The Comfort of Old Enemies

Betas: LBaum, Temprometo, Mini Mouse and Indie.
Pairing: Harry/Draco, implied Harry/Ginny, Draco/others.
Length: 6830 Words.
Notes: DH canon compliant. Yes, even the epilogue! This was written as part of the hp_tarot fest. I drew three tarot cards: Ace of Wands, Queen of Pentacles, and The Magician. I interpreted both Ace of Wands and The Magician as very representative of Harry. Queen of Pentacles as prosperity. Because I was surprised by the overwhelming positive cards, I chose to also draw a fourth card to represent the conflict in the story. I drew The Lovers. To me, this suggested an epilogue compliant fic, where Harry, who believes he has everything in life, finds a new passion. Inspired in part by the play Same Time, Next Year by Bernard Slade.


Harry managed to control his reaction well enough; he was sure no one had noticed. But when he left the train station, he found himself replaying the image of Draco Malfoy standing on Platform 9 3/4. The memory of the other man, that simple response, that oh-so-careful acknowledgement, made things tighten low in Harry’s body and his heart speed up.

One look at the other man had set off in Harry a cascade of images, sounds, smells and sensations spanning twenty-six years of his life – the sum of a complicated relationship with Draco Malfoy that began when two boys met in a robe shop. On the platform today, Scorpius had looked so very much like young Draco that Harry smiled to himself now, the image of that arrogant eleven-year-old he'd met so long ago more clear to him now than ever. In retrospect, Harry found it amusing and a bit nostalgic.

Harry’s life was good. It was everything a man could ask for. He liked being an Auror and enjoyed his job. His personal life was full. He had a wife he was still in love with, children he was devoted to, loyal good friends. And a lover. Once a year, Harry met his lover and shared a weekend of passion unequaled in the rest of his simple life. He was terribly aware of how long it was until May. He didn’t know how he was supposed to wait that long. This, Harry reminded himself, is why they avoided each other the rest of the year.

***

The first couple of years after the Battle of Hogwarts had been an exhilarating combination of hard work and new opportunities. Voldemort was finally dead and Harry had survived. He, at last, had the chance to live a “normal” life, or what passed for it when you had spent your childhood in a cupboard and your teens fighting a Dark Wizard. He had participated in the inquiries and trials, gone to funerals, taken his NEWTs and then immediately joined the Auror corps. The Boy Who Lived Twice was rushed through training. There had been a lot to do then; escaped Death Eaters and sympathizers to round up. Shacklebolt and other Order members participated in the re-organization and rebuilding of the Ministry, Hogwarts and the wizarding world.

At the time, Harry had said he longed for everything to settle down, to finally not have to risk his life or face the destruction left after the war. Yet, three years later, when things did finally begin to calm down, Harry found himself restless and moody. Bouts of melancholy were often followed by flares of temper, none of which seemed to be related to anything going on in his life at the time. He found himself blaming, or at least venting at, Ginny more often than not. When she'd finished Hogwarts, she had taken a position with the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team. Between an intensive practise schedule and a successful season involving a lot of away games, Harry had felt like they never saw each other.

It all came to a head in May of that year, just after the third anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry and Ginny had had yet another of their fast becoming infamous rows. Ginny declared she’d had enough and moved back home with her parents, saying that maybe it would be better if they did not see each other for a while. She even went so far as to suggest they “see other people” while they were apart. Angry and despondent, Harry withdrew from his friends and threw himself into his work. And that was when Hermione intervened. She and Ron showed up and insisted that Harry needed a break. Needed time to think about what he wanted from his life. They had already spoken to his boss and booked Harry a holiday. Harry felt ambushed.

Yet, as usually happened with Hermione, he had finally relented and agreed to take the holiday. That’s how he found himself sitting at a table for one in the dining room of Gardener’s Inn in the New Forest. It was a rustic stone and wood building situated on the bank of the Beaulieu River and surrounded on the other three sides by the forest itself. A wizarding establishment built in 1080, the year after the forest was planted for William the Conqueror, the inn was charmed and shielded from the Muggle world. No roads made their way to Gardener’s Inn. Guests arrived by Floo or Apparating. There was a certain tranquility that enveloped the Inn and those who stayed there.

