2 February, 2004: Monday

“Harry Potter?”

Harry blinked. A woman with short dark hair and a paper cup of Starbucks in hand was peering at him over her clipboard.

He blinked again, shaking off the dizziness he felt, and nodded.

“On behalf of Virgin Portkey Services, welcome to New York . Passport control is down the hall to your right. You'll need to fill out these–” she handed him several small sheets of paper “–forms and have your wand and baggage ready for inspection by the customs agent. Continuing on to...?”

“Um... San Francisco .”

She nodded. “Just follow the signs to departures once you've cleared customs.” She smiled brightly before turning away and studying her clipboard again.

Harry took a deep breath – an effort to calm his roiling stomach. He'd never liked traveling by portkey, and even the idea of a transatlantic trip had been unnerving. Not that he'd had much time to think about it.

He started down the corridor in the direction the woman had indicated, rucksack slung over one shoulder. The air stirred against his cheek, and he was surprised that he could still feel the wetness of Hermione's kiss there, given only a minute before.

Of course, it was only three hours ago that he'd been sitting at his desk, stomach pleasantly full of tikka masala from that fantastic little Indian place on Farringdon, around the corner from the Ministry offices. It had been a good Monday up to that point, and he'd been looking forward to going out with a group of friends to check out a new bar that evening. His inbox was already empty, and he felt in control – a great start to the week. Then he'd found out he was to leave immediately, to travel halfway around the world to look for someone who most likely didn't want to be found, least of all by Harry Potter.

There weren't any quills to be had within ten meters of the passport kiosk, so he had to ask a grumpy-looking witch if he could borrow hers. She hovered nearby as he filled out his forms, narrowing her eyes when he fumbled with his little-used passport to locate the number. She scowled when he finally handed the quill back to her with a mumbled “thanks.”

The passport control line was mercifully quick. The immigration officer squinted at him for a moment before rifling through his empty passport; Harry hadn't even been out of the EU before. “State the purpose and length of your visit,” the officer said. The word “purpose” had sounded like “poi-puss” through the man's heavy accent.

“Business, for the UK Ministry of Magic. I'll be here for a few weeks.” Harry swallowed, hoping he didn't sound nervous. Or like a terrorist.

“Return ticket?”

He fumbled through his pockets before producing the slip of parchment stating that he had indeed paid the return fare.

The officer examined it, then stamped the papers and handed the lot back to Harry. “Welcome to the United States . Please enjoy your visit. Next!”

“Thank you.” Feeling unusually awkward, Harry gathered his belongings and proceeded to Customs, where a large woman wearing a uniform several sizes too small held out her hand for his stamped form. At her request, he opened his rucksack and handed over his wand. She cast a registration spell on it after inspecting it. He tried not to look uncomfortable when she gave it back to him.

“Welcome to New York ,” she said, gesturing towards the doorway behind her. Harry offered her a tight-lipped smile before proceeding.

The portkey terminal of JFK was a lively place on a Monday morning, full of witches and wizards and children of all ages, dressed in strange combinations of Muggle clothes and wizard robes of a style Harry hadn't seen before. Many people had charmed their baggage to float along behind them, and the air was filled with trains of bags weaving after their owners like obedient pets. Two large trunks crashed into each other in the middle of the corridor as Harry passed, spilling their contents everywhere. A loud argument broke out between the two owners of the bags, but Harry didn't pause to listen.

He continued walking down the wide corridor, past gift shops selling “I love New York ” shirts and mugs, at least three Starbucks coffee shops, and a sports-themed bar with television monitors depicting quodpot games from around the country, as well as a few quidditch matches. Harry paused for a moment to catch scores from around the world.

A child begged her mother for treats in front of one shop, while another zoomed in circles on a small broom nearby. The exasperated mother lost her temper just as Harry passed. “Justin, don't make me come over there!” she hissed, her tone making Harry wince instinctively. “I'm gonna whup your tail if your feet so much as leave the ground again before we get to Grandma's.”

The boy on the broom settled to the ground, chagrined. Harry mouthed the word “whup” a few times, trying to wrap his tongue around the accent.

He continued walking, soon leaving the small family far behind. Business travelers around a newsstand were scanning newspapers from all corners of the wizarding world. Children laughed and ate ice cream. Reuniting friends squealed when they caught sight of each other. Lovers kissed goodbye.

Harry stopped looking after that, and instead focused on finding departure lounge 18. Just inside the door, he handed his ticket and passport to an old man behind a counter. “Potter, going to San Francisco ,” the man said, fingers tapping against a hidden keyboard. He scanned the monitor, and Harry saw old-fashioned green-on-black type reflected in the man's glasses. “Your portkey will be activated in 15 minutes, Mr. Potter. Have a seat in the waiting area and we'll call you when it's time.”

Harry chose a seat by a window looking out over the international terminal of JFK. Airplanes taxied about, ferrying Muggles to their destinations, all oblivious to the fact that there was a much quicker mode of transportation. He figured the portkey terminal here was shielded from Muggle view; the one at Heathrow appeared to be a cargo terminal to anyone who wasn't looking for it. A large plane with Arabic writing on the tail taxied past the window, and Harry wondered what it looked like inside. He'd never been on an airplane. In fact, he'd only been out of Great Britain a few times.

He turned away from the window to see a middle-aged woman smiling at him, a copy of the Wizarding Times folded neatly on her lap. A photo of Howard Dean was waving energetically from the front page.

“Where are you headed today?” she asked.

Harry suppressed a groan. He really didn't feel like talking to anyone at the moment. “ San Francisco ,” he said, and added for politeness, “and you?”

“Going home to LA,” she said. “You're from England , aren't you? I can tell by your accent. I've been to London , but it was years ago. Is it still foggy all the time?”

“Ummm...” Harry began.

“I was born and raised in California , and I thought I was going to go nuts after a week of no sunshine! Well, I'm sure you'll feel right at home in San Francisco . Foggy all the time, just like home. Going to visit someone?”

Harry gritted his teeth, wishing he could think of an excuse to sit elsewhere. “No, I'm here on business.”

“Oh, what kind of business?”

“Just business. Nothing terribly important.” He smiled faintly at the memory of Director Bass and the Minister for Magic dropping by his office that afternoon to ask him – personally – to take this assignment.

“Oh, I'm sure you're being modest. My son travels all the time, and he always says...”

It was remarkably easy to tune the woman out while appearing attentive. He hadn't spent all those years in History of Magic class for nothing. What Harry really wanted was a moment to stop and think, something he hadn't had a chance to do since Hermione had apparated with him to Heathrow that afternoon – now morning – a half an hour ago.

“Now don't do anything stupid,” she'd said, straightening his collar. “I doubt he wants to be found.”

“I still don't understand why I'm the one who has to go,” Harry had grumbled, pushing her hands away when her mothering became annoying. “I'm not an auror anymore. And what makes Fallin and Bass think I have a chance of convincing him to come back? I haven't spoken to Malfoy in years.”

Hermione had sighed then, and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I wondered that myself, to be honest. Perhaps it's because Malfoy knows you. If he's really defected, you've as good a chance as any of the active aurors to get close to him.” The warning chime had sounded then, and Hermione stepped away. “Harry, I know you know how to use a telephone, so call me from–”

And then he'd enjoyed his first transoceanic portkey. He shivered a little at the memory, and wondered if the next leg of his journey would be so disorienting.

“–all because of this homeland security nonsense,” the woman was saying. “Might as well make us wear gold stars on our coats, if you ask me.” She made a face and shook her head in disgust. “Ever since Bush made that facist Andrew Holland the Secretary of Magic, it was only a matter of time before they started worrying about magical terrorism. And we're all guilty until proven innocent, of course.”

Harry caught up with the conversation at last, and struggled to think of something safe to say in response. “I suppose you'll be voting for the other fellow, then?”

“Won't have much of a choice, will I?” she scoffed. “At least Dean has ties to the magical community, with his cousin being a witch and all. But Kerry–”

“Passenger Potter, your portkey is ready for departure,” announced a woman's voice. “Please proceed to the gate.”

Harry jumped up and slung his pack over his shoulder. “That's me, terribly sorry.”

“Have a nice trip!” the woman called after him.

He nearly jogged to the gate, relieved to be rid of his impromptu companion. An attendant double-checked his ticket and passport before directing him into a small room, where he was handed a thick plastic disc with the Virgin logo on it.

“One minute to departure,” the attendant said.

Harry struggled not to fidget. He hated this part: the waiting. At any second, he would feel the tug behind his navel, the sickening twist of his guts as he was pulled along with the portkey across a continent.

“Thirty seconds.”

He fiddled absently with the ring he wore on his right hand – a nervous habit – then closed his eyes and blew out a long breath. He should have taken Hermione up on her offer of a stiff drink. She knew how much he hated portkeying.

“Ten seconds.”

He couldn't help but count down in his mind; too slowly, for he felt the pull when he was on “two.” After several gut-wrenching minutes of being battered about, he felt the universe settle down around him again.

“Welcome to San Francisco , Mr. Potter.”

He opened his eyes to a sunny room, with a view of a blue bay in the distance. A woman stood in front of him, looking so remarkably like Cho that his heart skipped a beat.

“This is your final destination?”

He nodded, throat still dry. “Yes.” She held out her hand and he stared at her for a moment before realizing he was still clenching the plastic disc. He handed it to her.

She gave him a cheery smile. “The San Francisco Portkey Station is located in the heart of the city. Take the elevator to the ground floor and exit to your left. You'll find a taxi stand there. Thank you for traveling with Virgin Portkey, and we hope you'll keep us in mind for all of your domestic and international travel needs.” She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder and gestured towards the door.

