A Black Rose

"You're quiet tonight."

Harry glanced up at his lover, admiring for a moment the play of firelight across Draco's face.

"I have a lot of thoughts, I guess. Sorry, what were you saying?" he said, hoping to soothe the insult he knew Draco was feeling. The blond had been murmuring soft words for some time without interruption as they sat together in front of the fire, sipping red wine and tasting desserts from a new bakery in Hogsmeade. Harry had barely heard a word.

"I was asking how long you could stay this time."

Harry glanced at the clock on the wall. "Another few hours at least." He reached up and lightly traced a finger down Draco's cheek, ending with a soft caress across his pale lips. "Shall we make the most of it?"

"Hmm," Draco rumbled his agreement, brushing his lips across Harry's and licking at the junction of jaw and neck before making his way slowly down his lover's naked chest. He placed a soft kiss above Harry's navel. "We wouldn't want to keep the little wife waiting."

Harry felt a pang run through his chest and he opened his mouth to speak, not entirely sure what words would begin pouring out. But nothing happened. No sounds escaped from him except a moan as Draco bit into his hipbone.

No, he thought to himself. We wouldn't want that.

"Now, there are three types of magic that can be used without one's wand."

"I'm sorry, Auror Potter, but did you just say magic without a wand?"

Harry smiled at Jean Halloway's expression, her nose crinkled up in confusion. She was one of his best students in the advanced Auror classes, always prepared and eager to learn. He would have thought she was related to Hermione in some way, if she hadn't been from one of the oldest Pureblood families in England.

"Yes, I did Miss Halloway."

"But sir!" she began before he could continue. "No one can do wandless magic. It's just an old folk legend."

"While it is true that wandless magic has been fictionalized and exaggerated throughout the ages, it does indeed exist," Harry lectured. "It's simply the case that most wizards and witches can't do it. Wandless magic takes an extreme amount of concentration, much more than the average person is willing to dedicate in order to learn it. Plus, there is a threshold for the power level. You could be the most determined student on the planet, but if you don't possess enough power and focus, you'll never be able to wield magic wandlessly. Now, for the some of you who still don't believe me, I offer this as my proof. Accio!"

One of the many books that lined the walls of the classroom flew across to land in Harry's hand, which he had flung out in the direction of the bookcase. The class stared at him, stunned.

"That was the first level of wandless magic. I still say the incantation aloud, and I use a physical gesture to focus myself, just as you all use your wand gestures to focus your magic. The second level of wandless magic requires only the gesture: by this point, you will have garnered enough focus and control to leave out the incantation, and can simply say it in your head as you, once again, find an appropriate gesture."

Harry demonstrated again, giving his wrist a quick twirl and summoning the quill right out of Jean's hand. She gasped in surprise, before breaking into a huge grin. Harry matched it with one of his own.

"And finally, the third and last level of wandless magic, requiring neither incantation nor gesture: one simply thinks it, wills it, believes it, and the magic will happen."

Harry's eyes narrowed in concentration and he let go of the quill. It hovered in mid-air before it slowly made its way back to Jean and insinuated itself in between her fingers in the perfect position for her to continue writing. The class stared in shock for a moment, before bursting into applause. Once Harry managed to get them to quiet some, he continued speaking.

"Now, I know that this is some fascinating stuff, and that quite a bit of you will want to try learning wandless magic immediately, but I must warn you to use extreme caution when doing so. Without the focus of a wand, magic can develop a life and personality of its own, especially when the wizard or witch wielding the magic is in a very high emotional state. The results may end up just fine, or instead become the complete opposite of what you intended. Obviously, this magic can quickly turn dangerous. So, even though we will be spending the next few weeks learning some wandless spells in the event that you are separated from your wand while on duty, I advise against using wandless magic in heightened emotional states if at all possible. The fact is, no matter how much you attempt to focus, there's no guarantee that the magic will bend to your will. And that is when things can go terribly, terribly wrong."

A knock came at the door, before it opened slightly to allow Ginny to poke her head into the classroom. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak with you as soon as class is over."

Harry nodded. "Just give me five minutes."

Ginny shut the door quietly, but Harry could hear her soft footsteps as they echoed down the hall. He pulled his attention back to quickly finishing his lecture and assigning the homework, even as his mind stayed firmly on Ginny's expression as she had stared at him with wide eyes.

Harry rolled over, trying to get comfortable. The bed was too soft. He had said so when they first purchased it, but Ginny had insisted, complaining that every other bed was as uncomfortable as he now found this one. His movement stirred Ginny, who snuggled closer, her hair tickling his chest.

"Mhmm, Harry," she murmured softly, fingers curled delicately against him. She crinkled her nose and then settled fully back into slumber, her breaths becoming deeper and deeper.

Harry watched her, unable to understand the conflicting emotions that raced inside him as he did. No matter what he did with Draco, no matter how much he was in love with the other man, he could not shake the affection and protective fondness he still had for his wife. They had known each other as children, fought together, laughed together, her family had adopted him as one of their own, no questions asked, and now…

And now he couldn't imagine a world where she wasn't a part of his life, in one way or another. He knew that if he ever left her, ever broke it off between them, she would be devastated, and he would lose more than just his wife. He would lose a friend, a confidante, part of his family. But he also knew that if Ginny ever found out about Draco, she would leave him. The fire that burned within her that he loved so much would be turned against him, and he would be left alone, bereft of his family, the loves of his life. All that would be left would be the smoke, blinding and choking him with its darkness. And maybe it was selfish, but Harry felt that he had suffered enough darkness in his life.

"What's wrong?"

Harry winced internally. Draco had been in the room for a grand total of five seconds and already he was utterly fucked. He had created a whole plan, a way to ease into the topic with the least amount of potential damage arising from his fumbling words. Apparently though, Draco had no interest in being treated kindly: the truth was all that mattered as far as he was concerned. For a Slytherin, it was amazing how much honesty Draco demanded of himself and others--as long as it was to his own advantage, of course. Then again, Draco was a prominent businessman, and as such was always quick to gauge other people's moods, trying to see if they were keeping something from him. With Harry though, he apparently had some goddamn map to reading emotions, and he had gotten so good that it was a map he need hardly reference any more. Therefore Harry knew that unless he could pull this off immediately, there would be no hope for the conversation he had imagined.

"Why would anything be wrong?" he deferred, trying to put on a happy face, his smile feeling stiff and plastic even as he formed it. "How's your week been? The merger still giving you hell?"

