NINE YEARS LATER

14th September, 2009
10:27 am

Harry sat at the small table and looked out over the city, trying to spot minute changes, but it all looked the same as it had nearly a decade ago. He sighed and pushed away his glass, thinking that he never should have returned. Despite the years between, it seemed only yesterday and everything reminded him of Draco.

He walked to the tiny Fiat and slipped into the driver's seat. The urge to rent a scooter had been overwhelmed with nostalgia and in the end, he simply hadn't been able to do it. The car held no memories, and he joined the queue trundling down the hill into the city. He had an appointment at 11:00 and although he had driven past the shop, he wasn't completely sure if parking would be an issue.

Twenty-five minutes later, with the Fiat safely squeezed into a parking spot and a selection of coins shoved into the metre, Harry walked quickly to the tiny bookshop sandwiched between two similar-looking grey-ish tan buildings with nondescript signs and large, decorative wooden doors. The wizarding section of Florence was tiny and Harry had barely visited it during his precious visits to the city. He was familiar with the International Portkey office, which had issued his return Portkeys on each occasion and given him the usual safe travel advice, as though he'd never heard it before.

He pushed open the door and saw a small row of people lined up near the counter. A large woman walked out from the shelves of books and clasped his hand in both of hers. "Mister Black, how nice to finally meet you! I see some of your fans have already arrived." She beamed at him and he noticed that her accent wasn't Italian, but was rather more Eastern, Bulgarian, perhaps.

Harry glanced at the queue of people, some of whom clapped. All of them smiled and he felt something loosen between his shoulders. He never knew what sort of reception he would find, and here, in Florence, well… This is where it had begun, after all.

He didn't have much time to reflect after that. The matron seated him at a small table and then each person in line walked up with something clasped in their hands for him to sign. Usually it was a copy of his book, but sometimes they had photos or even clippings from newspapers. The first person in line was a blond man who grinned at him and placed the book before him gently.

"Circe, I can't believe I'm actually meeting you. You're a legend."

Harry smiled. "Not much of a legend, I'm afraid. I'm just a man that has lived a rather unusual life."

"But you lived it. You lived it all, like the book says, and that's what I plan to do. You're an inspiration, Mister Potter-I mean, Mister Black."

Harry scrawled his name across the inside cover of the book, still somewhat in awe at the swift change his life had during the past year, ever since he'd been foolish enough to sit down and write his story. He still wasn't sure why he'd done it. He'd written about everything, his childhood, the war, his friends…and Draco. He had changed Draco's name, of course, because he had no idea how that would have gone over. He hadn't seen or heard from Draco in years, of course. Ever since…

The bell jangled as the door opened and Harry's hand froze over the inkwell. He could have been hit with a Full-body Bind for as strongly as his ability to move deserted him.

"Mister Black, are you all right?"

The spell was broken and Harry looked away, glanced at the young woman standing before him with a concerned look on her face. "Yes. Yes, I'm sorry. I just thought-" He glanced at the doorway again, but the man had gone. A ghost. "I think I would like a short break." He signed the last two items before him and made quick small-talk before rising and hurrying towards the door. He pushed through and drank in the air, certain he had been mistaken. His eyes scanned the street in both directions, and then fixed upon a man leaning against a door frame two shops down.

With his heart in his throat, Harry walked to stand before him.

"Impressive," Draco said. He held something long and narrow in his fingers. Harry reached out and took it, although his eyes could see nothing but Draco. He was older, of course, but even more beautiful, if such a thing were even possible. His hair was shorter, with small tufts overhanging his brow, but the sides nearly shorn. It looked odd when juxtaposed with Harry's memory, but not bad, just different.

Harry had no idea what to say. He'd rehearsed such a conversation a thousand times in his fantasies, with every variation from indifference to hurt anger. The reality of the situation made the breath seize up in his lungs, and his fingers shook on the bookmark in his hands.

"A famous author now. James Black. Curious choice of pseudonym."

Harry met the grey eyes directly. He wanted to drown in them. "Can we talk?"

"I expect so."

It was a relief. He had half-expected Draco to disappear from his life, never to be seen again. "I need to get back. I have another few minutes. Scheduled."

"I will be at Bella's. Just round the corner."

"All right." Reluctantly, Harry handed back the bookmark and then hurried back to the shop, not daring to look back, in case he'd gone utterly mad and Draco was only a figment of his imagination.

He signed the last few books, gave his thanks to the bookshop matron, and then walked as quickly as possible to Bella's, which turned out to be a small coffee shop. To his immense relief, Draco was seated at a round table with a large mug in his hands.

Harry took the seat across from him and Draco pushed another mug towards him. "I ordered you a cappuccino."

"Thank you." Harry touched the cup, but he couldn't stop looking at Draco. There were lines on his face that hadn't been there before, but much of him was still the same. The golden eyebrows, the dark lashes that framed his pale eyes, the sardonic lips that Harry had dreamed about for years without end… He took a drink of his coffee and found it lukewarm, but strong.

"You look good," Draco said.

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, so he murmured, "Thanks." They said little more until the coffee was half gone, and then Harry set him cup down. "Can we walk?"

