13 February, 2004: Friday

Harry slumped into the chair behind his desk and pressed his fingers to his temple. The headache had been steadily growing all afternoon, and he hadn't had a chance to take a potion for it yet. He glanced at the clock on his desk. With the nine hour time difference, it would be 8:00 am in San Francisco – finally, not too early to call Manny. He pulled from his pocket the slip of paper on which Manny had scribbled his mobile number, and reached for the phone.

It was only at Hermione's insistence that the IS had installed phones in every office a few years earlier. As soon as she'd been promoted to head of the Communications Division, she'd ruffled quite a few feathers by insisting on the integration of Muggle technology into the IS's operating procedures. The training sessions she'd organized had been quite entertaining, as some of the IS wizards had never seen a telephone or a computer in their lives. She was still trying to drum up support for internet access.

Harry cast a quick silencing charm around his office, and then did a magical sweep for surveillance devices, just for good measure. He wondered if he was being paranoid. He yawned as he dialed Manny's number. How it was possible that a mere 24 hours ago he was just waking up? He'd been until three in the morning talking with Fallin and Bass, then caught a few hours' sleep under his desk before starting a series of meetings at 9:00 .

“Hello?”

“It's me – Harry.”

Manny exhaled into the phone. “Good to hear from you. I was hoping you'd call earlier, actually.”

Harry smiled. “Worried about me?”

“Of course! Fucking hell, Harry.” There was a note of humor in his tone along with the frustration. “How'd it go?”

“As well as can be expected,” Harry replied, settling back into his chair. “I spent the whole day in meetings, with the heads of each department, and then with a group of the senior staff. There were a few small battles, but nothing I couldn't handle. I don't think most of them believe there's really a threat.”

“I'm not surprised, honestly.”

“They must think I've gone mad, or that I was brainwashed by the clearly evil Draco Malfoy, or the Americans, or something. They think I'm being paranoid, at best.” Manny snorted on the other end of the line, and Harry sighed. “One bloke rather bluntly accused me of thinking with my prick.”

“You're kidding.” Manny's tone sounded like a strange blend of humor and affront.

“I wish I was. It was the first time I've ever admitted it in public – that I'm bisexual. It was harder to do than I expected.”

“Was it that bad?”

“Well, I had no idea some of them would be so homophobic,” Harry replied, sinking down in his chair. “Or that they'd be so fucking complacent about everything I told them! For me, it's as if a veil has been pulled away, and I can see things I haven't noticed for years. I don't think they want to see it.”

“Or perhaps they can't see it,” Manny interjected.

Harry nodded, eyes closed. “I think I shook a few of them up, though. We have our work cut out for us in this investigation.”

“I didn't expect it to be easy. I hope you know what you're up against, Harry.”

“It might be better if I don't actually,” Harry sighed. “If I'm right, and there are Death Eaters influencing the IS, they'll do everything they can to discredit me.”

“It'll turn into a witchhunt if you're not careful. Er, so to speak.” Harry chuckled in response. “So they agreed to most of the articulation agreement, then?”

“The only thing they wouldn't compromise on was the provision of temporary office space.”

“Well, it was worth a shot. We can get set up fairly quickly as soon as we find something suitable.”

“And they did agree to provide staff support to that end. Everything else was more or less accepted. If you give me a fax number, we'll send you the revised agreement. Hermione has a plan for encrypting it. She seemed to know what that data encryption thing you mentioned was.”

“I'm sure she does,” Manny replied. He sounded impressed. He read off the fax number and Harry wrote it down on a magic-stick note. “Assuming everything is agreeable, we'd like to bring a team out on Monday, to meet with your people and get started.”

“Who's coming?” Harry asked, feeling his stomach twist a little.

“Me, Cecelia, and a couple of guys you don't know.” Manny paused, and Harry's heart sank. Not that he'd expected Draco to come, really, but... “I talked to him last night. I gave him the decoded papers, and I told him about the investigation you're planning.”

Harry froze, stomach twisting yet again. “I... what did he say?”

“He was relieved, for one thing. He didn't want to think you were working against him. And he seemed to think you were on the right track with everything else.”

“And so...” Harry gritted his teeth. If Draco wanted to give him another chance, surely Manny would have said that straight away. “Is he still angry with me?”

“No, he's not, Harry, but... I don't want you to get your hopes up. He's circling the wagons, you know? He was really hurt, and he doesn't want to put himself in that position again.”

“But it was all a misunderstanding,” Harry groaned, fisting his own hair in frustration. “I didn't mean to keep things from him.”

“I know, I know,” Manny sighed. “We talked for a long time, and he... Harry, he's scared. He really cares about you, and I think he's terrified you won't feel the same way.”

“But I do,” Harry replied. “God help me, I do. I've never felt like this before, not about anyone. Not even my ex-wife.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. “That explains a lot.”

Harry snorted. “I'm not you, Manny. No offense.”

“But he doesn't know that, does he? And you don't know him , Harry. The two of you have been pretending to be something you're not for the last two weeks. How can you possibly think you're in love?”

“I don't think that,” Harry sighed, “but he won't even give it a chance.”

“To be fair, it's more complicated than what either of you does or doesn't want.” Manny sounded tired, and a little defensive.

“I'm sorry,” Harry replied, pressing his fingertips into a pressure point above his eye in an attempt to dull his headache.

“I know you were hoping he'd come there and help you, but he's not ready to go back yet. He said he'd provide information, if he could.”

“Thank you for talking to him,” Harry sighed. “Will you give him my telephone number? He could call me, whenever he wants. The line is secure.”

“Sure.”

There was a pause, and Harry winced, realizing he was being horribly selfish. “I'm looking forward to seeing you Monday,” he said. “Jack can work out travel details with Hermione's assistant, Peggy. Think you'll be portkeying here on Monday morning?”

“Probably Sunday evening. Er, morning here. You know.”

Harry smiled into the phone. “And you'll get a good night's sleep before the meeting, I hope. That time change is rough.”

“I'll look forward to seeing you, too. I'm sorry about Draco.” Manny sounded sincere, and it made Harry feel better. “Will you be at Heathrow on Sunday?”

“I can't, actually – there's something I need to do that night. I expect Hermione will be there, and probably the IS director as well. You remember what Hermione looks like, don't you?”

Manny made a sound like a cough. “Yes, I do, as a matter of fact.”

Harry grinned, for the first time that day. “Thanks, Manny. For everything.”