Harry started for it, then paused and turned back to her. “Sorry, but can you tell me the time?”

“ Eight a.m. ,” she replied.

Harry winced.

---

The taxi stopped in front of the Inn on Castro, at which Hermione's assistant Peggy had made Harry a reservation. “The brochure says it's a charming little B&B,” she'd said. And it was close to where Malfoy was last detected, which was a plus.

Harry paid the taxi driver, making a mental note to thank Hermione for having Peggy change money for him at Gringott's as well. Harry's position in the Investigative Services office didn't warrant a personal assistant, but Hermione had always been generous with Peggy's services. It wasn't Hermione's job to look after Harry, but she'd taken it upon herself to do so during the last few months.

As the taxi pulled away, Harry stared up at a well-maintained two-story Edwardian building. Despite the dire prediction of the chatty witch in New York , the February sky above him was blue and clear. A crisp wind blew, though the sun was warm, and he wrapped his scarf more tightly around his neck.

The foyer of the Inn was homey and comfortable. The proprietor flirted with Harry during check-in, and prattled on about the nightlife and local entertainment as he showed Harry to his room. Harry was well aware that this was the city's famous gay district, but he didn't mind the man's presumption. Harry was open-minded, after all, and since this was where Draco Malfoy had allegedly been hiding for the last seven months, it might prove useful to understand the local culture.

Finally alone, he flopped onto the bed and closed his eyes. It couldn't possibly be 8:30 in the morning, not when his body was telling him it was late afternoon. His stomach grumbled, and he opened his eyes.

Thanks to the CIA's registration spell, Malfoy's magical signature had been detected repeatedly at an address approximately five streets from the Inn , at a place Harry assumed was his current residence. He had no other information, but Malfoy was an auror, and so it was impossible that anyone else was here using his wand.

The wand protection spells were some of the first they'd learned in auror training. Harry had been shocked when Malfoy had turned up the first day – he'd been pulled out of Hogwarts early in the seventh year and had apparently finished his education through private tutoring. Hermione had been displeased to hear Malfoy had earned just as many NEWTs as she had done.

But Malfoy had neatly avoided Harry during those six months of training, only acknowledging his presence when they were forced to partner for an exercise. Malfoy had finished at the top of the group, besting Harry in every area. By the end of the course, Harry had begun to gain a modicum of respect for his former school enemy's abilities. He'd even come to accept the fact that they'd likely end up working together, and then Malfoy had taken a position in New York . Everyone had been surprised he hadn't stayed to work for the Ministry, especially with war looming on the horizon. That was five years ago, and Harry knew nothing about what Malfoy had done since. He hadn't even known Malfoy was missing until a few hours ago.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry headed out of the Inn and down Castro Street , wand tucked securely inside his jacket. People were bustling about in the morning sun, and they largely ignored him as he walked along. As he neared 21 st Street , Harry ducked into an alleyway and cast a concealment spell on himself, feeling a little thrill as he did. He hadn't been in the field in nearly three years, and he'd forgotten how exciting the cloak-and-dagger sorts of missions could be. He found an unobtrusive place to stand across the street from the Victorian building Malfoy was apparently living in, and settled in to wait.

He didn't have to wait very long. Less than ten minutes later, the door opened and a young man stepped out onto the street. He certainly looked like Malfoy. His sandy blond hair poked out from underneath a knit cap, and he wore a sherpa coat over black trousers with a red scarf wound around his neck. The man walked up the street in the direction of the Inn , with the purposeful boredom of one in a routine. Convinced he'd found his man, Harry began to follow.

The slope was fairly steep, and Harry soon found himself panting in his struggle to keep up. They passed Harry's hotel and continued up Castro, finally veering right at 15 th Street . The man wound through several tree-lined residential streets and disappeared into a coffee house set in the center of a block of Victorian buildings. Harry settled on a stoop across the street and waited.

Fifteen minutes later, he assumed Malfoy – if it was Malfoy – was taking his time having his morning coffee. Perhaps a scone, or a pastry as well. His stomach rumbled, and he remembered he hadn't eaten since his lunch in London , hours ago.

After half an hour, he began to worry that Malfoy had discovered he was being followed and slipped away, perhaps through a back door. Harry clenched his jaw. It had been far too easy, of course. His plan had been to follow Malfoy for a few days, get to know his life and routine before confronting him. Had he blown his cover already?

He crossed the street and peered inside the windows of the café, but he couldn't see the man sitting at any of the tables. A young woman walked by him and entered the café, and he slipped in the door behind her. The café was warm and cozy, and surprisingly full of people. Everyone seemed to have a laptop computer – a small sign by the door indicated the café was a free wireless internet hotspot. The walls were covered with drawings that looked to have been made by customers, and the large menu was hand-written in colorful chalk. It was one of the most unique cafes he'd ever seen.

He made his way across the room carefully. The concealment spell would hide him from the Muggles, but a trained auror like Malfoy would be able to see through the spell if Harry made any sudden movements.

A pair of women sitting at a nearby table gasped. Harry turned to face them, afraid for a moment that the spell had broken and he'd been spotted. They were pointing at the screen of a computer, though, not at him. He exhaled.

“Where does this order go?” he heard a voice behind him say, much too close. He moved out of the way of the server, but backed into an occupied chair in the process. The person he'd hit cried out, and for a frantic moment, he wondered if he should try to maintain the spell, or should end it altogether. With all this commotion drawing attention, it was likely Malfoy would see through the spell at any moment – and that was probably worse than anything.

He slid to the floor, whispering “ finite incantatum ” under his breath.

“Oh, god, I'm sorry! I didn't see you, I–”

Harry sat up, making a show of dusting himself off. “No, no, my fault really.” He looked up, and found himself staring into the grey eyes of Draco Malfoy.

It really was Malfoy, though he looked older than Harry remembered. His platinum hair had been streaked with reddish-brown lowlights, and he was dressed all in black – save for one silver stud in the lobe of his left ear. Even his apron, bearing the logo of the coffee shop, was black. But his face was just as pale as Harry remembered from school, and the scowl forming on his face was all too familiar.

Harry clenched his jaw. He'd hated Malfoy so much back then. Why should he expect anything to have changed between them?

They stared at each other for a long moment. Malfoy's eyes narrowed at last, and he straightened his posture. Harry decided he ought to speak first. “Hullo, Malfoy,” he said.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed even more, and he glanced around before turning back to Harry. “What do you want?” he whispered.

“To talk to you.” Harry climbed to his feet, as casually as possible.

Malfoy took a step back. “I'm working, in case you hadn't noticed.”

Harry tried not to let his surprise show. “When do you have a break?”

“I usually don't take one,” Malfoy replied through gritted teeth.

“What, need the money?” Harry quipped, unable to help himself. Malfoy only glared in response. “When do you get off, then?”

“Late,” Malfoy replied, and walked away. Harry watched him deliver a pastry to a table in the corner. His hands were shaking, and he didn't look at Harry as he returned to the counter.

Harry sighed, considering his options. His cover was blown, and perhaps his entire assignment as well. It was likely Malfoy already suspected why Harry was there: to find out why the auror had abandoned his position in New York , and to convince him to return, if possible. Harry's only hope now was to do this undercover – to gain Malfoy's trust no matter how long it might take. Of course, this was exactly the sort of mission he'd always hated. He wasn't very good at deception, preferring a straight-on duel to politics and head games.

But he didn't have much of a choice, at this point. He ordered a latte and a croissant at the counter and then found a seat in the back corner of the room. Another server delivered his order – apparently at Malfoy's request. Harry overheard Malfoy say something about a stalker and glance in his direction. The woman eyed Harry suspiciously as she delivered his breakfast.

Harry stared blankly at what appeared to be his latte, served in a pint beer glass with a Lufthansa cardboard sleeve wrapped around it. He took a careful sip and was pleasantly surprised, despite the unusual presentation. He picked up a copy of the local paper from a nearby table and pretended to read it while he ate, occasionally looking up to see what Malfoy was doing.

Malfoy ignored him, for the most part. He worked behind the counter, making coffee drinks. He delivered orders to tables. He flirted with people who seemed to be regular customers. He glared at Harry whenever he happened to glance over.

It had been years since Harry had seen Malfoy, and he wasn't certain he'd ever really watched him. Malfoy carried himself with a definite grace that spoke of his privileged upbringing, and he spoke with customers and co-workers alike in a friendly, even affectionate manner. He was thin – too thin really; the black clothing only elongated his limbs and accentuated his lithe form. His hair was styled in that trendily messy way, with bits of it sticking out in several directions.

Harry watched him turn on the charm for a handsome man in a suit, who returned his smile and asked for his “usual”. Harry felt a wave of annoyance. Malfoy had always been able to charm the right people. The powerful people, from Umbridge to Fudge to–

Malfoy winked outrageously at his customer, and Harry felt himself blush. He focused his attention back on the Muggle newspaper, suddenly wondering if Malfoy was gay. It had never occurred to him before even to question his old school nemesis's sexual orientation. Malfoy certainly seemed to fit the stereotype. Now that he had noticed, Harry was fairly certain it wasn't just a cover for his presence here. Malfoy was hiding, and he was here because he felt comfortable. Where else might a gay wizard hide but in a Muggle gay district in a big, anonymous city?

It made sense, when Harry thought about it. Malfoy hadn't really dated anyone in school. He'd always been fashionable, and seemed to care more for his appearance than any boy Harry knew. And then there was Malfoy's near-obsession with Harry himself. Harry swallowed, uncomfortable.

A glass of water was abruptly dropped on his table, and he looked up.

“I suppose you're just going to sit here all day?” Malfoy remarked, scowling.

