Archive of Our Own

Four figures sat bundled against the cold that even Hermione’s Warming Charms couldn’t defeat. The distant sun tried its best, as did the hot cups of tea in their hands, but Harry still felt a chill that left him wondering why they were sitting outside in the first place.

They were listening to Charlie tell an exciting story about his narrow escape from a Horntail that winter, but Harry found his mind wandering as he gazed out over Ron and Hermione’s back garden. He loved Charlie’s stories, but they also made him ache for the outdoors and adventure he had found surprisingly lacking in the Aurors.

Then Charlie said a name that caught his attention completely. Harry hadn’t been paying enough attention to understand the context, but it must have been interesting as Charlie was now laughing at Ron’s gaping mouth. Hermione had her own lips pressed together in a little line the way she did when she was processing new information.

Harry hoped Charlie would continue with whatever he’d been saying, but the wizard just picked up his cup, steaming heavily in the cool spring air, and took a long, slow drink. The twitch of a smile on Charlie’s lips told Harry that he was enjoying his captive audience.

Not obsessed, Harry chided himself as he forced his thoughts to the flowerbed beside him. The daffodils had finally bloomed, and he fondly recalled his friends arguing as Hermione had planted the bulbs last autumn. Ron had mocked the flowers for not doing anything, but Hermione had insisted on having Muggle flowers among Ron’s twinkling Fairieflowers and his gently purring Calilillies.

“Draco Malfoy has been apprenticing with us for the past three months.” Harry’s attention snapped back to Charlie.

Ron sat up straight and scowled. “But he’s a pompous git!”

“And selfish and moody,” Charlie said casually. “Don’t I know it.” He shrugged as if spending all day training a spoiled brat were no inconvenience. He set his cup back on the garden table and helped himself to one of the biscuits Mrs. Weasley had sent over. “But so are dragons.”

Ron laughed at that, but Harry sat eagerly awaiting more information. Malfoy still fascinated him, even though he had heard nothing about the other man in over two years.

Charlie furrow his brow in a thoughtful expression. “Maybe that’s why he’s so damn good with them. It’s like they respect him as one of their own.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched his muscular legs in sharp contrast to the other three who sat leaning forward in their own chairs with their legs braced beneath them.

“Well it does seem quite fitting,” Hermione said with a little nod as she poured herself more tea. Harry wondered why it was fitting that Malfoy was good with dragons, and let his confusion show. He followed Hermione’s eyes to Ron, who looked equally baffled.

“Oh, honestly! Did you two learn nothing in all those years of Astronomy?” Harry wondered if there was some prediction in the stars about pointy gits working well with over-sized lizards. He remembered Firenze and the other centaurs going on and on about Mars being bright, and figured it was possible. Ron didn’t seem to be thinking about it all, having returned to dunking a butter biscuit in his tea.

Charlie gave a hearty laugh as Hermione sighed a little too loudly. “Draco is the dragon constellation,” she explained in that voice of hers that made Harry think she really ought to be a professor at some point; she was McGonagall’s natural successor. “His name means dragon!”

“Of course he’s named after a constellation,” Ron muttered. “Of all the pretentious . . .” He suddenly looked up at Harry. “No offence to Sirius,” he said hastily. Harry shook it off with a smile; Sirius had been the first to admit his family’s pretensions.

He glanced back to Hermione and saw her expectant, and exasperated, stare. There was something he was supposed to be saying; he just didn’t know what it was. She huffed and crossed her arms as she turned to her garden. “The name is apt,” she stated primly with a lift to her nose.

“I agree,” Charlie said—the right thing to say, according to Hermione’s smug smile. “That wizard is part dragon: fierce, proud, and ferocious. He’s a natural with the dragons on the reserve. Three months in and he acts like a professional. Only wizard I’ve ever seen touch a conscious dragon and walk away without a burn.” Something like awe or pride shone on Charlie’s face.

“At least he’s bloody doing something after all Harry went through to clear his name after the war,” Ron said. “If he’d just sat around that creepy manor of his twirling his hair all day, I think I’d have turned him into a ferret again. Permanently.” Ron got that wistful look that he usually reserved for imagining his mother’s pies.

“I agree,” said Hermione. “Not with the ferret part, obviously.” She shot her husband a little frown which he failed to notice as he helped himself to the biscuit plate again. “But his mother and he didn’t lose their assets in the War Trials, so I imagine he’s still quite well-off despite all his father lost.”

“Not like his father needs gold in Azkaban,” Harry said. He could not help but feel a little satisfaction each time he thought of Lucius Malfoy finally having to pay for his crimes. Even after so many years, he couldn’t quite forgive the man for setting a basilisk and Tom Riddle on his friends back in second-year.

When Arthur had returned to the Burrow the night of the trial and told them the verdict, Ginny and Harry had embraced in their relief. It had been the first time they’d touched since their awkward conversation about not getting back together, and it had comforted Harry to know he hadn’t lost her as a friend. The whole night had felt like healing and moving on.

“My point is,” Hermione’s voice called him back from his memories, “even after they bought the Manor back from the Ministry, Malfoy and his mother would have had ample gold for them both to live comfortably. There was no obvious reason for Malfoy to take a job that is physically and magically demanding, socially isolating, and without any political influence.”

“Do you think he’s up to something?” Harry’s mind raced through possible scenarios, including Malfoy kidnapping dragons and training them to burn down Muggle cities. He glanced at Hermione and cowered a bit under her withering glare. Apparently that wasn’t what she’d meant. A small smile spread across her lips when she saw his sheepish grin.

“No. Quite the opposite, actually. It sounds like he’s finally doing something because he wants to, rather than for power or fame.”

Ron laughed. “You sound almost proud of him.”

Ron and Harry both knew Hermione had developed a truce with Malfoy when she had returned to Hogwarts. They’d never become friends, she had said, but they’d been been brought together by a mutual desire to do well on their N.E.W.T.s. With Harry, Ron, and Neville in Auror training, she hadn’t had any friends in her year left to study with, and Malfoy had been completely isolated. Apparently, the few returning Slytherins from their year showed no interest in socializing with a anyone branded with the Dark Mark, even if he had been cleared on Harry Potter’s testimony.

“This is all off topic!” Hermione said a bit shrilly. “We were meant to be talking about Harry leaving the Aurors! And he was meant to be asking Charlie about an apprenticeship at the dragon reserve.” She shot Harry a little glare as if the entire tangent had been his fault.

“It’s not off topic,” Charlie said in a voice far more serious than Harry was used to from the jovial man. Charlie was suddenly sitting up and staring directly at Harry across the table. “Draco is our apprentice. A team can take a second apprentice, but only if he can work with the first one. You have a lot of history with Draco, Harry, but the rest of my team doesn’t. I’m the only Brit on the team, and the war didn’t affect other countries as much. To them, Draco is just damn good with dragons—obnoxious and conceited, but hard working and talented. So if Harry and Draco don’t get along and they have to choose . . .”

“They’d pick Malfoy?” Ron whispered in disbelief.

Charlie nodded. “It’s dangerous working with dragons. Skill matters far more than personality.” He smiled wryly. “Much like the Aurors, I expect.”

Ron gave a reluctant nod. “It’s true. Now that I need a new partner—” He shot a glare at Harry that lacked any real malice. “I’m not looking for the nicest trainee. I’m looking for one with good instincts and a strong Shield Charm.”

“So what do you think?” Charlie was looking at Harry with intense brown eyes, so much like Ginny’s and Mrs. Weasley’s. “Can you work with Draco?” He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes slightly. “You know, if the two of you put the past aside, you’d probably work pretty well together, what with his understanding of dragons and your—”

“Dumb luck?” Harry cut in. After all of the sycophancy from The Prophet after the War, Harry still found it hard to hear any sort of compliment about his abilities, even from his friends.

Charlie laughed. “I was going to say magical strength, but yeah. That, too.”

Harry thought hard as he ran his finger around the rim of one of Hermione’s prize tea cups, producing a soft singing sound. Could he? Could he just forget everything Malfoy had ever said about Harry’s parents and friends? Could he forget that he’d nearly killed Ron and let Death Eaters into Hogwarts?

“You don’t have to be fine with everything he did,” Charlie said, as if reading his mind. “You just have to call it the past and leave it there.”

Harry thought again. It all felt so long ago: another lifetime. When he thought of Malfoy sneering at him, he looked so young. Just a child.

Harry met Charlie’s eyes with a piercing glare of his own. “I can do it.”

After all, he really wanted to go to Romania and work with dragons, and if being civil to Malfoy was what it took, so be it.

“You might want to try calling him Draco.” The glint of challenge in Charlie’s eye was all it took.

