1   The Hourglass

June 4, 1997

BANG BANG BANG!

"This is Auror Shacklebolt with the Ministry of Magic! We know who you are: the wards have identified you as Draco Malfoy, known fugitive and suspect Death Eater."

BANG BANG!

"On behalf of the Ministry of Magic, I order you to open this door!"

Draco Malfoy stood, frozen in fear, as a growing cacophony of shouts and thumps escalated on the other side of the door. His heart leapt into his throat, its erratic beats as loud as the pounding on the door. His lungs constricted painfully in panic even as he clutched his precious burden with desperate, sweaty hands.

He frantically scanned the room, seeking any kind of escape - a door, a window, anything - but there was still nothing but row upon row of hourglasses, sparkling in the candlelight. Nothing separated him from certain arrest but a feeble locking charm, and his stomach lurched in dread.

He'd been caught.

''''''

It was a suicide mission; Draco had known that from the start. Two of Dark Lord's Death Eaters had heard that the Department of Mysteries was rebuilding its Time Vault after its destruction the previous year. The Time Bubble had been mended, Time Turners were being reconstructed, and - of the most interest to the Dark Lord - new experiments were being conducted.

It was no secret that the Dark Lord had his sights set on immortality, to cheat Death by any means that he could. The idea that new experiments with Time were going on in the Ministry of Magic had him most intrigued, and he had decided to send a Death Eater to investigate.

Thanks to war time regulations and the previous year's fiasco, however, security within the Department of Mysteries had tightened. Additionally, trespassers were subject to severe penalities, guaranteeing a captured Death Eater a long sentence in Azkaban. Naturally, then, the Dark Lord would send the Death Eater he considered most expendable, and so the task fell to Draco.

"This is your last chance, young Malfoy," the Dark Lord had sneered at the cowering Draco. "Find out what they are doing in the Time Room. Bring me back something useful, or do not come back at all."

"But…but my Lord," Draco had said, trying not to quiver in fright. "There is security everywhere. If I should be caught -"

"Then you will join your worthless father in Azkaban, and I will be able to kill you both simultaneously," the older wizard had replied coldly. "Now get out of my sight. To think I once considered the Malfoys among the highest ranks of my servants."

The Dark Lord's fingers had curled more tightly around his wand at that point, and Draco had scrambled out of the room as fast as he could. He'd known the mission would almost certainly result in his apprehension by Aurors. That might even have been the Dark Lord's intention.

Still, even Azkaban was better than dying. And so, on the eve of his seventeenth birthday, Draco Malfoy snuck into the Ministry of Magic and down to Level Nine. Following the directions given by his cackling Aunt Bellatrix, he found the newly repaired Time Room.

The room made his skin prickle with magic. It held nothing but hourglasses of all sizes, set on glass shelves that lined every inch of the long walls. Some were as small as thimbles; others taller than Draco himself. It was unearthly still, save for the whispered breath of sand trickling out in a never-ending measure.

Fascinated though he normally would have been, Draco just wanted out. He quickly spelled the door locked behind him before walking to the closest shelf. With shaking hands, he grabbed a random hourglass, about the size of a loaf of bread but as heavy as lead.

The next moment, the wailing started - a horrible alarm that was loud enough to rattle the hourglasses on their shelves. And as Draco grasped his hourglass with sweaty palms, loud cracks began to sound behind the door as Auror after Auror Apparated in to arrest him.

''''''

BANG BANG BANG!

"Mr. Malfoy, this is Auror Dawlish!"

A new voice was on the other side of the door - a pompous, arrogant voice that set Draco's teeth on edge.

"You are a suspected Death Eater and a known fugitive, wanted for questioning in relation to the death of Albus Dumbledore. You will not be allowed to leave this building except in Ministry custody. We are authorized to use force if necessary, including Stunning and Disarming Spells, and if necessary, Pain Spells."

Draco winced and took several hasty steps backwards, the stolen hourglass clutched tightly to his chest.

The voice continued in superior tones. "You are hereby under arrest for the crimes of breaking and entering, attempting to steal Ministry property, trespassing in the Department of Mysteries, consorting with You-Know-Who, damaging irreplaceable -"

"Oh shut up, Dawlish," a familiar voice suddenly broke in. "Lay off for a second and move. I want to talk to him."

Draco stared at the door in shock as the insistent pounding started anew.

"Malfoy? Malfoy, it's me. Open the bloody door!"

Draco cursed every Deity he could think of that Potter was here to witness his humiliation.

"Not on your life, Potty!" he jeered, with a great deal more defiance than he actually felt.

"For God's sake, Malfoy, there are twenty Aurors on this side of the door and no other way out. Let me in, would you? I just want to talk!"

"I'm not a fucking idiot, Potter! If I open that door I'm going straight to Azkaban!"

"That's right, Mr. Malfoy, and I will personally see to it that you get the harshest sentence avail-"

"Dawlish, PISS OFF. Malfoy, you won't go to Azkaban if you come out now. I can help you!"

"Saint Potter, help me?" Draco snorted derisively. "A likely story. You want me in prison more than any of them!"

"That isn't true! Look, if you let me in I'll do everything I can to help you, but you have to -"

"REDUCTO!"

Someone had hit the door with a spell, causing Draco to jump in fright.

"Don't!" came Potter's angry shout. "You could hurt him! He's only -"

Draco missed the rest of Potter's words as he stumbled, off-centre because of the heavy hourglass. Seconds later, he lost his balance completely.

He fell forward, his wand tumbling out of his pocket and clattering on the stone. As he fell, the hourglass clutched tightly to his chest tipped with him. Right before Draco's face hit the floor, a single grain of sand fell from one side to the other.

The next moment, the world around Draco completely dissolved. The ground that had been rushing toward Draco disappeared, and Draco screamed as he plummeted into blackness. Colour suddenly burst into his vision, streaking in lines past his head. His heart pounded, his lungs felt crushed, the vertigo threatened to make him sick -

And then as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, leaving Draco sprawled and panting - not on the stone floor of the Ministry, but on the plush, beige carpet of somebody's home.

''''''

Draco lay still for a moment, waiting for the room to stop spinning. He took a few deep breaths, registering the softness of carpet beneath him and the quiet of his new surroundings.

Well. This is certainly interesting, he thought to himself. Unless the Aurors' newest line of defence is Re-decorating spells, I think it's safe to say I'm not in the Ministry of Magic anymore.

Still nervous but now slightly relieved, he gingerly began to push himself up from the floor. His body ached as if someone had dropped him carelessly from the ceiling. A sharp pain throbbed in his wrists and hands, which he'd used to break his fall.

His unfortunately empty wrists and hands.

Oh fuck, Draco thought in sudden panic. I lost the fucking hourglass. He swallowed nervously. The Dark Lord would not be pleased.

I'll have to go back for it, he realised with dread, as he straightened up. No choice. Got to leave here and go back to the Ministry…

Draco took a look around the room and his eyes widened.

…just as soon as I figure out where the fuck "here" is.

Gone were the stone floors and glass shelves of the Time Room. In their place was a luxurious bedroom that Draco had never seen before. Huge drapery-adorned windows lined one wall, two enormous wooden wardrobes stood against another, and a massive bed with a green silk comforter and gold trimmed pillows dominated the room.

Well, wherever I am, they've got good taste, Draco thought approvingly. Now hopefully they're sentimental saps who don't mind houseguests. Here's hoping Hufflepuffs live here.

Though the more Draco took in the opulence of the room, the less likely that possibility seemed. Only a Slytherin would decorate with so much green, and choose such luxurious appointments. In fact, he might have even believed he was back at the Manor, if it hadn't been for the little details that caught his eye: the bright, jarring red jumpers peeking out of one wardrobe, the garishly cheerful Snitch clock on the nightstand, and most especially, the little claw lion feet on the bed.

Generations of proud Slytherins meant that no Malfoy could tolerate lion anything.

Curiously Draco headed over to one window, pulling the heavy drapes aside. The window was streaked with rain, so Draco leaned forward until his forehead rested against the cool glass. He peered outside - and then started in shock at the busy street at least three stories below.

MUGGLES! he thought in panic, watching the non-magic cars queue down the street and the non-magic people pull their coats tightly closed against the rain. Before his shock could wear off, a bigger shock occurred.

"Draco! Baby, are you home?"

Draco froze, eyes widening. Someone - a man, with a pleasant, low and oddly familiar voice - knew he was here...

…and was calling him baby.

"Draco? Are you in the bedroom?"

Draco's mouth went suddenly dry with nerves. Who the hell was calling his name, and where the hell was he? He reached frantically into his pocket - and swore. No wand; it must have fallen out back in the Department of Mysteries.

Draco's fists clenched in desperation. He had no wand and no way of escape, but whatever this mysterious man wanted with him, Draco would have no part in it. He dashed to the bed, grabbing the heavy Snitch clock from the nightstand to use as a weapon.

Loud footsteps echoed just outside the bedroom door, and Draco steeled himself. Slowly, the door began to open.

"Baby? I got that kinky outfit you wanted, and I'm about to burst out of these pants thinking about how sexy -"

Draco hurled the clock straight at his potential assailant as hard as he could.

" - you're going to look in - Protego!"

The clock Draco had thrown bounced off a shield was immediately and expertly raised, and went flying back in Draco's direction. Draco panicked, tried to duck and slipped. He went tumbling down, landing rather hard on his arse.

"Fuck," he muttered crossly from the floor.

"Draco!" The man's voice had a definite scolding edge to it, even as he came around to Draco's side of the bed. "What on earth did you throw that for? It could have hit you!"

Some part of Draco registered that Mystery Man was more concerned that the clock might have hit Draco than himself, but he was too pissed off to care. "How dare you call me baby!" he snarled, lifting his head to glare at the man. "Just who the fuck do you think you -"

Then Draco's voice promptly died away in a strangled gasp.

"…P-P-Potter?!"

''''''

Now that Draco had actually seen the other man, with his head of dishevelled black hair and brilliant green eyes behind glasses, there was no one else it could have been. But this wasn't the Potter that Draco knew. This Potter was…

"You're….BIG!" he blurted out, in total shock.

Indeed. It was Harry Potter, Draco was sure of that, but it was a larger, older Harry Potter, one with chiselled features and broad shoulders, whose T-shirt clung to his defined muscles and whose handsome face would have made Lockhart jealous.

Draco was so horrified to realize that he thought this older Potter was incredibly fit that he nearly missed how Potter was staring back at him.

"I'm not big; you're just small," Potter said in obvious surprise, reaching out a hand to touch Draco's face. "Or not so much small as young. What did you do? You look like a kid again!"

Draco yanked his head away. "Fuck you," he snapped. "I'm nearly seventeen!"

"And mouthy as ever," Potter said dryly, though he looked more amused than upset. "Shall I assume you've been playing about with a De-Aging Potion?"

Draco nearly bit him. "I am not mouthy! And I don't know what the fuck you're fucking babbling on about. If anyone's taken a potion here it's obviously you. Why the fuck do you look so old?!"

Draco could have sworn that the look Potter gave him was affectionate.

"You know, baby, twenty-one is hardly old enough to start on potions to make yourself younger," he said soothingly, ignoring Draco's protests. "You're absolutely gorgeous, you really are, and you don't need -"

"Fuck off, Potter," Draco growled. "And I'm not twenty-one, I'm sixteen, just like I -"

"So you did take a De-Aging Potion," Potter said, furrowing his brow. "But why would you take a De-Aging potion and then pretend that you didn't?"

"No one has taken a De-Aging Potion, you fuckwit! I want to know what the fuck has happened to you! Not ten minutes ago I was at the Ministry, we were yelling back and forth, then someone hit the door with a spell and I jumped and -"

But Potter wasn't listening. A light of understanding had come into his eyes, which quickly shifted into something positively predatory.

"A De-Aging Potion. Oh, you are kinky," Potter practically purred.

And then he put his hand on Draco's thigh.

Draco's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and he promptly forgot about trying to explain his situation.

"Get your hand off me!" he barked, valiantly ignoring the stirring in his groin that suggested that he rather liked Potter's hand on his body.

Potter not only ignored him, he actually slid his hand a few inches higher. Prickles went up Draco's thigh from every spot that Potter's fingers touched.

"Temper, temper," Potter chided gently, as he leaned in close. Draco could feel the heat radiating off of Potter's altered body, which seemed even larger up close. "You don't really expect me to leave you alone when you've done something like this, do you?"

"Done…I…what?!" Draco gasped, quickly scooting backwards until his back hit the wall. He had to get away from that creeping hand and strong, warm body. "I haven't done anything!"

"Of course you haven't," Potter cooed, shifting gracefully to all fours like some fucking jungle cat. "You only asked me to bring home an old school uniform, and then De-Aged yourself to sixteen. Of course you don't want a spot of role-play."

"Role-play?" Draco repeated, completely lost. He pulled his knees defensively up to his chest. "What's role-play? I'm not a fucking thespian, Potter!"

Potter laughed. "You're good at this," he conceded as he advanced towards Draco, who was cowering against the wall. "It's almost as if you're the exact same arrogant little Malfoy I went to Hogwarts with, right down to that horrible slicked back hair."

"Why you…shut up!" Draco sputtered. He would have been offended, but the hungry look Potter was giving him was ultimately too distracting. "And get away from me before I hex your bits off."

He emphasized this by aiming a kick in Potter's direction. Potter was too fast for him, though, catching his leg by the ankle before Draco could touch him.

"With what wand?" Potter asked sweetly. In another quick move, he grabbed Draco's other ankle, pinning both feet to the floor. "The one in your pocket that's telling me how much you like this?"

Draco's eyes widened in horror as his face flushed burning red. He was hard, almost painfully so, but the fact that Potter had noticed…it was humiliating.

"Shut up," he snapped, trying to pull his legs out of Potter's grasp. "I don't like it."

Potter raised an eyebrow. "Really." He tightened his grip on Draco's legs, sliding his hands under the cuffs of Draco's trousers. "Is that part of the game?"

"What….game…?" Draco bit out, sucking in his breath as Potter's warm fingers made contact with the cool skin of his leg.

Potter licked his lips. "What game," he repeated, eyes flashing. "Of course."

He suddenly gave a sharp tug on Draco's ankles, yanking him forward and away from the wall. Draco scrambled, trying to hold himself upright and not end up on his back underneath Potter. The insufferable git still had control of Draco's legs, however, which were now spread on either side of Potter's body.

"Potter!" Draco felt short of breath with Potter's body, big and hard and hot, between his legs. Potter's muscles were flexed beneath his t-shirt, the clingy cotton highlighting his biceps and chest. His black hair hung in his eyes, which were still fixed determinedly on Draco.

Draco's cock actually throbbed. Potter seemed so powerful, and Draco was under no delusions about who would win a physical battle between them. Now why that was a turn-on, Draco had no idea.

Nevertheless… "Let me go, you gigantic imbecile," he snarled, thrashing about in Potter's grasp.

"Not bloody likely," Potter said, looking like he actually enjoyed Draco's struggles. He leaned forward, pressing his nose against Draco's neck, just below his ear.

"This is really pervy," he said softly, his warm breath tickling Draco's skin. Draco stiffened as a wet tongue slowly licked a trail up his neck.

"P-Potter," he gasped, as that hot tongue found his ear. Draco whimpered as Potter traced the shell of his ear, and then gently nibbled on his earlobe.

"You're blushing," Potter whispered, as Draco shuddered under his attack. "Are you supposed to be a virgin?"

Draco felt hot all over. "None of your fucking business," he managed to scowl, and then promptly mewled as Potter nipped at his neck.

"That's a yes," Potter said as he pulled back a few inches, a wicked smile on his face. "So, my little sixteen-year old virgin…" he said the words teasingly, as if he didn't mean them. "How do you want to play? Is this a slow seduction, or are we doing it hard and rough and any way I want?"

Draco gaped at him. "Any way you - ?"

He never got to finish his sentence, because the next moment Potter's lips were against his.

"I hoped you'd say that," Potter breathed, and then his tongue was in Draco's mouth.

Draco's head spun as Potter claimed his mouth, forcing him backwards. Draco wasn't particularly experienced when it came to kissing - or anything sexual, really - but Potter's kisses were far beyond anything he'd ever encountered. He nipped at Draco's lips and twisted his tongue in Draco's mouth, all the while keeping Draco pinned with his larger, heavier body.

Draco heard a low moan, and realised with a shock that it was his own. Potter seemed to like it, though, because he pressed into Draco even more forcefully.

"You like this, don't you?" Potter whispered, his hard body trapping Draco in place.

Draco could only whimper. "Potter," he said helplessly. He'd never thought he'd enjoy being so ruthlessly dominated.

His whimper drew a growl from Potter. "Want to find out what happens to sixteen-year-old virgins who find their way into my bedroom?"

Draco gasped; afraid he'd explode from the sudden mix of lust and nerves in his stomach. He jerked his head away, and then gulped as he caught the look on Potter's face. It was his Snitch face, the face that said I've seen you, Snitch, and you're as good as mine. No Snitch escaped when Potter got that look.

But there wasn't a snitch in the bedroom. The only thing there was…

…was Draco.

"You let me go," Draco demanded, suddenly nervous. "Immediately, or I'll have you fucking arrested."

Potter merely raised an eyebrow. "Oh, we're playing like that, are we?"

"I don't know what you're fucking talking about, but I'm not playing," Draco snapped, kicking his still trapped legs uselessly. He was desperately trying to convince his libido that it did not like being pinned under Potter.

Potter smiled and licked his lips. "Of course you're not," he said silkily, sitting back and taking his weight off of Draco. He stood, and then reached down and pulled Draco to his feet.

It was too easy, Draco realized nervously. And as Draco began to back away, he had the uncomfortable feeling that, like a cat toying with a mouse, Potter was just biding his time before eating him.

Sure enough, Draco made it exactly three steps before Potter pounced.

Draco's world spun as Potter grabbed him, picking him up easily. He yelped as Potter threw him over one shoulder, carrying him across the room and then tossing him on the bed. The next instant Potter was on top of him, pinning Draco's wrists securely above his head.

"Gotcha," he said in satisfaction, as he straddled Draco's stomach. "You didn't really think I'd let you go, did you?"

"Fuck you," Draco snarled, struggling. "How dare you manhandle me like this?!"

"Baby, I haven't even begun to manhandle you," Potter said sweetly.

Draco's stomach twisted nervously even as his cock twitched in anticipation. "What are you going to do with me?"

Potter licked his lips. "Why, exactly what you just said."

He leaned down, his face only inches from his captive. At this distance, Draco could see nothing but green, green, green…

"I'm going," Potter whispered, "to fuck you."

2  Twenty-One?!

At Potter's words, Draco's entire body stiffened in shock.

"Fuck me?" he squeaked.

"Mmm-hmm," Potter said, keeping Draco pinned with strong hands on Draco's thin wrists. He dipped his head down to Draco's neck, and pressed a kiss onto the sensitive skin. "I'm going to fuck you right through this bed."

"But…but I haven't…I've never…" Panic and arousal were warring within Draco. His cock was screaming for Potter's attention, but his heart was telling him he didn't want his first time to be rough and pinned to a mattress. He snapped out, "I don't want to."

Potter nipped at his neck, making Draco squeak. "Right. You'll be begging for it before I'm done with you."

"What?" Draco shrank back against the pillows in a futile effort to get away from Potter's lips and teeth. "I said I didn't want it! Aren't you going to stop?!"

That made Potter still. He pulled back to stare down at Draco, looking uncertain for a moment. "I…" He shook his head. "'Course I won't stop," he said, bravado back in place.

He adjusted his position to hold Draco's wrists immobile with one hand. With his other hand now free, Potter began to undo the buttons of Draco's shirt.

"Stop it!" Draco demanded, straining against Potter's grip. "Let me go!"

"No," Potter said slyly. "You can fight me all you like; you haven't a chance in the world of getting away. But by all means, struggle; it only turns me on more."

Draco's cock twitched in his pants and he moaned, neither of which went unnoticed by Potter.

"Looks like it turns you on too," he practically leered.

Draco's cheeks flushed. It did turn him on, but Potter was scaring him too. The other man's hand felt huge on his wrists, and his grip was like iron. Draco was completely trapped, and this strange, overgrown Potter wasn't listening to his protests. He simply could not believe that the Boy-Who-Lived would get off on forcing other people.

Potter yanked open his shirt, and Draco remained powerless to stop him as Potter's eyes roamed freely over his exposed body. He didn't miss the eyebrows that shot up as Potter took in his visible ribs and thin chest.

He let out a low whistle. "No wonder I'm not having any trouble holding you down," he said softly. He looked troubled. "Poor baby. Were you really this thin at sixteen?"

Humiliation burned hot on Draco's face. "Fuck you," he burst out, squirming desperately. "So what if I'm a bit thin? I don't know what magic you've worked on yourself, but you're not supposed to be any bigger than I am." He paused. "And what do you mean, was I this thin at sixteen? I'm sixteen now."

Potter actually snorted. "Of course you are," he said patronizingly. "And I'm the one who's done magic to change myself."

"You most certainly have! How else do you explain -?"

He was cut off by a finger pressed against his lips.

"Too much talking, not enough fucking," Potter said, now tracing Draco's lips with his finger.

Draco narrowed his eyes - and bit.

There was a loud yelp as Potter jerked his finger back. "Fucking hell, Draco!" he swore, shaking his hand and wincing. "That hurt!"

"Good," Draco said, seething.

Potter had brought his finger to his mouth and was sucking it gently. "I didn't know you wanted it that rough," he said, eying Draco with surprise.

"I don't want it at all," Draco lied.

Potter snorted. "Right, the whole don't-take-me-I'm-a-virgin act."

Draco practically growled. "It's not an act!"

Potter smiled, and leaned down over him. Draco could see the faintest hint of shadow on Potter's jaw, which only made him look more rugged and dangerous.

"Of course it's not an act," Potter whispered, and Draco could feel his hot breath against his lips. "You're really a helpless little virgin, and I'm the big, bad man who's going to change that."

Draco's mouth fell open in shock and arousal. The next moment Potter slid his tongue between Draco's parted lips, flattening his body against Draco's. Draco gasped, completely caught by Potter's tongue and the hot press of Potter's lips against his own.

Potter again held one of Draco's wrists in each hand, but now he brought them down, trapping them on either side of Draco's head. His hold was tight and possessive, and it made Draco squirm in a strained mix of fear and lust.

Potter broke the searing kiss. "You're not going anywhere, love," he said, tightening his grip on Draco's wrists. "You're all mine."

His words made Draco shudder, even as his arms and wrists started to ache. "Potter, you're hurting me," he whimpered.

For one fleeting second, Draco thought he saw concern on Potter's face. Then Potter shook it off. "You wanted it rough, and that's how you're going to get it." His voice was low, and sent chills down Draco's spine.

Potter shifted to settle himself between Draco's legs. His intentions could not have been clearer, and Draco was properly scared now. A strangled noise escaped his throat.

"Why?" he choked out. Who was this Potter, who was so like and yet so fundamentally unlike the Potter he knew? "Who are you?"

Potter grinned wolfishly at him. "Who would you like me to be?"

"I don't know, but you're sure as fuck not Harry Potter," Draco said angrily, feeling the burning swell of hot tears in his eyes. "Because Harry Potter wouldn't rape a virgin."

Potter jerked back as if he'd been stung. He stared down at Draco, obviously rattled.

"You're the one who wanted me to…" He trailed off as his gaze fell on Draco's face, where Draco was rapidly blinking to hold back the tears.

"Are you going to cry?" Potter suddenly asked, looking properly horrified.

Draco flushed. "No!" he snarled angrily, wincing when he heard his voice break.

Potter was relentless. "Your eyes are all shiny and you're biting your lip," he said suspiciously.

Draco set his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. "Does it even fucking matter to you?" he snapped bitterly. "You're going to rape me anyway; what do you care if I cry my way through?"

Draco felt Potter's body go rigid on top of him, and he opened his eyes.

Potter looked like he'd been slapped. "Of course I care," he snapped back, sounding angry. "I can't do this if you cry. I know you like things to be realistic, but fuck, Draco - this is too real. A little bit rough is good, but I'm not going to force myself on a crying little boy."

"Crying little boy?! How dare you?!"

Potter let go of Draco's wrists and sat back on Draco's stomach. "I don't understand you!" he said tersely, folding his arms over his chest. "What do you want from me?! I come home with the stuff you wanted and you're obviously planning to have a kinky go, seeing as you De-Aged yourself and all -"

"I have NOT DE-AGED MYSELF!"

"For the love of - I'm trying to have a real conversation! Would you fucking stop playing games, already?!"

"But I…I'm not…" Draco was suddenly overwhelmed by the utter unfairness of it all. "I'm not playing anything!" he howled, as the tears brimming in his eyes spilled down his cheeks. "I didn't ask for any of this! You come in, pounce on me, tell me you're going to force me and then when I cry you yell at me! You're horrible, Potter, just horrible -"

Potter's weight suddenly disappeared from his stomach, but before Draco could run he was being tugged up. The next moment, Draco suddenly found himself not underneath Potter but in Potter's lap, held tightly against Potter's chest.

"Oh don't cry, love, I'm sorry, please don't cry," Potter begged, sounding extremely distressed. "Please, I'm so sorry, don't cry, baby, its okay."

As his tears soaked Potter's t-shirt, Draco was momentarily confused speechless. Potter wasn't holding him down anymore. Instead, he was cradling Draco like precious, breakable china, and if Draco wasn't mistaken, the enormous lout was actually petting his hair.

"It's okay, we'll work it out, I promise," Potter continued to plead, shocking Draco further as he placed several tender kisses on Draco's head. "Whatever you need, I'll make it happen for you, just don't cry, love, please, don't cry."

With a heady rush of certainty, Draco realized he was safe, and his entire body sagged with the weight of relief. This freaky, gigantic Potter wasn't going to maul him after all.

And isn't that a pity.

Draco quickly squashed his subconscious like a bug, as Potter continued to fuss over him.

"Poor baby," the other man said, sounding ashamed. "I didn't mean to scare you so badly. You should have used your safe word, I would have stopped."

"Safe…word…?" Draco had no idea what Potter was talking about.

"Yeah, the safe word." Potter seemed to assume he knew what it was. "You know I'd stop if you said it. But obviously this is all more complicated than I thought, so maybe you should explain your fantasy to me first and then -"

Potter's words galvanized Draco back into action.

"There is NO FANTASY!" he yelled, pulling back from Potter's chest to glare up at him. "Why are you stuck on this delusion?!"

"Well, what am I supposed to think?" Potter sounded a bit hurt. "You tell me this morning to pick up a Slytherin school uniform in your size and be ready for a wild night -"

Draco stared. "I didn't…I would never…I said no such thing!"

"You did too! And then I come home to find you De-Aged yourself to sixteen and -"

"For the last fucking time," Draco swore through gritted teeth, "I have NOT De-Aged myself! I am sixteen! I can't possibly make it any clearer! I am sixteen! SIXTEEN! One-Six, eight plus eight, four times four, nearly of Age! SIXTEEN!"

Potter stared. "I don't believe you," he finally said hoarsely. "Why would sixteen-year old Draco be in our bedroom?"

"Fuck if I know," Draco snarled. "All I know is I was at the Ministry of Magic, caught in the - oh shit." The realization hit Draco like the proverbial ton of bricks. "The Time Vault. I was in the fucking Time Vault."

Potter stared. "Time Vault?"

Draco felt faint. "I had an hourglass and it - it somehow must have sent me here. Wherever here is; an alternate time or universe or something. Somewhere that still bloody has you in it. What a fucking nightmare."

Potter started shaking his head. "That can't be. I only know of one time when you were in the Time Vault, Draco," he said, his voice disbelieving and strained. "It was immediately after our sixth year, when we were six - ohGod."

He suddenly shoved Draco off his lap with considerable force, causing Draco to squawk indignantly as he tumbled awkwardly onto the mattress. "Potter! What the -"

Potter was already half-way across the room. He'd gone pale as a ghost. "You're sixteen, Jesus Draco, you're really sixteen."

"I know how old I am!" Draco snapped, scowling as he scrambled back into a sitting position on the bed. "And I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't fucking listen!"

Potter looked like a man on the verge on being violently ill. "I nearly…oh my God, I almost…oh fuck…" He took a deep breath, leaning backwards against the wall for support. "For Christ's sake, you're not even legal!"

"Legal?" Draco repeated. "What does that matter? I'm older than you."

Potter shook his head violently. "You're sixteen. I'm twenty-one."

Draco's eyes bulged. "Twenty-one?!"

"Yes," Potter said miserably.

"What's the date today?" Draco asked, head spinning.

"May 6, 2002."

Draco's mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a moment. "2002…that means…that makes you nearly five years my elder!"

"I know," Potter said, wincing. He appeared to be thoroughly disgusted with himself. He looked at Draco seriously. "Back at the Ministry - were there Aurors outside the Time Room trying to arrest you? Was I there?"

"…yes," Draco admitted reluctantly. "I mean, I never saw you but I heard your ugly voice." He purposely didn't say that Potter's voice had been anything but ugly, as he had been the only one not issuing threats.

"You're the same Draco, then," Potter whispered, letting the ugly remark slide. "I remember that day. But…but you…" He swallowed. "You didn't go anywhere in my past. You were still in the Time Vault when I got through the door." He took another deep breath, leaning his head back against the wall. "How did you get here, Draco?" he asked, and Draco was shocked to hear true concern in his voice. "What happened to you?"

No way in hell Draco was admitting who he worked for. "I…well, I was in the Time Vault, just…you know, minding my own business…"

Potter snorted, and dropped his chin to look at Draco with a raised eyebrow. "Nice try. I already know that at age sixteen you were an unmarked Death Eater and you were in the Time Vault on a mission from Voldemort."

Draco's entire body flinched painfully at the sound of the Dark Lord's name, and his cruel voice rang in Draco's head. This is your last chance, young Malfoy. Find out what they are doing in the Time Room. Bring me something useful back, or do not come back at all.

"Oh…oh, Draco, I'm so sorry, I forgot you wouldn't be able to hear his name," Potter said, sounding slightly ashamed. "I'm sorry, really. Just tell me what actually happened to you, okay? I already know everything you did as a Death Eater, so it's useless to try and cover things up."

Potter made an excellent point. Draco swallowed, unconsciously curling his body and drawing his knees protectively close to his chest. The memory of the Dark Lord had left him shaken. "I…I was in the Time Vault, which was full of hourglasses. I picked one up, and then one of the Aurors hit the door with a spell and startled me. I jumped and fell, still holding the hourglass…"

"…which must have turned over, sending you here," Potter finished for him. "To my…bedroom." He winced, looking pale and ill again. "Are you alright?" he asked Draco very seriously. "Did I…did I hurt you?"

"My wrists are pretty sore," Draco said pitifully, getting a vindictive sort of pleasure out of the guilt on Potter's face. "I think I may have bruises."

Potter covered his mouth. "Oh God," he said, sounding absolutely wretched. "I'm so sorry -"

"And my arms and back hurt, from trying to get out from under you," Draco added, punctuating his statement with a pronounced grimace. "I didn't think you'd ever let me go," he said with a theatrical shudder. "I thought I was doomed."

"Draco, I -"

"And of course, I've been completely scarred for life, which means now we've got something in common," he finished, with a haughty look in Potter's direction.

The other man bit his lip. "I really am sorry; I had no idea you were a child."

Draco whirled to glare at him. "Don't call me a child," he snapped. "I'm nearly seventeen, you arse."

"You are five years younger than me, and you're not even of Age!"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Have it your way, then," he bit out. "I'm a child." And out of pure spite he added, "And - a virgin."

Potter's white face went green. "V…vir…"

"Of course, if you'd had your way I wouldn't still be a virgin," Draco continued cruelly. Based on the horrified, sickened look on Potter's face, he wondered if the other man was going to topple over. "You would have fucked me right on your bed, even though I was unwilling and -"

"Stop, please!" Potter cried, screwing his eyes shut and clenching his fists as if in physical pain. After a moment he opened his eyes, and gave Draco an agonized, apologetic look.

"I am so sorry, Draco," he said in the most achingly sincere voice Draco had ever heard. "I promise, if I had had any idea who you really were, I never - never - would have touched you."

"Oh really? And what part of please Potter stop did you not understand?"

Potter seemed miserable. "Well…I…I thought you were playing a game. A sex game."

"I gathered," Draco said coolly. "But why would you think that? Why would I ever show up in your flat and expect you to play sex games with me? And such a…a…twisted one at that," Draco spat. Manticores could not have dragged out the truth, that part of him had enjoyed it.

Potter gave him a funny look. "You haven't figured it out yet?"

"Figured what out? That in the future you become a delinquent pervert who gets off on molesting innocents?"

"No. Look around you." Potter gestured to the room. "Notice anything?"

With a long-suffering sigh, Draco took a look around the room. "I see tasteful decorations, expensive furniture, and posh clothes that are nice enough to be mine."

"Indeed. And what else do you see?"

"Some hideous red clothes in that open wardrobe, a foul and tacky Snitch clock on the floor, and utterly appalling lion feet on what is otherwise a very elegant bed."

"Well-spotted. So who lives here?"

"Well, someone with no taste at all, which I'm guessing is you, and then someone else with very expensive, good taste, which could be…oh FUCK NO." Draco's heart nearly stopped in shock. "No. Just no. You are not suggesting that my future self has shacked up with you?!"

Potter shrugged. "I admit that it sounds a bit unlikely, and the press has certainly had a field day with it, but -"

"But that's impossible!"

"Improbable, not impossible," Potter corrected, leaning against the wall again.

"But…but you're Potter! You're a self-righteous, arrogant do-gooder Gryffindor with an appalling sense of fashion. I'd never date you!"

Potter snorted. "Ouch." He sounded a little amused.

Draco looked wildly around the room for something to contradict Potter's words. It was no use. Everything he saw either looked like his or it looked like Potter's.

"You're lying," he said, flailing. "I refuse to believe you. I'd never go for you. I'm not even gay!"

To Draco's supreme annoyance, Potter burst out laughing. "Sorry, sorry," he quickly apologized, biting his lip in a futile effort to stifle a grin. "But come on, Draco. You've known you were gay since you watched Oliver Wood play Quidditch in our third year."

Draco gasped. "How did you know that?!" he demanded. "I've never told anyone that!"

"You told me," Potter said meaningfully. "You also told me that you fancied Cedric during fourth year, Blaise Zabini in your fifth year, and me in your sixth."

Draco stared. "I…I…just because you know a few things about me does not mean I told you, and it certainly doesn't mean I live here."

Potter raised an eyebrow. "If you need convincing I could show you pictures, but this would probably be faster." He crossed to the larger of the two wardrobes, and reached towards the back of the top shelf. The next moment he pulled out something soft and fluffy, and tossed it on the bed.

Identifying the object immediately, Draco froze.

"It's your old stuffed dragon, Binky," Potter clarified needlessly, and then added conspiratorially, "I'm not actually supposed to know you still have him."

In wonder Draco picked the toy up. The worn left ear, battered tail and inked letter "D" on its stomach assured him it was no impostor. This was his dragon; he'd had it since he was three. "Merlin," Draco whispered in horrified acceptance, as he clutched the stuffed dragon in one sweaty hand. "My future self lives with Potter."

"Speaking of your future self, where's my Draco?"

Draco looked at him sharply. "I'm right here, and I'm not your -"

"No, my Draco. My twenty-one year old boyfriend," Potter clarified. He looked tense and anxious again. "He was supposed to be in this bedroom waiting for me. If you're here instead, where's he?"

"How should I know?" Draco asked bitterly. "It's not like I wanted to take his place."

"But…but does that mean you switched places and he's in the past?"

"You tell me. Wouldn't you remember seeing him?"

Potter bit his lip and shook his head. "I have no memories of him. It was you in the Time Vault when I went in, not a twenty-one year old version of you. Does that mean he went into the future too? Or that he's in limbo somewhere? What if he's hurt or lost or…or scared?"

Potter was pacing again, and Draco could feel the worry coming off him in waves. Draco, however, was a bit too busy worrying about his present self to be overly concerned about the welfare of his future self. "Well, I can only hope that somehow he is in the past, and that he uses his bigger size to kick your sorry arse."

Potter stopped pacing, and gave Draco a look.

"What?" Draco asked innocently.

Potter just shook his head, obviously more amused than annoyed. He glanced at his watch. "Well, alright, how about this? It's pretty late and you must be exhausted, so why don't we get some sleep? You can have the bed and I'll take the couch. Then first thing tomorrow -"

"Wait," Draco broke in, feeling a bit panicked again. "I'm not staying here."

That brought Potter up short. "But you live here."

"I don't live here. My future self, who I firmly believe is mad, lives here," Draco snapped. "I live at Malfoy Manor, and that's where I'm staying until I can get out of this fucked-up version of the future and back to my own time."

"But you can't," Potter said seriously, green eyes earnest behind his glasses. "Your parents went on a trip to France, and warded the Manor against burglaries. You won't be able to get in."

"I'm their son; I'm sure I can still get in."

"You're from the past; you have no idea if the wards will recognize you now. Think about the kind of traps your father sets on the Manor, and whether or not it's really worth the risk."

How bad could it be? Draco wondered. Then he remembered what happened to the last poor sod who'd tried to break in to Malfoy Manor. "Alright, maybe not the Manor," he said hastily. "What about a friend, like Pansy?"

Potter's entire body tensed, his fists clenching again. "No way! The idea of you at the mercy of that…" He swallowed his words, getting his temper back under control. "As much as Parkinson would like to get her claws into your little sixteen year old self, I don't think you want to stay with her."

"And why ever not?" Draco asked snidely.

"Because while she starting dating some other blonde Slytherin when she realized you were hopelessly gay, she's still obsessed with you. If she got you in her clutches, then I highly doubt she'd ever let you go, including back to the past."

Draco swallowed. Based on his past experiences with Pansy, he had no trouble believing that. She was a bit…clingy. "Okay, well, what about Crabbe or Goyle?"

"On their honeymoon."

Draco made a face. "Honeymoons? Who would be willing to marry them?"

"Honeymoon. Singular. They married each other."

Draco's eyes bulged. "Er…lovely. Nott?"

"Would love to find you defenceless. He's been after your connections in the Ministry for months."

Draco winced. "Blaise?"

"Certainly he'd take you in, though he might try to seduce you. He'd adore a boyfriend who was heir to the Malfoy future."

Draco's shoulders slumped, and he looked away from Potter. He wanted to accuse Potter of lying again, but his Slytherin sense of self-preservation told him Potter was telling the truth.

"I suppose you could stay with one of our other friends," Potter said slowly. Draco could tell he really didn't like the thought of letting him out of his sight. "But I'd be worried about you, so I'd be there constantly anyway."

"My hero," Draco simpered, infusing his voice with as much sarcasm as possible.

"This is serious. You're a powerful, envied man in this time, and as a sixteen year old you're awfully vulnerable. If you leave here, there are a lot people who'll try to take advantage of you."

"No!" Draco said, in feigned disbelief. "People trying to take advantage of me? Tell me, will they pin me to a mattress and threaten my virginity?"

Draco was highly gratified to see Potter flinch.

"Draco," Potter began. Then he sighed. "You're right. You have no reason to trust me and no reason to feel safe here."

Draco waited, staring at Potter expectantly.

"I wish I could somehow make you believe me, that earlier was a mistake and that I'd never knowingly hurt you," he continued slowly. "All I can do is promise that I care deeply about you, no matter what age you are, and I will protect you while you're here, whether you want it or not."

He looked seriously at Draco. "Stay here and I promise I won't touch you again. You can have the bedroom, and you can lock me out. Alright?"

Draco bit his lip. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep since he'd run from Hogwarts, and he was exhausted now. The bed was he was on was huge, and incredibly comfortable. I could stay one night, he reasoned. Potter should be gone at least part of the day tomorrow, I can always escape then.

"Fine," he said aloud, trying to ignore the relieved smile that lit up Potter's face.

Potter immediately went back to the wardrobe and began rummaging around. "I don't think you'll mind if you borrow pyjamas from yourself," he said, as he pulled something black and silky out of the wardrobe.

Draco snorted. "No, I don't suppose I will."

"These are your favourites," Potter said, as he tossed the pyjamas on the bed. "They'll be a little big, but not too bad."

"So I'm going to grow a bit more?" Draco asked with interest. "I always knew I'd be taller than you."

Potter coughed. "Er…not exactly - not that you're short or anything!" he tacked on hastily, catching Draco's narrowed eyes. "Bathroom's down the hall," he continued, quickly changing the subject. "It's the only one in the flat. Use whatever you need: shampoo, toothbrush, anything. I'm sure you'd rather use your stuff than mine, but you're welcome to anything I've got."

"All I want is some sleep, thank you," Draco said primly, one hand resting securely on Binky the dragon. "I've had a trying day."

Potter bit his lip. "Of course you have," he said softly. He headed for the door. "Night, Draco."

"Go away, Potter."

Potter shook his head and left, shutting the door behind him.

''''''

"I do not take kindly to failure, young Malfoy," came the Dark Lord's cold, cruel voice. "And you have failed me most spectacularly."

He stroked his wand slowly, meaningfully, and Draco cringed in fright.

"But my Lord, it wasn't my fault, Dumbledore was -"

"Nothing but excuses." The Dark Lord raised his wand, levelling it with Draco's eyes. Fear rose in Draco's throat, stale and acrid. He wanted to run, to flee, but his limbs were like lead. He couldn't move an inch.

"No matter how many times one feels the curse, one never really accustoms oneself to the pain, do they?" The scarlet eyes gleamed maliciously. "Cruci -"

" -NO!"

Draco bolted upright in bed, panting like he'd flown for hours. His heart pounded in his chest as his eyes darted wildly around the opulent room, trying to figure out where he was. His gaze fell on a battered-looking Snitch clock on the dresser next to him and in a rush it all came back:

The Time Vault. The hourglass. Potter.

His shoulders slumped, the tension gone, and gradually his breathing slowed. With one last shaky sigh, Draco fell back against the pillows. He rolled to his side, immediately curling up underneath the covers in a small, tight ball. Sweat had soaked his pyjamas and scalp, his hair now sticking wetly to his forehead and neck, but instead of hot he felt cold and clammy.

What a great way to wake up on your birthday, he thought to himself bitterly. It would have been his seventeenth birthday, too, if he had still been in his own time. Then again, if he had still been in his own time, he wouldn't have been in a big, soft bed with a stuffed dragon. He would either be in Azkaban or the Dark Lord's clutches.

He shuddered pitifully at the thought. The nightmare he'd just had was one of the many that now haunted his sleep, and none of them were figments of his imagination. All of his meetings with the Dark Lord had been nightmares, and he continued to relive the most horrifying ones in his dreams, night after night after night.

He curled up a little tighter, promising himself he wouldn't cry. He couldn't afford to cry over a nightmare, not when he had an escape to plan.

Get yourself together, he commanded. Get up, get your bloody clothes on and get out of here. Unless you want to stick around and see how long it takes before Potter decides he wants to fuck you after all.

Draco paused.

No no no, you don't want that, remember?