He rested his forehead on the desk for a moment after he hung up the phone. He was exhausted, and his head was pounding, but he wasn't quite finished. He picked up the phone again and dialed Hermione's extension.

Three minutes later, she walked through the door of his office. “Everything ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he said, holding out the revised agreement. “And here's the number.” He stuck the little yellow note on the top page.

“I'll encrypt it now so Peggy can send it before she leaves for the day. Are you all right?” Harry looked up to see Hermione frowning at him.

“Headache,” he grumbled. “Been getting worse all day.”

“Did you take something?” She pulled out her wand, as if ready to cast a pain relief spell or accio a headache potion from her office.

“No,” he said. “I think it's caffeine withdrawal – nothing a few cups of tea won't fix.” He had been drinking quite a bit of coffee over the last few weeks, after all.

She tilted her head at him, a skeptical expression on her face, and closed the door behind her. “Do you really believe we've all been distracted from something important?” she asked, sitting in a chair by his desk.

He nodded. “I can't explain it, but everything feels different after being away. It's as if it's harder to think here, almost like I'm really sleepy.”

“Sure that's not the portkey lag talking?” she grinned.

“No,” he sighed. “But it's worth investigating, don't you think?”

Hermione stood and examined the agreement in her hands. “If it really is the work of Death Eaters, if they're really influencing our agency, we need to find out. I have a feeling things are going to get a little exciting around here.” She raised an eyebrow at Harry, and he smiled back as best he could. “By the way, do you have any plans for tomorrow evening?”

He shook his head, and almost laughed. “Hardly. I might be sleeping. Why?”

“Want to come and have dinner with me and the kids? You shouldn't be alone on Valentine's Day.”

Harry felt a sudden stab of loneliness. “No, I guess not. What time?”

It was dark by the time Harry finally stepped out of the fireplace into his own flat. He stood for a moment and stared around the living room, which looked just as it had when he'd left it nearly two weeks earlier. Before he took even a step into the room, he did a surveillance sweep. There was nothing there. He pressed a hand to his forehead, and wondered for the twentieth time that day if he was making a horrible mistake.

He walked into his bedroom and dropped his rucksack on the bed, then stripped out of his clothes. He took a quick shower and collapsed into bed. The sky was dark despite the early hour, and he imagined he might be able to get to sleep. The phone conversation with Manny kept drifting through his mind, and he found his thoughts returning to Draco, over and over.

Draco knew the truth about Harry now, and he'd still said no. He cared about Harry, but it wasn't worth the risk. He might even be falling in love with Harry, but he wasn't going to come back.

Harry sighed, feeling strangely numb. He ought to feel horrible now, devastated, shattered. But he didn't. It was as if he just didn't believe it.

A tapping at the window brought him out of his thoughts, and he sat up in bed. A white form was hovering on the other side of the glass.

“Hedwig!” he cried, sprinting to the window. He opened it and she flew around the room once before settling haughtily on her perch. A large bag was tied to her leg – two weeks' worth of post. Harry untied the bag and Hedwig ruffled her feathers, shaking her head. Harry smiled at her and reached up to tap her beak, but she turned her head away. Harry pouted and moved to stand in front of her. “I missed you,” he said. He'd barely thought about her, of course, but it was worth a try. She turned her head to the side, ignoring him. “Don't be like that. I had to go away. Hermione took good care of you, didn't she?” He leaned around to try to look her in the eye, but she twisted her head until it was facing backwards. Harry sighed. Even Hedwig didn't want to talk to him?

He switched on a lamp and emptied the bag on his bed. It was mostly junk – catalogs for exotic owl-order potions, magical kitchen appliances, and so forth – and a few bills, of course. His Muggle post was probably piled up inside the front door. He hadn't even looked.

The only piece of personal mail was a large brown envelope. He opened it and pulled out a set of papers, printed the Muggle way. He stared at them for several seconds before realizing what they were: divorce papers.

He almost laughed. If he'd received this envelope two weeks ago, it would have been traumatic, but now it was clear to him that he and Cho were not meant to be together. He set the papers aside and climbed back into bed. Maybe he should call Cho after all. Lunch would be good. He could give her the signed papers and make his peace with their relationship, once and for all.

He closed his hand around the wrist wearing Draco's bracelet and sighed. Just touching it made him feel closer to Draco. Perhaps that was why he couldn't give up hope completely. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep to the sound of Hedwig's hooting snores.

14 February, 2004: Saturday

“Good night, Uncle Harry!” the twins chorused. They beamed at him, red curls sticking out in every direction.

Harry grinned and pulled them both into a hug. “Good night to you, and go straight to sleep so Mummy and I can talk, all right?”

Cally nodded, rubbing her eyes. “Thank you for the kitty.”

“You're welcome, darling,” Harry replied, kissing her forehead. He'd stopped off at a toy shop on the way over, since the gifts he'd bought for them in San Francisco had been destroyed along with the rest of his possessions in his room at the Inn .

“Thank you for my bear,” Harley added, throwing his arms around Harry's neck and giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Harry closed his eyes and smiled.

“All right, now, off to bed with you,” Hermione said, tugging on Cally's shirt. “Let go of Uncle Harry, pumpkin.”

“Happy Valentimes Day,” Cally yawned.

Hermione took both children's hands and pulled them to their feet. “Shouldn't have let them have so much chocolate,” she muttered. Harry waved as the children reluctantly followed their mother out of the room.

He climbed to his feet and went into the kitchen to open the bottle of wine he'd bought Hermione. She loved French wine, and he'd shelled out an obscene amount of money on a bottle of Burgundy as a gift – much more than he had for the necklace he'd bought in San Francisco . She'd insisted on opening it that evening and sharing it with him, which he'd taken as a sign that he'd made a poor choice of vintage.

And this of course, had reminded him that Draco knew a lot about French wine, and he'd been depressed ever since.

He'd awakened surprisingly headache-free that morning, and had barely glanced at the three Starbucks cafes he'd passed between the toy shop and the wine seller. The smell of coffee wafted out the door of the third, and he was tempted – but he didn't want to think about it. He'd actually been proud of his resistance at the time, proud that he wasn't letting himself think about Draco constantly.

So much for personal strength. He poured two glasses and settled on the sofa by the fire. It was cozy, even romantic, and that didn't help him at all. Not that he'd ever sat by a fire with Draco, but now that he was here, he couldn't help but think about it.

