application."

Potter drew in a breath. "They did what?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You heard me."

"Why?"

Draco did not meet Potter's eyes. By now most of the anger and resentment had faded. It had happened years ago, after all.

"My 'undesirable associations' would have reflected badly on the Auror Department and the Ministry. You know how it was after the war for those of us even remotely attached to the Dark... to Voldemort's name."

"I'm sorry," Potter said quietly. "I didn't know. About the rejection."

Draco believed him, but he doubted Potter would have lifted a finger to help if he had known. They were different people then; it seemed a lifetime ago. "It doesn't matter," Draco said.

"So, this is what you came for?" Potter indicated the orchid.

"Yes. Mission accomplished."

"You're coming home then?" Potter sounded deceptively casual.

"For a short time," Draco replied. "And then I will be off again. Eugenia is already hinting at a rare Amazonian tree bark she wants."

"Can... May I see you while you're in London?"

Draco thought about being deliberately obtuse, but it was clear what Potter asked. "Privately?"

Potter chuckled. "There aren't many private restaurants. I want to take you to dinner, and then maybe to the new cafe in Diagon Alley. They make specialty coffees, which I know you'll like, and a variety of desserts. I'm particularly fond of the treacle tart, but their mango Napoleons are exquisite."

Draco stared at him. "A date? In a public place?"

Potter frowned. "You don't want to be seen with me?"

"Are you mad?"

Potter's face fell. "I see. I thought maybe... I'd hoped..." He took a step back, looking anywhere but at Draco, who suddenly felt like the world's biggest idiot. Potter took another step and lifted his wand, obviously meaning to Disapparate, and then Draco would never see him again, would never—

"Wait!" Draco cried and practically leaped on Potter, gripping the green shirt Draco had given him just that morning.

Potter's eyes widened and locked with Draco's. Rather than try to gather his jumbled thoughts, Draco settled for hauling Potter forward into a kiss.

Potter was stiff with surprise for only a moment, and then he seemed to melt against Draco, enfolding him in a tight embrace and kissing him back with all the fire Draco had half-convinced himself he had dreamed the night before.

Draco pulled away when they were both gasping for breath, although Potter followed him for a moment in order to tug at Draco's lower lip with his teeth. Draco imagined those teeth nipping at his skin in other areas and had to physically push himself away to keep from snogging Potter again.

"I hope that wasn't your way of saying goodbye," Potter said breathlessly. "Because I'm not sure I'm capable of leaving after that."

"That was my way of keeping you from bolting like a jilted lover."

"I thought that's what I was," Potter said cautiously.

"The Saviour of the Wizarding World does not consort with ex-Death Eaters. And most especially male ex-Death Eaters."

Potter chuckled. "As the Saviour in question, I reserve the right to choose whether or not I consort with ex-Death Eaters."

Draco frowned. Potter did not seem to be taking Draco's concern seriously. "They won't like it."

"Who is 'they'?"

"Everyone! There is not a single person in Britain that will think this is a good idea."

Potter opened his mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again, and closed it with a frown. "That doesn't matter."

"It does matter. The Prophet will hound you day and night and every terrible thing I ever did will be dragged out of the dirt and pasted on the headlines.

"I don't care about that. I don't want them to do that to you, but I don't care what they think. The Prophet is full of lies anyway. I can stop them printing anything too dreadful, and I will."

Draco almost smiled. Apparently Potter had not lost all of his naiveté. "How do you plan to do that?"

"Hermione."

That did make him smile, the thought of Hermione Granger doing something to benefit Draco. It might be worth going back and dating Potter just to see the reactions from Weasel and Granger. And the idea of Potter fighting for him was a heady one.

"All right. One date. We'll see how it goes from there. The first time one of your annoying fans hexes me on the street, I'm going to Brazil."

