A/N I am so, so sorry for the amount of time it has taken to get this chapter out! Apparently holding down a full-time teaching job and raising two small kids doesn't leave me a lot of time to write. Who'd have thought it?! It's the school summer holidays here in England now (yay!) so with the wonderful prospect of six weeks off work, I'm hoping to get a few updates before I'm back at work in September. Thank you so much for your patience and understanding. ~Phoenixstrike

Chapter Nine- Amor Verus

Harry didn't exactly have what one could call a huge amount of relationship experience, despite being married for the majority of his adult years. The number of people he'd dated could easily be counted on one hand, with fingers to spare. Cho- an unmitigated disaster of a barely-there relationship, started by a kiss when she'd been crying her eyes out over Cedric. Ginny- a brief, yet very pleasurable (at the time) relationship for him, sparked by a mutual kiss in the heat of the moment and had led to the most enjoyable few weeks of his sixteen years, and which felt safe and familiar but which never held the same spark of desire for him once Voldemort had been defeated and he and Ginny got back together (he'd not understood initially why he felt that way).

Then there was Charlie. Harry could not deny the deep, almost feral attraction and longing he'd felt for Ginny's elder brother. It had been an attraction that he'd never felt for any girl, not even Ginny during his sixth year at Hogwarts. It consumed him, burnt him from the insides, and could leave him hard and aching, desperate for physical contact, all from a look. An attraction that could, and frequently did, rapidly bring him to orgasm with the gentlest, merest hint of touches. Before Charlie, Harry had never found much interest in sex. He'd never bothered much with self-release in school, wondering why he didn't react in the same way as his dorm mates to the pictures of scantily-clad women Seamus shared around the dormitory after dark, which often ended with his four friends disappearing behind spelled-closed bed hangings and Imperturbable Charms. He was perfectly content with just kissing Ginny, never really feeling that deep desire to take it to the next step. But Charlie… that was an entirely new Quidditch game altogether.

Charlie had been his first in every way, and it had been in those moments, when Charlie was underneath him, writhing with desire whilst Harry pushed into him, or when Charlie thrust deep into Harry, that he had known he would never have with Ginny what he knew he could have with another man. But Harry wasn't convinced, now he was looking back, that what he'd felt was love, despite what he'd been sure of at the time. It certainly wasn't a healthy love, anyway. Not the love that should exist between partners; the love he'd been told his mother and father had for each other, or the love that Ginny's parents so evidently shared. It wasn't the love he could see that existed so purely, effortlessly, between Ron and Hermione, or (Harry thought with a deep pang of guilt) the love Ginny had held for him. Not the love that spoke of implicit trust, a deep bond that went beyond physical passion and desire. Lust, oh yes. He and Charlie had had lust for one another by the bucket load. And Harry had definitely felt intense feelings for Charlie that went beyond sex. But the type of love that existed around him, that life-long bond, evidenced through his family and friends? Harry didn't think he'd ever felt that sort of love in his life.

Then there was Draco. Draco Malfoy of all people, former Death Eater, stuck-up prick, bane of his childhood, playground bully who'd tormented Hermione and called her a Mudblood. The little snotty bastard who'd irritated Harry and his friends greatly, who'd never missed an opportunity to try to get Harry into trouble. The teenager who'd been forced to commit despicable acts by his father's Lord, yet had saved his and his friends' lives in the final weeks of the war. The man who had helped him overcome the worst thing that had ever happened to him, helping him rise like a phoenix from the ashes, drawing him from an existence that would have surely killed him in the end. The man who had compassion, whose profession was to help people, and who was a loving, devoted father. Draco who, unbeknown to either of them, had lived such a parallel life to his own: both gay, both married, both carrying around guilt that would never truly be abated, and learning not to let it crush them. The man he knew now was so far removed from the boy he'd hated that it was as if they were two separate people in Harry's mind. And he was okay with that. Harry was hardly the same boy he'd been at school either.

