A very big thank-you to Mirabelle P for jumping the fence to help me with my French, Mrs J is lucky to have you xx

Epilogue Continued….

Harry's hand was still on the door knob when Draco started fumbling with his belt, crowding him back against the inside of the old black door, attacking his neck and making him groan as he drew his fly down. Draco was so bloody desperate to get started, there was a perfectly suitable bed upstairs and several serviceable couches in the next room but somehow he needed to fall to his knees and suck Harry off right here in the entrance.

Harry wore a revering smile when Draco looked up, and he shook his head as if in disbelief at the sight of his still quite tipsy boyfriend eyeing up his now exposed cock with eager greed.

"Christ– " he said, as Draco laved at the tip teasingly before taking him in properly. "I really bloody missed you," Harry breathed in satisfaction.

His left hand ghosted through Draco's hair, and his thumb stroked the side of his face, gently touching the arch of his brow, the sharpness of his cheekbone and the hard angle of his jaw. They were all more defined than usual when his cheeks hollowed with the pressure of a long sucking slide as he drew back. Draco wondered if it was normal to love the feeling of a heavy cock sliding across his tongue as much as he did, he fucking adored it.

Harry's hips twitched forward to meet Draco's mouth as he descended again. But Draco slapped a heavy palm to his stomach to keep him still. He wanted to do much more than foreplay this evening and having Harry fuck his face to completion was certainly not going to be enough. Draco bobbed his head and sucked for all he was worth, flat tongue caressing the pulsing underside with every move, all the while holding Harry fast against the door.

Harry was breathing in little sharp bursts above him. Draco glanced up to see that he was being watched intently, greedy green eyes following every move of his tightly stretched lips. Harry smiled again as their gazes met, and the look seemed far too soft, too peaceful when matched with the hungry need that had been there only a split second before.

"Let's go upstairs," Harry said, helping pull Draco to his feet, and then kissing him soundly for a minute. "I reckon I've only got one good one in me tonight." He tugged at Draco's belt buckle, sounding a little sheepish. "I'm knackered."

But then he mouthed his way down the side of Draco's throat in a way that suggested limitless ravishing energy and plucked open the buttons on Draco's shirt. "I need you first though, two months was way too long, don't ever let me go for that long again okay? God…" He pressed his face into Draco's collarbone, inhaling deeply. "You smell amazing, how can I miss the way someone smells?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused as he pulled back to look into Draco's face again.

Draco recognised his expression. It was one that never failed to turn him into a pile of sappy mush, not that he'd ever admit that out loud. Pure unguarded admiration was always good for the ego, but at close range when he was already moon-eyed from drink? Draco might well come in his trousers.

Harry breathed another one of those relieved little sighs as he pushed the shirt from Draco's shoulders, leaving him in just his thin vest. Harry's warm hands skimmed up his arms, and his left came up to cup his jaw, while his right travelled in a teasing path down the middle of his chest. He paused only briefly to untuck the vest and then slipped his fingers beneath the hem, baring Draco's stomach as he traced the fine trail of pale hair that ran from his navel south.

Coming in his trousers was seeming more and more likely. Draco actually felt his cock twitch as Harry murmured, "God, you make me mental."

Draco felt like he was in a mad dream, this crazy bastard, his crazy bastard, found it so easy to declare such things, and still after four years the honest emotion in these statements floored him. This was why he feared so much about Harry not returning from his trips, because he knew he would never meet someone like him ever again.

By the time they made it to the bedroom Harry had divested them both of most of their clothes. Draco retained only his boxer shorts, and Harry paused to kiss a bit more while he kicked his way out of his trousers, standing on the toes of his socks one at a time to wriggle his feet out of them. Draco grinned at the silly unbalanced manoeuvre, but Harry quickly steadied himself with a hand on Draco's shoulder, while the other found the tented cotton of Draco's shorts.

The warm and purposeful grip around his stiff length made Draco moan in anticipation, and the floor seemed to sway in time with Harry's delightful hand, making Draco realise how drunk he still was. It didn't seem to have any adverse effects on his performance capabilities though. He was so bloody hard the thing was nearly pointing at the ceiling.

Harry had noticed too, breaking the endless kiss to say, "Christ did you not even wank while I was gone?"