“That was easy,” Hermione remarked as she sat next to him.

He handed her a glass of wine. “They're not usually so cooperative?”

She shook her head, then swirled her wine glass and sniffed. “Lovely,” she said. “How did you choose this one?”

He smirked. “The label was in French, and thirty quid seemed a good amount to spend on my best friend on Valentine's Day.”

She grinned at him. “You got ripped off. It's worth twenty.”

He shrugged. “Just my luck lately.”

Hermione took a sip of her wine and stared into the fire for a moment. “How are you, Harry?”

He pursed his lips and sighed. “Honestly? I'm fucking miserable. I feel so lost and it's Valentine's Day and...” He shook his head.

“I know,” she replied. “It's almost as bad as Christmas for me, especially since Ron died just before Valentine's Day that year...” She trailed off, fingering the gold chain around her neck. She'd found it in Ron's coat pocket a week after he'd died. He had bought for her, but never had the chance to give it. “This is the first year you've been alone, isn't it?”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Harry replied.

“Have you talked to her since you got back?”

Harry turned his head, realizing they weren't talking about the same person. “I... no.” He blinked.

Hermione studied his face. “What?”

Harry sighed. “It's not Cho I'm miserable about, you know.” He took several sips of wine and looked away.

“Oh.” Hermione sipped her wine as well, and was quiet for a moment. “He must have changed quite a lot since school.”

“Who hasn't?” Harry asked, and then realized how ridiculous that sounded. After all, this was Draco Malfoy they were talking about. “Yes, he has. You probably wouldn't recognize him for the horrid wanker he used to be.”

“For your sake, I hope not,” Hermione quipped, and reached for the wine bottle. She refilled each of their glasses and set it down again. “Now start talking. You promised you'd tell me everything, and we're not at work anymore. I want details.”

And so he did. For nearly half an hour, he recounted everything that had happened over the past two weeks – the early flirtation between him and Draco, the realization that he was bisexual, his dalliances with Colby, his jealousy of Manny, and his one night with Draco, after he'd been whisked away from the Inn just as Death Eaters had appeared. He choked on his words when he told her about the morning after, the revelation that Manny and Draco were close friends and nothing more, and Manny's admission that Draco was falling in love with Harry. And he told her about his phone call with Manny the prior evening, and that Draco wasn't coming back.

He stared into his empty wine glass when he'd finished, and it hit him: Draco really wasn't coming . He didn't want to take a chance because he didn't trust Harry, despite everything. Draco knew he could love Harry, but that wasn't enough.

“Oh god,” he whispered, and felt tears welling in his eyes. He didn't bother trying to stop them – Hermione had seen him cry before, and they'd held each others' hands through many rough nights over the last few years.

She reached out for his hand. “I'm sorry.”

He nodded and wiped his cheeks with his sleeve. “I feel like such an idiot.”

“I know,” she sighed, and squeezed his hand. He felt her trace Draco's bracelet with one finger. “I wonder why he gave you this?”

“I don't know. I don't want to let myself think about it.” She was silent and he could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. “Don't say it, Hermione.”

“I could just do a little research, see what I can find–”

“Hermione, please...” he groaned. “If it's nothing, I don't want to know.”

“But what if it isn't nothing? What if–”

“Can we talk about it later? I'm not nearly drunk enough to drown my sorrows yet.” He smiled hopefully at her.

She sighed. “Fine. Tomorrow.” She picked up the empty bottle and took it to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a bottle of chablis and two clean glasses. She casually tapped the neck of the bottle with her wand and the cork popped out.

Harry winced. Why did everything have to remind him of Draco?

“So, you really had sex with him?” Hermione asked as she poured the wine. She was trying not to smile too widely.

“Yes,” he replied, and said nothing more.

“And...?”

Harry smirked. “Oh, yes, you wanted details, didn't you?”

“Well, you know... did you... do him or...?”

“Yes, I fucked him.” Harry replied, as casually as he could manage.

Hermione giggled. “Shit, Harry! Did you like it?”

“Are you kidding?” He felt himself blushing. “It was amazing.”

“Did he fuck you too?”

Harry squinted at her. “That's uncharted territory, actually. Not that I'm not open to it, but...”

“It's not that bad, really,” she said, settling back into the sofa cushions. “If he takes his time and doesn't just shove it right in.”

Harry's jaw dropped. “You...?” For some reason, anal sex wasn't part of his matronly image of Hermione.

She blushed. “Well, you have to try it all once, now don't you? It was okay, but I preferred it the usual way.” She took a sip of wine and winked at him. “Ron was a big boy, so it was a little uncomfortable.”

“Big, huh?” Harry laughed. “And I always thought he was bragging.”

Hermione nodded. “You remember how big his feet were.”

Harry grinned and poked her with his bare foot. “Huge feet, compared to mine. I never saw it hard , though.”

“Maybe it would have changed your life,” Hermione smirked.

“Maybe,” Harry said. “Did you know I kissed him once?”

“He told me,” she said. They were silent for a moment. “You know, if I can talk about him – hell, if I can talk about his dick – I must be moving on.”

“It's been three years, hasn't it?” Harry tucked his foot under her thigh to keep it warm.

“They say it takes five to really recover from a loss like that,” she sighed. “But I'm ready, I think.”

“Ready for what?”

“To go out. To start dating. To have sex with somebody. Anybody.”

Harry laughed. “You're drunk.”

“I'm serious,” she said, gesturing with her wine glass. “We should go down to Soho and pick up a couple of blokes, you know. Take them back to your place and have our way with them.”

“Why my place?”

“Wouldn't want to wake up the kids,” she said. Her smile faltered. “But that's the biggest problem. I can't just date random men, you know. I have to think of the twins.”

“I suppose,” he replied. “But we're just fantasizing, right?”

She sipped her wine. “Maybe you can pick up boys and I can just hang out in the corner and watch.”

Harry's eyes widened. “You want to watch ?”

“Of course,” she grinned. “Would you mind?”

“I'm not sure,” Harry replied.

Hermione pursed her lips. “Do you think you'd find the buzzing sound of my vibrator too terribly distracting?”

Harry laughed, and she giggled in response. “You use one of those? I thought witches had spells for that sort of thing.”

“I prefer the Muggle way, usually. Masturbation spells require too much concentration, at the wrong moment.”

“Yeah, kills the mood,” Harry sighed. “I can't believe we're having this conversation. We never talk about sex.”