And of course there were Harry's feelings towards his prickly ex-enemy. Whilst they weren't at a level he'd experienced with Charlie yet, Harry couldn't deny the signs were all there that he was falling, and falling hard. The Snitches in the stomach, the silly grin when he thought about Draco, the leap he felt every time someone walked past him who held a passing resemblance to him. Harry was showing all the signs. He even wondered if Draco Malfoy might even be the one that he found his true love with… Harry wasn't quite there yet, but he suspected it wasn't going to take long. And, unlike Charlie, Draco wasn't taboo, off-limits. He wasn't the escapism Harry was seeking from his reality. Draco would be his reality. Harry could really see a future, and that made all the difference in the world. Except for one tiny problem. Since the Mistletoe Incident, when Harry had to kiss Draco to release him from the plant's clutches followed by the almost-kiss, Draco was completely ignoring him. Harry wasn't a complete idiot. He'd noticed Draco had nearly kissed him too, had felt exactly as he, Harry, had, standing in that doorway with the ridiculous mistletoe dangling precariously above their heads. Even if it was just a passing second of attraction, it had been there. There was something between them, and Harry wasn't prepared to give that up. Not without a bloody hard fight first.

He smiled. Draco had helped him work through his guilt, certainly, but he'd healed him in more ways than either of them could have anticipated nine months ago. Draco was Harry's phoenix tears. He'd impossibly brought him back from the brink of destruction and healed him in a way Harry felt certain no one else, not even Ron or Hermione, would have been able to. And Harry was damned if he was going to let it get away.

31/12/06

Draco,

Thanks again for Christmas. Teddy had a wonderful time. Would you allow me to return the favour sometime? I could cook? Scorpius would love to spend another evening with Teddy, I'm sure.

Happy New Year, Draco,

Harry

Wednesday 3rd January, 2007

Potter,

You're welcome, again, for Christmas. However, you do not need to reciprocate. Your thanks is repayment enough. Scorpius is rather busy at the moment so unfortunately we are unable to accept your invitation.

I have sent this note with your potions.

D. Malfoy

4/1/07

Draco,

Thanks for the potions. I think they may have been too heavy for your owl to carry, however. Poor thing needed a long rest and owl tonic before she could make the return journey. Perhaps I could collect them from you next time? Or you could deliver? You know my address.

The invitation to dinner still stands, by the way.

Harry.

Sunday 7th January, 2007

Potter,

Do you ever date a letter correctly? It is considered impolite to write the date in short form when corresponding.

I thank you for the care you gave to Mnemosyne; in hindsight perhaps the parcel was too heavy for her to deliver. I shall send future deliveries with a house-elf. There is no need to inconvenience yourself and collect them from me in person.

Again, I thank you for the invitation to dinner, but once again I am unable to accept.

D. Malfoy

8/1/07

Draco,

I will date a letter however the fuck I want to. I didn't realise we were so fucking formal with one another. You want to talk about fucking manners? Well, you don't even give me the fucking curtesy of writing your fucking name! Or using mine. I'm also getting really fucking tired of your fucking 'brushing me off' fucking bullshit. One fucking dinner?

Harry

P.S I'm aware I may have overdone my fucks in this letter.
P.P.S Your owl has a really stupid, pretentious name.

12/1/07

So, now you're just ignoring me? I'm sorry I swore a lot in the last letter, OK?

Teddy is asking after Scorpius again. He misses Scorpius. Really misses him. I know he'd love to have Scorpius over for dinner.

