Harry Potter 1. Prologue

**Full summary**: Kingsley Shacklebolt is asked for help by the American Ministry, when their Quidditch Association receives a number of threats. He soon realises that there are very few people capable of portraying a professional Quidditch player, willing to give up their entire life in England to move overseas. Therefore, he turns to Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy for help. There is just one, major catch: they have to get married. EWE. Sexual content later into the story. Slash. And more.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything that belongs to JK Rowling, obviously, or "The Joneses", which is the movie from where I got my inspiration. I don't own the Toblerone mountain either, sadly, but that has nothing to do with this story.

**A/N:** This story contains Quidditch-wives (yes, the horror), a lot of slash and quite a bit of cursing. It's vaguely inspired by the film "The Joneses". I have written six chapters for this story already, in hope that it will make it possible for me to update more regularly than I was able to do with 'Glued'.

This story is not Epilogue compliant, but it's true to the rest of the series.

It was important to me to think about all the ways Harry's and Draco's relationship to each other possibly could have changed during seven years of never seeing each other. This is what I came up with and I hope you like it.

The first chapter will most likely be published sometime during next week, if all goes well! :)

Also, this Prologue is written from Kingsley Shacklebolt's point of view, but the remaining chapters will be written from either Harry's or Draco's.

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

Kingsley Shacklebolt was worried. He had just received a rather alarming letter from the American Minister of Magic. Rather confidential as well. It was not only the contents of the letter that worried him but also the first, and possibly the only, people he thought that would be able to do succeed with a job like this.

It was perhaps, also, the only people who, most likely, would not be able to work together, not even for a cause like this.

He buried his face in his hands with a sigh and massaged his temples with his index fingers, in hope of increasing his brain activity.

They were the only people for a job like this. The only ones that would even consider giving up their lives for the sakes of others – that possibly felt as if they had nothing to lose.

So, Kingsley Shacklebolt decided to do something he rarely did: make it easy for himself. He stared down at the two, close to identical, letters he had already written for a few moments, before he reached for his stack of envelopes. The tip of his eagle quill scratched quite loudly over the thick Ministry parchment in the silence, as he wrote down:

_Mr. Harry Potter _

_Number 12, Grimmauld Place _

And then, even with the slightest hint of hesitation in his movements:

_Mr. Draco Malfoy_

_Malfoy Manor _

He sent them off with a pair of owls before he could change his mind, knowing that he would have two, very separate, meetings within the next couple of days. And possibly a trip to St. Mungo's the same day both of said men would find out exactly what this job meant.

xXx

"You are, without a doubt, the best professional Ministry employee when it comes to mapping organized criminality. That is why I need you for this job." Kingsley did his best to sound reassuring and confidence-inspiring. Though, it was hard to read the pale face of Draco Malfoy.

The young man in front of him seemed indifferent to Kingsley's words. It was the truth, even so. He had been extremely successful with finding out the next move of a number of criminal groups. Kingsley had the impression that he used his earlier experiences as a Death Eater, but it was no secret that Draco Malfoy had a sharp mind.

The Ministry had been reluctant at first, when Kingsley had presented the proposal to hire Draco Malfoy, afraid that his previous involvement with the followers to Lord Voldemort would make them look bad. They had, however, agreed on hiring Draco Malfoy as a Ministry employee if this was kept strictly confidential for a while. That "while" had lasted five years, and did not seem to be coming to an end anytime soon.

Kingsley had spent the last hour explaining the details of the mission overseas.

"I would be moving to America?" Draco Malfoy said, a spark of interest lit in his eyes.

"Yes. For how long, I am not sure. Until the American Ministry is satisfied."

"And I assume this is a job undercover?"

"Correct," Kingsley confirmed. "It will be quite the challenge to keep it believable."

_Almost impossible, _Kingsley thought to himself.

"How so?" Draco Malfoy chose this moment to sit down on the opposite side of Kingsley's desk, leaning back gracefully in the visitors chair.

"There is an American Quidditch team that has recently lost one of their best players. They suspect it to be a crime, but those suspicions are not yet official. Two weeks ago, the American Quidditch Association received letters that are supposedly threats towards the very same Quidditch team, and their government were informed.

"The American Minister of Magic is very worried about this, as no suspect has been found or even taken in consideration. American laws also state that any undercover job for their Aurors must be filed, which is an issue, since they have not ruled out the possibility that the culprit is a Ministry employee or a member of the American Quidditch Association, which is a part of the American Ministry. Therefore they could easily access this file and that would, of course, endanger the Aurors working undercover." Kingsley took a deep breath, trying to read the expression of Draco Malfoy's face which, much to his dismay, revealed nothing.

"So, the American Minister of Magic turned to you for help?" Draco Malfoy offered with an indifferent tone in his voice.

"He did, indeed," Kingsley said with a nod. "It is a dangerous job, of course. Therefore I could only send two people that I can trust in situations like this. They would be shipped off, planted in the Wizarding village where the players of this team live, disguised as a married couple and preferably a very happy one."

Draco Malfoy raised one eyebrow at these words, perhaps questioning Kingsley's sanity more than just a bit. That would make two of them.

"One of them would be posing as a member of the Quidditch team – the other would have a job that would give access to the other players homes and spouses."

"You're suspecting other players on the team?" Draco Malfoy asked, always drawing the right conclusions of Kingsley's words. "So, this would take a person that is both a good Quidditch player and a powerful wizard, while at the same time not already a professional player?"

"Correct," Kingsley said once more.

"And someone who would gladly leave their whole life behind without knowing when they will be back." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

"Where on earth will you find another person willing to do this, Shacklebolt?" Draco Malfoy questioned with a hint of amusement in his voice. The light in his eyes told Kingsley that he was more interested in the job than the resigned posture of his body let on.

"Another?"

"When it comes to vague, possibly insane and extremely challenging jobs like this one, I am your man."

xXx

"What makes you think that they would recognize a professional Quidditch player but not me, Kingsley?" Harry had the crease between his eyebrows that clearly said that he was considering accepting.

"Harry Potter is not very well known in the American Wizarding community, but most professional Quidditch Players are, since they sometimes play for American teams."

"Wouldn't it be found strange if an unknown Quidditch player suddenly turned up out of nowhere, applying for a professional team that has lost one of their players recently? I would find it suspicious." This was one of the reasons to why Kingsley had decided that Harry was the man for this job. He was not a Ministry employee, but a powerful wizard that tried to keep out of the eye of the rest of the British Wizarding world. It was obvious that the young man had spent the past seven years hiding away. It was also obvious that he was tired of this.

"It would. That is why you will tell them that you have been injured. See, when a Quidditch player that is not, forgive me, someone extremely special, is injured for years and therefore not playing, he or she is almost automatically forgotten."

"And you consider me the right person for this job, because..?"

"It is not a coincidence that you were the youngest seeker Hogwarts had in a hundred years. It is also not a coincidence that you are the man who beat Lord Voldemort."

"And I have to get married?" Harry sighed in defeat. Kingsley had a feeling that he was trying to find a good reason not to take this job.

"Yes. And you will take your spouse's last name, just to make sure that your full name doesn't draw any unnecessary attention." Kingsley had a feeling that neither Harry or said soon-to-be spouse would be very happy about Harry taking on the Malfoy name.

"And when will I meet her?" Harry asked, raking his fingers through his hair. Kingsley took this question as a confirmation of Harry accepting the job.

"How about next week?"


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Before I start talking about the chapter, I just wanted to thank all of you for reading and reviewing. I really hope that you liked the prologue.

As always, I don't own anything that's JK's. The Toblerone Mountain is still not mine, either. Dang it. Jensen _is_ mine, however, but I think I promised him to vinterdrog.

Now, however, Chapter 1 is finished for you to read. It's divided between Harry's and Draco's POV, and each switch is marked with HPOV (for Harry) and DPOV (for Draco). I hope that this won't confuse anyone.

Since this story takes place after their time at Hogwarts, seven years as you all know, Harry and Draco have changed – because people change. I did my best to make them, er..._age_ with their characters still intact and tried to consider how circumstances in their life should have affected them. I hope you find the way I've written them living up to your expectations.

Anyway, enough of babbling. Just a quick thanks to my awesome beta gbheart for always doing such a great job.

Aaaand here we go!

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 1<strong>

**HPOV**

The air was chilly and held a warning of rain. It was the beginning of March but felt more like a bleak autumn night, and Harry was making his way towards the Muggle pub where he was supposed to meet Ron and Hermione.

He rarely left his home these days, and felt a little insecure as he walked down the streets. Most of them were Muggles, he assumed, but there could probably be a wizard or two among them, and he did not want to be recognized if he could help it.

Why Hermione had insisted on them meeting outside of either of their homes, he had no idea. Once a week, he made dinner for all three of them, and they joined him in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

With a shiver running down his spine, he pulled his jacket closer around him, picking up the pace of his steps a notch or two, just as the first lightning flashed across the black sky.

"Harry! There you are!" The sound of Hermione's voice barely had the chance to reach his ears, before the thunder drowned out any other noise.

His two friends stood just outside the door to the Muggle pub, clad in perfectly acceptable Muggle clothes; Harry had a feeling that Hermione had something to do with Ron's very Muggle-ish appearance. They both seemed to glow in the dim light that made its way through the dirty pub windows.

He ran the final distance, just as the first heavy raindrops decided to fall. By the time the three of them had made it inside the door, it was pouring it down outside.

"Mate, what took you so long?" Ron said as soon as Hermione had guided them to a table in a back corner. Harry gave her a grateful shade of a smile before he hung his jacket over the backrest of the empty chair next to him.

"I got lost a couple of times. I'm rarely in this area," Harry mumbled and pretended to be studying the menu very closely.

"The only _area_ you're actually in, these days, is your home. And ours," Ron pointed out. It was true, of course, but Harry did not want to hear them nagging about his lack of social life right now.

"Ron," Hermione chided and put her hand over her husband's. They had gotten married a little over a year ago and seemed happier than ever.

A waiter effectively prevented any reply Ron might have had in mind, by pulling out a small pad and a pen from his dark green apron.

"Ready to order?" he asked in a heavy Irish accent.

Harry had a hard time deciding the man's age. His face was round and youthful, reminding him a bit of Neville Longbottom, while he was clearly balding, with only small patches of reddish-blonde hair left.

Hermione ordered for them. She usually did for some reason, even though both Harry and Ron looked through their menus every time they went out to eat. Which, on the other hand, they rarely did anymore. The waiter disappeared after tugging the pad and pen back in the front pocket of his apron and gathering the remaining napkin and cutlery that stood abandoned by the empty seat next to Harry.

He always felt extremely alone every time that happened.

"Before I forget it, Harry, I met Neville this morning, and he asked me to say hi." Hermione's smile told him that she was more worried about him than she wanted to let on.

"I should ask to see him sometime," he answered vaguely, just because he knew that that was the answer she wanted. Perhaps he actually would this time, in case he did not accept the job Kingsley had offered him.

"Have you seen anyone from school since the wedding, Harry?" she asked, and he sighed internally, knowing where this discussion was heading.

"Yes. You and Ron. I bumped into Seamus once, when I was in Diagon Alley."

"And that was what, nine months ago?" Ron cut in and rested his chin in his hands.

Harry glared at him. He hated these discussions. They always seemed to worry about him not getting out enough, not meeting enough people, not socializing with anyone else other than them.

"Alright, alright. Let's leave that until we've had a couple of beers," Ron said and waved dismissively. "While we're on the subject – people from school, I mean – I thought I'd let you know that Malfoy was at the Ministry the other day."

Harry's head snapped up. _Malfoy?_Was he even in England anymore? Harry had not heard a word about the man since the trials, where he had testified for the Slytherin's benefit.

"Draco Malfoy?" Hermione asked.

"There are no other Malfoy's still alive, Hermione," Ron snorted and looked pleased to be the one reminding her for once, and not the other way around. "I thought the ferret had left the country years ago, but apparently he hasn't, or he's back."

"Did you talk to him?" Harry felt like he was missing something that he should have understood minutes ago. He could not for the world understand why Malfoy would even consider returning to England, if he had even left.

"No, of course not! But he was the same, you know, fancy clothes, fancy hair, fancy walk. Fancy everything, really." Ron shrugged, he looked like he knew more about the matter than he wanted to tell them, but Harry did not want to push it. Ron told them more about the Aurors' work than he should, already.

"Speaking about the Ministry," he said instead and folded his hands in his lap. "Kingsley offered me a job a couple of days ago."

"For the three-hundredth time, you mean?"

The waiter showed up again with a black tray and placed their orders in front of them. Harry noted that Hermione, for once, had not ordered beer for herself. Perhaps she had an important meeting early tomorrow.

"Anyway," Harry said as soon as the waiter had left them alone again. "This time, it's an offer I'm actually thinking about accepting." He swallowed as his two friends looked up at him. They knew all too well that he had declined hundreds of jobs that he had been offered, over the past seven years.

"You are?" Hermione said, after regaining herself from being dumbfounded.

"Yes," he said quietly. "But I have to move to America. And get married."

Ron dropped his spoon in his soup with a splash and stared at Harry with enormous eyes.

"Oh man," he said. "Oh man, oh man, oh man."

"What? It's not that far away with an international Portkey." He had hoped that they would support him in this. They had been the ones to constantly tell him to get a job, to do something with his life, and when he finally was considering something, Ron seemed to freak out.

"Get _married_?" Hermione squeaked through the hand she had clamped over her own mouth. "To _whom?__" _

"I don't know," Harry confessed just as Ron said:

"To Malfoy."

"_What?__"_

Ron had clearly lost his mind.

"Okay, mate. Don't freak out, because I'm freaking out a little bit over here. Someone needs to remain sane." Ron held his hands up as if to shield himself from a possible outburst of rage from Harry's side. "I told you I saw Malfoy at the Ministry, right? Actually, I know what he was talking to Kingsley about, because Kingsley told me about this job. In America. He was thinking about sending Malfoy there, because _apparently_ he's some genius when it comes to organized crimes and stuff. I had no idea, just for the record."

"But what is this job all about, and _why __would __Harry __have __to __marry __him?_Has Kingsley lost his _mind?__" _Hermione was clearly upset, but Harry did not know if it was because of the questioned logic of the job, or because Ron knew more about it than she did.

Harry himself had no idea what to say or even how to react. His head was spinning, heart beating faster, still searching for some kind of indication that Ron was mistaken and that Malfoy had nothing to do with this.

"It's some sort of undercover job over there. They can't use their own people, and I don't know why. Kingsley doesn't want to send official ministry employees either, so he's thinking about sending Malfoy over there. And Harry, it seems. Since they're not connected to the Ministry, it won't be a huge problem if someone happens to know who they are. And Harry is a great Quidditch player, which means he would be the perfect case to pose as a professional."

"But Harry hasn't played Quidditch for _years,_Ron. No, the field behind the Burrow once every other year doesn't count!" She added the last part just as Harry was about to open his mouth to point out that he actually _did_ play Quidditch with Ron and the rest of the Weasley family.

"Have some faith, Hermione," Ron said and looked almost offended, as if he was the one considering the job and not Harry.

"This does not explain why he has to marry Malfoy of all people." Hermione had crossed her arms over her chest, with a look on her face that made Harry wonder if she was thinking of possible messages to put in a howler to Kingsley.

"Someone has to spend some time with the other players' partners. I don't think they're supposed to solve anything. I guess the American Ministry is taking care of that, but they're supposed to keep an eye on them."

Harry was surprised by the calm Ron seemed to possess all of a sudden, while Hermione was getting all worked up. It felt like they were both portraying his very split reaction to the news. One part of him felt like running to Kingsley and demanding to know what the hell was wrong with him, while the other wanted to lean back in the chair and shrug – except that the last part made no sense whatsoever to him, and that alone was frightening. He watched as Ron and Hermione kept bickering, as though he was not even there.

Moving to America was one thing. Working with Malfoy was definitely another. The two of them combined? Harry doubted that he would be able to keep the little sanity he still had left.

"I have to tell Kingsley that I can't accept the job," he muttered, cutting them off, pulling his fingers through his hair. It was a huge let down, of course. The job had seemed as the perfect opportunity to get away from all of the attention for a while, to live a normal life of some sort, even if it was fake. But working with Malfoy? No way.

"Yeah, you should. I doubt Malfoy knows about this if you don't. He didn't look furious when he left, and Kingsley was still alive this morning." Ron fished up the spoon from his soup with his fingertips and wiped the soup off of it with his napkin, before continuing with his meal as if nothing had happened.

"Maybe you should accept the job, Harry," Hermione said, suddenly calm again, and looked thoughtful as she picked on her food.

"Why?" Ron asked, staring at her in disbelief. "We're talking about Malfoy here. You know, the blonde guy that has been an arrogant brat since the second we first met him? Harry doesn't want to work with him."

"I'm right here, you know. You don't have to talk about me like I'm not sitting at the same table as you." But Harry's words were useless, because his two friends were in a discussion again.

"He's also the person that Harry was obsessed with for his entire time in school," Hermione pointed out before turning to Harry. "Perhaps that means something?"

"What are you suggesting?" he asked with a tired sigh. He had, truly, been obsessed with Malfoy over the years. Especially during his sixth year. And even though he did not want to confess this even to himself, he had been leafing through the Daily Prophet every morning, the past seven years to get some information about what Malfoy was doing now. It had not provided him with much information, and now his heart was beating in that adrenaline-rush way, his brain making sure to remember every word about the other man, as though he was sixteen all over again.

"I think you should take the job, Harry. Not only because you need to get out and get a social life again, because I know how much you hate all of the attention you get when you go out here, and how hard it is for you to..._find__someone,_but also because I think you need to get some answers to this obsession you have with Malfoy." Hermione's eyes were soft now, and he had a feeling that she knew something about him that he did not.

"Harry hasn't been thinking about Malfoy for _years,_ Hermione. He doesn't need any answers." Ron was getting worked up, and Harry had a feeling that he had been so calm about the whole situation, just a few minutes ago, because he had been sure that Harry would say no to a job that had anything to do with their former school nemesis.

"You haven't, Harry?" Hermione said, with a knowing glint in her eyes that Harry knew far too well.

"Er," he mumbled, feeling slightly embarrassed without really knowing why. "I guess I have. Since he just disappeared like that. Like he had left the country or was sitting hidden in a house somewhere-"

"Just like you," Ron cut off, and Harry felt the irritation sting somewhere inside.

"Whatever," he muttered and started stabbing his steak with his fork. "I have to think about this."

"What's there to think about?" Ron gestured so wildly with his hands that he almost knocked over his beer. "You're going to stay here, with me, Hermione and the baby."

Harry blinked, trying to process the last couple of words that had left Ron's mouth. _The__ baby._

"You're having...a baby?" he said quietly and looked between them.

Hermione's face suddenly grew very soft, and the glow was there again. She put her hands on her belly as if to confirm without using words.

"We are," Ron said. "Well, actually, we brought you here to tell you. And ask you if you would like to be the godfather, because...you know, you're our best friend." His friend cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head, as if he found the sudden emotional situation slightly uncomfortable.

Hermione reached across the table and put her hand upon Harry's, smiling warmly at him.

"We really want you to be, if you want to."

They were having a baby? A tiny little person? Ron was going to be a _father_?

"Of course," he blurted and felt his throat tighten somewhat. "I...yes, of course I will."

"It's still really early," Hermione explained, still not letting go of his hand. "But we wanted you to know first. I still think you should accept this job, Harry. You deserve to be happy and, at the moment, you're not. Maybe this could give you a new view of life. Maybe this is the right thing to do? If not, you can always come back, and the baby won't be here for another eight months. You have plenty of time to move over there, try a new way of life, and come back in time to welcome our new family member to the world."

"But...I might miss out on things. Who's Ron going to turn to when he needs to complain about your mood swings? And who am I going to cook for?" Harry felt slightly lost, slightly out of balance. And very confused.

"Mate, it's not the end of the world. As you said, you'll just be an international Portkey away, if I need to see you, and there's always fire-call." Ron's words surprised him a little, and he wondered if Hermione was not the only one with hormonal issues right now.

"Weren't you just telling me not to go?" Harry muttered accusingly and rubbed his palms over his face. It would have been easier if they had both told him not to go, and that it was a lousy idea, but now when they were both insisting, Harry found himself crumbling, giving in.

"Yeah, but I think Hermione's right. You need to get this Malfoy-obsession out of your system. Marrying him seems to be a good way to do that." And then, Ron suddenly sniggered as if they were in fourth year all over again. "I can't believe you're getting married to Malfoy. I have to be there when Kingsley tells him. I can imagine the look of his face." Ron closed his eyes with a silly smile on his lips, most likely picturing how Malfoy would react when the news was delivered.

"I can't believe I'm actually agreeing to this," Harry groaned and glared at his two friends across the table. "If I end up dead, it's all your fault."

**xXx**

**DPOV**

Draco hurried down the corridors of the Ministry, while trying to look like he was not – being stressed out did not suit anyone. It was a little over a week since his first meeting with Shacklebolt, and he was running slightly late. He had done his best to look his usual casually-smashing self and had forgotten all about how quickly time seem to pass when one is trying to find the perfect shirt, for the first meeting with one's future wife.

Those words sounded so strange, even when they were only uttered inside his head. He was not sure if it was because of the fact that he was getting married, or because he was marrying a woman.

He was secretly thankful that neither of his parents were alive to see him willingly marry someone completely random, for the sake of a job. His mother would have had a heart attack.

As he reached the doors to Shacklebolt's office, he straightened up and smoothened his shirt with one hand, hoping that his hair was its usual perfect work of art. And then he knocked, feeling his heart beat faster for every second that ticked by without someone calling for him to enter.

He was thankful that the corridors outside the Minister's office were empty because he would have felt even more annoyed for standing there for an inappropriately long amount of time, if other people had been watching him.

Just as he was thinking about whether to leave or knock again, the big door opened silently in front of him, and a familiar face appeared in the doorway.

"Weasley?" he blurted with an ounce of disgust in his voice, before he had a chance to stop himself. He had not seen Potter's best friend for years, except for his wedding picture in the Prophet about a year ago. He looked the same, though: ginger, freckly, Weasley. Draco was not too impressed with how he had aged. Some of his school mates, including Draco, had been growing into stunning looking people. Weasley was just as average as he had always been.

"Malfoy," Weasley said and opened the door wider, while gesturing for Draco to enter.

He wanted to ask what the heck Weasley was doing there, but the look on Shacklebolt's face behind that mahogany desk told him to shut it, before he had even considered opening his mouth.

As he entered and Weasley stepped aside, Draco noticed another man sitting in one of the three empty chairs opposite the Minister. He had black, unruly hair, slightly tanned skin and a relaxed posture, clad in Muggle jeans and a shirt. He was just telling himself that the man looked quite a lot like a less scrawny version of Harry Potter, when the man turned his head and met his gaze.

It _was_ the less scrawny version of Harry Potter.

Draco froze, staring back at the other man's face. They had not spoken for years. In fact, the last time Draco had ever heard from the other man was when an owl delivered his wand without a note.

And even though they had both been boys at the time, Potter was certainly a grown man now. Draco had been taken aback, because even though he avoided the Prophet like the plague, he had surely caught a picture of the Saviour of the Wizarding World from time to time. They must all have been old, because Potter still looked like a scrawny boy in them, wearing those round, stupid glasses. He had switched them for rectangular ones now.

They suited him better, Draco thought.

"Malfoy," Potter greeted, looking so frighteningly calm. It made Draco want to shout something really inappropriate and childish at him, as his own heart was pounding behind his ribs and his brain quickly put the pieces together. Kingsley had never actually mentioned that Draco would marry a woman.

_Sneaky __fucking __man_, Draco snorted mentally as he thanked his Malfoy-facade and said coolly: "Potter."

"Why don't you take a seat." Shacklebolt gestured towards the chair closest to the door, next to Potter, who still seemed all but surprised over Draco showing up.

He must have known, Draco thought as he hesitated for a moment, before taking the few steps past Weasley and sitting down. He doubted that Potter had miraculously managed to learn how to hide his emotions in seven years.

The door closed, leaving the four of them in an office that was way too small for Draco, Potter and Weasley. Shacklebolt seemed unaffected by the tension between the three younger men, as he pulled out a stack of parchments. Then he looked up, with a small smile on his lips and said:

"Mr. Malfoy, meet your new spouse," while gesturing towards Potter.

Draco did his best not to glare as he returned the look, effectively ignoring that it was rude not to return a smile. He was panicking, heart beating faster with every second.

"Excuse me?" he managed at last, trying his best to look offended and not terrified.

"Harry will pose as your husband," Shacklebolt clarified. "Pretending to be a professional Quidditch player, and you will be an interior designer."

In the middle of his state of panic, Draco could not help but wonder why Potter always got the good end of all the deals. Not only had he beaten Draco in every Quidditch match, every House Cup, he had chosen the winning side in the war before Draco and now, he had gotten the, by far, most desired position in their marriage. _Pretend __marriage_, Draco corrected himself.

"An interior designer?" he snorted instead of all the '_it's __not __fair'_ and '_how__ come __Potter __gets __all __the __good__ things?' _that spun in his head.

"It's the perfect way to visit people's homes, Mr. Malfoy," Shacklebolt answered calmly and pretended as if he had not heard the questioning of his sanity in Draco's tone. "We will, of course, hand you solutions to any job you might be offered in the area, by real interior designers."

"Great," he muttered. Now Potter got the cool job, and got to perform it by himself. Draco, on the other hand, would be handed instructions to the most...ridiculous job he could ever think of.

He knew that he should say that he had changed his mind, that this job was no longer what he desired, that he gladly stayed in England hiding away from the rest of the world for another seven years. He did not, though. Not only because he was a Malfoy and when he had agreed to something, he did his best to stay true to his word, but also because Potter was sitting calmly next to him, apparently not nearly as freaked out by this as Draco, and Draco refused to lose to him one more time.

"Do you know our history, Shacklebolt?" he asked instead, directing some of the attention to the man beside him.

"I do," the minister answered. "I trust that your history will not be a hindrance in this matter, because you are both grown men."

"Of course, Kingsley," Potter said, and Draco felt like slapping him because _of__course_ he was on first name basis with the Minister.

"And I trust that you work on your signature, Harry, since you will take on Malfoy as your last name."

Potter just nodded, still visibly unaffected by the insane situation. Draco had to fight to stay put in his chair and not give in to the urge to storm out of the office, hexing anyone in his way. Merlin, he could not believe that he was sitting there, discussion his upcoming marriage with Harry Potter. And the bloody bastard was taking Draco's last name as his own. Draco's father would have had a fit.

"Well, gee, I'm glad we took my name, since I'm obviously the bitch in this relationship. Thank you for letting me keep some of my manliness," he muttered and glared at Weasley when he started to snicker.

Shacklebolt seemed to be fighting to keep a straight face, but Potter only looked straight ahead, fiddling with the hem of his shirt – the only thing that told Draco that the other man was not as calm as he let on. It made him feel less inferior, knowing that the other man was affected by this too.

"Are you both still accepting this job?" the Minister asked, while he was leafing through the stack of parchments he had placed on his desk earlier.

"Yes," Draco answered after a couple of seconds of hesitation. He suddenly felt like throwing up, and wondered how many days it would take before they tried to kill each other.

Potter nodded next to him, pulling his fingers through his hair in the same way Draco had seen him do so many times from across the Great Hall. Some things never changed, it seemed.

"Then I would like you both to sign here and here-" Shacklebolt pointed at the bottom of the parchment he was holding up for them. "It is to confirm your marriage. After this contract has been signed by the both of you, and thereafter by Mr. Weasley and I, you are legally wed."

"I can't believe I'm actually agreeing to marry you, Malfoy," Potter said in a faint voice, as he reached for the quill the Minister was providing him with. It was if reality had suddenly caught up with him too.

"Mmm," Draco answered simply and watched intently as Potter pressed the tip of the quill onto the parchment, signing it hastily, as if he was afraid he would change his mind if he did not get it over with.

He noticed how his own hand shook as he accepted the quill, when Potter offered it to him. Hopefully, none of the other men had noticed.

His signature glowed dark blue against the pale surface of the parchment, next to Potter's, before they both turned dark red. Permanent.

"Now what?" Weasley asked, uttering the very question Draco had tumbling around in his head.

"Now," Shacklebolt repeated. "I must bid Mr. and Mr. Malfoy to leave, before coming back again in two days for the photographs. As Mrs. Weasley was happy to point out, your future home would seem strange without any photos of the two of you. Therefore I must ask you to bring a few sets of clothes."

At first, Draco felt like fainting when the words "Mr. and Mr. Malfoy"was spoken out loud. Then he started to wonder why Weasley's mum was involved in the matter, before realising that Shacklebolt must have been referring to Weasley's wife. Granger was now, indeed, a Mrs. Weasley. She would always be Granger to Draco, though. There were too many Weasleys on the planet as it was.

"I'll be leaving, then," Draco said as he stood awkwardly. Not really sure of how one said goodbye to their pretend-husband.

"See you Thursday, Malfoy," Potter said with a weird wave, obviously as confused with the situation as Draco was.

"See you, Potter. Weasley. Minister." He felt stupid for forgetting completely about Weasley and Shacklebolt, having to add their names one by one as he realised that they, too, were in the room.

"Can I suggest something?" Weasley said, causing Draco to halt in his tracks and turn back. Merlin, how he wished that Potter would just say _no_ to this question. "Perhaps, since you two now are married and all-" Draco groaned mentally in frustration. "- you should be on first name basis?"

He was right. Of course he was right. Draco hated that Weasley, for once, said something right.

"See you, Harry," he said instead. Feeling awkward about the way his tongue bent around the unfamiliar name.

"Bye..._Draco_," Potter added his name quickly when Weasley's elbow found his ribs.

Draco leaned against the wall just outside Shacklebolt's office, when the door had closed behind him. For a few seconds, he only stood there, staring blankly into the wall on the opposite side of the corridor, and then he realised that he had to get going if he did not want to be standing there like a fool when the other men exited the Minister's office. He almost knocked Granger off her feet, as he only just avoided walking straight into her, when he rounded a corner.

Merlin, what had he gotten himself into?

**xXx**

**HPOV**

Harry and Hermione were sitting together by the kitchen table, in Grimmauld Place. Not even an hour had passed since they had left Kingsley's office, sending Ron to the Three Broomsticks for dinner. As they were waiting for him to get back, Hermione was writing a list of things Harry should and definitely should not pack.

"I bumped into Malfoy just moments before I met up with you," she said as she stroked the soft eagle feather of her quill over her chin absentmindedly. Harry guessed that she was trying to figure out if she had forgotten something on her lists.

"Okay," he muttered, not really sure what kind of answer she wanted from him.

"He looks really good, you know."

She had a smile in her eyes that had not yet reached her lips, when he met her gaze.

"So?" It was not as if Harry was blind. At least not with glasses on. The man had looked ridiculously good. When he had entered that office, Harry had thought that Ron had been mistaken and that the person standing there was a model from a witch magazine. For a moment, he had not even been able to recognize the boy from school, except for the blonde hair and pale skin. But then the straight nose, the close-to-silver grey eyes and the straight posture had been too strong reminders for Harry to keep any doubt.

"You could do worse," she said simply and added something at the bottom of the list.

"Are you trying to steal my husband?" Harry did his best to pretend as if he was offended and not scared to death by the fact that he had just admitted to himself that he found Draco Malfoy good looking, along with the realisation that he had just married him, too.

Hermione laughed and put the quill down, before rising from her chair. It creaked in protest as she moved.

"No, Harry. I'm perfectly happy where I am, I promise. Was he rude when you met him?" She started to set the table and just shook her head, as he made an indication to get up an help her.

"Not really," he said while trying to recall the extremely tense meeting in Kingsley's office. "I mean, he was quite defensive, even though he seemed quite relaxed. I felt like an idiot for almost freaking out, even though I knew about the whole thing already, and he didn't. I guess he was quite snarky, but not rude, no. Not to anyone in particular." And even though Malfoy had said that sarcastic comment about clearly being the bitch in their relationship, Harry had found it way closer to a joke than an insult, if such a thing could ever exist when the two of them were in the same room.

"That makes sense, but you always seem to forget that he has been raised by two stone-faced people. I'm sure he was a lot more scared or confused than he let on." Hermione placed the cutlery neatly on the right side of the plates, before reaching for the glasses. "It was quite obvious in school, wasn't it? The way he rarely showed any emotions except for being arrogant?"

Harry nodded, but remembered clearly how he had walked in on Malfoy in the bathroom, during sixth year, crying. The image had haunted him for years, because it showed a side of Malfoy that he had never known even existed.

"Yeah, I guess. When did his parents die?" He remembered hearing about it, but was not sure that it had ever been in the Prophet.

"A few years ago. A couple of years after the war ended, I think. If I recall correctly, they were moving to France to get some peace of mind. They weren't exactly treated nicely by anyone here. But they died in that accident at the French Ministry, where the guarding dragon broke loose and practically killed everyone in there." She had been halting in the middle of a movement, like she so often did when she was talking about something she tried to remember at the same time. "Dragons are banned as guards in France now, but I can't understand how anyone would ever think having one there in the first place was a good idea. A disaster was bound to happen."

Harry did not recall this particular event at all. He must have heard about the Malfoy deaths from Ron, who had probably caught the news at the Ministry. For some reason, he wondered who had been the one to tell Malfoy what had happened, and if he had been completely alone after that.

"Have you been thinking about what to wear for your photos, Harry? I have made up a plan for what kind of photos to take after I visited people to see what kind of photos they have in their homes. Wedding pictures are a given, but I also think you should have some of you on holiday. People want that kind of memories to be eternalised in a photograph." She brushed the hair out of her face, before folding the cotton napkins neatly and placing them beside the plates.

"You have visited people to find these kinds of things out?" Harry asked in amazement.

"Of course," she said and seemed a little surprised over the fact the he even asked her such a question. "This has to be believable, Harry, and forgive me, but those Aurors often seem to forget those tiny details that completes the picture. And I'm worried about you." She added the last part with eyes suddenly brimming with tears.

"You don't have to be worried about me, Hermione." He patted her hand awkwardly, cursing himself inwardly for still not knowing what to do in situations like these.

"But, Harry, this is _dangerous._" She sank down in the chair next to him and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"We have been through more dangerous things, remember?" Of course she remembered. She had not been Obliviated anytime, in the past seven years. "And thank you, for looking up things like that. I'm not sure what I'll do without you and Ron."

"You'll be fine," she sniffed, before taking a deep breath and straightening her posture. "As I said, pictures from your holidays."

"We've never been on holiday," he muttered and dreaded the fact that he would have to put up with posing for photos, willingly.

"Of course you haven't," she said. "We'll just have to play pretend, won't we? I have a few ideas to what clothes you could wear."

"It doesn't matter what I wear. I'll still look ridiculous next to him," Harry whined and felt like he was five years old again. Hermione rewarded him with an all-too-knowing smile.

"I admit that he looks good, Harry, but even if _you_haven't noticed that you happened to grow up into a quite handsome man, I'm fairly certain everyone else have."

**xXx**

**DPOV**

Granger was already there when Draco stepped inside the door. It was some sort of conference room, with a long table and chairs that stood too close together for anyone to sit comfortably any longer than a couple of hours. She looked much like she had back in school, with the big hair and the slightly boring but ever so dainty way of dressing.

He had not known that she was supposed to be there as well, but perhaps he could have figured out as much, since she was the one that had come up with the idea in the first place.

"Hello," she said, and smiled in a way Draco had not expected from anyone that was friends with Potter.

"Hello," he answered cautiously, nodding in a polite way without being too friendly. It _was_ Granger, after all.

"Harry's not here yet, but I'm sure he'll be around soon. I have asked a freelance photographer to take the photos of you, so we're waiting for him, too. Did you bring your clothes?" She was talking swiftly and seemed to be in the middle of arranging items in her purse, which was able to swallow more of her arm than what should have been possible considering the modest size of it.

"Yes." Draco pointed towards the bag over his shoulder. He wanted Potter to show up soon, so this whole crazy idea could be over and done with, but then again, the earlier Potter decided to show up, the faster Draco would have to pretend to be in love with him, posing for photos. Wedding photos.

"Good. I thought that we would take your wedding photos on a beach. It seems to me that neither you or Harry would prefer the wedding to be something big or flashy, right?"

It felt extremely weird to be talking to Granger in such a relaxed way. For a moment, he wondered if he had forgotten something nice he had done for her in the past. She was right, though. Draco would not have wanted a big, fancy wedding inside a magnificent building, with lots of important guests. Perhaps before the war began, when he was still of the opinion that fame and attention were more important than family. Perhaps back then.

"Right," he replied quietly. He had not seen Potter since they, well yes, got married, and he felt terrified about doing so. They were supposed to take pictures of them as a couple, looking ridiculously in love. Draco was a good actor, and he probably would have been perfectly able to perform such an act with _anyone_...except Potter. He had spent years hating him. Trying to push that aside to be able to look as if he was in love with him seemed an impossible thing, right now.

"There you are, Harry," Granger said suddenly, and Draco looked up quickly, just in time to see her envelop Potter in a friendly hug. The other man was casually dressed in Muggle jeans and a loose-fitting t-shirt that still somehow managed to emphasize the fact that Potter was, indeed, very much a grown man and not a scrawny boy.

"Malfoy," the other man said with an awkward nod, as he noticed Draco. He seemed taller than Draco had expected. It could have been the refined definition of his muscular shoulders that made him look less like a toothpick and more manly, or he could have grown a couple of inches since their last meeting.

Draco only nodded back. No one had ever taught him the appropriate way to greet his pretend-husband, or how to handle a situation where said pretend-husband was your former school enemy.

Potter turned to Granger again, speaking too low for Draco to hear. He felt slightly left out as he watched them interact with each other. For a moment, it felt as if he was back in the corridors of Hogwarts, where Potter and his two minions stood discussing their secrets too low for anyone to hear. Especially Draco. Not that he had ever wanted to hear their secrets, but it was a matter of principle.

"Good evening, lovebirds," came a slightly raspy voice from the doorway. The man that stood there looked like a lumberjack with his red flannel shirt and moss green cargo trousers, which ended in a pair of heavy, dark brown boots. The dark golden shade of his skin and the sun bleached strikes in his light brown hair told Draco that he spent a lot of his time outdoors. Just as the wrinkles around the corners of his eyes were witnesses of many smiles over the years.

He did not look like a wedding photographer, Draco thought immediately.

"Jensen," Granger greeted and shook his hand in a very professional way. "I assume you have been talking to the Minister about this particular matter?"

Jensen nodded and retrieved a note from the front pocket of his shirt. He unfolded it in a slightly dramatic fashion and read out loud:

"_This __job __is __strictly __confidential, __and__ you __will __be__ held __under__ a __strict __vow,__ to __guarantee __the __people __involved __secrecy.__" _He then folded the note again and put it back again with a quirked eyebrow. "Not very informative. Though, you told me this was about wedding pictures?"

Draco wished that he had not agreed to Shacklebolt's stupid job offer, when the photographer mentioned wedding pictures.

"Correct," Granger agreed with a nod and pointed first at Harry, and then Draco. "This is Harry and Draco Malfoy."

Draco suspected that he had never heard their names in the same sentence without the topic being detention before. Granger definitely knew how to make an introduction, as Jensen seemed to measure the distance between the two men.

"The newlyweds?" he then asked. The look of disbelief on his face made it clear that he understood that this was not the usual married couple he would photograph.

"Yes," Granger answered.

"I see." Jensen nodded while tapping absentmindedly on the lens cover of the camera that hung in a strap around his neck. He glanced at Potter for a second, before his eyes widened in realisation, as he understood who it actually was. "Harry, was it? And.._.Malfoy_?" he added, as he turned towards Draco, who tried to look as if he had been thinking about something else completely.

"It's Ministry business," Granger said firmly. "No questions allowed. We need pictures from a range of situations and places. I have a few ideas of where to go, and I took the liberty to set up a few Portkeys to take us there."

"Aye," Jensen muttered with a shrug. "But...if this is going to look believable, except for the different locations, sets of clothes and my stupendous talent as a photographer, these two have to work. No one will ever believe they just got married if they keep standing on either side of the room, to keep a distance. I'm good at manipulating photos, but not _that_good."

Potter looked as if he felt embarrassed and looked anywhere but at Draco, who wanted to kill Granger for her lousy idea.

"Fine," she said briskly and retrieved a slim pencil from her purse. "Come on. I know you dislike travelling with Portkeys, Harry, but this is necessary. You too, Malfoy."

Draco sighed deeply and rolled his eyes at her suddenly all-business behaviour. Annoying Gryffindors.

"I think I'm filing for a divorce," he muttered, as he crossed the floor quickly enough for Granger not to snap at him, and lazily enough to make it clear that he was not particularly engaged in this.

Potter's fingers grazed against his for a fraction of a second as they both grasped the pencil Granger presented them with. Just as Jensen mimicked their actions, Granger clicked the pencil and a familiar, not-too-comfortable tug behind Draco's navel pulled him out in a whirl of colour and motion sickness.

Merlin knew how much he preferred Apparition to this stupid invention.

They landed just moments later, though Draco's body felt as if they had been spinning for hours. He smirked as he watched Potter stumble slightly to keep his balance, while Draco landed as gracefully as always.

Granger had brought them to an empty beach surrounded by pale cliffs. The sand was almost white and looked soft beneath Draco's well-polished shoes. Calm waves rolled in with that particular sound Draco had a hard time describing. A few sea mews circled above the surface, their loud communication muffled by the ocean's sound.

Draco was almost taken aback by the beauty of the place, as he let his gaze wander along the horizon. There was nothing but the soft waves of the ocean and a few clouds where the surface met the sky.

He glanced towards Potter, who had bent down to touch something in the sand with the soft wind tugging gently at his already-unruly hair. It was quite cold, and Draco shivered slightly as the wind caught his hair, too.

"So, wedding pictures?" Jensen asked, pulling Draco out of his Potter-observation and back to reality.

"Precisely," Granger said hurriedly and retrieved a piece of parchment from her purse. "I suggest barefoot, even though it's a little cold. Roll your trousers up a few inches. And Harry, you need to change clothes."

She sounded more like McGonagall than a friend, in that moment, Draco thought. He knew better than to utter any of the snide remarks that immediately popped up in his head. Instead, he bent down to unlace his shoes, before placing them beside him with his socks neatly balled up inside one of them. While he rolled up his trousers slightly – to prevent them from getting sandy, not because Granger had suggested so, mind you – he watched Potter toeing off his own shoes in the exact careless way Potter always seemed to do things.

"So-," Jensen started once he came back from walking around on the beach, probably looking for the perfect place to take the perfect wedding picture. "Is that scar of his supposed to be showing, or are you going to cover that up?"

"I'm going to cast a permanent concealing charm," Granger said, snapping her head up as soon as Jensen uttered the word 'scar'. It seemed to Draco as if she had forgotten all about that particular matter. "It will just open up for unnecessary questions."

Potter winced as she placed the tip of her wand against the scar on his forehead. Draco watched them intently out of sheer curiosity, as Granger mumbled a few words and the famous lightning scar was suddenly nowhere to be seen.

Potter rubbed the place on his forehead where it once had been visible and grimaced slightly, as if it itched uncomfortably. Draco was glad that his Dark Mark had faded over time and was visible only in a certain light, looking more like a long-since-healed burn scar than what it once had been.

"Alright," Jensen said, and took the lens cover off the camera. He seemed to check the settings, as he turned the objective a couple of times, while he walked over to a certain spot in the outline of the beach. "I thought this would be a good spot. I will catch some of the ocean in the background and some of these amazing cliffs in the same shot. Perhaps people won't look as much on the two of you, if you have an amazing background like this."

Draco was not sure he liked the cynical tone in the photographer's voice. He sounded too much like him.

He glanced towards Potter, who looked just as nervous and insecure as Draco felt. At least he had changed into a decent pair of dress trousers and a white button-down shirt. Draco tried to remember how he had been able to survive the years in service of the Dark Lord, but somehow this seemed harder. And it did not make things better that Potter looked like he was made for the clothes he was wearing.

"Come on," Granger motioned to both of them to get over to the spot Jensen had pointed out. "We don't have all day. There are five more locations on my list."

"Fine," Draco snapped, and walked swiftly passed Potter and towards Jensen, who looked as if he was working hard to keep a straight face. "Let's get this over with, Potter."

"I thought his name was Malfoy," Jensen chuckled, and seemed oblivious to the glare Draco sent his way as he added: "I feel like this is going tremendously well."

Potter rolled his eyes, as he walked over to stand awkwardly next to Draco. The warmth from the other man's body heat reached Draco, even though they were several inches apart. Draco wondered silently how Granger could have ever thought that wedding photos of the two of them would make their charade more believable.

"Er," Potter said awkwardly and shoved his hands down the front pockets of his trousers as he swayed back and forth on his bare feet.

For the first time in their lives, Draco suspected, he knew exactly how Potter felt. Were they supposed to hold hands? Embrace each other? Smile happily at one another?

"Oh dear lord," Jensen muttered, and turned towards Granger, who had a disappointed look on her face. "You don't happen to have a couple of love potions in that purse of yours? No?"

She merely shook her head violently, and Draco had the feeling that she was fighting hard not to quote the laws about the banned love potions. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Jensen held up a hand to silence her.

"Let me handle this. I might not have worked with many married couples that seem to despise each other, but I know what the ones in love look like." He handed her the camera and stalked over towards Draco and Potter. Draco felt slightly worried about the determination in the photographer's steps.

"You," Jensen said and nodded towards Potter before taking his arm in a firm grasp and placed it around Draco's shoulders. "You hold him like this, yes? And you," he nodded towards Draco before shoving the two of them a lot closer together and almost painfully pulling Draco's arm around Potter's waist. "You cling to him like this is the happiest moment of your-" He suddenly seemed to forget what he was about to say, and it took Draco a few moments to realise that the photographer was looking at his other hand.

"You're not wearing rings," Jensen stated as a matter-of-factly, while turning towards Granger, as if she was the one responsible for this mistake.

"Oh _Jesus__ Christ,_" Granger sighed with a huge amount of irritation in her voice. "Can't you two think of anything on your own? Good thing I went to pick up these from Kingsley, just in case you two did not get a pair on your own." She retrieved a small box from her purse and shoved it in Potter's hand. Draco was too busy with dealing with the fact that Potter had his arm around him to even care about their mistake. He was not feeling cold anymore, and his brain seemed to have disconnected from the rest of his body, because he did not even care about Potter's breath against his cheek, or the fact that he could feel the faint thuds of the other man's rapid heartbeats against his own chest.

Jensen put the ring on Draco's finger in a very business-like way. It felt almost demeaning, as if Draco was not capable of putting the ring on himself. When he glanced on the man next to him, who fiddled with his own ring with a concentrated look in his eyes beneath messy strands of hair, he thought that Jensen might have been right.

"Alright, where were we?" the photographer said as soon as the jewellery box was back in Granger's purse and the rings were on the right fingers. "Right. You just cling to him as if this is the happiest day of your life. Put your other hand here. Show off the ring. They all do that." Jensen placed Draco's left hand sprawled on the firm muscles of Potter's chest and pushed them again so they faced each other slightly, while still perfectly open to the camera.

For the first time, Draco was glad that someone was on his own level of bossy.

He glued his gaze on the shiny, platinum ring on his finger and tasteful patterns of small, sparkling diamonds. It was not a girl ring, he thought thankfully. It was, however, a very fancy men's ring. His father had once worn something similar.

"And now, you look in each other's eyes," Jensen said, while grabbing Draco's chin to tilt his head upwards, facing Potter's. "Just like that. I'm not going to pull the corners of your mouths into smiles, so please help me out with that, will you?"

Draco knew that he should be offended with a stranger rearranging his body in a way he was not very comfortable with, but as he suddenly realised that Potter's face was merely an inch away, with eyes boring in to Draco's as if their life depended on it, he forgot all about being offended.

In that moment, Draco decided to pretend as if he did not hate Potter and that this was not his former enemy, but only a handsome man holding him very close. And after he had set his mind to that, Draco could, indeed, agree with the Hogwarts girls that had gushed about how apparently remarkable Potter's eyes had been. Because they were.

And perhaps Potter had set his mind to something similar, because when Jensen retrieved his camera from Granger's hands, brought it to his eyes and shouted "Smile!" one more time, Potter actually did.

And even though Draco was too close to see it clearly, he was sure that it was a smile he had never seen on Potter's face before.

It was all going quite awkwardly smoothly, Draco thought. Jensen rearranged them, in the beginning by physically doing so, after a while they managed to follow his directions by themselves as he shouted them. Every new pose caused a few moments of awkwardness, just as both of them were reminded of what they were doing and with whom, but soon after they had their hands in the right places, heads tilted the right way and feet buried in the just right amount of sand, they somehow managed to keep their smiles genuine.

"I think we're ready for the kiss now!" Jensen shouted, just as Draco had been standing in front of Potter, the other man's warm arms around him with their fingers laced together and happy smiles on their faces.

"The _what_?" Draco blurted, and he could feel Potter go rigid behind him.

"The kiss," Jensen repeated, and arched an eyebrow in the very same fashion Draco used to do. "Have you ever seen wedding photos without a kiss?"

Draco had, actually. Most of his relatives did not kiss in their wedding pictures, but he was quite sure that they did not count as the happy couples he and Potter were supposed to portray either, so instead he said nothing.

"Remember that first pose?" Jensen continued as if he did not notice their resistance. He lowered his camera when neither Draco or Potter moved. "It was not a question. It was an indication for you two to get back in that pose, alright?"

Somehow, Draco was impressed by the man's authority, as he obliged and placed his hand on Potter's chest. Showing off that bloody ring again, as he was supposed to.

Potter's face was so close again, and this time it felt even more uncomfortable. It was one thing to smile as if he had swallowed the sun towards the other man, but kissing? It was Potter, after all. Full-of-himself Potter.

He could see the same hesitation on the other man's face. The same doubt. The same kind of thoughts flickering across those green irises.

For a second, Draco wondered if he was this easy to read to Potter, as Potter was to him. But before he could put his thoughts into a question, or even thinking about doing so, Jensen shouted "kiss!"

And Potter did.

It was not the chaste kiss Draco had expected. The one where Potter only gave him a quick peck to get things over and done with. This was something completely different. At first, Potter's lips crushed quite harshly against his, as if the other man had been rushing into the action to keep himself from backing out. And Draco found himself stiff from surprise, before Potter's lips softened and gently moved over his. He relaxed slightly, grasping the fabric of the other man's shirt with his fingers, hesitantly responding to the kiss. He could feel the strong magical power from Potter, causing his fingertips to tingle oddly in a way that he had never experienced before. It was as if their contact was charged with a defiant rush of magic that would have made Draco fling his arms around the other man, if he had not been so aware of that it was Potter.

And Merlin, he resented Potter for being a great kisser, too.

It felt like a hundred years passed, or perhaps just a fraction of a second, before Potter pulled away. He took half a step back and turned to Jensen, who lowered his camera.

"That okay?"

"Perfect," Jensen answered with an odd tone to his voice, Draco thought, while giving them thumbs up, before turning towards Granger, who seemed to be extremely busy with rummaging through her purse. "Time for the next location?"

_This night is sparkling, don't you let it go  
>I'm wonder-struck, blushing all the way home<br>I'll spend forever wondering if you knew  
>I was enchanted to meet you<em>

_ Enchanted – Taylor Swift_

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><p><strong>Chapter end notes: <strong>So, first chapter is up! Please let me know what you think :)


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Hi guys! Sorry that it took me a billion years to publish this chapter, but I have been so disgustingly busy with a huge essay in sociology and worked really hard to finish it before Christmas.

I doubt that I will have time to publish another chapter before Christmas, therefore this is my gift to you! However, I'm also publishing a Christmasfic: Christmas Wonderland, right in this very moment. In case you won't read it for whatever reason and do celebrate Christmas, I would like to dedicate this chapter to you (and to those of you who don't, too) as an early Christmas gift!

As always, I don't own anything that's JK's. I'm not sure if there's anything in this chapter that I actually _do_ own, because it's been some time since I wrote it (shame on me). And I have wished for Santa to give me the Toblerone Mountain for Christmas - fingers crossed!

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 2<strong>

**HPOV**

Harry twisted the ring on his left hand over and over, watching as the light from the fireplace caught the white gems differently every time. It was fantastic, and not at all him; it was very Malfoyesque, though. And he was a Malfoy now, after all.

He twisted it off for the hundredth time to read the inscription again. Their names combined with an ampersand stood out awkwardly in his eyes. The date of their wedding was the very same as when they signed the papers in Kingsley's office a couple of weeks ago.

The photo shoot was something he would rather forget, but it had etched itself into his memory permanently. Malfoy had looked like he always did, and Harry had felt like a hobo next to him.

He had no idea how the photos possibly had turned out, but Jensen had been pleased and Harry took that as a good sign. The man was a professional, according to Hermione, so he would know when he had managed to capture believable photos.

And then there was the kiss. Something Harry both wanted to forget and could not stop thinking about. He had kissed Malfoy. The Ferret. The man he had spent more than half of his life despising. And it had not been completely unpleasant, except for the fact that it was, indeed, Malfoy. The man had quite soft lips, and the weird rush of another individual's buzzing magic still made his fingertips tingle somewhat, when he let the memories come to mind.

Harry shook his head violently in an attempt to make the thoughts disappear all together, but his eyes fell upon the sleek form of his Tinderblast 3000. It had been given to him by Kingsley to make sure that he looked like a believable professional, according to the Minister. Though, Harry was quite certain that he would not be considered a professional if anyone caught him trying to fly that thing any time soon.

He had not flown in a very serious manner for many years – not since his last Quidditch game at Hogwarts – but for some reason he had thought that he would be nothing more than a little rusty. He had been forced to realise that he was way more than 'a little rusty' when it came to handling a broom. The Tinderblast was extremely sensitive and reacted to his manoeuvres faster than Harry had counted on, throwing him off balance every time it turned too abruptly or when the dive he had tried to accomplish ended too suddenly, leaving him in mid-air clinging on for dear life with the fake Snitch feet below him.

Oliver Wood, his old Quidditch captain from Hogwarts, had been happy to give him a few pointers, and he explained that Harry had to start trusting his new broom. Something Harry found it very hard to do, when he had landed on his back on the ground, losing his breath for the fifth time within an hour.

Wood did not know much about the situation Harry was heading into, but he had sworn to complete secrecy and bad been a tremendous help. It was only Harry that somehow had forgotten all about flying brooms, and that worried him more than anything. He could not pull off a believable show as a professional Quidditch player, if he could not even handle his own broom.

The flames in the fireplace turned green suddenly, pulling him out of his destructive trail of thoughts. A few seconds later, his two friends stepped out in his dining room with a big basket; they had refused to let Harry cook when he was the one leaving.

"It's great to see that you are happy to see us," Ron said cheerfully, clearly referring to the miserable look on Harry's face.

"Shush, Ron!" Hermione chided and put the basket down on the nearest chair. She glanced around, taking in the view of his boxes and bags, and looked as if she wanted to cry but had decided to keep the spirits up. "I see you've packed, Harry. That's great! Come on, let's go eat and play a couple of games of exploding snap."

**xXx**

Harry stood leaning against the wall outside Kingsley's office with a duffel bag at his feet. He was not as nervous as he had thought he would be, but he had a feeling that that could change completely the moment Malfoy turned up.

He had had a great night with his friends, even though Hermione had finally burst into tears as they said their goodbyes. He could not blame her, though. Even Ron had looked slightly teary-eyed, and Harry had had a big lump in his throat as he watched them spin out of sight in the fireplace.

The clock on the wall at the end of the gloomy corridor told him that he was still a few minutes early, even though he had already been waiting for a while. He had not been able to stand the men from the Ministry carrying away his boxes and bags, leaving Grimmauld Place even more empty and dead than it already was. Strange, what lengths he was ready to go to, just to be able to live some sort of life. Leave England. Pretend to be a Quidditch player. Marry Malfoy.

The sound of a door opening snapped him out of his thoughts, and he pushed off the wall he was leaning against, straightening up. Because, just as he had suspected, a lean, blonde and very handsome man rounded the corner, a few seconds later.

Draco Malfoy was dressed casually in dark grey trousers and a pale blue button-down shirt, with a few buttons unfastened and rolled-up sleeves. His hair was as immaculate as always, Harry noted, just as if he had pulled his fingers through the light strands seconds after he had woken up, and then letting it fall into perfection.

"Potter," Malfoy said as he halted a few feet away from Harry, grasping the strap of the bag that hung over his shoulder.

"Harry," Harry corrected, remembering all too clearly how Hermione had been nagging him for hours last night about using their respective first names.

"No," Malfoy said with an amused look on his face and added with an over-explicit way of pointing at himself. "Draco."

"Very funny," Harry muttered and looked away, trying to keep his calm. He had a feeling that Kingsley would not be very impressed if he found them trying to beat the crap out of one another when he opened the door.

He did his best to ignore the feeling of Malfoy's eyes on him. He could feel the other man eyeing him from head to toe, as if he was desperate to find something to make fun of. Harry was sure that something like that was easy for someone like Malfoy, who looked like he had wandered off the fashion pages of _Witch __Weekly_ every time Harry saw him.

"So," Malfoy said instead and there was, for the first time, nothing sharp in the tone of his voice. "Have you seen the photos?"

Harry looked up so quickly that his neck hurt. There was no hint of mocking on the other man's face, or any indication that he wanted to say something offensive about the pictures.

"No," he answered finally. "Have you?"

"Of course." Malfoy nodded as if to confirm his own words. "Apparently, I'm the one that has designed the complete interior of our house, so I got this forwarded owl, from Kingsley, from the _real_ interior designer and a bunch of photos, asking me which ones I thought would look best aggrandised."

Harry felt his cheeks heat slightly and darted his glance elsewhere, trying to look at anything except for the man he had kissed two weeks ago.

"So, er-" He cleared his throat. "How were they?" He was not even sure that he actually wanted to know, and thinking about having a magnified picture of the two of them somewhere in that house – in _their_ house – was slightly terrifying.

Malfoy opened his mouth a fraction, but no words came out. He looked like he was searching for the right expression.

"They were believable," he answered finally and gave Harry a small shrug. "Better than I thought."

"Good," Harry mumbled and scratched the back of his neck. He wanted to see just how believable those photos were. Most of all, he wanted to make sure that Malfoy had not picked out the most embarrassing photos of Harry that he could find.

Kingsley chose to open his door in that very moment, motioning for them to step inside, before closing the door quickly behind them.

"How are you feeling?" the dark man asked without making indication to sit down or inviting them to do so. "We're in a bit of a rush, I'm afraid. We only have a few minutes. Any last minute questions?"

Harry shook his head, just as Malfoy said "No." and wondered if the plan had originally been to send them off so quickly.

"Great. This is your Portkey; it will take you directly your front porch. This is the key to your house. My suggestion is that you get inside as quickly as possible and hope that no neighbours catch a glimpse of you. You have a new home to inspect and make yourself comfortable in. Your neighbours will surely notice when your other belongings arrive in a couple of days. Also, before I forget to mention this, you have a House-Elf, whose name is Poppy. There are, however, different laws in America when it comes to House-Elves - they have weekends off and, if an exception for this is made, they have the right to another day of the week off. Remember that."

Harry felt too overwhelmed by the situation to even pretend that he would remember any of those words in a couple of minutes, but he accepted the house key from the Minister and put it safely in his pocket.

"Now," Kingsley said instead and motioned to an empty vase that stood on his desk. "This is your Portkey. As soon as you touch it, you will be off."

Harry felt an uncomfortable, nervous lurch in his stomach and glanced to his side only to see a hard-set look on Malfoy's face. At least he was not the only one feeling terrified.

"Ready?" he asked quietly and clutched the handle to his bag harder in his hand.

"Ready," Malfoy nodded and crossed the few-feet distance to Kingsley's desk, hovering his hand over the Portkey. Harry joined him quickly, looking up at the Minister, who nodded as if he had answered a question Harry did not even know he was asking.

"On my count. One, two, _three._"

Harry staggered sideways but managed to stay on his feet. As he glanced to his left, he saw Malfoy standing there with his normal straight posture, as though he had not been tumbling around in air two seconds ago.

When the other man looked around, Harry did the same. It was dark outside – sometime around midnight, he guessed. The moon was barely a shard in the sky, surrounded by stars that looked out of place, as he mentally compared them to his memories from the astronomy classes he had back at Hogwarts.

This was a long way from home, he reminded himself, and tore his gaze from the clear sky.

They had, indeed, landed at their front porch. It stretched along the facade of a big, two-story house. It seemed white, or perhaps light grey in the darkness, with black shutters framing the big, mullioned windows. It was nothing like Grimmauld Place. This house actually looked habitable, nice even, with a wooden hammock hanging from chains under the porch roof and white columns at the landing step of the porch staircase.

"Colonial," Malfoy said quietly next to him.

"What?" Harry turned towards him and noticed how the other man scrutinized the building in front of them. He did not seem nearly as impressed as Harry with their new home. On the other hand, Harry reminded himself, the man had grown up in a Manor that looked more like a castle than a home.

"It's colonial. The design of the house. It's called colonial." Malfoy's voice held a matter of fact tone, his eyes still scanning the house.

Harry did not say anything in reply, but crossed the distance to the porch staircase in a few steps and dug into his pocket for the key Kingsley had provided him with only minutes ago. The front door was big and just as dark as the shutters, decorated with two squiggly handles. He turned around half a step from the door, only to notice that Malfoy still stood where they had landed, taking in the environment.

Harry let his gaze wander down the small path of stone slabs that ran from the porch to the gate. The cobblestone street beyond the gate seemed to be lined with houses with black windows. A couple of street lamps were lit, but the dim light made little difference as their lawn was cloaked in shadows from the trees and flower bushes. Malfoy's hair seemed unnaturally light in the darkness, and Harry suddenly felt exposed.

"Come on," he said and finally managed to retrieve the key from his pocket. "Let's get inside before anyone notices us."

Malfoy's head snapped up, as if he had been far away in thought, and he walked swiftly up next to Harry.

"Someone had an unhealthy relationship to peonies," the other man muttered as Harry turned the key in the lock.

"To what?"

"Peonies." Malfoy said again as if repeating the word once more would make Harry understand. When it obviously did not, the other man sighed and rolled his eyes like he had expected more, even from Harry. "Flowers, Potter. You know what that is, right?"

"It's Harry. And shut up." He pushed at the doors, and they swung open without a sound. A white staircase rose to the ceiling in a soft curve to his left, and a big archway behind it revealed a pair of sofas in a light fabric.

"Get in," Malfoy said suddenly and pushed Harry quite roughly the few steps inside, before closing the doors swiftly but quietly behind them.

"What was that for?" He turned around to glare accusingly at Malfoy, who was peering out a small window next to the door.

"I think I saw a neighbour. We were supposed to stay out of sight until our stuff arrives, remember?" Malfoy straightened and turned around to meet his gaze, before adding in a dry tone, "Welcome home."

Harry looked around once more. It was harder to see the rooms properly now, with the lack of light covering the rooms in dusk. He toed his shoes off and put his duffle bag carefully on the wooden floor, before slowly walking through the arch and towards the sofas. The room was big, bigger than he had expected with large windows covering most of the wall opposite of him. He had a feeling that this very room was to be swimming in sunlight, sometime during the day.

He glanced at the low glass table that was placed between the sofas and the fireplace to his right. An empty vase and a couple of candlesticks were placed on the mantel, and just behind them, covering a big space on the wall, was a picture of a very happy couple. Of Malfoy and him. The darkness made it hard to see the details clearly, but he remembered when it had been taken. The Harry in the picture was clad in jeans and a t-shirt catching a snitch with one hand, before letting it go after a few seconds, only to catch it again. A blonde man had his head in his lap, watching with an intense look on his face and a small smile on his lips. The photo-Harry's left hand was lying on the other man's stomach, intertwined with photo-Malfoy's both, their rings sparkling whenever a ray of sun hit them just right.

They looked happy, truly happy, as if someone had happened to catch them on a photo in an unexpected moment. As though they had not at all been aware of another person intruding on their one on one moment without them knowing.

"I told you it was believable," Malfoy said behind him suddenly, and Harry spun around, fighting the reflex to draw his wand.

"Er, yes," he answered and felt as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have been. "I wonder what Jensen did with it."

"I don't know what he did to you, but I, for one, am an excellent actor, Potter." Malfoy smirked at him the same way he had done in school whenever Harry had served him the perfect opportunity for an insult.

Harry took a deep breath and tried to stay calm, remembering Hermione's voice telling him how important it was to bury their differences in the past, if this was going to work.

"You have to start calling me Harry," he muttered finally. "What if you slip up with people around?"

Malfoy shrugged, and his smirk grew slightly wider.

"Perhaps we're just kinky that way, Potter."

"Perhaps we're _what_?" Harry felt his cheeks burn without his permission and prayed desperately that the lack of light prevented Malfoy to see how easily he had managed to make him uncomfortable.

"Nothing." But Malfoy's smirk did not disappear as he walked through another archway on the other side of the fireplace. Harry could distinguish a stove and felt fairly certain that he would walk into the kitchen if he followed. Instead, he took one last glance of the picture where photo-Malfoy was now stretching up to take the snitch from photo-Harry's hand, and headed out to the hallway again. As he walked up the stairs, he was fascinated that the wood barely creaked beneath his feet – so different from the loud noise the ones at Grimmauld Place made whenever he even came close to them.

He leaned against the banister for a few seconds, peering down at his duffle bag that still lay on the floor beneath him. He heard Malfoy move around in the kitchen and the sounds of cabinets opening and closing. The thought of Malfoy in a kitchen was very strange to him. He had never considered the other man as the type of person that even stepped inside one, if he could avoid it.

Harry sighed quietly and turned around, looking down the long, wide hallway corridor in front of him. He glanced through the doorways, as he walked towards the big window at the other end, discovering a couple of bathrooms – big and bright with clinker floors and tiled walls – and a study with a desk covered in pencils of different types, catalogues and paper. Pictures of perfect homes that reminded him strongly of this one hang on the wall. It had to be where Malfoy was supposed to pretend that he worked. He also discovered a library containing built-in bookcases that would have made Hermione jealous and two armchairs. And finally, he found two bedrooms. One quite a bit bigger than the other, connected to one of the bathrooms and a wardrobe one could step inside of. It also held a huge bed with a striped comforter, two beside tables with framed photos of the two of them, and a few other items: a chest of drawers and a dresser. The other was, Harry assumed, a guest room, and it only contained a bed and one wardrobe.

He took a deep breath and tried to still his spinning head. This was his new home, where he was supposed to spend Merlin-knew-how-many months – with Malfoy.

"Did you call dibs on the master bedroom?" came a drawling voice behind him.

Harry found Malfoy with a steaming cup of what smelled like tea in his hands, leaning slightly against the doorframe to the lager bedroom.

"No?" he answered and heard the confusion in his own voice.

"Good," Malfoy said and took a sip from his cup before nodding towards the, apparently, master bedroom. "Then I'm taking this one and you can have the other."

"What?" Harry felt like if he was missing out on something.

"I'm not sharing a bed with you, Potter. It's perfectly normal to sleep in separate bedrooms."

"Oh, right. No, of course not. I'll take this one." Harry felt so tired, all of a sudden, yet not sleepy at all. Not that he wanted to share a bed with Malfoy, but he had a feeling he did not just sign on for a pretend marriage, but also a constant struggle for having the upper hand. Somehow, he had forgotten how perfectly civilized, yet annoying Malfoy could be. "Is that tea?" he said, instead of giving into the urge to firecall Hermione right away to tell her that she was wrong, when it came to her idea that it would be good for him to accept this job.

"It is," Malfoy confirmed and walked over to the study Harry had discovered earlier, and he thought he heard the other man mutter something that sounded like. "This is so disorganized."

"Mind if I have some?" Harry only asked out of sheer politeness, but he should have known it was a bad idea even before Malfoy turned around with that stupid smirk on his face again.

"Actually, Potter, I prefer to have my cup of tea to myself."

"I wasn't planning on drinking _your_ tea," Harry muttered and added 'idiot' under his breath. It was like if he was back in fifth year all over a again.

"You never know with Gryffindors," Malfoy answered lightly and was clearly very pleased with his ability to get under Harry's skin so easily.

Downstairs, Harry leaned against the counter in the big, perfectly white kitchen, as if he needed to steady himself, and breathed deeply. Malfoy was just as arrogant and annoying as he had been back in school, but he seemed more civilized now than he had back then. If Harry had not known him for his entire time in school, he would probably have thought that Malfoy was just as perfect when it came to his behaviour, as he was on the outside.

He closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to remember how he had survived all those years with Malfoy behaving much worse than he was now, but he drew a blank. He opened his eyes reluctantly, half-expecting the other man to be standing there smirking at him, but the kitchen was empty. Instead he noticed a teapot and a tea caddy standing on the counter opposite of him, clearly the remains of Malfoy's tea-making.

As he filled a cup from the cabinet above with re-heated water from the teapot, he tried to decide whether he should give up or not. He knew that Hermione would be disappointed with him if he came back defeated after not even a day, but she had never understood his Malfoy-situation fully either. Even Harry had forgotten how the other man could so easily make him furious and tired at the same time, just by smirking, or how his words made Harry want to close his eyes and refuse to open them again for a week.

At least the tea smelled good, he thought, as he took the cup and sat down in one of the sofas in the next room. The fireplace was not lit, but he was not sure that he could safely do so either. Instead, he remained sitting in the dark with the cup scolding his palms, as he clutched to it a little too tightly in his hands.

He had to act professional and try to overlook their differences, but it was hard, even though he knew that they were here on a job. It felt like he had moved back to their school years, and felt just as easily irritated as he had been back then. He could not let Malfoy ruin their chance to do something right and to escape from the attention for a while.

"So Weasley is okay with you leaving?" Malfoy disclosed himself from the shadows by the staircase. Harry had not even heard him come downstairs.

"Yes," he answered quietly and looked down on the cup in his hands. "Not at first, but Hermione made him change his mind."

"I see," Malfoy said, and Harry saw him sit down on the armrest of the other sofa in the periphery of his vision. "What about girl-Weasley?"

"Girl-Weasley?" Harry looked up with raised eyebrows and noticed the small smirk lurking in the corner of Malfoy's mouth.

"As far as I know, there's only one girl-Weasley, Potter. But what do I know? I don't spend my Christmases at their house." Malfoy shrugged, but his gaze was intense.

Harry was not sure if it was an intentional insult, or if Malfoy had only tried to make it clear that he knew nothing about the Weasleys. He decided to ignore the last words.

"I take it you're talking about Ginny?" he said instead.

"Yes. Girl-Weasley," Malfoy repeated as if Harry was completely dense. Then again, that was probably his opinion.

"What about her?" Harry asked and gulped down the insults with too-hot tea. His throat burned painfully.

"Is she just as alright with you leaving like this as Weasley?" Malfoy leaned forward with interest.

"I haven't really spoken to her in a while," Harry confessed, realising what Malfoy was asking without really getting the question out. "We're not together anymore, if that's what you want to know."

"Merlin, yes," Malfoy said dryly, rolling his eyes. "I need to know if my husband has a mistress or not."

Harry could not help but wince at the other man calling him his husband.

"I'm sure you would have lost sleep over thinking about that," Harry quipped and gulped down more tea, ignoring the burning in his throat.

"I always assumed that you would end up with your biggest fangirl and have a couple of kids, settle down next to Weasley and live happily ever after. That sort of thing." Malfoy sounded sincere, but Harry knew him better than that. For a moment, he thought that the other man had glanced up at the photo above the fireplace. It must have been the darkness playing tricks on him because, when Harry squinted slightly to see better, Malfoy was looking straight at him.

"You thought wrong."

"Apparently. So it's one of the Patils now? Or both?"

"Why do you even care, Malfoy? How about you? Are you still with Parkinson or have you moved on to Bulstrode?" Harry knew he had lost his temper and that Malfoy had won, but at least he was not throwing the content of his cup in the other man's face.

To his surprise, Malfoy only laughed and shook his head.

"No," he answered lightly. "There were a couple of gardeners, but I get bored so easily."

Harry was happy that he had not taken another sip from his tea, as he choked on air alone at that last sentence.

"You slept with your gardener?" he blurted before he could stop himself and stared at the other man, not quite believing what he just heard.

"Gardener_s_," Malfoy corrected casually. "And yes. You would have too, if you knew what they looked like."

"You're _gay_?" Harry had to put the cup down on the table, afraid that he would drop it if Malfoy kept sharing things like these.

"Yes." Malfoy met his gaze with a funny look on his face. "This is a surprise to you?"

"Actually, yes," Harry confessed and felt his cheeks burn again without really knowing why. It was not like he had ever given much thought when it came to other people's sexual preferences. Especially not Malfoy's.

"You've got to be the first." The other man snorted, in disbelief. Harry, on the other hand, felt slightly faint. Malfoy was _gay_? And he had not seen it coming. Sure, the other man was always extremely stylish, even back in school, but Harry had assumed that it came with being a pureblood and growing up in such a wealthy family. He had never seen any signs of Malfoy preferring men over women. Ever. But again, Harry had never really been looking either.

"Does this bother you?" Malfoy asked suddenly, and Harry looked up quickly. The other man seemed just as confident as ever, and not at all worried about Harry being bothered by his sexuality, but perhaps this was all hidden under the cool Malfoy-facade Hermione had been talking about.

"No," Harry answered truthfully. "I don't really care. I just didn't see it coming, that's all."

Malfoy only nodded at this, putting his cup down next to Harry's, on the table, and staring out the window. Harry doubted that he could distinguish anything at all from the compact darkness outside.

"So," Harry started, feeling like he had to break the silence for some reason. "You had a relationship with your gardeners?"

Malfoy turned his head to look at him, an odd smile on his face.

"No, Potter, we just fucked."

"You just...slept with them?" Harry felt stupid and childish for blushing at this. He knew about other people's casual relationships, of course, but he had never really thought about having one of his own. Being who he was, sleeping around had never really been an option.

"You never had just sex with someone, Potter?" Malfoy asked and leaned forward, as if he knew exactly was Harry was thinking.

Harry felt his face burn, yet again thankful for the lack of light.

"Not really," he confessed and hoped that Malfoy would drop the subject. But of course, Malfoy never dropped anything that made Harry feel uncomfortable.

"You've been with girl-Weasley all this time?" Malfoy quirked an eyebrow at him, as if he had a hard time believing Harry's words.

"Not really," Harry said again and sighed as the look on the other man's face told him that this was not nearly an acceptable answer. "We broke up a year after we left Hogwarts."

"That was six years ago," Malfoy said a matter-of-factly.

"Congratulations. You still remember the basics of math," Harry muttered and reached for his cup again. He needed some sort of distraction and hoped that Malfoy would stop asking his stupid questions. He really did not feel like having this conversation now, not with Malfoy and certainly not after hearing about the _gardeners_.

"Funny," the other man said sarcastically. "So what, you've been a monk since then?"

"No." Harry hoped that his tone made Malfoy feel as if his sanity was questioned.

"So I was right about the Patils?"

"No," Harry said again and wanted to leave, but he felt that that would be giving away a victory for free.

"I believe I have the right to know about things like these," Malfoy said with a smirk. "Since you're my husband and all. I have to know what I've gotten myself into. Is there a huge list of Hogwarts girls in your history?"

"No."

Malfoy sighed loudly at Harry's third 'no' in a row and rolled his eyes.

"I just shared my gardeners with you, Potter, you have to give me something."

"I have a feeling that you didn't exactly mind telling me about your gardeners," Harry pointed out and glanced towards the stairs. He wanted to lock himself in his bedroom. Hide away until tomorrow and hope that Malfoy had forgotten all about this in the morning.

"Was it the Brown girl, then?"

Harry groaned loudly and hid his face in his hands. He already knew that Malfoy would never shut up about this if Harry did not tell him.

"Fine, Malfoy," he said angrily and glared at the man who still sat on the armrest of the sofa. "I don't get why you're so interested, but Romilda Vane, alright? Is that enough for you to let this go?"

Harry would rather forget everything about Romilda Vane. It had been a short and depressing story. Probably the very last drop that caused his decision to stay out of the public eye for so long. He had never seen anyone in that way after he had said goodbye to her.

"You can't be serious, Potter," Malfoy scoffed, as though Harry was lying. "Even you know better than that."

"Apparently not." Harry looked away and thought about standing up and leave right then, but they lived under the same roof now. They were married. God, he was going to kill Hermione for this.

"And then what?" Malfoy's voice broke his trail of thoughts.

"What do you mean 'then what'?" Harry glared at the other man and had forgotten all about being twenty-four and not fourteen.

"Who did you see after Romilda Vane?" Even though Malfoy tried to keep an indifferent look on his face, the interested gleam in his silver-grey eyes told Harry that the other man was far more curious about this than he let on.

"No one," Harry mumbled and looked away. He felt stupid. Like a child. As if he was immature for not having lived the life Malfoy apparently had.

"No one?"

He could feel Malfoy stare at him.

"I don't really go out much anymore," he explained quietly and inspected his nail-beds with sudden interest. He hated when other people made him feel ashamed – stupid – especially when it was Malfoy that made him feel that way.

To his surprise, the other man said nothing.

When he looked up, he found Malfoy observing him with a look on his face Harry could not place, but he made no attempt to say anything. If Harry had thought that being taunted for not choosing to live the life Malfoy apparently had would be bad, it was even worse to be met with silence. He had absolutely no clue as to what was going on inside the other man's head, and it made him feel uneasy.

"I'm going to bed. See you in the morning," Harry mumbled and scrambled to his feet, leaving Malfoy behind, still seated on the armrest of the sofa, as he headed upstairs to his bedroom.

He closed the door behind him and leaned heavily against it, breathing through his nose. It was stupid to think that Malfoy had changed at all over the past seven years. Malfoys never changed. Harry should have been aware of that by now.

He raked his fingers through his hair and cursed under his breath, realising that he still had the teacup in his other hand. There was no way that he was going back down there. He had no desire to see Malfoy again that soon.

Instead, he put the cup down on the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed, falling backwards onto the cool sheets and buried his face in his hands with a groan.

**xXx**

**DPOV**

For the first time in years, Draco had no words. He blinked as the other man excused himself hastily and left the room, teacup still in his hand.

From the moment Draco had stepped into Shacklebolt's office that day, Potter sitting in that chair waiting for him, his life had made a sharp U-turn. Now, he was sitting in his new living room in complete darkness, hiding away from neighbours he had never even met.

And Potter had just announced that he had spent years without seeing someone. Potter, who only had to flash his scar to get what he wanted, had been hiding away from the public eye. Draco was still in too much of a shock to say anything at all. He had thought that Potter would have worked his way through the majority of the female population of Hogwarts by now. Instead, it seemed as if he had been staying away from people all together.

That Potter never had much of a social skill, Draco had known for years, but being the Chosen One, he did not really need any. No one cared about his manners, when they could stare at the lightning scar, because people were stupid.

And Potter was afraid of people.

Draco rubbed his palms over his face and glanced around the room. It was too dark outside for there to be any point of looking out the window, instead he took in the poor job the interior decorator had done with his new home.

Draco had thought that he Ministry had chosen the best of the best, to make sure that the house was something extraordinary. Potter had been stricken, it seemed, but Draco was not as easily impressed. The furniture were placed all wrong, with the quite beautiful dining table of glass in complete shadow of the sleek sofas, instead of the other way around.

With a disgruntled sigh, Draco drew his wand and set to work.

**xXx**

The next morning, Draco awoke long past midday, with irritating rays of sun preventing him from getting more sleep. The linen rustled cosily around him as he stretched, yawning. When he opened his eyes, the room was filled with sunlight and, through the big window, Draco could see the glistening of sun rays caressing water.

Curiously, he got up and walked the few steps to the window. It was a small lake, surrounded by big houses and trees. A couple of children were playing among a few rocks at the shore, and their screaming laughter filled the silence, as they tried to push each other in the water.

Draco wondered absentmindedly whose children they were, as he withdrew from the window, remembering that he needed to stay invisible for another couple of days, and decided to take a shower.

Potter was already up, Draco noticed, when he walked down the stairs and found the other man sitting on a barstool at the kitchen counter, reading a book. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, much like every other time Draco had seen him, and there was an empty plate next to him.

"Good morning," Draco said in an attempt to be polite and noticed with a small tug of satisfaction in his stomach how Potter jumped slightly, his eyes snapping up.

"It's not really morning anymore," he pointed out quietly after a few moments of silence, as if he had forgotten all about Draco being there during the night.

"I know." Draco glanced at the greasy frying pan in the sink and realised that Potter must have made breakfast on his own. It was Saturday, and weekend in America meant no House-Elves. "I was rearranging the furniture all night, so I decided to sleep in." Truth be told, Draco always slept in.