Hermione shrugged. “I'm just desperately randy, I think. I haven't had any in years .”

“Shit,” Harry muttered. “That's horrible.”

Hermione shook her head. “We're so pathetic! Listen to us.”

“I know,” Harry sighed. “I haven't had any in days ...” Hermione swatted him with a pillow. “But you know, casual sex isn't all it's cracked up to be.”

Hermione sighed. “I suppose. I just don't have any options. Where am I going to find a man who'll like me, and who won't run away when he finds out I have children? What if I find that man and I realize I don't like him, or that the twins don't like him, or...?”

“I don't know,” Harry said, scooting closer and taking her free hand in his. “But I think you can't help who you fall in love with.” He turned to look at her, and she smiled at him. They stared at each other for a long moment.

Then she leaned forward and kissed him. It caught him by surprise, and he froze to the spot. He felt her tongue press tentatively between his lips, and wondered if he should stop this before it went too far.

She sat back, frowning. “Well, that did absolutely nothing for me.” He blinked at her, not sure how to react, and she raised an eyebrow. “Just thought I'd give it a shot. No offense.”

He smiled then. “None taken. Did nothing for me either, by the way.”

“It would have been terribly convenient, though,” she said, and laughed. They settled against the sofa again, shoulders pressed together and heads touching, watching the flames.

“Do you think you're in love with him?” Hermione asked, just as Harry was starting to drift to sleep.

“I don't know,” he replied. “I feel so fucking empty right now, like there's a hole where he used to be. I was hurt after Cho left, but it felt different from this.” He shrugged. “It doesn't matter, anyway. He isn't coming back, and I'd best get on with it and forget about him.” He wished he could convince himself with those words.

“It's like that old Muggle song,” she sighed. “You left your heart in San Francisco .”

He wrinkled his nose. “ That's pathetic.”

“Sorry.” She intertwined her fingers with his and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. She traced the edge of the ring he wore with one finger. “When did you start wearing this again?”

Harry watched her face as she studied the jade stone, and wished yet again he'd been able to give her the necklace he'd bought in the States. “I found it packed away in a box, when I was going through things after Cho moved out. I was used to wearing a ring, so...” He shrugged.

Hermione smiled and released his hand. “It would have made Ron happy, I think, to see you wearing it.”

“I wish I knew why he gave it to me,” Harry sighed. He'd awakened in St. Mungo's to the news that Ron was dead and the War was over – and he'd been wearing this ring. He'd last seen it on Ron's hand, and had no idea how he'd got it.

Hermione opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it again, and turned to watch the fire.

Harry yawned. “Mind if I kip on your sofa tonight?”

“Of course not.” She pushed to her feet and stretched. “I'll get some bedding for you.” She kissed the top of his head before she walked away, and he smiled.

15 February, 2004: Sunday

Harry opened his eyes slowly. Two pairs of bright blue eyes were looking back, peering at him curiously over the edge of the sofa cushion.

“Morning,” he mumbled, blinking.

“He's awake, Mummy!” Cally shouted. “We don't have to be quiet anymore!”

“Children!” he heard Hermione shout from the kitchen. “Leave Uncle Harry alone!”

“No, it's all right,” Harry yawned, and sat up. “I'm awake.”

“Yay!” the children chorused, and dashed away, giggling.

“I'm sorry,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “They've been up for hours, and they have an attention span of about three minutes.”

Harry smiled sleepily at her. “No, it's fine. What time is it?”

“Nearly ten. Coffee or tea?”

Harry yawned. “Whichever's easiest. It's going to take me a week to get back on GMT.”

Hermione appeared with a steaming cup and smiled warmly at him. “Poor baby. Want an egg, or something?”

Harry shook his head. “Molly's expecting me for lunch, actually. I'll just floo from here, if you don't mind.”

Hermione squinted at him. “Feel free to wash up in my bathroom. You know where the towels are.”

Harry shot her a mock glare before taking a sip of his tea. He decided to take a shower, ultimately, and felt all the better for it. He emerged from the bathroom to find his clothes neatly folded on Hermione's bed. She'd cast a cleaning spell on them, including his underwear. He grinned as he got dressed. Between Hermione and Molly, he didn't really need a mother.

He returned to the kitchen to find the twins eating breakfast. They each had jam all over their faces, and Harley even had some in his hair. Harry grinned at them.

“Guess who's having a B-A-T-H next?” Hermione muttered. She glanced at Harry and wrinkled her nose yet again. “Don't tell me you still haven't learned to do a proper depilo .”

Harry rubbed his cheek. “I tried to learn once, but I kept messing it up. I have to look in the mirror, and everything's backwards.”

“So you use a razor instead? The spell lasts for a week, you know.” Hermione shook her head in amusement and pulled her wand out of her jeans pocket. “Come here, then.” Harry tried not to look nervous as she studied his face. “Relax, Harry. I use this spell on myself regularly.”

“Yes, but not on your face.”

She grinned. “Do you think my eyebrows look this way naturally?”

He stared, and was impressed. If she could manage that level of detail, perhaps he had nothing to worry about.

“Now hold still,” she murmured, forehead wrinkling in concentration. Her wand pointed straight at his chin, and she said, “ Depilo !”

He felt a tingling sensation spread over his skin, and then dissolve. He touched his cheek, and it was smooth. He grinned. “Thanks.”

“I used to do it for Ron all the time,” she smiled.

“Cho never volunteered,” Harry said, shrugging. “I never asked, either.”

“Want another cup of tea before you go?”

He shook his head. “Molly's expecting me soon, and you know she'll have the kettle on.”

Hermione sighed. “I can't wait until the twins are old enough to floo alone. The train ride is a pain in the you-know-what.”

He grinned. “Sorry, in the what?” She rolled her eyes and nodded pointedly at the children. Harry laughed. “Oh, before I forget, you're going to meet the FBI team at Heathrow tonight, aren't you?”

“Yes,” she said, wiping at Cally's face with a napkin. “They arrive at eight o'clock , and then we're portkeying them directly to the Happy Goblin Hotel. There'll be four or five of them, apparently.” She moved on to the other child, licking her thumb before wiping at a particularly sticky spot. “I wish you could come. I won't know any of them.”

“You've met Manny before, actually,” Harry said. Hermione looked up, surprised. “At some conference in Madrid , he said. I'm sure you'd remember him – tall, dark, handsome, and all that. He's built a lot like Ron, actually.”

