He's So Lucky (He's A Star) - PART III

We started to meet up three or four times a week — mostly at Muggle cafés and restaurants — and I'd started to lose count of who paid when. This made me think of how it was definitely friendship and nothing more.

On top of that, Potter had also started to give me tips on things that could be potential news stories I could pass along to my co-workers. It ranged from unsolved crimes driving the Ministry officials bonkers to even small things like how Weasley's secretary would take two hours lunches every Thursday; they were all convinced she was in some sort of a cult. Underground cult stories were unbelievably popular with wizards. It gave people theories and ideas of a new Dark Lord rising, and religious fanatics would have a field day with them.

I was in a good place.

I should have known right then and there it wouldn't last.

After the first two months of meeting up in random restaurants, Potter started to come over. A lot. Eventually, he started to sleep on the sofa. I had to make sure I kept my darkroom under a locking spell with a Disillusionment Charm, so he wouldn't wander in half groggy in the morning.

At first, he used to go home first thing in the morning, leaving a note behind. In time, he started to stick around, making coffee, which eventually turned into making breakfast. I felt like we were living together, except he slept on the sofa.

Pansy Flooed a few times when he was asleep on the sofa, and she'd give me that look. I ignored it and constantly tried to tell her that we were just friends. She seemed to buy it. I hated keeping the truth from her, but just like Potter who was keeping secrets for his wife, I was keeping secrets for him.

Then there were the instances when I'd also caught him staring at me. The first time was when my back was towards him and I was washing dishes in the sink. His reflection on the window glass above the sink told me exactly where he was looking. I turned around immediately and looked at him. He cleared his throat and rushed out into the sitting room.

Every time I'd catch him, I'd give him the same look, the well, what are you waiting for? look. And every time, he'd look away, shy off, and I wouldn't hear from him for a few days. He'd make excuses like, "Ginny's visiting for the weekend, and we're going to be at the Weasleys." Then he'd be back. Things would be back to "normal," whatever "normal" was, until it'd happen again.

In the beginning, I'd brushed it off as Potter simply having a harmless crush. We were both young, gay, and spent way too much time together. He probably imagined us being together. I didn't blame him. I'd imagined it, too. Except, I kept my imagining at bay, mostly at night, in the confines of my bedroom while Potter slept naked on the sofa.

I was never nearly as obvious as him.

I'd also come to the conclusion that non-sexualising him was also out of the question. He was fucking hot. And fit. He was an Auror and even though he'd never taken his shirt off in front of me, I could still tell what his body would look like without a shirt. I had every line, every curve, photographed. I'd read him so closely I could tell which muscle in his neck twitched when he chewed bread and cheese as opposed to a treacle tart.

Still, I never looked at him the way he looked at me.

I couldn't. I wouldn't. I refused.

—

"Charlie and Torbjørn are coming to visit for a week," Potter informed me at one of our usual lunch spots.

"Yeah?" I asked. I figured he was telling me because of his buried guilt that he carried with him about trying to shag Torbjørn and never telling Charlie about it. Maybe he wanted me to tell him that he shouldn't.

"Ginny made reservations at Cloak and Dagger for dinner," he said and I nodded. Usually when he spent time with Ginny and her family, he didn't share that information with me. Partially because I didn't care, and because he only put himself into a deep depressive state about how he was lying to them.

"She's bringing Cormac."

I dropped the spoon in my soup and it splashed everywhere. "Fucking hell!"

The waitress came rushing to me with a napkin. "Are you alright?" she asked and started to pat my leg with the cloth.

"Fine. Thank you," I said, taking the napkin off her hand and glared at her so she would go away.

"I'm sorry, did you just say, she's bringing McLaggen?"

Potter nodded. "Will you come with me?"

Honestly. Potter needed to stop giving me shocking information while I was trying to eat hot soup. "What?"

"She's going to tell Charlie about us. I mean, her and me, and McLaggen I guess. I just—I don't really want to go by myself."

"What if they think you and I—"

"They won't. I will tell them we're just friends. I mean that's what we are, right?"

Honestly, he needed to stop probing me into a confession. "Yes, that's what we are."

"Draco..." He'd started calling me Draco about a month ago, but I continued calling him Potter. "I just...I could really use a friend there."

