Title: Harry and Draco's Hogwarts Reunion

Author: Dark Phoenix

Summary: Ten years have passed since their Hogwarts days, and the invitations to their class reunion come as a surprise to both Harry and Draco, who have moved on and made new lives for themselves. And even more surprises are in store for them when they finally meet again. One thing is certain — it'll be a night to remember.

Pairings: Harry/Draco, various others

Warning: Smut (eventually)

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from this.

Notes: Well, I almost managed to finish this in time for Draco's birthday. But it's still the longest thing I've written here so far, so that's good enough for me. Also, when I wrote this, I forgot that Lavender Brown had died in the last book. So I'm just going to pretend that didn't happen.

~ Chapter One: The Invitation ~

"Merlin's beard, has it been ten years already?"

Draco stared down at the parchment in front of him in bemusement. It was early morning, and he'd only just arrived at his office and settled himself at his desk to eat breakfast and read the morning's post. Most days, it was fairly predictable: the Daily Prophet, work-related messages from his colleagues, an occasional letter from his mother or one of his old school friends. He'd been more than a little surprised when an owl had delivered an envelope bearing the Hogwarts seal.

He shook his head slightly and read the letter again.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

Congratulations! This year marks the tenth anniversary of your graduating class. And although your class was deprived of the opportunity to complete their education, we will still celebrate this milestone with the customary Hogwarts ten-year class reunion. The festivities will take place on 5 July 2008 at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Please let us know whether or not you will be attending by the end of June. We hope to see as many of you there as possible!

Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts

Draco laid a hand over the parchment, forcing himself to stop staring at it. I can't be that old already, can I? It doesn't feel like it's been that long. But no, it was no mistake. He'd just turned twenty-eight earlier that month. It really had been ten whole years since Hogwarts. Ten years since the Dark Lord had been destroyed. He looked back down at the parchment in wonder.

"Mr. Malfoy? Is everything all right?"

Draco looked up to see Stacie, his assistant, standing in the doorway of his office. He forced a smile onto his face, though it felt a bit strained.

"Of course, Miss Winters," he said. "I've just been rudely reminded of how old I'm getting, is all."

"Twenty-eight is hardly old, Mr. Malfoy," she answered playfully.

Draco snorted. "What do you know, you're barely over twenty yourself."

"I'm twenty-three," she corrected him. "In fact, you were still at Hogwarts the first year or two I was there. Though you were a big, self-important upperclassman at the time."

"Yes, well, about that," he said, taking the parchment and waving it in her direction. "I hope you feel the same way when your ten-year reunion comes around."

Stacie's face lit up. "It's your ten-year reunion? How fun! You'll get to meet all your old friends again . . . " She trailed off at the look on Draco's face. "I'm sorry. But it's been ten years. How bad can it be? Lots of people have gotten over the whole Death Eater business, haven't they?"

Draco sighed. He couldn't tell if she was being naive or just overly optimistic. Classic Hufflepuff. Sometimes it was hard to believe he got along so well with a girl he knew to be Muggleborn and a former Hufflepuff. But, he reminded himself, she was also brilliant at Potions and knew how to handle him. And she was one of the few people who didn't still hold a grudge against him for his family's role in the war. Since he'd met her, he'd come to value her both as an assistant and a friend, though he saw no reason to mention it. He thought wryly that there must already be countless generations of Malfoys rolling over in their graves at the idea of him being friends with a Muggleborn Hufflepuff without him getting all sappy about it.

Draco glanced up at the clock and realized they'd been standing around talking — or, rather, Stacie had been talking — about the reunion for fifteen minutes. He was more than a little relieved for the excuse to interrupt her chatter.

"Well, Miss Winters, it looks like we'll have to continue this discussion another time," he said, making his way towards the door in what he hoped didn't appear to be too much of a hurry.

She followed him out, but didn't stop talking. "I hope you don't think you're going to dismiss me that easily," she said.

Draco pretended he had no idea what she was talking about. "It's after seven already. Our clients aren't paying us to sit around and gossip, after all."