"Don't bullshit me, Harry," Draco snapped. "We've known each other too long for that."

"Nothing is wrong--"

"Harry, look at me." He did. "Now, we could go through the whole process of you lying and me calling you on it, back and forth for the next few minutes, or we could cut the shit and you could tell the truth. Right now."

Harry just looked down, avoiding Draco's gaze. "Look, I don't know how to say this…"

"So just say it! What could possibly be so big that you can't even--"

"Ginny's pregnant."

Draco stared at him, stunned. Then he let out a loud, false laugh. "I'm sorry. I just hallucinated for a second. It sounded like you just said that your wife was--was--"

"She is," Harry said. "She's pregnant."

"Huh," Draco said thoughtfully. "Is it yours?"

"Draco!"

"What? You've been spending all this time with me; I find it entirely possible that she's found someone else to--"

"Yes, it's mine," Harry said brusquely. "I even--we even know what night he was conceived."

"It's a boy then."

"Yes, he's a boy. And he's my boy, Draco. My son."

"Well," Draco said after a moment. "Congratulations are in order then. You're going to be a father."

"Yeah, yeah I am."

"I suppose this means the little wife will want a larger house. After all, you're starting a family now. You're pulling everything together. Nothing is as important to a man as his wife and children. In fact, you might even say that--"

"Draco, don't be like that," Harry interrupted quietly. "I didn't plan this, no, but I certainly don't take it back, or wish that it had never happened. This---this is a blessing."

"Curse is more like it," Draco mumbled. He cleared his throat, ignoring Harry's disappointed glare. "Is that all you had to say then? Excellent."

Before Harry could speak, Draco had leaned forward and placed his mouth against Harry's neck, roughly sucking at the pulse point and eliciting an involuntary cry from his throat. He shoved Harry back against the wall, ignoring the man's protestations as he continued to nip and mark the pale skin. Finally he used his own mouth as a silencer, placing his lips over Harry's in an attempt to quiet his lover. Draco's hand trailed smoothly down hard stomach to reach the bulge in Harry's pants, but that was when the brunet finally found his bearings and shoved hard against Draco's chest, sending the man back a few paces.

"I said no," Harry panted roughly. "Weren't you listening?"

In truth, Draco had not been. He had stopped listening the moment he had learned his lover had impregnated someone, and a roar had risen up in his head to block out all other sounds. He looked at Harry's ravished neck, surprised he hadn't broken the skin he had been so attentive. Then his eyes traveled upward to the look of betrayal on Harry's face and he couldn't help the tightening that suddenly pervaded his stomach.

"Harry," Draco licked his lips, trying to find out where his voice had gone. "Harry, I--"

"I can't see you anymore."

The blond paused for a moment, before such words rose up in this throat that he thought he would hardly be able to speak them before the rest of the world ended, just as surely as he felt his own world beginning to unravel.

"So--it's like that then." It was not a question. "Just like that. Well, fuck."

"She's pregnant, Draco, and she's my wife. I've already betrayed her enough, but what am I-- How am I supposed to look at my son if I continue--" Harry broke off.

"If you continue what? Fucking another man? Letting another man fuck you? Not loving your fucking cunt of a wife?"

Draco found himself shoved against the wall before he could blink. He did so now, furiously, as he tried to breathe with Harry's elbow lodged against his throat.

"How dare you," Harry snarled.

Draco shoved Harry off of him, taking in great gasps of air even as he furiously spoke.

"How dare you, leaving me for that harpy! She's the most needy, clingy sob story that ever clawed her way into a man's life. The only reason you're with her is because you're a coward who doesn't want to face the blow out you know will happen if you ever leave her!"

"That is my wife you're talking about!"

"Yes, and more the fool you are for having married her!"

"No, that's not what makes me a fool." Harry shook his head. "I'm a fool for ever being involved with a Death Eater with the moral compass of Runespoor! I'm a fool for thinking that childhood grudges were behind us! I'm a fool for ever thinking that a bit of sex could be worth more than my marriage! Well, I refuse to be a fool any longer. It's over, we're done."

"No, we're not," Draco laughed.

Harry ignored him, turning and walking toward the door.

"You watch, Harry Potter. You may think you're in control, but you're not. This isn't over, and it never will be. Go play pretend, go play house with your happy little family; and when you lie awake at night and wonder why you can't fall asleep, you'll think of me. You'll think of me, and you'll know how foolish you were, to give me up. Harry." Draco called out, softly.

He stopped, right at the doorway.

"That child, however much you love it, will not fill all the holes in your marriage, all the holes in your life. You can try and make him be your everything, but he won't be. You'll see me again, and you'll do so because you want to. Because you'll have realized that perfection is boring, and that you need me to shake things up. You need me, Harry. You just can't see it yet."

Harry swallowed. "You're wrong."

He walked out the door before he could look back.

"Almost there, almost there! Now, push! Push!!!"

The Mediwitch's voice was drowned out by Ginny's scream, a long harsh wail that left Harry's ears ringing. Or maybe that was the sight of their son entering the world. He felt blown away and kept trying to find his breath, which continued to evade him.

Moments later and his breath still had not come, though he was now holding a screaming baby covered in plasma and swathed in cloths as the Mediwitch allowed him to sever the umbilical cord and began to clean his son. Normally, fathers and other family members were asked to wait outside the delivery room, as too much magic in the birthing atmosphere could affect the baby. Only the mother, whose magic the baby had been familiar with since conception, and the Mediwitch, who was trained to neutralize her magic for such procedures, were allowed during the actual birth. But when he had kissed Ginny's forehead and started to leave when her screams had gotten louder, Harry had been stopped by the Mediwitch, who cheerfully invited him to stay for the entire event. Harry was certain that if he was anyone other than the Boy-Who-Lived he would never have been allowed the privilege.

Such self-centered thoughts. A bit on the egotistical side, are we, Potter?

Harry gave himself a shake. No. He was not there. He didn't hear him. All he could hear was Ginny's slowing pants, the Mediwitch's assurances, and the steady, soft breathing of the infant in his arms. The son that he had worked so hard to have.

Given up so much to have is more like it.

Shut up, Harry told himself. You will not ruin this for me. I refuse to let this be ruined.

He looked down at the baby in his arms, at the bright blue eyes of infancy that stared up unseeing at the world, and took a gulp of fresh air.

He would make it work. He had to.