“If need be,” Harry replied, keeping his features impassive. It was difficult not to return the nasty tone. “I only want to talk to you.”

“I have nothing to say to you ,” Malfoy replied.

Harry became aware that they were attracting attention. Even the staff behind the bar seemed to be watching their conversation.

He decided to play the scene as best he could, forcing himself to smile. “Surely you can spare a moment out of your busy day for me ?” He traced the rim of his water glass with a finger tip, watching Malfoy's face.

“Why are you here?” Malfoy said, pointedly ignoring Harry's clumsy attempt at flirting.

“To talk to you,” Harry replied. “That's all.”

“Right,” Malfoy said, and turned away. Harry sighed, sinking down in his chair. This was going to be much harder than he'd thought. Even if he could stand to be in the presence of Malfoy for more than a few minutes, how in Merlin's name was he going to get him to cooperate?

Two hours later, Harry had ingested three cups of coffee, a blueberry muffin and a cheese Danish, and had read every word printed in the paper, including the incredibly boring descriptions of American sports news.

He'd watched Malfoy talking with his co-workers, chatting up cute men at the counter, and delivering orders to tables. Malfoy had avoided waiting on Harry again, finding an excuse to step into the back whenever Harry approached the counter. Harry even tried to smile whenever Malfoy looked his way, but got only scowls and glares in return.

He couldn't drink a drop more coffee, or his bladder would burst. He didn't care to eat a muffin ever again, and he was getting tired. It was past his bedtime back home. He was on the verge of giving up for the afternoon when Malfoy dropped a slip of paper on the table. It was a business card for the café, but on the back was written, “I'll give you five minutes.”

Harry watched Malfoy exchange his apron for his sherpa coat and slip out the front door of the café. He waited for a moment before gathering up his jacket and following. Outside, he found Malfoy leaning against a tree, dragging on a cigarette. Malfoy glanced at him briefly, and then walked down the street, disappearing around the corner of the building.

When Harry rounded the corner, he saw Malfoy sitting on a stoop in the alleyway, putting out the butt of his cigarette on the cold cement. Harry settled beside him and waited. Silence stretched between them as Malfoy retrieved another cigarette from a pocket and lit it, taking a long drag.

“I don't suppose you'll tell me how you found me?” Malfoy asked, smoke escaping his mouth along with his bitter tone.

“Registration spell,” Harry muttered, staring at the ground in front of him. “The Homeland Security Act seems to have given the American intelligence agencies the authority to trace foreign wizards through the registration spells. The British government recently reported you missing, and the CIA found you.” He gestured with one hand, as if it explained everything. “Here.”

Malfoy was silent for a moment, though the cigarette smoke was continuously flowing. “Fuck,” he said at last.

“I agree,” Harry muttered. “Fucking scary, it is.”

“But how did you find out where I work?”

“I followed you from home this morning.”

More silence, accompanied by heavy smoking. “What do you want, Potter?”

Harry exhaled. He'd never been good at this sort of thing, which was exactly why he didn't do it anymore. “My assignment was to locate you and make certain you were... safe,” he said. “You went missing a long time ago, and the Ministry were worried about your safety.”

“Like hell they were,” Malfoy retorted, and took another long drag on the cigarette. “They just wanted you to make certain I hadn't gone off and joined the Death Eaters.”

Harry could think of nothing to say in response. If Malfoy had done any undercover work, he'd see straight through any of Harry's feeble attempts to gain his confidence.

Malfoy rolled up his right sleeve and held his bare forearm in front of Harry's face. “See?” he said, cigarette clenched between his teeth. “I'm fine. You can go now.” He took another drag on the cigarette before putting it out, and stood.

“All right, fine,” Harry said, mind working feverishly. “But I've come all this way. Can't we at least–” He caught Malfoy's arm as the man started to walk away, and Malfoy turned back to face him. Harry tried again to smile, in a way he hoped was endearing. “We haven't seen each other in ages. Let me take you out to dinner, at least.”

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and Harry swallowed.

“Dinner?” Malfoy repeated, clearly suspicious. “Why?”

“Why not?” Harry replied, shrugging. Malfoy gave him a long look, and Harry sighed. “Look, I know we've never really got on well, but… we were kids, Malfoy. It was all a long time ago. Can't we have dinner, talk, and enjoy each other's company for a few hours before I go home?”

Malfoy stared at Harry for several seconds, with an intensity that made Harry shrink back a bit. Did Malfoy still hate him, after all these years?

“Where?” Malfoy asked.

Harry shrugged, trying his best to appear relaxed. “Anywhere you want. I can have a taxi waiting outside your flat. Just name the time.”

Malfoy looked away for a moment, considering. Harry had no reason to expect Malfoy would agree. He wasn't sure what he'd do, in that case. Malfoy returned his gaze to Harry, studying his face. Harry tried to keep his expression as blank as possible.

At last, Malfoy's lips formed a very familiar smirk. “ Eight o'clock ,” he said, just before turning and walking away. Harry exhaled, relieved. “But it's gonna cost you,” he continued, voice echoing lightly in the alley.

---

Malfoy hadn't been kidding about the cost of dinner, Harry thought as he stared at the nearly-empty plate of sushi before him. He hoped the Ministry would be forgiving when they saw his credit card statement. Of course, if he succeeded in convincing Malfoy to come back to London with him it would smooth things over considerably.

The sushi chef set a platter before them, and Malfoy smirked at the distress on Harry's face. “Come on, Potter. It's sort of like foie gras .”

“I hate foie gras ,” Harry muttered, not trusting Malfoy at all.

Malfoy picked up a green bundle topped with bright orange goo with his chopsticks. “Have you ever actually tried it, or have you only had those pâtés from the grocery?”

“What's the difference?”

Malfoy scoffed. “Eat the uni, Potter. You're paying for it, after all.”

“I want more toro,” Harry said, poking at the orange goo with one chopstick. “I like toro.”

“Quitcher whining,” Malfoy retorted in an approximation of an American accent, just before taking a careful bite. His smile became exaggerated as he chewed. Harry narrowed his eyes, still unconvinced this wasn't a trick to get him to eat something disgusting. “Your turn,” Malfoy said.

Harry gritted his teeth and looked at the plate. It was only a small bit of goo. How bad could it be, really? If Malfoy could eat it, so could he. Though Malfoy had probably put much stranger things in his mouth than a bit of sea urchin, so perhaps it wasn't a good comparison. Bad mental image , Harry thought as he picked the seaweed package up with his fingers and bit into it.

His first impression was of cold, salty, slime spreading across his tongue. His second impression was even worse. He chewed, but that only made the goo fall apart in his mouth and spread everywhere . He grimaced and forced it down as best he could.

When he opened his eyes, Malfoy was laughing. “Do you always make that face when you swallow?”

“Only when I swallow something revolting,” Harry retorted, reaching for his beer. Malfoy snickered and finished off his own piece of uni. Harry shuddered, but Malfoy didn't even make a face. “Do you really like it?”

Malfoy shrugged and took a big gulp of sake. “Not really,” he said, after a moment. “But the look on your face was worth it.”

Harry tried to glare at him, but ended up rolling his eyes instead. The entire evening had been like this. Malfoy had emerged from his flat at ten past eight , not even apologizing for making Harry wait in a taxi with the meter running. Malfoy had dressed stylishly enough that Harry wished he'd thought to change his own clothes after his brief nap that afternoon. Malfoy had wrinkled his nose at Harry's jeans, but said nothing. He'd only smiled as he sidled up to Harry in the back seat, looping an arm through one of Harry's and directing the driver to the Embarcadero district. Harry had been so shocked at the sudden change in his behavior that he hadn't known how to respond. He'd simply let Malfoy lean against him in the taxi, and tried not to fidget. If Malfoy was trying to unsettle him, Harry was at least not going to let him know it had worked.

The restaurant – a trendy Japanese spot called Ozumo – reeked of glamour. The tables and bar were filled with beautiful, stylish people, all eating beautiful, stylish food and drinking sake from tiny cups. Harry was very glad he wasn't spending his own money. Tonight's bill would likely top $200, at the rate Malfoy was going. Harry wasn't sure where on his skinny frame he was putting all that food.

Malfoy clasped a piece of mackerel nigiri between his chopsticks and stared dreamily at it for a moment. “You still haven't told me why you're here,” Harry said, watching the nigiri disappear between Malfoy's lips. The expression on his face changed to one of absolute bliss, and he sank down in his bar stool, ignoring Harry's question. Harry sipped his beer until Malfoy pushed himself back up to a sitting position. “Good?” Malfoy nodded and let his eyes roll back for effect.

“More sake?” the waiter asked, leaning between them to collect empty plates.

“Please,” Harry replied, and the waiter smiled. He reminded Harry a bit of the man he'd seen Malfoy flirting with in the café, and he couldn't help but watch him walk away. He was surpised at himself, as he was usually horrible at remembering faces.

“Honestly, Potter, just ask him for his number. Or better yet, what time he gets off.”

Harry's gaze returned to Malfoy. “What are you talking about?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “ Please . You've been checking that waiter out all night.”

“I have not !” Harry willed himself not to blush, as it would send entirely the wrong message.

“You're in San Francisco , Potter. No need to be coy.”

“I'm not being–” The waiter reappeared with a new bottle of chilled sake and poured some into each of their glasses. Harry studied his own hands intently until the man left. “I hate to disappoint you, Malfoy, but I'm not gay.” Malfoy's eyebrows shot up, his sake cup not quite covering the smug grin that was starting to form on his face. He didn't say it, but Harry could nearly hear the ‘ Oh, really? ' “I'm married, for one thing.”

A look of surprise fluttered over Malfoy's face for a split second before it was replaced with a smug mask once again. “Married?”