Hermione grinned. “You'd think I'd remember a man like that. Built like Ron, huh?” She raised a questioning eyebrow.

Harry held his hands up and affected an innocent expression. “I wouldn't know about that , I swear.”

“Uncle Harry's going to floo to Grandma's house,” Hermione said, ruffling Cally's hair. “Say goodbye.”

“Oooo, can we watch?” Harley asked, clapping his hands.

“The Burrow!” Cally squealed, miming throwing down a pinch of floo powder.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Hermione. “Not old enough to floo?”

Hermione shook her head stubbornly. “Not until they're five.”

“If they can say where it is they want to go, I think they'll be fine,” he replied, grinning.

“Drop it, Harry,” she warned.

The twins bounced over to the fireplace, shouting, “The Burrow! The Burrow!” Harry hugged them goodbye as best he could, given that they were wiggling and still a bit messy, while Hermione lit a fire in the grate with her wand.

She kissed him on the cheek. “I'll see you in the morning, then. The meeting's scheduled for ten.”

“Thanks for everything, Hermione,” he said, and she beamed at him. He took a pinch of floo powder from the kettle and stepped into the flames.

Molly had indeed put a kettle on, and she hugged him warmly the moment he stepped out of the fireplace. She brushed aside his apologies for not attending the annual gathering in memory of Ron, Arthur, Charlie, and George, and insisted he tell her what he'd been doing in the month since she'd last seen him. He told her as much as he could – which was very little – and she seemed to accept it.

“I'm just so pleased to see you, dear!” she cooed, pouring him another cup of tea. “You look tired, but I suppose the time change from California is difficult.”

Harry nodded, perfectly content to let her do the talking.

“I ran into Cho last week in Diagon Alley,” Molly said, raising an eyebrow over her tea cup.

Harry groaned inwardly. “Really? How is she?”

Molly snorted. “Shopping with that man, as if nothing was wrong.”

“Molly,” Harry sighed, rubbing his chin, “I appreciate the sentiment, but it's fine, really. It's over. I'm not angry at her. I'm ready to move on.”

Molly studied him for a moment. “Well, you may have forgiven her, Harry, but I won't. However, I'm glad to hear you're back on the market.” She smiled, and Harry began to worry. “There's so many lovely girls out there, you know, each of them much better than that ex-wife of yours. My Ginny's single again, as a matter of fact.”

Harry tried not to smirk. “Ginny's a bit consumed with her career. I doubt she has time for a relationship. Isn't she in Japan now?”

“Yes,” Molly frowned. “But she needs a good boy to settle down with.”

Harry bit his lip. “Maybe that's what I need too.” He glanced up at Molly.

She didn't miss a beat. “Bill, then. He's as single as they come.”

Harry grinned. “Bill's gay ?”

She shrugged. “Well, he's never had a girlfriend that I've known about. And he dresses very well.” She winked at Harry. “Not that he'd say a word about it to his mother, of course.”

Harry laughed, and looked down at his hands. “So it doesn't bother you, then? That I like boys as well as girls?”

“Of course not,” Molly sighed. “You're like a son to me, Harry. I want you to be happy.”

Harry glanced up again. “Thanks.”

Molly smiled. “Besides, it's not as if I didn't have any suspicions about you. Ron told me once he thought it was a matter of time before you came out of the closet.”

Harry nearly choked on his tea, and Molly laughed.

“I miss him,” Harry said.

“We all do,” Molly replied. “Why don't you go on and spend some time with him before lunch?”

Harry spent nearly half an hour sitting by Ron's grave, staring up at the sky and thinking. He'd been there the day Ron died. He must have seen the curse that killed him, but he didn't remember it. He didn't even know if he'd tried to do anything to stop it. He'd just awakened in St. Mungo's one day with a splitting headache – and Ron was dead.

He hadn't managed to do much of anything during the War. Harry had been in the meeting when Albus Dumbledore had announced his intention to sacrifice himself, and in the end it had been for nothing. Just when they'd finally begun to gain an advantage, Voldemort and his supporters had staged a massive series of terrorist-style attacks, and then had simply vanished.

It was a month before they'd buried the dead and repaired all the damage. The newspapers reported that Voldmort had been defeated yet again, but it wasn't true.

Harry traced Ron's inscribed name on the headstone and sighed. “I wish we'd talked more, those last few years,” he whispered. There hadn't been time during the War, and then Ron was gone.

“I'm not sorry about the kiss, by the way.” Harry felt a bit odd talking to a headstone, but continued anyway. “I'm only sorry about what happened afterwards. I wish I'd had the courage to face up to what I really felt about you.” Not that it would have made much difference in their relationship. Ron had loved Hermione his entire life. Harry leaned against the cool stone and closed his eyes. “I wonder what you'd say about me and Draco,” he mused. “You'd probably threaten to kick my arse, and his for good measure.” Or maybe Ron would have understood. After all, he'd apparently told both Hermione and his mother that he suspected Harry was gay.

“Why didn't you tell me ?” Harry whispered, plucking at a blade of grass beneath his fingers. “Would have saved me an awful lot of grief.” He stared at the jade ring on his finger, and then at the silver bracelet on his wrist – both reminders of men he'd lost. He looked at the sky, and sighed.

Molly didn't seem to mind that he was late for lunch, and Harry didn't mind that the food was cold. He felt surprisingly better.

16 February, 2004: Monday

It was nearly 9:00 am by the time Harry flooed to the IS headquarters, flustered and nervous. He was excited to see Manny again, but worried about the meeting. He had no idea what to expect, and could only hope those colleagues who'd been so suspicious on Friday would come in with open minds.

There was a stack of papers in his inbox already, and two more appeared before he could remove the ones already there. One was quivering excitedly in the stack, and he pulled it out first.

Meeting with FBI representatives moved to the small conference room. Essential staff only! Proceedings confidential.

He raised an eyebrow. Essential staff included him, he presumed, along with the heads of the divisions. That was a change from Friday. He rummaged through the stack for a copy of the articulation agreement and began to study it.

At ten minutes to ten, there was a knock on his door. Hermione's head popped through before he could say a word.

“Harry, can you come to the conference room now?” she asked.

“Sure,” he sighed, gathering his papers and searching for a quill. He wasn't sure if he'd be any more ready in ten minutes, anyway. Hermione was standing in the doorway, chewing her lip nervously. “Anything wrong?”