“I look forward to working with,” he paused, “Draco.” He felt himself tilt his chin up slightly and hoped he didn’t look like a petulant child.

Charlie just smiled. “Good to hear.”

Harry was exhausted. He’d taken an early morning Portkey to Salzburg with two apothecary interns hoping to collect edelweiss from the Austrian mountains. From there, he had taken the Floo to Vienna alone. He’d sat with his spinning head in his hands until he’d had to catch a second Portkey to Budapest and a third to Oradea, just over the Romanian border. He had just stepped out of the Floo in the city of Sibiu, the closest city to the dragon reserve with a wizarding presence.

He knew it would be midday by that point and that he ought to eat before he started his long flight up into the mountains. His stomach, which felt like it was up in his throat, did not support that idea, and he doubted he could keep anything down. He staggered away from the fireplace and made his way along the wall to a wooden table that felt cool and stable against his cheek. He was almost asleep when he heard a woman’s voice above him.

“Huh?” He tried to open his eyes and failed. There was a light tinkling laugh and the sound of movement. A few moments later—or perhaps hours for all Harry could tell—a glass appeared in front of his nose with a thump. He forced himself to sit up and take a swallow of what turned out to be cool water. Finally feeling a little settled, he looked up to see amused dark eyes watching him. “Oh, thanks,” he said.

“English?” the witch asked in a heavy accent. Harry nodded. “Muggleborn?” Harry frowned, wondering if he was about to face pureblood politics. The witch must have guessed his concern because she explained her question. “The Floo is always harder for those who did not use it as children. Like swimming.” Harry gave her a weak smile and nodded. “You eaten?” Harry noted that she did not ask if he was hungry or if he wanted food. “I know what will settle your stomach.” She left before he gave any sort of reply.

She brought him a bowl of soup, a couple rolls of bread, and some sausages. “Eat. The mountains are too dangerous to fly when you are like this.” Harry blinked at her and she pushed the tray of food closer. “You are heading to the reserve, yes?” He nodded as he picked up his spoon and tried the soup. It was quite sour, but tasty. “It will take you three hours to reach the village where the zmeiwizards live.”

“The what wizards?”

“Zmei. It is what we call the creatures there. Dragons.” Harry nodded, increasingly aware that he was in a foreign country, especially when he bit into a sausage that was nothing like Mrs. Weasley’s. The witch seemed to notice his discomfort. “The people there are from all over, often from countries with their own Zmei: Britain, New Zealand, Hungary. The village, Bârlog, is not like anywhere else in Romania. Everyone is a foreigner in Bârlog.” The way she said the last, Harry almost wondered if it were a local expression.

She left him to finish his lunch and he found his head filled with thoughts in the quiet her absence created. Would he fit in? Would this make him happy? Would he find working with dragons as frustrating as being an Auror? Would he feel just as lonely as he had in London once Ginny had left to play Quidditch in the States and Ron and Hermione had gotten married and moved away to their little cottage? Would he miss Teddy too much to be happy so far away? He swallowed his doubts along with the sour soup and stood on much stronger legs than he’d had when he’d arrived.

“Ready to go?” the witch asked from a door that must have led to the kitchen. He nodded.

“How much do I owe you?” He suddenly realised that he hadn’t thought about whether Romanian wizards had a different currency.

“Eight Sickles,” she said kindly, making him think that she had once again read his concern. “Wizarding Europe is all on the Galleon,” she explained. He paid her and followed his instructions to the Rent-A-Broom stand down the street.

The Charmed broom knew the course and moved without him the moment he kicked off from the ground. It was more than a little disconcerting to be flying up into the daunting mountains with no idea of where the village of Bârlog was or how to get there, but for three hours he held his cloak around himself, clutched the broom tightly, and forced himself to appreciate the startling beauty of the forested mountains below him.

Finally, a little village came into view nestled into the mountainside. It was small and inviting with several brightly coloured buildings lining both sides of a single dirt road. The buildings were all slightly different heights and widths, but they all had shingled roofs and stood touching the building next to them.

At the edge of the village, leaning against the first building in the western row, was a large shed with the words “Rent-A-Broom” printed on the front. The broom lurched towards it like a horse who'd finally seen his stable. Beside the shed, a figure stood waving. As he approached, Harry could see a jolly, red-faced wizard who reminded Harry of Father Christmas.

“Welcome!” The wizard called as Harry approached. His accent sounded Scandinavian. “You must be Harry Potter.” Harry felt a flash of disappointment at being recognised so far from Britain, but he nodded. “Ah, good! Charlie said he had a friend coming in, so I figured it had to be you.” A huge grin spread over Harry’s face. He wasn’t Harry Potter; he was just some friend of Charlie’s. “You’re the only arrival today,” the wizard said as he took the broom from Harry. “Won’t get busy 'till the summer starts.”

The man extended a meaty hand. “Jens, Jens Karlsen.” Harry shook Jens’ hand and took the firm warmth as a good omen. “Let’s get you settled.” Jens put the broom in the shed and then led Harry up the village's only road.

“That's my shop next to the shed. I rent and sell brooms and the like. Across from me in the orange place is Roberto. He's your outfitter. He'll keep you from freezing up here in the winter. He lives above the shop and lets the second flat to a couple of your dragon folk. Not Charlie’s team. The other one. Okello’s. You’ll meet them tonight.” He continued to point out each building, explaining the shop on the ground floor—as there were no signs to be seen—and who lived on the floors above. Harry just nodded with no hope of retaining so much information.

“This here,” Jens had stopped abruptly in front of a minty-green building at the far end of the row, “is where you’ll be staying. Research centre down here,” he said as he walked in the main door and gestured to another door to the side of the narrow stairs in front of them. “Two flats upstairs. Charlie’s on the first floor with Pavel, and you and Draco on top.” Harry felt his cheeks go warm as they passed Charlie’s door and climbed a second flight of stairs to the flat he would be sharing with Malfoy.

“Here we are. No need for locks in these parts, but the dragon might be in so . . .” He banged his fist on the door. “Draco! Your flatmate’s here.”

The door swung open and Harry found himself looking up into the sharp grey eyes of Draco Malfoy.

He was still tall; even with Harry’s late growth spurts, Malfoy had a few inches on him. He was still slender, although he had filled out across his chest and shoulders so that his torso created an enticing V-shape as it tapered down to his slim hips. And he was still pale.

Malfoy was dressed in a silver-grey jumper that looked softer than even cashmere had the right to, and his long legs were encased in smart charcoal-grey trousers. For a moment, Harry thought that Malfoy had cut off his famous white-blond hair, but he soon realised that it was simply pulled back from his face, allowing only a few strands to fall against his sharp cheekbones.

“Potter.” It wasn’t a greeting, but it certainly didn’t contain the animosity it had held in the past. “Karlsen,” he said with a polite but curt nod of his head. Jens just laughed and stepped into the flat, forcing Malfoy to step back or be smothered.

“You be nice to him, Draco. It’s good to have new faces up here, and he’s a lot friendlier than you are.” Rather than taking offence at the slight, Malfoy inclined his head as if he agreed. “Think you can handle settling him in? I need to close up shop before dinner.”

“I suspect we’ll manage,” was Malfoy’s dry reply. Jens took his leave, and Harry and Malfoy were left staring at each other for a long moment. Malfoy would have appeared bored, if not for the tension through his shoulders and jaw.

“So, um . . . where do I sleep?” Harry felt it was best to stick to the basics. Draco watched him a moment more before he turned sharply and walked away. Following him, Harry barely noticed the living room, with its fireplace and two small couches, as he stared at the way Malfoy’s trousers clung to his pert arse. Forcing his eyes up, he became mesmerised by the contrast between Malfoy’s light, silky hair and the dark leather cord that bound it. This was not a good start.

“You saw the sitting room and kitchen,” Malfoy stated without turning around, and Harry wondered where the kitchen had been. Malfoy stopped at a corridor with three doors on one side and a fourth at the end. “First door is a closet,” he gestured lazily ahead with a long pale finger. “Next is a bath. You’re the third, and I’m at the end.” Malfoy spoke clearly and with no hint of emotion. He walked to the third door and opened it before stepping aside to let Harry enter his new room.

Inside was a single bed against the near wall with a small table next to it. There was a desk and a chest of drawers on the far wall with a large window in between. All of the furniture was wooden—probably pine—and the bed held a stack of pinkish-red blankets. Stepping up to the window, Harry looked out at the jagged mountains cast in purple and orange by the setting sun.

“It’s perfect,” Harry said without thinking. He hadn’t meant to get sentimental in front of Malfoy, but the bright, cosy room was so refreshing after too many years at Grimmauld Place.