Draco reached out, his hand making contact with the fuzzy stuffed dragon poking out from under one pillow. The familiar softness gave him a moment's courage, and with only a bit of reluctance he crawled out from his warm sanctuary beneath the blankets. He glanced around for his clothes, spotting instead a piece of parchment on the floor near the door.

Cautiously, he approached. The door still appeared to be locked, and the location of the letter suggested that Potter had simply shoved it underneath the door that morning. Feeling marginally reassured that Potter hadn't broken his word, Draco picked up the parchment.

Draco, (it read)

I had to go into work today to straighten it out, but I'm taking an extended leave of absence to take care of you. I should be home by four or so. Use whatever you need - clothes, books, anything. This is your home too. I'll see you tonight.

- Harry

P.S. I left breakfast for you in kitchen.

"Taking a leave of absence to take care of me…fucking Gryffindors," Draco grumbled. He didn't need Potter to take care of him. In fact, Potter would be taking his leave of absence alone, because Draco sure as fuck wasn't going to be here was Potter got home.

No, Draco had decided he was going to Malfoy Manor, wards be damned. That was where he belonged, not with the black-haired Adonis his future self had the poor taste to be shagging.

Wait. Adonis?

''''''

The banged up Snitch clock read 11:03, so Draco decided he had time to take a quick bath before Potter came back at four. He headed for the bathroom just down the hall, raising his eyebrows in approval when he saw the room with its enormous bathtub, separate shower, and sophisticated decorations.

Nice to know Potter hasn't completely ruined my tastes, he thought, as he headed for the bath. Turning on the taps, he let the tub fill with hot, bubbly water as he slowly stripped off the borrowed pyjamas.

As he stood waiting for the water to reach the right level, he caught a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror on a nearby wall. He cringed at the reflection - his thin chest, scrawny arms, and the greyish tinge that coloured his skin. His hair was sweaty and matted, with the remnants of yesterday's gel clumped and sticky against his scalp.

Draco had always noticed that by and large, the Death Eaters were an awfully unattractive lot. Now he knew why. Months of service to the Dark Lord had broken him, and left him a shell of his former self.

I wonder what I look like now, after living with Potter, he thought idly, as he stepped into the tub. He obviously fancies me like mad, but then, the git also likes Snitch clocks.

He sank beneath the bubbles, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss. The water was perfectly hot against his skin, warming even his toes and washing away all traces of sweat from his nightmare. He stayed in the bath much longer than he had planned, unable to resist the comfort of the hot water and the temptation of the many bath products that lined the edges of the tub.

It was easy to tell which ones belonged to his future self, as one side of the bath held nearly three times as many products as the other. In fact, Potter's stuff seemed to all fit in one corner, just some basic shampoo and conditioner and a bottle of body wash.

When he finally left the tub, wrapped up in an enormous green towel, he headed for the sink. Again, he easily picked out which side was his based on the sheer number of lotions, face creams and hair styling products bunched together on one side of the sink.

Pleased to find a comb in the topmost drawer and a jar of hair gel on the counter with everything else, Draco slicked his hair back in his preferred fashion. He avoided looking too closely at his reflection, but he did cave in and use a bit of eye cream on the dark circles beneath his eyes.

Unenthusiastically, Draco left the warm, steamy bathroom for the cooler bedroom. He spotted his clothes in a pile at the foot of the bed, and picked up his shirt. His nose wrinkled in disgust. The shirt was filthy; he'd worn it at the Dark Lord's headquarters for three days in a row before he'd been sent to the Department of Mysteries.

It's not stealing if I take clothes from myself, he reasoned, heading for the larger wardrobe. My future self owes me this much, for the trauma I went through nearly being shagged by that lummox he dates.

He flung open the doors, eyebrows lifting when he saw the impressive contents of his wardrobe. Merlin, I've got more clothes here than I do at the Manor, he realized in shock. Unable to resist, he began to search through the clothes, seeking out the smallest sizes and hoping something would fit.

He finally settled on black trousers that were only about an inch too long, though he had to find a belt to keep them comfortably on his hips. The button up shirt and pewter cashmere jumper were loose as well, and Draco wondered briefly if his future self had finally gotten a bit of muscle. The shoes fit perfectly, and moments later Draco was fully dressed. Now all he had to do was leave.

Wonder if Potter locked me in the flat, he pondered, as he cautiously left the bedroom. I doubt it. The colossal prat is probably too soft-hearted to lock his boyfriend up. Draco studiously ignored the part of himself that found that a bit endearing.

He wasn't interested in the so-called "breakfast" that Potter claimed to have left. It was no doubt a box of cereal and some stale milk, and Draco could pass on that. He'd wait to eat until he was back at the Manor. He certainly wasn't taking any charity from Potter.

As he walked down the hall, however, a myriad of enticing smells wafted by. He hesitated, and his stomach gave an insistent rumble.

I suppose it couldn't hurt to see what that tosser thought I might eat, he conceded, and followed his nose past an enormous living room to the kitchen.

The kitchen was warm and cosy, with a breakfast nook with bay windows at the far end. A small round table with two chairs stood right by the windows. Breakfast was waiting on the table, and Draco's eyes widened at the spread before him: eggs over-easy and piles of buttered toast, along with sausages and bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms and potatoes. There was a jug of orange juice, and a steaming pot of tea next to a pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar. Best of all, a few currant scones - golden brown from the oven - sat by a jar of Devon cream and a large pot of strawberry jam.

Draco's mouth began to water. All his breakfast favourites were waiting for him, hot and fresh and certainly homemade, if the sparkling dishes drying in the sink were any indication. The pleasant buzz of a warming charm and the steam rising from the table assured Draco that everything was as fresh as it could possibly be.

He recalled Potter's comments about his weight the previous night, and wondered for a moment if the lavish breakfast was Potter simply feeling guilty or if the other man was trying to fatten him up. He would have scowled at that, but he was much too busy heading for the table of food.

Draco quickly made short work of nearly every bite of food on the table. He tore through the scones first, slathering them with cream and jam until he was sticky with strawberries and sugar. The eggs were next, on pieces of buttered toast, followed by heaping forkfuls of everything else. He chased it all with three glasses of orange juice and four cups of tea, and when he finally couldn't eat another bite, he sat back in his chair and sighed contentedly.

He'd give Potter this: the man could cook.

Didn't mean he was going to stick around, but he was too comfortably full to leave that minute. The breakfast table was right against the window, and he had a lovely view of the street below. The rain was coming down in a steady drizzle, and he absently watched Muggles go about their business, clutching their coats tightly closed as they hurried down the street. It looked a bit cold outside, especially for May, but that only heightened the cosiness of Potter's warm kitchen

Finally, he shook his head, and reluctantly stood from the table. He had to go. Sure, Apparating only took a moment, but he needed to get moving before Potter came back.

He headed back towards the living room, but right before he left the kitchen, something caught his eye: a large refrigerator, on which were randomly stuck newspaper clippings.

Curious, Draco peered closer. He jolted when he saw his name screamed by the headlines: Harry Potter Seen at Local Pub with Malfoy Heir; Harry Potter (Recent Winner of Our Most Charming Smile Award!) Takes Draco Malfoy as Date To Honouring Dinner; Boy-Who-Lived Now Boy-Who-Loved…A Malfoy?

And there he was, an older, extremely handsome version of himself, preening for the cameras. He looked good, cool and confident, with none of the dark circles and hollowed cheeks that marred Draco's face now. He was tall and fit, though not quite as tall as Potter. His hair was much more loosely styled, no longer gelled back severely, and even in black and white his skin seemed to glow with health.

Potter stood next to him in all the photos, occasionally trying to get out of the picture but mostly just smiling in a smitten sort of way at Draco. Sometimes he'd lean down and whisper in Draco's ear, and then Draco in the picture would forget about the cameras and focus on Potter instead.

To Draco's extreme shock, in one of the pictures he and Potter were kissing. KISSING! Full-on snogging, completely oblivious to the cameras that continued to snap their pictures. The headline read Boy-Who-Lived Caught in Tender Moment With Malfoy Boyfriend! As Draco watched, Potter pulled the picture Draco even closer, and he watched himself nearly melt in Potter's arms.

He swallowed. The last thing he wanted to think about was getting kissed by Potter.

How did I ever get so soft? He tried to sneer, rolling his eyes at the newspaper clippings. He righteously refused to admit that he had never seen himself look so happy. Only rivalry and contempt could exist between him and Potter, and if these clippings showed otherwise, then they were mistaken.

He figured there would be anti-Appartion wards on the flat, and so headed for the front door. Before he made it out, however, he had to pass through the living room. It was tidy and inviting, with a large sofa and two cushy chairs near a fireplace and some kind of large, black box. Overflowing bookshelves lined the walls, and a pile of Quidditch magazines sat on the coffee table.

Framed pictures decorated the mantel of the fireplace, and against his will Draco was drawn to them. He recognized several of their old classmates from Hogwarts in the photos, including Granger and Weasley, who were waving at him cheerfully from in front of a little blue house. There were more pictures of himself and Potter, a few pictures of some of his Slytherin friends, and to Draco's surprise, even a picture of his own parents, looking posh and rested at some kind of resort.

He shook his head in wonder. What kind of strange world had he fallen into, where Potters were fine with pictures of Malfoys in their homes, and where Malfoys let Potters hold them and kiss them?

A clock chimed two; interrupting Draco's musings and bringing him back to reality. He only had about two hours to flee before Potter came home. He turned to leave, but was stopped when an enormous yawn split his face. It had been an exhausting few days since he had run from Hogwarts, and he was still fatigued. His limbs felt heavy, and there was a lingering weariness throughout his body.

He glanced at the sofa, which looked temptingly soft. A pile of neatly-folded blankets and two fluffy pillows sat at one end, evidence of Potter's make-shift bed.

I'll just rest for a moment, let my breakfast digest, Draco reasoned, as he plopped down at one end of the couch. It was even more comfortable than it looked. Draco tilted his head to rest it on the back of the couch, and closed his eyes.

Two minutes later, he was fast asleep.

'''''

He woke nearly three hours later to a darkening flat and the clock chiming five. He jumped off the couch in a panic.

Shit, shit, I over-slept. Potter could be here any second!

He dashed for the door and yanked it, standing back as it swung open easily.

Guess I was right about Potter not having the heart to lock me up, Draco sneered. He forced himself to feel contempt for the Gryffindor that couldn't handle keeping a prisoner, instead of warmth for the man who refused to hurt his boyfriend.

He hurriedly left the flat, slamming the door shut behind him before sprinting down three flights of stairs. He ran past the doorman, ignoring his loud exclamation of "You there! Young man, stop!"

Pushing open the front doors, Draco was immediately hit with cold rain, blowing wind, and the realization that he'd forgotten to grab a cloak.

Bugger. No time to go back and get one. At any rate, it'll be warm at the Manor and I'll be there in a moment.

Ignoring his shivering, he stepped into the rain. The next moment he was out on the Muggle street. He quickly glanced up and down the sidewalks, checking for Muggles or Potter.

There was no one. He was alone, and so Draco closed his eyes and Apparated.

3 The Runaway

''''''''

The familiar feeling of being squeezed through a tube hit Draco as he Apparated. Despite the clear picture of Malfoy Manor in his head, he felt more disoriented than usual. When the pressure around his body finally stopped, he fell to his knees, smacking the tender joints against hard concrete.

He grimaced in pain as he stood. Truthfully, he wasn't that great at Apparating - he hadn't taken his test yet, even. He was lucky he hadn't gone and splinched himself.

Least I've gotten myself back to the Ma…nor…shit.

Draco flinched as he took a good look at his surroundings. He wasn't at Malfoy Manor. By the looks of things, he wasn't anywhere near Malfoy Manor, unless Malfoy Manor had suddenly relocated itself in(to) a seedy part of town that was overrun with Muggles.

Well…fuck. Draco was getting nervous. He didn't have a wand, and he didn't know where he was. It was getting darker by the minute, and the Muggles on the street were eyeing him strangely.

He shivered slightly. The wind was strong, and it carried sheets of rain with it. Draco's cashmere jumper offered little protection against water, and he was quickly getting soaked. Wrapping his arms around himself for warmth, he glanced up and down the street, trying to figure out where he was.

He thought he might still be in London, but he wouldn't have sworn it. Wherever he was, it wasn't the sort of place where people normally wore cashmere. Rundown buildings lined the streets, and the Muggles watching him had cruel, mistrusting faces. The hairs on the back of Draco's neck prickled, and once again he acutely felt the loss of his wand.

Why the bloody hell didn't I get to Malfoy Manor? Draco thought angrily, hugging himself more tightly. Maybe it was because he was in the future, or because he hadn't concentrated hard enough, but whatever the reason, he hadn't gotten to his destination.

Well, I'll just fucking try again. Draco took off walking down the street as fast as he could without actually breaking into a run. The rain continued to pelt him, but he simply gritted his teeth and searched for a place he could hide and Apparate.

After five blocks he spotted an alleyway. Ducking into it, Draco leaned against one wall and closed his eyes. He again focused on Malfoy Manor as hard as he could, and then Apparated.

''''''

Oh, fuck me.

He hadn't made it to the Manor this time either. Instead, Draco was on his knees in the mud in a park, a wet, cold, miserable little park. A little old lady was sitting on a nearby bench, watching him with a puzzled expression.

"Why dear, you're all wet," she noticed sweetly. "And where on earth did you come from? It's as if you appeared from thin air."

Draco panicked. "None of your fucking business, you Muggle hag!" he quickly spat, causing the little old lady's eyes to widen in shock.

Draco jumped to his feet and immediately ran off, grimacing as he ran. He'd just broken the one of the cardinal laws of the Wizarding World: he'd done magic in front of a Muggle. If the Ministry of Magic ever found out…

Leaning against a large tree for support, Draco paused a moment to catch his breath. He knew the Manor had all sorts of wards on it, including Anti-Apparation wards and protection to make it Unplottable. Still, he ought to have been able to make it to the nearby Muggle village, and then walked from there.

I'm trying again, he thought angrily, straightening up. This time his mind wasn't quite so focused, but he Apparated anyway, ignoring the warning hammering in his mind.

'''''

When the Apparation finished, Draco spun to a stop and fell forward onto his face, barely catching himself in time with his hands. He winced; his wrists were still rather tender. To his horror, the surface beneath his hands wasn't dirt or even cement; it was hard flooring, which meant Draco had Apparated indoors.

As the vertigo from the Appartion wore off, Draco became aware of the loud noises that surrounded him. Shit shit fucking shit. Where the bleeding hell am I this time? He looked around frantically to find himself in a busy station, packed with Muggles.

It reminded him of King's Cross and Platform 9 and 3/4, except he wasn't bloody at King's Cross station. Muggles were everywhere, so many of them, side-stepping Draco and giving him dirty looks as they passed.

He stood up slowly, acutely feeling how soaked and dirty he was. He stood frozen for a moment, shivering, until he was jostled from behind.

"Here now, shove off, will you?" an angry voice snapped. "You're right in everyone's way!"

Draco turned with slightly wild eyes to see a middle-aged Muggle glaring at him. He was large and blonde and ugly, and was looking at Draco in disgust. "Teenagers these days, you haven't got a bit of respect for your elders."

Draco looked the man up and down in scorn. "Maybe if I saw something worth respecting then I would," he sneered.

The man was furious. "Why you little punk…"

He took a step forward but Draco dashed off. He tore through the station until he found a dark corner where he could hide. Then once again, he closed his eyes and tried to Apparate.

'''''

The next attempt sent him to an open field, and the one after that to a busy street corner. Three more attempts later, Draco gave up. It was no use; his parents must have renewed the Unplottable wards on the Manor. Since he hadn't been to the Manor since the wards were put in place, he'd never be able to find it.

He shivered as he walked down the Muggle street. The rain refused to let up, and his clothes were now soaked completely through to his skin. He was freezing and exhausted. Having abandoned his plan to find the Manor, his new plan now was to get in touch with Professor Snape. Perhaps he would take him in.

Potter would take you back in a heartbeat.

Draco attempted a sneer, and tried to convince himself that nothing about Potter's flat sounded at all tempting.

You'd be nice and warm if you went back to Potter's. There'd be a fire. Dry clothes. And food. Good food.

"I'm not bloody going back to Potter's!" he thought angrily. "I can't trust him; he'll be all over my virgin body like a lion on a baby gazelle."

Please. Potter was devastated when he learned the truth. He isn't going to touch you again and you know it.

Draco set his jaw.

And admit it: even that analogy turns you on.

With a furious toss of his head Draco banished his thoughts and continued on his way. He was heading for the Leaky Cauldron now, only a block or so away. He figured someone in Diagon Alley would know where Snape was. Certainly the owner of the Potions store would.

When he reached the Leaky Cauldron, which looked blessedly the same as he remembered, he slunk in as quietly as he could. Trying not to attract attention, he slipped along the walls, heading for the entrance to Diagon Alley. He knew his white blonde hair would attract attention if noticed so he clung to the shadows, surreptitiously pushing his way through the crowds of witches and wizards enjoying their drinks.

Outside, he quickly opened the brick wall to Diagon Alley and stepped through. He started in the direction of the Potions shop, intent on getting there as stealthily as he could. He was stopped after a few measly steps, however, when he heard someone calling his name.

"Draco?" gasped a familiar, incredulous voice. "Draco Malfoy, is that you?"

Draco slowly turned. "Pansy?" He stared in shock. She looked more or less than same: brown hair cut in a shiny, stylish bob, conservative robes, and a little too much make-up. Unlike Potter, she hadn't grown into a giant, but she was still very nearly his height. Somehow, seeing her didn't make Draco feel safe.

It made him uneasy.

"Darling!" With an exaggerated cry, Pansy threw her arms around Draco. For such a thin girl, her grip was like steel. "But whatever has happened to you?" she simpered, tugging on Draco's hair. "You're naught but a child!"

Gee. Thanks. Does no one here notice that I'm actually of Age? Draco forced a smile. "Not here," he said quietly, indicating the nearby alley. "I don't want to be seen."

"Oh absolutely darling, whatever you want." Pansy was too eager, her voice too syrupy-sweet, but Draco knew her, and in this strange, disorienting future world that was enough.

They ducked into the alley, just out of view of the busy crowds of Diagon Alley.

"Go on then, dear," Pansy simpered. "Whatever made you look so young?"

Draco grimaced. "I had a little accident in the Department of Mysteries."

"Did you now?" Pansy said, one hand going over her heart. "Tell Pansy all about it."

Draco hesitated. Should he? In his time, they had sort of been dating. At least, Pansy considered herself his girlfriend, and until he was ready to come out of the closet, he'd been content to let her keep up the charade.

Potter doesn't trust Pansy, his mind pointed out. He thinks you're not safe with her.

"Well, bully for Potter," Draco thought back angrily. "I don't give a flying fuck what he thinks."

In defiance against Potter, Draco gave Pansy the story. "I know this sounds crazy, but I really am as old as I look. I'm here from the past," he explained, against his better judgment. "I was in the Time Vault at the Department of Mysteries yesterday, and I had a little accident with one of their Time Turners."

Pansy gasped theatrically, "No!"

"Yes," Draco said grimly. "And that accident sent me straight into a future Harry Potter's bedroom."

"Oh darling, how horrible for you!" she said, throwing her arms around him again. "You poor little baby, finding yourself in Potter's house of all places." She spat the word Potter, as if it were dirty.

"It was horrible," Draco agreed, though his words sounded hollow and parroted, even to him. "I ran away this afternoon while he was at work."

"Naughty boy," Pansy chided with a smile, her hand squeezing Draco's arm a bit too hard. "Potter is going to throw quite the fit when he finds his boyfriend missing." The thought seemed to fill Pansy with glee. "He'll probably have the entire Auror squad looking for you."

"I - really? He'll be that worried?"

"Oh, darling, Potter would call up the forces of Hades to find you. He's a Gryffindor and so protective. It's all a bit disgusting, really." She shuddered. "But never mind Potter, let's talk about you. How old are you, then?"

There was a gleam in her eyes that Draco didn't quite understand. "Sixteen," he said, watching Pansy closely.

She seemed slightly disappointed. "You aren't seventeen yet?"

At the last second, Draco decided to lie. "No, I'm still sixteen."

"Hmmm, pity." Pansy was studying him. "But will you be seventeen in a few weeks?"

"Y-es," Draco said, wondering why it mattered.

"Lovely," she said simply, with a smile that sent chills down Draco's spine. She patted his arm. "Darling, we simply must be going. You'll of course be staying with me now, and not that horrible Potter."

"He wasn't that horrible," Draco retorted, unsure why he was coming to Potter's defence. "And he makes great scones."

"You sound like Crabbe or Goyle, letting your stomach think for you," Pansy said, a bit of an edge to her voice. "Honestly, Draco, wouldn't you rather stay with me?"

"I had wanted to stay at the Manor, but I can't seem to get there," Draco said, dodging her question.

"Well of course you can't get there," Pansy said impatiently. "Your parents would have renewed the Unplottable wards right before they left. There's no way you could find it."

"Yes, I had realized that, thank you," Draco said, trying not to snap. He didn't know why he was so against staying with Pansy. "I had also been thinking that I could stay with Snape."

Pansy shook her head. "Oh no, dear, Snape will simply send you right back into Potter's clutches."

Draco sputtered. "Snape…would send me back to Potter? But he hates Potter."

"Mmm, yes, they don't get along at all," Pansy said, with obvious relish.

"Then why would Snape want me to stay there?"

"Because he thinks that Potter is good to you," Pansy mimicked in a high and mocking voice. "Isn't that rich? I have tried to tell him so many times that you'd be better off with me, but he appears to disagree. He'd tell you to stay with Potter because of Potter's honourable Gryffindor intentions," she finished with a sneer.

Draco was silent, pondering this. Pansy mistook his silence for agreement, and pressed on. "It's the same with all our friends, now," she continued in slightly sour tones. "None of them will help me split you and Potter up. Even Crabbe and Goyle, who used to care more about your welfare than anyone else. They think Potter is divine."

"Crabbe and Goyle said Potter is…divine?"

Pansy wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I believe Crabbe referred to him as a walking wet dream." She rolled her eyes. "Goyle thinks he treats you like a prince."

"They said all that? They've certainly grown a bit more talkative since they were sixteen," Draco mused. And gay, his subconscious added, trying to picture Crabbe calling anyone a walking wet dream.

"They've grown insufferable, that's what," Pansy said with a toss of her head. "It is so nice to talk to you again, Draco. You remember what things should be like. Honestly, darling, the Wizarding World's gone mad since that bit with Potter and Voldemort."

Hearing the Dark Lord's name from Pansy's lips was like a physical blow. Draco recoiled, taking several steps backwards. "You said his name," Draco whispered in complete shock.

"Well of course I did," Pansy said impatiently. "He's dead, isn't he?"

Draco stared. "He's…dead?"

"Obviously," Pansy said with a sniff. "Potter killed him nearly four years ago. That day is a National Holiday now. But didn't you know?"

Numbly, Draco shook his head. His blood was racing, his palms sweating, and his heart pounding with surprise. In this world, the Dark Lord was dead? Potter had killed him? Potter?

"Oh my poor darling, of course you didn't know," Pansy cooed, all sugary sweetness. "You're just a little baby. You don't know anything about this world." She fussed over him for a moment, smoothing his hair again. Her touch was a bit rough, and Draco winced as she pulled hard at a tangle. "Draco, love, come have a little chat with me, won't you? There's a good boy."

Merlin, she was patronizing. He was a teenager, not a child. "Er…alright," he agreed reluctantly. "The Leaky Cauldron is right over there, we could -"

"I wouldn't dream of going into such a common, nasty little place," she said with a haughty sniff. "We'll go to my home."

Draco balked. He liked the Leaky Cauldron; he'd been going there since he was five. Not only that, his Slytherin sense of self preservation was politely informing him that going into Pansy's house would be a Very Bad Idea.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather -"

"Come along now, Draco, don't fuss," she interrupted. She immediately gripped his arm with claw-like fingers, and the next moment Draco's world dissolved.

'''''

When the Apparition stopped, Draco found himself on a darkened street in a very upscale neighbourhood. In front of him was a large, immaculately white house with a tall fence in front. The fence was iron and decorated with pretty scrolling designs, but the points at the top looked razor-sharp.

Pansy immediately began half-guiding, half-dragging him up the walk to the door. "We simply must get inside; this weather is dreadful," she said, her grip on his arm just shy of painful.

"Do you live here alone?" Draco asked, feeling oddly anxious.

"Hmmm? Oh no, dear, I have a…roommate," Pansy said, licking her lips. "But don't concern yourself, sweetheart, he's not here at the moment."

He? Draco wondered. Then Pansy all but pushed him through the front door of her house and into a large sitting room.

"Make yourself perfectly at home, darling," she said, eying Draco with an almost greedy sort of look. "I'm just going to slip into something a little more…comfortable."

And then she was gone.

Draco swallowed, annoyed with himself. He told himself there was no reason to be nervous, and looked around for a place to sit. Unlike Potter's apartment, which was full of squashy, inviting furniture, everything here looked stiff and uncomfortable.

I suppose this is more dignified, he thought, heading for a wingback chair. He sat down, and winced. Like sitting on a bloody piece of wood. He shivered. His clothes were still soaked, and it was every bit as cold in Pansy's house as it had been outside. The only source of light in the room was a bluish fire, one meant for magic, not for heat.

If you were at Potter's flat, you'd be warm. You could stretch out on his couch and read his Quidditch magazines.

Draco grit his teeth. He didn't want to be back at Potter's…he didn't…

You heard Pansy. Your friends in this time like Potter. Even Snape thinks Potter treats you well. Why don't you go back there? You could have more scones. Maybe the git would even make you tea.

Draco stared unseeing into the fire for a moment.

Potter won't hurt you. He's a righteous, chivalrous Gryffindor. He's not going to take advantage of you. Besides, your future self obviously trusts Potter. Probably even lo -

Draco cut off that train of thought as he wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. How bad would it really be, to go back to Potter? He had promised not to touch him. And Potter wanted his boyfriend back, so he'd find a way to get Draco back to the past. At the very least he'd make sure Draco was warm and well-fed.

He bit his lip. Perhaps if he snuck out now, Pansy would never -

"I've been waiting for this day for years, Draco."

Draco froze. Slowly, very slowly, he turned.

Oh…bloody…hell.

There was Pansy, dressed in nothing but a black lace bra and knickers set, with thigh-high fishnet stockings. Draco's eyes went wide and his heart began to race, but from nerves instead of lust.

"Pansy," he gasped, his voice high and strangled, "what are you doing?"

She laughed, a grating, shrieking noise that made Draco's teeth hurt. "Draco, darling," she purred, taking a few steps forward on her towering heels. "Hasn't it occurred to you that I am still your girlfriend?"

Draco stared. "What?"

Pansy licked her lips and Draco cringed, pressing himself against the back of his chair.

"Well, if you've only just left Hogwarts, then in your time, we never broke up." The greed in Pansy's eyes was obvious now as she eyed Draco. "So really, you still belong to me. Not Potter."

"Potter," Draco repeated, wishing with all his might that the man would appear. When Potter had jumped him, it had scared him, true, but it had also turned him on. Pansy was only making him feel sick. "Pansy, I'm only sixteen," he lied, hoping to dissuade her. "I'm not legal."

"Please." Pansy said the word derisively. She advanced toward Draco. "As if I care one whit about that."

Draco stared at her in shock. The instant Potter had found out his age, he'd jumped away from Draco like he'd been burned. Potter hadn't so much as touched him since that moment, but Pansy didn't even care?

"Look, there's something you should know," he said nervously, leaping out of the chair before Pansy could straddle his lap. "I'm not just underage; I'm gay."

Pansy laughed her horrid laugh again, and Draco wondered how he'd stomached it for so many years.

"You weren't gay at sixteen, silly," she said, reaching out and grabbing his wrist. In her heels, she was taller than he was. "You were with me."

"No, I was gay, I just hadn't found a good way to tell you," Draco informed her, backing away.

"No, you weren't gay yet," Pansy insisted, her expression hungry. "And now I get the chance to make sure you never become the disgusting little shirt-lifter you are today."

Draco's mouth dropped. "Why, you bigoted harpy," he said angrily. "How dare you call me that?"

Pansy scoffed. "You're still just a kid," she said haughtily. "You'll thank me for this when you're older."

She put her free hand on Draco's stomach, just above his groin. Nausea rolled through Draco as his brow broke out in sweat.

"Even if I wasn't already gay, you'd be enough to turn me," he growled, jerking his body away. She still held his wrist, her tightening grip squeezing Draco's already tender skin.

"Now that wasn't very nice, was it?" she all but cooed, with a dangerous glint in her eyes. "This is our chance, Draco. We can simply shag for now, and then the minute you're of Age we'll be married."

"MARRIED?!" Draco yelped. He was so glad he'd lied about his age; if she'd known he was seventeen, Pansy would probably have taken him straight to a wedding ceremony. Potter had been right; she couldn't be trusted.

On the heels of that realization, Draco decided he would take his chances with Potter. With a great yank he pulled his wrist free of Pansy's grip, and pushed past her. She tottered on her stiletto heels and nearly fell, grabbing at the arm of the couch to stay upright. Draco dashed for the door, forcing it open.

"Darling, you're making a terrible mistake," Pansy warned as she tried to run after him. "And you're also making me rather angry, dear."

Draco ignored her and sprinted outside, down the long sidewalk to the road.

"I'm not going to give you up, Draco Malfoy!" Pansy called after him from the doorway of the house. "Potter won't keep you from me this time!"

"Just leave me alone!" Draco snarled back. Then he felt it; he'd gotten through the wards. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated as hard as he could on Potter's flat and Apparated.

'''''

He appeared in front of a building on a Muggle street. He looked around wildly; it looked like Potter's neighbourhood, with the large trees lining the sidewalks and the town homes along the streets. He looked up at the building, and sighed with relief. This was Potter's building; it had to be. It had that little rounded window area where he'd eaten breakfast that morning.

He ran up the steps and tried to open the door, only to find it locked. "Hey!" he shouted, banging on the glass. "Let me in!"

A bored looking doorman reluctantly walked over. "What do you want?"

"Don't you recognize me?" Draco snapped. "I'm Draco Malfoy, and I live upstairs in a flat with Harry Potter."

"You don't look at all familiar, and there is no Draco Malfoy or Harry Potter living here," the doorman informed him snottily.

Draco cursed. He and Harry must be living in the Muggle world under pseudonyms. It would only make sense, really, as they had to avoid the press. "Well, alright, we do live here, but not under those names."

"Really." The doorman was unimpressed. "Then what names do you live here under?"

"Um…well…"

"How about you just give me your flat number?"

Draco cursed again. "Well, you see -"

"Just as I thought," the doorman said, sounding annoyed. "You're only trying to cause trouble. Now be off with you."

"But I -"

The doorman had already walked away, ignoring Draco and his further protests.

Fine, then. I'll just have to get into Potter's flat a different way. He headed back down the steps, wrapping his arms around himself in a futile attempt to block out the chilly wind. He stood on the street below Potter's window and yelled, "Potter!"

Nothing happened. He tried again. "Potter! Hey Potter! Potter, I'm back! Potter!"

Still no response. Frustrated, Draco grabbed a small pebble off the ground and launched it at Potter's second story window. It hit the window with a sharp crack.

"Hear that, Potter?! Come out, would you?"

Nothing. The window stayed as dark as ever. Draco grabbed three more pebbles and threw them in succession.

"Crack - Potter! - Crack - POTTER! - CRACK - POTTER, open up!"

When nothing happened, Draco began to get upset. He went for a bigger rock. It connected with a satisfying thud.

"POTTER!" Draco tried again. "POTTER, I'm COLD and WET and FREEZING! COME OUT!"

"Hey kid!" A window on the first floor opened, and angry face leaned out. "Shut up already, will you? Some of us are trying to sleep!"

"Piss off!" Draco snapped at the Muggle. He cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, "POTTER!! POTTER!! POTTER, PLEASE!"

Draco winced - he hated saying please, but his situation was getting dire. More heads were popping out of windows now, and three or four Muggles were heading down the street in his direction.

Draco scooped up the biggest rock yet and hurled it at the window, putting some serious force behind it. He smiled in grim satisfaction as the window shattered.

"YOU CAN'T IGNORE THAT, POTTER!" he shouted. "I BROKE YOUR FUCKING WINDOW! YOU BETTER COME OUT AND SEE TO ME NOW!"

"Who the hell is this kid?"

"Hey you, keep it down!"

"Go home already, you little brat!"

"POTTER! POTTER!" Draco was starting to get really desperate. "WHY WON'T YOU COME OUT, POTTER?!"

"Now see here, young man, you're causing a scene." This new voice was authoritative, and the next moment Draco felt a large hand grasp his upper arm.

"Get off me!" he snarled. He turned to glare at the Muggle, an enormous man dressed in all blue who was gripping his arm tightly. Standing next to him was the doorman, who was staring stonily down at Draco. "Just who the bloody hell do you think you are?!"

"My name is Officer O'Conner, and I'm with the London Police Department. I got a call from this gentleman," he indicated the doorman, "a few minutes ago about an unsupervised teenager causing a disturbance."

His title meant nothing to Draco. "I haven't even started causing a disturbance, you wretched Muggle," Draco growled, wrenching his arm away. He took a deep breath. "POTTER!! POTTER, THERE IS A MUGGLE TOUCHING ME! GET OUT HERE AND SAVE ME, WILL YOU?!"

"I say, you're being terribly rude," Officer O'Conner said angrily, grabbing Draco's arm again.

"He broke that window up there too, Officer," one of the Muggle bystanders pointed out smugly.

"You broke a window?" the doorman snarled, staring down at Draco. "I hope you're prepared to pay for it."

"Did you really break it?" Officer O'Conner asked Draco.

Draco sneered at him. "It's not any of your fucking business is it? Now leave me the fuck alone!" He yanked his arm away. "POTTER! POTTER, HELP ME!"

"You're going to have to come with me," Officer O'Conner snapped, this time grabbing Draco's wrist in a painful, iron grip.

The watching crowd murmured their approval. Draco was pulled by his wrist as the Muggle O'Conner tried to drag him off. Draco panicked and tried to dig in his heels.

"No, wait, Potter!" he called desperately. The Muggle pulled harder, and terror welled up in Draco's throat. He couldn't let this Muggle take him away. He couldn't. "POTTER! HARRY! HARRY, PLEASE, HARRY - "

"DRACO!"

Draco nearly wilted in relief as the familiar voice suddenly rang out.

"Harry," he choked out, looking up to see one of the most beautiful sights of his life: Harry Potter illumined under the streetlamps of London as he rushed across the street to Draco.

"Draco!" the other man called out again, crossing the busy intersection in seconds. He was at Draco's side in a heartbeat, relief obvious on his face. "Draco, oh thank God -"

"You know this little troublemaker?" Officer O'Conner asked, not releasing his death grip on Draco's wrist.

Potter straightened to his full height, which was taller than the Muggle. "Yes, I do," he said in a low, protective, and scary voice. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd let him go."

The uniformed Muggle dropped Draco's wrist immediately. Draco cradled his newly freed wrist in his other hand and rubbed it tenderly. He knew that naked gratitude and adoration were probably visible on his face as he stared at Potter, but he didn't care.

"Don't you let him off the hook, Officer," one of the Muggle bystanders broke in. It was the same nosy busybody who'd pointed out the broken window earlier. "That boy is a menace."

Potter's head snapped to glare at the Muggle, who recoiled under the cold gaze. "Want to say that again?"

The Muggle mumbled some kind of apology and scurried off, obviously cowed by Potter's anger.

"Are you the Potter he's been asking for?" Officer O'Conner tried to clarify.

"If he's been asking for a Potter, then yes, that means me," Potter said sharply. As he spoke, he shed his large overcoat, and then draped it over Draco's shoulders.

Instant warmth enveloped Draco, and he closed his eyes in bliss. The coat was hot from Potter's body, and felt wonderful next to Draco's cold, wet skin. He wriggled all the way into it, cherishing the sudden heat. The garment was too big, reaching his ankles and nearly covering his hands, but it was cosy and smelled very faintly of some kind of delicious cologne.

When he opened his eyes a second later, he found Potter watching him with concern. "You okay?" the other man asked quietly, worry lacing his voice.

"Yes," Draco answered, just as quietly. Then even more softly, he added, "Thanks, Potter."

Potter seemed to melt in front of him. For a second, his hand stretched out, as if he were going to touch Draco's cheek or smooth his hair. The next second, however, he'd lowered it, and was simply watching Draco with care again.

The Muggles were eyeing them warily. "How do you know this young man?" the doorman asked, sounding suspicious.

Potter turned to face them. "He's my boy - cousin."

The doorman looked from Draco's white blonde hair to Potter's black.

"I see no family resemblance," he said snidely.

Potter's eyes narrowed, and he moved protectively in front of Draco. The doorman took an obvious step back. "He's my cousin," Potter said again, his tone daring anyone to challenge him.

Draco couldn't resist. He peeked out from behind Potter's broad torso and stuck his tongue out at the Muggles.

The doorman sputtered. "You can't let him go, Officer," he said demandingly. "He was disturbing the peace."

"He was alone and lost and scared," Potter snapped back. "That's not a crime."

Draco sniffed. "I wasn't scared," he said petulantly, mostly to himself.

"He was unbearably rude," the doorman retorted angrily. "And he broke a window."

Draco ducked back behind Potter. Potter looked up, and saw the shattered window. He turned his head and looked down over his shoulder at Draco, who was unsuccessfully trying to hide in Potter's overcoat.

"You broke a window?" he repeated. "Whatever did you do that for?"

"It's only your window," Draco said crossly, kicking irritably at the ground. He did not appreciate being treated like a misbehaving child. "I wouldn't have broken it if you hadn't ignored me shouting for you."

There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort of amusement. Draco looked up to see Potter shaking his head.

"Our building is about three blocks over, Draco," he explained, very nicely. "And we live on the third floor."

Draco looked up at the shattered second story window and winced. "Well…shit."

Potter snorted again. His expression was hovering between affection and exasperation. "Not only that, but I haven't been home for hours. I was out looking for you, you prat."

Draco's body was still freezing, but his face and cheeks suddenly felt warm. "Oh," he said quietly, biting his lip. He quickly pulled Potter's hood up and over his head to hide his flaming cheeks.

Potter's expression became all affection for a moment, before he turned to glare at the Muggles. "If you're quite finished harassing him, I'm going to take him home."

The doorman rolled his eyes. "Right. We've been harassing him." He seemed too intimidated by Potter to say anything more, though.

"What about the window?" the Officer reminded them, with the reluctance of someone only doing their duty. It was obvious he did not want to deal with the situation - or Draco - a moment longer.

"Potter will fix it," Draco said defiantly. Suddenly uncertain, he glanced up at the man next to him. "You will, won't you?"

"Of course I will," Potter assured him. "I'll take care of everything."

A rush of warmth and gratitude towards Potter rolled through Draco. He waited quietly and patiently as Potter exchanged information with the Muggles and made plans to repair the window. He let Potter lead him away from the crowd, and when the other man turned to him with a questioning glance and asked, "Will you come home with me?" Draco nodded, and went with him quite willingly.

"You're quite the little hooligan, aren't you?" Potter remarked, as they headed down the street.

"Oh, shut up," Draco muttered distractedly. He was busy holding Potter's coat closed around his body and snuggling into its warm depths.

Potter raised an eyebrow. "Breaking windows, terrorizing Muggle tourists, shouting at little old ladies in the park…you have been busy."

"And you've been following me," Draco said sourly. "Why didn't you come rescue me sooner?"

Potter seemed surprised. "Would you have wanted me to?"

Draco cursed his mistake. "Well, no, of course not, I don't want anything to do with you," he said quickly. "But, you know…you did say you were going to protect me, and well…I didn't see you doing any of that fabled Gryffindor protecting today. You let all sorts of nasty things happen to me, you wanker." Draco realized he was babbling and shut his mouth, ducking his head under the hood of the cloak again.

"I'm so sorry," Potter said, and to Draco's shock it sounded sincere. "I couldn't bloody get to you in time. I would never have left you alone if I'd actually got to you." Potter shook his head. "You never stayed in once place. By the time I tracked you somewhere, you had already gone; leaving some poor traumatized Muggle in your wake."

He grimaced. "Right before I found you here on our street, I'd lost you completely. I actually had a team of Aurors standing by at that point, in case you didn't turn up immediately."

"Hmph," That must have been at Pansy's house; she would make her house Unplottable, the cow. Somehow, however, it was oddly comforting to know that Potter had been right behind him all day.

"You have no idea how worried I was," Potter continued, more to himself than to Draco. "I'm really glad you're safe."

Draco's cheeks felt warm at Potter's admission, and the undisguised concern in his voice. He peeked out from under the edge of the hood at Potter, who was shaking his head to dislodge some of the water from his hair. A futile gesture; the raindrops promptly beaded up again, making his hair glisten under the yellow streetlights. His movements as they walked were strong and confident, and his jumper clung wetly to him, outlining an enviably proportioned torso.

For one moment, Draco was utterly captivated. Then he quickly shook it off. It was only Potter, after all.

'''''''

When they arrived back at the flat, Draco expected Potter to be cross with him, perhaps to even scold him for running off. To his surprise, Potter simply took his coat.

"You should probably change out of those wet clothes," he said matter-of-factly, as he hung the overcoat up by the door. "You've got to be freezing."

Draco nodded, shivering slightly at the loss of the warm coat. "The jumper's ruined," he said as he looked at the garment, feeling slightly guilty. "Cashmere's not supposed to get so wet."

Potter shrugged. "It was yours, anyway. Although I'm the one who's going to catch it when your other self comes back."

"How do you mean?" Draco asked curiously.

"Potter, how could you let me wear the cashmere jumper?" Potter mimicked, in an imitation of Draco's drawl that was absolutely flawless. "Why didn't you tell me to wear the cotton one; it's a least washable, you git! Too busy saving the world to save my clothes, are you?"

Draco's mouth fell open. "I'm not as gay as all that, am I?"

Potter laughed. "Oh yes, you are. Sorry to ruin your image of yourself as a very butch, masculine twenty-something."

"Hmph." Draco headed down the hall towards the bedroom. "Just so you know, the next time I decide to ruin something expensive, I'll be sure it's something of yours."

"Like a window?"

"Oh, bugger off, Potter."

''''''

Back in the bedroom, Draco quickly stripped off his wet clothes. His towel from that morning was still on the bed, so he grabbed it and rubbed at his wet hair (not too roughly, of course, he didn't want split ends or anything).

Shivering, he located the pyjamas he'd worn the night before and pulled them on. The black silk felt wonderful against his skin, but he was still a little chilled. He walked over to his wardrobe and searched through the drawers, finally locating a dressing gown and some slippers. He pulled the whole ensemble on and left the bedroom to search out Potter.

He found the other man in the kitchen, sitting on a barstool flipping through Quidditch Weekly.

"Hey you," Potter said, as he walked in. "Warmer now?"

"Getting there," Draco answered, taking a seat on the barstool opposite Potter.

"Want something hot to drink?"

"That would be lovely, thank you," Draco said primly. He watched as Potter set the magazine down on the counter and stood. He felt nervous, still expecting Potter to go off on him at any moment.