Please write back,

Harry

Draco continued to ignore Harry's letters and, when a tatty-looking house-elf dressed in a toga made from a series of multi-coloured handkerchiefs sewn together came through Harry's Floo and announced that "Filby has Harry Potter's potions from Master Draco, sir," before dumping them on the table and disappearing again through the Floo, two weeks after Draco had last written to him, Harry flipped and sent a Howler, before instantly regretting it. He'd changed a lot of the years, but apparently his temper and instinct to 'act first, think later' were the same as they'd ever been. He'd only ever sent two Howlers in his life previously. One had been to Vernon and Petunia at two in the morning, when he was nineteen and he and Ron were drunk from cheap Muggle beer. It had been done on the spur of the moment for a laugh, and consisted only of him and Ron yelling the word 'BOO!' as loudly as they could before bursting into hysterics. The other had been to the editor of the Daily Prophet a few weeks after he began Auror training after it published an article speculating whether Harry was mentally stable enough for a career in Magical Law Enforcement. He'd thoroughly bemoaned both of those Howlers afterwards (if anything, the Prophet used the Howler as further evidence of his mental instability), and, Harry thought wryly, he'd just made it three for three, wishing he could snatch back the owl the instant it disappeared from sight. Besides, when had be become this creepy stalker-like person who sends Howlers just because someone hasn't written back to them for a few days? Harry suspected it was around the same time he decided he was fed up with giving a damn what other people thought about him and decided to go after what he wanted, for a change. Plus Draco was being infuriating.

When two days passed and Harry still heard nothing, his resolve in his decision to pursue Draco was crumbling pathetically around him. He was completely convinced now that he'd blown any chance, no matter how slim, he'd had of breaking that icy exterior. He'd considered simply showing up at Malfoy Manor, but he still had some pride. He was prepared to chase; Harry wasn't prepared to beg.

The sound of his doorbell ringing at half past ten at night made him jump out of his skin. Hardly anyone ever rang the bell. They either used the Floo or Apparated in when Harry was expecting visitors. A ring of the bell, and certainly so late at night, was almost unprecedented. He switched off the TV he wasn't properly watching anyway and, arming himself with his wand, cautiously made his way to the door.

A quick one-way See-through Charm showed him it was Draco on the other side of the door. And he looked furious. Harry ended his spell and opened the door.

"What," Draco barked, thrusting a small pile of grey charred remains that clearly used to be a scarlet envelope into Harry's outstretched hands, "is this?" He stormed over the threshold and marched into Harry's living room, grey wool coat billowing behind him. Even livid, Draco looked good. Harry couldn't contain a small smile.

"It looks like a pile of ash, Draco," he said to the vacant spot where Draco had stood seconds previously. "And please, do come in out of the snow, won't you?"

He returned to the living room, tipping the burnt remains of his Howler into the waste paper bin as he passed. Draco was stood in the centre of the room, facing away from Harry, shoulders tense and his hands balled into fists.

"Can I get you a coffee?" Harry asked. A split second later, Draco spun around to face him, and Harry knew at once he'd said the wrong thing.

"Coffee?" Draco repeated, his voice full of cold fury. "Coffee?" You send a Howler to my personal address for no good reason, in which you call me, now what was it? Oh yes, 'an ignorant, callous piece of crap' and think a cup of fucking coffee will solve anything?"

It was the first time Harry had ever heard Draco swear, and the word sounded foreign on his lips.

"How dare you," Draco continued. "How dare you! What gives you the right… just because…" He sat down on the arm of Harry's sofa. When he looked at Harry, however, it was disappointment and hurt, not anger, that was on Draco's face, and this made Harry's stomach physically ache.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, after a long, extremely uncomfortable silence. "I didn't mean it. Any of it. I don't think you're ignorant, or callous, and I certainly don't think you're a piece of crap." The knot in his stomach suddenly rose sharply north, and he tried to swallow it back down, unsuccessfully. His eyes were pricking. He was close to crying because he'd hurt Draco Malfoy's feelings. It really was time for Harry to accept he truly was never going to have a normal, straightforward life.

"Your incompetent owl delivered it whilst I was in the shower and left it on my bed. Scorpius found it and opened it," Draco said, and Harry closed his eyes. "My parents heard it. My entire family, Potter! I can't tell them you're a former patient of mine and that apparently you're a Snitch short of a Quidditch set, because if I did that I'd drop down dead in front of them, thanks to the Unbreakable Vow, so now they think… actually I don't know what they think, other than something very, very weird is going on, because first of all I invite Harry Potter to a private Christmas party then weeks later he is sending offensive mail to my private residence and I-" He stops talking, apparently at a loss for words. "Could you not just take the hint?"