“Mine is bigger.” Harry turned to see Malfoy’s arched brow and slightly lifted nose. He laughed before he could stop himself, and a slight scowl darkened Malfoy’s face.

“I’m okay with that,” Harry said, surprised to realise it was true. Malfoy looked surprised as well, and possibly disappointed. “Really, you deserve it, Draco.” He bit his lip not to the laugh at the ridiculous way Malfoy’s eyes widened at the use of his given name. This could be fun.

The surprise was promptly hidden as Malfoy pulled himself up to his full height and lifted his chin haughtily. “Surprisingly perceptive of you, Potter.”

“What? No ‘Harry’, Draco?” Harry cooed.

Malfoy turned heel and walked out of the room. “We leave for dinner in twenty minutes, Potter,” came drifting down the hall before there was the click of a door closing.

Harry shrugged, pulled his trunk out of his pocket, and cast the charm to return it to its proper size. Even living with Malfoy is looking up, he thought as he dug through his trunk for his wash bag and clean clothes.

Bârlog had only one inn to shelter any tourists or researchers visiting the reserve, and it housed the village’s only pub, which was also its only restaurant.

“Hope you weren't expecting a variety of take-away options,” Malfoy said smugly.

Harry laughed. “I'm a simple creature, Draco.” He looked over in hopes of a reaction, but Malfoy was staring calmly ahead as they crossed the small dirt road between their flat and the creamy yellow inn.

The inn was surprisingly spacious considering the tiny population it served. There were several wooden booths and rectangular tables of various lengths each lit with a single brass lamp that created a warm yellow glow along the surface of the dark wood. At a long table by the fireplace sat several fit young wizards and a couple of witches. Charlie sat at one end of the table, across from two empty seats.

“Harry! Draco! C'mon over.” Draco took the seat on the end, leaving Harry sandwiched between him and a large, ruddy-faced man. He moved to the side to allow the large man more room and found his upper arm pressed against Malfoy’s. Malfoy didn’t move away.

“This is Pavel,” Charlie said with a gesture to the man at his side. Harry smiled across the table at a handsome man with black hair and clever, deep-set, dark eyes. He was the only person at the table who looked like he might actually be Romanian.

“Some people think they’re shagging,” Malfoy murmured in his ear as he reached across him for the bread basket. “I think they just stay up all night talking about dragons.” Whether it was that Malfoy was confiding in him or the warm breath on his skin, Harry shivered.

Next to Pavel, there was an Asian witch with short, spiky hair and a wide smile. Charlie pointed to her and said her name.

“G?” Harry questioned under his breath. He could feel Malfoy’s chuckle through their touching arms.

“Z-H-I, ignoramus. Not the letter.”

Harry turned back to Charlie in time to catch that the ruddy-faced man next to him, Dave, was the final member of their team. From his accent, Harry assumed Dave was American.

“He’s pining for Zhi, but she either doesn’t know or doesn’t care,” came Draco’s commentary, this time with the pretence of looking past Harry at something on the wall.

“And this is Okello,” Charlie said of tall, dark-skinned wizard, “he leads the other team of wizards and witches mad enough to spend their days looking after dragons.”

“Sure beats being on the teams that keep the Muggles away,” Okello replied. “Way too much Charm work to modify memories properly.” He wrinkled his nose at the thought.

“Okello doesn’t like wandwork,” Draco whispered as he moved his chair even closer to Harry’s. “If it can’t be cast wandlessly, he’s not interested.”

Charlie continued his introductions, but Harry didn’t hear a word about the next several people. He wasn't hearing Malfoy's whispered commentary either, focusing only on the heat where their shoulders touched and the way he could feel Malfoy's breath on his ear.

“Harry?” He blinked and looked up to find Charlie watching him in concern. Then Charlie laughed. “I guess it's a lot to take in on your first night, huh?” Harry nodded, glad for an excuse.

The rest of the table smiled at him kindly and went about making their own conversation. Harry felt happy to no longer be the centre of attention and made his excuses as soon as he'd finished eating. “Long day and all that.” He was dismissed with a nod and a smile from Charlie and headed for the door.

He startled when he felt a presence behind him as soon as he’d crossed the street. His Auror training wanted to turn and Stun his follower, but he reminded himself where he was. Turning, he saw Malfoy running a hand over his own silky hair and looking stubbornly casual.

“Come to tuck me in, Draco?”

“I've come to make sure you don't mess the flat up the first night.” Harry bit down on his tongue before he could make a joke about Malfoy coming. Clearly, he was tired and in need of rest.

Harry had been in Romania almost a month and had yet to see a dragon. In fact, he’d yet to leave Bârlog. Charlie had given him books, gear, and lectures, but fell deaf at any mention of Harry leaving the village. To make it all worse, the rest of the team, including Draco, spent long days away from the village working. Harry found that he almost missed Draco when he was gone.

So far they had found living together surprisingly easy. Draco seemed to delight in the fry-up Harry made daily for breakfast, and Harry was always pleased to discover a pot of stew simmering on the back burner for lunch. Draco had a talent for the subtle cleaning Charms best used on clothing and linens, and he seemed impressed at Harry’s Scouring Charms in the kitchen and bath.

In addition to dividing chores well, they actually got along as well. When Draco returned from the field in the evenings, they would join the team at the inn for dinner and then retreat back to their own flat for a quiet evening of reading, Gobstones, and occasionally conversation.

“Did you have to wait this long to get in the field?” he asked Draco bitterly one night as he slapped his book down on their coffee table. He was lying across the couch in front of the fireplace, whilst Draco was sitting on the second couch with his long legs tucked up. Draco marked his place in his own book before setting it down with a gentleness that scolded Harry for his own book treatment.

“I had an Outstanding on my Care of Magical Creatures N.E.W.T and a graduate degree in Dragon Studies,” Draco drawled.

“You didn’t even take N.E.W.T. level Care of Magical Creatures!” Harry blushed slightly as he realised he’d admitted to knowing Draco’s N.E.W.T. schedule. It wasn’t his fault though; all Hermione talked about for a year was studying with Draco.

“Honestly, Potter. What did you think I did when I left?” Harry knew Draco had left England after Hogwarts, but there had been no word about where he’d gone or what he was doing. Harry had never considered that Draco might have gone to another school after Hogwarts. “I earned three more N.E.W.T.s,” Draco went on, “as befits my intellect. I have eleven now.” Draco lifted his nose and smiled smugly. “I did so well, my professor asked me to stay on and research with him.”

“So why dragons?” Harry couldn’t help but ask. “Hermione said you were great at Arithmancy; I'd figured you'd work for Gringotts or something.” Draco's shocked look at hearing that Hermione had complimented him disappeared at the mention of Gringotts.

“Me? A Malfoy? Subservient to goblins? You must be daft, Potter.”

Back at Hogwarts, Harry would have wanted to hit him for that, but over the past few weeks Draco's pretentious comments had ceased to nettle him. “Git,” he said and was horrified to realise it sounded rather fond.

“That’s just envy talking,” Draco replied as he retrieved his book. He didn’t open it in time to hide the smile that curled his lips.

“Stay away from the sheep!” Draco barked.

“What? Do you honestly think I’ll get hurt by sheep?” Harry shot back, although he took a few steps up the grassy embankment away from the flock.

“No, you idiot. I am worried about you getting your scent on the dragon food. The last thing we need is for an Opaleye or a Welsh Green—who usually don’t have a taste for humans, as you should know—to associate our smell with their favourite meal!”

Harry bit down on his frustration at having made yet another mistake in Draco’s eyes. It was his sixth day in the field, and he was bored of discussing terrain and sheep grazing patterns. The past five days had been spent passed among Charlie, Pavel, Zhi and Dave, but they’d all been called away by a fight between two Norwegian Ridgebacks—not Norberta, Charlie had assured him—and left him with Draco as his instructor. Harry had hope that Draco would be more interesting, but he rabbited on about terrain and sheep just as much as the others had.

“Why do we have to spend so much time talking about rocks and sheep? I want to see dragons!” he said. It might have sounded a bit like whining once he said it out loud.

Draco stopped short and gave him a glare. “And how do you suppose we do that, Potter? They aren’t Crups who come at a whistle or a call. They are the largest, longest-lived, and most dangerous of all magical creatures. They are highly intelligent, and they do not want to be found and gawked at by impatient upstarts.” His pointed look made it abundantly clear who the upstart was. “What we are doing, because you clearly fail to appreciate the significance, is learning where there are possible nesting sites, where food sources are, and where potential hoarding lairs may be. We are learning how to find the dragons.”

Harry shifted under Draco’s condescending gaze. Put that way, the last week seemed far more interesting and important than Harry had realised. Draco stomped on and Harry found the other man’s upset weighing on him.