Draco nodded. "Of course I did, it's just you, you daft bugger, arriving early, looking fucking gorgeous by the way, telling that pap to fuck off," – and stating so very publicly that you love me, his sappy inner drunk gushed – "Merlin." He shuddered as Harry twisted his grip, and the first little jolts of the promise of climax zipped through him. "Stop, stop," he said urgently, batting at Harry's forearm, "too good."

Harry removed his hand, shoving Draco's shorts down as he did so, then twined their fingers together to pull Draco to the bed.

"Come on," he said, pushing Draco down and climbing top of him. "I've been dreaming about this for weeks." He kissed him again until Draco was flat on his back, Harry straddling his hips so that Draco's insistently hard cock rested against the cleft of his bare arse. The heat was so tempting he could feel his prick pulsing, pre-come leaking in a sticky rivulet down the head.

All his thoughts of a long leisurely welcome home shag were forgotten now. Harry was rocking back slightly, teasingly, as he assaulted Draco's throat and lips with his mouth. Draco couldn't wait. He muttered the only wandless charm he'd ever mastered – lube conjuration – and nudged his own dick out of the way to rub his slippery middle finger across Harry's exposed entrance. The angle was excellent, by far his favourite position for preparation, no awkward bent limbs or propping pillows required.

He also loved that when he slipped the first finger inside, Harry's groan of appreciation was much more intimate because their faces were so close together. Harry's hard cock grazed up and down Draco's stomach as he moved on Draco's finger, pushing back to feel it deeper, enjoying the slick friction completely uninhibited.

He breathed his approval in Draco's ear as a second was added. Draco curled and scissored them as far as he could reach. Harry's barely discernable murmurs of, "Yes… god Draco… missed this… so good," built and added to the pleasure growing inside him, and when he pushed his third finger through the hot, tight ring of muscle Harry kissed him fiercely, breaking only to pant more encouragement against his lips.

"Cock now," Harry said, a moment later, grinding back one last time on Draco's hand. He sat upright, reaching behind him to guide Draco in. His own prick was full and flushed, and Draco reached for it, but his fingers went slack as his attention was taken by the perfect and glorious sliding heat enveloping his own hard length.

They moaned in sync as Harry bottomed out, Draco could do little but stare in his pleasure-paralysed state. Harry was still upright, the orange streetlights from the window cast warm light over him, throwing the muscles of his thighs and stomach into greater relief, his head was back, exposing his throat, and he was breathing deeply as he adjusted to the much more significant intrusion of eight inches of turgid cock up his arse. Draco thought dazedly that he could happily look at this beautiful sight forever.

But then Harry shifted, rolling his hips and rising up, the tightness dragging up Draco's prick made little spots appear in his vision, and he could think of nothing else. There was just Harry, the beautiful pressure, and the coiling electricity building inside him.

Draco tried to keep time as Harry moved faster, the muscles in his lower back and thighs were straining as he lifted himself from the mattress over and over, but the reward was so close. Harry fell forward, a hand landed heavily in the middle of Draco's chest, the other caught the head board. Draco looked up to see the taut underside of Harry's bicep as he propelled himself faster, using his arm for leverage to ride Draco with a ferocity that was a little overwhelming.

Draco, not wanting to be outdone, planted his heels and pumped his hips. Harry swore and panted. His hand was gone from Draco's chest now, it was busy pulling at his cock. Draco marvelled at Harry's coordination in times like these, hips rolling, fist fucking, load baring arm flexing, and he still managed to duck his head and catch Draco's lips, breathing erratically, "Perfect, so fucking perfect."

Draco's orgasm hit him with very little warning, white hot sparking perfection shot through him. He gasped with the shock of it, he'd forgotten how much more intense the climax gained from sex was, wanking was really nothing in comparison. Harry seemed to agree, his sinuous movements faltered, and his face was almost pained as he came in dramatic spurts on Draco's stomach moments later.

"Two months," Harry groaned, leaning in to kiss Draco with soft sweaty lips, "a shag like that almost makes it worth it." Draco could sort of agree, though his stress-induced alcoholism probably needed to be sorted out if there was ever going to be another long trip like this one.

Harry climbed off him and magic'd away the mess, then before Draco could even convince his limbs to move Harry had wriggled up next to him, wrapped a heavy arm over his stomach and pressed a sleepy kiss to his shoulder, mumbling, "Love you," against the sweat damp skin.