He was making that face again. The face where his lower lip slightly quivered and his eyes went slightly wide; the face where I had a hard time believing that he was some bad arse Auror that once had defeated the Dark Lord as a boy. I'd never seen him with that expression with anyone else except for myself. It was all a bit too gay and theatrical in my opinion (can't say I didn't love it, though).

It was also the only face I didn't photograph.

"I'm not one that most people want in their corner," I said.

"I'm not most people."

That much was true. "What do you expect to happen at this dinner?"

"I just don't want to be the one that's coerced into breaking the news to the family. I don't know what Charlie's reaction will be, but I just know that I won't give in if you're there."

"Why?" I asked.

He didn't answer.

"Potter, you have to give me something!"

He ran a hand through his hair and just looked at me like I was the most infuriating thing in the world. I'd seen that look before. Potter had given me that look throughout our Hogwarts years. And the few months we'd been friends. Sadly, I kind of liked that look on him.

"Malfoy..." he breathed out, and to hear him call me that again was disheartening. "I struggle when I'm around you."

I scowled at him. Was this supposed to be convincing me to come to dinner?

"For some odd reason I've always been tough when you're watching. You give me this really weird sense of strength. I just know that if you're there, then I won't back down. I will refuse to appear weak..." His hands were up in the air and it was almost like he was ready to punch the wall "I—"

"Okay, Potter."

"Okay?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I'll come with you."

"You will?"

"Seriously. You're just going to keep repeating me? You want me there, so fine, I'll be there."

It came as no surprise to me that the other party involved in the failure of Potter's marriage would want Potter to break the news. All his life he'd fought other people's battles as his own, so naturally, she would turn to him to take care of it.

On top of that, Potter claiming that I gave him strength was undoubtedly the most bizarre thing I'd ever heard. The fact that if I was around inspired Potter to not look weak was such a strange thing to say. Did he imagine me when he was on his Auror missions? Did he feel like he needed to impress me all the time? Maybe I was reading too much into it.

If I was honest with myself, I'd admit that I knew exactly what Potter was talking about. Whenever I was around him, I wanted to be more than what I was. I wanted to be better. Of course, I'd never tell him this. He'd probably read too much into it, given I didn't even know what it meant.

—

Despite my need for punctuality, I found it highly annoying that we were the last ones to arrive. I had a sneaky suspicion that Potter's wife had told him the wrong time. Perhaps she wished to speak to her brother in advance. We were guided to the table by the hostess who gave me an odd look when Potter had told her about the reservation.

The rest of the party that was already seated turned to look at us and it was clear that Potter hadn't informed them I was accompanying him. The table was set up for five, and we were obviously six.

"I'll have them arrange another place setting momentarily," the hostess said and disappeared.

"You didn't tell them?" I whispered under my breath. I knew Potter had heard me.

"I did..." he whispered back.

"Harry!" Ginny stood up immediately and hugged Potter.

McLaggen stayed seated and glared at me. Why? I had no idea. It wasn't like I was there to steal his girlfriend.

"You did bring a friend, Potter," McLaggen said eventually.

Potter looked at him confused, then looked at Ginny. "Yes I thought..."

"Sorry. I didn't think you were being serious," Ginny said dismissively. I found that to be highly rude. Every other time I'd met her, she seemed caring and polite. What was wrong with her today?

"He wasn't being serious?" I spat out before I could stop myself. What was my deal? Why did I just jump in to defend Potter?

"Draco..." Potter said quietly and his hand brushed against mine. The gesture wasn't caught by anyone else but Torbjørn who raised an eyebrow when he looked at me after.

"Weren't you at our engagement party?" Torbjørn said standing up and coming around the table to shake my hand, and then he gave Potter a hug, too. "Good to see you, Harry."

"Yes, I'm a photographer for The Oracle," I replied. It was so strange to stand around a table in the middle of a busy restaurant where half the party was on their feet while others were seated, as if they were some patriarchal entities that were too good to be polite.

"Of course!" Torbjørn said excitedly. "The pictures were wonderful and my family was so happy!"

"Thank you. I've very glad you liked them," I replied, smiling.

Finally the restaurant staff brought over a chair to our table and moved things around slightly so they could make room for me. I really had no idea why Ginny wouldn't have believed Potter if he'd said he might bring someone. Maybe he hadn't been convincing enough if he'd told her before he'd asked me. Still, I found the entire ordeal to be rather rude, especially if they didn't take Potter seriously.