"I noticed. I thought they had professionals for that." Potter turned a page in his book and leaned on the counter on one elbow.

"I thought so too. Apparently, I'm better than them." Draco shrugged and retrieved a cup from a cabinet, before filling it with water. As he reached into his pocket to get his wand and found it empty, he realised that he must have forgot it upstairs. "Damn it," he muttered and put the cup down on the counter next to Potter's empty plate.

"What?" Potter looked up with a curious expression on his face.

"Forgot my wand," Draco muttered and nodded towards the cup. "I'm not too fond of cold tea, mind you."

To his surprise, Potter made a waving motion towards the cup with a disinterested look on his face before returning to his book once more. When Draco looked closer, he realised that the water was steaming.

"Show off," he muttered and glared at the other man, who only snorted in reply. Draco should have known that Potter was powerful enough for wandless magic. Potter was everything that impressed people, without really trying, and Draco found this so extremely annoying.

_Potter and his fucking talents. _

He took the cup from the counter, but put it down again quickly, resisting the urge to swear. His palm was burning from the hot china.

"Too hot?" Potter asked suddenly and looked up. He looked amused.

"Why thank you, Potter," Draco snapped irritably and picked up the cup again, more carefully this time.

Potter only rolled his eyes in response, returning to his book.

Merlin, how Draco regretted his decision to accept the stupid job. He pulled out a tea caddy from the cabinet where he had placed his tea the night before and prepared his cup in silence. He heard Potter flip through the pages, apparently bored with the book.

"You can't go in there," Potter said calmly, just as Draco was about to walk into the living room with his tea. "Someone might see you. The whole wall is made of windows, pretty much."

Draco wanted to go in there just to make a statement, but this was bigger than their contretemps in the past, and he would not only make his own life miserable, but Shacklebolt had put his trust in them to be professional enough to look past their school years.

"Fine," he muttered and leaned against the sink.

"I've been thinking," Potter said after a few moments of silence.

"Congratulations, how did that work out for you?" Draco knew that he was pushing it, but the sight of Potter sitting there casually, as if he belonged in the kitchen, made Draco's skin prickle uncomfortably.

"Don't you think they're going to ask us how we met?" Potter continued as if he had not heard Draco snap at him.

He was right, of course.

"Most likely," Draco said with a shrug.

"Shouldn't we agree on a story, then?" Potter closed his book and rested his chin in his hands, looking directly at Draco.

"Any ideas?" Draco counted to ten mentally and tried to calm down. He had no real reason to be mad with Potter, at the moment, except for the fact that he was good at everything. Draco could be professional.

"Not really," Potter said quietly and started tracing the letters on the book cover with his fingertip. He seemed uncomfortable, to Draco's surprise. For a few seconds, he wondered why, but then he remembered their conversation from last night. Even though he wanted to take opportunity to tease Potter, Draco knew he should not.

"I think should say we hated each other in school, because we did. I think it would be hard to make up a story of us being some sort of Hogwarts sweethearts." Draco noticed how Potter seemed to relax a fraction and let go of the book.

"So we, er...fell in love after school?"

Draco felt like praising Potter's ratiocination, but instead he nodded.

"Perhaps you asked for my help with your house or apartment, when you moved back to London after you got injured?" he suggested and took the opportunity to drink his tea, as Potter seemed to think it over.

"Yeah," the other man said finally with a nod. "That makes sense."

Draco tried to picture them falling for each other, but it made little sense to him. He could, perhaps, if he tried hard enough, see how he could be attracted to the other man if he had had no clue what Potter was like personality-wise. Especially now, all grown up and no longer a scrawny boy. But he was still Potter, a big-headed Gryffindor without much of a personality and a huge hero-complex.

"Malfoy."

A waving hand pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Yes?" Draco straightened up and met the other man's gaze.

"I asked you when this was."

"When what was?"

Potter sighed despondently and looked like he was resisting the urge to say something rude.

"When we...fell in love." The other man winced at the last word.

"I think it will be more convincing if you can actually say that without looking like you want to throw up, Potter," Draco pointed out. "Also, it's not good for my self-esteem."

"Because your already-too-high self-esteem is number one on my priority list," Potter muttered. "Can you just answer the question?"

"It should be. I'm your husband." Draco smiled as charmingly as he could when Potter grimaced at him, but before the other man could open his mouth and say something, Draco added: "I'd say around twenty. That's four years ago and that would give you a few years to get over yourself and realise how amazing I am."

Potter buried his face in his hands with a pained groan.

"Fine," he said after breathing deep a couple of times, without looking up. "Twenty."

"I suppose you proposed to me around a year ago," Draco smirked as Potter glared at him through his fingers.

"Why weren't you the one proposing?" the other man muttered, but sounded as if he had already given up when it came to make Draco change his mind.

"Because you're the Quidditch player, Potter." Draco put down the now empty cup on the counter and watched the other man nod.

"I bet you threatened me into proposing, too," Potter muttered.

"I bet you wouldn't have gotten your thumb out to do it if I hadn't."

"I bet you're right." Potter looked like he was trying to keep a straight face and nodded towards Draco's abandoned cup on the counter. "Aren't you going to eat anything?"

"No," Draco answered simply. He was a lousy cook, since he never had to learn.

"Why not? You're going to starve." Potter's eyes narrowed slightly as if he was trying to figure something out.

"Because I can't cook, Potter - I have House-Elves for that. I have never cooked a single meal, not even bacon, in my life." Draco noticed how the other man's eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"Are you serious?" he asked in disbelief.

"No, Potter. I'm lying, because-" Draco started but Potter cut him off:

"Shut up. What do you eat for breakfast at home?"

Draco blinked in surprise as Potter rose from the chair and started to wash the frying-pan by hand, like a Muggle. He watched the muscles on Potter's forearms work beneath the slightly tan skin.

"Malfoy," Potter said sharply and Draco's head snapped up. "What do you want to eat?"

"I don't need you to cook for me,", Draco muttered and sat down on the barstool Potter had occupied earlier.

"No, starving the entire weekend is a much better option," the other man said dryly and took the teacloth from its hook to dry the frying-pan.

Draco hated when Potter was right.

"Toast," he muttered and glared at the other man.

"...and?"

"Nothing, I don't like breakfast." Draco shrugged and glanced at the book Potter had been reading earlier. _Broom-flying__basics._ He frowned at the title, but concluded that Potter must be reading it for entertainment and not to learn anything.

"It's two in the afternoon," Potter pointed out. "You're going to pass out if you only eat toast."

Draco pulled a face at him, feeling very mature doing so, but the determined glint in Potter's eyes told him that there was no room for argument. _Stubborn __Gryffindors._

He learned, a short while later, that he quite enjoyed watching the other man cook. It was obvious that he knew his way around the kitchen, and Draco gave up his pouty expression after only a few minutes. Potter worked in silence, and Draco watched him with interest.

"Do you enjoy cooking?" he asked, as Potter flipped the bacon in the frying pan with a quick flick of his wrist.

The other man looked up so quickly that Draco wondered if he had forgotten about him sitting there.

"It's relaxing." Potter shrugged. "Why?"

"It looks like you do."

"Hm," was all the answer he got to this.

Another short while later, Potter pushed a plate with toast, bacon and eggs towards Draco across the counter.

"Thank you," Draco said politely and picked up his fork to spike a strip of bacon. "Though I suspect you're secretly trying to make me fat?"

"Of course," Potter deadpanned while cleaning his hands after washing the frying pan for the second time. "Enjoy your meal," he added, while drying his hands on the teacloth before heading through the door.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked before he had the chance to silence his curiosity.

"Taking a shower. I smell like bacon." And with that, he disappeared upstairs.

Draco swallowed at the thought of Potter showering. Naked. And shook his head violently in an attempt to get the pictures out of his head. Even though the other man had just cooked for Draco, he was still Potter, no matter how handsome he had turned out over the years.

**xXx**

That night, Draco was seated in one of the comfortable sofas with a blanket over his shoulders and a cup of tea in his hand. Potter was sitting with his back against the armrest and legs stretched out, on the couch opposite of him, reading a book about Quidditch techniques.

They had been fairly civilised to each other during the day, Draco thought, but Potter had been keeping to himself, locked up in the upstairs guest room, most of the time. He had come to the conclusion that it was much easier for them to get along when they did not spend time with each other.

Potter had cooked dinner for both of them, however, without even complaining about Draco's lack of cooking skills. It had been a quite delicious surprise, and Draco doubted that he would suffer much if that House-Elf never started working at all, but he did not tell Potter that.

"Do you know why we're here?" the other man asked suddenly, resting his open book on his chest as he looked over at Draco.

"I know you're going to play for the Virginia Wolves and that their seeker died in an accident during a game some time ago. Since then, accidents have occurred during a number of games, and their recruited seeker quit after an injury." Draco did his best to remember the information Shacklebolt had given him weeks ago, but it was still a bit confusing to him.

"Yeah," Potter nodded. "And the Quidditch Association has received a number of threats that players will die, or get severely injured. They suspect that it could be someone on the team, because the accidents have only occurred during the Wolves' games, or in the area."

"Or it's someone who wants to turn the public suspicions towards the Wolves' players," Draco said thoughtfully. It was a quite serious case. One player dead and one injured from the same team, a number of players from other teams and suffered from minor injuries or barely escaped unscratched.

"I've been thinking about that, too," Potter agreed and pushed his glasses from his face to rub his eyes. "Kingsley told us to stay out of it, though, and leave the interrogation to the American Ministry and the Quidditch Association."

Draco had a feeling that it would be quite difficult for trouble-seeking Potter to stay out of anything that involved something as dangerous as a death. He managed to keep himself from pointing this out by thinking that Potter probably never would cook for him again if he did.

"Then what are we doing here?" Draco muttered instead.

"Keeping an eye on things, I guess." Potter looked and sounded as if he had been asking himself that very same question repeatedly for a while.

"Tell me again why there are only men on this team?" Draco had found an article about the Virginia Wolves with a picture of the team, along with some other facts in a locked drawer in his study. He had been surprised to see that there was not a single woman among them.

"Apparently, America has gender-divided leagues. Men play against men, women against women. A handful of teams are mixed, but they are only allowed to play against each other."

"Did the Minister tell you all of this?" Draco wondered why he never got any of this information before. Even though he was not supposed to pose as the Quidditch player, he was going to pose as the spouse of one, that should have been reason enough.

"No, I talked to Wood about it, and he told me. He got quite irritated from talking about it." Potter shrugged and picked up his book again.

Draco returned to his cup of tea, realised that their exchange of words was over for this time.

**xXx**

A sharp knock on the door forced Draco to open his eyes with a groan. The sun had not even risen yet, he realised as he took in the darkness of the room.

Another knock.

"_What?__"_ he snapped and put a pillow over his face, as if to shut the noise out.

He heard the door open and suspected that Potter stood in the doorway, watching him. Slowly, he lifted the pillow from his face to glare at the other man who was leaning casually against the door jamb.

"I know you can't get enough of looking at me, Potter, but perhaps that can wait until I'm finished sleeping?"

"You have to get up," Potter said as if he had not heard. "Our stuff arrives today. Soon, I think. The neighbours might come over anytime after that."

Draco groaned loudly and threw the pillow at the other man, who easily moved out of its way.

"Do you know this spell?" Potter began with a sudden smirk on his face. "It produces water. It basically drowns the person you aim at?"

"Fuck you," Draco snarled, sitting up so quickly his head started spinning and pulled the covers aside.

"Nice pyjamas," Potter smirked and ducked out of the way when Draco reached for his wand.

He glanced down at his green pyjama bottoms and frowned.

"There's nothing wrong with my pyjamas," Draco snapped and added more loudly: "What, do you have tiny golden lions on yours?"

"No," came Potter's voice and the other man was clearly amused. "I don't wear any."

"Brooms and snitches on your underwear then?" Draco picked out his last set of clothes from his bag and was thankful for that the rest were going to arrive later that day. Casting a quick tempus charm informed him that it was almost seven in the morning, and that Potter had been right about getting up. He needed to look his best if he was to impress their neighbours. Well, Draco always needed to look his best.

"I don't wear that when sleeping either." Potter seemed to be making his way downstairs, his voice sounding distant.

Draco froze, feeling his throat tighten a fraction as he realised that Potter slept _naked_. He was definitely in need of a really long, cold shower.

A while later, Draco walked downstairs and found a surprisingly clean House-Elf placing two plates of toast on the counter where Draco had been eating yesterday. Potter was already sitting on one of the barstools, drinking pumpkin juice from a big glass.

"Good morning," Draco said and watched the House-Elf spin around with a huge smile on her face. She wore some sort of dress-like attire with an apron tied around her tiny waist. The ears looked too big for her head and flopped from side to side with her sudden movement.

"Mr. Malfoy, sir," she squeaked and curtsied politely. "Poppy has prepared breakfast for Mr. and Mr. Malfoy all morning, sir."

He was never going to get used to hearing that.

"Thank you, Poppy," Draco answered with a small smile and watched the creature as she kept curtsying over and over, as if stuck in the motion. _"__What __is __she __doing?__" _he mouthed to Potter, who only shrugged in reply and stared at her with an equal bewildered expression on his face.

Draco hesitated a few seconds before taking the seat next to Potter, who still stared at the elf, who had stopped curtsying the very moment Draco sat down.

"I'm terrified," Potter confessed, after finishing his glass of juice in one big gulp. He reminded Draco of some of the Death Eaters, but they had poured fire whiskey down their throats in the same, panicked manner, rather than pumpkin juice.

"Of what?" Draco watched him with interest. The other man looked as casual and as good as ever: his hair still an unruly mess, his jeans low on his hips, and a t-shirt that made it clear who the professional Quidditch player was. Even though he was not.

"Of the neighbours." Potter paused as Poppy bounced out of the kitchen, probably heading for the laundry, Draco guessed. "What if they don't buy it? What if they call us out on our bluff?"

Draco looked at him, noticing how the other man bit his lip and raked his fingers through the dark hair.

"Well, you just have to put your acting talents to the test, Mr. Malfoy," he said with a smirk, after a few moments of silence.

"That's the thing. I've never been much of an actor," Potter muttered in reply.

"I would have said that you're probably better than you think, but then I remembered that you're a Gryffindor." Draco tried hard to keep a straight face as Potter glared at him.

"Thanks for the support. Makes me feel a lot better with all of this."

"It's my job as your husband." Draco gave him his best dazzling smile and noticed Potter clench his fist, as if to regain his self-control. He had forgotten how much he had enjoyed pissing off Gryffindor's Golden Boy during his school years.

Potter ate his breakfast in silence and very quickly. He had finished practically before Draco had even started eating from his own plate, and had left the kitchen without a word.

"Well, this is going _terrific_," Draco muttered to himself and groaned internally. If it had been anyone else but Potter, Draco might have been able to be the bigger man for a change and be somewhat supportive, even though it was not in his nature. They were here on a job, a job the Minister had asked them personally to accept. And now they were about to ruin everything because they were just as stupid as they had been seven years ago and failed miserably at being professionals.

Draco had hoped that Potter would walk past the kitchen before he had finished eating, so that he could make some worthless attempt at apologizing without really uttering _I'm__ sorry. _But when he put his fork down, his plate instantly picked up by Poppy, Potter was still nowhere to be seen.

"Poppy," Draco began, considering his option to run around the whole house looking for the other man. The elf spun around with the same floppy ear-motions and wide smile. "You don't happen to know where...Harry went, do you?"

He was so distracted by the unfamiliar way his tongue bent around the name, that he almost missed out on Poppy's answer.

"Mr. Malfoy went upstairs, sir, reading books." She nodded fiercely as if to confirm her own words.

"Thank you." Draco paused in the hallway to take a deep breath and was just about to head upstairs, when the doorbell rang.

_Right.__ Delivery._

He opened the door with a slight hesitation and found it weird to be looking at the garden in daylight. A man in orange robes stood on the other side of the door with a bunch of papers in his hand and a polite smile on his face.

"Mr. Malfoy?" he asked briskly and shoved a pen in Draco's hand, along with the papers.

"Yes," he tried to smile politely, but was far too distracted by the children he had seen playing yesterday, that now stood leaning against the fence beside the gate, staring. "One of them."

"Your signature on the dotted line, please." The delivery man nodded towards a huge truck that was backed up against the gate, next to the children. "We will unload your belongings and carry them inside for you as soon as you have signed."

Draco signed hastily and gave the papers and pen back to the man who still had that scarily positive smile on his lips.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Step aside please." The man motioned for Draco to move out of the doorway, and so he retreated quickly and leaned against the doorframe to the kitchen, watching the delivery man walk back to his lorry. Another two men appeared from the driver's cabin, as the first waved his wand to open up the lorry platform and started to unload the boxes with slightly bored wand movements. It was quite clear to Draco that they had done this more than once.

"Where would you like these, Mr. Malfoy?" asked one of the men as they started to stack the boxes two and two, before carrying them inside.

"Upstairs, if it's possible. You can put them wherever, we'll take care of unpacking later." Draco had no idea where Potter preferred his boxes, but he had disappeared upstairs because Draco had pissed him off, so he would have to deal with it.

For a good twenty minutes, the men walked back and forth between the house and their lorry, unloading boxes in, what seemed to Draco, an endless stream. There was still no sign of Potter when the first delivery man gave Draco a small two-fingered salute, before hopping into the driver's seat and driving away.

The children that had been standing there before were gone, Draco noted when he closed the front door, but the houses surrounding them seemed to have awoken.

He thought about talking to Potter as he walked upstairs, but gave up on the idea as he noticed the closed door to the other man's room. Instead, he found one of the many boxes that contained his clothes and started to fill the walk-in closet. A few shirts were too wrinkly for him to even hope that they would straighten out on a hanger, so he decided to put them with the laundry, thinking that Poppy probably would be thankful for something to do.

He had just started lining up his shoes by colour when the doorbell rang. This time, Draco knew that this was no delivery man. He abandoned his shoes in a disorganized mess and straightened his posture in front of the mirror, scrutinizing himself quickly for any flaws, before heading for the stairs. He knocked briefly on the door to Potter's bedroom but received no reply.

Sometimes Draco disliked his tendency to make people angry with him at the worst possible moments. They would not likely come off as an extremely happy couple if Potter was too pissed to even show his face.

Draco paused for a fraction of a breath in front of the door with his hand on the handle, then he put his best disarming smile on and pushed the handle down.

_And you stood there in front of me just_

_Close enough to touch_

_Close enough to hope you couldn't see _

_What I was thinking of_

_Get me with those green eyes, baby_

_As the lights go down_

_Something that'll haunt me when you're not around_

_'cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile_

_ Sparks fly – Taylor swift_


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Hi guys! An update - finally! Sorry it took some time, but the holidays got in the way, so to speak. As always, I don't own anything. Not even the Toblerone Mountain, because I didn't get it for Christmas this year EITHER. Dang it.

****I would really like to thank my beta gbheart, because she's great. I would also like to thank all of you who gave me reviews for christmas - they were amazing! You're amazing people for taking some of your time to write me a review. I probably wouldn't continue writing if you didn't.

Oh well, anyway. Warnings? Er, neighbours that are way too interested in other people's sexlives. Bad language. And wanking. Yes, let's not forget the wanking. I really need to stop talking right now, so: _Enjoy!_

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 3<strong>

**DPOV**

On the other side of the door stood a small group of four people: two men and two women. They smiled broadly at him, as he swung the door open.

"Hello," Draco said and was thankful for his formal upbringing. At least he knew how to handle himself when meeting new people.

"Hello, new neighbour," said a dark-skinned man with a deep voice. He reminded Draco somewhat of Blaise, except for the broad shoulders and the short-trimmed hair. He had his arm around a very willowy woman, whose chestnut curls were pushed back from her face into a defiant ponytail. "I'm Jordan Cunliffe, and this is my wife, Zefira." The dark-skinned man, Jordan, then gestured towards the other man and woman, who were obviously another couple. "And this is–"

"Leonard and Shastin Hatch," the other woman cut in with a smile. She was slightly taller than her husband, but Draco had a feeling her extremely high heels had something to do with that. She was beautiful, he thought, with dark-brown eyes and thick, golden waves of hair. Her skin was even paler than Draco's, and a sharp contrast to her husband's olive skin and dark hair.

"Draco Malfoy," he presented himself and shook each of their hands in turn.

"So you're the newest addition to our Team of Death and Injuries?" Jordan flashed a row of brilliant white teeth, his words causing Leonard and Shastin to laugh, but his wife shot him warning look.

"No," Draco answered shrugged slightly, and then said the words he never thought would ever pass his lips. "Harry, my husband, is here somewhere, but I don't know where he went."

He scrutinized their faces, looking for signs of disapproval or even disgust, but all he could see was flashes of surprise before they tried to regain their composures again.

Before either of them could say anything, a strong arm came to rest around his waist, and the heat from another body made him relax, even though Draco had not been aware that he was even tense.

"I'm the husband," Potter's soft voice said next to him and leaned forward to shake hands with their new neighbours, who still looked as if they were trying to collect themselves.

Then Leonard started laughing, for no reason at all, it seemed.

"I'm sorry," he said and wiped the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand. "You must think that we are narrow-minded people, but we are just surprised, that's all."

Draco felt Potter's hold on him tighten somewhat, and he leaned into the other man, catching a glimpse of a very relaxed, charming smile on the previously-grumpy face.

Then Shastin started to giggle. Draco had never thought that grown women giggled, but this one definitely did. He was, however, relieved that the English open-mindedness seemed to exist here as well, when it came to sexual preferences at least. Draco knew that the British Muggle world was far more troubled with prejudice of this kind, than the wizarding world he had grown up in. He was glad to find that the American Wizarding Community seemed to be spared from that as well.

"Welcome to the professional atmosphere of the Virginia Wolves," Zefira said apologetically to them as her husband, too, broke down in a fit of laughter.

"I prefer this reaction to many other's I – _we_ – had expected," Draco said with a smile. "Would you like a cup of tea or coffee? It's a complete mess inside, but I wouldn't want to leave you standing on our porch when we have plenty of room inside."

"Harry can't," Jordan said after regaining himself slightly. "Leo and I thought we would be nice and show him where we practice, and introduce him to his second home. We won't take no for an answer, Harry. Come on."

"I, on the other hand, would love some coffee," Zefira said, still looking quite embarrassed of the reactions of her company.

"I better leave then," Potter said, and Draco felt the other man's hand move up his back to let a thumb graze over the skin just above the collar of his shirt. Draco hoped no one noticed how he shivered involuntarily when Potter placed a chaste peck on his cheek, before releasing him completely.

"I trust you with my wife," Leonard said, as Potter joined him and Jordan. He looked strangely comfortable with the other men, Draco thought, but suspected that the other man's acting skills were much better than he had claimed them to be.

"I trust you to get my husband back in one piece," Draco replied, after the three men and stepped aside to let Shastin and Zefira inside.

"I'm afraid he got recruited to the wrong team for that." Jordan sounded serious, but turned around to flash Draco one of those model-like smiles again.

"I have to apologize for my husband," Zefira said, as soon as Draco had closed the door behind them. "I think his parents forgot to teach him when it's appropriate to tell jokes."

Draco could not help but feel a little bit uneasy with letting Potter leave with two unknown men on his own like that, but he tried to remind himself that Potter had been alone with people far worse than them.

"Stop apologizing all the time," Shastin cut in, as she looked around the big hall, without hiding her curiosity. "I'm sure Draco is capable of telling Jordan's joke from a threat. No one could miss that huge smile of his. It's probably visible from across the Atlantic."

"Actually, no," Draco explained and could not help but smile as he added: "But I'm quite certain I saw something frightening as we crossed the border to America. That must have been it."

The women laughed and Draco gestured them towards the living room. There were no boxes in there, and it was by far the most spectacular room in the house.

"Would you like a tour or just coffee?" he asked them, as they entered the impressive room. Draco was fascinated with how the sunrays on the lake created danced reflections over the walls and ceiling. He had always awoken too late to notice before.

"A tour, definitely," Shastin nodded, as she looked around the room with wide eyes, clearly impressed. "Who did you hire for this? The table is incredible."

"It's _all_ incredible," Zefira added, her hand touching the smooth fabric of the sofas, as she made her way over to the dinner table. "But the table is extraordinary."

"I think it's my personal favourite," Draco said truthfully, as he observed the table and how the rising sun seemed to catch the glass surface in a quite remarkable way. Then he proceeded to show them the kitchen, where Poppy stood on a stool, scrubbing fiercely at the stove even though it looked spotless. She kept curtsying for them until they left the room, and Draco pointed out the downstairs bathroom and guest room, which he had not discovered himself until last night, while refurnishing.

"As I said, the house is quite a mess, but we had all our belongings delivered today," he said as an excuse, as they walked upstairs and the piles of boxes came into view.

"By now, I would totally think that was some sort of piece of new age art because I'm already so blown away by this house, that I'd love anything inside it," Shastin laughed and peeked into an open box, as though it was the most natural thing to do when visiting new neighbours.

_I'm sorry, _Zefira mouthed, but Draco could not help but smile. He was a bit surprised with their overwhelmed behaviour, as if the house really was _that_ beautiful. Perhaps growing up in the Malfoy Manor caused partial blindness, when it came to architectural beauty.

"Everything is so light. I'm a bit jealous," Zefira said out loud and looked around, as if she tried to take it all in.

"A bit? I feel like switching husbands with you, Draco!" Shastin found the door to the master bedroom, as Zefira walked into the guest room where Harry had been sleeping. He felt like saying that he would gladly switch husbands with her too, but kept his mouth shut.

He wondered if they always were this forward. Not that he minded, because they made his job so much easier, but he was surprised by how easily they made contact and conversation. He had a hard time believing that either of them could be the person behind the accidents, but he knew far too well that the person responsible was the one you least expected, more often than not.

"Zefira, come look at the bedroom – I can see our houses from here!" Shastin called, probably poking through their stuff, Draco suspected.

"I thought this was the bedroom," Zefira said thoughtfully as she exited the guest room. A few strands of her hair had escaped her ponytail and fell into her big eyes. Shastin's unabashed curiosity seemed to have caught her too, as Draco noticed a photo of Potter and him in her hand.

"Actually, Harry sleeps in that room and I sleep in the other," he explained and immediately heard how wrong it sounded. Happy couples did not sleep in separate bedrooms. Of course not. He noticed the change in her face so clearly, even though she tried to remain impassive; it was as if she was surprised but somehow had some sort of suspicion confirmed.

"But _why?_" Shastin asked, her face not at all able to hide her surprise.

_Because we're only pretend-married and actually despise each other. _

"I had a bit of a cold when we left England," Draco lied quickly. "And Harry was afraid that he would miss out on practice and games if he caught it, so he suggested that he'd sleep in the guest room until I was feeling better."

"That is _so_ sweet," Shastin gushed, and Draco was rewarded with an agreeing nod from Zefira. He, on the other hand, silently wondered when it had become so easy to impress others with simple compassion.

"When I'm sick, Leo just claims our bedroom to himself and expects me to sleep in our guest room, like I'm not the one in need of extra comfort when I'm sick." Shastin shook her head, as if she was appalled by her own husband's rudeness, as the two women went back in the master bedroom again. Draco decided to follow them this time.

They were looking out of the window and pointing towards the other side of the lake. The surrounding houses were a collection of all shapes and colours. Some with an extra floor that most certainly was held in place with a constructing charm. Others were less spectacular and more tasteful, painted in more timid colours and perfectly symmetrical.

"This is great," Shastin smiled. "If I used a magnifying spell, I could probably see into your bedroom from mine, Draco. Look, our house is the blue one."

The casual tone in Shastin's voice told him that it was not impossible that she actually used a magnifying spell. Her house was big and _very_ blue, almost as if the sunrays enhanced the colour multiple times. It looked like an interesting mix between a modern house and a small castle, as towers decorated the corners.

"Jordan and I live in the one to the right," Zefira explained and pointed vaguely towards a slightly smaller, yet more tasteful, yellow house. Draco liked it better.

"I'll have to remember to close the curtains," he said dryly and was instantly rewarded with Shastin's giggle and a slightly embarrassed smile from Zefira.

"Unless you like an audience," Shastin pointed out, causing Zefira to bury her face in her hands, muttering something that sounded very much like: "_I can't believe you just said that." _

"What?" Shastin asked, trying her best to look offended, as she made a bad attempt to scowl. She then turned towards Draco with a huge smile and said: "Zefira thinks I'm too outspoken."

"I can't imagine why," he answered dryly, and Zefira made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh concealed into a cough.

He watched the two women, as they picked up the framed photos of Potter and him. He felt as if they were Aurors searching the house.

"I demand to get the name of your designer, Draco," Shastin said, as she inspected the bathroom. Her voice echoed slightly against the tiles. Zefira nodded in agreement, as she stepped over a box containing more of Draco's shoes, making her way back into the room from the closet.

"I am, actually," he answered and hoped he came off as believable. He was afraid that they would laugh in his face and ask for the _real_ designer, but Zefira looked only surprised. Shastin stuck her head out the door to the bathroom a few seconds later, looking confused.

"Sorry," she said with her hair half-covering her face. "I got so caught up in your flushing mechanism that I didn't catch the name."

"Draco is the designer," Zefira clarified, as she seemed to have regained herself.

"Really?" Shastin asked, her eyes widening slightly.

"Yes," Draco nodded. "That's how Harry and I met, actually."

Shastin made a squealing noise that made Draco want to roll his eyes.

"Hearing stories how other people met is her hobby," Zefira said wryly and shook her head, as if she was amazed by this, then she smiled quickly at Draco and added: "I want to hear it too, of course, but preferably over a cup of coffee."

"Coffee it is," he agreed and led them downstairs, secretly thankful that he seemed to have made a believable impression so far.

"I adore this picture of you and Harry," Shastin said and nodded towards the photograph above the fireplace.

Draco smiled quickly at her, before turning his gaze to the picture. The colours were fantastic, as was the nature around them, but what Draco found most fascinating was how completely relaxed and at ease Potter looked. As always, the man managed to look extremely handsome without seeming to be aware of this himself.

"It's my favourite," he answered honestly, pushing away the feeling of Potter's chaste kiss on his cheek just a while ago.

Always stepping up to a challenge, he thought bitterly. Bloody Gryffindors.

Draco had to ask Poppy to make coffee for their guests, since he did not drink coffee himself. The House-Elf seemed overjoyed by the fact that Draco needed her for something else other than cleaning their already spotless kitchen.

"Spill!" Shastin demanded, as soon as three steaming cups were placed in front of them at the coffee table. Draco's, however, contained his green, organic tea.

"I'm not sure what to tell you," he answered evasively and leaned back against the backrest of the couch. He really wished that Potter had been here to help him come up with a more detailed story. He would be taking a risk if he made up a something on his own, if the Quidditch players asked Potter the very same question and they told completely different stories.

"Everything." Shastin was blowing on her coffee, but her doe-eyes were concentrated on Draco, as if she was afraid to miss out on something important. Zefira did not seem quite as fixated, as she stroked the fabric of the armrest and looked as though she was trying to determine what material it was.

Draco took a deep breath and prayed to higher powers that Potter would return home soon. Not that he missed the other man, but because he surely could do with some support, even if it was from the most obnoxious person Draco knew.

"Well, Harry and I knew each other back in school," he started, but got distracted by Shastin's squeal and how she wrinkled her nose, like he was a very small, fluffy puppy and not a grown man. "We hated each other," he added coldly and felt satisfied as the look on her face was successively wiped off.

"Why? Harry is such a nice man!" Shastin said accusingly and scowled at him, as though she was defending a friend.

"You've met him for three seconds," Zefira sighed, seemingly fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

"I'm good at reading people," the blonde woman shrugged and turned her gaze to Draco again, who definitely disagreed with her. "Continue!"

"How do your friends put up with you ordering them around?" He shook his head in amazement and sipped his tea.

Shastin only smirked, clearly not as offended as Draco would have been if someone had asked him the same question.

"We don't," Zefira informed drily.

"We're not here to be mean to me. We're here because we want to know how you and Harry met," Shastin smiled, looking unconcerned by her friend's dry tone.

"Fine." Draco waved his hand dismissively and glanced quickly at the photograph above the fireplace. "As I said, Harry and I were not very fond of each other in school."

"Why?" Shastin asked again.

_Because he's a self-righteous bastard. Because he didn't want to be my friend. Because he made my life miserable. Because he was the Gryffindor Golden Boy. Because he always beat me in everything. _

"We got off on the wrong foot," he said after a moment of hesitation and tried not to think of all the times Potter had made his life a living hell. "We were in different groups that didn't particularly like each other. Anyway, when we left school, Harry got into Quidditch and moved away, while I stayed in London and initiated my career in interior designing. We didn't see each other for years."

_True, _Draco's subconscious agreed.

"I forgot about him and our differences back in school."

_Not true. _Every time Draco had seen the other man in the paper, irritation had started prickling under his skin.

"And then Harry got injured and moved back to London to get some time away from the pitch and a chance to heal properly. I was quite surprised when I received an owl from him, asking me to help him out with his new apartment." The words came strangely easy to him, as if they were not at all the far stretch from the truth that Draco knew them to be. It sounded quite believable to his ears, and the women sitting on the sofa opposite of him seemed caught up in the story. Their cups stood abandoned and forgotten, on the coffee table.

"I was a bit hesitant at first because I wasn't sure whether he had put everything behind him, like I had managed to do."

Draco mentally laughed at this.

"But I was too curious to let it go, and I needed a new project, so I accepted his offer. When we met up at his apartment, I was surprised, to say the least. He didn't look anything like I remembered."

That was, at least, true. Draco recalled that day in Shacklebolt's office and his own surprise, when he had seen Potter again.

"You're so shallow," Shastin sniggered and kicked her shoes off before pulling her legs up under her.

"You would be too, if Leo looked like Harry," Zefira said innocently, but smiled as her eyes connected with Draco's.

"Don't you say things like that about my husband," Shastin chided, but the corners of her mouth twitched in contradiction to her words.

"You do it all the time," Zefira pointed out and took her cup demonstratively.

"That's what I get for putting up with his snoring." Shastin muttered, but her smile quickly returned, as she moved her gaze to Draco. "Go on!"

"So bossy," he muttered and shook his head, but as she narrowed her eyes dangerously at him, he quickly added: "Alright! As I said, he didn't look anything like how I remembered him. I guess Quidditch was good for him. We had a quite good time, as I worked on his apartment and then, after a few weeks with him tormenting me by walking around without a shirt on, it turned into something more."

Draco felt a little warm just by talking about this, and it had not even happened. He could clearly picture Potter walking around with no shirt, however.

"What happened? We want details!" Shastin moved closer to the edge of the couch, and Zefira put her cup back down while correcting:

"_You_ want details."

"Fine, _I_ want details."

Draco did not exactly feel like making up details about Potter and him having sex in an apartment in the middle of a remodelling process, but he had walked right into this on his own. He started to wonder if something had gone wrong with the heating system in the house, because it felt like the temperature was rising.

"Harry will have my head for this," he muttered, knowing that Potter probably would, when he heard about what Draco had said about how they met. "To keep it short, we were painting his living room, and we were both covered in paint, because Harry thought a paint war was a good idea, and then we had sex."

"You fucked covered in paint?" Shastin looked as if Christmas had come early, this year.

Draco rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach as his mind betrayed him, creating vivid pictures of Potter in barely any clothes and covered in paint. He hoped that they did not noticed how his breath became shallower, or how he suddenly felt way too warm in his linen shirt.

It had been too long since he had had sex. Clearly.

"Yes, Shastin," he said instead and hoped that he sounded much more unaffected than he was. "We fucked covered in paint."

"It sounds so dirty with your accent," she giggled, and Zefira looked a little embarrassed.

"She doesn't have a filter," the other woman explained, and looked as if she wanted to lock the other woman in a closet for a while.

"You don't say," Draco replied dryly and hoped that his Malfoy facade was doing its job.

"We're having a dinner party at our place on Saturday, two weeks from now," Zefira said, clearly trying to change the subject. "You and Harry should come and meet the others. It's for all the players and their partners."

"That sounds lovely," Draco nodded with a smile. A dinner party would be the perfect opportunity to come off as the perfect couple. "I'll just have to talk to Harry, but I'm sure he would love to come as well."

"Perfect." Zefira rewarded him with a wide smile and looked as if she genuinely meant it. Draco hoped that she did. He quite enjoyed the company of both women, no matter how filter-less, or forward, they were. It was not like there was a big supply of people willing to associate with him, after all. "I think Shastin and I should let you return to unpacking your things now. I'm sure Harry will be back shortly."

Shastin quickly put her shoes back on and got to her feet, as Zefira rose from the sofa. Draco followed them to the door to see them off and was a bit surprised by the friendly hugs he received, instead of a wave or the expected handshake.

"Remember to close the curtains, if you feel the urge to paint again!" Shastin called over her shoulder, giggling of course, as she hurried down the porch staircase. Zefira hushed her loudly, swatting the blonde woman on the arm with the back of her hand.

_Definitely no filter_, he decided and closed the door after them. With a sigh, he leaned against the cool wood and closed his eyes. His breath hitched as pictures of a shirtless Potter covered in paint came to mind, as clear as if they were real memories and not something he had made up five minutes ago.

Draco shook his head violently and pushed the images away, but they came seeping back to mind, when he stood in the shower, a short while later, trying to cool his body heat down a few hundred degrees with ice-cold water. With a groan, he gave in, thinking that Potter would never know that this would be the first and last time that he would ever think of the other man in that way. It had nothing to do with Potter's ridiculously good looks, but merely the fact that Draco had not had sex in forever.

The pictures became clearer, as he slipped his hand down his chest, grasping his hardening cock, just as pictures of Potter laying on a hardwood floor with Draco's hands smearing white paint over his pectorals came to mind.

Draco groaned, as the Potter in his mind did the same, his hand movements quickening as his mind displayed clear pictures of Draco burying himself inside the other man, who arched his back, mouth slacking open. Their bodies slid together over and over, paint spreading out over their skin with their movements.

He came hard, just as the Potter in his mind opened his eyes and emptied himself over his paint-covered stomach.

"Fuck," Draco breathed and leaned against the cold tiles in the shower, his legs slightly unsteady. He could not help but feel guilty over the fact that he had just wanked himself to release thinking about Potter covered in paint. He would not be able to look at the other man in the eye ever again.

Still shaking slightly, he grabbed the towel from its hanger and started drying himself, as if he could get the stupid images off his mind as easy as he could dry the water off his body. He felt as if he was on a good way to succeeding, when he heard the door slam downstairs.

"Draco?" Potter's voice called, and Draco's breath got stuck in his throat again.

"I'm condemned," he groaned to himself, as he buried his face in his hands.

**xXx**

**HPOV**

Harry heard the sound from the doorbell, just as he had read the first two paragraphs of chapter nine in _Ten ways to Make Your Broom Your Best Friend._ It had not been of much help so far, but he had not given up yet.

Their belongings had been delivered a short while ago, but Harry had stayed in his room, sulking. Malfoy had made fun of his insecurities, and Harry had reacted just like he would have done in fourth year, and now he was way too proud to admit that he might have been overreacting slightly and to go back down.

A sharp knock on the door told him that Malfoy was heading downstairs to greet their neighbours, and that Harry should join him. He did not want to. Even though he should be mature enough not to feel sorry for himself because of Malfoy's teasing, he definitely was. And scared. It was strange how facing Lord Voldemort a few times in his life did not make him immune to normal stage fright, he thought, and glanced over to the mirror on the wall. His reflection grimaced back at him, as he put the book down on the nightstand, beside a picture of Malfoy and him sitting in a restaurant. Picture-Harry looked perfectly content, as did the always-immaculate picture-Malfoy.

Voices from downstairs brought him out of his thoughts, and he rose quickly from the bed. Malfoy clearly did not believe in his acting skills, but Harry had to prove him wrong. Not only because it was his job now, a commission of trust from Kingsley, but also because it was imprinted in his being that he could never let Malfoy win. Ever.

His hair was its usual unruly mess. He tried to flatten it somewhat with his hands – in vain, of course. There was no time to change clothes, so it would have to do. Hopefully, Malfoy's presence would keep everyone from looking at him.

"Harry, my husband, is here somewhere, but I don't know where he went." Harry heard Malfoy's voice say, as he quickly made his way downstairs. Four people stood on the other side of the door: two men and two women. Harry guessed that they were couples, judging by the men's protective arms around the women's shoulders.

Malfoy had a disarming smile on his lips and looked as if he could not be more comfortable than he was, in the weird situation. The people on the other side of the door were looking stunned, as if Malfoy had hexed them, but clearly it had something to do with the fact that it was two men in the marriage. Perhaps the American Wizarding Community found something like that strange, just like the Muggle World in Britain sometimes did.

Harry mentally slapped himself and tried to ignore the nervous knot in his stomach, as he took the last steps towards Malfoy and snaked his arm around the other man's waist, praying that this was how a real couple would behave.

"I'm the husband," he said and smiled in a way that he hoped was friendly. If Ron had seen him now, he would have been doubled over in a fit of laughter.

The people on the other side of the door were beautiful, Harry thought, and seemed to fit into Malfoy's world of immaculately dressed beings. A tall woman reminded him vaguely of Fleur, except for the more golden tones in her hair and her dark brown eyes. She was one of those women Hermione said had "_curves in all the right places,_" while the woman next to her, with hair that seemed to be almost as defiant as Harry's, was very slender.

The blonde woman was standing next to a South-European-looking man, who came off slightly shorter than her. He shared Madame Maxime's olive skin and chocolate-coloured hair. The other man was dark-skinned and was smiling wider than Harry thought was possible. He was very handsome, Harry thought, and the complete opposite of Malfoy's fair colours.

He leaned forward, still keeping his arm around the man next to him, and shook their hands in turn. They still looked slightly dazed and did not seem capable of giving him their names.

Then the olive-skinned man started laughing, as if Harry had just told an extremely hilarious joke.

"I'm sorry," he said and wiped the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand. "You must think that we are narrow-minded people, but we are just surprised, that's all."

Harry felt his arm tighten somewhat around Malfoy's waist at this, as a sort of reassurance that they were doing good. He had no idea why the man next to him would care about Harry reassuring him, but it felt better holding him closer. To his surprise, Malfoy leaned against him slightly as the blonde woman started giggling.

"Welcome to the professional atmosphere of the Virginia Wolves," said the slender woman, who seemed to feel responsible for her company's questionable behaviour, as the man on her side burst out laughing as well.

"I prefer this reaction too many other's I – _we_ – had expected," Malfoy said and smiled in a very friendly fashion that Harry had never seen before. "Would you like a cup of tea or coffee? It's a complete mess inside, but I wouldn't want to leave you standing on our porch, when we have plenty of room inside."

"Harry can't," the dark-skinned man said, and Harry felt a little uneasy over the fact that they knew his name and he had no idea who they were. "Leo and I thought we would be nice and show him where we practice, and introduce him to the rest of the team. We won't take no for an answer, Harry. Come on."

Leaving with two unknown men did not seem as the best idea in this particular situation, but it would seem strange if Harry declined. He suspected that he, as a new member of the Quidditch team, would be rather excited to learn more about them.

"I, on the other hand, would love some coffee," the slender woman said and glared at her husband, in that very subtle way Hermione used to chide Ron without using words.

"I better leave then," Harry said and glanced over at their neighbours. He had to do something that would seem appropriate for a married couple without making it too much. He remembered the way Mr. Weasley always kissed Mrs. Weasley goodbye on the cheek, every morning, before leaving for work. Carefully, he slid his hand up Malfoy's back, feeling his heart race unnaturally fast, despite the lack of excessive movement, and prayed that the other man would not flinch away. He felt the slender muscles beneath the other man's thin cotton shirt and gently caressed the fascinatingly soft skin, just above the collar, as he planted a swift kiss on Malfoy's cheek. The scent from the other man filled his nose completely, before he pulled away.

"I trust you with my wife," said the man Harry assumed was Leo, or else the dark-skinned man had been talking about himself in the third person, to Malfoy, as Harry walked over to the two men. He did his best to look relaxed and tried to ignore the way his heart still pounded behind his ribs. Malfoy's grey eyes met Leo's, as he stepped aside to let the women inside.

"I trust you to get my husband back in one piece," Malfoy replied with that characteristic smirk Harry had seen so many times before.

"I'm afraid he got recruited to the wrong team for that," the dark-skinned man said in a very serious tone, but his eyes were dancing with humour. The door closed behind Malfoy, and Harry turned to walk with the other men, realising that he had no idea where they actually were heading.

"I'm Jordan, by the way," the dark-skinned man said and grinned. "I think I forgot to tell you that before. I'm the Keeper. This is Leonard, but he thinks that's a silly name and demand that we call him Leo. If you want to keep your...," Jordan broke off and looked thoughtful, gazing into nothingness for a few seconds as if he tried to recall something, before looking at Harry again: "Actually, I'm not sure what the threat is, but just do what he says or he gets whiny."

Harry laughed but felt sadness tug his mid-section, as the other man's words could easily have been something Fred or George would say about Ron. He glanced back at his new home and felt slightly uneasy with leaving Malfoy behind with two unknown women. Even though he was certain the other man could handle himself, considering the fact that he had been living in a house full of Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort for quite some time, Harry could not help to feel as if he was leaving the other man unprotected.

On the other hand, he needed to make a good impression on his new team, and the men walking on either side of him seemed like a good start.

"Missing your man already?" Leo said with a smirk, as they walked down the cobblestone road, passing a few houses on either side of it.

"We just got married," Harry answered with a shrug and hoped that it explained more to the other men than what it did to him.

"Ah," Leo nodded insightfully. "Hard time keeping your hands off each other and all that? Been there. A few years ago, though, but Shastin is something special."

"Uhuh," Jordan agreed and leaned closer to Harry only, to add in a stage whisper: "Asylum-special."

"Shut up." A badly aimed hex came flying, and Harry had to fight his reflexes not to draw his wand and hide behind the nearest tree for cover. They were just playing around, he told himself, just like the Weasleys always did.

"So what position do you have on the team?" he asked instead, to try to steer the conversation to Quidditch.

"Chaser," the man said stuck his hand in his pockets as they kept on walking. "We thought we would welcome you to the team and all, considering Burke's death and everything that happened afterwards. We don't have the best reputation with all that's happened, but we're cool."

"Thanks." Harry smiled as casually as he could, but he still felt uneasy. "How do we get to the pitch?"

"That's the handy thing with living in a wizarding village, Harry," Jordan said and flung an arm around his shoulders, acting like he was confiding in him. "We never have to hide. There's a nifty little passage for inhabitants, just around the corner in Zefira's, my wife's, café."

"That's fantastic," Harry said honestly. He had never lived in a wizarding village before, but visiting Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade gave him an idea what it would be like. They walked pass a few shops that reminded him vaguely of The Burrow, with a couple of extra floors that looked like they could not possibly been built without magic. The shop owners were carrying out boxes of different articles, preparing to open for business.

As they turned the corner, a bright sign declared: Zefira's Coffee & Cream, in a large red print.

"Coffee & Cream refers to actual coffee & cream, but also to her and I," Jordan explained with a brilliant smile.

"Endearing, isn't it?" Leo snorted and effectively wiped the smile off the other man's face.

"Yes," Harry agreed and fought to keep his face straight, but he suspected that he was failing. "I think my heart just melted."

"So much for letting my team use _my_ passage without asking for anything in return," Jordan muttered and tapped the glass door with his wand three times, with a short pause between each tap.

"Dude, we have to _hang out_ with you," Leo said, as if this was definitely something in return, no matter what Jordan claimed.

"The only reason I am not locking you in a closet right now, and leaving you there to starve to death, is because I doubt anyone would be willing to take your spot, if another member of our team happened to die, and because my wife says I'm not allowed to."

Harry sobered quickly from his entertained state at this, just as the three of them entered the small shop and closed the door behind them. There was an old-fashioned cash register and shelves with hundreds of jars, containing what smelled like coffee. A handful of round, mismatching tables stood around the rest of the room, and a big mullioned window covered most of the right wall.

"What do you think?" Jordan asked, as if Harry's quick intake of the place was that obvious.

"It's fantastic." And it was. There was that instant feeling of belonging here, as it had been for Harry the first time he had visited Diagon Alley. He was, however, no matter how much he liked the shop, slightly alarmed by the fact that Jordan had joked about a member of their team dying twice already. It had not been that long since it had happened, and Harry had thought that it would be a sensitive subject, and definitely not something they joked about.

"The passage is this way," Leo pointed towards a small door behind the cash register, almost hidden among all the coffee jars.

"Aren't you worried about his death? Burke was it?" Harry asked, as he deliberately fell a couple of steps behind the other men, as they approached the small door.

"Of course we are worried," Jordan nodded and rested his hand on the doorknob. "I don't know what you have heard, but Burke was only with us for two games, and he was quite an ass, to put it nicely."

Harry suddenly found himself feeling extremely vigilant towards the two men and tucked his hands into his jeans pockets, as if in a casual manner, but made sure that his wand was ready to be drawn if necessary.

"It's scary," Leo said, and met Harry's gaze with a sincere expression on his face – eyes unguarded. "We were all there when he died. Have you heard what happened?"

"Not really, I just know that he died in an accident." Harry shrugged in an attempt to look mildly interested.

"Maybe we should have a cup of coffee before we leave," Jordan suggested, and let go of the doorknob, only to thread the handles of three cups on his fingers.

"Sounds like a good idea," Leo agreed and gestured to Harry to sit down at the nearest table, before pulling a third chair from another, with a screeching sound. "It's only fair that you get the whole story, as much as we know, before you start playing with us."

A few minutes later, Harry was sitting at the slightly unsteady table, opposite of the two men who seemed to enjoy their coffee immensely

"Colombian?" Leo asked, as he sniffed at the steaming cup.

"Yes, a new roast we got this weekend," Jordan confirmed, while sipping on his own and added, turned towards Harry: "You have to think that we completely lost it, but as we said, Burke was a kind of an ass. The Seeker we had before him had to quit, because his wife got a job out of state, and the team there was willing to take him. When Burke arrived, all he did was pointing out all the mistakes in our play and kept fiddling with his damn broom. He was arrogant and thought that we should be thrilled to have him on our team. He wasn't a bad player, but he was self-absorbed. The first game we played, we won. Miraculously, I might add."

"Yeah, we played against the Fitchburg Finches and scored a hell of a lot of goals. That was my best match that season. We were in the lead with 210 versus their 50, a huge lead, and then the snitch showed up. Burke didn't catch it. In fact, he was on the other side of the bloody pitch, waving to the cameras, as the Finches' Seeker caught it easily." Leo shook his head in disbelief.

"We were _lucky_ that we won with ten points, Harry, and then that idiot had the guts to tell us that our game wasn't living up to his expectations. Can you believe that? We scored twenty-one, _twenty-one_, fucking goals and he couldn't even catch the snitch, but apparently it was our entire fault. And his broom's." Jordan scowled, as if the memory still upset him.

"Yeah, he kept talking about that his broom wasn't fast enough and that he couldn't play decently because it was too slow, or whatever," Leo added, and nodded as if he confirmed his own memory. "The next game, we were having a quite rough match against the Stonewall Stormers: we were neck and neck, leading with twenty points at the most, before being behind by ten the next second. I remember thinking that it was all up to him to catch the snitch, because we would never be able to score enough goals to secure our lead with a hundred and sixty points."

"And the next thing that happens is Burke crashing into a stand, injuring a few of the audience because his speed was insane. Apparently, a slow broom wasn't his problem, at the end of the day." Jordan looked up from his cup, and it seemed to Harry as if they were sincere, but he had been around long enough to be careful. "His wife and kid still live here. The kid seems okay, but I don't think Burke spent much time with him. His wife seems crushed, though. Anyway, the Seeker that played for us after that, Faulton, got injured by a hex and no one knows how or why. And since then, a stand has collapsed during a game, some of our opponents have almost been crushed by a goal-ring falling down in the middle of a game. A number of weird things that we can't explain, but all of this is giving us a bad reputation."

"Come on. We can show you his locker, if you want to see what we mean when we say that he was self-absorbed." Leo stood up and inclined his head towards the door. "We just thought you should know, Harry, because it's not fair for you to start playing for our team without knowing all that's happened."

For now, they looked as innocent as any other member of the team or anyone close to Burke, Harry thought. He could perhaps see the Weasley twins pull a few jokes over something like this before the war, when death wasn't their everyday life, and when they both were still alive. It would, perhaps, have been their way of coping. Just as it could be Jordan's and Leo's only way to tackle what had happened around them, the past year.

"I really appreciate you telling me all of this," he said honestly, and got to his feet as Jordan did the same. He followed the two men to the small door once more, not feeling nearly as uncertain and wary as he had done, a short while ago.

"You're not quitting, are you? I think my wife will like your husband," Jordan asked with a huge grin.

Harry suspected that there was a serious question behind that joking exterior.

"Nah," he shook his head. "It's been a while since I played, due to my injury, and your team-"

"_Our_ team," Leo corrected.

"Yeah, our team was nice enough to offer me the spot without actually seeing me play. Plus, I doubt that Draco would approve of another move anytime soon." _And Kingsley Shacklebolt would probably not appreciate it either. _

xXx

The passage was fascinatingly simple and reminded Harry of running through the wall at platform 9¾, except that all he had to do this time was walking through an open door. Jordan and Leo had then moved on to showing him the pitch, which made Harry remember the games he had played back at Hogwarts and the adrenaline rush he used to get from catching a glimpse of the snitch before the other team's Seeker had. It had been so long. Too long.

They had showed him their locker room, which did not smell as bad as the ones back at Hogwarts. The showers were much nicer, too. It was a room too big for only seven players, and it had at least five lockers more than needed, but Harry remembered them mentioning Burke's locker, which sounded to him as if it was still left untouched.

"This is your gear," Jordan said and held up a pigeon-blue and silver uniform, with a huge wolf's head in silver on the chest. The protection was the custom black leather. Harry quite liked the colours, but he had a feeling they would have suited Malfoy better.

"Looks great," he said with a smile and accepted the clothing from the other man. "Where should I put it?"

"Preferably in your locker." Leo tapped his knuckles against the third from the right and tossed a key to Harry, who was thankful that his Seeker-reflexes were still somewhat intact, as he reached out to catch it without hesitation.

"Nice catch." Jordan bumped his shoulder in appreciation, and Harry felt slightly uncomfortable over the compliment. He had never been good with positive feedback. To hide his embarrassment, he concentrated on unlocking his locker instead. It was empty, as expected, and his uniform looked slightly lonely inside it.

"You can always put a picture or two of Draco on the inside of the door. No nude ones though, that's team rules." Leo started laughing, as Harry could not help but blush at this. Nude pictures of Malfoy was definitely not happening – _ever_ – but he could not exactly tell them that.

"I'll keep that in mind," he mumbled instead, and rocked back and forth on his feet, trying to look unaffected, even though his face was most likely Gryffindor-scarlet by now.

"We'll show you what we were talking about earlier," Jordan said and grew serious almost instantly. "About Burke, I mean."

Leo retrieved a second key from the back pocket of his trousers, and unlocked the door to the locker farthest to the left. It was covered in photographs of a mousy-haired, quite good-looking man, who seemed to pose in every photo in a very similar manner to Lockhart's behaviour during Harry's second year. It had to be hundreds of photos, Harry thought, as he walked closer to get a better look, and they covered the whole inside of the locker. A broom and a uniform much alike the one Harry had just received were in there, too, as were a bunch of photos laying at the bottom.

"He had started putting them on the outside, too," Jordan explained, as if he had seen Harry look at them. "Rules say that it isn't allowed, and so Burke had to take them down. He refused, so Harrigan, our captain, took them down for him and put them there. I think he was quite sick of Burke's behaviour, too, to be honest."

"Didn't you say that he had a wife and kid?" Harry asked as he inspected the photos more closely, but they all seemed to portray Burke in different situations.

"Yeah," Leo confirmed. "But, apparently, they weren't important enough to join him in his little collage here."

"That's weird," Harry said, thinking out loud, as he remembered Wood's locker when they had practiced a few weeks ago. There had been pictures of some of the retired Quidditch players he admired in their best moments, his fiancée and his parents. None of himself, except for the team photo, but that was nothing like this.

"Weird is quite the understatement, when it comes to Burke," Leo snorted and closed the locker again.

"So it seems," Harry agreed, and knew that he had to discuss this with Malfoy, when he was back at the house.

"Come on," Jordan said where he stood at the door to the locker-room. "I need to get back to my wife."

**xXx**

Harry met the two women, just as he walked up the cobblestone road towards his home.

"Harry!" Shastin greeted with a huge smile, as if they had know each other for longer than the few minutes they had spoken, earlier on. It was something in her expression that made Harry feel as if he should be embarrassed.

"Hi," he said instead and nodded with a smile. "I hope Draco is still intact and breathing?"

"Of course," Shastin laughed, but Zefira's nod was far more reassuring.

"I just told Draco that I would be thrilled, if you two would like to come to our dinner party," the slender woman said and stopped in front of him. "I gave him the details, but I just thought you should know, in case my husband forgot to invite you."

"He did," Harry smiled and nodded. Inwardly, he groaned. He had a feeling that there would be a lot of people at the dinner party. "That sounds great. Thanks for the invitation."

"Of course! Draco is fantastic, and I'm sure you're just as good." Shastin flashed a brilliant row of teeth.

Harry felt his face go red and felt even more uncomfortable, as the blonde woman started giggling, just as she had done this morning. He had a hard time picturing why they would find Malfoy fantastic in any way. He also had a hard time understanding how she was able to walk on cobblestones in those shoes, but he did not ask her for either explanation.

"Draco is probably waiting for you," Zefira said, as if she saw how embarrassed he was and wanted to give him an excuse to escape Shastin's attention.

"I better get going then." He gave her a quick, grateful smile and waved at them, as he hurried the last distance home. He passed a few children playing in a small park, on the way. One of them was riding a small broom that only levitated enough for the girl's toes to barely touch the grass. They did not even notice him, clearly consumed in their play.

He did not realise that he was smiling slightl,y until he was walking up the porch staircase and caught his reflection in the window beside the front door. The house was quiet, as he closed the door behind him. It was a comfortable quiet, he thought.

"Draco?" he called, in case someone else was still visiting.

"Upstairs," came the distant reply, and Harry quickly made his way up to the next floor, afraid that he would forget something he needed to tell Malfoy, if he did not hurry.

He quickly glanced into Malfoy's study as he passed it, but as he found it empty, he continued to the master bedroom. The door was cracked open a fraction, Harry noticed, as he walked closer, and he hesitated for a few moments before walking inside. Malfoy was indeed in his bedroom. He was sitting on the bed, facing the window with his back against Harry and no shirt on. Judging by the wet hair, he had just gotten out of the shower.

Harry tried desperately to remember what he had to say, but it was in vain. He stared at the smooth-looking skin that was marred by scars that Harry was all too familiar with, even though he had never seen them before. Something cold formed in the pit of his stomach and stayed there, even as Malfoy pulled a soft grey, cable-knitted jumper over his head and hid the scars away from Harry's eyes.

The air seemed to find its way down Harry's lungs again, even though he had no idea when he had stopped breathing, as the other man pulled his fingers through the light strands of hair.

"Hey," Harry said, before he could stop himself.

Malfoy turned around quickly and quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Hey?" he repeated. His cheeks looked slightly flushed, Harry thought, and the glint in his eyes did not seem as hard as it used to. But perhaps it was his mind playing tricks on him, or the lack of oxygen that made him slightly delusional. Instead of answering, he just shrugged and felt even more stupid than before.

"How was Quidditch?" Malfoy asked, and Harry blinked in surprise.

"It was fine," he said slowly, trying to remember all the things he was supposed to tell the other man, but they seemed to have disappeared from his mind completely. "How was...er, coffee?"

"Fine," Malfoy nodded and rose from the bed. He seemed to hesitate for a few moments, before he opened his mouth again and said: "You'll have to sleep in here, from now on."

Harry felt his eyes widen. "Why? I mean, we can switch, but-"

"_With me_," Malfoy cut him off and rolled his eyes.

"With you?" Harry repeated, and his heart started stuttering, before it began racing in his chest. It had been his lifeline to be able to hide away from the other man when he was too annoying, even if there was nothing more than a corridor between them; it had been an appreciated escape for Harry.

"Yes." The other man nodded and picked up a damp towel that lay over the back of a chair. "We're supposed to be the perfect couple. We can't sleep in separate bedrooms."

"It wasn't my idea to sleep separated, from the start," Harry said defensively, and noticed how Malfoy's face seemed to close in front of him. He mentally slapped himself, remembering that they were not in school anymore, and said quickly: "Yeah, all right. I'll go get my stuff."

He turned around in the doorway to go into the opposite room and collect his things. He had never been good with sharing a bed with someone. A true blanket hogger. Sharing with Malfoy felt like something forbidden, but he could not exactly quit the job with that justification.

"Right, before I forget – I had to tell them about the first time we had sex."

Malfoy said it so casually that Harry was sure that he had misheard, but when he spun around to meet the other man's gaze, there was a smirk on his lips. Clearly, Malfoy had said exactly what Harry thought he had.

"But we never had sex," Harry blurted and felt immensely stupid, as the other man's eyebrows shot up and the smirk grew wider. Yes, Harry was stating the obvious – again.

"So glad you told me, Potter," Malfoy said sharply and added extremely slowly, as if Harry was completely dense: "But I'm sure you know that married couples usually have sex?"

"Whatever," Harry snapped and glared at the other man, who seemed to be having the time of his life. He felt slightly panicked, as the thought of Malfoy and him having sex came to mind. He was not very experienced, to begin with, and when it came to sex between two men, he was clueless. "I'm going to make a firecall. I'm using the fireplace in the study."

"It's _my_ study," Malfoy pointed out and frowned, as if he did not like the thought of having Harry in his study, which he did not even use.

"We're married, Malfoy. What's yours is mine, and all that." Harry waved him off and walked quickly down the hall. He needed to talk to Hermione, or just someone else that was not Malfoy.

"If you mess up something in there, you'll have to sleep with one eye open, for the rest of this marriage!" the other man called after him, but Harry thought – and hoped – that it was just an empty threat.

Malfoy's study was, however, organized to such an extent that even Hermione would approve. The folders in the bookcase were organized by colour, as were the pencils on the desk. Harry felt like he was intruding, even though he knew that Malfoy did not actually do any kind of work in here. He had no idea if it was possible to make a firecall to England from America, but he had to try.

A handful of powder in the fireplace later, Harry was lying on his stomach on the floor, begging that he would see the living room in Hermione's and Ron's house, when he opened his eyes again.

"Harry?" a familiar voice said, and he snapped his eyes open. His chest contracted a fraction, as he saw Hermione rise from the couch and hurry towards him. "Harry!"

"Hi," he said and smiled foolishly. She looked worried, and he felt stupid for firecalling her for nothing more serious than this. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she said breathlessly and kneeled in front of the fireplace. "Ron would have stayed home from work, if you had told us that you were calling."

"That's fine. It was just a whim." He was, honestly, quite relieved that Ron was not home. It would be uncomfortable enough to talk to Hermione about it without his presence.

"What's wrong?" she asked immediately.

"Nothing's wrong really..." he said evasively. _Hey, Malfoy told our neighbours that we had sex, and I'm freaking out because I don't know how it works, _did not seem as the best way to put it.

"Are you two getting along?" Her voice was softer now, as if the first worry had passed.

"Most of the time." Harry nodded, more to himself than her. "I mean, we try. He's the most annoying person I know, but it's not as bad as it used to be back in school. At least so far."

"Ron is the most annoying person I know," Hermione said with a soft smile. "Perhaps that's the way marriages work."

"Yeah, except for the fact that you and Ron got married because you love each other, and not because you're doing a confidential job for the ministry."

"Fair point, well made." She nodded and laughed. "Have you met your team yet?"

"Only two of them, but they seem all right. I've done some digging, but I can't ask more before I get to know them better, without sounding too suspicious."

"I see. What have you come up with?" She was listening with a new interest, Harry noticed. It was the look she had had on her face back in school, just minutes before she usually declared that she was going to the library. He decided to tell her everything, from the way the other men had joked about the traumatic events to Burke's locker.

"Sounds to me like someone could get tired of him quite fast and do something about it," Hermione said gravelly when Harry finally finished.

"Yeah, except that the two people I met didn't seem like they wanted to. I mean, the whole thing just gets the team a lot of bad reputation and, if another player quit for some reason, I doubt anyone will try out for the spot."

"Have you talked to their wives? Perhaps one of them has grown tired of their man constantly working," she suggested, and Harry noticed how she was scribbling on a parchment, she had found on the coffee table.

"Malfoy has that part covered. Maybe I should talk to him. I don't know how much work he's doing, though. He just told me that he told them about the first time we slept with each other." Harry felt his face burn, but hoped that the flames on her side made it less obvious how uncomfortable he was.

"He's clever, Harry. He knows that he can't just ask them without making some sort of connection. I'm sure they were talking about how the two of you met, or something." Sometimes it was quite annoying that she always was so rational. If it had been Ron hearing this, he would have started freaking out much the same way Harry was, and not trying to explain that telling unknown people about such a private thing as sex was a good idea.

"It's freaking me out," Harry said quietly. This was the reason he had called her, in the first place. Even though he, most of all, wanted to pull his head back from the fireplace and lock himself into his room, which was not even his room anymore because he and Malfoy had to share, he knew that he could not.

"I can tell," she said softly. "Why?"

"Because I don't know anything about it. Between men, I mean." Truth be told, he did not know much about it between a man and a woman, either.

"Why don't you ask Malfoy?" she suggested carefully, and Harry glared at her.

"What makes you think he knows more about it than I do?" he muttered defensively.

"Well, he's gay, right?"

"Yes." Harry sighed and remembered Malfoy's surprise over the fact that Harry had had no idea about his sexuality. Perhaps he really had been clueless, because Hermione seemed to be fully aware of it. "I'm not asking him."

"Harry, you can't afford to be stubborn now. You're there on a job. What if they ask you something and you can't answer? Married people have sex."

"You sound just like him," he muttered. "I'm not asking him. I don't care what you say. I have to find some other way to find out. Say hi to Ron from me."

And then, childish and stubborn as he was, Harry pulled his head out of the fire and rolled over onto his back. It was not Hermione's fault that he had not looked these things up, before he got here, in the first place.

**xXx**

They were sitting at the dinner table later, that night, as Poppy served them steak. He had avoided Malfoy quite effectively, since his firecall with Hermione, but dinner was unavoidable.

The other man had insisted on wine, claiming that the taste of the meat was empathized by the flavour of the beverage. Harry did not particularly like to drink anything but beer, water or pumpkin juice when eating, but Malfoy had that look on his face again that told him not to question this.

It was not all that bad, Harry thought, as the slightly bitter taste of the wine surely did make the meat taste better, but he preferred cold drinks. They had not said a word to each other for fifteen minutes, and the atmosphere around the table was tense. He tried to understand why, but he could not think of anything that he could have done to upset the other man. Especially not since he had been avoiding him, for the past few hours.

"You called Granger?" Malfoy said finally, without looking up from his plate.

"Yes." Harry nodded and had a feeling that he answered more than just the question.

"What did you talk to her about?" The other man's tone was cool, and he still was not looking at Harry, who felt heat creeping up his neck. Had Malfoy heard everything?

"Just stuff about Burke, the guy that died." Harry tried to sound casual, but his mouth went dry, as the other man finally made eye contact. He was not happy.

"It never occurred to you that perhaps it would be a good thing to enlighten me, as well? Perhaps even before you decided to talk to Granger, whom, I might add, is on the other side of the Atlantic?"

Malfoy did not act very upset, Harry thought, and that was why he was worried. He could not exactly explain that he had meant to tell the other man everything, but had forgotten all about it because he had happened to be shirtless, when Harry had entered the room. He could not really say that the only reason he had called Hermione, to begin with, was because he was so nervous about his inexperience when it came to sex, either.

"I was going to tell you," he said instead, and knew that it sounded like nothing more than a lame excuse.

Malfoy made a sound of disbelief and gave him a hard look.

"I really was," Harry persisted, and put his cutlery down beside his plate. "I was just a bit upset about the...about what you told them, so I forgot. Did you eavesdrop?"

"No, P-...Harry, I didn't eavesdrop." Malfoy sounded offended, and looked around quickly, to see if Poppy had perhaps noticed his almost-slip, but she was nowhere around. "But I know what it was like back in school, and it wasn't exactly hard for me to guess whom you were calling or what you were going to talk about. I'm not stupid."

"I know you're not," Harry said quietly. He had never thought that they day would come when Malfoy made him feel guilty. "As I said, I was a bit upset about what you told them so I just...did what I always do – turned to Hermione."

Malfoy did not look convinced, his features still hard-set.

Harry did not exactly know why he felt like he had to make the other man understand that he truly was regretting his decision not to talk to him first, and that it had been his intention to do so, but before he could stop himself it slipped out: "I'm sorry."

He had a feeling that Malfoy's surprised expression was mirrored in his own face. The other man stared at him for a few, excruciatingly long, moments, his mouth opening a fraction before closing again.

"Did you just say 'I'm sorry' to me?" he said finally, with a voice that sounded more as if he was asking if the sky had just fallen down outside.

"Er," Harry said and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Yes?"

"I think I must write that down somewhere, or I will think that I hallucinated tomorrow." The other man shook his head as if in disbelief, but there was humour dancing in his eyes now.

"Funny," Harry muttered, but relief pushed through his body as he allowed himself to relax against the backrest of the chair.

Malfoy smiled, more to himself than Harry probably, and poured more wine into his glass. Harry caught himself thinking that the other man really had a quite nice smile.

"So, enlighten me." Malfoy waved his hand, as if he had been waiting for Harry to get on with it forever.

"Well, they told me about this Burke guy. He didn't seem very nice. Apparently, he just played with them for a couple of games and the first time they barely won, because they had a huge lead of a hundred and sixty points, but Burke didn't catch the snitch, so they only won by ten points. They told me he had been posing for the photographers instead of looking for it. Afterwards, he blamed them for the whole thing, and that his broom was too slow." Harry felt a bit uneasy under Malfoy's intense look, but he managed to keep the blush off his face.

"Was he enough of an arse to make someone kill him?" the other man asked, as he sipped on his wine.

"I don't think so. Something went wrong during their next game. It was a tough match, and the teams were neck and neck, basically, for the entire game. The next thing that happened was Burke crashing into a stand and died."

"So if the game was so even, it's not likely for anyone on the team to have any time over for sending Burke off into the stands in a death-crash." Malfoy nodded and looked thoughtful.

"Exactly. His death has brought them a lot of problems, too. Their reputation is bad, because there have been accidents since and, if someone else quit, it's not likely anyone will step up to take their spot." Harry felt as if there was something he was missing, but he could not put his finger on it. "He seemed to be quite self-centred, too."

"Self-centred?" Malfoy asked and looked at him with renewed interest. "Why?"

"Because they let me take a look at his locker. It was pretty much wallpapered in photos of himself." Harry looked around for a piece of parchment to write it all down, just like Hermione had done, as Malfoy frowned slightly.

"That might be slightly egotistic, but not necessarily anything important?"

"I wouldn't put too much thought into it, if there hadn't been a few hundred photos and that he apparently tried to put them on the outside of his locker, too. And for the fact that he has a wife and a son, and there wasn't a single photo of either of them." Finally, Harry gave up on finding a piece of parchment and grabbed a napkin instead.

"Yes, that's different. He sounds like quite the narcissist," Malfoy agreed and glanced over at Harry's napkin, where he had now scribbled down the most essential parts. "We have to keep that somewhere no one will find it."

"You have locked drawers in your study," Harry pointed out and pushed the napkin over the table.

"So you've come to terms with it being _my_ study now, have you?" Malfoy smirked and folded the napkin neatly, even though Harry seven years ago would have been furious at this remark, present Harry found himself a bit amused.

"What lengths I go to, to keep my husband happy."

"Yes, you're a real catch," Malfoy agreed dryly and suddenly laughed. "If someone told me back in school, that seven years into the future, I would be married to you and live in America-" He broke off and shook his head in amazement.

"You probably would have hexed them," Harry offered generously.

"Most likely." Malfoy nodded, before filling his glass once more.

Harry raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Trying to pass out on me?" he asked and tried to keep his tone jokingly, afraid that he would ruin their, now, quite nice evening, by upsetting the other man. To his relief, one corner of Malfoy's mouth quirked upwards.

"We're sharing bed tonight, remember? I need to ensure that I fall asleep fast." His tone was quite harsh, but Harry was fairly certain that his eyes were playful.

"I'm sure you're a closeted cuddler," he said dryly, and suddenly remembered his food, which was still stood in front of him.

"You know me too well," Malfoy replied, and raised his glass, as if in a toast.

"I'm your husband, after all." Harry picked up his fork and turned his attention to his food, as the other man seemed to concentrate more on emptying his glass of wine.

A little more than an hour later, they were making their way upstairs. Malfoy slightly unsteadily, since he had downed approximately two thirds of the wine bottle. Harry had deliberately fallen a step behind him, in case the other man lost his balance and fell backwards, down the stairs. Malfoy did not seem to be anywhere close to falling, however, even though he was looking more relaxed than his normal proud posture.

The atmosphere changed almost visibly, as they entered their now-shared bedroom. Suddenly, the big bed seemed a too small for Harry's liking, and he noticed how Malfoy hesitated, as if he, too, realised that they were _actually_ going to share a bed.

"The right side is mine," he said, and turned to Harry with a half-hearted attempt to scowl.

"All right. I'm just going to get my stuff." Harry nodded towards the bedroom across the hall, as he remembered that he had completely forgotten about bringing his belongings here earlier. Malfoy only hummed something in response.

Harry leaned against the inside of the door to the guest room and breathed deeply. It was not such a big deal, honestly, he tried to tell himself. Sharing a bed was not a big thing – people did it all the time. He quickly gathered a few of his things, thinking that he could leave the rest of it for tomorrow, and picked a fresh pair of underwear. Sleeping naked was not really an option, when sharing a bed with Malfoy.

When he returned into the master bedroom, Malfoy was already lying in bed, reading a book. He looked up quickly, when he heard Harry in the doorway, and looked almost as lost as Harry felt. Strangely, this made him feel less ridiculous for being terrified by sharing a bed with another man, considering that even the icy Malfoy-facade had cracked open.

"I'm just going to change," Harry mumbled and motioned towards the bathroom awkwardly. The other man only nodded in response, but Harry could feel his eyes on the back of his neck, as he quickly walked through the room.

He brushed his teeth more thoroughly than he had done in years, as his reflection stared back at him with wide eyes. Harry had never had much of a poker face, but this was ridiculous. He was just going to sleep in the same bed as someone else. It was not a huge deal.

He had hoped that the lights would be out when he re-entered the bedroom, but it was in vain. Malfoy was still reading and, when he looked up from his book, Harry wished he had chosen pyjama bottoms instead. He walked to the bed and slipped under the duvet faster than he thought would have been possible without running. As soon as most of his body was covered beneath the rustling, cool sheets, he instantly felt much better.

"I hope you don't mind me reading," Malfoy said and it was obvious that he did not really care whether Harry would mind or not. So much for going to sleep fast, Harry thought, as he watched the other man turn another page.

"No, I don't mind."

Malfoy seemed absorbed in his book again and did not respond to Harry's words, as though he had not heard them. The soft light from the lamp above the bed's headboard made the pale skin almost _glow_. He watched how Malfoy's slim, long-fingered hands turned the pages of the book, and how his thumb and forefinger fiddled with the corner of the next page, just moments before he turned it over.

Harry tore his gaze away to look at something else, but it seemed to find its way back almost instantly. Seeing the other man concentrate so hard on something that he seemed to forget that he had company, was a new sensation for Harry. Malfoy looked less guarded, less harsh, less...less Malfoy.

As he realised that he was staring, begging to get caught by the other man, Harry flushed. Then he the quickly removed his glasses, pretending that he was three years old again, thinking that the world would not see him, if he could not see it.

"Good night," he mumbled and moved as close as he could to the edge of his side of the bed, hoping that it was not too obvious that he was trying to create space between them.

"Good night," Malfoy replied softly.

For some reason, Harry had not expected a reply, and he froze for a moment in his movements, before he rolled over on his side with his back to the other man. He closed his eyes tightly, praying that sleep would catch him quickly, because he was afraid that something bad would interrupt their streak of being rather civil to each other, if he stayed awake for too long.

After a few, almost-terrified moments, Harry was able to relax, and started listening to the sounds of the other man turning page after page, in a soothing, even rhythm.

**xXx**

The first thing Harry became aware of was the stubborn and irritating rays of sun that kept dancing over his eyelids, creating fireworks in the darkness of his closed eyes. The second thing was that he was incredibly warm. The third was the puffs of air that rolled over his bare shoulder in even waves.

The awareness that someone was holding onto his arm tightly rushed down his spine, like a trickle of ice, and his eyes snapped open. For a second, his brain told him that he should get out of there, push away whatever was clinging to him, and run. Then, another small voice said that the war was over and that he had nothing to worry about.

As his reptilian brain succumbed to his less primal instincts, Harry glanced to his side. He should not have been surprised, considering that the options to who the person next to him could be was very limited to only one other person and a House-Elf, but his heart still stopped for a short second, when he noticed the silvery-blonde head resting only inches from his own shoulder.

Sometime during the night, Harry must have moved over on his back and Malfoy, apparently the closeted cuddler Harry had accused him of being, had moved all the way from his side of the bed, to snuggling against Harry's side.

The strangest thing was that the other man almost looked as though he belonged there, holding onto Harry's arm as though they really were married. Malfoy's hands felt cool against his skin, as if his body temperature was several degrees lower than Harry's.

"Malfoy," he said quietly and hoped that the other man would wake up and move away quickly, because even though Harry thought it looked as though Malfoy belonged there, he felt extremely uncomfortable in the situation. But instead of moving away, Malfoy only mumbled something inaudible and snuggled even closer, pressing his face against the curve of Harry's neck.

_Oh fuck._ The breath caught in his throat, as he felt the other man's lips brush against the fine skin, just where his shoulder and neck connected. Harry could not help but shiver, as though the sudden closeness to another person caused all his nerve endings to panic.

He wanted to wake Malfoy desperately, because he felt as if he was almost violating the other man. He knew, however, that if he did, Malfoy would surely be extremely embarrassed and most likely insufferably rude, for the rest of the week.

Harry looked down on the other man again, and was surprised by the serene expression on his face. Malfoy's lips were gently parted and a glimpse of his even, white teeth caught Harry's eye. The light hair lay over the even paler fabric of the pillow case, like a silver halo. A defiant blonde strand had gotten caught in the long eyelashes that cast soft shadows against Malfoy's cheekbones and, before Harry could stop himself, he had reached out and gently pushed the hair out of the other man's eyes.

As Harry realised what he was doing, he quickly snapped his hand back, his heart racing in his chest. He stared at the other man's face, almost expecting to see Malfoy glare at him and call him a number of rude things, but nothing had changed. Except, or perhaps it was only Harry's eyes playing him a trick, for the corners of Malfoy's mouth curving slightly upward.

Harry closed his eyes hard, for a few moments, and tried to even his breathing and heartbeat, before he relaxed slightly, pretending to be asleep. He felt desperate to get out of the room and stay put, at the same time. Perhaps it had something to do with his urge to protect people, or that he had not been close to another human being for so long.

He lingered on the feeling of the tickling feeling of Malfoy's breaths against his skin, for another moment, before he gently nudged the other man with his elbow. He hoped desperately that Malfoy would think that Harry was still asleep, just to make the situation less awkward for both of them.

It did not work.

Harry nudged again, a little harder this time. This time, Malfoy groaned as though he was irritated with Harry's lack of manners, but he did not seem to wake up. Typically, the idiot was impossible to wake up discretely, Harry thought bitterly, and elbowed the other man, quite hard honestly, in the ribs.

This time, Malfoy woke up. Followed by a long stream of curse words, many very creative ones the other man most likely came up with as he went on. Then, Malfoy grew very still, as though he first now realised that he was clinging onto Harry's arm like a baby koala.

"Fuck," Malfoy breathed and released Harry's arm immediately, before hastily moving away. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he continued, and Harry heard him scramble out of bed and hurry into the bathroom. Only when the door was closed and locked behind the other man, did Harry dare to open his eyes.

The loss of another human's body heat made him feel a little cold, and he tugged the duvet closer around him. He looked at the door for a while, and felt almost left behind, without really knowing why. At least he did not have the other man attached to his arm, and he was thankful for that. Of course he was.

He reached for his glasses and, when he heard water running, sighed, as he let his head fall back against the pillow again, his vision a little clearer now.