“Well... separated, actually,” Harry admitted, though he was pleased he'd finally managed to catch Malfoy off-guard. “Getting a divorce.” He picked up the sake cup and downed its contents in one go.

Malfoy refilled it before Harry had a chance to put it back down. “Was it bad?”

Harry shrugged. “It was horrible in some ways, and a tremendous relief in others.”

“Weasley?”

“No,” Harry replied, realizing that Malfoy had truly cut himself off from British wizarding society. Harry's whirlwind marriage had caused quite a stir in the papers, and the divorce was making news as well. Harry was surprised Malfoy didn't know these details already, but he seemed genuinely curious.

They'd both had quite a bit of alcohol at this point, and Harry knew he'd probably regret speaking so frankly come morning. He didn't have anyone at home to talk to, though. Hermione was his only real friend left, and she was busy with her work and her children. Besides, if he opened up a little, maybe Malfoy would do the same.

Harry placed the sake cup back on the bar. “I married Cho.”

“Cho Chang? You're kidding.”

“Too good for me, I know.” Harry held up his hand to fend off the anticipated sarcastic remark. “She and I were assigned together, right out of auror training. We dated off and on, and then we had a few... intense experiences, right around the time that Voldemort...” Harry dropped off, suddenly realizing he'd brought up a subject that Malfoy would probably not want to discuss. Not yet, anyway.

“Yes, yes, Voldemort, my father, and the messy way it all ended.” Malfoy didn't look the least bit uncomfortable. “Well, I suppose ended is a strong term.”

Indeed , Harry thought. Voldemort had simply vanished after that horrible day three years ago. Half of Harry's friends had died in a single week. Harry hadn't even played the role everyone had expected him to – Dumbledore had done that, and had paid dearly for it. And no one knew if it was really over, or if Voldemort was out there somewhere, waiting.

He paused, realizing he hadn't thought about the war, or Voldemort, or lost friends – not for a long time. He blinked and looked up to see Malfoy watching him, almost curiously.

“Well, anyway,” Harry continued, unsettled, “Cho and I were together for a few months after that. We broke it off, and a month later, she showed up on my doorstep, pregnant.” Harry paused and sipped his sake. “It was a stupid reason to get married. I think we both wanted to build something new after all of that destruction.”

“So you have a kid?” Malfoy asked. He'd gone pale, which was remarkable considering his natural complexion.

“No.” Harry sighed, already wishing he hadn't started down this path. “She had a miscarriage. We'd only been married a month, so it was fairly traumatic. Afterwards, we thought we could still make it work, even try for a baby again, but...” He shrugged and felt the world begin to buzz around him in a light haze of sake. His mind felt strangely clear for having drunk so much.

Malfoy said nothing, just sat quietly, listening. Waiting, in case Harry decided to talk more. Harry had never thought of Malfoy as a good listener. To be honest, he hadn't thought of Malfoy much, if at all.

“We separated about six months ago,” Harry continued at last. “She moved on fairly quickly, and I've buried myself in my work. That's about it, really.” He looked up to see Malfoy studying him. “What?”

Malfoy smiled and shrugged. “So you're suffering from a broken heart, then?”

Harry winced. “Well, not exactly. That's the problem. I never really loved her, at least not in the way I'd expected to love my wife. I miss her in some ways, but it was never exactly a great relationship, if you get my meaning.” He stopped, realizing he had told Malfoy far more than he'd intended. He felt himself blush.

Malfoy snorted. “Not exactly a model for the wizarding world, are you, Potter? Married, divorced, and bitter – all by the age of 24?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Harry groaned, though his voice carried no venom at all. “What have you been doing these last five years? What has the great Draco Malfoy – sole heir to the Malfoy estate and all that – accomplished?”

Malfoy didn't take the bait. He only smiled at Harry and raised his cup to his lips. “Wouldn't you like to know?” he said, and took a measured sip of sake.

Harry stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if it was a rhetorical question.

“So, you're leaving tomorrow?” Malfoy asked.

“Erm...” Harry began, and drained his beer. “I don't have to be back for a week or so. Got some holiday time I need to use up, you know.” He shrugged, hoping he looked casual. “Maybe I'll hang around for a few days, do some sightseeing.”

Malfoy smiled into his sake cup. “Right.”

4 February, 2004: Wednesday

“You've been what?”

“Hanging around with him,” Harry said, picturing the expression on Hermione's face. “It hasn't been that bad.”

“It can't have been that good, either.”

“Actually, it's been... fun.” Harry wrinkled his nose at his own choice of word. “Well, you know, different.”

“Harry, are you certain this is a good idea?”

“No,” Harry admitted, “but I don't have any others. He won't confide in me or agree to return to the Ministry unless he trusts me, and he won't trust me unless he gets to know me. He's actually warmed up to me quite a lot, considering how much he hated me in school.”

Harry heard a long-suffering sigh from the other end of the line. “As your official Ministry liaison, I must advise you not to trust Malfoy.” Hermione had been pleased to inform him she'd been formally assigned to the case. She worked in the communications research office, but she'd somehow managed to convince Director Bass she would be best suited for the position. Now she could be nosy and interfering, and claim she was doing her job. “I went through all of the CIA's intell today, including reports from Malfoy's co-workers in the New York Bureau of Magic. He started receiving mysterious owls two months before he disappeared, and he became increasingly secretive and anti-social.”

Harry snorted into the receiver. “Malfoy, anti-social?” That certainly wasn't the impression he'd got over the last few days.

“And then he disappeared, leaving no word of where he was going. After five years in that bureau, Harry!” Hermione paused, and Harry pictured her twirling a strand of hair around her finger in frustration. “I just worry that you're... Harry, you've had a bad time of it recently, and I know you're lonely–”

“It's not like that!” Harry groaned. “Do you really think I'm that desperate for friendship – that I'd turn to Draco Malfoy?”

A little voice in the back of his head said, Well, yes – actually, you are.

Hermione sighed again. “All right, all right. What exactly do you and Malfoy do together, anyway?”

“We've had dinner together the last few nights. I've spent some time during the afternoons in the coffee shop where he works, watching him.”

“He's working in a coffee shop?” Hermione's tone was somewhere between amused and incredulous.

“He's living as a Muggle, Hermione. As far as I can tell, he has no contact with any wizards at all. He seems to be hiding here.”

“But from what? And why hide without telling anyone where he was going?”

Harry yawned. “I don't know. He won't tell me anything about his life in New York . We've gone out for the last three nights, and we've talked about everything from politics to music to my divorce, but I haven't been able to get him to talk about himself.”

“I hope you know what you're doing.”

Harry snorted. “Of course I don't. But that's never stopped me before.”

---

The day before, Malfoy had actually waited on him as he'd sat at his small corner table at the café and read a book he'd borrowed from the manager of the Inn . Malfoy had brought over a fresh pint glass of coffee and a pastry every hour or so, until Harry had asked if Malfoy was trying to fatten him up.

“I always thought you were too skinny,” Malfoy had replied, raising one eyebrow.

“Me?!” Harry had gestured vaguely at him. “Can you not afford to eat, or something?”

“I can't help it if I have a high metabolism.”

“And you wear clothes that make you look even thinner. What is it with you and nylon shirts, anyway?”

Malfoy had grinned at him then, and the expression had taken Harry aback. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen such a genuine smile on his former enemy's face. “I'm flattered you've taken such an interest in my personal appearance,” Malfoy had said with a wink as he walked away, leaving Harry confused about what had just happened.

Of course he'd noticed what Malfoy looked like. All he did was watch Malfoy, lately. But that didn't mean he was looking – not like that.

---

5 February, 2004: Thursday

The sun was streaming in through the window when Harry woke up, the clock indicating that it was past 10:00 already. He shook off a recurring dream about wandering aimlessly around Hogwarts, one that never failed to unsettle him, for reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on. Yawning, and still not quite adjusted to the time change, he snuggled down into the covers once again. Malfoy would just be heading to work about now. Harry would get up eventually and head over to the café, drink lots of coffee, and watch Malfoy for a few more hours.

He was overtaken by an impulse to get out of bed and into the shower.

He exchanged pleasantries with the manager on his way out the door – no, he actually did have plans tonight, but thanks – and headed up the hill to the Jumpin' Java Coffee House. Every day the walk was a little easier, and he resolved to start running for exercise when he got home. He'd had no idea he was so out of shape.

The café seemed to be filled with the usuals, and a few of them nodded at him in recognition. The blonde woman in the corner had a different computer than usual, and there was a man he'd never seen before sketching something on a large sheet of paper. Someone had pinned a new bumper sticker to the notice board that read “Friends don't let friends go to Starbucks.”

He didn't spot Malfoy right off, but settled into his usual spot after picking up an abandoned newspaper. A young woman with very black hair and many piercings made her way to the table.

“Morning, Rosie,” Harry said, not looking up.

“Today's his day off, you know,” she replied.

Harry blinked. “Oh. I forgot.” He'd had no idea, of course. He fidgeted for a moment, trying to decide what to do. “I guess I'll have the usual to take away, then.”

Fifteen minutes later, he was standing in front of the door of Malfoy's building, wondering if he had gone out of his mind. Malfoy probably hadn't told him it was his day off because he had no desire to spend it with Harry Potter. Perhaps he'd just hoped Harry would give up and spend the day alone, for once. Harry frowned when he realized they hadn't made any plans for tonight at all. They'd been making dinner arrangements every night after a few hours of banter at the café. When they'd parted ways after dinner last night, neither of them had mentioned meeting the following night.

Harry finally decided he was being ridiculous. It had clearly slipped Malfoy's mind to tell him he wouldn't be at work on Thursday morning. He pressed the buzzer for Malfoy's flat.