Draco's hoarse reply of, "Love you too," was lost to a quick knock on the still ajar bedroom door.

There was a beat of silence, and then the voice Draco was expecting said, "Kreacher has collected Masters' clothes from the staircase, do you require anything this evening?"

Harry snickered against Draco's shoulder. "Cheeky little sod." Draco just sighed, he was long passed being annoyed by Kreacher and his lack of boundaries. "Thank you Kreacher," Harry called, hauling the bedspread up to cover their nakedness, "you can bring them in if you'd like."

The hunched little elf scurried around the door, a pile of their folded clothes in his arms. "Kreacher did not mean to intrude Masters," he said, eyes averted as he headed for the chest of draws, "he just does not want visitors to think this is a house of ill repute, shirts on the floor in the foyer, trousers on the stairs, Master Draco's vest hanging from the banister…" He gave them an almost disapproving glance, and he put the clothes on the dresser surface and headed back to the door.

"Our reputation would suffer without your moral compass to guide us," Draco said, unable to be insulted or angry with anything while Harry's hand drew lazy circles on his belly and his veins were so full of afterglow.

The elf bowed in the doorway. "Kreacher does his duty to the House of Black."

Draco drifted off to sleep easily with Harry's comforting warmth pressed close, thinking vaguely that whatever happened with that photo at least they'd deal with it together.

Harry awoke to the sound of a very familiar voice cursing. He smiled into his pillow, Draco was absolutely hopeless when he had a hangover.

"Circe's fucking tits," Draco groaned miserably. Harry opened an eye to see Draco's blurry shirtless form sitting on the edge of the bed cradling his head in his hands. Harry reached out a hand to pat his back sympathetically, but at the contact Draco jerked out of reach. "Oh no you don't, you cavalier bastard."

"Too early for that shit," Harry mumbled, not wanting to know what minute thing he done to get Draco's back up, possibly breathed too loudly or something equally offensive. But a hungover Draco was always a cantankerous Draco. Harry didn't mind too much, because the preceding drunk Draco was an affectionate and pliant Draco, a version Harry was quite fond of.

"Oh god," Draco gasped, shooting to his feet, "fucking hell."

"What?" asked Harry sitting up too and reaching for his glasses.

"That pap last night," he grit out, "fucking, fucking, fuck!"

Draco dashed from the bedside, and Harry thought he was headed to the loo to puke, but instead he wrenched open their wardrobe and pulled out the suitcase stashed in the bottom. Harry had forgotten they even had that one, camouflaged as it usually was by the two thousand pairs of shoes Draco needed to own. Apparently saddle and walnut are two very different shades of brown; Harry was yet to be convinced. Draco had thrown the case open and was tossing clothes from the cupboard into it.

"Err…" Harry began, feeling far too morning-brained to keep up, "you're going to leave me now that it's finally come out?"

"No," Draco said, sparing him only the briefest quelling glance. "France. We have to go to France."

Harry still wasn't with him. "I don't think leaving the country will be necessary… I really just want to sleep in our bed for a few nights, we could just camp inside 'til the press calm down again… spend the time in bed?"

"No, Merlin, my mother!" Draco was clearly losing his shit, he wasn't even folding his clothes as he threw them higgledy-piggledy at the suitcase, a definite indication that a meltdown was looming. "I haven't told her about me, or us, I can't let her find out about this from the newspaper."

"Oh …" Harry suddenly understood. Draco and his mother might have the most formal relationship Harry had ever encountered, but there was something like love between them somewhere. "Oh, no I guess you can't," he agreed. "Okay, France it is."

After that it was a flurry of floo calls to arrange port keys, and a brief argument about why Draco couldn't just fire call his mum rather than the pair of them dashing off to France. Because it just wasn't proper, apparently.

The French countryside smelled so different to the English one, dry and somehow more floral. It was as if the often damp earth of England overrode all the other smells at home.

Harry was quite nervous as the door to the cottage opened. But his nervousness turned to surprise when they were greeted by a fit, well groomed gentleman in a suit, rather than a house-elf as Harry was expecting.

"Bonjour Messieurs," the man greeted them crisply. Harry assumed he was a butler, because he certainly looked the part.