Diagon Alley was buzzing with shoppers, a myriad of colors spinning in and out of focus as wizards and witches traveled from shop to shop in the narrow street to pick out their purchases. Harry tightened his grip on Al's hand, not wanting to lose his son to the crowd that rushed around them, and kept a sharp eye on Teddy. His godson had a knack for disappearing into dark corridors and alleyways when left to his own devices. It must have been the Marauder blood sneaking through, though Harry was sure he himself had never been so recklessly inquisitive at that age.

On second thought, maybe not.

"Oopmh!"

Harry looked down in amusement at the blur that had run into his legs. A little blond boy had run straight into him with enough force to knock himself to the ground, where he now sat, head hung toward the cobblestone as his tiny shoulders shook for a few brief moments.

Harry looked around, but did not see anyone who would pass for the boy's parents. Still holding tightly to Albus's hand, he knelt down to the youth. "Are you alright?" he asked gently.

"Of course I am." The lad was already climbing to his feet, tears forgotten in the face of his onlookers.

Harry grinned despite himself. "Yes, I can see that. What's your name?"

"Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy," the boy said promptly. "And who are you?"

Harry froze. God, he was a fool. The boy looked just like his father, of course he was Draco's son. His baby fair blond hair hung loosely in gentle waves around his jaw, cheeks flushed though the rest of his skin was that soft, creamy alabaster Harry remembered. He couldn't have been more than six years old. The same age as Al.

"It's impolite to stare." God, he even had the single eyebrow raise down. Something deep in the pit of Harry's stomach clenched uncomfortably.

He shook himself, forcing a smile. "You're quite right. I'm sorry. My name is Harry Potter, and this is my son, Albus, and my godson, Teddy." Albus came forward from where he had been standing behind Harry, shyly extending his hand to shake Scorpius's. Harry turned expectantly for the second body, but when no Teddy emerged, a slight panic overcame him.

He turned around quickly, analyzing every angle of the shops and bustling castle. No sign of Teddy. Harry turned back to Albus and Scorpius, not wanting to lose any more children before the day was through. The boys were talking quietly together, Al listening with a smile on his face as Scorpius gestured wildly in what Harry assumed was an imitation of a Quidditch player.

"My daddy played Seeker, too!" Albus interrupted Scorpius's ongoing chatter.

"At Hogwarts?" Scorpius checked.

"Yup!"

"Did he play with Father?"

Albus's face screwed up in thought, his nose crinkling in the way that made Harry's breath catch every time without fail. "I dunno. Daddy?" He tugged on the sleeve of Harry's robe. "Did you play with Scor-pi-us-ses--" Harry smiled at Al's pronunciation of the Malfoy boy's name "--daddy at school?"

"Yes, I did."

"Did you play for Slytherin, too?" Scorpius asked brightly. The word 'Slytherin' was delivered in a reverent tone.

"Well--I--" Harry stuttered.

"No, Scorpius. Potter played for Gryffindor, didn't you, Harry?" came a voice behind Harry.

Harry stiffened again. It had been eight years, but he would still know that voice anywhere, even fifty years from now. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he had logically deduced that if Malfoy's child was running around in Diagon Alley, then Draco must be close by as well. He just hadn't expected…

He turned around as Scorpius ran to his father, talking excitedly the whole time. Draco had bent down on one knee to receive a hug from his son and was listening attentively to his story. He didn't even glance at Harry, who was surprised by how much the dismissal stung. He himself couldn't tear his eyes away once he looked at his former lover. Draco was dressed in fine robes of a deep blue that reminded Harry of the ocean. The fabric rippled when he moved, intimating the angles of a body Harry could still picture whenever he closed his eyes. His hair was different, cut shorter in the back but still with a few pieces hanging long in front, every once and a while falling into his eyes. And then Draco was looking at him, those grey eyes cutting right through him as the man stood up straight, one hand remaining on his son's shoulder, face calm and clear.

"Harry. Thank you for finding my son."

"I…" Suddenly all the moisture left Harry's throat. "I--"

"Harry!" Teddy came storming around the corner, bright green hair tumbling about his head as he laughed and laughed, amber eyes sparkling. "You'll never guess what just happened! I was in Uncle George's shop and this massive pile of fireworks were in the center of the floor and--hello! Who's this little fellow?" He leaned down to Scorpius, who looked at him distrustfully as he clung to his father's hand.

"Teddy," Harry said, trying to inject some form of authority in his tone, "this is Draco Malfoy and his son, Scorpius."

Teddy immediately straightened up, the smile fading from his face. "Malfoy?"

"Yes," Harry answered before Draco would be able to interfere. "His son and Al have been getting on while he was lost. I'm sure Malfoy is very happy to be reunited with his son, as any parent would be when their child simply goes missing without one word."

Teddy cringed a bit at the obvious chastisement. "Sorry, Harry. But you should've seen the fireworks that Uncle George had! They were brilliant!"

Harry again wondered if he had some how landed himself with Sirius's offspring instead of Lupin's. The similarities in the Marauder blood were almost too much to bear.

"Sorry to interrupt," Malfoy said, "but we must be going. Scorpius, say goodbye to Mr. Potter and his family."

"Goodbye, Mr. Potter," Scorpius said dutifully. "Thank you for returning me to my father, and for letting me speak with your son. Albus, I hope to see you again." He executed a short little bow, and then marched away with his father, who merely nodded gracefully to Harry as they left.

With Albus tugging him along to Quality Quidditch Supplies and Teddy chattering endlessly in his ear as they moved through the crowd, Harry did his best to get the hurt from Draco's cool indifference out of his mind.

As was usual when trying ignore Draco, he wasn't very good at it.

Harry opened the door, hardly believing his eyes as he stood aside for Draco and Scorpius Malfoy to enter his home. After the chance meeting in Diagon Alley, Albus had refused to stop talking about the little blond boy that wanted to be the next Slytherin Seeker who would captain the team to a Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. Luckily Harry had managed to quiet him whenever Ginny was around, with the promise that Scorpius would be allowed to come over and play soon. That tactic only lasted for a few days before Albus threw a real tantrum, which was rare within itself. He was usually such a quiet child. Harry had finally broken down and written to Malfoy, inviting Scorpius to a play-date at his house when he knew Ginny would be out running errands with James, and Lily was enjoying a day with her grandmother. And now, here they were.

Albus was already jumping up and down with excitement, grasping Scorpius by the hand and dragging him outside to play, talking a mile a minute. That left Harry and Draco in the entryway, staring at each other uncomfortably. Well, at least on Harry's part.