“No,” she said, face unusually blank. He squinted at her, but she only smiled in response. They began walking down the hall.

“They got in all right last night, I suppose?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Hermione said. She was trying hard not to smile, it seemed.

Harry poked her with an elbow. “Did you recognize Manny?”

She blushed and nodded. “Oh, yes.”

Harry grinned. “He's pretty hot, don't you think?”

“Shut up, Harry.” She blushed even more. It was a sure sign she was interested.

They arrived at the door of the conference room, and she put an arm out to stop him before the door opened. He turned to look at her. She was staring curiously at him.

“What?” he asked.

She reached up with one hand and combed her fingers through his hair, as if smoothing it. “Ready?” she asked. He nodded, and she opened the door. Harry stepped into the conference room, taking a deep breath.

And promptly froze. Sitting at the table, between Cecelia and Manny, was Draco.

Harry was sure all of the blood had drained from his face. It was all he could do not to gasp in surprise. He kept his mouth firmly closed, and stared. Draco had looked up the moment he'd come in, and the expression on his face seemed to mirror Harry's, minus the shock.

A hundred thoughts flitted through Harry's mind all at once, threatening to shut his brain down altogether. He knew he ought to say something, but he didn't dare.

“Sit,” Hermione hissed, tugging him toward a chair.

He sat directly across from Draco, still staring. Draco looked the same, and Harry had to remind himself it had only been a couple of days since he'd seen him last. His hair was stylishly tousled, and he was wearing his glasses. Harry wondered if the time change had thrown off his schedule for the vision correction spell. Or perhaps he was hoping it would make him a bit less recognizable.

Draco stared back, chewing his lower lip. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Harry repeated. He took a trembling breath, and tore his eyes away from Draco's. “Hello Manny, Cecelia.” They both smiled warmly at him. Manny cast his eyes towards Draco and shrugged very slightly, as if to tell Harry he didn't know why Draco had come either. There was another man Harry didn't recognize with them, avidly studying what seemed to be a copy of the articulation agreement. To Harry's right was Hermione, and to the right of her was Arnold Bass, the director of the IS. He smiled warmly at Harry, eyes twinkling. Two other division heads were present, though not the one who'd given Harry so much shit the day before.

Harry looked at Draco again, hardly believing this was real. Draco was here, sitting across from him, and that had to mean something. It simply had to.

“Well, Mr. Malfoy,” Fallin said, appearing in the doorway. “I see you decided to accept our offer after all.”

“Mr. Malfoy is an agent of the FBI,” Cecelia interjected. Her voice had a commanding quality that drew everyone's attention. “Any agreements you may have extended to him do not hold without my approval.”

“That agreement ensured he would not be arrested,” Fallin retorted, sitting across from Cecelia, “in exchange for his cooperation.”

“He has entered into no agreement by virtue of his presence,” Cecelia replied, smiling tightly. “Regardless of any preconceived ideas you may have, he is a valued member of my team. I expect him to be treated as such.”

Harry glanced at Draco to see that he was listening to the exchange with mild interest. He seemed unconcerned.

“Of course,” Fallin said, though Harry knew him well enough to know he wasn't happy about it. Draco smiled, and Fallin turned to him. “Well then, Mr. Malfoy, why are you here?” Harry glanced at Hermione, who shrugged. Apparently the meeting had started.

“Harry asked me to come,” Draco said, turning his gaze to Harry.

Harry's stomach did a flip, and he actually missed Fallin's next question altogether. He was far too intrigued by the movement of Draco's hair when he turned his head, and the way he pursed his lips and ducked his chin as he began to speak again.

“Last week I was notified that my father had been spotted in San Francisco ,” he began. “I assumed he was there for me; after all, he's been trying to recruit me to his cause for years, even going so far as to hire rogue CIA agents to track me down.”

Fallin's nose twitched at this, but he said nothing.

“I knew the CIA had put surveillance on Harry as well, and I began to believe Lucius was planning to attack him, to use him as bait to get to me, perhaps to blackmail me into joining him.” Harry stared at him, startled, but Draco didn't meet his gaze. “So I offered to meet with him last Tuesday night. I already knew by then that Harry was planning to return to England , so I hoped to distract Lucius long enough for Harry to leave... by offering my cooperation.” Draco swallowed, and Harry cast a quick glance around the room. There were several shocked expressions, and a few skeptical ones. “But it turned out that he wasn't interested in using Harry to get to me. He wanted to use me to get to Harry .”

“Why?” Fallin asked, glancing at Harry. “What would Lucius Malfoy want with Harry?” Harry swallowed, wondering the same thing.

Draco exhaled and looked up at Harry. “Because he believes Harry knows what happened to Voldemort.”

There was a buzz of surprise in the room, and all eyes turned to Harry. “I... what?” Harry asked.

“That's what they all believe, actually,” Draco continued. “They think you were there and you know why and how he disappeared. That's why they want you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Harry sputtered. He didn't know anything about Voldemort's whereabouts; he was certain. How could he not know he knew something?

“And I think they're correct,” Draco said, squinting at Harry. “I doubt it was an obliviate . It was probably some sort of memory isolation spell; otherwise they wouldn't be so convinced the knowledge is recoverable.”

“Wait,” Hermione said. “You're suggesting that Harry knows where Voldemort is, but someone locked the memory of it, so he doesn't know that he knows?” Harry stared at her, uncertain what to think. It seemed preposterous.

“Yes,” Draco replied, still watching Harry's face. “It had to have been done by someone close to you. It may even have been done with the idea of protecting you, for that matter. My father seems to have known about it for years, and I'm not sure who else does.” Draco glanced around the room and seemed to be steeling himself before speaking again. “That's one of the reasons they've kept smothering charms on the Ministry offices these last few years. They wanted to keep Harry from remembering, keep the information from being revealed – until they wanted him to remember, at least.”

Harry swallowed and glanced at Hermione. He had no idea what a smothering charm was, but it sounded quite appropriate to what he'd been experiencing.

“Smothering charms?” Fallin cried. “This is rubbish! There's no such thing.”

Draco smirked. “You're so naïve, the lot of you. A smothering charm is a complex spell, and an old one.”

“A dark one?” Hermione asked.