It was strange, he thought, how being alone in a foreign land with someone he had spent years hating, sharing a secret no one but they knew, pretending to be in love, somehow made all the hate and resentment fade away more quickly than Harry had thought to be possible. He did not particularly like Malfoy, but being forced to be civil to the other man, had caused him to realise that perhaps it was not so bad, after all.

It took longer than he had expected for Malfoy to get back. The other man finally exited the bathroom with hair that looked as though it had been dried violently with a towel and the skin of his upper body was flushed slightly, as if the water had been a little too hot.

"You're awake," Malfoy said, and froze slightly, when he caught Harry watching him.

"Yeah, just woke," Harry lied and yawned, in a way he hoped looked believable.

"Slept well?" The other man did not seem completely able to hide his relief, as he walked over to the closet and disappeared inside.

"Yeah, you?" Harry could not help but smile smugly, feeling like he knew one of Malfoy's secrets.

"Not really. You snore like a bloody giant. If you keep snoring like that, I'll hex you tonight." Malfoy's tone was harsh, and Harry could easily imagine the scowl on the other man's face.

He resisted the urge to say something about how he would gladly stop snoring, if Malfoy stopped violating his arm. Perhaps he had been a little too optimistic earlier. It was not so bad being stuck in America with Malfoy, as long as the other man kept his mouth shut.

_I used to think one day we'd tell the story of us,  
>How we met and the sparks flew instantly,<br>People would say, "They're the lucky ones."_

_Story of Us – Taylor Swift_

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><p><em><em>**Chapter end notes: **Perhaps Draco should shut up a little more often? Next up is Quidditch practice, gay sex-education, lol, and some more things that I have conveniently forgotten, sorry! Reviews are, as always, deeply loved. **  
><strong>


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Hi everyone! Chapter 4 is finally here. I'm sorry that it took me a while to write it, but it wasn't originally in the story. However, I realised as I started to publish this story that things were moving too fast and this chapter was necessary.

A special thanks to all of you who left reviews – without you I probably wouldn't continue because it's your response that keeps me going.

I don't know if I need to warn you for conversations about gay sex? No, I don't think so, because I'm pretty sure that's why you're here in the first place.

As always: I don't own anything that isn't mine. Most of the rest is JK's and the name of the Restaurant comes from an ACTUAL restaurant I googled. I would say that I do my research like a boss, but sadly I did not check whether the restaurant was located in Virginia or even in a wizard village.

Another huge thanks, before I forget it, to my beta gbheart because she always does such an amazing job with correcting my mistakes – and I'll let you know there are _a lot of them_ at times. Some of you said that there were not very many grammatical errors in this story, something I can't take credit for at all, so I forwarded all of your nice words to her and she asked me to thank you on her behalf. :)

Alright, I'm going to stop rambling now. Here you go!

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 4<strong>

**HPOV**

Harry was sitting in the library reading yet another book about flying techniques, wishing that there was a miracle spell that would solve all of his problems. Malfoy was in his study going through the articles about the Virginia Wolves that the ministry had provided them with. Harry did not know what he was looking for, but he had decided to keep quiet.

"Master Harry, sir," Poppy squeaked, and caused Harry to jump from surprise. He had been too consumed in his book to hear her enter the room. As he looked up, he found the House-Elf standing in the doorway, with a brown package in her hands.

"Yes?" he said then, as she made no attempt to continue speaking on her own.

"A package for Master Harry arrived today, sir." She started her usual curtsying, and Harry hastily got to his feet, quickly taking the package from her hands so that she would stop.

"Who's it from?" he asked, as he touched the thick, brown paper with his fingertips. When he turned the package over, however, he noticed Hermione's neat handwriting right away. He could not help but smile, as he noticed that the beginning of the letter M in 'Harry Malfoy' looked suspiciously like a P.

"It's from a Mrs. Weasley in England, sir," Poppy informed and smiled widely at him, her ears bouncing slightly. "Poppy thinks Master Harry looks happy to get gifts from Mrs. Weasley, sir."

"Yes," he nodded and hoped that the elf would leave him alone, so that he could see what Hermione had sent him. "She's one of my closest friends."

"Poppy understands." The elf nodded and curtsied at least ten times, before finally exiting the room.

Harry waited a few moments just to make sure that she was not going to come back. Then he untied the strings that held the package together, fighting with the impossible knots and felt a tiny sting of loneliness as he did; Hermione always tied the most impossible knots.

At first, he had no idea why she would send him a package to begin with. It had not been more than a few days since he had fire called her in panic over his lack of gay sex experience. Harry froze, just as the paper fell off and revealed a handful of books. He closed his eyes hard, praying that Hermione had not done what she always did, but as he opened his eyes again and looked down on the books in his lap, it was quite obvious that she had.

He groaned inwardly, and felt his face heat in embarrassment, as he read the titles: "_Fifteen Tips to Make Your Wizard-magic More Magical"; "Sex Every Day, Every Way, for Wizards"; "All You Need to Know About Wizards and Sex"; _and_ "Guide to Love and Sex with a Wizard – When You're a Wizard"._ Harry did not know whether to laugh or cry when he read the title of the last book: _"When Two Wands Make Right."_

He was quite certain that his face had reached a whole new level of scarlet, as he hastily wrapped the books in the paper again and buried his face in his hands. God, he did not want to know Ron's reaction to Hermione's newest addition of books. He was not sure that he wanted to know how she had explained what kind of books she was looking for in the bookshop either, or how the cashier had reacted when she had paid for them.

He lifted the wrapping paper once more, as if to make sure that he had not hallucinated the whole thing, and groaned in frustration, just from seeing the titles again. How was he ever going to be able to read them without Malfoy noticing? The other man would most likely die in front of Harry's eyes from laughter, if Harry did not manage to die from embarrassment first. At least the covers were quite neutral, he thought, as he reluctantly picked up one of the books and turned it over.

_Wizard Gary Tuckermann gives good tips on how to succeed in lovemaking with another wizard, based on his own experiences in the matter. His book teaches us everything from the best kissing techniques, to simple (but very handy) preparation spells..._

Harry quickly put the book down again and thumped the back of his head against the wall behind the armchair, over and over. He would have to burn the books, or bury them in the yard, or simply anything that would make sure that Malfoy never knew that he had them.

"Trying to make your brain cells interact with each other?" a dry voice said, and Harry looked up quickly, straightening his posture automatically, as he noticed Malfoy standing in the doorway. The other man looked amused, as though he had been standing there watching Harry bang his head against the wall for a while.

"Something like that," Harry muttered, and tried to cover the books in his lap as discreetly as he could with his hands.

"Lunch is ready," Malfoy said, after silently scrutinizing him for what felt like forever. "Poppy asked me to get you."

"Er, yeah. All right, I'll...I'll be right down. I'm just gonna-," Harry mumbled and motioned vaguely towards the mostly-covered books in his lap and the ones about Quidditch techniques beside him.

"I don't know how you manage to make such a complete mess in every room you walk into." Malfoy shook his head in disbelief and walked out of there without another word, much to Harry's relief.

He quickly gathered the books Hermione had sent him and shoved them behind the ones that stood neatly in alphabetical order, on the bookshelf. He would have to find a better place to hide them later, but it would have to do for now.

Malfoy had already began eating, when Harry came downstairs and found a plate of food waiting for him.

"Did you find anything?" he asked, as he sat down.

Malfoy leaned back in his chair and took a sip from his glass, before looking up at Harry, who absently wondered if the other man did his best to look flawless, just to make Harry feel like an idiot at least ten times a day. This was one of those times, when Malfoy's hair seemed to be almost luminescent, his eyes sharp silver and lips curled into a quite fantastic mixture between smirk and smile. Harry hated that mixture, because he never knew if he was supposed to feel irritated for being smirked at, or smile back.

"I'm not sure," the other man said, resting the glass in the palm of his hand. "I've started making notes of the events and comparing articles, of the same event, to one another. Sometimes, one has a piece of information or a quote from someone that explains something in the other article."

Harry hoped that it did not show, but he was secretly impressed. That Malfoy was organized, bordering on a control freak, had been clear to him from day one, but this behaviour reminded him of Hermione. He did not say that, of course, because he had a feeling that Malfoy would not take it as the compliment Harry thought it to be.

"So?" he pushed on instead.

"I'm looking for patterns, you idiot," Malfoy snapped, his tone harsh now. "That's what I do. I'm not a bloody Auror, if that's what you think. I'm not you, P-Harry, who just throw yourself into a situation and everything just seems to solve itself."

Harry stared at the other man for a moment, surprised by his sudden mood change.

"That's not true," he said finally, his voice much more quiet than he had meant for it to be. "Not everything work out." As the words left his lips, he realised that they had a whole other meaning than he had intended. He had simply wanted to disagree with Malfoy, but it really was true. Not everything worked out miraculously for him – far from it.

Sirius was the perfect example of that.

Suddenly, Harry was not very hungry anymore, and he put the cutlery down beside his plate again. He was not sure if it was Malfoy's stupid remark that had upset him, or the guilt that still tormented him almost daily. When he looked across the table, he found the other man looking intently at him, his mouth open a fraction, as if he was just about to say something.

"Most of the time, actually," Harry heard himself say. "it doesn't work out at all. Sometimes people die, because I just _throw myself into a situation._"

As he got up from the table, a little less gracefully than he had wished with him almost tripping over his own feet, and with Malfoy not saying anything, Harry did not run, or stalk, or stomp loudly up the stairs, as he made his way back to the library. He simply walked.

It was not Malfoy he was upset with, but mostly himself. He was on a mission overseas, trusted to solve this situation by Kingsley, and somehow getting the chance to put some of the things in his life back to order. However, he had been forced to realise that he had nothing to put into this investigation. He could barely fly his own bloody broom, whilst Malfoy seemed to blend in perfectly in the lives of perfect people in a perfect society, whilst detecting patterns in their behaviours, at the same time.

It seemed to Harry as though his suspicions during his school years and the war were, in fact, true: that he had been lucky enough to have amazingly talented and trusting friends, and that fate had somehow worked in his favour.

He sank down in the cushioned armchair with a sigh and rested his head against the top of the backrest. He heard the footsteps on the staircase, long before the sound of Malfoy clearing his throat, but he did not bother to look up.

"Do you know why I sometimes hate you even more now than I did back in school?" Malfoy said, drawing a snort out of Harry, who rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

"I'm sure you're dying to enlighten me," he muttered. He heard the creaking of the wood, as Malfoy probably did what he always did – lean against the doorjamb.

"Because you still get under my skin so easily, and irritate me to no limit without even knowing it, until I snap at you." Malfoy drew a breath that sounded slightly unsteady to Harry's ears, as if he too was upset, before adding almost too quietly for Harry to hear: "But what I hate even more is that, for the first time, I'm starting to feel bad about it."

Harry's head snapped up so fast that his neck hurt. The other man was, indeed, leaning against the doorjamb. He had his hands in his pockets with his hair slightly dishevelled, as though he had been pulling his fingers through it in frustration.

The strangest thing, Harry thought, was that the other man's words were not unfamiliar to him. Just the other day, when he had locked himself into the guest room because of Malfoy's words about his acting skills, he had felt much the same.

"I'm not mad at you," he said finally, when he realised that he was staring shamelessly.

"For some reason, I don't believe you," Malfoy snorted, and arched an eyebrow.

"I promise that I'm not mad at you," Harry sighed, and felt as though he was seven years old again and had to swear that he was not the one who had put two dozen frogs in Dudley's backpack.

"Ah," Malfoy said, as though he suddenly had a revelation. "The hero complex?"

Harry made a weird sound, as he tried to snort and laugh, at the same time, at this. He had not known that _hero complex_ was a term anyone but Hermione used to describe his weird urge to save people.

"Yes," he said finally, when the other man made no indication of continuing.

"I see." Malfoy made a slightly stiff nod and took a step into the hallway again. "I'm going to finish my dinner now. You're free to join, if you like. I can't promise not to snap at you again, but I'll try."

"How generous of you," Harry muttered drily, but the corners of his lips quirked upwards against his will.

Malfoy gave him a weak smirk, before he disappeared down the corridor. Harry could hear his footsteps down the stairs, just moments later, and after staring up into the ceiling for a while, he decided to follow.

**xXx**

Malfoy was away visiting Shastin, and Poppy had left for the day, when Harry finally dared to dig out the books Hermione had sent him. He felt almost ashamed, as he opened _All You Need to Know About Wizards and Sex._ Judging by the summary, it seemed to cover the basics, the mechanics, and how things really worked.

He felt his face heat, as he started reading the first chapter _(What's 'bottom' and 'top', when all you know is 'man' and 'woman'?)_ and vowed to burn the bloody thing, as soon as he had finished reading it.

A while later, he felt both appalled and way too warm. Reading the first few, rather short, chapters had given him an idea of what gay sex really was like. That there even was a chapter containing handy tips on how to prevent unnecessary pain caused him to both wonder if there was such a thing as _necessary _pain when one had sex with another man, or why anyone would ever willingly be the _bottom, _if it involved pain_,_ because he knew what that meant now.

Being the top did not come off as so different to him as having sex with a woman, except for what seemed like a tedious amount of preparations one could, and apparently _should,_ perform on the other person, to prevent the "unnecessary pain".

He had quickly skipped a few pages that had contained detailed pictures with instructions on certain charms that could come in handy, or tongue techniques the writer recommended for fellatio.

Was Malfoy really having this kind of sex and did not mind? It had sounded to Harry as if the other man simply had sexual relationships, and none that involved romantic feelings, which made him suspect that Malfoy must be getting something out of it, other than potential pain.

He tried to decide whether there was always a designated bottom and top, or if switching was more common than the book let on. Colour crept up his neck and his cheeks as he found himself wondering which Malfoy preferred. He had a hard time imagining the other man willingly doing something that would cause him pain, just to please someone else. There were a million questions spinning in his head, and he both wanted answers and never to speak about the matter ever again because, God, Harry was not comfortable with sex as the topic of conversation, to begin with.

Suddenly, the front door slammed downstairs, and Harry dropped the book in his hands out of surprise. He hastily scrambled to his feet and managed to pick the book up and shove it back in its hiding place, just as quick feet made their way up the stairs. He sank down in the armchair again and grabbed the nearest book about Quidditch to make the situation seem less suspicious, when the door opened.

"There you are," Malfoy said lightly, and Harry looked up quickly, trying to give the impression of being surprised. The other man seemed more relaxed than usual, causing Harry to suspect that he might have had a couple of drinks at Shastin's, where he stood in his usual position: leaning against the doorjamb. Flawless.

"It's bloody warm in here," Malfoy said suddenly, and fanned his face with his hand to emphasize his words. "What did you do? Cardio exercise?"

Harry could not help but blush, knowing all too well that his own embarrassment over gay sex was the reason for the heat wave in the room. Malfoy did not seem to notice, however, as he walked through the room and cracked the lone window open.

"Did you have a nice evening?" Harry asked, as he realised that the other man had told him nothing about why he suddenly had burst into the room.

"Yes." Malfoy nodded as he dropped down in the other armchair. "Shastin is insane. There's something that bothers me about her, though, and I'm not referring to her alarming interest in our sex life."

Harry frowned, mostly over the surprise that Malfoy was talking to him so openly and willingly, and a little over what the other man had just said about their neighbour.

"Do you think it's something about Burke?" he wondered, and put down the book he had not read a word of.

"I'm not sure." Malfoy suddenly looked up at him, eyes sharp as though he was thinking hard. Harry felt as though his breath has been sucked out of him, as he stared back, unable to look away. "She seems bothered by something, but she's good at hiding it behind all the insanities."

An uncomfortable feeling rolled itself into a cold ball, in the pit of Harry's stomach. "Is she dangerous?"

Much to his surprise, Malfoy laughed at this, and the sharpness in his eyes softened somewhat. He had a nice laugh, Harry thought.

"Worried about me?" There was that mix between smile and smirk again, but before Harry had a chance to defend himself, saying that he definitely was not, the other man had continued: "No, I don't find her dangerous except for our privacy."

"Good," Harry muttered, and tried to memorise the books' order in the bookcases, only to have a reason not to look at the other man. He was not worried about Malfoy. Of course not. It was just the _hero complex_ playing tricks on him, along with the stupid books.

"I ran into Zefira, on my way home," Malfoy said suddenly, and Harry instinctively turned his gaze to him. Somewhere inside him, a tiny voice asked why the other man suddenly seemed so eager to make conversation.

"Oh?" Harry had never been good at unnecessary talking, and he usually felt quite uncomfortable when he had to, as he rarely knew what to say.

"She invited me to her coffee shop tomorrow, and she asked me to tell you that Jordan might come by, in the morning, to take you flying."

"Okay." Harry nodded with a shrug, confirming that he had been listening, he thought, but Malfoy's eyes turned hard again.

"I don't particularly like you either, but at least I'm trying to get over myself."

Harry gaped, as he watched the other man leave, and tried to find out where he had done something wrong. He could not remember saying anything even remotely offensive, but Malfoy was most likely of a different opinion.

**xXx**

Malfoy was already gone, when Harry awoke the next morning. It made him feel a bit lonely because, over the past few days, he had somehow gotten used to waking up with the other man snuggled up against him during sleep.

It was not that Harry _liked_ being someone's teddy bear, or that he enjoyed the few moments of watching Malfoy sleep in the morning, but it felt strange to wake up all alone.

The other man had decided not to speak to him at all, after leaving the library the evening before, and Harry was still trying to figure out why. It made little sense to him, even after he had gone through their conversation a number of times in his head, just to try to understand where he had gone wrong.

A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts, halfway through breakfast, a little while later. He was not sure who the visitor might be, at first, and watched Poppy scurry to open the door, but he remembered what Malfoy had said the evening before, in an instant, as he heard Jordan's voice. His stomach tied itself into a thousand knots, from the mere thought of flying. If someone had told him eight years ago, while he was still in his sixth year, that the thought of flying would make him feel nauseous, he would have called them insane. Back then, flying was his way of escaping reality, for a while; now it was the reality he desperately wanted to escape _from_.

"Sorry for interrupting your breakfast," Jordan said, as he walked into the kitchen with a broom over his shoulder. He looked around curiously, inspecting.

"I was just finished." Because even though Harry had been starving a few minutes ago, he now felt too worked up to get down another bite. "Draco told me that you wanted to take me flying?" _Please say no. _

"Exactly." Jordan's face brightened warmly into a smile. "I thought it would be nice for you to get to know the pitch a little, without having the rest of the team watching. I wasn't sure how much you've been flying after your injury either."

"I appreciate that," Harry said honestly. At least it was better if he fell off his broom and died in front of one person, than the whole team. "I haven't been able to fly too hard, because I've been afraid to injure myself again, but I guess it's time to do something about that."

"Yeah," Jordan nodded and patted the broom on his shoulder. "Can't be flying around like a cripple during a game, unless you get hit by a Bludger. I brought a broom in case yours hadn't arrived yet, but I met your husband on the way, and he told me that you've already got it."

"Yeah, it arrived a few days ago." Harry hesitated, as he tried to determine whether to tell Jordan about his problem with his new broom, or hope for a miracle to happen, before he mounted it on the pitch. "It's very different from my old broom," he said at last. "I haven't been able to figure it out completely yet, and it bothers me."

To his surprise Jordan smiled knowingly. "It's common, when you've been away from flying for so long. The broom business today is insane and, during the last couple of years, they have done a huge breakthrough when it comes to speed. Today the maximum speed has doubled from four years ago. The development of new brooms was much slower before then. It was easier to be away from the flying for a while, because there wouldn't be too much difference between the old brooms and the new ones. Today it's completely different."

"I never thought it would be this difficult," Harry confessed, and thanked Poppy as she removed his plate with his half-eaten breakfast. "I'll go get my broom. Have a look around in the meantime, if you like."

"I think I will. Zefira told me a lot about this place." Jordan placed his broom on the kitchen counter and was halfway through the door to the living room when he added: "Is it true that it's all Draco's work?"

"Yes, it's his profession. I doubt that he would have enough faith in anyone else to let them have a go with this place, honestly," Harry said, and smiled in spite of himself, as he remembered how Malfoy had refurnished the house with the explanation that it had been done all wrong.

"He's done a great job," Jordan mumbled, as he disappeared into the next room. Mostly to himself, Harry thought.

"Yeah," he said, and nodded as he glanced around the house and noticed the little things Malfoy had changed, since they arrived. It was nothing big, but placing a certain vase in a different corner, or moving a painting from one wall to the other had made a huge difference, in Harry's eyes. It also made him a little uncomfortable because Malfoy was so good at his pretend-profession, and Harry could not even fly a broom properly anymore. He was secretly impressed by his husband though and felt strangely proud, as he walked up the stairs and overheard Jordan compliment their house to Poppy. He made a mental promise to forward the words to Malfoy, hoping that perhaps it would solve the issues between them, even though Harry had no idea what those issues actually were.

The Tinderblast 3000 stood in the far corner of the walk-in closet, almost hidden behind the many shirts and trousers Malfoy owned. He stroked the sleek wood of the Tinderblast 3000 gingerly, for a moment, before he picked it up. It truly was a beautiful piece, but it frightened him all the same. His hand brushed against the cable-knitted jumper Malfoy had been putting on, when Harry had walked in on him half naked in their bedroom. It was close to slipping of its hanger, and he straightened it carefully, surprised by how soft the fabric felt beneath his fingers. Expensive, he thought immediately, and felt guilty for touching it.

Harry shook his head violently, in an attempt to get the stupid thoughts out of his head, and hastily walked back downstairs. He found Jordan still in the living room, inspecting the glass table with fascination written across his face.

"What do you think?" Harry asked, and smiled as the other man's head snapped up.

"I've only seen the first floor, but so far it's fantastic. Send your husband my compliments." Jordan straightened up, and his gaze seemed to linger on the photo above the fireplace for a moment, before he turned it back to Harry. "Let's go then."

The walk to the coffee shop was much like Harry remembered it, with the cobblestone roads, the small shops with strange items, and the houses. He had not been outside since last time they had been to the pitch, and he felt a bit exposed. It was hard to remember that his was not London, and that no one here knew who he _really_ was. There were no journalists or paparazzi hiding behind the trees. Nothing to hide away from. Jordan greeted a few people they met, as they walked towards the coffee shop, but he never stopped, much to Harry's relief.

"Your man's having coffee with my wife, right?" Jordan asked, just as they crossed the narrow street, heading towards the bright sign of the shop.

"That's what he said last night, but I don't know if he changed his mind." Harry shrugged, and tried to sound casual and not _I think he's pissed at me and I don't know why._

"Let's find out." Jordan smiled widely, as if he found it to be an adventure, while Harry tried to come up with a way to greet Malfoy, if he was still angry. His heart hammered behind his ribs, as the other man pushed the glass door open, and a bell sounded somewhere further into the shop. Much to Harry's relief, the place was empty, and his heart slowed down as he breathed in the distinct smell of coffee.

"They're not here, as far as I can tell," Jordan stated, as he looked around. "Perhaps they decided to have coffee at our house instead."

"Perhaps," Harry agreed, and followed the other man to the passage, hoping that Malfoy had not quit the job and left the country for good.

"Relax. This is why I thought it would be a good idea for you to have a go before the official practices start," the other man said, and turned towards him in front of the shabby passage door. He seemed to have mistaken Harry's nervous behaviour as flying anxiety and not fear for Malfoy, which was probably a good thing.

"Sorry." Harry tried to smile, reminding himself that they were here to do a job, to befriend the other team members and their partners, and to make an impression. Right now, he was coming across as more socially awkward, than friendly and someone who was fun to be around. "Just nervous."

Walking through the passage was almost as fantastic as last time: walking through a door in a coffee shop and ending up in a locker room. Burke's locker drew his attention almost immediately, but there was nothing different about it now, he thought. Perhaps it was simply the irritation of not knowing the answers to any of the questions that he had spinning in his head.

"I'm getting the balls – get changed in the meantime. Leo put a set of practice gear in your locker, the other day." Jordan disappeared through a door to the right, and Harry decided that it was time to drop everything about Malfoy and sex and finding answers, because right now he had to concentrate on flying.

The practice gear was all black, except for the sleeves of the shirt, which were the same pigeon-blue as the match robes. He kept glancing over his shoulder, as he got dressed, and hesitated when he came to the protective gear. Perhaps it was not necessary to wear the arm and knee pads, when it was practice.

"Ready?" Jordan asked suddenly, surprising him even though he had tried see the other man coming.

"As ready as I can be." Harry slapped himself mentally and smiled, as he picked up the Tinderblast from the bench. He could do this. If he had been able to win a game with a broken arm in second year, he definitely could learn how to fly this broom.

"I think we'll stay pretty low today," Jordan said, as they stepped out on the soft grass of the pitch.

It was strange how walking out there, even though the stands were all abandoned, brought back so many memories. It felt as though it was just yesterday that Harry had been walking out onto the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts, the crowd cheering so loud that they all feared that they would be deaf in the morning, facing their opponents with determination.

The adrenaline shot through his veins, reminding him how he used to enjoy the feeling of air whipping around his face and tearing at his clothes. His heart beat steadily and a fraction faster than its usual pace. It remembered, too.

Suddenly, the Tinderblast in his hand did not feel so frightening anymore, when all he could think about was getting back into the air, catching that Snitch again.

"I thought that we'd release a practice Snitch," Jordan said, and dragged Harry back to reality. "It's a fairly new invention, but it's pretty handy. It doesn't fly too far away and doesn't stay away for too long. It's better than practicing with regular balls."

Harry noticed the small ball in the other man's hand. It looked identical to the Snitches used in games, except for the sapphire blue wings.

"Sounds good." He nodded and realised that the fear had subsided – now replaced with his steady heartbeat and the adrenaline that kept pushing through his limbs.

_God_, he had missed this feeling.

Jordan let the Snitch go, as Harry mounted his broom. He watched the small ball disappear, as a flash of gold over the stands, and kicked off. He did not go too far up, just as Jordan had decided, and the other man watched him intently from the ground. "How are you feeling?"

Harry could hear his voice clearly in the still air. It was perfect weather for getting to know a new broom, as nothing distracted him from circling the goal rings and keeping his concentration on spotting the Snitch.

"Good," he called, and glanced down as the Tinderblast passed around the third goal a little too closely. He still had a hard time calculating the range of its turns. It was, however, not the frightening and uncontrolled ride it had been when Wood had tried to help him out. Apparently, all that reading really did do something good. Perhaps he should apologize to Hermione for disbelieving her on that part, during all their previous years of friendship.

"It looks good!" Jordan confirmed, as Harry picked up the speed across the pitch. The air whooshed around him and made it hard to hear, but the familiar exhilarating feeling spread in his chest, much like it had done every time he had played Quidditch back in school.

"Here it comes!"

The other man's voice pushed through the rushing sound of air around him, and Harry scanned the air above the pitch immediately. The Snitch sparkled in the sunlight and made it easy to detect where it fluttered only feet away from Jordan.

Harry veered, hoping to round one of the goal rings with a small margin to save time, and swore under his breath as the broom turned too sharply, scraping his shoulder forcefully against the sturdy wood of the goal. He barely felt the dull pain, as his eyes locked on the Snitch and sped up instantly. The rush of adrenaline came back as the Tinderblast accelerated faster than Harry had thought to be possible. Within moments, the distance between the Snitch and him had been extinguished, and the small ball was trapped safely in his hand.

"At least you're not afraid of speed," Jordan laughed, as Harry landed next to him. His legs felt a little shaky, as he got off his broom, but the Snitch was still safe in his hand.

"I can't believe I've been away from this for years," Harry said, and winced as the muscles in his bruised arm protested when he put the Tinderblast over his shoulder. "I still got to practice on turning and diving, but-"

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself." Jordan cut him off with a dismissive wave. "We all need to practice on a number of things and perfect even more, but you haven't been flying, I mean _really_ flying, for years. I'd say, with that in mind, that this was pretty damn incredible."

Harry blinked for a moment and felt his face heat, as the other man's words slowly sank in.

"It felt pretty damn incredible in any case," he said finally, repeating the other man's words and could not help but smile widely as Jordan grinned.

"To be honest, I thought we'd have to spend the day practicing like an idiot, to make sure that you even stayed on your broom during our next game. I mean, no offence, but I never thought anyone with _talent_ would apply for our team, after all of this."

"I wasn't sure I would be able to fly as I used to." Harry shrugged and hoped that it sounded believable. He had never suffered from an injury over several years, at least not physically, but perhaps all his hiding away from the world for years could count as such. Being able to fly again, _really fly_ as Jordan had put it, had caused him to wonder why he had waited so long. He had forgotten how good it used to make him feel, like all of his problems and too-many thoughts had been left behind in the locker room.

"Man, when did you get hurt?" Jordan stopped abruptly, and Harry halted too, mostly out of confusion. He noticed the other man staring at his bruised arm and was surprised to find the pigeon-blue sleeve stained with blood, when he looked down. There was a rip in the fabric near the bloodiest parts, but it did not feel too bad, as he flexed his arm carefully.

"It's just a scratch. I flew too close to one of the goals and must have grazed a splinter or something. I'll take care of it later."

"Good, I was afraid that I've managed to get you injured again. Not that it would be surprising, considering the lack of luck this team's had lately." Jordan laughed, but there was a bitter undertone in it. "By the way, Zefira and I are going out eating tomorrow, would you and Draco like to join us?"

"Yeah of course." Harry was not sure if he was supposed to talk to Malfoy before accepting invites like these, but he figured that it was too late now anyway. "That'd be great."

"Perfect! I'm looking forward to getting to know him better, too." Jordan smiled one of his huge, completely disarming smiles again, and made it sound like Malfoy really was a person one would like to get to know. "I mean, he has to be quite great since you married him, right?"

Harry cleared his throat, as he struggled to come up with something believable to say. Malfoy must have good qualities for sure, aside from his ridiculous good looks. Harry thought of the way the other man seemed so sure of himself and his abilities in so many situations; from the way he had decided to refurnish the house because it simply did not live up to his expectations, to the way he had compared articles to get a more completed view of their case. Harry suspected that the giddy feeling he still held in his chest from the flight a few moments earlier had something to do with the character of his next words:

"Yeah, he's...he's pretty fantastic."

**xXx**

**DPOV**

Draco was sitting in a ghastly, but quite comfortable, sofa, in Zefira's living room. The house was all dark colours: dark wood and dark fabrics that reminded him strongly of his mother's sister's house. However, _that_ woman was insane, something that he was fairly sure that Zefira was not.

They had gone to her coffee shop that smelled like freshly roasted coffee beans and too many cleaning spells. He had instantly liked it, even though it was nothing like the places where he used to drink his tea back in England. After having a couple of cups, they had decided to retreat to her home, as she insisted on making him a sandwich.

Draco did not exactly mind, since he had not eaten breakfast this morning. He had awoken, yet again snuggling up against Potter, who had been sleeping soundlessly. Fuck, the man was even more handsome when he was asleep, with dark hair all over the place, but his face was soft and peaceful, for a change. It terrified him, none the less. He was not supposed to find Potter cuddly, not even in his sleep, and now he was drawn to the man like a magnet every night.

The evening before, Potter had been more insufferable than usual – something Draco had thought to be impossible. He had tried to make conversation, be polite, and do all of the things he would have done if he had been working with someone else, but the other man had barely answered him and had seemed extremely uncomfortable, as though the room had been too small for both of them.

He blinked, and he noticed that Zefira was looking at him like she was waiting for him to say something. "I'm sorry what?"

"I was just asking how you think the flying will go."

Draco had no idea what she was talking about for a moment, but then remembered that Potter was supposed to go flying with Jordan this morning.

"I'm certain it will go terrific." He really was. Potter was a natural, when it came to flying. It was as though his instincts translated perfectly to the broom while flying, and he always seemed completely fearless, even though he could easily die if he fell off. Draco knew because he had spent years watching Potter play Quidditch, back at Hogwarts. "Harry hasn't been playing for a while, but I've never seen anyone fly quite like him."

The smile that Zefira gave him made him feel like he had said something more than the words that had just left his lips.

"I'm so happy that you two decided to move here. We surely need some fresh blood in this neighbourhood." She sat down in the armchair opposite the sofa and crossed her legs, frowning slightly. "It's a bit strange, but somehow the only people I ever spend time with is the other players and their wives. Mostly their wives, because when the Quidditch season starts, we don't get to see our men much."

"I believe that's quite natural. After all, you know each other's situations well. For outsiders, it might be hard to understand what it's like to have your husband travelling across the country to play sports."

She smiled knowingly at his words and nodded.

"Yes. Sometimes they're gone for a week. Others just a few days, or a couple of hours. The hardest thing is not knowing whether or not he will come back in one piece."

Draco had never thought of it that way. Perhaps because of the fact that he himself enjoyed playing Quidditch immensely, or that he was not in love with Potter or even cared for him deeply. Being worried about the other man had not once crossed his mind.

"Harry hasn't been playing professionally during our time together, so I wouldn't know exactly what it's like."

Zefira smiled again at this and, for a second, he wondered if it was pity in her eyes, or a huge dose of compassion. "Well, if you're ever too worried to function properly, you're always welcome here."

"I'll remember that," he answered, and felt truly grateful, almost as if he was fooling himself with their perfect couple act.

"Yes, as I said, it's nice to have someone new to spend time with and get to know. Sometimes we're just too many women for it _not_ to get infected. I try to stay out of it, but some people have a tendency to talk behind other's backs, a little too often."

Draco wondered if Shastin was one of those people. She seemed to have a big mouth and rarely thought before she spoke, not to mention that she was way too interested in other people's sex lives, for it to be considered normal.

"I'm just glad you gave me such a warm welcome. I was a little afraid that I would be marked as an outsider, until someone new came along."

"It was hard for me to blend in with the others," Zefira said with a smile. "Jordan joined this team a few years back, and I was afraid that the other wives never would accept me, but they did eventually. Shastin came around later, but it was easier for her, since her brother and cousin are on the team, as well. And probably because she speaks to anything that stands still long enough. Anyway, it was really important to me that we welcomed you properly. Not only for Harry's sake, but yours as well."

"I really appreciate it, and I'm sure Harry does, too." Draco returned her smile and hoped that she saw how grateful he really was, because even though he was here for a job and not to actually be the spouse of a professional Quidditch player, he had been afraid of having to spend his days locked inside the house and wait for Potter to get home.

"I'd really like to get to know him better. What's he like?" She accio'dtwo cups and a tea pot, causing Draco to wonder if he would have to grow a bigger bladder to survive this place.

"Well..." he started hesitantly, and desperately tried to come up with something. _He saved the world and defeated the most evil wizard the world has ever seen as a teenager, so I guess he's pretty brilliant, _did not seem as the best way to put it. He watched Zefira pour tea in their cups and chewed his bottom lip. He was taking too long.

"Well," he said again. "He's not the one to tell you how he feels, unless he's angry."

Draco could not help but smile smugly at this, as he remembered all those times Potter had tried to curse him or shouted at him, in one of those outbursts of rage.

Zefira frowned a little at this, and Draco continued quickly, afraid that he made Potter sound like an abusive husband:

"He's a very private person. It takes time for him to trust people. I think that's why he interests me, because he always seems to do the complete opposite of what I expect him to." Draco stared at the surface of the coffee table and thought about how the other man had kissed him at their photo shoot and that morning in the doorway, when they had met their neighbours for the first time. "I think he would sacrifice anything for the people he cares about."

Just as the words left his lips, Draco knew them to be true. He had seen it a number of times, over the years, and Potter had even put his own life at risk to save Draco from the fire, in the Room of Requirement.

He pushed away all the insults he found himself wanting to say about Potter, and held on firmly to the good things he had already said. If they were going to work together as grown people, he had to let go of history.

"He seems like a fantastic person," Zefira said, after moments of silence.

Draco snapped his gaze back to her and smiled, trying to ignore the strange pinching sensation in his chest. "I dare say he is."

**xXx**

Draco had barely made it inside the front door and up the stairs, when he heard the distinct sound of a fire call in the study. He unlocked the door with a quick tap of his wand and hurried the few steps to the fireplace. He was not sure who he had expected to be on the other end. Shacklebolt perhaps, or even Shastin. Whoever it was, he had not thought it to be Granger.

"Malfoy," she said lightly as he stepped into view.

"Granger," he greeted and nodded stiffly. He had a feeling that he was not allowed to be rude. Hell, he had no _reason_ to be rude, even though he wanted to be.

"Is Harry home?" she asked then, and looked as though she was just as uncomfortable as he was.

"No, he's at practice." After hesitating a few moments, he sat down in the desk chair that creaked slightly in protest under his weight. "I can ask him to call you back."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I was just going to ask if he's received the package I sent him." There was something with the way her eyes suddenly locked on anything that was not Draco that made him curious.

"A package?" he asked and leaned forward slightly.

"Yes, it should have arrived by now, but I wanted to make sure that he got it." She smiled almost apologetically.

"I don't know," Draco said finally, and shrugged slightly. "He hasn't told me about receiving a package, in any case."

Granger made a weird little sound at this. Almost as if she found his words funny.

"I don't think you _would_ know, if he had received it, honestly." Then she hesitated, her mouth opening a fraction. "So, how is everything going? You haven't killed each other yet, by the looks of it."

"Not yet, no."

"Try to keep it that way." She smiled wryly, and looked hastily over her shoulder. "Well, Ron's home, so just tell Harry that I called to say hi. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Draco echoed, but she was already gone.

He glanced at his desk and groaned mentally. All the articles were in there, safely locked away in a drawer, but they had not given him much. No one mentioned in them seemed more or less suspicious than the other, which basically left him with absolutely nothing to go on.

The door slammed downstairs, and he instantly recognised the sound of Potter's footsteps in the staircase.

"Draco?" the other man's voice called and caused Draco to shiver, by the sound of his own first name.

"In the study," Draco answered, and picked up the nearest book to look at least a bit busy.

"I wasn't sure you'd be home already," Potter said, as his footsteps stopped in the doorway.

"I just came home." Draco glanced up and regretted it instantly. The other man's hair was slightly damp, and his eyes shone in a way that made Draco lose his trail of thoughts completely. He looked happy. "Granger just called. She asked me to say hi and she asked about a package."

Potter stiffened noticeably in front of him and diverted his gaze, much like Granger had done when she had brought up the subject.

"Oh yeah, _that_," the other man said, after a silence that was too long.

"She just wanted to know if you received it, but I told her that I knew nothing about it." Draco narrowed his eyes, as Potter shifted his weight from one foot to the other, obviously uncomfortable with the subject. "For some reason, she said that I wouldn't know whether you got it or not."

"Well, I got it. If she happens to call again when I'm not home, you can tell her that." The other man blushed deeply, and Draco's brain worked in over-speed to put the puzzle pieces together, but before he could ask anything more, Potter had continued: "I'm gonna take a shower, and then I'll be in the library until dinner."

And almost as if he had Apparated, he was gone in an instant.

Draco felt like running after him, to find out what the other man was hiding, but knew that it was out of the question. Instead, he tapped one of the locked drawers in his desk with his wand and opened it. The articles lay folded neatly, organised by their date, and a parchment with a timeline of the incidents lay on top of them. He leafed through them in hope to find something he had missed the first twenty times he had scanned them for information. There was the article about the game against Fitchburg Finches, where Burke had almost cost the Virginia Wolves their victory because of his lack of attention. Then there were at least a dozen articles about the death of the Seeker and pictures showing the destroyed stand where he had crashed. What confused Draco the most were the following ones. They described strange accidents, such as goal rings falling, players getting injured and stands collapsing. It would have been easy to tell that Burke's death was the work of one of his team mates or a very dedicated fan, if everything had stopped after his death, but it had not.

The doorbell suddenly rang downstairs, causing Draco to jump in surprise. He quickly put the articles and the timeline back in the drawer and locked it. Even as he walked down the stairs, he could hear the sound of Shastin's voice, as she talked to Poppy.

She stood in the hallway, wearing heels that made her almost as tall as Draco and clothes that left nothing of her curves to imagination, but revealed very little skin. As he watched her talking to the curtsying House-Elf, using her characteristic big gestures and giggles, he found himself wondering if Potter was attracted to her. After all, she might just be the most beautiful woman Draco had ever seen.

"Shastin," he said, and made his tone almost accusing on purpose, as though she had done something wrong.

"There you are! I was just beginning to wonder if you had gone to sleep." She smiled brightly at him, ignoring his tone completely. "Don't worry, I'm not staying. I'm on my way to Peter and Kat, but I ran into Jordan on my way here, so I just dropped by to ask about Harry's arm."

_Potter's arm?_

Draco blinked. Was he supposed to know what that meant?

"Is it better? It's nothing serious, is it?" She looked genuinely worried, causing Draco to wonder if Potter had been completely mutilated without him noticing.

"It's nothing," he answered and smiled, hoping that Potter would stay upstairs. "He's practically fine."

"_Thank Merlin!_ I was afraid that we were going to lose another player. I better get going then." And without saying goodbye, she was out the door, waving over her shoulder.

Draco walked back up the stairs, as soon as Poppy had closed the door again. Why did Potter not tell him these things? The man was such an idiot. He flung the door to the library open and caused Potter to make a satisfying jump in surprise.

"What's wrong with your arm?" Draco demanded. The man in front of him still stared at him with wide eyes, before putting down the book in his hand, backside up, on the small table beside him. He blinked as though he had not heard what Draco had just said. "People come here asking about your arm, and I have no idea what they're talking about. Care to explain?"

"Not really," Potter mumbled, with a flush creeping up his neck. His hair was still damp, but from the shower this time, and a fresh t-shirt clung to his upper body in a way that Draco would strongly approve of, if it had been on any other man. He winced as Draco glared at him, and looked down in defeat. "But I'm guessing I don't really have a choice."

"Ten points to Gryffindor," Draco muttered dryly.

"It's just a scratch, really. I grazed my arm against one of the goal rings."

"Why didn't you tell me? You're _supposed_ to tell me these things. Do you know how devastating it could be, if I had messed up when Shastin came by?" Draco felt like planting his fist in Potter's face, but he resisted. The other man sat there, wide-eyed again, as though it was the first time he had experience of Draco's anger.

"I didn't think you wanted to know," he said finally, with a voice so low that Draco barely caught the words. They caught him off guard, knocked the anger out of him just as suddenly as it had arrived.

"Are you a complete idiot?" he asked then. It came out much softer than he had wished.

"Objectively, or from your point of view?"

And then, Draco suddenly found himself laughing, and Potter's confused face did not make it any better. It was short and not the kind where you rolled around on the floor, but it relieved most of the tension and irritation that he had built up inside him since they had arrived. There was a small smile on the other man's lips, when he calmed down enough to regain his usual posture. He realised, strangely perhaps, that he rather enjoyed that smile.

"Let me see your arm." Draco motioned impatiently with his hand, ignoring his irrational thoughts. He almost snapped at Potter again, as he noticed how the other man hesitated before sighing loudly and pulled his shirt over his head.

It should not have been such a huge turn-on for Draco, but it was. He had seen Potter's bare torso before, but perhaps it felt different now because it was in daylight and not in a dark room just before going to bed. Something clenched in his stomach, and he drew a deep breath to keep his self-control. Potter was all muscles and smooth-looking skin. Draco's eyes raked over the defined abdominal muscles and the curve of his shoulders.

_Fuck, Potter should walk around half-naked more often._

The other man must have noticed, because he started to squirm uncomfortably. Draco blinked and felt like slapping himself back to reality, as he instantly locked his gaze on Potter's upper arm.

It was not "just a scratch".

A long splinter had penetrated the skin along the triceps and, even though it was not deep, the splinter was several inches long and would not come out on its own.

"You never considered getting half of the goal ring out of your arm?" Draco asked, as he gently grasped the other man's arm. To his surprise, Potter's skin was soft like velvet under his fingertips, and his breath caught as he felt the muscles move beneath it.

"I figured it would come out on its own sometime." Potter shrugged, but he winced when Draco nudged the splinter carefully with his fingertip.

"It might get infected, if we don't get it out." It was a splinter from a goal ring, after all, and probably not the cleanest thing you could get under your skin. "I'll get it out for you."

"What? No, it's not necessary, really," Potter said hastily, and tried to pull his arm back, but Draco held it more firmly, refusing to let go. The other man looked a little panicked, as though he was afraid that Draco would hurt him.

"I'm not going to cut your arm off, you idiot," he sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Just trust me."

"Yes, I really feel like trusting you, after calling me an idiot twice already," Potter snorted, but he grew quiet almost instantly, when Draco managed to catch his gaze. Suddenly, there was that low buzzing of magic charging between them, making his fingertips tingle, just like the first time they had kissed on that beach for their wedding photos. Potter's eyes softened and grew less guarded, and he sighed: "Fine."

Draco accio'd a stool from the corridor outside the door and sat down, gently caressing the firm shape of Potter's bicep. He did not really have a reason to do so, but it was as though his fingers could not get enough of the sensation of the other man's skin.

"Do you have much experience with splinters?" Potter asked, and looked as though he was having a hard time relaxing.

"I have enough," Draco mumbled, as he started to tug on the splinter with his wand, slowly working it out from the skin the same way it had come from.

"That's reassuring." Potter winced, but he did not make a sound, as Draco tugged at the splinter again.

"Maybe you should read that book of yours in the meantime. This might take a while, unless you want to have scars."

Potter stiffened, just as Draco made another tug at the splinter, causing the other man to groan in pain. He was just about to tell Potter that he was an idiot and needed to relax, when he looked up from the splinter and noticed the fierce red colour of the other man's cheeks.

"You want me to hand you the book?" he asked, and glanced towards the table that stood close enough Potter's armchair for him to reach out and grab it himself.

"No! No, I'll just...no I don't need to read." Potter shook his head fiercely, and Draco narrowed his eyes, as he watched the blush turn into an even darker shade. He looked from the book, to Potter, then back to the book, and something seemed to click into place.

"Mind if I read it, then?" he asked, and reached out for the paperback, but Potter snatched it right from under his fingers and effectively covered most of its cover with his open hand.

"Uh yes, I do, actually."

Draco felt like hitting him again, but settled with tugging the splinter harder, causing the other man to jerk away from him with eyes tearing up from the pain. The book, however, lay unguarded, as Potter clenched his fist against the armrest to keep his self-control.

Draco grabbed it quickly and felt a tug of satisfaction, as he noticed the sheer panic in the other man's eyes.

"What is it about this book?" he asked, as he gently wiped off the small drop of blood that trickled down the other man's arm.

"Please kill me before you read the title," Potter mumbled, and let his head fall back harshly against the top of the armchair's backrest. He closed his eyes, as though he awaited a death sentence, and Draco noticed how his jaw muscles clenched.

He did not kill Potter before he turned the book over and read the title. He stared and read the words over and over again, certain that he must have misread it.

"_All You Need to Know About Wizards and Sex_?" Draco read out loud, and had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing again. Apparently, this was very traumatic for Potter, who still had his eyes closed, fist clenched and jaw set. "Is this what I think it is?" he asked, when the other man seemed determined not to answer.

"Depends on what you think it is," Potter muttered, and winced as Draco tugged at the splinter again. "Yes, it's exactly what you think it is."

"You can't be serious." Draco leafed through the book in amazement and did his best not to start laughing, when he read the titles of the chapters.

"What was I supposed to do?" Potter said, and sounded accusing suddenly. He straightened up in his chair, and his eyes bore into Draco's, making it hard to breathe. "I don't know anything about gay sex! What if someone asked me, since you go around and flaunt our sex life to our neighbours, and I couldn't answer?"

"You could have asked, you idiot," Draco said, his tone soft again.

Potter made a sound like a mix between a laugh and a snort. "Yes, because I really want to discuss what you like to do in the sack."

"Fine, read this book then. I'm sure it will give you plenty of handy advice." Draco tossed the book back on the table and had to resist the urge to pull the splinter out of Potter's arm in one go. "If you want this out today, you have to relax."

The other man did not say anything in reply, but he leaned back in the chair again, and the muscles in his arm relaxed beneath Draco's fingers. He started tugging at the splinter again, more gently this time. He almost felt guilty for putting Potter in an uncomfortable situation. It was obvious to Draco now that the other man had turned to Granger for some form of advice, and that the secret package she had sent him had contained the ridiculous book. No wonder she had said that Draco would not know whether Potter had received it or not.

"I've got more of them," Potter said suddenly, causing Draco to pause in his movements. "Books I mean. About gay sex. Hermione sent me five."

Draco was not able to keep himself from laughing at this, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. He laughed even harder at Potter's next sentence:

"They kind of scare me, actually."

"The books scare you?" Draco managed at last, his body still shaking from suppressed laughter.

"They would scare you, too, if you knew their titles," Potter muttered bitterly, but the corners of his mouth twitched. Draco had a feeling that he was at least a little sincere, beneath the sarcastic exterior.

"I'm not saying that I'll have The Talk with you. I'm just saying that if you have any questions that you don't find answers to in these fantastic books of yours...I won't mock you if you feel like asking."

Potter opened his mouth a fraction, as though he was about to say something, but no words came out. Instead he frowned for a moment, before nodding. "All right."

"You know," Draco began, but hesitated for a moment. It was important to choose the right words now and not upset the other man. "We really have to put everything that happened between us in school behind us, or we're not going to succeed with this job. It's fairly simple to pretend that we're a happy couple, when we talk to people separately, but it has to look even more believable when we're together."

Potter closed his eyes and nodded. He looked almost defeated, in Draco's eyes.

"We have to act professionally." Draco watched Potter nod again, still silent, before he returned to get the splinter out. There was a thick silence in the room now, but it was not all uncomfortable. He listened to the deep breaths of the other man and felt strangely content.

"Is there really such a thing as necessary pain?" Potter asked suddenly.

Draco looked up and frowned, not following.

"I mean," Potter continued hastily. "The books says that you should do..._things_ to prevent unnecessary pain, which leads me to believe that there's something like necessary pain. If it hurts, then why do it?"

Draco could not help but smile, because it was obvious that Potter had been bothered by this for some time.

"Well," he started and bit his lip as he tried to choose his next words wisely. "It's not supposed to hurt. It doesn't _have_ to hurt. Just like with any other kind of sex, it might hurt if you're doing it wrong."

Potter did not seem convinced.

"It's not the most comfortable experience at first, when you're new and everything, but the simple answer is that no, it doesn't hurt. As you said, most people wouldn't do it, if it was just painful."

The other man seemed to consider this in silence and said nothing, whilst Draco returned to his previous task, finally managing to pull the splinter out completely. Potter grimaced a little, but he stayed relaxed.

"Right, before I forget it: Jordan invited us to have dinner with them tomorrow."

"And you think we're ready for that?" Draco asked, and did his best not to sound accusing or irritated, even though he was. They were finally getting somewhere, talking to each other like grownups, and now it felt like it was all ruined again.

"It's not like we have a choice, since I already said yes." Potter shrugged, and glanced down at his arm, as Draco carefully healed the skin the splinter had damaged. "I know I should've asked, but I forgot. If you don't wanna go, I'll just tell him that I forgot that we already have plans, or something."

Suddenly, it was so obvious that Potter was insecure and anxious to meet him halfway, to overcome the differences between them in their past, but had somehow managed to mess it up. Something clenched in the pit of Draco's stomach.

"I know I shouldn't have," the other man continued, as if he had misread Draco's silence as anger. "I'm not really good with people, and I never really go out to eat back home either –"

"I'm not mad, you idiot," Draco cut him off, even though he had been two seconds ago, and smiled as Potter rolled his eyes. "I think it's a good idea to get to know them a little, before we meet the rest."

Draco did not exactly think that it was a good idea, but the smile he got from the other man made him feel like it was worth it.

**xXx**

**HPOV**

Chang's China Bistro smelled of fried prawns and heat. It looked rather fancy, Harry thought, as he quickly scanned the area. It was dimly lit with enchanted candles that formed themselves into different creations of Chinese dragons, on each table.

A man with greying hair hurried towards them, as soon as they stepped inside the door, and Harry assumed that he was the headwaiter. The man smiled and made a little bow, causing Harry to wonder whether he was supposed to bow back or not.

"Welcome to Chang's China Bistro," the man said, and motioned towards a boy behind him. "My name is Manchu. Please let Yuan take your coats."

Harry did not exactly like giving away his jacket to someone he did not know, but since Malfoy did not seem to mind, he decided that he would not either. The boy, Yuan, disappeared through a pair of doors with their coats, while Jordan explained that they had made a reservation to Manchu.

"Your name, sir?" Manchu asked as he looked through a folder.

"Cunliffe."

"Table for four?" Manchu peered up at them from behind his folder, as though he was counting them in his head. He did not wait for Jordan to answer, but motioned for them to follow him into the dining area.

Harry was relieved to find that most of the tables were empty, but he still felt extremely uncomfortable, as the other diners looked up when they passed. He did not go to fancy restaurants. Ever. The pubs he visited back in England with Ron and Hermione did not require him to dress a certain way or know which one of the too many forks he was supposed to use for each dish. This was uncharted territory for him, and it made him anxious.

Suddenly, he felt a cool hand on his arm and nearly flinched away from the touch, before he realised that it was Malfoy. The man smiled softly, as though Harry's anxiety was obvious to him, and squeezed a little around his upper arm.

Harry did not know what the squeeze was supposed to mean, but he felt better knowing that Malfoy seemed to be aware of his discomfort. The smile was definitely a part of the act – the perfectly happy couple act, but something fluttered in his stomach, as he returned it.

Manchu stopped at a table in the far end of the room and pulled out a chair for Zefira to sit down.

"I'll be right back with your menus," he said and bowed again, disappearing quicker than Harry thought to be humanly possible.

Harry waited for Malfoy to take the seat opposite of Zefira, before he sat down himself, as Jordan did the same. He looked over to the people who were seated closest to them, who were still on the other side of the room. They seemed harmless – a man and a woman, and a couple of children – and were most likely a family. Then he found himself searching for possible ways out of there, something he often did when he felt uncomfortable in a new place. He suspected that it was a reflex that had still stuck with him, from the war.

"Thank you for inviting us to come with you," Malfoy said, with a smile very similar to the one he had given Harry earlier. This time, it was directed to the couple in front of them.

"It's our pleasure." Zefira returned the smile. "It's practically impossible to find good restaurants, when you're new to a place like this, and we're just happy to have company."

"It is," Malfoy agreed. "Even though I enjoy eating at home, because I happen to be married to a fantastic cook, he deserves to have a night off every once in a while."

Harry tried desperately not to flush or look as though he was in complete shock at this, but it was practically impossible, as Malfoy turned to him and smiled that smile again. The flutter in his stomach was back again.

"I didn't know you cooked, Harry," Jordan said, but their conversation was effectively interrupted by Manchu, who arrived with their menus. Harry thanked him more for the interruption than the menu itself, as he accepted it.

He expected Manchu to take the spare plate and cutlery with him as he left, because that was what the waiters always did the few times he was dining out. It took him a moment to realise that there were no spare plate or cutlery, because this time Harry actually had a _plus one_. He caught Malfoy's gaze, as he glanced to his side to make sure that the other man really sat there, and that this was not some sort of illusion, and smiled.

It was not easy for Harry to admit it, but he was happy that the other man was there with him.

"So, Harry," Jordan said again. "I didn't know you were a good cook?"

"I wouldn't say I'm good, exactly," Harry began, and felt his face heat under the attention. "It's more like a hobby."

"In contradiction to Harry's words," Malfoy said, making that mix between smirk and smile Harry knew all too well. "He's quite fantastic."

Harry only rolled his eyes at this, while the other people at the table laughed at his embarrassment. He managed to stay quiet for most of the time without coming off as impolite, as Zefira and Malfoy kept most of the conversation. Every now and then, Jordan would ask him something about offensive strategies in Quidditch, or they would require his opinion when it came to the subject they were discussing at the moment. He was halfway through his main course, when he realised that he rather enjoyed listening to Malfoy talk. It was something about the way he spoke and the charisma that caused Harry to forget what a complete ass-hat he could be at times.

"What happened to your arm, Draco?" Zefira asked suddenly, pulling Harry out of his thoughts.

He looked at the other man and noticed the scarred tissue on his arm where the Dark Mark once had been. It was practically invisible most of the time, but in the light from the enchanted candles that once again rearranged themselves, it stood out clearly against Malfoy's pale skin.

Perhaps the other man's hesitation was obvious only to Harry, who knew how sharp-minded he usually was, but once again his hero complex was taking over.

He found himself laughing as though he remembered something quite funny and said: "Draco was trying to cook a few years back. Frying something, but he had an accident and injured his arm. He's a bit challenged within the culinary area, to put it nicely."

For a second, he wondered if he had overstepped an invisible line because Malfoy stared at him in surprise. Then he seemed to put his facade back in place and made a short laugh, nodding.

"Yes, and from that day onward, I've been prohibited from the kitchen."

Harry let out a breath he had not been aware of holding, when the couple opposite of them started laughing too, and he suddenly felt Malfoy's hand on his thigh underneath the table. It was right above the knee, nowhere near his crotch, but the light pressure of the other man's fingers somehow still managed to send his nerve-endings tingling like crazy.

"My brother is much the same," Zefira said, when she had stopped laughing. "He's an amazing person, but he can't take care of himself at all."

"It's true." Jordan nodded, and wiped his mouth on his napkin. "I'm suspecting that it will get worse now too."

"My brother was recently left by his boyfriend," Zefira explained them, clearing up the confusion around Jordan's statement.

"I didn't know your brother was gay. In fact, I didn't even know you had a brother." Malfoy sipped his wine as something uncomfortable twisted in the back of Harry's head. He instantly hoped that the gay brother would not come for a visit, as long as they stayed there, and he did not even know why.

"I have two, actually. One's three years older than me and is married to the love of his life with their third kid on the way, and the other one is two years younger than me and falls in and out of love all the time."

"And every time it's Mr. Right," Jordan sighed and shook his head. "He's a nice guy and all, but I'm just waiting for him to get into bigger trouble."

"Yes, yes," Zefira said swiftly. It seemed as though they had discussed said brother more than once. "Do you have any siblings?"

"No, neither of us do," Malfoy smiled. "I think my parents found that one child was enough for them to raise."

"And your parents, Harry?" Jordan asked and suddenly all eyes were on him.

"I think my parents wanted more kids," Harry began and hesitated. For a moment, he thought about making up a story, but he had a feeling that he might forget it within a couple of weeks and decided to stick to the truth. Mostly. "My parents died when I was a baby. In an accident. I grew up with my aunt and uncle."

"I'm so sorry." Zefira reached across the table and patted his hand gently. "That must be so hard."

"Well, I didn't exactly know them, but I wish I'd gotten the chance to." Harry smiled and was ever grateful for Manchu's ability to turn up whenever he found himself in an uncomfortable situation. By the time the remains of their main courses had been put away and the desserts stood on the table, the topic had changed once again, much to his relief.

"The only thing I don't like about this place is the name." Malfoy made that smirk-smile mixture again, pausing with his spoon halfway to his mouth.

"And why's that?" Jordan asked, and grinned as though he thought the answer, whatever it was, was going to be hilarious.

Harry suddenly felt a little worried, as Malfoy turned his silver-blue eyes to him.

"Back in school, Harry had a girlfriend with the last name Chang."

Harry buried his face in his hands with a groan as Malfoy smirked, clearly pleased with his reaction.

"She was never my girlfriend!" he tried, but Jordan was already snorting with laughter, perhaps more because of his intake of beer than the Cho Chang topic.

"I think she's of a different opinion," Malfoy pointed out, and sipped his wine with that smirk still on his lips.

"I'm sure she's not," Harry muttered. "She cried the only time I kissed her."

This caused all three of them to break down into laughter around him; even Malfoy seemed to have lost his composure, as he put his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands. Even though Harry was deeply embarrassed, it suddenly seemed worth it to see the other man laugh so unrestrainedly.

As he watched his company laugh themselves to tears over his bad kissing technique, he came to a realisation that surprised him. This was the best night he had had in a very long time.

_Untouchable like a distant diamond sky_  
><em>I'm reaching out and I just can't tell you why<em>  
><em>I'm caught up in you, I'm caught up in you<em>  
><em>Untouchable, burning brighter than the sun<em>  
><em>And when you're close, I feel like coming undone<em>

_Taylor Swift - Untouchable_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter end notes: <strong>Hope you like it so far! Next up is that dinner party Zefira invited them to in the previous chapter and Harry's first Quidditch game. Along with er, some _cosy_-_ness_, hehe.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N**: Chapter 5 is here! Thank you so much for all the awesome reviews you guys gave me on the last chapter. I know I say this all the time, but I'm really grateful and I doubt that I would continue this story if you didn't leave such amazing reviews. I should have answered all of them by now, except for the ones where the author had disabled the PM function and the ones from those who hadn't signed with a username. If I, by mistake, have forgotten someone – send me an angry PM and I'll get right to it!

I don't know if you need any warnings for this chapter, but it contains one drunk Harry and one drunk Draco and a whole bunch of drunk neighbours. It also contains Harry's first Quidditch match, some cuddling and...well you'll see.

This chapter is dedicated to Morbid Skyline, for all the kind things she had to say. Thank you!

_And here we go!_

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 5<strong>

**HPOV**

Harry was trying to get ready whilst avoiding looking at Malfoy, who was standing with his trousers unzipped and no shirt, inspecting his unnaturally big collection of shoes. Harry, on the other hand, was still trying to decide what to wear. They were supposed to stand outside the Cunliffes' door in less than an hour, portraying a perfectly happy couple. Without proper clothes, Harry was not so sure he would be able to do that.

The past weeks he had slowly gotten used to waking up with Malfoy almost clinging to him, and pretending to be asleep while figuring out new ways to wake the other man. Their behaviour towards each other had changed dramatically, after Malfoy's speech in the library. They were polite now, joked and spoke about everyday things that Harry had never thought that he would ever discuss with Malfoy, of all people. The other man was still an insufferable brat at times, but his snarky remarks and dry tone had started to make Harry feel more entertained than furious. Perhaps it was because they were alone in a unfamiliar country. Perhaps it was because they had had to pretend to like each other whenever Shastin, Zefira, Leo or Jordan came by, which they did a lot, to such an extent that it was impossible to dislike so strongly anymore. Perhaps it was simply because seven years had passed, and that maybe both Harry and Malfoy had changed somewhat.

"Are you going like that?" The tone in the other man's voice told Harry that he most certainly was _not_ going like that.

"Er, no?" Harry offered and glanced down at his jeans and t-shirt. He had not exactly planned on going like this either; it was just that he had absolutely no idea what to wear.

"Good." Malfoy started buttoning his shirt and fastened his cufflinks, before looking up at Harry again, who had not moved an inch. "Are you silently asking me for help?"

Harry flushed slightly and felt like an idiot for not knowing the proper way of dressing for a dinner party.

"Only if you're going to say yes," he muttered, and decided to ignore the smirk-smile on Malfoy's lips, as the other man disappeared into the closet again. He hoped that nothing completely outrageous would be picked out for him, because he would not be able to pull that off. Especially not all the attention it surely would get him.

"Here," Malfoy said, and lay down a pair of dark-grey dress trousers on the bed, along with a white button down shirt and a navy, knitted cardigan. Harry was certain he did not own a cardigan.

"Is that yours?" he asked, and gently stroked the surprisingly soft garment – it reminded him slightly of a more stylish version of Mrs Weasley's jumpers, except for the buttons that felt cold and heavy beneath his fingers.

"Of course. You need to update your wardrobe." The corners of Malfoy's mouth quirked slightly upwards. "Get dressed, or we're going to be late."

"I thought it was good to be fashionably late," Harry muttered, and tugged the t-shirt over his head.

"It's not fashionably late if you're naked," Malfoy pointed out, and tucked his shirt into his trousers.

Harry took off his jeans, after a moment of hesitation. He was not exactly comfortable with undressing in front of the other man, but realised that he was just acting silly, considering that he slept in his underwear every night. Maybe it had something to do with the day when Malfoy had removed the splinter from his arm. Harry still remembered the way the other man had looked at him, how the silver eyes had raked over his naked torso so unguardedly, and the memory still made his stomach melt into something indefinable.

"Are these my trousers?" he asked, as he pulled them on. When he looked up, his mouth went dry as his eyes locked on Malfoy, who was tying his shoes. Somehow, the other man seemed capable of doing even that gracefully.

"Yes, you wore them on our wedding pictures. They make your arse look good."

Malfoy did not look up, which was good, because Harry was sure that his face had just turned scarlet.

"They what?" he managed finally, and zipped his trousers quickly, in an attempt to feel less naked and exposed.

The other man straightened and pushed his air out of his eyes, looking directly at Harry, who still had no shirt on. His gaze did not wander this time, as it had the day in the library, and something in his chest crumbled in disappointment.

"They make your arse look good," Malfoy repeated, as if he was talking about the weather, and Harry instantly concentrated hard on fastening his belt, thinking that the trousers probably did not make his arse anything close to Malfoy's. Flawless bloody man.

"Perhaps that will make them care less about my lack of experience, when it comes to dinner parties, if my arse looks good," he muttered, more to himself than anything, and put the shirt on hastily. He fumbled with the cufflinks in a way that he was sure Malfoy never did and wished that he had been blessed with something even remotely close to a Malfoy facade.

"Need help?" the other man asked, and Harry expected to see a mocking smirk as he looked up. Instead, he found Malfoy with, at least what he thought was, a genuine smile.

"Yes," he sighed, and stretched out his hands towards the other man, who fastened his cufflinks quickly. "Thanks."

"Put the cardigan on, and I'll go find you some shoes."

Approximately twenty minutes later, they were walking down the street towards the Cunliffe's. Malfoy was looking his usual immaculate self, and Harry felt less like a clueless idiot than he usually did.

"Relax," Malfoy said next to him, as if Harry's nervousness was that obvious.

"There will be so many people."

"You'll be fine," the other man assured him, and grasped his hand.

Harry's heart began to stutter in his chest, and he felt like withdrawing his hand in panic, but then realised that the only reason Malfoy had taken his hand was the group of people that were walking in front of them.

The other hand felt cool and soft in his, and a weird tingling feeling travelled through his fingers, as they intertwined with Malfoy's.

Holding the other man's hand made him feel calmer. The sound of voices met them as they came closer to the house, and Harry noticed Leo and Shastin closing their front door behind them, just as Draco and he passed outside their house.

"Draco, Harry!" Shastin waved dramatically, as if they would walk right past her, if she did not catch their attention.

"Always discreet," Malfoy remarked, but smiled as the other couple walked up to join them.

"Discreet is my middle name." Shastin greeted them with a big hug and kisses on both cheeks. As always, she wore shoes that had higher heels than Harry thought possible and a dress that made sure that everyone noticed her ridiculously long legs.

"Harry," Leo greeted, and shook his hand, and moved on to giving Malfoy the same treatment, before turning back to Harry. "So Quidditch practice yesterday went well."

It had gone well, Harry thought, much better than he had ever hoped it would. The Tinderblast was not so difficult to handle anymore, as long as he did not dive too riskily, or decided to change direction too suddenly. The three of them had had a couple of unofficial practices, since the first time he had went flying with Jordan, even though the training season did not start until the following week.

"Yeah, I feel a little rusty still, but I think I'm getting there," he answered, and wished that he could stay outside and talk Quiddtich with Leo, instead of attending some stupid dinner party.

"Definitely," Leo nodded, and opened his mouth to say something more, but Shastin cut him off quickly:

"No Quidditch talk tonight, remember?"

"Alright, alright, promise." Leo held his hands up and gave Harry a look that clearly said that that promise was not going to last a few beers.

He had hoped that the company of Leo and Shastin would minimize the risk of everyone staring at them, as they walked through the front doors to the Cunliffes' house, but he had clearly been mistaken. The hallway was crowded and, when all heads turned towards them, Harry would have left without thinking twice about it, if it had not been for Malfoy's hand squeezing tighter around his. Word must have travelled fast, he noted, when no one seemed especially surprised to see two men arriving together. The next thing he knew, still feeling slightly faint, he was shaking hands with a never-ending stream of people. It felt like it went on forever, and Harry effectively managed to forget all of their names and faces during the realistically few minutes it could have been – it was just a group of eight people, after all. Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy himself immensely, as he had put on one of those dazzling smiles and made the other people laugh.

Harry felt more dizzy than dazzling.

"Stage fright?" Jordan appeared beside him, and Harry felt like he could breathe again.

"No kidding," he muttered, and quickly moved after the other man, as he motioned for Harry to follow him.

"Don't worry about it. They're just excited to meet you, that's all." Jordan guided him into a big kitchen, quite the opposite to his own white one, as this was all walnut wood and dark colours. It was more similar to his kitchen back at Grimmauld Place. It was, however, empty, and Harry could not care less about colours.

"I'm just a bit overwhelmed," he explained, as he leaned against the kitchen counter and breathed deeply. He had not been around so many people since Ron's and Hermione's wedding. "I'm not all that good with people."

"Your man seems to be enjoying himself," Jordan noted with a smile, and nodded towards the doors.

Malfoy was easy to make out from the group of people in the other room; his blonde hair worked like a magnet for Harry's eyes. He was standing there, chatting and laughing, as if he truly enjoyed himself and did not mind the overwhelming volume of the voices.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "He never really minded the attention."

Jordan chuckled, just as another man joined them. He was short and square-shouldered, with thick, brownish curls and a hawk-nose that looked as if it had been broken one time too many.

"Peter Czarniawska, one of our Beaters," Jordan explained in a stage-whisper, as the other man grinned at Harry.

"Too many people for you to handle at once?" he asked, with a voice that was a few octaves higher than Harry had expected.

"You could say that." Harry scratched the back of his head and could not help but feel stupid, when Peter laughed.

"We're all right, though," Peter assured him, and pointed towards the larger group of people over his shoulder. "My wife's talking to your husband – Draco was it? – right now."

Harry looked over the other man's shoulder and found Malfoy talking to a short, corpulent woman, with the shiniest black hair he had ever seen. Her smile was almost as dazzling as Malfoy's.

"What's her name?" Harry asked, and could not help but smile when Malfoy looked up, as if he had sensed Harry looking at him. The other man smiled in return and held his gaze for another few seconds, before turning back to his conversation with Peter's wife, but the smile stayed.

Malfoy played his part of their charade so well that Harry's stomach turned warm and fuzzy from persuasion.

"Katarzyna," Peter grinned. "But Kat's fine."

"The guy standing next to Draco with the ridiculous Hawaiian shirt is Brendan Lee; he's the other Beater for the team," Jordan explained, as Harry noticed a man with shaved head and a red shirt with a yellow palm tree print. His build was similar to Peter's, with the broad shoulders and heavily muscled arms, but he was a couple of inches taller.

"And the two blonde guys beside him are Tim and Harrigan. They look like brothers, but they're cousins. Harrigan is Shastin's older brother, though, and our team captain," Jordan continued, and Harry noticed the two men with the same golden hair colour as Shastin. They were Chasers, of course, since Harry knew the rest of the team members now, and were not nearly as bulky as either Peter or Brendan.

"Thanks. I hope I manage to not make a complete fool out of myself and forget their names again." Harry gave Jordan an appreciating smile, and he got a pat on the shoulder in return. In situations like these, Harry deeply wished he was more like Malfoy. The man seemed to enjoy the attention immensely and was surrounded by a group of women, with Shastin closest to him. He was not sure he wanted to know what they were talking about, considering their wide smiles.

Zefira walked into the kitchen, two seconds later, and paused as she noticed the three men standing in there, quite obviously hiding away from the rest of the group.

"Why are you three in here?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at her husband, who held up his hands as if to defend himself.

"Harry has stage fright – we're just saving him," he said quickly, throwing Harry under the bus, who wished that he had locked himself inside the bathroom for a couple of hours instead.

"Yeah, and I'm hiding from my wife," Peter continued, as if he had seen Harry's embarrassment.

Zefira stared at the shorter man, but Harry could see her mouth twitching.

"You're all hopeless," she said finally, sighing.

"Welcome to our group of hopelessness," Peter grinned to Harry, as the slender woman exited the kitchen again, leaving them behind.

"We have exclusive kitchen parties, when the rest of the less hopeless people are socialising with each other." Jordan flung his arm around Harry's shoulder in an almost protective manner.

"I feel honoured." Harry laughed, and shook his head as Peter joined him, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"You should. We have never found anyone hopeless enough to deserve a membership before." Jordan opened the fridge, as he looked over his shoulder, trying to make sure his wife was not looking, Harry guessed. When the other man seemed to decide that the coast was clear, he quickly passed them a couple of beer bottles, before closing the fridge again. "Getting a cold beer, when the others are drinking champagne that bubbles up your nose, is another special treat."

"Now I feel even better." Harry clinked his bottle against theirs, before taking a sip of the cool beer and wondered how anyone ever could prefer something sweet like champagne over this.

"I would be worried about your woman-magnet of a man, if he wasn't married to you," Peter said, just as the women started laughing in unison.

Harry suspected, once again, that he did not want to know what Malfoy had said to cause that reaction.

"I'm more worried about what details about our personal life he's giving them," he muttered truthfully, and Jordan laughed next to him.

"I would be, too. Shastin is quite persuasive, I've heard," he agreed.

"No kidding." Peter shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know how many times I've had details about my sex life revealed to me by my team mates that I didn't know about myself. Apparently, my wife tells Shastin, who tells everyone else, who tell their husbands. And somewhere there in the middle, the facts get kind of modified."

"Cheers to modified facts," Jordan grinned, and they clinked their bottles again.

"You only say that because your wife is the only one that doesn't share," Peter pointed out, after he put his bottle down on the counter.

"One of the many reasons I married her."

"How long have you been married to Draco?" Peter asked, and turned to Harry, who wished that they had continued to speak about the other men's wives.

"Not long," he confessed, and his gaze automatically found his husband's symmetrical face in the other room. "We've been together for four years. Just got married."

"You're both from England, right?"

When Harry glanced over to Peter, he noticed that the other man was looking at Malfoy, too.

"Yeah, we went to the same school, when we were kids." Harry nodded, as if to confirm the other man's words, and tried to concentrate on his beer, instead of the weird feeling in his stomach. Perhaps champagne would have been a better idea.

"School sweethearts?" Peter asked, his eyes still set on Malfoy, as if he was observing a very famous piece of art that Harry was telling him more about.

"Not really." Harry could not help but laugh at this, remembering his fights with Malfoy all too clearly. "We hated each other."

"For real? Why?" Jordan looked at him in surprise.

"Yeah, why?" Peter insisted.

"Draco can be a real brat, when he wants to be. And I wasn't much better, I imagine." Harry added the last part quickly, afraid of what Malfoy would do to him if someone would pass on what Harry had just said.

"Love kind of takes you by surprise sometimes," Zefira said from the doorway.

Harry had not seen her emerging, and judging by the way Jordan and Peter hastily tried to hide their beers indiscreetly behind them, neither had they.

"Definitely," Harry agreed, and could not help but smile as the woman did the same. He glanced back at Malfoy and found that the other man was looking at him with a smile Harry could not place, but it still made his chest tighten.

"Come on, dinner is served. Put those beers away until later, because I refuse to see them on my dinner table." Zefira pushed her hair over her shoulder and waved them along, collecting their beers as they walked passed her, like trained dogs.

Harry found himself walking towards Malfoy, who was now standing with his back to him, talking to a woman with a very strict-looking make up and a severe auburn hairdo. There was something about the way she was talking that reminded him of Pansy Parkinson, Harry thought, without even being close enough to hear what she was saying. Perhaps it was the way she was looking at Shastin and Kat, who were using big gestures next to her, as if they were something the dog had dragged in. He tried to remember her name, as he walked up to them, placing his hand at the small of Malfoy's back, but drew a blank. The other man looked up quickly, when he felt Harry's touch, and his face softened into that smile again. Suddenly, he found himself smiling back.

"Hey," Malfoy said mildly. "I was just talking to Agnes about American Wizarding schools. Tim and her kids are enrolling, after the summer."

"Yes, they're twins," she said in a tone that Harry did not quite like. It was as if she assumed that he would ask her a lot of annoying questions about being the mother of twins, and that she was way too important to spend her time answering them.

"_Harry_!" Shastin's voice was a welcome rescue from the woman in front of him. "Kat and I were just talking about you."

He turned to her and wondered if he should feel worried about being their topic of conversation.

"Only good things, I hope?" he said, and attempted a smile, as Kat threw her curtain of shiny hair over her shoulder and laughed.

"I will only tell you if you and Draco will join us at the table," Shastin giggled, and Harry turned towards Malfoy, who rolled his eyes at the blonde woman, but clearly agreed, as he smiled his excuse to Agnes and grasped Harry by the arm.

"The only reason to why I agree to this, Shastin," the other man said, "is because I'm not sure I dare to let you out of my sight."

The blonde woman giggled again, and Harry felt like rolling his eyes, too, but at least she came off a lot more positive than Agnes.

"You're right, Draco," Shastin said, as if picking up an earlier subject. "His ass looks good in those pants."

Harry groaned inwardly and glared at Malfoy, who merely smirked back at him. Kat and Shastin laughed, when they noticed Harry's scowl.

"Told you," Malfoy said, and widened his eyes in innocence, as if he had not smirked two seconds ago.

Harry jumped as the other man placed a not-very-discreet hand on his arse. For a moment, he almost panicked and had to fight the urge to push Malfoy away, but then he forced himself to relax and remember that they were not in school anymore, and that Malfoy only tried to make them look believable.

Shastin and Kat laughed harder and, even though Harry felt like burying himself in the garden outside, he thought he noticed an unspoken challenge in Malfoy's eyes. So instead of shrugging the other man's hand off of him, he put an arm around the shoulders of his husband and did not release him until they had reached their seats at the table. The body contact felt strangely good to him, as though this was not the grown-up version of the boy he had hated in school, but someone he actually did not mind being close to.

He was thankful that he was seated between Leo and Peter, and a safe distance from Agnes, who complained loudly about the bad treatment she had been put through, when she had gone shopping a few days ago. Compared to her attitude, Shastin's constant giggling was more than welcome.

"So, what were you saying about me?" he asked Shastin, when they had finished eating and concentrated on drinking. Harry had been extremely thankful, when Jordan provided him with a beer, and Malfoy accepted his half-full glass of wine like it was completely natural, even though Harry simply pushed it over the table without even asking first. A few had already left the table, and Agnes had gone home to make sure their House-Elf was putting the twins to bed as he had been told to.

"We were just talking about paint and stuff, you know." The blonde woman's tone told Harry that he should get something from this between the lines, and he looked up at Malfoy, whose head snapped up as if in alarm, before his face fell into the usual mask of indifference.

"Paint?" Harry repeated, and did his best not to look completely clueless.

Malfoy scowled at Shastin, who seemed to be having the time of her life, and Kat was laughing loudly on Malfoy's other side. If it was the wine or the topic, Harry was not sure of, as he tried desperately to put the pieces together, but failed completely.

"I feel like I'm missing something," Peter said, and looked from his wife to Shastin and back again.

"Uhuh," Leo agreed and raised an eyebrow towards his wife. "Care to fill us in?"

"It's private. Between Draco and Harry," Shastin informed, as she wiped the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand.

"And that's why you and Kat are discussing it?" Leo snorted, and turned towards Malfoy, who was looking at Harry, who, in his turn, felt the pieces click together in his slightly fuzzy brain. _Oh no, not the sex topic. _He tried to concentrate on drinking his beer and hoped that the topic of conversation would have switched, when he put his bottle back down again.

"Fine," Shastin said, as if she had been attacked with questions for hours without spilling a word. "We were talking about when Harry and Draco fucked in paint."

Harry spluttered the beer quite ungracefully and coughed, staring at the man opposite of him, who looked calmer than what should be legal in a situation like this. Leo thumped him on the back helpfully, but Harry wished that he could choke to death, so that no one would see his embarrassment.

"You told them _what_?" he managed at last, and felt both panic and anger pound through his body, making him feel too warm in his clothes.

"Calm down," Malfoy said coolly, and his tone reminded Harry so much of their years back in school. "Shastin wouldn't shut up about it, so I told her about the first time we had sex."

"When you painted some room," Shastin added helpfully. She seemed to mistake Harry's panicked anger for confusion and continued: "and you threw paint at him and then you fucked on the floor covered in paint."

Harry did not look at her – he stared at Malfoy, who swallowed visibly, as if he realised his mistake to share that piece of information just now. Harry, on the other hand, felt like punching Malfoy in the face, deeply regretting his earlier thoughts about not disliking the other man so much anymore, but he had a feeling that it would not make them very believable as a happily married couple. Instead, he stood up and tried to ignore how the others stared at him, and headed towards the doors to the balcony on the other side of the room.

The cool night air filled his lungs, as he leaned against the railing, looking down at the water below. It was easier to calm down without anyone staring at him, even though he had a feeling the people at the table were looking at him through the glass doors. At least he was not able to hear what they had to say. He was glad that the others, who seemed to have been too caught up in their own conversations to catch what had happened at the dinner table, had not even looked up as he had passed them.