When we were finally seated, food menu in hand, the server appeared. I glanced over at Potter who looked uncomfortable and I could totally relate.

"As you look over the menu, may I suggest a bottle of wine for the table?" the waiter asked. "Perhaps the Augustus chardonnay."

My hand clenched the menu tighter but otherwise I didn't react. I supposed I was just not going to drink any wine.

"Maybe Draco has a suggestion," Potter said and he smiled softly at me.

"The owner of Augustus wineries is being investigated for something. I can't discuss the case," I said. Potter must have seen my reaction. "I would suggest staying away from them for now." I turned to look at the waiter who was struggling to hide his scowl. Clearly the restaurant would have known about the investigation and were trying to sell off the wine before it was deemed illegal and they would lose their profits.

"Any of the reds will do, but I recommend the Merlot, of course." The red wine index didn't have Augustus listed. I looked at the rest of the table for their approval and they all mostly shrugged. Except for Charlie Weasley who was looking at me sceptically.

The waiter nodded and walked away.

"What's the scandal?" McLaggen asked.

"I'm sure Draco can't talk about it," Potter said.

"Oh come on," McLaggen insisted.

"A former employee at the winery filed a complaint that he was wrongfully terminated. When the suit didn't hold, he leaked the information that the winery actually does not produce any of its own wine but travels around the world and re-labels other wineries products as their own and sells it. They make a huge profit without paying for the manpower. They've been doing that for the past ten years and well—I guess someone finally caught up with them."

I noticed that everyone's eyes widened slightly. "They are also being accused of using Dark Magic and Spells to hide their tracks," I added, just for theatrics.

"Is The Oracle going to do an exposé?" Torbjørn asked enthusiastically, his hands waving with palms facing forward and his fingers splayed.

I smiled since I was struggling to suppress my laughter. "Yes. One of my colleagues..." I almost blurted out Patil's name, "is on the case."

"That's fascinating," Torbjørn said, and McLaggen looked bored. He must have thought they used actual human blood to make their wines red.

We ordered several appetizers after the wine was brought out, and I saw Potter look uncomfortable. He was always weird about sharing food he was uncertain of. I shook my head and smiled at him, and he made a face at me. He knew I was mocking him, and he was insulting me right back.

Realising we weren't alone at the table, I turned to look at Torbjørn and noticed that everyone at the table, including Ginny, looked at us with a hint of confusion. I cleared my throat as if nothing had happened. It was the best I could do. What was I supposed to explain? That Potter and I were friends and we made faces at each other—something that wasn't strange to me or Potter since one of us always scowled at the other ever since we were at Hogwarts.

The appetizers arrived and I was able to see why Potter had been so discouraged. Nearly every dish had some sort of a variation of mushrooms in it. Mushrooms were either chopped in, or baked with the hors d'oeuvres.

I grabbed a few pieces of the melted cheese on focaccia and cut it in pieces. In small pieces, the mushrooms could easily be taken off and the bread could be eaten easily. Potter copied what I was doing, since he must have realised I was really being that particular for his own good. After that, he basically mimicked my form of cutting each dish and ate around the mushrooms.

It was a good thing we were sitting next to each other because when the conversation would divert away from us, I'd steal the mushrooms from his plate and ate them. I didn't care for them, either, but I didn't hate them nearly as much as Potter did. I was surprised his wife didn't know this about him. Sure, they weren't really a married couple, but Potter had told me plenty of times that they were quite close and told each other everything. The fact that Potter loathed mushrooms hadn't been on her radar made me doubt the closeness of their friendship.

Then there was the matter of the asparagus. I loved asparagus. We'd ordered two servings for appetizer and I knew, as I'm sure Potter did too, I could have eaten both shares on my own. Potter helped himself with a huge portion and I had a sneaky suspicion why. We followed the same routine as before with the leftover mushrooms. I would steal them off Potter's plate when I thought no one was looking.

For the rest of the meal, I'd stayed quiet. It was something I was used to, especially when I was on a job with the reporters, because I was supposed to just observe and take pictures. I'd pinned a mini camera to the collar of my shirt, but I hadn't taken any pictures at dinner. I was already on edge being at the table with Ginny and McLaggen, and I still wasn't sure what Charlie and Torbjørn knew and what they didn't. They both looked at us occasionally as if they were trying to place me somewhere in their head. If they knew Ginny and McLaggen were an item, then they must have been wondering if Potter and I were too.

