Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

This fic was written for the 2015 hd Family Fest based on a prompt submitted by dragon2stars. Based on the prompt, there is necessarily some heaviness to this fic, but while I did bear in mind the need to deal with the grief both Harry and especially Draco have experienced, I tried to keep the overall theme of the fic one of healing and rebuilding. Draco will talk about the loss of his son, but it is not the dominant thread of the fic.

I would like to thank my awesome betas, eidheann_writes and kohaku_imaki55, for all their help and, as always, also thank you to all the lovely Brits at hp_britglish for helping this American to British her writing up a bit. Thanks also, of course to dragon2stars, I so glad you're happy with how the story came out!

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The next afternoon, Harry waited for Ron and Hermione at their usual pub in the same booth he and Draco had shared. He thought back to that day. Hard to believe though it was, it hadn't been that long ago. In that short span of time, so much had changed.

After taking his wedding ring off last night, Harry had made another decision.

He saw his best friends the moment they entered the back room. From the looks on their faces, he knew they understood something was up. While it was hardly unusual for one of the three to owl the others to meet up for lunch, to do so on a day they were already having dinner together was. Harry took a drink of his tea, wishing it was something a little stronger. He could've used a little Dutch courage for this conversation. He drew his wand and cast the Muffliato spell so they could talk without worrying about being eavesdropped on.

Hermione slid into the booth first, followed by Ron. Neither said anything, but Harry noticed their eyes went straight to his left hand.

It was Ron who spoke first. "We had a feeling it was time," he said, gesturing to Harry's missing ring. "The last couple times we've seen you, you've been different. You've met someone, haven't you?"

Swallowing hard, Harry asked, "Would it be okay if I said yes?"

Ron leaned back heavily in his seat. "Bloody hell, Harry, of course it would be."

"We want you to be happy, Harry," Hermione said earnestly. "The whole family does."

"What if—what if you didn't like the person?"

Both Ron and Hermione agreed. "If you like her, that's enough for us."

"What if—what if—what if the person wasn't . . ." Harry's voice trailed off into a garbled whisper, making the last two words of his sentence inaudible. He dropped his head and buried his hand in the hair at the back of his head. He couldn't believe how hard this was, but that he was willing to do it regardless helped answer more of the questions he'd asked himself last night.

There was a long moment of silence before Hermione hesitantly asked, "Wasn't what, Harry?"

"A she," he answered, his eyes locked on the grain of the wood in the table.

Five . . . ten . . . fifteen . . . twenty, Harry counted the seconds as the silence dragged on.

"But—you were married to Ginny," Ron said. He sounded like he'd been punched in the stomach, but his words were laced with confusion rather than anger.

"And I loved her with everything in me."

"You just like men, too?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah."

"Did Gin know?" Ron asked.

"Yeah. She knew." Harry couldn't help but grin remembering the way Ginny's eyes had sparkled with excitement as she'd told him to get on his hands and knees.

What would it be like to get on his hands and knees for Draco? Harry almost groaned just thinking about it.

The conversation paused as a waitress came up to take their orders, and they ended the Muffliato spell.

Harry recast the spell once they woman had gone.

"I don't want to know what just made you smile like that, Harry," Ron said in a very emphatic tone once they were alone again. "Seriously. I don't."

Harry agreed. "No, you don't."

"Why didn't you tell us before? Did you think we'd care?" Hermione asked.

"At Hogwarts, I just wanted to be normal."

"There's nothing not normal—"

"I know that. I didn't mean it that way. I just," Harry shook his head, "it was just so much easier. I just wanted to be the same as everyone else in the one way I could. And I never pretended. I mean, in fourth and fifth year, I didn't pretend to like Cho, I really did. And from sixth year on, well, it didn't matter, did it? I loved Gin."

"So," Ron said as if trying to drive the remembrance of the smile he did not want to know the cause of from his mind. "You like someone, and it's a bloke. Well, okay, then. It's a surprise, but I don't see that it matters. You're my best mate, and if this man makes you happy, that's enough for me. I can't say it won't take getting used to, because it will, but seeing you with anyone other than Ginny would take getting used to."

Hermione studied him. "There's more though, isn't there?" she asked. "You asked what if we didn't like the person." Just from the look that crossed her face, Harry knew she knew who he meant. "Oh, Harry," she said with a sigh.