The main dining room had large picture windows facing East and South so you could look out over the river or into the forest. Harry cut a bite of his steak and gazed out at the setting sun, the river reflecting the fiery colours – and froze, fork halfway to his mouth.

Sitting at a table directly in front of the window by the river was a man whose profile Harry would never mistake for anyone else. Sharp nose and chin, white blond hair and pale skin that all seemed to glow almost eerily, catching the candlelight in the room with the now purpling sky in the background. Draco Malfoy.

Harry hadn’t seen his school rival since that day after the Battle of Hogwarts when he had returned Malfoy’s captured wand to him. He could recall it clearly. Malfoy’s blond hair and school robes had been singed and covered in soot from the fire in the Room of Requirement. The boy had been gaunt, dark circles under his haunted looking grey eyes. He had been quiet when Harry had given him his wand back. Harry had almost wished for that arrogant smirk instead.

In Gardener’s Inn, Malfoy’s face didn’t hold a smirk either. He was gazing out at the forest, looking contemplative and … peaceful. It transformed his face in a way that Harry had never imagined. The angles and planes of his face looked elegant. Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away, watching as Malfoy’s long thin fingers picked up a knife and fork, cutting his steak with graceful, precise movements and then shifting the utensils to bring a bite to his mouth. Then he set the fork down and reached for the glass of red wine in front of him. Harry watched in a kind of odd fascination as he lifted it to those pale pink lips and sipped. A drop of the dark liquid clung to his upper lip and his tongue flicked out to lick it away. Harry’s body reacted with a jolt of heat pooling deep in areas that should never be affected by Malfoy. When Harry managed to look up from those lips, it was to find grey eyes staring intently back at him. He startled, his fork dropping to his plate with an embarrassingly loud clatter. One of Malfoy’s pale eyebrows rose and his lips curled into the barest of smirks. Only now, instead of upsetting him, that smirk seemed to find some place in Harry that felt he had needed it. All the excitement of their old rivalry seemed to return in a rush, Harry’s heart speeding up and his skin tingling.

Malfoy was still staring at him and Harry felt himself blush to his ears. He tried to return the look, finding it reminded him of all the times they had looked at each other across the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Of course, then he had wanted to wipe that smirk off Malfoy’s face. Now, he wasn’t sure what he felt. It was like he had missed this, missed that smirk.

Someone stepped between Harry and Malfoy’s tables and he blinked, shaking his head and trying to get control of himself. He looked down while shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Hearing a soft thud he looked up again, realising that Malfoy had dropped his fork. Harry would have just leaned down, picked it up and wiped his fork on his napkin. Malfoy, of course, called the waiter over and asked for another one. Now that he wasn’t staring solely at Malfoy’s face, Harry noticed the man was wearing dove grey robes, impeccably tailored in a way that accented his broad shoulders and tapered to a narrow waist. With his pale skin and white hair, it should have made him look washed out. Instead, it seemed to make him stand out from everything around him, like the way some Muggle film makers used black and white to accent parts of films.

Harry’s second round of staring at the other man was interrupted when the waiter appeared before him, a glass of red wine on a tray. “Mr Potter,” the man said politely, “Mr Malfoy sends this glass of Bordeaux with his compliments.” He set the glass in front of Harry.

“Um, thanks,” Harry answered and found himself looking up in confusion toward Malfoy. The blond’s smile grew as Malfoy lifted his own glass in acknowledgement and gave Harry a silent toast, nodding his head. Harry picked his own glass up, saluting the other man and sipping the wine. It went surprisingly well with the steak. But Harry was still confused by Malfoy’s behavior. He tried to return to his food only to discover he was unable to find his appetite again. Finally, Harry got up and made his way over to Malfoy’s table.

The man didn’t look surprised, smiling as Harry approached. When Harry stood, feeling awkward and unsure of what to say next, Malfoy gestured to the seat across from him. “Have a seat, Potter.”

“You want me to sit … with you?” Harry asked, eyes narrowing at the confusing turn of events.

“Why not?” Malfoy answered with an elegant shrug of his shoulders and a slight toss of blond hair.