Finally, Charlie came out and said it. "When are you going to tell the rest of the family?"

Potter looked up at him, and I felt his knee bouncing restlessly next to mine. I placed my left hand on it and squeezed it gently. He needed to relax.

"I'm not sure if it's a good idea," Ginny said, to which, McLaggen cleared his throat.

"Why not?" Torbjørn asked.

Ginny tucked a strand of her hair behind her right ear. "You know how Mum is—"

"Would you rather she read about it in the paper, if someone sees you snogging a man who isn't your husband?" Charlie raised an eyebrow then looked at me.

"I won't tell anyone, I promise," I said, raising both my hands in surrender.

"What about the two of you?" Charlie said to Potter.

"We get seen in public all the time," Potter replied.

"And what? You're careful about public displays of affections, as well?" Charlie asked.

"Erm..." Potter gulped.

"We're not a couple," I clarified.

"Are you sure?" Charlie demanded. His tone was borderline threatening, and it was starting to piss me off.

"Listen, Weasley," I said, because he may have been Potter's friend, but he wasn't mine. "Charlie. I'm Potter's friend. For the longest time, I was the only one who knew about his secret. Your sister and Potter are here to talk to you about their state of affairs, and not be judged. Maybe you should just be a little—"

"Draco," Potter said softly, and I supposed I was going to cross a line and he was stopping me from it.

"Yes. You're here to tell me that you're not really a married couple. I'm here to tell you first of all, I'm not surprised at all, second, you should have filed for divorce two years ago. You should tell the family, together." Charlie looked at Potter and Ginny ignoring McLaggen and myself. "You should do it without your partners—" I cleared my throat to speak. Charlie glared at me. "Romantic or otherwise," he added.

"When I told Mum and Dad that I wasn't going to marry Cecilia Warburton because I was gay, it was something I had to do on my own. But this, you have to do it together. She'll cry and tell you that you just have to work through it, and then, Harry, it'll be your decision whether or not you want to come out to them."

"What about Grang—I mean Ron and Hermione, first?" I asked, and Charlie turned to look at me again and the scowl had diminished. "I think they'd be cross, if you didn't tell them first."

Charlie nodded. "That's probably a good idea. You should tell them first and then maybe they can be there, when you tell Mum and Dad."

Everyone seemed to relax and then finally, it was time for dessert.

The dessert display was at the front of the restaurant and the dining guests either had the option of ordering off the menu, or walking to the front to look at the pieces that were up for show. I'd thought we were just going to order something off the menu, when Charlie announced otherwise.

"Cormac and Draco, why don't the two of you walk up to the front and decide what we should have. Just order a cake, and we can split it into six pieces."

I was surprised, but I tried not to show it. It was obvious Charlie wanted to say something to his sister and Potter without McLaggen and I around. "Sure," I said, shrugging. "And whatever's left over, you can take it to Ron as a peace offering."

I grinned at Potter who just shook his head as if he was judging me.

I mock-scowled back at him. "Just for that, I'll make sure they put extra mushrooms in your tiramisu."

—

"What did your brother-in-law have to say when I was off to order dessert?" I asked Potter after we arrived at our flat.

Potter looked a bit staggered by my question. He shrugged. "Nothing, just wanted to give me some advice."

"About what?"

He shrugged again. "Dating."

"Oh, this ought to be interesting."

"It was nothing. Just need to get over the announcement about the divorce and the family's reaction first, before I could even seriously think about dating."

"So you are non-seriously thinking about dating?" I asked.

Potter didn't answer. He plopped on the sofa, where he usually slept, and opened up the bottle of Firewhisky.

"Potter, you can't just ignore my question." I took the bottle off his hands and poured two small shots. If it were him, he'd pour too much into his glass and then finish it in one swig. Drunk Potter was more tight lipped than sober Potter.

"I'm not thinking about dating anyone," Potter said.

"So why was Charlie giving you dating advice?"

Potter glowered at me and then emptied his glass. "He thinks that you and I should be together."

Oh. "Why?" I tried to act like I was disgusted by the idea.