“What’s your favourite type of dragon?” he asked in hopes of improving his companion’s mood. Few things please Draco like getting to talk about dragons or himself.

Draco tried to look bored, but his shining eyes gave him away. “When I was young, I liked the Peruvian Vipertooth. I even tried to get Father to buy me one.” His voice faltered almost imperceptibly on the word ‘Father’, but Harry pretended not to notice. “They are fast and vicious, and as a child, I couldn’t imagine anything could matter more.”

“And now?” Harry prodded gently.

“The Antipodean Opaleye,” he said decisively. “Their social structures are more complex than any other dragon and they venture the furthest from their homeland.” He sounded as fevered with passion as Charlie or Pavel ever did, and Harry envied him. “We have a few here at the reserve.” He turned and fixed Harry with an intense stare. “Would you like to meet one?”

Harry froze. Surely that was a joke. Charlie had instructed Draco to continue showing Harry the landscape and had specifically told him to keep clear of dragons. “Are you trying to get us in trouble?”

Draco’s face shuttered and his haughty aloofness returned. “Fine.” He turned sharply and strode off with his ponytail swinging behind him like the tail of a petulant Siamese cat.

Or a dragon, Harry thought, remembering Charlie’s words at Ron’s and Hermione’s cottage.

“Fine! I want to go!” Harry called, hoping to bring back the fevered look in Draco’s eyes. Draco ignored him and continued walking. “Please? Please, Draco?” At the first sound of begging, Draco froze. He looked far too pleased when he turned to face Harry.

“And what’s in it for me?”

Harry gaped at him and then scowled. “It was your idea!”

“I am the one who will get in trouble if Weasley finds out.”

“Fine. What do you want?”

Draco grinned in a way that made Harry nervous and made him wonder if he’d just promised his soul to a dragon. “You can owe me one,” Draco replied smugly. “Come here.” Before Harry could object, Draco took hold of Harry’s arm and Apparated them away.

Harry fell against the grass. “Some warning!” he shouted at Draco, but the other wizard shushed him.

“It’s not wise to shout around dragons, Potter. Especially ones who don’t know you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Should I have sent my calling card first? Perhaps a letter of introduction?”

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically, and Harry almost missed the twitch of his lip. “Come along, ignoramus. And please do keep quiet and refrain from cuddling the livestock.”

They walked for almost an hour before they saw a faint line of smoke emerging from a cave.

“Is that—” he began in a whisper, but Draco cut him off with a nod. They walked a little closer before Draco pointed to Harry and then the ground. Harry took the hint and stopped. As Draco proceeded to the cave alone, he stomped heavily in contrast to his usual graceful steps. He stood in the clearing outside of the cave for a long moment, and Harry watched his tall figure against the bright blue of the sky behind him.

Finally there was a rumbling from within the cave, and Draco pulled himself up to his full height. Then the dragon emerged. Harry bit back a gasp as the pearl-like scales caught the midday sun and glittered. The dragon was small, obviously young, but no less intimidating than the Horntail Harry had fought so many years ago. It approached Draco and snorted a small red flame, but Draco didn’t flinch; he stood still and tall, staring at the dragon with fierce intensity.

The dragon took another step forward and sniffed at Draco with its long snout. Harry could see the huge teeth nearly touching Draco, and he felt his heart pounding in his chest and head. And then the dragon dropped his head to the ground at Draco’s feet, flattening its whole body along the earth.

Draco was murmuring something as he leaned forward and stroked the dragon’s snout. After several long moments, Draco gestured to Harry to approach. Harry took cautious steps forward. “Stoop as you get closer,” Draco instructed firmly, and Harry slumped his shoulders automatically. “And speak quietly and reverently. To him and me.”

Harry nearly made a snarky comment, but then he saw the protective look the dragon gave Draco as Harry approached. Best not to risk it.

“Thuban, this is Potter. Potter, Thuban.” Harry felt like he should laugh at the formal introductions, but he remembered the lesson Draco had apparently learned well in third-year with Buckbeak. Thinking of the hippogriff, Harry bowed deeply to the dragon. The dragon lifted his head from the ground and regarded him with rainbow-coloured eyes that unnerved Harry with their lack of pupil and thus obvious focus. Finally the dragon gave a tiny nod and then ignored Harry to look back at Draco.

“Potter is a friend, Thuban. You are not to hurt him, or I shall be cross.” Harry was so amused by Draco’s fatherly tone that he almost missed being referred to as a friend. He let the smile melt across his face as he watched Draco pet the dragon with soft words he couldn’t decipher. Eventually, Draco stood at his full height and said goodbye.

Thuban glanced at Harry, who gave a startled bow. The dragon huffed at him before turning and stalking back to his cave. Both wizards stood stock-still for long moments before Draco returned to Harry’s side and led him away.

“Did you mean it?” They had been walking for about twenty minutes in complete silence, and Harry couldn’t take it anymore.

“Mean what?”

“That I’m a friend.”

Draco sighed dramatically. “Yes, I suppose I did. Fraternising with Harry Potter and a Weasley; what has become of me?”

Harry bumped their shoulders together playfully.

“Brute,” Draco accused lightly.

“Snob,” Harry responded with a smile.

Harry wandered into the kitchen hoping to find a pot of Draco's stew simmering on the back of the hob. He knew it wouldn't be there—Draco had been gone for three days—but it didn't stop him from hoping. Sure enough, the hob was cold and there was no pot of delicious lunch awaiting Harry's empty stomach.

He was hungrier than he’d usually be midday, having had only toast for breakfast. He simply couldn't justify making his usual fry-up for one after weeks of cooking for two. He grabbed a roll of bread from the breadbox and took a bite. It was a bit stale—Draco would have thrown it out two days before—but it was sustenance.

He took his roll back to the sitting room and threw himself down on the couch. “No crumbs on the furniture, Potter!” he could almost hear Draco scold. Harry took a resentful bite and felt some satisfaction as crumbs sprinkled down on the fabric below him. Draco wasn't there to notice.

Draco had gotten the week off for his birthday and immediately rented a broom from Jens and disappeared. Harry had thought that he’d enjoy the privacy, but instead he found himself missing the git. He certainly missed catching Draco just out of the shower.

Harry let his mind fill with images of Draco dripping wet and clad in nothing but a towel, his slender frame and porcelain build contradicting his broad shoulders and large hands. Harry couldn't help but wonder just how strong the other man was, how well he'd wrestle if Harry tried to pin him to the mattress.

Great. Now he was hungry, lonely, and sexually frustrated. He threw his roll against the wall and buried his face in the pillows.

He would have gone downstairs just for some company, but Charlie and Pavel were out in the field with a couple of researchers from their sister reserve in New Zealand. He could have gone to the inn, but he knew that a crowd could be lonelier than solitude.

Not for the first time, he resented Bârlog for being so isolated. If only the altitude didn't preclude access to a Floo! Not that a Floo would really help him that much. It wouldn’t reach as far away as England, and it was Ron and Hermione he was missing so terribly.

Dave, the only Muggleborn on the team, had said more than once that Bârlog should simply install some Muggle technology. He'd pointed out that Muggle villages at similar altitudes had telephones and internet that allowed them contact with the rest of the world. Harry was inclined to agree, as a telephone would allow him to hear Hermione's worried tones or Ron's rough laughter.

Well he wasn’t going to spend the rest of the week moping around his flat waiting for Charlie and Pavel to have time to train him or for Draco to come crawling back from his vacation. Harry went to his room and dug out Hermione's mobile number from his trunk. He pulled on his boots and headed out to see if Jens could point him in the direction of the nearest Muggle village.

Harry fancied Draco. He’d given up on denying that after Draco had returned from his week away with tales of “Edward this” and “Edward that”. Harry had hated Edward almost instantly. Then, when Draco’s stories mentioned Edward’s fiancée and the fact that Edward was a cousin, Harry had suddenly found the man much improved. Faced with his own jealousy, Harry had been forced to accept that he saw Draco as more than surprisingly-decent company and a toned body. He wanted Draco to be more than his fit flatmate.

But how?

It was amazing enough that they got along at all given their history, and their version of getting along involved quite a lot of squabbling and name-calling. It didn’t really seem like the basis of a romantic relationship. Then again, he thought back to the fighting between Ron and Hermione in sixth-year. And hadn’t Harry seen a memory of his mother yelling at his father, calling him names, and saying she’d never date him? Maybe there was hope for Harry and Draco yet.