"We've got about twenty different kinds of tea, and I can also make you hot chocolate," Potter offered.

Draco perked up. "Hot chocolate? Really?"

"Thought you'd want that one." Potter was already heading over to the refrigerator.

Draco drummed his fingers on the countertop anxiously. "So…" he started, feeling ill at ease.

"So what?" Potter asked, opening the fridge.

Draco suddenly exploded. "Just bloody get it over with already, would you?" he demanded.

Potter blinked at him, holding the open fridge door. "Get what over with?"

"Yelling at me for running away," Draco snapped, gesturing wildly. "I know you're going to, so stop making me wait for it!"

Potter looked shocked. "I'm not going to yell at you for that."

"Of course you are! I left when you told me to stay! I caused multiple different accidents that required Ministry cover-up! I broke some bloke's window! Aren't you angry?"

"No," Potter replied, shaking his head. "You were terrified of me after last night, and you had every right to be. I can't blame you one bit for running when you had no reason to trust me."

Draco blinked.

"And you're only a teenager," Potter continued, leaning on the open door slightly. "You were all alone in a strange new world and I should have been here looking out for you."

Draco blinked again.

"I honestly never meant to leave you alone for so long," Potter added. He was now pulling a large carton of milk out of the fridge. "It took me all day to get everything sorted at work so I could stay here with you. Dawlish is such an arse, and didn't want to give me the time off."

Having realized he really wasn't going to be scolded, Draco recovered his voice. "What do you do, anyway?"

"I'm an Auror," Potter answered, balancing the milk in the crook of his arm as he rummaged in a high cupboard. He pulled out a large bar of chocolate and the sugar bowl, and then headed for the stove.

"Are you any good?"

Potter made a face as he set all his ingredients next to the stove. "I've been fighting evil since I was eleven," he said, with a dry sort of humour. "I would hope I'd be good at it by now."

"Hmph." Draco watched as Potter pulled out a large saucepan and set it on a burner. The other wizard tapped the stove with his wand, and a small fire instantly flared to life beneath the pan.

"I'm surprised you haven't asked me what you do," Potter commented, as he poured a large quantity of milk into the pan. A nearby spoon instantly leapt up and began to stir the milk.

"I already know what I do," Draco retorted.

"Really?" Potter asked, raising his eyebrow. "And what is it?"

"I'm rich and busy and important without having an actual job," Draco said casually. "That's what Malfoys always do."

Potter burst out laughing. "You're good," he admitted. "That is exactly what you do."

"Of course it is." Draco watched Potter, who was breaking up the chocolate bar now, adding the entire thing to the heating milk. Several spoonfuls of sugar went in next. The spoon continued to stir, and gradually the milk took on the warm colour of hot chocolate.

Potter pulled two clean mugs from the cupboard near the sink and set them on the counter. Moments later, the pan levitated into the air and poured its contents into the two mugs. Potter picked them up.

"Want to watch some telly or something?"

Draco looked at him disdainfully. "And what exactly is telly?"

Potter gave him a funny look. "You don't know?"

"Is it something Muggle?"

"Well, yes."

"Then obviously I wouldn't know anything about it, would I?"

"No, except…" Potter shook his head. "For some reason, I thought you already knew. At least, I never had to explain it to you." He inclined his head to the opening between the kitchen and living room. "Go on. I'll show you."

"If it's Muggle, I'm not going to like it," Draco predicted haughtily, but followed Potter into the living room anyway.

''''''

Forty minutes later, Draco still sat on the couch, tucked snugly under a warm blanket. A fire crackled several feet away, its radiant heat taking the chill out of the air. His first mug of hot chocolate had been drained to the last drop, and his second mug had only a couple swallows left.

His attention, however, was riveted on the large black box in front of him. "Look at me," he demanded of the good-looking man on screen. "Look at me, you fuckwit! Potter, why won't that bastard look at me?"

Potter chuckled. "I told you, he can't hear you," he answered good-naturedly. "He's not really in there. It doesn't do you any good to shout at him."

"You shouted at the box earlier," Draco pointed out.

"Yes, but that was a football match. And I am very aware that the players can't hear me."

Draco looked at black box suspiciously. "Are you sure there aren't tiny Muggles in there?"

"Quite sure. It's like Wizarding pictures, Draco. It's not actually tiny wizards in the picture, is it? Just a copy of the original wizards. These are just copies of the original Muggles."

That made a lot of sense to Draco, and he unconsciously relaxed a bit, reassured that there weren't actually Muggles in the flat. He watched the screen closely.

"So what's he doing?"

"He's making a torte."

"Oh. Well, it's a bloody lot of work, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is, but that hasn't ever stopped you from eating one, especially if it's chocolate."

Draco glowered at him slightly over the last of his hot chocolate before downing the remaining couple sips. He licked his lips. He'd never have pegged Potter as the type to be so skilled in the kitchen, but the hot chocolate had been some of the best he'd ever had.

"Speaking of chocolate, Potter, my hot chocolate's all gone," he said, as innocently as he could.

Potter raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't that your second cup?"

"It's really good," Draco wheedled, avoiding the question. He was immensely gratified when Potter stood and stretched out a hand.

"Give me your cup; I'll make you more."

Draco happily handed it over. "Thank you, Potter," he said sweetly. "And by chance, you wouldn't happen to have any biscuits, would you?"

'''''''

Two more cups of hot chocolate and an entire plate of biscuits later, Draco was feeling very warm and very, very sleepy.

"Why don't you go to bed?" Potter asked gently, from the armchair. "I'll take the couch again."

"Hmmm," Draco said, a yawn splitting his face. "Maybe I will."

"Go on, then. Get some sleep."

"I'm too tired and full to move," Draco whined, as he closed his eyes.

"That's because you ate too many biscuits," Potter teased. "Now go, before I have to carry you."

Draco cracked open an eye and glared at Potter. "Don't even think about it. I may violate your body on a daily basis in the future, but that doesn't mean you get to put your paws all over me now."

There was a cough that soundly an awful lot like a laugh. "Now would probably not be the best moment to explain who generally violates whom in our relationship, would it?"

"What?"

"Nothing. And I was only kidding. I promised not to touch you and I meant it, so take yourself to bed."

With a grumble, Draco pushed himself off the couch. He turned to leave, and then stopped. He looked back at Potter and furrowed his brow. "Potter?"

"Yes?"

"Did you really kill the Dark Lord?"

There was a pause. "Where did you hear that?" the other man finally asked gently.

Draco shrugged. "When I was at Diagon Alley. So did you?"

Potter bit his lip. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

Draco nodded slowly. "That's…I mean…I…um…thanks," he said softly, and then darted out of the room before Potter could ask what he meant.

When he got to the bedroom, he closed the heavy door behind him, and then all but tumbled onto the enormous bed. As he crawled between the sheets, a faint scent on one of the pillows tickled his nose. He recognized it as the cologne from the overcoat. Potter's cologne. The smell made his stomach flutter in a funny sort of way, so he purposefully chose the other pillow.

He yawned hugely and snuggled deep beneath the fluffy covers, one hand on Binky's tail. He knew he should feel angry or vengeful that the Dark Lord was dead by Potter's hand - but he didn't. Instead, he was filled with an almost giddy sense of relief. In this world, Draco had no suicide missions, no people he was supposed to kill. He wasn't running for his life and hearing daily death threats against himself and his family. In this world all he had to be was the obviously cherished boyfriend of Harry Potter. Feeling comfortingly safe for the first time in months, he closed his eyes and fell nearly instantly asleep.

That night, the Dark Lord hovered on the edge of Draco's dreams, menacing and threatening. He was chased away by yellow glow of streetlights and the warmth of an overcoat, by the taste of velvety hot chocolate and the subtle fragrance of cologne.

4  Mocha

Draco woke up the next morning with a stuffy nose, sore throat and watery eyes. Apparently his night spent in the rain hadn't done much for his health. He was also curled tightly around not Binky, but Potter's pillow, which he promptly pushed away. Feeling sulky and sick, he slunk out of the bedroom and into the kitchen for a drink.

Potter was sitting at the counter again, this time with a newspaper. He was already dressed, in baggy khaki trousers and a long sleeved white shirt with a green t-shirt over it. He looked up when he heard Draco's footsteps.

"Morning," he said in a friendly manner, as Draco all but fell into one of the other stools. "Want some -"

"AH-CHOO!"

Draco cut him off with a loud sneeze.

Draco watched Potter's entire being do something along the lines of melting. "Oh no, are you sick?" he asked, and Draco could hear pity and concern in his voice.

In response, he sniffled. Loudly.

There was an immediate flurry of motion, and Draco promptly found himself on the couch in living room, a thick blanket tucked around him and a bowl of hot soup in his hands. The telly thing was on again, showing Muggles sitting at desks talking importantly. Potter had lit the fire, and placed a glass of juice, a mug of tea, and a cup of water on the little table in front of Draco.

"Stay here, eat your soup and get a bit of rest," Potter advised as he headed to the door. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Draco asked. He didn't want to be left alone and sick.

"To the Apothecary to get you some medicine," Potter called over his shoulder. "I'll be twenty minutes, tops. Want anything else?"

"Chocolate?" Draco prompted hopefully.

Potter laughed. "Should have guessed," he muttered ruefully.

The next moment, Draco heard the front door click shut. He snuggled back against the pile of pillows behind him, obviously the same ones Potter had slept on the previous two nights. He sniffed warily at his chicken noodle soup, and then shrugged. He couldn't smell much, but it wasn't like Potter had fed him anything unpleasant since his arrival.

He took a small bite, and swallowed. It was delicious, and the hot liquid felt wonderful against his sore throat. He quickly polished it off, and then turned his attention to the telly. The program didn't hold his interest for long - the Muggles just looked at the camera and talked in serious voices about things Draco didn't understand.

Potter had given him a long, black thing to change the picture with, explaining that it was sort of like a wand that only controlled the telly. Draco flipped through the pictures until he came to one full of moving drawings. Maybe it was just his stuffy head, but Draco thought it was brilliant; just like wizard portraits only with a lot more action.

He didn't understand everything, but he figured out enough to follow along. He drank his tea and watched the show, and was so caught up in it that he didn't hear Potter return until the other man was standing right next to the couch, brown paper bag in hand.

"I got your medicine, Draco, and some -"

"Wait, wait, wait, I have to find out who really made the old theatre seem haunted!" Draco blurted, eyes glued to the screen.

Potter eyed him in obvious amusement. "I leave you with BBC One and I come home to find you watching cartoons?"

"Shh, Potter, just one second." Draco watched as the four kids and the dog pulled a mask off a young man's head to reveal -

"Mr. Marshall!" Draco gasped. "I can't believe it! He said he wanted to save the theatre, not drive everyone away!" He turned to Potter and said, very seriously, "You know, I think he would have gotten away with it too, if it hadn't been for those damn kids."

Potter started laughing so hard he nearly fell over.

''''''''''

They spent the entire day in the flat, mostly because Draco wanted to watch cartoons and Potter seemed content to let Draco do whatever he wanted. The medicine had taken care of his stuffy nose and sore throat, but Draco still felt exhausted and chose to lounge about on the couch and rest.

Potter remained nearby, usually sitting in the armchair near Draco with a magazine or some papers from his work. Draco discovered early in the day that while haughty commands only made Potter snort in amusement, the other man was completely unable to resist sweetly made requests. Consequently, Draco had wheedled another six mugs of hot chocolate and at least a dozen freshly baked chocolate biscuits out of Potter before dinner.

That didn't stop him from eating dinner, of course. Potter got them take-away fish and chips, which they ate together while sitting on the bar stools at the counter in the kitchen.

"Got any vinegar?" Draco asked, as he popped a hot, well-salted chip in his mouth.

Potter nodded, standing up and heading for the fridge. He picked up a bottle and held it out. "Ketchup too?"

"Yes, please," Draco confirmed, stretching out one arm. He winced as he took the vinegar from Potter. "Ow, my wrist," he said, grimacing.

Potter paused from his search in the fridge. "What's wrong with your wrist?"

"Everyone keeps squeezing it," Draco said petulantly, setting down the vinegar to rub at his wrist. "You, Pansy, that stupid Muggle -"

There was a sudden crash, as Potter dropped the ketchup and whirled around. "Did you just say Pansy?"

Draco froze. Potter's voice had taken on that dangerous quality that made him sound so frightening, the one that made Draco believe he was capable of killing Dark Lords.

Seeing Draco's anxious expression, Potter quickly softened. "Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he said apologetically.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I'm not scared of you," he informed Potter haughtily.

"Of course you're not," Potter soothed. "I wasn't trying to snap, I just didn't know you saw…" he grimaced "…Parkinson yesterday."

"Well, I did. I ran into her at Diagon Alley and she sort of…" Draco swallowed. "…took me home with her."

Potter stiffened abruptly. "Oh?" He shut the fridge door a little harder than necessary. "And how did that go?"

Draco shuddered at the memory. "It was horrible," he said quietly. "She wasn't very nice."

Potter's head snapped round to face Draco. "Did she hurt you?" His voice was low, and laced with a protective edge that suggested that he'd gladly hex the shit out of anyone who'd messed with Draco.

Draco shook his head slowly. "No…not exactly…"

Potter Accio'd the ketchup off the floor and set it near Draco before leaning back against the counter, arms crossed. "Will you tell me what happened?"

Potter's concern for him was palpable, and before Draco knew it, the story had spilled from his lips in all its lacy, knickered detail.

When he finished, Potter was standing rigid, obviously trying to control his temper. "That evil cow," he spat through clenched teeth. "Touching you…hurting you..."

Draco watched him with worried grey eyes. "Are you angry?"

Potter softened again at Draco's distress. "At you?" He shook his head. "Never," he said kindly.

Draco smiled, happy with his answer.

Potter smiled back briefly. "But I am angry, yes," he admitted. He twirled his wand in his hand for a moment, before suddenly shoving it in his back pocket. "Will you be alright if I duck out for a moment, Draco?"

Draco blinked. "Of course," he said slowly. "But where are you going?"

"Just out," Potter said casually, heading for the door. "I promise to come right back. In the meantime, there's some healing ointment in the bathroom; I want you to use it on your wrists, okay?"

"Okay." Draco watched him leave, eyes full of gratitude. Lions weren't so bad when they were out for your protection.

''''''

Draco was watching telly and eating crisps when he heard the front door open two hours later. He didn't even look up. "So what did you do to Pansy?"

There was a snort. "Am I that obvious?" Potter asked, as he made his way into the living room.

"Yes, pretty much." Draco watched as Potter dropped into the armchair next to him. He held out the bag of crisps, and Potter helped himself to a handful. "So…" he prompted.

"We had...words," Potter said cagily. "And I may have Obliviated her."

Draco stared. "You what?"

The other man held up his free hand defensively. "Hey, that was the least of what I wanted to do. But it had to be done; she'd already drafted a letter to the Daily Prophet about me being a paedophile and shacking up with a minor."

Draco sputtered indignantly. "Hello, pot, kettle, black," he spat angrily.

"I know," Potter said, running an agitated hand through his hair. "She never stops trying to get you away from me. You'd think the somewhat spectacular manner in which you dumped her five years ago would have clued her into the fact that you're not interested."

"How did I break up with her?" Draco asked curiously.

"You took out a full-page ad on the second page of The Daily Prophet."

Draco burst out laughing. "Brilliant," he said, promising to himself that he'd remember that one.

Potter grinned in response. They fell silent for a few moments, crunching on crisps and listening to the drone of the telly.

Potter suddenly sighed. "I can't help but think she might have been right, though."

Draco whirled to stare at Potter incredulously. "Right about what?"

"About it being inappropriate for you to stay with me." Potter was staring resolutely at the telly, refusing to look at Draco. "You are a minor."

He wasn't, actually. Draco briefly toyed with the idea of admitting that he had turned seventeen, and decided against it. Potter would never knowingly touch a minor, so as long as Potter thought he was sixteen he was certain his virtue was safe as a vault at Gringotts. "You want me to stay here," he pointed out instead.

"Yes, but for my own selfish reasons," Potter countered, obviously upset. "Because I want to protect you. But maybe you shouldn't be here at all. I ought to find someone else to look after you, someone more appropriate. Snape, perhaps, or another Hogwart's professor, or I could write to your parents and -"

"Don't be stupid," Draco said hotly. He didn't know why, but the thought of leaving Potter's cosy flat upset him. "I'm not going anywhere else."

Potter was obviously surprised, and turned to look at Draco. "I thought you hated it here."

Draco flushed. "It's hard to hate a place where I get such good hot chocolate," he mumbled, embarrassed.

Potter smiled, but quickly grew serious again. "You can't honestly want to stay here, though. After what I almost did -"

"Oh, come off it," Draco snapped. "You thought I was your boyfriend and were trying to show me a good time."

"Well, yes, but I had you pinned to the bed and -"

" - and you haven't touched me since," Draco finished. "I'm perfectly safe here." As long as Potter thinks I'm underage, he added to himself.

Potter was quiet for a moment. "You feel safe here?"

Draco bit his lip. "Safer than I have in a long time," he admitted quietly. Then, even more quietly, "Please don't make me leave, Potter."

From the sweet, sappy look that Potter gave him, Draco knew he'd won.

'''''

They spent the next few days in the flat. Potter would fix big, delicious breakfasts, followed by tasty lunches, proper cream teas and take-away suppers. There was a seemingly endless supply of chocolate and biscuits and sweets as well. Draco was happily content to lounge about, eating and watching telly and chatting with Potter, who turned out to be excellent company.

He quickly learned his way around the flat, growing comfortable with every nook and cranny. A one bedroom home seemed surprisingly small for two wealthy individuals, and he commented on this to Potter.

Potter shrugged. "We both own other houses that are big and formal, if we need them. This was just for us. The location was perfect, and I love the big windows. Plus, we're high up enough that you can see the park."

Draco shook his head. "Trying to pretend you're still in Gryffindor tower, eh? Does that drive me crazy?"

Potter looked wistful for a second. "You're the one who insisted we get this place, actually. You know how much I hate living where it's dark and cramped." Before Draco could inquire what that meant, he continued. "Besides, it's really all the space we need. It's not like we're trying to get away from each other."

Indeed, the flat seemed to imply that the occupants happily lived nearly on top of each other. There was only the one large bedroom and one - admittedly gorgeous - bathroom, and the spacious living room doubled as a haphazard office, with a small desk crammed in amongst the bookcases along the wall. There was no formal dining room either, just the breakfast nook and the counter with the bar stools.

There were lots of windows, however, and Draco knew the flat must be bright and sunny on the days it didn't rain. Everything was cosy and welcoming, and after just the short time he'd been here Draco felt happily at home.

He couldn't stay in the flat forever, though, despite how much a part of him wanted to. Both he and Potter agreed it wouldn't be safe to take Draco out into the Wizarding world, and Draco had so far been reluctant to visit the Muggle world. Finally, though, Potter's gentle cajoling won out, and Draco agreed to leave the flat and venture out into Muggle London - provided that Potter didn't leave his side, of course.

"We'll just go to a café for a bit," Potter promised, as they walked down the sidewalk. It was raining again but Potter was holding an umbrella over their heads. Draco didn't miss the way Potter carefully kept more of the umbrella over Draco than himself, preventing even a drop of the slanting rain from touching his white-gold head. "It's just a few blocks down."

Draco nodded. It was nice to get out of the flat for a bit and with Potter next to him the Muggle world didn't seem scary at all.

Nothing would seem scary if you had Potter next to you.

Draco quickly shook that thought away, following Potter down the tree-lined street. A bit more walking and they finally stopped in front of a small establishment that proudly proclaimed itself to be the Coffee Connection.

"A coffee shop?" Draco clarified, tilting his head to one side.

"They have pastries and tea and hot chocolate too," Potter quickly reassured him. "You don't have to get a coffee."

Draco bristled. "Maybe I want a coffee," he said challengingly.

Potter eyed him. "I'm not sure you'd like coffee," he said reasonably.

"Shows what you know." Draco pushed open the door and led the way into a small, cosy café that was nearly empty. "I've been drinking coffee for years now."

"Liar," Potter said with great amusement as he followed. "At this point in your life you've had exactly one sip of coffee from your father's breakfast mug and you detested it."

Draco stopped in his tracks and began to sputter. "Why - you - how did you - I hate the fact that you're dating me," he finished sourly.

Potter laughed. "Don't be embarrassed," he said sweetly. "If you can't drink coffee it only makes you a little bit less of a man."

Draco glared at him before beginning to walk again. "You're not funny," he informed Potter. "What do you normally drink then?"

"An unsweetened latte with an extra shot of espresso."

"Wimp," Draco said, not having any idea what kind of drink that was.

The corners of Potter's mouth twitched. "Tell you what," he said soothingly, as they reached the counter. "I'll order your usual drink for you, so you can see if you like it."

Draco perked up. "Alright, then. Bet I've got good taste."

Potter turned to the chipper-looking barista. "Can you get my…er…cousin a large single-shot mocha with double chocolate, hazelnut syrup and extra whipped cream?"

"Now that sounds like a manly drink," Draco said approvingly.

Potter coughed politely. Two minutes later, the barista handed Draco a large drink. "Here you are, kiddo."

Draco scowled at her darkly before sipping his drink.

"Well?" Potter asked.

Draco made a face. "It's a bit bitter. Don't you have anything sweeter?"

Potter and the barista exchanged a knowing look that Draco fortunately missed.

"Get him a large hot chocolate, please," Potter requested.

"With extra, extra whipped cream and chocolate sauce on top," Draco added. Then he looked bemusedly at the cup in his hand. "What do I do with this?"

"Give it here, I'll drink it," Potter said, taking the cup from Draco's unresisting hand.

Draco furrowed his brow. "But you said you normally drink those la-tay things."

"It's okay, I'm used to finishing your drinks," Potter assured him, as he took a sip of Draco's unwanted mocha.

"You are?"

"Course. You always try new things but you usually don't like them, so I wait to order until I find out whether I should just polish off what you got."

Draco stared at him. "You really do that for me? It doesn't drive you mad?"

"Not at all. I like everything, and your finickiness is just too bloody adorable for words." And as Potter turned to get his hot chocolate, Draco felt something warm and indefinable stir within his chest.

'''''

They sat at a small table right against the window where they could sip their drinks and watch the Muggles hurry through the rain. Draco's hot chocolate was very good, although not quite as good as the ones Potter made, and his custard tart was fresh and tasty.

As Draco drank his hot chocolate, he found himself surreptitiously watching the other man. He'd always thought Potter had the most ridiculously messy hair, but he was realizing that it wasn't so much messy as tousled. He almost wanted to touch it, to see if it was thick and coarse or soft and smooth. Potter's eyes were also shockingly green behind his lenses, and Draco kept finding himself slightly distracted by the intensity of the colour.

His eye colour wasn't the only thing distracting Draco. Having spent several days now in Potter's company, he'd seen the other man in everything from jumpers to tight t-shirts. He'd come to surmise that Auror training must be highly physical, because he couldn't think of any other way for Potter to have gotten that body. He wasn't overly-muscled, but he gave the impression of being very toned, and Draco hadn't forgotten how almost…nice it had felt to be held tightly against Potter's body.

A slight flush rose on Draco's cheeks, and he quickly banished the thought. He began chatting away to Potter, enjoying how the other man listened attentively as he watched Draco with obvious affection.

True to his word, Potter was drinking Draco's abandoned mocha without a word of complaint. As he sipped, a far-away look came into his eyes. "This makes me miss you," he commented, swirling the cup in one hand and watching the whipped cream melt.

"How on earth could you miss me?" Draco sniffed loudly. "I'm right - oh."

Potter smiled at him sadly. "Yeah, your other you. I hope he's alright."

"Where do you think he is?" Draco asked curiously.

"No idea," the other man admitted. "I've been thinking we need to start figuring this all out. I'm sure you're ready to get back to your own time."

His own time. Draco froze. His own time…where the Dark Lord was still alive.

I do not take kindly to failure, young Malfoy…and you have failed me most spectacularly...

He suddenly felt cold all over. "Yes of course, my own time, got to be getting back there," he said, forcing his voice to sound normal. His stomach was rolling unpleasantly, and he was suddenly desperate to change the subject to one that would completely distract the other man. "Hey Potter?" he quickly asked.

"Yeah?"

"What's a Safe Word?"

The reaction was priceless. Potter jerked in shock and promptly choked on his mocha, clutching at his throat and staring wide-eyed at Draco.

"Oh God," was all he said.

"Well?" Draco said impatiently, unaccountably relieved to have found such a new, distracting subject. "When you were on the verge of mauling me the other day, you said you would have stopped if I had used that Safe Word thingy. So what is it?"

Potter had gone worrisomely pale. "I'm not quite sure we should be having this conversation, Draco."

"Don't be such a prude. It's a simple question. What's a Safe Word?"

"…um…"

"Potter…"

Potter winced. "Okay, okay. I just wasn't prepared to explain about the birds and the bees."

"I know about the birds and the bees. I just don't know what a Safe Word is."

"Um…okay, well….well, it's this word, see…that's um…safe…"

Draco folded his arms over his chest and glared at Potter. "Answer the question."

Potter winced again, and buried his head in his hands. "Do I have to?"

"Yes. Or I'll go to the Prophet and tell them you've got a thing for sixteen year old virgins in their Slytherin school uniforms."

"Oy, that's fighting dirty!" the other man protested, raising his head to glare back at Draco.

"I'm a Slytherin," Draco said, by way of explanation. "Now talk."

Potter sighed. "Alright." He cleared his throat. "Well, sometimes, when two people - who are both adults and well over the legal age of seventeen, thank you very much -"

Draco rolled his eyes.

" -when these two legal adults love each other very much, they…they, um…"

"Fuck," Draco supplied.

Potter closed his eyes in embarrassment. "Yes," he said reluctantly. "They do that. A lot. And sometimes they do it in, um…creative ways."

"Like pretending one of them is actually sixteen. Or a virgin. Or both."

"Right." Potter was massaging his temples as if he had a headache. "So suppose one of them wants to play a little rough, and wants to pretend that they don't want to…um…"

"Fuck."

"Yes. That. So that partner is going to say things like no and stop when they really mean yes and keep going."

"Okay, that makes sense."

"But what if the partner really does want to stop? He can't say no because that's part of the game, right? So you pick a different word to mean no."

"What different word?"

"Well, like red or Earl Grey or pumpkin juice. Something you'd never say normally say when you…uh…"

"Fuck. I'm not a baby, Potter, you can say fuck in front of me." Draco furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "So you're saying that we're sexually deviant enough to have one of these Safe Word things?"

Potter smiled weakly. "Heh."

"What is it? Our Safe Word, I mean?"

Potter slid a little lower in his chair. "Mocha," he muttered, obviously embarrassed.

Draco laughed outright. "Mocha?" he repeated. "That's a bit of a poncy Safe Word, isn't it?"

"It was your idea," Potter said defensively. "You picked it out. I'd never even heard of a Safe Word until I got involved with your pervy little self."

Draco was still snickering. "Oh, no, don't take me, I'm an innocent little schoolboy," he teased, fluttering his eyelashes at Potter. "No, you big brute, no, stop, I - mocha! That was too far! Mocha mocha mocha!"

Potter was blushing fiercely. "You laugh now," he said meaningfully, "but when I've got you tied to the headboard and at my mercy, I need to know that I haven't gone too far."

Something about the phrase tied to the headboard and at my mercy made Draco's throat suddenly go dry. "Do you…tie me up often?" he asked, with an innocence he wasn't sure he really felt.

Potter shrugged. "We do a lot of - wait, no!" he suddenly said in horror. "I can't talk about this stuff with you!"

For some reason, Draco very very much wanted to talk about this stuff. "Oh, sure you can, Potter," he said persuasively. "It's very…educational."

"No, Draco," Potter said sternly. "I can't. I don't think it's appropriate to talk about these things with someone who's not of Age."

Draco felt like pouting. Pretending to be sixteen was all very well and good, and kept Potter treating him respectfully and not jumping him.

But he had to admit, it did have it drawbacks.

''''''

"You call me Draco all the time now," Draco commented, as he and Potter headed back to the flat. "Do you ever call me Malfoy anymore?"

"Only when you've been very bad," Potter answered candidly, stepping around a puddle. "Which happens more often than you'd think."

"Hmph," Draco sniffed, sticking his nose in the air in an offended manner. "Don't be daft. I'm sure I'm an absolute angel."

"Mmm, yes, because you're the picture of good behaviour now."

"Bugger off," Draco said without malice. "What's for dinner?"

"Whatever you like, angelic one."

"Oh ha ha, very witty, Potter."

They ended up with Indian take away for the second night in a row. Back at the flat, Draco piled his plate with Chicken Tikka Masala, naan, rice, and two kinds of curry before settling down on the couch in front of the telly.

He didn't stop eating until every bite was gone, and then sighed contentedly as he tossed his empty plate on the coffee table. "I'm going to get so fat here," he mused, stretching out along the couch.

"Please," Potter answered, still working on his own plate. "You could gain four stone and still not be fat."

"Are you saying I'm skinny?" Draco said indignantly. He pointed at his body. "Because this isn't skinny. This is attractively slim."

Potter levelled him with a look. Draco scowled. "Oh, very well," he said crossly. "I didn't eat much this year. I suppose you think I'm scrawny and ugly, then."

"Of course I don't," Potter said forcefully. "I find you almost criminally attractive. When we're the same age, of course," he tacked on hastily.

Draco preened.

"Speaking of us being the same age," Potter said. "We ought to get working on that plan to send you home."

Ice suddenly washed through Draco's veins. "Send me home?"

"Of course," Potter answered. He was looking at the telly, and seemed unaware of Draco's sudden mood shift. "We've got to get the other you back here, and I'm sure you'd rather be back in your own time than stuck here with me."

Draco swallowed. "Right," he said uncomfortably. His mouth had gone painfully dry, and he could no longer taste the spicy food he'd just eaten.

"I was thinking that the best place to start would be with Hermione. She's so good at stuff like this; I bet she'll figure out how to send you back in no time."

Draco winced at the crawling of his skin when he thought of seeing the Dark Lord again. "Great," he said unconvincingly.

"I'll Floo her tomorrow," Potter finished, looking over at Draco. He obviously expected Draco to be pleased.

The best Draco could manage was a weak smile. "Sounds perfect." He tried very hard to pretend he'd rather be back at cold, bleak Riddle Manor than here in Potter's warm, cosy flat.

Concern flashed over Potter's features. "Are you alright?"

"Course I am," Draco snapped, a little more forcefully than he'd meant to.

Potter eyed him suspiciously. "You look a little pale."

"I'm always pale," Draco said petulantly, looking away from Potter.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Potter stretch out a hand, as if to touch his shoulder. He immediately lowered it, a self-recriminating look on his face.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You can touch me, you know," he said testily, turning back to Potter. "I won't break."

Potter shook his head. "I promised I wouldn't," he said righteously. "I want you to feel safe here."

"Yes, well, you're hardly going to rid me of my virginity by touching my arm," Draco said shortly. "I know you do all sorts of crazy stuff with my older self; I'm not going to freak out at a little contact."

"Well, yes, it's alright for me to touch him," Potter argued, unyielding. "But I shouldn't be touching you. You're not your older self."

Draco set his jaw. "No, I don't suppose I am," he said stiffly.

And without another word, he jumped off the couch and fled to his room.

''''''

"Ah, the errant Malfoy brat returns," the Dark Lord said coldly. "What failure do you bring me news of this time?"

"My Lord, please, I'm sorry," Draco begged, trembling on the floor. "Please, I've tried so hard -"

The Dark Lord ignored his pleas. "Did you know that your mother was here today?" he asked casually.

Draco gasped. "My - my mother -"

"Yes," the Dark Lord hissed. "Begging me to spare your worthless life." He laughed with cruel amusement. "I nearly took hers instead."

Draco stared in horror. "But - but she's done nothing, Sir -"

"Are you judging my decisions, little Malfoy?" There was no amusement in his voice now.

Draco went white with fear.

The Dark Lord raised his wand. "Such a disappointment you are," he said flatly. "Cruci -"

" -co! Draco! Draco, wake up! Wake up, love, please, wake up!"

Draco gasped, bolting upright, taking huge gulps of air into his chest. His eyes were wet and hot, his silk pyjamas soaked with sweat, and his heart was racing. He whipped his head to one side to see Potter there, one hand squeezing Draco's shoulder and an anxious look on his face.

"It's alright, Draco," he said, his voice soothing and reassuring. "It's was just a dream. You're here with me, with Harry."

Draco swallowed and screwed his eyes shut, still breathing hard. "Harry?" he whispered. His voice sounded so small in the darkness.

"Yes, it's me, I'm right here," Potter said quickly, the hand on his arm tightening reassuringly. "You were having a nightmare. I'm sorry I came in your room, but I had to, I heard you screaming -"

But Draco didn't care that Potter had come into his room without permission. In a few short days Potter had become his rock and his protector. He trusted Potter, and without a moment's hesitation he threw himself at the other man.

Potter stiffened in surprise. For one horrible moment, Draco feared that Potter's Gryffindor sense of honour would force him to push Draco away. In desperation he clung more tightly to Potter, pressing his face against the soft cotton of Potter's t-shirt.

"Harry," he said again, and it must have been the magic word because Potter finally caved, pulling Draco closer, wrapping his arms comfortingly around Draco and whispering softly to him.

"Shh, it's okay, it was a nightmare; it wasn't real, you're safe."

Draco took a shuddering breath. "I hate him," he admitted quietly, clutching the fabric of Potter's t-shirt in both hands. He sniffled, the last tears from his nightmare escaping from his eyes. "I hate him, Potter, I hate him."

"Who, love?" Potter asked as he cradled Draco protectively. Then Draco felt him wince. "Sorry, I really didn't mean to call you that."

But Draco didn't answer; he simply sniffed again and rested his cheek against Potter's strong chest. He couldn't find it within himself to mind that Potter had accidentally called him love; after his nightmare, it was kind of reassuring.

They stayed like that for a long while, with Draco curled securely into Potter and Potter's arms tightly around him, one hand gently threading through Draco's hair. The room was nearly silent, save for Draco's shaky breaths and the occasional distant rumble of a passing Muggle automobile. Potter's body was so comforting and warm that Draco closed his eyes, knowing he could fall asleep like this.

Finally, when Draco's breathing had slowed to normal, Potter gently disengaged him from his arms. "I'm sorry," he said, biting his lip as he slowly guided Draco to lie back on the bed. "I want to keep holding you, but I really shouldn't."

Draco gave him a wounded look, already missing the warmth and safety of Potter's arms. Somehow, with Potter, he could pretend the Dark Lord didn't even exist. "You're leaving me alone?"

Potter looked like he was in physical pain. "I have to," he said sorrowfully, the words obviously costing him. "I'm not going to take advantage of you in this state."

"But…" Draco knew he wouldn't sleep another wink if the other man left. He lay vulnerably on his back in middle of the big bed, looking up at Potter with still-wet eyes. "You could…maybe…stay," he suggested cautiously. "There's lots of room; I bet I wouldn't even know you were here."

Potter laughed a low, soft laugh. "I bet you would," he said, sitting on the bed next to Draco. "I tend to get a bit cuddly when I'm asleep."

"Cuddly?" Draco repeated, almost hopefully.

Potter nodded. "I wouldn't trust myself in a bed with you. We'd go to sleep on different sides and you'd wake up as my teddy. I can't stay."

Draco's lower lip trembled slightly. "But I don't want to be alone," he whispered.

Draco's words drew a heartbroken look from Potter. "Oh God, I'm so sorry, please, don't pout," he begged, unconsciously inching closer. Even in the darkness, Draco could see the inner battle he was fighting, warring between his desire to behave like a gentleman and not cuddle with a minor and his desire to comfort and protect Draco after his nightmare. "I'm so sorry, Draco. I want to but I can't. I really shouldn't. It's not right; you're too young."

Draco, sensing weakness, let his lower lip tremble just a little more.

Potter screwed his eyes shut. "Merlin, you get me every time with that pout," he said, shaking his head. He took a deep breath, then opened his eyes and looked kindly at Draco. "Here, come on."

He stood and held out a hand. Draco took it suspiciously, and let Potter pull him off the bed and to his feet. "Where are we going?" he asked, as he tagged along down the hall after Potter. He was oddly aware of the contact where Potter held his hand in his.

"Couch," Potter answered, as they reached the living room. Potter's make-shift bed was currently in shambles; pillows on the floor and blankets haphazardly tossed to one end. He'd obviously bolted straight from the bed for Draco's room.

Potter let go of Draco's hand, and Draco watched as Potter quickly made the bed up again. "There you are," he said, when he'd finished. "You can sleep here."

Draco looked at him pitifully. "Where are you going to be?"

"The armchair."

Draco's lower lip wobbled just a bit, and Potter immediately surrendered. "Alright, the other end of the couch," he promised. "Now under the blankets with you."

Draco smiled at him gratefully before obediently crawling onto the sofa. Potter tugged the covers up over his shoulders, and then plopped down at the other end of the couch and turned on the telly.

Draco sighed in contentment. The couch was still warm from Potter's body, and the pillows smelled faintly of that intoxicating cologne. The blankets were thick and cosy, and the flickering light and faint noise coming from the telly reassured him that he wasn't at Riddle Manor, and that he wasn't alone.

There was only one thing he needed to make things perfect, and he intended to get it. Slowly, stealthily, he stretched out underneath the blankets with one bare foot. He slid it along the soft cushions of the sofa as quietly as he could until finally he reached his destination:

Potter's thigh.

He pressed the sole of his bare foot along the length of Potter's thigh, which was warm through the thin cotton of his pyjama bottoms. Potter started slightly at the touch but Draco held his foot in place, praying that Potter wouldn't move and deny him the contact he was so desperate for.

Draco held his breath for what seemed like an eternity, but finally, to his enormous relief, Potter relaxed, allowing Draco's foot to remain tucked up against him. After a moment, Potter actually reached down and gently squeezed his foot through the blanket.

"Night, Draco," he said affectionately, and then moved his hand back to his lap.

Warmth and security coursed through Draco as the last of the tension left his body. He pressed his foot even more snugly against Potter before burrowing securely under the blankets, hiding his smile in the Potter-scented pillow. In a voice too soft to be heard, he whispered back.

"Goodnight, Harry."

5 Wardrobe Wonders

Draco was awakened the next morning by the smell of pancakes. He yawned, stretching out his feet along the bed, and wondered why he had the nagging feeling that something was missing.

He kicked his legs around a bit, but didn't come in contact with anything. Draco frowned; for some reason, he was sure there was supposed to be something big and warm at the end of his bed. Puzzled, he cracked opened his eyes.

His eyes immediately widened as he realized that he wasn't on his bed at all; he was on the couch in the living room, and the thing that was supposed to be at the end of his bed was -

"Morning, Draco."

Draco looked up to see Harry walking towards him. A moment later, he took a seat on the coffee table next to Draco's head.

"How are you feeling?" he asked with genuine concern.

Draco flushed slightly. In the light of day, his nightmare and subsequently clingy reaction to Harry were humiliating. "Fine," he muttered, looking away.

Harry scrutinized him for a moment more, and then, to Draco's great relief, sensitively changed the subject. "I made pancakes."

"I can smell them," Draco admitted, sitting up a bit. "They smell good."

"In the kitchen," Harry said, jerking his head in that direction. "Come on."

Draco watched him as he stood. Harry was still in his pyjamas, a pair of baggy flannel trousers and a red t-shirt. The t-shirt was old and small, clinging tightly to his biceps and showing a faint outline of the muscular chest beneath.

Once on his feet, Harry yawned, raising his arms above his head in a cat-like stretch. The motion sent his t-shirt riding up, revealing a sizable expanse of his stomach.

Draco's world suddenly shrank to those inches of smooth skin. Harry's trousers were riding low, and the stomach now uncovered was perfectly flat, save for the lightly defined muscles. His skin looked soft and golden, especially one spot, just by his hipbone, where the skin seemed extra smooth and almost licka -

"Well, aren't you coming?"

Draco blinked as Harry's voice penetrated his mind. He looked up to see the other man watching him with a puzzled expression. He felt a little sheepish. He hadn't realized that he'd been staring so intently at Harry's stomach.

He held out one hand. "Help me up?" he asked shyly.

Harry smiled and took it. With a gentle tug, he pulled Draco to his feet.

"There you are," he said affectionately. "Now come have breakfast."

He headed for the kitchen. Draco followed, the hand that had just held Harry's faintly tingling.

'''''

They ate together at the little table in the breakfast nook, so Draco could watch the Muggles hurry about on the street below. Harry had also made eggs and bacon, as well as a cherry filling to go with the pancakes. Draco was already on his second plate.

"Tea?" Harry asked, reaching for the pot when Draco nodded. The muscles in his biceps flexed as he lifted the full teapot, stretching the limits of the tight fabric of his shirt sleeve. Draco paused to stare, fork halfway up to his mouth, unable to look away as Harry poured the tea and added milk and lots of sugar to Draco's cup.

"Alright there?" Harry asked quizzically, after Draco had held his fork in mid-air for nearly a minute.

Draco shook his head. "Um, yes, of course, fine," he said, stuffing the bite of pancake in his mouth. When did Potter get muscles? he wondered.

They ate in companionable silence for a few moments before Harry cleared his throat.

"I sent an owl to Hermione this morning."

Draco stiffened. "You what?" he barked, looking at Harry in disbelief.

"I wrote to Hermione, like I said I would," Harry repeated. "I wasn't going to tell anyone you were here, but I honestly haven't a clue how to send you back. So I went ahead and wrote to Hermione and asked for her help."

"Why would you do that?" Draco snapped, the words spilling out of him before he could stop them.

Harry looked surprised. "Because you've got to be getting home, don't you? We've got to straighten everything out, send you home, get my Draco back."

Draco clenched his teeth. He felt hurt and betrayed, and he knew it showed on his face. "Oh, I see, you're only worried about him," he spat. "Can't possibly let anything bad happen to your boyfriend, right?"

"Well, of course not." Harry seemed completely lost. "But…but he's you. I wouldn't let anything bad happen to you either."

Liar, Draco thought hotly. You'll send me right back to the Dark Lord, and days of torture is the LEAST of what he'll do to me. His stomach lurched sickeningly and he refused to say anything more, looking stonily at his empty plate.

"I don't understand," Harry's voice was worried, pleading. "Why are you so upset? I thought you couldn't wait to get out of here."

"I…" Draco snapped his mouth shut. He couldn't tell Harry the truth. He'd never understand. "Of course I can't wait," he lied. "I'm just not in the mood to have a long, serious discussion. I had a rough night."

As expected, Harry completely softened. "Oh, Draco, I'm sorry," he apologized. "You're right. We don't have to talk about this now. Let's do something else, something to get your mind off things."

Draco nodded forcefully. "That would be lovely, thank you," he said curtly.

"Why don't we go out again? It's not raining; we could walk to some of the parks or something."

"Sounds great," Draco said, with genuine enthusiasm. Anything to get Harry away from the subject of sending him back. "Can we have lunch out?"

"Of course. Anything you want," Harry said, in his sweet, accommodating way. "Go have a shower and get dressed, and then I'll have one when you're done."