"Because according to him we already act like a couple and I..." Potter paused and picked up the bottle again.

"Why does he think we act like a couple?"

"The mushrooms. The asparagus. He commented on how you took food off my plate with such ease and the way you poured wine when my glass was almost empty. He just said you pay more attention to me, and I to you, than Cormac with Ginny and they are a real couple."

I cared about Potter because he was my friend. I never thought of my actions as romantic. Sure, if I were out with Pansy, I'd eat her mushrooms too. That sounded weird. In any case, it was a friends thing to do. On second thought, I probably would make the waiter take the dish back and bring something non-mushroomy. I just didn't want to do that in front of Potter's family. Great. It sure looked as though I liked him more than a friend.

"What did you say to that?" I asked, dismissing all other thoughts from my head. I wondered how Ginny had reacted to the comment.

Potter shrugged and finished another shot. He stood up and grabbed his jacket as if he was getting ready to leave. "I should go."

"You're going home?" I asked; I wasn't disappointed or upset, but I knew that he liked to stay at my flat when McLaggen was in town. The guest bedroom was really Ginny's room when she'd be home from practice and that's where McLaggen usually stayed, too. After Potter and I had started our acquaintance, he preferred to stay on my sofa than at the house with them.

"Ron and Hermione are coming in the morning," he said.

"So McLaggen isn't staying the night?" I asked only because Potter stood there, looking unconvinced that he wanted to leave, even if he'd said so.

"I think he's going to leave first thing in the morning. He's got his own team practice to get back to," Potter replied.

"Brilliant." I stood up, too, and made my way to the Floo as if I was getting ready to bid him goodbye. I wasn't sure what else we could have done. My heart was pounding at how strangely he'd been acting. Was he offended that Charlie had said that he and I should be a couple? Was the idea of being with me really so bad? Maybe he still felt guilty about not confessing to Charlie about Torbjørn.

"Right. I should go." Potter walked up to me next to the fireplace and then again, stood there as if his feet were glued to the ground.

"What's the matter, Potter?" I asked finally, because I knew if I didn't ask him directly, he probably wouldn't tell me otherwise.

"Draco," he said and took my hand in his. I didn't hesitate because in our shortly-established friendship, Potter had taken my hand before. We'd never talked about it, but he held my hand sometimes. Sometimes it was to balance himself when he was drunk and sometimes it just was. I didn't want to put a name to it, because part of me didn't want it to stop either.

Still, tonight's hand holding was different than any of the ones before. Potter's right thumb circled my left wrist and he looked at me with eyes so wide and lips slightly parted. I could never forget how beautiful he could be at times and I wished I could take pictures of that face in front of me right now, but I was too afraid to move. Too afraid to break whatever spell this was.

"You feel it, don't you?" Potter said softly.

My heart dropped into my stomach. It was as if the shelves above the kitchen sink had magically disappeared and all the utensils, the pots and pans, had come crashing down. The noise in my head was so loud that my entire body gave a start.

"Potter..."

"Draco..."

Potter lifted my hand, turned it so it was palm faced up, and kissed it. His lips were soft, cold from the ice in the Firewhisky glass, and I wanted to taste him. He let go of my wrist, but my hand stayed where it was: by the side of Potter's face. Then my fingers raked through Potter's hair, and he leaned into the touch.

"Yeah," I whispered. "I feel it, too." I always have. I took him by the shoulders, I looked at him, and he looked at me.

"You'd once asked me if there was someone else. Someone that I liked, lusted after, always wanted to shag or obsessed over?" he said.

"Yeah," I replied, sceptically.

"It's you," he said. "It's you who is that someone else. The one I lusted after, always wanted to shag—obsessed over."

I placed a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him towards me. And I hesitated, but he didn't. He kissed me. He kissed me. And I kissed him back.

"Stay," I said; our lips brushed when I spoke and then I rested my forehead against his. I wanted him to stay with me. More than that, I didn't want him to leave, ever. Even if it was just him sleeping on the sofa, even that would have been better than him leaving altogether.

"In your bed?" he asked as if he'd read my mind.

I smiled. "If you're comfortable—"

"Yes."

I smiled again.

"But."

"We don't have to do anything," I assured him. My mouth nibbled on his ear, and then I trailed a line of kisses down his neck to the collar of his shirt. "I just want you to stay."