Draco nodded and Harry nearly bolted through the door. He felt full of nervous energy, with so much bottled up inside that needed to burst forth. He wanted to rail at Draco. He wanted to rage and demand answers. He wanted to throw himself into his arms and hold tightly.

Instead, he walked.

His footsteps carried him to the river, dodging traffic and pedestrians, always fully aware that Draco kept pace with him, saying nothing. At last they reached a spot where the pavement widened into a semi-circle that overlooked the river. Large trees provided some shade from the bright sun. Harry was shaking; he shouldn't have had the cappuccino.

"I came back, you know. Six months later." Harry tried to keep his voice steady.

"I know. I read the book."

"You weren't here."

"No."

"I assumed you had chosen Astoria. I read about your wedding. That Christmas."

"I hadn't."

Harry looked at him. "You hadn't?"

"I hadn't chosen Astoria. But it wasn't up to me, you see." Draco drew a deep breath and leaned his hands on the stone railing. The sunlight through the leaves dappled his hair, and Harry mourned the longer length, just for a moment.

"You felt that you had to. I understand."

"No. I would have come. I would have been here, Harry. I had planned to give it all up. All of it. The Malfoy name, my family, the future they had laid out so carefully for me. I was ready to let all of it go. For you." Draco straightened and his eyes bored into Harry's. He was shaken by the strength of Draco's words and the sound of his given name, uttered for the first time.

"Then why?"

"I was stupid enough to tell my mother. I told her about you. Not by name, of course, but only that I'd met someone. I admitted that I had no desire to marry Astoria, or anyone, and I didn't care about the Malfoy legacy. I wanted to live my own life."

Harry was stunned. He had gone through his own soul-searching at the time, and had spoken to no one but Hermione. She had encouraged him to follow his heart, and even then he had agonised over his decision, uncertain until the very morning he had Apparated in slow stages all the way to Tuscany, growing ever more sure with every leap, only to spend the rest of that terrible day and night waiting.

Waiting for Draco, who had never arrived.

"She panicked, and told my father. I am somewhat surprised that he did not Obliviate me straightaway, or put me under an Imperius Curse. He was liberal with the Cruciatus Curse, of course. He'd always been fond of that, dear Lucius." Draco wrinkled his nose and Harry clenched his hands, horrified. "It was my mother's doing, I believe, that led him to lock me away. I discovered that there are worse things than being tortured. There is a facility in Northern France that used to be a monastery. They have very strict rituals and diligent practices. They believe in starving, and flagellation, and wearing the thinnest robes in stark winter, and going about barefoot. They also believe that a man lying with another man is punishable by death, but can possibly be cured with the application of enough torment."

Harry felt sick.

Draco's voice continued on, monotonous. "So there I was, all of that horrible February. I lost track of time, at first thinking I could escape. I wanted to reach you. I wanted to send you a message. By the end, of course, I only wanted to survive. When they finally let me out, it was weeks past the time we were supposed to meet. By the time I could walk properly again, you were engaged to Ginny Weasley. And by then, I had no fight left. I married Astoria without protest. I fathered a son. I played the dutiful father and husband. And I tried to forget about you."

Harry leaned heavily against the stone, clasping his hands together. "Oh god. If only I had known." Bloody hell, he hadn't even tried to find Draco. He hadn't even questioned whether or not Draco's choice had been taken from him. He hadn't even fucking remembered what a controlling, evil bastard that Lucius Malfoy- "Oh my god, I just let it happen. I just moved on."

Hands suddenly wrapped around his and squeezed tightly. Harry met Draco's eyes and found surprisingly little pain there. Instead, he saw peace.

"Stop. Harry, you could not have known. And one good thing came of all of it. My son, Scorpius, is an utter delight. He is the best thing that ever happened to me."

Harry shut his eyes, and nodded. "I…have three children."

"I know."

Harry drew in a shuddering breath and tugged Draco closer, needing to feel him. "They-I wrote the book under a pseudonym. Of course, it was obvious who it was, although at first it was assumed to be fiction, or an unauthorised biography. Ginny was furious. By then, we had been fighting almost daily. I don't know when it happened, but when she found out I'd written it she went bloody mental. She went to the papers. She went to the papers, can you believe that? And told them it was me. Of course, then all hell broke loose." Harry laughed dryly, still feeling the sting of that dark, miserable time, when he'd wished he'd never picked up a quill. And now, it paled to insignificance compared to what Draco had suffered.

"And then she tried to reconcile. 'For the children' she said. And I tried, for a while. The book, meanwhile, became a raging success. Mostly because it was me, of course, but it also seemed to resonate with many people. Men-and some women-living lives they don't want because they were afraid to choose the path of most resistance. I don't know, they send me letters. They invite me to book signings and tell me I changed their lives. I suppose that makes it all worth it."

"So you came back."

"Yes. The happiest time of my life was here, in Florence. Ginny was against my coming here. Merlin, we fought about it. I have a counselling session scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. She says if I am not there, she will march straight to the solicitor and file for a divorce."

"Then once again, you are on a time constraint."