'''''''''

In the bathroom, Draco opted for the faster shower rather than the bath he traditionally favoured. He turned the water temperature hotter than normal, trying to chase away the residual chill that thinking of the Dark Lord always brought.

Enjoy the hot shower while it lasts, his inner voice taunted. You won't be getting them at Riddle Manor.

Draco swallowed hard. He didn't want to think about Riddle Manor. Trying to distract himself, he focused instead on the second head in the roomy, exquisitely tiled shower.

What on earth would we need TWO shower heads for? Seems a bit excessive. After all, one person can't use two shower heads at once. It only makes sense if we shower to -

His eyes widened.

- together.

Suddenly, he could almost see Harry under the shower head across from him: body wet and glistening, rich lather and soapy bubbles sliding over his muscles as he washed himself. Draco stood, transfixed, imagining that perfect stomach covered with sudsy foam as shower-Harry smiled at him, poured the slippery body wash into his hands, and playfully offered to wash Draco's back…

With a strangled gasp, Draco wrenched himself out of the fantasy, shaking his head violently to clear his dirty mind. He'd successfully put the Dark Lord out of his mind, but now he had Potter - naked, soapy Potter - dominating his thoughts.

I am NOT going to think of Potter naked, he thought firmly. I may find his protective Gryffindor qualities somewhat…tolerable, but I don't LIKE him.

He paused, as he thought of the pancakes Harry had made for breakfast, how concerned Harry had sounded this morning, and how good Harry's arms felt last night when he'd woken from his nightmare.

Well, okay…maybe I sort of like him, he reluctantly admitted. Maybe. A little. But NOT in a naked way.

He quickly finished up his shower, disciplining his mind to think of decent things, like Quidditch and ice cream and certainly not Potter and soap. After toweling off, he dressed in a nice button-up shirt and a pair of trousers Harry had magically shortened. He slicked back his hair with gel, and then headed back into the living room to find Harry.

The brunet was sitting at the desk in the living room, a large piece of parchment in one hand, a quill in the other, and a pained expression on his face.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Draco asked, as he made his way over.

Harry turned his head and smiled briefly in greeting. "Paperwork," he answered, making it sound like a dirty word. "There's some file you had on the desk that's due tomorrow. I really can't put it off any longer."

Draco looked curiously over his shoulder. "Oh, a bank form. Well, what's the big deal? Just sign it and let's go."

"Sign where?"

Draco jabbed at three tiny lines amongst at least two dozen. "Here, here and here. It's a standard wizarding form for couples filing jointly on an item owned by only one of them. I assume I was trying to grant you access to the interest earned on the Malfoy Coat of Arms currently on loan to the Department of Historical Artifacts?"

"Er…"

"Unless you think I'm trying to compile that interest in a separate account that we already share, in which case you need only sign here and here because…because…" Draco trailed off as he realized that Harry was staring at him blankly. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Harry shook his head. "You've offered to teach me several times, but I just get lazy and let you take care of everything. You seem to know what you're doing."

"Well of course I do," Draco said impatiently. "I'm the only heir to one of the largest estates in Britain. I've been training to do these sorts of things since I was eight."

"So you already know how to do all of this?" Harry said, gesturing to the stacks of official-looking papers that were scattered across the desk.

"In my sleep."

"Oh." Harry bit his lip. "Well, sorry, it may take a bit longer to go to the park. I'm afraid I'm at a bit of a loss, and it will probably take a while for me to -"

"Oh, honestly - move over." Draco put a hand on Harry's shoulder and tried to nudge him off the chair.

Harry balked. "What?"

Draco put both hands on Harry's shoulder and pushed harder. "I'm taking care of this for you." He didn't have much luck moving Harry; he was too strong and solid and refused to budge.

"I can't pass this responsibility off on you!" he protested, staying in the chair. "You're just a teenager!"

"Teenager I may be," Draco said primly, still pushing, "but I can have all of this sorted before you're even out of the shower."

Harry looked up at him suspiciously.

"I mean it," Draco promised, now applying his shoulder to Harry and throwing his whole body into it. "Please let me do it, Harry. I want to go to the park before it rains again."

His pleading tone did what his lack of size couldn't, and Harry finally stood, albeit reluctantly. "Are you sure?"

"YES, Harry."

"You don't have to do this. If you have any problems at all, you can stop, you know."

"YES, Harry, I know."

"I don't want you taxing yourself over this. Really, Draco, you don't -"

"Potter, go shower now!" Draco demanded, stomping his foot, and was utterly delighted when, with one last doubtful look, Harry actually obeyed.

'''''

In the twenty minutes it took Harry to shower, Draco did a whole lot more than sign one bank form. He filled out three more nearly expired documents, filed all the recent mail, answered an impending property letter, and most importantly, undid all the damage that he was sure had been inflicted by Harry over the last week.

As he sorted through all of his and Harry's future finances, straightening and organizing, he realized something interesting:

His future self was taking very good care of Harry Potter.

Harry had started out in 1997 with a good bit of gold and the old Black home, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Now, in 2002, he owned six different properties all across Britain, had co-ownership in two businesses, and that "good bit of gold" had become so good that he now needed three vaults at Gringott's to store it.

Considering that Harry hadn't had the foggiest clue what to do with one simple bank form, Draco could only surmise that his future self had been helping Harry with his finances for the last five years.

But it didn't end there. His future self had set up all sorts of domestic services - food delivery, housekeeping, gardeners and maintenance. He'd sent warning letters to the press, not so subtly reminding them that he had a solicitor on call who was particularly skilled in libel suits. He'd also taken out a court order against Dolores Umbridge (who was no longer allowed within 500 feet of Harry), named Harry as the main beneficiary of his will, and given him something appallingly expensive called an Aston Martin for his last birthday.

Draco sat back in the desk chair, tapping the quill absently against his chin. Why would his future self take such great pains to ensure that Harry was happy and well looked after? Sure, he apparently liked Harry enough to shack up with him, but enough to put this much effort into taking proper care of him?

Says the man who's currently filling out bank forms for Harry.

Draco set his jaw. He was only doing these forms for Harry because he wanted to go to the park. It had nothing to do with him wanting to help Harry, absolutely nothing. His intentions were purely selfish.

Really.

His gaze strayed to the framed picture on the corner of the desk. It was him and Harry, outside in the snow, wearing thick winter cloaks and snuggled close for warmth. His picture-self was smiling and preening, obviously happy and relaxed. The picture-Harry was smiling too, with a smitten sort of adoration, as if he'd just discovered the most precious thing on earth and it was Draco Malfoy.

Draco's stomach did a funny sort of flip, and he quickly turned his focus back to the forms. He promised himself that he'd spend several hours combing through all their financial investments with a fine tooth comb - especially their stock portfolios.

Ever the Slytherin, he'd already realized that that sort of information would be extraordinarily useful if he ever did have to go back to the past.

''''''''

The shower was no longer running, so Draco figured Harry must be about ready to go. He was a little chilled though, in just his oxford shirt, so he thought he'd grab a jumper before they left.

As he wandered into the bedroom, Draco's eyes almost popped out in shock. Harry was standing in front of one of the wardrobes - wearing nothing but a green towel wrapped snugly around his waist.

He stared helplessly. Harry was stunning. His black hair stuck up in shiny wet clumps, and stray drops of water fell to his shoulders and ran down his back. His naked back. His naked back with the most perfect muscles Draco had ever seen. From his shoulders to his arms to his trim waist, Harry had the kind of body that made Draco want to shove him on the bed and start licking. The kind of body that was wet and naked and standing right in Draco's room...

A high-pitched moan escaped him then, causing Harry to turn around.

"Oh, sorry!" he quickly apologized.

Draco staggered slightly, reaching for the doorframe to hold himself up. Harry's front was just as disgustingly gorgeous as his back.

Harry reached up and grabbed something from the wardrobe. "Really sorry, I'd just forgotten to grab clean clothes. I didn't think you'd come in here."

Draco continued to gape. "Is it…hot in here?" he finally croaked. "Because I feel…I feel strangely hot."

Harry appeared to consider this. "Well, I don't think so," he said honestly. "But I'll adjust the warming charms, just in case. At any rate, I'm nearly ready."

He was obviously oblivious to the fact that Draco was in legitimate danger of having his heart pound right through his chest. Then, to Draco's simultaneous delight and horror, he started walking towards Draco.

Draco froze. "Wait, stop! What are you doing?!"

Harry gave him a funny look. "Going back to the bathroom to get dressed?"

"No, no you're not, you're walking right towards me," Draco blurted, pointing an accusing finger at Harry. "You're walking right towards me in nothing but a bloody towel."

"Well, yes," Harry said carefully, "because you're standing in the doorway."

"Oh." Draco felt a little foolish. "Heh." He moved out of the way to let Harry past. As he walked out, Draco couldn't stop his gaze from following him, drinking in the miles of glistening skin and perfect, taut muscle.

As soon as he was out of sight, Draco snapped out of it. With a frustrated moan, he threw himself down on the bed, feeling a little flushed. All that skin…all that bare skin…

He growled softly. "Get a grip," he ordered himself sternly. "This is no big deal. You're living with him now. Roommates see each other almost naked sometimes. It's nothing to get fussed about. Perfectly normal."

Ahem. A body like Harry's is NOT "perfectly normal."

Draco winced. "There is nothing sexy about Potter," he muttered. "Nothing. I'm not attracted to naked men in green towels with hot muscles and smooth skin and - no!" He started to bang his head repeatedly against the pillow. "No, no, bloody fucking no!"

Harry's voice rang out from the living room. "Coming, Draco?"

Ooooh, he said 'coming.' I wish I was com -

With a loud curse, Draco squashed his teenage hormones the best he could, and left the bedroom.

''''''''

"Alright there?"

"What?" Draco asked, blinking. He looked up to see Harry watching him with concern as they walked down the street. "Oh yes, I'm fine. Why?"

"You're so quiet."

A little blush stole across Draco's cheeks. "Just thinking," he muttered petulantly. He saw no reason to inform Harry that the only thing he could seem to think about was green towels.

It wasn't raining, but the sky had become cloudy again, blocking out the sun. Draco shivered. He'd been so distracted by that nearly naked bastard that he'd forgotten to grab a jumper.

"Cold?"

Draco shrugged. "A bit," he confessed.

Next moment, his arms were full of something soft and woolly.

"What the - did you just give me your jumper?" he asked in surprise, staring at the black garment he now held.

Now Harry shrugged. "You said you were cold."

Gratefully, Draco pulled it over his head. It was soft and cosy, and still warm from Harry's skin. It even smelled faintly of Harry's cologne. In fact, wearing the jumper was sort of like being wrapped in Potter's arms…Potter's strong, warm, sexy -

"Fuck!"

"Pardon?"

"Erm…thank you." He tugged the jumper into place.

"No problem." Harry looked at him affectionately. "You're so bloody cute." He immediately winced. "Sorry," he said hastily. "I really didn't mean to say that out loud."

A little shiver went up Draco's spine at the compliment, but he pointedly ignored it. "You better be sorry. Malfoys aren't cute."

Harry grinned, reassured that Draco wasn't mad at his slip. "Of course not," he said patronizingly. "Not even when they're little sixteen year olds wearing a jumper of mine that happens to be much too big."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What, you've got some kind of fetish for me in your clothes?" he simpered sarcastically.

Harry suddenly went red, and began to stammer. "I…I, uh…ohlookicecream!"

"What? Where?" Draco said, whirling around. He spotted the ice cream parlour and cheered. "Ice cream! Huzzah! Will you buy me some, Harry?"

"Of course I will," Harry said magnanimously, looking suspiciously relieved.

'''''''

They spent a glorious day outside, Apparating from park to park, running and climbing and chasing until they were both out of breath. They managed to hit nearly all of London's major parks, although when Draco discovered that Regent's Park had a zoo, he almost refused to leave. Harry, however, promised they'd spend a full day at the zoo soon, admitting shyly that he hadn't been since he was ten and would love to see it again.

As promised, they did indeed have lunch out, and tea, and dinner. It was quite late when they finally dragged themselves (and a new bag of chocolate) back to the flat, pleasantly worn out from their full day.

They both collapsed on the sofa - though on opposite ends with a tangibly respectable space between them. Draco expertly snatched up the remote before Harry could get it and gleefully set the telly to his favoured cartoons.

Harry groaned. "I can't believe we're watching Yu-Gi-Oh."

"What are you on about? It's got dragons and dueling and everything," Draco protested. "It's brilliant. If Muggle Studies at Hogwarts had been about cartoons and telly, you can bet all us purebloods would have lined up to take it."

Harry snorted. "Yes, well, I'll be sure to pass that little gem of wisdom on to McGonagall." He paused. "Speaking of Hogwarts, are you ready to talk about meeting with Hermione yet?"

Draco froze. The room became eerily silent, save for the cheerful drone of the suddenly inappropriate cartoon.

"Draco?" Harry finally prompted, a bit of worry in his voice. "Everything alright?"

Draco turned to glare at Harry, a poignant mixture of anger and hurt etched clearly on his face. "Why are you so anxious to get rid of me?"

Harry started. "I don't want to get rid of you!"

"Yes you do! You keep bringing up Granger!"

"Well, yes, because I'm trying to fix everything!"

"What makes you think sending me back will fix anything?!"

"How else would we restore the proper timeline and get my Draco back?"

Draco sneered. "It's always about him, is it?" he snapped, blinking rapidly to fight back the beginning of angry tears.

"No, it's about you. Both of you! He could be in danger, and I can't abandon him to it. I've got to get him back, and obviously you can't stay here."

Harry's words ripped through him. Of course. Of course he couldn't stay. This life, this lovely, perfect life, wasn't his. It was the other Draco's. His life was the Dark Lord, the burn of the Dark Mark, and the cold indifference of the Death Eaters. It was the freezing rooms of Riddle Manor, the pain of the Crutiatus, and the fear for his life and his family's.

"So you don't give a shit about me," Draco bit out derisively, despair making his words angry and bitter. "Just your precious boyfriend. I knew it. Tell me, Potter, would you care about me if I let you fuck me?"

Harry recoiled like he'd been slapped. "Draco!"

Draco could hear the genuine hurt in his voice. He knew Harry was bewildered and confused, but he just couldn't deal with it. Without another word he jumped up and bolted for his bedroom. He heard Harry calling after him.

"Draco, what's going -"

"Just leave me alone!" he snarled, slamming the door behind him.

''''''

Draco sat alone on his bed, shivering in his tiny room in Riddle Manor which he shared with two adult Death Eaters. It was more of cell, really, as he wasn't allowed out of it except when the Dark Lord wanted to "talk" to him about screwing up with Dumbledore.

His stomach rumbled, and he tried to ignore its persistent gnawing. He'd been locked in here for nearly a day. Surely someone would remember to bring him food.

Suddenly, loud sniffing noises outside his thin, wooden door made Draco stiffen in fright.

"Ah, it's the Malfoy spawn," came a rough, gravelly voice that Draco had learned to loathe. "You smell good," Greyback continued. "Young."

Draco cringed. "Get the fuck out of here, Fenrir," he snapped, suddenly grateful for the lock on the door.

"But I don't want to leave," the werewolf sneered. "I like how you smell." He made a smacking sound with his lips. "Makes me wonder how you taste."

Draco swallowed thickly. "Well, you'll never know, will you?" he jeered, trying to sound confident.

"Don't be so sure." Greyback's voice was cruel. "No one would miss you if you were gone, you know."

Draco shivered, curling up a little tighter. "They would," he insisted. "The Dark Lord -"

"The Dark Lord can't stand the sight of your ugly, pointy little face. He would thank me for taking you off his hands."

A cold sweat broke out along Draco's skin as he recognized the truth of Greyback's words.

"You better watch your back, little one," Greyback whispered. "As soon as I get you alone, I'll rip you apart. Slowly, bite by bite, until I find out if that pure blood you prize tastes as good as it smells."

Draco could taste bile in his throat. "Monster," he managed to say. His voice was hoarse.

Greyback only laughed at him. "I do so love children." He laughed again, the sound growing louder, echoing off the stone, surrounding Draco, suffocating him -

" - Draco, wake up! Wake up, love, please!"

Draco nearly screamed as he was abruptly woken, Harry's arms yanking him upright and mercifully snapping him out of his nightmare.

"It's okay, love, its okay," Harry whispered urgently, as Draco stared, wide-eyed and gasping. "It was just a dream."

Draco drew a rattling breath that sounded more like a sob. He looked up at Harry, his entire body trembling. "Not dream," he whispered. "Not a dream."

"Yes," Harry said insistently, still gripping Draco's upper arms tightly. "A nightmare."

Draco shook his head back and forth frantically. "Not a nightmare." His eyes began to burn and prickle. "A memory."

Harry stiffened abruptly. He searched Draco's face, his expression both fierce and tender. "A memory?" he finally whispered back. "That bad?"

Draco nodded brokenly. "Yes." And suddenly he was crying, ducking his head to try and hide it from Harry.

Harry saw through him immediately. "Baby, no, don't cry," he said desperately.

Draco wasn't quite sure what happened next, if he dove into Harry's arms or if Harry pulled him closer. Either way, the next moment he was wrapped up in Harry's arms with his face pressed into Harry's collarbone.

"It's okay," Harry whispered, gently stroking Draco's back as he sobbed into Harry's shirt. "It's okay, love. Whatever it was, it can't hurt you now, okay? You're safe here."

That made Draco cry harder. "I'm only safe with you," he managed to say.

"Well, of course you're safe with me," Harry said, squeezing Draco in a tight hug. "I'd never let anything hurt you."

Draco pressed his face into Harry's chest and didn't reply. He doesn't understand, he thought, his chest constricting painfully. He doesn't understand what's going to happen to me when I return. He still thinks I WANT to go back. Back to Greyback…and Riddle Manor…and the Dark Lord…

His skin began to crawl, and he clutched a little more tightly to Harry. Harry pulled him closer in response, and continued to comfort him with gentle hands and reassuring words.

I could…maybe…tell him. If he knew…if he realized…he said he'd never let anything hurt me…maybe he'd let me stay…

But deep in his heart Draco knew he couldn't remain. Time didn't work like that; you couldn't jump to your future to avoid the parts you didn't like. Not only that, but if he were here, the other Draco wouldn't be. Draco was under no illusions who Harry would choose if it came down to a choice between him and the older Draco.

He wasn't going to be able to stay, and he knew it. But maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have to leave just yet.

He stayed in Harry's arms for a long while, soaking in the attention and affection and letting it drive away the fear that his nightmare had brought. Harry was petting his hair now, and Draco could feel his heart calming and every muscle relaxing.

"You're good at this comforting thing," he finally murmured against Harry's shoulder.

Harry chuckled. "Well, I had a lot of practice, didn't I?"

"Did you?"

"Certainly. You had lots of nightmares during the war."

Draco's shoulders slumped. "I never used to," he confessed. "Not before Sixth Year. Now, though…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "…I have them all the time. Dreams, memories, nightmares…they're all horrible."

Harry's arms tightened around him, and Draco reveled for a moment in the unfamiliar comfort of having someone to hold him after his too-familiar bad dreams.

"I wish I could hex a dream," Harry said vehemently. "Will you at least tell me about this memory so I know whose arse to kick?" He said it so matter-of-factly that it made Draco smile.

"Bloody Gryffindor," he said, with a warmth that wouldn't have been in his voice two weeks ago.

Harry laughed softly. "You always call me that," he admitted, resting his cheek on Draco's hair. "But you also promised me you liked it."

I do, Draco realized in surprise. I really do. That Gryffindor protectiveness that he'd always mocked and scorned was suddenly quite attractive when lavished on Draco himself.

"You still haven't answered my question," Harry reminded him gently.

Draco tucked his face into Harry's warm chest, breathing in a faint hint of that wonderful cologne. He whispered, "Fenrir Greyback."

"That son of a bitch." Draco felt Harry's muscles flex. "And I can't even properly kick his arse."

"Why not?"

"He's dead."

"DEAD?"

Harry nodded. "Remus killed him."

Draco stared up at Harry. "Do you mean Professor Lupin?"

Harry nodded. "Beat us all to it. Believe me, there were a bunch of us who wanted a piece of him, first for Bill Weasley's sake and then for yours."

"For me?"

"Of course. When I found out how Greyback used to terrorize you at Riddle Manor, I nearly went after him by myself. Luckily, you talked me out of it." He paused. "And by that I mean luckily for him."

It soothed Draco in places he hadn't even known were hurt to hear Harry speak so candidly about running off to protect him. It was also almost disturbingly hot. But he wasn't going to tell Harry that. Instead, he snorted. "Are all Gryffindors so bleeding macho?"

"Er…well, yes. Pretty much," Harry said honestly. "At least, when we want to protect someone we love."

Draco felt his cheeks heat and he ducked his head, hoping that Harry couldn't see the expression of adoration that he just knew was on his face. "Will you tell me the story?" he asked shyly.

"Of course," Harry said, in that accommodating, I-would-do-anything-for-you voice that Draco was really beginning to savour. He lowered his voice dramatically. "It was a dark and stormy August night, and the Death Eaters' secret camp was whipped by freezing rain and a blowing wind -"

"In August?"

"Well…I guess it was just sort of drizzly and unpleasant. But I'm trying to tell the story properly, so you just hush."

Draco wanted to stick his tongue out at Harry, but he settled for getting more comfortable in his arms instead. He knew Harry's playful theatrics were to distract him and make him feel better, and they were working. "Go on, then."

"Well, as I was saying, on a dark and stormy night at the Death Eaters' secret camp, one lone member of the Order of the Phoenix was being held as a prisoner. He had gone to spy on Fenrir Greyback and get information about other werewolves, but unfortunately, he'd been found."

Draco's eyes widened. "Was this Professor Lupin?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. Remus had been captured, and was awaiting certain death. But Death Eaters have always had a flair for the dramatic, and they couldn't simply kill him. Instead, they wanted to make it horrible."

"So what did they do?"

"Well, see, the day Remus was found also happened to be the full moon. The Death Eaters decided that a fitting death for "Harry Potter's Uncle Werewolf" would be to lock him in a cage with Greyback and let Greyback maul him when the moon rose."

"But they knew Professor Lupin was a werewolf too, didn't they?"

"Yes, they knew. But they figured that Greyback would be the bigger, meaner, more dangerous werewolf, and would rip Remus to shreds."

"Well, what happened then?"

Harry smiled in a satisfied way. "The Death Eaters greatly underestimated Remus Lupin as an Alpha Wolf."

Draco's jaw dropped. "Really?"

"Yeah. Don't let his mild manner fool you. He seems all sweet and soft, but when push comes to shove, Remus is definitely a top."

"Wow," Draco said, processing this. "So Professor Lupin killed Greyback."

"Tore him into tiny, bite-sized werewolf pieces."

"Good," Draco said firmly, relieved that the violent Greyback had met such a fitting end. They were quiet for several moments, before Draco spoke up again. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"What's a top?"

A high-pitched squeak of horror escaped Harry as he visibly blanched. "Oh, would you look at the time, look how late it is!" he said hurriedly, all but shoving Draco several feet away. "Time for young little Malfoys to be getting to bed and not asking silly little questions."

"Hey!" Draco snapped, affronted and cranky at having been manhandled out of his warm, comfy spot. Admittedly, he'd managed to cuddle his way nearly into Harry's lap, but still. "It was a simple question!"

"Yes, well, I'm not answering it!"

"Oh come on! Why not? Is the answer something really good and juicy?" Draco's face lit up. "Oooh, is it about sex?"

"Gah!" was Harry's response, as he turned slightly pink.

"If it's about sex, you can tell me," Draco cajoled. "I can handle it. I'm very mature for my age."

Harry let out a bark of laughter. "Sure you are," he said, shaking his head. "But the answer is still no. We're not talking about sex."

"A-ha! So a top does have something to do with sex!"

"Oh, bollocks." Harry winced. "Can't I tell you some other time?" he pleaded. "When it's not so late?"

Draco pursed his lips. He was pretty tired. "Oh, fine," he conceded.

Harry looked incredibly relieved. "Thanks," he said earnestly. He stood up. "Now why don't you get some sleep, and maybe tomorrow we can - "

"Wait, you're not leaving me, are you?" Draco blurted, suddenly feeling panicked and frightened again.

Harry looked surprised. "Well…I thought you'd be wanting to get back to sleep."

Draco shook his head rapidly. "Not alone," he said, biting his lip and looking pleadingly up at Harry.

Harry sighed. "Draco, it's not really appropriate -"

"If you leave, I'll have another nightmare."

He stilled. "You will?"

Draco nodded. "Please, Harry?" he whispered.

Harry was like putty in his hands. "Oh alright," he said soothingly, holding out a hand. "Come on, then. You can have the couch. I'll sleep in the arm -"

Draco sniffled meaningfully.

" - the other end of the couch," Harry quickly amended.

A smile of relief lit up Draco's face, and he let Harry pull him to his feet.

"But you have to sleep with your head away from me," Harry said firmly, as they left the room.

"Of course."

"And separate blankets."

"Naturally."

"And we have to try not to touch each other. There can be no snuggling. Snuggling is bad. Very bad."

"Absolutely. No snuggling."

"Good."

"Hey, Harry?"

"Yes?"

"…thanks."

'''''''

The next day Harry took Draco on a whirlwind tour of some of London's museums, and Draco took great delight in playing the tourist. He'd only ever seen wizarding museums, which were a fraction of the size of some of the Muggle buildings they explored.

The whole experience with Harry in Muggle London had amazed him. His parents had taken him to London frequently, but they never left the wizarding parts of town. He was beginning to see what a big, fascinating place he had missed by refusing to leave Diagon Alley and the few other wizarding areas.

He still didn't quite trust the Muggles, but he was comfortable as long as he was with Harry. The other man's easy-going, attentive manner put Draco at ease. By the end of the day, he'd completely forgotten about his nightmare, too engrossed in his discussion with Harry about the connections between ancient Muggle Egypt and the ancient Egyptian wizards.

They spent the next few days in a similar manner. Harry seemed intent on showing Draco all of London, and Draco privately thought he'd never had such a proper holiday. Best of all, not once did Harry mention Hermione or sending Draco to the past. Draco suspected Harry was afraid of upsetting him again, and that was fine; as long as he didn't mention it, Draco was going to keep on ignoring that he had another life to return to.

With such busy days and no discussion of the past, Draco's nightmares had all but disappeared. He slept soundly - albeit oddly lonely - on the big, cosy bed in his and Harry's room. It was a very happy existence; one Draco was firmly trying to pretend could go on forever.

''''''

Draco yawned and stretched, pleasantly worn out after his long day visiting historical sites, including the Tower of London. He shivered slightly at the recollection; he may have had a pretty evil upbringing, but he'd still found the prison parts a little spooky.

Harry had promised him hot chocolate to take the chill off, and so he was quickly searching for some fresh pyjamas to throw on before joining him in the kitchen. He dug through his wardrobe, grabbing the first ones he touched, noting absently that they were made of a soft cotton and not the silk he was accustomed too.

As he tugged the bottoms on, he frowned slightly. They were even bigger than normal, hanging dangerously low and puddling around his feet. He had to tie the drawstring waist as tight as it would go to get the trousers to stay at a non-obscene spot on his hips. The shirt was just as large, with long sleeves that covered most of his hands and plenty of baggy fabric around his chest and arms.

These better not be my "fat" clothes, he thought in horror.

He doubted it, though. The pyjamas were quite possibly the most comfortable thing he'd ever worn, and he suspected that's why his future self owned them. He did have an undeniable hedonist streak.

He headed back into the kitchen, hoping Harry was almost done with the promised hot chocolate. Sure enough, the other man was sitting at the counter, sipping at his own mug as he read his Muggle sports magazine. Draco's mug of hot chocolate was already on the counter in front of the other barstool.

"Thanks, Harry," Draco said, climbing into the stool.

Harry looked up. "Of course, Dra - yeargh!"

Draco's eyes widened in shock as Harry jerked, got himself off balance, and tumbled to the floor. "Harry, are you alright?"

"Ow," he heard Harry say crossly.

"Harry?"

"I'm fine, Draco, really," Harry assured him, as he pushed himself to his feet. He winced as he sat back down in the stool. "Just fine."

Draco noticed that Harry was determinedly not looking at him. "What's wrong?"

"NOTHING!" Harry's voice was oddly high.

"Was it something I said?"

"No, no, of course not," Harry babbled, eyes trained on his magazine.

"Then what is it?"

"I told you, nothing."

"It's not nothing! You fell off your stool and now you won't look at me." There was a little bit of a pout in Draco's voice, and Harry couldn't help but respond to it.

He sighed, and reluctantly lifted his head. "You're wearing my pyjamas."

"I'm not either!" Draco protested. "I found these in my wardrobe."

"Yes, I don't doubt that," Harry said dryly. "But nevertheless, they are mine."

"Oh." Draco furrowed his brow. That would explain why they were so big. "Well, so what?"

"Indeed. So what." Harry turned a page a little more forcefully then necessary.

Draco's lower lip tugged out. "Do you not want me wearing your stuff?" he asked insecurely.

Harry softened immediately at Draco's vulnerable tone. "No, no, of course not," he said reassuringly. "You're welcome to anything I own."

Draco relaxed, smiling.

"I was just a little surprised to see you in them," Harry admitted.

"Why?"

"Well…there are generally only two occasions when you steal my clothes," Harry said reluctantly. "One is when you're upset, or had a really bad day."

Draco could see that. The pyjamas were awfully comforting. "What's the other reason?"

Harry bit his lip, and mumbled something so quiet Draco couldn't catch it.

"Sorry?"

"When you…" Harry winced. "…want a shag."

Draco made a silent "oh" of understanding. Then he raised an eyebrow. "Wearing your clothes gets me shagged, does it?" he teased, grinning.

Harry slunk a little lower in his seat, going a charming shade of pink. "Maybe. Sometimes. Occasionally."

Draco laughed in delight. "So you do have a kink for me in your clothes. Why ever would that be?"

Harry turned a little pinker. "They're always too big, and it makes you look all vulnerable and cute," he said defensively.

"So, you like to shag things that are vulnerable and cute, then? Potter, you beast." He batted his eyelashes innocently.

"You have no idea how much of a beast I can be, so if I were you, I'd go change." Harry glanced at him. "We'd probably both be more relaxed if you weren't wearing clothes that made me think of shagging."

Draco's mouth was suddenly dry. "Maybe I like these pyjamas, and don't want to change," he said, with all the conviction of a bratty five year-old. "And you can't make me."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?" he asked meaningfully.

Draco licked his lips, fully aware that Harry Potter never backed down from a challenge. "So what if it is?" he said in a cocky voice.

Harry smiled a bit mischievously. "I bet I can make you go change in under a minute."

Draco smirked. "Don't count on it. I'm not scared of the big, bad Gryffindor."

Harry lowered his voice. "Perhaps you should be," he all but purred.

The instant change in Harry's manner made Draco shiver involuntarily. "Why?" he asked snottily, trying to ignore the pleasant prickling all over his body. "Is my teenage virtue in danger?"

Harry gave Draco a meaningful look. "I don't know, Draco," he said in a rough, sexy voice that made Draco's stomach flutter. "What if I said maybe?"

And even though he was positive that Harry was just playing, Draco's eyes went wide as dinner plates. "Okay, okay, you win, I'll change!" he squeaked, and dashed for the bedroom. Harry's lighthearted laugh of triumph followed him out.

'''''''

When Draco fell asleep that night, he didn't have the restful sleep he'd grown accustomed to…

…Harry was eying Draco and his pyjamas predatorily. "You have no idea how much of a beast I can be, so if I were you, I'd go change."

Draco's mouth was suddenly dry. "Maybe I don't want to change. And you can't make me."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you don't want to change, then you can't expect me to keep my hands off you." He stood smoothly.

Draco gasped. "What?" He jumped up from his stool as Harry approached.

"I want to touch you," Harry said in that low, sexy voice, as he advanced on Draco. "I want to kiss you."

"Harry," Draco moaned, and then suddenly Harry was on him, lifting him off his feet, and then Draco was falling backwards, landing on the bed. Harry was crawling on top of him, in nothing but that damn green towel.

Draco whimpered in pleasure as Harry lay down on top of him, that gorgeous body aligned with Draco's. He ran his hands all over Harry's back, feeling the softness of Harry's skin over the hardness of his muscles.

"Kiss me, please!" he begged.

Harry obliged immediately, kissing him fiercely, pressing him into the mattress. Draco keened, arching shamelessly against him, hips bucking wildly as he thrashed in pleasure beneath Harry.

"Gonna kiss you, love," Harry growled, making Draco squeak as he nipped at his neck. "Kiss you, touch you, taste you, fuck you. Draco…Draco…"

" - Draco! Wake up, love!"

Draco snapped awake, rudely wrenched from his dream by Harry's anxious voice. He was suddenly face to face with the real Harry, who was holding his arm but unfortunately no longer pinning him on his back.

"Are you alright?" Worry was clear in Harry's voice.

Draco gaped for a moment, torn between the kissing, growling, touching Harry and this Harry. Then, with a frustrated moan, he realized he'd been dreaming and fell back against the pillows.

"Fuck," he muttered, throwing an arm over his face.

"Draco?" Harry sounded concerned. "Is everything okay?"

"Just peachy." Draco's body was uncomfortably tense and tight as a bowstring.

Harry was unconvinced. "It sounded like you were having a nightmare again."

"No, not a nightmare," Draco snapped, pulling his arm off his face to give Harry a dirty look.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked skeptically. "You were moaning and swearing, and your forehead is all sweaty, and you - oh fuck."

Harry suddenly stumbled backwards, his face red as a tomato. In horror, Draco realized that he'd just seen the obvious tenting of Draco's still very prominent erection beneath the sheets.

"Fuck, Draco, I'm so sorry, I had no - I'm just going go, alright?" he babbled, scrambling for the door. "I'm going back to the living room, you can have your privacy, I just - I'm going, I'm so sorry."

And he was out of there faster than the bolt of lighting on his forehead.

Draco groaned, banging his head against the pillows and muttering a curse at Harry's horribly inconvenient good intentions. He sighed, and looked down the length of his body at the rather insistent evidence of his dream.

Dreams don't mean anything, he told himself firmly. Random images. Nothing to do with real desire. It doesn't mean you want Potter. It was just. A. Dream.

He rolled onto his side, and then stifled a gasp as his hard cock brushed against the fabric of his pyjamas. Merlin, he wanted a wank. But over Potter?

You're not wanking over Potter, he told himself firmly. No matter how bloody nice he is. Or how bloody fit he is. No wanking. None. And whatever you do, don't think about green towels.

"Fuck!" Draco said aloud, as the image of Harry in his green towel flooded his mind. His cock throbbed insistently. "Just…fuck…argh!"

Fine. Wanking it is. But it's got nothing to do with Potter!

''''''

Breakfast the next morning was a highly awkward affair.

"Morning," Harry said, a bit strained, when Draco finally slunk into the kitchen.

Draco rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "Er…morning."

There was silence, as both of them stared at the Daily Prophet like it contained something worth reading. Draco tried very hard not to notice how shiny Potter's wet hair was, and how well his red jumper fit his body.

Harry finally coughed. "I made scones. Would you like one?"

Ah, something nice and non-phallic. Thank Merlin he didn't make sausage. "Yes, please," he said politely.

Harry passed him a plate with three large scones and a jar of Devon cream. The jam was already on the counter.

Several more awkward moments of silence passed. Finally, Draco cleared his throat.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," Harry said. "How about you?"

As soon as the question left his mouth they both winced, and Draco elected not to answer. At any rate, he didn't think Harry'd much care for the response simply smashing, thanks, after I wanked myself silly.

After making short work of his scones, Draco snuck a look at Harry. The brunet was a bit pink in the face, and he was staring a little too hard at the Prophet.

"What are you reading?" Draco asked curiously.

Harry looked up. "Just my horoscope."

"Oh? What's it say?"

"Unexpected company will bring you unexpected pleasure."

"That's nice. What's mine?"

There was a strangled sound, and then Harry choked out, "Folowshream."

"What?" Draco asked curiously.

Harry looked like he wanted to hide. "It says…" He winced. "…follow your dreams."

Draco blinked. There was a tense moment of silence, and then it was too much. Both of them burst out laughing until they almost couldn't breathe.

'''''''

Once the tension had broken, Harry offered to go to the store and pick up more sweets. Draco was going through food at a tremendous rate, and although the food delivery service kept the kitchen well-stocked with staples, it couldn't keep up with Draco's love of chocolate.

Once Harry had left, Draco took a quick shower and went back in the bedroom and got dressed. He was just about to leave when he noticed Binky lying on the floor next to the bed. After a moment's contemplation, he picked the dragon up and headed for the wardrobe. He hadn't had a nightmare for several days now; he didn't really need Binky at all anymore and could put the stuffed animal away.

Opening the doors, he reached up and set Binky on the top shelf. Standing on his toes, he began to push the fluffy dragon further back, when his hand suddenly brushed something smooth. Puzzled, he reached in, and then extracted a magazine from the top shelf of his wardrobe.

Luscious Lads from London, the glossy cover screamed. Special Brunet Issue! Two young, hot black-haired men posed lasciviously for Draco, winking and licking their lips suggestively.

Draco's mouth fell open, and he sent out a fervent thank you to whatever cosmic forces cater to the hormones of teenagers.

He'd found porn.

'''''''

Moments later, Draco was stretched out on the couch in the living room, magazine in hand. His heart was thumping loudly in anticipation. Having spent the last six years in a dormitory at a private school, of course he'd seen porn before. Every term some Slytherin would sneak in a couple of dirty magazines, and nearly every boy in the dorm would oooh and ahh and fight over the chance to read them.

Nearly every boy, however, did not include Draco. He had always scoffed, and pretended to be above it all. The truth was he had simply never been interested. Pictures of naked women did nothing for him.

This, however, was not a magazine of naked women. This was a magazine of naked men. With sweaty hands, Draco reverently touched the cover, and slowly opened it.

It was perfect. Nearly naked men preened on every page, wiggling their arses at Draco or touching themselves suggestively. Some of the men wore no clothes at all, while others were dressed in alluring outfits, like g-strings, leather, or Auror robes. Those made him shiver when he realized that Harry was an Auror and wore robes like that to work everyday.

There was also a wizard in school robes. They reminded Draco that his future self had been planning to wear school robes for Harry. Draco had never thought they were sexy before, but then, he'd always worn clothes under his Hogwart's uniform. This young wizard was only wearing a tie beneath his Ravenclaw-styled outfit.

Almost better than the dirty pictures, though, were the articles. There was a section where readers sent in their stories, which were so outlandish Draco didn't believe them for a second. There was a short piece on kink and fetish, a frank discussion about the importance of cock size, and an article comparing brands of lubrication, which Draco hadn't even known came in Strawberries and Champagne flavour.

Draco had almost gotten to the end of the magazine when he found it; an article that brought a slight flush to his face and made him instantly hard.

The Boy Who Lived…To Be Gorgeous! Readers share their thoughts about Harry Potter, the Wizarding World's Hottest Hero!

The article was accompanied by an illicit-looking picture of Harry wearing nothing but swimming trunks and stretched out on a towel at the beach. His eyes were closed blissfully and his face was turned to the sun, a light tan already colouring his skin. He was gorgeous.

Draco swallowed hard. When you spent time with Harry, it was easy to forget he was a celebrity. He was so humble, and so unaware, that you forgot that he was a famous hero and the darling of the wizarding world.

It was a very good picture of Harry, though, which explained why his future self kept the magazine. It also explained the rather permanent crease in the pages. He'd probably spent a lot of time looking at this picture.

Draco settled back against the couch to read what other wizards had said about his boyfriend.

Future boyfriend.

Whatever.

'''''

Draco was so involved in the article that he didn't hear Harry come back until the other man was right behind the couch.

"Hi, Draco."

Draco jumped a foot. "HARRY!" In a panic, he started stuffing the magazine between the couch cushions.

"I got your chocolate, and I was wondering how you felt about the theatre because I was thinking…" Harry trailed off, watching Draco with a puzzled expression. "What are you doing?"

"NOTHING!"

"Are you sure?" Harry said skeptically. "Because it looks like you're trying to hide something in our couch."

"Don't be silly," Draco scoffed. "Me, try to hide something? Would I do that?"

It was the wrong thing to say to a man with a Slytherin boyfriend. Harry raised a knowing eyebrow. "Hand it over."

Draco cringed. He was so busted. "But -"

"Now, Draco Malfoy."

Harry's tone of voice was just stern enough to make Draco's cock twitch and his hands obey. Sheepishly, he passed Harry the magazine.

Harry took one look and yelped. "Draco! This is porn!"

"Um…"

"Why are you looking at porn? You can't look at porn! You're a minor! You're too young!"

"But it's brilliant!" Draco blurted.

Harry ripped his gaze off the magazine to fix Draco with a look. "Where did you get this?"

"Oh, um…nowhere…"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy - "

"Okay okay, the wardrobe!" Draco cursed internally. Like he wasn't already turned on enough from the bloody magazine. He knew, he just knew, that he was going to have another one of those dreams about Harry saying his full name so authoritatively.

Harry folded his arms over his chest, the magazine dangling tantalizingly from one hand. "You are too young for porn," he said firmly.

"You can't tell me what to do," Draco retorted.

"As long as I'm an adult and you're a minor, then yes, I can. No porn for sixteen year olds. I don't like having to be the authority figure, but I'm going to have to put my foot down."

A slow smirk spread across Draco's face. "Liar," he said slyly. "You love being the authority figure. That's why I was going to wear school robes for you."

Harry's face went pink so fast it was almost comical. "Sorry?" he choked out.

"Those school robes I was going to wear, that first day I came," Draco continued, watching Harry squirm. "If I was going to pretend to be a schoolboy, weren't you going to be the professor? That means you like being in charge."

Harry was blushing bright red. "Where did you…how…"

Draco smiled much too sweetly. "That magazine was quite informative. But it made me wonder Harry…" He leaned forward. "Do we have lube in a Strawberries and Champagne flavour?"

Harry's eyes went wide in surprise, and his grip on the magazine slackened. Draco knew opportunity when he saw it, and quick as a wink he reached forward and snatched the porn mag out of Harry's hand.

"YES!" he cheered in triumph, jumping off the couch.

Harry's jaw dropped. "You give that back!"

"No," Draco said mischievously, backing away. "If you want it, come and get it."

A small smirk played at the corners of Harry's mouth, and he began to advance on Draco. "Oh, I'll come and get it, alright," he said with playful warning. He looked like a large cat; his eyes flashing, ready to pounce. "But if I come and get it, then you're going to get it."

Draco's trousers suddenly felt much too tight. "Oooh, I'm so scared," he taunted, as his stomach danced in anticipation.

Harry made a swipe for the magazine, and with a squeak Draco jumped out of his reach. And then he ran.

Harry was hot on his heels, however, and Draco didn't stand a chance. He made it as far as the desk before Harry caught him, quick as he'd always caught the Snitch. He scooped Draco up from behind and rolled them both to the floor. Draco squealed as they went down, quickly finding himself on his back beneath Harry.

"Gotcha!" Harry said triumphantly. He pinned Draco beneath him, straddling his ribcage and trapping both of Draco's arms with his knees. He snatched the magazine out of Draco's hand. "150 points to Gryffindor!"