“Of course,” Draco replied. “All the really useful ones are.” There were a few snorts around the room, and Draco's smirk became a condescending smile. The expression was frighteningly familiar on his face, and Harry began to wonder just who Draco Malfoy really was. Was he this incarnation of his childhood self, or was he the person Harry'd known in San Francisco ? “You're unaware of it because it's a difficult spell to sense, by definition. It smothers one's awareness, gradually. You stop noticing details you would otherwise see. Its effects are lingering, as well. You'd have to be away from the influence of the spell for at least a week before your mind became completely clear again.” He turned to Harry. “That's why they wanted to capture you when they found out you were in San Francisco , beyond their control. They wanted to get to you before you learned what had been happening.”

“This is ridiculous,” Fallin snorted, shaking his head. “There's no evidence to support this claim.”

“He's telling the truth,” Harry replied, seeing all the pieces begin to fit together on this cornerstone of his investigation. “I can feel the smothering charms now. I've only recently realized how clouded my mind has been these last few years, but now it's quite obvious.” He felt a twinge behind his eyes and winced.

“Resisting the spell gives you a headache,” Draco said, “so your body adjusts, and your mind becomes less sensitive over time.”

“Can you remove it?” Harry asked. “Or counteract it?”

“I can, but it will take time,” Draco replied. “It might be more useful to teach everyone to resist, at first.”

Fallin looked back and forth between Harry and Draco, studying both of them carefully. “How long have you known about this, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Two years,” Draco said, shrugging nonchalantly. “I don't know how long the spell has been in place, but I would assume not more than four or five years.”

“And why didn't you tell us, two years ago?” Hermione asked, a little furrow of annoyance crossing her brow. “There's no telling what we've been missing, and you could have helped–”

“I have no obligation to the Ministry of Magic,” Draco retorted. “The IS turned my application away when I finished training, and blacklisted me simply because of my name. I couldn't get a position in this country, thanks to you lot. The FBI had no such prejudices.” He stared around the room, avoiding Harry, but accusing everyone else with his eyes. “Besides, I was working undercover. It would have been idiotic of me to turn over that sort of information, when there were so many lives to be saved by revealing other details.”

“Draco's work in New York was extremely important,” Cecelia added, her voice containing a hint of the strength of which she was capable. “He had to make difficult choices every day, and I can assure you the organization stands behind each one.” Fallin seemed to be stifling an urge to glare at her.

“This is not why we're here,” Harry interjected. “Our agencies have made an agreement to share information, and Draco has graciously demonstrated the FBI's intent to do just that. I suggest we move on to more relevant issues.” Hermione nudged him slightly under the table, a gesture of support. “For example, our colleagues need to find a secure space to set up their base of operations, and we have promised to help them. We also agreed to share encryption strategies, and Hermione will be working with them on that front. The personnel may be different than what was expected, but that doesn't change the main goal of this enterprise.”

“Well spoken, Harry,” said Bass. He'd been unusually quiet during the meeting. “Perhaps we should adjourn for now, and give our guests a chance to adjust to the time difference, find work space, and get settled in. Might I suggest we meet back here on Wednesday?”

The room was silent, but no one seemed willing to argue. Fallin cast one more suspicious glance at Draco before turning to Cecelia. “Very well. Director Montes, my staff is at your disposal.”

Hermione nudged Harry again, and he turned to see her smirking in amusement. He raised a curious eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes. He looked back across the table at Draco, who was grinning as well.

Everyone stood; hands were shaken, belated introductions made. One by one, people began leaving, but Harry was rooted to the spot. Draco was standing across the small room, nodding absently as Cecelia spoke in his ear. Manny and Hermione were talking quietly near the door, and seemed oblivious to everything around them.

Harry wasn't sure what he was feeling – he was excited and terrified and relieved and full of dread, all at the same time. He'd been frightened and awed by the information Draco had revealed, and he knew it would take a little time to sink in. He wasn't convinced that any of it was true.

Perhaps Lucius Malfoy was lying. Harry'd never heard of memory locking spells that could be done without the consent of the person, anyway. They were different from obliviation spells in that regard, since they required cooperation. And he couldn't imagine he would have cooperated with anyone to lock up that particular memory, not when it would have been so useful during the War – and after.

Harry watched Draco for another minute before he summoned the courage to walk around the table.

“I want you to be careful,” Cecelia was saying. “I'm still not convinced your coming here was wise.”

Draco glanced at Harry quickly before turning back to Cecelia. “Neither am I, but it's too late now. I've outed myself, and I won't be able to work undercover again.”

“You'll be at the top of the Death Eaters' lists, you know,” Cecelia replied. She smiled at Harry, and squeezed Draco's shoulder. “I have details to arrange with the IS director, so I'd better get to it.” She winked at Draco and turned to leave.

Draco watched her walk away; it almost seemed he was reluctant to face Harry. Harry fidgeted for a moment, and then hopped up to sit on the table, hoping to strike a casual pose despite the fact that his heart was pounding. He had no idea what to expect. Draco had said he'd come back because Harry asked him to do, but did that mean what Harry fervently hoped it did?

“You actually read my dissertation?” Hermione was saying across the room.

“Oh, yes,” Manny replied. “I couldn't put it down.”

Harry couldn't help rolling his eyes. Not even Ron had read Hermione's dissertation.

Hermione giggled. “Are you... Do you want to get a cup of coffee, or something?”

She and Manny were still grinning at each other as they left the room. Harry and Draco were left alone.

Draco turned to Harry and smiled tightly. Harry felt his stomach do a little flip, and he smiled back. Draco's eyes trailed down to Harry's wrist, to the bracelet.

“I'm glad you put it on,” he said. “I was afraid you wouldn't.”

“I don't know why I did,” Harry admitted. “I suppose you'll want it back? I don't know how to get it off.” He held his hand out, palm facing up.

“You can't take it off,” Draco said. Harry frowned at him in response, and Draco sighed. “It contains a very old and powerful protection charm. It will only come off when someone you care about – someone you would sacrifice yourself for – needs the protection. It comes off then.” He seemed embarrassed, and looked down.

Harry studied him for a moment. “You said your mother gave it to you.”

Draco nodded. “When I was almost 18. She'd known I was planning to leave, and then in the middle of the night, she woke me up and told me I had to go right away. She'd worn that bracelet for as long as I could remember, but that night she was holding it in her hand. I knew what it meant when she put it on my wrist and kissed me.” He reached out then and touched the bracelet, fingers trailing against Harry's skin. “That was the last time I ever saw her.”

Harry swallowed. It seemed to be a gift he couldn't possibly repay. He crossed his arms over his chest and exhaled, looking away. It was too much, and he didn't know how to respond.