"Deal," Potter said and his smile lit up the room.

oOOooOOo~

Harry stepped off the boat, batting at insects and keeping a careful eye out for the caiman he had already seen lurking near the shore of the river. There were deadly creatures in the water, jaguars lurking in the forest, and even poisonous insects. Apart from the friendly people, Brazil had not been particularly welcoming.

A machete-hewn path led from the water's edge through a mangrove swamp that echoed with the loud croaking of frogs. Once out of sight of the boat, Harry pulled out his wand and cast an Insect Repelling Charm. He breathed a sigh of relief and scratched at his neck. He had already been bitten several times.

The path he walked on rose slightly and the vegetation thinned to expose a small clearing that contained three small rough-looking huts. A fire pit in the center of the clearing sent a ribbon of smoke into the sky and an older gentleman wearing a straw hat poked at the embers. He looked up when Harry approached.

"Why, hello there! You must be the boy I've been hearing so much about!" The man got to his feet and Harry smiled. He hadn't been referred to as a "boy" in a very long time.

"Harry Potter, sir," he said and put out his hand to meet a strong grip and a vigorous shake. "I'm afraid to ask what you've been hearing about me."

"Oh, pish, Mr…" The man's words trailed off and his eyes widened. "Oh, I say now, you can't be that Harry Potter! The one who…?" He lifted a hand and pointed at his own forehead with a slashing gesture.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, that Harry Potter." He obediently lifted a hand and pulled back his fringe to expose the scar.

"Well, I never! That is astounding, that is! I am ever so pleased to meet you, Mr Potter!"

"It's just Harry. Nice to meet you, Mr…"

"Scamander! Nathanial Scamander, but please call me Nate."

"Nice to meet you, Nate. Do you know where I can find—?"

"Look at me prattling on. Of course you're looking for Himself. He's just that way. Take care not to stray from the path. And don't forget to look up now and again." Nate gestured towards another rough-looking path between two of the huts.

"Thank you," Harry said and started off, wondering vaguely why he would need to look up now and again.

The forest was thicker beyond the clearing, and Harry had to step over several fallen trees, or walk along their smooth-worn lengths. He glanced up frequently and saw nothing but brightly coloured birds, and once a baleful-looking monkey.

"Look up," he muttered and wondered if Nate was having him on.

After walking for what seemed far too long, Harry chanced a glance up and was glad he hadn't ignored Nate's advice. He stopped short at the sight of the man dangling from a tree branch high above. Magical ropes were connected to a tiny wooden seat and then wrapped around the branch, making a precarious-looking perch.

As if sensing Harry's presence, Malfoy glanced down and their gazes locked. Malfoy shook his head, tapped another piece of bark free of the tree, and tucked it into a pouch attached to the seat. Then he cast a spell and the ropes lengthened, sending him hurtling towards the ground.

Harry nearly cast a Cushioning Charm, but Malfoy slowed just in time and hopped nimbly away from the dangerous-looking contraption. He looked far different than he had in Seattle six months prior. There he had been all high-class and polish. Now he wore casual-looking olive trousers and a pale cotton shirt, open at the neck. Atop his head was a straw hat similar to the one worn by Nate and serviceable boots covered his feet. He looked… well, he looked bloody gorgeous, as always.

"A bit far from home, aren't you, Potter?" Malfoy asked.

"They say home is where the heart is," Harry replied, trying for flippant and probably failing, but it didn't matter because then Malfoy was in his arms and his lips were on Harry's. Their tongues tangled and Harry realized he'd spoken truthfully. He pulled away long enough to catch a breath and say, "Missed you."

Malfoy chuckled. "You're hopeless. I've only been gone two weeks." Despite his words, his hands did not leave off roaming over Harry, sliding down his back and curving over his buttocks before journeying upwards again.

"You haven't missed me at all, then?"

Malfoy hummed. "Now, I certainly didn't say that." With a wicked grin, he leaned forwards and took Harry's lips in another bruising kiss that left Harry feeling slightly dazed by the end. Dazed and exceedingly warm.

"It's really bloody warm here. How can you stand it?"