Draco stuck out his tongue childishly, trying to ignore how good Harry felt on top of him. "No fair! I call foul! Gryffindor team had an unfair advantage!"

"No way! Gryffindor defeated Slytherin fair and square!"

"Only cause Gryffindor is a big, lumbering troll!"

"Ooh, an insult! That's cheating, and Gryffindor gets the penalty shot!"

The next moment, Harry had his hands on Draco's ribs, and was tickling him mercilessly. Draco dissolved into helpless laughter and wriggled uselessly beneath the bigger man. "Potter! That tickles! Potter, stop! Oh come on, Potter, stop! Harry!! Alright, I give! I give!"

Harry stopped, grinning down at Draco. Draco, panting and pink-faced, grinned back. They stared at each other for a moment, identical happy, smitten smiles on their faces.

Then Harry leaned down, and for one heart-stopping moment, Draco thought Harry was going to kiss him.

But suddenly, Harry's eyes went wide, and he scrambled off Draco as fast as he could. "Merlin, I'm sorry, really sorry," he mumbled, extending a hand down to Draco. "I shouldn't have, uh…"

"Oh, no, don't worry about it," Draco said hastily, accepting Harry's hand. "No harm done."

"No, it was a mistake," Harry said firmly, pulling Draco to his feet. "It's just that for a second, with your hair was all mussed, you just…you just looked so much like him…but that doesn't make it right, and -"

"Potter, don't worry about it," Draco cut in, patting his hair slightly but not smoothing it back down. "It's alright, really. It was fun, and I'm not hurt or anything."

"I know, but I shouldn't have you on your back under me," Harry said, quickly heading for the kitchen. "It's completely inappropriate."

"Oh, sod what's appropriate," Draco said crossly, tagging after him. "It's not like we shagged."

"Well, I suppose not, but still…" Harry shook his head. "I want you to feel safe here," he said earnestly. "I don't want you to think I'd take advantage of you, on purpose or on accident."

"Yeah, yeah," Draco said, feeling a little sulky and almost disappointed.

He sat down in the stool, watching as Harry quickly did a vanishing spell on the Luscious Lads magazine. Harry then began to pull various ingredients out of the cupboard to cook up some Shepard's Pie.

"So you, um…didn't say anything about the theatre," he said hesitantly. "I know you love it at 21, but I wasn't sure if…"

"Theatre's smashing," Draco said. "But I don't suppose you know of a show with naked men?"

Harry smiled good-naturedly at the joke. "Sorry, but no, and you know I wouldn't take you if I did." He pulled out a large mixing bowl. "If you were seventeen it wouldn't be a problem. But I just can't in good conscience let you see that sort of stuff as a minor."

Draco had to bite his tongue to stop from confessing his real age. He didn't really know why, but he was keeping the fact that he was truly seventeen and of age a secret. He just liked having that extra layer of security. He also liked how well Harry was taking care of him, and was afraid that if he lost his minor status, he might lose that as well.

Yeah, right. You've seen how Harry looks at you, both now and in all those future pictures. He'd take care of you if you were sixteen or sixty.

Draco drove the thought away, unaware that the furtive looks he was giving Harry were becoming awfully similar to the ones that Harry gave him.

''''''

Harry was the first one to the remote after dinner, and he quickly turned it to the football matches he enjoyed. That was fine with Draco, however, who wasn't really paying attention. He was too busy thinking about the magazine he'd read earlier.

It didn't seem reasonable that his future self would only keep one porn magazine in the flat. Surely, if he enjoyed it so much at seventeen, his twenty-one year old self kept a nice, big stack around somewhere. He pursed his lips in thought. He'd found the magazine in his wardrobe. And where there was one magazine, there just might be more…

He suddenly jumped to his feet. "Be right back," he said as innocently as he could, heading for the hall.

Harry nodded distractedly, completely absorbed in his Muggle sports. Draco subtly picked up his pace. Once in the bedroom, he firmly shut the door behind him before wrenching open the door to his wardrobe. He stood on his toes to feel around the top shelf again.

His search yielded nothing but Binky and some cashmere socks. He swore quietly. He had to have more porn in the closet! Not finding anything, he dropped to his knees, and began to dig around behind his extensive collection of shoes.

"Come on, come on…" he muttered. And then, "YES!"

His persistence had turned up another stack of magazines well-hidden in a large shoe box, enough to keep him occupied for hours. In anticipation, he sorted through the magazines, each one tantalizingly raunchier than the next. One called Bottoms Up caught his eye, and he picked it up, examining the cover eagerly.

The creak of an opening door caught him completely by surprise.

"Hey, Draco? You've been gone awhile; is everything alright?"

Draco gasped in horror when he heard Harry's voice behind him. "Harry!" He quickly shoved the magazine under his shirt. "You're not supposed to come in here!"

Harry wasn't listening. He'd spotted the shoebox and was obviously very familiar with its contents. "Draco Malfoy!" He dropped to his knees and pushed the shoebox out of Draco's reach. "I said no porn!"

Draco cursed under his breath. He had really hoped one of those magazines could explain why Harry scolding him made his cock take interest. "I wasn't trying to find porn, Harry!" He tried hard to look innocent.

"Oh, really?" Harry didn't seem to be buying his innocent act. "So what were you looking for?"

Draco discreetly made sure that Bottoms Up was completely hidden beneath his jumper. "Slippers," he said, all doe-eyed sweetness. "My feet were cold."

It wasn't technically a lie. His feet were a little chilled.

In satisfaction, he watched Harry soften. "If you needed slippers, you could have just asked," he chided gently. "Or you can always borrow mine." He stood and headed over to his own wardrobe.

The instant his back was turned, Draco shoved Bottoms Up under the bed. By the time Harry turned back around, red fuzzy slippers in hand, Draco was angelically porn-free.

Draco took the slippers gratefully. "I'm not in trouble, am I?" he asked, with a contrite expression.

Harry smiled and shook his head. "You will be in about five years, though, for leaving your dirty porn collection where a minor could find it."

"I'm sure I had no idea that my past self was going to be here nosing through my wardrobe," Draco said primly. He pushed the shoe box back into the wardrobe, when a stuffed, lumpy black bag at the very back caught his eye. "Oy, what's this?"

And before Harry could stop him, his hand had darted into the wardrobe and pulled out the bag. "Hey, it's heavy."

"Draco, wait, don't look!" Harry made a swipe for it but Draco yanked it out of his reach. He grinned. Whatever was in the bag, it had to good.

"Too late," he said cheekily, overturning the bag onto his lap. His eyes grew huge as the contents spilled all over his thighs. "Merlin," he said, a bit breathlessly.

There were handcuffs and feathers, dirty books and body paint, a blindfold, lube, and something that looked suspiciously like a studded collar. "Is that a paddle?" Draco asked with interest. "And what's that ring for? It's too big to fit on a finger. And is that a…what is that? It sort of looks like a cock but it's green and plastic and - "

Harry had jumped up. "Out you get," he ordered.

"But Harry -"

"No buts, Draco!" And with that, Harry reached under Draco's arms and easily pulled him to his feet. The various toys fell off his lap and clattered to the floor.

Draco tried to dig in his feet in protest. "Wait, I - I'll help -"

"No," Harry said, as he manhandled the squirming Draco gently but very firmly to the door. "You can help when you're seventeen."

"But I -"

"Out!" And with that Harry physically picked Draco up around the waist and deposited him outside the bedroom door before slamming it shut decisively.

''''''

Draco was still sulking when Harry emerged ten minutes later.

"You didn't have to throw me out, you know," he said righteously, when Harry joined him on the couch. "I was only going to help you clean up those…things."

"Sorry, but no," Harry said firmly, sprawling out and propping his feet on the coffee table. "And I hid the rest of those magazines from your wardrobe as well, so don't go looking for them."

Bet you forget to check under the bed, though.

Draco stuck his tongue out at Harry. "I wouldn't have anyway."

"Oh right. Sure you wouldn't have," Harry said, with a mixture of affection and exasperation. "That's why you were poking your little underage nose where you knew you weren't supposed to."

"I was looking for slippers!" Draco insisted virtuously.

"Right. And the Sorting Hat originally wanted to put you in Hufflepuff."

Draco made a face. Maybe Harry wasn't as much of a pushover as he seemed. "But honestly, what would I want with porn, anyway? Nothing, that's what. You didn't have to hide it."

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was grinning slightly.

"Wanker," Draco muttered.

"Brat," Harry returned.

Draco sulked for a moment more. Then he turned to Harry. "If I can't have porn, can I at least watch cartoons instead of Muggle Quidditch?"

"It's called football, you incorrigible little pureblood, and Man U is winning!"

Draco assumed a dejected expression. "Please, Harry?"

Harry sighed, and resignedly changed the channel to Draco's cartoons.

Draco cackled triumphantly to himself. Pushover.

'''''''

Draco was woken a couple hours later by a kind voice.

"…Draco? Draco, love, you're asleep."

"Hmmm?" he asked fuzzily, faintly aware of Harry shaking his shoulder gently.

"You're still on the couch." Harry's voice was very sweet. "You fell asleep. Why don't you go to bed?"

"Too tired," Draco mumbled, curling back up.

Harry chuckled softly. "Come on," he said, tugging at Draco's arm.

"No, Harry," Draco whined. "Wanna stay out here."

"You'll get a crick in your neck."

"Don' care."

"But I do. Come on, love."

"No. I wanna stay with you."

Harry laughed a soft, disbelieving laugh. "Wow. You must be tired."

Draco whined pitifully as he felt a tugging at his arm once more. "No."

"Yes. I'll help you. Let's go, sleepy-head…"

Draco peered up at Harry fuzzily, and then held out his arms. "'kay. But you help."

"Of course." Harry's voice was low and loving.

Draco was distantly aware of being gently pulled up, and the wonderful feeling of Harry's strong arms supporting him, and then he was in their bed, sleeping peacefully.

'''''''

Draco was holding a magazine in front of Harry defiantly "If you want it, come and get it," he said challengingly, baiting the other wizard into chasing him.

"Oh, I'll come and get it, alright," Harry nearly purred, stalking toward Draco, who was suddenly unable to move. "But if I come and get it, then you're going to get it."

And then he was suddenly on top of Draco, on the living room floor by the desk. He leaned down, and this time he didn't stop but pressed his lips to Draco.

Draco moaned helplessly as Harry nearly mauled him with kisses.

"You're irresistible," he said breathlessly, as he moved to trail kisses and tiny bites over Draco's neck. "I can't let you go."

"Mmm, Harry," Draco whimpered, submitting to Harry's attentions.

"Draco." Harry's voice was loving. "Draco, I adore you."

"Me too, Harry." And then Draco couldn't speak, because Harry was kissing him again, pressing him into the rug, all soft lips and hot breath and tongue.

"I never want you to leave," Harry whispered against Draco's lips, as he settled his body between Draco's legs. "You can stay with me forever."

"Forever?"

"Forever. You can stay here and be mine. Not the Dark Lord's. Only mine."

"Yours?"

"Always…"

"Harry," Draco moaned, arching up against Harry's body. "Harry, fuck, touch me, please…please, I…yes, Harry…

…yes…mmmm, Harry, ye - oh, bollocks."

Draco had suddenly woken to an empty bed…and sticky sheets.

"Great. Just fucking great," he swore, reluctantly getting out of the warm bed to go clean up in the bathroom. I can just see Potter's face if I ask him for clean sheets because I had another bleeding sex dream. And about HIM, no less.

He walked through the darkness, knowing every corner of the flat perfectly now, including that the sound of water splashing in the bathroom would not be loud enough to wake up Potter.

It's not my fault. If Potter wasn't so stupidly fit, I wouldn't be having these bloody sex dreams, he tried reassure himself, stubbornly ignoring that the last dream had not just been about sex.

He was a bit thirsty, so after cleaning up he headed into the kitchen for a glass of water. To get to the kitchen, he had to pass through the living room, and Draco couldn't help but dawdle a second. After all, the star of his most recent dream was peacefully slumbering just ten feet away. Draco crept towards the couch on silent feet, wanting to see Harry for just a moment before he went on.

What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

Harry was on his side, fast asleep under a pile of blankets. His glasses were on the table to the side, and without them he looked younger, more like the Potter Draco knew in his own time. The moonlight from one of the big windows was reflecting off his hair, and highlighting the handsome features of Harry's face.

But beautiful as Potter was, that wasn't what stopped him. It was what he held in his arms.

Harry must have found Binky in the wardrobe when dealing with Draco's porn collection, and had gone and nicked him. He was now curled up with the stuffed dragon, holding Binky tightly to his chest with his face nestled against Binky's soft fluff.

A very solid lump formed in Draco's throat. Harry must really love him. He already knew, on some level, just how deep that love ran, based on the infinite kindness and protection that Harry had showered on him since his arrival. But this drove it home. Harry loved him.

But worse, Harry must miss him terribly, to be the twenty-one year old hero of the wizarding world and be sleeping with Draco's old stuffed dragon.

Tears welled in Draco's eyes. How could he keep hoping Harry would keep him here, when he missed the other Draco so much? As much as he didn't want to leave, he was a poor substitute for the twenty-one year old Harry obviously needed.

He stumbled back to his room, water forgotten. He crawled onto the bed and sat, knees pulled tight to his chest, staring unseeing into the darkness.

I can't stay, he realized, hot tears burning his eyes. Merlin help me, but I can't stay. Harry doesn't need me. He needs the other Draco.

He sat for a long time, shivering and heart-broken. Finally, he curled into a tiny ball under the covers and fell into a restless sleep.

''''''

"Ah, the Malfoy brat is back. Thought you could escape, did you?"

Draco cringed. "No…no sir…"

"Liar." The Dark Lord's voice was cold, cruel. "You thought you could run. Could escape to the future and Harry Potter's arms. Did you really think you were worthy of him?"

Draco cowered in fear and despair as he huddled on the stone floor of the Dark Lord's chamber in Riddle Manor.

"Traitor," the Dark Lord spat. "Worthless chit. I've already dealt with your parents."

"My…my parents?"

The Dark Lord's eyes were nothing but slits. "Yessss," he hissed. "They have suffered greatly for your sins. And do not think Potter will save you. I've made sure you'll never see him again."

"What? NO! Never see Harry -"

"Never," the Dark Lord said with malice. "Dead fools won't be needing Harry Potter." He raised his wand. "AVADA - "

" - NO! No, please, no, please - "

"Draco! WAKE UP!"

Draco bolted upright, taking huge gulps of air, his body soaked with sweat and his face wet with tears. Harry was there, next to him on the bed.

"It's okay, love, it's okay, I'm here."

Draco flung himself at Harry, hands scrabbling to grab fistfuls of his T-shirt. He buried his face into Harry's chest and sobbed.

"Oh, no, baby, it's okay," Harry said, sounding pained to see Draco in such distress. His arms came up and quickly encircled Draco with their now-familiar warmth. "It was just a dream, love. Just a dream."

"Harry," Draco said brokenly, clutching desperately at the other man. His tears were almost choking him. "Oh God, I'll never see you again - "

"What are you talking about? I'm right here, and I'm not going to leave you -"

"It's not you who'll be leaving; it's me."

"What? No, Draco, it's okay, you're not -"

"You don't understand," Draco snapped, in a harsh whisper broken by sobs. "I'm going to die."

Harry's grip tightened protectively. "You're not going to die," he insisted. "I know it was horrible, but it was just a nightmare, love, just -"

"You. Don't. Understand!" Draco climbed completely into Harry's lap, and probably would have crawled inside Harry if it had been possible. "It's not just a nightmare! When I go back to the past, he's going to kill me."

Harry stiffened. "Who is?" he asked dangerously.

"Merlin, Potter, who the fuck do you think?!" Draco exploded. "I came to the future from the Time Vault because I was on a mission for the Dark Lord - which I completely fucked up! What do you think he's going to do to me when I go back?"

Harry stared at him, his face drained of all colour. "No," he finally said, his breathing quick and hard. "No, he can't."

"Of course he can." Draco voice cracked slightly. "I failed him, Harry. He's going to kill me."

"No," Harry almost snapped. "That can't happen. I rescued you from that Time Vault." He was taut and tense, holding Draco tightly. "I found you in the Time Vault and you came home with me, and he never touched you again, not once. I made sure of it."

"Yes, once upon a time, you may have rescued me," Draco snarled bitterly. "And then you killed him and we fell in love and moved in together and everything was fucking perfect."

He made a hopeless noise. "But that wasn't me and this isn't my life. I was never supposed to come here! What makes you think that if you send me back that everything will still work out the way it did?"

Harry sounded desperate. "You - you can't change the past by going to the future -"

Draco gave a panicked sort of half-sob. "Want to bet my life on it?"

There was silence.

Draco wondered if he'd gone too far, but Harry hadn't loosened his grip. His arms were now so tight around Draco that the blonde couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to. Draco himself had gripped Harry's t-shirt so tightly the cloth had ripped.

They were silent for ages, just holding each other. Draco could actually feel the protectiveness radiating off of Harry, as if it were a tangible thing. Then again, with Potter, maybe it was.

"I'm sorry," Draco finally whispered, feeling guilty as he remembered Harry curled up with Binky on the couch. "I really wasn't going to tell you…"

"No, no, I'm glad you did," Harry said quickly. "I had thought you wanted to go back."

Draco shook his head rapidly. "No," he said quietly. "No, I'm dreading it. I wish I could stay here. I hate the Dark Lord, Harry; he's horrible."

Harry pressed his cheek to the top of Draco's head. "Oh, love -"

"And I just…I just don't want to die, Harry. I'm too young. For Merlin's sake, I haven't even had sex yet."

Harry laughed an exhausted sort of laugh. "At least you've got your priorities straight."

Draco shrugged as best he could in the wonderfully tight grip of Harry's arms. "I don't want to die a virgin."

Harry snorted. "Yes, well, I'm sure you don't have to worry about that."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Why Potter, is that a proposition? Because you know, if you're offering, I might -"

"WHAT?" Harry yelped, jerking away. "No, no, absolutely -"

Draco snickered, pulling Harry back against him by his shirt. "I was kidding," he said playfully.

And he had been.

Mostly.

Harry shook his head, wrapping his arms around Draco again. "What am I going to do with you?"

Draco tucked his head against Harry's shoulder. "Er…don't let anyone kill me would be a really smashing start," he said hopefully.

Harry squeezed him in a quick hug. "Well, obviously."

Draco started. "But…but if I go back -"

"You're not going back."

It was said with such decisive finality that Draco was shocked. He tilted his head up to see Harry watching him with a resolute expression.

"What?"

"You're not going back," Harry repeated firmly. "It's too risky."

"But…but the timeline…"

"Fuck the timeline," Harry said, with feeling.

Draco's brows shot up to his hairline. He knew Harry was reckless. He knew he acted to save his loved ones without thinking. But he'd never have thought that Harry would fight the fabric of time to protect him.

"Harry…" he whispered, amazed. He swallowed. "But what about the future me?"

"Oh, I'll find a way to get him back too," Harry said with conviction.

Draco blinked. "How…"

"We'll talk about it in the morning, okay? But you're staying."

Draco's heart leapt. "Really?"

"Really."

Draco threw his arms around Harry's neck and hugged him tight. "Thank you," he said, his voice muffled as he pressed his face into Harry's neck. "Thank you, Harry, thank you."

Harry hugged him back. "Don't thank me," he said, voice oddly thick. "You don't honestly think I'd let something happen to you, do you?"

The naked emotion in Harry's voice almost melted Draco. "No," he said happily, feeling lighter than he had in months.

Harry pulled back slightly to look at Draco tenderly. "Now, how about you get some sleep?"

Draco curled the fabric of Harry's t-shirt in his fingers possessively and shook his head. "Not without you."

"But I can't," Harry said desperately. "You may be staying, but you're still sixteen. It's not right for me to sleep with -"

"Please don't leave me alone," Draco whispered. He pleaded with Harry with wide, serious eyes. "Not tonight."

Harry was breaking. "But -"

"Stay?" Draco's lower lip quivered involuntarily.

Harry caved. "Okay. You win," he said. A hint of a loving smile graced his lips. "Go on, then."

Draco smiled back, and obediently moved off of Harry's lap and onto the mattress. Harry lifted the covers, and Draco crawled under them. Harry tucked them in snugly around him.

Draco looked up at him from the pillow. "Aren't you coming?" he asked with a yawn.

Harry shook his head. "I'll sleep on top of the covers. Got to keep some kind of barrier between us."

Draco furrowed his brow, and would have protested, but Harry was stretching out on his back next to Draco. As soon as Harry's head was on the pillow, Draco's head was on Harry's chest.

Harry started slightly. "Hey, wait, we can't -"

"Just for tonight?" Draco pleaded, snuggling just a little closer. "Please?"

Harry had no resistance left. "Alright," he said softly. "Come here."

And then he wrapped a comforting arm around Draco, tugging him into a comfortable place along his side. Draco extended an arm over Harry's chest, and reveled in being cuddled properly for the first time by Harry. The blanket remained an obstacle between them, but Draco was willing to let that slide tonight. He felt warm and safe and above all, loved.

He was almost asleep when he felt it - the soft press of lips against his hair. A burst of joy shot through him as Harry placed the faintest of kisses on his head.

His voice was gentle and sleepy as he whispered, "It'll be okay, love. You'll be okay. I'll protect you." Harry yawned. "Sleep well, Draco," he murmured.

And Draco did.

6   Here Kitty, Kitty...

"…are you INSANE, Harry?!"

"Hermione, please, he's still sleeping!"

Draco reluctantly cracked open one eye as two voices permeated his consciousness. Harry was wrong. He wasn't sleeping anymore.

"Alright, alright, but Harry…"

The higher-pitched, obviously female voice became softer, and Draco could no longer distinguish any words. He yawned and rolled over, prepared to go back to sleep, when it hit him: Harry was talking to Hermione Granger.

About him.

He was suddenly wide awake. Quickly but silently, he threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. He slid his feet into the slippers that Harry had found for him the previous day. Quietly, he tiptoed out of the bedroom, following the voices down the hall to the living room.

"…never been done before, you know that."

"I know, Hermione, but I can't just abandon him."

Draco peeked around the corner. Harry was kneeling in front of the large fireplace, and Draco could just make out a bit of bushy hair and a disapproving expression in the flames. He ducked back behind the safety of the wall where Granger couldn't see him, and listened carefully.

"It's not abandonment if you send him back to his own time, Harry."

"No, it's murder," Harry retorted hotly.

Granger sighed. "Oh, I do wish you'd think these things through more carefully."

"What's to think about? If he goes back, Voldemort -" Draco flinched "- will kill him. Unless we could send him back to the exact moment he left and be sure that my past self still rescues him from the Time Vault, and you've already admitted how difficult that would be."

"I know I can send him back within twenty-four hours of the time he left -"

"And we both know that isn't good enough. If we're off by more than a minute, there's no telling what could happen. The Aurors might cart him off to Azkaban, or worse, the Death Eaters might get him again."

"Yes, but you can't just change time like this, Harry, it's against the law! Do you have any idea just how many laws we're breaking if we keep him here?"

"I don't care," Harry snapped vehemently.

Draco bit his lip, his chest oddly tight. Harry was willing to go very far to keep him safe.

When Granger spoke again, Draco could almost hear her headache. "I know you don't," she said, and there was a resigned sort of air about her. "Nothing I say will change you mind, will it?"

"If he dies, both Dracos die, Hermione." Harry's voice sounded oddly small.

Draco swallowed. He hadn't thought of that. The tiniest prickling of jealousy bubbled in his chest at the thought of his older self being more important to Harry than he was. He brushed it impatiently aside. He wasn't going to get jealous over himself.

Granger sighed loudly. "Oh, Harry," she said, her voice the same complicated mix of exasperation, affection and kindness that big sisters use when dealing with persistent little brothers. "Fine. Keep him."

Oh, honestly, Draco thought in disgust. I'm not a sodding PUPPY.

"Really?" There was relief and even joy in Harry's voice, and it went a long way to soothing Draco's disgruntlement. "And you'll still help me bring Draco home?"

"Yes. I certainly owe Draco that much. His support at the Ministry helped get the last of the antiquated, anti-Muggleborn laws overturned."

Draco blinked. I helped Granger get anti-Muggleborn laws overturned? But…but I HATE Muggleborns. Don't I?

"But it won't be easy," Granger continued, her tone warning. "I haven't got a clue where he is."

"No idea?" Harry asked worriedly. "But I thought -"

"None," Granger confirmed. "I poured through all the old records, just like I told you I was going to. I found nothing. There is absolutely no record of him anywhere; no sightings, no magical signature, nothing."

"What does that mean, then?"

"Most likely, it means that Draco's not in the past. I had thought that would have been the most reasonable explanation, that he and the mini-Malfoy had simply switched places."

Draco nearly growled. Mini-Malfoy?!

"But if he were in the past, there should be some record, somewhere of him. Not only that, but Draco himself would probably have found a way to contact us, and there's been nothing. The logical conclusion is that he's not in the past."

"Well, where is he then?" Harry sounded agitated. "The future? A different reality? Where?"

"I don't know, Harry," Granger said quietly. "I'm sorry."

There was a slight rattling noise, which began to grow. In shock, Draco realized that all the pictures and decorations on the bookshelves were vibrating dangerously. He peeked around the corner to see Harry still on his knees in front of the fireplace, his face buried in his hands.

"Harry?" Granger asked worriedly.

The rattling noise got louder. Draco's eyes widened and he shrank back a little.

"Harry, calm down and get yourself under control," Granger ordered. "You're going to scare Draco if he wakes up to this."

I'm not scared! Draco thought hotly, and not completely truthfully. But the reminder had done the trick, and the vibrations slowly stopped.

Harry still didn't look up, however. "Sorry," he finally said dully. "It's just…it's hard."

"I know, sweetie." Granger hesitated. "There is one other possibility you probably should know about, but…" she trailed off.

"What?" Harry's voice was anxious.

She sighed. "It's better that I don't say just yet," she said, her voice unreadable. "Let me investigate some other leads first."

"Just tell me he's okay." There was a note of desperation in Harry's voice. "Tell me I can have him back."

Granger was silent for a moment. "I'll do my best," she finally promised.

Harry sighed but nodded, slowly raising his head. "Thanks," he said earnestly.

"Of course." She paused. "So how's life with the little Draco?"

Draco recognized a tactful subject change when he heard one, but he still didn't appreciated being referred to as little.

Harry, however, broke into a smile. "Oh, he's adorable," he said fondly. "A complete brat, but adorable."

Draco narrowed his eyes.

Granger laughed. "What did he do?"

"Where to start? He tried to run away, terrorized a bunch of Muggles, and got into trouble with the police. He eats chocolate and biscuits faster than I can get them, won't let me watch anything but cartoons, and just last night got into his older self's porn collection."

Faint colour rose on Draco's cheeks. When Harry put it like that, he sounded like a handful.

"Oh dear," Granger said with a giggle. "I can only imagine how big that collection must be."

Harry snorted. "Huge. And it gave me a nasty shock when I found out. Obviously I can't let him into the porn yet. He's only sixteen."

"Really? Are you sure he's only sixteen?" Granger asked, sounding a bit too inquisitive for Draco's tastes.

"Of course. That's what he told me. And he was sixteen when he moved into Grimmauld place with us, wasn't he?"

"You were sixteen. He was seventeen."

"Was he really?" Harry seemed to consider this, and then shook his head. "I'm sure he would have told me if he was of Age already."

"Don't be so sure," Granger said wisely. "If he thinks it's to his advantage for you to think he's underage, he's not going to tell you otherwise. I like Draco, but even you have to admit he can be a bit, well…manipulative."

"He's not manipulative," Harry stressed. "He's just a kid. And at any rate, his birthday is in less than two weeks, and since he's staying, I suppose we'll start counting from then." He glanced at his watch. "Speaking of Draco, he'll be up soon, so I should probably get breakfast started."

"What are you making?"

"Cinnamon rolls. You know that sweet tooth he's got."

Cinnamon rolls? I LOVE cinnamon rolls. Draco's mouth began to water.

"You're spoiling him, aren't you?" Granger said knowingly.

Harry scoffed. "Of course not. He had another nightmare last night, so I thought I'd make something extra-special for breakfast."

"Like I said," Granger ribbed gently. "Spoiled rotten."

Harry took her teasing in stride. "Well, so what?" he said, with a shrug. "He deserves it. You should have seen him when he first came, Hermione. He was so skinny and frightened."

Draco blushed hotly, especially as Granger made a sympathetic sound.

"Was he really?"

"Yes. I forgot just how awful everything was during the war. And now I've got poor little Draco here, and it just brings it all back. He's still having all these horrid nightmares all the time, and if I can make it any easier on him I'm going to."

Harry's earnest words warmed Draco inside, and for a moment he felt very lucky indeed, to be here in Harry's flat instead of the freezing depths of Riddle Manor.

"Hmmm," Granger said, not sounding convinced. "Poor little Draco, eh?"

"What?"

"You do not he's not a baby, right? He's sixteen, not six."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, he's a teenager who's practically of Age who managed to single-handedly seduce you in the past - and quite successfully, I might add."

Draco's eyebrows shot up to his hair line. I WHAT?

Granger continued. "Didn't Draco use his nightmares as an excuse to crawl into your bed every night during the war?"

"He was scared!" Harry said indignantly.

Granger shrugged. "If you say so," she said knowingly. "Just remember he wasn't too scared to snog you half to death."

Draco's brain was spinning. Granger had implied that he was the one who took the initiative with Harry. He'd just assumed it had gone the other way around, that Harry was the one who had pursued him.

Harry rolled his eyes. "There's not going to be any snogging between me and this Draco," he said firmly. "This one doesn't even like me that much, and would rather be resorted into Hufflepuff than have me touch him. Trust me, there's nothing to worry about."

But Draco, hiding in the shadows of the hall, was disturbed to find himself ever-so-slightly inclined to disagree.

'''''''

After Harry and Granger had said their goodbyes, Draco ducked back into the bedroom and waited for several minutes, until the intoxicating smell of cinnamon and butter wafted down the hall. His mouth began to water, and he quickly made his way to the kitchen.

"Morning Harry," he said as he walked in. He climbed into his bar stool and faked a large yawn.

"Hey," Harry said affectionately, looking over his shoulder at Draco as he grabbed oven mitts. "Did you just wake up?"

"More or less," Draco said vaguely. He sniffed the air again. "What smells so good?" he asked innocently, as if he didn't already know the answer.

"Cinnamon rolls," Harry answered, opening the oven door and pulling a pan from the oven.

Draco nearly drooled all over the counter as he waited for Harry to transfer a hot bun from the pan onto a plate. He slathered it with extra icing, and then handed the plate to Draco.

Draco nearly moaned in ecstasy when he took his first bite. "Oh my God," he managed to say, his eyes fluttering shut. It took severe effort of will not to cram the entire sticky treat into his mouth in one go. "This is…mmmm…"

"Like it?" Harry asked, carrying the pan to the counter and levitating the orange juice pitcher and two glasses after him.

Draco nodded, mouth too full to speak. Harry joined him at the other stool and filled the glasses with juice. Draco swallowed his enormous mouthful with difficulty before reaching for one of the glasses.

Draco hmmed in satisfaction as he drained his glass, and then concentrated on polishing off the rest of the cinnamon roll. He couldn't believe he got to stay here and enjoy Harry's cooking for good now.

Draco snuck a look at the other man. Harry was pouring over the sports pages intently, turning pages with one hand as he ate his sticky roll in the other. Draco's eyes softened as a rush of gratitude and something even warmer went through him. "You're a really good cook, Harry," he suddenly blurted.

Harry looked up, seeming surprised. "You think so?"

Draco nodded, licking the last of the sticky frosting off his fingers. "The best."

"Well, thanks," Harry said, delighting Draco as he automatically slid another cinnamon bun - complete with extra icing - onto his plate. "Merlin knows I'd much rather cook for you than the Dursleys."

Draco bit into the warm pastry with relish. "The who?" he said thickly, around a mouthful of dough and sugar.

"Oh, you know. My Muggle family."

"You have a Muggle family?"

Harry looked at him strangely. "You didn't know?"

Draco shook his head. "I didn't know you had any family. Are they nice? Do they like me? I assume they've met your boyfriend."

"Er…yes," Harry said carefully. "Yes, they've certainly met you."

"I bet they adore me," Draco said confidently. "After all, I can be very charming when I want to be. Did I completely charm them?"

"Charm…hex…curse…it's all so relative, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Nothing. More juice?"

Draco nodded and held out his glass. Harry refilled it with juice before setting the heavy pitcher back on the counter.

"Did you want any part of the paper?" he offered, gesturing to The Daily Prophet spread on the counter before him. "I can share."

Draco shook his head. "Wouldn't mind a magazine, though," he said slyly. "Especially if you've got any with naked blokes."

A smirk flittered over Harry's face. "Brat."

"Wanker," Draco returned, with his own satisfied smile. He took another huge bite, closing his eyes and relishing the warm, buttery taste.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Harry grinning at him openly.

"What?" Draco asked, self-consciously.

"You've got icing on your face." Harry tapped his own face, just next to his lips. "Right here."

Draco wiped at his cheek. "Did I get it?"

Harry shook his head. "No, it's still there. A little lower."

Draco tried again.

"No, wait - a little left - you almost had it - oh here, let me."

And the next moment Harry reached out and ran his index finger gently over Draco's skin, just catching the side of his lower lip. "Got it," he said, showing Draco the icing covered finger. He then popped the finger in his own mouth and sucked off the icing without a second thought.

Draco stared. There was something so…familiar about the gesture, like when Harry had easily drunk Draco's unwanted mocha. Harry's actions suggested a level of comfort and intimacy that sent a shiver through Draco.

Merlin, now a little breakfast closeness was all it took to get him flushed. He forced himself to shake it off.

Harry took another sip of his own juice, before pushing the glass and The Daily Prophet aside. "Well, I suppose now that we have a moment, we probably should talk a bit."

Draco watched him with big eyes. "I can still stay, right?" he asked nervously. "You meant that?"

"Of course I meant it."

"But…but you don't mind?" Draco probed, remembering Harry tell Granger about all the trouble he'd gotten into and wanting a bit of reassurance.

Harry smiled gently. "No, I don't mind," he said reassuringly. "Truthfully, I rather like having you here. Don't get me wrong, I miss your older self dreadfully," he added, "but you're pretty cute to have around."

Draco preened internally at that, but outwardly he scowled. "I'm not cute," he muttered darkly.

"Oh, not at all," Harry said patronizingly, earning himself a dirty look from Draco. It only made him chuckle. "For now, the plan is that Hermione will find a way to bring your other self back," he explained. "And in the meantime, you and I will just keep living how we've been living. How does that sound?"

Draco felt warm and happy all over. "It sounds perfect," he said shyly.

And it really did.

'''''''''''

Harry let Draco have the first shower after breakfast, promising to come up with the day's plan while Draco did his hair. Draco was fast, very much looking forward to spending an entire day with Harry without the threat of returning to the Dark Lord hanging over his head.

Once out of the shower, he ducked back into the bedroom to find some clothes. He pulled out some trousers and was digging around in one of the drawers when, with a bit of a thrill, he discovered the most perfectly Slytherin shirt in the history of shirts.

"Hey Harry, look at this shirt I found," he said proudly, as he headed into the kitchen.

"Hmmm?" Harry asked, looking up from the pamphlets he was pouring over.

"This shirt," Draco repeated, pointing at the enchanted T-shirt he was wearing. "Look, it's got snakes all over it that actually move! They're amazingly realistic, aren't -"

He was interrupted as a sudden, sibilant hiss filled the room. His eyes went wide. "Did my shirt just hiss?"

Harry looked like he'd seen one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts. Helplessly, he shook his head.

"Then what was that noise?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but what came out was a low, drawn-out hissing sound instead. He winced, and quickly dropped his head into his hands.

Draco stared. Parseltongue. He'd forgotten that Harry was a Parselmouth.

"You're going to have to take that off," Harry informed him, with his hands held firmly over his eyes.

"What? No! I like this shirt," Draco protested. I kind of like the Parseltongue, too, he realized with a shock.

"Sorry," Harry said, sincerely but with resolve. "You can't wear it."

"But I want to!"

His petulant tone caused Harry to raise his head and look at him. "Draco, you don't…" Harry's words again became nothing but soft, silky hisses as he caught sight of the snakes on Draco's shirt. He groaned, and clapped his hands over his eyes.

Draco bit his lip. The low noises escaping Harry were somehow intoxicating, the hisses slithering their way across Draco's skin like a verbal caress.

"Take it off."

"But Harry -"

"Off, Draco."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Fine," he sniped, and reached for the hem of his shirt.

Harry removed his hands from his eyes just as Draco had slid his shirt up over his stomach. "Wait, what the hell are you doing?!" he suddenly barked, jumping up from his stool.

Draco paused, shirt somewhere around his ribs. "Taking my shirt off, like you asked," he said, a little snottily.

"Not in front of me!" Harry had taken several steps backwards, eyes wide and panicky. "I don't want to see you naked!"

Draco winced. That hurt. "Why not?" he asked insecurely, lowering the t-shirt over his stomach. The snakes had gone to cower somewhere on his back as he twisted the fabric between his fingers anxiously. "Do you really think I'm that skinny and ugly?"

Harry stared at him in surprise. "No," he said, as if it should have been obvious. "Quite the opposite."

Oh. Well, that changed things. Draco smirked slightly, relaxing. "So you think I'm sexy?" he said coyly, oddly pleased.

"Yes, I think you're the bloody hottest thing in Britain," Harry said honestly. "Which is why you are not allowed to take your clothes off in front of me. And you are certainly not allowed to wear the Snake Shirt."

"The Snake Shirt? You've got a name for this t-shirt?"

"Course we do. I don't know what it was doing loose in the closet in the first place; it's supposed to be in the black bag with the other sex -"

And here Harry clapped a hand over his mouth so hard the sound rang out in the kitchen.

Draco's eyes bulged. "This shirt is one of your sex toys?" he asked, jaw dropping. "You…you kinky perverts."

"I really shouldn't have told you that," Harry muttered, closing his eyes and rubbing them frustratedly behind his glasses.

"Is it because the shirt makes you speak Parseltongue?" Draco asked eagerly. He looked down at his shirt, watching the snakes slither their way from his back across his stomach and chest. "Does Parseltongue turn us on?"

"Just you." Harry didn't open his eyes. "Well, just your older self. Obviously not you you."

Don't be so sure about that. Draco desperately wanted to hear more. Out loud he said, "Do I really have to change?"

Harry turned and gave him an exasperated look. "Yessss," he began, and then his words morphed into hisses again as he caught a glimpse of the snakes on the shirt. He threw his hands in the air and smacked his forehead.

The opportunity to tease Harry was too good to resist. "You know, I kind of like the Parseltongue," Draco said innocently.

Harry's eyes grew to the size of saucers. He pointed at Draco and said something, but again it only came out as a silky hiss.

Draco smirked. "Yeah, I think I really like it," he said suggestively, just to watch Harry freak out.

Harry stared at him in horror, and then hissed something quite vehemently.

Draco blinked prettily. "You know, if you're trying to scold me, it's not having quite the effect that you wanted," he said sweetly.

Harry's eyes narrowed, and he clamped his mouth shut. In two seconds he'd crossed the kitchen and grabbed Draco gently but very firmly by the upper arms. Draco couldn't help but snicker as Harry turned him around and then pushed him down the hall to the bedroom. It was fun to be manhandled by the larger man.

Harry guided him determinedly over to the bed and stood him just to one side.

"Oooh, did you bring me in here to hiss sweet nothings in my ear?" Draco baited.

Harry gave him a dirty look, obviously biting his tongue. He reached into Draco's wardrobe and grabbed a random jumper. He held it out to Draco meaningfully.

"What?" Draco asked, eyes enormously wide and innocent. "Why don't you explain to me in pretty hisses what you want me to do with that jumper?"

Harry rolled his eyes. He slung the sweater over one shoulder and then reached for Draco's wrists. He lifted Draco's arms high in the air, and then in one smooth motion tugged the jumper down his arms and over his head.

"There," he said in satisfaction, as the Snake Shirt was hidden by the soft wool. "And now I can scold you properly for winding me up like that."

Draco gave him an over-the-top look of angelic contriteness. "Sorry, Harry," he said guiltily, scuffing at the ground with his toes. "Are you mad at me?"

Harry looked torn between scolding and melting. "Bollocks," he finally growled. "You'd think after five years with you I'd have grown immune to your staged hurt bunny looks."

"You'll never be immune to me," Draco said playfully, sitting on the bed. "I'll always have power over you."

Harry shook his head, a sexy sort of half-smile on his lips. "That's truer than you know," he said mysteriously, and then disappeared to take his turn in shower.

''''''

With Harry gone, Draco stretched out on top of the thick comforter on the bed. He listened to the steady drum of the shower down the hall, and wondered what the chances were of Harry coming into the bedroom in nothing but a green towel again.

Not that he was desperately hoping for that or anything…except he really was. Hearing the unlikely sounds of Parseltongue coming from Harry's golden Gryffindor mouth had left Draco feeling hot and bothered.

Lately, it seemed like everything about Harry was leaving Draco hot and bothered.

He shook his head at his own thoughts, and was about to move into the living room to watch a bit of telly when he realized that Harry hadn't taken any clothes into the bathroom with him. No clothes meant Harry would have to come back into the bedroom to get dressed - where Draco could be waiting.

In an instant Draco was back on the bed. So he did want another look at Harry's gorgeous body. So what?

After a few minutes, Draco heard the shower shut off, sending a little thrill up his spine. He waited, anticipating -

And sure enough, thirty seconds later the bathroom door opened and footsteps travelled down the hall. Draco licked his lips, and rolled onto his stomach for a better view. He rested his head on his folded arms and waited.

Moments later, Harry strolled in, wearing nothing but Draco's favourite fluffy green towel wrapped around his waist. When he saw Draco, he froze.

"Draco?" he asked, looking confused. "What are you doing in here?"

"Just lying down," Draco said innocently, devouring every uncovered inch of Harry's body with glee. From his strong shoulders to his perfect stomach, the man was absolutely edible.

"Oh." Harry remained uncertainly by the open bedroom door. "Well…I just needed to grab some clothes…" He gestured to his towel. "This really isn't - .I wasn't trying - I mean, I didn't know you'd still be in here." He took a step backwards. "I hope I haven't made you uncomfortable…" he said worriedly.

Draco waved his hand imperiously. "'Course I'm not uncomfortable. We're roommates now. Blokes always see each naked when they're roommates, right?"

Harry ran the hand not holding his towel closed through his hair self-consciously. "Well…yes. But I'm not sure you should see me like this. I thought you didn't like it."

"Oh, it's fine," Draco said dismissively. "Why don't you just come on in and get your clothes?"

Harry didn't move. "How come you're so calm? Didn't you freak out the other day when you saw me in my towel?"

"That was then," Draco said evasively. "This is now." He tried to keep the lecherous look off his face as he smiled at Harry. "Don't worry about it," he said in his most persuasive voice. "I'm fine."