Harry’s revelation might have made things awkward between Draco and him, but they no longer had time alone together. The summer season meant that there was a constant presence of researchers and tourists who needed to be escorted around the reserve, and Charlie’s team was in charge of visitor safety. Since flying tended to provoke the unwanted interest of the dragons, all exploration had to be done by foot and the team spent days at a time trekking into the heart of the reserve, sleeping in communal tents or underneath the stars. At least Harry was finally being included with the team, having been deemed no greater risk than the tourists who often ignored Charlie’s warnings about loud noises and sudden movements.

“New group in the morning,” Charlie said tiredly as they trudged along the trail that would lead their group back to the safety of Bârlog. After two long days in the field, they were all exhausted. The Italian tourists they were escorting had been an easy group, except for a belligerent witch who failed to appreciate the dangers of wearing flashy jewellery around dragons. She seemed convinced that their insistence on her leaving her jewels behind in the village was part of a plan to rob her, and even now she quickened her steps to return to the inn first.

Draco rolled his eyes behind her back. “As if anyone else would want those gaudy baubles anyway.” Harry snickered and received a sharp grin from Draco in return.

“Well the next group should be easier,” Charlie said. “Researchers from the European Magical Creatures Institute. You should know one of them,” he looked to Harry, “Luna Lovegood, remember her?”

Before Harry could even smile at the thought of a friendly face from his Hogwarts days, he felt Draco go rigid beside him. He glanced over and saw that Draco’s face had gone ashen and his jaw looked painfully tight. Harry put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, feeling tense muscles that did not yield to his light squeeze.

Charlie went on to talk about the rest of the researchers, but Harry was too busy watching the way Draco’s whole body demonstrated his discomfort.

“Have you been in touch with her since the war?” Harry asked when they’d reached the privacy of their own flat several hours later. There was no need to specify whom he meant.

“What? You mean since she was held prisoner in my basement? No. I’m afraid we don’t exchange Christmas cards.”

“I just meant that you were both at Hogwarts that final year and—”

“And I went to great lengths to avoid her and everyone else.” Draco cut in.

“You saw Hermione.”

“Because she insisted! There is no defying that witch once she’s set her mind on something. Anyway, I attended my classes, ate quickly at meals, and studied in Granger’s room or my own bed. And as soon as I’d graduated, I left the country.”

Draco looked agitated as he paced around their little kitchen. “What would I even say?” Draco began again. “Lovely weather we’re having,” he said with a sycophantic smile and matching tone. “You look very well despite your recent captivity and all. By the way, I’m so sorry about that whole imprisonment thing, but you know how these things go. War and whatnot.” Draco scowled as he crossed his arms protectively across himself. Harry wished they were his arms instead.

“Well part of that might help,” Harry ventured cautiously. He ignored Draco’s glare and pushed ahead. “You could just say you’re sorry. I mean, you are, aren’t you?”

“What, do you mean, did I enjoy having her locked up and wondering if I’d come down and find her corpse one day? Honestly, the worst part was worrying that I’d be the one told to do it.” His face was so pale and grey, he looked on the verge of losing the little he’d eaten at dinner.

“So you could just say that you’re glad that she’s alright. That’s true enough, whatever the reason, and I think she’d be happy to hear that.” Draco’s lips were pressed into a tight line, but Harry took the lack of argument as a good sign.

“I’m going to bed,” Draco said tensely, and he walked away. Harry heard the door shut down the hall and bit down his frustration at having his first evening alone with Draco in weeks ruined by a reminder of their very different pasts.

“Harry!” Luna hugged him tightly and he found himself smiling into her long, pale hair. When they broke apart, she glanced over his shoulder and blinked in apparent surprise.

‘I’m glad you’re well, Lovegood.” It was rushed and whispered, as if it were taking all of Draco’s effort to say it, but he had managed and Harry found himself filled with a warm rush of pride. A little smile graced Luna’s lips.

“You, too, Malfoy. I’m glad that you’re well.” She sounded genuine. Her smile brightened her eyes as she shook Draco’s hand in greeting. Harry stole a glance at Draco’s stunned expression and smiled. Apparently he hadn’t expected that response.

Four hours later, Draco still looked a bit wide eyed. “Did you expect her to hex you?” Harry teased. Draco blinked and looked at him as they walked through a grassy clearing.

“She has the right.”

Harry shook his head. “You don’t know Luna,” he said softly.

“You’re right. I don’t,” Draco whispered.

Harry glanced ahead to where Luna was walking with Pavel. “It’s not too late to change that.” He quickened his steps and couldn’t hide his smile when he felt Draco increase his own stride to stay by his side. Harry positioned himself between Draco and Luna just as Pavel was mentioning the Opaleye they’d gotten from their sister reserve in New Zealand.

“Ah, Draco! He’s the expert. He fed the dragon until he was old enough to hunt. Named him, too.”

“What did you name him, Draco?” Draco’s eyes widened at Luna’s use of his given name.

“Thuban.”

“Oh, from your constellation.” Luna stared into space a moment and then nodded. “That’s very fitting.” Draco opened his mouth, but no reply came out. A moment later they were distracted by a Ridgeback that could be seen circling a peak in the distance.

“Looking for a place to nest,” Draco murmured. “You can tell from the way she’s circling and the swell of her belly.” Even Pavel looked impressed, and they all listened quietly as Draco told them what he knew of the Ridgeback.

Luna’s group was staying the whole summer, so they alternated between time in the field and times at the research centre in Bârlog. Draco remained slightly awkward with Luna, but he seemed quite close with another member of the team named Rolf. Harry tried not to hate Rolf each time they went into the field and Draco glued himself to the other blond wizard.

But Harry was never very good at hiding his feelings, and one evening, as Draco and he were setting up camp, he couldn’t bite his tongue any longer.

“Are you trying to bed Rolf?” he asked before he could stop himself. Draco scowled at him.

“I spend time with Rolf because he is good company, Potter. I’m not a dragon that only seeks company to copulate.”

“I notice he gets a first name.” Harry knew he sounded petulant, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“Because I’ve known him since I was a child! He’s friends with my cousin Edward.” Draco was glaring quite heatedly. “Don’t worry, I won’t taint the innocent researchers.” He flicked his wand with far more force than necessary and the tent bounced as it sprang up. “Besides, if you had any observational skills at all, you’d be able to see that he’s completely arse over tit for Lovegood.” He stormed off in the direction of the rest of their group, and Harry was sure the words muttered under his breath were nothing but insults about Harry.

Draco was civil to him the next morning, but it took several days for him to seem relaxed around Harry again. In the meantime, Harry made a deliberate effort to be friendly to Rolf and found him clever and viciously funny.

As they talked, Harry was treated to embarrassing stories about a young Draco on summer holidays. If he hadn’t just gotten back into Draco’s good graces, he would have teased him mercilessly about the time Edward and Rolf had apparently Charmed his robes to smell like skunk spray during a formal ball. Draco had apparently gotten revenge by Charming their faces green the year after, a story Rolf related good-naturedly. Harry felt a rush of pride for Draco’s impressive spellwork at such a young age.

Harry was enjoying himself so much that he was almost disappointed when Charlie announced he’d have a week off for his birthday just as Draco had. Almost. He did miss Hermione, Ron, and Teddy quite fiercely, even now that he had procured a mobile and found the nearest place to Bârlog with decent reception.

Harry waved goodbye to Jens and dragged his tired body up the little dirt road to his building. He bypassed the research centre and Charlie’s flat in favour of home sweet home. After a week of travel, he just wanted to put his things away and fall into his own bed. And see Draco, his mind supplied unhelpfully.

He pushed open the door to their flat and looked around for his flatmate. “Draco?” No reply. He walked through the flat to the hallway that led to their rooms. Draco’s door was open. “Draco?” Lonely silence was all that replied. Harry tried to tell himself he was too tired to feel disappointed. He stumbled to his room, emptied his Shrunken trunk and wand from his pocket and threw himself on the bed. Despite his fatigue, he felt too frustrated to sleep.

This was not a satisfying homecoming.

He got up and used his wand to restore his trunk to full size. Digging inside, he found the bag of purchases he had made during his layover in Amsterdam on his way to England. He hadn’t had a chance to use them yet, as he’d had little privacy over the past week, and they seemed the perfect solution to his current frustration.

From inside the bag, he retrieved the long pink dildo that had made him fall in love with magic all over again. It wasn’t as thick as his own cock, but it was long enough to reach his prostate with ease, and it was Charmed to move on its own and respond to voice commands. Harry felt himself hardening at the thought of something more fulfilling than his own fingers. He reached back into the bag and removed the bottle of lube that claimed to “tingle, cleanse and slick”. Opening the cap, Harry could smell the tart apple scent.