"Cooling Charms, obviously. Here." Malfoy left off caressing him long enough to murmur a spell. Brilliant, blissful coolness surrounded them and Harry sighed appreciatively. He'd been so focussed on finding Malfoy that he hadn't thought to cast a simple spell. "Come on; let's get you something to drink. Dehydration is a grave danger here."

Malfoy took Harry's hand and pulled him along, letting go only when they reached a fallen log that needed scrambling over.

The encampment seemed far closer than it had when Harry had walked the distance. Nate was still poking at the fire and there was now a pot perched on the edge of the pit, propped up with stones.

"Nate, Harry and I will be… occupied for a bit. I'll appreciate no disturbances. Be sure to keep the jaguars away, yes?"

Nate chuckled and raised a hand. "Aye, Captain."

Malfoy pushed open the door to the middle hut and a welcome blast of cold washed over them. Harry stepped inside.

"You called me Harry," he said as he took in their surroundings. He had expected a magically-enlarged wizarding space, but the room would not have looked odd to any Muggle walking in. A large bed took up most of the space, along with a small writing desk, rough-looking chair, and a tall cabinet.

"It is your name, is it not?"

"Yes, but you've never used it before."

"I do when you're not around," Malfoy admitted with a disarming grin. He shut the door and wrapped a fist in Harry's shirt to haul him forwards. "Come here, Harry."

They undressed each other slowly, letting the clothing fall where it would, touching and kissing each bit of skin as it was revealed. Harry's fingers traced the Sectumsempra scar and continued lower, opening the khaki trousers and reaching inside.

Malfoy—or Draco now; he'd been Draco in Harry's mind for a while now, but old habits died hard—made a delicious sound and pulled Harry down to the bed.

"I missed you, too," Draco admitted and kicked the last of his clothing away. Harry did the same, peeling off socks and pants and then pressing himself over all of that lovely, pale skin. He still wasn't quite used to the fact that he was allowed. Despite everything, they had weathered the storm and come out the other side. It wasn't over yet, of course, probably never would be, but Harry hoped the worst was done.

Their first date in London had been a tense affair. Draco, smartly dressed, outwardly cold as ice, inwardly just as nervous as Harry, had walked with him through Diagon Alley to the restaurant Harry had chosen. They had drawn some glances, but that was a common thing for Harry even when he was alone.

Dinner had gone well and Harry had enjoyed himself immensely. It was only after dinner, when they had exited the restaurant and Harry had taken Malfoy's hand, that the true test had begun.

Someone alerted the press and before they had walked far, they had been surrounded by reporters and photographers.

Mr Potter, can you give us a statement? Your readers would very much like to know if you are involved in a relationship with… him. Mr Malfoy, what have you got to say for yourself?

Harry had lifted a hand to silence the masses, the other clenched tightly around Draco's to keep him in place. "Here is my official statement on this matter," Harry had announced. With that, he had turned and kissed Draco long enough for the photo in the next morning's paper to play for a ludicrous length of time. Harry had been pleased enough with it to frame it and place it on his desk at work. When the kiss was done, he had stared piercingly at them all and added, "Also, if I see one incorrect or libellous word printed about either of us, I will have your jobs. Please excuse us."

That hadn't been the end of it, of course. There had been Howlers and threats, pleading letters from not-quite-stable fans, a few surprise spells meant to break whatever "curse" Draco had cast upon Harry, and several love potion antidotes, but the press had been more supportive than expected, as had Harry's friends. Draco's had rallied around him like protective wolves and immediately dragged Harry into their fold.

Within two months they had broken down the walls of prejudice and dislike from their school days, and built something that might stand the test of time. Even after Draco had left for Brazil, Blaise Zabini and Ron Weasley still got together on Wednesday nights to play chess while Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger argued. Harry had worried about the latter at first, but it soon became clear that they both liked to argue, no matter the topic, and they seemed to be getting better at it as time went on.