“What?” he heard through the intercom after a few minutes and two more presses.

“Um, good morning. It's me, Harry.” He paused, cringing. Why did he always say such stupid things around Malfoy?

There was no response other than the click of the door lock, and he went in. Malfoy's flat was on the third floor of the restored Victorian. Harry knocked on the ornate wooden door, and it opened after a moment to reveal a very disheveled-looking Malfoy.

His auburn-streaked hair was even messier than usual, and he was shirtless, wearing only a thin pair of cotton pyjama bottoms. He blinked sleepily at Harry from behind a pair of oblong tortoise-shell-rimmed glasses.

“What the fuck do you want?”

Harry couldn't help but step back at his tone. “I went to the café and they said you were off. I thought maybe...” He stared at Malfoy. “How long have you worn glasses?”

Malfoy yawned and lazily scratched his chest. “Since I was fifteen.” He pushed the door open and waved Harry inside. “Coffee?”

Harry held up his paper cup. “No, I'm fine, actually. I'm sorry if I'm–”

A muscular dark-skinned man, clad only in a pair of boxers, emerged from what was undoubtedly the bedroom. He ignored Malfoy and Harry and headed for the refrigerator. Harry watched the man through narrowed eyes, feeling a strange blend of uncomfortable emotions. The man helped himself to a Diet Coke and was heading back towards the bedroom before he noticed Harry's presence.

“Good morning,” he grinned, sliding an arm around Malfoy and pulling him close, nuzzling his neck. Any doubts Harry'd had about Malfoy's sexual orientation were firmly put to rest.

Malfoy looked extremely uncomfortable. He gestured towards Harry as he wriggled away from his lover. “That's Harry, an old friend. Harry, this is...” He paused, squinting at the man. “A guy I fucked last night,” he finished, frowning. The man laughed and winked at Harry before disappearing into the bedroom once more.

Harry tried very hard not to appear shocked. “I'm sorry. I've clearly come at a bad time.”

Malfoy yawned again. “No, not at all. He'll be leaving soon. I'll put some coffee on.” He gestured towards the small table in the kitchen area. “Sit.”

Harry did, not certain what else to do. He watched Malfoy make coffee and pour himself a bowl of cereal. He fidgeted a bit when Malfoy sat across from him and started eating.

“So, have a good night, then?” Harry asked at last, and immediately regretted it. Malfoy smirked and nodded, chewing. Harry ran a hand through his hair. He was uncomfortable and bordering on irritated, for absolutely no reason. “Where did he...?” He paused, not really certain what he was asking.

“I picked him up in a bar,” Malfoy stated through a mouthful of Cheerios.

“Last night?”

Malfoy nodded slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “Yes.”

“When did you go to a bar? I dropped you off at 11:00 .” Harry wondered why this bothered him so much. Malfoy could do whatever he wanted. It wasn't like he'd lied to Harry, after all. Of course, Harry had started to think that Malfoy was enjoying his company. Had he just been passing the time each night until he could go to a bar and pick up strange men to take home?

“Today's my day off,” Malfoy explained. “I always go out on Wednesday and Thursday nights.” He tilted his head and smiled. “Besides, I was horny. It wasn't like you were going to fuck me.”

Harry blushed, as much from anger as embarrassment. “So you just waved goodbye and headed for the nearest bar, in search of someone who would?” He couldn't believe Malfoy would take chances like this while he was supposedly in hiding. Picking up strange men in bars? What was he thinking?

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Yes. Next question?” The conversation was cut short by the reappearance of Malfoy's guest, now fully dressed.

Malfoy ignored the man, getting up to pour himself a cup of coffee. Harry stood, feeling awkward.

“Guess I'll see you ‘round,” the man said, glancing around the corner into the kitchenette.

“Yeah, sure,” Malfoy replied. He didn't look up. Harry didn't know if he should be relieved or offended by Malfoy's casual dismissal of his one-night-stand. He couldn't imagine treating anyone that way. He shrugged at the man, uncertain how he was supposed to behave in this situation.

The man grinned at Harry and leaned towards him to whisper, “He gives amazing head, and he's a bit of a screamer.” Harry struggled not to make a face as the man let himself out.

“Okay, that was far too much information,” Harry muttered at the closed door.

“What did he say?” Malfoy asked, sitting down with his coffee.

“That you're an insensitive prick,” Harry retorted, slumping into his chair. He took a sip of his coffee, and was annoyed to find it was cold.

Malfoy grinned. “Oh, but I have a very sensitive prick.”

Harry snorted in response.

“Why do you give a shit, anyway?”

“I don't.”

Malfoy nodded and smiled. They were both silent for a moment, sipping coffee. “Have any plans today?”

“No,” Harry replied. “I was going to hang out at the café again, I suppose. Get hammered on caffeine. I'm an addict now, thanks to you.” He glanced around the small flat. “This is fairly nice, Malfoy. How do you afford this on the paltry salary you must earn serving coffee?”

Malfoy laughed. “I've always managed money well, Potter. The coffee shop job provides me with spending money, something to do. I'm quite comfortable, really.” He pushed his empty cereal bowl away and stretched.

Harry watched him for a moment, all pale skin and sharp angles. “I never saw you wear glasses at Hogwarts.”

“That's because I never did,” Malfoy replied. “I learned the vision alteration charm over the summer before sixth year so I wouldn't have to do.”

“That's a complicated spell,” Harry stated, impressed. He'd attempted it a few times, but hadn't been pleased with the results. It only lasted about 18 hours, anyway, and he didn't mind wearing glasses.

Malfoy quirked one eyebrow up. “It was important to me. My mother helped me learn it.” He shrugged. “Of course, I typically have to wait until the Muggle I fucked leaves before I do it in the morning. Hence, you get to see me in glasses.”

“Malfoy...” Harry groaned.

Malfoy grinned, apparently pleased by Harry's reaction. “I was going to straighten up today, do some shopping. You're welcome to tag along, if you want.”

Harry shrugged. “I've nothing else to do.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and studied Harry for a moment. “So who was at the café this morning?”

Harry blinked at him. “Rosie, Steve, and... uhhh...” He pursed his lips. “The Croatian bloke.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Really, Potter, you've let your training slip if that's the best you can do.”

Harry scowled and looked away. “I'm not an auror anymore, you know. I have a desk job now.”

Malfoy was silent for several seconds, and then he made a sound of amusement. “So the Ministry haven't sent their most famous crack auror here to find me, but a mere paper pusher? That would explain why you've done nothing but follow me around like a lovesick schoolboy for the last four days.”

“Three,” Harry said, retrieving his wand from his jacket and casting a quick spell to reheat his coffee. “As I've already told you, I'm not gay. And I have no idea why they sent me here. Maybe somebody at the Ministry thought I could use a holiday.”

Malfoy nodded and took a sip from his mug. “Right.”

Harry gave him an innocent smile. “So what are you doing here?”

“I live here, stupid. Want to go out tonight?”

Harry sighed at the abrupt change of topic. “Sure. Why not?”

“I usually go dancing with friends on Thursdays,” Malfoy continued. He stood and rummaged around in a cupboard above the microwave. “We hit a few clubs, drink too much, check out hot boys. Get laid, if possible.”

“Exactly my idea of a good time,” Harry remarked dryly.

Malfoy pulled his wand from the cupboard he'd been searching and cast a few housekeeping spells in the general direction of the kitchenette. Dishes began filing themselves into the dishwasher, and a rag began wiping down countertops.

“Mine too,” Malfoy smirked, sitting down across from Harry again.

---

Harry arrived back at Malfoy's flat at 8:00 , and then spent half an hour waiting for him to finish getting ready. He'd walked there tonight, figuring it would be cheaper to call a taxi whenever Malfoy was ready, instead of paying for one to sit at the curb for twenty minutes as he had done every evening prior. Besides, Malfoy's flat was a fun place to hang around.

It was smaller than Harry's flat in London , but full of stylish and quirky touches. The floor plan had been created with entertaining in mind, as most of the space was open. Exposed brick and refinished hardwood floors gave it the trendy look of a loft, but with the intimate atmosphere of a refurbished old home. An antique liquor cabinet appeared fully stocked, and the sofas were large and squishy. There was an expensive-looking HDTV plasma unit hanging on one wall, with a complex sound system arranged around it. It had taken Malfoy fifteen minutes to teach Harry how to operate the touchscreen universal remote that afternoon. The television was currently tuned to CNN with the sound off, while the satellite radio's disco channel was blaring through the speakers. There were several interesting paintings on the walls, all abstract and erotic. Harry was tilting his head, staring at one that he had finally realized represented an extreme close-up of male genitalia, when Malfoy emerged from his bedroom.

“Oh, no , Potter! For fuck's sake!” Harry whirled, uncertain what he'd done wrong. Malfoy made a face as he crossed the room and stopped about two feet from Harry, looking him over. “You can not go out like that.”

Harry glanced down at his wardrobe – faded jeans, green cable knit jumper. He'd even spelled his hair into a semblance of good behavior. This was the way he usually dressed to go out with friends. “What's wrong?”

Malfoy took his hand and tugged him towards the bedroom. “That jumper. I'm sorry, but friends don't let friends wear Gap .”

Malfoy's bedroom was – in a word – white . On the bed was a fluffy white duvet and far too many pillows, and large panels painted in varying shades and textures of white hung on the exposed brick walls. All of the furniture in the room had been painted white, and even the drapes framing the windows were white and billowing. It made Harry feel sleepy just to look at all of it. Malfoy began rummaging through a closet, mumbling to himself.

“Oh, wait a minute,” Harry protested, finally realizing what was happening. “I'm not going to let you dress me, Malfoy.”