Properly equipped, he stripped down and climbed onto his bed. He poured lube into his hand and rubbed it over the dildo and between the globes of his arse. Finding his entrance with his own finger, he took a deep breath and pushed inside. As he relaxed into a rhythm, he closed his eyes and searched his mind for images.

Draco, fresh from the shower, appeared behind his eyes. Harry pictured his hair loose and hanging around his broad muscular shoulders. Water ran down his throat and past his pink nipples. Harry added a second finger and then a third. He imagined the feeling of Draco’s firm chest against his lips as he licked the fresh water from Draco’s skin.

He pulled his fingers out of his arse and grabbed the dildo. He lined it up with his entrance and then roughly shoved it inside. “Move,” he ordered. The dildo began to move. “Deeper.” He squeezed his eyes shut as he played with his own nipples, pretending it was Draco’s long, strong fingers twisting and squeezing at his sensitive flesh.

“Oh, Draco,” he moaned as he fell deeper into his reverie. “More! Harder!” The dildo sped up, slamming into him roughly. He could picture Draco in his mind, staring at him with those sparkling eyes that burned like ice. He imagined Draco moving over him, thrusting into him, moaning from that perfect pink mouth. “Fuck! Draco!”

A loud bang pulled Harry from his fantasy and his suddenly-open eyes fell on the wide grey eyes of the object of his thoughts. Draco—the real one—stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob and the other on his wand, staring at Harry in shock.

Harry felt his face flush as he wondered if he could indeed die of mortification. He was currently lying flat on his back, completely frozen with a pink dildo still fucking his hole. “Stop,” he instructed the dildo in a broken voice. The dildo stopped and Harry fumbled to pull it out. His face burned with his humiliation.

Draco, pulled from his shock by Harry’s voice, dropped his eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry. I heard a shout,” Draco said to the floor. “I thought you were . . .” He turned away from Harry and looked on the verge of bolting.

“Wait!” Harry suddenly forgot that he was completely naked and just caught masturbating with a sex toy. He was only aware of the fact that Draco was about to leave and Harry didn’t want him to. Draco stood rigidly but did not attempt to flee. Harry sat up and placed a sheet over his lap; it didn’t hide that he was still half-hard despite all the blood detoured to his cheeks. “Come in, please.”

Draco took a cautious step into the room. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“It’s not your fault! I should have used a Locking charm.”

Draco stood very still staring out Harry’s sole window. Finally, he looked at Harry. “I heard my name.”

Harry felt a new wave of blood flood his cheeks, but he refused to look away. There was no point denying it now. “Yes.”

“You were thinking about me with a dildo up your arse?” Draco clarified, and Harry hated him for it.

“Yes,” he bit out as he waited for the real mocking to begin. He wondered if Draco would make him move out. Maybe he would tell Charlie he didn’t feel safe living with Harry anymore. Harry dropped his eyes to the floor as he imagined the whole team learning about his perversion.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Harry would have thought that Draco was taking the piss, but he sounded serious. Harry didn’t know the purpose of the line of questioning, but he figured he owed Draco the truth after the scene he’d just forced him to witness.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Draco’s voice was so soft and uncertain that the tone caught Harry’s attention as much as his words. Looking up, he found Draco’s eyes bright and guarded. His body was so tense it almost vibrated. Was he just trying to understand, or was there even a chance that Draco might be interested in him, might want him, too?

Gathering all of his courage and knowing there was nothing left to lose, Harry stood from the bed. The sheet fell away, and Draco watched its descent with interest. Harry took courage from that and stepped forward until he was close enough to share Draco’s breath. Draco’s pupils were blown wide with only a thin rim of stormy grey encircling deep pools of blackness. Harry hoped to hell it was arousal and not fear.

“I want you,” he whispered. “Please.”

Draco closed his eyes and groaned. Strong hands closed around Harry’s biceps and warm lips pressed against his own. He could feel the scrape of stubble and the heat of breath as Draco opened his mouth and deepened the kiss.

It was so much better than Harry had imagined. Draco tasted like the mountain air and his hands were firm and strong as he guided Harry back to the bed. He pushed Harry down and then stripped out of his own clothing so fast that Harry wasn’t sure if there’d been magic involved. He didn’t care once he felt Draco’s firm weight pressing him into the mattress and Draco’s soft lips returned to his own with moments of teeth and tongue.

Harry was so well prepared that it was only moments later that Draco was pushing into him. The difference between the toy and the wizard made Harry hope he would never need the dildo again. The real Draco came with weight and sound and taste and breath. He moved against Harry with such force that the whole bed shook. Harry briefly hoped that Pavel wasn’t in his own bed below them.

Draco wrapped a large hand around Harry’s cock and pumped him firmly, even to the point of losing the rhythm of his hips. When Harry came with a howl, Draco began pounding into him in earnest until he came shuddering inside him.

Harry closed his eyes under the warm, albeit sticky, weight of Draco’s body on his chest. When he opened them, his room was dark and Draco was gone.

The rest of August passed in a blur of tour groups and researchers. Draco and Harry had only two nights together at their flat, and both times, Draco had jumped Harry the moment the door had closed, kissing and undressing him as he pulled him down the hall to his room. And both times, Harry had awoken alone in Draco’s large bed in his much larger room.

Apparently, September would be no different. Harry sat up among the sheets looking around the tidy room for any sign of Draco. Nothing. Sighing, Harry pulled on his discarded pants and looked around for his jeans. He found them in the hallway and his t-shirt on the edge of the sitting room.

A used teacup and a small plate of crumbs told him that Draco had already had breakfast. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d made them a fry-up in the morning. Harry Levitated the dirty dishes to the sink, pondering that Draco’s desire to avoid him was apparently stronger than his obsessive cleanliness. He imagined Draco fleeing the table and the dishes at the first sound of Harry waking. A glance at the front door showed that Draco had left it ajar in his flight.

Harry huffed and sunk into the couch. The sex was amazing, but Draco was more guarded and quiet than he’d been since Harry’s first weeks in Romania. They rarely had time alone, and when they did it was spent getting into bed as quickly as possible. When they were in the company of others, Draco made no effort to seek Harry out, and if Harry forced them together, Draco was polite but distant. Harry wasn’t sure if they were making progress or not.

The schools of Europe had all started again, and the number of visitors to the reserve was already slowing. Harry looked forward to times when the cold weather would trap Draco and him together in their flat. Draco couldn’t avoid him forever.

Draco strolled into the inn halfway through dinner. Harry wasn’t sure where he spent his days, but he managed to disappear from dawn until dusk, and it was driving Harry spare. Whenever he tried to ask about it over dinner, Draco would change the subject by engaging someone else in conversation, and by the time they made it back to their flat after dinner, Draco refused to use their mouths for talking.

But that was going to change. Harry forewent his usual drinks with dinner, determined to keep his wits about him when they made it home. The rush of lust that Draco always inspired in him was distraction enough from coherent thought. Draco must have noticed Harry’s abstinence because he repeatedly offered him drink.

“This wine goes perfectly with the meat, Potter.” “Won’t you join me in a Firewhisky before bed?”

Harry was having none of it. He let his determination show in his eyes, and Draco looked a bit wary. In fact, he seemed afraid to be left alone with Harry, judging by how much later he stayed at the table than most nights. Harry and Draco were usually the first to retire, but now Dave and they were the only ones left.

“I think I’ll call it a night,” Dave said with a yawn. “Summer rush may be over, but there’s still work to do.” He stood and stretched his powerful frame.

“Are you sure?” Draco asked. “I could go for another drink.”

“No, thanks, Draco. I think they’re trying to close up.” He looked over his shoulder at the elderly couple who ran the inn. They were cleaning off tables and putting out lights.

Harry took Draco’s arm. “Come on, Draco. Time to go home.” Draco’s grey eyes were wide and slightly panicked. If Dave noticed, he didn’t say a word as Harry half dragged Draco from the inn. They walked across the road and up the stairs in silence. Once inside their flat, Draco tried to kiss him.

“No. I want to talk,” Harry stated.

“Well, I don’t.” Draco tried to kiss him again, but Harry side-stepped away. He tried twice more, his pout deepening with each failure. “Fine! Then I’m going to bed.” He turned and stomped away. Harry followed on his heels. “If you think you’re coming to my room, you had better be planning to please me.”

“Why won’t you talk to me?” Harry pleaded.

“What on earth are you on about? We’re talking right now.”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Harry was growing impatient and couldn’t keep the accusation from his tone.

“I’ve been busy. We all have been.”

“We’re not busy now.”

“No, but I’m tired.”

“Too tired to fuck?” Harry took a step into Draco’s space and watched a smug grin spread across his face.

“Well, maybe I can find the energy for that.”