Harry looked at Draco, the only French word he himself knew was 'Merde'. Not particularly helpful when speaking to posh butlers. Draco was frowning slightly, this man must be a reasonably recent addition to Narcissa's house if Draco didn't know him.

"Bonjour, je suis ici pour voir ma mère, Madame Malfoy." Draco replied to the butler, and even though the language was different Harry could hear the change in Draco's tone; it shifted from nervous to superior as he stood taller, his chin lifting fractionally.

Draco always managed to project confidence when he needed too, something that never failed to impress Harry. Personally he would have felt like shuffling his feet under the scrutiny as the butler looked Draco up and down. Then his eyes fell to their still clasped hands. He glanced at Harry briefly before nodding. "Suivez-moi," he said, leading them into the house.

Harry and Draco were shown into a small and very comfortable sitting room, there were large French windows showing a much more manicured garden out the back, tall standing roses and topiary hedges made a very pretty view. Draco smiled at the well-kept garden before he took his seat next to Harry on the sofa. "Mother's pride and joy," he said, seeing that Harry was looking too, "she smuggled most of the roses from the Manor gardens before we were forced to leave."

"I hope you're not going to arrest me for that Mr Potter," a woman's voice said from the doorway, startling them both.

Narcissa looked very different to the last time Harry had seen her in person, when she had arranged Draco's bail money with him in the months after the end of the war. She now wore muggle clothes for a start, a pale linen suit that seemed far too immaculate for the early hour of the day. Her hair was short, and much greyer, but cut in a perfect bob it still matched the austere image she always projected. Or had previously projected, because if Harry was not mistaken she had just greeted him with a joke.

"Not an Auror any longer Mrs Malfoy," Harry said, dipping his head slightly, as he and Draco both got to their feet again, "your poached roses are quite safe."

"A relief," Narcissa said.

"You look well Mother," Draco spoke up, crossing the room to kiss her cheek. "Sorry to drop in unannounced."

"Ceremony is not required here Draco, you are welcome to appear at any time of day or night." She briefly looked in Harry's direction again. "Although bringing your famous house-mate is something out of the ordinary."

"I know," Draco said. He swallowed heavily a few times and glanced back at Harry, his eyes still a touch too wide and his usually pale complexion bordering on grey.

"The thing is Mother." Draco paused to wet his lips nervously, and Harry felt himself begin to panic for the first time. He'd expected tea and pleasantries before Draco dove in with, 'I'm gay and this is my boyfriend, not just the bloke I share a house with.' It was Draco for goodness sake, he didn't like talking about their grocery list without a cup of tea in his hand, let alone the most important conversation he would possibly ever have with his mother.

But it seemed as though he was just determined to get it over with, because he drew a steadying breath and said in a calm voice that Harry was quite envious of, "Last night Harry and I made somewhat of an enemy out of a photographer. I wanted to warn you that there might be a few headlines in the pictures he took, and tell you the truth before you had to read the sensationalized version in the papers."

"Heavens," Narcissa said cautiously, moving to take a seat in the chair next to Harry's sofa, and he resumed his seat as she continued, "you're not involved in anything illegal I hope?" she smoothed her trousers and tinkled the little bell on her side table. "The ladies at bridge already think me something of a dark horse."

"No Mum," Draco said quickly, as he sat next to Harry again, "It's not bad."

"Then why do you look as though you're confessing to murder?"

"Well." Draco sighed. "I may not have been completely honest about my relationship with Harry."

Narcissa's eyes flicked to Harry then, clear surprise and suspicion on her face. "You're gay Mr Potter?"

"Er…" Harry stuttered, taken aback at the leap she had made. "Yes, Mrs Malfoy."

"I must commend you for keeping that out of the papers," she said, evidently impressed, "not that it's anyone's business but your own of course." She returned to Draco, who was looking even more shocked than Harry felt. "Yours and my son's too apparently."

"Mother," Draco croaked, "Why … how did you know?"

"Darling," Narcissa began with a tight smile. "Straight boys do not bring men home from the village inn to sleep the night in their bedroom."

Harry had to cough into his hand to hide his surprised chuckle. Draco just looked mortified. "But I –" he stammered, "You never said that you knew!"