"Our clients have received all the potions they ordered ahead of schedule, and the only thing we have left to work on is that batch of Skele-Gro Madam Pomfrey asked for. And even that just needs to simmer overnight," Stacie said jubilantly. "We are in the clear today, Mad Scientist. So we're free to work on your side project and discuss your class reunion as much as we want." She smirked at him as they entered the laboratory, clearly pleased with herself.

"As much as you want," Draco couldn't help grumbling. He gave the cauldron of Skele-Gro a stir and nodded with satisfaction. Perfect, as always. Unfortunately, that also meant that Stacie was right.

"I just don't see the point in going, that's all," he said. "Besides, you know it's just going to be some big brag-fest where everyone shows off their great career and their attractive spouse or whatever, and I just broke up with Lena not that long ago, and I—"

"You broke up with Lena at least six months ago," Stacie cut in. "I remember because you kept saying how glad you were that you didn't have to get her a Christmas present. And, forgive me for being less than sympathetic, but you didn't seem all that upset about it."

Draco's hand clenched around the stirring spoon, and he set it down gently lest he end up throwing it. He usually appreciated Stacie's organizational skills and attention to detail, but not so much when they were applied to his personal life. She was right, he knew, but he hated to admit it. He couldn't even remember how long he'd dated Lena. But he could remember the way she'd eagerly adopted Stacie's nickname for him in the beginning. The Mad Scientist. She'd thought it was endearing that he was so dedicated to his potion-making. After awhile, however, the nickname had become less a sign of affection and more one of frustration. Draco was always in his lab, brewing up some concoction, and when she did see him, it was all he ever wanted to talk about. He made his own hours, after all, she would argue, so why didn't he ever make time for her? Eventually, she had left him, and even now, Draco couldn't quite remember exactly how it had happened. He felt a little bad about it, of course, but his laboratory had some kind of irresistible pull on him. It was where he came alive. If Lena couldn't understand that, then maybe they were better off apart. In one of his more petulant moments, he might even have said that was what he got for trying to date a woman, and that he should just stick with men, although he'd heard the same complaints from pretty much everyone he'd dated, regardless of their gender.

"And that is exactly why you should go to your reunion," Stacie was saying. "Lots of your old classmates will be single. It'll be the perfect opportunity for you to hook up with some old crush you never had the courage to ask out when you were a teenager."

Draco sighed. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

Stacie beamed at him. "Nothing gets past you."

Draco sighed again as he started going through the notes for his experiments. It looked like he was going to be forced into this class reunion after all.

Harry slowly opened his eyes. He took a peek at the clock and groaned. It was time to get up. He'd slept so poorly that he'd hoped it was still the middle of the night. But no, it was just after six, and he had to go to work.

He dragged himself out of bed and stumbled towards the bathroom, wearily rubbing his face. Of course, he knew exactly why he hadn't slept well last night, and every night for the past several months. The sharp reek of alcohol coming from the living room only served as a further reminder of why he always slept so poorly, and why he always seemed to be irritable and short-tempered, even when things were going well. Alan.

Sure enough, once he'd showered and dressed and finally entered the living room, there was Alan, passed out on the couch as usual. At least he'd come back from his night of drunken debauchery alone, if not quietly. That would make this much easier.

Harry stomped through the room on his way to the kitchen, trying to make as much noise as possible. He was grimly pleased when Alan grumbled and turned over fitfully.

"Not so loud," Alan mumbled. "I have a killer hangover."

Harry slammed pots and pans down on the stove, ignoring the feeble complaints behind him. As he busied himself making breakfast the Muggle way — old habits die hard — he heard Alan get up and shuffle into the kitchen behind him.

"What's for breakfast?"

"Whatever you want," Harry said sweetly. "And you can make it yourself, too."

Harry felt a pair of arms slide around his waist and stiffened. "Aww, don't be like that," said Alan, laying his head on Harry's shoulder. "I already said I was sorry."

Harry shrugged him off. "I really don't care anymore."