"What? Who?" Ron asked. Understanding dawned up him. "Oh, hell. It's Malfoy, innit? Please tell me it isn't Malfoy."

Harry fidgeted. "He's not like he used to be."

Ron floundered, obviously grasping at straws. "What about that Wilkinson bloke from the Improper Use of Magic Office? He—you know—likes men."

"I like Draco." Oh. Having said it out loud, Harry felt a bit giddy. "He's got a good laugh."

"His laugh," Hermione scoffed. "That's what attracted you? "

Ron looked slightly ill, and Harry bit back a smile he didn't think his best friend would appreciate.

Hermione spoke cautiously, asking, "Has he, I mean, do you think he, you know, feels the same? He did have a child. Has he given you any reason to think he might be attracted to men too?"

"He kissed me."

"HE WHAT!" both Ron and Hermione shouted.

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At the bar, the publican collected the empty glasses of a couple who had just left. For probably the hundredth time, the man, a Muggle called Ian Fletcher, thought to himself what an odd lot these wizards were as a whole. The shock of his life it'd been when his Lizzy and her young man sat him and his wife down and told them there was an entire community of real witches and wizards living hidden right under their noses. Sill, Lizzy's Alistair was alright—not weird nor nothin'. Not like the gent sittin' at the bar and talking to hisself. Wearing sommat like a smock he was, and come in through the main entrance, too. The entrance for people like Ian—Muggles. Had to tell his regulars the man must've been an artist or an actor in a play or sommat to be wearin' a smock like that. Trousers and shirt. If he'd said it once he'd said it a thousand times. Simple trousers, simple shirt. Why so many of these wizard folks had to go and complicate things when they tried to blend in with Muggles like himself, he did not know. Made themselves look ridiculous. Now, his Lizzy's Alistair. Ian'd known the boy for three years before the kids had decided to get married. Never once had the boy worn some ridiculous smock-like thing.

"Get ya' anthin' else, mate?" Ian asked smock-wearin' gent.

"No, thanks. I'm good." The man raised a nearly empty glass. Draining the last of his drink, the man motioned with a jerk of his head towards three of Ian's regulars sitting in one of the back booths. "Don't reckon you know who those three are. Pretty famous in our world. Come in here pretty often, I hear." He set the empty glass down on the bar. "Wonder what they're talking about so intently. There are people in our world would pay a handsome sum to find out."

Ian made a show of wiping the bar in front of the man before leaning forward, elbows on the bar. His Lizzy's Alistair had told him plenty about his world's recent history, and Ian knew exactly who those three were.

"As I understand it," he said to the man in the smock, "both our lots owe our lives to those three. I reckon they've earned the right to talk about any damned thing they please, and you'll not be pokin' your nose in their business here."

Standing up, the man in the smock dropped a couple coins and a business card on the bar with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "In case you change your mind," he said.

Ian picked the card up and tore it in half before tossing it in the bin. He watched the man exit through a door that opened onto an alley that did not run behind the pub. Odd thing, magic. Friends of his Lizzy's Alistair had installed the door.

As Ian collected the dirty glass and coins off the bar, he noticed a small beetle scurrying along almost invisibly, so well did it blend in with the dark colour of the wood. He crushed it under the glass and wiped the bar down.

Turning to put the coins in the till, Ian glanced towards the three seated in the back booth. They did seem particularly deep in conversation. He closed the till and took the glass to be washed. Whatever those three were talking about, no one'd be hearin' about it from him.

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"What about the kids? How is he with the kids?" Hermione asked.

"If he wasn't good with the kids, or if they didn't like him, we wouldn't be having this

conversation," Harry answered. "I've invited him to dinner tonight."

"You're serious about this, then?" Ron asked.

"I know it's sudden, but yeah, I think I am. You'll still come?"

"Of course we'll still come."

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.oOo.

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"This one?" Draco asked, holding up simple black robes. "Or this?" He tossed the black on the back of a chair and held up a second set in dark charcoal grey.

"They're nearly identical, darling," his mother said.

"That is not helpful."

"I'm sorry," she said, setting her book down. "Let me see them again."

Draco held up both robes.

"Wear the grey," she said decisively.

Draco set the grey robe down and looked at the black one. "What's wrong with the black?"

"Wear the black if you prefer."

"What's wrong with the grey?" he asked, setting the black robes down and picking up the grey.