"You weren't replying to my letters," Harry said, knowing full well that we was in the wrong here. "I just wanted your attention."

"That would be 'the hint' to which I was referring," Draco said. "You cannot have my attention. Usually if an invitee refuses an invitation then ignores a letter, the inviter will stop trying to contact them."

"But why?" Harry asked. "Why do you keep shutting me out, Draco? We keep talking, we get on well, Scorpius and Teddy have a fantastic time together, then you let one little part of you show, one tiny vulnerability, and it's like you're made of stone again. I'm trying to be your friend, but you keep pushing me away."

"We are not friends," Draco said, and his voice was so void now of emotion that it made Harry's blood run cold. "We are not friends, we never were friends, and we are not going to be friends. We were just therapist and patient, and now we're no longer even that, there is absolutely no reason for our correspondence to continue. Got it?"

"You confide in all your patients that you're gay, do you?" Harry retorted. "Tell them how your wife died? Do you invite all your patients over to spend Christmas Day with them? There's something about me, something you saw, that meant you allowed yourself to open up to me. Because whatever you tell yourself, Draco, we were friends. Or at least we were on the way to it. We were getting on perfectly until I kissed you under the mistletoe and-"

"Don't mention that," Draco said, in barely more than a whisper. "It didn't happen."

"Yes it did!" Harry yelled. "It did happen, and I liked it and so did you, and you know as well as I do that it would have happened again if the kids hadn't come round the corner at that second arguing! You wanted it just as much as I did. You can lie to yourself if you like but don't you dare lie to me too! I'm so sick and tired of lies!"

"I can't want it," Draco said, but Harry could hear a tremble in his voice now. "It can't happen."

The change in tense didn't pass Harry by, as a flicker of hope was ignited. Harry could almost see Draco warring with himself.

"Draco," he began, but Draco stood suddenly, his cheeks pink, either from emotion or the heat from Harry's fire, and strode over to him. He shoved Harry forcefully, pushing him into the wall.

"I've told you, Potter, not to call me Draco," he said furiously then, before Harry could register what was happening, lips, cold and chapped from the harsh January weather, were pressing against his, rough and determined, and it was all Harry could do to remember to breathe as he parted his own and began to kiss back heatedly. Something deep within him roared in triumph. Yes. A small gasp left his throat and he'd not felt so alive for months, years even. The tingle he'd felt when he'd kissed Draco under the mistletoe was nothing, nothing, compared to the sheer heart-stopping bolt of electricity that was surging through him now, and he was on fire. Harry's hands snaked up and tangled themselves in Draco's hair as he felt Draco's hands to the same to his. They were pressed against one another, and Harry was certain he could feel the outline of an erection pressed against his thigh. He thrust up experimentally, pushing his own erection into Draco's hip, earning an exhale of approval as one of the hands tangled in his hair stoked down Harry's back and grabbed his behind, pulling them even closer together. The kiss was hot, and inexpert, but oh god it was good, Harry thought, as Draco's tongue brushed his own, and Harry was sure he was going to come apart from the inside-

But then there was nothing. No hands, no kiss, no wonderful hardness pressed against him. Harry opened his eyes, confused and extremely turned-on, to see Draco, standing a few feet away from him and looking like he was on the verge of tears.

"That should not have happened," Draco said in a choked voice, refusing to look at him. "This cannot happen. Ever. Goodbye, Potter." Then he turned on the spot and Disapparated.

"What-" Harry said into the now-empty living room, the arousal thrumming through his body now mingling with crushing disappointment and rejection, and Harry thought the juxtaposition of sensation was extremely unpleasant. It was true then. Draco really didn't want him. That was it. It was over. The feeling of sadness that swept over him was very nearly overwhelming.