"I want to do things," he said.

His fingers twined with mine and he led me to my bedroom. He'd never been there before. The extent of Potter's presence in my flat had been only to the sitting room and the kitchen. We walked by the door to my darkroom, and I wondered if I could ever take him in there.

He closed the bedroom door, against whom, I had to wonder but didn't ask.

"What sorts of things do you have in mind?" I asked.

He removed his glasses and placed them on the table next to my bed. "Tonight," he said unbuttoning my shirt, "I just want to see you, kiss you..." Potter rubbed his thumb over my lips, "...touch you."

I ran my hand through his hair again. I knew exactly how he felt.

"Is that okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I answered and pulled him on the bed. I took my time taking his clothes off, kissing him at every new patch of skin that revealed itself to me. I kissed him until we were both naked and under the covers. He yawned as my mouth was on his neck again, marking my new favourite spot with my teeth.

I laughed and felt his body vibrate underneath me with his own bubbling howl. "Real romantic, Potter," I teased.

"Just hold me, Draco," he said. "All I've wanted these past months is for your arms around me. Just let me feel you."

I smiled against his skin and rested back with his body settling next to mine. I didn't mean to, but I fell asleep before him as he continued to look at me and smiled.

—

When I woke up the next morning, Potter was gone, but he'd left a note behind. I was disappointed at the missed chance of some morning snogging, but I reckoned he had enough on his plate.

I didn't want to wake you, because I was sure that if you'd asked me to stay, I would have. I'll let you know how it goes with Ron and Hermione. I'll try to tell them about us—or at least how I feel about you, because well—never mind that for now. I made you some breakfast and coffee is set under a heating charm. I'll owl you soon. Have a good trip to Romania! ~ Harry.

Romania! Shite. I'd completely forgotten that I was supposed to go to Craiova this afternoon with Blakely. He was doing some research on toxic plants that were supposedly being grown there and sold in the Black Market.

I jumped out of bed and sent a quick owl to Blakely asking him to send me information on the Portkey. Then I settled myself at the dining table in the kitchen and enjoyed the breakfast Potter had left for me.

I could get used to this.

Potter's cooking was incredible and I thought back to the mornings we'd spent together talking and now we could have that always without the cautionary disclaimer of how we were just friends. I could creep up behind Potter and wrap my arms around him while he cooked. I could kiss his neck. I could do whatever I wanted because we were no longer just friends and all the thoughts I had about him, the emotions that I'd pushed down, could surface—I could tell him how I really felt.

I thought about how he'd confessed to me, and I could finally disclose myself to him.

—

I hadn't heard from Potter for almost a week. Blakely and I had been in Craiova for two days, then we'd travelled to Bucharest for another day. I'd thought that by the time I'd return, Potter would have been waiting on my sofa for me but, unfortunately, I'd returned to an empty flat and no letters.

I tried to busy myself with work. I developed the pictures that Blakely needed in no time, and then I spent most of my time in the darkroom organising my collections of pictures that I took for my hobby.

After the week had been over, I finally fire-called his home. Even if Ginny would have answered, at least she could have told me that he was still alive. I'd thought about contacting Lovegood first, but I thought the more people heard about us from him, the better.

Potter was there.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Where did that come from? My anger surprised me.

"Draco," was all he said. "I—how was your trip?"

What the actual fuck? "It was fine. Where have you been?"

"I've been...thinking," he said.

"That's brilliant. Did you forget that you'd told me—"

"I know. I was on mission for the past two days, and I wanted to contact you—"

"But you were placed under a body binding spell?" I asked. I really needed to get my anger under control.

"Drac—"

"Potter, if you've changed your mind, it's not a problem, but I expected better from you. I thought we were friends. You always act like this. I catch you staring at my arse and you disappear for days, and now this. You kissed me. This isn't as dismissible." I was just about to sever the Floo connection when he mumbled something that I didn't understand. "Pardon?"

"Can I stop by later tonight?" he said.

"Why? So you can fuck me and then tell me it was a mistake?"

"No, Draco. Will you just calm—"

I didn't hear what he had to say. I'd heard enough already. Of course, I should have raised the wards at my flat, because not three minutes later, Potter had Apparated in.