"Draco," his mother said in a tone she had used on him as a child when his behaviour had become tiresome. "What's this all about? You come in all in a dither and fretting about which of two nearly identical robes to wear, why, if I didn't know better I'd—" Narcissa sagged in her seat. "Oh, Draco, please tell me you've not developed feelings for Potter."

Draco sat down. "You say that as if it would be a bad thing." He'd been feeling as high as a kite a moment ago, but now the wind had gone from beneath him and he had fallen hard back down to the Earth.

"Darling, he was married to a woman."

When Draco did not respond, his mother asked, "Has he given you any reason to believe he might welcome your feelings?"

He said he wasn't opposed to being kissed by a man, Draco wanted to say but did not.

"I don't know. Maybe." Draco remembered when he and Harry had stood talking together in front of the Floo. He was sure Harry had looked at his mouth—not once, but twice. " I think so." Or had Draco only imagined it? Had it had been nothing but discomfort at being somewhere that could only hold terrible associations for him? Had his surprise at Harry's admission made him read more into his restlessness than it had been? "Maybe not. I just don't know."

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Harry looked around his living room and through the archway into the dining room. All was in order. The table was set. The sauce smelled wonderful. The children were dressed and ready. He had fought with his hair and managed to tame it into something that, while still a mess, looked like it was that way deliberately.

All that was missing were his guests.

In some ways, Harry felt the same as he had when he was a teenager. There was a nervous excitement buzzing through him from head to foot. He'd replayed the moment Draco had kissed him in his mind a hundred times, except in his mind, they were in private, and rather than being too surprised to react, he slipped his arms around Draco's waist and pulled him closer; he parted his lips and let his tongue trace the shape of other man's mouth.

What would Draco have done?

What would Draco do if Harry acted on the kiss he'd been fantasising about the moment he stepped out of the Floo? Would he respond? Or would he step back, embarrassed and awkward, offering apologies for having given Harry the wrong idea? Or would he shove Harry away, shouting the place down, "What the hell do you think you're doing!"

His children's laughter ringing out brought Harry back to reality. Finding out would have to wait. They would not be in public, but they would not be alone.

Harry sat down. Before he could act on his feelings, he needed to make absolutely certain Draco was—to paraphrase Draco's own words—accustomed to kissing men.

The Floo lit up bright green, and Harry was back on his feet.

"Draco," he said, fighting to restrain his eagerness as the other man stepped from the flames.

"I brought wine," Draco said as he held the bottle up. "Am I early?" he asked.

"You're fine. Ron and Hermione are always a little late. Ron blames the kids, but I've lived with him. It's him."

The kids ran up to Draco, excited to see him.

"Daddy said you did something really important," Al said proudly.

"Did he?"

"Alright, you three. Go play and leave Daddy talk to Draco."

Once alone, Harry indicated the bottle in Draco's hand. "I'll get us some glasses."

In the kitchen, Harry fiddled with the cork, but he was all thumbs. He'd always been pants at opening a bottle of wine, and his nerves did not help. "Here," he said, passing the bottle back to Draco. "Why don't you do this?"

Draco opened the wine, and Harry handed him two glasses.

"I notice you took your ring off," Draco commented as he handed Harry a glass of wine.

"Er, yeah. Last night."

Returning to the living room, Harry and Draco watched the children play—Lily colouring with crayons, Al building with his bricks, and James playing with a set of Quidditch figures in Chudley Cannons orange robes.

"Your children really are lovely," Draco said. "You're very lucky."

"Do you—I'm sorry if I'm intruding, it's just seeing you with them these past weeks, do you ever think about having more children someday, if you found the right woman?"

Draco swirled the wine in his glass before answering. "I'd have to find the right man. I wouldn't want to go it alone again."

"Alone?"

"You're surprised. Understandable. Male pregnancy is very rare."

WHAT! Male what! Shocked, Harry drank half his glass in one go.

"Henri was a lot of things—brilliant in bed among them—but interested in being a father, he was not. To be fair, he was younger than I was. He was only twenty-one and still in university. And he was a Muggle to boot, so—" Harry had raised the glass to his lips again, but Draco took it from him and set it down. "What say we slow it down a bit, yeah? It may not be Firewhisky, but it's not grape juice either."

Harry struggled to comprehend what Draco had told him. "Male—when you say male . . . pregnancy. . . ."

"I mean, I carried Scorpius," Draco said with a note of self-consciousness creeping into his voice.