Harry didn't remember much of the rest of the evening. He barely remembered leaving the house and visiting the twenty-four hour Tesco a few miles from him. He vaguely remembered buying a large bottle of vodka, and swigging its neat contents like it was mineral water, relishing in the punishing burn as the vodka slipped down his throat and numbed his senses.

He certainly didn't remember firecalling Ron and Hermione, but he must have done, as Ron was with him, looking white and alarmed and still dressed in his pyjamas, which were slightly covered in soot from the Floo.

"'S no more than I've earned," Harry slurred. "I don' deserve love."

"Harry, mate, what on earth has happened?" Ron said, seeing the half-empty Smirnoff bottle and Vanishing it with a flick of his wand. "And you don't need that shit, either."

"It's Matthew again," Harry said. "No one can love me 'cause they know what I did to Matthew."

"Harry," Ron said, looking frightened now. "Please, talk to me. Don't shut me out. Don't go backwards."

"Can' talk. Too pissed," Harry replied.

"Okay, Harry, let's get you to bed," Ron said. He drew his wand, pointed it at Harry and Levitated him up the stairs to his room, then placed him onto his bed. Ron removed Harry's glasses, spelled an empty glass on the bedside table full of water, and pulled the duvet up to Harry's shoulders. "I'm not leaving. I'll kip in the spare room, alright?"

"He prob'ly hates me," Harry mumbled. "My fault. All my fault. Payback for Charlie."

"Payback for what?" Ron said.

But Harry was already asleep.

He was in The Place. He'd not visited here for months. He could hear the crying- a distressed child. Harry made his way to the sound, only to find a skeletal corpse, about the size of a year-old infant, with a shock of red hair still attached. Harry knelt down to the child's body, when all of a sudden a bony hand shot forwards, secured itself around Harry's throat and squeezed. Sharp claw-like fingernails pierced the skin on Harry's neck and droplets of crimson pooled at the puncture sites.

"Hello, Daddy," the body said.

Harry's eyes shot open. He'd been yelling, he knew he had. He just had time to register Ron's blurred outline at the doorway before a huge wave of nausea swept over him. He leant over the side of his bed and emptied his stomach of the alcohol that he had imbibed the night before. It was still pitch black outside. Harry tried to see the alarm clock but it was too fuzzy without his glasses. His head was pounding.

"It's just after six, mate," Ron said, answering Harry's unspoken question as he Vanished the pile of vomit from the floor and handing him the glass of water. "Harry, what the hell is going on?"

"Dream," Harry said, taking a drink of the water and finally locating his glasses and slipping them on. He noticed his head was pounding and, oh god, vodka. So much vodka. "I didn't take my sleeping potion last night."

"I know it was a dream," Ron said. "It's not the first time I've seen you have a nightmare. I do remember you at Hogwarts, you know. I meant, what happened to get you in such a state? You've not touched alcohol for months, not since you started getting help, then you firecall Hermione and me at one in the morning in tears and barely able to string a sentence together."

"Sorry." Harry picked up the remainders of the glass of water and downed it. Ron spelled it full again, and Harry drank it all once more. Bloody hangovers. Well, this one he felt he'd thoroughly earned. "Make me a coffee and we'll talk."

Harry took his time getting up and dressed. A cool shower did little to rid his head of its fuzziness, and he still felt bloody awful when he emerged from it, ten minutes later. His head was still spinning, and his stomach in addition to the headache felt terrible. He threw on the first clean clothes his hands touched and he gingerly made his way downstairs. Ron had made coffee. He also slid two slices of thick buttered toast onto a plate and pushed them towards Harry. "Eat," Ron commanded, biting into a slice of his own toast.