“I suppose you're angry with me for not telling you all of this before,” Draco whispered. “I don't blame you.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I'm not. You had your reasons. And it's not like I gave you a good reason to trust me.” He caught Draco's eyes, and smiled. “I'm happy to see you.”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring Harry, and took a step closer. “I meant to tell you everything that morning, you know. But I got a little distracted.”

“I'm sorry about that. I should have told you what was going on sooner.”

“No, please... I wish I hadn't looked, to be honest.” Draco sighed and blew a strand of hair out of his eyes. “I just... I wanted to know if I could trust you. I should have let you explain. It would have saved us both a lot of grief.”

“I'm just glad you understand the truth now,” Harry said, leaning back on his hands. “And besides, the FBI have evidence against Colby as a result.”

Draco took another step forward. “It wasn't worth the risk, though. I was so angry at you, and yet I was terrified you'd go to him. Which you did.” He shot Harry a mock glare. “It could have been a disaster.”

“It wasn't, though, thanks to you and Manny.” Harry smiled. This seemed to be the same Draco he remembered – the persona he'd presented earlier was apparently an act, and that was an immense relief. “Manny had me convinced you weren't coming, you know. Why'd you change your mind?”

To Harry's surprise, Draco blushed and looked away. “It's stupid, really.” He seemed reluctant to continue, so Harry smiled at him and waited. Draco clasped his elbows, as if hugging himself, and took a deep breath. “My father used to tell me I'd wind up alone and miserable,” he said at last. “And I believed him. After all, every attempt I'd made at a relationship had ended badly. The person wouldn't actually want a serious relationship, or was only spying on me in the first place.” He shrugged and looked up at Harry. “All of the gay men I'd ever met were either constantly fucking around or alone. It didn't occur to me that my life would be any different.”

Harry sighed. It was a struggle not to jump off the table and take Draco in his arms, tell him everything would be fine.

“Pathetic, I know.” Draco looked down again. “And then you came along, and... I had a long talk with Manny on Friday night, but I wasn't convinced any of this could work. I know how much you want to have a family. Just like Manny – he wants a wife, and five or six kids, and twenty people in the house eating tamales at Christmas and...” He shook his head sadly. “I'm not exactly who he imagined taking home to mum and dad, you know? I guess I assumed you'd feel the same.”

“Draco–” Harry began, but he was cut off with a wave of a hand.

“No, let me finish. I woke up Saturday morning and... God, it sounds so stupid now.” He paused, pressing a hand to his forehead, which was turning an endearing shade of pink. “It was all over the news – people were getting married down at the town hall. They were marrying anyone who wanted it, and it didn't matter if they were gay. And it was the first time it ever seemed like a reality for me, like something I could have.” Harry's heart was pounding now, and he bit his lip to keep quiet. Draco forced his eyes up to meet Harry's. “I'd thought it wouldn't work because I could never give you what you wanted, but now... I'm starting to think that isn't true. My father was wrong. And if I didn't come here, now, I might miss my best chance for anything close to a normal relationship.”

Harry took a shaky breath. His insides were twisting from an onslaught of emotion, and he wasn't sure how to handle it all. “So you're saying you came back because you want to marry me?” he quipped, opting for humor. “This is a bit sudden, considering we've only been dating two weeks.” A panicked expression spread across Draco's face, and Harry grinned.

Draco rolled his eyes and laughed, embarrassed. “You know what I mean, don't you?”

By way of answer, Harry held out one hand. Draco took it and allowed himself to be pulled closer. “Of course I do,” Harry whispered, just before he kissed Draco. It was a relatively chaste kiss – no tongues twining, no hormones raging – but it felt good. Draco leaned into Harry, his hands pressing into the table on either side of Harry's hips.

They separated after a long moment, both breathing a little harder than they had been before. Draco pressed his forehead against Harry's chest.

“Please tell me you meant that,” he whispered.

Harry slid his arms around Draco. “Of course I did. I want this, you know.”

“It's not going to be easy,” Draco sighed, looking up. “We've been deceiving each other for two weeks, and that's hardly a good basis for a relationship.”

“It may have taken me a while to acknowledge it,” Harry replied, “but I never lied about how I felt.” He tucked a strand of hair behind Draco's ear, relishing the opportunity for even that simple touch.

“I did,” Draco grinned, “up until the last night, at least.”

Harry snorted. “You're a terrible liar, actually. I was getting a bit frustrated from all those mixed signals.” He grinned, and Draco laughed. “How long are you going to be here?”

“Three months, at least,” Draco replied. “I'm to help set up the office and establish relationships with local agencies. And then there's your investigation, of course.” He raised an eyebrow.

“I could use your help,” Harry said. “There are so few people here whom I know I can trust. After what you told us today, I'm even more determined to find out what's been going on.”

“And that's exactly why I want to help you. You're going to be both the target and the investigator, which is always difficult. I should know.” Draco leaned forward, and Harry slid his arms around him, pulling him close. “This isn't going to be easy, you know. Half the people who were in this room this morning could be collaborating with Death Eaters. They'll be suspicious of us at every turn – despite the fact that I'm now a huge Death Eater target myself.”

“That's why we're going to move slowly,” Harry replied, squeezing a little tighter. “There's quite a lot at stake, after all.”

Draco pulled out of the embrace and looked up at Harry. “And this won't be easy, either. I'm a hard person to have a relationship with, and we'll be working together, under difficult circumstances.”

“I want to try,” Harry said, cupping Draco's cheek. “I've been married and divorced, so I know what a bad relationship looks like.” He leaned forward enough to brush his lips against Draco's. “And you look quite good to me.”

Draco's lips smiled against his own. “Why don't we start this relationship with a lunch date? I'm starving.”

“Of course you are,” Harry sighed, releasing him. “Is it safe for you to go out in public?”

“You'd be surprised what a good glamour charm can do,” Draco replied with a wink. “But we'd best stick to Muggle areas. Don't drag me to Diagon Alley anytime soon.”

“Deal,” Harry grinned. “Not many good restaurants there, anyway.” Draco kissed him once more and took a step back so Harry could hop off the table. Harry took his hand and led him towards the door. “There's a little sushi place I've been dying to try, actually,” he said. “Not too far from here. We could walk.”

Draco squeezed his hand and smiled. “I love sushi.”

Harry smiled back and opened the door. “I know.”

FIN