"Carried, meaning. . . ."

"Meaning I conceived, carried and gave birth to him."

"But—I—You—Men don't. . . ."

Draco set his glass down. He rubbed his thighs and looked anywhere but at Harry. Standing up, he said defensively, "If you are so appalled—"

"No!" Harry stood as well. "No. Please, don't leave. I'm not . . . I'm sorry if I . . . I'm just. . . ."

"Surprised," Draco said.

"Rather an understatement," Harry said, his voice hoarse from shock. "I've lived in the Wizarding world for twenty years, and it still shocks the shit out of me sometimes."

"Being told I was pregnant rather shocked the shit out of me as well. I knew it was possible, but one never thinks it'll happen to him."

"But—how is it possible? I mean—is it a spell, or is there a potion, or. . . ." After so much of his life spent in the Wizarding world, Harry had thought he'd seen everything, but this—male pregnancy—took the cake.

"It's hereditary." Draco explained what little was known about the origin of male pregnancy, and Harry tried to wrap his head around it.

"So, er, Henri," Harry said. He was reeling and using every bit of self-control he possessed to appear calm. He'd got the information he wanted—and then some. Male pregnancy! Holy fucking shit! "You said before your relationship was not serious."

"No. It wasn't. I never," Draco paused before continuing, self-reproach weighing heavily in his words, "I never told him about Scorpius. I don't know if I did the right thing or not. Once or twice when we were out together somewhere and saw a pregnant woman, he'd make offhand comments about how glad he was he'd not have to worry about any unwanted surprises popping up. He was a Muggle. I'd never even told him I was a wizard. Springing it all on him, knowing how he felt, it seemed unfair. But he was Scorpius' other father, keeping it from him wasn't fair either."

Harry longed to pull Draco into his arms and comfort him. Thinking of how much Draco had endured thousands of miles from those he loved, Harry ached for him. "For what it's worth, I understand why you didn't. You were in such a difficult position, I don't think there was a wrong or a right answer."

"Thank you. It means a lot."

Draco looked at him, and Harry couldn't look away. He was suddenly and absolutely sure they were about to kiss. He knew it as certainly as he knew his name. His entire body thrummed with anticipation. His fingers twitched, wanting to bury themselves in Draco's hair, tangle themselves in the white gold strands.

Harry stood. Draco was sat not more than three steps from him, and when he looked up, his lips parting as Harry took a step towards him, Harry knew he was as aware of the inevitability of what was about to happen as Harry was.

With a roar like a lion waking from sleep, green flames shot six feet tall in the Floo, and Ron stepped into the room, carrying his younger child, Hugo, in his arms.

"Sorry we're late, Harry. Rosie gave us a bit of bother," Ron said, oblivious to what he'd interrupted.

"Hugo!" Harry's children cried with so much enthusiasm, one would have thought they'd not seen each other in ages.

The flames burst to life once again, and Hermione joined them with Rose.

The frustration Harry felt at having been so close was palpable and, he suspected, evident on his face because when Ron looked at him again, his expression changed from one of forced affability to suspicion. "What?" he asked.

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.oOo.

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After dinner, the children lay scattered across the floor, watching a movie on the Muggle telly. Ron and Draco were sat opposite each other across a small game table upon which sat the chess set Ron had brought. They'd been at it for an hour.

Harry and Hermione sat together on the sofa, talking, although Harry had to admit, he wasn't paying as close attention to what his friend was saying as he should. Draco was every bit as competitive at chess as he was at Quidditch, and the look of intense concentration on his face held Harry spell-bound.

"So," Hermione said finally. "Are you going to tell me what we interrupted earlier, or are we going to sit here with me making small talk and you not listening?"

"Was it that obvious?" Harry asked.

"Pretty much." With a knowing glint in her eyes, she whispered, "I take it things have progressed."

Harry motioned towards the kitchen, and Hermione followed him there.

"Well?" she asked. "He is definitely attracted to men as well as women?"

"Men, oh, yeah. Women, I've no idea. Hermione," Harry asked in a voice so low he had to lean towards Hermione for her to hear him, "have you ever heard of men, well, er, getting pregnant?"

Hermione's eyes bulged. "You don't mean—"

Harry nodded his head vigorously. "He said he carried the baby."

It was rare that Harry had seen Hermione at a loss for words. Several long moments passed before she gasped in a breathless voice, "That's so rare! I've read about it, but to actually witness it . . ." Hermione's eyes glossed over.