He saw their house from where he stood. Huge and white but with light dancing through the big windows that most likely belonged to the living room. Poppy must have lit the fireplace, he thought. As he calmed down, and the dizziness from the slightly too-high intake of alcohol subsided somewhat, he knew that he had overreacted. On the other hand, he felt slightly betrayed too, no matter how stupid it was. They had never had sex, which made the whole "feeling exposed" thing ridiculous, but Harry could not help but feel that Malfoy had shared something private with people they barely knew.

Going back in did not seem as an option at the moment, however, Harry decided. He was not up to apologizing to Malfoy with everyone else looking. Especially when he still felt a little afraid that Shastin would ask him for specific details, and Harry had absolutely nothing to say. Even though he had read that stupid book from cover to cover and asked Malfoy the question about pain, he knew far too well that whatever questions Shastin would decide to ask him, they were not going to be on anything he would be able to answer.

It was difficult, because he knew that Malfoy had said what he had said to play his part as well as he possibly could. Still, Harry felt as though he would rather go home and avoid the other man and their neighbours completely.

**xXx**

**DPOV**

The sky had darkened into the darkest shade of velvety blue, bordering on pitch black, around the full moon, as Draco approached the doors to the balcony. He could see Potter clearly through the framed glass and hesitated. The other man was angry, and Draco could not exactly blame him for being so either. He had made a huge mistake, and he had no one but himself to blame for the other man's reactions. Shastin had been upset for about two minutes, scared that Potter would leave and never come back. Truth be told, Draco had been a little worried about that, too. Because of their Ministry responsibility, of course, and not because he cared all that much about Potter being angry with him. It was simply extremely inconvenient that Draco's lie about their sex life had been brought up now, just as they had started to get along better.

Draco paused, with one hand on the cold handle to the door, and looked down at the cold beer and the wine glass in his hand. At least he had something to bribe Potter with. He could see the other man jump from surprise, as he pushed the handle down and creaked the door open. Potter turned his head to look at Draco over his shoulder.

"I come bearing peace offerings," Draco said softly, and paused in the doorway to make sure that Potter would not hex him. When the other man did not move, Draco closed the few feet distance between them and held out the glass bottle. He shivered as Potter's warm fingers grazed against his own, freezing cold ones, as he accepted the beer. The green gaze was harsh, accusing, and Draco sighed inwardly.

"You're mad at me," Draco stated, hoping that his tone sounded much calmer than his thumping heart, and he twisted the wine glass slowly between his thumb and forefinger, as he came to stand next to Potter.

"Yes." Potter looked down at the beer in his hand, before nodding in confirmation. Draco stared transfixed at the patterns the other man created in the condensation on the bottle with his fingertips, for a moment, before he turned his eyes to Potter's face. He looked proud and stubborn, with his jaw set, and he refused to look up.

"Why?" Draco asked finally, and noticed how the other man clenched his fist, as if he was fighting the urge to punch him in the face. "You already know that I told them about the sex."

There was a long silence, and Draco had to keep himself from asking again.

"I didn't know you gave them all the...details," Potter said finally. His voice was low and filled with embarrassment.

Draco had realised that the other man was a very private person, a while ago, and should have guessed that he would not be happy to find out about the generous amount of details Draco had supplied their neighbours with. True ones, or not.

"Perhaps I should have asked you first." Draco smiled, in the hope of disarming when the other man looked up again, but was surprised to receive a smile in return.

"Perhaps," Potter nodded.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, before he was able to stop himself.

"I can't believe you're apologising." Potter shook his head, as if in amazement, and did a bad job of hiding his grin behind his hand, as Draco glared at him. It was bad enough to apologise, but seeing Potter amused by it made it almost humiliating.

"Don't get used to it."

"I think I can safely say that I never will," Potter assured, and managed to wipe the grin off of his face, finally. "I shouldn't have reacted like that. It must have looked weird."

"Actually," Draco shook his head, "I think it would have been more weird if you had been completely fine with me sharing details about our sex life with people we don't know." The other couples in the room did not seem to find Potter's reaction strange at all, and a few of the other Quidditch players had even expressed that they knew exactly how embarrassed the other man was.

Potter merely shrugged at this and turned to look over the lake again. Draco watched a soft breeze ripple the mirror-like surface and shivered as the cold wind seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Cold?"

Draco looked up, only to find Potter watching him again. His eyes were intense and unguarded, looking at Draco openly, as if he was scrutinizing something that interested him.

"I'm not blessed with a body temperature as high as yours." Draco smiled, and looked down, noticing the wine glass in his hand that he had forgotten completely about and bringing it to his lips.

"Wanna go inside?" Potter asked, and glanced over his shoulder when a second wind caused Draco to shiver again, as he turned towards the house, only to see the people inside laughing at Jordan, who looked like he was in the middle of a game of charades.

Drunk people playing games had never been his cup of tea, and he would rather stay outside freezing with Potter, fighting or whatever they were doing, than trying to portray a Hippogriff for their neighbours inside.

"I'm not really up for games," he answered finally, and put his now-empty glass down on the balcony railing. "And I think it's better if they think we're out here solving our argument."

"Aren't we?" Potter asked, and took a sip from his bottle.

Draco had not counted the number of drinks the other man had had, but he was quite certain that he was not the only one intoxicated. "I guess." He shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest to shield himself from the chilly wind. "Should we kiss and make up?"

"I'm not that drunk," Potter snorted, and Draco laughed. He leaned against the railing and watched as the few lit windows in the other houses surrounding the lake, one after one, were extinguished, until there was nothing left but the light from the Cunliffes' living room and the pale full moon.

He watched Potter empty half of his beer, before he spoke again: "Are they still doing charades?"

The other man glanced over his shoulder and nodded. "Yeah."

"I'll have her sued for me freezing to death out here," Draco muttered, and rubbed his hands along his upper arms in hope to create some warmth with the friction.

Potter seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then swiftly emptied his bottle and motioned for Draco to come closer.

"What?" Draco asked in confusion, as he moved towards the other man.

"I'll keep you warm," Potter explained, and attempted to put his empty bottle next to Draco's abandoned glass but seemed to misjudge the width of the railing, and the bottle fell down in the water below with a low splash. "It was empty anyway," he said quickly, when Draco raised his eyebrows at him.

"You just poured the last half of it down?"

"Needed the extra boost of courage." Potter grinned so widely that Draco could not help but laugh. Surely, the amount of alcohol he had been pouring down his throat during the evening had something to do with it, but the other man could be stomach-clenchingly charming, at times like these.

"You're a lousy Gryffindor," Draco said, as soon as he managed to pull himself together.

"Do you wanna freeze to death, or what?" Potter held out his arm to him, and Draco wondered for a second how much that last bottle of beer had clouded the other man's judgement. Truth be told though, he was not much better himself. A few hours ago, he would have insisted on walking straight back inside as soon as he started to feel cold, but now he found himself closing the distance between them. He shivered from a whole other reason than the cold, when Potter's arm lazily looped around his shoulders and drew him closer. For a second, Draco felt like the thin layers of fabric between them were too much of a distance.

"You should have brought a jacket," Potter mumbled, and Draco ignored how his chest contracted at those words, but leaned closer instead.

"I didn't expect to spend a lot of time outdoors," he answered dryly, and got a fantastic laugh in reward. Merlin, Potter's laugh did strange things to him. Especially when intoxicated.

"Point taken. I'll make it up to you."

A very small, less drunk part of Draco's brain asked him what the fuck they were doing, when Potter moved to stand behind him and enclosed him in his arms tightly. Another, mostly sexually frustrated part of Draco's being, cheered.

"You're so drunk," Draco laughed, mostly to calm his own confused brain and thoughts down. They were definitely only acting like this because they were drunk, but he did not move away.

Potter's body heat drew him closer, and he leaned back, slightly uncontrollably, against the strong man behind him.

"You don't mind," Potter stated, and, for a moment, Draco's intoxicated brain was sure that it registered the other man inhaling the scent of his hair.

"No," Draco agreed, and sneaked his cold hands up the sleeves of Potter's cardigan. He would probably regret this in the morning, but Potter seemed determined to portray a happy couple in front of their neighbours, and a happy couple would never let each other freeze.

Draco closed his eyes and listened to the steady beat of Potter's heart, the deep intakes of breath echoing through his chest, and the way he smelled. It was nothing fancy, no expensive perfume, but merely the clean scent of citrus. Still, Draco felt like he was tasting an unfamiliar, fantastic new bottle of wine he could not get enough of.

"Look," Potter said suddenly, and raised his hand just as Draco re-opened his eyes. He caught a glimpse of a doe, leaping off into the shadows, just as Potter knocked over the empty wine glass on the railing, as he completely miscalculated the range of his movement. It went tumbling down the same way the bottle had gone, a while ago. The soft splash caused a bird to flee from its tree with a displeased sound.

Draco fought to control his laughter, and Potter sighed behind him, possibly embarrassed with his own behaviour.

"I think I'll have to bring a glass the next time we visit."

It was most likely closer to dawn than midnight, when they made their way home, slightly unsteadily. Potter's hand felt warm in his, as they said goodbye to one couple after the other, accompanied only by Peter and Kat, who lived a few houses up the road from their own.

"See you at practice on Monday, Harry," Peter called, and waved as Draco opened the gate outside the house.

"You'll have to remind me tomorrow," Potter answered, more to himself than Peter it seemed, who laughed and flung his arm around Kat, who had given up on her high heels on the cobblestone road and walked barefoot.

Draco managed not to stumble a single time, all the way from the gate through the front door, up the stairs and into their bedroom. He watched Potter sink down on the bed and groan, as if the soft mattress and cool sheets felt heavenly against his tired body.

"I don't think I'm made for this kind of life," he mumbled, and his seemed to have a hard time keeping his eyes open.

"Clearly not," Draco said dryly. "Get your clothes off, and get some sleep."

Potter looked over at him where he stood, undressing on slightly unsteady legs. He tried to ignore the fact that those green eyes were burning over his body, watching him taking his clothes off, and concentrated on his cufflinks.

"Why did you tell them my arse looks good in these trousers?" Potter asked suddenly, and rolled over on his side with some effort.

_Because it does look fucking divine in them._

"I told _you_ that first," Draco reminded him, and placed his cufflinks carefully on top of the dresser. He really did not need to think about Potter's arse right now.

"Why?" the other man persisted, and toed off his shoes clumsily. They fell to the floor beside the bed in two thuds, and Draco felt like kicking him for being so messy.

Draco decided to make eye contact but regretted it instantly, as his chest contracted so hard around his heart that it seemed to stop for one unsteady breath. Potter looked sexy, he decided, lying on the bed with his shirt unbuttoned half-way up his chest, exposing most of his chiselled abdomen, and fly open, with the hair on his head so messy, that it gave Draco images he did not need in this very moment. Fuck, he felt like throwing himself on the other man right there, shagging him senseless into the mattress.

"Because it's true," Draco managed softly, after what felt like forever.

Potter seemed to have forgotten his words completely. All of them. And Draco could not help but smile at his intoxicated state, causing the buzzing intensity between them to disappear in a second.

"Come on," he said, and shrugged his shirt off, doing his best to ignore the warmth pooling in his stomach. "You need to sleep."

"I feel like I wouldn't have a problem with sleeping right here," Potter mumbled and stretched out on top of the duvet.

"I would," Draco said and Potter opened his eyes quickly to look at him.

"Why?"

Draco opened his mouth, but hesitated for a short while, before concentrating on unzipping his trousers. He never told Potter about waking up, clinging to him every morning, but he felt like he should. It was not professional, and Draco knew that he should feel far worse about it than he actually did.

"I would never admit this if I hadn't had too much to drink tonight, but all right: The past week, or so, I've been waking up, laying really close to you." Draco closed his eyes and rubbed his neck. He had never had trouble finding the right words before, but around Potter everything always seemed to change from the usual. "Before we started sleeping tog...sleeping in the same bed, I used to put a warming charm on the covers, because it was too cold for me to be able to sleep. Now I usually read a book until you have warmed it up enough for me to fall asleep, and I guess your body heat is why I'm drawn closer to you in my sleep."

"I know," Potter confessed, and Draco looked at him sharply, finding the other man squirming uncomfortably. "I've been waking up before you, but I decided it would be less awkward, if I just pretended that I was still sleeping."

Draco scowled and tried to decide whether he should hex one arm, or both, off of the other man. Potter responded with a laugh, as if he had completely forgotten about being uncomfortable, and threw his trousers and shirt onto the floor. The mostly-naked body of the other man caused Draco to completely forget about being angry, and he watched as Potter slipped beneath the covers with a contempt sigh.

Draco folded his shirt and trousers on the nearest chair and sighed, as his gaze locked on Potter's heap of clothes on the floor. He was just about to order the other man to clean up his mess of clothes, when he noticed Potter placing his glasses on the bedside table, before patting the pillow next to his.

"I didn't really mind," Potter confessed quietly, and Draco shivered at his words, his sexually frustrated brain translating those words into something they most likely were not meant to mean. "Come to bed."

"So I can go all touchy-feely with you in my sleep again?" Draco muttered. He was angry with himself. A little because he clearly had so little self-preservation that he could not stay away from the other man, but mostly because he found himself wanting no more than to climb into that bed beside him.

"You were just trying to stay warm," Potter mumbled, and blinked slowly, as though he was starting to feel drowsy against his will. "I'll protect you from the cold."

Draco snorted loudly, but his lips twitched in contradiction to his scowl. He was still hesitating. They were definitely going to regret this in the morning, but Potter was a grown man, and Draco was not responsible for thinking about the consequences for his decisions, too.

"Just turn the lights out and come to bed already," Potter groaned, shuffling over to Draco's side of the bed and lifting the duvet up. "Now. I'm really tired."

Draco rolled his eyes at Potter's bossiness, but flicked his wand to cloak the room in darkness, before putting it down on the bedside table. The moonlight managed its way through the tall window, causing the other man to look almost dangerous with the darkness shadowing his features, except for the eyes. _Yes, the eyes._ It was because of them Draco suddenly found himself slipping beneath the duvet Potter held up for him, without even bothering to put his pajama bottoms on.

"You're going to spoon me?" he asked dryly, when Potter put his arm around him on top of the duvet. He was grateful that his voice at least sounded confident, because his breath constantly hitched in his throat.

"Definitely," Potter mumbled quietly, and moved closer. The feeling of the other man's smooth skin against his own made his body tingle oddly, and that citrus scent filled his nose again.

"You're so drunk," Draco replied, hoping that Potter would remember that this was all his own fault, when he woke up the next morning. As of now, Draco did not mind at all, however.

xXx

Draco felt so cosily warm. Slowly, he became aware of deep, even breaths that danced over his naked shoulder and neck. It almost tickled.

Potter moved behind him, his warm body pushing even closer to Draco, and his strong arm tightened securely around him. It was strange how, not only could he could feel so content with having Potter spooning him, but he had not had a better night's sleep in years. He smiled to himself as he remembered the way Potter had kept him warm the night before on the balcony. The other man had clearly been drunk, but he had lowered wall of defences with every drink, making Draco see someone he had not seen before. He found himself quite liking the man that had managed to knock both glass and bottle into the lake but still had been determined to keep Draco from freezing.

Potter groaned quietly and stirred, rolling over on his back. Draco finally decided to open his eyes and ignored his internal question why he suddenly felt alone.

"You awake?" Potter asked, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Mmm," Draco mumbled, and wished that he could close his eyes and sleep for a while longer, but according to the clock on his nightstand, it was close to midday already.

"I don't feel so good," the other man groaned.

Draco felt better than he deserved, considering the amount of wine he had consumed last night. His head was a feeling heavy, but there was no headache or nausea. He sat up slowly and squinted against the sharp sunlight that poured mercilessly through the window. When he looked to his side, he saw Potter rubbing his face with his hands, his hair messier than ever.

"Are you going to be sick?" Draco asked, and tried not to look at the defined muscles of the other man's stomach and chest, but he failed miserably. It had been so much easier to stare the night before, because the alcohol seemed to have dulled his senses, now the arousal came raging through his body, as soon as he let his gaze trail over the other man. He deeply wished that he had put his pyjama bottoms on the night before.

Potter shook his head slightly but instantly groaned in regret.

"Headache?" Draco guessed, and the other man hummed something that sounded affirmative. "I'll be right back," he said then, and sent a thanks to higher powers, as his head still had not started pounding, when he got out of bed and made his way into the bathroom. He found the small potion vial he was searching for in the bathroom cabinet and paused in the doorway on his way back. Potter was laying in bed with the duvet barely reaching his hipbones. His eyes were closed, but even so, Draco thought his face looked so different without the glasses. Even more ridiculously handsome than usual.

"Here," he said, and offered the vial to the other man, who opened one eye to look at it. "It's for the headache. It works quite good for hangovers in general ,as well."

"Thanks." Potter's fingers brushed against his, as he accepted the potion, offering Draco a small smile.

"It's not so bad to be married to me after all, is it?" Draco smirked, as Potter rolled his eyes at him, wincing as his head probably ached again.

"I would probably not have a headache to begin with, if I hadn't married you."

"You had a good time last night," Draco snorted, and watched as Potter downed the potion quickly, grimacing at the bitter taste.

"Yeah," the other man agreed, and rubbed his hands over his face again. "It was better than I thought it would be. Especially with so many people."

"There were fourteen. That's not many." Draco shook his head in amazement, at the other man's words.

"I usually hang out with two people, except for myself. To me, fourteen is many." Potter groaned, as he supported himself on his elbows. His hair was a ridiculous mess.

"I know," Draco shrugged, and fought to keep his gaze from wandering down Potter's body. It was strange to see the Saviour of the World so afraid of other people. "I'm going to take a shower."

"You do that," Potter yawned, and collapsed back against his pillow again with a sigh. "I'm just going to wait for this to start working."

As the warm water caressed his tired body, Draco slowly let his mind wander back to yesterday. He felt embarrassed, as he remembered Potter saying that he had been waking up before Draco every morning since they started sharing a bed. However, Potter had not sounded mocking or displeased, but perhaps as though he wanted Draco to know. If he had been offended by the fact that Draco cuddled up to him in his sleep, spooning was a funny way of showing it.

A knock on the door startled him, and he wondered for a couple of panicked seconds if Potter was going to open the bathroom door, because the glass of the shower cubicle would not leave much of Draco's body to imagination.

"What?" he asked, when the door handle still seemed untouched, and turned the water down slightly.

"Do you want breakfast?"

_Stupid question_, Draco thought as his stomach made an appreciating lurch. He was starving but had completely forgotten that it was weekend, and that Poppy would not be around. She had been there the day before, even though she was not supposed to, refusing to leave before she had managed to find some ingredient Potter had been asking for.

"Yes, thank you," he called back, and did not quite catch Potter's reply, but turned the water up again, suddenly eager to finish washing his hair. Potter's food was too good to miss out on.

A short while later, Draco walked down the stairs and inhaled the smell of bacon and eggs. Potter was standing in his usual jeans and t-shirt, flipping the bacon in the frying pan with expert hand movements and looking relaxed, in the way he always did when he was cooking.

"Feeling better?" Draco asked, and could not help but smile at the way Potter's head snapped up at the sound of his voice.

"Yeah, much. Thanks for the potion." Potter smiled back, and turned his concentration to the bacon again.

"I provide you with potions; you provide me with food on weekends." Draco took his usual place at the kitchen counter and watched the other man cook, his head in his hands. There were worse ways to spend a Sunday, he thought, as he took in the way the muscles on Potter's forearms worked, as he placed the bacon and eggs on the empty plates in front of Draco.

He was just about to say thank you, when he noticed the way Potter looked at something outside the window. Draco turned in his seat and noticed three women making their way up the gravel path to their front porch. It was Shastin, Zefira and Kat. He groaned inwardly.

"Looks like you have visitors," Potter said with a grin, as if he had noticed the way Draco's already tired brain screamed for help.

Draco waved back weakly, as the three women greeted them through the window.

"Looks like I do," he agreed, and glared at Potter when the other man failed at repressing his grin.

"I'm sure you'll have a good time."

"I can always come up with some juicy details about our sex life, if I'm too bored." Draco could not help but laugh, as the other man's grin quickly turned into a scowl, and got out of his seat to open the door for the three women.

"Hello!" Shastin called unnecessary loudly, as Draco pushed the door open. He only raised his eyebrows at her, causing Kat to snigger.

"We're not interrupting you in anything, I hope?" Zefira asked, making Draco quite certain that she was not the one that had come up with this idea in the first place.

"Actually, we're eating breakfast, but you're free to come in." He stepped aside and opened the door wider, letting them inside.

"Wow," Kat said as her gaze wandered from the staircase, to the partial view she had of the dining room.

"You should see the rest." Shastin placed two quick kissed on his cheeks and made her way to the kitchen without waiting for the others. Apparently, she already felt enough at home to wander around by herself.

"I'm sorry that we're interrupting your breakfast," Zefira said quietly as she, too, kissed his cheeks.

"Don't worry about it."

Potter was eating and seemed to listen to Shastin's never-ending stream of words, when Draco re-entered the kitchen. There was something unpleasant wrenching in his chest, as his brain started to ask the unwelcome question of why Shastin was so eager to have a chat with Potter.

"So, we were going to ask Draco if he wanted to come shopping with us, but you're free to join too!" the blonde woman said, and Potter looked as if he was about to choke on his eggs.

"I think I'll pass," he answered, and smiled apologetically. "I have...books to read."

"You're not asking me?" Draco quirked an eyebrow at her, but she only shook her head.

"You don't have a choice. Eat quickly."

Eating with an audience was not something Draco preferred, but he managed to finish his breakfast without spilling something, listening to Shastin's chatter about her brother, Harrigan's, newest conquest, who had attended the party last night. Draco remembered her vaguely as the very beautiful, yet personality-lacking woman in a sparkling gold dress and fiercely red hair, that had made him think of the Weasel.

Potter did not seem to listen, something that effectively put a stop to the wrenching in Draco's chest, and took both of their plates when they had finished eating.

"When will you be back?" Potter wondered, whilst filling the sink with dishwater. Draco could not help but wonder why he did not leave the dishes for Poppy, or simply used magic, but he did not ask.

"I would say around seven," Zefira said, and glanced over her shoulder, most likely in hope to spot Shastin, who had taken the liberty to give Kat a tour.

"Dinner at seven then," Potter said, and locked eyes with Draco with a smile.

"You're cooking dinner? _And_ doing the dishes?" Shastin's voice made Draco jump slightly in surprise. She entered the kitchen, with Kat right behind her; they had finished with the tour, it seemed. "What are you? The man of every woman's dreams?"

Draco could see the discomfort of the sudden attention on Potter's face, and the other man only shrugged, too embarrassed to know what to say.

"Perhaps you can rub some of your qualities off on my husband," Kat said, and made Potter even more uncomfortable, giving them an uncertain smile in response.

"All right, lets go," Draco said loudly, and got up from his chair. He smiled at Potter, when the other man gave him a grateful look. "See you at seven."

**xXx**

"Was he mad at you?" Shastin asked, when they were eating a late lunch, a few hours later. Kat had chosen a restaurant called Mr. Ian Woon, named after the owner. According to Zefira, the food there was something extraordinary.

Draco's ears were tired from listening to their constant chatter, but he found himself enjoying every second of it. It had been years since he had spent time with friends in such a relaxed manner. After the war, walking down the streets in Diagon Alley had never been the same, and even though he had spent a lot of his time in Paris with different acquaintances of different kinds, he had never truly enjoyed it.

It was clear to him that the wives of the Quidditch players in the Virginia Wolves were some sort of celebrities. They were greeted with smiles and closed shops were instantly opened for them alone, whenever they wished. Draco had lived this life once, many years ago, and it was not until he had been presented to a number of people, that he realised that he had missed this.

"What?" Draco asked, snapping out of his thoughts as he put an elbow in his ribs, but he got an instant feeling that she was referring to the incident last night. He noticed Kat's and Zefira's sudden interest in the conversation and sighed inwardly. It was like they fed on gossip.

"Harry, last night he seemed mad at you for telling me about your sex life," Shastin explained, and smiled broadly at the waiter, who looked like he had a hard time keeping his gaze from her cleavage.

"You can't blame him," Zefira said dryly. "He seems like a very private person, and I'm sure that he felt uncomfortable that you knew something like that."

Potter _was_ a very private person, indeed. He had always assumed that the other man just pretended not to like the attention, but lately it had become more and more clear that Potter was not very comfortable around people at all.

"He is," Draco nodded. "I was stupid to tell you something like that, because I knew he wouldn't take it well, if he found out."

"I'm sorry," Shastin said, without looking very sorry at all. "Was he really mad at you? He just left the table."

"A bit," Draco admitted. "He didn't leave because he was angry, though. He left because he was embarrassed. He's not blaming you, because I was the one disappointing him when I shared details like that."

"Details," Shastin snorted. "It's not like you told me the size of his cock or anything."

The waiter, who had come back with their drinks, flushed scarlet and almost dropped his tray in Kat's lap.

"But you wished he had," Kat laughed, and Draco had found that he liked her, too, because she was such a nice mix between Shastin's lack of filter and Zefira's constant worry over doing something wrong.

"Of course!" Shastin said, and looked at them as if they were insane. "Have you seen the man? If he wasn't gay and I wasn't already married, I would go for him. Scratch that. I probably would go for him, gay or not, if I was single."

Draco only shook his head and exchanged looks with Zefira, who seemed to understand him completely. Shastin was usually more than enough in smaller doses.

"Perhaps I should start worrying about your newfound obsession with my husband?" he asked, ignoring the weird wrenching sensation in his chest again, and hoped that they could switch the subject from sex, for once. To say that Shastin was one-track minded would be an underestimation.

"Hardly," Kat rolled her eyes. "Even if Shastin was interested in more than just looking and drooling, it's very obvious that Harry couldn't care less about her. Or anyone other than you, really."

Draco blinked. He did not exactly know why, because it was their job to portray a very happy couple, but suddenly he felt like his insides had melted into a puddle of warm, indefinable feelings.

"He better," Draco said, but it came out much softer than he had meant it to. In an attempt to stop the fuzzy feeling inside from spreading, he changed the subject: "I have to ask you about Agnes – is she always so-?"

"Snotty?" Kat offered.

"Arrogant?" Zefira rolled her eyes.

"Uptight?" Shastin snorted.

"I guess that answers my question," Draco smirked, and accepted his plate from the waiter with a quick thanks, eager to return to the conversation.

"She is," Zefira sighed. "Tim is really kind, _too_ kind, but Agnes is insufferable. I can't stand her, and their kids are really rude and disrespectful."

"I agree," Kat nodded. "I don't know how many times I've wished for someone to slap her whenever she says that Aiden has no one to blame but himself, for her kids pushing him in the lake, or stealing someone's wand and hexing him."

"Who's Aiden?" Draco asked, quite certain that he had never heard that name before.

"It's Mona Winro's child," Zefira explained and, for once Shastin, sitting next to her, did not look like she was going to burst out laughing in any minute. "Have you heard of Charles Burke?"

Draco thought about denying, because he was quite sure that Charles Burke was the very same Burke Potter had mentioned earlier, but he decided that it was better to confess.

"Yes, Harry told me that he used to play for the Wolves, but that he died in an accident. He just said that Jordan and Leo had mentioned him when they showed him the pitch."

"That's true," Kat said quietly, and poked through her salad with her fork. "Mona is his wife. She changed back to her maiden name, when he died, because the journalists kept firecalling her all the time. Aiden is their child. I think he's nine, by now."

"Eight, actually," Shastin corrected. "He's the sweetest kid. Mona is really suffering, but I'm not sure that Aiden ever had much of a relationship with his father anyway."

"Charles was not my favourite person." Zefira shrugged, as if she felt guilty over this. "But Mona and Aiden were always so nice. I invited them yesterday, but she declined."

"He's usually outside playing," Kat smiled and looked at Draco. "If you haven't seen him already, I'm sure you will soon, because his mother lives across from Peter and I – not far from you. Aiden is mostly by himself, because the twins are so mean to him."

"He used to play with the Lees, but I think the twins are picking on them, too, for being his friends." Zefira shook her head, clearly upset by this.

Draco had seen a few kids, but he was not sure that he had seen one that could be Aiden.

"Poor kid," he said, and felt like it was not enough. He pictured a kid that looked like Longbottom during their first years – chubby and a not very clever. He thought about what he would say to him if they met, but he had never been comfortable around kids.

During the remaining part of the dinner, Kat spoke about the renovation of their house, a subject Draco was more than happy to participate in.

"You should hire Draco," Zefira suggested, just as Kat complained about her house being too dark. "He's the genius behind their house."

"_Really_?" Kat asked, and stared at him. He felt like rolling his eyes, but instead he nodded, remembering that it would be a good opportunity to spend time around their house. He had not come up with much from the articles and started to feel like he was not doing his job. This could be his chance to find something new about the case.

"It's my job. It felt ridiculous to hire someone else to design my own home, if I can do it myself."

"I really have to suggest this to Peter. I'm sure he would like the idea. Do you think Harry would mind?" Kat had clasped her hands and looked at Draco with eyes that shone, as if he was a brand new toy she had gotten for Christmas.

"Why would he mind?" he asked, confused.

"Because you'll be working a lot, so you won't be able to have sex with him all the time," Shastin said, her one-track mind reappearing with renewed power.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Draco sighed, and rolled his eyes. He had a feeling he already knew where this conversation was heading. "He has his head full of Quidditch anyway."

To his surprise, she said nothing, but merely shrugged and returned to her food. At least, not until they were outside again, waiting for Kat and Zefira outside a small Crystal Ball-shop.

"So you're in a drought?" Shastin asked, her voice low, as if she wanted to make sure no one else heard.

"Drought?" Draco repeated, but knew all too well what she was referring to. This was where he either made up a completely new story with juicy details, that Potter would have his head for when he found out – because Potter would find out, without question – or, Draco could go along with what she was thinking, saving Potter the embarrassment of another story of their sex life. Perhaps it would make them seem more believable as a couple, if everything were not perfect.

"You said that Harry has his head full of Quidditch, like he doesn't have time for anything else." She shrugged, and glanced through the dirty windows of the shop, obviously making sure that Zefira and Kat were still inside.

"We've had a lot going on. With moving here and him being new on a team, playing Quidditch again." Draco only hoped that he sounded believable. After all, he had not had sex for ages, so he could certainly relate.

"It will pass," she assured him, and patted his cheek like he was a sad five-year-old.

"Most likely," he smiled, knowing that the sex-drought would not pass until he was back in England and not pretend-married anymore.

"I promise I won't tell anyone," Shastin added, and caught his gaze. She looked sincere.

Draco was just about to answer, when Zefira and Kat returned, carrying new, purple bags. Shastin motioned zipping her lips closed, as the other women turned their backs to them, heading towards a bookshop further down the road. Draco could not help but smirk, thinking that Shastin would not likely be able to keep her lips closed for too long.

**xXx**

When he arrived home, still a little early for dinner, he noticed a small boy sitting on the fence outside the house. Draco slowed his steps, as he walked closer, and was thankful that the sky was not nearly as dark as it would have been back in England, around this time of year. The boy was clutching something in his arms, and he seemed to be talking to it quietly. His thick, chocolate curls hid most of his face because he was looking down, but when Draco stepped closer, he looked up. His big, intensely blue eyes locked with Draco's, and the small boy smiled slightly, showing a dimple in his left cheek.

"Hello," Draco said, and smiled back. The boy was alone, perhaps eight years old, and looked at him curiously. This was surely the child the women had been talking about earlier, at Mr. Ian Woon's.

"Hi," the boy said, still smiling.

"Are you Aiden?" Draco asked, and stopped in front of him, slightly curious about how the boy had managed to climb the fence on his own.

"Yes." The boy nodded and held up what he had been clutching in his arms, so that Draco could see it better. It was a baby blue elephant, with chequered fabric on the inside of its floppy ears. "This is Herman. He's an elephant."

"I noticed," Draco smiled, and wondered if the boy expected him to shake hands with it. "Are you out here all by yourself?"

"Mhmm," Aiden nodded, and began patting Herman's head. "Mum is sleeping today."

"All day?" Draco frowned, and the boy nodded, seemingly unconcerned by the fact that his mother had decided to sleep for a day.

"She does that sometimes." Aiden shrugged and cocked his head to the side, examining Draco from head to toe. "What's your name?"

"Draco."

"Do you live here?" Aiden pointed towards the house behind him, and Draco nodded. "It's a pretty house."

"Thank you." Draco smiled in spite of himself, as the boy returned to patting his elephant.

"Is it all right if I sit on your fence sometimes?" Aiden asked, his eyes suddenly growing even bigger, as if he suddenly suspected that Draco was going to tell him off.

"As long as you don't get yourself injured." Draco wanted to roll his eyes at himself for being overprotective all of a sudden, but he did not like the idea of the boy being outside on his own. Especially not since it seemed as if his mother was at home, sleeping. "Are you sure that your mother is okay with you being outside all on your own?"

"I'm not on my own." Aiden frowned and held up the elephant in Draco's face again. "I'm here with Herman."

"Yes, of course," Draco mentally banged his head against a wall. "How could I forget?"

Aiden sniggered and hopped down from the fence, the elephant safely under his arm. He was much shorter than Draco had expected him to be, and his dark curls bounced around his face. As the boy looked up at Draco, he wrinkled his nose slightly as he smiled.

"Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Draco said, and watched the boy skip down the road, throwing the elephant up in the air with every other step, only to catch it again easily.

Potter was setting the table, when Draco walked in. The house smelled delicious, and Draco wanted to sink into the nearest chair and just breathe it all in for a while.

"Had a nice day?" Potter asked, and smiled at him as though he was genuinely pleased to see him, two plates in his hands.

"It was all right," Draco nodded, and felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards. "You?"

"Yeah," Potter shrugged, placing the plates down at the table. "Who were you talking to outside?"

"Burke's kid, Aiden. He asked me if it was okay that he might sit on our fence sometimes." Draco grinned when Potter frowned, clearly not following. There was something extremely satisfying about causing Potter confusion.

"I...guess that's all right?" he said slowly, and scratched the back of his head. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Perfect. I'm starving."

**xXx**

**HPOV**

Harry could hear the sound of the crowd, where he stood in the corridors beneath the stands, awaiting their cue to enter the pitch and face their opponents: The Haileybury Hammers. They had practiced for more hours than he could count, over the past couple of weeks, trying to get him ready for a match quickly. He was almost in complete harmony with the Tinderblast now, since Harrigan had forced him to practice diving and quick turns, until his muscles ached in protest. He liked his team. He liked the banter between them in the locker room that reminded him of Fred and George back at Hogwarts, and how professional they all became as soon as they got on their brooms.

"Nervous?" Harrigan asked beside him. He looked exactly like the heartbreaker he was, with the same golden hair as Shastin and dark eyes. He had that smile that seemed to make the women melt into puddles of adoration at his feet, but Harry knew better than to think that Harrigan was just another handsome face. The truth was that his captain was one of the highest ranked players in the country and, together with Tim and Leo, he made a dangerous offence to their team.

"Very," Harry confessed, and tried to shake the anxiety from his limbs. The crowd was cheering louder now, and he could hear the scraping from the speaker's microphone.

"You'll do fine. The Hammers' Seeker has been useless during their last games. Even if he had not been, you wouldn't have anything to worry about. You're the best Seeker we've had in years." And with that, Harrigan patted his shoulder and strode past him to stand first in line. "Mount your brooms!"

Harry could hear the speaker talk about the team's accomplishments, as he swung his leg over his broom. As soon as is fingers locked securely around the handle of the Tinderblast, the fear and anxiety he had been shaking from, just moments ago, were chased away. Instead, pounding through his veins like tidal waves, came the adrenaline. The rhythm of his heart increased, still beating steady, bravely.

_God, he had missed this. _

He did not hear what the speaker shouted, but seconds later, the gates in front of them sprung open, and the crowd's roar exploded in his ears. The contrast of the sunlight almost blinded him, as they left the darkness of the corridor behind them, but when he was able to see properly again, he could barely believe his own eyes. The crowd to his left was a sea of pigeon-blue and black, while the stands to his right were exploding in orange and white; the colours of The Haileybury Hammers.

The crowd's cheering almost caused him temporary deafness, as the speaker introduced the players in order. Harry watched them wave to the crowd, as they circled the pitch in a V-formation, with Harrigan at the front. The support was overwhelming and caused Harry to wonder how loud they must have screamed, before the Wolves got a bad reputation because of the number of accidents.

He almost forgot to wave as the speaker shouted his name, presenting him by his new last name Malfoy. It still sounded strange to his ears.

Then, it was the Hammers' turn. They seemed to appear from nowhere, already flying dangerously fast, as their gates opened. He immediately noticed the Seeker, as a sleek, balding, middle-aged man, that seemed to fight to keep up with the rest of his team. His team mates, however, were intimidating and, when the two captains shook hands, the arena was dead quiet. The tension reminded him somewhat of the atmosphere back when Gryffindor and Slytherin faced each other. The difference was that these teams did not consist of twelve to seventeen year olds, but grown men that had this as their profession.

He could make out the determined face of Harrigan, who did not seem the least intimidated, as though the Hammer's were nothing he had not faced before.

Harry shook his head, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. He did not have to care about the size of their Beaters, or the skills of their Keeper. All he had to concentrate on was staying out of the Bludgers' way and catch the Snitch before the Hammer's Seeker did. He had never had much of a poker face, but when their took their positions, he carefully adapted the same determined set to his features as the rest of his team mates.

Since he had not had much time to practice, Harrigan had told him to stay out of the game as much as possible and catch the Snitch. They did not need to care about the number of goals this early on in the season. All he had to do was catch it first.

It might have seemed like a simple task, but when the referee blew the whistle, Harry found himself ducking for a Bludger within seconds. The wind whistled around him, as he flew higher, stationing himself above the game to get a better view. From the corner of his eye, he could see the Hammers' Seeker do the same.

Professional Quidditch was fast, rough and ruthless. The Bludgers hit their target more often than not, and Harry suspected that one of the Chasers on the Hammers' team must have gotten at least a few fingers broken, when Peter sent a Bludger to hit the Quaffle from his hands.

He concentrated on searching the sky for the Snitch, as the match went on beneath him. His team was brilliant. Brendan and Peter seemed to know exactly where to send the Bludgers, effectively stopping the other team's offence again and again. Instead, Harrigan, Leo and Tim took the opportunities to catch the Quaffle and score, working so well together that the Hammers' Keeper never had a chance.

Harry clapped his hands in support, as Harrigan made their fourteenth goal by lazily throwing the Quaffle over his shoulder, when he noticed something sparkling above one of the orange and white stands. He glanced at the Hammers' Seeker, but he was looking in the other direction. For a moment, he hesitated, knowing that he had two options: he could either make his way towards that side of the pitch discreetly and hope that no one noticed before it was too late, or he could fly right at the audience and the Snitch in full speed. It would only be a matter of time before someone in the audience underneath the fluttering Snitch would notice it and let everyone else know. He did not know how fast the other Seeker could fly, or what kind of broom he had, but he would have to take the chance.

He did not even pause to think of the risks he probably was taking, as he leaned over the broom, flat against the handle, accelerating faster than he ever thought would have been possible. The speed made it impossible for him to breathe, as though his lungs were too slow to catch the air around him, as he blasted across the arena.

The sound of the wind and the pounding of the blood in his ears made it impossible to hear, but the crowd in the stand he was flying towards looked as if they were frozen from surprise. Then, just as he closed his fingers around the cold Snitch, there was a triumphant roar from the other side of the pitch, pushing through the sound of air. He veered around, barely avoiding to crash right into the audience and noticed the Hammers' Seeker still on the other side of the pitch.

Air filled his lungs, as he raised his hand, showing them the Snitch that had earned them a hundred and fifty points. As his teammates almost crashed into him, shouting, cheering, thumping him on the back with fists and bats until it started to hurt, it hit him that he had never been afraid to lose control over his broom. Not even once. That alone felt like a bigger victory than actually winning the game.

A few hours later, he was back at their hotel to leave his things in his room, before leaving with the rest of the team for celebrations. Harrigan had been talking to the press for a long time, and Harry had been receiving praise after praise from his teammates. Jordan had been thrilled over his bold flying, and Leo had not been able to stop himself from thumping him on the back, telling him that they were best friends now.

His room was strangely quiet, compared to the loud voices that had surrounded him minutes ago. He glanced at the empty bed and felt a lurch of bad conscience. Malfoy would have to put a warming charm on the covers again, tonight. He knew that he should be thankful for getting a night alone, and the opportunity to breathe for a while, but he only felt lonely.

"Hey!" Leo appeared in the doorway, just as he dropped his bag on the floor. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah," Harry tried to smile, but the thought of spending a night alone with people he barely knew did not seem very tempting, all of as sudden. "I'm just..." He shrugged and trailed off, not knowing what he had been trying to say to begin with.

"You're missing Draco?" Leo offered, and stepped inside. The door fell shut behind him.

Harry nodded and hoped that his face was not completely scarlet. "It's just that I haven't slept without him in a long time. Feels weird." It was not exactly a lie, because it had been quite some time since he had slept in a bed without Malfoy. But it should not have been this uncomfortable for him to be away like this. It should have felt liberating.

Except that it did not.

"It's hard at first," Leo said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "You'll get used to it eventually, though, because it's too tiring to travel back home every night after a match."

"Yeah, I understand that." He put his broom down on the dresser, mostly to get an excuse to look away from Leo's knowing smile. He could never understand. Hell, _Harry _did not even understand.

"_However_," the other man said and put a hand on Harry's arm just as he was about to unzip his bag. "If you feel homesick, I think you should go home for the evening. No one will blame you. You did an amazing job today, and you've definitely deserved some time with your man."

"Really?" Harry asked, before he was able to stop himself. "No, I can't. I mean, I shouldn't. I'm supposed to celebrate with you."

"Please," Leo snorted. "Watching Harrigan drink too much and drag another girl to his room for the evening? You have better things to do. I'll tell them that you didn't feel too good, which would be completely understandable, considering how nervous you must have been before the game."

"Thank you," was all Harry could come up with.

The house was dark and quiet, when he arrived home. It was not the lonely kind of quiet, like in his hotel room, but the sort where he knew that Malfoy was upstairs in bed. He walked up the stairs as quietly as he could manage, balancing his Tinderblast on one shoulder and his bag in the opposite hand. The door to their bedroom was cracked open a fraction, but he opened the door to the guest room instead. He put the bag and the broom on the bed, remembering the few nights he had slept in there and how relieved he had been over having his own private space. Tonight, he had travelled home several time zones with a Portkey, only to sleep in the room on the other side of the corridor.

He thought about undressing in the bathroom, for a moment, but dropped the idea immediately – it would only wake Malfoy. Instead, he stripped down to his underwear quickly and left the clothes on the foot of the bed. He shivered, as he walked the short distance over the corridor, creaking open the door to the bedroom as quietly as he could.

Malfoy was sleeping, curled up on his side, with the duvet tightly around him. Something tightened in Harry's chest, as he walked closer to the bed, and a small smile crept on his lips, as he noticed the serene expression on the other man's face.

He hesitated, for a moment, before he dispelled the warming charm and lifted the duvet. The mattress moved beneath him, as he lay down. Malfoy mumbled something inaudible but did not wake. The sheets felt warm and a little rough against his skin, when he scooted closer to the other man. Perhaps he should have settled for sleeping on his own side of the bed, but he gave in to the temptation of feeling the other man's body against his own.

Malfoy jerked awake, as Harry's finger grazed the skin on his shoulder, and rolled over onto his back quickly. He blinked sleepily, when their gazes locked, and a slow smile spread over his lips, as his eyes lit in recognition.

"Why are you home?" Malfoy mumbled, his voice a little rough from sleep. "I thought you were going to spend the night away."

"I was," Harry confessed, and felt his face heat in embarrassment. "But I felt bad for letting you freeze alone in our bed."

"Hufflepuff," Malfoy snorted, softly and rolled back on his side, facing away from Harry, who did not know what to do, for a moment. Then Malfoy reached back and grasped his hand, pulling Harry against his back. He moved closer, locking Malfoy securely in his arms and closed his eyes, knowing that he probably had a silly smile on his face.

**xXx**

**DPOV**

Three weeks later, Draco was sitting in Kat's dining room with Zefira, Shastin, and Brendan's wife, Mathilda. They had all decided to eat dinner together, as the Virginia Wolves were playing against the Maryland Manatees that night. Draco was secretly pleased that Potter was coming straight back home that night, since it was not too far away, because he had gotten frighteningly used to the other man holding him during the night.

"How's the drought going?" Shastin whispered, and scooted closer to him. It seemed to Draco as if she had kept her promise the past weeks, because neither Potter or anyone else had said something about it.

"Bad," Draco replied, and it was true. Not having sex had really started getting to him, and Potter did not make anything better by sleeping in his underwear, clearly unaware of how attractive he was. And the way his arms held Draco when they slept was really nothing sexual at all, but the slightest touch from the other man was driving Draco insane. He wondered how many times he had been forced to take a really cold shower, in the past week.

"Actually, I've been thinking," Shastin said and Draco had to bite his tongue not to ask her how that had made her feel. "You never show any affection in public. I mean, you smile at each other and stuff, but you never _kiss_ or touch or _anything_."

Draco looked up at her in alarm, but she looked more thoughtful than suspicious. "What are you talking about?"

The rational part of Draco's brain told him that he should be thankful for Potter not kissing him, because he would surely lose it if he did, but a small part yearned for another kiss like the one at the beach, many weeks ago.

"You know how Kat and Peter always kiss each other, and Leo and I are very touchy-feely. It's like..._prelude_! Do you get it? If you touch and kiss in public, it's much easier to do it when you're alone, too."

Draco wanted to lay down and die. He could not believe that he was taking relationship advice from Shastin, of all people.

"He's just not...that kind of person," he said hesitantly, choosing his words carefully to make sure that he did not embarrass Potter in any way.

Shastin nodded thoughtfully and chewed her bottom lip. Draco wished that he was straight, or at least bi, so that he could have an affair with one of them, but Potter had been the only thing spinning in his head lately.

"Maybe you should talk to him?" she said quietly, after a few moments. "I mean, he might not understand that you feel like he's not attracted to you anymore."

"I never said that!" Draco said defensively, and a little too loudly, catching the attention of the other women, who now looked at him with interest.

"It's obvious." Shastin gave him a look that definitely questioned his sanity.

"What are you talking about?" Zefira asked, and sat down across the table.

"Draco is just silly and thinks that Harry doesn't find him attractive anymore because they don't show affection in public."

Draco groaned inwardly, wishing that he had kept his voice down. Of course he thought that Potter found him unattractive – Potter was _straight. _Not that Draco cared if Potter found him attractive or not, because it was Potter, and the only reason to why the other man had driven Draco insane lately was because of all the sexual frustration. Nothing else.

"Talk to him about it," Zefira suggested, just as Shastin had done moments ago. "Harry's empathic, he'll understand. I've been thinking about that too, actually. He just seems so emotionally locked up."

"Yeah, all right, I'll talk to him," Draco muttered, thinking that it was not so strange that Potter was _emotionally locked up_, considering what he had been through. What was strange, however, was the need Draco had to defend the other man's behaviour, even if he was only able to do it in his own mind.

"Maybe you should start going to the games." Kat sat down next to Zefira. She smiled warmly at Draco, as if she wanted him to pour his heart out for them. "I know you have a lot of work to do, but don't you think he would feel like you really appreciate him if you watched him play?"

Draco had declined the past couple of games, claiming that he had to work. They had been perfectly understanding, but since Draco did not actually have a job, he had enjoyed his alone time with books and simply being by himself, for once.

"Yes," Shastin agreed eagerly. "Definitely! Maybe that's why he's so distant? He thinks you don't _care_."

Draco wondered if all women had sessions where they tried to determine what their men were thinking, because this was ridiculous.

"Maybe," Draco offered generously.

"He's been great," Mathilda said, suddenly. "Really great."

"More like _amazing_," Shastin giggled.

Of course he has, Draco thought dryly. Potter was amazing at everything. Always.

"They'll play a game here in two weeks," Zefira said, and gave him a sympathetic look, as the other women started discussing Potter's skills on the pitch. "I would like your company, too."

"_Fine." _Draco could not help but pout a little, but there were worse things than watching Potter play Quidditch. Especially since Draco had not attended a game in years. He immediately regretted his decision, as Shastin squealed. He was, however, thankful that she had stayed true to her word and not said anything about _the drought_, as she called it.

The rest of the dinner was great, especially since the topic was not brought up again, and Kat had done an amazing job cooking. It was late when Draco walked home that night, only slightly tipsy from one glass of wine too many.

He expected the house to be dark and quiet, when he opened the door, but a fire was lit in the living room, and Potter emerged in the doorway seconds later, with a cup in his hand.

"Hey," he said, and his smile made Draco's inside turn liquid.

"I didn't know you were going to be home already," Draco said, as he toed his shoes off. "Did you win?"

Potter made a combined nod and shrug, admitting to winning and, at the same time, saying that it was not a big deal. Of course he had won, Draco thought darkly.

"Did you have a nice dinner?" the other man asked.

"The latter part of it was nice," Draco muttered, and walked past Potter, only to sink down in the sofa closest to the fireplace with a sigh.

"What was wrong with the first part?"

"We talked about you." Draco noticed how the other man's eyebrows immediately shot upwards in a silent question and the way his eyes grew more guarded.

"A reason as good as any," Potter said quietly and shrugged, but Draco thought he looked a little bit hurt.

"Not in that way," Draco waved his hand dismissively and sighed. He forced himself to sober up, because if he did not tell Potter this now, the other man would surely get the information from one of the members on his team. "They think you're not attracted to me."

"Why?" Potter sat down slowly in the sofa opposite to his. He looked like he was way too tired to talk about this now, but Draco felt like it was the right thing to do. That last glass of wine might not have been such a good idea, after all.

"Because you're my husband, and you never show that you like me in public," Draco muttered, and felt like he was one of the witches in _Witch Weekly_ who always wrote in to ask if their husbands were going to leave them.

Potter put his cup down at the coffee table and buried his face in his hands, for a few deep breaths. When he looked up again, Draco started to feel bad, because the other man looked completely despondent.

"I'm not really...I don't even like showing my emotions when they're _real_," Potter said quietly. "I told you that I've never been much of an actor. I-"

"It doesn't matter," Draco cut him off. He could not exactly blame the other man for not kissing him constantly in front of other people. Not only had they been enemies for many years, but Potter was also _straight_. "I just wanted you to know. They might ask you about it in the locker room, or something."

Potter gave him a funny look and frowned slightly, as if he did not quite understand what Draco was saying.

"How much did you drink?" he asked then, quirking an eyebrow.

Draco snorted at him and got to his feet. Sleeping seemed like the perfect idea right now, and he headed towards the stairs. Merlin, his body wanted nothing more than to feel the sensation of cool sheets and perfectly fluffed pillows, right now.

"Draco?" Potter's voice halted him with his foot on the first step, and his heart was suddenly pounding in his chest, as he turned to look at the other man. Potter looked bewildered. Sexy and bewildered.

"Yes?"

"I'll work on it." Potter gave him a small, almost shy smile. Something contracted hard in Draco's chest, as he smiled back. And suddenly there was something his body realised that it wanted more than those cool sheets, at that very moment.

_I like the way I can't keep my focus_

_I watch you talk, you didn't notice_

_I hear the words but all I can think is_

_We should be together_

_Every time you smile, I smile_

_And every time you shine, I'll shine for you_

_ Jump then fall – Taylor Swift_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter end notes: <strong>Well, we'll all see what Harry means when he says that he'll "work on it", in the next chapter. Aaaand...the next chapter will also contain a pretty large dose of that three-letter-word-that-starts-with-S-and-ends-with-X-thing you have all (I'm assuming?) been waiting for. _  
><em>


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything that isn't mine. The rest is likely JK's. For example the name: Moose Jaw Meteorites and the fact that they shoot stars from the end of their brooms – I don't have that much imagination!

**A/N**: First of all, I would really like to thank you _so_ much for all the reviews, on the last chapter. They were all amazing, and I'm really grateful. I probably wouldn't have worked through this chapter so quickly, if it hadn't been for your reviews. Thank you so much!

I have gotten myself a tumblr, which I update quite frequently and mostly with posts about this story. If you want to know how far I've come with the next chapter, or want to ask me something while I'm writing, you should go there! This is me: a-partial-print

Okay, so I'm actually a bit nervous about this chapter, because I haven't written many sex-scenes in my life, to be honest. I'm afraid that I'll disappoint you and/or turn it all into a bad porno, hahaha.

Anyway, as you might have guessed by now, this chapter is M-rated, because of sexual frustration and sex, heh yeah. Quite a bit of bad language too, if I'm not mistaken.

_Well, that was that. Let's get this over with, shall we?_

**CHAPTER 6**

**DPOV**

A week passed so fast, Draco realised, when he was sitting in the dining room, eating dinner with Zefira, Kat and Shastin. They always dropped by: one and one, or all at once. Draco did not mind anymore. On the contrary, he felt rather alone the few days they did not, especially since his husband seemed to spend most of his waking hours playing Quidditch.

"How's the problem with Harry going?" Kat asked, and leaned back in her chair, the shiny curtain of black hair pouring down over one of her shoulders.

The "problem with Harry" was not really a problem, considering the fact that he and Draco were not a real couple. The women around him was not aware of that, and, therefore, the "problem with Harry" had been a very hot topic, over the last few days.

Draco had admitted that he had talked to the other man but, as the days passed, he had been forced to tell them that there had not been any change. He had not truly understood the whole _"I'll work on it" _that his husband had given him, when he had brought it up, either. The other man showed no emotions like that around other people. Barely at any other time either, except for that one night when he had travelled across the country, only to make sure that Draco did not have to freeze in their bed at night – something that still made his insides turn liquid, every time he thought about it. But the women knew nothing of this either, because, for some reason unknown to Draco, it felt too private to mention.

"It's the same," he answered, and tried to give them a smile that said that it was not such a big deal.

"I don't get it," Zefira said with a sigh.

"The problem with Harry"had somehow managed to become some sort of mission to solve, for the three women around him. Draco's lack of sex life was more of a problem, Draco felt, but it had nothing to do with his husband. Except for the fact that he drove Draco crazy with sexual frustration, at least five times a day, but that was more due to him being a half-naked man in great shape and not so much him being who he was.

Perhaps with the exception that Draco got that uncomfortable wrenching sensation in his chest, every time his husband spoke to Shastin, or the strange yearning he suddenly had for the tingling sensation he got whenever the other man touched him. Even if it was completely by accident, most of the time.

"Me neither," Shastin agreed, and rubbed her chin like she was some kind of mastermind. "Leo told me – yes, I asked him and don't hate me for it – that Harry only says good things about you whenever anyone asks. He's not like this when you're alone, is he?"

"No," Draco sighed, and wished that they for once could talk about something else. "We just don't have sex."

"You must be so frustrated right now," Kat said, shaking her head in compassion.

"Don't get me started," Draco muttered, and Shastin started giggling madly.

"No, but seriously, I really don't get it. Because whenever we're here and he's home, it's so obvious how much he likes you, and he checks you out every time you turn around," she said, as soon as she had managed to calm down.

"I agree," Zefira agreed, much to Draco's surprise. "That's why I don't understand."

Draco found himself wondering if they were right, or if it was something they said just to keep him from breaking down. He probably should break down, considering that he had been without sex for months and his pretend-husband was not interested in sleeping with him. Most married people would likely break down, if their spouse rejected them for a couple of months.

"It sucks," Kat said suddenly, looking quite upset. "He has a really hot husband. He should be all over you."

"I think it's just the Quidditch." Draco was a little surprised to find himself leaping to the other man's defence. "He's been injured for so long and, now that he's finally back, he's so consumed by it that he doesn't have energy to do anything else."

"Or you," Shastin added, and giggled the same way she always did when she managed to work sex into the conversation.

"Or me," Draco repeated, and rolled his eyes. He got up from his chair and started gathering the dishes, in the hope of keeping his mind from wandering down the road of sexual frustration, by keeping his hands busy.

"I can understand that," Zefira said diplomatically. "He's a fantastic player, and Jordan is thrilled to have him on the team, but you're his husband."

"Speaking about Harry," Kat whispered, as the front door opened and closed loudly. "He's home."

"Hi, Harry," Shastin called, and grinned back at Draco, when he scowled at her. It was something in her eyes that made him worried. "We were just talking about you!"

Draco groaned inwardly and put the dishes back down on the table, whilst glaring at her, just as the other women did the same.

"Why am I not surprised?" the other man said, and Draco turned around quickly, supporting himself against the edge of the table. His breath got stuck in his throat, as his eyes raked over the muddy practice gear and the always so handsome, now-sweaty, face that held a smile that Draco had never seen before. It caused his heart to kick-start in his chest. And no glasses. It was like the other man's eyes bore into his, when there were no glasses in the way. Draco wondered, slightly absentmindedly, when muddy and sweaty had become so sexy to him. Perhaps when he had started going without sex for months.

"The showers were broken," his husband explained, and Draco had a feeling that he was not the only one staring, but he was not able to tear his gaze away to find out.

"I don't mind," Shastin said from behind him, sounding slightly out of breath. "They can be broken all the time, for all I care."

Draco thought he saw something change in the other man's eyes, as they met his once more. His mouth went dry, as his husband walked closer to him, with that smile still on his lips.

"Hey," the other man said quietly, as he stopped close to Draco. Too close.

"Hi," Draco breathed and had to steady himself with his hands on the table, so not to stagger, as he tried in vain to maintain some distance between them. Just as he had regained his balance, the other man leaned in against him, forcing him to lean back on his hands. Draco did not even care that his shirt was getting ruined, as one of the other man's strong hands grasped his neck, and the other his waist, as he crushed their lips together.

For a short second, Draco was in too much of a shock to even close his eyes, but then the other man's lips moved over his, and the hand gently tightened its hold of his neck. Draco was not sure if he let out a sound, but he could not care less about that, his husbands dirty clothes, or that there were three other people in the room. Instead he grasped a handful of black, tousled hair and another of muddy Quidditch gear, letting his eyes fall shut.

His heart pounded behind his ribs, as a warm tongue invaded his mouth, and Draco gave in completely. He did not even care that there was a risk of falling flat onto the table, if his husband decided to pull away. All that seemed to matter was the strong hands holding him close, the tingling of magic over his skin, and the lips that moved against his over and over, as if it could never be enough.

It had been so long since he had kissed anyone, and the other man's lips felt soft and eager against his. The sexually neglected part of his being awoke violently inside him, and the arousal came crashing through him. A sound escaped him, as he pulled his husband closer, savouring the feeling of another body so tightly against his own.

After what felt like three hours, but surely was closer to thirty seconds, Harry pulled away. Draco blinked at the other man, who met his gaze with one corner of his mouth quirking upwards, as he took a step back.

Draco managed to stand up straight with some difficulty, as Harry dragged the back of his hand over his mouth.

"I'm going to take a shower," the other man said casually, as if he had read the newspaper and not snogged Draco against a glass table two seconds ago.

"You ruined my shirt," Draco breathed, and looked down at the muddy stains on the light fabric.

"You don't mind," Harry grinned, and turned around to walk up the stairs.

Draco sat down on the edge of the table and watched him leave, his breath still shallow and uneven. That was their first kiss since the one at the beach, so many weeks ago. His husband was an even better kisser than Draco remembered, or he had, perhaps, been less frustrated at the time. _Fuck_, was he turned on right now.

"What. The. Actual _fuck_?" Shastin shrieked suddenly, making Draco jump. He had completely forgotten about his guests.

He sank down on the nearest chair and looked at them. They looked almost as shocked as he felt: wide-eyed and mouths half-open.

"Did that just happen?" he asked finally, and Shastin started to giggle hysterically.

"Yes," Kat nodded and blinked slowly, as though she was in some kind of shock.

"I think the problem with Harry is solved," Zefira said breathlessly then, and stared at the staircase.

"The drought is over!" Shastin called, and broke down another fit of giggles.

Draco was too turned on to even try to understand what was so funny, but he wished that her words had been true so badly. All he could think about now was Harry's marvellous lips against his own. And those hands. Merlin, what Draco would give to feel those hands all over his body right now.

"I think you should...go and make sure that he's showering." Kat scrambled up from her chair and pulled Shastin with her by the arm. Zefira hurried after them, as they walked swiftly towards the front door, leaving Draco behind, still trying to catch his breath.

He wished that he could ask them to stay, just so he could concentrate on something else other than Harry's body against his, but he knew he could not.

"Remember to close the curtains!" Shastin called loudly over her shoulder – perhaps even loud enough for Harry to hear, even though he was upstairs – before they banged the door closed behind them.

Draco glanced at the dirty dishes on the table and sighed. He was in no state to take care of that now, and Poppy would likely be thrilled to find that she had something to do in the morning. Slowly he made his way upstairs, hoping that Harry would still be in the shower, giving him the chance to shut out Shastin and her nosy magnifying charms from their bedroom. He felt desperate to hide beneath the covers and keep his obvious arousal from Harry's attention. A part of him was embarrassed over his own strong reaction to the other man's actions, still he could not bring himself to stop replaying the kiss in his mind over and over.

Fuck, he could still feel the tingling feeling of magic over his skin, when he closed his eyes, and he was so hard it almost hurt.

Harry was walking out of the bathroom, just as Draco entered the bedroom. The other man was clad only in underwear, ready for sleep. He smiled broadly, when he noticed Draco, and put the glasses down on the bedside table. Draco wished that Harry had put them on, creating a shield between him and _those_ eyes.

"That was good, right?" Harry asked him, and looked so ridiculously proud of himself that Draco felt something melt in his chest.

"That was great," he agreed, nodding. _More than great._

"Did they leave already?" Harry rubbed the towel through his hair fiercely, and Draco could not help but smile, despite his own desperation.

"Yes, they think we're going to have sex now." His smile grew, as Harry's eyes widened in surprise. At times like these, he really wondered how clueless the other man actually was, when it came to sex. Knowing nothing about gay sex was one thing, but not understanding that snogging against a glass table normally led to intense sex was another matter entirely.

"We'll just close the curtains, and they can think whatever they want," Draco suggested. He bit his lip hard to prevent another sound from escaping his mouth, as Harry made a lazy motion with his hand towards the window, causing the curtains to close immediately.

"Show off," Draco muttered, but he felt more like pushing the other man up against the wall and ripping off the little clothing he had on.

Harry just gave him that smile again and lowered the towel, clutching it in his hands, but he said nothing. Draco forced his gaze not to wander over the half-naked body in front of him, but he noticed a thin line of dirt just below the other man's chin. Without thinking, he closed the distance between them and erased it gently with his thumb. He noticed how Harry's breath hitched, as their bodies came in contact, and he backed away quickly, afraid that the other man would feel how hard he was.

"Dirt," he whispered, and watched the other man's Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed.

"Thanks." Harry's smile had vanished, but there was something else in his eyes now that Draco could not quite place. Perhaps it was the way he squinted in an attempt to focus his gaze without his glasses, or simply the fact that he was looking straight into Draco's eyes. His breath caught in his throat again, and he fought the urge to lean in for another kiss.

"I'm just gonna..." The other man trailed off, clearing his throat and motioning with the towel towards the bathroom.

Draco only managed to nod in response. He glanced towards the bed and started to undress quickly. For once, he did not care that he put his clothes in a disorganised heap on the nearest chair, and he managed to slide beneath the covers, just as Harry re-entered the room. Draco was thankful for the thick duvet, as his eyes trailed over his husband's toned body, before quickly tearing his gaze away and turning his back towards the other man.

Why had Shacklebolt not given him a much less handsome husband? Preferably one that did not have intense green eyes, a fantastic body, and a personality that drove Draco insane in every possible way, at least ten times a day.

He wished that they had left the curtains open, because lying in bed and staring straight into cream-coloured linen made him feel incredibly stupid. All he could focus on was the rapid heartbeat in his chest and that he was so embarrassingly hard that it would likely start to hurt.

The mattress moved as Harry got in. He could feel the other man's gaze bore into the back of his head, before the room suddenly grew dark. The tension was so strong in the room, that he was almost sure that he would be able to touch it with his fingertips, if he tried. He was certain that Harry had noticed how turned on he was and decided that it was better to stay on the other side of the bed. He felt like hexing himself for immediately wondering if he would be able to sleep without the other man's arms around him.

At this point, however, Draco wondered if he would ever learn that Harry Potter always seemed to do the exact opposite of what Draco thought he would. A few moments later, the sheets rustled and strong arms locked gently around him, together with that citrus scent. Draco could not help but sigh out loud, as he gave in to the warm sensation of the other man's body and the light breathing against his skin.

xXx

"So?" Shastin said, as she stood outside his door the next morning. Thankfully, Harry had left early for morning practice with the rest of the team and was not able to hear her loud voice.

"What?" Draco muttered, and stepped aside to let her in.

"How was it? Did the drought turn into a monsoon?" She walked directly into the living room, flopping down on one of the sofas, as though she was the one living there.

Draco wanted so bad to make up a story of the mind-blowing sex he wished that he had had last night, but he knew that Harry was not going to appreciate it.

"No," he sighed and Shastin's face fell. "But I think we're getting there," he added quickly, in the hope that she would let the subject drop.

"What?" she shouted, and Draco sank down on the other sofa with a groan.

_Of course she would not let it drop._

"He was really tired, so he was already asleep when I came upstairs," he lied quickly, but Shastin looked as if someone had murdered a bunch of House-Elves and left them on her front porch.

"_He was sleeping?_"

"He had just had practice!" Draco flung his hands out and felt like he needed to defend himself. And Harry.

"He was ready to fuck you on that table, if we hadn't been sitting at it!" Shastin pointed wildly at the dinner table, as if it was its fault.

"What do you suggest that I had done instead? Wake him up?" Draco was exasperated. It must have showed, because Shastin calmed down remarkably and shook her head.

"Actually, yes, that's what I would have done, but it's too late now anyway. I don't get why you don't give him a sex potion? I mean, it's obvious that he _wants_ to, it would just be nudging him in the right direction a little bit." She shrugged as if this was a completely normal thing to say.

"A_ what?"_ Draco stared at her, but she merely quirked an eyebrow at him.

"It just makes the need a little more...immediate. You know, harder to ignore," she explained and waved dismissively with one hand. "All right, fine, I take it as you're not going to agree to do that."

"Definitely not," he said, and could clearly picture Harry's reaction when he found out that he suddenly wanted to have sex with Draco so bad, just because Draco had spiked his drink with a small sex potion. Nothing serious really, just something that would make him forget all about his sexual preferences and go for anything on two legs that stood close enough.

No matter how desperate Draco was, he would rather have sex with a woman than make Harry sleep with him without really wanting to.

"Fine. I'll work this out some other way." Then, as if someone had pressed a button, she smiled widely at him. "You're still coming to the game, right? I have a feeling it's going to be great. Leo and I are hosting the celebration party afterwards."

"You don't even know if they're going to win," Draco muttered.

"If _we're _going to win, Draco. We're a team, even if we're not playing per se. I believe in positive thinking – if I plan a celebration party, we're definitely going to win."

"I'm sure that your positive thinking will solve everything," he said dryly, and ducked as she threw a pillow at him. "Careful! That's Egyptian cotton."

"_Are_ you coming?" she demanded.

"Yes," he sighed, and turned his eyes heavenward. "Yes, I'll be there."

And Draco was. A few days later, he was sitting with the rest of the wives in the audience, feeling silly in a pigeon-blue, silver and black scarf. He had not told Harry that he was coming. Mostly because he was not sure that the other man would appreciate him being there. Quidditch had been Harry's thing, and where he had a chance to spend some time without looking like he was in love with Draco all day long, just as it was the same way for Draco when Harry was away on games or practice. Except that he never really felt anything but lonely when the other man was away. He was a little afraid that Harry would think that he was intruding.

Draco forgot all about the potential intrusion, as the speaker bellowed out the names of the Moose Jaw Meteorites' players. They emerged like a thunder cloud, their robes in pitch black and ash grey, sparks shooting from the end of their brooms.

His gaze found the Seeker immediately, a man about the same height as Harry, by the looks of it, but he was much bulkier than the typical build of a Seeker. There was something ominous about him, and the aggressiveness in his flying, that made Draco uncomfortable.

The stands on the other side of the arena exploded, as the Meteorites flew around the pitch, but they did not wave. The audience around Draco was dead quiet, and he had a feeling that there was more than just another Quidditch match about to take place.

"We haven't won against the Meteorites in years," Zefira whispered, answering his unspoken question. "They play rough, and someone always seem to get injured when we meet them."

Draco swallowed, more affected by her words than he wanted to admit even to himself, and glanced up as the seven players passed above them. Something about the look on the Seeker's face made him suddenly wish that he had decided to stay home, because he had a feeling that the Beaters were not the only ones playing rough.

Then, the speaker shouted the names of the players of the Virginia Wolves, and Draco found himself suddenly standing up, with the rest of his company, clapping his hands as the seven players appeared: black, silver and pigeon-blue.

As soon as they were close enough for him to distinguish their faces, it was clear to him that the Meteorites were not the only ones who were ruthless. Harrigan's face was hard-set and his posture proud, as he barely rewarded their opponents with a look. Next, Draco found Harry and was a little taken aback by the grim expression on his face. The other man had not mentioned this as a particularly important game; still it was brutally clear to everyone in the arena that this could turn ugly quickly.

The captains shook hands, but it seemed to Draco as though they were staring each other down in front of a crowd that was afraid of breathing too loudly. Then they took off, rising into the air so fast they were a blurry mass of colour, for a few seconds, and he wondered silently how the referee would ever be able to keep up.

It turned brutal quickly between the teams, as a Bludger knocked one of the Meteorites' Chasers off of his broom, only seconds into the game, causing him to fall unceremoniously to the ground, in a dark heap of Quidditch robes. Peter did not look the least bit concerned for his opponent's well-being, as he knocked his club against Brendan's.

The referee had his hands full, trying to catch every foul move from the teams and, as soon as the knocked down Chaser was up in the air again, the game became even worse. Leo barely avoided getting a Bludger in the back of his head, after scoring the third goal for the Wolves in a row, and Harrigan ducked just in time as one of the Meteorites' Beaters aimed with their club to his head, when the referee turned the other way.

However, the worst of all was the fact that not even the Seekers were left alone. Draco barely noticed anything from the rest of the game, as his eyes were glued to Harry, who seemed to be the new target for the Bludgers every time one of the Meteorites' Beaters got the chance.

He did not have to ask why, as the Wolves scored again, earning a roar of appreciation from the audience. Their Chasers were too strong – too skilled for the Meteorites' Keeper to stand a chance – something that his team quickly noticed. Instead, the Meteorites concentrated on trying to obviate Harry, to make sure that the Wolves would not catch the Snitch.

Merlin, Draco wished desperately that he had not come, or that he at least could close his eyes, as Harry had to roll over in the air to avoid a Bludger in the last second, as the Meteorites' Seeker kept blocking his view. Draco's heart was beating wildly behind his ribs, adrenaline flooding in his veins as he watched, transfixed. That Harry was an amazing flyer was nothing new to him, remembering all too well how he had never been able to catch the Snitch during a game against Gryffindor back in school.

But Draco had never watched the other man fly like this. Fearless.

He looked agitated, as the Meteorites' Seeker reached to grab the handle of his broom, but stayed just barely out of reach, always scanning the arena for the Snitch. It was as if he had a sixth sense and like the whipping air, the Bludgers constantly so close, the booing from the Meteorites' audience whenever he came close to their stands, did not faze him in the least.

Suddenly, Harry threw himself forward over his broom, accelerating with such speed that Draco's eyes had a hard time keeping up with him. The Snitch was fluttering just feet above the ground, and Draco wanted to cover his eyes when Harry dove, barely ahead of the Meteorites' Seeker. The speed was frightening, and he gripped the steel railing hard, not able to tear his gaze away from the two diving Seekers.

It was as though the rest of the game had been put on hold, and there seemed to be a massive intake of breath in unison from the audience, as Harry stretched out for the Snitch.

"He's not going to make it," Draco breathed, speaking for the first time since the game had begun, and leaned over the railing to see better, even though he mostly wanted to look away.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," Shastin chanted, but she sounded just as terrified as the loud thumping in Draco's chest.

Just as Harry's hand seemed to close around the Snitch, the Meteorites' Seeker rammed into his broom, bringing him completely off balance. Harry spun out of control and crashed to the ground.

There was a sudden, complete silence in the arena, and Draco thought that his heart had surely stopped. It had only been a few feet fall, but it would be enough for Harry to hit the ground a tiny bit wrong, in a speed that extreme, to get severely injured.

And then, when Draco was certain that the other man was dead, Harry lifted his hand. The Snitch glittering securely in his grasp.

The silence exploded violently, and Draco found himself leaning heavily against the railing, letting out a breath that he had not even been aware of holding.

"This is why I never come to any of his games," he muttered, as Shastin hugged him tightly, but he did not sound half as irritated as he wanted to.

"Come on!" she said, and tugged his hand. The people around him began to move, pushing him towards the stairs. When he glanced up, he noticed the Meteorites' players circling the air like raptors, seemingly yelling at each other, though it was impossible to hear over the cheering crowd around him.

"Where are we going?" he asked, tearing his gaze away from the sky and followed her, mostly because he had no other choice with everyone around him moving in the same direction.

"We have to say congratulations, of course!"

Draco had no idea how they would be able to find Harry and the rest of the team in the ocean of people that suddenly filled the pitch, but Shastin seemed to know where she was going, and she held Draco's hand in a firm grip, giving him no other choice but to follow. Then, he saw the unruly black hair in the middle of the group of Wolves players, and his chest contracted almost painfully.

"LEO!" Shastin suddenly squealed and darted off, leaving Draco behind, as he walked quite hesitantly towards the group. He watched her fling her hands around her husband's neck, kissing him fiercely, and smiled a little at her unrestrained way of showing affection.

He had almost reached the group of Wolves' players, when Harry's gaze found his. The other man's eyes widened in surprise, and Draco had just started worrying about the reaction, when Harry's lips curved into a wide smile.

"Hey," he said, when Draco was close enough to hear. He was muddy from his visit in the dirt, Draco noticed, reminding him instantly of their kiss against the dining table the other night. His sweaty face looked as if it had been wiped clean with a sleeve in a hurry. And he was probably the sexiest thing Draco had ever seen.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked, surprised by how breathless he sounded, and wondered if he thought kissing Harry was a good idea because it would look believable, or because he was too turned on to think properly.

"Just a bit mauled," Harry grinned, and then he seemed to hesitate for a moment, before sticking his hand in his pocket and retrieved the small, golden ball. "Here," he said quietly, and Draco took a step closer without being fully aware of what he was doing.

"It's yours." He shook his head, but accepted the small item, as Harry offered it to him, despite his words.

"Perhaps you can safe keep it for me." Harry's hand closed around his, enclosing the Snitch in their combined grasp. He was still smiling, but his eyes were burning into Draco's. "Were you worried about me getting hurt?"

"Of course not," Draco snorted, and rolled his eyes, eager to break the sudden tension between them. He detached his hand from the other man's and put the Snitch securely in his pocket.

"Ha!" Shastin called from behind him. "He almost fainted from relief when you finally moved."

Harry seemed unable to suppress a grin, and Draco glared at him, wishing that he knew a spell that would prevent Shastin from talking to Harry ever again.

"Almost fainted?" Harry asked, and failed miserably at looking innocent.

"Shut up." Draco had not planned on it, but suddenly he was grabbing Harry by the front of his Quidditch gear, pulling him close. He brushed their lips together, not nearly as fiercely as he would like, reminding himself that they were in public and that people were watching. For a moment, Harry was stiff from surprise, but then he relaxed into the kiss with a sigh, when their lips brushed together once more.

"What was that for?" he breathed, when Draco finally managed to gather enough willpower to pull away.

"Victory kiss," he answered, and smiled at the other man, secretly enjoying the dazed look on his face. "Go shower. You ruined my clothes again, and we have a victory party to attend."

"Victory party? My favourite," Harry muttered, and Draco could not help but laugh, letting go of the other man slightly reluctantly. "All right, I'll see you in a bit."

xXx

HPOV

Harry took his time to shower, washing his hair twice to make sure that he got rid of all the mud. His whole body ached from the impact of hitting the ground at such a high speed, but even though his bones and muscles protested violently every time he moved, all that circled in his mind was Draco's mouth on his. He had been more than just a little surprised to see Draco walking up to him, wearing a scarf in the Wolves' signature colours. Seeing the other man there and realising that he must have been there during the game, watching, had caused him to completely forget about his aching body. And then they had kissed, so much like that time against the glass table a few days ago, yet completely different.

It had been something in the way Draco and the three women had looked at him, when he had arrived home that day, that had made him brave enough to walk up and kiss another person like that. Now, Draco had done almost the same thing, taking Harry completely by surprise, stealing his breath away so easily.

Harry was not entirely sure why, but during the past weeks, his mind had been stuck on the other man without exception. Perhaps it was from reading that bloody book Hermione had sent him; the contents of it still made him blush, every time he thought about it.

He turned the water off and wrapped himself in a towel, avoiding a collision with Jordan, on his way out to the locker room. The spirits were high, even higher than usual, because they had just beaten the crap out of the Meteorites, something the team had not been able to do for years.

"Harry, you fucking wonder child!" Leo bellowed, as soon as he spotted Harry approaching his locker. "You were incredible!"

Harry could not help but grin, secretly rather pleased with his own performance. Playing Quidditch like this, even with an enormous crowd watching, made him feel strangely at home. For the first time in ages, he felt more relaxed around people and less as though he was caught in a cage of constant attention. Thankfully, Harrigan was the one talking to the journalists, answering their questions about their victory. It felt rather strange, yet incredibly relieving, that they were not eager for Harry's opinion.

"Tonight, the celebration party is at my house, and no one leaves sober! Tomorrow's practice is officially cancelled." Leo shook the water out of his hair like a wet dog, and the rest of the team laughed at him.

"You too," Peter said, and pointed at Harry, probably referring to that time when he had decided to go home to Draco, instead of celebrating with them. "Draco's coming. You don't have an excuse."

"I'll be there," Harry promised, as he pulled a t-shirt over his head and caught himself with entertaining the thought of kissing Draco again. It was always much easier to be around the other man, when they both had had one drink too many. With a slightly clouded judgement, it seemed much easier to admit that his husband happened to be the most stunning man he had ever laid eyes on, and the urge to touch was so much harder to ignore. God, Harry had long since started to suspect that being married to Draco Malfoy had made him go slightly mad. A part of him knew all too well that the other man was an incredibly competent actor, pulling off his husband persona without much effort, it seemed. Yet, another part of him had started to turn into an indefinable puddle of warm fuzziness, every time the other man smiled at him. And Harry had absolutely no idea why.

"Something wrong?" Jordan suddenly appeared beside him with a worried frown.

"No, everything's fine." Harry smiled, zipping up his jeans.

"You look like your head is full of more thoughts than there is room for," the other man pressed on. "Is it something about Draco?"

Harry blinked, wondering if he really was that easy to read, or if everyone simply jumped to relationship issues automatically.

"Not that I know of." He paused, as the other man gave him a look that clearly said that he did not believe a word Harry said. "Why?"

"Zefira told me about your..." Jordan trailed off and cleared his throat, as he looked around to make sure no one else was listening. "About you two not having sex."

Harry felt his face grow red. More scarlet than red, probably. He wondered if this was how Draco felt every time he had to discuss their personal lives with other people.

"Er..." Was all he managed to say. Perhaps it would have been better if he had not been angry with Draco for making up stories about their sex life. It seemed to cause more fuzz, when they told people that they did not have sex at all, than made-up stories. _Because married people had sex, _he reminded himself, repeating the words both Hermione and Draco had told him.

"You're not sleeping with someone else, are you?" Jordan sounded stern, all of a sudden.

Harry flinched, feeling like he had just been punched in the face, and stared at the other man. A small part of him wanted to laugh, because who was he going to sleep with? But mostly, he felt angry, humiliated, as if anyone really thought that he would be unfaithful, even in a pretend marriage.

"I take that as a no," Jordan said, and let out a sigh of relief, as he buttoned his shirt.

"I wouldn't do something like that," Harry said quietly, and wondered if that was what everyone thought about him now; that he was having sex with someone else than his husband.

"Then what's the deal? It's obvious that you love each other, right? That you're attracted to each other. Anyone with at least one functioning eye can see that." Jordan shook his head and bent down to tie his shoes.