"I didn't think I had too," Narcissa said simply, "every time you came to visit me here you would have at least one overnight guest." She lifted her shoulders fractionally. "I thought you were illustrating the point to save us an embarrassing conversation."

Draco shook his head in disbelief. "You give me too much credit Mum."

"A mother's prerogative I suppose," Narcissa said quietly.

The door opened then, and the butler entered pushing a narrow tea trolley laden with pastries and fruit and a silver tea service that was extremely similar to the one Harry liked to use at Grimmauld Place.

"Thank you, Jean," Narcissa said, "Mon fils et son amant ont eu une matinée difficile. Faites en sorte que le thé soit bien corsé."

Harry didn't have the faintest idea what was being said, but Draco, who had been staring at his mother with a kind of annoyed fascination suddenly relaxed slightly. They were silent as the tea was poured, and Jean served out small saucers of fruit and warm golden pastry. Harry began picking at his immediately, having not realised 'til now just how hungry he was. Jean must have noticed Harry's enthusiasm because he placed an extra slice of jam-smeared baguette on his plate with a conspiring smile before he left the room again.

Draco too was occupied with food and drink, gulping back his hot tea and then turning his attention to his fruit. Harry thought he must be suffering from his hangover more than he was letting on.

After several dainty sips from her tea cup Narcissa spoke again, "I must admit to not having had an inkling of your relationship, you should be proud of the privacy you've managed to uphold." Harry nodded, and Draco looked even more relaxed at the compliment. "May I ask how long you've been involved?"

"Since Harry's book," Draco answered at once, surprising Harry. That was not the official line, they'd always planned to tell people that they'd only started seeing each other after Draco was divorced. But if he wanted to tell his mum the truth Harry wouldn't stop him.

Narcissa smiled. "How funny, I remember thinking at the time that it was a miracle you and Mr Potter had become friends after the conversations you must have had to write such an intimate story." She sipped her tea again and then continued, "But this makes much more sense, good sex can get you through just about any disagreement, can't it? It certainly worked in my marriage."

"Mother!" Draco blanched, horror-struck. Harry's ribs were aching with the pressure to keep his laughter in. This woman was pure gold.

"Come now dear," Narcissa scolded gently, "we're all grown-ups here."

Draco just shook his head a little dazedly and occupied himself with his croissant. Harry had already cleared his little plate and concentrated on trying to make his tea last a bit longer.

Eventually Draco found his voice again. "And you're not disappointed?"

"I was once," Narcissa said, "Your aunt had made cryptic comments to me during the war, I had thought she was just being spiteful because she was jealous of you, but then those few months before your wedding you were … wild, and out all night, I realised what Bella had said was true."

Draco all but gawped. "You knew I was gay before I married Astoria?"

"Didn't you?" Narcissa asked in consternation.

"Well yes," Draco huffed, "but you insisted I marry, why would you do that if you knew I would be unhappy?"

"I never insisted," Narcissa disagreed. "Your father may have, and Astoria's parents most definitely did, but I only ever told you to do what was right."

"Yeah, as in marry the girl, sire heirs!"

"Do calm down dear," Narcissa instructed. "I'm insulted you think I'd choose grandchildren over your happiness. I wanted you to do what was right for you Draco."

Draco exhaled heavily and slouched back against the sofa. "Fucking brilliant, you could have made that a bit clearer."

"No need to be crass," Narcissa insisted through disapprovingly tight lips. "We are here now, and as I said, I was disappointed that you would not be able to find happiness the traditional way, but I would guess that this long-term relationship with Mr Potter is making you happy, and he is a perfectly suitable spouse in my opinion."

"Thanks," Harry said, because Draco was looking lost for words.

Narcissa smiled at him approvingly, and Harry was hit by the sudden realisation that for all intents and purposes this was his mother-in-law. Haughty Narcissa Malfoy, sister of the deranged Bellatrix was his bloody mother-in-law. Then he remembered she was also Andromeda's sister, and was actually being very nice to him, so he sipped his tea and tried not to appear too awkward.

Draco found his voice eventually, though he still sounded put-out and a bit dazed. "Right… Merlin, I've been guilt ridden over this for years Mum."

"I really do not see how that is my fault," Narcissa said coolly.