After a few moments of silence, Draco gave Harry a sharp nod and started toward the door.

"Um…would you like a drink?"

Draco turned around, face unreadable. "Merlot?"

Harry couldn't help but smile a little. "Always."

He guided Draco back to his study, summoning the wine and glasses. He poured in silence, trying not to look as self-conscious as he felt. Draco didn't speak either, which was unnerving in itself, for Harry couldn't remember a time when Draco wasn't making some type of noise. His face was impassive, and Harry thought there was something missing, but then perhaps it looked so strange because Harry was remembering the times Draco had laughed or smiled or pretended not to blush or looked at him with softened eyes. But then, Draco had rarely done any of those things, and perhaps that's what made the few occasions stand out so sharply in Harry's mind, and what made him miss them.

"Fuck," Harry said distinctly. Draco's hand had brushed his as he reached for the wine glass and Harry knocked it over, spilling wine all over the carpet. "Shit, Ginny's going to fucking kill me."

He knelt down next to the burgundy stain, attempting to blot it out with a damp towel he summoned from the bathroom. He looked up when Draco cleared his throat above him.

"May I remind you that you're a wizard, Harry?"

A simple spell and the spot vanished, the carpet looking pristine once more. Harry climbed awkwardly to his feet, feeling a bit foolish as he poured another glass to replace the spilt one. "Thanks," he mumbled, gulping down some of the wine in an effort to relax. "Sometimes I forget and do things the Muggle way."

Draco didn't respond, and was now wandering about the room, sipping his wine and pulling out random books from Harry's shelves. "Still have quite the collection, I see," he commented.

"Yes. I've added a bit, over the years. A friend of mine opened up a rare book shop, actually, so I've managed to get quite a few prizes." He was babbling, oh God, he was babbling. "I even got a few first editions now, Muggle and Wizarding. The kids know not to come in and play with the books, but they love it when I read to them before bed." God, why couldn't he just shut up?

"Scorpius enjoys bedtime reading as well," Draco offered, though his attention was focused on a leather-covered book on the far side of the room.

They lapsed into silence again. Harry finished his glass and poured himself another, gulping it down as well. Damn it, this was a mistake. He should have just let Draco leave as soon as Scorpius was through the door. What were they supposed to do now? They'd never been friends. They could talk easily enough, but the easy camaraderie that he shared with Ron was something that he knew Draco and him would never have. Especially now. There was too much that had been scattered for them to reassemble into something resembling a friendship, or even an acquaintance. Other than their children they no longer had anything in common. Nothing.

"Harry?"

He looked up, startled to find Draco only a few paces away. He hadn't felt him move across the room.

"Yes?"

Draco started to speak, and then stopped. "I should go. Thank you for the wine. I'll be back for Scorpius around three."

He turned and walked away. Harry stood there for a moment, staring at the empty wine glass, before his head snapped up and he flew across the room. "Draco!"

The blond turned immediately, and that was it, right there in his eyes. That was what Harry had been missing. That, and maybe some other things as well. He stopped just a hair's breadth away, his body nearly vibrating with anticipation, searching Draco's face for a clue. But the man just stood there, not moving. Harry nearly cried out in frustration and indecision. He couldn't act without knowing he would be accepted. Even Gryffindors are sometimes short on courage. Then he realized that Draco was waiting. Waiting for something. Why wasn't he saying anything, letting Harry know what he wanted him to do?

And then Harry realized that Draco was waiting for him. That he wasn't going to make the first move. Not after the last time. So he stepped forward, smothering the groan that rattled within him as their chests brushed against each other and his arms came around the man in front of him, one hand curling around his waist and the other around his neck, pulling him forward until their lips were almost touching.

Draco still hadn't said anything, hadn't made one move to encourage or discourage Harry. He stood there, eyes firmly on Harry, waiting. His cool breath came out in puffs against Harry's lips, which were slowly curving into a smile.

Drcao could still feel the ghost of a smile as Harry kissed him, slowly and deeply and reverently, as if he hadn't been kissed in years. And he hadn't, not by Draco at least. Who knew what vile idea of marriage the girl Weasel thought to be appropriate. But it was of no consequence. This was all that mattered: Harry kissed him, tongue wrapping around his own, smoothing its way across his upper lip, teeth nudging gently against the bottom, body pressed so tightly against him that Draco could feel the paneling of the oak door rubbing against his back. Harry kissed him, and the years fell away, leaving behind impressions of sorrow and longing that were slowly being clouded over with flashes of sunlight and dazzling smiles. Harry kissed him, and he could hear his favorite song start ringing in his ear.

Harry kissed him.

"Well, haven't done that in a while."

Harry couldn't help but smile. He turned his face into Draco's shoulder, enjoying the wide span of his torso. It had been fast and passionate and absolutely wonderful. He couldn't think of how he had lived so long without it. "What time is it?" he asked, feeling delightfully groggy. Sleep had come so hard the past few years.

"About a quarter to three. Which means we still have time for one more go," Draco smirked, turning suddenly and trapping Harry underneath him. Harry didn't even pretend to struggle.

"Oh, I see what your angle is now. Trick me into endless bouts of sex and…" Harry trailed off. "Wait! What did you say?"

"Doesn't matter." He nipped Harry's earlobe lightly. The brunet groaned involuntarily.

"No, wait. Ginny--"

"Not really a name I want to hear right now."

"She'll be home soon. We have to get the boys ready."

"No we don't. We have to have another mind blowing shag."

"No, we can't. I can't. Ginny--"

"Fuck her," Draco said, tonguing his way along skin and muscle.

Harry's laugh caught in his throat. "I thought that was the problem."

"No," Draco replied, pulling back to look Harry in the eye, his hands wrapped around the brunet's wrists, holding them firmly in place above Harry's head. "The problem wasn't the fucking. The problem was when fucking turned into making love. The problem was when mutual desire turned into a one woman wanking spree. The problem was when you let her control you, instead of me."

Harry tried to speak and failed. Draco lowered his head, speaking softly and clearly into Harry's ear.

"You've already walked away from me once, Harry. You walked away from us. Based on recent activities, I think it's safe to say that you rather regret that decision. Considering your track record, things haven't much improved. So I think a little change is in order. We can do this my way, or we can do it not at all. It's your choice. But Harry, if you walk away again, I can't promise you I'll be so receptive the next time you return. And you know that you will return."