Harry finally seemed convinced, because he walked the rest of the way into the room without any more hesitation. "So I was thinking we could go to the zoo today," he said conversationally, as he crossed to his wardrobe. "After all, I did promise."

"Zoo, great," Draco said distractedly. He was watching the way Harry's body moved as he walked.

"Brilliant, then," Harry said, sounding pleased. "We can go as soon as I'm dressed." He turned and reached up to the top shelf of the wardrobe. Draco discreetly turned his head to watch the play of Harry's back muscles as he stretched.

Fuck, he's so HOT, Draco thought, his gaze raking from Harry's wet, shiny hair down to the outline of the firm arse underneath the towel. And he's all MINE.

Draco paused, surprised by his own possessive streak. Where did that come from? He belongs to the older version of me. I'm just here to perve on his admittedly very sexy naked body. It's not like I really want him for my own…is it?

"Draco?"

Harry's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he realized sheepishly that he'd been staring at Harry intensely and balling the comforter up in his fists.

"Everything alright?"

Draco smiled. "Sorry," he said shyly. "Just thinking."

Harry smiled back. "Okay, then. I'll be right back."

And to Draco's disgruntlement he took his clothes and his perfect body back into the bathroom to dress, leaving Draco all alone with an uncomfortably turned on body and an uncomfortably confused mind.

'''''''''

Harry Apparated them to Regent's Park, where they walked together to the London Zoo. Harry bought the tickets, and then lead Draco into the zoo and one of the most astounding Muggle experiences he'd had yet.

Draco had seen a centaur. He'd seen a hippogriff. He'd seen unicorns and mermaids and dragons. But Draco had never seen anything like a hippopotamus, a kangaroo, a camel or a zebra.

"That horse has stripes!" he exclaimed, as he stared into the pen. "Stripes, Harry. Are you really sure it's Muggle?"

Harry grinned, standing right next to him in front of the zebra pen. "Quite sure," he said, leaning on the rail. "It's from Africa."

"It's bloody amazing," Draco admitted, watching the zebra graze. "I didn't know Muggles had things like striped horses."

Harry gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "Wait until you see the giraffes."

The giraffes were seen and deemed amazing. Draco couldn't believe something with such a long neck didn't need magic to keep it upright. He regaled Harry with questions for a quarter of an hour, and by the end had learned more about bones and the circulatory system then most purebloods learned in a lifetime.

Draco's favourite animals of the day were the tigers, although if he were totally honest with himself he might have admitted it had a little to do with the circumstances he saw them in. It was feeding time, and a large crowd had gathered around the tiger enclosure to watch. Draco, unfortunately, could barely see over the crowd.

"I can't see, Harry," he whined, craning his neck and standing on his toes to try and see around the fat Muggle in front of him.

Harry didn't hesitate. "Get on my back, then."

Draco jerked his head to look up at Harry. "What?"

"On my back. Come on, then."

Not quite believing his good luck, Draco reached up and wrapped his arms around Harry's neck from behind. Harry bent over slightly and let Draco climb on his back, and then straightened up, hoisting Draco into a piggyback position.

From Harry's back, Draco got enough height to see over most of the crowd, and had a good view of the zoo Muggles throwing scraps of meat into the pen for the large striped cats.

"Better?" Harry asked, craning his head a little to look Draco over his shoulder.

Draco tightened his grip slightly, and rested his chin on his arm, on top of Harry's shoulder. His face was almost touching Harry's cheek. "Uh-huh," he muttered shyly. He was surrounded by the smell of Harry's hair and Harry's cologne, and it was distracting him from the admittedly brilliant meat-eating cats. "I'm not too heavy?"

Harry just grinned. "Not at all," he said. "I can barely tell you're there."

Draco very much wished that were the case for him. He was hyper-aware of everything about Harry at that moment, from his shiny black hair to his strong shoulders to the smooth skin of his cheek.

I wonder how often he has to shave, Draco thought, as he stared surreptitiously at Harry's face. Black hair like that, must be everyday, but his skin is still so smooth. He smells good, too. REALLY good. I wonder if I could get away with kissing his cheek.

Draco never found out, because at that moment a cheer went up from the crowd as one of the tigers leapt and caught a bit of meat in mid-air. Harry whistled his approval.

"Brilliant, wasn't that? Did you see it, Draco?"

"I see everything I want to see," was Draco's cryptic response.

'''''

They stayed at the zoo until it closed at 5:30, and then finally headed home for the night. Draco yawned as they walked down the street towards their building. "I'm knackered," he admitted, as they turned the corner. "And starving."

"I'd guessed that," Harry said sympathetically. "That's why I'm taking you home first. Then I'll go back out and pick up a pizza."

Draco shot him a dirty look. "I could have gotten home myself," he pointed out. "You didn't have to bring me all the way home and then go back out."

Harry smiled. "You're probably right. But I'd rather keep an eye on you and keep you out of trouble." And sure enough, Harry walked him all the way up to the flat, Draco grumbling all the while.

"Are you always so over-protective?" he complained, as they walked into the flat.

"You know the answer to that. I'll be right back with the pizza."

"I like extra cheese and sliced tomatoes and sausage," Draco informed him.

Harry rolled his eyes and grinned. "I know what you like, silly."

"Oh." Draco smiled shyly. "Right."

Harry looked like he might have wanted to hug Draco for a moment, but instead he simply smiled. "Be back in half an hour," he promised, and ducked back out the door.

Draco yawned and walked into the bedroom. Despite his bitching, he rather enjoyed being looked-after by Harry. It made him feel safe and wanted. He stripped off his jumper and caught sight of the Snake Shirt below. The snakes writhed and slithered across his chest and stomach, bringing back memories of Harry's Parseltongue.

Mmm, Parseltongue, Draco thought, eyes glazing slightly. Mmm, Harry.

His cock twitched, and Draco licked his lips. Harry wasn't due back for at least twenty-five more minutes, which gave Draco just enough time to get out something else he wanted.

Namely, Bottoms Up.

In record time he changed into pyjamas and retrieved the magazine from beneath the bed. He stretched out onto of the covers and took a long look at the cover. The models were attractive brunets, just like he preferred. He scanned the headlines - The Boys of Bristol Bare All (page 16), Why Size Really DOES Matter (page 54), and Best Thongs for Your Bum (page 41), were all very promising. Your Prostate and You: Mind-Blowing Pleasure, Guaranteed (page 49), looked particularly interesting, and Draco was about to flip to it and read when another article caught his eye:

How to Top from the Bottom (page 23)!

Draco nearly ripped the pages as he flipped to the article and prepared to read it as closely as a potions text. He knew, theoretically, how two men had sex - one cock plus one arse, it wasn't difficult math. He just didn't know what these mysterious tops and bottoms were.

Don't let the top have all the power, the opening line advised. As a bottom, you can "take it" and "take control" at the same time!

Draco furrowed his brow. Whatever that meant.

Pin your bloke down on his back and get on top. Straddle his hips, and now you're in charge! Take it shallow; take it deep; whatever feels best for YOU. Just let your top lay back and enjoy the ride (see diagram A)!

Draco turned the magazine slightly and studied diagram A - a picture of a man on his back with another man straddling his hips. He cocked his head to one side.

So the top should be the bloke on the top, he mused, studying the picture. Except the article says "top" from the "bottom." So maybe the top is the one lying on his back, and the bottom is the one on top? But that would mean that the bottom is actually the one with the other bloke's cock up his -

Oh.

OH!

''''''''

Draco's epiphany left him with a smug, satisfied smirk at having gotten tops and bottoms all figured out. However, it begged a certain, insistent question.

Which one am I, he wondered, as he examined the picture some more. When Harry and I shag, am I the top or is he?

He suddenly froze. When Harry and I shag…

He looked at the picture again, only this time instead of the models, he could almost see himself and Harry together, Harry flat on his back and gripping Draco's thighs as Draco straddled his hips and -

I had Harry's cock up my arse. Draco was suddenly breathing quite heavily. I had Harry's mouth on my cock. Merlin's balls, I fucked the fucking Boy Who Lived.

The hard-on that had been threatening since he picked up the magazine grew so fast it threatened to burst through his pyjamas. His eyes fluttered shut as one hand went straight for his cock. He jammed his hand down his pyjama trousers, mind quickly filling with image after image of Harry.

Because even though he knew that his future self had had sex - lots of sex - with Harry, he'd never really understood it. Not the way he did now. He'd fucked Harry the way the blokes in the porn mag had fucked - hot and dirty, slow and sweet, fast and hard…every way you could possibly fuck someone he'd probably fucked with Harry.

Merlin, Harry had probably seen him wank. Draco actually moaned at that thought, falling back against the pillows with a hard thud. In his mind's eye, Harry was suddenly walking into the bedroom…

"I got the pizza, with lots of sausage, just like you like it." Harry eyed Draco, who was wanking on the bed. He licked his lips lasciviously. "But I think your sausage is the only one I want."

Draco might have been appalled that his fantasy-Harry was spewing cheesier pick-up lines than a virgin in a single's bar, but he was too busy jerking his cock so hard it almost hurt.

Harry crawled up onto the bed, suddenly wearing nothing but the green towel again. "My, my. Looks like someone could use a 'hand'," he purred. And he reached out and covered Draco's hand with his own larger one, his strong fingers wrapped around Draco's slender ones, his calluses perfect against Draco's soft skin…and then he was the one touching Draco's cock, wanking him, stroking him -

Draco arched off the bed and came so hard he nearly saw stars.

''''''

"This is really good pizza, Harry," Draco commented, curled like a happy cat on one end of the couch with four slices of pizza and the remote.

"Glad you like it. I wasn't gone too long getting it, was I?"

"Not at all," Draco said magnanimously, a secret smile on his lips.

"Good. You were able to entertain yourself while I was out?"

Draco quickly turned his burst of laughter into a cough. "Oh yes - cough - I entertained myself - cough cough - quite well," he managed to say.

Harry gave him a strange look. "Are you getting sick again?"

Draco remembered Harry's cheesy dialogue from his fantasy. "I may be sick, but not in the way that you think," he said evasively. "And by the way, I'm glad you got sausage on the pizza. I love sausage."

"I know you do," Harry said in complete innocence.

Draco smirked. "Oh yes. I love big…hot…meaty…sausage…"

This time there was a slight strangled sound from Harry, but when Draco turned to look at him he was staring determinedly at the telly. Draco grinned.

"I love how it tastes…" he continued, watching Harry twitch out of the corner of his eye. "I love how it feels…I just can't get enough of this thick, hot sausage in my -"

"Okay, sausage, yes, great!" Harry nearly squeaked, yanking his legs up onto the couch and pulling them close to his body. "You like sausage, and that's just great."

Draco licked his lips. "Can I have some of your sausage, Harry?" he purred.

"WHAT?" Harry yelped, jerking and staring at him in shock.

"Your sausage," Draco repeated in an angelic voice. "On your slice of pizza. I was wondering if I could have a piece."

Harry practically shoved his plate at Draco. "Help yourself," he said, his voice strained.

Draco smiled. "Thank you," he said sweetly. For the next few minutes, he devoured his food and watched Harry struggling to watch Pokemon. Baiting the Gryffindor was too much fun, though, and he couldn't help but spring another question that was guaranteed to make Harry squirm. "Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Am I the top or the bottom?"

Harry nearly choked, sputtering and gasping in surprise. "What?"

"When you and I fuck," Draco clarified pleasantly, "am I the top or the bottom?"

Harry closed his eyes and winced. "Why can't you ask me about things like puppies and bunnies?"

"Oh, come on, Harry," Draco needled. "I'm only curious. Which one of us is the top?"

Harry cracked open one eye. "I thought you didn't know what a top was."

"I do now. It's the bloke who puts his cock in the other bloke's arse."

Harry stared. "…did you find more porn?" he finally asked suspiciously.

Draco winced. "Um…no?"

"Then how did you figure it out?"

"Um…" Draco floundered for a moment. "It was, um…just pretty obvious once I stopped to think about it?"

"Hmmm." Harry didn't sound convinced. "Well, however you learned, I don't think you need to know what our situation is."

"Oh come on!" Draco said, honestly curious. "You can tell me!"

"What makes you think we have set roles?" Harry fired back. "Maybe we switch."

Hmmm. That comment brought Draco up short. It also immediately endowed him with more wank material. "Well…do we?"

"…no comment."

Draco made a face. "Can't I just have a hint? I must prefer one or the other; can't you give me a clue?"

"Why does it matter?"

Because I have the feeling I'm going to be wanking again tonight, and I want my fantasy as accurate as possible. Draco smiled weakly. "No reason."

Harry snorted. "Look, I'll think about telling you, okay? Maybe you're old enough to know. Just let me get used to idea of talking about sex with the teenage version of my boyfriend first."

"Fine," Draco agreed. After all, it was a start.

'''''

An hour or so later, Draco couldn't stop yawning. "I think I'm going to go to…hmmm, bed," he said, stretching a bit.

Harry smiled at him. "You do that," he said, looking at Draco with soft eyes.

Draco stood, and then looked at Harry pointedly. "Are you coming?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Coming where?"

Draco made an impatient gesture. "To bed."

"What? No!" Harry said immediately. "I'm not sleeping with you!"

"But Harry…" Draco whined. He'd grown to like the other man's warm body in his bed.

"No," Harry said firmly. "I am only going to cuddle with you when you have a nightmare. You are obviously not having a nightmare at the moment, therefore you can sleep alone."

Draco made a face that was dangerously close to a pout. "Can I at least have a goodnight kiss?" he prodded slyly.

Harry squeaked. "No!"

"But you gave me one last night…"

"Yes, but…well…that was different!" Harry blurted. "You'd just had a horrible dream and were all scared and stuff!"

Draco gave him the cutest look he knew how to give. "I'm scared and stuff now…" he said innocently.

"No you're not," Harry said firmly. "And anyway, you were supposed to be asleep last night!"

"You were kissing me in my sleep? You rogue."

Harry had the decency to turn slightly pink. "I was just trying to make you feel safer."

Draco batted his lashes. "Well it worked, and now I want another."

Harry shook his head. "You're just winding me up again, and don't think I don't know it. You've been doing it all day, first with the snake shirt, then with the tops and bottoms thing, and now with the goodnight kiss." He gave Draco a stern look. "Bad Draco. You should play nice. Now go to sleep," he said, pointing in the direction of the bedroom.

"But Harry…"

"Bed, you manipulative little thing, before I have to carry you into the bedroom and sort you out."

Draco licked his suddenly dry lips as his stomach fluttered pleasantly. "And what exactly would sorting me out entail?" he asked innocently.

"You don't want to know," Harry mock-threatened. "Let's just say it involves my hand and your arse."

Draco's eyes grew huge. "Kinky," he said breathlessly.

Harry immediately cringed. "I meant like a smack on your bum, that's all!" he said desperately. "Nothing at all kinky! And I was only kidding anyway!"

"Oh." Draco said, with a mischievous grin. "Pity."

And then he dashed into the bedroom before Harry could do more than groan. Harry's playful threats had left him in something of a state, and the thoughts of Harry's hands and his arse were now running wildly through his head

Hopping up on the bed and worming his way under the covers, Draco shot a hand under his pillow and pulled out Bottoms Up. Time to read a second article, and Your Prostate and You: Mind Blowing Pleasure, Guaranteed seemed like the perfect choice.

'''''

Draco woke up a bit earlier than usual and marvellously rested. His body felt both sated and energized. Bottoms Up had to be the finest piece of literature available to the Wizarding world, because thanks to their helpful editing staff, Draco had discovered his prostate last night.

Twice.

He slipped out of bed and into his slippers before heading to the kitchen with a spring in his step. "Harry?" he called out, as he rounded the corner. "You up yet?"

There was no answer. Draco shrugged. The other man had probably just popped off to the store to get eggs or something. He headed for the couch, scooping up the remote as he sat. Moments later he was glued to the telly and the latest escapades of the American detective kids and their dog.

Just as the show was getting really good, the front door opened. "Harry? Is that you?" Draco called out, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"Draco? You're awake?" Harry sounded surprised, which Draco supposed was justified. He walked up next to the couch, and Draco got a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye.

And suddenly Draco didn't give a bloody fuck if it was Mr. Thompson who had scared all the customers away from the old hall. Standing only feet away was a Harry with windswept hair and a tiny t-shirt that was soaked from the rain and sticking to his body like a glove.

"Where were you?" he asked, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. "You look so…so…"

"Wet?" Harry offered wryly, shaking his hair and sending water drops flying.

"Yeah. Wet," Draco repeated, eyes glued to Harry's pectoral muscles outlined by the sopping t-shirt.

"I went for a run," Harry explained, rolling his shoulders and stretching a bit. "I try to go every morning."

"I didn't know that," Draco said, shifting his gaze to Harry's toned arms.

"Well, you're not usually up yet, are you, silly?" Harry said affectionately. "Just let me finish up and then I'll make some breakfast." He gestured to the telly. "You can finish your show, too. I didn't mean to interrupt."

What show? Draco wondered, watching as Harry conjured a mat and spread it on the floor. He lay down on it on his back, bending his knees and resting his feet on the floor. Draco was suddenly so forcefully reminded of Diagram A that he squeaked. Loudly.

"You okay?" Harry asked, sitting halfway up.

"FINE!" Draco squealed, bringing his legs up onto the couch to hide his threatening erection. "Just watching cartoons. You know how I love…cartoons."

"Okay, then," Harry said, reassured, and then he lay back down. He put his hands behind his head and began doing crunches like they'd done in Quidditch practice.

Draco swallowed thickly, unable to look anywhere but at Harry's flexing and un-flexing muscles. He wanted to crawl over to Harry and touch them, to run his hands and fingers over Harry's chest and stomach, to straddle him and feel the hard bulge of Harry's cock beneath his arse…

With enormous difficulty, Draco wrenched his gaze back to the cartoon, begging and pleading with his prick to stop thinking of Harry and somehow find orange neckerchiefs and purple dresses worth looking at.

Finally, he heard Harry stop, and breathed a sigh of relief. His relief was short-lived, however, when he snuck a glance and realized the other man was turning over onto his stomach to do push-ups.

Every muscle seemed to taunt Draco's already feverish mind as Harry began his new exercise. Want to touch need to touch must touch Harry NOW, Draco thought desperately, wracking his brain to come up with an excuse to touch Harry. It took three torturous push-ups before he had a flash of inspiration.

"Bet you can't do those with me on your back."

Any Slytherin would have seen through Draco's flimsy smoke-screen in an instant, but luckily for Draco, his future boyfriend was the quintessential Gryffindor. Harry simply lowered himself flat on his stomach and propped his head on his folded arms.

He sized Draco up. "Your scrawny arse? I bet you I can," he countered, with predictable Gryffindor bravado.

Draco smirked victoriously. "Why don't you put your money where your mouth is, Potter?"

An amused grin flickered on Harry's lips. "Name your terms."

Draco was ready. "If you can do five presses with me on your back, I'll make breakfast."

Harry raised a brow. "Breakfast, really?" He sounded impressed. "And what if I can't?"

Draco licked his lips. "Then you have to answer all my questions about our sex life, including who's the top and who's the bottom."

Harry's eyes bugged. "I thought you were going to ask for more chocolate!"

Draco shrugged innocently. Three weeks ago, he probably would have, but now his agenda had changed. "Those are my terms, take them or leave them," he said sweetly. "Unless, of course, you're too scared."

Draco nearly cackled in triumph when Harry's expression became determined. Gryffindors. All the Slytherins at Hogwarts had learned long ago that the easiest way to get a Gryffindor to do something stupid was to imply they were afraid.

"Get on then, you cheeky brat," Harry said, gesturing for Draco to get on his back. "And I hope you already know how I like my eggs."

"My, what big confidence you have," Draco teased, as he scrambled over to Harry.

"The better to beat you with, my dear," Harry retorted, throwing Draco's favourite nursery rhyme back at him. Draco shivered. Harry was pretty sweet most of the time, but he certainly had his moments when he could pull off the Big Bad Wolf.

Draco climbed onto Harry's back, his pulse already racing. "You're all wet from the rain still," he commented, a bit breathlessly.

"Chickening out because of a little water?"

"Not on your life." Draco made himself comfortable, swallowing hard as he lined his chest up with the firm muscles of Harry's back. The bigger man felt so good beneath him, with nothing but Harry's wet shirt and Draco's thin pyjamas separating them.

"Comfortable?" Harry asked lightly, his own voice sounding a little strained. He was holding himself perfectly still, letting Draco squirm and adjust into a good position on top of him.

"Just great," Draco said, as he concentrated as hard as he could on keeping his hard-on at bay. The fact that his cock was nearly against Potter's stunning arse was not making that easy.

At all.

"So five?" Harry asked, bracing his hands on either side of his body.

"Five," Draco repeated, wriggling his arms beneath Harry's to get a firm grip around Harry's chest. "You can start any time, you know," he added snottily.

Harry snorted. "As you wish, your Majesty."

Draco would have retorted, but he was suddenly moving. His eyes widened and he grabbed tightly to Harry's chest with both arms and squeezed Harry's sides with his legs. "You're slippery."

"Then you better hang on," Harry replied, adjusting his arms slightly. He dipped to the floor and back up. "One."

"So am I heavy?" Draco asked, taking the opportunity to slide his hand across Harry's chest and feel all the muscles working.

"I told you yesterday, no. Two."

Draco pouted slightly. "So this is easy?"

"I wouldn't say easy." Harry was panting. "Definitely not easy. But certainly not impossible. Three."

I can make it impossible, Draco thought with a mischievous grin. "Are you ticklish, Harry?" he asked sweetly.

Draco felt Harry tense completely beneath him as the other man froze. "...of course not!" he squeaked, as Draco's hand skated dangerously over his ribs. He did the next push-up extremely quickly. "Fou - argh, wait, stop, no fair!" he blurted, his arms trembling as Draco's hands were suddenly running up and down his side. "Stopstopstop Draco please that tickles!"

"Oooh, does it really?" Draco cooed patronizingly, digging in his fingers just a little more. Harry was squirming almost uncontrollably. "Is the ickle Gryffindor ticklish?"

"Gah - Draco, you - oh - yes, alright, yes!" Harry gasped out, his muscles shaking. "And you better - oh - stop before I - I - "

Harry squeaked again, and Draco was quite sure it was the cutest, most adorable little sound he'd ever heard in his life.

"Better give up, Harry," he cooed again, mercilessly still tickling.

"Nev - oh! Never!"

"But you could drop me if you keep wriggling," Draco pointed out with a voice pathetic enough to do a hurt bunny proud. "You don't want to drop me, do you, Harry?"

Harry gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "You ma - oh - mani - gah - manipu - " And then he gave in and dropped to his stomach, trapping Draco's hands beneath him.

"I win!" Draco said triumphantly, uncaring that his hands were ensnared beneath Harry's weight.

"You didn't play fair," Harry protested, panting beneath Draco.

Draco leaned forward so his mouth was near Harry's ear. "Slytherins never do," he whispered slyly. "And besides, you never said I couldn't tickle you."

Harry seemed to tense again as Draco's breath teased his ear. "Is that so?" he asked, a little breathlessly.

"Mm-hm," Draco said smugly. "And that means I win and you have to - eep!"

Now it was Draco's turn to squeak, as Harry suddenly lunged up beneath him.

"Five!" Came the triumphant shout, as Harry did one final push-up. He tilted to one side, sending the unprepared Draco tumbling to the floor.

Draco let out a small oomph as Harry suddenly sprawled on top of him and pinned him to the floor.

"Looks like I win," he said, just as smugly as Draco had.

Draco swallowed, distracted by Harry's warm, still-wet body resting heavily on his chest. "What are you on about? You didn't win, I won!"

"Did not. You said I had to do five push-ups with you on my back and I did."

"No you didn't! You stopped in between!"

"Well, yes," Harry said solemnly. "But you never said I had to do the five push-ups in a row."

Draco's jaw dropped. "You…you Slytherin!"

"I learned from the best," Harry said with mock-humbleness. He rolled to his feet. "I like my eggs over-easy," he said slyly, and then strolled off to take a shower.

''''''

Draco was tempted to just put out the cereal and milk to get Harry back, but at the same time some part of him actually wanted to cook for Harry. Harry had been very sweet to him and this was a chance to give something back. He wasn't in the habit of cooking often, but his mother considered cooking an art and had insisted he master a few basic meals.

Of course, what passed for a Malfoy basic meal and a Potter basic meal were not at all the same thing.

"Wow, what smells so good?" the freshly showered and dressed Harry asked, as he strolled back into the kitchen about twenty-five minutes later.

"Frittata with asparagus, prosciutto, and fontina cheese," Draco said, pointing at the various dishes. "Homemade croissants. Strawberries and custard topped with fresh cream. Earl Grey tea with lemon."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "And here I was expecting cold cereal," he said, looking around wide-eyed. "This looks incredible."

Draco felt his cheeks pink slightly at the compliment. "Thanks," he said shyly. "But surely you already knew that I could cook?"

"I did," Harry confessed. "But I still wasn't expecting all this." He gestured to the food, and then quick as lightning snaked his arm around Draco and snuck a fresh strawberry out of the bowl.

"Harry!" Draco scolded, pushing him away. "Go sit down," he ordered. "I'll bring the food."

Harry obeyed, but not before popping the whole strawberry in his mouth with a rapturous expression. He sat down at the table in the breakfast nook, and waited patiently as Draco carried the dishes over.

"We'll need to get you a wand soon," Harry commented, summoning the tea and the dishes so Draco wouldn't need to carry them.

"Oooh, yes please," Draco said with relish. "I miss doing magic."

"I'm sure," Harry said, eying the spread of food with unconcealed hunger and delight. Draco took note of his expression, and began dishing large portions of everything onto a plate.

"Aren't you sweet?" Harry teased, as Draco passed the plate to him.

Draco shrugged. "Just repaying the favour," he said lightly, watching with barely concealed pride as Harry dug into the food he'd made. "You've been cooking for me for three weeks."

Harry swallowed. "I don't mind," he said honestly. "But I did miss your cooking."

"I cook for you a lot, then?" Draco asked, working on his own plate.

"We cook for each other," Harry said, taking an almost obscenely large bite of frittata. "We've been doing it for years."

Draco popped a bite of croissant in his mouth. "Really?"

"Really," Harry confirmed, and took a sip of tea. "Remember how I said I that originally rescued you from the Time Vault you were trapped in?"

Draco nodded.

"Well, after I got you out of the Department of Mysteries, you came back with me to my house, which also happened to be the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Since there wasn't a lot of room in the house you suggested that we set up a cot for you in my bedroom. I offered you the bed, but you insisted I have it."

Draco listened, fascinated, as Harry recounted the story for him - his first few weeks in Number 12 Grimmauld Place and how he would surprise Harry with lavish breakfasts every morning.

"You said it was fair trade for my helping you with your nightmares," Harry explained.

Granger's voice echoed in Draco's head. "Didn't Draco use his nightmares as an excuse to crawl into your bed every night during the war?"

Could his other self have been exaggerating? Maybe playing up the "damsel in distress" bit to appeal to Harry's hero complex? Draco had to admit, it sounded like something he might do.

"Right, my nightmares," he said solemnly, not wanting to blow his future self's cover. "They are really terrible." Either way, it was true.

Harry gave him a sappy look. "Poor baby, I know," he said protectively, his concern washing over Draco warmly. Harry took another sip of tea and then continued. "The very first night you were with us, I awoke to find you having a horrible nightmare. When I went over and woke you up, you told me that you always had nightmares unless you were sleeping with your dragon, Binky. You were very shy about the whole thing, it was very cute. But since Binky wasn't there…"

Harry trailed off, a distant and fond expression on his face. "I volunteered to be your substitute."

"You were willing to sleep with me?" Draco said in surprise.

Harry grinned sheepishly. "I may have had a small crush on you at the time," he confessed.

"Really?" Draco said, very interested and highly flattered. "Do tell."

Harry shrugged, his cheeks slightly pink. "Well, I'd sort of been obsessed with you for our entire sixth year at Hogwarts. I thought it was just because I wanted to know what you were up to, but looking back I think it was more than that."

Draco smiled, a real, bright smile. "You were obsessed with me?"

Harry nodded. "Ridiculously. Anyway, when I was at the Ministry of Magic that day that you snuck in, and was with some of the Aurors when the alarm went off in the Time Vault. When I heard your name I had to go down after them - I hadn't seen you since you ran from Hogwarts and I was worried about you. I didn't want you to get hurt."

Draco remembered the scene in the Time Vault with utter clarity.

"For God's sake, Malfoy, there are twenty Aurors on this side of the door and no other way out. Let me in, would you? I just want to talk!"

"I'm not a fucking idiot, Potter! If I open that door I'm going straight to Azkaban!"

"That's right, Mr. Malfoy, and I will personally see to it that you get the harshest sentence avail-"

"Dawlish, PISS OFF. Malfoy, you won't go to Azkaban if you come out now. I can help you!"

"Saint Potter, help me?" Draco snorted derisively. "A likely story. You want me in prison more than any of them!"

"That isn't true! Look, if you let me in I'll do everything I can to help you, but you have to -"

"REDUCTO!"

"Don't!" came Potter's angry shout. "You could hurt him! He's only -"

Draco swallowed. "You were really there to rescue me that day?" he asked in small voice.

"Of course," Harry said, sounding surprised that Draco had doubted it. "I knew you weren't able to kill Dumbledore and I was afraid Voldemort -"

Draco flinched, hard.

Harry made an apologetic noise, and reached out to touch Draco's arm reassuringly. "Sorry. But he is dead, you know. You don't have to be afraid of him anymore."

Draco nodded. "I know. It's just going to take me time."

"Of course," Harry said, eyes sympathetic. "Anyway, I was afraid you might have been hurt or killed, so I was actually quite relieved when you were caught in the Department of Mysteries. I really wanted you to come back with me. And then when I burst into the room and saw you naked -"

Draco choked on his sip of tea. "Naked?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "You know, from the spell you were trying to do to escape. Remember?"

Draco gave him a strange look. "No."

Harry looked surprised. "Oh," he said. "I guess you just hadn't tried it yet in your time," he reasoned. "Anyway, when I broke through the door and saw you naked - and looking incredible, I might add - I suddenly realized with crystal clarity that my obsession had been a lot like a crush."

Draco was torn between blushing and puffing up like a peacock. "And here I thought you hated me," he murmured coyly.

Harry shrugged. "Not so much hated as secretly fancied," he admitted shyly, smoothing his hair in a self-conscious manner.

He's so fucking cute, Draco thought, eyeing Harry discreetly over his teacup. So fucking cute and so fucking mine. I mean, my older self's. Whatever. He swallowed the rest of his tea. "So what happened with my nightmares?"

"Oh, well, after you told me that you always had nightmares unless you had Binky with you, obviously I couldn't leave you to sleep all by your lonesome."

"Oh, obviously," Draco repeated dryly. He snorted. "You big Gryffindor sap."

Harry had the grace to blush slightly. "Yeah, well…I'm sort of a sucker for a bloke in trouble," he mumbled. "And I already fancied you, so it wasn't exactly a hardship to invite you to sleep in my bed."

Draco was quiet for a moment. "You know, it's not exactly a hardship for me to sleep in your bed either," he admitted softly.

Harry looked at him in surprise. "Really?" he asked slowly.

It was a loaded question. Both of them knew they weren't talking about Harry and the older Draco anymore.

Draco shrugged. "You're warm, and I never have nightmares when you're there," he confessed, staring into his empty teacup. "It's…nice."

A silence fell over the table in the breakfast nook. It was tense and heavy, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Rather, it made Draco's skin prickle pleasantly. When he looked up, Harry was watching him with an unreadable expression.

"So…what should we do today?" he finally asked, breaking the palpable but somehow pleasurable silence.

Draco looked out the window at the pouring rain. "Something dry," he suggested pointedly.

"We could take the Aston out," Harry offered. "Go motoring through the Cotswolds or the like."

"Motoring?" Draco repeated, eyes very large. "What exactly is the Aston?"

"Oh, you don't know?" Harry said, with obvious excitement. "It's my car. You bought it for me for my twenty-first birthday, actually, which you shouldn't have done because they're very expensive but it's a brilliant car and I completely adore it. I've got all sorts of magical upgrades on it - doesn't fly, mind you, but it can go naught to sixty in under three seconds and it's completely undetectable by the Muggle police so we can go as fast as we like without getting a ticket. And I haven't taken her out since you got here and I'd love to go driving, so what do you say, Draco, do you want to?"

Draco blinked. He hadn't understood a word except that the very expensive Aston Martin thing that he'd bought Harry was a car.

"Alright," he finally said, and was immensely gratified to see Harry's face light up.

"Brilliant," he said happily. "Hurry up and get ready and let's go, then."

''''''''''

Calling an Aston Martin a car was, in Draco's newly-formed opinion, akin to calling a Hungarian Horntail a harmless lizard.

"That's not a car," Draco said firmly, as he stared at the vehicle in the parking garage. "That's sex on wheels."

"I know," Harry said proudly. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Another understatement. The Aston Martin was fucking gorgeous. It was sleek and aggressive with a glossy black finish and a just-touching-me-is-enough-to-get-you-laid air about it.

"I bought this for you?" Draco said, touching the hood reverently. Even still, the car seemed to radiate speed and power.

"Yes." There was a faint note of wistfulness in Harry's voice. "So I could chauffeur you around London in style."

Draco swallowed. "You could chauffeur me around," he suggested quietly. "If you want."

He looked over at Harry, who met his eyes. A sweet smile crossed Harry's lips. "I'd love to," he said warmly. "Get in."

Draco reached for the passenger door.

"Oh, and Draco?" Harry suddenly said, as he pulled open the driver door.

"What?" Draco asked, looking at Harry again.

A mischievous glint was in Harry's eyes. "Be sure to fasten your seatbelt."

''''''

"Oh my God," Draco said, as he and Harry careened around a corner at speeds that set his pulse racing. "Oh my God."

"Having fun?" Harry asked, as he effortlessly shifted gears and passed six Muggle cars in one go.

"This is brilliant," Draco breathed, hands gripping the sides of his sumptuous leather seat so tightly his knuckles were white. "Like a broom with a roof."

Harry grinned. "Nice analogy."

Draco thought so. He also thought that Harry drove as well as he flew, but then, he didn't have much to compare it to. "You know, my dad never let us get a car," Draco commented, as he watched the city fly past. "Said it was too Muggle, even with magic added."

"I know," Harry said, shifting gears again and changing lanes, slowing for a moment as he got behind another car. The Aston was nearly purring under Harry's skilful touch. "His loss. I've been trying to talk him into getting one. I think if I could get him into this car just once he'd change his mind."

Draco turned and stared. "You talk to my dad?"

"Course," Harry answered, speeding up the Aston and swerving around two caravans in seconds. "Mind you, we don't get along all that well, but he was extraordinarily helpful during the war. Came over to our side right after you did and helped destroy the remaining Horcruxes."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "The what?"

"Long story," Harry said, darting onto an enormous road at breakneck speed. "I promise to tell you the whole thing later, but we've just reached the M. I'll have us out of London in no time."

True to his word, minutes later he and Draco were gliding through less congested roads. Soon the city gave way to residential areas, and then to farms and country side.

Now that they were out of the worst traffic, Harry found a comfortable speed and stayed at it. He drove at a more leisurely pace, giving Draco lots of opportunity to look out the window.

Or - even better - to look at Harry, who was handling the car masterfully. It made Draco slightly warm to watch Harry's hand almost caressing that large stick that controlled the gears. "Where did you learn to drive, anyway?" he asked.

"Hermione taught me," Harry explained. "She's a brilliant driver."

In that instant Draco completely changed his opinion on Hermione Granger. Mudblood or no, anyone who could teach Harry a skill like this couldn't be all bad.

He sat back in his seat, enjoying the smooth ride and hypnotic music Harry had chosen, as well as the soft swish-swish of the wipers as they swept the rain away. "This is the sexiest thing I've ever been in," he declared, leaning forward and running his fingers along the dash. "The absolute sexiest thing any bloke could possibly get himself into. Don't you agree?"

Harry seemed to hesitate. "It's definitely sexy," he began. "But…"

"But what?"

"It's not the sexiest thing I've been in."

"It's not?" Draco's eyes widened. "Well, what else is there? What have you been in that could possibly be sexier than this?"

Harry coughed slightly. "…nothing."

"Potter. What have you and your body been inside that is sexier than an Aston Martin?"

Harry chanced a quick look a Draco, looking both amused and…something else. "You usually prefer to bottom," he said cryptically.

Draco didn't get it until hours later, when they were halfway back to London.

''''''''

"You're so sexy, Draco," Harry nearly growled, as Draco straddled his waist. "So fucking sexy. I can't wait to fuck you, fuck that fucking virginity away."

"Oh, yes, fuck me Harry," Draco whispered thickly, yanking on his cock almost viciously. He kicked his pyjama trousers off the rest of the way, giving himself more room to wank.

Draco shifted on top of Harry, letting his arse glide teasingly against the hard bulge of Harry's cock. Harry hissed out a breath, and then reached forward and grabbed Draco's arse with both hands. "Going to fuck you so hard," he promised as he pulled Draco down to rub against his cock.

Draco let out a quiet keening noise as in his mind's eye, Harry suddenly made their clothes disappear, leaving them both utterly naked. And even though Draco hadn't actually seen Harry's cock - yet - in his fantasy it was just as perfect as the rest of his body.

"I can't wait to have my cock inside you," Harry whispered. He rose up beneath Draco and flipped him over onto his back. With a predatory smile, he settled himself between Draco's now spread legs. "I'm going to suck your cock and finger your arse and then I'm going to fuck you until you scream."

"Yes, fuck, do it," Draco breathed. He didn't know if the real Harry ever talked like that during sex, but it was hot in his fantasies. He fumbled for the jar of lubricant he'd found in the nightstand and slicked two of his fingers.

Harry was running his tongue, that brilliant tongue that could speak to snakes, all along Draco's prick. Draco was begging for it now, begging for Harry's mouth, and Harry didn't let him down. He slid his mouth over Draco and took several inches into the warm, moist cavern. At the same time, he slid one slick finger inside Draco all the way to the knuckle.

"Fuck, oh fuck, fuck, Harry," Draco whimpered, as he imitated his fantasy and slid his own finger into his arse. He continued to tug at his cock, his face and body tensed in pleasure as he worked himself between both hands.

Harry slipped in a second finger, curling them to brush Draco's prostate. Draco yelped in pleasure, arching into Harry's touch.

Draco slipped in his second finger and curled both to touch his prostate. He yelped in pleasure, arching into his own hands and quickly taking his fantasy to the next level.

"Ready?" Harry asked, shifting onto hands and knees. He lay on top of Draco, positioning his hard cock between Draco's legs. Slowly he began to press inside Draco, dotting kisses on his chest and face as he did.

"Yes, fuck me, yes." Draco was working feverishly now, mind completely consumed by his fantasies of Harry and his body so tense it felt ready to snap. He pictured Harry thrusting into him and touching his cock, and kissing him, kissing every inch of him, and suddenly Draco shuddered and came so hard that his body curled off the mattress.

He lay, panting, for several moments, until his heart had slowed and his breathing was back to normal. That had been the best one yet.

He finally uncurled and lay back against the pillow with a sated smile. It had been five days since he'd read Bottoms Up, four since they'd taken the Aston out, and he'd just finished with Harry wank-fantasy number sixteen. He was getting bloody good at wanking.

However…he'd prefer to be getting bloody good at fucking.

The thought had slowly danced its way from the deep recesses of Draco's mind to become an all-consuming obsession. Could he possibly get Harry to fuck him? To be his first? Draco simply couldn't think of a better way to lose your virginity than to your future boyfriend.

Imagine your first time with someone who already knows every inch of your body. Someone who probably knows it better than you do. Draco nearly moaned at the thought. It was almost enough to get him hard again.

Not only that, but Draco was coming to terms with the fact that he sort of…well, fancied Harry. He'd never known anyone so simultaneously sweet, kind and hot. And since he was planning to stick around this future, he and Harry were going to need to figure out their relationship anyway.

What relationship? He thinks of you as the cute miniature version of his beloved boyfriend.

"True," Draco thought, stretching cat-like on the bed as he pondered this problem. "I'm going to have to start by confessing my real age. He's certainly not going to shag me while he believes I'm underage."

But he IS going to shag me, Draco thought, smirking. I know he wants me, even at this age, and with the right persuasion I bet I can get him to shag the daylights out of me.

Draco's smirk became more mischievous as he plotted ways to get to Harry. The older man had already confessed to liking Draco in his clothes, and Draco could certainly arrange to wear Harry's clothes tomorrow. And he'd nearly flipped when Draco almost stripped in front of him…perhaps Draco could oh-so-casually be the one to walk in front of Harry in nothing but a green towel…

He licked his lips. Harry would maul him. He could hardly wait. It would be the sexual equivalent of holding raw meat in front of a lion and going here kitty kitty…

Draco's cock twitched with interest, but it was too soon for even a seventeen year old to wank again. Instead, he rolled out of bed, standing up and tugging on his pyjama bottoms. He walked into the bathroom for a quick wash-up, and then headed into the kitchen for a drink.

As he rounded the corner into the kitchen, however, he stopped in surprise. Harry was still awake, sitting at the counter, his arms folded over a page of newspaper and his head buried in his arms.

"Harry?" Draco asked, approaching him.

Harry jerked in surprise. "Draco," he said, hurriedly wiping at his eyes. "I didn't hear you come in."

Draco watched him uncertainly. Harry's eyes were slightly red and much shinier than normal. His shoulders were hunched slightly, and his lips were raw, like they'd been bitten. "Is something wrong?" Draco asked in concern.

"What?" Harry quickly swiped at his eyes again. "No, nothing." He smiled, but it was a little weak. "Why are you up?"

"Couldn't sleep," Draco answered evasively, crawling into the barstool across from Harry. "Are you sure everything's alright?"

Harry bit his lip again and looked away. "Well…not exactly," he finally said, and Draco didn't miss the way his voice wavered.

"What?" Draco said worriedly. "What is it? Please tell me, Harry. You can tell me."

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. When he finally opened his eyes a moment later, he fixed Draco with a slightly watery stare. "You deserve to know," he said, swallowed hard. "But you have to understand that what I'm about to tell you is in no way your fault, alright, love?"

Draco's stomach fluttered. He'd grown to adore the endearment, but Harry only slipped up and called him love when his emotions were high.

Harry took a steadying breath. "I talked with Hermione a little while ago. She had a theory about where your older self is. She hadn't wanted to tell me until she had exhausted absolutely every other option. She very desperately wanted to be wrong."

Draco's eyes grew huge. "Well, what is it? Where is he?"

Harry's shoulders were tensed, his breath unsteady. "Hermione thinks your older self has completely disappeared."

Draco felt his heart still. "What?"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "She thinks that when you came to the future, it sort of…well, vaporized your older self."

Draco stared, horrified.

"He couldn't exist anymore, do you see?" Harry continued in a choked voice. He was wringing his hands slightly desperately as he spoke. "Because there's only one Draco. You and him…you're the same person. And when you showed up here, that meant that you never had the chance to live the last five years, which means that now…he no longer exists."