Harry nodded. And once again, he had a decision to make. "What about you? And Astoria?"

"I haven't seen Astoria in five years. She divorced me two years ago and moved to Prague. Her duty to her family, and mine, was done. She owed us nothing and had no interest in Scorpius. Maternal instincts are not always present in the female, you see, which turned out well for me. Scorpius is my son, not hers. And Mother dotes on him."

"How old is he?" Harry asked. Draco let go of his hands and leaned against the stone next to him.

"Five."

"So is Albus. James is seven and Lily is…" Harry frowned. Lily had been their last-ditch effort to recover whatever emotion had been slipping away between him and Ginny. The reconciliation had been short-lived, and Harry had been writing the whole time. "Lily is two."

Silence stretched between them, and they watched the cars glide past on the motorway. Horns beeped and tires screeched, and the city moved on around them.

"I thought about you every day," Harry admitted. "Every single day."

"Do you think we would have lasted? We were young and foolish and had no idea what we even wanted. Do you really think we would have run away? Explored the world?"

Harry looked at him and smiled for the first time. "I don't know. We probably would have had spectacular fights. Probably over ridiculous things. But, even so, I like to think we would have made it. Maybe that's a pipe dream, created over too many late-night musings and fantasising about what-ifs."

"And now?"

"Why did you come?"

"I read your book. I know our single night together rocked your foundations. I know you were here, that day, when I couldn't be here. I knew without a moment of doubt, locked away in my hellish prison, I knew that you were here, waiting for me. And though you couldn't know it at the time, my foundations were just as shaken. Not merely because of who I am, but because of who we were together. Maybe it was a fluke, a brilliant day made perfect by too much sun and gelato and fine wine, but maybe it wasn't. Maybe every day could have been that brilliant, even with arguments and anger and petty mistakes. Maybe the heart of it was too good to have been destroyed so easily. Or maybe I just felt cheated out of the chance to find out one way or the other."

Moisture pricked at Harry's eyes. How often had he felt the same way over the years? "What if it's too late?"

"Only you can make that decision, Harry." Draco linked their fingers together and lifted Harry's hand to kiss his knuckles, one by one. "Do you want me to go?"

"I want to go to the hotel. Our hotel."

Draco pulled him to his feet. "I have a scooter. Around the corner."

And Harry laughed.

7:02 am

Draco rolled over in bed and reached out a hand, but encountered nothing. He sat up, trying not to feel alarmed. To his relief, Harry sat in a chair next to the open window. He was not looking out at the city; he was looking at Draco.

Pushing aside uneasiness-although they had become reacquainted with one another's bodies, they hadn't spoken of Harry's decision at all-Draco slid his legs off the bed and sat up. He felt a spark of pride when Harry's gaze caressed him. That hadn't changed between them at all, except to be even better thanks to sheer appreciation of what had been missing in their lives. Draco felt like he'd come home.

Draco watched him. Harry had changed, but only for the better. He'd grown stronger, and leaner, and had a new carefulness about him that seemed to have tempered the recklessness of his youth. And his rugged handsomeness had honed into a stunning package of sexy maturity. He could have been a bloody model for Witch Weekly.

Something was in Harry's hands; a disk of some sort. Draco got up and walked to the window, pulling up the twin chair to sit adjacent. He took the disk from Harry and turned it over. It seemed to be the plastic lid from a tub of lemon-flavoured yoghurt.

"Portkey?" Draco guessed.

Harry nodded.

"What time?"

"Eight o'clock."

"Time for a shower, then."

Harry nodded and left the Portkey on the seat of the chair. They took a bath instead of a shower, filling the huge marble tub with hot water and bubbles, and exploring crevices and planes and angles they might have missed the night before.

Afterwards, Draco pulled on his trousers and watched as Harry dressed. He hadn't said much, and Draco had no idea what he was thinking. He wondered if he should say something, anything, or if it was far too late for words. Everything he had felt had been expressed during the night past, spoken with hands and lips and tongue, but few words.

Harry picked up the Portkey and turned it over in his hands. Possibly, he was thinking of his children, and wondering how they would survive if he followed his heart instead of his head, as he had been willing to do nine years ago. Then, such a decision would have had limited consequences. Now, there was much more to consider, more lives to be shaken by an inconvenient choice.

"I remember," Harry said quietly. "I remember that I wasn't happy before Florence. And I wasn't really happy after Florence, either, although there were moments. It would have been pretty pathetic never to have had another happy moment, yeah? Some parts were brilliant." He lifted his eyes to Draco. "But I never felt for a moment that there wasn't something missing. And I knew that it was here."

Draco walked to him and held out his hand. Harry pressed the Portkey into his hand. Draco lifted his wand and, after one questioning glance at Harry, he tapped the Portkey and murmured a spell. It transformed into a large butterfly, startlingly blue with black-tipped wings. Harry smiled and they watched as it hovered in the air, and then with a flash of wings it fluttered out the open window and into the sky.

"It seems you might miss your Portkey," Draco commented.

Harry shut the window and turned to wrap Draco in a hard embrace. "That's funny. I don't miss it at all."

~END~