Slowly, never taking his eyes off of Harry's, Draco removed his hands from Harry's wrists and pulled back. Not too far, but far enough. Enough to make his point, to make a gesture, to garner a reaction.

Harry stared up at Draco, eyes flitting endlessly across his face, tracing out the bone structure with his retinas, drinking in the play of light that hit the slant of Draco's irises. Slowly, ever so slowly, Harry placed his wrists back into Draco's grip, and raised them back over his head.

"Daddy, are you done yet?"

"Just--a moment, sweetheart," came the soft reply. Funny, Albus thought, he could usually hear his father's voice fine through the bathroom door. But he sounded all wrong, and his breath was heavy, and he almost thought he heard a grunt of pain, but that was silly, because his father's voice sounded deeper than that.

"Are you okay, Daddy? You sound funny."

"I--I'm fine, Al. I'll be--right out. Two--minutes."

"Well, okay. But hurry, or Mum says you're going to miss out on the cake," the boy said doubtfully before he scampered off.

Albus had just started in on his piece of chocolate cake when his father emerged from the house and walked over to his mother, giving her a kiss on the cheek as he swiped a piece of cake. His parents chatted above him, small smiles on their faces as they watched children race around the backyard, balloons floating up into the sky. Albus watched, happily licking frosting off of his fingers, oblivious to the blond man that left the house a few moments later, exchanging a heated look with his father before disappearing into the night.

"You're going out again."

Fuck. Harry hated that tone. The tone that wasn't a question, just a statement that filled with him with memories of bitter resentment and a recently cold marriage bed. He looked back at his wife, his beautiful wife clad in full length pajamas even though it was August, and couldn't help but feel a little relieved with the knowledge that by the time he returned home she would be asleep.

"I'm working on a really important case. The department heads have really been riding us to get it done quickly. I've got to meet my partner for a shift on watch duty."

"Why does it have to be now?" Sullen. Another great fucking tone. One that would inevitably lead to anger. Fucking perfect.

"It was either now or miss all afternoon and dinner with you and the kids."

"Fine."

She stood up and crossed over to her dresser. She sat down and started to brush through her hair. He knew for a fact that she didn't need to, that she had already done that task earlier this evening. Yet there she was, concentrating so hard on each stroke of the brush, pulling steadily through her long, crimson hair. It was a different shade of red from the rest of her family. A deeper auburn than orange. He had been very pleased when Albus was born. His curly dark hair had the same glint of red that hers did. It still stood up in the back, though, impossible to manage, just as Harry's own hair. Harry was grateful for the physical reminder that Albus was his child, that another piece of himself was living. It gave him hope that he could use that piece to try and fill the emptiness that still tore at him every day. The emptiness he tried so hard to ignore and pretend away, but still kept on coming back, stronger with each new wave, until he found something to fill it. And now that he had found that something, someone that could erase the emptiness for a while, he knew he wouldn't be able to give him up.

Harry watched, saying nothing as Ginny continued her pointless task. He could pick out the very moment when her frustration broke, and she immediately stopped her false grooming, throwing the brush loudly onto the dresser.

"I'm going to bed now," she said. Her movements were jerky, irritable, quick--as if she wanted nothing more than to emphasize her displeasure. As if he didn't already know. "I'll probably be asleep when you get back," she added.

Right. No sex tonight. Well, that was fine. Though he still took physical gratification in the act, he had long since sought out his wife for sexual satisfaction, for a pleasure that was anything more than carnal. While the love he felt for her had done nothing but grown with each passing year, the passion had begun to wilt. And the resurgence of his affair with Draco had only accelerated that death.

He nodded to acknowledge her statement, and the unspoken message behind it. Then he let her be, not looking back to see her face crumple in the pale candlelight.

The house elf let him in. He knew that she would. He followed her down the entryway and into the parlor, admiring the house as he hadn't done before. Each time he came over details kept popping out at him, things he had never noticed. Like how the red oak paneling caught the light as the sun came in through the west-facing windows. How magnificent the large spiral staircase was, hugging those same windows and burning a warm red underneath the sun. How the carpet felt beneath his feet, as if he were walking barefoot through clouds even though he still had both shoes on. Charmed, of course. Probably for the eternal delight of little feet as they ran back and forth across the hall, mother screaming for them to slow down, even as she burst into laughter with every other breath. The father looking on fondly, face turning back to disapproving the moment the child looked back to check. It was a game he himself had played many times with his own family. Wait, he had forgotten himself. Surely this family had never indulged in such an unrefined manner of behavior.

He waited in the parlor, sitting in the chair for a moment, before getting up to pace. He had never been kept waiting so long. Something must be wrong. Well, of course something was wrong, that was why he was here. There must be something on the other end, though. Something that he missed before now. Because he had never been kept waiting—

He turned to face her as she entered the room. She seemed startled; evidently she had been attempting a silent entrance and hadn't anticipated being seen until she was in place. She wasn't half bad at it actually, but even with the soft carpet, all his Auror training focused in on her breathing, the sound of her hair falling, the way her robes swirled gently about her slightly rounded belly. He took one look at it and then refused to look back down there again, forcing himself to focus on her face instead. Which wasn't that much of a hardship, really, as she had a very pretty face, especially with the glow of pregnancy about her. The icy look she gave him deterred his feeling of goodwill, however.

"Mrs. Malfoy," he said, giving her a brief bow of his head.

She greeted him with an indifferent, "Mr. Potter," inclining her head only slightly, before moving further into the room to take a seat.

Feeling awkward standing, Harry followed her leave. They sat in silence for few moments, before Harry realized he would have to be the one to speak first.

"I'm sure you're wondering what I'm doing here."

"Not at all. Though I'm sure you are wondering the same thing."

Pretty, but strange he thought. "No, I had expected you might be here. It is your house, after all."

"You misunderstand me, Mr. Potter. I was simply implying that the person you wanted to see was not me, but my husband."

An awkward silence transpired, as Harry didn't quite know how to respond. Though, he was having an inkling that the current Mrs. Malfoy was just as sharp as the previous one. Right, there was only one way to go about this: deny, deny, deny.

"I do have some business with your husband. The Ministry sent me, and I'm afraid they were quite specific that I speak with him."

"I see." She stared at him for a moment. Harry began to wonder how long she would want to play this game. "Tea?"