A range of emotions - everything from anger at himself to jealousy over his older self's importance to Harry to a flash of something savagely possessive that rejoiced that the competition was removed - all of these feelings tumbled through Draco in an instant. As he looked into Harry's brave but broken face, however, a painful guilt quickly dominated all the others, settling into his stomach like lead.

He was the reason Harry looked like that. He'd single-handedly destroyed Harry's Draco. "Oh my God. Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry…" He bit his lip, which was threatening to tremble. "I didn't…I had no idea - I wouldn't have taken him away from you, I wouldn't -"

"No, baby, it's okay," Harry soothed instantly. "It's not your fault -"

"But it is!" Draco insisted. His eyes were beginning to burn with the searing prickle of hot, unshed tears. "I'm the one who fucked up! If I wasn't such a fucking coward and hadn't dropped that fucking hour glass -"

"You can't blame yourself!" Harry barked, jumping to his feet. "I told you, it's not your fault! You were only doing what you had to do -"

"Right, because I had to serve the bloody Dark Lord," Draco bit out in wretched self-loathing.

"You did! He would have killed your family otherwise!"

Draco slumped in his chair, recognizing the truth of Harry's words. "Oh God," he said again, squeezing his eyes shut. "But I didn't mean to - I know how much you love him, I didn't mean to take him from you -"

"You didn't," Harry said forcefully. "It's not your fault you're here instead of your own time."

Draco's eyes suddenly sprang open. "That's it," he said hoarsely, ignoring the icy ball of dread forming in his stomach. "You can still get him back."

"What?" Harry said warily, taking a step backwards. "What are you -?"

"Send me back," he whispered, even though the words made his blood run cold and cost him every ounce of willpower he had. "Send me back. Once I'm in my own time…" He couldn't fight his shudder, but he forged on the best he could. "…I'll grow up and then you can have your Draco back, just like you -"

"NO!" Harry's voice echoed off the tile and the cabinets, startling Draco. He crossed to Draco's side in an instant and grabbed him by both shoulders. "Absolutely not!" he said through clenched teeth. "If anything went wrong you could end up in prison or dead."

Draco's heart leapt but he shot it down. "Harry, listen -"

"No," Harry repeated, his grip on Draco's shoulders tightening. "How can you think I'd risk you like that?"

"But…but you…" There was too much love and too much pain in Harry's eyes, and Draco had to turn his head away, unable to look him in the face.

As he turned his head, he caught sight of the newspaper that Harry had been looking at. His heart twisted painfully. It was the article from the refrigerator with the big picture of him and Harry kissing. Boy-Who-Lived Caught in Tender Moment with Malfoy Boyfriend! mocked the headline in enormous letters.

"Fuck," Draco moaned quietly, knowing in that moment what it was like to be literally sick with guilt. He pointed at the picture. "I destroyed that. I destroyed your tender moment…"

"What?" Harry asked, turning his head and following Draco's finger. "Oh no, love -"

"You should want me to go, Harry," he said bitterly. "You should want to send me away. Why would you keep me here when you could have him back?"

"Stop that," Harry said sharply. "You're not going anywhere."

"Send me back." Draco grabbed onto the front of Harry's shirt and looked up at Harry with resolve. "You have to. It's the only way. I'll grow up and you can have him back, Harry, I'll do it for you. Send me back and I'll -"

"NO!" Harry's grip on Draco's shoulders tightened until it was almost painful. "No. If you go back then I could lose you both. And I don't…I can't…"

He suddenly crushed Draco in a desperate hug. "I can't lose you," he whispered, and Draco could hear his voice wavering with suppressed tears. "Please, love. I can't lose you too."

Draco couldn't fight him after that. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, pressed his face into Harry's chest and held him back, pretending for the other man's sake that he couldn't feel Harry's body nearly trembling in his arms.

'''''''

Much later, Draco lay in his bed, wide-awake and feeling wretched. Harry had finally made him go to bed, saying there was no point in him staying awake and making himself miserable over things that weren't his fault.

Draco hadn't had the heart to tell him that he'd never sleep. So forty-five minutes later, he was still staring up at the ceiling. His entire body ached in sympathy with Harry's broken heart.

Harry, Draco thought, his chest clenching. Poor Harry. I'm so sorry…

He knew Harry was right, that it really wasn't his fault. He hadn't meant to screw up his mission and end up in the most perfect future he could have dreamed of. But it didn't stop the lurking guilt at having cost Harry his boyfriend.

Except maybe you haven't cost Harry his boyfriend.

Draco furrowed his brow.

YOU are his boyfriend. Remember? You and Harry's Draco…you're the same person. That's why the other Draco disappeared. And YOU could be Harry's Draco now.

A glow warmed Draco's entire body at the notion, but he quickly tempered the feeling with rational thought. Harry loved him, certainly, but that didn't mean he'd be interested in having a seventeen year old boyfriend in place of his beloved twenty-one year old.

But he loves you too, you know.

Draco's fist clenched, tightening around the bedcovers.

And he's probably really lonely right now…all by himself on the couch because he's too honourable to get in bed with you…

Draco bit his lip.

You could go comfort him…make sure he knows that no matter what, he's not going to lose YOU…

Draco's resolution hardened instantly. That's what he'd do. He'd offer Harry a little of the comfort that Harry had showered on him.

He threw back the covers and walked briskly to the living room and Harry's make-shift bed. The only light in the room was the ghostly flickering of the telly, which danced across Harry's sleeping form.

As he caught sight of Harry, Draco took a shuddery breath. The other man was curled around Binky again, clutching the soft toy dragon like a security blanket. His chest rose and fell evenly and he appeared relaxed, but Draco could see the faint tear tracks on his face as they caught tiny sparks of light from the telly.

Draco knelt beside the couch at Harry's head. He was still wearing his glasses. Draco's eyes were soft as he gently removed the frames from Harry's face and set them on the table. Seeing Harry looking young and somehow vulnerable without his glasses, Draco was once again reminded of the Potter from his own time.

" Malfoy, you won't go to Azkaban if you come out now. I can help you... Look, if you let me in I'll do everything I can to help you….Don't! You could hurt him! He's only -"

Draco shook his head to clear the voice away, but Potter's words lingered in his mind. He'd been trying to save and protect Draco, even then. Maybe that Potter and this Harry weren't so different after all.

Almost of its own volition, Draco's hand reached down and tenderly smoothed Harry's hair. "I never thought I'd say this, but I love your hero complex," he whispered thickly. "Thank you for rescuing me, then and now." He swallowed hard. "And I'm sorry you lost your Draco. I'm really sorry, Harry."

His hand continued to slide through Harry's hair, stroking his head softly. Harry gave a small sigh and seemed to relax a little further. Draco's chest swelled at the tiny bit of relief his touch had brought. Even in his sleep he trusts me, loves me. He's so sweet, Draco thought, as he ghosted a hand down Harry's cheek. And so fucking beautiful.

"I really am sorry," he repeated in the faintest whisper. "You deserve to be happy, and I cost you that. But somehow, you love me anyway."

Draco's chest was very tight. "I don't deserve you," he said, his voice breaking. "I don't deserve you at any age." He leaned forward, hovering over Harry. "But I don't care," he whispered harshly. "I want you anyway."

He pressed his lips to Harry's cheek. Harry's skin was soft as satin beneath his lips, and Draco had been dying to kiss Harry for so long that he found he couldn't stop at one. He had to kiss Harry's cheek again, and then his forehead, and then his eyebrow and his chin and his nose. And before he was really aware of it, he was tugging Binky out from Harry's arms.

Harry whined in protest as Draco pulled his dragon away, his arms reaching out and seeking something to hold. "Shh, it's okay, don't worry," Draco whispered reassuringly. After all, those arms wouldn't be empty for long. The Binky-shaped space left in the curve of Harry's chest and stomach was just wide enough for a skinny teenager.

He gracefully climbed up onto the couch, wriggling his way under the blankets and into Harry's arms. Those arms immediately wrapped around him, so tightly that it took some serious skill to twist into a comfortable position without waking Harry. Finally, he lay on his side, back pressed firmly against Harry's chest, and closed his eyes contentedly as Harry snuggled him like an oversized teddy. Harry hadn't lied. He was a cuddly sleeper.

Draco lay there, listening to the quiet voices on the telly and delicately stroking the arm locked around his waist. Despite his guilty conscience, it was almost sinfully good to be in Harry's arms again. Harry's body was deliciously warm against his back, and even in his sleep he cradled Draco protectively.

Draco was just relaxing even further and preparing to fall back asleep when Harry shifted behind him. With a gasp, Draco realized that Harry's cock was half-hard and pressed against the curve of his arse.

Harry stirred slightly. "Draco?" he whispered fuzzily, nuzzling the back of Draco's neck. "You here?"

And even though Draco knew it was completely unfair of him, he couldn't help it. "It's me, love," Draco replied, pitching his voice a little lower than normal. "It's your boyfriend."

Draco felt Harry's sleepy smile as he pressed his face against the bare skin of Draco's neck. His face was the tiniest bit rough from his stubble and it made Draco shiver, his cock responding almost immediately.

"Mmm, Draco," Harry repeated, and his voice was reverent, loving, if still mostly asleep. "I missed you." He pressed a soft kiss against Draco's neck, sending sparks of electricity shooting down Draco's spine. "Missed you lots."

Draco winced. "I know," he said softly. "I know you do."

"Hmm, feels like a dream," Harry mumbled. He was now placing kiss after kiss on Draco's hyper-sensitive neck, and the arm around Draco's waist had tightened slightly. "Am I dreaming?"

"No," Draco whispered. He knew - he knew - he should wake Harry up, but the hand around his waist had travelled up to caress his chest and Harry's teeth were nipping at the top of his shoulders and spine. Draco's body felt like it was on fire, and he couldn't have stopped this for anything. "This is real, love."

Harry thrust against him slightly. "Good."

Draco gave another little gasp then, as Harry suddenly tugged at his shoulder and pulled him onto his back while at the same time rolling forward and completely on top of him. Draco froze, crushed beneath the larger man in the most heart-stopping, breath-stealing, cock-swelling way possible.

"Draco," Harry whispered, eyes still closed. He shifted so that his body lay comfortably on top of Draco's, and Draco couldn't help but moan. Harry's lips were inches from Draco's now. "Love you."

Draco swallowed, an enormous lump in his throat. To his horror, he had to blink back tears. "I know," he breathed, his voice shaky. "And I think…I think I might love you too."

A sleepy, completely endearing smile crossed Harry's lips, and it melted Draco's heart. He couldn't help it; he lunged up and suddenly smashed his lips into Harry's.

It was as if a ball of molten lava had exploded in Draco's very core. His hands grabbed at the back of Harry's head, burying themselves in that thick, wonderful hair and yanking Harry into the fiercest kiss he could give.

Harry burst into life on top of him, his hands moving as if they had to touch Draco everywhere - his face, his hair, his torso, his arms. He slid his tongue into Draco's mouth, and Draco hadn't realized until that moment that a tongue could be something erogenous, that it had so many nerve endings and that every one of those nerve endings was in love with Harry.

"God, Draco..." Harry panted, his kisses becoming even fiercer and more frantic. The blankets fell off their twisting bodies, sliding unheeded to the floor. "Draco…"

"Harry..." Draco whimpered, wrapping his arms around Harry's upper back and pulling him down, trying to crush him to his chest. "Harry…"

"Draco…"

"More…" Draco breathed against Harry's lips. "Merlin, don't stop…"

"Draco…?"

"Please…"

"BLOODY FUCKING HELL, DRACO?!"

Harry's yell of horror was accompanied by his tearing himself out of Draco's arms and leaping completely off the couch. "Fuck!" he swore again, his eyes wide in panic. "Fuck, what have I done?!"

Draco sat up on the couch immediately. "Wait, Harry, this isn't what you think -"

"I am so sorry," Harry said quickly, backing away from Draco with his hands in the air. "So sorry…I didn't know, didn't realize…I thought you were him…"

"Yeah, I know," Draco snapped bitterly. "Listen, this wasn't your fault, it was my -"

"Oh no, love, don't say that," Harry said immediately. "It's not your fault at all. It's my fault, I'm the older one, and I need to be able to control myself around you. You did nothing wrong -"

"I came out here and starting kissing you in your sleep," Draco said flatly. "Then I climbed into your arms and cuddled you. When you asked me if I was your Draco, I pretended I was. And then I snogged you first. With feeling."

Harry stared. "Oh," he finally said in a small voice. He looked confused. "Well…I suppose that sort of sounds like it was your fault," he began. "But I'm sure it was actually my fault."

Draco nearly snarled. "Bloody Gryffindor." He stood up and stared Harry down, his arms folded over his chest. "I started this. I wanted to snog you. Obviously, you wanted to snog me back or you wouldn't have gotten so into it. Ergo, we want each other, so what's the big deal here?"

Harry looked gobsmacked. "What's the big deal?" he repeated. He gestured wildly. "This! Us! Everything!"

"I see no deal," Draco sniped.

"You are a minor," Harry all but growled. "A minor! This is exactly what I've been trying so hard not to do! How horrible do you think I feel that I woke up all but molesting a sixteen year old and -"

"Seventeen," Draco interrupted, still staring determinedly at Harry.

His voice was quiet but it stopped Harry in his tracks. "What?" he whispered in disbelief.

Draco took a deep breath. "I said I'm seventeen, Harry."

7  Sixteen (Going on Seventeen)

Draco's quiet words echoed loudly in the sudden silence, their meaning drowning out even the soft drone of the television. Harry stared in shock. "You're seventeen?" he finally asked hoarsely.

Draco nodded.

Harry took a couple steps toward him. Draco's stomach did an excited little flip.

"You're an adult?"

"Yes."

Another step forward.

"Of Age? All this time?"

"Absolutely."

Harry was nearly close enough to touch him now. "But why did you tell me you were sixteen?"

"Because I was sixteen, that first day," Draco responded honestly. "But in my own time, it was the night before my birthday. So I turned seventeen the very next day."

Harry watched him warily. "So you're saying you've been seventeen since your second day here?"

Draco nodded again.

"But - but you let me treat you like a kid. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, I couldn't tell you at first!"

"Why not?"

Caught in emotions, Draco's words were unplanned. "Because being only sixteen gave me protection."

"Protection?" Harry's eyes widened, and then he shrank away from Draco. "From me?" he asked, in a small voice that was incongruous with the tall, confident man. "You thought you needed protection from me?"

Draco immediately cursed his choice of words. "Only at first, Harry," he quickly said. "I was just sure that as long as you were convinced I was underage, you'd never touch me."

"But you thought that if I knew that you were actually seventeen that I'd pin you to the bed and have my wicked way with you."

Draco winced. When Harry put it like that…

Harry dropped down on the couch, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, his fingers quickly swallowed up by thick black hair. He looked dejected, like a puppy that had just been kicked but believed he deserved it.

"Listen, Harry -"

"I don't blame you, of course," Harry said lowly, not looking up. "I certainly terrified you out of your wits that first day. I can't blame you for still being afraid of me -"

With a huff Draco crossed over to Harry. He grabbed Harry by the wrists and yanked his hands away from his face, causing Harry to look up in surprise.

"I'm not afraid of you." He held Harry's wrists tightly in his hands, looking down at the older boy seriously. "I haven't been afraid of you for ages."

Harry rolled his eyes slightly and looked away. "You're just saying that to make me feel better," he said, a little gruffly. "It's okay. I'm a big boy. I can handle the truth. I nearly raped a sixteen year old; of course he's still afrai-"

Draco used his grip on Harry's arms to shake him slightly. "Shut up, Potter. One, you didn't even get my clothes off, and two, you didn't know. You have been a perfect gentleman ever since. In fact," and here Draco leaned down, until his face was only inches from Harry's, "you've been a little too much of a gentleman for my tastes."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Sorry? What do you - mean?!" He squeaked the last word as Draco slid forward onto his lap, dropping down to comfortably straddle Harry's thighs.

"I mean," Draco said darkly, ignoring Harry's deer-caught-in-a-Lumos-spell expression, "that you've had plenty of chances to roger me silly, and you haven't so much as kissed my cheek."

"Well of course I haven't!" Harry protested. "You're too young!"

He began to lift up slightly, obviously intent on getting Draco off his lap. Draco thwarted him immediately.

"Uh-uh, Harry," he scolded, squeezing Harry's legs with his own thighs, taking advantage of being on top to hold Harry down. "You're staying put." To emphasize his point, he pinned Harry's wrists to the back of the couch, on either side of his head.

"Draco -"

"I want to sit here. You'll have to pick me up if you want me to move."

Harry looked up at him through long, jet-black eyelashes. "That can easily be arranged."

Draco couldn't help one quick, lecherous look at Harry's arms and chest. "I'm sure it can, you ogre, but will you just hear me out before your over-blown sense of propriety has you hauling me off your lap?"

Harry tilted his head back slightly and regarded Draco for a moment. Draco wanted to swoon at how hot he looked. Even pinned with his wrists trapped, he looked powerful and far from helpless.

"Fine. I'll listen."

"And if I let go of your wrists you won't try to escape, or send me to bed, or anything?"

Harry snorted. "Believe me, your cute attempt to pin my arms with those little hands of yours is not what's keeping me on this couch."

Draco's eyes narrowed. Far from helpless, indeed. Slowly, he let go of Harry's wrists, sitting back on his lap and folding his arms across his chest.

Harry mirrored him, folding his arms across his chest as well.

"I'm not afraid of you."

"But Draco -"

"Shush. I mean it. I was afraid, yes. But you cured me of it by being your disgustingly noble Gryffindor self, understand? I'm not scared now."

"What, as of today? You've been here nearly a month. Why didn't you tell me your real age sooner if you weren't afraid of me?"

"Because there wasn't any reason to tell you sooner," Draco said with a shrug. "You were taking very good care of me. I didn't see a reason to shake things up."

"Slytherins," Harry mumbled, shaking his head in a slightly exasperated manner. "So why tell me now?"

Draco licked his lips, moving to rest his hands on the back of the couch behind Harry's head, so he could lean forward close to Harry in what he thought was a sexy manner, and then he lowered his voice to what he hoped was a seductive pitch. "Because maybe the whole getting pinned to the bed while you have your wicked way with me bit started to sound like a good idea."

To Draco's extreme consternation, Harry just gave a disbelieving laugh.

"Right," he said skeptically. He unfolded his arms and ran one agitated hand through his hair, nearly hitting Draco's carefully placed arm in the process. "Good one."

"Hey, I meant that!" Draco snapped down at Harry.

"Sure you did," Harry retorted condescendingly. "Next you'll be telling me this whole time you've been pretending to be sixteen, you've fantasized about me while you wanked, or you wished we'd done it in the Aston, or that you have secret plans to seduce me."

Draco's eyes widened in surprise. "Er…"

"Look, I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, I do," Harry said sincerely, as he reached up and wrapped large hands around Draco's wrists, easily plucking them off the back of the couch and using them to as leverage to push Draco back into a sitting position. "But you don't have to worry about my feelings, okay?"

"But -"

"You just worry about getting enough sleep and enough to eat, and being the lovable little Draco you are," he continued obliviously, setting Draco's hands down on Draco's lap and actually patting them reassuringly.

"But - "

"So why don't you try to get some sleep now? I want to take you shopping at Harrods tomorrow."

"But - "

"Come on. Up you get." And in a matter of seconds Harry had stood, lifting a speechless and disgruntled Draco off his lap and onto his feet in the process.

"But Harry -"

"No more buts, Draco! Just because you say you're seventeen instead of sixteen, it doesn't mean you don't need sleep." He gave Draco a gentle push in the direction of the bedroom. "Now get going, before I have to smack your backside."

Draco tried one last time. He stood his ground, turning to face Harry. He took a large step forward, bringing him very close to Harry, close enough to feel the intoxicating heat radiating off his body. He reached out, and slowly ran one finger down Harry's toned chest; over his thin cotton t-shirt, from his collarbone down to his bellybutton, stopping just above the waistband of his flannel pyjama pants.

"Legally, you can do anything you want to my backside," he breathed, in the silkiest voice he could manage.

Harry had the gall to laugh. "You're cute," he admitted, spinning Draco around to face the bedroom again. "Now go to bed."

And in short order Draco found himself alone, tucked into the huge bed his older self had shared with Harry, pillows fluffed, covers pulled up to his shoulders, lights doused and Binky within easy reach.

He blinked, replaying the last fifteen minutes in his mind and wondering where his attempts to seduce Harry had gone completely pear-shaped.

"Well, Potter," he finally said conversationally to the dark, empty room. "I hope you know that this means war."

''''''''''''

When Harry got back from his run the next morning, he was in for a shock.

"Hey Draco?" Draco heard him call, as he headed from the front door towards the kitchen. "Are you up? Something smells goo - fuck."

Draco leaned against the kitchen counter and smiled coyly. "Hi, baby," he cooed.

Harry stood, frozen, in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. His gaze flicked from the enormous spread of gourmet food on the counter to Draco's come-hither expression down to his over-sized t-shirt, which was bright red and read Pride of the Lions in big gold letters.

"You…" Harry seemed to falter. "…you made…"

"I made you breakfast," Draco said sweetly, gesturing to the many plates. "Just in case you were hungry."

Harry swallowed. "You…you're wearing…that's my shirt…"

"What, this?" Draco pointed at his shirt, all wide-eyed innocence. "I had no idea."

"It's red and has a Gryffindor house crest on it," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Does it really?" Draco made a show of running his hands over his own chest as he smoothed the shirt tightly against his torso. "Well, fancy that! So it does."

He schooled his features into a pronounced pout and looked up at Harry with sad grey eyes. "I didn't mean to take your shirt," he said contritely. "But it's so comfortable and smells so good. You're not going to make me take it off, are you?"

Harry's hands were gripping the edge of one of the barstools so tightly that the knuckles had turned white. He gave a forced sort of smile. "Course not," he said gruffly. "What's mine is yours."

Draco favoured him with a happy smile. "Thanks, Harry!" he said brightly.

"Don't mention it," Harry said with strained expression.

''''''''''''

After a delicious breakfast - during which Draco evilly enjoyed watching Harry's struggle to act normally and not stare at his t-shirt - Draco finished up some quick paperwork for their accounts while Harry took a shower. Even though he knew now he'd never have to go back to his own time, out of habit he still memorized all the best performing stocks and took special note of the excellent investments his future self had made.

Harry emerged as Draco was signing the last of the documents, dressed in dark, loose denims and that fitted green jumper that matched his eyes. His hair was still wet, glistening everywhere it caught the light, and the faintest hint of that cologne that Draco loved filled the air.

"Shower's yours," Harry said, unaware of the small heart-attack Draco was currently experiencing.

Draco swallowed hard. "Right. Shower," he murmured, and scampered off the bathroom before he drooled on the documents he'd just signed and caused the ink to run.

As he stood on the cool tile of the bathroom floor and stripped off his (or Harry's) clothes, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. What a difference a month could make! Gone was the haggard, grey-skinned skeleton he'd seen his first day here. Now, his skin was pink and healthy, his eyes bright and clear, and even his hair seemed glossier and fuller. He could no longer count his ribs, and his chest and arms seemed as if they had actually gained the tiniest bit of definition.

"Hello, gorgeous," he said to the boy in the mirror.

Gorgeous, indeed. And you owe it all to Harry.

Draco's heart fluttered. He did owe it all to Harry. Harry, who had to be the kindest, sweetest, hottest wizard Draco had ever known.

Just thinking about Harry, especially as he'd looked just a moment ago, all fresh and clean from the shower, was giving Draco an attention-demanding hard-on. He quickly turned on the shower, stepping into the steam, closing his eyes in bliss as the hot water streamed over his body.

Reaching out blindly, eyes still closed, he grabbed a sponge and what he thought was his oolder self's blend of body wash. As he popped open the top, however, the smell of Harry's cologne floated into his senses, and Draco nearly went weak in the knees.

There's no way I'm getting out of here without a wank now, he realized as he inhaled the scent he'd grown to associate with his sexy flatmate. I can't believe he uses both the cologne and the soap. No wonder he always smells so edible.

Unable to resist, Draco tossed the sponge to one side and filled his palm with the gel. Reaching down, he wrapped his fingers around his hard cock, giving it a quick, gratifying tug as he turned sideways and leaned back, resting against the decorative tiles of the shower while the hot spray pounded against his neck and shoulder and side.

The gel was slick and perfectly slippery, and Draco's eyes quickly fluttered shut again in pleasure as he began to glide his hand up and down the hard shaft. Surrounded by the smell of Harry, it was all he could do to keep himself from coming with the first few strokes.

He pictured himself on his back, legs locked around Harry's waist, as Harry thrust into him with deep, measured movements.

"Feel that, love?" his Fantasy-Harry said. "How hard my cock is? You did that to me. You turn me on."

Draco groaned, his voice unheard through the pounding of the shower, and his hand sped up.

"I could fuck you forever," Fantasy-Harry continued, leaning down to kiss Draco with a hot, all-consuming kiss, like the one they had shared the night before. "I never want to stop."

Draco began to pant, his hand almost a blur on his prick. With some lucky maneuvering he reached behind himself with his free hand, and frantically pressed a finger inside his body.

"It doesn't matter how old you are," Fantasy-Harry promised, panting as hard as Draco was as he tugged at Draco's cock. "Sixteen, seventeen, twenty-one…you'll always turn me on, because I'll always love you."

Draco's finger suddenly brushed his prostate, and he came, hard, the words I love you too on the tip of his tongue.

'''''''''''

It took zero convincing for Draco to get Harry to drive them to this mysterious Harrods in the Aston. Draco sprawled contentedly in his sumptuous leather seat as Harry expertly chauffeured him through busy Muggle London, very proudly telling him not to worry, that he'd equipped the car with a spell that could magically create a parking space, whatever that was.

Harrods turned out to be a store - the biggest one Draco had ever seen. It was ten times bigger than the biggest stores in Diagon Alley, and sold everything you could possibly imagine, from clothes to dishes to food.

"Muggles made all this?" he asked Harry in awe, sticking very close to his side as they made their way through the crowd.

"They did," Harry confirmed, giving Draco a reassuring one-armed squeeze.

"Without magic?"

"Of course."

Draco hated to acknowledge it, but as he strolled through corridors which remained at perfect temperatures (without the use of heating or cooling charms), nibbled on his scone (baked in an oven with no spell to speed it along), and rode on staircases that moved on their own (and deposited him gently at the next floor without ever switching directions on him), he had to admit, he was impressed. He loved magic and would never have given it up, but Muggles were doing admirably well without it.

They ate lunch at one of the many restaurants that dotted the department store, squeezed into a tiny table in the packed dining area. A few weeks ago, being surrounded by so many Muggles would have sent him into a panic attack, but now he largely ignored them. Who cared about a few Muggles when he was close enough to Harry that their knees were touching? What difference did crowds make when all he noticed was how perfectly Harry's jumper matched his eyes? Why should he worry about the Muggles running about, when they simply flowed around his and Harry's table like water, encasing them in a private island where Draco could steal Harry's chips?

They could bugger themselves, for all Draco cared. He wasn't afraid anymore.

After lunch, they wandered out of Harrods, leisurely walking up and down the streets of Knightsbridge until Draco spotted another coffee shop.

"Fancy a coffee, Potter?"

"I always like coffee," Harry acknowledged. "But I didn't think you -"

"Come on, then," Draco said, cutting him off. He tugged forcefully on the bigger boy's arm - which seemed to amuse Harry greatly - and pulled him into the coffee shop. He marched them up to the counter and then peered up at the list of drinks above the barista's head.

"What can I get for you today?" the cheerful boy behind the counter asked.

Harry cleared his throat. "Can we get one large hot choco - "

"- mocha," Draco cut him off, addressing the barista directly. "With double chocolate, hazelnut syrup and whipped cream. Oh, and an unsweetened latte, with an extra shot of espresso, for the dark-haired bloke."

He then folded his arms across his chest and stared at Harry challengingly, daring him to change the order.

Harry tilted his head back and regarded Draco thoughtfully. "I thought you didn't like mochas."

"People. Grow. Up," Draco replied, enunciating every word.

Harry raised an eyebrow, but he didn't protest. He simply reached into his pocket and pulled out a bill, handing it to the barista. "What the little blonde said."

Draco landed a kick to Harry's shin. "Don't call me little, you wanker!"

"Ow! Don't kick me, you brat!"

The barista was watching their interaction strangely. "Are you two related or something?"

"We're -"

"Actually, we're boyfriends," Draco piped up cheerily. "I'm the rough, domineering top and he's the needy little bottom, and just last night he begged me to - mrph!"

Draco was cut off as Harry's hand clamped over his mouth.

"He's my cousin," he attempted to tell the shocked barista, holding the squirming Draco firmly against his chest. "My very ill-behaved little cousin."

The barista relaxed. "He seems like hard work."

"You have no idea," Harry said meaningfully. He accepted his change with his free hand, tucking it in his pocket before dragging Draco over to a table by the window.

"You're no fun, Harry," Draco said, when Harry let him go.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm loads of fun," he deadpanned.

"You aren't either. You won't let me have porn, won't let me tell the coffee chap you're a needy bottom, won't shag me -"

"Hey now," Harry said defensively. "It's not like you actually want a shag from me."

Draco stared at him, dumbfounded. Could Harry really be that thick? "Actually," he began, dropping his voice to - well, if not a sultry baritone, at least not a squeaky tenor. "I very, very much want a -"

" - mocha," the barista interrupted, setting a large mug topped with whipped cream and chocolate sauce in front of Draco. "And here's your latte," he said, setting the other mug in front of Harry. He smiled perkily at them. "Can I get the happy family anything else?"

Wondering why the universe was suddenly conspiring to give him blue balls, Draco glared at the interrupter. "A private room, so I can fuck my cousin harder than I fucked your mum last night."

The barista went wide-eyed, gave a shocked little gasp, and ran away before Harry could do more then open his mouth.

"Draco!"

"What?"

Harry gave a half-horrified, half-disbelieving laugh. "You're incorrigible."

"Whatever you say," Draco said dismissively. He leaned forward. "Now about that -"

"Mocha?"

"What?"

"The mocha," Harry repeated, pointing to the drink in front of Draco. "Aren't you going to try it?"

Draco closed his eyes, took a slow, deep breath, and counted to three, using the time to inform his cock that while he too was very sorry, apparently Harry didn't know a shag when it was staring him in the face. He opened his eyes back up and fixed his wary gaze on the mocha in question. "Yes," he finally said snottily. "I'll try it when I'm ready."

"You won't like it, you know," Harry predicted, in a long-suffering voice. "You're going to think it's too bitter again. I'm going to be the one drinking it for you, because you're too young to like coffee."

That got Draco's attention. "I'm not either!"

"Then go on," Harry said challengingly. "Take a sip."

Draco turned his dirtiest look on Harry. Unwilling to be bested, he grabbed the mug, lifted it and took a sip. The unfamiliar taste of coffee hit his tongue, and he grimaced involuntarily.

"Told you." Harry's expression was smug. "Now, why don't you give it here, and I'll get you a -"

"Wait, wait, wait," Draco snapped. "Give a fellow a chance." He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and took another sip, this time trying to truly taste the hot liquid that rushed into his mouth.

Creamy whipped cream hit him first, with its notes of vanilla and sugar. The flavour was quickly followed with an intense rush of chocolate and a light taste of hazelnut - both perfectly tempered by the smoothness of milk. Underneath it all lurked a hint of strong bitterness, but in surprise, Draco realized that the contrast actually served to make the other flavours all the richer and sweeter.

It was divine.

Draco took several larger sips, enraptured by the complex taste. He finally fluttered his lashes open to find Harry watching him in shock.

Draco slowly licked his lips, watching in delight as Harry's eyes glued themselves to the movements of his tongue as it lifted traces of foam and whipped cream from his two pink lips. "Delicious," he all but purred, his own smug expression mirroring Harry's earlier one.

Harry swallowed audibly, and quickly turned his attention to his own latte.

'''''

Before they left the coffee shop, Draco excused himself to the loo for a moment. After washing his hands, he took a good long look in the mirror.

It's just that for a second, with your hair all mussed, you just…you just looked so much like him…

Harry's words from a couple weeks ago echoed in his mind. He recalled how his older self had styled his hair in those pictures on the refrigerator, all loose and sort of messy. Quite unlike to the helmet of gel his hair resembled right now.

I am pretty foxy at 21. Maybe it's time to update my look.

He poked at his hair for a moment. Rock-solid and not particularly nice to touch, especially in contrast to his hair's natural softness. Mulling the idea over in his mind, he dried his hands and left the loo.

As he walked through the café, he noticed Harry standing near the door, obviously waiting for Draco, and chatting with a man about his age.

A very good-looking man about his age.

A very good-looking man about his age, who was, in fact, quite close to Harry, almost in Harry's personal space. Draco could only see Harry's back, which meant he had a perfect view of the other man's eager expression and the way his eyes swept greedily over Harry from head to toe.

He knew that look, had looked at Harry that way himself a number of times. It was a look that clearly said why the hell don't you have me on my back with my legs in the air yet? It was a look that righteously pissed Draco off, because no one should be directing looks like that one at Harry besides him.

Harry seemed totally unaware, his nonchalant posture suggesting that he didn't even know he was being chatted up. The other man leaned forward and put an eager hand on Harry's arm, an arm that Draco had been coveting for weeks now.

Action had to be taken, and immediately. Without even breaking stride, Draco kicked a nearby chair hard enough to knock it over.

The crash got the entire shop's attention. By the time Harry had turned around, Draco was holding his foot and grimacing dramatically.

"Ow, my foot," he said plaintively.

"Draco!" Harry was at his side at an instant. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"Oh, it's nothing," Draco said, putting on a brave face. "I just knocked into a chair. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked worriedly, kneeling down and taking Draco's foot gently in his hands.

"Who's this?" the would-be Harry-thief asked, appearing next to them.

"My boy…er, cousin," Harry said distractedly, as he examined Draco's foot, giving it his full attention.

Draco preened. The other man sneered.

"Clumsy little thing, aren't you?" he said derisively, as he righted the fallen chair.

Draco gave him a cool look. "Slutty little thing, aren't you?"

The man stared in shock. "What did you just say to me?"

"Oh, my apologies," Draco snapped insincerely. "It must have been hard to hear me with your ankles already pinned to your ears."

The man's expression became apoplectic. "Now wait just a minute -"

"Doesn't look too bad," Harry said as he stood, oblivious to the glares being exchanged between Draco and the other man. "Still, I'd like to take a closer look at it. Shall we go?"

"Yes, Harry, let's," Draco said, with a winning smile.

The man turned to Harry. "Have you heard the mouth on your cousin?"

Harry turned cold in an instant. "He's hurt," he snapped at the man. "Now if you don't mind, you're blocking our way."

The man looked shocked. "You can't be serious."

"I promise you I am," Harry said curtly, as he put an arm around a smug Draco's waist to steady him.

"But…but wait, can I at least get your number?" the man said desperately, watching his shag evaporate before his eyes.

Harry's eye grew wide. "My number?" he said incredulously. "No. I don't think so." He shook his head disbelievingly. "Come on, Draco. I'll help you out."

The man tried one last time. "But -"

"Bye," Draco said sweetly, giving the man his best smile as Harry held him close and helped him out the door.

''''''

Once outside, Harry discreetly fired off a couple healing spells for Draco's foot, which fortunately healed his bruised toes even if nothing else was wrong with said foot. Draco thought a hug of thanks would be appropriate, so he threw his arms around Harry enthusiastically.

"Thanks, Harry," he said, looking up at the other man. He could not get enough of the feel of Harry's warm body pressed against his own, the scent of Harry's maddeningly sexy cologne, the sight of Harry's bright green eyes and smooth skin.

Harry didn't quite seem to know what to do with a teenager wrapped around him like a limpet. He swallowed thickly. "Er…you're welcome," he finally said, lifting his own arms to return the hug. "I'm sorry you hurt your - foot!"

His last word came out as a squeak, and he stared down at Draco in surprise. "Did you just grab my arse?"

Draco only blinked innocently up at him.

Harry looked around warily. "Weird," he finally said. He let go of Draco, who reluctantly released his own vise-like grip from Harry's trim waist.

By unspoken agreement, they began walking back in the direction of the Aston, along quiet, tree-lined sidewalks that were nearly empty. "Can I ask you a question, Harry?" Draco queried, stealing another look at Harry as they walked.

"Anything you want."

"Your hair is so dark, but I don't see any shadow on your face. How do your cheeks stay so smooth?"

"I use a spell, of course," Harry answered candidly. "It only works during the day, mind. By morning, there's plenty of stubble. You just haven't seen it."

"Oh. I didn't know there was a spell for shaving."

Harry blinked. Then, a slow smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth.

"What?" Draco asked defensively.

"That's just so cute I don't even know where to begin," Harry said solemnly, shaking his head.

"Cute?" Draco repeated in surprise. "What's cute? What the hell are you on about?"

Harry bit his lip, obviously trying to keep the smile from becoming a grin. "You don't have to shave yet."

Draco's mouth fell open slightly, and a hot blush began to steal across his cheeks. "I do too shave!" he quickly lied.

Harry snorted. "Right."

"I do!"

"Of course you do," Harry said patronizingly. "That's why you didn't know about the spell."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Well…well…it's not my fault! I'm blonde!" he protested.

"I know you are," Harry cooed, looking far too entertained by the whole conversation.

"Blondes don't have much body hair!"

"Of course not."

"If I wasn't a blonde I bet I'd have to shave twice a day! Certainly more than you."

Harry burst out laughing. "Only you would make shaving into a competition."

"Oh, shut up, you big, hairy brute."

"Ouch. Watch my feelings, love." Harry was obviously still amused.

"Hmph." Draco lifted his nose in the air. "Ogre."

Harry leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Between you and me," he said conspiratorially, "I think you like me being a bit bigger than you."

Draco was affronted. "I'm sure I don't either!" he protested. "Why on earth would I like it?"

"Hmmm, I don't know." Harry had a playful glint in his eyes. "Maybe because it means I can do this."

And the next moment Draco's world spun, as Harry scooped Draco right off his feet, throwing him over his shoulder easily.

Draco yelped. "Potter!" he snarled, beating on Harry's back with his fists. "Put me down this instant!"

"And what will you do if I don't? Squeal like a little girl again?"

"Potter!" Draco redoubled his efforts. "Put me down!"

Harry laughed, spinning them around a couple times before setting Draco back on his feet, hands lingering on his waist to make sure Draco was steady.

Draco felt a bit light-headed, and he wasn't sure it was entirely due to being picked up like a doll. "I can't wait until I'm bigger," he said breathlessly. Harry's hands were still on his waist, hot and heavy even through his clothes. "I'll throw you over my shoulder, see how you like it."

"You'll never be big enough," Harry returned, his hands tightening ever so slightly, going from simply resting on Draco's hips to pulling Draco just the tiniest bit into his arms. "I'll always be able to pick you up."

Draco's breath hitched. "Think I'm your toy now, do you, Potter?" he whispered, inching closer until he was nearly against Harry's chest. "Think you can play with me however you want?"

Harry let out a harsh breath, one hand slipping down to rest on Draco's lower back, tugging him slightly closer. "Something like that," he murmured.

Draco looked up at Harry's lips, soft and pink and perfect. "Hmmm," was the only sound he could muster, before tilting his head up slightly.

To his delight, Harry's eyelashes fluttered, and his tongue came out to lick his lips nervously, making them glisten.

The sound of their heavy breathing surrounded Draco, and with heady certainty he knew he and Harry were going to kiss. Slowly he threaded one hand into the thick hair at the back of Harry's head.

"Harry," he said softly, as he stretched up, intent on tasting those tempting lips.

Harry seemed momentarily paralyzed. "What are you doing?" he whispered, his fingers tightening in Draco's jumper, twisting the material in his hands.

"Nothing," Draco lied, trying not to spook the older boy. Almost bursting with anticipation, he closed his eyes, lips soft and ready -

HONK HONK!

At the sudden commotion, Harry jumped away from Draco like he'd been burned. Two nearby cars screeched and swerved and narrowly avoided a collision. Angry shouts came from the drivers, along with more honking and several rude hand gestures.

"Well, that was…er…" Harry seemed very flustered, and quickly backed several feet away from Draco. "Er…sorry, didn't, um…didn't mean to get so close, but er…I suppose we should get going?"

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, and let out a stream of curses that made Harry stare.

"…I didn't know you knew those words," he finally said in awe.

"Yes, well," Draco said shortly. "I do. I'm not a child, you know."

Harry suddenly seemed uncomfortable. "Er…I know," he said quickly, and then gestured down the sidewalk. "Aston's just another block or so. Not far, and then we can head home, yeah?"

Draco rolled his eyes skyward and barked out another impressive curse.

"Okay, that word, I knew you knew, but I'm not sure I knew you'd ever use it, you know?"

Draco gave him a withering look.

Harry bit his lip. "Right." He jerked his head. "This way, then."

And as Draco reluctantly followed Harry, discreetly adjusting his trousers to give his straining erection a bit more room, he wondered again just who in the universe was having a marvelous laugh at the expense of his balls.

'''''''''

That night, as he and Harry sprawled out in the living room, watching football on the telly, Draco decided he'd been too subtle. Obviously, if he was going to get Harry to shag him, he was going to have to be more direct.

He gazed around the darkened living room. The only light came from the kitchen, and from the flickering telly in front of them. They were sharing both the large, squashy sofa and a large bag of crisps. Draco thought this was a good a place as any to stage his seduction.

"I can't believe you haven't manipulated me in putting on cartoons yet," Harry remarked, his eyes tracking the movements of the tiny Muggles on the box in front of them.

"I like sports too, you know. I told you I'm not a child," Draco replied bluntly. "And besides, I'm too busy trying to figure out ways to get into your trousers to care what we're watching."

Harry blinked in surprise, and turned to face Draco. "What?"

"What?"

"Did you just…"

Draco smiled at him winningly.

Harry shook his head in confusion. "I think I'm hearing things," he finally said, running a hand through his hair.

Draco leaned forward and licked his lips. "What kind of things are you hearing, Harry?" he asked in a low, sultry voice.

"You don't want to know," Harry said ruefully, helping himself to a handful from the open bag of crisps between them.

Draco began inching closer. "Oh, but I think I do," he said slyly. "I think I'd like to know every…last…dirty…thing…you…"

Crunch.

The loud sound echoed through the room, completely killing the moment. Draco stilled, eyes closing in frustration.

"Oy, you just crushed the crisps," he heard Harry point out.

"No shit," he muttered.

"It's okay, we've got more." Harry reassured him. He grinned. "And I don't mind the little crushed pieces, if you're the one who crushed them."

Draco was torn between swooning over Harry's unintentionally romantic nature, or shaking some sense into that thick, Gryffindor skull.

He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest in a huff. Harry picked up the bag of crisps and started staring at the telly intently again.

Draco tried one more time. "Fancy a shag, Potter?"

"What? Oh, no, no thanks," Harry said distractedly. "I'll eat these. I don't need a new bag."

Draco threw up his hands, and then stormed out of the room.

Moments later, he stomped back in, grabbed the bag of crisps right out of Harry's shocked hands and chucked them across the room.

"Draco! What are you - "

"Are you going to fuck me or not?!"