"What do you want, Potter?" I asked casually while I sat on the sofa and poured myself a glass of Chianti. I wasn't going to show Potter that he had any effect on me. I usually drank Firewhisky alone when I was sad and he knew that. He knew so much about me, and I was just— nothing but a complete idiot. It was like that fucking train ride when I was eleven.

"Ron and Hermione..."

Of course. How in the hell had I expected anything else? When he's gay and married a fucking girl, no one bats an eyelash. When he comes out and claims he wants to date Draco Malfoy, everyone has an opinion.

"What had Charlie said to you that night at dinner?" My words spat out of me as if I were breathing fire.

"He told me that it was clear that I was in—interested in you and that I should pursue it."

"Is that why you asked me if I felt it too?" I looked up from my drink as he stood there across from me. This was when I really looked at him. He looked like hell. He looked worse than the evening he'd been brought to the manor by the Death Eaters. What was wrong with him?

His expression softened and I supposed it had to do with the concerned look on my face.

"I asked you to be my friend, because I didn't know how else to be—how else to be near you. I wanted to date you. Ever since I'd acknowledged to myself that I fancied blokes more, I'd find myself thinking about you. Then you started coming to the events and you had your big fancy camera and you just looked so—"

"So...what?"

"So unattainable. You walked around like you owned the room. As if the charity events you were at were yours and everyone else was a mere guest that you couldn't care less about. Then your pictures were incredible. I kept all the articles."

I looked at him then looked at the leather chair next to the sofa. I didn't want to offer him to take a seat, but I was weirded out by the fact that he was just standing there—making these confessions—like some child getting disciplined.

He, as always, followed my cue and took a seat. I bloody hated that he'd got to know me so damn well, and I hated that I loved that about him.

"So why have you decided to no longer pursue me?" I asked dryly.

As he looked at his hands, probably trying to find the right words, I poured him a glass, too. Because I hate myself. Because I needed for him to be comfortable. Because I didn't want to see him so tense.

"Thanks," he whispered and picked up the glass. "I haven't decided to no longer pursue you. I just needed to know..." He paused again and it was driving me bloody mad.

"Whatever it is, Potter, you should just come out and say it. It never stopped you before to express yourself to me. To tell me how I'm a git—"

"I haven't called you a git since fifth year."

"Yes, well, I'm sure in your head you've said it several times." He scowled at me which told me that I'd hit a nerve and I did a happy dance on the inside.

"I hate that you know me so well," he said.

I sighed. "It's a two way street."

"Hermione says that I've always been obsessed with you," he said after a very long pause of silence between us. I didn't react. I needed to know where this was going. "I always needed to impress you, whether it be my first flying lesson, or finding out what you were up to during sixth year..." He leaned back into the sofa and closed his eyes.

I couldn't look away from his face. His fucking lips that had been on mine just a few days ago. I remembered tasting his skin, wrapping my arms around his waist. All I wanted to do was take him to the bedroom and show him how good I could make it for him. But, I just sat there and stared as he came up with the words to break my heart.

"She says that I really need to think this over. So that's what I've been doing. Thinking."

"Without me?" Yeah, the desperation in my voice was not amiss.

"I can't think when I'm around you," he said. The nerve, really.

"Obsession is also a two way street," I said.

"What do you mean?"

What did I mean? "Maybe you're just bad at hiding your obsession."

He looked at me, confused. Those damn eyes of his that made me always catch my breath. The same ones that he was so obnoxiously famous for. I hated to love those eyes. They were wide and so hopeful as if I was going to save him or something. As if I had all the answers. I'd been fooling myself. All these months, thinking that I needed to hide my feelings, I'd been an idiot. Why was I acting like a stupid Gryffindor? I should have just come right out and told him that I wanted him, then maybe, then maybe he'd know my secret, and he'd be okay with it. Then maybe he would have been divorced already. Then maybe, he would actually, truly, be mine as I was his.

I stood up off the sofa and grabbed my wand. "Come with me," I said and walked away. I heard his feet shuffling and a moment later, his hands were on my waist and he was following me. I assumed he thought we were going to the bedroom. He was, of course, wrong.

I removed the Disillusionment Charm off the darkroom and opened the door.