Harry couldn’t come up with a reason. They had been enemies. Hadn’t they? But that was all in the past, wasn’t it? Harry sat, finding himself staring at the man across from him. Before he could figure out what to do next, the waiter brought his plate and glass from the other table and set it in front of him. He was now eating dinner with Draco Malfoy. It was absurd.

“Why are you here?” Harry blurted out.

If Malfoy was offended, he didn’t show it. He arched his eyebrow again and gave a lopsided smirk. “I would assume that I am here for the same reason you are, Potter. A holiday.”

“Alone?” Harry asked and then felt ridiculous, because he was alone, too, and he certainly didn’t want to explain why.

Malfoy sighed and nodded. “It had not originally been my plan, but things change.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that enigmatic reply. Was he supposed to ask what happened? He didn’t know anything about Malfoy’s life since Hogwarts. Well, not entirely. He knew that, thanks to Harry’s testimony, Draco and Narcissa had been given probation instead of Azakaban. Lucius had returned to finish his original sentence. Harry didn’t even know what Draco Malfoy did these days. He looked up to find those intense grey eyes studying him, as if Malfoy had followed every twist of Harry’s thoughts. Not knowing what else to do, Harry reached for the glass of wine and gulped some down.

As if consenting to the silence, Malfoy picked up his knife and fork and returned to eating his meal. Harry tried to do the same but found his eyes straying again to watch those long fingers. He didn’t know why they fascinated him.

“I would have thought the Weasley girl would be with you,” Malfoy offered in the way of conversation.

Harry startled. “Um, well, she’s busy right now.” And Harry could tell his evasion hadn’t worked because the other man’s eyes narrowed, obviously considering this important. “We are … on a break,” Harry found himself offering, blushing when he did.

“Ah,” Malfoy said softly, sounding understanding but neutral. There was the soft clink of utensils on china for another couple of minutes.

When Malfoy sipped his wine again, Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, realising his physical reactions to the man had only gotten stronger now that he was sitting so close. Harry had finished his glass and the waiter refilled it. “Why did you send me the wine?” he asked.

“You were watching me drink it,” Malfoy answered, the smirk returning. “I thought you might like to try it.”

It wasn’t just what the man said, but something in his tone, his expression of amusement, that brought another shiver to Harry’s body. Harry wondered if the wine was drugged. “Uh, it’s … nice,” Harry responded, and had the odd feeling they weren’t talking about the wine now.

“It … is nice,” Malfoy said, speaking in a near whisper and with a searching look at Harry.

The quiet hush of sound and the look in Malfoy’s gaze provoked even more of a response in Harry. He didn’t understand why he doing this. Why was he responding to the other man this way? Was it just the heat of their old rivalry? Granted, Malfoy looked very nice but .… Harry blinked. He was checking out a man, and not just any man. The thought of it had his pulse racing again, a sensation like those that he used to have when he faced Malfoy on the Quidditch pitch just before a game, his body ready to take flight.

Before he could stop himself, Harry found himself blurting it out. “What do you want from me?” Even to himself, it sounded less demanding and more hopeful.

And the response from Malfoy was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. His face lit up and his lips formed a full smile. Harry didn’t think he had ever seen a real smile on Malfoy’s face before. It was stunning.

Instead of answering verbally, Malfoy dropped his napkin on the table, stood up and offered his hand to Harry. Harry blinked, a surge of memory rushed through him that was almost dizzying. Malfoy had offered him his hand in friendship ten years before and Harry had refused. Then, later, in the Room of Requirement, Harry had held out his hand to rescue Malfoy from the fire. Malfoy had taken it. Harry wasn’t sure what was being offered this time, not entirely, but now he found himself taking the hand and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

They stood, right there in the dining room of the Inn, staring at their hands. Malfoy smiled again and squeezed Harry’s hand before letting it go. “Shall I walk you to your room?” he asked politely.

Harry's eyes widened slightly. He didn’t need an escort; he hadn’t had that much to drink. Malfoy was offering more than that and he knew it. And damn if Harry didn’t want to find out what. “Sure,” he said.

One side of Malfoy’s mouth quirked up and he nodded, leading the way out of the dining room and to the stairs that led to the guest rooms. There he paused. “What’s your room number?”