Draco looked about ready to start shouting again, so Harry spoke up quickly, "Mrs Malfoy, the reason we came today is that last night a photographer got a picture of us kissing, and it's not just that it will it out me as gay, and Draco too... though I feel like everybody seems to know about him before they're told." Harry added pensively, because it really did feel like that, "But it will probably drudge up stuff from the past, war related things, our less than friendly history at school, possibly even the legitimacy of my bio, so we wanted you to know the truth before you were forced to endure all the speculation."

Draco had reined in his temper slightly and muttered mutinously, "You left out the part where you told the wanker to fuck off." He sounded like he was telling tales to a school mistress trying to get Harry in trouble for some reason. Spoilt little brat.

"Sorry if that offends you Mrs Malfoy," Harry apologised, then deciding Draco wasn't going to get away with being a sulky dick he added, "I was just a bit annoyed to be interrupted, I quite like kissing your son."

Draco made a weird choking sound, and his face flooded with colour. Narcissa regarded Harry calculatingly before she said at length, "You must be a trial for Draco to live with at times Mr Potter, our family does not do affection well."

"He's learning," Harry said lightly, making Draco grumble under his breath.

"Thank you for coming to tell me in person Draco," Narcissa said kindly, reaching out a hand to pat her son's knee, "I really do understand how difficult this must have been."

In the wake of the hideous discussion at his mother's house, rather than embarrassment Draco was left with a surreal high of liberation at having her know everything. Even though he was furious at her for not just saying something a decade ago and saving them both ten years of secrets.

He and Harry had stayed at Narcissa's for the night, something that was nowhere near as awkward as he had been expecting, or perhaps just not in the way he'd been expecting. Because it had definitely been awkward the following morning when Draco had found Jean the butler brushing his teeth in the bathroom, while wearing Narcissa's dressing gown and little else. It was an insight into his mother's private life that Draco had not been prepared for. Jean was completely unabashed at being caught out, he smiled, tied his robe more securely and explained in a surprisingly haughty voice for a man in a flowery silk dressing gown, "I attend to all of Mrs Malfoy's needs in this house, it is the most rewarding position I have ever held."

Draco was quite happy to take him at his word, and follow his mother's example of not mentioning what went on behind closed doors. Even if the disturbing image of his mother and the butler going at it would never leave his head.

In an effort to distract himself from his mother's live-in full-service houseboy Draco had begun damage control on the impending press explosion he and Harry were about to endure. Marc, who was turning out to be indispensable in Draco's life was the first port of call when they returned to Grimmauld Place in time for lunch that day.

He, Marc and Harry were sat around the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place's basement with a tray of sandwiches to pick at between them. Draco relayed their run-in with the photographer quickly, embarrassed to have to admit he'd been careless enough to get caught.

"I can't believe you finally slipped up!" Marc cackled, far to gleefully. "I was beginning to think it would never happen."

"You really don't need to be so pleased," Draco muttered, looking around for Kreacher who'd promised to bring him 'something for his stresses'. What this might be Draco wasn't sure, but he couldn't deny that he certainly had some 'stresses' to deal with.

"A solid friendship is built on honesty," Marc said with a reasonable amount of seriousness, "and honestly I'm fucking thrilled you two are going public, you'll feel so much freer."

"Right," Draco said sarcastically, "nothing to do with the obscene amount of money this is going to make the Prophet."

"Icing on the cake," Marc laughed. Harry sat by bemusedly, obviously not really wanting to interrupt as Marc and Draco figured out the best way to attack the situation.

After four sandwiches and a pot of whiskey laced tea (this had been Kreacher's idea of stress relief, it really wasn't any wonder that Draco had become dependent on drink with such examples being set for him), they decided that a press release was just asking for attention, and worse, commentary. Then Marc said, "We might be thinking about this the wrong way, what if you're just Out?"

"How?" Draco asked. "I pretty much am anyway."

"Exactly," Marc agreed. "Go out in public tonight, and this afternoon if you can, be seen holding hands, talking closely, you know, really obvious couple stuff and if anyone asks, tell them you're together, that you have been for ages. Behave like anyone who comments must be blind because you've been out and proud for years. I'll organise someone to get a few pictures and we'll run a story tomorrow about Harry and his long-time boyfriend buying new racing brooms or something."

Draco was impressed, could they really bluff their way through this?