"I..." Harry started but trailed off – his mind drawing a blank. "I'm just so focused on Quidditch right now," he said finally, which was not exactly a lie. "I haven't been able to play for so long, and now it's all I do."

"Thing is," Jordan straightened up next to him and patted him on the shoulder, "it's possible that Draco will leave you, if you don't start giving him some attention. Everyone has needs. And if you get injured again, or when your career is over, I'm certain that you would regret losing something that you could have had for the rest of your life, for something that you know is only temporary from the beginning."

Draco leaving him? Even if that was not exactly possible, since they were not really married, the thought still made him cold inside. There must be something wrong with him, Harry thought. He had not had sex for years, and he did not exactly mind being without it either, but a happily married man would never feel like that. Draco was certainly not like that, considering what he had told Harry about his sex life. He could not help but scowl at the thought.

"Yeah," he nodded, concentrating hard on tying his shoes. "Of course. I...yeah I'll talk to him."

"Don't _talk_ to him," Jordan said, and looked at him as if he was insane, when Harry glanced up at him. "I have a feeling he's had enough of talking for a while. Just...do your thing."

Harry snorted at this and hoped that the other man did not notice how embarrassed he was. He wished that it would be so easy; that he would just have to find Draco and _do his thing_. Except for the fact that he had a hard time believing that Draco would appreciate it, and Harry did not really know how to _do his thing_. He barely knew what to do with women, and that book had not helped much. Draco had offered to answer his questions, but he had absolutely no idea what to ask.

"Come on," Jordan said, and drew him back from his thoughts. "I'm sure we have at least two people waiting for us outside those doors."

"Victory party, here we come," Harry said dryly, but was unable to stop the corners of his mouth from quirking upwards, as Jordan started laughing.

Outside, Draco was waiting for him, next to Shastin and Zefira. He looked his always immaculate self, except for the mud stains on his shirt, which proved that their previous kiss had not been a trick of Harry's imagination. Their eyes connected, as Harry walked up to them, and the other man smiled.

"Ready?" Harry asked, and set his heart in unbalance, as he carefully took the other man's cool hand in his. He deeply wished that actions like that came more naturally to him; that there was not the fraction of hesitation before he decided to reach out.

"I have to change first," Draco said, his thumb gently locking around Harry's. "For some reason, I have mud on my shirt."

"I'll make it up to you," Harry promised, and was confused for a moment when the other man quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Will you now?"

The traitorous blush crept onto his cheeks quickly, successfully heating his skin, as he realised the message behind his words. He tried to come up with something to say, but his mind was blank, except for the words Jordan had said to him earlier: "_just do your thing"._

"I just might," he said then, hoping that the words sounded more confident than they were. He was immediately satisfied when something flickered in Draco's eyes, before the usual facade fell back into place again, and the other man snorted in reply.

Shastin kept talking the whole way to her house: discussing their strategy, her new shoes, the fact that they had just beaten the Meteorites without anyone dying and a dress she was going to pick up from her tailor tomorrow. Harry only half-listened, as she dragged Draco into the discussion, his mind too caught up with trying to figure out what to do. It was clear to him that they had to come up with some sort of solution, considering the fact that the lack of sex in Draco's and his marriage seemed to have become an issue for everyone. A part of him deeply wished that he would have had more experience with sex because, if he had, he would probably have known what to do now. Perhaps they could make up another story, and Draco could tell Shastin, which evidentially meant that his team members and their wives would know within a day.

Strangely, this just felt wrong.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Harry asked outside the spacious blue house, as Shastin led the others inside. He hoped that Draco would say yes, giving them a chance to talk in private, but his husband shook his head swiftly.

"No, it will only take a minute. I'll be right back."

Harry was just about to protest, when a quick brush of lips against his caused him to forget everything he had planned on saying.

"All right," he said instead with a nod, and he watched Draco walk down the road for a minute, before Jordan's heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

"Where did he go?" the dark-skinned man asked, as they walked the short distance to the Hatch's front door.

"He was just going to change. His shirt was muddy." He was thankful that Jordan was beside him, as they entered the crowded blue house, and he suddenly realised that there were a lot of people he did not remember ever seeing before.

Peter provided him with a beer, as soon as he stepped inside the door, and there was a sudden stream of people shaking his hand, congratulating him on his excellent flying and thumping him on the back, as though they knew each other. He was grateful when Jordan helped him escape into the living room. The people in there were smiling and laughing with each other, with the exception of Agnes, who was sitting on a chair with a glass in her hand, and Harrigan's latest conquest whose name Harry had already managed to forget. He had a feeling that Agnes and Tim had had a fight, because her husband was engaged in a very lively conversation with Brendan, as far away from her as the room would allow.

"Where's Draco?" Shastin was suddenly standing next to him.

"He's just changing his clothes." Harry smiled, even though he always felt insecure around her. At least she was a familiar face. She always managed to make him uncomfortable, because he never knew what she was going to say next, and always put him in situations where he did not know whether he was supposed to laugh or go and hide.

"Couldn't keep your filthy hands off him?" she giggled, and Harry wished that someone would come and save him. "I mean literally, right?"

"Something like that," he mumbled, and avoided to meet her gaze. "So, what do you do for a living?" he asked then, both realising that he actually had no idea what she worked with and hoping to steer the conversation into something other than sex for a change.

"I spend my days taking care of my babies," she said, smiling brightly. Almost as brightly as the enchanted galaxy of stars on her dress.

Harry blinked and looked around in an attempt to spot a child somewhere in her house, wondering why Leo had never mentioned kids. "I didn't know you have children."

"She's talking about her shoes," came a dry voice from behind them, and Harry shivered as a cool hand grasped his arm. Draco, in a fresh shirt, came to stand so close to him, still holding his arm. "I told you I would be back in a minute."

"I was afraid that you were going to leave me here all alone," Harry said with a smile, but it was more truth in his words than he wanted to admit.

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but Shastin shushed him eagerly.

"You need your welcome drink first, so we can all toast. Wait here." And then she dashed off so quickly that Harry wondered why she was not the one playing Quidditch, with Leo disappearing after her into the kitchen.

Harry came to concentrate more on the way Draco's thumb caressed the inside of his bicep gently than Zefira, who appeared, talking about a restaurant Harry felt like he could not care less about in that moment.

Shastin came back, just as Harry had started to suspect that they did more than prepare welcome drinks in the kitchen, the stars on her dress almost blinding him. She forced glasses with sparkling liquid in their hands, as Leo walked around the room with a tray, serving the rest of their guests.

"I don't care that you rather drink beer, Harry," she said with a huge smile, and a glint in her eyes that caused Harry to wonder if he should be worried over something. "Trust me, you're going to like this one."

Harry exchanged a look with Draco, who rolled his eyes at him, clearly telling him to just shut up and go with it. He watched as Leo helped Shastin up on a chair, wondering slightly if it would not be easier if she took her shoes off, but instantly lost his trail of thoughts as Draco squeezed gently around his arm. Shastin clinked a spoon against her glass.

"A toast to our Victory," she started, and beamed brightly, as the people around the room started clapping. "And to Harry, for being such a great addition to our team." People clapped again, and Harry smiled the best he could. "And to Draco, for being a fantastic new friend. Cheers!"

"A fantastic new friend, huh?" Harry whispered, as he leaned closer to the other man.

"Just drink," Draco hissed, but his mouth was twitching.

And Harry did. He could not for the world understand how Shastin would claim that he would like the bitter taste of the drink and, judging by the look on Draco's face, it was not just Harry's that tasted foul.

Harry forced it all down, hoping that his face did not give him away too much, as the liquid burned down his throat. He noticed Shastin watching him from the other side of the room, as if she was making sure that he emptied his glass.

"That was..." he choked, but trailed off, as no words he came up with could describe the sickening taste.

"Yes," Draco agreed, and put down his empty glass quickly on the nearest table, as if holding it would cause the taste to stay longer in his mouth. "Disgusting."

Harry wondered if living in England provided you with a different set of taste buds, because no one else in the room seemed to dislike the cocktail, or perhaps they were just used to pretending to like whatever Shastin decided to give them.

As the evening wore on, Harry started to suspect that the ventilating system in the house had given up because his body temperature was rising quickly. Not to the extent that he started sweating, but more to the point where getting naked started to seem like a great idea.

His gaze caught Draco, who was standing on the other side of the room in deep conversation with Jordan. He looked incredible, Harry thought – the way his clothes always seemed to enhance the fantastic shape of his body. And the way his arse looked in those trousers made Harry's mouth go dry. He wondered why he had never noticed this before.

"What do you think about this, Harry?" Peter asked beside him, and Harry blinked back to reality. He looked at Tim and Peter, who stood on either side of him, discussing something he had completely forgotten all about.

"Er," he said, and felt stupid as his gaze kept finding its way back to Draco, to his brilliant smile and the fair skin at his throat. "That sounds good."

"You're not even listening." Tim shook his head in disbelief, as Peter started laughing.

"I'm just going to go outside for a bit. Catch some air." Harry felt the skin starting to tingle all over his body, when his husband looked up from his conversation with Kat, and their eyes connected. Harry tried to smile slightly, only to say that he was fine. Except that he was not fine.

Outside, he drew in a deep breath, as he leaned against the railing on the porch, enjoying the quiet contrast to the voices inside. Not even the cool air seemed to get his body temperature down. His vision started to get a little blurry, he noticed suddenly, and started to feel a little worried. Was he getting sick? Or was something else wrong with him?

Harry decided to sit down on the porch stairs and leaned sideways against the railing. His mind seemed to return to Draco, no matter how many times he decided to think of something else. The way he smiled, the way his skin felt against Harry's, when they curled up against each other in bed, right before going to sleep. The way his lips seemed to take the breath out of him, every time they met his.

Harry's heart began pounding behind his ribs and warmth pooled in the pit of his stomach. He wondered if the volume of his breathing was only so high in his own ears, or if anyone would notice. God, he wanted to go back inside again, if just to be able to watch Draco from the other side of the room again.

"Are you okay?" a soft voice said behind him.

The way his body started to tingle again made it pointless to turn around. It was not like he did not already know who it was.

"I don't know," he confessed, and took off his glasses to rub the blurriness from his eyes. He shivered and almost gasped, as Draco's hand gently stroked his shoulder.

"Did you have too much to drink?"

Harry looked up at him and was surprised to find that he only had to squint just a little to see the other man's face clearly. He wished that he could come up with a good excuse to kiss him right then and there, because the way those lips were parted just a fraction made his body itch.

"Harry?" Draco asked, as Harry seemed to have forgotten how to speak, because no words came out. Harry shook his head violently and rubbed his palms over his face. He wished that he could slap himself, just to get some sense into his clouded brain.

"No, I haven't had too much to drink. Just a beer," he said finally, as his husband sat down beside him. Harry had to clasp his hands together between his knees to prevent himself from reaching out to touch the other man.

"You don't look too well," Draco said quietly, and seemed as reluctant to make body contact as Harry was.

"I feel weird," Harry mumbled, and tried to focus on anything else than pushing the other man against the railing and kiss him senseless. His heart was still beating too hard, his body temperature still too high, and Draco still looked too irresistible. He started to wonder if all the talk about how frustrating it must be not to have sex had gotten to him for real, because suddenly he very much wanted it. "I feel really warm, and it's like my eyesight has gotten better all of a sudden."

Draco stiffened beside him noticeably, and Harry looked up. The other man was almost panting, like he had just finished a race, and his eyes were closed.

"Are _you_ okay?" he asked, and managed to finally think of something else than how fantastic the other man looked, because he seemed worried now.

Draco looked up at him, clearly trying to figure something out. Then, Harry could see how something clicked into place behind those silver-grey eyes, and the other man stood up quickly.

"Oh fuck, I can't believe her!" He was angry. Strangely, that made Harry's body even more willing to grind up against him. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

Harry stared after Draco, as he walked back into the house. He thought he could hear a sharp _"Shastin!"_ but he was not sure. Instead, Harry concentrated on calming his breathing as much as he could. Something was clearly wrong, and what Shastin had to do with it, he did not know, but it seemed like his husband did.

Sooner than he expected, Draco came back and walked past him. Harry scrambled to his feet and hurried after. He grabbed the other man by the arm and forced him into a halt.

"What's wrong?" He did his best to ignore the way his body seemed to be overwhelmed with want by the slight body contact. It did not matter how he tried to tell himself that this was not rational, because blood was already flooding south.

"Don't touch me," Draco panted, yanking his arm free. Harry stared and felt like he had just got a slap in the face. The other man's harsh expression softened somewhat, as he must have noticed the look on Harry's face. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just for your own sake."

"What are you talking about? What's wrong?" Harry frowned, and forced himself not to reach out and brush the hair out of the other man's eyes.

"It's..." Draco trailed off with a sigh, before his gaze found Harry's. "Shastin put a potion in our drinks. Come on, I'll tell you more, when we're out of earshot."

Harry managed to find enough brain capacity to _Accio_ his glasses, before he followed his husband down the road in silence. He was still overly warm, still almost panting, and still tingly all over, when they were this close to each other. Still getting hard.

"She asked me earlier this week why I haven't given you a potion to...increase your sexual need. She's way too invested in our sex life, by the way. I told her I would never do something like that, for obvious reasons. Apparently, she thought that it would be completely fine if _she_ put it in your drink instead. And mine." Draco talked very fast as they turned up the road, leading to their own house.

Harry blinked and could not help but feel more relieved than angry. At least he was not dying or suddenly realising that he had not had sex for years and wanted to make up for it. It was just a potion.

"Oh," he said finally, and could not help but wonder if this potion also caused a major lack of judgement.

"I was expecting something more like one of your characteristic outbursts of sudden rage or similar," Draco said dryly, and Harry blushed.

"I don't really have the concentration for that," he mumbled sheepishly, and shrugged as he tried to ignore his growing erection. "How do we...cure it?"

"I don't know," the other man answered, as they walked up the gravel path to their front porch. "Since it's made to make people have sex..." he trailed off, and Harry could even hear his own heart accelerate in his chest at this.

"So we'll have to have sex?" he asked quietly and, when his brain started screaming in panic, his body silenced it quite quickly, as his eyes raked over his husband's body. _Oh God. _

"No," Draco shook his head fiercely, and gave him a reassuring smile. "I'm sure it will go away with sleep. The effects must wear off over time, when the potion is out of the system."

Harry could not help but feel disappointed. He suspected that it was the potion talking and not his brain, but right now sleeping did not seem very tempting. What _was_ tempting, however, was the way his husband looked and moved. He could not for the world understand why he had not seen the other man like this before.

The atmosphere in their bedroom was intense, charged with a low-buzzing electricity that drove Harry insane, in a heartbeat. His fingers trembled slightly, as he pulled his jumper over his head, and stumbled backwards in surprise, when he looked up and noticed Draco standing much closer than he had counted on.

He felt the other man's gaze burn over his body and expected to feel exposed in his washed-out t-shirt, but the way his husband took in the sight of him, while breathing hard, was turning him on far more than he had ever imagined it to.

When those eyes finally found his, they seemed luminous in the darkness, and Harry took a deep breath, trying to come up with good reasons not to pull the other man against him. But there were none.

Draco gasped, as Harry pulled him close by the collar of his shirt, and a low groan escaped him, as their lips crashed together. He could feel the other man's erection against his through the fabric of their clothing, as he pressed himself closer, tightening his hold.

"Harry," Draco panted, and pushed away slightly, when Harry tried to kiss him again. "Harry, stop."

Harry froze and opened his eyes slowly. He was breathing hard, and his heart pounded behind his ribs. He felt confused, as Draco's gaze found his.

"Why?" he said finally, and felt the other man's uneven breaths and heartbeat against his face and chest. Clearly, he was not the only one with a need.

"It's the potion," Draco whispered, and closed his eyes, as if to gather strength. "We can't do this. Because you're not gay, and tomorrow you would regret it."

"No." Harry shook his head stubbornly. "No, I wouldn't. Would you?"

"Most likely, when I get threats for drugging the Chosen One into sleeping with me," Draco muttered bitterly, and Harry's heart sank like a stone. The hurt must have shown, because the other man smiled almost bitterly as he added: "No, I wouldn't."

"Then what's the problem?" Harry whispered, and let his fingers brush over the fair skin at the other man's throat. Draco shivered and closed his eyes. Harry could feel him swallow beneath his fingertips.

"The problem is," his husband said breathlessly, opening his eyes again. "That I'm gay, and you're not."

"I don't care," Harry mumbled, and caressed the outline of the other man's collarbones, as far as the shirt would allow him. They were still standing so close, and he could feel the beating of another heart against his ribcage.

"I care." Draco closed his eyes again and bit his lip. "I can't have sex with someone who doesn't find me attractive."

"Not true," Harry whispered and kissed him carefully, praying that the other man would not notice how his hands trembled from need and insecurity.

"You think I'm attractive?" Draco asked dryly against his lips, creating just enough space between them to make Harry feel abandoned.

"Yes." Another kiss. A slight brush of tongue.

"And you want to have sex with me?" Draco's hands slid over the planes of his chest, erupting shivers through his body.

_God yes_.

"Yes." Harry kissed him again and suppressed a frustrated groan, when Draco pulled back again.

"Promise that you won't regret this in the morning?" The other man's fingers dug into his skin, as if he was trying to pull closer and push away at the same time.

"I promise."

At this, Draco gave in with a groan and kissed him hard, knocking the breath out of him and forcing his eyes shut. And for a moment, all that was left was two unsteady, hasty heartbeats.

His hands tried to memorise every thread in Draco's shirt, and a gasp escaped him as hands nestled their way into his hair. Warm lips found his throat. Hot breath ragged over the newly-wet skin, as a path found its way along his shoulder. And – _oh God – _a noisy rush of air escaped him, when teeth dug into his skin. His fingers trembled so hard, that it was a challenge to undo the buttons of Draco's shirt. It turned impossible, when cool hands were sliding up his sides, leaving behind skin that seemed to be melting from the touch.

"Shirt off." The rough sound of Draco's voice forced him to open his eyes. The gaze that met his; lust-blown pupils and irises of liquid silver, made his mouth go dry. He hurried to oblige, pulling the shirt hastily over his head and threw it aside, just as lips crashed against his one more time.

The final buttons of Draco's shirt scattered over the floor, as he completely lost his patience with the piece garment. A fantastic groan escaped the lips trembling against his own. Determined hands raked forcefully over his chest, stomach, shoulders, arms, forcing him closer, pushing their erections together, pulling a low moan from both of them.

They somehow managed to get on the bed in one piece, Draco's body pressing down against his own. Eager lips found their way down his chest, forcing another moan over his lips, as they caught his nipples. First one, then the other.

He was so hard that it should have hurt, his cock straining against the fabric of his jeans, but Draco's mouth made it impossible to think about anything but the shudders that ran through his bones, every time those lips found an unexplored patch of skin.

A noisy whimper wavered in his throat, when Draco palmed him through the too-many layers of fabric, the tip of a wet tongue lightly dipping into his navel. _Oh God, yes, _was all he could think, when his jeans were zipped open and tugged down his thighs along with his underwear. Any insecurity he might have felt over being completely exposed, his cock hard and leaking, was swiftly washed away with the low, core-breaking sound Draco made.

He thought he heard mumbled words of spells he did not know and just managed to think that he had an idea where this was going, when wet heat enveloped him. The sensation of Draco's mouth on his cock came crashing in short, loud sounds, and he closed his eyes even tighter, so close to losing his self-control already that he did not dare to look. There was a tickling of light strands of hair over his stomach, when Draco took him into his mouth again and again, and he had to grasp the sheets beneath him not to push his hips off the bed. Sounds escaped him compulsively now, pushing through his mouth that refused to be shut, and his fingers dug into Draco's shoulder hard, for support.

Nothing had ever been anywhere close to this spine-shaking experience, and _fuck yes,_ there was that light tease of tongue that forced his back off the bed again, and again, and again.

"Draco I –" he managed, knowing from the way his toes curled that he was not going to be able to stand this treatment for another moment. The warmth of Draco's mouth let him slid out, and then there was just a steady hand stroking him now, slowing his raging heart, pushing him back from the edge he had been balancing on seconds ago. Then there was something slick stroked down the length of his cock. Lube, he thought.

"Look at me." The words were rushed, needy.

The sound of Draco's forced his eyes open, only to find silver-grey staring back into his. His gaze travelled down the body above him, a sheen layer of sweat covering the pale skin, and a low sound escaped him as he took in the sight of Draco's now-naked body. He had never seen another man like this before. Hard, pulsating, the head of his cock glistening, chest heaving in short, unsteady breaths. It felt as though his heart was going to explode for a moment, when his gaze took in the sight of faint scars, kiss-swollen lips, dishevelled hair and eyes that must have studied him every second of his observation. He reached up on his elbows to capture those lips again. His body trembling.

"Ready?" Draco sounded husky, making his cock twitch.

He nodded, unable to speak, as the other man straddled him, pushing him back against the mattress with one hand on his chest and the other steady around his cock. His breath caught in his throat, as Draco slowly lowered himself, and tight heat gripped him, mercilessly pulling him in, as Draco kept pushing down. He had had no idea what to expect, but – _fuck – _ this was not it. The strange, almost-unfamiliar sensation of being inside someone came crashing down over him, making him feel both vulnerable and empowered at once, in a confused tangle of emotions. Air seemed trapped in his lungs, and all he could do was stare at Draco, whose head had tipped back slightly, mouth slacking open, and then down lower to where their bodies connected, watching himself disappear slowly into Draco. Then, the air was pushed out of him in a loud rush, and he had to steady himself, fingers digging into pale thighs, holding on to reality, afraid of what might happen if he let go.

Draco did not move, chest rising and falling rapidly, one hand still on his chest.

"Are you okay?" Harry panted, a weak memory of that book, of pain associated with sex surfacing in his clouded brain, and swallowed thickly as silver eyes opened to look at him.

"Yes," Draco breathed, swallowing and nodding, the tone in his voice said that he was more than just okay. "_Fuck yes._"

Then Draco moved, rolling his hips slowly, dragging a low moan from both of them. Harry tightened his hold of the other man, afraid that he might lose it, if he did not hold on to something. Every move seemed to break him down bit by bit, pulling sounds from inside him harshly. He knew that they were loud. _Too loud_.

"Oh God, yes," he whimpered, when Draco pushed down hard, moaning.

The hands were everywhere. Over his own, on his chest, in his hair. And the sounds that left those lips – _fuck,_ _the sounds –_ made him grasp Draco's cock and force his hips of off the mattress, to push back in every move. Earning fantastic sounds for every stroke, every thrust. His heart was beating wildly, and he was close. O_h God, so close_. Suddenly, Draco's back arched amazingly, his head thrown back and a loud moan tumbled over his lips, as he came over Harry's hand and stomach.

"_Draco_," he managed, breath caught in his throat again. He closed his eyes tightly, giving in to the shudder that ripped through his bones like uncontrolled electricity, pushing him over the edge.

He felt Draco collapse over him, but was unwilling to open his eyes, afraid that the world would be exchanged for the fireworks that still exploded behind his eyelids. Instead he concentrated on the aftermath of shudders that ran through his body, the sound of their heavy breathing slowly calming, and the scent of the other man. For a second, he wondered if he was supposed to say anything, but instantly abandoned the thought. He was not so sure that he would be able to put together a coherent sentence, and it felt like he would break the spell between them, if he decided to try.

The drowsiness had sneaked up on him without a warning, just as his heartbeat had started to feel normal again, and he barely managed to concentrate hard enough to clean them up. The soft tingle of magic rushed over his skin and, just as he was drifting off, a small smile spread over his lips when Draco mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "_show off"._

_Dreaming 'bout the day when you wake up and find  
>That what you're looking for has been here the whole time<br>If you could see that I'm the one who understands you  
>Been here all along so why can't you see?<br>You belong with me_

_You belong with me – Taylor Swift_

**Chapter end notes: **Okay, that was that! I hope you survived. Next chapter is more focused on the "accidents", and you get to know Aiden and his mother some more. Yaaay!_  
><em>


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Thank you so much for the response on the last chapter. I really appreciate all the reviews you left me :) A special thanks to those of you who reviewed anonymously, because I can't reply to your reviews.

This chapter took a while for me to write, since I have no more pre-written chapters left. It's also slightly more difficult to write, because of the change in their relationship. I think it turned out okay, though.

Disclaimer: the lines Draco are reading for Aiden from Babbitty Rabbitty and Her Cackling Stump is not my own, but from The tales of Beedle the Bard. They are not mine and will never be mine and I make no money out of this blablabla, you know the drill.

Also, this chapter is dedicated to Hepzheba, because she's one amazing person.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 7<strong>

**DPOV**

There was a soft, golden light, flooding through the window, when Draco opened his eyes. Outside the window, the sky was set in orange and yellow – a bright sun rising at the horizon. He smiled drowsily to himself, as the warmth of another body pressed protectively against his back.

He stretched slowly, careful not to wake Harry, and winced as his muscles protested violently against the movement. For a moment, he could not understand why every part of his body suddenly felt sore, but then yesterday came seeping back into his memory.

The Quidditch match, the kiss at the pitch, the celebration party, the sex potion. _The sex._

Suddenly, Draco was wide awake. He felt cold, despite the fact that his warm husband was laying so close to him, and his heart was beating painfully behind his ribs. _Merlin_, the sex. He could remember every detail so clearly. The way Harry had felt inside him, the sensation of the tousled hair in his hands, the warm lips against his own. Every thrust. Every moan. Every whimper. Still, it felt as if he was recalling a memory from a long time ago, even though his sore body told him otherwise.

Draco was not sure if the sex had been so ridiculously good because he had been without it for so long, or because Harry was simply brilliant at everything he put his mind to. Or, he thought, as a third option came to mind, it could have been because of the potion.

He swallowed thickly. He should have known better. A part of him wondered how Harry was going to react, when he woke up and realised that he had had sex with a man, because their neighbour decided to put a sex potion in their drinks. Another part of him did not want to be there, when the other man awoke at all, knowing all too well how incapable his husband was at controlling his anger.

It would only be natural that he would blame Draco. Fuck, even Draco was blaming Draco. He should not have given in, no matter how convincing Harry had been. Or how eager he had seemed at the time. If Draco did not know himself better, he would perhaps have suspected that the other man's actions had been a trick of his own sexually frustrated brain, but Harry convincing him to have sex was too far a stretch, even for Draco's mind.

He froze involuntarily and closed his eyes tightly, when Harry started moving behind him, pressing closer for a moment, before mumbling something inaudible and moving away. Draco tried to even his breaths, still not completely certain of why he was pretending to be asleep, and listened to the other man getting out of bed with a groan, as if his body was sore, as well.

He heard the door to the bathroom shut and, seconds later, the shower was running. It would surely be a better idea to stay in bed, wait for the other man to come back from the shower and talk about last night. Still, if Harry would shout at him, the last thing Draco wanted was to be lying in there naked. Hastily, he got up from the bed and groaned inwardly, as he noticed the mess of last night's clothes in disorganized heaps scattered over the room. He almost stepped on a few of the buttons from his shirt, as he hurried to the wardrobe.

Draco suspected that he had never gotten dressed this quickly in his life, and within few minutes, he was walking down the stairs with the shower still running in the bathroom.

Downstairs would be safer, he thought, and winced as his muscles protested with every step. It was neutral ground and not the room where he had gotten shagged senseless, only hours ago. Hopefully, this would minimize the risk of a fight and increase his chances of keeping all of his body parts intact. However, Draco had absolutely no idea what to make of the possibility that his husband was not angry at all, but perhaps had enjoyed last night as much as Draco had.

He dropped down on one of the kitchen chairs, with a lot less grace than usual, and rested his chin in his hands, staring blindly out the window. It was not likely that Harry wanted more than last night, Draco realised, as he once again came back to the fact that his husband was straight. Perhaps that was why he showered longer than he normally did this morning: the idea of having sex with another man, Draco in particular, made him feel disgusted with himself. Except for the fact that Draco did not recall seeing even the least bit of disgust, when he had asked the other man to look at him, the night before. He shuddered, as he recalled the burn of Harry's gaze over his body, remembering the way those eyes had taken in every part of him.

He was brutally brought out of his thoughts, when he heard familiar footsteps on the staircase and, only moments later, Harry entered the kitchen. The tousled hair was damp from the shower, and there was a slight confusion on his face, before their gazes connected.

Draco's mind was suddenly painfully blank, something he had not experienced many times in his life. Harry only stood there, watching him for what felt like an eternity. It was impossible to tell what the other man was thinking or feeling, when he was stood awkwardly in the doorway with his hands in his pockets.

"Good morning," Draco finally managed, and kept his voice as even as possible, still waiting for the other man to explode.

"Morning," Harry said quietly, and squared his shoulders, a detached expression on his face suddenly. He walked further into the kitchen, in a way that caused Draco to think that he would rather have left, and started opening and closing the cabinets loudly.

He _was_ blaming Draco. Fuck.

"Do you want breakfast?" the other man asked, his hands already preparing the frying pan.

"Yes, please." Draco sat there, watching him, like he had done most of the previous weekends, with his head in his hands. Even though he never would have confessed this even to himself, it used to be his favourite moment of the day.

Today it was not.

The tense silence was something Draco could handle, but the way the other man's movements seemed off from his usual expertise was the worst part. It felt as though he had destroyed something sacred, except that he had no idea what it was.

A sound from the living room caused his head to snap up and his heart to kick-start in his chest. He watched Harry go rigid where he stood, food instantly forgotten in the frying pan.

For a long moment, everything was dead quiet, and then there was a low cough.

"Fire-call," Draco said, more to calm himself down than anything, but he got up from his chair quickly. Who decided that it was appropriate to call this early?

Harry relaxed visibly and followed him into the living room, where green flames crackled in the fireplace, surrounding the face of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Kingsley," Harry greeted and sank down at the edge of one of the sofas, pulling a hand through his hair.

"Minister." Draco nodded, but remained standing. He felt inferior enough without sitting down.

"Good morning." Shacklebolt smiled warmly towards them. "I apologise for calling you this early, but I came back from a lunch meeting a moment ago. I hope I didn't wake you."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "We were already awake."

"Good, good." Shacklebolt seemed to hesitate for a short moment, before speaking up again. "I was only wondering how you are doing? Have you settled in?"

Draco knew that this was Ministry language for making sure that they had not killed each other yet and how everything was proceeding with their mission. Mind-blowing sex did not likely count as progress in that area, but Draco's mind seemed unable to concentrate on anything else.

"Yes," Harry answered and cleared his throat. "Well, I..." But he trailed off, as though he had no idea what to say.

"Harry had a game yesterday, and we were invited to a party to celebrate their victory," Draco instantly cut in, and something inside tripped over itself when Harry gave him a small smile in gratitude. "Later today I'm visiting a neighbour to discuss what I can do with their home. I hope this will give me an opportunity to find something there."

Shacklebolt's smile widened, as though he had not been expecting such good news. "Excellent! Congratulations to your victory, Harry."

"Thanks."

Draco watched his husband rub his hands over his face, as if to hide his embarrassment, and smiled to himself. The truth was, however, that Draco had had no plans on visiting Kat and Peter about the re-decoration of their home, because he had been too caught up in his own frustration. And too caught up in his husband, if he had to be completely honest with himself. It bothered him because never before had anything interfered with his work to such an extent that he had neglected an opportunity to find something that could give him new, previously unknown, leads.

"Contact me when you need resources for your work, Draco, and I will make sure that you have everything you need. Do enjoy your breakfast and keep doing a good job. Until next time." Shacklebolt nodded his adieu, still smiling.

"Bye." Harry made a small wave, as the Minister spun out of sight in the flames, before the fireplace was left grey and empty once more. He turned towards Draco then, but his gaze was locked on the floorboards. "So...you're going to Peter and Kat's?"

"Yes." Draco nodded and suddenly wished that he had a Time-Turner that could take him back and prevent everything that had happened last night. Even the sexual frustration and cold showers were better than the awkward tension that now fell down between them like a wall. "She asked me to help her a while back, but I was waiting for the right time."

Harry nodded, still staring at something apparently very interesting on the floor. "Okay. So you'll be gone most of the day, then?"

"Probably." Draco shrugged and found himself trying to find reasons to leave, something he had not felt around the other man for a long time. "I'll leave after breakfast."

"Right. Breakfast." Harry rose and walked swiftly back to the kitchen. Draco could hear the slamming of the frying pan in the sink and the scraping sound when Harry pulled out a chair, as though it was impossible to lift it off the floor. It was a wonder that there were no scrape-marks on the floorboards yet.

Sighing inwardly, wishing that Harry could simply snap at him so that they could fight it all out, Draco headed towards the kitchen.

xXx

Kat and Peter's house reminded Draco strongly of a cottage, but in a much bigger format. A rampant garden surrounded the building, with grass that was a few inches too long and briers that should have been pruned months ago. The house itself had thatched roof, and ivy covered most of the walls, in the shadow of enormous oak trees.

Despite the fact that the house was the complete opposite of Malfoy Manor in every possible way, Draco had liked it instantly, the first time he had laid his eyes on its exterior. Kat had told him that her case was much the same, and that she had refused to renovate it to look similar to the more modern houses in the neighbourhood. However, the inside was a strange mix of tastes, styles and colours, which gave Draco a headache every time he visited.

Even though it was still a bit too early for his visit to be socially acceptable, Kat had gladly welcomed him, when he had fire-called her. A few minutes later, Peter had come by to ask Harry to accompany him for a flight. The relief on his husband's face, as he was given a reason to leave their home, would have been hilarious to Draco, if he had not been the reason Harry wanted to escape.

He creaked the white, wooden gate open and made sure not to step on anything living, as he made his way to the front door. A lone gnome made a displeased sound and hurried in the other direction, when Draco aimed to kick it out of his way, knowing all too well that the creature likely would bite him if he tried to touch it with his hands. Just as he reached out to knock on the green door, it flew open and Kat gave him her usual, dazzling smile.

"Draco!" she greeted and stretched up on the tip of her toes to kiss his cheeks. "I'm so glad you're here!"

Draco was not so happy that he was there, he established, as he looked around the sullen hallway and the lopsided staircase, which looked as though it had suffered the claws of too many angry cats over the years.

"I'm sorry for giving you such a short notice," he said with a smile, as he followed her into the house. "I thought that I could bring my books and portfolios for you, and perhaps we could start discussing your re-decoration."

"Are you sure?" she asked, but she had already freed his hands of the items. She led him into the kitchen, which was a radical contrast to the one in his and Harry's home, but it started to occur to Draco that most kitchens in the area were.

"Absolutely. I need something to do while Harry is away playing Quidditch." Truth be told, he was in more need of something to distract him from thinking about last night constantly, and the fact that Harry was angry with him.

"I know that feeling." Kat nodded knowingly, and laughed as she organised her hair in its usual place over one shoulder. For a second, Draco wondered what she did to make it shine like that. "So, I heard what Shastin did yesterday."

Draco sat down on the nearest chair at the table and rolled his eyes, as he nodded. He should have foreseen that the whole neighbourhood would know about the potion by now.

"It was really disrespectful of her," Kat said, and the tone of her voice was suddenly stern. "I'm sure she thought that she was doing you both a favour, but that could really have caused a lot of trouble."

"Harry thinks it's my fault, because I told her to begin with," Draco muttered, before he could stop himself. "It's not the sex he's upset about, of course, but I doubt that he appreciated being drugged." At least this would give the people around them an explanation, if the tension between them would be too obvious.

"So you had sex then?" she asked, and at times like these, he could not help but wonder if she did not spend too much time with Shastin.

"Of course we had sex. How would it be possible not do, after drinking that? I wasn't even that extreme, when I was a teenager," he snorted. It was not a lie – the need he had felt yesterday was nowhere near anything he had ever experienced before. After the first time Harry had kissed him in their bedroom, it had been almost physically painful to pull away.

"Was it as good as you remembered?" Kat laughed, and there was a steaming cup of tea pressed into his hand. She had one with coffee in her own.

"It was better," Draco confessed, and turned the cup around, pretending to scrutinize the small, pink flowers around the edge. "It's always better."

"I take it Harry did well then."

"Harry always does well, when it comes to any physical activity," he snorted, because this was something he had discovered over the years. Where Harry might not be the kind to think first and act second, he always seemed to do well when he relied on his instincts alone. They were opposites in so many ways.

Kat's laugh pulled him out of his thoughts, and he smiled wryly, knowing that she had certainly detected the ounce of bitterness in his voice.

"So, I know there will be a lot to do with the place, but I just can't live in this mess anymore," she said then, and changed the subject from private to professional, in an instant. "Since I work mostly from home, and this is the kitchen I use when I come up with new recipes for my books, I feel like this is where we need to start, you know?"

Draco nodded and looked around the room once more. The wallpaper was old, with a print of enormous goblins and dragons, and was flaking off in places. The colours were dull and gloomy, and the wooden counters were stained from years of usage. It did not seem like the kitchen where a famous author of cookbooks invented her new, incredible recipes.

"I think we should keep the old feeling," he said then, and looked out over the garden through the window on the wall opposite of him. "The worst thing we can do is to put a modern kitchen in here. It will kill the charm in an instant."

"That's exactly how I feel!" Kat agreed, nodding fiercely. "When I've asked other decorators, they have always wanted to remake the whole house into the latest of everything, and that's not the reason I decided to move here, but I can't live like this anymore. Magazines keep asking to come here and write a story. You know: 'In the kitchen of Kat Czarniawska', but I can't bring anyone here when it looks like this."

"Don't worry," Draco smiled, yet again reminding himself that his friends were famous people. Kat, for one, was even known for something else than being the wife of a Quidditch player. "I think that we should keep it in light colours; white, beige and blue, or green. Glass doors on the cabinets, wallpaper with a print that isn't too outrageous and change the door to the backyard to one made of glass, just to bring the elements from the garden inside."

For a moment, Draco was even a little surprised by how knowing and professional he sounded. He had always had an interest for beautiful things, such as art and unique furniture, but he had never considered that it was a trait he could use to do things for others as well.

"That's…" Kat started but trailed off, as she looked around the room, as though she was picturing the change Draco had described for her. "Yes, that's exactly how I want it."

He rose and collected the stack of books he had brought along with him, from the kitchen counter, and put them down on the table in front of her. "You should look through these for samples of colours that you like, and write them down. I will bring a proposal for the changes for you to look at, later this week."

"Perfect!" She gave him one of her bright smiles again, as though she truly thought that he was brilliant. Then she nodded towards a glossy issue of Quidditch World Magazine. "You should read that in the meantime."

It was something in her voice that made him pick up the magazine, despite the fact that it seemed to be more of a _Witch Weekly_ with brooms on the cover, than actual articles about Quidditch. The first few pages were about the development of new brooms and then, a good ten about the different teams in the league. He was just about to skip past them, as his eyes caught the sight of his own light hair. He blinked and stared down at the headline: "_A VICTORY KISS FOR THE WOLVES WONDER-SEEKER"_ and below the flashing words was a picture of the kiss they had shared after the match yesterday. Picture-Draco was grabbing picture-Harry by his Quidditch gear and pulling him close for a kiss. Picture-Harry blinked in surprise for a moment, before responding what seemed to be quite eagerly, in Draco's eyes. It was not the kiss itself that suddenly made it difficult to swallow, but the moment right after, when picture-Harry and picture-Draco smiled at each other as though the people around them ceased to exist, for a moment. No matter how cliché it all sounded in Draco's head, as he put words on what he saw, it was the only description he could find.

"Do you want to keep it?" Kat asked suddenly, causing him to look up quickly, as he had forgotten completely about her being in the same room.

"Can I?" he heard himself ask, before he was able to stop himself. On the other hand, there really was no reason for him not wanting to keep it, since Harry and he in fact were married, and she would likely question why he would not want to keep a photo like this.

"Absolutely! I was actually going to give it to you, in case you didn't have it already. It's an amazing picture, really."

"Yes. Yes, it is." He watched the kiss a few more times, just to enjoy the smiles afterwards, before carefully tearing out the page from the magazine and sliding it into his pocket.

xXx

HPOV

Harry looked back over his shoulder and watched Draco leave their house, walking in the opposite direction to visit Kat. He had not said anything about last night, but Harry had had no trouble understanding the message when he found the bed empty after his shower. It was strange, he thought, falling half a step behind Peter, as they walked down the cobblestone road towards Zefira's coffee shop. Before yesterday, sleeping with a man had still seemed foreign to his mind. Last night, however, it had felt like the most natural thing in the world. Mind-blowing would be an understatement to his experience of what had went down in the bedroom, but he suspected that Draco was of a different opinion.

He was not even sure why he was surprised by this, considering his own lack of experience. Still, it had never occurred to him, during what they had done the night before, that it had not been good for the other man. If he had to be completely honest with himself, Harry had gotten quite the opposite impression, but perhaps that was also an effect of his inexperience.

He felt embarrassed from thinking about the awkward tension between them this morning and, when Kingsley had asked them how they were doing with their mission, it had been even worse. Harry knew he had done absolutely nothing to get closer to finding the key to the "accidents" and Burke's death, because he had found that this lie they were living – pretend marriage, pretend professions and pretend _feelings_ – was better than the real life he would have to go back to.

"So, I heard why you two left early last night," Peter said suddenly, pulling Harry from his thoughts abruptly, as they crossed the road, heading towards the bright sign that belonged to Zefira's shop.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled and shrugged, as if this was not at all what he was thinking about constantly.

"Shastin really crossed a line there, you know." The other man shook his head and wrinkled his nose in disapproval. "I don't know what she was thinking, honestly. Leo was furious with her last night, when you two had already left, and they rarely fight, so that's saying something."

Harry was not sure how to respond, as they pushed the door to the shop open, instantly breathing in the strong scents of different coffee roasts. It was a shame that coffee tasted about as good as the drink Shastin had given him yesterday, because the smell was something out of the ordinary. "I think she meant to help us," he said finally and wondered if she had been in much trouble because of what she had done. It was only right, of course, but Harry could not bring himself to wish that she would not have given them the potion.

"Sure she did," Peter muttered. "She just has to learn that she doesn't have the right to interfere with everyone else's lives. Your sex life is none of her business, really."

"Lately it seems to be everyone's business," Harry snorted, thinking about Jordan's speech after the game yesterday.

"Point," Peter laughed and walked towards the cash register where Zefira just pushed two brown bags, most likely filled with coffee beans, towards a woman on the other side of the counter.

"Congratulations to the victory," the woman said, as she walked past them towards the door, smiling brightly.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled and was grateful for Peter's more hearty reply. At times like these, he wondered if he would ever feel comfortable with getting attention.

"Going flying?" Zefira asked, as soon as the door had swung shut behind the woman again. She was her usual, slender self, with defiant hair and warm smile.

"Yeah, Draco's going to look over the house with Kat, so I thought I'd take Harry flying for a while."

Harry wanted to add that flying would be a brilliant way to take his mind off of sex with Draco, but he settled for smiling.

"Jordan is still sleeping," Zefira said, and laughed a little. "I didn't have the heart to wake him. We came home around four, and we will probably be up all night tonight again."

"Right," Peter nodded, as though he remembered something. "Drew's arriving today?"

Harry wondered if he was supposed to know who Drew was, and he tried to remember anyone with that name but failed.

"Yes, finally. He hasn't visited for almost six months." Then she turned to Harry with a hopeful smile: "Perhaps you and Draco would like to come over for dinner on Friday, Harry? My brother is dying to meet you."

Something in Harry's memory clicked into place, and he remembered her mentioning having brothers, when they had eaten dinner at that Chinese restaurant. Something uncomfortable grew in his stomach, as he recalled her saying something about one of them being gay. Hopefully, Drew was the other, happily married one.

"I don't think we have any plans for Friday, so dinner would be great," he said and nodded. "I'll just ask Draco first, to make sure."

"Absolutely, Drew is really excited to meet you two." She beamed, as though he had told her she had won a million galleons. "Have a nice day flying!"

It felt like a relief to leave her behind, as they walked through the small door behind the counter. The stone in his stomach had not disappeared, and it suddenly seemed much more appealing to hurry home and sort things out with Draco.

"So Drew, he's one of her brothers, right?" he asked Peter, as they changed into their practice gear in the locker room. He hoped that his voice did not tell how uneasy he felt about a man he had never met.

"Yes, the youngest one. She loves him to death, and he's a nice guy and all, but I think his work has gotten him a bit self-absorbed." Peter shrugged and pulled a shirt over his head.

So it was the gay brother then, Harry thought, with the stone in his stomach growing heavier. "Why? She told me he was a great guy, but just fell in love easily."

Peter laughed a little, as though he had heard this before. "Yes, well, Jordan is of a different opinion when Zefira is not around. I've only met Drew a couple of times, and he's really nice, talkative, knows how to handle himself and ridiculously good-looking. Apparently, he's some sort of supermodel and makes more money in an hour than I do in a week. He's a socialite, and I think he simply goes out with guys who look good beside him on paparazzi photos, you know? I don't think that's a good way to find the love of your life."

"So he's an arse?" Harry felt a little nauseous. It was as if someone had written a list over Drew's traits, and he now mentally compared it to a list of Draco's, realising that they were practically identical.

"No," Peter shook his head and sounded genuine. "He's really nice and very educated, much like most purebloods. But he's so ridiculously aware of how good-looking he is, how smart and culturally-versed he is, that it becomes a huge disadvantage for him. He finds all the wrong people in his life."

"I see," Harry mumbled and felt like hitting the nearest wall until his fist was bleeding.

"I think that's why he's so excited to meet you and Draco, because you're happily married, you know?"

In that moment, Harry found himself wishing deeply that Peter's words were true - that he and Draco really were happily married, because if they were, he would not have had that cold stone in his stomach. Drew sounded like an experienced guy, considering the fact that it seemed as though he had new boyfriends regularly, and would probably not be such a letdown when it came to sex.

Only to make things even worse, Harry realised that he was terrified, even though he kept telling himself that he did not care.

"You'll see what I mean when you meet the guy," Peter added, as though he took Harry's silence for confusion over Drew's behaviour. "Let's focus on why we're here."

The other man's last sentence caused Harry to look up quickly, and he tried to remind himself that it did not matter to him whether Draco would prefer being with Zefira's brother, when all of this was over, but that he was here because Kingsley trusted him with Ministry undercover work. He glanced towards the locker farthest to the left. It was Burke's and he realised that he had never gotten the idea to go through what was in there properly.

"Yeah," he mumbled, remembering that he had been quiet for too long. "I need to practice my diving a little."

Practicing with Peter was a little different from what he was used to with Harrigan and Jordan. A lot more dangerous, too. The other man was of the opinion that Harry would not dive the same way in practice as he would have done in a real match, unless he did not have a choice, so Peter started sending Bludgers his way with frightening precision. For almost two hours, he refused to let Harry catch his breath and forced him to dive, veer and duck until his already sore muscles could not take any more. His body was trembling from exhaustion as Peter finally lowered his club and motioned for him to land.

"Well done," he said, as Harry carefully got off his broom to stand on his tired legs.

"I thought you were going to kill me there, for a while." Leaning forward, hands on his knees, Harry tried to catch his breath.

Peter laughed and shook his head. "I knew you could handle it. Avoiding Bludgers seems to be one of your specialities, and I needed a real target for practice."

"And that should make me feel better?" Harry muttered and straightened, gingerly flexing his muscles. They felt weak, drained from their usual strength. God, he was going to be crippled for a week.

"You're going to thank me, when we play against the Meteorites again, in a couple of months." Peter sounded serious all of a sudden, and when Harry looked at him, his face was grim. "They'll come back with a vengeance, so to speak," the other man clarified.

"That sounds worrying." Harry picked up his Tinderblast and rested it over his shoulder, as they slowly made their way back to the locker room.

"Let's just say that Kat hopes I have the flu by that time, so I won't be able to play."

Harry wondered if there was a reason as to why the matches between the Meteorites and the Wolves seemed to be more than just a regular game. His team mates had been ruthless during their match the day before, even more so than usual, and the Meteorites had made it clear that bending the rules was not an issue for them. Hell, it had been a miracle that they had made it out with all bones intact.

"In that case, I'll probably be thankful if you have managed to kill me with a Bludger, before they do," Harry muttered, as he sank down onto one of the benches, resting his head against the wall behind him. His eyes fell on Burke's locker again. Draco was doing his part of the job, so maybe it was time for Harry to start doing his. "Are you showering at home?"

"Yeah, Kat will kill me if I'm late for lunch," Peter shook his head with a small grin, as he locked his broom into his locker. "You?"

"No, I think it's better if I get rid of all this sweat, before I set my foot in public." Harry shook his head and toed off his boots. He dreaded the moment when he was about to stand up again, wondering if his muscles would give in and leave him in an immobile heap on the floor.

"All right," the other man laughed and nodded, already halfway through the door. "See you at practice tomorrow, then."

"If I'm able to move," Harry snorted, and waved weakly as the other man raised his hand in a goodbye, before letting the door swing shut. He waited for a few minutes, just in case Peter realised that he had forgotten something and came back, but the door remained closed. With a groan, he managed to get to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall as he stood up. His steps were awkward and a little stiff, as he made his way over to his own locker to retrieve his wand, and then took the few steps towards Burke's.

He tapped the lock gently, hoping to find that it only needed a little magic to open, but nothing happened. First, he tried the Alohomora, because it usually worked just fine, but as he tried the door again, it still refused to open. He swore to himself, for thinking it was going to be an easy task to go through a dead man's locker, and proceeded to try every opening spell he could think of.

Half an hour later, he even tried blasting the door open out of pure frustration, but the it remained locked and without even a scratch on it. Hermione would have known how to open the bloody thing, he thought, as he slumped down on the bench again, still wearing his sweaty practice gear.

Leo had opened Burke's locker once, when they first showed him the pitch, but Harry remembered him using a key. Since Harry could open his own locker with just a tap of his wand, and he had watched his team members do the same with theirs, it had to be bound to their individual magic, and the key Leo had used could be some sort of master key.

There was no chance in Hell that Harry would ever be able to get a hold of it.

He let his head fall back against the wall with a low thud, swearing internally for thinking that it would be this easy for him to make up for his lack of commitment. For a few, despondent minutes, Harry thought about giving up and sending Kingsley an owl, confessing everything, but then he realised that giving up was not really an option. He had nothing to go back to, except for a life hidden away in Grimmauld Place and occasional dinners with Hermione and Ron.

He just had to get that key from Leo, somehow, without him noticing. Without _anyone_ noticing. It seemed impossible, considering that he had no idea where Leo kept the key to begin with. On the other hand, Harry had accomplished a lot of things in his life that had seemed impossible at a first glance.

xXx

The house was quiet and empty, when he arrived back home, a little over forty minutes later. A small part of him had hoped that Draco would be there, and that Harry would somehow manage to work up enough courage to talk about what had happened last night. He did not exactly know what there was to talk about, because he would definitely not ask Draco what he could do to be better. Then he hesitated, mentally slapping himself for being so stupid. Could do better? When was he supposed to do better? There was not going to be a next time.

It was strange that, over the course of one night, he had gone from being someone who never thought about sex at all, to one of those people whose brains constantly returned to it. Shaking his head, he walked into the kitchen and started cooking the most complicated and time-consuming dish he could come to think of, if only to keep his mind occupied.

There was still no sign of Draco, when he sat down to eat. For some reason, it made him slightly worried, and a small voice wondered if the other man had returned to England, never to come back. He pushed the thought away quickly. Draco was not going to quit. He was far more professional than that. Hell, he had even managed to work on the case, while Harry had been busy enjoying his made up life.

It was odd, he thought, as he pushed the food around on his plate, how he used to like Draco avoiding him, and now it seemed as though there had been a stasis spell cast on all the clocks, as soon as the other man was not around. Harry stared out the kitchen window, hoping to see his husband walk up the gravel path to their front door, until his food went cold.

Sighing and feeling as though he had no excuse to sit there any longer, he got up from his chair and cleaned his plate with a swift flick of his wand, even though he usually preferred doing it without magic. He looked out the window one last time, establishing that there was still no sign of Draco, and walked upstairs.

He thought about reading a book or taking a nap but, except for last night's happenings in the bedroom, all he could think of was Burke's bloody locker. It was not too late to make a fire-call to England, he decided, as he glanced down on his watch, and hesitated a moment with his hand on the door handle to the study. It was silly, of course, thinking that he was intruding on something that was Draco's, but he still felt guilty, as he pushed the door open.

The room was as neatly organized as it had been the last time he had been there. Pencils were ordered by colour in neat rows on the desk, books by alphabetical order in the bookcases, and the portfolios by size. Harry had never considered himself especially messy, but considering that Draco seemed to border toward the extremes when it came to order, it was no surprise to him that his husband sighed constantly whenever Harry walked out of a room.

_Fire-call,_ he reminded himself, and dropped down on the floor, flat on his stomach in front of the fireplace. A few moments later, he spoke the address as loudly as he could, into the green flames. He closed his eyes, hoping that it would turn out good this time as well, and did not open them until he heard a familiar voice:

"Harry!"

He looked up, only to find Ron sitting on a footstool in front of him. He looked much the same, Harry noted, as he took in the sight of his friend.

"It's not too late to call, is it?" he asked and smiled sheepishly as Ron shook his head violently.

"Of course not, mate! It's never too late, when it's you on the other end. I haven't heard from you in ages."

A sting of bad conscience made him wince internally. It really had been a long time. He should at least have sent Ron an owl to let him know that everything was fine, even though he had been talking to Hermione a few weeks ago.

"I've been busy," he mumbled, and half expected Ron to turn into the grumpy fourteen year old he had been when Harry's name had been drawn from the Goblet of Fire. "And there have been a lot of other people around, so I didn't want to risk calling you, in case someone overheard something they shouldn't. How are you?"

"No, I understand," Ron nodded and smiled, as though he truly meant it. "We're all fine. The morning sickness is gone and everything."

For a moment, Harry had no clue what he meant by morning sickness, but then he remembered the baby. Hell, something was truly wrong with his priorities, when he did not even remember his own godchild.

"That's great," he answered, and attempted a smile, but he was not sure how well he pulled it off, the corners of his mouth trembling.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, and seemed to hesitate a moment, before continuing: "so, how's everything with the Ferret? You seem a little worn out. He's not too nasty, is he?"

"No, he's good." Harry shook his head, wishing that he could tell Ron everything about the past weeks. Instead, he fled the subject: "It's just the case. I'm trying to open Burke's – the dead guy's – locker and I can't. I've tried every spell I can come to think of, but it seems to be resisting my magic."

"What's in there?" Ron wondered, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"I've only seen it open once, and that's when one of my team mates opened it with a key. It was his gear and broom, a bunch of photos, but I want to go through it by myself and see if I can find something. I feel like I'm stuck, and Draco is making a lot of progress in his area." For a moment, Harry thought Ron was going to remark the fact that he had used Draco's first name, but the other man only nodded thoughtfully.

"That's probably a good idea," he nodded then and motioned towards the door behind him. "You want me to get Hermione?"

"If you wouldn't mind." Harry wondered when Ron had grown past him in levels of maturity. He might be trying hard, just because they had not been talking for so long, but even so, it still meant more to Harry than he would ever be able to say. The last thing he wanted right now was to feel guilty for neglecting his friends.

"Sure, mate." Ron smiled swiftly, and got to his feet. Harry watched him disappear through the doorway and, a few minutes later, Ron came back with Hermione by his side.

"Harry!" She looked a little teary-eyed, as though the mere sight of him made her want to cry. "How are you?"

"Good," he could not help but grin as she kneeled on the floor in front of him. Her belly looked a little bigger than usual, he decided. "I heard the morning sickness has gone?"

"Yes, thank goodness," she smiled, and looked as though she wanted to reach out and pat his cheek. "Ron told me you need help? Is everything all right?"

"I'm just stuck," he sighed and repeated what he had just told Ron about Burke's locker. "I don't know what to do. I just feel like there's something in there I'm supposed to find."

"You said one of the other players used a key?" she asked and frowned, clearly thinking hard.

"Yes, I think it has to be some sort of master key, but I have no idea how I'm supposed to get it. The only time he leaves it somewhere where I can get it, without breaking into his home, is probably when he's playing, which means that I will be, too." Harry wondered if it would not be a better idea to just go back to England and leave everything to Draco. He seemed capable of handling things on his own, anyway.

"Perhaps Malfoy could get the key, while you're playing? It should be fairly simple to make a replica and replace the real one for a while, so you would have time to have a look, whenever you could go there on your own. It's quite simple, but rare, magic, and I'm sure he would be able to perform the spells." She was reaching for a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and a quill, to write down her thoughts in the margins of the articles.

"Maybe," Harry mumbled evasively, and Hermione's head snapped up from her scribbling. Her eyes narrowed for a few seconds, and then she turned to Ron, who had been standing quietly behind her.

"Would you get me that book about unlocking spells and a parchment, please?" she asked him.

"I thought you decided that Malfoy would make a fake key," Ron muttered but raised his hands, as if giving up, when she scowled at him. He disappeared through the door again, leaving Harry and Hermione alone.

"What happened?" she asked almost immediately.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry grumbled, and concentrated on trying to make out the date of the newspaper in her hand.

"_Harry,_" she chided, as though he should know that she was not stupid enough to believe him.

"Things are just a bit...weird, right now," he sighed and shrugged, hoping that she would notice the motion through the flames.

"Why?" she pressed on, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that Ron had not returned with the book yet.

"No reason," he tried, but she glared at him until he rolled his eyes and gave up: "Fine, something happened."

"Can't you talk about it?"

"No," Harry muttered, even though he had thought of that solution a few hours ago himself. "It's not really something you talk about."

"Okay," she said in a tone that told him that she knew exactly what he did not want her to know. He was deeply grateful when Ron choose that exact moment to return, a book in one hand and a scroll of parchment in the other.

"So, I'm going to write down instructions for the spells I'm talking about and send along this book," Hermione explained, as she started scribbling hastily on the parchment Ron had brought her. "It will give you all the information you need on how to make a replica of a master key. It won't work for too long, though – a maximum of a week, depending on how strong the caster of the spell is. You and Malfoy are both good wizards, so I'm fairly certain that you can count on at least six days." She was all business now and had that tone in her voice that reminded Harry so strongly of their school years, when she had found an important note in a library book. Something wrenched in his chest, and he had to remind himself that he was not stuck overseas forever, to pry the feeling of how much he missed them away. He had never really solved anything without them, before.

"What do I do if I can't do this alone? If I can't come up with an excuse to leave a game?" he asked, trying to ignore the fact that she had mentioned Draco's name in there somewhere.

"Then you have to ask Malfoy for help," Hermione explained, matter-of-factly.

"I already told you –" he began, but she cut him off quickly:

"Perhaps you should read another one of the books I sent you, Harry?" She said it lightly, as though she was talking about _Hogwart: A History_, or _Quidditch Through the Ages_, and not the kind she had sent him a few weeks ago.

Harry had only read one of them. Partly because he had realised that books would never teach him anything that he could tell Shastin, if she came asking for details. Mostly, because he had been sure that there would be no reason for him to learn all the "handy preparation spells", or every way one could possibly have sex. Clearly, he had been wrong, since he had recently had sex with another man and probably been Draco's worst lay in his whole life.

God, he wanted to bad to wish that it had never happened, but he could not bring himself to it.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, and he blinked back to reality. He had not even been aware of tuning out.

"Maybe," he muttered, and wished that she would be as clueless as Ron, who looked as though he had no idea what they were talking about.

"You should," she said sternly, and then she smiled, as though she remembered being here to help him. "I'll send this to you within the week."

"Thanks," he smiled weakly in reply, feeling as though all his energy had been drained. "I'll call you again soon. Sooner than last time, I promise."

"Great," Hermione made a small wave, and Ron stepped forward, his smile a little confused:

"Take care, mate. Don't let the Ferret get to you."

Harry sighed, as he rolled over onto his back on the floor. There was a hollow feeling in his chest that he had not quite expected. He missed them more than he thought he did, and seeing their faces again made it painfully clear that the life he was living here was not his real one. Maybe it was easier for Draco, who had no one left behind; no one to return to; no one who missed him. Harry's throat tightened. Or maybe it was worse, for the other man, because he had nothing else, when all of this was over. Not that Harry knew of, anyway, and he wondered once again, who had been there for Draco when he had gotten the message of his parents' deaths.

For a while, much longer than he would ever confess to later, he lay there, staring up in the ceiling. Hermione was probably right; he should try to talk things out with Draco. Not so much because of what happened, but because they had work to do, and Harry would need his help.

His body felt stiff, muscles still protesting wildly, as he got to his feet and walked awkwardly into the library. He reached behind the neat rows of books and pulled out one of the copies Hermione had sent him. He groaned out loud in embarrassment, as he read the title to "_Fifteen Tips to Make Your Wizard-magic More Magical" _and dropped down into his usual armchair, cracking the book cover open hesitantly.

xXx

It was long past dark, when Draco finally stepped inside the front door, arms full of folders and notes. He looked tired, Harry thought, as he glanced up from his place on one of the living room sofas. He had been waiting for hours and had just started to consider visiting Kat and Peter to make sure that Draco was still there, safe and sound. Thankfully, he would not have to.

"Hey," he said quietly, and his insides turned to knots, when the other man gave him a small smile.

"I thought you would already be asleep," the other man said, as he walked into the room, carefully placing the items he had carried onto the glass table. "It's really late."

"I was just going to," Harry lied. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes, of course." Draco blinked, as though he was surprised by the question. A slightly uncomfortable silence settled between them, as Harry fought to find words to say, when the other man undid his cufflinks.

"How did it go?" he finally managed, his voice a little bit rushed.

"It went fine. I believe it's going to turn out well, when I'm done." Draco yawned and, for the first time, since that morning, their eyes met.

There was a sudden urge to press himself against the other man, hold on tightly and just breathe for a while that caused Harry to get to his feet quickly and walk hastily towards the stairs. "That's great," he said, and felt grey eyes burn into his back. "I'm really tired, so I'm going to bed."

He instantly realised that he had made a huge mistake, as soon as he set his foot inside their bedroom. Reading about all the do's and don'ts when it came to sex had made him even more certain that he had messed up greatly the night before. Truth be told, Harry could not even remember doing _anything, _except for laying there and letting Draco take over.

Running away would not solve anything, and he should have stayed in the living room, hoping for an opportunity to sort things out. Maybe even apologise. If it was possible to apologise for being a lousy shag.

He placed his clothes in a messy heap on the nearest chair and brushed his teeth swiftly, staring down in the sink, as he refused to meet his own accusing glare in the mirror. A Time-turner would have been great, right about now.

Draco was still downstairs, when he slipped beneath the covers, sighing from the sensation of cool sheets against his tired body. This was the first night in a very long time that he had gone to bed alone, he realised, as he turned to his side, facing Draco's empty pillow. It felt wrong.

A minute later, he heard footsteps in the stairs and turned over on his back again, just as his husband entered the room. He still looked tired and his hair was dishevelled, as though he had been pulling his fingers through it repeatedly.

Harry squinted to see better, as he watched the other man undress and get ready for bed. He listened to him brush his teeth, in the bathroom, and turned towards Draco's side of the bed, as he felt the mattress shift when the other man got in. Still, even merely a foot apart, it was as though a thick wall of confused feelings had built between them.

He wished that Draco would grab his hand and pull him close, just like that time when Harry had come back home after a Quidditch game, but the other man just moved around slightly, before turning his back against him.

Harry waited, hoping that it was nothing but a matter of time, before Draco would complain about freezing or just shuffle backwards into his embrace, like he usually did. But he did not.

"Are you cold?" Harry asked quietly then, his chest contracting in hope.

There was a moment of silence and then: "No, I'm fine."

And Harry wished that he had never asked.

xXx

Things had changed slightly for the better, during the week. They talked, almost like before, but Harry did not dare to ask about the spooning again, and Draco never indicated that he wanted to. The elephant in the room was still being ignored.

"What are you wearing?" Draco asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Harry looked up at the other man. His insides turned to liquid, as his eyes raked over the lean body, the intense eyes and the always-immaculate hair. Then he looked down at himself, his t-shirt and jeans, and realised that he had still not changed, even though they were supposed to be at the Cunliffes' in less than twenty minutes.

"Not what I am supposed to, I assume," he sighed, and noticed Draco's lips twitch, as though he was suppressing a smile.

"Definitely not," his husband answered, disappearing into their closet and added, his voice slightly muffled, as though he was already going through the clothing in there: "Take those clothes off!"

Harry's skin started tingling, as he pulled his shirt over his head and unzipped his jeans, before throwing them aside. He was surprised by the lack of hesitation in his own reaction and the way his breathing sped up in suspense. What he was waiting for, he did not know at first, but when Draco stepped out of the closet, clothes in his hands, and grey eyes burned over every inch of his body, it was all very clear to him.

He had expected his husband to simply put the clothes on the bed and leave him to dress on his own, but as soon as Harry had pulled up the trousers, cool fingers were there to zip them up. Draco slid the soft fabric of the shirt up his arms and shoulders, and started fastened the buttons one at a time, gaze locked on his fingers.

Harry's heart was pounding so hard that he was certain that the other man could hear it, too. He almost groaned, when Draco tucked his shirt in and fastened his belt, blood flooding south rapidly. Thankfully, his husband took a step back, before looking up to connect their gazes, because Harry was not so sure that he would have been able to resist a kiss, if they still had been only inches apart.

"That's better," Draco said after a silence that was a little too long, and he sounded a little out of breath.

"Thanks." Harry could not help but feel a little shy, as he gave the other man a small smile in appreciation, and his heart tripped as he got one in return.

"Come on. We have a dinner to go to, and Shastin is probably going to spend the evening trying to apologise to you." Draco's smile turned into something that looked more like a smirk, at these words, and Harry groaned in frustration. Shastin had begged his husband to forgive her for putting a sex potion in their drinks days ago, but Harry had managed to avoid her until now. Apparently, she was determined to apologise to him as well.

"I hope she'll be busy with Zefira's brother," he muttered, partly because he very much wanted to stay away from Shastin and her obsession with his sex life, and partly because he did not want Drew anywhere near Draco.

His husband laughed, as they walked down the stairs and outside. The air was a little too chilly for this time of year, but Harry did not mind too much. His chest contracted when a cool hand grasped his, intertwining their fingers, as they walked up the street to the Cunliffes' house. It was difficult to tell his racing heart that the gesture was only to keep up their act and did not mean anything else.

"Draco, Harry!" Shastin called and waved with both arms, from her open front door. She always seemed to assume that they would walk right past her, if she was not the loudest and least discreet person in the neighbourhood. On the other hand, Harry felt rather tempted to keep on walking this time.

"Shastin," Draco greeted, and they halted just outside the gate to the blue house, waiting for Leo and her to catch up with them.

She placed two swift kisses on each of their cheeks, her shoes making her almost their height. "I'm _so_ sorry," she said then, and her eyes seemed to grow impossibly big, as she stared at Harry, her face only inches away from his.

He blinked, feeling a little uncomfortable over her closeness, and took half a step backwards. It would be easier to simply forgive her and let it all be, because he was not really that angry with her to begin with. Before he was able to form a reply, Leo put a steady hand on Shastin's shoulder and forced her to step back.

"You know, it would do you just as good to keep asking for forgiveness for a while," he said then, sounding stern and turned towards Harry and Draco with a wide smile. "It's so good that you are joining us, so that we can talk a little more Quidditch and a little less Drew's perfection than we usually do at these dinners."

Harry could not help but grin at this, relieved that someone seemed to feel the same way about Zefira's brother. The difference was that Leo had actually met the guy, and Harry had only needed to hear his name in the same sentence as _supermodel_ to start disliking him.

They walked together, all four of them, to the house next door. Harry knew that there were only going to be seven of them, but he could not help but wish that he had stayed home instead. Shastin knocked, and he had expected Zefira to welcome them in, but as the door swung open, Harry's gaze fell on a man that could give Draco a run for his money when it came to looks. He was rather tall, dressed in bright blue trousers and a black t-shirt that Harry suspected was painted onto his toned upper body. His carefully styled hair was the same chestnut colour as Zefira's, and the blue in his eyes seemed enhanced twenty times over, by the colour of his trousers. Drew smiled widely at them, and Harry found himself squeezing Draco's hand harder in his, afraid that the other man would let go from the mere sight of brilliantly white teeth.

"Drew!" Shastin exclaimed, and kissed the man's cheeks. "Don't you look scruffy?"

"It's so nice to meet you again, Shastin. You look dashing, as always," Drew said, and laughed, as though he knew very well that he was anything but scruffy. "And I see you brought your husband with you. It's good to see you again, Leo."

Leo stepped forward, shaking hands and smiled almost as wide as Drew had done a minute ago. "Glad to see that you've finally made it back to the east coast. I assume you haven't met the latest addition to our team yet?" Leo motioned towards them. "This is Harry, our new brilliant seeker."

Drew's smile widened, something Harry had not even thought was possible, as he took a step forward, extending his hand. "I've read so much about you in the paper, and Zefira has told me a lot of things. It's great to finally meet you. I'm Drew."

"Nice to meet you, too," Harry managed, and reluctantly let go of Draco's hand to shake Drew's. The other man's warm fingers squeezed firmly around his, and blue eyes bore into his own for a few seconds, in a way that made Harry wish even more that he had stayed at home.

"And this is his husband, Draco. He's an excellent interior designer." Draco stepped forward at Leo's words and smiled almost as brightly as Drew, as they shook hand. Harry had to bite the inside of his cheek, so not to reach out and tear their hands apart.

God, he was being ridiculous.

"Zefira says that your house is something extraordinary, so I feel like I should invite myself over some day and have a look." Drew smiled and held onto Draco's hand a little too long for Harry's liking.

He wanted to say that their door was going to be locked twenty-four-seven from this moment onward, but kept quiet, as Draco answered something affirmative.

As they proceeded to eat dinner, Harry could not help but dislike Drew almost instantly, mostly because there really was no reason to. Perhaps it was because he suddenly felt insignificant and dull there at the table. Perhaps it was because of the way Draco suddenly smiled, and it was not meant for him. Perhaps it was because Drew was everything Harry could never be.

He was smart and, just like Peter had said, knew how to keep a conversation. The words seemed to come so easily for him, and they all sounded so fantastic and interesting, in a way Harry knew so well from Draco's way of speaking. The man simply sat there, casually leaned back in his chair, after they had finishing eating, and talked and smiled as though it was the best thing he could come to think of. It was so clear that he knew how captivating he was, and how easy he was to lay eyes on.

"So Draco," Drew said, and Harry looked up from his plate quickly. "What do you do when Harry is away on Quidditch? You must spend so much time alone."

Harry wanted to ask anyone else in the room if Drew really was hitting on his husband, or if it was simply his own jealous mind playing tricks on him. But before he got the chance to hear Draco's answer, Shastin had motioned for him to join her outside on the balcony. He was relieved, something he would never have expected from being alone with Shastin, as he excused himself from the table and joined her outside.

"What is Drew _doing_?" she hissed, as soon as the door had closed behind him.

"I don't know," Harry mumbled, and looked out over the water. Last time he had been standing here, he had been talking to Draco, solving their argument about the "sex in paint" lie.

"He's hitting on Draco, that's what he's doing!" Shastin was angry, her eyes dark, and she glared over her shoulder at Drew, who was leaning slightly across the table to talk to Draco.

"Oh," Harry said, and tried to sound surprised, but inside he was drawing a sigh of relief. Clearly, it was not only his imagination.

"Why doesn't Draco tell him off?" she asked then, and sipped on her wine.

"I don't know – he might not notice," he tried, because even though he wondered the exact same thing, he knew that he needed to keep their act up. He was not supposed to be jealous. "I'm not worried."

"Merlin, I'm impressed." She looked at him in surprise. "If that was a woman hitting on Leo, I would have told him to sleep on the couch for not telling her off, an hour ago."

Harry shrugged. Telling Draco to sleep on the couch was not really an option, because he wanted nothing more than to go back to the spooning they used to spend their nights with before.

"I know you're angry with me," she said suddenly and did not, for once, exaggerate every emotion she displayed. "I'm sorry for what I did. I know it's none of my business."

He shrugged again, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable around a serious Shastin. He had never thought that the day would come, when he would prefer her extreme self over this.

"Draco's birthday's coming up," she continued, as if she had not noticed his discomfort. "What have you planned? Do you need help with anything?"

_Shit._ Draco's birthday. Harry had completely forgotten that his husband even had one. He had no idea how Shastin knew when this was, but she was right, of course. He remembered all too well seeing Draco eating his birthday cake near the end of the term, before the summer holiday.

"Don't tell me you forgot?" she said, appalled.

"I didn't forget, exactly," Harry mumbled evasively, and felt his face heat in embarrassment.

"You're hopeless," Shastin sighed and shook her head in amazement. "But because I love Draco to death, and I like you, even though you run in the opposite direction every time you see me, and a little because I messed up, and I want to make it up to you, I'm going to help you."

"I don't run –" Harry began, but Shastin cut him off, by shooing him towards the door again.

"I'll come by next week, and don't tell Draco. We're going to make this his best surprise birthday _ever_. And don't let Drew drool over him like that." Then she disappeared towards the kitchen, likely to find Zefira, because the other woman was nowhere to be seen either. Instead, Harry's gaze fell on Draco, who was laughing and smiling with Drew at the table, as though Jordan and Leo did not exist. Perhaps Shastin was right; he should not allow Drew to hit on his husband like that.

"I've always wanted to sit on the roof of the Astronomy tower, back at school. Preferably in the middle of the night," he heard Draco say, as he walked over to them. He swallowed, pushing the sudden rush of nervousness away firmly, as he placed a hand on Draco's shoulder. His husband looked up in surprise, but his features quickly softened in a smile. Harry forced himself not to hesitate as he leaned down, pressing his mouth against Draco's, for the first time since they had slept with each other.

And God, he had missed the feeling of the other man's soft lips against his.

He was just about to pull away, when Draco grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in again. Harry's breath caught, when a tongue gently coaxed his lips apart. He forgot all about Drew sitting there, probably watching them, since they were making out right in front of him, until Leo shouted: "Get a room!"

Harry looked up, his face heating, as he met the smirking faces of his team mates, before catching a glimpse of Drew's stunned expression.

"Let's go home," Draco said then, in a tone that reminded Harry so much of their night together, that he failed to suppress a shudder. Grey eyes burned into his, when he looked down at his husband, and any reason he might have had to say no was quickly forgotten.

"Okay," he nodded, and pulled Draco to his feet. God, he wanted nothing more than to turn to Drew with a the most triumphant grin he could manage, but he resisted the urge and simply reached out to shake the other man's hand. "It was nice to meet you."

"You too," Drew answered, and the brilliant smile was back, but it did not seem quite as convincing as before.

"Yeah, yeah," Leo waved dismissively at them, when they turned towards him to say goodbye as well. "Just get those tongues out of my sight, and I'll see you tomorrow at practice."

"Thanks for coming," Jordan grinned, and squeezed his shoulder, before seeing them to the door. Harry glanced back one last time and caught Drew looking intently after them, and for once, he felt like he had the upper hand in something.

xXx

DPOV

The night was cold, even though it was late May, and Draco shivered, cursing himself for forgetting to bring something thicker to wear. Harry's hand felt overly warm in his, and he held on tightly, enjoying the feeling of the other man's body heat. He had missed it, over the past week, because of the distance that had built between them. For the first time since that morning, when Draco had realised that Harry was angry with him, it felt as though they were back to what they had had before.

He suspected that Harry's sudden wish to kiss him had something to do with Zefira's brother, but he did not mind. Drew had been a nice change from the women Draco was surrounded by daily, and it would be foolish to deny that the man was ridiculously good-looking. Merlin, he was everything Draco used to look for in a man.

"Who's that?" Harry's voice interrupted his thoughts, and Draco looked up.

On the fence, just outside their house, sat a small figure. It was too dark to make out his face, but Draco already knew who it was.

"It's Aiden," he said, hearing the confusion in his own voice. "It's past midnight. He shouldn't be outside alone. Actually, he shouldn't be awake at all."

"Burke's kid?" Harry asked, lowering his voice as they walked closer.

"Yes, but where is his mother?"

Aiden looked up when he heard them. The Elephant, whose name Draco had forgotten, was secured tightly in his arms, and his cheeks were wet and swollen, as though he had been crying for a long time. The boy only had a t-shirt on, and he was shivering violently. There was a look of relief in the boy's eyes, and then enormous tears started rolling down his cheeks again.

Draco glanced at Harry, who looked bewildered.

"Aiden, where is your mother?" Draco asked as gently as he could, but comforting a crying child had never been his forte.

The boy snivelled and wiped his nose with the back of a trembling hand, before he whispered: "She's not opening the door."

"Why is she not opening the door?" Harry asked quietly, in confusion.

"I don't know," the boy whispered, and his voice wavered. "I...I knocked, and she didn't open and...and I'm cold."

Draco exchanged a glance with Harry and wondered what kind of mother she was, when did not let her child in at night.

"How long have you been sitting here, Aiden?" he reached out slowly, almost afraid to scare the boy, and touched his arm gently. His skin was freezing cold.

"Don't know." Aiden shrugged, and his bottom lip trembled dangerously as he drew a deep, uneven breath. "I think she's sleeping, maybe."

"Does she sleep like this a lot?" Harry asked, and crouched a little, lowering himself on the same level as the boy.

"Sometimes." Aiden shrugged again. "I'm cold."

"Okay," Harry nodded, and Draco watched him in slight amazement, as his husband seemed to be much more at ease with talking to a crying child than their own neighbours. "I'm going to get you something warm to wear, and then Draco and I will come with you to see if your mum might open the door this time, okay?"

Aiden looked at Harry, wide-eyed, but in a way that Draco was very familiar with. The boy trusted his husband completely, because it was so simple to trust Harry in situations like these. He talked in a steady voice, and there always seemed to be a comfort and promise in his words, no matter what their true meaning were. Merlin, Draco had done much the same himself once, in the Room of Requirement, years ago.

"Okay." Aiden nodded, slowly stroking one floppy ear of his Elephant.

"I'll be right back," Harry said, turning towards Draco, who only nodded. This was not exactly what he had planned for the evening. Truth be told, a part of him had hoped that Harry would shag him senseless again, but seeing the terrified boy in front of him pushed all his disappointment aside. He watched his husband disappear into their house, before he turned his gaze back to Aiden.

"Do you want me to help you down?" he asked, but the boy shook his head swiftly, chocolate curls bouncing around his face.

"Can you hold Herman?"

"Of course," Draco smiled, promising himself to remember the name this time, and took the surprisingly soft, stuffed animal from the boy's hands. Aiden hopped down from the fence with ease, much like last time Draco had found him sitting there.

"Herman likes you," the boy said, wiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand, but his voice was still a little uneven. Then he pointed towards the door, where Harry had disappeared a few moments ago. "Is he your wife?"

Draco could not stop a short laugh from escaping him. "In a way," he answered, and found himself gently patting Herman's head, thinking about Harry's reaction, when he found out that Draco had just called him his wife.

"I see." The boy nodded, as if he confirmed something to himself, and then smiled a little after a few moments. "Do you think he's pretty?"

Draco was thankful for Harry interrupting them, as he came walking out of the house, with a jumper in his hand, and crouched down in front of Aiden to help him pull the much-too-big garment over his head. Then he proceeded to roll up the sleeves, until the boy's fingertips were visible again.

"Now you'll have to show us the way to your house, Aiden," Harry explained, as he straightened up, and Draco watched the boy grasp his husband's hand.

"Okay." The boy nodded, and then looked up at Draco once more. The jumper was reaching down to his knees and sliding off one shoulder. "Herman doesn't like to walk, because he's really lazy."

"I can carry him for you," Draco offered, and stroked one soft elephant ear between his fingers, suppressing a smile, as they began walking down the street.

"He likes it best when you carry him under your arm," Aiden instructed, and Draco rearranged Herman, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Harry caught his gaze then, grinning in amusement at Draco walking around with a stuffed elephant under his arm.

The house Aiden led them to was a sand-coloured, one-story building that looked as though it had been mistreated for too long, with a garden that had not been cared for, for many months. It looked as though it could just as well have been abandoned, with the windows dark and no porch light on. No wonder the boy had been crying.

He exchanged a look with Harry that told him that his husband was asking himself the same thing, as they walked up to the front door. Harry knocked, and they waited, hoping to see a light be turned on somewhere inside, but the house remained dark and quiet.

"Knock again," Draco said, and realised that he had reached out to stroke Aiden over the hair, in a subconscious way of consoling him. "Perhaps she didn't hear the first time."

Harry knocked again, and they waited in silence, except for a low sob that escaped Aiden.

"You know what?" Harry said, and his eyes found Draco's again, as he crouched down in front of the boy. It was obvious that he was worried. "I'm going to go around the back and have a look, and if she doesn't open the door, you'll come home with us, and we'll leave her a note, so she can come get you in the morning."