Draco arched beneath him, pulling Harry back to the present. "Yes, like that," Draco said as Harry twisted his hand over Draco's cock while sliding it up the hard shaft. He repeated the motion and Draco groaned.

"Feels like it's been forever. How long are you here?"

"Four days," Harry admitted. "Got to be back on Monday."

Draco was scheduled to be in Brazil for a month, collecting bark, rare plants, and other assorted items for Eugenia Scamander. Harry had been climbing the walls after a week, gnawing his knuckles with worry that Draco would change his mind about them during their separation.

"Don't be stupid. He's been mad for you for years," Zabini had assured him. The words had only made Harry more desperate to see Draco and he'd requested a couple of days off after scheduling the first International Portkey departing for South America.

"Well, we'd best make it count, then," Draco murmured and picked up Harry's wand to cast the usual spell. He always used Harry's wand to do it and Harry always flashed back to that first time in Seattle.

Draco's eyes were half-lidded and his mouth wet from Harry's kisses. His blond hair was a mess, half-flattened from the hat and sticking up in places that would mortify him when he looked in the mirror later. Harry's heart ached at the sight of him, knowing no one else was allowed to see him like this; and no one else ever would, if Harry had anything to say about it.

Harry entered him slowly, meaning to make it last. He kept his eyes fixed on Draco's face, watching every nuance.

"Better cast a Silencing Charm. I have no intention of being quiet."

Harry smiled and picked up his wand. Their lovemaking was vigorous, to say the least. They had broken one bedframe at Grimmauld Place and smashed an antique vase at Malfoy Manor. And Harry's chair at work still listed to the right, despite a vast array of repairing charms…

Spell cast, Harry let go his wand and gripped Draco's hips to thrust deeper, faster, just the way he liked it. Draco pulled his hair, dragging him into a kiss. The bedframe banged against the wall and Harry absently hoped his Silencing Charm was effective.

Draco alternated rough, biting kisses with shouts of encouragement, driving Harry completely wild as sensation built upon itself, starting at his cock and coursing through his veins with every movement, every yes, Harry, there, there…

Something gave with a crack and there was a brief sensation of falling. Bed number two, Harry thought absently, pausing for only a moment before resuming his mission of making Draco Malfoy come apart.

He silenced Draco's chuckle with a tug on his cock, grinning when Draco's eyes darkened and his lids fluttered shut. He threw his head back and Harry kissed his throat, urging him to come with his hand, hoping to keep hitting the spot inside that turned Draco incoherent —with a wordless cry, Draco clenched around him, narrowing Harry's world even farther.

Harry's hand went slick and he shuddered, needing only four pounding thrusts before muffling his own shout in Draco's neck, his release explosive, as always. Every time was good, better than good, and becoming as necessary as breathing.

As he drowsed atop Draco, limp and sated, he realized he'd missed the aftermath just as much as the sex, missed Draco's hand lazily carding through his hair and drawing random patterns on his skin, missed his cock softening inside of him and the taste of Draco's sweat on his lips.

"When do you have to go back out bark-hunting?"

"Tomorrow, I suppose. You can come with me and put your heroic skills to work."

"I just put my heroic skills to work."

Draco chuckled. "Egotist. Some of those trees do look rather sturdy…"

Harry lifted his head to stare at him. "Are you suggesting we have sex in a tree?"

"After the rooftop garden incident, I know you're not a prude."

Harry flushed at the memory. He hadn't known the garden was visible from the windows of the building next door… at first. "You're going to be the death of me."

"Probably," Draco said agreeably.

Harry dropped his head again, perfectly content to doze off until they recovered enough for a second round. Before his eyes drifted shut, he caught sight of Draco's planner on the desk and remembered the white orchid that had inadvertently brought them together. It would always remind him of Draco, pale and beautiful, raised in shadow, requiring extreme care and nurturing to thrive in captivity.

"My little Cephalanthera austiniae," Harry murmured.

"Don't make me hex you, Potter."

Harry smiled.

~END~