“Better than un-dressing, hmmm?” he heard from the closet.

Harry grumbled, though he already knew he'd give in. Unless it was too horribly camp.

Fortunately, Malfoy owned a good deal of black clothing, and he emerged with a form-fitting black rayon shirt, simple and understated. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Malfoy held it up, as if trying to imagine the shirt on Harry. “Well...” he began, pursing his lips as if unconvinced.

“It's fine,” Harry insisted, pulling his jumper over his head and dropping it to the floor. “I'll take it.”

Malfoy dangled the shirt at arm's length, forcing Harry to come closer to get it. “The jeans will have to do, unfortunately. I don't think we're the same size.” He gazed contemplatively at Harry's groin. “Though I find the idea of you trying to get into my trousers quite appealing.”

Harry snatched the shirt away with a mild glare and pulled it on as quickly as possible. Malfoy nodded approvingly, which worried Harry.

“Mirror?”

“Bathroom,” Malfoy said, pointing.

Harry stepped into a small room full of far too many burning candles for his comfort. The shirt was clingier than he'd like, but it would do. He turned sideways, and realized that, in the right light, the fabric clung to his skin enough to accentuate what muscles he had.

“Damn,” he whispered.

“Exactly,” Malfoy said from the doorway. “But the hair won't do at all.”

“I actually did put some effort into my hair, you know.”

Malfoy shook his head. “That's the problem.” He chose a small tub from the collection of hair care products on the shelf and scooped out some goop onto his fingers. He rubbed his hands together and started for Harry's head.

“Wait a minute, now,” Harry warned, backing into a wall.

“Relax,” Malfoy said. “This won't hurt a bit. Think of me as your personal Queer Eye.” Harry relented, sitting on the toilet, and Draco combed his fingers through Harry's hair. He stood back at last and nodded. “Better.”

Harry stood and looked in the mirror. “That's worse than the way it looked before I did anything,” he muttered. It was sticking out wildly on top and swirled into some sort of messy arrangement everywhere else.

“It looks fine,” Malfoy grinned. “The boys are gonna eat you up tonight.”

“Great,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

They'd been in the taxi for two minutes before Malfoy leaned over and spoke quietly in Harry's ear. “I suppose this would be a good time to tell you I've been using the name ‘Derek Malone' while I've lived here.” Harry's forehead furrowed. He hadn't heard anyone call Malfoy by name in the café, now that he thought about it. “And they think you're...” Malfoy paused and bit his lower lip. “Well, I told them you were an old school friend.”

Harry blinked at him. “That's sort of true.”

“They assumed that you were an ex, actually, and I... didn't exactly dissuade them.” Malfoy gave him a weak smile.

Harry's jaw dropped. “They think I'm your ex-boyfriend?” he hissed.

“Yes, so you should probably act gay, or something.”

“Act gay?” Harry spat, then cast a cautious glance towards the driver. “How am I supposed to do that?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “You've been hanging ‘round me long enough. Surely you can figure it out.”

The taxi stopped abruptly; the restaurant they were meeting Malfoy's friends in was located in the Castro, so they hadn't had far to go. Malfoy bounced out of the taxi, leaving Harry to pay the driver, as usual. For someone with so much money, Malfoy was certainly not objecting to having someone else foot the bill. Harry'd had to find a cash point machine on his walk over this evening. He hoped the bar took credit cards.

The restaurant, a tapas bar called Mission Andalu, was just as trendy as every other place they'd been. Malfoy's friends were waiting at a table, glasses of wine in hand. They waved enthusiastically when they caught sight of Harry and... Derek . Harry gritted his teeth.

Kisses were exchanged, and Malfoy performed introductions. “Harry, this is Colby,” he said, gesturing towards a fresh-faced young man with thick dark hair and a sparkly shirt. “And this is Jeremy.” Jeremy reminded Harry a bit of Ron; his features were long and narrow and his hair reddish-brown. Harry smiled politely and shook both men's hands. They grinned at him. “Where's Manny?” Malfoy asked, glancing around as they sat.

“Running late,” Jeremy quipped. “Even later than you, and that's an accomplishment.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and then winked at Harry.

“Well Harry, you've certainly been keeping Derek busy this week,” Jeremy said, signaling the server. “We've hardly seen him. Had to threaten him with bodily harm just to get to meet you.”

Colby grinned at Harry across the table. “Anyone who can capture Derek's attention for more than a few hours is certainly worth meeting. Where are you from?”

“London , actually,” Harry replied. “I've never been to San Francisco before.”

“Ooo, listen to that accent!” Jeremy cooed. “So cute!” Harry blushed.

“What about me?” Malfoy pouted.

“You've been in the States too long,” Jeremy replied. “Now you just have that weird Madonna accent.” Malfoy gaped at him, clearly offended.

“I'm sure Derek's showed you around,” Colby said to Harry. “The Wharf, cable cars, Chinatown , and all that?”

“Ummm...” Harry looked at Malfoy cautiously. “No, he hasn't, actually. We haven't gone out at all, except for meals.”

“Ooooh,” both men said at once, and Harry turned red. Malfoy grinned and nudged Harry with his knee.

“That's not what I meant,” Harry said.

“Sure it wasn't,” Colby replied, winking at Malfoy.

“We'll have to remedy that, won't we?” Malfoy said. Harry's eyes widened – surely he hadn't meant... that . Malfoy smiled. “Tomorrow we'll see all the touristy sights, I promise.”

The server appeared, and Malfoy ordered a variety of items for the table, along with a pricey bottle of ‘96 Bordeaux . Jeremy and Colby seemed content to let him take charge, and Harry wondered if this was typical.

“So you two were schoolmates then?” Colby asked. Harry nodded. “Tell us what Derek was like when he was a little school boy.”

“Was he as big a slut then as he is now?” Jeremy interjected. Malfoy casually flipped him off.

Harry glanced at Malfoy, hoping he would give him a hint, but Malfoy only smirked in response. Thanks a lot , Harry thought. “He was certainly much more of a prick than he is now,” he said at last. “Quite the elitist snob, to be honest.”

Colby and Jeremy laughed, and Malfoy snorted. “All lies,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

“We had far too many classes together for my liking,” Harry continued, starting to enjoy Malfoy's squirming, “but we were never in the same dorm, thank god.”

“Dorm?” Jeremy repeated, grinning. He poked Malfoy in the arm. “You never said it was a boarding school! Oh, you must have delicious stories – late night clandestine meetings, sneaking into each others' rooms–”

“Blow jobs in the shower room,” Colby added, grinning. They looked expectantly at Harry.

“Ummm...” Harry began.

Malfoy rescued him. “Harry spent his school years laboring under the impression that he was straight, so he wouldn't know, to be fair.” Harry tried not to look relieved, and Jeremy and Colby groaned. “And I hate to disappoint you, but I hardly have any thrilling stories of my own. There were only two other boys near my age who were gay.” At their incredulous stare, he added, “It was a small school.”

“Who?” Harry asked.

“Not counting you?” Malfoy replied. Harry smirked.

The server arrived with two more glasses and opened the bottle of wine. Harry watched Malfoy perform the wine tasting ritual, and ran through a list of boys in his mind. He hadn't been aware that anyone in their year was gay.

After the wine was poured and the server away, Malfoy grinned at Harry. “You're dying to know, aren't you?”

“No,” Harry lied.

Malfoy took a sip from his glass. “Neville and Colin.”

“Neville?!” Harry repeated, gaping. “You're kidding!” Colin seemed quite obvious, now that he thought about it.

“I'm surprised you didn't know. You were his friend, after all.”

Harry sat back in his chair and picked up his wine glass. “I don't suppose you–”

“Fucked him? Yes. Several times.” Harry had been thinking more along the lines of dating , but he tried not to react to Malfoy's crudeness. “That's actually why my father pulled me out of school,” Malfoy continued, then paused as if remembering. “He found out about Neville and brought me home to finish school through tutoring.”

“No shit?” Jeremy said. “Your father did that?”

“Oh, honey, mine would have strangled me,” Colby quipped. “Actually, he still would, if he had any idea.”

“My father was and probably still is an arrogant, self-righteous, narrow-minded bastard,” Malfoy stated, tone as matter-of-fact as if he'd just commented that the wine was lovely or that Harry's shirt was wrinkled. Harry stared at him, realizing this entire story constituted the first bit of personal information Malfoy had offered so far. Assuming, of course, that it was true.

He clearly remembered Malfoy's father arriving at Hogwarts one day in the autumn of seventh year and departing with his angry son in tow. Everyone had just assumed Malfoy was going to become a Death Eater slightly ahead of schedule. They'd even had a “Good Riddance” party in the Gryffindor common room that night. Neville hadn't participated, now that Harry thought about it, and had been very withdrawn and depressed during that term. It had never occurred to him to connect that with Malfoy's departure.

“You and Neville?” he mused. “I had no idea.”

“Aren't you two still friends?” Malfoy asked.

“We were, until he died,” Harry replied. The table was silent for a moment. Malfoy studied his wine glass, expression controlled. Jeremy and Colby watched him, exchanging glances. “It wasn't... he wasn't sick or anything,” Harry added, realizing they might misunderstand. “It was an accident. A car crash. Drunk driver.”

He glanced at Malfoy, who stared back at him. It had been prolonged exposure to the cruciatus curse, and Neville had never regained consciousness after they found him. He died in hospital, and Harry privately thought he'd simply given up. He'd been tortured beyond what anyone else had suffered. Malfoy swallowed and looked away. Harry would tell him later, when they were alone. For now, he sipped his wine and pressed his knee into Malfoy's under the table, feeling sympathy for him for the first time. Malfoy had left everything behind and started his life over at least twice – but why?