“Um, B-13,” Harry answered.

Malfoy chuckled but didn’t say why, only continuing up the wooden staircase. Much to his own chagrin, Harry found himself admiring the man’s backside as he followed him. Harry found some men attractive, but he’d never acted on his feelings. He had Ginny. He wanted marriage and children and all those normal things. Men couldn’t give him that. But looking at the trim figure of Malfoy, he found himself wondering what a man could give him.

The blond stopped in front of Harry’s room and with a small hand gesture and a smirk, he pointed to B-14. “That’s my room,” he said. Harry stared. Why would Malfoy's room be next to his? And wasn’t that the room that had a door that adjoined them? It was locked, of course, but it was still odd.

Harry pulled the old metal key out of his pocket but then paused. What was he supposed to do now? “Um, you want to come in, for another drink or something?” he asked.

Malfoy looked considering and smug at the same time and Harry almost changed his mind. “Do you have anything to drink in there?” the blond asked.

Harry blushed. He didn’t, actually.

“I do,” Malfoy said. “I’ll get it.”

Harry nodded, still confused by this surreal situation and unlocked his own door while Malfoy went to the other one. Inside his own room, Harry had a minute to wonder if he had lost his mind, if this was some kind of trap or .… Then there was a knock, only it didn’t come from the door to the hall but the one that led into the adjoining room. He took out his key and opened it. Malfoy stood there with a bottle and a couple of glasses in hand. Almost numb but somehow trembling, Harry stepped back and allowed the man into his room. It felt like a larger act than it sounded.

Once inside, Malfoy sat down on the edge of the bed, set the glasses on the table beside it and began pouring a golden liquid into the glasses. Then he re-corked the bottle and set it on the table.

Harry walked over and stood in front of him, looking down at the entirely relaxed looking blond sitting on his bed. Malfoy held a glass out to him and Harry took it. Like he had in the dining room, Malfoy lifted his glass in salute but this time he spoke a toast. “To old rivals and, possibly, new directions.”

Harry shivered but nodded, sipping the drink. It was rich and full and he had to stop himself from coughing. “Scotch,” he managed after he had swallowed.

“Very good Scotch,” Malfoy said, actually downing his first shot of it.

Harry stood, body thrumming like he was going into battle instead of just having a drink. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. He was afraid he knew what he wanted to do, but couldn’t bring himself to think it, let alone say it.

Malfoy set his glass down and stood again, facing Harry. The man was about an inch taller and up this close Harry had to tilt his head back slightly to see his eyes. Those grey eyes never left Harry’s as the man reached out and took the glass from Harry, setting it aside.

“What are we doing?” Harry whispered, licking his lips nervously.

Malfoy’s smile was soft and his eyes seemed to sparkle. He reached out and cupped Harry’s chin. The touch sent a shudder down Harry’s body and he nearly moaned at the shock of it. Eyes still locked with his, Malfoy leaned in. Harry could feel the man’s breath on his face as he whispered, “This.” Then Malfoy’s mouth pressed against Harry’s.

It was a soft touch of lips, but there was nothing gentle in Harry’s reaction to it. Fire seemed to spread out from that contact, every nerve in his body suddenly tingling. Harry’s eyes widened and he gasped.

Malfoy seemed encouraged and Harry felt the tip of the man’s tongue tracing the inside of his lips. Harry stood there, trembling as Malfoy continued. The man's tongue slipped its way further into Harry’s mouth and finding his Harry's own tongue. The minute it did, something broke loose in Harry. His hands came up, grabbing both of Malfoy’s upper arms and before he realised what was happening, he had shoved the man back onto the bed and fallen on top of him. Harry’s mouth took control of the kiss now, plundering Malfoy’s with tongue and lips, exploring and claiming. Malfoy seemed to surrender to it, hands falling back to allow Harry control.

It wasn’t until he felt the shudder and Malfoy’s moan that Harry realised his own fingers had moved inward, fumbling with the buttons on those expensive robes, trying to pry them off the other man, ripping at them as if he needed to touch Malfoy’s flesh or be burned alive.