"Can Herman come too?" Aiden whispered, and his bottom lip trembled again.

"Yeah, he can come too," Harry smiled, and ruffled the boy's hair, before he got up and disappeared around the house.

"I like him," Aiden said quietly and a small, cold hand found Draco's.

It felt strangely good, when he realised that the gesture meant that the boy saw him as someone safe – someone that would protect him. He had never experienced this kind of sudden, blind trust before. It made him feel important.

"So do I," he said, and glanced around as he realised that he was standing on the front porch of a house that belonged to a person he had never met. A person that had left her son outside in the middle of the night, while she was sleeping. "Does it happen a lot – that she doesn't wake up when she is asleep?"

"Yes," Aiden nodded, and fiddled with the hem of the jumper. "She has a little bottle, and she drinks it, and then she sleeps until she wakes up." He held up his fingers, showing the size of the bottle.

Sleeping potion, Draco thought immediately. No wonder the sound of knocking did not wake her.

There was a sound of rustling leaves and branches breaking, and Aiden's hand tightened hard around his, just as Harry walked around the corner. He shook his head, when Draco raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Looks like your mum must be sleeping deeply," he said to Aiden, his voice growing softer than Draco had ever heard it before. "I left her a note, so she will come and pick you up in the morning."

Aiden nodded, but his eyes were brimming with tears again. Draco was not an easily moved person, but for a moment, when the boy made a weak sound, something pinched in his chest.

"You know," he began lowly, adjusting the collar of the jumper that Aiden was wearing. "It's soon going to be morning, because it's already very late. So the faster we get you into bed and you fall asleep, the sooner your mother will be coming to collect you."

"Okay," the boy whispered and nodded, staring down at his own shoes.

They walked back slowly, because Aiden constantly stopped to look back over his shoulder, to make sure that his mother had not awoken and was standing in the doorway. The disappointment on his face, every time he turned back, when he walked forward again, caused Draco to wonder who could do this to their own child.

Harry made sure that Aiden got a toothbrush and brushed his teeth properly, while Draco changed the beddings in the guest room Harry had used as his, the first few nights. Just as he placed Herman beside the pillow, Aiden came padding into the room barefoot, clad in one of Harry's t-shirts that was even bigger than the jumper he had been wearing before.

Draco pulled the duvet aside, as the boy climbed in, and marvelled over how small he looked in the bed.

"Do you have everything you need?" he asked, and looked up as Harry came to stand in the doorway.

Aiden nodded and clutched Herman tightly to his chest, shuffling around for a moment, before finally settling in. "Can you leave a light on?"

"We'll leave the light in the window and in the hallway outside, so you'll see it from under the door," Harry explained, as he lit the small, frosted bubble that hovered over the windowsill. The boy nodded and buried his nose in Herman's fur. Draco was just about to get up and leave the room, when Aiden grabbed the sleeve of his shirt, halting him.

"Will you read me a story, please?"

Draco glanced up at Harry, who looked just as confused as Draco felt.

"I don't think we have any children's books," his husband explained, and pulled a hand through his hair. Merlin, he looked miserable, as though he had let the boy down severely.

Draco looked down at Aiden and suddenly remembered when his mother had read him stories every night, as a child. The few nights she had been away, and not been able to read for him, had been disastrous. Perhaps it was much the same for Aiden.

"Have you heard the story about Babbitty Rabbitty and Her Cackling Stump?" Draco asked, and hoped that he still knew it by heart. The boy shook his head and shuffled around a little again, putting Herman under his chin. He was preparing himself to hear a brand new story, Draco realised, and felt a little flattered by the attention. It was not that being the centre of attention was unfamiliar to him, or that he did not like it, but the way the boy looked at him now – eyes big and adoring – as though he was going to sweep away all the troubles in the world, with the mere sound of his voice. And perhaps, it truly was like that, for a child.

"A long time ago, in a far-off land, there lived a foolish king who decided that he alone should have the power of magic," Draco began and allowed himself to get lost in childhood memories.

He did not even notice when Harry moved from the doorway to sit on the bed, listening intently.

_Hold on we're gonna make it if it takes all night  
>Hearts racing like a rocket at the speed of light<br>Don't fight it we've been running for far too long  
>We're going back where we belong<em>

_Where we belong – Thriving Ivory_

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><p><strong>AN:** alright, next up is...more Drew. Some birthday planning. More of Aiden's mum (yeah, you actually get to meet her, haha), some M-rated scenes (I _think_ there will be more than one), er, yeah, probably more that I can't remember right now.


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Hi all my awesome readers! I'm (once again) sorry for taking so long writing this chapter. I had a huge exam the other week and had to study harder than I have ever studied in my life, but I passed, so now I'm happy!

Thank you so much for all the reviews on the last chapter, and a special thanks to those of you who left reviews anonymously, because I'm not able to answer those personally. I hope I have answered the rest of them, but if you didn't get a reply to your review, please tell me and I'll get back to you. It's very important to me to reply to all of them.

Anyway, as I said in the chapter end notes to the last chapter, there are a few M-rated scenes in this one. I felt quite the pressure writing them, since I got a lot of positive feedback on the last one. I hope I won't disappoint you, but writing sex really isn't my forte.

This chapter is especially dedicated to a few people:

First to _baahkimmon_ on tumblr, who left me a 2000+ word review and who I have quickly become someone I consider a friend.

Secondly to _Audrey Writes_, who have left me such fantastic reviews to several chapters and who always shares thoughts and ideas of the story.

Thirdly to _Firefly1989,_ because she has been there since chapter one and even before that, if I'm not mistaken.

And my beta, _gbheart_, of course, because she always makes an brilliant job when it comes to correcting my mistakes and making suggestions to changes that would sound better.

And yeah, I can't forget _weird-bird-headingnorth_ on tumblr, without whom my tumblr dash would be freakishly empty. Plus, she's awesome.

And finally to all of you that recommend this fic to other people, who share the link on tumblr and other sites. There is no better feeling than seeing my own fic being recommended as a good read to someone and it really is the biggest ego boost I've ever experienced. Quite surreal, too.

Oh well, enough of my rambling. Kudos to those of you who even read this far, haha. Also, as I publish this chapter, this story is over a 100 000 words, which is crazy. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 8<strong>

DPOV

Draco woke up earlier than usual, the next morning. For a moment, he could not understand why, and he frowned as he noticed the pale, pink strip of the horizon that told him that it was too early for him to even think about getting out of bed. Then he heard upset voices from downstairs, and his frown deepened. He recognized Harry's voice instantly but could not place the other, except that it was female.

It took him a second to remember the events of last night, and that Aiden was likely to be still sleeping, in the room on the opposite side of the corridor. If the voices downstairs had awoken Draco, they would surely have woken the boy up as well. He groaned to himself, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, and pulled on a jumper to go with his pyjama bottoms, before walking downstairs barefoot. It was not until he stepped into the kitchen that it hit him - the voice must belong to Aiden's mother. He had a vague memory of her name being Mona.

Seconds later, he noticed Harry looking distinctly furious and towering over a petite woman with the same brown curls as Aiden. She was crying, and her hands were shaking, as she tried to wipe the tears away. Harry, however, did not even seem to notice them.

"He's just a _boy_," Harry snapped, and pointed towards the ceiling, clearly referring to Aiden, who was supposedly still asleep upstairs. Draco had forgotten all about checking on the boy. "_Anything _could have happened to him!"

Mona let out a high-pitched sob, her body convulsing slightly, as if her crying shook her whole body. But she did not answer.

Draco pushed away every thought of finding it strangely fascinating to watch Harry lash out like that and cleared his throat. His husband looked up quickly, and the hard glint in his eyes made Draco swallow thickly, wishing that the other man would have put his glasses on.

"I suggest you calm down, before you wake Aiden," he said as calmly as he could to his husband, and then turned to Mona. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

He was not pleased with her behaviour last night either, but if Harry was going to be angry, Draco would have to stay calm, or things could hastily get out of hand. He had quite a bit of personal experience of his husband's temper, and if Harry kept going like this, Mona would not get the best possible impression of them. If it had been anyone else, Draco might not have cared, but she was Burke's wife and might have details that could be of use to them.

"Yes, please," she answered quietly, and sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, when he gestured for her to do so.

Harry was glaring, but Draco decided to ignore the sharp green gaze while preparing the tea. At least his husband kept quiet, even though the atmosphere in the kitchen was frosty and tense.

A few moments later, he put down a cup of tea on the table in front of Mona and sat down opposite her. Harry remained standing, leaning against the kitchen counter, with his arms crossed over his chest, without a doubt still angry.

"I apologise for my husband's behaviour," he began, when the woman in front of him had enclosed the cup in her trembling hands.

"_What?_" Harry snapped, his tone sharp, but at least he remembered to keep his voice down.

"Being rude and angry will not make anything better," Draco sighed, and gave his husband a pointed look, when Mona gazed out the window. He hoped that the other man would get the message, but all he got in return was a scowl. Draco turned to their guest again and noticed the black circles under her eyes and hollowness of her cheeks. She looked up at him suddenly, and despite the fact that her hazel eyes were shining with tears, her gaze was empty and dead.

"He has every right to be angry," she said quietly, and her voice cracked slightly at the last word.

"Yes, he does." Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry, when he opened his mouth to say something. "But it really won't help right now, and I doubt that Aiden would feel better about waking up to you two arguing. We should try to sort out what happened instead."

"I really don't have an excuse," Mona said quietly, and stared down at her tea cup.

"Aiden told us that you often take sleeping potions." Draco watched her wince at this, as though she had been stung.

"I–" she began, but closed her mouth again and shook her head. She seemed to hesitant as to whether she should tell them that this was none of their business, or spill everything. For a moment, Draco thought that she would refuse to say anything, but then she sighed, as though giving up. "It's been rough lately. I haven't been able to handle Charles' death as well as I should have. The Healers prescribed me sleeping potions, to make sure that I got some sleep at least, so that I could be there for Aiden. But I –" she closed her eyes and frowned. "But I don't exactly follow their orders. I'm not supposed to take more than two a week..." She trailed off, and her silence stated clearly to Draco that she took sleeping potions a lot more often than just twice a week.

"Have you considered getting help? With Aiden and your home? For yourself?" he asked gently, but she flinched as if he had slapped her in the face.

"It's impossible," Mona answered stiffly.

"It's not," Harry protested, but he sounded less agitated than he had done a few minutes ago.

"It is," Mona insisted, and hastily wiped away a traitorous tear from her cheek with the back of her hand, before she took a sip from her tea. "The moment I ask for help – that I give any sign of...not being the perfect mother I'm supposed to be – Agnes will take Aiden away from me."

"Agnes?" Draco asked, frowning. "Agnes who's married to Tim that plays for the Wolves?"

"The very same," Mona confirmed. "She works for Child Protection Department, and she never liked me that much, to begin with. When Charles died, she told me that if she ever caught even a whiff of me neglecting Aiden, she would make sure that he got a better home in seconds." She was quiet for a long moment, before she added, almost too quietly for Draco to catch, "Something that he probably deserves more than anything, but I can't lose him, too."

He watched her for a moment: the way she was trembling, as though she was truly scared, and dry sobs ripped through her body, every now and then, even though the streams down her cheeks had finally dried. Harry said nothing, where he stood, but the sharpness in his eyes seemed to have softened somewhat.

"I'm really grateful that you brought Aiden here." She turned towards Harry in her chair and seemed to clutch the tea cup tighter in her hands, her knuckles whitening. "You're absolutely right. Anything could have happened to him...and there's no excuse for what I did. I promise that I'll be more responsible – that I'll never do this mistake ever again, just...please just don't tell Agnes."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and his gaze darted to Draco's, for a brief second. A part of Draco wondered if the other man was so upset because of his own childhood, since he, too, had grown up without his parents. Draco suddenly realised that he did not know much about his husband's life, outside of what it had been at Hogwarts and what had been written about him in the Prophet, at all. It should not have bothered him, but he found himself feeling guilty, all the same.

Harry was quiet for a long time, and Draco started to wonder if the other man was going to speak at all, when he gave a small nod and said, "Fine, on one condition."

"Anything." Mona tried to wipe away the tears that had started rolling down her cheeks again; this time, likely from the relief at Harry's words.

"If you ever feel that way again, bring him here. At least I would know that he's safe."

Draco blinked. His husband had only met Aiden once, but aside from the enormous amount of trust Aiden suddenly had for him, there also seemed to be something about the boy that made Harry feel like he had to protect him. Draco tried to ignore the way his heart clenched, as he watched his husband fiddle with the hem of his shirt.

Mona's eyes widened, for a moment, and she looked as though she was waiting for one of them to laugh, or admit that Harry's last words were meant as a joke. A part of Draco wanted them desperately to be, because he knew nothing about babysitting, but the voice of protest was instantly silenced, when Harry met his gaze with a small smile.

"Thank you," Mona whispered, her voice breaking as the sobs shook her, but there was a smile on her lips now, lighting up her tired face.

Harry gave her an uncomfortable smile in return, and he disappeared upstairs to fetch Aiden, Draco assumed, and he turned towards the woman sitting opposite him. He was definitely pleased with the outcome of the conversation, because not only had Harry promised that they would not tell Agnes, but they had also managed to put Mona in a position where she would not have much of a choice but to let him in, if he ever came by to visit her.

xXx

Draco was sat in the living room, scrutinizing Kat's choice of colours, when Poppy entered with a slim package in her hands.

"It is a package for Master Harry, from England," she squeaked, and he quirked an eyebrow at her, wondering if she had been hit with a Confundus. The Elf started curtsying again, over and over, and Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her.

"Master Harry is upstairs," he sighed.

"Poppy knows this, sir, but Master Harry is in the shower."

"Fine, I'll keep it until he's done," Draco grabbed the package from her outstretched hands, and he was relieved when she finally stopped curtsying and disappeared into the kitchen again. As soon as she had left the room, he weighed it in his hands and turned it over to read the addressee.

The package was light and, as soon as he noticed the neat handwriting, he knew that it was from Granger. Not that he knew what her handwriting looked like but, aside from Weasley, Harry did not seem to spend much time with anyone else, and the idea that Weasley would ever have neat handwriting was out of the question.

He was a little surprised by his own smile, when he saw _Harry Malfoy_. The names did not fit together at all, and it would be an understatement to say that it was a terrible choice of name, but there was something strangely pleasing in realising that the famous Boy-Who-Lived now had Draco's last name.

After hesitating for a few moments, he put the package down onto the coffee table, resisting the urge to open it before Harry came downstairs. It would not be worth the fight, especially not since things had finally started getting back to normal again. They still slept on their respective side of the bed, but the wall between them had slowly started to crumble back to what it used to be.

The only issue was that Draco could not stop thinking about the sex and grew embarrassingly hard, when his husband merely decided to take his shirt off. If Harry was upstairs showering, just as Poppy had told him, he was not going to go anywhere near the bathroom, until the other man was dry and fully clothed.

A sharp knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts, and he quickly slipped the package behind one of the cushions. There were not many possibilities as to whom it was coming to visit them, and a package from Granger was not anything any of them needed to snoop into. As soon as he heard Shastin's voice in the hall, he knew he had made the right decision.

"I thought you were going to Kat's?" she said, as soon as she stepped into the living room, without greeting him. She looked as though she had put a little more effort behind her makeup and clothes today, as she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. Her shoes were sparkling, covered in nothing but rhinestones.

"If you thought I was at Kat's, then why are you here?" Draco said dryly, rolling his eyes at her.

"I suspected that you might be neglecting your commitments, and, if you were there already, it would only mean that I got another opportunity to make Harry uncomfortable." She smiled widely, clearly pleased with her plan.

Draco, on the other hand, found himself slightly queasy from thinking about her being alone with his husband and only snorted in reply.

"Well?" she demanded then.

"I'll head over there, as soon as I've talked to Harry." He glared at her, but she ignored him and started fiddling with the samples he had been looking through just minutes ago. It was not exactly a lie either, because he should let his husband know that Granger had sent him a package.

"So talk to him," she said, and shooed at him with her hand.

"He's showering."

"So?"

Draco froze. She was right, of course. He did not have an explanation as to why he would not be able to walk upstairs right now and speak to Harry, because they were married and should have showered together quite a few times, over the years. Draco walking into the bathroom when his husband was showering was not supposed to be a big deal.

"Fine, but don't touch anything," he muttered, and stalked upstairs, ignoring her as she called:

"No sex in the shower!"

A part of him was thrilled to have the chance to see Harry naked again, because the other man's body was definitely something that Draco would like displayed for his eyes more often, but a much bigger part of him was terrified about his husband's reaction.

He hesitated, as he placed his hand on the handle to the bathroom door, listening to the water running on the other side, with his heart thumping behind his ribs. Harry's wand was still lying on the nightstand, and he prayed that the other man was not capable of using any lethal spells wandlessly, as he pushed the door open.

Draco tried not to look – not because he did not want to, because there was nothing he wanted more, at this very moment – because he really did not need the distraction. However, as soon as he stepped through the door, his eyes immediately found his husband.

Harry was standing in the shower cubicle, the glass walls hiding nothing of his toned body, suds of shampoo running from the dark hair, over flushed skin, to the floor. He had not noticed Draco entering and was still turned the other way, giving a perfect view of his firm arse. For a moment, Draco thought that the other man's skin was flushed because the water was scalding, but then he noticed the way the muscles on Harry's arm flexed and heard the ragged breathing.

Harry was _wanking_.

The blood was roaring in Draco's ears, and he knew that he had to say something, within the next five seconds, because Harry would not want him to watch this.

A low groan escaped the other man, reminding Draco so strongly about the time they had sex, that he had to lean back against the wall for support. He felt a little lightheaded and tried to concentrate his gaze on the watch he must have forgotten on the edge of the sink, earlier that morning, for a moment, but he forced himself to straighten up again and take control over his features, before he cleared his throat loudly.

Harry whirled around with narrowed eyes, but much to Draco's surprise, the other man seemed to relax, as soon as their gazes connected, then he flushed scarlet and averted his gaze. He did not try to cover himself up, however, and Draco could not stop his eyes from wandering.

_Fuck, Harry's body really was something extraordinary. _His gaze locked onto the other man's hand, still in a firm grasp around his cock. Draco barely resisted groaning out loud at the sight of it – hard, head glistening.

He snapped his eyes back to Harry's face and noticed that the other man was now staring at him.

Draco opened his mouth to say something – _anything_ – but no words came out. He tried again:

"I was just getting my watch. Shastin's here, and I can't exactly tell her that I'm not able to go and get my watch in the bathroom, just because you're showering."

Something in Harry's eyes seemed to falter, but Draco could not for the world understand what or why.

"And a package from Granger just arrived. I hid it behind one of the sofa cushions, when Shastin came by. I don't know what's in it, but I'm assuming that Granger isn't sending you packages with holiday cards."

It took all of his willpower to grab his watch from the sink and walk out of there, and to not fall on his knees in the shower and take Harry's cock in his mouth. The other man did not move or say anything at all, as Draco shut the door behind him, resisting the urge to fall down on the bed and catch his breath. Once again, he found himself torn between wishing that Harry did not look so ridiculously handsome and wanting to send flowers to the other man's parents grave, thanking them for their fantastic genes.

He waited for a few moments, calming his breath and willing his erection away the best he could, before walking downstairs to Shastin again. She was still flipping through the pages of samples, but once he stepped into the room, she looked him over critically from head to toe.

"You look like you've just been fucked to an inch of your life, or wishing that you had been," she commented, and Draco glared at her. He silently wondered if it was that obvious, even though he was surely better at hiding his emotions than his husband.

"Are you coming?" he asked instead, and motioned towards the door, _Accio_-ing the samples he was about to bring to Kat's.

"Yes, of course – I'm not going to hang around here all alone." She hurried after him and grabbed his arm for support, when they walked down the gravel path through the garden. "I was thinking about having a party after the game, on Friday."

"You're always thinking about having parties after games," Draco said dryly.

"True, but I think they're good for the team spirit, you know?"

"Of course you do," he snorted, and she tried to shove him but ended up almost tripping over her own feet instead.

"You like my parties, too," she said soberly, as they made their way down the road towards Kat's and Peter's house.

"Except for the times I'm offered a disgusting drink that turns out to be a sex potion."

"I told you I'm sorry about that!" she complained, and Draco ignored the way her eyes suddenly grew very wide and innocent. He did not believe her for a second.

"I'm sure that it will be a fantastic party, as long as you don't try to drug me or Harry." He smirked at her pained expression, as though she could not believe that he would think that about her.

She opened her mouth and looked as if she was just about to answer, when she started scowling. He followed her gaze and noticed Drew in the doorway to Kat's house, looking as though he was just about to enter. It was a strange form of relief to see the other man there, because Shastin and Kat would likely not pry into his and Harry's private life as much as they usually did, if there was another person present. However, it was quite clear that Shastin was not a fan of Zefira's younger brother, which surprised Draco a bit, since he had gotten the impression that she liked to befriend good-looking gay men.

"What's he doing here?" she muttered, and glared at Drew's back, as he disappeared through the doorway. Kat was just about to close the door behind him, when she noticed them and waved.

"It looks like he's visiting," he answered, and could not help but smirk at her irritated snort.

"He clearly doesn't know when it's time to back off."

Draco could not help but laugh at this, since she was clearly being a pot calling the kettle black. Her reaction still intrigued him, however, because her attitude towards Drew seemed to have changed dramatically over night.

Kat greeted them in the doorway with cheek kisses and hugs, and led them into the mess that used to be her kitchen. The cabinets were removed from the walls and levitated into a pile in the backyard, by the contractor Draco had set her up with. Shacklebolt had sent him a letter, recommending several entrepreneurs in the area, to make sure that his cover was kept intact.

The walls were freed from the ugly wallpaper that had been disgracing them earlier, and they were now bleak and partially covered in white streaks from the wall filler. Fine dust from the avulsion coated the floorboards, and, without all the dark wood and furniture, the room was now flooding with light.

"Holy fuck, where are you eating?" Shastin exclaimed, as she treaded carefully into the room and spun around to get a better look.

"At Zefira's," Kat explained. "She invited us to eat there, until we're able to cook here again."

That explained what Drew was doing there, at least. He stood propped up against a wall, with his arms crossed over his chest, and the light from the windows hit his face in a way that made Draco wonder if it came with the profession to subconsciously find the most flattering light in the room.

"You still haven't named a price, Draco," Kat said then, interrupting his thoughts, and forcing him to tear his gaze away from the other man.

"It's not how I work," he answered and shrugged, as she frowned at him. "I finish my work, and you pay me whatever you find it worth."

"You can't be serious?" Kat asked, slightly nervously combing her curtain of hair over her shoulder again.

"Why not?" Drew cut in, before Draco had the chance to open his mouth. "What Draco is doing is pure artistic work, and like most art, it's worth what the buyer wants to pay." He smiled widely towards Draco, only keeping eye contact with him, even though he was speaking to Kat.

It was quite surprising that Drew understood exactly how Draco had been thinking, when he had decided how his way of running his business would work. He, himself, viewed interior designing as a way of creating art, and just like Drew had said, an artist rarely got paid before he had a piece to sell.

"I never thought of it that way," Kat said thoughtfully, as she looked over the room once more. "If that's the way you work, I won't protest, of course."

"Perfect." Draco held up the folder with samples. "I want you to look through these samples of colours and woods for your cabinets. I've marked the ones I find suitable that aren't too cold or clinical for the type of kitchen you want. If you fall for anything else other than those, I'm willing to discuss it, but I don't make any promises."

"I really don't think you have to worry about that," Kat laughed, and eagerly took the folder from his hands. "Judging from what you have come up with for me and this kitchen so far, I definitely trust your sense of taste."

"I'm not sure I agree," Shastin shook her head and raised her eyebrows. "It just looks like a room full of dust and definitely not usable for cooking."

"Says the woman who lives in a bright blue house with towers," Draco snorted, and Drew laughed where he stood, still strikingly handsome, leaning against the wall.

It was a nice change to hear the deep laughter of another man, in contrast to the light giggling of Shastin and the other women he spent his days around. He envied Harry at times, because he got to converse with other men, most of the day, and Draco suspected that the topics were slightly different in those conversations.

While Kat and Shastin flipped through the pages of the folder Draco had provided them with, he was looking through the binder with information he had put together about the project. The choices of colours, wallpaper, when the contractor would be finished with each task and ideas for fabrics and lighting. He did not notice Drew's presence, until a cool hand landed between his shoulder blades.

Draco looked up in surprise and was met by the other man's wide smile.

"You know, you're definitely good at this," he said, nodding towards the empty room, as if referring to a piece of art that Draco had created and put there.

"Demolishing rooms?" Draco answered, and quirked an eyebrow, earning another laugh.

"That, too, clearly," Drew nodded, and his hand still pressed gently against Draco's back.

"I will be sure to inform you about my next demolishing project."

"Actually, I wanted to ask you, if you do work out of state? I live on the west coast, but I would very much like for you to re-design my flat." Drew's hand slid lower, forcing Draco to suppress a shiver, before it stopped at the small of his back.

This was clearly where he was supposed to tell the other man to back off and that he was not interested. It was not hard to suspect that there was more than one offer behind that question and, with the caress of his back, the doubt was practically non-existent. Still, Draco decided to act clueless. Perhaps it was because his marriage was pure business and that a part of him, which he mostly ignored, was starting to feel neglected, when his husband was oblivious to the sexual tension between them. Perhaps it was because Drew was extremely attractive and just about everything Draco used to look for in a man. It would at least offer a great distraction from the man he shared a house and bed with that could not care less if Draco was shagging another man on the side of their pretend marriage.

"I might have to think that one over," he said thoughtfully. and pretended as though he did not notice the hand on his back. He was so used to Harry's touch, that it felt strange when the warmth from Drew's hand did not seep through the fabric of his shirt. Clearly, he did not have as high of a body temperature as Harry.

"Please do," Drew smiled, and moved even closer, his body pressing just lightly against Draco's side.

Drew hastily backed away a couple of steps, when Shastin cleared her throat loudly from the other side of the room. Draco had completely forgotten about the women being there, all together, and realised that not telling Drew off in front of them surely did not make him look good.

Shastin glared at him, and he was surprised by the harsh glint in her eyes.

"I need to leave," she said stiffly, and kissed Kat goodbye, but only waved swiftly at Draco over her shoulder, while she was hurrying out the door.

"I wonder what she realised she had forgotten, this time," Kat laughed without looking up from the folder in her hands.

Draco felt a little relieved when it seemed as though she had been too caught up in the samples to notice his interaction with Drew. In contradiction to what he had been thinking just seconds ago, about how Harry would not care in the least if he shagged someone on the side, there was an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach now that made him move away, when Drew reached out to touch his back again.

xXx

HPOV

Harry stood in the shower and stared at the now-closed bathroom door. At first, he had been more than a little embarrassed over being caught wanking in the shower by Draco, but then something in his chest had started stuttering, as he had watched the other man's gaze travel over his body and watched his breath catch.

For a moment, he had been convinced that his husband had come there for something similar to what they had been doing, after drinking the potion Shastin had given them. It had surprised him to find that he found it far more arousing to stand there naked in the shower, hand wrapped around his dick, than humiliating.

However, that feeling had quickly faltered when his husband's face had slid back into a concealed mask, with the explanation that he needed his watch and that Hermione had sent a package. Of course he would not willingly walk into the bathroom in the hope of catching Harry naked; it would probably just bring back memories of their sex.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Harry started rinsing his hair again. The strange, uneasy feeling in his chest had quickly eliminated his hard on. He had been reading that book, just like Hermione had told him to, learning about the best ways to give blow jobs. He had asked himself more than once, while studying the pages, with more interest than he liked to admit to himself, if Draco had read this particular book or instructions himself, because more than once, Harry got a flashback from that night.

He felt stupid now, for even thinking that it could change things, if he decided to learn to do things better. Or rather, to actually know what to do at all and not just lay there and let Draco do all the work. As much as he wanted to do it all over again, his husband was clearly not up for it. God, he had _seen_ Harry's erection, and if that was not enough of an invitation, there really was not much he could do about it. Seducing someone was definitely not an option. That seemed to require some talent, when it came to words, and that one's hands did not tremble like crazy when removing the other person's clothes.

With a thud, his head hit the glass cubicle, and he closed his eyes. He might even prefer hunting down a few more Horcruxes than trying to get Draco into bed. For a few long breaths, he stood like that, before straightening up and turning the water off, pulling himself together. Right now, it did not really matter whether Draco wanted to sleep with him or not, because they had a mystery to solve. His husband was already at their neighbour's house, trying to pry into things, and probably doing a brilliant job with the redecoration, and Harry had received and owl from Hermione – still he was standing there, feeling sorry for himself, when he should do what he was being paid to do.

He dried himself quickly, rubbing his hair fiercely with the towel, as if it would make all his stupidity go away, until it stopped dripping, and got dressed, before walking downstairs. Just like Draco had told him, the package was behind one of the sofa cushions, and it surprised him a little to find that it had not been opened. A few weeks ago, his husband would probably not have minded them screaming at each other, if it meant that he had a chance to go through Harry's mail.

As always, when it came to Hermione's packages, the knots were practically impossible to undo, and it took him a few minutes before he was able to pull the brown paper away. It contained a bunch of parchments, filled with Hermione's neat handwriting, and the slim book she had showed him during their fire-call, days ago. He had almost expected there to be note, with a message to remind him that she knew more about his relationship with Draco than she probably should, but there was none. On the other hand, Hermione would never be stupid enough to put something in a package, which anyone could open that, could blow their cover.

At times like these, it was impossible not to miss her and Ron tremendously. It was confusing, because as much as he missed them, he did not miss England. He did not miss the constant attention wherever he went, the flashes of cameras or the line of reporters that stood waiting outside Grimmauld Place, in hope to catch him on his way somewhere. Sure, sometimes he was recognized here as well, like in Zefira's coffee shop the other day, but it was not nearly as intense, and it was not just him. His team mates usually got more attention than he did, which made it all a lot easier to live with.

It had been such a strange feeling: getting to know new people that had absolutely no idea who he really was. Or, maybe more accurately, had no ideas of who he was supposed to be. There was always such a rush of gratitude, when one of his new friends asked him what kind of food he preferred, or what he liked to do except for Quidditch. Back in England, everyone already knew things like that about him from articles, some with feigned facts, some where they had interviewed one of his old school mates.

Suddenly, he found himself with a bunch of people that wanted to know who he was in ways that he did not even know himself, because no one had ever asked him some of the questions ever before. Living the life of Harry Malfoy was in many ways so much better than living the life of Harry Potter, but he knew that he would never be able to leave England and his best friends permanently.

Sighing, he flipped through the parchments and knew that he had to talk to Draco about this. There was no way that he could ever switch the key all by himself.

A while later, there was a sharp knock on the door, and before Poppy had had a chance to open, Shastin barged in. She looked furious, and Harry hurried to put the parchments back in the wrapping, before quickly sending them upstairs with a flick of his wand. She did not even seem to notice.

"Draco's not here," he said carefully, when she made no attempt to say anything or move.

"_I know he's not here_," she snarled, and kicked her shoes off so violently that they bounced against the wall. "I hate these shoes. I can't walk properly in them."

"O-kay," Harry said slowly, and wondered if he was supposed to say something in particular to bring her out of this state.

"Draco's at Kat's," she said, as if it was supposed to explain something more than the obvious.

"I know." Harry frowned.

"Drew's there too."

And just like that, a cold hand grabbed a hold of his entrails and squeezed hard. She had been upset the other night, when Drew had supposedly flirted with Draco, and now she looked like a thundercloud. The worst part was that he could not share his worry or even his confusion over why he was even worried. His husband's private life was none of his business, no matter how strange that expression must sound in other people's ears.

"I see," he said, after too long of a silence.

"What the fuck is wrong with him?" she shouted suddenly, and Harry had to stop himself from flinching.

"With who?" he asked quietly.

"_With both of them_. One of them is an idiot for even getting the idea to hit on a married man, and the other one is even more of an idiot because he doesn't seem to notice. It's not even like you have the issues with your sex life anymore!"

He flushed at her last words and mumbled something in reply, as he watched her drop down onto the opposite sofa. He was not sure if he was supposed to feel a little touched by the fact that she clearly cared enough about them to worry about things like this, or be afraid because she was so upset.

"And now Drew, the fucking idiot, has asked Draco to go to the other side of the fucking country to redecorate his flat. I have a feeling that he wants Draco to do a little more than that, if you know what I mean." She glared up at the picture on the mantle, where picture-Draco was taking the snitch from picture-Harry's hand again.

Real Harry, on the other hand, suddenly felt like all energy had drained from his body. "He what?" he asked, surprised by the weakness in his own voice.

"Draco told him that he would think about it, and that's when I lost it and had to leave. Actually, I had planned to come here all along, to plan his birthday." Shastin shrugged, as though she was not sure she was up for planning Draco's birthday anymore.

A part of him wanted to say that his husband did not deserve to have his birthday celebrated at all, but his Gryffindor stubbornness told him that he could not really give up this easily. It was strange, because he had absolutely no idea why he felt like he did not want to give up, or what he would be giving up on. He was not so sure he wanted to find out, either. Thinking too much usually tended to make things worse.

"I might...I might have to talk to him, when he gets back," he said quietly, when he realised that he had been silent for too long. "But we should plan something for his birthday."

Shastin looked at him for what felt like ages and, for the first time, it was impossible to know what she was thinking. Then she suddenly clasped her hands together and smiled broadly. "All right, I'll ignore his stupidity for the day. I think we should throw a _party_! A surprise party!"

Harry groaned and rubbed his hands over his face, wondering if letting Shastin help was really such a good idea after all.

"I had imagined something a little more intimate," he said, and felt his face heat, as he realised how she probably would interpret his words. "I mean, we rarely have the time to do things together, so I thought that maybe you could help me by giving me some ideas."

For a moment, it seemed like she was going to argue, but then she nodded: "Okay, first you two do something _intimate, _and then I get to throw my surprise party. If you two go somewhere during the day, you could bring him by my house, in the evening, where I have prepared the party for him."

Since it was Shastin, this was probably the best deal he could get.

He sighed and nodded, "Fine."

"Great! So, what does Draco like to do? I mean, except for you."

Harry ignored her last input, wondering if this was what he was going to have to put up with. "I don't know. He likes...things that have something to do with wizard culture. I –" he trailed off and tried to remember Draco's favourite subjects in school, or anything about him that could be of use. "He comes from a very old, pureblood family, so he likes that kind of thing, you know? History and, well, fancy things."

"And your food," Shastin added, causing him to look up.

"What?"

"He loves your food. He talks about it all the time." She was looking around, as if searching for something, but Harry was too busy concentrating on the giddy feeling that spread in his stomach, to even bother to find out what.

"Oh," he said and tried to hide his silly smile with a frown. "So, do you have any ideas?"

"I have the _perfect_ idea." Her smile was so huge and disarming, as she reached for a piece of parchment on the coffee table, that he could not help but smile back. She was not all bad, all things considered.

xXx

The sun had started to set, when Draco finally arrived home, and Harry felt a pang of relief. He had started to wonder if Drew had taken him to the West Coast, right away.

"Is there any food left?" his husband asked, as soon as he had put his folders down on the glass table.

"Yeah, we saved some for you. It's in the fridge." Harry looked up from Hermione's notes and took in the sight of the other man. The light hair was a little dishevelled, as though he had been running his fingers through it repeatedly, and his shirt was covered in a fine layer of dust. He looked tired and out of his element, when he was not put together to perfection, but he was still the most amazing sight, in Harry's eyes.

"We?" Draco asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah, Shastin stopped by." Harry shrugged and hoped that he did not look too guilty. The plan for Draco's birthday really felt like the perfect thing to do, and Shastin had told him about a place where the American wizards used to hold trials and where, eventually, their legal system had started to take form. Apparently, it was located by one of the most beautiful places that nature could offer, and she had suggested that Harry would bring them a picnic.

"She did?" Draco asked, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. It was something that Harry would have been completely oblivious to, a few weeks ago, but he noticed it now.

"Yeah," he nodded, trying to look as though he was leafing through the parchments in his hands casually.

"And you cooked her dinner?"

"Well, I couldn't exactly eat by myself when she was here, could I?" he tried, and looked up at the other man again.

"Of course not," Draco said, his voice suddenly light. "So, what did you two do?"

"Just chatted," Harry blurted, and instantly felt like slamming his face into the nearest wall.

"_Chatted_?" his husband repeated, disbelief in his voice. Which was not so strange, after all, since he was well aware of how uncomfortable Harry was around Shastin, and how useless he has when it came to casual conversation.

"Yeah," he mumbled, hating himself for letting his face heat and decided to change the subject, before he ruined the surprise: "So, when are you leaving for the West Coast?"

Draco's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "She told you about that?"

"Yes." Harry was taken a little by surprise himself, when the urge to yell at the other man, and ask what the hell he was doing, came crashing down over him. He clenched his jaw to keep the words from tumbling out of his mouth.

"He wasn't serious," the other man said, but he looked uncomfortable, in Harry's eyes, and seemed to be looking anywhere but at him.

"You don't think he was flirting with you?" It just came out, even though he did not really want to, or perhaps it was exactly what he wanted.

Draco flinched at his words but then seemed to put himself together, his features hardening just a fraction. "You don't think Shastin's flirting with you?"

"No!" Harry stared at him in surprise. "She's _married_."

"You don't think married people flirt with others?" Draco snorted.

It took all of Harry's self-control not to answer with _they clearly do._ Instead, he looked down at Hermione's notes again and tried to push away the urge to press his husband up against the nearest wall and kiss the living life out of him, just to make sure that he knew whose husband he was.

Draco was still standing there, but Harry did not dare to look up at him, afraid of what he might do if he did. He listened to the other man's breaths – how they slowed from slightly raggedly upset, to their usual, even calm.

"Does she think that he's flirting with me?" his husband asked suddenly, and Harry had to look up. Draco looked torn; his mask of indifference had been thrown away again.

"Yeah," Harry said, and hoped that he sounded calmer than he was. It was silly, of course, but he could not help feeling a bit betrayed. "Well, she doesn't _think,_ she's sure that he is. She was very upset, when she came here."

"I see," Draco said quietly, and sat down on the armrest to the sofa. He sighed too lightly for Harry to hear, but he could see the other man's chest heaving, and then said: "I'm not going to the West Coast."

"Good," he answered lowly and. "Because I wouldn't be able to do this on my own, you know."

Grey eyes bore into his suddenly, and he felt like he was pinned against the backrest of the sofa.

"I mean, I wouldn't stand spending as much time with Shastin as you do," he blurted, before he could stop himself. For a second, he was worried that he had destroyed everything again, but then Draco laughed and all the tension suddenly disappeared from the room.

"It feels good to know that I'm helping you with _something_," Draco said dryly, but the corners of his mouth were still tugging upwards.

"Actually," Harry countered and held up the parchments Hermione had sent him. "I need your help for something else as well."

"Do you?" Draco's eyebrows rose marginally, and an intense interest flared in his eyes now. "With what?"

"We need to break into Burke's locker." Harry could not suppress a grin, when his husband's eyebrows rose even further. It was not often he was able to surprise the other man.

"If it's okay with you, I'd like to eat, before you tell me more about this."

"I'll make you a deal," Harry said. "If you go get yourself some food, I'll explain everything while you're eating."

Draco gave him the smirk-smile mixture that made his gut twist itself into a tight knot and nodded in reply, before disappearing into the kitchen.

A while later, he was sitting at the dinner table in their living room, making small, satisfied sounds as he ate and completely distracting Harry from telling him anything about making a replica of a master key.

"I thought you made me a deal," Draco said suddenly, and looked up with the fork pausing halfway to his mouth.

"Right," Harry nodded, and cleared his throat, as he fiddled with the parchments. God, he hated that Draco could distract him so easily. "Er, we need to make a replica of a master key. Actually, Leo's master key to the lockers in the locker room. The magic is not the problem, but I won't be able to play the next game _and_ ask him for the key to the locker room."

His husband blinked, confused. "You're not making sense."

"Fine," Harry sighed. "I feel like there's something I need to find in Burke's locker, and I've tried to open it with spells. Hell, I even tried blasting it open, but there's not even a scratch on it. Leo opened it once, when they showed me the locker room, and he has some sort of master key to all the lockers and maybe other locks, I don't know for certain. However, we need to switch his key out for a while, for a replica, so that we can get into the locker."

Draco frowned slightly, his gaze unfocused. "Does the replica work?"

"Yeah, for about a week, depending on how strong magic the casting wizard or witch has. We have to get the real one back before the spell wears off."

"If the replica works, why don't we use that one instead? That way, we would only need access to Leo's keys once. I mean, that will certainly be challenging enough, don't you think?"

Harry blinked. _Of course_. That would simplify things a lot. Why had not he or Hermione thought of that? "Yeah...you're right, I didn't think of that."

"Of course you didn't," Draco smirked, but even though he might have said the exact same thing during their school years, there was no animosity behind them now.

Harry tried to glare at the other man, but the smirk only grew in reply.

"So what's your plan, Chosen One?"

"Don't call me that," Harry muttered, but he did not sound half as irritated as he wanted to.

"Why not?" Draco asked innocently, pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth, once more. A pea fell off it and rolled over the table towards Harry. "You _are_ the Chosen One, after all."

Before Harry had the chance to stop himself, he picked up the pea and flicked it in the other man's face. Watching with satisfaction, as it bounced against his husband's nose.

Draco blinked, looking at the pea that rolled across the table again, as if he could not quite believe what Harry had just done. "Did you just throw a pea at me?" he asked, not looking up.

Suddenly, the adrenaline was rushing in Harry's veins, and he was a little afraid that he had crossed a line. Saying his husband was neat was an understatement, and Harry suspected that throwing food, even though it was just a pea, at one another did not count as good pureblood manners. On the other hand, Harry had never before stopped because Draco Malfoy thought he had crossed a line.

"I don't know. Did I?" he asked innocently, and snatched up the pea from the table again, before tossing it right in Draco's face once more.

There was something strangely pleasing about watching Draco struggle against the way he had been raised and the urge to get back at Harry. It was obvious, when he looked up, the characteristic challenge hard in his eyes. Harry was not sure what was going to happen, if he pushed the other man over the edge, but his body was tingling with excitement, and so he picked up the pea and threw it a third time.

"Are you trying to start a food fight with me, Potter?" Draco drawled, and a shiver ran through Harry's body at the sound of his last name. His husband was picking up a few peas from the least sauce-drenched part of his plate, placing them in his palm carefully, and the tension was crackling in the air between them.

"Is it working, Ferret?" Harry felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards, when the other man's eyes flared at the reminder of their fourth year. Somehow, Harry had forgotten that Draco also used to be a Seeker, and that underestimating his swiftness probably was one of the more stupid things he had done in his life. Before he had a chance to react, his husband had hurled himself across the table and knocked them both to the floor, smearing the now-mashed peas all over Harry's face with his hand.

He managed to get a hold of the other man's wrist, preventing his face from getting even more assaulted by food, but as Draco stilled on top of him, Harry became aware of just that: Draco on top of him. He opened his eyes slowly and found his husband's face barely an inch from his own.

_Shit._

All of his instincts were screaming for him to lean in for a kiss, but a small voice in the back of his mind told him that it was probably not such a good idea. When Draco wiped his face clean with the sleeve of his shirt, however, the voice quickly fell silent.

His hand found Draco's neck, and he watched the grey eyes flutter shut, just before he leaned up, eliminating the inch of distance between them, and brushed their lips together. For a moment, it was as though all of his senses were silenced, and then, all at once, they went wild. His heart was pounding, skin tingling with magic, and all he could think of was how much he had missed kissing his husband.

Draco's lips pressed back against his, and a hand found his hair. Too quickly, Draco pulled away, and when Harry opened his eyes, there was a breathless smile on his face.

"So what's your plan, Chosen One?" the other man said again, and his smile turned into a smirk, when Harry groaned in defeat.

xXx

DPOV

The crowd was roaring around him, and Draco had to keep reminding himself that he was not supposed to be affected and cheer with them. Harry's plan had been simple, yet quite brilliant. While the Wolves were playing, Draco was going to tell his company that he was not feeling well, and make his way down to the locker room. Hopefully, Leo had left the keys somewhere where Draco would have access to them, and making a replica would be the least difficult thing about their plan.

It was not such a big mission, compared to others Harry had been through in his life, but Draco could not help but feel excited. It was completely stupid and childish, of course, but he had heard of Harry's adventures with his friends and now he, too, was going to solve mysteries with the Chosen One.

"Here they come!" Shastin cried, as the V-shaped formation of the seven black and pigeon-blue players dashed across the arena.

Draco clapped his hands weakly and winced, as she grabbed his arm hard.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked irritably, when he sat down, long before the speaker had introduced the players.

"I'm not feeling well," he explained, and was satisfied by how feeble he sounded.

She stopped clapping and frowned at him, looking him over from head to toe. "I can see that. Are you going to be sick?"

"I don't know," he answered quietly, and allowed himself to slump just a little in his seat.

"Do you know where their locker room is? You can lie down on a bench there for a while." Shastin looked a little worried now, but Draco did not know if it was because she was worried about him or the possibility that he could throw up on her shoes.

"Yes, I think so. Is it open?" he winced as the woman next to him started shouting and jumping up and down, as Harrigan turned upside down just above them.

"No, but I'll lend you Leo's keys. Just don't lose them." And just like that, Shastin was absorbed in the game again, staring up at the players before them and holding out a bunch of keys towards him.

"I won't," he promised, and took them from her hand, before she had the chance to change her mind. He kept up his act of being ill, until he made it down to the corridors underneath the arena. He could still hear the cheering from the crowd, but there was no other person in sight.

It had been a huge relief, when Drew had not showed for the game. Not only because Harry was clearly uncomfortable around him, but Shastin seemed to want to keep an extra eye on him, when Zefira's brother was around. It would have been much more difficult to go anywhere without her following, if only to make sure that Drew was not.

After roaming the corridors aimlessly for quite a while, he finally found the door to the locker room, and it took him another few minutes to find the right key. Harry had told him that Burke's locker was the one farthest to the left, and Draco looked around quickly to make sure that he was alone, before he approached it.

The room smelled of strong cleaning spells, likely to eliminate the stench of sweaty Quidditch gear. It felt as though he was intruding on something that was Harry's, just like when he had come to a game for the first time. This was where his husband spent most of his days, before and after practicing, until his muscles ached. Draco smiled to himself, as he thought of the way the other man's eyes seemed to shine, and the breathless expression on his face, whenever he came home after a game or a day of hard practice. It did not seem to matter, if he was limping lightly or if every muscle in his body was protesting with every move he made, because he still looked so trouble-free, those evenings.

Shaking his head, Draco concentrated on the key in his hand and pulled out his wand. He had practiced the movements a few times, and it was not a very difficult spell, but he was still worried that he would fail. He wondered if Granger or Weasley ever failed, when they were solving mysteries with Harry.

"_Imago,_" he whispered, and circled his wand counter-clockwise two times, over the master key, before touching it gently with the tip. As he withdrew his wand, he pulled an identical version of the key in his hand with it.

He put Leo's keys in his pocket and weighed the replica in his palm for a moment. Naturally it looked exactly the same as the original. He hesitated for a moment, before he pushed it into the lock to Burke's locker. He just had to make sure that it was working, that was all.

Harry had told him about the contents of the locker once, and when Draco first heard about it, he had not found it too worrying. But now, as he opened the door, he realised what Harry was talking about.

Hundreds of photos of a man with the same, intense blue eyes as his son, covered every inch of the locker's insides, and just as many were lying in piles, at the bottom. A set of match robes were hanging there, as well as a broom and a set of protection gear. It did not look like much, in his opinion, but if Harry thought there might be something in there for their use, then Draco was not going to object. He closed and locked the locker again, with a sigh, and looked around once more. It was not hard to guess which locker belonged to Harry, because his jeans and t-shirt were lying in a messy heap, on the bench in front of it.

The situation between them was more than just a little bit weird. Even though they had kissed without anyone else around to see, or a sex potion in their systems, a few days ago, they still stayed on their respective sides of the bed. He did not like to admit, even to himself, that he missed the spooning quite a bit. At times, he almost reached out to pull Harry against him in bed at night, but there was always the risk of humiliation.

He thought of opening Harry's locker, for a moment, out of pure curiosity, but then changed his mind. Quidditch was still Harry's, and he should not interfere with it more than he had to.

Draco took his time making his way back to the stand, purely to make sure that he did not get back too early, to ensure his nausea looked believable. He arrived back at his spot, just in time to see Harry straighten up from a dive, with the Snitch secure in his grasp. Despite the fact that he had missed out on another victorious game for his husband's team, he felt nothing but excitement, as he made his way down to the pitch beside Shastin.

"Your keys," he reminded her, and pressed them into her hand.

"Right, you look much better already," she said, and smiled as they walked through the crowd to find the team.

Unlike last time, there was no hesitation in his steps now, when he approached Harry. His face lit up, as their eyes met, and Draco crossed the few feet distance between them with his heart racing in his chest. Harry pulled him close, his arms locking tightly around Draco's body, but there was no kiss.

"Do you have it?" Harry whispered against his ear.

"Yes," Draco breathed, and the other man pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, a bright smile playing on his lips.

"Brilliant."

It was impossible to resist another moment, and he grabbed a handful of Harry's hair and pulled him close, kissing him hard. At first, his husband was unresponsive, seemingly taken by surprise, but, a moment later, he was kissing Draco back just as eagerly.

Fuck, there was simply no way that he would ever get enough of Harry's kisses.

"Draco! Stop making out! I need your help with the party." Shastin yanked at his arm and did not seem to care about the fact that he was having a very private moment with his husband.

Harry pulled back a fraction, and the look in his eyes made Draco want to drag him back to their bedroom and shag him senseless.

"I'll see you at the party, then," the other man said, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards.

"Don't be late," Draco smiled, and let Shastin drag him along. She really had the most terrible timing.

The woman was surprisingly and uncharacteristically silent, as they walked towards her house. It bothered him slightly, because she was _never_ quiet.

"All right, tell me," he demanded at last, and she looked up quickly, with a satisfied smirk on her lips. Clearly, she had been waiting for him to say something.

"Drew is coming," she said then, and grew instantly serious.

"And?" Draco sighed, having a feeling that he already knew where this was heading.

"And you really need to think about what signals you send out," she stated.

He wanted to tell her that perhaps she should think about the same thing, considering that she was the one paying a visit to his husband and having a _dinner_ with him, without Draco knowing. On the other hand, which was something that likely made her case slightly different to his, she was under the impression that Harry was gay and, even if she happened to be interested, she might not expect anything in return.

It did not help much that Draco felt like he was constantly getting mixed signals from his husband either. They had had a food fight the other night, which was something that Draco had never thought he would ever participate in during his lifetime, because it simply was not appropriate to play with food. Harry, however, always seemed to be able to make him do the unexpected and, when the other man had reminded him of one of the most humiliating moments of his life, by calling him Ferret, and somehow managing not to mock at the same time, Draco had simply not been able to resist. And then they had kissed.

Truth be told, if he really was angry about them having sex, and for Draco supposedly using him, even though Harry had been the persistent one, he definitely had a strange way of showing it.

"_Draco_," Shastin said sharply, pulling him out of his thoughts abruptly. "You might not believe this, but I usually try and stay out of other people's affairs."

He laughed at this, because he could not picture her staying out of anything.

"I mean it," she insisted, as they walked up to her front door. "You have quickly become one of my closest friends, and I really don't want you to ruin your marriage. I care more about you than I care about Harry, but I would hate to see him hurt, and I _know_ that if you did something with Drew, and Harry found out, he would be devastated. And I also happen to know that you're ridiculously in love with him, so I don't want you to do anything without thinking first. Trust me, I know it usually ends up badly. For everyone involved."

Draco knew that he should not put too much into her words, because she did not _really_ know him, considering the fact that his whole life here was based on a lie. Still, there was something uncomfortable pinching in his chest, that he could not quite explain.

"I'm not interested in Drew," he said, after a moment, and when she snorted, he added: "I'm not. It's just nice to talk to someone that is not a woman and isn't my husband, for a change."

In truth, he was most likely interested in the attention Drew gave him. There was nothing wrong with the man, and he certainly looked good, but it was not like Draco did not have a handsome man to look at when he was in his home, either.

"I assume Harry told you that I stopped by to talk to him," Shastin said, and shooed him inside with swift hand movements.

"He did," Draco nodded.

"I know you might think that I went behind your back, but I really didn't mean to. I just thought that if...that if that was Leo and someone's sister, I'd want them to tell me, so that we could talk about it before something happened." She suddenly looked teary-eyed, and he wondered, for a moment, if something similar truly had happened to her, in the past.

"It's fine. Please warn me next time, though." He had not thought it to be fine until now, but his relationship with Harry seemed to be of importance to her.

"He was crushed when I told him that Drew had asked you to come and redecorate his flat." She looked at him carefully, as though she wanted to make sure that he was listening.

"He was?" Draco could not stop the question from slipping over his lips, more intrigued by her words than he would confess, even to himself.

"Yeah, his voice was all hollow, you know? Like there was a bunch of Dementors in the room with us. Broke my heart, really." Except that she did not seem very heartbroken, because her serious mood had swiftly been switched to her endless party planning, and she was now arranging champagne glasses on a silver tray.

Draco did not answer, because even though she seemed distracted and caught up in something else, it did make a form of weird sense to him. And the fact that it made sense that Harry had been crushed by something like that, made him even more confused than if he had not been.

Merlin, he really needed to sort things out with the other man. If only for the sake of their work, he tried to tell himself, but the strange fluttering sensation in his stomach told him something different, which he chose to ignore.

He was oddly anxious, as he waited for Harry to arrive. When Drew stepped through the front door, Draco barely rewarded him with a look, wondering what was taking his husband so long. He was starting to worry, when the rest of the Wolves team came laughing through the door, and Harry was not among them.

"Where's Harry?" he asked Jordan, when the man thumped his back quite brutally in a greeting.

"He went home to change clothes – said he felt stupid in jeans and a t-shirt." The dark man shrugged and grinned widely, causing Draco to wonder if he knew something else about this, or if it was only the victory making him giddy.

The thought of Harry changing into something other than a t-shirt and jeans, without Draco there to instruct him, was also a bit worrying. It was not exactly news that the man had absolutely no sense of fashion or colours whatsoever, but it was not like Draco could walk home to make sure that his grown up husband was dressing himself properly.

Half an hour later, when Drew had already brought him a drink and started discussing politics and his trip to New York the upcoming week, despite the fact that Draco was clearly focusing more on the door than on the conversation, Harry arrived.

And Draco forgot everything else.

Clearly, Harry had decided that the best way to eliminate the possibility of making a complete fool out of himself was by simply choosing to wear Draco's clothes.

It should not have been such a complete turn on, but his blood was flooding south swiftly, as he watched Harry scan the room, fiddling with the buttons to the cardigan nervously. Then the other man's eyes finally found his, and Draco had to use all of his strength not to groan out loud, as Harry gave him an almost shy grin.

"He scrubs up pretty nicely," Drew said suddenly, as if he had been watching.

Draco laughed breathlessly, not able to form a coherent sentence; his gaze was still connected to Harry's.

"He looks good in that shirt," Drew pressed on.

"He looks better without it," Draco answered truthfully, and found himself a little annoyed by the interruption. He still was not able to tear his gaze away from his husband, who was also still looking at him.

Drew did not answer this time, and Draco could feel the goose bumps spread over his skin, as Harry gave him a final lopsided smile, before he was pulled away by Harrigan. Draco watched Peter press a beer into his husband's hand and smiled to himself. Harry had definitely improved immensely, when it came to being around people, and thinking about it caused an odd swelling sensation in his chest.

"I realised I never asked how long you have been married," Drew said suddenly, and Draco did not have an excuse not to look at him this time.

"A few months," he answered, and tried to figure out what the other man would make out of this.

"You seem...to have quite a stormy relationship," Drew said, after a moment of silence.

"That way, it never gets boring." For the first time, Draco did not feel good about the other man's attention. Quite on the contrary, he felt slightly uneasy in his presence. It was a relief when Shastin managed to climb onto a chair and clink a spoon against the glass in her hand.

"I would just like to welcome you all to another gathering, to celebrate the victory of a game!" She giggled, as Leo nudged her in the side, and grasped his shoulder for support. "I know I said this last time as well, but I would like to propose a special toast for Harry and Draco, because they have quickly become close new friends and an amazing addition to our team!" And with that, she raised her glass, as the rest of the room did the same, and Draco found himself wondering what she would say in her toasts, when all of this was over.

"You and Harry seem like very different people." Drew instantly picked up the subject again, as soon as Shastin had climbed down from the chair.

"We are," Draco agreed. He felt the urge to go find his husband in the crowd and leave, but the other man had definitely earned the right to celebrate with his friends.

"It's a shame that you're already married," Drew said suddenly, for the first time clearly stating what he was trying to accomplish. A few days ago, Draco might have been flattered, possibly even gone along with the concealed invite. Now, he was not.

"I really don't agree with that," he answered coolly, and felt a tug of satisfaction when Drew moved away an inch, creating space between them.

"Can I talk to you?" came a voice behind him, and the way his chest contracted made no room for questioning who that voice belonged to.

He turned around, unsurprisingly finding Harry standing there. What was rather surprising, however, was the way the other man's eyes seemed to have darkened with pupils dilated, causing Draco's breath to hitch in his throat.

He only nodded in response, not trusting his voice, and followed his husband. He was surprised to notice that Harry was walking upstairs and seemed to randomly choose a door to open and lead him through.

It was a closet, Draco concluded, as soon as he saw the rows of dresses and lines of high heeled shoes, and turned around to ask Harry what they were doing in there. His husband was closing the door behind him, staring at Draco intently, and it was suddenly a lot harder to breathe.

A moment later, Harry was pushing him up against the wall, crushing their bodies and lips together. Draco let out a small sound in surprise but quickly gave in and pushed back. A groan escaped him, as Harry ground their hips together, knowing there was no doubt as to whether the other man had felt his erection now.

Harry's hands slid down his back and grabbed his arse just hard enough to make Draco grind up against him, creating delicious friction over his hard cock.

"We're in a closet," he mumbled against Harry's lips. The voices and music downstairs made him feel both excited and a little anxious.

"I know," Harry replied, a smile in his voice.

Draco could feel hot breath against his skin, ghosting lightly over his ear and neck, before warm, wet lips found the sensitive spot just below his ear. "What-what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Nothing." A hand slipped down his front, rubbing over his erection through his trousers, pressing a groan over his lips. And suddenly every nerve ending was tingling, waiting for Harry to touch him again. When the hand rubbed over his straining cock once more, his head fell back against the wall with a whimper.

Fuck, he had forgotten how much his body broke down, under the other man's touch.

He was not sure if it was to do with the way Harry palmed him through his trousers, as if he just could not get enough of the feel of it, the fact that they were finally touching like this again, or that all of this happened to take place in a closet during a party in their neighbours' house.

Then Harry's lips were on his again, demanding another groan, and making Draco grab a handful of black, tousled hair and hold on, refusing to break the kiss, until he was so lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, that he was forced to pull away.

"I wanna try something," Harry whispered against his lips then, the tone in his voice making Draco shiver and the muscles in his gut contracted expectantly.

Before he had the chance to reply, Harry had fallen to his knees, pressing Draco firmly against the wall, with steady hands on his hips. It was impossible to look away, as Harry gently stroked the outline of his cook with his thumb, his eyes wide, mouth half open. Draco shuddered and suppressed a groan.

Harry suddenly pressed his face against his crotch, inhaling deeply, and the groan Draco had tried to hold back slipped out forcefully. He could see, more than feel, wet lips slide over the length of his cock, and Harry's eyes fluttered shut for a moment. Then, trembling fingers started to zip down his trousers, and a small voice in the back of his mind told him that this was not a very good idea, whilst being in a closet. A much louder part of him made him grab Harry's shoulder for support with one hand, as he reached down to help with the fly, with the other.

A low, greedy sound escaped Harry, as he freed Draco's cock, tugging down trousers and underwear slightly with one hand, stroking down the length of his cock with the other. Green eyes stared up at him, for a moment, and Draco breathed out harshly, trying to keep his self-control and calm his shivering body and hyperactive nerve endings. It did not work.

"Fuck," he groaned, the sound suddenly loud in the small space, as a warm tongue grazed over the head of his cock.

His heart was racing in his chest, breaths rapid and noisy. _Fuck._ The realisation of Harry Potter giving him head in a closet made a loud moan tumble over his lips, and, as if it had been the cue Harry had been waiting for, warm, wet lips slid over the head of his cock, slowly taking him in.

"_Yes_," he groaned, voice raspy, and he knew he was too loud, but he did not care. And as Harry started sucking him, eyes closed, cheeks slightly hollowing, Draco could do nothing but let out throaty, begging sounds and hold on.

He should have had enough self-control to quieten down, when his groans and whimpers transformed to loud moans, as any hesitation in the other man's actions disappeared, but he was not aware of anything but Harry's mouth on his cock.

"Holy fuck!"

Harry suddenly went very still, and Draco's stomach suddenly clenched, for a whole other reason, as he recognised Shastin's voice. He found her standing in the doorway, gaping at them, when he opened his eyes rather reluctantly.

"What...I..._are you_? Yes. Shit. I'm closing the door again." And then she banged the door closed, darkness surrounding them again, and Draco's ragged breathing was the only sound.

Harry slowly let him slid out of his mouth and looked as though he was not sure whether to laugh or be greatly embarrassed. "Oh God," he mumbled, as he got to his feet again. "Maybe we should continue this at home."

A shudder ran through Draco's body, at the other man's words, and he quickly pulled up his trousers and underwear again, not bothering to tuck in his shirt. He had not thought it to be possible, but the realisation of going home, and being able to continue this in a bed, made him even harder.

"Yes," he breathed, nodding, as his eyes met Harry's.

A few moments later, they were making their way outside, trying not to look as though they had just been doing what they had been doing, but Draco had a feeling that their kiss-swollen lips, dishevelled hair and clothes somewhat gave them away.

"If there's a kid sitting on our fence when we get home, I'm going to ignore him," he muttered, as they hurried down the street. Harry laughed breathlessly and grasped his hand, sending tingles up his arm.

"Do you think Shastin's going to tell?" he asked, after a moment of silence.

"Without a doubt," Draco snorted, and felt a pang of relief, as he noticed that there was not a person in sight, when their house came into view.

As soon as the front door had closed behind them, Harry pulled him close, kissing him harshly. Draco groaned, remembering exactly where those lips had been only minutes ago, and shuddered, as he could feel another erection pressing against his own.

"Bed. Now," he demanded, when warm lips started to travel along his jaw and down his neck, making it hard to think.

"Brilliant idea," Harry mumbled against his ear.

Draco forced himself to pull away from the strong, warm body pressing up against his own, promising himself that if he did, they would be naked in the same bed within minutes. He pulled Harry along with him up the stairs and excitement gripped him, as they hurried down the hallway to their bedroom. Their bed looked especially inviting to Draco, in that very moment.

Harry's arms locked around him from behind, hot breath ghosting over the sensitive skin on his neck, making him push backwards against the other man. He could feel the hardness of Harry's cock pressing against his arse through their clothing, making his own twitch in anticipation.

"Want you," Harry whispered, as if he had heard Draco's thoughts, and the other man's hands were trembling much less now, as they started unbuttoning Draco's shirt.

"Yes," he groaned in response, as warm lips and tongue kissed, licked and sucked their way down his neck and throat. The light touch from Harry's fingertips on the newly revealed skin of his torso sent tingling jolts straight to his groin, and he unzipped his trousers, grinding his arse slowly against Harry's erection. Because, _fuck_, he did not have the patience to wait much longer.

He was just about to push the other man down on the bed and straddle him, much like last time, because he did not exactly mind taking care of things himself, if that meant that he would get to have mind blowing sex, when Harry turned him around and kissed him hard. "Lie down." The husky sound of his husband's voice made him shudder, and his throat felt too dry to speak.

At first, Draco thought of simply laying down and letting Harry take control. The mere thought of it was thrilling. But he was too hard, too eager to feel the other man's body against his own, to not to do anything that might get his husband to hurry up. Instead, he quickly shed his last items of clothing and smiled to himself, as he heard Harry draw a deep breath behind him.

Draco had never had a problem with his own body, and neither had anyone who had ever seen it before, but as he lay down on the bed, flat on his back and cock leaking against his stomach, all he came to care about was Harry's opinion. He shivered, as he watched the green eyes travel over his body, Harry's chest heaving and falling rapidly, as his gaze stopped at the sight of Draco's cock. He watched his husband swallow thickly, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and a low sound escaped him that made Draco's toes curl. And fuck, he should walk around naked a little more often, if this was the response.

"Brilliant choice of clothing," Draco said lowly, and Harry's eyes snapped up.

The same shy grin that Draco had received, when Harry had first arrived at the party, spread over the man's face now. "I hope you don't mind."

"No, but they need to come off now." Draco could not help but smile, as Harry's eyes widened, and a blush crept up his face in embarrassment, as though he had completely forgotten what they were here for in the first place.

He stopped smiling immediately, when Harry threw the shirt aside, revealing his toned abdominal muscles and chest, seemingly unaware of Draco's gaze, as he unzipped his trousers and stepped out of them, along with his underwear.

_Fuck_.

Draco already knew that his husband happened to have the most fantastic body and cock he had ever seen, but along with the red colour of the other man's cheeks, and the way he did not really want to meet Draco's gaze, made him even more fantastic. Which was a strong contrast to what Draco usually preferred. But then again, everything about Harry was a strong contrast to what he usually preferred.

A moment later, every thought was effectively wiped from his mind, as demanding lips found his, and the mattress dipped under him, as Harry climbed onto the bed, clearly in a rush of sudden Gryffindor courage. Draco's legs automatically spread wider, as he felt the warm weight of Harry's body on top of his own. He groaned, hips jerking, as hot, sticky flesh slid against his own erection.

"Oh God," Harry breathed against his lips and ground their bodies together again, making Draco shudder.

He let his hands slide over the soft, sweaty skin on Harry's back, whimpering as warm lips started to cover every inch of his skin, and groaning as teeth grazed his nipples. He was so hard, that a slow burning ache for release spread through him, with every touch from Harry's lips and with every shudder through his trembling muscles.

He was slowly falling apart – noisy whimpers pushing over his lips every time warm lips found an unexplored patch of skin, cock leaking and twitching, and body shaking. He had a feeling that Harry was avoiding everything below his waist on purpose – perhaps wanting Draco to _beg_ for it – and just as he was about to push Harry down on his back and take what he wanted, his husband sat up between his legs, teeth digging into a swollen bottom lip from insecurity.

Draco let his eyes wander freely, as he got a chance to catch his breath, strong hands slowly stroking his thighs. And _fuck_, Harry's cock was practically dripping, his flushed chest heaving, and fingertips trembling against Draco's thighs.

"I, er, I read about –" Harry began, but trailed off with a shrug, eyes not quite meeting Draco's, as his gaze snapped up at the words.

"Read?" Draco asked, quirking an eyebrow with a smirk. Because he was quite certain what kind of reading Harry had done.

"Yes," the other man mumbled, and smiled sheepishly. A violent shiver ripped through his body, as Draco's fingertips trailed down his chest and stomach, slowly ghosting over the length of his cock. "I read that–" he trailed off with a small sound, eyes fluttering shut, as Draco could not resist the opportunity to swipe his thumb over the head of Harry's cock, smearing the drops of pre-cum.

"Yes?" Draco urged, and watched the other man bite his lip to concentrate, eyes still closed. He could feel his own erection twitch at the sight, suddenly realising how easily he could over-power Harry like this.

"I read about this preparation charm," Harry groaned, as Draco closed his hand around his cock, slowly stroking down the length. A part of him wanted to just fall back on the bed, spread his legs and tell Harry that he could do whatever he wanted with him, even though preparation spells made him feel cheap. A much bigger part craved the feel of Harry's fingers inside him, pulling, twisting, and stroking until he could not take anymore. "Do you want me to...?" Harry asked, almost panting now, thrusting into Draco's hand.

"No, just your fingers," Draco said lowly, and stilled his hand, as Harry's eyes snapped open.

"Just my fingers," he repeated breathlessly, one hand instantly exploring the inside of Draco's thigh.

For a moment, it seemed as though Harry was overwhelmed, his eyes still boring into Draco's, chest still heaving. Then he grasped Draco's calf gently, steadying it on one shoulder, and Draco knew that he should feel exposed, as he had everything on display for Harry's eyes, but his heart only started stuttering in anticipation. For a moment, Harry only stared at him, seemingly unable to break their eye contact, but then his gaze travelled over Draco's body. There was a sharp intake of breath, as Harry's eyes raked over his cock, and then even lower, but Draco was not sure whose it was.

He watched Harry bite his lip in concentration, brow furrowing slightly, as he mumbled a spell Draco would not have perceived, if he had not known the words so well. He was panting now, even though Harry barely touched him, except for one hand still resting on his thigh.

He closed his eyes, trying desperately to calm his breathing and the pounding in his chest, but failed miserably, as slick fingers gently grazed the rim of his arse, and a loud gasp escaped him. Because fuck, he could not help but press himself against them, a tight, embarrassing whine slipping over his lips, before he was able to stop it. His whole body was tingling now, toes curling expectantly, as a finger breached him slowly, pausing to let his body adjust. Except that Draco did not want to wait.

As he opened his eyes, he found Harry looking intently at him, as if to make sure he was okay.

"I'm not going to break," he said, surprised by the hoarse tone of his voice.

A small smile spread across Harry's lips, but he still did not move. "Are you sure?"

"_Yes._" And with that, Draco pushed himself against the other man's hand, feeling the finger slide into him deeper, groaning loudly. When Harry pulled it out just a little, only to push in again, he swept all of Draco's coherency away. Just like that.

In moments, he was clenching the sheets hard in his hands, hips bucking needily, as Harry pushed and pulled, adding a finger, twisted and stroked as if he knew exactly how to make Draco cry out, so close to edge but still too far away.

He was panting, body covered in sweat and limbs trembling, when Harry pulled out, and then he was suddenly hyperaware again, knowing exactly what was about to come. He opened his eyes slowly and found Harry's face hovering just inches above his own, gaze averted downwards, as he positioned himself, brow furrowed in concentration.

Draco drew a sharp intake of breath, as he could feel the slick pressure of Harry's cock, lifting his hips expectantly and grabbing a handful of tousled hair.

"Ready?" Harry whispered, lips brushing over Draco's as he spoke, yet not a proper kiss.

Draco nodded in reply, throat too dry to speak and his brain too clouded to concentrate on anything else but the slightly uncomfortable stretch, as Harry pushed into him slowly.

A throaty sound escaped him, as the air in his lungs was pressed out of him. _This_, he loved this, feeling extremely vulnerable and surprisingly safe at the same time, his body stretched around hard, satiny flesh.

Harry was trembling above him, his eyes closed firmly and mouth half open. He was not moving and was breathing hard, as a few damp strands of his hair were plastered to his forehead.

"Oh God, _fuck_," he groaned then, his voice slightly strangled, and, when he opened his eyes, Draco found it even harder to breathe.

He reached up to capture Harry's lips, just as the first, slow thrust made him shudder and groan, the sound muffled by their kiss. Before he knew it, he was surrounded by their heavy breathing, groans, Harry's touches, slow thrusts, and his eyes still boring into Draco's. And then he thrust deeper, making Draco cry out, because Harry felt so fucking good inside him, making his body burn.

"Yes, _yes_, that's it," he groaned, as Harry repeated the motion. "Hard and slow."

Pleasure had etched itself across the other man's face, his body quaking, and Draco was coming apart beneath him, arching into every thrust, sounds pushing over his lips every time Harry thrust into him.

His eyes fell closed, as a trembling hand grasped his cock, making his vision go white, as jolts shot through him. Harry's motions became more erratic and less controlled, and he made the most fantastic sounds Draco had ever heard.

"So close," Draco panted, feeling the muscles in his stomach contract, balls tightening. "Oh fuck, _so close_."

Moaning loudly, hips snapping more frantically, Harry nodded, his hand squeezing tighter around Draco's cock.

And just like that, his back arched painfully, and he grabbed the sheets with one hand, twisting the other in tousled hair, trying to hold on to something as he came, his body shuddering violently, contracting hard over and over around Harry.

He might have screamed, as his vision went white, but he was aware of nothing but the way Harry pulsed inside him, a broken cry leaving his lips. A moment later, Harry collapsed on top of him.

Draco was still trembling, when Harry slowly moved off of him, and the soft tingle of a cleaning spell ghosted over his skin, for a moment. He cracked his eyes open and reached out, worried that his husband would move away. But Harry just pressed himself close, holding him tightly and pressing a soft kiss on his shoulder. Draco shuffled closer, savouring the feeling of falling asleep with Harry's warm body and slowing breaths against him, for the first night in a long time.

xXx

Draco awoke a few hours later, wondering why he was so warm. He stretched slowly, groaning as his muscles protested wildly against the movement. It all came seeping back to him then, much like last time he had woken up like this.

Fuck, he had done it again.

It suddenly felt hard to breathe, and he untangled himself quite harshly from Harry's secure arms and warmth, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He glanced over his shoulder, and his chest contracted painfully, as his gaze caught Harry's sleeping form. The black hair was a sharp contrast against the white pillow case, and the other man looked so content, laying on his side, breathing soundly. His lips were a little swollen still, Draco noted, and he suddenly found it was hard to swallow.

Once again, the sex had been mind-blowing, making it clear that the potion had not been the main reason for his experience last time. The thing was, that this was more than just sex. Draco knew fucking, and this was not it.

Merlin, he was not sure what was happening between them, and he did not want to think about it, but he had definitely ruined it again. In a few hours, there would be a frosty silence between them. Except that Draco did not know what Harry would be angry at him for, this time. He remembered Shastin's words clearly form their conversation earlier – her claiming that it was obvious how ridiculously in love he was with Harry. She was wrong, of course, but the words still made him uncomfortable.

The sheets were rustling behind him, and he looked over his shoulder, heart pounding in his chest. Harry was squinting slightly at him, both from sleep and bad eyesight, Draco suspected. The way he frowned and how his hair was even messier than usual, probably a combination between their sex and sleep, made Draco's heart trip over itself.

"Why are you up?" Harry mumbled, his voice rough from sleep, and he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, before looking up again. And for the first time in his entire life, Draco found another grown human being adorable.

"Just thinking," he answered softly, and smiled slightly as Harry scooted closer.

"Come back to bed."

"Soon," Draco promised, and noticed how the other man's frown deepened. He looked out of the window, as the mattress moved beneath him, and he thought that Harry decided to go back to sleep. Harry never did anything the easy way, he reminded himself, as strong arms snaked around him.

"Something wrong?" Harry asked, and Draco shivered, as he felt the other man nuzzle his neck. Not exactly the outburst of rage he had expected. He definitely preferred this reaction.

"I was certain that you would be furious with me," he confessed, and felt the arms tighten around him.

"Why would I be mad at you?" The confusion in Harry's voice was so clear that Draco almost felt like laughing.

"Because we had sex," Draco said quietly, and sighed when lips briefly slid over the sensitive skin just below his ear.

"Yeah," Harry breathed into his ear, and Draco felt the blood in his veins rush south, accompanied by the other man's warm hands. "Doesn't answer my question."

Perhaps it was something about the way Harry touched him, and the way he made the curtains close with one lazy hand-movement that turned him on so badly. Perhaps it was simply because he was Harry.

"Come back to bed," his husband whispered again, his voice rough now. His hands made Draco's skin feel like it was melting beneath them.

"You know you have practice tomorrow, right?" Draco asked, and groaned when Harry's hand grasped his already hardening cock gently. Not that he cared enough to break something off, but it felt polite to ask.

"Don't care."

Harry's mouth sucked and licked and bit carefully over the skin on his neck. Draco suspected that he would have a collection of hickeys the next day, if he did not already, but he could not care less, as Harry started stroking him slowly. He could feel the other man's erection pressing against the small of his back, witnessing that he was not the only one who had responded so quickly.

"Come back to bed," Harry said for the third time, biting down gently around his earlobe.

Draco wanted to say some snide comment about persistent Gryffindors, but fuck, he did not have energy left for that.

"Yes," he groaned instead, and leaned into the other man, giving in to strong hands and warm lips, allowing worries to be left forgotten in the back of his mind.

_I'm ready for a bloodrush straight to my head_

_And when we kiss, kiss, kiss it's all there is_

_I'm in a perfect state of perfect bliss_

_I'm in love, and I don't wanna stop_

_Kiss kiss kiss - Sebastian_

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><p><strong>Chapter end notes:<strong> Well, that was that. I hope you all survived the M-rated parts and I apologise in case you didn't. I might be able to post the next chapter a little quicker, since I'm soon done with school and then there'll be a few weeks before I start working, and there might be a bit more time for writing. There will be some angry!wall!sex in the next chapter, and one angry Shastin, a little bit of Aiden (I think), one naked Drew, er yeah, you'll see!


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: **First of all: SO SORRY IT TOOK ME FOREVER! Secondly: Thank you so much for the response on the last chapter! It means so much to receive such lovely reviews and to know that you like what I'm writing. I do actually think that you guys broke the record of how many reviews I have received for one chapter, so YAY, _thank you_ for that as well! As some of you know by now (because I told you in my reply to your review) – FF is apparently deleting stories with smut, since they don't have an MA-rating. Because of that, I have also started publishing this story on AO3. I will keep publishing here as well, for as long as I can, but in case the story disappears, you can also find it here: (slash) works (slash) 417864 – just replace the (slash),.and remove the spaces, and you'll get there! You can also reach me on tumblr, if there's anything you want to ask, or simply want to stalk me for a bit: a-partial-print – I usually post samples before every chapter there, so in case you're interested in reading those, you could either follow me, or just track the "Keeping up with the Malfoys"- or the "KuwtM"-tags. :)

As usual, I don't own anything, except for the things that I do own, but I'm pretty sure that you guys can tell them apart, because you're intelligent people. There's sex in this chapter as well, so watch out! I'm not gonna complain about writing it, because I've already done that twice and a decent amount on tumblr as well, so I'll spare you my whining, haha.

This chapter is mostly dedicated to Carro, because she was the one demanding the angry!wall!sex, and directed the scene quite a bit (THANK YOU). She has also been a tremendous help throughout this story, with giving me feedback on the chapters, sort out the plot, telling me if anyone's out of character, etc.

And for Sarah Dumbledore, who uses a different name here, but she'll always be Sarah Dumbledore to me. She's been reading my stories for many, many years (God, where did all those years go?), and she's a real sweetheart. I'm sorry about the sex though, hun, close your eyes and breathe deeply and you'll survive (I think), haha.

Also this is a gift for all of you, because I've decided to celebrate my birthday the hobbit way, and give you guys a gift – which is this chapter. My birthday isn't until the 19th, but I won't have time to finish another chapter in a few days, so I'll give you this instead. :)

Alright then! Let's get this party started!

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 9<strong>

HPOV

Harry felt a little too warm to be able to go to sleep, as he lay tangled up in Draco's sleeping body and the duvet. Still, he would not move for the world. Draco had just fallen asleep after their second round of sex that evening, which had caused Harry to wonder if it was always going to be this brilliant, or if he still was overwhelmed by his inexperience.

Last night had been a huge turn for him, and probably for the relationship between them, whatever kind of relationship that was, as well. He had been ready to give up on solving the tension between them a while ago, but then they had kissed, all alone with no one else to prove a point to, after their food fight, and a spark of hope had been lit. When Draco had been able to make a replica of Leo's master key, it had felt more like a victory to Harry than actually winning the game, and he had decided that it was time to do something about the situation. Anything. When Draco had left with Shastin to prepare for the victory party, Jordan had mentioned in the locker room that Drew would be there, too. Zefira's brother was definitely not Harry's favourite person in the world, and he had felt ridiculous, at that moment, as he had thought about Drew's perfect exterior. It had been a bit of a risk to put on Draco's clothes, because his husband could have either become extremely irritated at him for taking something that was not his own, or it could have appealed to Draco's ego. Clearly, it had been the latter, since they had been staring at each other from across the room in a way that had made Harry wonder if it was possible to have sex with someone from just looking at them.

He had been less than pleased over the fact that Drew and Draco seemed to keep a conversation going constantly, making it hard for him to claim his husband back. Because God, Draco had looked beyond irresistible last night, and Harry had been half-hard since the moment he had stepped through the door. He had spoken with Zefira and Kat for far longer than he was comfortable with, because they were the ones standing closest to Draco and Drew, and he had been laughing with the women while the monster in his chest had grown more and more outraged from the way Drew stood a little too close and smiled a little too wide. Then, he had decided to use all the tricks he had read about in Hermione's books, as Drew had complained about Draco already being married, and Harry had not been able to not react, when he had watched his husband go from perfectly polite to frosty dismissive. Harry had not even cared that Zefira was in mid-sentence, as he had taken the few steps towards Draco and dragged him upstairs.