A fondue pot and a plate of fruit slices were set before them, interrupting the somber moment. They watched the server light the flame beneath the pot in silence. Harry cast about for a new topic for conversation, to no avail.

“So if you two weren't a couple in school, when did you hook up?” Colby asked at last, glancing back and forth between Harry and Malfoy.

Harry panicked and stuffed two slices of pear into his mouth. Malfoy smiled. “Just the usual. You know, too much to drink at a party, hadn't seen each other since school ended, conversation led to flirting led to a kiss in the garden...”

Harry stared at Malfoy as he continued to weave a tale of their first night together, complete with the awkward – and hung over – morning after. He hoped he wouldn't have to retell this story later.

“And we broke it off when I moved to New York ,” Malfoy finished, not looking at Harry.

“Awww, tragically torn apart by your careers,” Colby said. “Met at the wrong time, in the wrong place. Sounds familiar.” He raised an eyebrow at Malfoy, who ignored it.

A muffled melody started playing, and everyone but Harry began searching his pockets.

“Mine,” Malfoy said, pulling a small mobile phone from his jacket.

Harry was stunned yet again. He didn't know any wizards who carried mobiles.

“Where the fuck are you?” Malfoy said into the phone by way of greeting. “Well, get down here... Oh, please . You need to have some fun... We'll be here for a while, and then we're going to The Café...” Malfoy got up from the table and walked a short distance away, and Harry could no longer hear the conversation.

“That would be Manny,” Colby said, dipping a slice of apple into the bubbling cheese sauce. “He's a lawyer, and he's got a trial next week, so he's really busy.” Jeremy elbowed Colby in the ribs, and they exchanged a meaningful look.

“What?” Harry asked.

Colby popped the apple slice into his mouth. Jeremy sipped his wine and smiled. “That's an impressive scar,” he said, squinting at Harry's head. “I'm sure there's a story behind that.”

“A long one,” Harry replied.

Malfoy returned to the table. “He's probably going to be a while. The defense produced a new witness and they had to investigate, or something.” He shrugged. “Fuck him. We'll have more fun without him.”

“I know you will,” Colby said with a smirk.

“Oh, fuck you,” Malfoy teased, grinning over his wine glass.

“Already did,” Colby countered.

Malfoy held up his little finger and studied it. “So I remember.”

Jeremy laughed, and Malfoy ducked as an apple slice flew at his head. Harry couldn't help but grin. Mrs. Weasley had always been fond of saying, “Boys will be boys.” Apparently gay boys weren't an exception to that rule either.

Two hours, several platters of tapas, and four bottles of wine later, the group headed to The Café, a disco on Market Street . There was a bit of a line to get in, and they huddled together, laughing and talking, and everyone but Harry smoking. Harry was surprised at how much fun he was having. He'd expected to feel uncomfortable going clubbing with a bunch of gay men, but Malfoy's friends had been nice to him, even welcoming, to an extent.

Colby and Jeremy got into a shouting match with a man hanging over the second floor balcony above, and Harry took the opportunity to pull Malfoy aside.

“I'm just going to tell you this once,” he whispered against his cheek, feeling Malfoy shiver in response. “I don't dance.”

Malfoy laughed and slid an arm around Harry's waist. “You just haven't been drunk enough then.”

“Derek,” Harry warned, but it was too late.

“I'll buy a round for anyone who can get Harry on the dance floor!” Malfoy announced. Not only did Jeremy and Colby cheer, but the surrounding crowd joined in as well. Harry groaned, and Malfoy planted a wet kiss on his cheek.

Once inside they found a table – at Harry's insistence – and Jeremy returned with the first round of drinks.

“What the fuck?” Harry asked, squinting at the brightly colored martini that had been set before him.

“Ooooh, that's a strong one,” Malfoy said. “Midori and vodka, I think.” He waggled his eyebrows at Harry. “Hope you wore comfortable shoes.”

“Fuck off, Draco,” Harry muttered. He took a sip of his drink before he realized what he'd said.

“Draco?” Colby repeated, looking surprised. “What the fuck kind of nickname is that?” Malfoy looked a little pale, though it was hard to tell in the dim colored light.

Harry swallowed. “Ah, just a... yeah, a school nickname.” He grinned sheepishly at Malfoy. “I suppose you prefer not to be called that anymore?”

“No,” Malfoy replied smoothly. “It was a stupid name, anyway.”

“There has to be a story behind that,” Jeremy said.

Malfoy grinned, composure regained. “It was a sport nickname. Harry and I played on the school team together.” He winked.

“What, soccer?” Jeremy asked.

“No, no, no,” Colby interrupted, and adopted a strangely familiar expression. “It's called football , you ignorant American.”

Jeremy laughed, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Yes, and I was bloody good at it, too.”

“Oh, did you tear off your shirt when you scored? I love it when they do that!” Colby grinned.

Malfoy's face was blank for a split second before he wrinkled his nose. “Why on earth would I tear my shirt off?” Everyone laughed, and Malfoy joined in, though belatedly.

The ringing of the mobile drew Malfoy away from the table once more. Harry took a few sips of his drink, which he'd found he liked, and smiled at Jeremy and Colby.

“While we're on the subject of school days,” Jeremy began, “tell us more about Derek.”

“Yeah, what did he do in New York ? Why did he move to San Francisco ? He must have had an amazing job, to have all that money. Why quit and work in a coffee shop here?” Colby asked.

Harry stared at them. “I...” he began, and then pursed his lips. Malfoy hadn't told his friends anything about his past? Did he trust no one? Or had he put them up to this somehow, as a test? “He's rather secretive, isn't he?” he said after a moment. “He'd kill me if I told you anything.” He smiled in what he hoped was a charming way and took another drink.

Colby smiled back, a bit coolly. “Ready to dance yet, Harry?”

“Nope.”

“Let me buy you another drink, then.”

Malfoy returned as the second round arrived. “He's not coming tonight,” he said, looking mildly irritated.

“Lucky for Harry,” Jeremy muttered, and Colby smirked at him. Malfoy seemed not to have heard the remark.

The conversation continued for a while, until Jeremy declared it was time to dance and left the table in pursuit of a man who'd caught his eye. Before long, Malfoy and Colby had left as well, and Harry found himself sitting alone.

Not that he really minded. It was good to have a moment to collect his thoughts, jumbled as they were. After several days of spending more time with Malfoy than he'd ever imagined tolerable, he'd learned nothing about why the auror had left New York in such a hurry.

He caught a few glimpses of Malfoy dancing in the crowd, and he couldn't help but shake his head in astonishment. Malfoy wasn't trying very hard to hide. If Harry'd found him so quickly, perhaps others had found him as well. Was he in danger here?

Harry pushed his drink away and sighed. At least he'd learned Malfoy hadn't become a Death Eater. Harry had briefly considered the possibility that Malfoy was working as a double agent, but he'd seen no evidence of that. Malfoy had been in enough immediate danger in New York that he'd fled at a moment's notice, but he seemed to feel safe here, safe enough that he'd only altered his name and appearance slightly. Harry had tried every angle he could think of to get him to open up, but Malfoy hadn't revealed anything.

Harry, on the other hand, hardly had any secrets left to tell. Malfoy knew nearly as much about him now as Hermione did. No one – not even his drinking mates from the Ministry – knew how he'd really felt about Cho, or how much he still wanted to be a father. Not even Hermione knew about that drunken threesome he'd had with Cho and Ginny years ago. Malfoy had managed to drag the details out of him, listening with an expression of fascinated horror on his face.

And he'd never told anyone else about the time he and Ron had shared an experimental kiss after the Yule Ball sixth year. Ron had freaked out afterwards, and Harry's feelings were hurt for weeks. Malfoy had smiled and bought Harry another drink, but didn't share any first kiss stories of his own.

Harry downed the rest of his second drink, then closed his eyes and let the swirl of sound and light wash away his sudden anxiety. Malfoy was the one hiding, after all. He had more to lose than Harry did.

Colby returned to the table with more drinks – shooters now – and tried to coerce Harry into dancing. Harry distracted him with a few questions about Derek, and convinced him to tell the story of how they'd become friends. Just as Colby was getting started, a man wearing very little clothing came around selling drinks in long tubes. He grinned and said, “Blow job, boys?” Colby bought four tubes on the spot, downed two of them himself, and left in pursuit of the vendor.

Harry's head was starting to swim from the amount of liquor he'd consumed in the last hour. It was a stupid thing to do, really, but he could cast a sobering spell on himself if he had to. It actually felt nice to be a little numb, to release his anxiety for an hour or so. His mind had been spinning strangely these last few days, and he needed a break from thinking about everything so very much. He rested his forehead on the table, finding it surprisingly comfortable. He realized he could feel the vibrations of the subwoofers through the table. Interesting...

“Hello,” he heard, and lifted his head. A young Asian woman was sitting next to him, grinning. She glanced over her shoulder at the blonde girl standing behind her and looked back to Harry. “So you see, that dude over there,” she indicated Malfoy with a pointed glance, “told us he'd buy us a round of drinks if we could get you to dance for two minutes.”

“Oh, fuck,” Harry grumbled.

“Oh, c'mon!” the blonde pleaded, leaning forward on the table until her breasts nearly spilled from her tiny top. “Pleeease? We're students, and this place is expensive.”

Harry kept his eyes on the girls' faces, which was a challenge considering how little clothing they were wearing. “Look, ladies, I'm sorry, but–”

“Hey, we get it,” the Asian girl interrupted. “You don't like girls. Well, we don't like guys! Nothing to worry about! You make your boyfriend happy, and we get free drinks. Everybody wins.” She pulled one hand and the blonde grabbed the other, and the next thing Harry knew he was standing awkwardly on the dance floor in the middle of a small group of scantily-clad lesbians.