Alan was giving him a wounded look. Another time, Harry might have been affected by it. But as he stood there looking at the tall, sandy-haired man who had once swept him off his feet with his careless good looks and unconcerned attitude towards life, Harry felt absolutely nothing.

"You're still mad about last night," Alan said now. "I told you, I was drunk. That guy at the bar meant nothing. I only care about you, Harry." He reached for Harry again, but Harry sidestepped him easily.

"I'm not mad," said Harry, and he meant it. He'd felt nothing when he'd caught his boyfriend with his tongue down some stranger's throat last night, and he felt nothing now. The laid-back attitude that had attracted Harry in the beginning had slowly become a source of irritation, and as he looked up at Alan's pitiful, big-eyed expression, the only thing he could bring himself to feel was contempt. Alan's slovenliness, his endless nights of drunken bingeing, followed by an endless string of promises to do better in the future, had slowly destroyed any feelings Harry had had for him.

"I'm not mad," Harry repeated. "I'm finished."

Alan blinked at him. "What? No, don't say that. I'll try to do better, okay? I'll—"

"Yeah, you say that a lot," Harry said wearily. "You'll always try to do better. You'll always stop drinking so much and get a job and pay your share of the rent. But you've been saying that since I've met you, and you've never actually done it."

Alan was starting to look frantic. "I really mean it this time! What do you want me to do, pay you back? I can do that, Harry! You know, I have a job interview coming up, but I didn't want to tell you about it because I didn't want to jinx myself, but—"

"Yeah, you say that every time, too," Harry said with a sigh. "You've just been repeating the same things over and over without making any real effort—"

"You can't do this," Alan interrupted him, and Harry was unsurprised to see his eyes filling with tears. "You can't leave me, Harry. I love you. I can't live without you. Where will I go?"

Harry shrugged. "The time when I might have cared about that has passed," he said heartlessly. "Now it's time for you to go. I don't care about what you owe me, I just want you to leave."

Alan was shaking his head frantically. Then he stopped suddenly and squeezed his eyes shut. Harry hoped he wasn't about to heave all over the kitchen floor. "Harry," Alan whispered pleadingly, not opening his eyes.

"It's over, Alan," Harry said firmly. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was time to leave. "Look, I have to go to work now. I really don't care what you decide to do, but when I get back, you'd better not be here." Grabbing the morning's post and the last of the sausages he'd made, he hurried to the fireplace. Then he looked back at Alan, standing there in the middle of his kitchen, looking lost.

"I'm serious, Alan," he said one last time. "It's over. I suggest you spend the rest of the day finding someone else to mooch off of." Throwing a handful of Floo powder into the fire, he stepped through the fireplace and into the Ministry.

Once he'd arrived, he paused to take a deep breath and finish his breakfast. He felt . . . free.

I should've thrown him out a long time ago, he thought. Sure, Alan had been pleasant and charming in the beginning, and his easygoing personality had been refreshingly different from everyone else Harry knew, besides George. And Harry had to admit he had been great in bed as well. But after awhile, everything had started to go downhill, and Harry suspected his feelings for Alan had faded quite some time ago. Breaking up with someone was always a stressful thing to do, but Harry found that he didn't feel as bad as he thought he would. Mostly, he was glad it was over.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair before making his way up to his office. He was going to be all right, he knew. With his mail in one hand and a fresh mug of tea in the other, he entered his office and sat down at his desk. He tossed the pile of mail on the desk and started sorting it.

The Daily Prophet, which he now only read for a quick chuckle, a letter from Neville and Luna, who'd gotten married shortly after the war, a note from Ron, probably about the case they were working on, and . . . something from Hogwarts?

Harry frowned curiously as he turned the letter bearing the familiar Hogwarts seal over in his hand.

Why is McGonagall writing to me? he wondered. It was no mistake; the letter had his name and address clearly written across the front. He opened it slowly, his curiosity growing.

Dear Mr. Potter,

Congratulations! This year marks the tenth anniversary of your graduating class . . .

Harry shook his head in bemusement as he finished reading the letter, then set it on the desk in front of him, feeling almost dazed.

"Merlin's beard, has it been ten years already?"

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