For a few minutes Harry sat in silence, other than the sound of crunching toast. His mind was reeling. He also hated himself for reaching for vodka the first time something had gone wrong. Of course things were going to go wrong sometimes. He wasn't magically healed; Draco had said as much when Harry was in therapy. He'd warned Harry about relapses. And Harry's reaction the first time he'd experienced a relapse was to reach for the booze. It's not like he had been an alcoholic before, but Harry knew that he'd definitely been heading that way, and by reaching for drink at the first sign of trouble he'd just proven to himself he must never, ever touch the stuff again. Especially if it made him forget to take his sleeping potion. He could still see that corpse, the body of his son, as bony, decomposed hands reached up towards his neck… the dream had been his punishment.

Harry couldn't eat anything else, and put down his unfinished slice, feeling utterly nauseated. If Draco refused to give him any more potions after last night, then he was royally screwed. Ron, clearly realising it would be fruitless trying to get him to eat more, sent the plates to the sink and charmed them to wash themselves. Then he poured Harry another strong coffee. "Talk," he said.

And, to his own surprise, Harry did. And, because he was Harry Potter, and subtlety had never been a strong point of his, he plunged straight in at the deep end.

"I kissed Draco Malfoy last night," he said, and thought in any other situation he'd have thoroughly enjoyed the horrified look on Ron's face. "Then he pretty much rejected me and buggered off, and I can't stop thinking about him." He sighed, ran his hands over his face, and said the words he never thought he'd say. "I think I love him, Ron. I'm in love with Malfoy, and I have been for a while. And I don't know what the hell I'm going to do about it."

"Harry," Ron said slowly, "in the last few months I've learnt you're gay. I've come to terms with you divorcing my sister. I learnt to deal with those two things. I told you then I'd always be your best friend, and I meant that. But now you're telling me you're in love with Malfoy, who, aside from being a Marked Death Eater and complete shit, was your counsellor? Mate, have you lost your bloody mind?"

"Probably," Harry conceded. "I thought he liked me back. I really did." He put his head in his hands. "Last night- the drinking and stuff- that was a one-off. I'm never going back there, ever. But it's what I deserve isn't it? Why do I think I have the right to be happy and find another relationship already, so soon after what I did to Ginny? The divorce has only been final a month."

"Stop. Stop that self-blame now," Ron said. "Harry, Malfoy has behaved appallingly. He's supposed to be a counsellor, a bloody professional, for crying out loud. He knows your history, knows how vulnerable you are, but still kisses you then buggers off without so much as an explanation? That's not on. It's not a sign, or a punishment for you. It's just Malfoy being Malfoy. He's a stupid, selfish wanker who's never given a toss about anyone but himself and he always will be." He looked furious. "Harry, he shouldn't be toying with people's emotions like that, especially after what you've been through. It's just plain cruel."

"Yeah, well," Harry said, "it doesn't matter anyway does it? 'Cause obviously nothing is going to happen anyway. He made that quite clear when he was here last night."

"Why was he here in the first place?"

Harry explained about the letters, and how Draco ignored him, and how he ended up sending a Howler. The corners of Ron's mouth twitched. He didn't mention the mistletoe and the almost-kiss of a few weeks previously. It felt too private.

"Do you think you'll be okay on your own for a bit?" Ron asked. "I really need to get home and check on Hermione and the kids."

"Yeah, course," Harry said. "Tell Hermione what I've told you for me. And Ron? Thanks, mate. Even after everything, you were here for me last night. You're a true friend."

"Anytime, Harry," Ron said. He walked to the fireplace, took a pinch of Floo powder, and tossed it into the flames, instantly turning them emerald green. "Oh, one more thing before I go, what did you mean last night? About this being payback for Charlie?"

Oh, bollocks. Right, that was it. Harry was never, ever touching alcohol in any form again. Not even the hand sanitiser stuff they used in the gents' at the Ministry.

"I have absolutely no idea," Harry replied, praying his cheeks weren't scarlet and incredibly thankful Ron couldn't do Legilimency. "I was drunk."

Thankfully, Ron accepted this response without question and disappeared. Harry closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. No more lies, he'd promised himself. Even chastised Draco for it the previous night. Yet he was still holding on to the biggest lie of them all.