"He's not a science exhibit, Hermione." Harry relayed what Draco had told him. "Is it safe, do you know? Is it higher risk than with women? Is it something I need to worry about, if, well, you know." Harry felt his face heat up.

"It's something I think you need to talk to him about." She winked. "If, well, you know."

"If he knows what?" Ron asked joining them.

Hermione wriggled her eyebrows at her husband. "You know."

Ron blanched.

Chuckling at the look on her husband's face, Hermione asked, "Game over?"

"Stalemate. He's good," Ron admitted. "He seems alright. The kids do seem to like him. He said to tell you goodnight and thanks."
"What? Is he—he's not gone already?" Harry asked, his stomach plummeting. Had Draco left already, without saying anything to him? Harry had hoped he'd stay for a while, for the night, if he was being honest. Did he suspect Harry had told Hermione what he had told Harry? Was he upset? He hadn't said he was telling Harry in confidence, but had he assumed it was understood?

"Is anything wrong? He said he had to get back to the manor. I did think it was a bit odd, but he did say he'd see you tomorrow."
"He did?"

"Yeah, I reckoned you'd made plans or somethin'."

Harry shook his head. "We hadn't."

"Er, Harry? I think he just did," Hermione said with the air of one mentally rolling her eyes and thinking, Men.

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Draco was at his desk in his potions lab, pages of calculations on various measurements of aconite leaves in relation to volume of water and steeping times blurring in front of his eyes. He hoped Weasley had passed his message on to Harry last night. But what if he hadn't? Or what if he had, but Harry hadn't understood that Draco wanted to see him today? Gryffindors were not known for their skill at reading between the lines. Should he have been more explicit? Should he have come right out and said, "Please tell your best friend and sister's widower that I hope to see him tomorrow to pick up what your ill-timed arrival interrupted." Or perhaps, Draco admitted to himself, it was a fortuitous interruption. The things he wanted to do to Harry were not to be done with an audience of three young children nearby. Draco rubbed the back of his neck. The way Harry had looked at him last night right before the Weasleys had arrived, well, it was a good thing he'd been sitting down and wearing robes. It was a wonder what robes could conceal.

It surprised him just how quickly he had fallen hard for Harry. All it had taken was the realisation that such feelings might be returned for them to take root inside him. He was normally much more guarded. Perhaps he'd let his guard down because, unlike any other man he'd ever been involved with, he had nothing to hide from Harry. He knew everything Draco did during the war, both what he'd done willingly and what he'd done because the price for not doing so was too high to contemplate.

Draco smiled. It amused him to no end that the catalyst for the feelings that had developed, he hoped mutually, had been his impetuous kiss at the play park after Harry's mention of a bezoar had set him on the right track. He laughed out loud. It had been a comment of Severus Snape's written in his old textbook that had made Harry mention the bezoar in the first place. So, one could say any relationship that grew between them was all thanks to Professor Snape. The man was rolling in his grave, Draco was sure.

His grin faded away as a worrisome thought nagged at him: would Harry be angry he'd left as he had last night? Draco's Slytherin perspective saw his leaving so abruptly as a tactical retreat. If he had seen Harry again, he'd not been sure he would have left before morning, not if he'd had his way, and he rather feared Harry might come to regret a sleepover with his children in the house. But Harry did not have a Slytherin's view of things. Would he have seen Draco's leaving without seeing his host as running away? Would Harry, who valued bravery so highly, see it as cowardice?

Draco dropped his head into his hands. There was nothing else for it. He would just have to write to Harry and explain? He had to remember he was dealing with a Gryffindor. He would have to be direct.

Draco searched through his desk drawers, but he did not have a fresh sheet of parchment at hand. He rose and crossed his lab to his store cupboard.

As he returned to his desk, there was a knock at his door and Harry's voice called his name.

Draco's pulse sped up, and the air left his lungs. "Come in," he responded.

"Er, hi. Your mother led me to your lab. I hope you don't mind," Harry said bashfully as he closed the door behind him. "Are you busy?"

His desk littered with figures and computations for replacing the aconite flowers with the detoxified aconite leaf tea, Draco answered, "No. Not at all."

"Good. I thought, well, I thought maybe we could do something today. If you wanted to."

Merlin, did Draco want to.

"But I wouldn't want to interrupt your work," Harry added.