He had been terrified, at the time, but the monster in his chest, and the sudden need he felt for the other man, had made it impossible to back down. It had been all or nothing, and it had surprised even him a bit, as it turned out to be all.

Now, he was laying in bed, hair still sticking to his forehead and the sheets smelling of sex. He did not mind, however, recalling the feeling of Draco on top of him, riding him to what felt like an inch of his life. Because, shit, his husband clearly knew exactly what he was doing.

He tightened his hold automatically, when Draco moved against him, still perfectly naked and his hair uncharacteristically messy against the pillow. Harry's chest contracted hard, as he watched the other man for a moment, knowing that it probably was not a good idea to feel this way, while he was not completely sure what it was that he was feeling. It was new to him, feeling the need of someone else to such an extent, that it suddenly was all that mattered. Draco's reaction, when Harry had found him awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, a little while ago, also worried him. He could not for the world understand why he would be upset with the other man, because they had had sex. Now, he was scared that the huge elephant in the room would be back, when they both woke up in the morning, much like the first time.

Sighing, he moved carefully into a more comfortable position and buried his face in Draco's neck. He could worry about that tomorrow. Maybe Hermione could help, since he should probably give her a fire-call anyway, to tell her that the replica making went well. He tightened his hold of Draco once more, smiling to himself, as the other man mumbled something inaudible in his sleep, and let his eyes fall shut. He really could deal with it all tomorrow, if it was necessary.

xXx

The light was flooding through the window, when he woke up the next morning, making him wonder how he had been able to sleep for so long at all. Then, he became aware of what really had been awakening him – a cool hand gently nudging his shoulder. He groaned, as he rolled over on his back, the muscles in his body protesting wildly against the movement, and blinked the sleep from his eyes.

"It's time to get up, if you want to make it to practice in time," Draco said, smiling slightly. His fresh clothes and slightly damp hair told Harry that he had been awake for a while, and his heart leapt in his chest, as he noticed the evidence of last night's activities, still visible on the other man's neck. He really did not want to think about practice, considering how sore his body already felt and how much he wanted to pull Draco back in bed with him.

"What time is it?"

"A little past eleven. You still have time for brunch, if you get out of bed, instead of going back to sleep." Draco's voice sounded a bit harsh, but Harry figured it was mostly an act, as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, because the corners of the other man's mouth were still quirking upwards.

He stifled a yawn and followed Draco's eyes, as they wandered down his body, realising that he was still completely naked.

"And put some clothes on," Draco added, with his characteristic smirk-smile mixture, which caused a fierce blush to creep up on Harry's cheeks. He hated the fact that the other man could so easily, and visibly, make him uncomfortable. At least it was nothing Draco had not seen before, he tried to tell himself, as he hastily covered the lower part of his body with the duvet, and decided to change the subject. "_You_ made brunch?"

Draco's smirk quickly turned into a glare, but his lips were still twitching. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"_Yes_," Harry said honestly, remembering all too well how Draco had stated that he could not even make his own bacon for breakfast, their first morning here. He quickly ducked out of the way, when Draco picked up a pillow from the floor and threw it at him. Thinking about how it must have ended up there, in the first place, made his mouth go dry.

"I just reheated some leftovers, if you must know," Draco explained, his voice dry.

"Thank God, now I won't have to lock you in a room and wait for the polyjuice to wear off," Harry grinned, warmth spreading in his chest, when Draco was not quite able to hide his amusement for a moment, before he managed to pull off a scowl.

"I liked you better, when you didn't understand sarcasm," Draco snorted and turned around to leave the room, but paused just as he reached the doorway. "It's ready whenever you feel like coming downstairs."

"Just gonna put some clothes on," Harry blurted, when he realised that he had been staring at the other man's arse, instead of paying attention. He lost the battle against the blush, when Draco turned around, looking so incredibly smug that Harry wondered, for a moment, if he had been using _legilimens_.

"Not that I mind," Draco smirked, causing him to blush harder. "But we have neighbours to think about."

"Yeah, wouldn't want to scare off your new friends," Harry muttered dryly, and felt like punching himself in the face for feeling insulted, even though Draco had said that he did not mind.

"I think it would have the opposite effect, actually."

Harry looked up again quickly, but Draco had already left the room, and was luckily not able to see the blush on his cheeks, which had been renewed for a completely different reason, this time. He got dressed quickly, not even considering doing something about his hair. Last night, he had been afraid that the weird tension between them would be back this morning, along with an even bigger elephant in the room. Even though Draco had not mentioned last night, he did not seem to avoid the matter either, and maybe Harry truly had done a better job this time.

He shook his head, attempting to get the thoughts out of his brain, because it was not like they had had the chance to discuss the matter either, since he had only been awake for about fifteen minutes.

Draco was sitting at their kitchen table, reading the newspaper, when Harry walked in. There was a half-empty plate of crepes and a still-steaming cup of tea in front of him. He looked up briefly, smiling, when Harry sat down on the opposite side of the table.

They ate in a comfortable silence, for a while, or rather, Harry ate and Draco drank his tea, while leafing through the paper. Harry mostly watched him doing so, frustrated by the odd tightening in his stomach, every time Draco bit his lip, frowned or smirked at whatever he was reading at that moment.

"Are you going through the locker today?" Draco asked suddenly and looked up, his eyes instantly boring into Harry's.

Harry blinked, desperately trying to get his brain to re-start. God, he hated the way his brain seemed to go completely empty, whenever Draco looked at him that way. "Er, I guess. If I get the opportunity." The other man frowned at this, causing him to quickly add: "And if I don't, I'm going back there tomorrow anyway, to practice my left turns. Why?"

He watched Draco chew his bottom lip, for a moment, remembering frighteningly clear how he himself had been doing almost the same thing to that lip not too many hours ago.

"I'm thinking that we should go through the contents of the locker together, to make sure we don't overlook something important."

Harry was not sure if it was meant to be an insult or not, and he resisted the urge to say something about that he was perfectly capable of going through the locker on his own. Instead, he just nodded, telling himself that it could not hurt, since Draco had more experience in the matter, anyway.

"All right, I'll try to get whatever is in there with me today." It would not be that complicated. A simple illusion-charm would make sure that anyone who decided to take a look in the locker saw everything that used to be there.

He received a small smile in return, before Draco returned to his paper, but it was enough to make his insides feel as though they were melting.

"How's the kitchen going?" he asked suddenly, mostly attempting to make sure that there really was no weird tension between them. When the other man looked up, frowning slightly as though surprised by the question, it hit him that he had absolutely no idea about Draco's project at all.

"It's going fine," Draco said, folding the paper before putting it down on the table. "They're going to put up the cabinets today, so I have to be there to make sure that it's done properly. Speaking about that, I won't be home until late, so you might have to wait for me, before we can look through the things."

Harry smiled to himself, quite certain that the contractor did not need any instructions or being overlooked by Draco, but rather his husband who needed to feel as though he was in control. "You should tell me when you're finished, because I'd like to look at the result."

Draco paused, halfway out of the chair, and gave him a surprised look, before he managed to regain himself and stood up. "Okay. I'll see you tonight." Then he left, and a moment later the sound of the front door banging closed followed. Harry stared down at the crepes in front of him, confused. He was not completely sure how to interpret Draco's behaviour. Either the other man was uncomfortable around Harry, or he was truly surprised by the sudden interest Harry showed in his project. He really hoped that it was the latter.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Harry realised that he still had time to call Hermione before practice, and he could really do with talking to her, right now. Levitating the dishes to the sink, not bothering to clean them, he made his way to Draco's study. He was rarely in there, because it constantly felt as though he was intruding, but Draco had never minded before.

Hermione must have set up a ward to trigger some kind of alarm whenever someone made a fire-call, because she walked in to the living room only moments after Harry had blinked the ash from his eyes.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, but did not look very surprised to see him. Perhaps the ward was set to only trigger an alarm when the call was from him. "How are you?"

He smiled a little, when she sat down, the outline of her belly visible through the tight shirt. "I'm fine, and you? All of you?"

She instantly put a hand on her stomach, smiling softly. "We're all fine, but Ron is working. They had to call him in for an emergency. Apparently paperwork long past due is now considered an emergency." She shook her head, clearly not pleased by this. Then she returned the focus to him, and Harry realised that she already knew that he was not calling for a chat. He cleared his throat, desperately trying to come up with a way to start the conversation.

"How did the replica-making go?" she asked, clearly sensing his discomfort.

"Great. Well, actually, I haven't tried the replica yet, but Draco says it worked, when he tried." He smiled slightly, mostly to himself, as he remembered the pride and the look on the other man's face, when he had told Harry that he had succeeded.

"Fantastic!" She smiled so brightly, that it was impossible for him not to return it. "I'm glad things are going so well. If we're lucky, we might have you back home in no time."

Something cold squeezed hard around his chest at this, effectively wiping away his smile. It was true. Of course it was true, but he had not really thought about it until now. If they actually found a good lead today, in Burke's locker, they might be on their way back home within the week. He would leave a life behind, with friends and Quidditch, and with Draco. A life that he desperately wanted to keep. It was not hard to realise that, even though they did not live that far from each other back home in England, they probably would not see each other again, after going back. At least not on purpose. The thought hurt more than he wanted to admit to himself. He was not ready to go back. Not yet.

"Yeah," he said, realising that he had been silent for too long. There was something in Hermione's eyes now, as he looked at her, that made a lump form in his throat.

"Did you solve things with Malfoy?" she asked, gently now, sounding much like she had done when she had spoken to him during fifth year.

Something in his stomach twisted, despite the cold in his chest and the lump in his throat. "Sort of," he mumbled, face heating instantly. He tried to slap himself mentally, because it was not like she did not already know what was going on. "It's just very confusing, everything," he added, hoping that she would ask him questions instead.

"Naturally," she nodded, a small smile returning to her lips now. "Have you talked things through?"

"No." Harry shook his head. "I know I should have, but, after last night, I'm not really sure what to think." He knew that he was only giving her small parts of information, but she was intelligent enough to put the pieces together herself.

"Why not?"

He flushed scarlet, as possible ways of explaining the situation to her took form in his mind. Giving up, he blurted: "Because...because when I woke up after, you know, he was awake and when I asked him what was wrong, he said that he had expected me to be angry with him."

"Oh." Hermione frowned, either as perplexed by this as he was, or simply confused since he had spoken so fast. "But you weren't mad at him after last time, were you?"

"No, of course not." He shook his head, recalling the day after the first time he had had sex with Draco. "There weren't much room for me to be angry either, because we barely spoke at all there, for a while after. I'm pretty sure it was because he was disappointed," he added the last part quickly, when he saw her frown deepen.

She nodded silently, staring blankly to her side, thinking hard, before the usual glint of understanding lit her eyes. "Perhaps he interpreted that as you being mad at him? If you barely spoke to each other, I mean."

Now, it was Harry's turn to frown. He had not considered that possibility at all. "But why would he think that I was angry with him? It wasn't like he was the one putting a sex potion in our drinks."

Hermione started at him for a moment, eyebrows raised. "I'm not even going to ask," she stated then, and her mouth was tugged into a smile quite reluctantly, as though she was not sure if she was supposed to find this amusing or not.

"That's probably for the best," Harry agreed, laughing, and for a moment wondering what she would think of Shastin, if they ever were to meet.

"Does he know about...about your lack of experience with men?" she asked carefully, quickly turning serious.

_Rather lack of experience altogether_, Harry thought to himself. "I assume." He shrugged. "He knows that I've only dated girls. We spoke about it, when we first came here."

"So, he's under the impression that you're straight?" Hermione pressed on, causing Harry to wonder what she was going for.

"Er, I guess." He had never really considered his sexuality, more than in terms of his lacking experience. It was just never anything that had ever felt important to him before. First, it had been the whole point of staying alive, for quite a few years, and then there were Ginny and Romilda, and after that, he had simply decided that dating at all was not possible for him.

"Perhaps he thought that you were angry with him, because he assumed that you didn't really want to have sex with him, since you had been drinking a sex potion, you know?"

Harry froze. It could be a possibility. _Oh God._

"But I told him, er, at the time, that I wanted to," he tried.

"That could have been the potion, too, Harry. Wouldn't you have thought the same thing?"

"I just assumed that he thought I was a crap shag." His face heated again, as he remembered that this was Hermione he was talking to, and not someone like Shastin. Thankfully, she did not seem to care.

"I really think that you two need to talk about this and sort things out, Harry," she said instead, smiling softly.

"I know, but, _how?_ This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about. It's not like he's the easiest person in the world to talk to. He's so...so eloquent, and I'm, well I'm not," Harry muttered. Most of all he was scared that the other man would laugh at him. It did not seem very likely, considering the way their relationship and attitude towards each other had changed, since they had come here, but there was still the risk. "He might think I'm ridiculous, because I want to sleep with him again."

"Perhaps that's the first thing you should try to speak with him about. I'm sure it will go just fine, Harry."

He wanted to ask her for a manuscript, so that he could learn lines that would give him the best possible outcome for that conversation. At times like these, he very much wondered if he truly was a Gryffindor, considering how his heart rate sped up at the very thought of speaking to Draco about this.

"Yeah," he said, despite the doubt in his mind. "Yeah, I probably should."

She looked at him for long moment, before smiling widely, suddenly looking like he had just asked her about _Hogwarts: A History._

"So, Ron really wants to know how Quidditch is going, but he always forgets to ask."

Harry could have kissed her right then and there, if it had been possible, for changing the subject.

"It's going pretty good," he told her, returning her smile, and suddenly it was so easy to talk. "I like my team, and I'm a much better flyer now than before. I never realised that I missed it so much, you know? We won a game yesterday, and one of my team member's wife threw a party afterwards to celebrate. She's a bit crazy, but she's friends with Draco, and now she insists on throwing another party to surprise him on his birthday. I think I've been to more parties, during my time here, than ever before in my life. I feel like we attend one at least once a week."

"You look happy," she said, when he fell silent, and smiled even though she seemed to be close to tears.

He hesitated for a moment, considering her words. "Yeah, I am." When he noticed her eyes brimming with tears, he quickly added: "But I really miss you and Ron, and I want to be there when you have your baby."

"America isn't that far away, Harry," she said, even though it was.

"I'm not leaving England," he insisted. "It's just nice to be someone else, other than Harry Potter, for a while."

"No one could, or would, blame you for that, and it's not like Ron and I could ever completely understand what it's like for you." She was crying now, but the smile still stayed on her lips, as the tears rolled down her cheeks. "It's so good to hear that you have finally started living the life you deserve, Harry. I think it was a wise choice to accept the job Kingsley offered you."

"I really miss you," he whispered. He did not think about it constantly, but when he had the chance to speak to them – to _see_ them – it was brutally clear that he could never live on the other side of the Atlantic to them. "Maybe you and Ron could come for a visit?"

"Don't you think that would complicate things with your neighbours?" She was hastily drying her tears now, as though she suspected that it was making him feel bad. Although it did make him feel a little bad, Harry also felt as though a part of him deserved it, but there was no point in saying it, because she would not agree with him

"Not really. We could fill you in on the story, which isn't that far a stretch from the truth, so Ron wouldn't even have to pretend to like Draco. I think it would be good for our neighbours to see that we have friends from England, as well."

"You should probably talk to Malfoy about this too, before I talk to Ron, but I'm sure he would love to visit. Perhaps we could even watch one of your games." Hermione did not even like Quidditch that much, but, at the moment, Harry felt like he was missing her to such an extent, that he would not mind getting a tour of her department's library, if it meant that he could spend some time together, so maybe it was much the same for her.

"Yeah, and Draco is almost done with his first project, so we could take a look at that too." He probably should talk to Draco first, however, but there was a rush of relief now, when he realised that it would not have to be very complicated to have his friends over for a visit, at all. Except for the fact that Ron and Draco would have to spend time under the same roof, of course.

"Sure," Hermione smiled, and looked almost as uplifted by this as Harry felt. "Perhaps we could talk again about it, within the week? Then you would have time to discuss it with Malfoy."

"Yeah, I'll call you," he nodded, realising that it was probably time for him to leave for practice, anyway. "I need to get going, but I'll talk to you soon, then? And tell Ron hi from me."

She seemed to be on the verge of crying again, and the lump in Harry's throat started to chafe. "I will. Take care of yourself, okay?"

He just nodded, before withdrawing his head from the fireplace. For long moments, he just lay there on the floor, staring up at the white ceiling above him, until someone banged on the door downstairs.

Right, practice.

"You look a lot more alert than I thought you would," Peter said instantly, despite how Harry felt, when he opened the door.

"I didn't drink that much," Harry frowned. He was not like Harrigan, who drank until he passed out, and he had even left early last night.

"I know," Peter grinned, and Harry was sure that there was something he was missing. He wondered, for a moment, if Draco had told the other man that Harry had slept in, since he was already at their house anyway, but dismissed the thought. It was not until they walked into the locker room, that he understood what the other man had been suggesting.

He was met by five, equally wide grins, and felt like turning around, as soon as Harrigan opened his mouth and said: "I'm surprised you made it out of bed, Harry. I take it Draco went easy on you last night?"

_Oh God no. _Shastin was bad enough, but the rest of his team being smug about what had happened last night, at the party, was nothing he wanted to handle right now.

"Heard that you're fond of my closet." Leo's grin widened impossibly, as the colour hastily found its place on Harry's cheeks. The rest of his team burst out laughing, as though they enjoyed his embarrassment.

"Shut up," he muttered under his breath, quickly stalking over to his locker and yanking it open. "And I'm sorry about your closet," he added, under his breath as Leo sat down on the bench next to him.

"Oh no, Shastin was pretty thrilled, after the initial shock had settled." There was a twinkle in Leo's eyes that reminded Harry so much of the Weasley twins, that he started to get a little worried. The others started laughing again, and he felt like crawling into the locker himself and shutting them out. It was terrifying to realise that they all knew about what had happened in that closet, last night, and it was even worse thinking that he might have made Shastin's day, when she had walked in on them.

"Well, this is embarrassing," he said finally, and resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands.

"I never thought you were wild enough to do something like that." Leo snorted with laughter, and Harry suddenly wished that he really had spent the day in bed.

"Remind me to lock the doors to all small rooms, whenever I invite you next time," Jordan grinned. "I'm not so sure Zefira would be as thrilled as Shastin."

Harry did not answer, concentrating hard on changing into his practice gear, while the others laughed around him. "At least I got something last night," he muttered, more to himself than his team mates, but Peter burst out laughing when he heard it.

"That's right! We're just jealous," Tim chuckled, where he stood a little off from the rest of the group, with Brendan. They rarely participated in the locker room banter, but, somehow, they were still an equally big part of the team.

"Yeah," Harrigan agreed. "My date bailed on me, before I could take her come with me."

"And what's her name again, Harrigan? Carla, Charlotte?" Leo grinned, as the other man rolled his eyes at him.

"Charlize. I'm capable of remembering their names, actually," he answered dryly.

"Perhaps you should explain that to Erica?" Jordan suggested, and Harry found the corners of his mouth tugging upwards in a smile, as their taunting switched focus to Harrigan, who instantly protested:

"It's not my fault that she looked like a Filippa!"

"That's not even close!" Harry snorted, and Peter snickered, head hidden in his shirt, as he was halfway through putting it on.

Harrigan went easy on them during practice, maybe more worn out by last night than he wanted to let on, and Harry was eternally grateful, because his muscles were protesting even before he got on his broom. His heart was beating faster for an entirely different reason, however, when they walked back to the locker room. The replica was safe in his pocket, but there was still the possibility of his team mates staying a while to chat, which would make it look ridiculous, if Harry would stay behind even longer, when the others finally left. He wondered at times, if they ever suspected anything, or had earlier. Or perhaps it was too surreal that Harry and Draco were faking their marriage, for anyone to suspect that it was not true. Maybe it was impossible to think someone else's marriage was fake, when there were real ones like Tim's and Agnes'.

"Are you showering at home?" he asked, hoping that he sounded somewhat casual, when a few of the others started packing up their things, still wearing their practice gear.

"Yeah," Harrigan nodded, as he put his broom in his locker. "I'm in a bit of a hurry – got a date. Oh right, Shastin says there's a party for Draco on his birthday, a surprise party?"

"Uh, yes," Harry shrugged. "She's in charge of that one."

Harrigan laughed, turning the key in the lock to the door and pulling the handle to make sure it was locked. "I just wanted to check that you were aware that there is going to be one at all."

"I didn't have much of a choice," Harry grimaced, and started to untie his boots. He did not even need to pretend to do it slowly, because his tired body made it impossible for him to move any faster.

"Then I'll bring a date." Harrigan threw the bag in his hand over his shoulder with a smile, and turned around to leave, when Leo shouted:

"Maybe you should give her a name tag this time!"

"Fuck off," Harrigan snapped over his shoulder, as he disappeared through the door.

Harry laughed with the others, as he kicked off his first boot, sighing with pleasure, as he flexed his foot and toes. They dropped out, one by one, except for Leo and Jordan, who left together, until there was no one but Brendan left with him. They did not talk much, except for during practice, because the other man spent a lot of time with his family.

"I heard that you took Aiden in a while ago," Brendan said suddenly, as he wiped his shaved head dry with his towel.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, as he figured that Draco must have told one of the wives. "We didn't really know what to do, but we figured that we couldn't let him sleep outside somewhere."

"I think all of us would have done the same, but I heard what Mona said about Agnes." Brendan sighed and shook his head. "I honestly don't know what's wrong with her, or why Tim stays with her. Their kids are horrible, and Tim apparently doesn't care enough to do something about it, and Agnes has gone insane. She's always been a bit on the crazy side, but this is extreme, even for her. I mean, sure, what Mona did was very irresponsible, and it must have been terrifying for Aiden, but things turned out all right in the end, you know? I won't mention it to her or Tim, though, because I wouldn't put it past her to actually make reality of her threats."

Harry suspected that this was the first time he had heard Brendan speak more than a few sentences in one go. The man was, much like Harry, not that fond of speaking, it seemed. However, it felt strangely good to hear that Brendan did not agree with Agnes' view of things.

"I agree," he said, pulling a fresh shirt over his head with a grunt, as his sore muscles stretched painfully. "Mona might have asked for help earlier, if she hadn't been so worried about Agnes taking Aiden away from her."

"Which would be wrong, because I doubt that he would be better off with losing both of his parents, instead of one, which is bad enough." Brendan shook his head again, bending over to tie his shoes. "My kids used to play with him a lot, but I think the twins, you know Agnes' and Tim's kids, must have told them not to, because they never do things together anymore. I don't think there's anyone who doesn't look forward to them starting school, so that we won't have to see them except for the holidays."

Harry stared at him for a moment, surprised that someone with his own kids would speak that way about others. "Are they really that bad?"

"Oh yeah." Brendan gave him a wry smile. "They're a school example for bullies. I can't blame my kids for not standing up to them, because if they do, they will soon refuse to leave the house at all."

"I hope their school stops their behaviour, then," Harry mumbled, wondering if they were more the Draco-Malfoy-at-fourteen type of bullies, or more the Crabbe and Goyle kind. "We told Mona that she could bring Aiden to us next time she feels like she needs some time off. It's not like Agnes visits us anyway, so she probably won't find out."

"Yeah, heard that, too. That was pretty much the reason as to why I brought up the subject, because I wanted to say that it was very nice of you. And...I also wanted to explain that the reason why no one else has reacted..." Brendan trailed off, seemingly searching for words. "We didn't know it was that bad, you know?"

"No, I understand," Harry said hastily. "I don't think anyone knew, really. It's only normal to want to keep to yourself when you're grieving, I guess, and she didn't want to tell anyone anyway, did she?"

"That's true. I just wanted you to know that we appreciate this, and that we didn't let this happen on purpose. Anyway, I have to get going – my oldest has started playing this Muggle game, soccer, through school. It's absolutely ridiculous."

Harry watched him leave, surprised by how much better he felt, all of a sudden, from simply hearing that their actions had been appreciated in silence for some time. It was not surprising that quite a few seemed to hold Aiden dear, because he was quite adorable, but it mattered more than he wanted to admit to himself, to know that the boy had more people than his mother, Harry and Draco that would look after him now.

He shook his head to clear out the thoughts, as he looked around, just to make sure, one more time, that they had all left. Then he forgot everything about his sore muscles and tired body, as his heart started pounding in his chest, adrenaline flooding.

He approached Burke's locker quickly, despite knowing that he probably should wait for a while to make sure that Brendan was not coming back. His heart was pounding in his chest, as he fumbled to find the key in his pocket. A part of him was thrilled that they might finally be close to something, while another feared the very same thing. Much like Hermione had told him earlier, they could be on the way back home to England within the week, if something behind that door gave them something crucial.

With mouth dry and heart still beating furiously, he managed to slide the key into the lock, on the second try, and took a deep breath, before he turned it. Despite the fact that he already knew that it would work, he was a little surprised over the fact that it actually did. It looked much like he remembered it: pictures covering the insides, a bunch of them laying at the bottom, a set of match robes and gear, and a broom. Before touching anything, he quickly scanned the contents with an illusion-charm, to make sure that the one he cast after emptying the locker, would make a perfect illusion of what it previously had looked like. He could just hope that no one would do more than look, before he was able to put everything back.

He did not bother to collect the photos from the walls and inside of the door, knowing all too well that he would not be able to put them back in the exact same arrangement. He shrank the Quidditch uniform and the broom, putting them safely at the bottom of his bag, and then grabbed the bunch of photos at the bottom of the locker, wrapped them in a spare t-shirt, before letting them join the broom and set of robes. At least, someone could sneak a look into his bag and not get suspicious, he decided, as he put his dirty practice gear back in his own locker.

The house was empty, when he arrived back home, much like he had expected. Draco had told him that he would not be home until late, and Harry was left with nothing to do but wait for the other man to get back. He unpacked Burke's belongings quickly, putting them away in one of the lockable drawers in Draco's desk. It surprised him a little that he, too, could open them with just a tap of his wand, but figured that the spell must be designed to recognize both of their magical signatures.

He grew bored, almost instantly, with just waiting, and the clock seemed to tick on painfully slowly, as he found himself glancing at it every other minute. He tried reading, but the books Hermione had sent him only managed to get him hard and make him even more desperate for Draco to come home. He also tried planning what to say to the other man, since Hermione had told him that they should discuss their relationship, but everything seemed ridiculous, and he quickly gave up.

When the hands on the clock ticked closer to midnight, and he had long since started yawning, he gave up and decided that he could go through the things in Burke's locker with Draco the following morning, and maybe even sort out whatever there was between them, at the same time.

The bed felt strange without Draco in it, but he was secretly pleased to find that, since Poppy was not working on weekends, the sheets had not been changed since the night before, and Draco's scent was all around him, as soon as he put his head down on the pillow. It only took a few greedy breaths, before he was fast asleep, unable to hear the door banging downstairs, as Draco came home.

xXx

It was still early, when Harry woke up the next morning, much unlike the previous one. Draco was still asleep on his side of the bed, when Harry glanced over. It was always such a contrast watching the other man sleep, compared to seeing him awake. The features that usually were carefully controlled, still flawless but often quite cool, were now relaxed and soft, with his mouth half open and hair sleep-ruffled.

Harry smiled to himself, as he climbed out of bed, and felt incredibly stupid over the way his stomach seemed to have been transformed into warm liquid, as he walked into the bathroom. It felt impossible to go back to sleep now, with the way his body was behaving around the other man. Still, he would not change it for the world, even though the giddy feeling died somewhat, when he remembered that he should try and talk to Draco today.

Trying to push the thoughts of their upcoming conversation away, he stepped into the shower and tried to focus on the things in Burke's locker instead. It did not seem like they could give much of a lead, if the photos did not show something except for Burke in different poses - something he highly doubted. It surprised him a little to feel so relieved over the fact that it was not likely that he would be going back to England within the week.

"I hate you," Draco grumbled, face in his pillow, when Harry stepped out of the bathroom. "I really don't understand what you have against sleeping."

"It's not that early," Harry protested, smiling to himself, as he watched the other man turn his back against him, muttering under his breath. "I'll have breakfast down in half an hour, and I got the things from Burke's locker yesterday, so be down by then."

"Hate you," Draco said again, pulling the duvet over his head.

Harry shook his head, grinning, as he collected Burke's things from Draco's desk, before heading downstairs. It surprised him more than a little, when his husband walked into the kitchen forty minutes later, fully clothed. Draco eyed the now-back-to-normal-sized broom, Quidditch gear and the bunch of photos laying on the kitchen table, curiously.

"These are his things, right?" Draco asked, and narrowed his eyes as he seemed to scrutinize the broom.

Harry nodded, placing a plate with bacon and eggs in front of the other man, before sitting down on his own side of the table. "Yeah, it's all that was in there, except for the photos on the walls, but I didn't take those down."

"What about these photos?" Draco seemed a little reluctant to touch them but reached out, after a moment of hesitation, and looked at the one on the top of the bunch.

"They were at the bottom of the locker. Leo and Jordan told me, the first time I met them, that Burke had tried to put them on the outside of his locker as well, but they made him take them down again. I guess they just ended up laying around." Harry shrugged, as he gulped down his pumpkin juice, trying to calm his starving stomach.

"Hm," Draco said, nodding to himself as he put the photos back, before grasping his cup of tea. "Did you find anything?"

Harry blinked, at first not understanding what Draco meant, but then he realised that the other man assumed that he had already been looking through everything. "No, I haven't had a look yet. We decided that we would do it together, yesterday, right?"

"I thought your lack of patience had gotten the best of you, since you were asleep when I came home," Draco said with a smirk, but Harry thought that he seemed pleased.

"I think practice got the best of my energy, yesterday," he mumbled, resisting the urge to add: _and what you did to me, the night before, _instead he continued: "How did the kitchen-thing go?"

Draco snorted. "The _kitchen-thing_ went fine, thank you. I'm rather pleased with the outcome, actually."

Harry tried to come up with a way to start a conversation about their relationship, but his mind was painfully blank, and, instead, he could do nothing but watch Draco sip his tea. God, no wonder he walked around with the same cup of tea for hours, if he always drank like that. It surprised Harry a little that he had not been thinking about it before, because it was so obvious now, and he had been watching Draco eat his breakfast many times before.

"What exactly do you think we will find?"

Harry blinked, snapping out of his thoughts, at the sound of the other man's voice. "Er, I don't really know. Something that might tell us something about Burke's death, I assume."

"Well, that narrows it down," Draco snorted, and rolled his eyes, but Harry did not have the heart to get irritated, as he noticed the smile lurking in corners of the his husband's mouth.

"It's just a hunch," he shrugged.

"I've gathered as much." Draco gave him that smirk-smile mixture again, making him happy that he was already sitting down, because his knees seemed strangely weak suddenly. "All right, let's see if we find _something that might tell us something,_ then."

Harry pushed his half-eaten breakfast away, as Draco did the same with his own plate, and felt as though he was waiting for something exciting to happen.

"If I start with photos," Draco said, picking up the bunch from the table. "You can look at the robes and his broom."

Harry found it hard to concentrate on anything other than the man on the opposite side of the table, who was frowning, as he slowly scrutinized photo after photo, mumbling something to himself under his breath that was too low for Harry to hear. It was odd that it had taken him fourteen years to be able to see Draco Malfoy like this: a little bit of who he was, underneath the cold exterior and snide remarks. He could not help but wonder what the other man saw, when he looked at him; if it was still the same idiot as back in school, or if he, too, saw someone he had not expected.

"Your concentration span really is extraordinarily short, isn't it?" Draco said suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts once again.

Harry smiled sheepishly, hoping that it was not too obvious that he had been staring, and returned to the robes laying, in front of him, on the table. They seemed perfectly fine and exactly like the one he owned, except for being slightly worn in a few places. He sighed, putting them aside and pulling the broom across the surface of the table. It was a Sky Rocket, which Harry found a bit odd, since it was not known to be the fastest broom out there. No one else on his team used the model, but, as far as Harry had read in his books about broom flying, it was rarely used for professional flying anymore, mainly because of its lack of acceleration ability and general speed. It was perhaps not so strange, however, considering that racing brooms were incredibly expensive, and that Burke might have been thinking that he would purchase a better one, when he had made enough money. The man had had a family to provide for, after all.

He was not sure what he was looking for. A broom had no pockets to put things in, the twigs at the end of it were perfectly straight, and not a single one was broken. There were a few marks at the end of the broom that told him that Burke might not have been too careful with it, despite the fact that it, other than that, was as good as new.

"Nothing," Draco sighed and tossed the photos back on the table, sending them spreading across the surface. "You?"

"Same," Harry muttered, as he rolled the broom over once more, but quickly stopped when Draco said:

"Wait!"

"What?" he asked, when the other man leaned across the table and frowned, as he traced the marks Harry had just been thinking about, with his finger. "It's just from usage."

"It's not," Draco protested, and scowled as he pulled the broom towards him. "These are marks from a curse, or dark spell, of some sort. They always leave traces. You, of all people, should know that."

Harry's hand instantly flew up to his scar, which was no longer there, at these words. At times, he missed it, when he looked at himself in the mirror, but it mostly felt like an enormous relief to not have people constantly staring at his forehead. He wondered what it would be like when he had it back again. "So, his broom was tampered with?" he tried, feeling stupid for not noticing the marks for what they truly were.

"So it seems, but it's impossible to know with what spell, if we can't find the wand it was cast with." Draco said absently, consumed by the marks on the broom, for another moment, before he looked up, smiling. "You were right. There was something we needed to find in his locker."

"Do you think we should talk to Kingsley?" Harry asked, walking around the table to take a look at the marks again.

"I think we should look into things more, first, so that we have something of substance to tell him when we do," Draco said, reaching for his cup of tea, that had been standing abandoned on the table for quite some time now, and grimaced as he took a sip. "Cold," he explained, when Harry gave him a questioning look.

"You recognize marks from dark magic, but you can't figure out that your tea will go cold, if you just leave it around on the table for an hour?" In contradiction to his words, however, Harry reached out to put a warming charm on the tea in Draco's hand, grinning widely, as the other man glared at him.

xXx

Harry felt like throwing up, where he stood, trying to concentrate on filling the basket Shastin had provided him with for the picnic. It was Draco's birthday, and he still had not been able to find the courage to talk about their relationship. He knew he should have, preferably days ago, but he needed to do it today, before he took Draco out to the place Shastin had told him about. She had been surprisingly discreet and helpful with the whole thing, and yesterday she had dropped by, while Draco was at Kat's, and left him a Portkey to their destination.

Draco knew nothing, except that they were going to Shastin's for dinner later that night, which they were not, of course, since there was going to be a surprise party instead. Harry was not so sure about the party, but Draco seemed to like that sort of thing, so he figured it was a good idea.

Everything had been fine between them, the last few days, except that they had not seen each other very much. Harry had spent his days with his team, and Harrigan pushed them harder than he had ever done before, which caused him to practically stumble his way to bed, when he finally got home, already too exhausted to do anything else other than sleep.

Draco had been busy at Kat's, putting more effort into that kitchen than Harry would have ever thought. Somehow, the days had slipped away, and now he was standing there, waiting for Draco to wake up so that they could _talk_, and then leave for a picnic. He felt ridiculous and absolutely terrified, as his heart started pounding at the sound of footsteps in the staircase. He quickly hid the basket in the nearest cabinet and tried to calm the thumping in his chest, completely in vain, as it only accelerated, when Draco entered the kitchen.

"Hey," Harry said, his voice sounding slightly strained to his ears, as he tried to look as though he was casually leaning against the kitchen counter.

Draco stopped dead in his tracks, raising an eyebrow at him with a look that clearly questioned his sanity. Harry completely agreed. "Hey?" Draco repeated.

"Er," he mumbled, fighting the urge to run away and mentally slapped himself. _Just do it_. "I, er, I need to talk to you."

Draco's second eyebrow joined the first, but he did not say anything, until he seemed to realise that Harry might need a push. "Yes?"

Harry swallowed, annoyed by how dry his throat felt. "You know," he started, but trailed off, realising that Draco most likely did not know. "It's about the sex," he blurted instead, feeling the colour rise on his cheeks painfully fast.

Draco's eyes snapped to his face, from the tea cup he had been looking at for the past few moments. The sudden intense interest in them, made Harry blush even harder, but the other man did not say anything, this time.

"I just wanted to say that I don't mind." The words flooded over his lips in such a rush that he was surprised that Draco was even capable of making them out.

"You don't mind?" the other man echoed.

"Yeah, I mean _no_." Harry shook his head, a bit confused by his own words. "If you want to have sex with me, I don't mind," he elaborated.

He was surprised, and a little taken aback, by the way Draco's eyes suddenly hardened and his face grew cold. "You don't mind?" he said again, but it sounded more as though he was spitting the words out of his mouth, like they were something sickening.

"Yes, _I mean no_," Harry said again, even more confused now. "I don't mind."

"You know, I think you just broke the record of idiocy, even for you, Potter," Draco snapped, an all too-familiar look of disgust on his face, before he turned and walked out of the room.

"What?" Harry called weakly after him, his brain frantically searching for where he went wrong, but all he got in reply was the front door banging closed and he watched Draco stalk through their garden and disappear down the road. "What?" he repeated quietly to himself, slumping back against the counter in defeat.

He tried to go over the conversation again in his mind, but could not for the world understand where he had said something that he should not. Apparently, he had offended Draco quite greatly, since the other man had not behaved like this in a very long time. Harry hoped that they might be able to sort things out when Draco came back home, after calming down a bit, and sighed as he opened the cabinet where he had hidden the basket. He should probably put a stasis charm on it, in case he would be waiting for a while.

The hours passed excruciatingly slowly, where he sat staring out the kitchen window, waiting to see his husband walk back through the garden to their front door. There was no sign of him, however, and Harry found himself wishing that he would not have brought up the subject at all.

A couple of hours past lunch, he decided to call Hermione to tell her exactly how stupid her idea had been. She emerged almost instantly, much like last time, when the world had stopped spinning and he was able to see the room clearly.

"Harry!" she exclaimed and smiled widely, but it quickly faded away when she seemed to notice the look on his face. "What happened?"

"Your idea was crap," he snapped, sounding surprisingly much like Draco did when he was irritated.

"The replica didn't work?" she asked, clearly confused by this.

"No, the _other_ idea."

Her eyes widened at this and her face grew very soft. "Oh, Harry, what happened?"

"Well, I said that I didn't mind if he wanted to have sex with me, and he suddenly was really pissed off and just left. I don't know where he went. It's his bloody birthday – what if he doesn't come back?" His voice sounded thick, as though he was about to cry, but he was not. He was just confused and upset.

"You said _what?_" Hermione asked, and now she sounded almost as irritated as Harry had been a moment ago.

"I told him that I didn't mind!" he repeated, frustrated.

Her face softened swiftly again and Harry wondered if it was him or the baby that caused that kind of mood swings. "Harry, you are such an idiot at times, do you know that?

"I'm not an idiot!" he protested, but Draco had said the same thing before he had left.

"Yes you are," she insisted, her smile a bit sad. "Of course he was angry with you, if you made it sound like you would let him use you for sex, if he felt like it. He must have thought that you didn't like it, but that you are willing to do it for him."

"That's ridiculous." Harry shook his head. "He wouldn't think that."

"Wouldn't you have?" she asked, and he was just going to say no, but tried to imagine the situation reversed. He was silent, for a long moment, and then sighed in defeat, because she was right, of course; he would probably have thought the exact same thing. It was still ridiculous that his poor choice of words was more important than the fact that they had had sex three times, and Harry had pretty much initiated all of them, more or less.

"You should go find him," Hermione said, when he had not said anything for quite some time. "And talk things out for real, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," he nodded weakly, and pulled out of the fireplace without another word. He very much wanted to stay at home and wait for Draco to return, but, once again, Hermione had been right - he really needed to find him. This was not exactly the kind of birthday he had had in mind, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He went to Kat's and Peter's first, thinking that Draco might have wanted to calm down by working, but no one answered the door when he knocked, so he decided to try Shastin's and Leo's instead.

"What are you doing here?" Shastin shouted, as soon as she opened the door, but she fell silent, the moment she saw his miserable face.

"Is Draco here?" he asked, even though it was obvious that the other man was not, because she would not have seemed so surprised if that was the case.

"No, it wouldn't be much of a surprise party if he was helping me fix everything for it, would it?" She looked a lot more concerned than she sounded, which was a little strange to Harry, because it usually seemed to be the other way around.

"All right." He nodded, more to himself than her, and turned around to make his way to Zefira's, which was his next guess to where Draco could be, but Shastin grasped his arm to stop him.

"What really strikes me as weird here is that you and Draco are supposed to be on a picnic, doing similar things to what you did in my closet the other night, and not here. Especially weird is the fact that _you_ are looking for _him._"

Harry did not even have the energy to blush at her words but turned around, thinking that telling her a slightly manipulated version of what happened could not do things much worse than they already were.

"I messed up, and we had a huge fight. He left, and I thought that he was going to come back in a little while, when he had calmed down, but apparently not. So now I'm looking for him, to sort things out."

"You really couldn't choose a better day than today to fuck up?" she exclaimed, but Harry only shrugged in reply.

"What's wrong?" Zefira said suddenly, emerging behind Shastin in the doorway.

"Harry fucked up, and now he's looking for Draco," the other woman explained.

"He left a few hours ago," Zefira smiled, which seemed completely out of place in Harry's eyes. Draco had _left_? To where?

"He left?" he asked, putting his thoughts into words.

"Yes," she nodded, but when she noticed his and Shastin's bewildered faces, her smile quickly faltered. "I just assumed that it was a part of the plan. That he would leave with Drew to New York, and then Drew would bring him back for the party tonight?"

_With Drew. To New York_. Harry felt as though his stomach had dropped to the soles of his feet, and he had no words to form a reply with. Draco had left with Drew. To New York.

"Why the fuck should we have Drew in on anything?" Shastin shouted so suddenly that Harry flinched. "Draco and Harry were supposed to do something together today, and then come back here later tonight! Draco is the biggest idiot I've ever seen. I'm going to kill him!"

"I'm so sorry," Zefira said desperately, and much to Harry's surprise, she was teary-eyed. "I didn't know."

"It's not your fault. You couldn't have known," he mumbled, not exactly feeling like comforting her, right now.

"No, it's all Draco fault," Shastin snapped and Harry was surprised by the outrage in her face. "He better stay the fuck away from here, or I'll kill him."

"Please don't tell anyone," Harry heard himself say. He did not exactly know why, but somehow it felt as though it would be devastatingly embarrassing if everyone were to know that Draco had left him for Zefira's supermodel brother. What surprised him even more was the fact that hating Drew did not seem very appealing at all, since it was so obvious that it had been Draco that had came looking for the other man, this time.

"I won't," Shastin promised. "I might tie Draco up in the garden and let Agnes' and Tim's kids throw rocks at him, but I won't tell anyone why."

Harry smiled slightly, despite the situation.

"I'll try to get a hold of Drew," Zefira said and suddenly hugged him tightly. "I don't know what's going on, but if Draco is with him, I'll try to make Drew convince him to come back home, so you can sort things out." Then she hurried through the garden, only to take the few steps to her own house, next door.

"You know, she's way too nice to have a brother who's such a dick." Shastin shook her head, looking after Zefira, as she closed her own front door, before turning back to Harry. "Do you want to come in?"

He shook his head. "No, I better get home. If he comes back, I should be there."

"I don't know what you did to make him take off like this," she said suddenly, and now she was surprisingly calm. "But I promise you that it was nothing that would make you deserve this."

Harry was not sure that he agreed, but he could not tell her that, so instead he just nodded, before starting to make his way home. He was not sure why it hurt so bad; if it was because Draco had taken off with someone else, when Harry had tried to tell him that he very much liked what they had, or if it was because it was with Drew, when Harry had already felt like he had won that battle. He felt ridiculous now, for thinking that he could ever conquer over someone like Drew.

He tried to keep himself busy with flickering through a magazine that he found on the coffee table. It looked like the one Shastin had brought with her the other day, when she had decided to help Harry pick out clothes. He did not know whether to laugh or cry, when he came across an advert for a very fancy watch brand, where no one else but Drew lay practically naked on a sofa, wearing nothing but the watch he was advertising. Perhaps Draco had just decided that Drew was more of his type, after all. Cold pooled in his chest, as he remembered Draco's words from their first night here. _There were a couple of gardeners, but I get bored so easily_, he had said. It was sickening to think that Draco was already through with him, while he felt like things had only just begun.

xXx

DPOV

_I don't mind_. Draco snorted irritably to himself. He had been furious for hours, and it was only now that he was able to calm down a little. It was no news to him that Harry was an absolute idiot, but he had been foolish enough to think that the other man's idiocy had been reduced remarkably over the years. Today proved that this was certainly not the case.

At first, he had been completely stunned that Harry had wanted to put their sex into words; that he wanted to acknowledge the fact that they _did_ have sex, when he was not actually in the middle of the act. Then Draco had felt sick, because Harry was apparently willing to sleep with him whenever Draco wanted to, as though it was another heroic act he needed to perform.

Perhaps it had been a little too rushed to leave the house without a discussion. Perhaps it had been even more rushed to find Drew and ask if he might possibly want company on his trip to New York. For a few moments, Drew had been too shocked to speak, but, as he seemed to realise that Draco was not going to laugh in his face, he had lit up. Now, Draco was in New York, in the hotel room he shared with Drew. It was everything he could ever ask for, and the other man certainly had a taste Draco could approve of, with his luxurious way of travelling.

It had been a quite uneventful day, where Drew had worked and Draco had been angry. The other man had asked, quite carefully, why Draco was so upset, and he had explained vaguely that Harry was an idiot, and that he would rather not talk about it. It had been surprising to him that Drew did not seem to mind tip-toeing around him in his furious state, but appeared overjoyed by the fact that Draco was by his side at all, which in itself was flattering.

"I'm going to take a shower," Drew said suddenly, looking up from the job offer he had been going over for the past half an hour.

Draco only nodded, a queasy feeling spreading rapidly through his body. He had been around long enough to know what he was being offered, and it became even clearer as the other man left the bathroom door ajar. It was an invitation; one that he had expected for hours, and, up until now, Draco had been certain and determined that he would accept. Harry was an idiot, and Drew certainly qualified for taking his place, except that Draco had no idea what place that was. Now, he was feeling sick again, assumingly from a whole other reason than this morning, but he did not owe Harry _anything_. Drew definitely did not view him as a charity case – a bad conscience that he had to fix – but it did not seem to matter how fantastic the restaurant he took Draco to was, or how brilliant the food they were served tasted. Something was not right, and, up until now, Draco had been able to ignore it, but now, staring at the light from the bathroom flooding through the crack of the door, it was not possible any longer.

He heard the water start running and the muffled sound of clothes being shed, while desperately trying to find that feelings he knew he should be there: the excitement, the arousal, and the sudden need. But there was nothing, except for the sickness, making him feel as though his stomach had turned itself inside out.

He refused to let Harry Potter, _of all fucking people_, have this power over him. The hesitation would go away when he was in the middle of it, when he was in the shower with Drew, _when_ he could fuck the other man senseless. It would.

His fingers shook slightly, as he undid the first button of his shirt, but he froze as he caught sight of his wedding ring. It suddenly felt as though it weighed a tonne and shone too brightly in his eyes, as though it knew exactly what he was about to do. He gently slid a fingertip over the cold metal band, before closing his fingers around it to twist it off. He paused, glancing at the watch on his wrist instead. Harry would be on his way to Shastin's now, attending some sort of dinner party, and, without his permission, Draco wondered if he had been able to pick respectable clothes to wear – if he had chosen the right cufflinks for his shirt, or tie.

Surely, Harry was not aware of that it was Draco's birthday, but that did not matter much. Perhaps Draco would not know when Harry's birthday was, if it was not for the whole wizarding world in Britain acknowledging the event. He wondered if anyone at the dinner party would notice when Harry got uncomfortable by the company, or topic of conversation, and could turn the focus of the group to something else. He did not like the thought of the other man being there without him, which was ridiculous since Harry now knew their neighbours quite well and lately seemed more relaxed in their company. Still.

Sighing, he let go of the ring. There was no use. It bothered him that it had come to this: that he once more had allowed Harry to dictate the rules in his life, the focus of his thoughts, much like the years they had spent together in school. It bothered him even more that a part of him was not bothered at all.

He looked at the half-open bathroom door again, still torn between the options. He shoved his hands down his pockets, frustrated by his own lack of will power, not even being able to take off a ring that should mean nothing to him. He knew that he was losing the control of his own decisions, surrendering it all to Harry, and it made him almost as furious as he had been with the man himself, several hours ago.

His thoughts were interrupted by his fingers brushing against something that felt smooth and glossy against his skin of his fingertips. Frowning, he pulled it out, and, the instant he recognised the very familiar, but up until now forgotten, page from the magazine Kat had given him what felt like ages ago, his heart seemed to drop, and beat faster at the very same time. Despite the fact that he did not want to, at all, he unfolded the page and smiled bitterly. As he watched their smiling faces, the way they looked at each other as though everything else simply ceased to exist, he knew that he had already lost control. Long ago.

"What the fuck am I doing?" he asked himself quietly, staring at the picture in his hand. He certainly had every right to be angry with Harry, but shagging Drew would not make anything better, for anyone.

"Are you coming?"

Drew's unexpected voice from the doorway made him look up, only to find the other man standing there naked. Draco expected to feel some kind of interest, even if it was only physical, because Drew was close to perfection when looking at him like this, but there was nothing.

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "I don't even know what I'm doing here to begin with."

"Harry was an idiot," Drew said instantly, but the expectant look in his face had already disappeared, as though he already knew.

"Yes," Draco agreed with a brief, bitter laugh. "But I guess that was one of the reasons to why I married him in the first place."

Drew averted his gaze and reached out for a towel to cover up with. "Maybe you should go back then?"

"I'm not even sure that I'm welcome back," Draco said bitterly, at least he would not be if Harry cared even the slightest, and remembering what Shastin had said, about when Harry had found out about Drew inviting Draco to the West Coast, he actually might.

"I'm sorry if I ruined your marriage," Drew said quietly, and moved to sit by the chair, opposite of the bedside where Draco was sitting. Usually, Draco did not mind putting the blame on someone else, if he knew that it might make things easier for himself, especially if they practically volunteered, but there was no way to make himself look better by making Drew the scapegoat.

"If anyone has ruined my marriage, it's me."

"I probably should've backed off, long ago, but I was jealous, you know? I remember when Zefira first told me about you two; how happy you were, what a beautiful home you had, how perfect you seemed for each other, and that's… all I've ever wanted. So, when I met you, and saw the way you looked at each other like the rest of us kind of faded away for a while, the way you zoned out on me on the party, after their victory, as soon as he walked through the door…" Drew shrugged, looking down on his hands that were resting in his lap. "I guess I thought that...if I could have you, all that would be mine, too."

Much to his own surprise, because comforting others had never been his forte, Draco had to resist the urge to tell the other man that things were not nearly as perfect as they seemed.

"I'm not exactly the right person to give relationship advice, obviously," he said, despite the fact that he very much wanted to leave the subject. "But I highly doubt that if you and I were to start a relationship with each other, it would be anything like the one I have with Harry."

"It's just impossible to find good guys," Drew sighed. "One second I think I have one, and the next, everything is just a disappointment."

"Perhaps you should stop looking," Draco suggested, feeling like asking the other man to drop the subject already. He had gotten married for a job, with his school nemesis of all people, and now found himself quite a bit more involved than he wanted to.

"What do you mean?" Drew frowned. The water that dripped from hair to trickle down his naked skin left goose bumps behind, but the sight still made Draco feel nothing.

"Well," he sighed, shrugging, because he did not exactly know what he meant himself. "Harry and I used to hate each other back in school, and I mean to the point where we harmed each other quite severely a few times. A few years back, we saw each other again and neither of us expected anything – did not want anything, other than to make sure that we did not kill each other – and I assume that it sneaked up on us, in a way." It was partially true, he thought, because they truly had had to resist the urge to fall back in their old patterns, at the beginning of their time in America.

"Yeah, maybe." Drew slumped a little in the chair, losing his usually good posture, for a moment, and sighed to himself. "You should go back then, even if you're not welcome – even if it means that you have to sleep on the couch for a week."

"More like a year," Draco muttered, glaring when Drew smiled slightly. "But yes, I should."

The street was dark and abandoned, when he landed, less gracefully than usual, with the Portkey in his hand. His insides were in knots, taking in the black windows of the houses, the lack of laughter and people in Shastin's yard, as he walked closer to the blue house. He had decided to go to her first, since Harry might have attended the dinner party on his own and was still there, but he was now suspecting that the dinner was over hours ago.

He did not want to admit it, even to himself, but as he walked up to the Hatch's front door, he was shaking. Just as he reached the bottom of the porch stairs, the door flew open, and he instantly fell dead in his tracks, as he saw the fury on Shastin's face.

"Is Harry here?" he asked carefully, when she made no attempt to say anything, where she stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest.

"Why do you think he'd be here?" she snapped, her voice like a whip through the silence, but Draco was not afraid of her.

"I figured he might be here, having dinner, since you invited us," he said steadily, hoping to calm her down if he did not start yelling.

"You're such a fucking idiot," she exclaimed, taking a step forward and banged the door closed behind her. "There was no fucking dinner party!"

Draco was just about to answer, but she continued, her voice growing louder with every word.

"It was a fucking surprise party for you, because it's your birthday, because Harry wanted to make something special. Because you're such a fucking idiot to fucking run away with another man, when your own made plans for _your fucking birthday_." Despite the fact that Shastin usually swore a lot more than what was likely appropriate, this was extreme, even for her, and Draco's stomach dropped at her words, a lump forming heavily in his throat.

"I didn't know," he tried, but she only flung her arms out, as though he was an imbecile.

"Well _of course you fucking didn't_!" she shouted, causing Draco to look around to see if their neighbours were waking up. "It was meant to be a surprise, but maybe we should've told you anyway, to make sure that you weren't planning to run away with another guy, and break Harry's fucking heart."

She pointed at the gate, eyes tearing with rage. "If you don't leave within three seconds, I'll hex the shit out of you."

He stared at her, not believing his own ears, not trusting his legs to move, as the muscles in his chest contracted until it hurt. Outraged was definitely the best word to describe Shastin's temper, at that very moment. The acid look in her eyes almost caused him to flinch away, and it was clear that she was not taking this lightly. Three seconds later, he only just managed to duck out of the way for a hex that whooshed right past his ear.

"I hope he kicks you out, head first," she shouted after him, as he ran towards the gate, "and when he does, I won't let you sleep on my couch!"

It was not until he reached his own street, that he slowed down, and the adrenaline that had rushed through his body, as he was running away from Shastin's curses, was instantly replaced by fear, and it crawled under his skin, causing him to shake, as his house came into view. Harry would be inside, perhaps already asleep, and Draco could not decide whether to wake him up to talk, or stay awake until the other man woke up by himself in the morning. It might be for the best, if he stationed himself on the couch, until the morning, to show his regret. It had never occurred to him, while trying to get away from Harry's idiocy many hours ago, how difficult it would be to come back, especially when knowing that the other man had planned his birthday in secret.

He hesitated for a long time, standing at their gate and staring up at the house, trying to detect any indications of Harry still being up, but the windows were dark and still. Breathing deeply, steeling himself from the gnawing sensation in his stomach, he strode hastily to the front door and pushed it open without pausing to think.

It took some time for his eyes to adjust to the solid darkness inside, and he almost let out a sigh of relief, thinking that Harry was asleep, when he suddenly noticed the other man standing in the doorway to the living room.

"Where the _fuck_ have you been?" Harry spat, and Draco gulped, realising that no matter how angry he had seen the other man before, it was nothing compared to this. The air in the room crackled with magic, and his heart began to pound in his chest.

He tried to find his voice, as he stared at Harry. "Out?" he managed, finally, hating how much he wanted to run away again, knowing that he could not. Hating how he could not find words, knowing that he needed them more than ever. Hating how is heart started stuttering from simply seeing the other man again, knowing that it might be broken in a moment.

Harry did not move, his eyes hard and jaw set, clearly waiting for Draco to give him a better explanation other than _out_. He managed to tear his gaze away from those accusing eyes and stared at the door behind the other man, and, as soon as he was not losing himself in the eye contact, he realised something else. He was getting hard. The mere thought of it, in a situation like this, made him feel too-warm all over. He was not turned on by his angry husband. He was not.

"I have to take a shower," he said, realising only then that he had interrupted the other man in mid-sentence, and had no idea why he had not heard him speak to begin with. As he started to make his way to the stairs, glancing quickly at Harry, whose eyes seemed to darken even further, panic thumping in his chest, the other man grabbed him hard by the arm. At first, he was a little taken aback by the unexpected strength, as Harry slammed him against the kitchen door, pinning his arms to his sides. Then he panicked even further, knowing that if the other man moved closer, he would feel Draco's erection, which seemed to be getting harder with every unsteady heartbeat.

"I'm talking," Harry snapped, his face suddenly nothing more than a couple of inches from Draco's.

He swallowed thickly, nodding, as he stared into the other man's eyes, the pupils so dilated now that they almost covered the green irises. The tense anger in Harry's body seemed to enhance his features, made the lines of his cheekbones and jaw more prominent. His lips were redder than usual as he spoke, but Draco was not sure if it was due to nervous worrying or shouting. The only thing he knew, at the moment, his mind painfully blank, was that he wanted to kiss them even worse. So he did.

Harry was still talking, but Draco had not heard a single word and did not realise that he interrupted him mid-sentence, once more.

"You can't just –" Harry said, but the rest of the words were muffled by Draco's mouth, as he crashed their lips together. The unexpected kiss seemed to take Harry by surprise, to bring him off balance just enough for Draco to break an arm free and pull the other man closer to him, furiously assaulting his mouth with his own. Harry stumbled forward until their bodies pressed together forcefully, his breath hitching, as Draco's hard cock pressed against his thigh.

His heart was beating wildly in his chest, and he suspected that it might be audible over his loud breathing, as Harry pulled away slightly.

"I'm not done with you yet." His voice was raspy, making Draco shiver expectantly. _Oh fuck_.

Before he had the chance to say anything, Harry kissed him hard and pressed their bodies together again, his grip so hard that Draco thought that he might bruise. He did not care, as the hardness of Harry's erection rubbed over his own, through their too-many layers of clothing. Harry had started to trail his lips along his jaw, and Draco groaned, yanking hard at Harry's hair to get him back to his mouth and kiss him.

All the frustration and anger he had felt this morning seemed to grab a hold of him again, causing him to kiss harder, fingers digging into arms, back and arse furiously as he ground their hips together again and again, until Harry finally let out a throaty sound in his ear.

Harry sneaked his hand down between their bodies and Draco's head fell back against the door with a thump, as Harry started stroking him harshly through his trousers. It felt so fucking good, thrusting back against Harry's hand, yanking his shirt open just to feel skin beneath his fingers.

Too quickly, Harry pulled his hand back and pushed their hips together again, grinding fiercely as teeth dug into Draco's throat. Draco knew that Harry was just as hard and leaking as he was. Just as relieved, just as desperate, just as furious.

"Harry," he groaned, his hips jerking as they ground together once more, but he did not get a response. He was so hard it hurt, with a slow burning ache that pulsed through his body. Then he pleaded, tight and needy: "Just fuck me."

"Yes," Harry rasped against his throat, pausing for a second, tugging at Draco's belt before giving up and vanishing his entire clothing with a flick of his wrist.

The sudden, unexpected cold from standing naked in the hallway, made Draco gasp, but as soon as Harry's lips were back on his, he forgot about everything but the feel of his leaking cock against the rough fabric of Harry's trousers. It was as though he could not get enough of the warm skin, the wet lips, the strong, well-defined muscles.

His fingers were trembling impatiently, in a way that they never had before, when he yanked Harry's trousers open and halfway down his thighs, before eagerly stroking down the length of his cock. "Fuck me," he said again, feeling Harry shudder against him, as he ran his thumb over the head of his cock.

A loud groan escaped him, as he was suddenly lifted up against the door, his cock hardening impossibly. Harry was going to fuck him against the door. _Harry was going to fuck him against the fucking wall. _He knew it was probably going to hurt, because there was no way he was going to put up with Harry's fingers now, no matter how much he enjoyed them. But the next second, he heard words mumbled against his lips. Draco could not care less about that he usually felt cheap by preparation charms, because as he felt himself getting slicked up and relaxed, he would gladly be cheap, if it meant that Harry could fuck him against the door.

A moment later, he forgot about everything but Harry pushing inside him, stretching him, _filling _him. Draco moaned loudly, reaching for the coat rack, just to hold on to something, as Harry started thrusting into him in a pace that would have had him begging for mercy, if it was not exactly what he needed right now.

It was hard, desperate, and loud. Draco lost coherency within seconds, probably crying out loud, but heard nothing except for the wonderful croaked groans that tumbled over Harry's lips every time he thrust back in, and the small needy sounds he let out whenever he had to pull back out. Draco might have begged – for more, for Harry to fuck him harder – and it was out of pace, it was rough and possessive, and every thrust made him cry out, curl his toes and rolls his eyes back.

Before Draco even realised what was happening, his back snapped up in a painful arch, and he grabbed a handful of Harry's hair, desperately trying to anchor himself to something, as he came, his cock still untouched between them.

Harry's hips snapped erratically, out of pace, and absolutely brilliantly a few times more, before Draco felt him pulse inside him, shaking. His body was trembling as he slowly slid down the door, to stand on his own feet a couple of unsteady breaths later. He pulled Harry's damp forehead gently against his own.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, closing his eyes, both from exhaustion and because he just now realised that he was holding the other man close again.

Harry was quiet, for a long moment, standing completely still except for his fingertips gently drawing invisible lines along Draco's sides. "I know," he said finally.

"I'm so sorry," Draco whispered again, words that he always had had difficulty to say, but now they seemed to be the only ones he knew.

"I know," Harry repeated, then sighing dejectedly. "I'm just glad you came back at all."

"Of course I came back," he said, smiling despite the situation, as their noses accidentally rubbed together.

"I wasn't sure that you would." Harry pulled back slightly and Draco opened his eyes, surprised by his own relief as he looked straight into Harry's. "I need to apologise, too, and–" he begun, but Draco cut him off:

"Later, let's take a shower first."

Harry's mouth tugged upwards at one corner, in a smile, and he nodded.

"Shastin told me that you had planned my birthday," Draco said, when they were standing in the shower, close together but not quite touching.

Harry shrugged half-heartedly. "I thought we were going to talk later."

"I didn't think you knew when my birthday was," Draco continued, ignoring the input, but was a little surprised by the way Harry blinked at him in confusion.

"Of course I know when your birthday is," he said, as though Draco was out of his mind to believe otherwise. "I've seen you receive cakes in the Great Hall for years."

"I'm sorry I ruined your plans." Draco watched the water drizzle over the other man's body, wondering for how long they had been standing there. The suds of shampoo and soap were long gone, but the bad conscience was gnawing in his chest.

"I think you have apologised more today than you have before, in your entire life," Harry mused, smiling again, before gently brushing their lips together for a moment. "Maybe we should put some clothes on and talk. Are you hungry?"

"Very." Draco nodded and smiled back, feeling the worry in his stomach slowly easing away, as Harry gently wrapped him in a soft towel. He would normally have said something about not needing to be cared for, but right now, he was desperate for every touch he would get.

"Good."

xXx

HPOV

Harry was exhausted, more from the constant worrying than the sex, as he grabbed the basket from the kitchen cabinet, where he had put it this morning. He lifted the stasis charm and walked upstairs again, met by a surprised look by Draco.

"Are we having a picnic?" the other man asked, looking pointedly at the basket in Harry's hand.

"Sort of." He shrugged, not wanting to explain everything about the ruined plans he had had for the day. He was just glad that the other man was back home and seemed willing to sort things about between them.

It was obvious, looking into Draco's eyes, that he knew exactly what Harry's plans with the basket had been, but instead of mentioning it, he said:

"But it's the middle of the night."

"Yeah, I know, I thought we could sit on the roof." Harry remembered the conversation he had overheard at Zefira's dinner party, between Draco and Drew, when Draco had said that he had wanted to sit on the school roof at night but never gotten the opportunity.

"The roof?" Draco echoed, raising his eyebrows like he thought Harry had gone insane.

"It's not exactly Hogwarts, but better than nothing, right?"

The surprise was clear on the other man's face and for once he did not seem so eager to put it back behind the unreadable mask. "All right."

Climbing through the library window onto the porch roof was not very hard, and not much of an adventure, but it felt a lot less claustrophobic and suffocating than being inside, and Draco seemed pretty pleased, even though he only pointed out the fact that he thought Harry was out of his mind.

The neighbourhood was quiet and dark, the air a bit chilly around them, but Harry did not mind. Neither said anything, for long moments, but concentrated on the food. He was not sure how to begin, and, as usual, only the wrong words seemed to come to mind.

"I know I'm not very good with words," he said finally, and managed not to smile, as Draco looked up, not quite able to hide his smirk. "But this morning, I didn't mean it that way, to offend you. I didn't want to make it sound like I would do it just for you. I'm sorry it came out that way."

Draco bit his lips, for a second, as though he was thinking, but did not break their eye contact. "Since I already knew that you have a way of saying the completely wrong things, I should have stayed to sort things out to begin with. You do know that I was with Drew, right?"

Harry winced, as he heard the name, wishing that they could pretend that nothing like this had ever happened, but that was not possible. "Yeah, I know," he begun, but paused as the one question he both wanted and dreaded to ask, popped into mind. "Did you sleep with him?"

Draco looked at him for long moments, like he was searching for something, but Harry could not for the world understand what. Then he shook his head slightly and averted his gaze. "No."

A strange rush of relief ran through him, and he let out a breath he had not been aware of holding. _Thank God._

"I wanted to, because I was so angry with you, but I couldn't." Draco shrugged slightly, still looking away.

"It's not like…I mean, technically it wouldn't be wrong, would it?" Harry said, despite the fact that it felt very wrong to him, to even think of Draco with another man. He just wanted to make sure that he was told the truth, and that Draco was not lying to prevent him from being hurt, even though doing something like that was not exactly typically Draco.

"It didn't matter that it _technically wouldn't be wrong_; I couldn't do it." Draco shivered, as a cool gust rustled through the trees, and Harry was just about to ask if he was cold, when he remembered the last time he had asked the very same question, and decided not to.

"Well, I'm glad," he said instead, unable to hide a grin, as Draco glared at him.

"Of course you are," he snorted, rolling his eyes, and Harry's heart ached for a moment at the familiar gesture. Then, the other man grew serious in an instant, pinning him down with the intensity of his gaze. "Are you going to throw me out?"

"No." Harry shook his head fiercely, because, even though he had wanted to do just that most of the day, he also realised that he very much wanted Draco there with him, and they had a job to do. "But…I would appreciate if you didn't sleep with anyone."

"With anyone?" Draco repeated, a smirk creeping up on his lips.

"Er, except for me," Harry mumbled, hating the way he blushed. It was stupid. They had just had sex against a door, for God's sake, and here he was, embarrassed because he admitted that he wanted to have sex with Draco, like that was not already obvious.

"Do you always upset your shags the morning after?" Draco snorted, but he seemed pleased, Harry decided.

"There are not very many, as you already know," he mumbled, starting to feel a bit stupid again. For a moment, he thought about saying nothing else, but then he figured that he might as well spill everything. "To be honest, I think I've had sex with you more times than I've ever had sex in my entire life."

He could not help but smile a little at the way Draco stared at him, and, once again, he felt a bit proud over himself at being able to shock the other man.

"You're lying," Draco said then, looking at him intensely again, as though he was trying to make Harry confess.

"No. Ginny and I broke up almost right away, and well, Romilda Vane wasn't such a good idea, you said so yourself, and then I figured that maybe that kind of life wasn't possible, you know?" he shrugged, looking away.

Draco was silent for a long time, but Harry could feel his gaze on him still. Maybe Hermione would be proud over him now, for saying the whole truth, for once, and not just parts of it. If he did not count the fact that they still had not talked about that Draco had expected him to be angry, or that Harry had been convinced that he was a crap shag, but they could deal with that another day. For the moment, he was too relieved to have Draco back, to risk anything.

"I'm cold," Draco said then, interrupting his thoughts, and Harry looked up quickly. He wondered, for a moment, if the other man, too, remembered that night, when Harry had asked and he had said no, and, by the look in his eyes, it seemed like he did.

Moving the basket away, Harry leaned back against the wall and reached out without saying anything. Draco felt cool pressing against his side, and a stark contrast to his own body temperature, but Harry liked it that way.

"I saw him naked, you know," Draco said suddenly, breaking the silence. The words hurt, even though Harry knew that they were not meant to. He suspected that Draco only wanted him to know and he did not want to make things difficult again, so he tried to pretend like he did not care.

"Yeah, me too." He remembered all too well the magazine he had been looking through, and how he had hated finding Drew there, stark naked and handsome.

"What?" Draco turned a little to look at him, confusion clear in his eyes, and something else that made Harry turn fuzzy and warm inside.

"Saw him in a magazine. Apparently, the watch he was advertising was fancy enough that he didn't need to wear anything else."

Draco tried to glare at him, but the way his mouth twitched was giving him away. "I can't believe you're joking about this," he said finally, sighing as in defeat, before relaxing against Harry once more.

A few hours later, as the sky outside had started to turn pink, they had made their way back inside. The bed looked so soft compared to the roof he had been sitting on for hours, and, as soon as he laid his eyes on the downy pillows and duvet, he realised how tired he was.

Undressing was not nearly as awkward as it used to be, but when his clothes were in a pile on the floor, and he had nothing but his underwear on, he still had to fight the blush, as he noticed Draco's eyes on him. With a deep breath, he let his underwear join the rest of his clothes and tried to look confident, as Draco raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Well," he tried, sounding more defensive than what was probably necessary, the rest of the words slipped out of him in a rush: "I told you months ago that I usually sleep naked, and I stopped when we started sharing a bed, because I didn't want to come off as a perv, but I figured that you already know what I look like naked, so…" He shrugged, feeling his cheeks heat, as he quickly slid beneath the cool duvet.

He very much wanted to scoot over to the other side of the bed, but perhaps spooning Draco while naked, when they had not fallen asleep directly after sex, was too much. The other man was still looking at him, but there was the smirk-smile mixture on his lips now. "Get over here and keep me warm then, bloody exhibitionist," he snapped, but his eyes were soft, as Harry shuffled across the bed, quite ungracefully, and curled himself greedily around Draco, who seemed to instantly relax in his arms.

He thought he heard the other man say something that sounded like _sap_, before he zoned out completely and fell asleep.

xXx

They had breakfast for lunch the following day, because it had been past noon, when they finally managed to get out of bed, exhausted by yesterday's drama.

"People will ask," Draco said suddenly, looking up from his book from where he sat on one of the living room sofas.

"About what?" Harry was sitting at the glass table, which was now covered in books about magical traces, hoping to find a clue to what spell that had been cast on Burke's broom.

"Why you took me back, when I left with another man."

He had not thought about that, but their neighbours would surely ask**. **It worried him a little, because he was useless when it came to making up excuses, but, for the first time, he felt like he knew where he was standing with Draco, even though they had not put it into words.

"Let them ask, then," he shrugged. He could handle it somehow. Maybe he could just tell them to bugger off. "It's none of their business anyway."

Draco snorted. "In neighbourhoods like these, everything is everyone's business."

"I'm sure someone has done something worse than that, around here." He was not sure if that was the case, but, before he had the chance to come up with something more convincing to say, there was a faint knock on the door.

Draco frowned, and Harry quickly vanished the books, before getting to his feet. He heard Poppy open the door and half-expected Shastin to come barging in, to finish her job with killing Draco. He had been strangely touched by her actions, when Draco had told him about his encounter with the woman over breakfast.

A moment later, Aiden walked in with a backpack in one hand and Herman in the other.

"Hi," he said breathlessly, and smiled brightly at them.

"Hello," Draco answered and closed his book, before putting it down on the coffee table.

Harry was happy to see the boy again, not only to make sure that he was safe, but also because he sort of liked having him around, even though they had only met once before.

"My mum told me to come here. I have a present." Aiden's eyes widened, as though he had forgotten about that himself, and put Herman down on the armrest of the sofa, to rummage through his backpack. "Made it in school."

"A present?" Harry asked, watching in amusement as the boy put a half-eaten apple, pencils and rocks on the coffee table, much to Draco's badly concealed dismay. He was, however, happy to hear that Mona seemed to stick to her promise to send Aiden over, whenever she felt like she needed some time alone.

"Mhmm, mum said it was your birthday yesterday," Aiden replied, and looked up from his backpack, proudly holding out a rolled up paper towards Draco.

Harry stepped around the couch to look at the drawing, as Draco rolled up the paper, and could not fight off a smile as he saw the stick-figure-Draco beside the stick-figure-Harry, complete with messy hair, and beside them stood what he could only assume was stick-figure-Aiden, because it was much smaller and held something light blue under his arm. Stick-figure-Harry reached out to take stick-figure-Draco's hand every now and then, while the yellow-haired figure reached out to seemingly ruffle stick-figure-Aiden's hair.

"Mum helped me make them move," the boy explained, and smiled so widely that his nose crinkled, when big pink letters started blinking above the figures in a _'Hapy Birthday Draco'_, that was missing one P, and it also seemed as Aiden first had written Brithday but crossed the word out, before getting it right. "That's me when I'm visiting you, see." He pointed at the smaller figure and then at the circle of light blue under its arm. "And that's Herman."

"I can tell," Draco smiled, and Harry's chest contracted, when he saw the smile his husband gave the boy, and, for a second, he thought that the grey eyes were a little more glossy than usual. "Thank you."

"If you want, you can come to my birthday party," Aiden said hopefully, and started putting his things back in his backpack again.

"When's that?" Harry asked, worried that it would be the very same afternoon.

"In December," the boy explained very seriously, clearly not aware of that it might be a little too early to invite people to his birthday party, six months in advance. On the other hand, Harry was already lost to his charm, and the way he seemed to be able to make Draco soften with just a smile.

"Sure," he promised, before he had the chance to stop himself, realising only moments after that he might have made a promise he could not keep.

"Then I'll be _eight_," Aiden said proudly, straightening up a little where he stood, then his smile faltered and his shoulders dropped, as he sunk down on the sofa next to Draco. "But my dad, he can't be there."

That was the first time Harry had heard the boy mentioning his father, and it made him a little uncomfortable knowing that Charles Burke was the reason he was in America to begin with.

"My parents couldn't come to my birthday parties either," Harry said, surprising himself a little, because he rarely spoke about his parents. "But I'm sure they were there the entire time anyway, and your dad will be, too."

Aiden looked up at him, just as Draco put an arm around the boy's shoulders. "Promise?"

"Promise," Harry smiled, and, even though he wondered if it was the right thing to say, all his doubts were soon swept away by the smile he got in reply.

"Do you want to see a picture?" Aiden asked, suddenly, but was not waiting for an answer, as he started digging through his backpack again. Harry had watched an endless amount of pictures of Charles Burke already, but he could not tell the boy that, especially not with the proud look on his face when he held out a photograph of a smiling Burke, carrying a much smaller Aiden on one arm. He was allowing the boy to hold his wand and laughed as the boy seemed to shout out of joy, as sparks flew from the tip. It was strange seeing the man on a photograph with his child, especially to see him look so fatherly, Harry thought. It did not fit the picture of Charles Burke he had created.

"Don't you want to frame it?" Draco asked, when Aiden gave him the photo.

"I had one on another photo, but they broke it." The boy shrugged, but he looked bothered by this and bit his lip hard, perhaps to stop himself from crying.

"Who broke it?"

Harry felt his insides go warm, as he heard the sudden harshness in Draco's voice, as he asked the question.

"The twins." Aiden shrugged again, and it occurred to Harry that no one seemed to use their names, and the next second, he realised that he had no idea what their names actually were.

"Wait here," Draco said, and disappeared upstairs quickly with the photograph still in his hand.

"What's he going to do?" Aiden asked, and looked as though he was too surprised to remember that he was upset.

"I have no idea," Harry said truthfully, but they got the answer, only moments later, when Draco came back down the stairs, a frame in his hand that Harry had absolutely no idea where he had gotten, and gave it to the boy who took it cautiously.

"Maybe they break your frame," he said and tried to give it back, but Draco pushed it firmly in his hands again.

"They can't," he said sternly, and Harry smiled smugly to himself, wondering what kind of charm the other man had put on the frame.

Aiden lit up in a huge smile and looked down at the photograph in his hands, before reaching out for Herman and held up the stuffed elephant to the frame. "Look Herman, Draco says they can't break our frame now."

Harry suddenly found it impossible not to plant a kiss on his husband's temple, as they boy explained once more to his elephant that the twins could not break their frame. He looked down at the picture Aiden had given Draco that lay on the coffee table, where stick-figure-Harry, once again, reached out to grab stick-figure-Draco's hand and did not care, when Draco protested as Harry kissed his temple again.

xXx

DPOV

Draco listened to the sound of the front door closing and watched Peter and Kat leave their house through the window, feeling his heart rate speed up with every step away they took. He had told them that he needed some time to himself to think about the details for their almost-finished kitchen, and they had obliged happily. The truth was that he already knew everything about the details, but he needed a reason to be by himself in their house, to have the chance to look around. It had been impossible to find an excuse before, but now, he stood there, heart pounding in his chest. He had looked around the best he could, when Kat had showed him the house, and the only place he could think of that could hide something that could be of use to him was Peter's desk, in their study. Kat had been very reluctant to let Draco in there and, naturally, that was the first place he went.

It was not well used, not like his own study, with layers of dust that told him that the house-elf was not admitted in there either, which he found odd. It also complicated things, because if he tried to move around the things on the desk, it would leave traces in the dust.

Instead, he concentrated on the drawers, and he was not surprised to find them locked, as he gently tugged at the handles. However, it had occurred to him that not being a wizarding community that had even been to war, people did not seem to pay much attention to security or keeping others out. It took him three tries, using the most common unlocking spells, to hear the drawers click open. He snorted to himself, wondering if these people not had enemies at all, or if nothing they kept was important enough to hide well from others.

The first two drawers showed him nothing but papers about their economy, making it clear to him that Peter could easily stop playing Quidditch, because the amount of money Kat's business provided them with had already given them a small fortune.

The third drawer, however, contained something Draco had not expected, or even imagined in his wildest dreams. It was a wand, and he recognized instantly. He had seen it on a picture just yesterday. It was Charles Burke's.

_Each confession I make  
>Translates to you as an insult.<br>We must rid ourselves of this habit.  
>I once heard you say you'll<br>never love anyone more.  
>Then why am I still fighting you?<br>And it's never felt like this, before.  
>I'm on your side – Maria Mena<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter end notes: <strong>Sorry for the cliffhanger! Next up, there will (of course) be an investigation to why Burke's wand was where it was, and Harry will bring up the idea of Hermione and Ron visiting, a quite big part of Shastin and a big secret of hers.**  
><strong>


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Once again (I feel like I say this every time, which I probably do, but whatever) I'm really sorry that it took me so long to write this chapter, but I had a small life crisis to solve and a grandpa that I had to take care of for a little while, along with a huge exam that I couldn't understand and the shock of being back in school again.

However, here it is, finally! Chapter 10. There are a few sex scenes in here. Beware!

This is for everyone who has reviewed, and recommended this story to other people. I wish I could thank you all in person, but that would be impossible. This chapter is, however, a little extra dedicated to gayperspectiveondrarry on tumblr, who is someone I have quickly come to admire. You should check out his tumblr!

Thank you all so much for reading and leaving reviews. It means the world to me!

Some of you have also asked me about the number of chapters left, and I can't say for sure, but probably one, perhaps even two, and then an epilogue. So we're close to the end, now!

Also, I know that the _prior incantato_-spell doesn't work exactly like this in the books, when Amos Diggory uses it on Harry's wand, but there really wasn't a way for me to come up with a shadow of the spell (like it happened with the Dark Mark), without giving too much away, so I hope you guys are okay with the way I chose to portray it.

So, to keep this short (it's already too late for that, isn't it?), I'll just stop here. Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 10<strong>

DPOV

Draco sighed to himself as he looked out the kitchen window for the seventh time in a minute. Harry was still nowhere to be seen. Apparently, practice was drawing out longer than usual. Typical, since Draco, for once not pleased with having some time to himself, was desperate for Harry to get home.