Apparently a bit longer. He nodded his thanks and accepted the cup and saucer she handed to him, noticing as she did that the appropriate amount of milk and sugar had already been added. "How did you…" Harry trailed off.

"It's how Draco takes it," she answered, sipping delicately at her own drink.

"Right." Harry was starting to get extremely uncomfortable now. He gulped down some tea. Where the devil was Draco?

"How is your…er…er…"

"Coming along quite nicely. I'm hoping for a girl this time."

"Don't you already know? The tests—"

"Yes, well. Some of us are a bit old-fashioned. My husband knows, though. He was quite adamant about it. Draco never likes to be kept in the dark."

"Mhmm," Harry agreed, sipping at his tea again. He watched as Astoria Malfoy placed her tea aside and leaned back in her chair, eyeing him thoughtfully.

"So, why are you really here Mr. Potter?"

He spoke before he realized he was doing it. "I'm in love with Draco."

Shit, Harry thought, looking down at his traitorous tea in horror. Oh, this was a bad, bad idea. Fucking cunning Slytherins and their fucking cunning Veritaserum.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. Right now."

He tried to get up.

He tried again.

He tried a third time before he shot a rather desperate look at the woman in front of him, who was smiling pleasantly and didn't look at all bothered that he had just confessed his love for her husband. She probably heard such declarations all the time.

Fucking Slytherins.

"How long?" she asked, stroking the arm of her chair lightly with the tips of her fingers.

"Since I started training the new Aurors in addition to my own casework."

He concentrated now, pooling his reserves together to create a powerful blast of wandless magic that would rid him of this forsaken chair and this god awful conversation.

"And does he love you in return?"

Harry tried, he really did. He bit down on his lower lip so hard that it bleed, and even then he still tried. But eventually, the potion won.

"Yes."

With that final declaration, Harry burst forth from his chair in a wave of wandless magic and raced for the door. He could hear Astoria calling behind him, could feel the wood beneath his hands and that ridiculous carpet beneath his feet. He pounded down the staircase, going as fast as could, nearly slipping at one point but he caught himself on the railing and he was alright. He raced on, trying to find the door, and god damn it why were there so many bloody corridors in this house and the stupid anti-Apparation charms, and then there was a horrible, terrified scream—

He looked back in horror, watched as she slipped and fell, still at the top of the stairs.

And he tried, he tried so hard, and there wasn't time to search for his wand in his stupid robes and he flung all the wandless magic that he could to try and save her, but it had been so long, and he couldn't control it and fuck it had been so long since he had to concentrate this hard and he was losing it and she was still falling falling falling and oh god was that the door opening behind him and his magic was still pouring out of him, flinging itself uselessly in her direction and crumpling the stairs inward, the wood breaking and warping beneath her and shit shit shit that wasn't good and she was still fucking falling god why wouldn't she stop falling and NO….

He blinked away the darkness to see high ceilings and hear his lover's voice barking out incantation after incantation, trying to revive his wife from a fatal fall. A fall that had been Harry's fault. If he had just turned around, answered her, if he hadn't used magic and twisted the wood which created sharp edges, then maybe--no. The fall would have killed her anyway. He'd never know. Harry sat up slowly, exhausted from the expense of magical energy that he had performed. That he had failed to perform, rather. His movements caught Draco's attention, and he stopped his spell work to stare at Harry.

"What did you do?"

Harry didn't have an answer. He could feel slime all up and down his throat, not letting him speak, not letting him explain, not letting him say how horrified and sorry he was. The silence stretched between them, and he watched as his lover clutched at the dead woman in his arms, small spots of blood freckling his pale skin. He could almost pretend that they weren't blood if he concentrated hard enough. If he forgot the smell of rust and life pouring into the air, mixing with her expensive perfume and clinging to his mind with clawed hands that refused to let go. He didn't know how much time had passed. It could have been seconds. It could have been hours. He sat there and watched the blood travel along the marble floor, swirling in riveting spirals between the stone pieces.

"What did you do!?" Draco repeated harshly. His voice echoed in the large room.

"I…" Harry tried again. "She fell. I was leaving…she came after me and…she fell."

"She just fell? Just tripped and fell?" Draco's voice was disbelieving.

"I tried to help, but, Draco you know how erratic wandless magic is, and I--"

"Shut up."

Harry stared at he blond, watched as he delicately wiped away the blood trickling out of the corner of Astoria's mouth. It smeared a little, painting her lips a vivid red. "Draco, I'm sorry, I--"

"Go away."

"What?"

"Go away, Potter! It's done. It's finished…It's finally finished."

He must still be in shock. That was why he heard those words. That was why he answered them with what he did. "You don't mean that."

Draco stared at him, emotions flitting across his face so quickly Harry couldn't read them.

"You killed my wife."

"What?" Harry exclaimed. "No, that's not what happened. I--"

"She was going to have a girl. Did she tell you that?" Draco demanded. "We were going to have a little girl." He looked down at Astoria, brushing aside a lock of hair that had fallen into her face. He stroked her cheek. "I was going to name her Rose."

"That's a nice name," Harry said automatically, immediately deciding never to mention that Ron and Hermione's daughter had the same name.

Draco laughed. It was a high-pitched, wretched sound, one that Harry had never heard before and had no desire to hear again.

"Astoria wouldn't have liked it. Would have thought it too common." His voice softened. "I thought it was sweet."

"It is sweet. It's a very sweet name," Harry said mechanically. He reached out to touch Draco's shoulder, to try and feel him.

Draco snarled at his touch, immediately shoved him off. "Don't touch me."

Well that was the most ridiculous thing Harry had ever heard. Not touch Draco? Impossible. Draco was just upset right now. Harry would give him some space, and soon he would calm down and everything would be alright. Everything would be fine.

Harry nodded this to himself over and over again as he left, walking slowly out the door, watching as Draco continued to hold his wife's corpse, continued to caress her large belly, blood beginning to soak his clothes. Harry told himself everything would be fine as he apparated home, slowly stripped off his clothes and got into bed with his wife. He repeated it like a mantra in his head, the only thought that made sense as he felt Ginny reach out for him in the darkness, her soft body pressing against his. Everything will be fine, he thought, as he pumped steadily in and out of her, vaguely registering her cries of pleasure, the bite of her nails sinking into his arms. When she finally flopped down onto the sheets, hand cupping her breast, and he could finally lay back and stare at the ceiling, he thought to himself: everything will be fine.

"Daddy?"