"You're not. I was just about to call it a day," Draco lied, rubbing the back of his neck. "Where are the children?"

"Their grandparents."

"Oh."

"Does your neck hurt?" Harry asked. He gestured to the back of Draco's neck with his hand. "Only, I noticed you rub it a lot."

"Occupational hazard of positions brewing, always having your head bent over a cauldron or preparing ingredients or what have you."

"Well, you're in luck," Harry said with a smile. "I happen to give excellent neck rubs. Turn around."

Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, Draco turned around. Harry was going to rub his neck. Oh, Merlin. One would think he was some blushing virgin to be so excited at the thought of a mere neck rub.

"Just relax," Harry said as his fingers started to slide over Draco's skin.

Draco dropped his head and moaned. Harry hadn't lied—he was good at this. However, even as Harry's fingers worked magic and the tension in his neck muscles lessened, relaxed was the last word Draco would've used to describe how he felt. He'd never felt so charged with energy, so aware of another man's hands on him. Probably because it had never before been Harry's hands on him.

Harry's thumbs moved in circles at the nape of Draco's neck; his fingertips kneaded right at the curve between his neck and his shoulder. "Like that?" Harry asked, his voice sounding very near. Even with his back to him, Draco knew Harry was standing so close to him that if he just leaned back even the slightest bit, they'd be touching.

"Fuck, yes," Draco answered. He knew how Harry was making him feel was loud and clear in his voice and in those two words, and he made no effort to hide it. He wanted Harry to know exactly what he was doing to him, and exactly how much he liked it.

"So, there was something I wanted to ask you about. Something I need your opinion on," Harry said. Draco swore he felt Harry's breath on his skin as he spoke.

"Oh, yes?"

"Yes, well, you remember what we talked about the other day? About finding the right person?"

"Yes."

"Well, you see, I think I may've. It came on me out of nowhere very unexpectedly. But I'm rusty. It's been a long time since I've had to approach someone I had feelings for. And, well, this someone is a man. That's something I believe you have some experience with, yes?"

"Some, yes."

"How's this?" Harry asked as his hands slid down Draco's spine to the small of his back, his knuckles pressing firmly into Draco's muscles.

"S'brilliant," Draco slurred.

Harry laughed. He must've moved even closer, because that time there could be no mistake that Draco had felt the warmth of his breath on the back of his neck.

"I have to be careful, though," Harry said. "There are the children to consider. I have to think about how my being in a relationship with someone will affect them."

"Does this man get on with the children?" Draco asked, already knowing the answer but appreciating why Harry had broached the subject.

"Wonderfully. But it's early days, and that's with us as friends. Entering into a relationship changes everything. What if he and they develop a bond, and then our relationship doesn't work out? I will not have people coming in and out of their lives."

"Understandable. If a man is going to enter into a relationship with a single parent, he should do so realising there are the feelings and needs of more than just two people involved."

"I'm glad you agree."

"For example," Draco offered. He licked his lips. "He would have to appreciate that no matter how much he might like to stay the night, when the children were present it would be better to leave before things could get carried away."

Harry's hands paused. "Very true," he said. When his hands moved again, his fingers crawled like spiders up Draco's back to his shoulders; his nails raked back down to his waist. "And I've plenty of in-laws and friends with children to arrange for sleepovers with, so we could have the house to ourselves for the night easily enough with a little planning."

Draco groaned.

"But there's also the unavoidable attention being with me would land him with," Harry said. "We could keep it quiet for as long as possible, but eventually it will come out. Rita Skeeter and all her kind will go wild. There will be whispers behind his back wherever he goes, and I'm afraid probably a good deal of hate mail. I would want him to go into it with his eyes open."

"I know what that's like."

"Yes, I'm sure you do."

"Hate mail makes good kindling for starting fires the Muggle way," Draco observed.

Harry laughed. "Yes, but sometimes it contains more than vitriolic words."

"Vitriolic? Ten points to Gryffindor for vocabulary."

Harry pinched him on the side.

"Oh, and you're violent, too. Mustn't forget to make him aware of that."

"I'm sure he knows. So, what do you think? How should I go about making him aware of how I feel? Assuming he's aware of the difficulties he'll face and is willing to face them. How would you like a man to profess his feelings for you?"

"What was it you said to me the other night? Nothing worth doing is easy? Do something unmistakable. Something that would leave no room for doubt. Something to be remembered."