“Good,” Harry gave a fierce grin. “If you have the energy to fuck, you have enough energy to talk.”

Draco scowled. “Your logic is flawed, Potter.”

Draco had been calling him Potter the whole time, but it suddenly drove Harry crazy. “Harry. My name is Harry. If you can stick your cock up my arse and eat my breakfast and . . . and . . . you can call me Harry!”

“Fine. Harry,” Draco said as if it meant nothing. Harry supposed it did. He suddenly felt very old and tired.

“This means nothing to you, does it? This is just . . . I am just convenient because we live together. I could be anyone.” He felt the pressure in his chest grow with the weight of his own words. How could he have been so stupid?

“That’s not—” Draco snapped his mouth shut. From his wince, he may have actually bitten his tongue. He lifted his chin stubbornly, and Harry wondered what he was hiding.

“Draco.” Harry gathered the last of his courage and ignored the shattered remains of his pride. “I just want you to know that I like you. I like being your friend, and the sex is fantastic, but I really like you and . . . if you ever think that maybe . . . if you ever think you could want something more . . .” Draco was staring at him and he felt the flush staining his own cheeks. At least Draco wasn’t laughing. Yet. He shrugged to show that he was out of words. What more could he say?

“You like me?” Draco whispered. Harry nodded. “What? Like you want to date me?” Harry was pretty sure that should be obvious, but he nodded again. Draco just blinked a few times before his features morphed into his usual haughty smirk. “And if I were to let you date me, where would you take me?” It was Harry’s turn to blink.

“Um . . . well. We could go into Sibiu. I mean, they’ve got to have a nice restaurant in the wizarding section somewhere. I’d be willing to try a Muggle place, but I suspect you’d prefer wizarding.”

“And how would we get there?”

The question seemed odd to Harry. “I could Side-Along us.” He said it more like a question than the statement it was meant to be.

Draco looked dubious. “It would be an impressive feat to Apparate that distance and change of altitude alone.”

Harry shrugged. “I’m pretty good at Apparition” He was pleased to see the impressed glint in Draco’s eye.

“That would be worth seeing.” Draco went silent, scrutinising Harry with his clever grey eyes. Harry admired the way they shone from beneath his neat, arched brow. His features were so sharp and refined.

“Fine. I accept.”

“What?” Harry wasn’t sure what they were even talking about anymore.

“Dinner. I accept. You may take me into Sibiu tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow— Wait, what?”

Draco scowled at him. “Don’t make me reconsider, Potter.”

“Harry.”

“Whatever.”

“Wait. Are you saying that you’ll go to dinner with me. Like, a date? Tomorrow night?” Draco rolled his eyes theatrically.

“Yes. That was the result of the conversation. And here I thought you were actually paying attention.” The sarcasm did nothing to lessen the ridiculous grin that Harry felt stretch across his face. He had a date with Draco! He lunged forward and pressed his lips to Draco’s, eagerly pushing forward with his tongue until Draco relented and let him in. They stood against the wall kissing deeply, holding each other tightly, taking their time. They had all night to make it to Draco’s bed.

Harry grinned like a loon all day. For the first time, he had woken wrapped in Draco’s naked body. They had fumbled about in bed before sharing a shower, and then Draco had let Harry make them breakfast. By the time Draco had left to help Zhi track a brooding Fireball, Harry had been all but walking on air.

When Charlie had asked about his good mood, Harry had happily gushed about his much-anticipated date. Charlie had listened with a thoughtful look that made Harry worry.

“That’s okay, right? We have the evening off anyway.” A thought occurred to him and he panicked. “There’s no rule against us dating is there? You’re not going to make me leave, are you?!” Not only did he love his new life at the reserve, he couldn’t imagine leaving Draco now that he was finally winning him over.

Charlie raised a hand in a calming gesture. “There’s no rule. As long as you two get along and do your work, I don’t care who you date or shag.” He looked thoughtful. “And even if this didn’t work out, one of you could always transfer to Okello’s team.” Harry wanted to assure him that it would definitely work out, but he realised he couldn’t be so sure before they’d even had their first date.

Charlie clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a smile. “Well I wish you both the best.” Chuckling, he added, “Anything that improves that man’s mood is good for the whole team, so you’d better make him happy.” The last was said with a sternness and glare that were undermined by Charlie’s toothy grin.

They were let off duty early that afternoon and Harry used the time to stare at his clothes in frustration. Nothing looked nice enough for a date with Draco. He finally settled on a set of emerald robes over a crisp white shirt and black slacks. He was lucky Hermione had convinced him to pack smart clothes in the first place. He was also lucky she’d given him a small Charmed iron, because his robes were horribly wrinkled from sitting on the bottom of his trunk for months.

He spread the robes on the bed and tapped the iron, which looked like a polished stone triangle, with his wand. The iron immediately began steaming and radiating heat as it danced around his robes. Once his robes were perfectly smooth, it sat itself upright like a Crup sitting on its hind legs awaiting a treat.

“Good iron,” he said stupidly. If he didn’t know better, he’d have said the iron beamed. He pulled his robes away and set his trousers in their place. The iron happily went to work. Several minutes later, he was dressed in warm, wrinkle-less clothes and the iron was resting on his night stand. He made a mental note to send Hermione a thank you gift.

He paced his room after that, somehow knowing Draco wouldn’t want to be seen until he was completely put together. He was glad he waited because the sight of Draco stepping out of his room in perfectly cut charcoal trousers, pale grey shirt, and silver robes was breathtaking.

Harry Apparated them to a restaurant Charlie had recommended. It was small and cosy, and Charlie swore the food was amazing. They walked in to find a room with several small tables and a sign on a stand. “Seat Yourself,” it read. Harry shrugged and led Draco to the corner table in the window. There was a sheer drape over the window that let in the moonlight and shadows but hid them from the view of the street.

At the well-worn wooden table were two menus. Draco and he each picked one up and read in silence. Several minutes later, Harry realised that Draco was staring at him expectantly. “Are you going to order?”

Harry glanced around the room. There were two other couples sat at tables, but Harry had yet to see any sign of a waiter. He glanced back at Draco in time to see him roll his eyes. “Point your wand at what you want.” Harry arched an eyebrow and Draco mirrored the expression.

Feeling indulgent, Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at the soup. The letters shimmered and soared away to the door at the back of the room. Blinking, Harry pointed to a pork and rice dish, and more shimmering words flew away.

“I sometimes forget how Muggle you are,” Draco said with amusement but no mockery. “It’s a good thing I’ve handled the drink order.” As he spoke, two glasses and a bottle of wine appeared at the table. Harry was reminded of meals at Hogwarts and felt a rush of affection for the little bistro—or whatever the Romanian equivalent was.

Dinner was surprisingly normal. Despite it being their first date, they spoke with the same casual ease they had developed after months as flatmates and friends. The only difference was that Harry could take and stroke Draco’s hand as he pleased. And he didn’t have to hide the wonder with which he watched Draco make love to his cheesecake. The noises alone had Harry hard under the table.

Of course, the real dessert occurred in Draco’s bed after they Apparated home.

“Why were you avoiding me?” Harry was lying on his back on Draco’s bed, sated on every level. He ran his fingers through Draco’s long, silky hair just because he could. “When we were first . . . you know. You wouldn’t talk to me.”

Draco propped his head up on his hand to look over at him. “I didn’t think you were interested in anything more.”

“But you didn’t even ask!” He rolled onto his side and mirrored Draco’s pose.

“I didn’t want to hear it. If we never talked, I could pretend that there was a chance you felt something more. I didn’t want to lose that.”

“So you just made it impossible for us to actually have more.” That sat in silence a moment, Harry staring at Draco and Draco staring at the blanket. “You do realise that makes no sense at all.”

“Shut up, Potter.”

“Harry.”

“You’re still Potter when you’re being an arse.” Draco crawled over to him and buried his head under Harry’s chin. Harry could think of plenty of retorts, but instead he wrapped his arms around Draco and pulled him flat against his chest. It didn’t matter. He had Draco now.

Harry blinked against the morning light pouring in the windows. Not only was Draco’s room bigger, it had more windows, and Harry found it impossible to sleep in with so much light. He had suggested they use the curtains, but Draco had refused. Draco said that he liked to fall asleep to the starry sky at night and wake with the sun in the morning. Harry glanced over at his boyfriend’s still form bathed in sunlight up to his neck. His head was hidden under a pillow. Well, half true then. Draco did like seeing the stars at night.

Harry stretched out on his side and ran a hand under sun-warmed blanket to Draco’s back. A grumpy sound emerged from under Draco’s pillow. Draco squirmed around some more and then settled in rock-like stillness. Harry sighed. His boyfriend was simply not a morning person.