Harry looked up from his glass of scotch. Albus stood by his chair, his little hand placed over Harry's arm. Harry could barely feel it.

"Mum wants to know if you're coming to the park with us."

He lifted the glass to his lips, felt the smooth liquid pour down his throat.

"Daddy?"

Harry shook his head 'no.'

"Daddy…" His voice was soft, hesitant. "Daddy, what's wrong? Why don't you play with us anymore?"

"I'm sorry, son. Not today. I'll come with you tomorrow."

"But--"

"Albus. I'll come tomorrow."

"Yes, Daddy."

The boy walked to the door, shoulders slumped. Harry stared after him, feeling even more horrible than before. It was one thing to let himself be miserable; to have his children be affected was not something he wanted. He had never spoken in such harsh tones to Albus. But he couldn't help himself. He stared at the fireplace and watched the blaze, burning brightly at two in the afternoon in the heat of the summer.

With a howl that was either madness or despair Harry threw his glass into the fire. He took a grim satisfaction in the crash of the glass, the heightened flames from the alcohol, spilling almost dangerously out of the brick encasing for one brief moment. Harry continued to watch the fire consume the wood and felt the heat across his face, both a caress and a blow.

It's not that simple, he told himself. Life doesn't work that way. Someone doesn't come and save you from your life. You have to save yourself. You have to do this yourself.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Harry got up from his chair and left his study behind him.

Harry eyed his wife warily. Just because the explosion hadn't been immediate didn't mean there wasn't one coming.

"Well, I can't decide if I'm surprised or not. And I don't know if that's a bad thing."

Perhaps he wasn't explaining it well.

"I'm not sure I'm saying this right. I've been having an affair with Draco. We've been…well, for a while we've been together. It started a long time ago, before James was born, and then I broke it off and didn't see him. But, these past few months…" Harry twitched his shoulder in agitation. God he hated this, not knowing what to say. And Ginny was just looking at him, waiting for him to continue. Eventually he said, "I didn't mean for this to happen, but it did."

"Of course you didn't. That's beside the point."

Well, maybe. But Harry liked to think it counted for something.

"Are you still seeing him?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Not since Astoria died. All my owls are returned unopened. He--he doesn't want to see me."

"Well, then that makes two of us."

He flinched at her harsh tone. "Ginny, I just wanted to be honest with you."

"No, you didn't. You wanted to make yourself feel better. You wanted me to tell you it would all be alright."

"Well I--"

"You wanted me to forgive you, so you wouldn't feel so guilty."

"Gin--"

"You didn't tell me for me! You told me for you. And I hate you for it."

Harry was stunned. "Ginny--"

"Don't, Harry. Just, don't." Ginny stood there with her hand over her eyes, her other hand tightly gripping the chair in front of her.

Harry felt no relief from his confession as he thought he would, only shame that he had reduced them to this. And she was right. While he had wanted to finally tell her everything, to stop lying, and while he knew that he deserved every bit of her anger and resentment, a large part of him wanted her to understand what he had been through. He wanted her to take some responsibility for her shortcomings as well. To understand that he had tried to love her the way he loved Draco, but he just couldn't. And that it took two people to make a marriage fall apart, not just one.

Ginny finally broke the silence. "What now?"

Harry considered. "It's up to you. Ever since Astoria, Draco won't--he won't see me. And I don't…I don't know if he'll ever change his mind. We can stay together, raise the children together, but I can't…I don't know if I can keep going like we have been."

"Do you love me?"

Carefully, Harry answered, "In a way, yes. I've always loved you, and I always will."

"But you love him more."

He didn't answer.

"I can't," she said sharply. "If you're not mine, if all of you isn't there for me and the children, then I can't."

Harry nodded, staring at the far wall. "I understand."

He had to be honest. He looked at her pale, heart-shaped face, lovely in the soft light, cheeks flushed with emotion. She was his wife. She had been one of his best friends, part of his adoptive family, his first love, the mother of his children. She was heartbreakingly lovely.

And it wasn't enough.

Harry couldn't help but search the platform the moment they passed the magical barrier from King's Cross. Though Albus and Scorpius had kept up their friendship over the years, Harry had not seen Draco once since that horrible day. Al would either Floo to Malfoy Manor, or Scorpius would arrive accompanied by a house elf, which would watch him carefully the whole visit and always glared at Harry. Ginny didn't like it, but Al was smart enough to not mention the friendship too much around his mother, and Scorpius only visited when Albus was staying at Harry's flat, and so they often escaped her worrying over the Malfoy boy's influence.

Harry was less lucky. Though he and Ginny had divorced as quietly as possible three years ago, (which meant that the Daily Prophet only ran the story on the front page for a week before moving on to starving children in Africa) they still saw each other frequently for the benefit of the children. And since they shared custody, the main topic of conversation was always Ginny worrying about adverse affects from the divorce, even though all three kids constantly assured her they were fine. James had taken it the hardest, but now that he was at Hogwarts, and Harry would occasionally drop by for a guest lecture in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, he seemed to be doing better. Harry hoped the same thing would happen for Al, even though he had handled the divorce the best of all Harry's children.

Al was searching the platform now too, even though they had already caught up with Ron and Hermione, and Lily and Hugo were chatting animatedly while Rose stood there patiently, already in her new uniform.

"Alright, Harry?" Ron asked, smiling broadly. "It's about time the midgets went off to Hogwarts and gave us a bit more peace and quiet."

"Honestly, Ron, not now," Hermione said, rolling her eyes slightly. "Ginny, I have the most amazing new recipe I want you to try out. One of the Unspeakables gave it to me, said she had the entire dinner party clamoring for more the rest of the night."

"Still haven't got the cooking thing down, eh, Hermione?" Ginny asked good naturedly as she accepted the recipe and looked at it. "Good lord, how did your friend manage to find truffles at this time of year?"

Harry listened half-heartedly as the women discussed cooking technique and Ron blabbed on about last season's performance from the Chudley Cannons. Where was he? Surely he wouldn't let his son go off to Hogwarts by himself?

"Look who it is," Ron said, breaking off abruptly.

Harry and Albus both turned at the same time, but it was Al who broke into a huge grin and raced toward Scorpius, the two of them striking an immediate discussion of the merits of each House, or, in Scorpius's case, the merits of Slytherin. Harry had never told anyone but Ginny of his involvement with Draco, and since he had no idea how the blond would react, it would be foolish to react as Albus had done, even though he longed to cross the distance between them. Draco stood there calmly, impassively watching his son speak with Albus. Harry wondered if Draco was remembering the first time they had met, for that was what was going through his own mind as he watched their sons, who looked so much like the young versions of themselves, talk together, heads tilted toward each other in confidence. A confidence that now wrenched at his heart in its absence.