The rest of January and half of February passed in a blur of activity for Harry. Determined to try and forget the name Draco Malfoy, and not let himself lapse back into the depression he felt was only just around the corner, he threw himself into work, arriving before the other Aurors in the mornings and finishing last at night. He took Teddy to the Tower of London, Thorpe Park, and had a film a pizza night with him at Grimmauld Place on his days off. He had dinner frequently with Ron and Hermione. He even went for a (non-alcoholic) drink in Hogsmeade with Neville; something he hadn't done since before Ginny's pregnancy. He made sure he didn't spend too much time alone. He most certainly didn't contact Draco.

The nightmares, thankfully, didn't return, and Draco was at least still supplying the potions via his house-elf. The first time the elf made the delivery, Harry was sorely tempted to pour the entire lot down the sink, unwilling to have any part of him in debt to Draco, when Draco clearly wanted nothing to do with him. In fact he'd got as far as uncorking the first phial and holding over the plug hole before images of rotting flesh, skeletons and blood filled his mind. Swallowing his pride, Harry re-corked the phials and stored them safely away, hating himself a little for his weakness but unable to give up the one thing that made his night times bearable.

When Valentine's Day arrived, Harry pointedly ignored it and volunteered himself for the night shift. He figured it would be easier for him to be working than it would sitting at home feeling sorry for himself. He was exhaustedly tidying his desk after handing over to the morning team after his shift had ended when he overheard a conversation between two rookie Aurors who'd finished their training in the autumn.

"I can't believe it's back! The amount of grief we had over it during Christmas, remember? And now it stuffed up Valentine's Day too."

"I know. I was called out four times for it on Christmas Day."

"I was out three times last night. Elizabeth was not impressed. And I'd been on a promise! Of course we're lumbered with it again. Who'd give the job of investigating roses that curse the recipient into a completely immobile state to Potter or Weasley? While they're off solving murders and chasing dark wizards, we're stuck with cursed flowers."

"And when it was spelled into that mistletoe! All those people rooted to the spot unless they were kissed by their one true love. What a bunch of melodramatic codswallop. If I ever see a bunch of mistletoe again I'll shove it up Robard's arse."

At this, Harry stopped, and, forgetting he was supposed to be eavesdropping, marched up to the men.

"What's that about mistletoe?" he said loudly, causing both rookies to jump and glare at him in disgust. He really, really couldn't care less.

"Um, Auror Potter," stammered the younger of the two- Alex, Harry thought. "It's, ah, a case Simon and I have been given. Cursed roses which freeze a recipient, and-"

"Yes, I heard that," Harry said, waving his hand impatiently. "The mistletoe. What is it about the mistletoe?" His heart was racing now. He was sure he hadn't imagined something about having to be kissed by a person's one true love in order to be released from the spell.

"It looks like some disgruntled witch cursed a bunch of mistletoe," Alex replied. "Apparently she set it up in some misguided romantic gesture to her boyfriend, to prove they were soulmates or such other crap, and when her kiss didn't release him, she knew she wasn't his true love and flipped out, returned to the shop she bought the mistletoe from and applied the curse to the entire stock. People were buying it unaware, hanging it, then getting trapped. We've managed to trace every single case back to a single supplier: Orchis Morio on Diagon Alley. Owned by a bloke called Blaise Zabini."

Harry could hear a whistling in his ears. Zabini, Draco's friend and owner of a large florists, would almost certainly supply Malfoy Manor with its flowers and plants when needed. Chances were extremely high he had unwittingly supplied the mistletoe that had cursed Draco. He had even been at the Christmas party when Draco had become trapped; most likely he'd delivered it just hours before. It all fit. Bloody hell.

"And you're certain a person can only be released from a kiss from their one true love?" Harry said. It all sounded far-fetched to him, like something out of a Disney film.