Long fingers closed on Harry’s when he began to tug unsuccessfully on, and probably damage, the robes. “Let me,” Malfoy said softly and moved Harry’s hands back up to his face. Then Malfoy’s fingers flew down his front, releasing the buttons. Harry’s hands eagerly spread the fabric open as it was freed, revealing the pale muscled chest under it. In a kind of trance like fascination, Harry’s hands slid down that long pale neck, traced the ridge line of Malfoy’s collarbones and then paused when he came to the top of a scar that began at one shoulder and slashed diagonally down. His eyes flicked up to Malfoy’s and he felt a lurch in his stomach when he realised what it was.

Malfoy was watching him and closed a hand over Harry’s again. He continued to hold Harry’s hand as he drew it down the scar, over his chest and down to where it ended just above his left hip. His pale pink nipples drew up into points as he did.

“I did that,” Harry whispered, part awe, part guilt.

The blond nodded, moving Harry’s hand back up to rest in the centre of his chest. Harry could feel the thump-thump of the other man’s heart, beating as fast as his own. “Yes, you did,” he answered.

Harry tried to pull his hand away. “I shouldn’t .…”

Malfoy kept his own hand over Harry’s, holding it tightly in place. “You should. I want you to.”

Harry looked up at that, meeting the man’s eyes again. “You want me to … what?”

Harry was straddling one of Malfoy’s legs, bent over him. Malfoy answered by arching up enough so that not only was Harry sure the man could feel his arousal pressed into that thin thigh, but Harry could feel Malfoy’s as well. “You know what,” the blond answered.

“I nearly killed you,” Harry answered, still not able to move past the scar resting under his palm.

“And the next year you saved me,” Draco answered, voice sounding calmer than the heartbeat Harry felt under his hand.

“What does this mean?” Harry asked, not wanting to stop but afraid of going further.

“It means you want me and I want you,” Draco said. “Don’t make it more complicated than that, Potter.” To make his point he drew Harry’s hand down his body. Malfoy hadn’t been wearing trousers under the traditional style robes, and Harry now found his hand pressing against the thin fabric of the man’s boxer shorts and the very warm arousal straining the silk fabric.

Harry might have argued that it was, in fact, a lot more complicated than that, but he didn’t want it to be. He wanted what Malfoy was offering. He moved his fingers, allowing himself to trace that warm fabric-covered flesh. Malfoy moaned quietly and whatever control Harry had left evaporated with the sound. He found himself using both hands to pull the shorts over the man’s hips, freeing the straining flesh, and down those long lean legs. The expensive robes were spread open and under Malfoy in a way that accented his pale skin like some kind of offering. Harry’s hands began moving, as if he could memorise every inch of that skin with his fingers. The other man sighed and moaned and arched up into every touch.

Malfoy’s hands found the back of Harry’s shirt, helping pull it up and over his head, tossing the shirt aside before moving to the waistband of his trousers and freeing him as well. Harry was less concerned with the mechanics of how he got undressed than with the fact that he was now naked and pressed skin to skin, flesh to flesh with Malfoy. It felt glorious. Malfoy had somehow also gotten free of his robes, even though they were under him. With nothing between them, Harry lay atop him, rubbing and touching, his mouth closing on Malfoy’s again. He felt high, better than flying. His hip bones bumped and writhed against the other man’s as their arousals slid against each other, leaving slippery trails of pre-come on their skin.

“Don’t come yet,” Malfoy warned and Harry lifted his head enough to look into those grey eyes again, wondering what the man wanted. “I want you inside me,” the blond continued.

Harry’s prick twitched violently at the offer, but his eyes widened in disbelief. “You want me to .…” He couldn’t seem to say it.

“Fuck me, yes,” Malfoy answered. He seemed to pull himself together long enough to study Harry’s face. “You haven’t done it before, have you?”

“Um, well, I’ve had sex, just not .…”

“Not with a man,” Draco finished for him. Harry nodded, face flushing again.

“I have,” Draco assured him as he fumbled in the robe, pulling out a phial from inside a pocket.

“You sure you want this?” Harry asked. He wanted it more than he would like to admit, but he didn’t really know what he was doing.

“It might be easier if you lie on your back,” Malfoy suggested.