He watched Draco's face, which seemed so much harder than it did three years ago. Harry had managed to get a few pieces of information from Scorpius, though the child was remarkably tight-lipped about his father. Apparently business had never been better for the Malfoys, and Draco was making a killing with his investments, particularly a new line of beauty products simply named, The Darkest Rose. Harry thought he had even spied a few bottles of it in Hermione's bathroom the last time he had been over for dinner. Harry had no idea if Draco had taken a lover, though he himself had not. Even nineteen years later, it was nearly impossible to go on a date without the legend of the Boy Who Lived and the hero of the Battle of Hogwarts to get in the way. Most simply stared in awe at the Auror and war hero, leaving Harry uncomfortable and missing Draco's easy demeanor even more than ever.

Seeing Draco now, looking unruffled and calm in the face of Harry's own swirling emotions, left him both angry and lustful at the same time. Before he could even register the confused looks of his friends, and Ginny's almost resigned, expectant expression, he had crossed the distance between them and now stood a mere three feet away from Draco, who completely ignored him in favor of his son. He rested his hand lightly on Al's shoulder, more for his own support than anything else.

"Draco," he forced out over the sounds of the boys' chatter.

"Potter," the blond replied tonelessly, still keeping his gaze on Scorpius.

Harry barreled forward, trying not to show how much Draco's indifference was affecting him. "I hope you've been well."

"Yes, thank you."

Fine. Different tactic then.

"Scorpius, I'm sure you're excited about starting Hogwarts."

"Yes, Mr. Potter."

"You hope to be placed in Slytherin?"

"Hope has nothing to do with it, sir. I will be a Slytherin, and so will Al."

"Really?" Harry smiled. "Albus? What do you have to say about this?"

Al looked uncertainly between his friend and his father. "Er…well…"

"Al, did I ever tell you about how your mother and I decided on your name?"

Al shook his head no, Scorpius looked intrigued at the abrupt change in subject, and Draco was staring off into the distance.

"Perhaps the greatest Headmaster at Hogwarts was Albus Dumbledore. And the man who had the tremendous job of succeeding him was Severus Snape."

"Potter," Draco said harshly. "You will refrain from influencing my son with your lies."

"What lies? Do you deny that Snape was the Headmaster after Dumbledore? Or the difficulty of the task when he assumed that position?"

"Dumbledore was a blithering idiot who, despite whatever genius he possessed, lead his students straight into danger at every turn, as you well know!"

"And Snape?" Harry asked calmly.

"Severus was…Severus…," Draco tried again.

"What Mr. Malfoy is trying, very inarticulately, to say is that Severus Snape was a great wizard. Though I never cared for him, nor he for me, I acknowledge that he was an intelligent, brave man who was faced with some very difficult decisions, and handled them as best he could. And that without him, I would not be standing here today."

Draco stared at Harry, stunned.

Harry crouched down so he could look at Albus directly. "I've never really spoken to anyone about this before, and that was wrong of me. The role Severus Snape played in the war was acknowledged by the Ministry, and I did speak on his behalf then, but never expressed fully my understanding of him. Well," Harry amended, "my understanding of some of him. But the mistake is still mine. The point is, Al, I don't care whether you end up in Gryffindor or Slytherin or Hufflepuff."

Scorpius made a face of disgust behind Al's back, a subtle version of which appeared on Draco's face. Harry ignored them, focusing on his son. "I just want you to be happy at the place you're at. But if it really is that important to you, the Sorting Hat will let you choose for yourself."

"Really?" Al asked.

"Really," Harry replied, his smile growing larger when Al gave him an enthusiastic hug in return.

"Thanks, Dad," the boy whispered softly into Harry's ear. The brunet gripped his son tightly for a moment, and then stood up, ruffling his hair into disarray and causing Albus to step back from him, squirming and laughing at the same time.

At that moment, a loud whistle was emitted from the train, and the boys hurriedly said their goodbyes before nearly falling over themselves in their haste to board the Hogwarts Express. Harry watched his sons take off silently, unable to articulate the emotions welling within him. He turned to see Draco's handling of sending his only son to school, and was disappointed to see only an empty space beside him on the platform. The small ebbing of hope that he had allowed himself to keep grew smaller in that moment, but Harry steeled himself to face another day without the man he loved beside him, and walked back to where his ex-wife and friends were still chatting amiably, and where his daughter received him with a hug and a smile.

The group made its way from the platform to Kings Cross station, where they all piled in to Ron's new car, which Mr. Weasley had outfitted especially for him (with the condition that Mrs. Weasley never caught sight of it, of course). After a lovely spot of tea, Harry kissed Lily goodbye as she went to spend the week with her mother, and smiled for his friends as they wished him the best as he Apparated back to his empty apartment.

Harry nudged off his shoes and wandered over to the kitchen, pulling out a cool lager and drinking half of it in one go. He then dragged himself over to the bed and flopped down fully clothed on top of the covers, inexplicably tired and rather in the mood for a good, long nap. It was only as he was trying to get more comfortable that he noticed that the reason for his discomfort was a sharp object poking him in the ribs. Sitting up, Harry reached into the inner chest pocket of his jacket and carefully pulled out a black rose.

He stared at the flower in his hand for several long moments, trying to decipher the meaning. Slowly, a small smile made its way across his features, growing brighter with every passing second, until Harry was grinning as widely as possible, his whole face lit up with joy as he brought the rose to his nose and inhaled deeply. Laying the rose gently down on his bedside dresser, Harry took a deep breath and, trusting that the wards would be lowered, spun quickly and Apparated to Malfoy Manor. As soon as the dizzying rush of Apparition had passed, the next sensation Harry registered was the feeling of warm arms encircling his waist, and the press of lips against his neck.

"You're late," he heard Draco's voice mutter lowly, lips brushing against sensitive skin with every movement.

"I'm sorry," Harry said honestly. "It'll never happen again."

Harry was never quite sure what Draco said in reply in that moment. All he was sure of were the hands grasping his, the warmth of a familiar body moving with his own, and the lips that found themselves pressed against his as a rush of love and affection swept through him, and carried everything else away.

Finis.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Comments are always appreciated.