Burke's wand was lying on the kitchen table, still half-wrapped in Draco's scarf. He had not wanted to touch it with his bare hands, as he had taken Burke's real wand with him from the Czarniawskas' house and left the replica behind. Granger's spell had become useful once more – something that Draco was never going to admit to anyone but himself. However, leaving the replica behind left him with another issue; he had to bring Burke's real wand back before the replica dissolved. Taking the replica back with him might have been useless, because he had a hard time believing that the spell would manage to copy both appearance and the magical core of the wand.

Now he was standing there, waiting for Harry to come home from practice. He was not sure how the other man would react to Draco finding something as vital as Burke's wand at their friends' house. It was not a simple robe, or some other personal belonging, but the very item that provided a wizard with the ability to express his magical power. It was not something one would willingly hand over to someone else. Finding something like this in Kat's house worried him more than he wanted to confess. She was, after all, one of the few people around here that he would have never thought to be the one to commit a crime.

His heart leapt in his chest suddenly, seemingly even before his brain registered the sound of the front door opening and banging close. There was only one person that closed the door like that. As Draco turned towards the sound, Harry emerged in the kitchen doorway. Draco could not keep himself from acknowledging the fact that it was the very same doorway where they had had sex just the other day. Merlin, he needed to do that again. Soon.

"Hi," Harry said, and a tired smile ghosted over his lips for a moment, before he slumped against the doorjamb.

"You're late," Draco pointed out, instead of all the ridiculous things he wanted to say, and do, to make Harry look less tired than he was now. It irritated him that he was starting to feel guilty, knowing that there would be long before the other man could go to bed, because of the wand.

"Sorry," Harry grimaced, rubbing a hand over his face. "We're up against the Moose Jaw Meteorites in a few weeks, and Harrigan thinks it'll be ugly. He's pushing us harder than I thought was even possible." Then he paused, noticing the wand on the kitchen table. His eyes flickered between Draco's face and the object a few times, as though he was making sure that he was not hallucinating. "What's that?"

"Burke's wand." Draco could not help but smirk at the surprise that so clearly took over Harry's features for a moment. His husband had never been one with a poker face. "I found it at Kat's."

"What?" Harry frowned, and the tired look on his face switched to something else. A look Draco knew so very well from their school years.

"Do you want to sit down?" Draco gestured to the chairs at the table, before turning towards the kitchen cabinets to prepare tea. "Tea?"

"Er," Harry mumbled, as he sat down at the table, with some effort it seemed. Draco suspected that his muscles were sore after so many hours of practice. The other man looked at the wand for a moment, as though he could not quite believe his eyes, before snapping his gaze back to Draco's. "Yes, tea, please."

A few moments later, Draco sat down opposite of him and pushed a teacup over the table. "When Kat showed me around their house, it was clear to me that there was something about Peter's study. She was reluctant to show it to me, but it looked as though it wasn't used very often. I've been waiting for an opportunity to look through it ever since, and tonight I managed to go through Peter's desk. I found the wand in a locked drawer in the desk, and I can't come up with a good excuse for Kat and Peter to have a dead man's wand hidden away in their house. Can you?"

Harry was staring at the wand again, as though he expected it to come with answers. He looked bothered, Draco thought. "No, I can't." He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face again. "But I can't imagine Peter and Kat-" He broke off, shaking his head.

"Well, this doesn't exactly speak in their favour, though," Draco pointed out, and Harry glared at him.

"You don't think I know that? You don't think I know that way too often the bad guy is the one you've trusted all along?" he snapped, causing Draco to raise his eyebrows.

"There's no need to get angry." He knew that Harry considered Peter to be one of his closest friends here. Perhaps because he, much like Kat, came off as a nice mixture between all the other extreme personalities around them.

"I'm not angry," Harry sighed, shoulders slumping. "I'm just tired and…and I could've imagined _anyone_ but Peter or Kat doing something like this. _Anyone._"

"I know," Draco said, and resisted the urge to walk around the table to bury his face in the other man's hair. "There could be an explanation. It doesn't seem likely, but there could be."

"Yeah." Harry rolled his eyes. "It's about as believable as Snape secretly having me as his favourite student of all time."

Draco was not able to suppress a smile, and Harry's mouth tugged upwards in response. "I think you should look into it anyway, without making it clear that we know that Peter has Burke's wand. Well, _had_."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" Harry muttered, gulping down half of the contents of his teacup quickly. Draco had long since realised that the other man was not one to savour his tea with a good book or that day's newspaper.

"You're the chosen one. You'll figure something out," he smirked in response.

"I wish you'd just stop calling me that," Harry glared and emptied his cup. "So what do we do with it now? What happens when they find out that the wand is gone?"

"They won't, unless we can't get this one back in the desk drawer within the week. I used Granger's replica charm. I think we should use _prior incantato. _There might be a something useful in finding out what spell was cast with it last."

"Right, I know that spell. Cedric Diggory's dad used it on my wand during the Quidditch World Cup. He thought I was the one casting the Dark Mark." Harry shrugged with a bitter smile. "He was half-right, at least."

"What do you mean?" Sometimes Draco found the other man to be a box full of secrets and anecdotes that he would have never guessed were in there, locked away safely and hardly spoken about. Harry rarely brought up his past – _their_ past – and Draco never pushed. It was not his favourite subject of conversation, either.

Harry blinked, as though he had been zoning out for a moment, perhaps lost in thought, looking down into his empty teacup. "Barty Crouch Jr. used my wand to cast the Mark," he said casually, as though it was as interesting as Longbottom and his plants.

Draco knew about Crouch Jr. quite well. His success with getting into Hogwarts had been wildly discussed in his home, when the Dark Lord had come back and started using it as his headquarters. However, he had never known that the lunatic had used Harry's wand to cast a signature curse for Death Eaters.

"Do you want to cast the spell, or should I?" Harry asked suddenly, interrupting Draco's thoughts.

"I'll do it." He stood up and concentrated hard on the wand, as he mumbled the incantation under his breath. For a moment, he thought that it had not worked, but then a whisper of smoke seeped through the tip of Burke's wand, leaving two words hanging in the air between them: _altus volo._

There was a moment of silence between them, before Harry frowned and cleared his throat. "I've never heard of that spell."

"Neither have I," Draco sighed. It was an anti-climax. It was a spell Draco did not know of, and the echo of it in the wand did not give any leads either. "It's not possible for us to ask around about the spell either, without coming off as suspicious, and it's very possible that there are spells in America that we don't know about in England."

"I could ask Hermione," Harry offered, but his voice was careful, as though he was afraid of Draco's reaction to this.

He was not thrilled to ask Granger for help, but, except for Draco himself, she was the most competent person he knew of when it came to research, and as long as he did not have to ask her himself, he could live with it. "If you think she would be willing to help."

"Probably. She's helped us a lot already, so I'm sure she doesn't mind." Harry shrugged, hiding his surprise to Draco's reaction quite badly. Or perhaps could read the other man's expressions better than he used to.

"She hasn't helped _that_ much," Draco snorted, feeling as though he had been too generous when it came to Granger.

Harry only rolled his eyes at this, perhaps knowing where their conversation would go if he replied to this. "I'll try to get something from Peter at practice, about the wand. I don't know how, but I'll figure it out. Until then, we should put that wand in your desk." Then he yawned and rubbed his eyes, as Draco failed to keep his insides from melting at the sight. "Can we just go to bed now?"

"Lazy," Draco sighed, despite the fact that going to bed seemed like a fantastic idea.

It did not take long for them to drift off. He suspected that Harry might already be asleep, as he came shuffling over on Draco's side of the bed, curling himself around him. A part of him suspected that the warmth that spread rapidly through his body, causing him to feel completely boneless, was not all due to Harry's high body temperature.

xXx

The next morning, Draco was watching with delight as Harry limped through their house on stiff legs, trying to get ready for practice. His husband was certainly not out of shape, especially not since he had spent many hours practicing professional Quidditch the past few months. Evidently, Harrigan had to be driving them really hard to make him that sore.

"Some practice you're going to have, half crippled like that," Draco mused, and could not help but feel very pleased with himself, when Harry glared at him.

"I'm not exactly looking forward to it, but I feel like it's a better option, being _crippled_ because of sore muscles, than because I took a bludger to the head."

"Probably wise," Draco agreed. He was decided not to think about the possibility that Harry actually might take a bludger to the head during their game against the Moose Jaw Meteorites. There had been enough foul play during their last game against the Canadian team.

Poppy was upstairs – changing sheets and collecting their dirty laundry, something Harry still seemed to find incredibly awkward and embarrassing, even though the elf had been doing so since they came here – when there was a knock on the front door. Considering the other man's state, Draco had a feeling that Poppy would be able to finish the laundry and clean the house before Harry made it to the front door, and sighed as he got up from the sofa.

Leo was standing outside, looking tired in a whole other way than Harry, causing Draco to wonder if he had been sleeping at all the past month.

"You working today?" Leo asked the same moment he saw Draco standing in the doorway.

"No, not today," Draco answered cautiously. He was certain that Shastin had not said too many nice things about him lately, especially not to her husband. How the members of Harry's team had reacted to the incident with Drew a short while ago, Draco did not know, but neither of them had tried to curse him when he walked past.

"Could you keep Shastin company? I think she needs a friend." By the sound of Leo's voice, it seemed as though he had been trying to be that friend, without success.

"I'm not sure that she considers me a friend anymore," Draco answered, and looked over his shoulder when he heard Harry limping his way downstairs.

"Please?" Leo sighed, and the dark circles under his eyes, along with the hopeless look on his face, made Draco crumble. He silently wondered when he had grown so soft. It did not suit him.

"Fine," he sighed. If he went there and got hit by a curse, at least he could blame it on someone else. It also worried him, a bit more than he would like to admit, that there seemed to be something wrong with Shastin. The first time he had seen her express anything but extreme obsession over other people's sex lives, and overall happy personality, was when she had first seen him with Drew.

In all honesty, he had been avoiding everyone except for Kat. He did not like admitting it to himself, but he was slightly worried about their reactions to what he had done – perhaps something he should have thought about before he decided to leave with Drew – but it was too late to change that now. Coming here, a few months ago, he had never thought that he would grow to care about what their neighbours thought of him. Yet, here he was, actually caring.

He watched Harry and Leo disappear in the other direction, wishing that he could find an excuse to accompany them, before walking down the road that lead to Shastin's house. He half-expected another set of curses to rain over him as soon as he set a foot in the garden, but the house was unusually quiet.

His knock on the door echoed in the silence for long moments, and he started to think that she was going to refuse answering the door, but then it finally swung open before him. And there she was – for once without make up, her hair in a messy braid over her shoulder, and her face was red and swollen, as though she had been crying for a long time. She did not say anything but looked at him with nearly the same animosity as she had last time he had been here.

"Can I come in?" Draco asked finally, realising that she was not going to invite him in.

"No," Shastin answered, but stepped aside all the same.

"Leo asked me to come see you," he said, carefully walking past her and hoping that she would not stab him in the back.

"I figured as much," she muttered, and closed the door with a loud bang, before disappearing into the kitchen without a word. He followed her and was pleasantly surprised when she took two teacups from a kitchen cabinet and filled them with steaming, fantastic-smelling, tea, before levitating them to the table. Draco could not remember ever seeing her drink tea before.

She was uncharacteristically quiet, and her gestures were, for once, not overly dramatic. It was as though someone had taken a sip of polyjuice potion without a clue of how to impersonate her.

"I didn't cheat on him," Draco said, when twenty minutes had passed and not a word had been exchanged between them.

She snorted in disbelief but did not take her gaze from the window. For a moment, he wondered if she had picked that up from him.

"I was going to," he continued, surprised by the sudden urge to be as honest as he could be with her. "I was so angry with him, and I know it's not an excuse, but I was so fed up with him and his way of never being able to say the right thing. Ever. But I couldn't. I really wanted to. I was going to. But I couldn't."

She still did not say anything, but at least she was looking at him now, slowly sipping her tea.

"We haven't had the best marriage lately." He swallowed, silently wondering if he was giving too much away, but she was the closest thing to a friend he had. Not just here, in America, but at all. "I've been spoiled with having him around all the time, when he was injured, and it's been a shock for me to see him so rarely anymore. He's exhausted when he comes home, and that doesn't exactly improve our relationship." It was not the truth, since Draco had never lived a life with Harry before coming here, but as he continued, his words grew more honest: "Harry can't express himself to save his life, and it irritates me to no limit. We can't communicate, and we always seem to take everything the other says as an insult. I guess it has to do with our past, and I was so fed up with him, with his way of never being able to tell me what I needed to hear, and how he always is a thousand times more consumed by his Quidditch than by me. So, when someone came along, that seemed to appreciate me, and my presence alone, it was too easy to go with it. But when it all came down to it, I couldn't do it." He shrugged, half-wishing that he had shut his mouth long ago, half-relieved that he had finally been able to tell someone _something_.

"You're such a fucking idiot," Shastin said sharply, and, for a moment, her usual self was visible behind her miserable exterior. "Harry truly is as eloquent as a rock, I'll admit that, but how is it that everyone else is able to see how much he loves you, just from the way he looks at you, and you don't? It's stupid. _You're_ stupid. He fucking worships the ground you walk on, and I'd bet every pair of my favourite shoes on that he would do anything to make you happy. Have you _told_ him that he needs to say what you need to hear, once in a while? Do you give him everything he needs?"

Draco blinked at her. "Of course not," he said finally, his voice coming out a little sharper than he had intended. "We're married. He should know this by now."

"Apparently he doesn't," she muttered, as though she found Draco painfully dumb. "But if you'd rather walk around, constantly wanting to cheat on him, because 'he should know this by now', instead of just telling him – be my guest."

"Our communication isn't the best," he snapped. He was not liking the way she made him feel like a fool.

"I hadn't noticed," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "Perhaps you should wake up and realise what a great husband you have, and see the qualities that he has, instead of the ones you wish he had, before someone else does and acts on it."

Draco tried to shake off the queasy feeling that suddenly washed over him. "Fine."

They were silent for a long time. He did not even thank her when she refilled his teacup, because it felt humiliating to have been lectured by Shastin of all people.

"Do you want kids?" she asked suddenly, her voice strangely hollow.

"As far as I know, there is no way for two men to have children," he answered, frowning over the unexpected question.

"You can always adopt," she said with a shrug, and her gaze was somewhere far away.

"We haven't really discussed it."

"I do." She swallowed and traced the rim of the cup with her fingertip. "Want kids, I mean. But I can't."

Lately, being a loss for words seemed to happen to him more often than he liked, and once again he had no clue what to say, but she did not seem to wait for an input.

"We've been trying for a couple of years now. I've had five miscarriages. Yesterday I had my sixth." She did not look as though she was about to cry, but her face was expressionless, as though she had disconnected herself from her emotions completely. "I never manage to keep the baby more than a couple of weeks. I don't understand. I want a baby more than anything, but my body won't let me."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, now fully understanding Leo's tired look and why he had asked Draco to pay her a visit.

"Maybe it would've been easier if I didn't know it's just my fault." A grim look swept over her face, when Draco frowned at her. He was just about to say that Leo could just as well be the reason, when she continued: "Four years ago, Leo cheated on me. Once. With a Muggle. She got pregnant, and that's when I found out about it: because he wanted to be a good father for his child. When he explained to her about him being a wizard, it turned out that she was very religious and didn't want him in the baby's life, or hers for that matter, and she said that she even thought about not keeping the baby. She kept it, though, because of her religion. How sleeping with someone she doesn't know works with her religion, I don't know, but it doesn't matter now anyway. Now he has a kid somewhere, by accident, with a woman who didn't even want it when she found out who Leo really was, and I can't seem to keep a baby no matter how hard I try."

Draco swallowed, his throat feeling dry, and it was so clear to him now, why his thing with Drew had been so important to her, and why she had been so upset. He was not an overly emotional person, and it was impossible for him to fully understand what it must be like for her, but this was not something he would wish on anyone.

"I've forgiven him, you know, and I know for sure that he wouldn't do anything like that to me again, but I feel like I can never really let go, because I can't have a baby of my own and, every time I fail at keeping it, I start blaming him all over again, and I'm so angry with him, because he can never understand what it's like. Because he already has a child somewhere, and I don't."

"Have you visited a specialised healer?" Draco asked carefully. She had started crying again, and he did not hesitate before he reached across the table to grasp her hand. For a moment, he was worried that she would pull hers back, but instead she squeezed back hard.

"Yes," she nodded and tried to wipe the tears off her cheeks in vain. "They say that they can't find anything wrong with me. Which means that there's nothing they can do."

"It also means," Draco began, and took both of her hands in both of his, "that there are still possibilities – hope." Any other day, he would have felt ridiculous sitting like this, holding her hands as some sort of mind-healer during counselling sessions. His mother had preferred this kind of physical contact and cliché choices of words when she was upset, and it seemed to be successful with Shastin as well.

"Have you been hanging out with Zefira? Because you sound just like her," Shastin muttered, and failed when she tried to snort at him. "I've given up on hope long ago."

"That's the thing. You never give up on hope." Draco smiled bitterly to himself, reminding frighteningly clear how everything had seemed perfectly hopeless during the war. Still, he had not been able to keep himself from secretly hoping that there would be a way for the other side, for Harry, to turn everything around.

"I don't care how nice and philosophical you pretend to be – Harry is still too good for you." She glared at him, but she seemed to be a little like her usual self again.

"And you're still too good for Leo," Draco pointed out, and tried his best to tell himself that she was not right.

"I know," she nodded, much to his surprise. "But sometimes, people get more than what they've earned. Maybe you should start consider yourself lucky to have Harry, and stop thinking that he should be happy to have you. You're not that good of a catch, really."

"I know I made a mistake," he muttered, feeling irritation crawl under his skin. "But that was between me and Harry, and I see no reason for you to be like this."

"Shut up, it's my right. I'm your best friend. This is tough love, you know. It's my speciality." Suddenly there was a ghost of a smile on her face, and his irritation subsided in a heartbeat.

"I don't know why I put up with you," he sighed, rolling his eyes.

"It's because I'm really beautiful." She flicked her braid over her shoulder, as though pretending to be walking down the red carpet, posing for photographers.

"I'm gay." He scowled at her, but she only glared back.

"Not blind, though."

Draco fought hard but was not completely able to hide a smile. She gave him a small one in return, which felt like a promise. Perhaps she was lightening up a little. Perhaps she really thought of herself as his best friend still. The weirdest thing was that he thought of her the same way, but he had not realised it until now.

"Does everyone hate me now?" he asked, after a moment. Not that it mattered much to him personally, but it would definitely make his work more difficult.

"Barely anyone knows what an idiot you are. I didn't even tell Leo, and Zefira hasn't told Jordan either. I think, except for us, Kat's the only one who knows, and she loves you way too much to hate you." Shastin shrugged and tapped her nails against the tea cup.

"Why didn't you tell them?" Perhaps it said more about him than them – that he had expected them to tell the whole world about his idiocy.

"It's really none of their business, right? And I thought you should explain your behaviour against Harry to them all on your own. Plus, I promised Harry I wouldn't tell anyone when he came here looking for you." She shrugged again and waved her wand to _accio_ the teapot to refill their cups. Once it was back on the stove, she looked straight at him and hesitated a moment, before speaking up: "Thanks for coming over, though. I appreciate it."

xXx

HPOV

Harry was lying flat on his stomach in Draco's study and staring into the living room of Hermione and Ron's house. At that moment, he wondered if there really was not a more comfortable way of doing this, because his muscles ached more than ever and he had had difficulty even lying down on the floor. He did not want to think about what it would be like trying to get up from there.

"Harry!"

An unexpected rush of affection rushed through him, when he heard Ron's voice, and he blinked back to reality, grinning widely when their eyes connected.

"I haven't talked to you in forever. How's things?" Ron sat down on the edge of the coffee table, ginning as well.

"Good. I'm sore from practice, but it'll be all right. You?" For a moment, Ron looked so different, but, as soon as he started talking about work and people that annoyed him, he was instantly back to the person Harry knew him as.

"By the way," Ron said unexpectedly, and a there was suddenly a strange glint in his eyes that made Harry a bit uncomfortable. "How's things going with Malfoy?"

"Er, things?" Harry managed, barely able to keep the blush of off his face. Hermione had not told Ron, had she? She could not have. Right? Harry knew Ron was his best friend, for life, and that that was something that would never change. However, there were things in life that he just knew Hermione would handle better than Ron ever would.

"Yeah, you know, are you killing each other?"

"No, we're good. Better than I thought, actually," Harry answered, still not completely sure how to interpret the look on the other man's face.

"It's not really that much of a surprise, is it?" Ron said airily.

"It's not?" Harry asked. To him, it was more than just a surprise. He had been sure that either he or Draco would have been dead by now, or at least severely injured. Whatever was between them now had come unexpected, and he was not completely sure if it was a welcome change or not, just yet. It complicated things even further.

"No," Ron scoffed and grinned. "You used to be worse than Hermione and I were back in school, and look where that got us. No wonder you two are getting cosy now."

"We're not _getting cosy_," Harry protested loudly, feeling his face grow hot.

"Sure you aren't," Ron sniggered, and looked very much like his twin brothers used to do when they had a prank coming. Then he grew serious in a heartbeat. "Hermione didn't tell me, if that's what you thought. I figured it out myself. You're my best mate, right? I notice things. We haven't talked much, but honestly, no one's that dense."

"Er," Harry mumbled. He was not sure what to say. This was not at all what he had expected with his call. He had not been prepared to deal with Ron finding out about him and Draco, and he was tired that his friends seemed to think that there was something between them that Harry was not sure of himself. Sure, he had told Draco that he did not want him to sleep with anyone else, and it had seemed like Draco had agreed, but what exactly that meant, Harry was not sure.

"It doesn't bother me," Ron said quietly, and Harry wondered for a moment if he was hurt because Harry had not told him first. "I'm not a fan of Malfoy, and I'll probably never be, but honestly mate, you deserve a bit of happiness, you know?"

"I think that you think that there is a bit more than there actually is," Harry managed finally, not sure whether to feel touched by the fact that Ron was okay with it, or uneasy because they were talking about him and Draco.

Ron shrugged, like this did not matter to him. "Then make it into something _a bit more_."

"Yeah, because that's very easily done," Harry muttered.

"Do you want a tip?"

"_No._ I'm not discussing this with you, Ron!" It was awkward enough as it was, and he really did not need relationship advice from Ron of all people. It had taken him their entire time in school, plus most of the time they had spent at war, before he had managed to tell Hermione how he felt. Harry was not too impressed with his skills.

"Fine," Ron sighed, but he did not look too insulted. "I'll get Hermione for you. I'm heading to George's anyway."

"Tell him hi."

"Sure. Talk to you soon, all right?"

"Yeah, talk to you soon," Harry echoed, and was both sad and relieved when Ron left and Hermione came into view.

"Hi," she smiled, and he could not help but smile back, as he saw her growing belly. It was still so hard to believe that a small person was in there.

"How are you?" he asked, while she sat down in the sofa.

"I'm good. We're good. I think that I've been lucky so far without many pregnancy difficulties. How are you? Both of you?" Much like always, she seemed to know why he was calling.

"We're good. Better now than before, at least. It was a bit difficult there, when I last called you, but I think we're fine again. Sort of." He shrugged awkwardly, knowing that she was not able to see it.

"Did you talk about things?" God, of course she had to ask him that.

"No, not really," he said evasively.

"Not really?" she repeated, looking displeased.

"Well, I don't know what to say. I feel like I'm going to ruin things again," he mumbled, and concentrated hard on the glass bowl on the coffee table, where Ron had been sitting moments ago.

"Harry." She sighed, as though she had expected this. Thinking about it, she probably had. "You really need to talk about him. I think that there's just more room for misunderstanding and situations like the one you got into last time, if you don't speak to him."

The thought of talking to Draco about his feelings – and he was not completely sure what they were himself yet – was terrifying. He had spent years protecting himself from people hurting him, both mentally and physically, and Draco had been one of them. It was not that easy to just open up and pour it all out.

"It's scary, I know," she said, like she had read his mind. "I don't know what happened between you and him, and I don't need to know if you don't want to tell me, but he came back, didn't he? Isn't that saying something?"

"I don't know."

"Well, we have seen over the years that his first instinct is to run away and stay away, if that's what serves him best, right? He's a Slytherin after all. That doesn't mean that he's a bad person, no matter what Ron thinks about Slytherins, but it means that he will put himself first until he finds someone who he thinks is worth giving things up for. Do you really think that he would have cared to come back when you first arrived? Or back in school?"

Harry's heart was thumping loudly in his chest. Maybe she was right. She was Hermione, after all – she was always right. It was terrifying to think of it, though: that he might be worth coming back for.

"Things were different then. We hated each other."

"Exactly, and obviously he doesn't anymore. Just like you," she said softly, and there was that smile again that he had seen so many times over the years.

"I don't know. Maybe he just came back because he knew that he had to."

"Is that what he told you when he came back?" she asked and, for a moment, Harry wondered if she had been there that night. No, that was not what Draco had said. _I couldn't do it_, he had said.

"No." He pressed his palms against the floor, knowing that Draco was downstairs reading and drinking tea. "No, that's not what he told me."

"Then do something about it. Honestly, Harry. If he makes you feel even close to what you look like when you talk about him, he's worth keeping, no matter what your history is. Do something about it."

"All right, fine. I'll talk to him. First, we need your help though." He added the last part quickly, to make sure that she would not keep lecturing him.

"With what?" She was already reaching for a parchment scroll on the coffee table.

"When Draco worked at a couple of our friends' house, he found the dead man's wand. It was locked in a drawer, so obviously they were trying to keep it hidden." He noticed how she grew very serious in an instant and hurried to continue: "Draco used the replica-charm again, and left it behind, so we could use prior incantato on the real one. It showed a spell that we don't know, and we can't do much research or ask around about it, because that would seem suspicious."

"What spell?" she asked immediately, but did not look up from her furious scribbling on her parchment.

"Altus volo. It's not even similar to a spell I know, so I can't even tell what kind of spell it could possibly be. I know you're busy with work and everything, but –" She broke him off instantly.

"I'm never too busy to help my closest friends, Harry. You know that. I'm happy to help, and I'm glad that you thought about asking me, even though I'm far away."

"Of course I thought about asking you. You're the most brilliant person I know." For a moment, his chest seemed to tighten painfully. God, he missed them so bad.

"I'll look this up for you, and I'll call you when I find out what it is. It might take some time, however, so you two should get the wand back in place in the meantime. It won't be able to give you much more than it already has anyway." She finally put down her parchment and looked directly at him, stern once again. "And _talk_, Harry. I'm serious. You're going to hate yourself forever if you don't, and you know it, too."

Yes, he probably would. "Fine," he nodded and smiled slightly. "What would I do without you and Ron?"

"Be in much deeper trouble than you already are." She smiled back at him and rose from the sofa. "Now go, because I have some research to do, and you have to talk to Malfoy. If you haven't talked to him until I get back to you, I'll do it myself and imagine how awkward that would be. I might even ask Ron to do it, and that would be even worse, wouldn't it?"

"Can't believe you're blackmailing me, Hermione." He tried to sound angry, but he was too nervous over the fact that he needed to talk to Draco, and too happy that he had been able to talk to his friends for quite a while, to pull it off.

"That's what friends are for," she said, her smile growing wider. "Take care, Harry."

"You, too." And then she was gone, leaving him with a stomach that instantly tied itself into a thousand nervous knots and a heart that doubled its speed. At first, he thought about waiting until tomorrow, but by then, he might have come up with another excuse. Taking a deep breath, he managed to get up from the floor without groaning too loud from his straining muscles and walked downstairs.

He found Draco lying on the sofa, book spread over his chest and one hand still holding it in a firm grasp. Sleeping. Harry had never seen the other man fall asleep like this, on the living room sofa, fully dressed and a half-empty teacup on a coaster on the coffee table. Waking him to have a conversation was not exactly an option, he decided, when he saw Draco smiling in his sleep. Instead, he grabbed the blanket from the armrest of the sofa and carefully spread it over his husband. There was probably a better time for talking later, he thought, as he took the book from Draco's hands. He found the bookmark lying next to the teacup and placed it in the book before closing it. For a moment, he looked down at Draco, watching his chest heave with every breath and feeling his own insides crack open in time with them.

There was definitely something there between them that he did not want to risk losing. He smiled a little to himself, as he placed the book on the coffee table, next to the teacup, before leaving the room.

xXx

The first thing Harry became aware of the next morning was the sound of heavy raindrops against the bedroom windows. The next was Draco's warm body pressed against his back and kisses trailing down his neck, so light it tickled.

"Morning," Draco mumbled against his ear. Hot breath sent shivers down his body and, for a moment, he wondered if there could be better ways to wake up. When Draco's sleep-warm hand slid down his chest and stomach, stopping just below his navel, he decided that there probably were not.

"Morning," Harry replied, voice raspy with sleep. He decided, as teeth grazed his earlobe, that opening his eyes would not be worth the effort, because he would not be able to hold them open for long.

The light touch of fingertips drawing patterns on the skin of his stomach sent tingling jolts right to his groin, rapidly made him harder than he had already been waking up. _Oh God_.He drew a loud, heavy breath when Draco's fingers slowly traced the outline of his pelvic bone, down to the inside of his thigh, spreading goose bumps over his skin. His cock jerked, and a small, needy sound left his lips, as Draco's fingertips reached his balls.

"I think," Harry began, but quickly fell silent, when Draco cupped his hand around them, biting down a moan. He swallowed, heart suddenly pounding in his chest, and a whimper slipped over his lips as Draco slowly caressed his balls with his thumb. "I think this counts as torture," he managed finally, pushing himself backwards against Draco's body and letting out a loud rush of air, as he felt the other man's erection pressing against his arse.

A jolt of pleasure rushed through him, causing his cock to twitch again, when he felt Draco's breath hitch against his throat. It was pathetic, seeing as Draco had not even touched his cock yet, and still he was starting to leak against the sheets. He should not be this easy to drive mad, but the other man apparently knew exactly what to do.

And then teeth dug into the skin on his shoulder, just as Draco's hand moved to stroke down the length of his cock.

"Oh God," he groaned, pushing back again, his arse rubbing against Draco's erection. He could feel, rather than hear, the low sound the other man made against his throat. He arched his back slightly, his jaw dropping open when Draco's leaking cock slowly slid against his arse once more, and there was another brilliant sound filling his ears.

They were panting now, and Harry found himself rubbing back against Draco's cock, just to draw out another brilliant sound, only to thrust into the warm hand around his cock, now slick from pre-come, the next moment. The muscles in his stomach tightened harshly as Draco's cock slid between his arse cheeks, causing them both to moan loudly.

He merely had the time to think that this was new, when Draco suddenly pushed him down on his back and eager lips found his. He groaned in frustration, trying to grind their bodies together, but Draco held him back with a hand on his stomach. Confused, Harry opened his eyes, throat instantly tightening when he saw the other man's ruffled hair, lust-blown eyes and swollen lips.

"Want to try something new?" Draco asked, the rough sound of his voice stood in strong contrast to the soft caress of his hand on the inside of Harry's thigh.

Swallowing, not quite able to comprehend the words he had just heard, Harry nodded. A part of him probably already knowing where this was going, as his cock twitched in anticipation. When Draco slowly pushed his legs apart, making him feel both exposed, vulnerable and incredibly turned on, as the duvet slipped off them, there was no doubt left in his mind. _Fuck. _He watched Draco's gaze slide over his body, and the way he swallowed, when Harry pulled his legs up, planting his feet on the mattress.

He was shivering with anticipation, pre-come pooling on his stomach, but he was not able to pull his eyes away from Draco, whose hands slowly slid down the inside of his thighs, thumb slowly grazing the vein on the underside of his cock, making his hips to jerk.

Draco mumbled words he had never heard before, but the feel of slick fingers sliding down his cock and balls, left no doubt in his mind to what it was for.

He pulled Draco down for another kiss, crashing their lips together, just to distract himself from where the other man's fingers were going. When they brushed over the rim of his arse, however, he was not able to stop his body from jerking away from the unfamiliar sensation.

"Sorry," he mumbled, feeling stupid, because that was definitely not the way Draco reacted when the situation was reversed. The snort he got in return quickly loosened the knot in his chest, because he knew exactly what that meant: he was an idiot for apologising.

He opened his eyes, silently wondering when he had let them fall close, just as Draco's other hand pushed the hair out of his face. Silver-grey eyes watched him intently, and Harry willed his body to relax, taking a deep breath. Draco arched an eyebrow, questioning, and he nodded in return, the excitement suddenly tingling through his body again. This time, he did not jerk away when Draco's fingers slowly rubbed against the rim of his arse, willing his still-tense body to relax even further.

He whimpered when Draco brushed their lips together again, torn between the way his body seemed to tighten and tingle and shiver all over from the unfamiliar sensation, and thinking that it was not enough. Hesitantly, he pushed back against Draco's fingers, groaning in frustration as they were pulled away just enough.

He could sense Draco's smirk, as teeth grazed his earlobe. "Patience."

Oh God, like he did not already know that Harry was not good with patience. He bit back another moan, when Draco picked up where he had left off, trying in vain to not let it show how desperate he was.

His muscles were quivering, his chest heaving in short, loud gasps and his hair damp with sweat, when he finally gave in once more and pushed back against Draco's hand. This time, Draco did not pull back. His eyes flew open immediately, and his body clamped down in reflex, as an embarrassingly loud sound escaped him. It was not painful in any way, but the feeling of having something inside him was strange and so very foreign.

Draco's lips effectively muffled another _sorry_ that was just about to slip out of him, and he slowly relaxed, giving into the feeling. Draco took his time and, for the first time, Harry was quite grateful for not rushing anything. He quickly adjusted to the sensation, but the feeling of something unfamiliar had quickly been replaced by the intense realisation of what Draco was doing to him. It took every inch of will-power and self-control he possessed not to reach down and stroke himself to orgasm within seconds.

The look of concentration on Draco's face made it easier to control himself, because every time he forced his eyes open and saw the lip-biting and narrowed eyes, his chest tightened in a very distracting way. Just as he was looking again, feeling the contraction around his ribcage, Draco looked up at him.

Draco did not say anything, but the way he seemed to tear his gaze from Harry's face, eyes trailing over his body, his leaking cock, and then lower, made him feel completely out of breath. The muscles in his stomach contracted harshly, when he saw the way Draco closed his eyes for a moment, as if to collect himself.

Harry shivered, and his hands reflexively closing around empty air, when Draco slowly pulled out, only to push back in. That felt..._oh God._ A throaty sound slid past his lips before he could stop it, and just before his eyes fell closed again, he saw the pleased smirk on Draco's face. The feeling of Draco's finger inside him quickly pushed out every thought of his mind, and, within moments, the sounds left his compulsively, causing him to roll his hips and fist the sheets, long since given up on control.

He was barely aware of Draco adding another finger, except for the slight stretch that was quickly overtaken by the way the feeling intensified and how his body quivered, as he desperately pushed himself back over Draco's fingers, searching for that brilliant feeling once more. And once more. And once more.

"Fuck," he groaned, as his toes and spine curled, as jolts shot through him. "Yes, yes, that's..._Oh God_."

He was too loud, and his hips seemed to move by themselves, his cock completely forgotten about until Draco stroked down its length, once, twice, and then he was lost, his back snapping up painfully, body clamping down around Draco's fingers, as he came, vision almost going white.

It felt like it took forever to calm down, even as Draco withdrew his hand, and his body was still shaking when he opened his eyes.

"Shit," he breathed, slowly stretching out his stiff legs again. "That was...yeah."

He did not even have the energy to dislike the way Draco smirked, but as he pulled the other man down for a kiss and felt the pressure of his erection against his thigh, he realised that he had completely forgotten about everything but himself.

The warm weight of Draco's cock felt so good in his hand, and he watched the other man's eyes fall closed with a low, fantastic sound, as he stroked down the length. It was not very skilled, and it did not take very long before Draco was thrusting back, head tipping back where he stood on his knees, still supporting himself with one hand on Harry's thigh.

It only took a few moments and one last squeeze, before Draco was coming, groaning loudly and his hand clenching hard around Harry's thigh. He looked down, feeling a little disconnected from reality, on the mess on his stomach, not quite sure why it felt so good to see the evidence of their activities there, before the tingling feeling of a cleaning charm made it disappear.

Draco collapsed next to him, breathing just as heavy as Harry had been doing moments ago, and tossed away his wand, missing the bedside table with range.

The sound of their calming breaths was the only thing that filled the room for a while, as Harry waited for the fuzzy feeling in his body and brain to disappear.

"Liked my lube spell?" Draco said finally, as his breathing was somewhat back to normal.

"You have to ask?" Harry tried to sound irritated, but the strange, cotton-y feeling in his brain made it unable to think of anything other than what had just happened and how good it felt to be close to Draco like this. He did not have to look up at the other man's face to know that he was smirking. Somehow that did not matter much, because the muscles in his thighs still quivered under his skin and did not seem to be calming down anytime soon.

The feeling of Draco's fingertips slowly travelling up and down his forearm in time with the sound of rain against the window made it hard to concentrate. Partly because it did not seem as though his husband was even aware of the fact that he was touching Harry, like it was a subconscious urge to keep the body contact, but mostly because Harry seemed to have lost his brain capacity completely whenever the other man touched him.

"I talked to Hermione yesterday," he said quietly, reluctant to break the comfortable silence. Everything felt so good right now, there between them, and he was afraid that talking about things would ruin that. Hermione was right, though; he would regret not even trying to solve things when he had the chance.

Draco made a vague sound, where he lay, as if to confirm that he was listening. Harry wished that he had said something to contribute more to the conversation.

"She was willing to help," he started, searching desperately for the right words for the more important topic.

"Great," Draco answered, sounding as though he could not wait for this conversation to be over, as he rolled over on his side, facing Harry, and rearranged the pillow, before putting his head back down.

"On one condition," Harry said lamely, just to spark the other man's interest a little bit. He did not want to say everything he wanted to say, only to find that Draco had already fallen asleep.

He watched the other man sigh and prop himself up on one elbow, like he was well aware of that Harry was trying to say something more. "And what would that be?" Draco asked, arching an eyebrow.

"That I talk to you," Harry blurted out, and fisted his hands beneath the duvet. He felt as though he was about to take an unknown road and he had no idea where it was taking him. The warm feeling in the pit of his stomach was still there, but his skin was prickling with nervousness.

"I assume she didn't refer to casual conversation?" Draco said drily, but sighed as he sat up to lean against the headboard.

"No," Harry confirmed, and suddenly felt like the other man was too far away from him. Feeling ridiculous, he found himself very interested in the pattern of the fabric on the sheets.

"Out with it," Draco sighed, clearly tired of waiting for Harry to start talking.

"She said that you and I need to talk. About...about _this_," Harry tried and gestured vaguely between them. "So that stuff like what happened with Drew won't happen again. Because I don't want it to." He was talking very fast, afraid that Draco would interrupt him before he was finished, even though he did not say much, but his husband only sat there without saying a word. When long moments of silence had passed, Harry carefully glanced up at the other man, who was looking down at him from his sitting position. For once, he looked serious without being mocking or self-righteous. Harry had no idea if that was a good or bad sign.

"Are we really going to have this conversation?" Draco said then, without sounding sarcastic, as though he really wanted to know if Harry wanted to go there.

"Yeah," he nodded and tried to ignore the way his heart sped up with anxiety. God, he was not sure that he was ready for this.

"Okay, fine." Draco pulled up the duvet further, and Harry only then realised that they were both naked. If this went bad, things would get really awkward.

"Maybe we can wait until lunch," he tried, but the other man shook his head firmly.

"No," Draco looked down on him again with a look in his eyes that Harry did not recognize. "It's probably for the best, anyway."

"I don't know where to start," Harry mumbled, feeling stupid for bringing the subject up without knowing what to say. When it came to forming words into nice-sounding sentences, he would always be pathetic next to Draco.

A brief smile spread over the other man's lips, telling Harry that he was not surprised by this in the least. "Start wherever. We can sort things out as we go."

He was silent, for a moment, and closed his eyes, pretending that Draco was not sitting there, looking at him and waiting for him to speak.

The rain was still pouring down outside, and he tried to concentrate on the soothing sound of raindrops against the window, attempting to sort his thoughts out. Maybe he should just start where it all began, what felt like forever ago.

"I...You already know that I don't have much experience," he began, and forced himself to look up at Draco and not look away. He had known from the start that this would be uncomfortable and embarrassing, and definitely expose a lot of himself to Draco. He watched the other man nod, and fell quiet for a while, searching for words again. "You know the first time we had sex?" he said instead, when he came up short.

"Yes, I was there," Draco snorted, smirking, and Harry tried to glare at him, hating the way the blush always seemed to find its way to his face.

"It was really awkward afterwards," he stated bluntly, and Draco nodded in agreement, the smirk gone from his lips. "I...I got the impression that it was because I was a crap shag. Was it?" he blurted, wishing that it would be okay to hide his face in a pillow, but forced himself to keep eye contact.

Draco gave him a strange look, mixed with humour, disbelief and a clear questioning of Harry's sanity. "Did I tell you that you were a _crap shag_?" he asked finally.

"No, of course not." Harry shook his head. "I just thought, maybe..." he trailed off, shaking his head. He had no idea what to say.

"Do I come off as someone who doesn't let people know when I'm not satisfied with something?" Draco asked, the tone of his voice caused Harry to grin.

"No."

"I can promise you that, if there was something you did that I didn't like, you would have known." Draco snorted, like he was thinking that Harry was an idiot for even considering this.

"That's the thing, though," Harry said, remembering that night all too clearly. "I didn't do much at all, really."

"Exactly. Because that's how I wanted it."

"Not following." Harry frowned up at Draco, who was looking out of the window for a moment, before looking back down at him.

"I prefer sex where I'm in control. I don't like sex where someone is in control over me," Draco said, after a moment of silence, as though he had been choosing his words carefully.

"I'm taking this as you don't like people doing stuff to you, but you like doing stuff to them?"

"If you want to put it like that." His husband nodded.

"You let me do stuff to you," Harry blurted, because he had just minutes ago, and a few times before that.

"Your powers of deduction truly are fantastic," Draco said drily, but he did not look irritated. Harry frowned at him, refusing to say something, until his husband gave up with a sigh. "Yes, I let you do things to me, and yes, I do like it." He added the last part just as Harry was going to ask.

It was not making much sense to him, except for the fact that Draco apparently did not like when his sex partners did things to him, but was totally fine with it when it was Harry. Maybe Draco had seen the millions of questions that quickly found their way into Harry's brain, because he sighed again and leaned his head back against the wall behind him.

"I don't think it's relevant to speak about experience with people I sleep with, but I'll make an exception."

Harry was just about to say that there seemed to be an awful lot of exceptions for him, but the glare he got from Draco made him shut his mouth again.

"I'll be frank with you. I usually don't bottom, because I don't like the way it makes me feel vulnerable. The first time we had sex, I figured that you wouldn't be too interested in that, and, since I very much wanted sex, I made sure that I was in control."

Harry almost stopped listening at the very first sentence, dumbstruck by the fact that Draco did not like bottoming, since he seemed to enjoy himself quite a lot when they had that kind of sex. Maybe it was not the bottoming itself Draco did not like, but the state of vulnerability, just like he had said. Harry blinked back to reality, just as Draco continued speaking, the warmth in his stomach rapidly spreading through his limbs, despite the fact that he tried to stop it.

"It's true that it was awkward between us after that time, but I was under the impression that you felt as though I had used you. I thought I knew that you weren't gay, and I assumed that it was the potion making you want to sleep with me." Draco shrugged slightly, and Harry rolled over onto his side, grasping Draco's calf under the duvet and squeezing lightly. He placed a sloppy kiss on the other man's knee, before he had a chance to stop himself. It felt like his insides were crawling with the need to touch the other man, and he was not able to suppress it.

"Is there a reason as to why you're kissing my leg?" Draco asked, and Harry did not need to look up to know that one of his eyebrows were raised.

"Only place close enough." He smiled to himself, feeling both stupid and pleased as he squeezed Draco's calf again. The only reason as to why he was kissing Draco's leg was the warm feeling inside, and the way his brain seemed to have returned to its post sex fuzzy state again now, when they were finally sorting things out. Also, it seemed to annoy his husband, so there really was no reason to stop.

"Besides being incredibly lazy, what's your reason for kissing my leg?" Draco made a half-hearted attempt to pull his leg away, as Harry kissed his knee again.

"There just seem to be an awful lot of exceptions for me in all your rules," he answered vaguely, and pressed his face against the outside of Draco's thigh to hide his smile.

"There seems to be an exception for me in your sexual orientation," Draco countered, and Harry wondered if he was uncomfortable with giving away so much.

"Maybe you are my sexual orientation," he grinned, glancing up at Draco, who glared at him with a snort.

"That's ridiculous."

"I am ridiculous."

"I don't think ridiculous covers it," Draco muttered, but he did not seem too displeased with Harry's statement.

In truth, Harry had no idea what his sexual orientation actually was. He did not have much he could call experience, and even though he had been attracted to Ginny, it had never been like this. On the other hand, he had been much younger back then. He sighed when Draco's hand found his hair, and the small, electric shivers that ran down his spine when his husband started pulling his fingers through his hair, told him that it had definitely never been like this with Ginny. It was like his whole body changed focus to the place where Draco touched him, like his brain was suddenly wiped clean, just to make sure that he did not miss anything from the touch. It was distracting and irritating and fantastic all at once.

"Are there exceptions?" he asked finally, bringing up their conversation from just seconds ago again, and Draco's hand stilled. Harry held his breath, and the warm sensation was suddenly replaced with nothing but a thumping heart and a tight throat. He did not want to look up, afraid of what he could read off of Draco's face, but he was sure that the other man could feel his heartbeat against his leg.

He was not sure if Draco really was quiet for an excruciatingly long time, or if it was just the panic inside him that made it feel that way.

"Yes," Draco said finally, with a small sigh that sounded like defeat, his hand starting to move again. "Yes, there are exceptions."

"Good," Harry mumbled as he breathed out in relief, more to himself than anything, and was not sure if he should be worried by the sudden clenching in his chest, or the way the warm feeling seemed to have spread to every limb of his body in a heartbeat. He kissed Draco's knee a third time and grinned when he heard the irritated sigh.

"There won't be any exceptions left if you don't stop kissing my bloody knee. It's not normal."

"Give me some place better to reach then." He had expected Draco to pull away completely and get out of bed, just to prove that Harry could not demand anything, but maybe his husband had the same giddy feeling in his stomach, because it only took half a breath before he had slid down next to Harry, face to face.

"I like exceptions," Harry said dumbly, and grinned when Draco sighed irritably again and rolled his eyes.

"You need to shut up about those exceptions, because I'm not speaking of them ever again."

"You don't have to." Harry suddenly remembered why they were both lying down and closed his eyes, as he leaned forward to let his lips brush over Draco's. It was without a doubt better than kissing a knee. He slowly let his fingers trail over the faint scars on Draco's torso, remembering all too clearly that day in the bathroom.

"If you're going to bring that up too, I'll take everything back," Draco muttered against his lips, and Harry smiled as he kissed the other man once more. Moving closer, he pressed his whole body against Draco's, and goose bumps spread over his skin as a small sound left the other man's lips. There was just no way he could get enough of those sounds, so he did his best to bring them out again and again. Just as he was about to kiss the sensitive skin just below Draco's ear, he remembered that he had one more thing to ask.

"Can Hermione and Ron visit?" he mumbled quietly, his lips barely brushing against fair skin.

Draco froze, before slowly pulling away with a look in his eyes that did not question Harry's sanity, but rather established that it was non-existent. "Are you asking me about Weasley and Granger when we're about to have sex?"

"I just remembered," he tried, but Draco was already getting out of bed. He did not look angry though, much to Harry's relief.

"I can't believe that you just brought up your friends in bed," Draco snorted in disbelief. "Don't ever do that again."

"I guess that really emphasises the fact that you would've told me if you thought I was a crap shag," Harry mumbled to himself after Draco had closed the bathroom door, then he added a little louder: "Can they though? Visit I mean?"

"Fine," Draco called through the door and Harry grinned to the ceiling. Clearly, his husband was not _really_ mad at him. A second later, the realisation of Draco's previous words hit him.

"We were going to have sex? _Again_?" he called, wondering why he had not been aware of their make out-session heading there.

A second later, the bathroom door opened and Draco glared at him. Sometimes Harry envied his way of making other people feel incredibly stupid without having to say a word.

"Are you serious?" Draco asked in disbelief.

"No?" Harry tried, but his husband just shook his head in disbelief and closed the bathroom door again. For a moment, he felt like hitting himself for ruining a chance to have sex twice in one day, but the next, he realised that Draco had agreed to let Hermione and Ron visit them. A part of him wanted to ask again, just to make sure that he had not been hallucinating, but another, much more rational part, told him that Draco would say no if he asked again. Glancing to his side, Harry grabbed Draco's pillow and pressed it to his face, breathing in heavily. A smile spread over his lips, as he realised what just had happened. There were exceptions.

xXx

The giddy feeling was still holding on a couple of days later, when he stood in the locker room with the rest of his team. He was not listening much to their conversations, as he wiped his body dry with a towel. He blushed heavily as he remembered yesterday morning in the shower, when he had decided to try out Draco's lube spell, just to make sure that he knew how to use it the next time they had sex.

He was happy that the scolding water had already made his whole body flushed, when his face heated even further from thinking of how he had tried to use his fingers on himself, just like Draco had done to him the previous morning. It had been good, but not the same as when Draco had done it to him. It was a bit scary, though, because doing that sort of thing had never even been a part of his mind before, and now it was there all the time.

He had started to think what it would be like to have Draco inside of him, and the thought made the muscles in his gut clench so intensely that he sometimes felt out of breath. He had never thought of it before, of bottoming, because it had felt strange and so far away, and he had been sure that he would not like it. God, he had never expected to feel so good from what Draco had done to him, and the intense feeling was still so frighteningly real, even as he recalled it.

Everything had been different since that morning and, at the same time, everything had been just the same. Draco had been snorting at him, glaring at him, said snarky things to him, arched his eyebrows at him, much like he always did, but there was a new way Harry could find the other man looking at him. Sometimes when he was cooking, he would look up from the food he had been consumed by for too long again, just to find Draco watching him with that look on his face. Or, when he walked through the door after a late night's practice, Draco would sit on one of the living room sofas with a book, telling him that he was late, but still look up from the pages with _that_ look on his face, when Harry sank down in the opposite sofa with a groan. And even though it was all the same, it was nothing like before.

When Peter sat down next to him on the bench, he pushed the thoughts out of his head. They had a huge game coming up, and he had more important things than Draco to think about as well. Especially since it seemed like the man next to him on the locker room bench was not the thoroughly kind person Harry had thought him to be.

"So, dinner in our new kitchen tonight. You're coming, right?" Peter rubbed his hair with his towel, and Harry noticed the bruises on the other man's arms from another tough beater's workout. At least he was getting off easy, compared to some of his team mates.

"Yeah, we'll be there. I look forward to seeing what Draco has done with your kitchen." Harry had absolutely no sense of interior design or decoration, but that did not mean that he was not able to appreciate the work of people who did.

"It's not all finished yet, but there are only minor things left for him. Kat is thrilled, and I think it looks great. He knows what he's doing." Peter stood up to rummage through his locker, searching for something. "It'll be just you and Draco, me and Kat, of course, and Shastin and Leo. I tried to invite Tim and Agnes, just to be nice, but Agnes is going away for the weekend."

"That's nice. For once, I won't have to be nervous about going," Harry muttered, thinking of the numerous parties that Shastin invited them to, where half the village seemed to be invited. A quiet dinner with a few friends would be a lot nicer. Well, as quiet as a dinner could be, when Shastin was invited.

Peter laughed, nodding as he closed the locker door with a small jar in his hand. "It used to be just the four of us, because Zefira and Jordan visit her parents a lot whenever we have time off, so we're happy that you two came along."

"You didn't hang out with Burke and Mona?" he asked, hoping that he sounded casual and not as though he was trying to interrogate Peter. He had promised Draco that he would try to find out what a dead man's wand was doing at their friends' house, and now he had the chance. The rest of the team was busy with their own conversations, and Peter was not even close to leaving where he stood, smearing some kind of potion over his bruises.

"No, we didn't know him very well. Kat likes Mona though, but she keeps to herself a lot. I think it's because Agnes is behaving badly towards her, and, you know, grieving probably takes up most of her time." Peter shrugged, as he inspected his own work with the potion. "When Brendan told me that Aiden has been visiting you a bit, I was relieved, because whenever I see him, he's on his own."

"He's a nice kid," Harry said, wondering if Peter knew when Mona had taken a sleep potion and accidentally locked her son out in the middle of the night.

"Yeah, definitely," Peter agreed, and started getting dressed.

Harry began searching for ways to bring the conversation back to Burke, to learn something about his wand. "How were things, when he died?" he asked lowly, worried that anyone around them would be listening.

"It was chaotic. Kat wanted me to stop playing for a while – I think she still does in secret. Mona was a wreck, completely understandable, of course. We tried to be there for her, but she didn't want us there." Peter frowned, as though he did not like thinking back on it.

"I was wondering, I don't want to ask Mona herself, because it might be a touchy subject, but what happens to a wizard's wand when he dies? I know the routines back in England, but what's it like here?" For a moment he wondered if the question was too obvious, and that Peter would know instantly what they had done. He was happy that Draco had managed to put the wand back the day before, because otherwise he could have ruined everything with such a blunt question.

"It's left to the family, for safe-keeping if you still want to keep it. Some people gives the wand back to the original wand maker, others bury it along with the body. Since we were talking about Burke, Mona decided to keep it, for Aiden I think, but I found her attempting to burn it one day when I was bringing her soup from Kat. She was in a bad place, and I had to hold her down physically to keep her from doing it. I promised that I would safe-keep the wand for her, just until she wanted it back. I figured she would regret destroying it, when she felt better." Peter sighed heavily, and sat down on the bench again.

Harry felt like closing his eyes and laughing with relief, as he heard the other man explain exactly what a dead man's wand was doing in his house. At the same time, it was suddenly so clear that Burke's death was still an open wound to Mona, even though the village around her seemed to be moving on as if the man had not even made as much as a dent in their lives.

"I think she'll be thankful for that later, when she's better. I think she just feels abandoned right now." Harry shrugged, thinking that he might know exactly how she felt, because he had spent years feeling the very same way.

"Hopefully. Or if she doesn't want it back, maybe Aiden will." Peter nodded, but it seemed to be more to do with something he was thinking than the words he had just said. Then he looked up, smiling quickly just before he pulled a shirt over his head and stood up. "I'd better get going. Kat probably needs help with setting the table, but I'll see you soon."

When Harry arrived back home, he noticed Draco sitting in the porch hammock, reading a book, with a cup of tea standing on the porch banister. For a moment, he was a bit surprised, because since they had arrived here, Draco had never sat in the hammock, but as he stepped through the gates, he saw the reason for Draco's new location: Aiden playing with Herman behind one of the peony bushes.

"Hi," Aiden smiled, popping his head through the branches. His face was partially covered in dirt, and Harry had a feeling that he did not want to know the state of the boy's hands.

"Hi," Harry replied, and took a few steps closer. "What are you doing behind the bushes?"

"Draco says they're peonies," Aiden corrected soberly, but almost instantly broke into a smile that crinkled his nose and showed the dimple in his cheek. It caused Harry to suspect that Draco might have told the boy about Harry not knowing what peonies were, when they had first arrived here. "Me and Herman are looking for flobberworms."

"Are there flobberworms here?" Harry asked, curiously looking behind the bush, only to find Herman covered in dirt, his trunk buried in the ground. Aiden's clothes were not in a much better state, but the boys cheeks were rosy, and there was a sparkle in his eyes that made it impossible for Harry not to smile.

"We don't know. We haven't found any yet, but Herman says he can smell them, and I think he's on to one. See." Aiden pointed enthusiastically at the elephant.

"I can tell," he nodded, and crouched down next to the boy, despite his protesting muscles. "Did you come here straight from school?"

"Nope." Aiden shrugged and dug out a small, white stone from the dirt. "I left my backpack at home, but I asked mum if I could come here to play and I could. And Draco said I can keep _all_ the flobberworms I find, so I can, right?"

"Sure, just be nice to them." Harry accepted the small stone when Aiden offered it to him, and he wondered silently if they should clean the boy up before sending him home again. "How's your mum?"

"She's okay." Aiden shrugged again, averting his gaze for a moment before looking intently up at Harry. "She's sad sometimes, but not so often anymore. That's good, right?"

"Yeah, that's great. And how are you?" Harry watched the boy cock his head to the side and bite his lip, looking as though he was thinking hard. Without hesitation, he reached out and ruffled the boy's hair gently. Aiden smiled up at him again, nose crinkling once more.

"I'm sad sometimes, too, but Herman says it's okay."

"I agree with Herman," Harry smiled and glanced down on his watch. They were supposed to be at the Czarniawskas' in a little more than an hour. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, and Herman's hungry, too."

"Okay, then. You two can keep looking for flobberworms when you've eaten, all right?" Harry stood up, wincing as his thigh muscles protested from the movement. He should ask Hermione to bring some potion for soreness.

Aiden nodded in reply and gently dug up Herman's trunk, before placing the elephant under his arm. He shook his head firmly when Harry tried to give him back the white stone. "You can borrow it."

"Thanks," Harry smiled, wiping the stone clean from dirt as much as he could with the hem of his shirt, before putting it in his pocket. Draco looked up as they approached the porch and closed his book.

"Did you find any worms?" he asked, and sent the teacup and book through the open window with a flick of his wand.

"Lots of boring worms, but no flobberworms," Aiden sighed, and grinned when he noticed Draco's displeased gaze scrutinising his dirty clothes.

"What did you do?" Draco groaned, with a roll of his eyes. Harry suspected that his husband was not very upset at all, however, judging by the way his features softened when the boy spoke.

"We dug for them in the dirt," Aiden informed, and looked down on his clothes with a satisfied look.

"Of course you did," Draco muttered, as they walked inside.

A short while later, Aiden's clothes were somewhat clean after a number of cleaning spells from Draco's side, and the boy was sitting at the kitchen table with a mostly-clean Herman next to him on a separate chair. Harry placed a plate of toast in front of each of them, before retrieving two cups of tea. He had long since realised that Herman needed his own food.

"I've never had tea," Aiden said, peeking into the cup in front of him. "Why is it brown?"

"Because it's black tea," Draco informed, as he sat down on the opposite side of the table.

"Why don't they just call it brown tea, then?" Aiden frowned and screwed his eyes shut, as he lifted the cup in both of his hands to carefully take a sip.

"Good question," Harry grinned, and Draco just shook his head, not quite able to hide his smile.

"I like it," Aiden stated five sips later, and glanced to his side. "Herman likes it too, he says."

Then there was not much room for talking, as the boy practically gulped down the toast in front of him, before deciding that he could eat Herman's as well. Draco had disappeared upstairs after a few minutes to get ready for dinner, and, when he arrived back down, Aiden was just finishing Herman's cup of tea as well.

"You should go change."

Harry tried to glare at the pointed look Draco gave him and wondered why he could not visit their friends in jeans and t-shirt.

"It's not that formal," he tried, and just as Draco sighed and opened his mouth to say something, Aiden spoke up:

"Maybe Draco likes it when you're pretty."

Harry stared at the boy for a moment, then turned his gaze toward Draco who smirked, clearly pleased to have someone on his side.

"Exactly, now go."

xXx

They had dropped off Aiden outside of his house, waiting until Mona opened the door for him, just to make sure that the incident from a while ago did not happen again. The boy had waved cheerfully at them from the doorstep, Herman safely tucked under his arm, before he had disappeared inside with his mother. During the short distance to their neighbours, Harry had done his best to fill Draco in on what Peter had said about Burke's wand, and his husband had seemed just as relieved as Harry had been to hear it.

Now, they were sitting in the Czarniawskas' kitchen. Their _new_ kitchen, and Harry could not help but wonder why Draco did not work with interior design back in England as well. It looked like a kitchen from one of the magazines Ron used to give Mrs Weasley whenever he came to visit, with its light colours and more windows than Harry wanted to count.

He did not know much about design, but from the way Kat smiled as she showed him around, he was pretty sure that Draco had done a good job, in more than Harry's quite biased opinion.

"So, the game against Moose Jaw is coming up," Leo said, as he poured himself another glass of beer, effectively ignoring the way Shastin glared at him for bringing up Quidditch again. "I'm thinking that at least two people will have to be carried off the pitch, just because none of us were injured during the last game against them."

"I sure hope not," Kat said, but Harry thought she looked a little worried. "Last time I had to feed my husband soup in bed for a week," she added, turning towards Draco, who frowned.

Harry wondered silently if his husband was worried, or if he was trying to remember the teams' last game.

"Let's talk about something else," Shastin cut in, as she laid a hand on Leo's arm, just as he opened his mouth to say something. "I thought Tim and Agnes were supposed to be here, too?"

"We invited them, but she was going away for something extremely important for a few days, apparently, but didn't want to tell us what it was. So much for being polite," Peter snorted, and Harry hid a grin behind his hand. It was not a secret that most members of the Wolves' team could not stand Agnes, and sometimes he wondered if that did not count for Tim as well.

"She didn't tell you where she was going?" Draco asked, and Harry could hear the slightly sharper tone in his voice, despite the glasses of wine his husband had emptied during the dinner.

"She makes a big deal out of working in the Child Protection Department," Shastin sighed, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, I don't know why she takes so much pride in stealing other people's kids."

"I don't think the whole point is stealing them," Kat interjected. "They're supposed to protect children that are abused in some kind of way in their homes."

"Yeah," Shastin nodded. "That's what they're _supposed_ to do, but knowing Agnes, she also likes the power it gives her. I mean, she threatened Mona, apparently, saying she would take Aiden away from her. She's an idiot."

Harry resisted the urge to flinch away, when he felt a hand grasping his thigh just above his knee, beneath the table. He looked at Draco, but the other man was engaged in a conversation with Kat about wine, which Harry could not care less about. Especially not when Draco's hand was slowly working its way up and down his thigh, sending tingles straight to his groin, forcing him to resist the urge to shift uncomfortably in his chair. On the other hand, he did not want Draco to stop for the world.

Scooting closer to the table, effectively hiding what was going on beneath it, Harry tried his best to concentrate on Peter's and Leo's discussion about new offensive techniques that Harrigan wanted them to try out. It worked perfectly, until Draco's fingers traced the outline of his half-hard cock through his trousers, and Harry had to conceal his gasp with a cough.

Shastin gave him a suspicious look, before narrowing her eyes at Draco, who slowly let his hand slide back down to the middle of Harry's thigh. Despite the fact that it was highly inappropriate to be extremely turned on during a dinner at a friend's house, Harry could not help but wish that she would not be as observant as she was. Luckily, no one else seemed to have noticed, and Shastin soon returned to the conversation, as he managed to collect himself.

Draco was such a bloody tease.

"So, I was thinking," Leo began as he drew a very complex and completely non-understandable diagram of his idea of a new offensive strategy on a napkin. Harry suspected that the idea would not seem as brilliant when the alcohol was out of their systems. "If Harry came at them like this–"

"But I'm the Seeker," Harry protested, cutting him off.

"Yes, that's why they'd be so confused if it was you." Leo nodded eagerly, making another loop on the napkin, causing Harry to understand even less of what he was trying to get across.

"It's not even allowed," Peter snorted a grin into his beer, exchanging a look with Harry over the table with a little shake of his head. At least there were two who did not understand.

"Rules are made to be broken," Leo said then, raising his glass like his wife used to do when she was making a toast.

"That could also suspend Harry for three games," Peter laughed, and grabbed the napkin as Leo was about to crumble it. "I'm saving this for evidence and humiliation-value."

"You just can't understand my brilliance," Leo muttered, glaring at them in turns, which quickly caused him to come off as slightly cross-eyed.

"Honey, no one understands your brilliance," Shastin smiled, and patted her husband's arm, causing Peter to spit his beer back in the glass, not to choke on it.

"I don't know why I married you," Leo sighed dramatically, but the smile fighting its way onto his lips spoke differently.

"I would give you all the reasons, but there are other people here, and it could count as offensive."

Peter groaned, seemingly in pain, and put his hands over his ears. "Please don't."

"See." Shastin smiled brilliantly and then she turned her gaze towards Harry, eyes narrowing dangerously. "I'm not the worst case here, though."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry blurted out, as he felt his cheeks heat.

"Not my closet!" Peter exclaimed, causing everyone to fall silent around the table.

Harry buried his face in his hands, wishing that he was back home and that this was not happening. Alcohol was such a bad, bad idea. On the other hand, he would probably be even more embarrassed if he had been completely sober.

"What about your closet?" Kat asked finally, her voice soft as though she was speaking to a child.

"Nothing," Harry said hurriedly, trying to make sure that the subject was dropped quickly. "I don't even know where it is."

Suddenly, Peter grinned, as though he found it incredibly enjoyable to make Harry feel embarrassed. Thinking about it, he probably did.

He was relieved when the conversation drifted back to Quidditch and their upcoming game against Moose Jaw. Even behind the pleasant buzz of alcohol, Harry could sense the worry Shastin and Kat seemed to hold for the game, as though they were completely certain that something bad would happen.

"I'm thinking about throwing a party," Shastin said suddenly, in the middle of their discussion about defence strategies. Everyone at the table rolled their eyes in unison, because it was not like Shastin's love for party-planning was a secret. "What?" she added, pouting at them.

"What for this time?" Draco wondered, his hand had somehow made it back to Harry's thigh under the table, but it just rested there.

"I'll come up with something," Shastin said, a huge smile spreading across her face.

"You could throw one for Harry's friends when they come visit." Draco said it casually, as if it was not a big deal, but Harry felt his heart trip over itself in excitement. Sure, Draco had said yes to Hermione and Ron coming for a visit, but it was not the same thing as telling their neighbours about it. He still had not told his friends about it, either.

For a moment, the group around the table blinked in silence, then Shastin and Leo spoke at the same time:

"When?"

"You have other friends?!"

Harry chose to do nothing but groan in response, as Draco shook his head like he was giving up on ever having a normal conversation.

"I could throw an accent-party, you know? Everyone has to use a British accent." Shastin had lit up, as though she had discovered the meaning of life just now, and Peter nodded enthusiastically, like he completely agreed.

"Oh God," Harry muttered, barely resisting the urge to bang his head against the table, but took another sip of his beer instead.

"I think it's time for us to leave," Draco said, and Harry felt like he had never heard such a brilliant idea before in his life.

"When are they visiting?" Shastin called after them, when were half-way out the front door.

"I'll only tell you if you promise not to throw an accent party," Harry called back.

"Can't make that kind of promise!"

The door banged closed behind them, and he took a deep breath of the night air, before looking at Draco, who shook his head. At least it was a relief to know that even Draco, who constantly spent time with Shastin, got overwhelmed on occasion.

Harry was not completely sure how it happened, but somewhere between leaving the Czarniawskas' house and closing the front door to their own, his lips were on Draco's. How they made it up the stairs without tripping, he had no idea, but a moment later, he had Draco pressed up against the inside of the bedroom door, hands tearing at his clothes.

"Fuck," Draco breathed, as Harry roughly grazed his teeth over the soft skin on Draco's throat and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

"Bloody tease," Harry mumbled, greedily sucking red marks onto Draco's neck, knowing that it would not be appreciated in the morning. Now, however, he got incredible sounds in reward for his efforts.

"Couldn't help it," Draco groaned, as Harry shucked his own shirt, before roughly helping Draco get rid of his. His hands and fingers were trembling much like the first time they had done this, but this time it was not because of nervousness, but sheer anticipation.

He palmed Draco through his trousers, bringing their lips together once more, enjoying the way the sounds muffled into low groans. Draco's fingers were digging into his back, pushing their bodies together, grinding up against Harry's hand.

"Bed," he groaned, reaching down to help unbutton their trousers, lips never quite leaving Harry's.

He almost tripped over himself, as he tried to kick off his trousers and make his way over to the bed. Somehow, they managed to get there in one piece, falling down on the bed in a tumble of limbs and breathy laughter, before Harry ground their hips together, instantly replacing it with a low moan from Draco.

The pressure of another erection against his own, through the thin fabric of their underwear, made him shiver all over, a low sound escaping him as Draco grabbed his arse, grinding their hips together over and over, until Harry had to pull back, panting, not to come right away.

"Wait," he managed, breathing heavily. "I just," he began, but trailed off as Draco kicked off his own underwear, before tugging Harry's down, as well, fingertips trailing down his cock, before slowly swiping the drops of pre-come over the head.

There was a glint in his eyes that made Harry shudder, when he brought his fingers up to his mouth, licking the remains of pre-come off them slowly.

Harry groaned, screwing his eyes shut tightly, trying desperately to ignore the way his cock twitched in appreciation. If dinner with friends lead to this, they needed to do it more often. He did not open his eyes until he felt Draco move beneath him, and found it hard to breathe when he saw the other man roll over onto his stomach, before propping himself up on all fours.

Harry swallowed heavily, helplessly trying to think of things other than the sight in front of him, hoping that he would last long enough to at least get inside. He stared at the curve of Draco's arse for a moment, then reached out to stroke down the length of his cock, gently grazing the head with his thumb. He felt his own breath hitch, as Draco moaned low in his throat, his hips jerking slightly.

It took all of his brain function to spread Draco's legs further and cast the lube spell that he had learned just a few days ago. He concentrated on covering the other man's neck and shoulders in kisses to calm his own body, as fingers slowly grazed over the rim of his arse. The sound Draco made at the touch did not make it any easier, and Harry could see his hands grasp the sheets, his body pushing back against Harry's fingers.

"Fuck, I-" Harry began, not even sure what he was about to say, when Draco made an impatient noise, pushing back against the fingers once more.

"Come on," he groaned.

Harry bit his bottom lip hard, trying to push a finger in gently, but he was way too hard, too desperate, to take it slow. Judging by the way Draco rolled his hips and the greedy sound that left his mouth, he did not mind much.

"More," Draco panted, way too soon, Harry thought, his body glistening with sweat in the pale light from the window. He grabbed Draco's hip, trying to still his body, as he carefully added another finger, trying his best to twist them the way he knew Draco liked.

"_Yes, _fuck!" Draco made a guttural sound, strangling the sheets in his hands, and Harry did it again, and again, and again.

His body was thriving on the sense of power he felt, as he watched the other man shake beneath him. When Draco looked back at him over his shoulder, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, swollen mouth hanging open and chest heaving as if the air was going to run out, Harry's breath stuttered out of him.

"Ready?" he asked quietly, and felt as though the words were barely audible over their heavy breathing.

Draco just nodded in reply, a low sound escaping him as Harry pulled his fingers back and stroked down his own cock, hand slick with lube, before positioning himself. The muscles in his thighs were trembling, feeling unsteady under him, but he forgot all about it when he slowly pushed in and it felt as though the air was trapped in his lungs.

"Oh God," he breathed, heart pounding in his chest, as he tried to ignore the brilliant sounds Draco made beneath him. His throat felt so dry, that it was hard to swallow.

Draco dropped down to his elbows with the first thrust, letting out a high, desperate-sounding moan, his back arching as he buried his face in his arms. He said something that sounded so much like _fuck me_, that Harry had to pause for a moment to keep himself from coming, before grabbing Draco's hips and comply.

"Fuckfuck_fuck_," Draco groaned, reaching back to dig his fingers into Harry's thigh, urging him on.

He tried to push deeper with every roll of his hips, desperately trying to make Draco moan louder with every thrust.

"So close," Draco groaned, pulling at the sheets with one hand, as he reached down to stroke himself with the other. "_Fuck_, so close."

That was all it took, for Harry to make another few erratic thrusts, before he was coming, the muscles in his stomach contracting so hard that he had to bend himself over Draco, resting his face against his shoulder. A few moments later, Draco's body contracted hard around him, and he could hear the other man muffle his moan into the mattress.

xXx

DPOV

The next morning, Harry was sitting in the living room, talking to Granger over the fire-call, despite the sheer stupidity of talking about Burke's wand in a room where anyone of their neighbours could burst in any moment.

Draco was watching him over the cover of his book, not quite participating in the conversation, but cutting in when necessary. Up until now, Granger had been discussing possible dates for her and Weasley to come visit. For a moment, Draco had wondered why he had agreed at first, but then he noticed the smile on Harry's face.

A short while later, Draco looked up from his book when Granger mentioned the spell they had not recognized from the _prior incantato _they had done on Burke's wand.

"I think I found the answer," she said, suddenly growing serious and Draco instantly closed his book, leaning forward to make sure that he did not miss a word.

"And?" Harry urged, causing Draco to roll his eyes over his impatience.

"It's a dark spell, balancing between allowed and disallowed magic," Granger said, frowning. "It's for enhancing speed and has been banned from sports for centuries, but not from everyday use. It can be used on both humans and items, but I couldn't find anything, not even the smallest article, mentioning it for decades, so I think it has been forgotten for a long time."

Draco blinked. _Enhance speed._ For a moment, his brain was blank, and then it seemed to re-start at double speed, remembering the marks on Burke's broom.

"Any item?" he asked loudly, not bothering to apologise for interrupting Harry mid-sentence. "Could it be used on any item?"

"I guess," Granger said. "It doesn't specify, but I found information saying that the spell can easily become uncontrollable with wizards, to a bigger extent than Muggles, causing them to be unable to stop."

"So, someone, or something, with its own magical core can make the spell go rogue?" Draco asked, slowly, more to discuss with himself than ask Granger for answers. "Like a broom?"

"It's possible," Granger nodded, and Draco smirked, despite the situation, as Harry's eyes widened almost comically.

"He used the spell on his own broom?"

"It looks that way." Draco shrugged, trying to put all the pieces together. "It fits with what your team members said, doesn't it? That he was obsessed with speed, and with a broom that wasn't matching up to the speed of the rest of the players in the league, perhaps the spell was his way of keeping himself in the game."

"That sounds like a very logical explanation," Granger cut in, making Draco aware that she was there, once more. He had almost forgotten her, with the way Harry was looking intently at him.

"It does," Harry mumbled, seemingly more to himself than either of them. "I just...Can we call you back, Hermione? I think we need to talk to Kingsley. Talk to Ron about a date that would work for you."

"Okay," she nodded, smiling briefly, before quickly saying her goodbyes and disappearing.

Harry was still staring at him, when the flames in the fireplace were back to their usual colour. "Is it possible?" he said finally, voice low.

"It seems to me like it's the best explanation we could get. Didn't they always say that he was obsessed with speed?"

"Yeah, they did." Harry nodded slowly and lay down on his back, on the rug in front of the fireplace.

Draco tried to keep his eyes from wandering to the strip of naked skin now visible above the edge of Harry's trousers, as his t-shirt rid up slightly over his stomach. It was pointless.

"We should talk to Kingsley," Draco said, mostly to say something at all, as he tried to keep his mind from wandering down the same road as his eyes.

"In a while," Harry mumbled, rubbing his hands over his face. "Just so we can think about it some more, and be sure."

"Fine," Draco nodded, and was about to give into the urge to lie down next to the other man, when there was a series of knocks on the door. Frowning, he rose from the sofa and hurried towards the door. It was too early to be Shastin, and Harry had the day off from practice, so it was not likely to be anyone from the Wolves' either.

There was another knock on the door, before he had a chance to open it, but any irritation he felt quickly disappeared as he found Aiden and his mother standing on the other side of the door. The boy was crying, bordering on hysterical, and Mona looked on the verge of tears as well.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked, both surprised and flattered as Aiden took the few steps inside the door and hugged him tightly around his midsection.

"I'm sorry," Mona whispered, seemingly fighting hard not to cry. "I just can't take it. Not today. I'm so sorry."

"What's wrong?" Draco asked again, a little sharper this time, and gently ruffled Aiden's hair.

"They broke Herman." The boy pressed his face against Draco's side, squeezing his arms tighter. Not until then had he noticed the stuffed elephant in Mona's hands, an ear dangling loosely on a thread and the stuffing was poking through the rip in the fabric.

"He wanted to come visit," Mona whispered faintly. "So I was going to come with him and make sure it was okay, because I know he's been here a lot lately. And just as I exit the door to our house, I hear him screaming and, when I found him, the twins had destroyed his toy. And now he's in hysterics, and I'm sorry, but I can't handle it."

Harry chose that exact moment to enter the room, immediately noticing the almost-ripped-off ear of the elephant and Aiden crying, clutching onto Draco, instead of his mother.

"What happened?" he asked, but immediately corrected his question as his eyes fell on Herman. "Who did it?"

"The twins," Draco muttered, wondering why he had never seen them, since the whole neighbourhood seemed to talk badly about them. "He can stay here until tomorrow, if he wants to," he added then, turning to Mona, who relaxed visibly.

"I want to," Aiden mumbled, wiping his nose on the back of his hand as he pulled away, tears still rolling down his cheeks. "Can we fix him?"

"We'll try our best," Harry nodded, and then grasped the boy by the hand, leading him out to the kitchen.

"I know it's too much to ask," Mona whispered, rapidly tearing up, as though she had been waiting for Aiden to be out of sight and ear-shot before letting go. "I'm starting my meetings with a healer specialised in grief on Wednesday – I'm really trying – but I can't...not when he's like that. I thought, since Agnes is away for the weekend, she won't find out, right?"

A part of Draco wanted to ask what kind of mother she was that could not even be there for her child when his stuffed animal got shredded, but another, much bigger, part said that it was not his place, and, after all, he preferred having the boy there where he could make sure that he was okay than outside on his own.

"It's fine. Meeting a healer seems like a good idea." He accepted Herman as she offered the elephant to him, before wiping away the tears from her eyes quickly, when Aiden came back into the hallway. She crouched down in front of her son, stroking his hair and kissing his cheek.

"I'm going to pick you up again tomorrow, okay? Be nice until then, promise me that."

"I promise, mom," Aiden mumbled, burying his face in the crook of her neck for a moment, before pulling away with a small wave, as she disappeared through the door with a quick _thank you_.

"Okay, let's see what we can do about Herman's injuries," Draco said, urging the boy back into the kitchen, where Harry had already spread a kitchen towel on the table to put Herman on, as though preparing for some kind of surgery.

A couple of hours later, Aiden was hugging Herman tightly to himself, pressing his face into the light blue fur. The elephant mostly looked like new, except for a few marks beside his ear, where the material had been ripped open. "Look Herman, you got battle scars. Do you want to rest or hunt flobberworms right away?"

Draco had never in his life been so grateful for his skills with sewing charms.

"I think he's up for it, don't you think?" Harry said, putting the towel back on the kitchen counter.

"Yeah," Aiden nodded, practically beaming as he bounded out the kitchen and through the front door. Draco looked at him through the window, smiling to himself as he saw the boy disappear behind one of the peony bushes with Herman under his arm.

"I think you just saved the day," Harry sighed, grinning as he reached out to drag Draco closer to him.

"You're not the only one with hero potential," Draco snorted, and could not help but smirk as the other man rolled his eyes at him. Then he bent down, brushing their lips together briefly, just as Aiden shouted happily outside, forcing him to look out the window again.

"Look! Look! We found one!"

He had never seen anyone look so happy at holding an eight-inch flobberworm in their hand, but Aiden definitely was.

"Fantastic," Harry said, holding a thumbs-up so that the boy could see it through the window.

"You do realise that he's going to bring that inside, right?" Draco muttered, remembering all too well how they had been forced to feed flobberworms back in school.

"I'll just tell him to put it on your side of the bed," Harry grinned, dragging Draco down for another kiss.

xXx

A couple of days later, he was sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through the newspaper as Harry prepared breakfast, when he noticed a small article at the bottom of page twenty-seven. It was the title that caught his eye: _FALLING GOAL-RING INJURES THREE_

"Harry," he mumbled under his breath, quickly scanning the text for a date. "There has been another accident."

"What?" Harry looked up from the frying pan, frowning.

"There has been another accident, this weekend. During a Quidditch game not that far away from here." Draco read the article again, but it did not say much more, other than that one of the goal-rings had suddenly, and unexpectedly, fallen in the middle of the game, injuring the Keeper and two people in the audience.

Harry bit his lip, frowning again."If Burke used the spell on his own broom, then who's behind all the accidents?"

_Show me your fears, show me your scars,  
>I'll take whatever is left of your heart<br>Give me heaven, give me hell,  
>All the dreams you try to sell,<br>I want your fears, your hopes,  
>The whole kaleidoscope<br>The Script – Kaleidoscope_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter end notes: <strong>So that was that. Next up: Hermione and Ron visiting, Drew comes back for a visit, more sex, aaand Quidditch. And...in case the next chapter is the last one – the solution to the mystery as well. Are you excited? I'm terrified, haha.


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Harry Potter, Romance