Harry paused, not completely sure what Malfoy had in mind, but doing it anyway. Malfoy poured some oil from the phial onto his fingers and set it aside. Harry watched in fascination as the man reached behind himself, face screwing up in concentration as he pressed slick fingers into his own body.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry gasped and Malfoy laughed, gasping slightly as he did. Then he was kneeling beside Harry, bending forward. Harry actually thought he would come right then when the man’s lips descended over the head of his cock. Ginny had sucked Harry before, but this was Draco Malfoy with his lips around his prick. It was one of the strangest and most erotic things he had ever seen. The man licked and sucked Harry, one hand on Harry’s hip and the other still moving fingers in and out of his own arse.

Harry felt like he couldn’t do anything more than hold on and watch, trying to last long enough to enjoy what was happening. And Malfoy was drawing the most obscene sounds from him, making Harry whimper with pleasure. Just when Harry thought he couldn’t last another minute, the man drew back and climbed over him, straddling Harry.

Those grey eyes locked with his own again and Harry felt slick fingers sliding down his shaft, oiling him. Then Malfoy shifted his hips around, sliding Harry’s prick along the crevice of his arse until it was positioned. He paused there, seeming to wait for something from Harry. Harry felt as if they were both poised at the side of a cliff and he knew just what to say to send them hurtling over the edge.

“Yes, I want you,” Harry managed to gasp and then it was happening, Malfoy was enveloping Harry’s prick in a tight wet heat that set his entire body on fire. Harry’s hands reflexively reached for Malfoy’s thighs, fingers digging into skin and muscle as the man sank down on him. Malfoy wriggled his hips, body clenching and unclenching again as he worked more of Harry inside until, at last, his balls rested against Harry’s belly and his cheeks against Harry’s sac. They both held there for a long minute, panting.

“Ready, Potter?” Malfoy asked, and Harry was amazed at how sexy that infamous drawl sounded at that moment.

Harry looked up at him, seeing that the blond did not look as composed as he sounded. He could see the strain in his muscles and the flush in his face. “Ride me, Malfoy,” Harry managed to gasp and thrilled at the smile that lit up the other man’s face. Then Malfoy began to move and Harry’s world narrowed suddenly to sensations. The blond’s hips worked in circles as he rocked, sliding up and down Harry’s prick, slim thighs gripping Harry’s hips and hands braced on Harry’s chest. Harry moved with him, arching and thrusting and fingers sliding on sweaty pale skin. He noticed that Malfoy’s left eyebrow twitched every time he impaled himself on Harry’s cock. Harry wanted it to last forever, but it was too good, too tight and slick and hot. He could feel his body tensing, preparing itself for that last push.

He moved his right hand inward up Malfoy’s thigh and wrapped the hand around the other man’s shaft. He’d never touched another man there before but it felt both natural and exciting at the same time. And the answering moan from Malfoy was all the encouragement he needed to begin moving his fingers, Malfoy’s foreskin sliding under them.

They were both panting and sweating and moving together, pushing again toward that edge. Harry fell over it first, feeling like he really was flying, his moans filling the air. Harry's hand on Malfoy’s cock faltered but he tried to keep it going, speeding up. He was still writhing and arching with his own orgasm when he felt it twitch, hot fluid coating his fingers and the other man’s body clamping down on his in a way that was nearly as much pain as it was pleasure.

Harry looked up then, the sight of Malfoy’s face in that moment truly stunning. His blond head was bowed forward, pointy chin touching his breastbone and eyes closed tight, so that silk hair fell around his face. The man’s upper lip was curled in a way that was reminiscent of his famous sneer but was so achingly beautiful in this context. Harry stared, entranced.

Malfoy was panting and Harry waited, watching when those eyelashes fluttered and grey eyes met his again. The blond sat atop him still, as they stared for what felt like a long time. Then those pale lips quirked up and one blond eyebrow rose. “Not a bad ride, Potter,” Malfoy quipped.

Harry laughed, grinning. “No, not bad at all,” he agreed. Malfoy shifted, his body letting Harry’s still half-hard prick slide stickily out of him as he moved off. Harry reluctantly let go, looking down at his spunk covered body.