Harry's eyes grew huge. "Pardon?" he squeaked.

"Are you," Draco bit out, rather menacingly (it had been a very trying day), "going to fuck me?"

Harry's mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

"It's a yes or no question, Potter!"

"I - I don't understand," Harry stammered.

"WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY NOT UNDERSTAND?" Draco snarled, at his wits' end. "I am asking you if you want to shag - if you want to fuck - if you want me to strip off my clothes and fling my naked arse onto your bed for you to pound through the mattress! What is so BLOODY hard to understand about that?!"

Harry looked like someone had hit him with a Stunning Spell. His eyes were wide - and green, Merlin, so fucking green - behind his glasses, and every muscle in his body appeared frozen. Draco stared down at him, arms folded across his chest, foot tapping impatiently on the floor.

Finally, Harry swallowed. "Er…nothing hard to understand," he said politely, looking at the floor. "That was very, very clear."

Draco turned his eyes skyward. "Thanks to Merlin," he said shortly. "So do we do it here, or in the -"

"And the answer is no."

Now it was Draco's turn to stare. In all his plans to seduce Harry, this was one outcome he hadn't quite counted on. "Excuse me?" he said, taken aback.

Harry looked like it had cost him an enormous effort to say the words, but he raised his head and met Draco's gaze steadily. "I said no. I'm not going to shag you."

Draco blinked. He'd finally gotten Harry to understand, had clearly offered up his virgin teenage body for ravishment - and Harry had said no? "Why not?" he snapped.

"Lots of reasons!" Harry threw back. "To start, you don't trust me."

"You think I don't trust you?!" Draco's jaw dropped. "I just asked you to fuck me!"

"And you still believe that just because you told me you're seventeen means I'm going to do it!"

Draco was brought up short. "But…aren't you?"

Harry let out a short sign, and flopped down onto the couch, flat on his back. "You silly twit," he said affectionately, looking up at Draco through his fringe. "No. I'm not."

"Because you think I don't trust you?"

"Certainly. How can you feel safe around me if you've believed all this time that I was one legality away from pouncing on you?"

Draco felt a sulk coming on. "Maybe I wanted to be pounced on."

"Maybe you don't know what's best for you."

"Maybe you're being an over-protective git."

"Maybe that's my job as your boyfriend."

Despite the horrible turn of events, that one word caused a smile to suddenly light Draco's face. "You're my boyfriend?" he repeated shyly. "Really? Mine?"

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. "Was there ever any doubt?"

Draco was so pleased he could feel his cheeks turning pink. Next moment he all but threw himself onto the couch, landing on top of Harry with a thud and causing an oof to leave the bigger boy's mouth.

Before Harry could protest, Draco spoke. "Boyfriends are for shagging, Harry," he said sweetly, as he made himself comfortable on top of Harry.

Harry swallowed hard. "Not this little one," he said unsteadily, looking at the teenager straddling him in alarm.

"I won't be little for long," Draco whispered. He put his hand on Harry's chest, running it lightly over his t-shirt. "I've gained at least half a stone this month and I'm growing. I'll be your size in no time."

Harry was tense as a bowstring beneath him. "I told you, you'll never be quite my size," he bantered lightly, trying to diffuse the charged atmosphere.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

Draco leaned forward, stopping when their faces were about a foot apart. "Shut up."

Harry bit his lip, and Draco caught his breath. With Harry seemingly at his mercy beneath him, his fingers couldn't help themselves. They took full advantage of their captive, skating across the muscles beneath the thin barrier of Harry's t-shirt, greedily taking in every inch of chest he could reach.

As Draco touched him, Harry took a shaky breath and then swallowed hard again, his eyes screwing shut. He didn't touch Draco back - but he didn't ask him to stop, either.

"You don't mind if I touch you, Harry?"

Harry shook his head without opening his eyes. "I'm all yours," he said matter-of-factly.

Harry's words sent a thrill through Draco, striking something hot and possessive deep within his core. He rested his fingers on Harry's collarbone, feeling Harry's warm skin through his shirt. "So I can touch you here?"

"Sure."

Draco slid his hand down until it rested on Harry's right nipple. "How about here?"

"Fine."

He slid his hand lower, along the faint bumps of Harry's ribcage and stopping just above where he guessed Harry's bellybutton would be. "Here?"

Harry cracked open one eye. "You're getting cheeky with me."

He sounded short of breath, however, and Draco fancied he could feel something stirring through the trousers that separated them.

With deliberate slowness, Draco dragged his fingers lower, until they arrived at the sliver of soft, bare skin on Harry's lower stomach, where his t-shirt had ridden up and his denims had ridden low. "How about here?" he whispered, and then slipped a finger below the waistband. "Or -"

Harry's entire body jerked, and he grabbed Draco's wrist in one hand, immobilizing it dangerously low on his stomach. "I'm not going to shag you," he said tightly, almost as if he was trying to convince himself more than Draco.

Draco smirked, and slid his body provocatively against Harry's, letting his hard cock brush Harry's groin. "Want to bet?"

Harry's reaction was immediate. His eyes widened, his breath caught - and then he seized Draco by both shoulders and pushed him off. "No," he said, scrambling from underneath Draco onto his feet. "No."

His shoulders were rising as falling, his chest heaving as he stared down at Draco. "I won't do it, love. I won't do that to you."

Draco jumped to his feet as well, his aching cock making him mad enough to spit fire. "What do you sodding mean, you won't do that to me?" he demanded. "For Merlin's sake, Harry -"

"I won't," Harry said, eyes blazing, jaw set in effort. "I can't. I can't do that to either of you."

"What the fuck are you on about? It's just SEX!"

"It's not just sex!"

"Yes it is! What is your bloody problem, Potter? Why can't we shag?"

The words seemed to be torn from Harry's mouth before he could stop them. "Because if I shag you, then I'm cheating on Draco!"

Draco felt like he'd suddenly been drenched in a vat of ice-water. He looked up at Harry, stricken. "I thought I was Draco?" he said, embarrassed to realize his voice was shaky.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "You are. It's just -"

Draco cut him off with a quiet voice. "I'm just not the Draco you want." He couldn't keep the hurt and betrayal out of his voice.

"Love, no, I -"

"Excuse me." Draco turned on his heels and fled the living room, unable to stand the horrible, pitying look on Harry's face.

He tore down the hall, flinging open the door to his room and slamming it shut again, before throwing himself on the bed, cursing his eyes as they burnt and stung. He was humiliated, and his very heart hurt, like a heavy, painful weight in his chest. He was so stupid! How could he have thought that Harry would possibly want him? He was an ugly, skinny, broken teen.

More importantly, he wasn't Harry's Draco.

Seconds later, the soft creak of an opening door stole through his wounded thoughts, as did the equally soft sound of Harry's plaintive voice.

"Draco?"

Draco couldn't stop one humiliating little sniffle from escaping before he quickly hid his head under the pillows. "Go away, Potter."

"Draco, I'm coming in."

"I said go away!" he barked, pulling the pillow as tight to his head as he could.

"No." He felt the bed dip under Harry's weight as the other man sat down next to him. "I'm sorry, love."

Draco snorted derisively into the mass of downy feathers. "Don't call me that," he said harshly. "You don't mean it."

"But I -"

"GO AWAY."

"No," Harry said stubbornly. "I'm not going to leave you."

"Why not?" Draco said bitterly, squeezing his eyes shut against the burn of threatening tears. "You don't want me. I'm obviously not who you want, so go wank over old memories of him. Find another picture of the other me to have a cry over. You know, the me you actually love."

Harry stiffened, making the mattress shift. There was silence for several moments. "I deserved that," he finally said softly, sounding full of self-loathing.

Despite his own hurt feelings, Draco couldn't bear to think of Harry suffering. Slowly, he rolled onto his back, and pulled the pillow off his head, blinking in the sudden light.

Harry was sitting beside him on the bed, curled almost into a ball with his back against the headboard and his knees drawn close to his chest. He looked even more miserable than Draco felt.

"I'm sorry," he repeated quietly, his voice thick. "I really am. I didn't mean to hurt you, or to make you think that I don't care about you, the Draco that you are, because I do, love, I do. I just…it's just…"

He trailed off, taking a deep breath. His wretched expression broke Draco's heart just a little, and he found himself straightening up almost unconsciously, sitting next to Harry, propping himself against the headboard beside him.

He took one look at Harry's slumped shoulders and sighed. "…complicated?" he finally offered, in a pacifying manner.

Harry let out a snort. "Yeah," he said, looking at Draco gratefully. "Complicated."

Draco nodded. "This is hard for you," he ventured. "We're the same person…but we're also different, and you care about us both."

"I do, I really do. And I care about you - you, exactly the age you are - a lot."

Draco thought of the past few weeks, of mochas and Astons and Muggle London, of breakfasts and dinners, of nightmares. He bit his lip. "I know."

Harry seemed relived to be understood. "I just don't want to hurt anyone."

Draco looked away. "Harry…" He took a deep breath. "There's only one of us left to hurt."

The bedroom was silent again. When Draco finally looked back at Harry, his eyes were suspiciously shiny, the green positively vibrant under a sheen of wetness.

"But if he's gone…then why do I remember him?" he said softly. "Shouldn't I have forgotten him? If he's really gone, then why is he still here?" He touched his head, and then his heart. "And here?"

Draco winced. "I don't know," he said truthfully. "I honestly don't. Time is a funny, fickle thing. Merlin only knows how it works." He didn't know what to do, or what else to say, or if he should leave Harry alone to mourn. "I'm sorry," he finally offered sincerely.

Harry turned big, wet green eyes back on Draco, looking like a lost puppy desperate for a home for the night. Draco found himself wanting to offer Harry reassurance, to make him feel better in any way that he could.

"Your Draco and me, we are the same person, it's true. But you have memories with him that you and I will never share." Draco put a hand on Harry's arm, surprised by how easily he was falling into the role of comforter. "I know you miss him. And I'm sure that if he is still out there somewhere, he misses you too."

Harry bit his lip, eyes squeezing shut. Draco let him pretend he wasn't close to tears.

"It's okay to miss him, even though you have me," he said softly, stroking Harry's arm gently. "I won't hate you for it."

Harry gave a small half-laugh, letting his head fall back to rest against the headboard. "It's just so odd," he said fervently, opening his eyes to gaze sightlessly at the ceiling. "The whole situation. It's…it's mad. There are times when I miss him so much it hurts, and there are times I can't tell the two of you apart."

He gave the little desperate laugh again, this time lowering his head to look at Draco intently. "There are times when I honestly forget you're not him," he said in a low voice, one that stirred the barely-suppressed passions in Draco again. "Times when I find my arms reaching for you, or I'm two seconds from snogging the daylights out of you."

Despite the intense emotions - or perhaps because of them - Draco found his body responding to Harry's tone and words with arousal. He swallowed thickly. "Go on," he whispered.

"I've been in a right state since you got here, you know," Harry continued, with a slightly feral look in his eyes. "Terrified that I was going to forget you weren't mine.

"I kept thinking I should send you to Snape, to someone safe, lest you found yourself in my clutches. I would never have forgiven myself if I'd touched you." He lowered his voice. "But then I couldn't let you go. The idea of you being somewhere else…without me to protect you…I couldn't allow that either.

"So I've been slowly going half-mad, desperately keeping my hands to myself and trying to keep my head straight. But then tonight…" He gave Draco an unreadable look, and ran an agitated hand through his hair. "I wasn't expecting that."

Draco winced, humiliation suddenly bubbling up fresh within him and making his cheeks and chest burn. "I - I'm really sorry about that," he said, uncomfortably hot. "Earlier. I should have known how you felt, that you wouldn't want to shag me -"

"Wait." Harry turned to stare at him strangely. "You think I don't want to shag you?"

"Well…well, yes…" Draco swallowed. "I'm so skinny and ugly -"

"Stop it," Harry said sharply, in a voice that forbid Draco to argue. He leaned over Draco slightly, suddenly looking a little bigger. "Not another word."

Draco shivered. He liked it when Harry got like this - strong and assured and in-charge. He was beginning to understand why his older self had wanted that Slytherin school uniform all those weeks ago.

"There is nothing skinny or ugly about you. You are absolutely gorgeous." Harry's eyes were serious, almost hungry. "Not shagging you is not about not wanting you."

Draco's heart began pound. "Really?" he whispered.

"Unfortunately, yes," Harry replied, with a small, self-deprecating laugh. "I want you rather forcefully. Every sixteen year old inch of you."

Draco dismissed the comment immediately. "I told you, I'm not sixteen, I'm -"

"Yes, you are."

Draco stilled in surprise. Harry's tone of voice told him he wasn't kidding. "I beg your pardon?" he asked, blinking.

"If you're going to stay in this future - which you are - then you have to play by its rules."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that you live in this flat, in this life - and in this time."

Draco did not like where this was going. "And what does that have to do with my age?" he asked coolly.

Harry couldn't quite look at him. "Your birthday is June 5th."

"I know. Again, what does - "

"June 5th is next week. Until your birthday, you'll still sixteen."

Draco stared. Harry pretended to examine his nails.

"Excuse me?" Draco finally barked. "No. I don't think so, Potter. That's ridiculous!"

"Isn't either," Harry said stubbornly. "How do I know you're really seventeen? You were sixteen when you dropped that hourglass, and as far as I'm concerned, you are sixteen until your seventeenth birthday...which is June 5th."

"No," Draco spat. "No. You don't get to do that, Potter. You don't get to change the rules. You don't get to decide my age!"

"I didn't decide your age! This is just the way it is! You're going to live in this time, and in this time you haven't had your birthday yet, and you are still sixteen."

Draco opened his mouth - to yell, to scream, to through the biggest tantrum he'd thrown since he was two. "You listen here, Potter -"

But when Harry finally looked at him, what Draco saw stopped him cold. Unlike his voice, Harry's eyes weren't stubborn or unreasonable. They were scared. Desperate. Lost. And in a flash of insight, Draco realized what Harry was doing.

He needs me to be sixteen. He can't deal with his feelings, can't deal with wanting both me and his Draco yet. If I'm sixteen, then he knows he can't have me, and doesn't have to feel guilty for being with me instead of his Draco.

He considered this. Harry had as good as admitted that while he wanted Draco very badly, he wasn't ready to deal with wanting him, and was willing to go to great lengths to keep pretending that he couldn't have Draco, to keep living in denial. Draco knew that for Harry, keeping him at sixteen was the surest bet to ensure they wouldn't shag. Harry would never touch someone that Wizarding law still considered a child.

Imagine. I finally found a rule that Harry Potter won't break. Wouldn't Snape like to know?

He winced as he unintentionally imagined how that conversation would go.

Hmm, maybe not. Well, isn't this all bleedingly ironic? Here I am, dying to get off with him, and it turns out that Harry's the one who needs to wait. I know he would wait until I was ready. I should probably do the same for him…

A predatory glint flashed in his eyes.

…for now.

"Fine," he said in a deceptively agreeable voice. "If that's what you want, then that's what we'll do."

Harry clearly hadn't expected him to surrender, and looked decidedly off-kilter. "I - really?"

"Of course," Draco said sweetly. "Whatever you need." He cleared his throat. "Naturally, I'll want a few things in return."

To his amusement, Harry visibly relaxed, obviously much more accustomed to the Slytherin method of bargaining then to Draco being amenable on his own. "Naturally," he said dryly. "What do you want?"

"I want a big deal made of my birthday. You have to take me out and cater to my every whim."

"Done," Harry said, looking amused. "What else?"

"I want to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow, and get a wand."

"Sure," Harry agreed. "That's reasonable. Anything more?"

"I want you to walk around the flat naked."

Harry's eyes bugged. "What?" he yelped.

"You want to pretend I'm sixteen, I want to ogle you shamelessly. We'll both get our wish." At Harry's incredulous expression, he sighed loudly. "I suppose I might settle for shirtless."

Harry gave a shocked laugh. "I don't know whether to be flattered, or offended that you're treating me like a piece of meat."

Draco licked his lips. "Speaking of meat -"

"NO!" Harry said immediately, looking panicked. "We're not speaking of meat!"

Draco sighed dramatically again. "Fine, have it your way." A yawn split his face suddenly.

"Tired?"

"Apparently," Draco acknowledged.

Harry slid off the bed and onto his feet, and began tugging at the covers, pulling them down. "You should get some sleep," he said with concern. "It's been a rough evening."

"No kidding," Draco said dryly, fixing Harry with an exasperated-yet-fond look. He also stood, reached then for the hem of his jumper, pulling it over his head. Beneath it, he was wearing a soft cotton t-shirt.

"You haven't heard my last condition yet," he said, reaching for the button on his trousers as Harry busied himself arranging pillows and purposefully not watching Draco strip down.

"And what's that?" Harry asked, now turning his back to Draco as he pretended to mess with the snitch clock. Draco shook his head in amusement, and slid his trousers off. He reached for a pair of pyjama pants that he'd left on the floor that morning, and stepped into them.

He carelessly pulled them on and tied the drawstring, and then crawled under the covers. "It's safe to look, Potter. And for the record, I don't care if you see me in my shorts. I've seen you in only a towel, you know."

Harry slowly peeked over his shoulder to confirm that Draco was, indeed, fully clothed. "That's different," he protested. "You're welcome to look at me or touch me however you like. I'm the one who has to be careful."

I am really going to make you regret saying that, Draco thought, eyes glazing over at the thought of having a Harry to look at and touch however he liked.

It was Harry's turn to yawn now. "Hmmm, you wear me out, you know?" he said rhetorically, leaning against a bedpost. "So what's this last condition?" he prodded, shaking Draco out of his thoughts.

Draco cleared his throat. "You have to start sleeping in this bed with me."

Harry's eyes widened. "But I -"

Draco refused to give in on this one. "I don't want to hear it," he said darkly. "I'm putting up with your neurotic inability to acknowledge my status as an adult, fully capable of deciding whom I wish to shag and when. The least you can do is be my teddy."

"But -"

"Potter. Let me say this in words you understand: if you don't get in bed with me this instant, I will stay awake until you fall asleep on the couch, and then sneak out there and curl up naked in your arms." He smirked. "We both know you'll be halfway through shagging me before you wake up."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "That's blackmail," he accused. "You're blackmailing me into sleeping with you."

"Looks that way, doesn't it?" Draco taunted, unapologetic. "And there's no way for you to wriggle out of it, so you may as well take it like a man, get in this bed, and come and snuggle me."

Despite himself, Harry grinned. "Take it like a man and snuggle?" he teased.

"Stop stalling and get in this bed, Potter! And see that you take those denims off before you do."

"But -"

"Now."

Harry made a face. "Fine."

"Fine."

"Fine."

With obvious reluctance, Harry reached for his belt. Draco propped himself up on one arm to watch.

"This isn't a strip show!" Harry protested, as he made short work of the buckle.

"Unfortunately."

Harry rolled his eyes. He undid the fastening of his denims next, and without fanfare, slid them off his hips and down to the floor, leaving him dressed in only his t-shirt and boxers. Draco licked his lips.

"Shame about the boxers," he said sincerely. "They hide all your good bits."

"Oh, just budge over, you unreasonable, over-sexed little teen."

Draco obligingly made room for him, taking the opportunity to get a good look at Harry's strong legs as he climbed into the bed, sliding under the covers next to Draco but keeping a respectable distance between them.

"Where's my cuddle?"

"The deal was that I slept in the bed with you, not that we cuddled," Harry pointed out, as he waved his wand and the lights went out. "So mind you keep to your side of the bed."

Draco made a face, but he couldn't argue with that Slytherin logic. "Fine. Then how about a goodnight kiss?"

Harry snorted, and rolled onto his side, facing away from Draco. "Go to sleep."

"A goodnight grope?"

"I'm warning you."

"A goodnight fuck?"

"Draco Malfoy -"

"Okay okay! Can't blame a guy for trying, though."

Harry gave a disbelieving laugh. "Goodnight, brat."

"Sweet dreams, wanker."

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…Harry?"

"Yes?"

"If I have a nightmare…will you still let me curl up in your arms afterwards?"

"Love, if you have a nightmare, I'll be holding you when you wake up."

8  Cock-tease

Troll…big troll…right on my chest…

Draco valiantly wriggled beneath the enormous weight on top of him, even as he noted that this was the best-smelling troll he'd ever had the pleasure of being trapped beneath. A rainbow-striped owl suddenly flew into his vision.

"Care for a cuppa?" it offered solicitously.

"Yes, please," Draco informed the bird. "Only first, I simply must get this troll off my -"

Draco's eyes suddenly popped open. He blinked at the ceiling in confusion for a moment, as he came more fully awake. Finally, he glanced down at his chest, only to see that the troll flattening him in his dreams was not actually a troll at all.

It was Harry.

"Potter, you wretched oaf," he said, in what could only be termed an affectionate voice. Harry had sprawled on top of him in a diagonal slant, their chests touching, Harry's arm flung somewhere off to Draco's right, and Harry's nose buried in his neck. "I rather think this goes beyond cuddly sleeper."

Despite his words and Harry's solid weight, Draco could not have been more pleased than to wake up covered in Boy Who Lived. Idly, he brought the arm not pinned by Harry's body up to Harry's head, and stroked his messy hair. He amused himself for several moments trying to flatten Harry's hair, which was apparently as stubborn as Potter, because it defiantly resisted Draco's attempts to smooth it as it sprung back into place.

"Aren't you cute," he mused quietly, surprised by his own emotions. It wasn't that he wasn't turned on to feel Harry's strong frame on top of his slighter one (because oh, he was). But more than that, he felt oddly touched and tender, that Harry loved and trusted him enough to sprawl across him in such a familiar manner in his sleep.

He suspected not a lot of people saw this Boy Who Lived. He suspected Harry never let anyone else see this vulnerable side. He suspected his future self had loved this Harry, this cute, sleepy Harry, who made Draco feel oddly protective, something he'd rarely, if ever, felt before.

Draco was content to lay there, idly playing with Harry's hair, until Harry started to stir on top of him. He snuggled into Draco neck for a moment, and every nerve in the area suddenly zinged to life as a bit of stubble brushed Draco's neck.

"Morning, love," Draco whispered, unfairly pitching his voice lower to imitate his older self.

"Mornin'," Harry mumbled back. He gave Draco's neck a wet, sleepy good morning kiss, which promptly caused Draco's cock to stand at full salute.

"Sleep well?" Draco asked lightly, still keeping his voice lower than normal, and refusing to remove his fingers from Harry's hair.

There was that stubble against his neck again, as Harry got just a touch closer. "Mmm, not as well as I woke up." His voice was still rough with sleep, but with something mischievous and playful lurking beneath.

Draco's heart sped up. "Oh really?" he said, Slytherin brain examining the situation from every angle, trying to determine the best way to score a shag.

Before he could concoct a plan, however, Harry kissed his neck again, sending all cunning thoughts flying from his head. He swallowed hard, as feather-light kisses were bestowed on his skin, each one traveling just the slightest bit closer to his jaw and mouth then the one before.

Breath stolen away, Draco lay as still as he could, his cock pulsing against his cotton pajamas as Harry's teasing kisses got ever closer to his lips, that maddening stubble still tickling his skin. His eyes fluttered shut as his mouth softened, lips pliant and eager for Harry's kiss.

Just as Harry planted a kiss on the corner of Draco's mouth, he froze.

Fuck, Draco thought ineloquently, opening his eyes.

Harry's eyes were wide, and his expression stunned and horrified. "Shit," he muttered, and rolled off of Draco, flopping onto his back on the bed.

Draco sighed loudly, already missing the other boy's comforting, heavy weight. "Potter, you maddening little cock-tease -"

"Hey!" was Harry's indignant response. He turned his head to give Draco a dirty look. "I was asleep! I didn't know it was you."

"Ouch," Draco said matter-of-factly, rolling on his side to face Harry.

Harry winced. "Merlin, I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Didn't you?" Draco asked quietly.

Harry winced again, and looked up at the ceiling. "No," he said plaintively, voice thick with sleep and emotion. "I really didn't mean it like that."

He looked so forlorn and vulnerable, with his hair completely mussed and his glasses gone, that Draco didn't have the heart to keep rubbing it in. Besides, after last night, he knew Harry was telling the truth. He hadn't meant it the way it sounded.

"Let me make you breakfast," Harry said, rolling on his side to face Draco, sounding like a hopeful little boy trying to right a wrong. "Anything you want."

Draco considered this. "Alright, then," he said, sitting up. As he turned and got ready to slide out of bed, a thoroughly Slytherin impulse struck him. "Make some of those scones you do so well. I'll go have a shower - and a wank."

He heard a gratifyingly strangled sound of surprise leave the boy behind him, before Harry choked out, "What?"

Draco looked back over his shoulders at Harry and raised one eyebrow coolly. "A wank," he repeated. "Whatever age you insist I am, you can't deny me that. If I want to climb into that shower and fist my cock until I come all over the tiles, there is nothing you can do to stop me."

Harry could only stare and work his mouth soundlessly, seemingly unable to form words.

Relentless, Draco leaned slightly closer. "It may interest you to know," he said, in a low, sexy voice, "that for the past few weeks, you have played the starring role in my fantasies. Today, you're going to be fucking me right in that bed you're laying in. I'll be on my hands and knees, begging for more."

A thrill of victory zinged through Draco, as he saw a hot, pink color - not a blush of embarrassment, but a flush of heat - steal across Harry's cheeks.

"And while I'm wanking," he continued mercilessly, "I'll have one hand on my dick, pretending it's yours, and my fingers in my arse…pretending they're your cock."

Harry's eyes fluttered closed, and he took a deep, steadying breath. The air in the room was suddenly thick and palpable.

"Now if you'll excuse me," Draco finished sweetly, standing up. "I'll see you at breakfast. My hands and I have a date."

And he walked off to the bathroom without looking back, smirking hugely as a muffled groan from Harry trailed after him.

'''''''''

After a marvelously refreshing shower, Draco dressed quickly and followed his nose to the kitchen. Draco's favourite scones, freshly baked, sat on the little table by the window, along with clotted cream, strawberry jam and tea. Harry was still moving about the kitchen, his movements a little more forceful and jerky then normal.

Draco leaned against the doorframe for a moment, drinking in the sight of Harry. "Someone seems a little frustrated this morning," he remarked casually.

Harry whirled to face him in surprise. His eyes narrowed. "Quiet, you," he muttered, reaching to the highest shelf to pull down some plates. His shirt rode up as he did so, treating Draco to an unobstructed view of several inches of smooth skin and taut muscle.

Draco licked his lips. "You were good, you know."

Harry shot him another look as he picked up to plates. "What?"

"During my wank. The sex. You were great."

Harry opened his mouth, and then snapped it shut. He closed the cabinet with more force than necessary and headed for the table.

"I like picturing you dominating and in-charge," Draco continued blissfully. Years of pestering Harry let him immediately recognize that tense set of his shoulder, and he relished the knowledge that he was getting under Harry's skin. "Is that how you really are? The big, strong, macho Gryffindor when you shag me?"

Harry shot him a dirty look over his shoulder. "Watch it, little boy," he said darkly.

"Oooh yes, just like that," Draco said breathily. "I like it when you act all tough, Harry."

"You -" Harry took a deep breath. "Come have breakfast." He sat in one of the chairs, obviously determined to ignore Draco.

Draco, however, was not in the habit of giving up when in came to Harry Potter. He sauntered over to the table and took a seat -

Right in Harry's lap.

"Draco!"

"You said, and I quote, you're welcome to look at me or touch me however you like. And right now, I'd like to sit in your lap."

"But -" Harry began desperately.

"Shut it, Potter," Draco said imperiously. "Those were your words, not mine."

"But I can't have breakfast with a sixteen year old on my lap!"

"Harry, we both know I'm really seventeen," Draco said patiently. "But either way, you haven't got a choice. Now shut up or I'll kiss you."

"Why, you little tyrant -"

Draco made a kissing motion with his lips, and adjusted his position just so so that his arse would press against Harry's groin.

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, his hands tightening on the arms of the chair. "Fine," he said shortly. "Fine. You can stay on my lap. Just…stay still and don't do that again."

Draco smiled, please to have won. He reached for a scone, breaking off a piece. He slathered it with a bit of cream and jam, and brought it to Harry's lips.

"What -"

As Harry opened his mouth, Draco slipped the bite in, letting his fingers linger for a moment against Harry's parted lips. "Since you can't reach the table well," he said reasonably, "I thought I'd help."

Harry swallowed, his tongue darting off to lick traces of strawberry jam off his lips nervously. "I don't think -"

"Shh, we're just eating, Harry," Draco promised, breaking off another piece of scone. "Nothing torrid or dodgy about breakfast." He doctored this bite the same way and held it to Harry's lips again. "Close your eyes and open up, baby."

Harry pursued his lips, glaring at Draco mistrustfully through those gorgeous long eyelashes.

"Come on, darling," Draco nearly purred. "Do what Daddy says."

"I don't call you darling, and I'm bloody well sure I've never called you Daddy!"

"Have I ever called you Daddy?"

Harry snapped his mouth shut again. "…none of your business," he finally muttered.

"Oooh, Potter, you do surprise me. Kinkier by the minute. If I'd known I should call you Daddy, I would have worked it into my wank fantasy this morning."

Harry let out a half-shocked, half-horrified laugh. "When did my scared virgin teen become some kind of sex fiend?"

"Since I saw you all wet and delectable in a towel. Now come on, Harry, close your eyes."

"No way!"

"But I'm only going to feed you," Draco wheedled.

"Like hell you are."

"Come on, Harry. Unless my ickle Gryffindor is…scared?"

Just as Draco expected, that did the trick. Harry's expression went from nervous to indignant in a second. "I beg your pardon?"

Draco's smile was sweet as sugar. "It's okay if you're scared to close your eyes around me. Merlin knows how scary a sixteen year old is for a big, strong war hero like you."

He could practically see pure, grade-A Gryffindor brawn flow through Harry's veins. "I'm not scared, little boy. Anything you can dish out, I can take," he said, with predictable bravado.

A smirk that would have made Salazar Slytherin proud crossed Draco's lips. "Oh, really?" he said slowly, reaching for another bit of scone. "Then close your eyes, baby."

Reluctant, but unwilling to let Draco call his bluff, Harry closed his eyes.

Draco immediately threw the bite of scone on the table and leaned forward eagerly, almost desperate to steal the kiss he'd nearly had this morning.

Unfortunately for Draco, as soon as his lips were within an inch of Harry's, Harry's eyes flew open. "I knew it!"

Within 30 seconds, Draco had been exiled from Harry's lap and found himself quite firmly placed in his own chair.

"You are an appallingly manipulative little brat, Draco."

Draco glared at Harry through his sulk. "And you're a wanker and a cock-tease, Potter."

"Yeah, yeah. Now let me eat. If I'm going to handle having you and your hormones in Diagon Alley today, I'm going to need all the strength I can get."

''''''

As it was a bright and sunny Saturday morning, and Diagon Alley was busy, nosy and crowded. Before they Apparated, however, Harry cast an Insignificance Spell that would allow the two of them to pass through the street unnoticed.

"I had to perfect this one right after the war," he explained, after they had landed in the middle of the busy street and no one even registered their presence. "When I couldn't get a bloody bite of ice cream without getting mauled."

Draco only barely managed to swallow down a large flash of jealousy at the thought of crowds of opportunistic witches and wizards trying to get their grubby paws on his Harry. "It's nice to be in the Wizarding World again," was all he said, glancing about.

"My poor pureblood," Harry said, obviously teasing but with a hint of seriousness in his voice. "Tired of the Muggle world?"

"No," Draco said, surprising them both.

"Oh." Harry chewed his lip. "Well, since you're going to be staying, we can't just avoid Diagon Alley for the next five years. So if the spell slipped up somehow and we do get recognized -"

"Pretend I had an accident with a De-Aging potion," Draco finished irritably. "I told you, I know the plan, Potter!"

"No need to get your knickers in a twist, Malfoy."

Draco eyed him. "It's really sexy when you say my last name all stern like that."

Harry gave him a dirty look. "It isn't either."

"No, actually, it kind of is."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, just under his glasses, in obvious frustration. "You are giving me grey hairs, you oversexed little teen."

"No, all that pent-up energy is giving you grey hairs," Draco countered, adding helpfully, "You know, I hear that for releasing tension, you can't beat shag -"

"Not. Another. Word."

"Hmph. Prude."

"Brat."

"Wanker."

"Jail-bait."

"WHAT?"

"Nothing," Harry said, with a grin that had Draco's heart thumping loudly. "Come on. Ollivander's awaits."

'''''''

Ollivander's is Currently Closed for a Holiday.

Will Return Monday, June 10.

"Bollocks," Draco said crossly, when he saw the dilapidated sign hanging on the door of Ollivander's shop. "And I was really looking forward to a new wand."

"We'll come back on the tenth," Harry said consolingly. "And until then, if you need to cast a spell, you can use mine."

"Really?" Draco said mischievously, edging just a little closer. "You'd let me touch your wand?"

"Of course," Harry said blithely, completely missing the warning smirk on Draco's face. "What's mine is yours."

Draco licked his lips. "Oh it is, is it? Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely."

"So I can touch your wand right now?"

Harry shrugged, and reached for his back pocket. "Sure, if you - not bloody likely."

Draco froze, his hand inches from Harry's groin. He slowly looked up at Harry, who was glaring down at him. He blinked overly-innocent eyes. "You said I could touch it," he said, making his voice as angelic as possible.

"Move the hand."

Before Draco could take that literally, Harry quickly added, "Away from my wand."

Making a face, Draco let his hand drop. He leaned against the wall of Ollivander's wand shop and sulked up at Harry. "Have I called you a cock-tease yet today, Potter?"

Harry snorted. "I believe you have." He took up a position next to Draco, making himself comfortable against the ancient brick wall. "Twice."

"Hmph. You earned it."

"Ouch," Harry said, not sounding hurt in the slightest. "A sixteen year old thinks I don't put out. However will I sleep at night?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You slept quite well last night, if I recall. And, in case it escaped your notice, woke up nearly molesting said sixteen year old."

"Hey!" Harry said defensively, pushing himself off the wall to face Draco. "I told you that was an accident!"

"Really?" Draco taunted. He pointed to a spot over Harry's shoulder. "Oh look, a fluffy orphan kitten with a hurt paw!"

"What?! Where?!" Harry barked, whirling around.

As soon as Harry's back was to him, Draco reached out and helped himself to a nice full handful of Harry Potter Arse.

Harry jumped a foot, yelping in surprise. He spun back around, his expression completely shocked.

Draco only blinked. "Oh, sorry," he simpered insincerely. "It was an accident."

''''''''

"You know, some days I can't decide whether I want to protect you, shag you, or put you over my knee."

"What's wrong with doing all three?" Draco asked cheerfully, as they headed back to the Leaky Cauldron and the entrance to Muggle London.

"Right," Harry said exasperatedly. "I still can't believe I fell for the orphan kitten line."

Draco patted his arm. "There, there. You can't help it. You're a Gryffindor. You're a sucker for the hurt and fluffy."

Harry shook his head. "But you get me every time! Sometimes it's a bunny, sometimes it's a puppy, sometimes it's a sodding ferret, and every single time I fall for it!"

"Really, Harry, it's very charming," Draco said persuasively. "Just because it makes you outrageously easy to manipulate, doesn't mean it's not sweet as…"

He trailed off, his eyes spotting an unwelcome presence walking up Diagon Alley in the opposite direction. "Speaking of dogs…"

"What?" Harry said, following Draco's glare. "Oh," he said in realization, stepping close to Draco protectively. "Her."

Pansy Parkinson was making her way through the crowd, hanging on tightly to the arm of a blond man who really did look remarkably like Draco. She was simpering and laughing at everything he said, and Draco was forcefully and unpleasantly reminded of his days at Hogwarts.

His gaze went from Pansy and her beau and traveled up to Harry. Harry's eyes were dark green behind his glasses, watching Pansy like a hawk. He had one arm out in front of Draco, as if to shield him from her, and Draco knew - he knew - that there was no getting to him without going through Potter.

He didn't think he'd ever felt so safe.

"Hey," he said soothingly, putting a soft hand on Harry's arm. "Come on. Let's go. Who cares about Pansy?"

Harry looked unconvinced. He hadn't taken his gaze off her, and Draco knew if he'd had fur it would have been standing all on end. "She tried to hurt you."

Draco gently but firmly pushed the arm in front of him, forcing Harry to lower it. "She tried. She didn't succeed - because I went back to you."

Draco's words seemed to affect Harry deeply. He relaxed, still watching Pansy as she passed them, but no longer tense. He turned to look at Draco. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I get a little over-protective sometimes."

Draco's lips curved into an affectionate smile. "I know," he said, watching as Pansy and her boytoy disappeared into the crowds. "You're like some kind of alpha lion or something."

Harry snorted, and gave Draco a little shove with his shoulder. "Come on. Let's go home."

Home. Draco's smile broadened. Home was with Harry now.

'''''''

The three days leading up to Draco's birthday were entirely uneventful. He and Harry ate, slept, bickered, teased, and comforted each other by turns. Draco continued to mercilessly torment Harry with offers of sex; Harry heroically refused to cave.

The night before his birthday, Harry actually fell asleep before Draco, out on the couch watching telly. Draco hadn't even noticed until he went to cheer for the Muggle Quidditch team Harry liked.

"Harry, Harry did you see that?! Man U kicked the Quaffle past the Keeper! Harry, look!"

Harry was oddly quiet.

"Harry?"

Draco stood up from the armchair, and moved to sit on the edge of the couch, where the other boy was lying on his side, his head on the armrest and his legs curled on the cushions. "Harry?"

The green eyes Draco adored were closed, and his chest was slowly rising and falling. His glasses were crooked where they'd bumped into the armrest, and he made no sounds, other than the softest puffs of deep, steady breaths.

"Oh," Draco said softly, stating the obvious. "You're asleep."

What to do, what to do, his subconscious said, eyeing the sleeping boy hungrily. Someone looks a little vulnerable right now. And if you were to…oh, say…take the opportunity to touch him, he's not in any condition to protest.

Draco pursued his lips. "I have got some morals, you know," he told himself tightly. "I might ride him during the day to shag me, but I'm not going to molest him in his sleep." He swallowed. "He would never have done that to me."

With a gentleness that still surprised him to possess, Draco shook Harry's shoulder. "Harry, love, wake up," he said softly, the endearment slipping off his tongue as naturally as breathing.

"Mmm?" was Harry's drowsy response, as his eyelashes fluttered.

"Come on, love." Draco swallowed down the lump of emotion suddenly in his throat. "Come to bed."

With a bit of effort, Draco managed to get Harry to stand and wrap a heavy arm around his shoulders. Staggering a bit under Harry's weight - at their current ages, he easily weighed five stone more than Draco - he somehow got them down the hall and into the bedroom, and finally got Harry down onto the bed.

"Cheers," Harry mumbled, as Draco slid his glasses from his face and set them on the nightstand. He spent another couple minutes untying trainers, unbuckling belts, and sliding denims off legs and jumpers off arms. Harry sleepily tried to help, but Draco only shushed him, wanting to do this for Harry, wanting to give back a little of the care and comfort that had been showered on him since his arrival.

Finally, he had Harry stripped to his shorts and tucked under the covers, apparently sleeping deeply again. Draco felt very virtuous as he changed into his own pajamas and crawled into bed beside Harry. After all, he hadn't taken advantage of Harry, not even once.

Except when you took off his denims and groped his arse a bit.

Draco winced. "Nobody's perfect," he said sullenly out loud.

"You are."

Draco's head snapped to the side to find Harry watching him through heavy lidded eyes. "What?"

"You're perfect," Harry clarified thickly, looking sleepy and sweet and utterly besotted. "At any age."

The lump was back in Draco's throat. "Thank you," he whispered, rolling on his side to face Harry. They were less than a foot apart.

"My perfect Draco." Harry eyes were so soft. "Even if you did grope my arse."

Draco felt his cheeks grow hot. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"Don' be." Harry yawned. "I'm your boyfriend. You can grope me if you want to."

Draco laughed. "You must be knackered, giving a teenager free reign to grope you."

"Not any teenager," Harry mumbled. "Only you."

Draco smiled softly. "Only me?"

"Only you," Harry agreed. He snuggled back down into the pillow. "Thanks for putting me to bed."

Draco reached out, and began to run a hand through Harry's hair, which felt soft and thick and cool against his fingers. "Did it remind you of when you were little?"

Harry shook his head. "No," he mumbled.

"No?"

"No." Harry seemed to be relaxing even further under Draco's touch. "No one put me to bed when I was little."

Draco stilled, his hand still in Harry's hair. "What?"

Harry nudged his hand with his head, and Draco quickly resumed his petting motions. "Harry," he said quietly, "Are you telling me that no one ever put you to bed as a child?"

"Durselys threw me in my cupboard." Harry sounded like he was almost back asleep. "Does that count?"

Draco stared. "The who? Did what?"

"Muggle relatives," Harry offered in explanation. "Cupboard was my room. Don't stop?"

Draco wouldn't have stopped for anything. His hand kept moving of its own volition, even as his mind tried to process what he'd just heard. "Your Muggle family kept you in a cupboard? How? When?"

"'fore Hogwarts." Harry's eyes had completely closed, and his breaths were coming in deep, slow pulls again.

Before Hogwarts. Draco took a deep breath, forcing down the outrage and protective instincts bubbling up inside him. He desperately wanted to know more about these Muggles, but he couldn't bring himself to wake Harry up to talk about something that was certainly going to be unpleasant. Not when Harry had trustingly been soothed back to sleep by his own hands.

No, Draco would not bother Harry about that tonight. He would wait, and bide his time, and ask about Muggles and cupboards another day.

But he wouldn't forget.

He lay quietly for a while, propped up on one arm, still stroking Harry's hair, and letting the soft sounds of the other boy's breathing calm him. They worked better than any charm, and soon his own eyelids and limbs felt heavy.

Finally, he snuggled down under the covers, moving even closer to Harry. Carefully, so as not to wake his bedmate, he lifted his arm and put it around Harry's waist. Harry's body was comfortingly solid, and warm even through his t-shirt, and the last of Draco's anger temporarily fled his body as he faced his sleeping boyfriend, close enough that he could feel those warm breath against his skin.

As he lay there, with Harry's sleeping form held close, he thought briefly of the contrast of this life with Harry to the life he had lived in his own time. The arm around Harry involuntarily tightened possessively. The difference was so great it was unquantifiable, and it was all due to Harry.

He knew with an absolute certainty that he had to have Harry forever. Something as good and wonderful as this was not to be squandered, or taken lightly. By some bizarre twist of Fate, he'd gotten his hands on this man, and by Merlin, he was going to do everything in his power to keep him, to protect him, to keep him safe and above all, to make him happy.

He tilted his head forward and briefly pressed his lips to Harry's forehead, on the soft skin between the short, messy locks of hair. Harry smelled of cologne and rain, of summer days, of fucking righteousness and good and nobility.

Of love.

"It's past midnight, Harry," he whispered, as he broke the kiss. He closed his own eyes and rested his forehead against Hary's, finally surrendering to sleep. "Any way you want to look at it, I'm seventeen now. And tomorrow, you're going to have to deal with it."

''''''''