I heard Potter gasp behind me, but I didn't turn to look at him. I walked in and expected him to follow. My darkroom, was my sanctuary, my place of hiding, my Room of Requirement of sorts. It was mine and mine alone and just the mere thought of bringing someone in here was horrifying. The fact that it was Potter, was nerve wracking. I knew, there was no going back.

I closed the door behind us and we stood in perfect darkness. He reached out to grab my hand and I smiled. I squeezed his hand and brought it to my lips, gently grazing them against his fingers. I could feel like he was starting to say something so I cast a Lighting Charm. When I saw his face, he was looking right at me.

Having him there, where I stored my memories of him was surreal. He looked away from me and towards the rest of the room. Strings connected from one wall to another, moving pictures hanging side by side, drying, some scattered on the counters, he could see it. Him laughing; lounging on a chair; smiling with the kids; shying away, his face blushing. He could see what I was hiding. My obsession.

Him.

"These are all..." he said before he let go of my hand and walked deeper into the room.

He picked up one of the pictures off the counter, "This one—"

"From the first event, three years ago. When baby Fred was born," I said.

"This one is just the side of my face..." He looked up at me confused after pointing one of the latest ones that were hanging on the string.

"Your jaw twitches rather peculiarly when you're being nervous about something. I like the angle..." I traced my index finger against his jaw line of his face, his actual face that I was actually able to touch now. Allowed to touch...

"These are all ... me."

Nice of him to observe. I resisted rolling my eyes. "Well, the ones I take for professional purposes get sent to the editor and the reporter," I answered.

"You're..." he paused, as if he was looking for the right word again. Whatever happened to the man that just blurted out how he felt without any worries or any consequences?

"I think the word you're looking for is obsessed, Potter."

"Hey, that's from Leaky when we first—you took a picture of me while I destroyed that man's camera?" He laughed in disbelief, and I released a breath of relief.

"This camera," I said and walked across the room to grab the equipment. "I was saving it to give it to you for your birthday. It's a souvenir I suppose, from our first date...or at least it was in my head." I was always a bit delusional.

"That's bloody brilliant."

That was one word for it. "It's bloody insane."

"Well. Yeah. Join the club," he said and reached for my hand again. "I can't believe this. I...I thought you hated me."

"There's really a thin line between love and hate. Like I said, everything between us—"

"Is a two way street." He smiled at me and before I knew it, I was being pushed against one of the counters with his lips on mine, his hands on my hips, his body pressing into me.

And we kissed. And we kissed. And kissed. Again. It was better than the last time. It was better than I'd dreamed of when I'd been here, in the darkroom, wondering what it would be like to be here with him.

He was like air to me, deliberate, and necessary. And if I could ever be that lucky, to be that for him, unnoticed, but necessary, for a moment only.

I was. I was that lucky.

Epilogue

Ginny and I filed for divorce a week after we'd told the family. It wasn't long after when the gossip columns filled everywhere with news of her and Cormac. I, of course, was reported as "heartbroken" and living in shame. Draco was much better at public deception. It was either that or he probably had dirt on every gossip columnist around, and they were too scared that their risqué pictures might show up in The Oracle.

Staying in secret proved to be more difficult when I'd moved into Draco's flat.

The first night we'd been together, he'd dragged me to his darkroom and went down on me while I watched moving pictures of myself. While I watched myself through his eyes.

I'd managed to put the camera he'd given me as an early birthday present to good use. Pictures of him sleeping, coming out of the shower in a towel, or reading on the sofa also replaced some of mine in the darkroom. So when he fucked me there, I wasn't always looking at myself. I liked watching him while he was on his knees. He'd claimed it made me come harder.

That was another obsession of his. Doing it everywhere. Can't say that I complained, though. I had years of catching up to do, and there was no better partner I could have asked for.

After a year, I finally managed to get Draco to start working on his book. He'd always talked about wanting to be the Cartier-Bresson of the wizarding world. It still amazed me at how knowledgeable Draco was of Muggle photography and photojournalism. Every day I found myself learning something new from him.

Every day I found myself falling in love even more. Okay, maybe not every day because he was kind of annoying yesterday.

Another year later, when Draco had settled into his routine of being a part-time photojournalist, part-time author, and worked on tweaking his camera inventions, we bought our first house together and adopted our first baby girl.

When we'd first met, again after the war, I didn't even know he wanted kids.

I couldn't believe that I'd been so lucky.

THE END