"Hm. I could set off fireworks over Diagon Alley, spelling it out in the sky."

"Something private."

"Unmistakable. Memorable. Private. How about this, then?" Harry closed what little distance there was between them and slid his hands around Draco, pressing them flat against his abdomen and chest. His mouth pressed against the back of Draco's neck, lips and tongue moving over his skin.

Draco's head spun. His knees buckled, and Harry's arms tightened protectively around him. Where it not for that, he'd have collapsed to the ground, he was sure of it. If this was what just being kissed by Harry did to him, what would sex between them be?

"How's that?" Harry whispered against the back of his ear.

In answer, Draco twisted, stretching to capture Harry's mouth with his own. The kiss was sloppy and loud, and it was an awkward, uncomfortable position to kiss someone in, especially given the difference in their heights. Regardless, it was the best kiss of Draco's life.

Harry's hands covered every inch of Draco's stomach and chest. They moved to the fastenings on his robes, opening them blindly one by one. Under his robes, they pulled at the thin cotton shirt Draco wore, pulling it free from his trousers and sliding it up his chest and finding the skin beneath. Harry's touch was more than just skin on skin; it went bone deep.

"Want you," Harry whispered into their kiss.

Draco turned and grabbed him, shoving him roughly backwards. They crashed into a wall of shelves containing countless bottles of potions ingredients, some rocking where they stood, others tipping over.

"Potions lab might not be the best place for this," Harry gasped as Draco's mouth closed over his neck, biting then soothing the reddened skin with his tongue.

He buried one hand in Harry's hair, pulling it to angle his head and bring their mouths together. The other hand pushed Harry's jumper up his chest. "They're all charmed not to break or spill," Draco said as he pinched one of Harry's nipples hard.

Harry groaned. "Now who's violent?"

Draco tugged and pulled at Harry's jumper, yanking it over his head. He dragged his nails over Harry's bare chest hard enough to leave angry red lines behind. "We can do it slow and gentle next time." He sucked at Harry's shoulder, marking him. His hand slid down Harry's torso and cupped him through his jeans.

"Fuck, oh, fuck," Harry said, breathlessly. "You've a bedroom somewhere in this place?"

It had been so long since Draco had been with anyone, and he'd never been with anyone he wanted as badly as he wanted Harry. The idea of waiting to be inside this man a second longer than was absolutely necessary was painful. "Much too far. Here and now." He slipped open the button of Harry's jeans and lowered the zip. A stone floor might be far from ideal, but it was going to have to do.

Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and cast a number of spells on the floor.

Draco knelt, the stone beneath his knees as soft as a pile of feather pillows, and he pressed open-mouthed kisses along Harry's stomach as he fondled him through his open jeans.

"Fuck, please, Draco," Harry moaned. His fingers tangled in Draco's hair, tugging on it hard enough to be painful but nowhere near too much so.

"Oh, I fully intend to fuck you, but things work a bit differently with men than what you're used to." His hands moved around to Harry's arse and his mouth took their place, closing over the bulge in his boxers.

Harry cried out his name, and the need in his voice threatened to break what restraint Draco had tried to hold on to. This was Harry's first time with a man; Draco needed to remember that, to be careful and make sure Harry was ready.

"I need to prepare you for me first," Draco explained.

Harry laughed. Indulgently, he said, "I have done this before."

A small spike of disappointment stabbed at Draco at not being Harry's first male lover. Foolish of him, he knew, especially with as many lovers as he himself had had.

Harry knelt down and pushed Draco onto his back. He crawled over him, his weight supported on one hand while the other roamed over every inch of Draco he could reach. "You are only the second person I've ever been with," he whispered. "And you know who the first was."

"Transfigurations during sex? How risqué."

"Nothing so complicated. They do make sex toys, you know. But," Harry said, his hand lingering over Draco's trousers, teasing him, "there is one thing I've never done before that I really want to."

Without another word, he opened Draco's trousers and palmed him through his pants before pushing them down and closing his lips over the tip of Draco's penis.

Stars burst inside Draco's head. He couldn't take his eyes away from Harry. There was something to be said for the way Gryffindors just charged right into things. For someone who had never given a man a blowjob before, Harry was doing a very fine job. Every swipe of his tongue, every time he swallowed Draco as deep as he could, every time he let Draco slip free from his mouth to nuzzle his face against him and trail his lips from root to tip, Draco thought he might come from the waves of pleasure Harry was creating in him.