Malfoy rolled out of bed and stood, stretching. Harry couldn’t pull his eyes away from that long muscled form and blushed at the sight of his own come dribbling down the inside of a pale thigh. The blond seemed to catch his look and arched an eyebrow. “Like the view?” he teased.

Harry blushed. “Yeah, I suppose I do,” he admitted and enjoyed the delighted laugh of the other man.

“Move off for a minute,” Malfoy said and pulled his robes out from where they had been lying on them. Fucking on them, Harry corrected in his mind. Malfoy made a face at the mess on his clothing and drew his wand from a pocket, casting a Cleaning Charm on them, pursing his lips in dissatisfaction at the results. He tossed the robes over a chair and then fell gracefully back onto the bed.

Harry sat up, leaning back against the headboard and looking down at the other man. He was in bed with Malfoy and it didn’t feel real. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now. He thought it should feel awkward and strained. Yet, he felt right in a way that he couldn’t have explained. His mind whirled with questions and Harry found himself blurting words out without thinking. “I thought you hated me,” he admitted.

Malfoy smirked up at him. “Who says I don’t?” he quipped.

“But we … we just ….” Harry stammered, more confused than before.

“Fucked,” the blond finished for him and reached a hand over, trailing it through the mess on Harry’s abdomen. Harry couldn’t stop the blush in response to that. “Yeah,” he said. “So, why did you?” he asked, determined to try to understand what had just happened.

Malfoy smiled again. “Because I wanted to,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Just now or, I mean, before or .…” Harry was stammering now and he wasn’t sure what to make of this. Part of his mind was also having an internal argument on whether or not he had just cheated on Ginny. She had said they were on a “break” and should “see others” but he didn’t think she would be happy about this regardless.

“Are you asking if I fancied you before I saw you tonight?” Malfoy asked.

Put like that, it did sound ridiculous. Harry frowned. He wasn’t the type to have a one-off. He’d never had sex with anyone besides Ginny. He stared at the other man and was embarrassed to realise that he still wanted him. It wasn’t just some temporary insanity. Or, if it was, it hadn’t worn off yet. Malfoy seemed to watch his face as if he could read everything going on in his mind and was just waiting for Harry to get on with it. So, Harry took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, I guess I am asking.”

The blond gave him a lazy smile and looked incredibly pleased by something. “Yes,” he answered simply.

It threw Harry. “Yes?” He nearly choked. Was it mental to be both pleased and horrified by that answer? He stared for a long moment back at the other man. “So what do we do now?”

Malfoy grinned. “Well, I think you should do the work on the next round.”

Harry’s cock took definite interest in both that suggestion and the promise of another go. He tried to reign it in, to think long enough to get an answer to what he wanted. Malfoy gave him a look that said he clearly saw Harry’s arousal and intended to take advantage of it. “I mean, after we leave here,” Harry pressed.

“What do you want to happen?” Malfoy asked in a tone that tried to sound casual but didn’t quite make it.

Harry took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I never thought something like this could happen.”

Malfoy sighed and shook his head, looking suddenly resigned. “You will most likely marry the Weasley witch and I am already betrothed myself.”

“You are?” Harry asked, suddenly horrified and feeling another level of guilt for a woman he didn’t even know on whom Malfoy was cheating.

“Don’t get that way,” Malfoy admonished. “She knew I was supposed to be meeting someone else here this weekend. My intended wants marriage and family, but understands I have needs she can’t meet.”

“She knows?” Harry asked in real confusion now.

Malfoy gave him a look that would have suited Snape’s Potions class more than lying naked in bed together. “Yes, not everyone considers marriage to be some kind of romantic tryst.”

Harry didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but given what he was doing at this moment, it didn’t seem like he had the moral ground to argue with it. “So when are you getting married?” he asked and wanted to kick himself a moment later.

Malfoy looked unfazed. “The engagement announcement won’t even happen until my birthday party next week, the wedding next year.” The man shifted so he was lying on his side, head propped up on one hand and looking up at Harry. “When are you getting married?”

“I told you, we’re … on a break,” Harry admitted, feeling unaccountably embarrassed about that given Malfoy’s revelations.