"But no one knows I'm gay," Harry put in, "people will go crazy." But then he looked less concerned. "I would like a new broom though…"

"I don't think they'll go crazy, just think about it for a minute," Marc suggested, "since you broke up with Ginny you've been a confirmed bachelor, seen only in the company of Draco or Ron and Hermione, and sometimes Mavis and me, if we present the article like your broom-buying activities are the interesting part, suggest you're looking to get back into Quidditch or something else harmless, and not make a big deal about who you were with, then readers will be confused, they'll think they must have missed you coming out, they'll remember that you are always with Draco at events and things…"

Draco smiled, convinced. "Not bad Belby. I'm sure there will be a bit of a fuss, but perception is everything and it will definitely help us here."

Marc was openly smug about his clever plot. "And then, when whoever it is prints the picture of you two snogging everyone will already know you're gay, and that you're seeing Draco. With that scandal defused it's likely that a lot of people will feel like such intimate pictures are an invasion of their hero's privacy."

"You have a lot of faith in the public," Harry said dubiously.

"Have I ever steered you wrong?" Marc asked.

"No," Harry admitted. "It just feels sort of dishonest." Draco never knew whether to be charmed or irritated by Harry's determinedly pure heart at times like these.

"So?" Marc countered, echoing Draco's own inner opinion on the matter. "And besides, we're running the Middleton interview on Friday – middle-class witch gives up everything to marry a muggle prince? Yeah, no one is going to give two shits who you're shagging once her story hits the news cycle."

"It's weird that I'm a bit disappointed by that, right?" Harry mused, having obviously accepted the plan, dishonesty withstanding.

"Yes," Marc and Draco said in unison. Then Draco smirked and tapped his forefinger on the table top in accusation. "I knew you secretly loved the spotlight Potter."

Harry raised his eyebrows at the old name. "I just meant that it'll be nice having everyone know that I love you, not that I'm happy to be in the papers again, you tit."

Draco was sufficiently stumped by this bold statement, and quite touched, and wanted to jump on Harry right there across the kitchen table.

"Oh, okay then," he managed faintly, unable to control the affection swelling in his chest. He blinked once or twice and must have looked pleased, because Harry grinned happily back.

"If you're not going to start tearing each other's clothes off I'm leaving," Marc said disappointedly after a few moments of silence, during which Draco and Harry continued to stare at each other.

Harry broke eye-contact and laughed as Draco gave Marc a disbelieving glare. "Only if you join us," Harry teased, puckering his lips in an attempt at seduction, but chuckling too much to be able to pull it off.

It had the desired effect anyway, Marc's mouth fell open, and Draco was surprised his tongue didn't roll out like some lust-struck cartoon dog. After a second, when his voice had won out over his dirty imagination he complained, "You are a giant wanker, temping a married man with such …" He trailed off and made a sexy little noise in the back of his throat.

"Good grief Marc, reign it in," Draco said shortly, amazed as ever at his friend's unquenchable randiness.

Marc turned his bright eyes on Draco again, and Draco did not enjoy the envy he could see there. "I bet you're delightfully bossy in bed, is he Harry?"

Harry started to snicker. "I'm not saying anything …" But then Draco saw him nod emphatically amid his laughter anyway.

Marc shook his head and smiled ruefully. "I wouldn't change Mavie for the world, but if the worst should happen you better watch out Draco, this one is about perfect," he said, tipping his head in Harry's direction.

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes, but his cheeks were a bit pink. Draco just shrugged and looked fondly at his embarrassed boyfriend. "I'm well aware."

In the end Marc was proved right, the confusion of Harry Potter suddenly being openly gay without any kind of fanfare or dramatic headlines definitely took the sting out of the photos from that night on the pavement. Eventually the photos had appeared in Witch Weekly nearly a month later, when everyone was finally bored of the Winsors.

It was not, however, the photo of them kissing that made the front page, but instead the cover showed Harry and Draco hand in hand. Harry was quite obviously flipping the camera the bird, and Draco was laughing like a loon at the sight. They just looked like a pair of slightly drunk, and very happy young men.

The headline had read, The Boy Who Lived - Living at Last.

If you've enjoyed this story please take a second to let me know, acknowledgement of the effort and skill that go into writing a decent fic is what keeps us ficcers going!

Happy Reading,

Love, George xx