"Stop, stop," Draco said, breathless and gasping.

Harry looked at him with worry etched around his eyes. Draco reversed their positions, pushing Harry onto his back and crawling over him just as Harry had done a moment ago. "I can't fuck you if you make me come with your mouth."

"It was okay then?" Harry asked.

"That was far from being just okay," Draco said as he ran his thumb over Harry's lips.

A triumphant gleam in his eyes, Harry kissed his thumb before running his tongue over it. Draco slipped his thumb into Harry's mouth, and Harry sucked on it as he had on Draco's cock, this time with the addition of his teeth.

"You have such a beautiful mouth," Draco said before grabbing Harry by the hair and kissing him deeply.

As they kissed, their hands worked furiously to remove the last of their clothes. Shoes and socks were kicked off, jeans, trousers, and pants were discarded.

Draco broke their kiss, pushing himself up on one hand. He was out of breath and his pulse was racing and he knew Harry was exactly the same. "I want to look at you," he said when his breath had returned enough, his eyes devouring the sight of Harry's body beneath his.

"My turn," he said. His mouth travelled down Harry's body before swallowing him whole.

Harry made the most maddening sounds; he swore, he groaned and gasped, his breathing was shallow and rough. Draco relished in every last utterance, knowing he was the one causing Harry to react like that.

"I'm close—Draco, stop, stop."

Draco moved up Harry's body, trailing kisses from his hip to his jaw before kissing him slow and deep.

"I don't want to come until you're inside me," Harry said breathing heavily between kisses.

Needing his wand, Draco reached for his robes. Once he'd retrieved it, he summoned a phial of liquid and transfigured his shirt into a large pillow, which he slipped under Harry.

"Lie back and relax," Draco said. He ran his hand over Harry's body, watching his chest rise and fall and savouring the sight. "Spread your legs apart a bit."

Opening the phial, Draco explained, "This is a very mild muscle relaxant. Just enough to make this a little more comfortable and a little faster." He poured a generous amount of the liquid onto his finger. "Ready?"

Harry exhaled and nodded his head.

Slowly, Draco slid a finger inside him.

His eyes falling shut, Harry groaned loudly. He wrapped his hand around himself and pumped himself in time with Draco's finger. When Draco added a second finger, Harry shuddered.

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

His body was trembling with his need to bury himself inside Harry, and he was so hard it hurt, but Draco forced himself to be patient. He needed to be sure Harry was ready for him.

"Okay—okay. I'm ready, please, Merlin, Draco, just do it before you kill me," Harry stammered between clenched teeth.

Eyes locked on one another, Draco pushed inside Harry, shaking from the effort of retraining himself and moving slowly when all he wanted was to pound into Harry as hard and fast as he could. Starting slowly, he gradually increased his pace. Harry pushed himself up on one hand a reached for Draco with the other. "Come here," he said, his eyes heavily lidded and his voice strained.

Draco leaned forward, and Harry pulled him closer. They kissed as they fucked, each supporting himself with one hand while the other slid over their lover's body. Draco's took Harry in his hand and stroked him in time with his thrusts. He was so close; he wouldn't last much longer. "Come for me," he breathed against Harry's lips.

Almost as soon as Draco spoke the words, Harry's head dropped back and Draco felt him tighten around him a second before he came, his body jerking as he shouted Draco's name. Breathing heavily, Harry lifted his head and pressed a kiss to Draco's shoulder then lowered himself to the ground. The sight of Harry so completely undone beneath him had Draco's own orgasm crashing over him like a tidal wave. Feeling boneless after his release, Draco's arm gave out, unable to support his weight any longer, and he collapsed on top Harry, who wrapped his arm around him trailed his fingers up and down Draco's spine.

Sated, they lay on the floor side by side, legs twisted together, hands roaming over the other's body, talking in hushed tones in between lazy kisses. As their bodies cooled, they searched for a wand to summon a blanket for themselves to snuggle under. Draco traced the lines of Harry's face with his fingertip. He couldn't remember a time in his life when he was as perfectly sanguine as he was at that moment. He knew there were those in their world who would stop at nothing to separate him from their hero, but he'd found a second chance at happiness, and he'd be damned if he'd let anyone take it from him.

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Well, there you go! Thanks for reading. I hope you liked it. Drop me a review and tell me what you thought!