"Absolutely positive," Simon replied. "It's what gave us the most trouble, given at least three people snared didn't have anyone to free them. St Mungo's had to intervene in those cases in the end, and let's just say it got very messy and involved a lot of Skele-Gro and limb re-growth. And now it's back in the flowers, some copycat case, and…"

But the rest of his speech was drowned out as Harry's mind began to race. Why hadn't he heard about this? Aurors rarely discussed cases, true, but this seemed like something that would have reached the rest of the department if not the Prophet, from the sheer novelty factor and risk to the public alone. You've not exactly been paying attention to much recently, though, have you? said a voice in his head. And Harry, trying to avoid any speculation surrounding his and Ginny's split, hadn't picked up the Prophet in weeks.

"What's the spell?" Harry demanded. Alex looked like he wanted to refuse to give it to him, but Harry outranked him. Rookies virtually never said no to more experienced Aurors.

"Amor Verus," he said finally. "It's Latin for 'true love'."

"Can I read your case file?" Harry asked, tiredness from the night shift forgotten. Simon looked confused but nodded and retrieved the file.

Two hours later, Harry had little doubt that this was exactly the same spell Draco had experienced. He also had little doubt that Alex and Simon had been right and it was only a person's true love who could release them from the enchantment.

And he had absolutely no doubt whatsoever that he'd been the one that had released Draco from it.

He returned the file to the archives and all but ran out of the Auror office.

"Oi! Slow down!" Ron called after him. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"To buy some mistletoe," Harry replied, not pausing to look back.

Mistletoe was surprisingly difficult to obtain in mid-February. Having finally managed to find some in a Muggle garden centre, Harry Apparated straight to St Mungo's. Harry knew Draco would be on his lunch break currently, which allowed him to put his admittedly not-very-well-thought-through plan into action. Pausing only to conceal himself in the Invisibility Cloak he always carried on his person when he was at work (it was a mightily useful tool in his job), he slipped past the receptionist and entered Draco's office when he knew she was fully concentrating on the copy of Witch Weekly opened out on her desk.

As he had suspected, Draco wasn't there. Harry pulled off the Cloak, stuffed it into his robes, and took out the mistletoe. With a quick spell, it Levitated it into the air, where it hovered a couple of feet away from the door. Draco would have to pass it to fully enter his office. Mistletoe in place, all Harry had to do now was wait.

Twenty minutes later, he heard the turn of a doorknob and watched as Draco entered the office and closed the door behind him. He froze in surprise as soon as he saw Harry and, to Harry's immense relief, stood directly under the mistletoe.

"What on earth-" was all Draco managed to say before Harry pointed his wand at the mistletoe and said, "Amor Verus!"

Draco's body instantly snapped rigid. Eyes, full of pure fury, glared at him from his motionless face. Good, Harry thought. Let him show some emotion finally.

"Déjà vu," Harry said, pointing to the mistletoe. Draco's eyes- the only part of him able to move, looked up as far as they could and, for the first time, clearly caught a glimpse of the plant as when the eyes returned to Harry they held a fearful recognition. "This morning I heard about a very interesting case some rookie Aurors have been working on. Perhaps you've heard of it? The 'Lover's Curse' case, they're calling it. It's a spell placed on mistletoe- the one I just cast- that roots a person to the spot under it. Basically, you're trapped until a kiss from your one true love can set you free. But you already knew this, didn't you? At your Manor, you knew then that I was the only one who could free you." He looked at Draco full in the eyes then. "I should hate you for what you did to me a couple of weeks ago, you know. I've tried to forget you. I really have, but for some reason, I appear to have fallen in love with you, you arsehole. But I'm certain you already knew that."

He looked again at the mistletoe, knowing full well that if this went hideously wrong he'd be lucky to escape Azkaban, not just losing his job. But his mind was made up. It was worth the chance. "I've freed you from this spell once before, but will it work again? No more messing me around. It's time to find out if you feel the same way about me as I do about you. Do you love me, too, Draco?"

With that, Harry leant in for a kiss.