“You haven’t asked her yet?” the blond asked, eyebrow arching.

“How do you know that?” Harry blurted.

The other man snorted. “If she is pushing you away, odds are it’s because you haven’t given her what she needs.” Malfoy paused, smiling ruefully for a minute. “I’d say you’re probably more than adequate in the sack,” he said, glancing down Harry’s body for a moment to emphasize his point, “so it obviously means you haven’t made a commitment yet.”

Harry blinked stupidly for a minute. The compliment about his sexual prowess made things warm up for him again but the other part of him was trying to figure out the absurdity of Malfoy analyzing his relationship with Ginny. And that it made scary sense. Maybe that’s what Ginny wanted, what they needed in order to move on in their relationship. “Um, yeah,” he admitted, fidgeting a bit with his hands.

“Well, that’s settled,” Malfoy said and reached a hand up, cupping the back of Harry’s neck and tugging him down, his lips closing over Harry’s. The kiss pushed all other thoughts from Harry’s mind, making him feel like he melted back into the warmth of the other man’s body.

Neither of them slept much that weekend. They spent most of the time in their rooms, though sometimes they ate in the dining room or ventured out for a walk into the forest. When their bodies weren’t entwined, they talked. By the end of the weekend, Harry thought of the other man as Draco, not Malfoy. And Draco called him Harry.

***

The months sped by and soon, but not soon enough, it was May. Harry had already arrived at Gardener’s Inn and smiled when the wizard at the front desk obliged his nostalgia and granted his request as he handed him the old metal key to B-13. Harry stood in the room and glanced around as images from the past fifteen years began to play in his mind. Harry had married Ginny and Draco had married Astoria. Life had gone on as expected – except for once a year. For one weekend in May, the two men returned to the Inn and to each other. It was their time. Harry poured himself a drink and settled down in front of the fire with his memories. The sun slowly began to set.

Sitting in the overstuffed armchair staring absently at the crackling flames dancing in the fireplace, Harry ran one hand through his messy black and grey streaked hair and sighed. Anticipation brought every nerve to attention throughout his body. He enjoyed these few moments before the long awaited knock at the door nearly as much as he did the two days and two nights that would follow. There was such hope and expectancy layered within the anticipation and in all these years he had never been disappointed. Not once. And that was the most amazing part of it all.

The stolen moments they shared were more than just physical. The days they were able to claim with each other may have numbered few but, Harry knew, in those days they shared a lifetime. They had laughed long and loud when comparing war stories regarding parenthood. When grief threatened to swallow them on different occasions they clutched at each other desperately and shared the tears they had felt burdened to hide from their wives while they were apart. They argued as passionately as they did at Hogwarts. And there were the nights they danced quietly in front of the fireplace, toasted each other’s successes, and spent many hushed moments simply holding hands. As for the physical part, it was nothing less than perfect every single time. It might have been because of all the days they spent apart but Harry believed it was more than that. It was two bodies that recognised each other by sight, sound, touch and taste. Two people that belonged together, if only one weekend a year.

Harry smiled softly to himself at the memories that had occupied his mind while sitting in the room where it had all started. He missed his lover in the long months between their weekends together but he didn’t regret the arrangement. He loved his family and wouldn’t trade his life for anything else. The secret weekends with Draco took nothing away from the world he lived in during the rest of the year. What they shared was separate and existed only between the two of them. Yet, what they shared coloured every moment they were apart. And, somehow, those annual holidays allowed Harry to settle into the life he had chosen with no regrets. It was an escape that gave Harry something that he needed.

Shadows began to fill the room as twilight descended. Harry took a slow sip from the glass that held a deep red Bordeaux. The wine they had shared on that first night so long ago. Leaning back into the chair he continued to gaze at the constantly shifting flames as other memories began to dance inside his head. Some good, some bad, but every one of them as much a part of him as the man he now waited on. A soft knock at the door startled him briefly before he smiled and his heart sped up in happy anticipation of seeing his lover. Harry stood and crossed the room quickly, pausing only a moment before turning the handle and opening the door. His smile widened as his green eyes sparkled and he softly said, “Hello again, Draco.” And as Draco stepped quietly into the room the rest of the world fell away.


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