Accepting defeat, Harry climbed out of bed, found his boxers on the floor and pulled them on. He tried to ignore the pressure of the cloth against his morning erection. He wouldn’t get the attention he needed from Draco before breakfast. Finding and putting on his checked pyjama bottoms and a red T-shirt, he slipped out of the bedroom for the kitchen.

He tapped the kettle with his wand and it whistled instantly. That was one of the perks of magic that would never grow old. He poured it over the teabag in his favourite Hungarian Horntail mug and left it to steep, as he pulled out frying pans, eggs, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, beans, and bread. With a flick of his wand, everything flew to the correct pan and began simmering away. Harry smiled. He threw out his teabag and poured in a dollop of milk.

“Ew.”

Harry could see Draco’s wrinkled nose and curled lip without even turning around. It was always the same.

“Is there any real tea?”

Harry smiled at Draco’s snobbery, but dutifully pulled out the gold and green tin of loose-leaf tea Narcissa sent each month and set about making Draco’s morning pot of tea. The tin was running low, and Harry took that to mean he should expect Narcissa’s owl. She seemed psychically connected to Draco’s tea leaf supply. Harry could admit that Draco’s tea was superior to his own, but Draco refused to let him add milk to it, and that was how Harry liked his tea. So Harry stuck with his bags and his milk, and Draco stuck with his disgusted comments and expressions.

Harry finally turned around once he had an offering in his hands. Draco took a large gulp of tea, with no regard for it’s scalding temperature or his own manners. His eyes fluttered slightly as he drank, similar to the way they did when he climaxed. Harry blushed at his own thoughts and turned back to the hob full of simmering pans.

“Extra tomato for me,” Draco said, as he did every morning. “And no beans.” Harry just smiled at the pan of sausages; Draco was completely predictable.

They were halfway through breakfast when Narcissa’s owl arrived. Draco set aside the new tin of tea and began reading the letter. Harry watched the way Draco’s eyes flitted across the parchment until they suddenly widened.

“Anything exciting?”

Draco set the letter aside and began eating again with far more attention than toast really warranted. “She wants to know if you’re coming to Christmas.” It had been whispered to a fried tomato, but Harry heard it none the less.

“Really?”

“Well, we’ll get several weeks off. Zhi always stays, which means Dave does, the fool. . .” Draco seemed to realise he was rambling and fell silent.

“She’d want me to . . . at . . . where?” Harry knew that Narcissa had been living with her cousin in Vienna for years, but he also knew that she still owned Malfoy Manor.

“Vienna. With Edwards’ mother, Fiona.”

Harry was about to say yes when he thought of Teddy. He hadn’t seen the boy since the summer and hated the thought of spending the holidays without him. “Let me think about it.” He didn’t think to check Draco’s expression as he rushed to his room to find his mobile phone.

It would have taken weeks to make all of the arrangements by owl, but with Harry’s Muggle way he had everything sorted by lunchtime. He found Draco in the sitting room and couldn’t contain himself enough to even sit down before speaking.

“I’ll go. To Christmas.” Draco looked up from his book with an arched brow. “That is, if you want me to.” Harry tried to remember whether Draco had expressed any preference over breakfast. “Do you?”

Draco must have sensed the level of Harry’s sudden insecurity because he didn’t tease him. “That would be lovely.”

“I just . . . there’s one requirement.” Draco’s face darkened instantly. “I want to see Teddy. Neville is going to a conference in Berlin the week after Christmas, so he can bring him to Vienna and then back to England. And Teddy and I can stay in a hotel if there isn’t room or if it’s weird or . . .” He realised that further words were likely not a good thing at that point.

Draco watched him with his piercing eyes for several long moments, but he lowered them back to his book when he spoke. “And Teddy’s guardian is comfortable with him visiting my family?”

“Andromeda? Yeah. I think she . . . well she’s never said anything, but I think she’d like him to know your family. His family. He doesn’t have much left, you know.”

Draco nodded at his book. “Do you think . . . do you think she ever wants to see her family again?”

“She wasn’t the one who severed ties,” Harry whispered. He saw Draco flinch, but then nod.

“That’s true.” They sat in another silence, Draco staring at his books and Harry standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. “Do you think she’d want to be taken back? Do you think she could . . . forgive . . .”

Harry crossed to Draco and knelt by his feet until Draco looked at him. “If your mother will welcome Teddy, son of a werewolf and grandson of a Muggleborn, I think Andromeda will believe that she’s really changed. And if Teddy likes your mother, well,” Harry shrugged. “I don’t think Andromeda could hold hard feelings against anyone who Teddy got on with. Like I said, she wants him to have family.”

Draco nodded, at Harry this time and not the book. “I think I should write a letter to Mother,” he said softly. Harry smiled at Draco’s retreating form. He knew how delicate and painful this all was for Draco and his mother, but they had both come so far. He was proud of them.

A year later . . .

“You ready?” Harry clutched the Floo powder tightly in the hand not on Draco’s shoulder. His stomach was in loops from all of the Portkey and Floo travel he’d done that day, and this was the final step. One more Floo and they’d be at the Burrow. Draco was probably thinking the same thing as he chewed at his lower lip. Harry squeezed his shoulder again.

“Yes.” It didn’t sound convincing, but he was standing up straighter and squaring his shoulders. “Yes, let’s go.” At least this time he didn’t say anything about owing Harry one after a Christmas with Narcissa. Either he really didn’t understand that Harry actually liked his mother, or he was deliberately pretending he didn’t.

With a flash of green, a shout, and way too much spinning, Harry found himself tumbling out into the Burrow’s kitchen.

“Harry! Harry’s here!”

“Welcome back!”

“Happy Christmas!”

He steadied himself against his dizziness and the shouts of greeting. Opening his eyes, he saw a blur of ginger hair and smiles. He smiled back. A whoosh behind him announced Draco, and Harry could almost have cried when not one of the ginger smiles vanished.

“Draco! Good to see you.” That was Hermione, and Harry could have hugged her. She beat him to it. He hugged everyone, and when he saw Ron shaking Draco’s hand and offering him a glass of mulled wine, he hugged him again.

“Oh, get off,” Ron said. “I can be nice at Christmas like everyone else. And Easter, if it’ll get you to visit then as well. You know, if he only sees me at holidays, he’ll think I’m all friendly and changed.” Ron winked at him and strode back to the cauldron of steaming wine.

Hermione joined him, and Harry took her place at Draco’s side. “You okay?”

“They’re all so . . . nice. Did you Obliviate them all?”

Harry chuckled. “No. They remember. But they also moved on. You’re not your father’s little clone or the Hogwarts bully anymore. You’re Charlie’s brilliant apprentice and my boyfriend. Those are people they want to meet and like.” Draco looked unsure. “Or we’re all barmy Gryffindors drunk on Christmas. You prefer that explanation?”

Draco smirked. “That seems more plausible.”

Harry laughed and shook his head. “Someone’s barmy, but he wasn’t in Gryffindor.” He kissed Draco’s furrowed brow and then his pouting lip. “I love you, you know.”

Draco’s pout lessened slightly. “So you’ve said.”

Harry grinned at him. “And you love me.”

Draco shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Git.”

“Sop.”

“Oy! Will you two stop flirting and get in here!” Ron shouted from the sitting room. Harry hadn’t even noticed him leaving the kitchen. “We want to play team Trivial Wizard Pursuit and you’re holding up the game.” Harry snickered; he loved the name of the wizarding version of the Muggle board game. He always got an image of groupies chasing Gilderoy Lockhart.

They walked into the magically expanded sitting room and found George, Angelina, Ron and Hermione sitting on two facing couches next to a handsome Christmas tree. It was not a large tree—despite Arthur’s promotions, the elder Weasleys were not extravagant with their gold—but it was a nicely shaped tree, rich green, and decorated with dozens of spinning and singing bulbs. Red and white candles burned brightly on the branches, helping fill the room with soft, warm light.

“Winning team gets free Wheezes products!” George said as one of the spinning ornaments exploded.

Angelina smiled at them as they sat next to her on a soft couch. “They’ve been tested, and they all have antidotes.”

Draco looked at Harry. “That hardly sounds like incentive to win.”

Harry leaned over to whisper in his ear. “If you win this for us, I’ll give you a blow job in the shower back in our room.” They were staying at a hotel, rather than crowd into the Burrow or face Malfoy Manor. The wizarding hotel was lovely and decadent and had an enormous shower in addition to a huge bathtub. It was amazing that they’d left the room at all. “But if I get more questions right . . .”

Draco smiled widely. “I’ll be winning that bet.” Secretly, Harry hoped he did.