A small part of his brain said, “Holy shit!” – and the rest panicked. He started to back away slowly. “Oh, no you don't!” he heard in his ear, and several pairs of hands pulled him forward again. He turned to see another girl with short red hair grinning at him. He looked around, and realized the girls were all dressed similarly.

“Britney Spears look-alike contest tonight?” he quipped, trying to start moving in a way he hoped wasn't horribly dorky.

“No, we just came from a Mardi Gras costume party,” the blonde said.

“Know who we are?” the redhead asked, pulling the Asian girl close.

Harry's brain began to shut down at the sight; he could only shake his head in response.

“Charlie's Angels, silly!” the blonde giggled, and wrapped herself around Harry.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jeremy and Colby waving at him, laughing hysterically. He searched until he found Malfoy, leaning against a pillar and grinning at him. Harry rolled his eyes. The girls danced around him, pressed tightly against each other.

He wasn't that bad of a dancer, he reflected. He wasn't feeling so self-conscious as usual, and he couldn't imagine anyone would really pay him any attention while he was surrounded by half-naked girls.

The song changed, and someone's arm was around him. “Having fun?” Jeremy asked. He put another shooter in Harry's hand, and raised his own in salute. Harry grinned and clinked the small glass against the other man's before downing it.

“Ugh,” he said, making a face. The drink was horribly sweet. Jeremy took the empty glass and slipped away.

“There you are,” he heard, and hands were pulling him back again, into a swirl of bodies. The Asian girl was grinding against the redhead, and she pressed her ass against Harry's groin. When two of them started kissing a few inches from his face, his jeans got a bit uncomfortable.

“I think it's been two minutes, ladies,” he said, backing away. They grinned at him and waved as he headed towards the bathroom, trying not to walk too awkwardly. It was ironic that one of his biggest sexual fantasies would be played out in front of him on a night he was pretending to be gay.

He pushed open the door of the bathroom only to find it was being used as much for sex as for its intended purpose. There were several couples grinding against each other along the walls, and muffled sounds were coming from the stalls. He steadied himself and walked toward the urinals.

He unzipped his jeans and found he was still too hard to piss. He waited, trying to block out the sounds of sex all around him, but it wasn't going to work. Maybe if he just sat down for a while, he thought. He sighed and fastened his jeans again, turning to leave.

And froze – Malfoy was leaning against the wall a few meters away, and a man was on his knees before him on the grimy floor, sucking his cock. Harry blinked, unable to keep himself from staring. He'd only occasionally seen sex happening right in front of him like that, and certainly never sex between two men. Of course, a blow job was a blow job, and this one didn't look any different than he would have expected.

Except that it was Malfoy with his black chinos pushed to his knees, fingers tangled in the dark hair of the man before him. The expression on his face was guarded, and his eyes were tightly shut. The man's head bobbed quickly, one hand wrapped around the base of Malfoy's erection and the other either braced on the wall behind him or doing something interesting to Malfoy's arse. Malfoy's breath was ragged, and he was biting his lip, not making a sound.

He's a bit of a screamer, Harry heard in his head, and wondered if Malfoy was making an effort to hold back. Malfoy's hands clenched tighter, and Harry found himself hypnotized by the motion, the engulfing and revealing of slick skin, the rhythm of Malfoy's breathing.

He looked up to see Malfoy staring back at him, eyes glazed and wide. Harry froze, uncertain what to do. Should he apologize? Leave? Join in?

The last thought startled him so much he took a step away. Malfoy's head snapped back against the wall, and he grimaced, coming. Harry became acutely aware of his resurging erection just as Malfoy's eyes raked over him again. Panicked, he left the bathroom, pausing outside the door to adjust his dick to a more comfortable position before winding his way through the crowd on the dance floor, feeling more and more claustrophobic with every second.

“Harry!” A hand on his arm stopped him, and he turned to see Colby smiling at him. “Where ya going?”

“Home,” Harry said. “Hotel. I can't... I've had enough, for tonight.” He tried to pull away.

Colby pulled him closer. “Harry, you know what he's like. He's not exactly the boyfriend type.” His eyes were sympathetic.

Harry shook his head. “I'm going,” he said, and pulled away. The night air was cool, and he walked two streets before hailing a taxi. He collapsed into the back seat, aroused and confused, and far too drunk to think about it all now.

It was the same dream again.

He was wandering through the corridors of Hogwarts, uncertain as to what he was doing and where he was going. Things were always a bit fuzzy in this dream, as if he were in a trance he couldn't shake. There was never anything to see, just long dusty corridors and a sense of despair he had trouble shaking away when he awoke.

But this time, he rounded a corner and saw Ron sitting on the floor, knees pulled up against his chest. That's odd, Harry thought, half-aware that this was new, and that it should surprise him. But somehow, it didn't.

Ron smiled sadly at Harry. “I'm sorry,” he said.

“I'm not,” Harry replied, voice barely more than a whisper. He fell to his knees then; the act of speaking had somehow sapped his energy. Ron raised his hand, and Harry reached out for him.

---

6 February, 2004 : Friday

The sound of his alarm clock woke Harry up, only it didn't stop when he pressed the snooze button. He hit it again, but it kept ringing. It was the phone ringing, he realized after a few bewildered seconds.

The phone. “Hello?” he croaked into the receiver. His head hurt , he realized.

“Sorry to bother you so early, Mr. Potter, but a fax just arrived for you, and it's marked ‘urgent'. Should we send it up?”

Harry could see the red numbers on the clock when he squinted, and the first one was definitely a ‘6'. “M'kay, could you... slide it under the door or something?”

“Yes, sir.”

He fell back into the sheets after replacing the receiver, and groaned. He couldn't remember feeling this badly after a night out in a long time. He drifted off for a moment, only to be reawakened by a knock and the sound of paper being slid under the door. He sat up and tossed the bed sheet aside. He was completely naked, a state he in which he didn't typically sleep. And the sheets were...

Ewwww, he thought, scrunching his nose. He vaguely remembered stripping out of his clothes the night before and pulling himself off to the memory of Malfoy getting his dick sucked in a bathroom. Why that particular image had done it for him, he really didn't want to know. He'd apparently used quite a bit of the lube that the Inn 's staff had conveniently provided on his nightstand. He'd even forgotten to recap the bottle in his haste to get the job done. He winced, which only made his head hurt more.

All disturbing thoughts were pushed aside when he picked up the fax – ten pages of random letters and numbers, across the top of which Hermione had scribbled ‘URGENT: DELIVER TO H. POTTER ASAP'.

It took him a moment to locate his wand in the pile of last night's discarded clothing. There was a time when he'd slept with it in hand, though he hadn't thought about that in years. He plucked the shirt he'd borrowed from Malfoy off of the floor, realizing with a bit of horror that it had a mysterious stain on it. It might be easier to offer to pay for it than to try to explain that .

He spread the papers across the floor and tapped each in turn with the tip of his wand, reciting the decryption spell that was unique to him. Hermione's doctoral research had involved developing magical cryptographic algorithms, and she'd been working on a public-key method based on a Muggle system called RSA. Harry had no idea how it worked, except that each of the aurors had a public key that everyone else knew and used to send them messages, and a private key only known by the individual, which was used to decode the message. She'd tried to explain how it all worked once, until his eyes glazed over. Hermione's latest breakthrough had been to develop ways to use Muggle technology such as computers and fax machines in magical communications. The encryption and decryption spells could be used when the text was printed on any sort of paper.

The letters on the pages rearranged themselves into familiar patterns of words before his eyes, and he settled onto the bed with the decoded pages in hand. It was a report containing the details of the information she'd relayed in their phone conversation the day before. According to Hermione's research, the CIA had monitored Malfoy's communications extensively while he lived in New York , at his home as well as his office. There were lists of dates and times Malfoy had received owls from unknown sources. There were summaries of reports from CIA operatives who'd followed him, lists of people he'd been seen associating with, lists of people he'd had sexual relations with.

Harry frowned. Why did they need to know that? He wondered if anyone was keeping a tally of his conquests back in England . Not that the list would be very long.

He scanned through the pages, feeling simultaneously guilty and intrigued. Malfoy had frequented a club in New York City 's wizarding district called B-Boy, and shopped for groceries at the Village Co-op. The CIA informant who had provided this information claimed to have been his lover for more than a month.

Malfoy had a telephone in New York , and the line had been bugged. The transcripts of his phone conversations were classified, but there was a note saying they contained no valuable information. His rubbish had been sifted through. His Muggle post was monitored. His owls were intercepted starting in July, after an informant reported seeing a piece of parchment in Malfoy's flat listing the names of known Death Eaters in the US and a password to use when contacting them. Malfoy had been officially listed as a suspected “magical terrorist” on 5 July, 2003 , under the conditions established by the Patriot Act.

Harry's head began to pound. He hadn't seen any evidence that Malfoy was doing any of these sorts of things in San Francisco . He wondered if this was the sort of investigation he was supposed to be doing. He certainly had no interest in sorting through Malfoy's rubbish. The very idea turned his stomach.

Or maybe that was the hangover. He shoved the papers into his rucksack and slid under the dirty sheets again, hoping he'd feel better in a few days. Then he could think about this. All of this. He drifted off, the words on the pages dancing before his eyes, spelling out all sorts of strange things about Malfoy.

The phone rang. This time he remembered it was the phone, though it still took several rings before he could wake up enough to answer it.

“Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?” Malfoy asked, voice far too cheery.

“What?” Harry mumbled. “What time is it?”

“Nearly ten.” There was a pause during which Harry imagined Malfoy was rolling his eyes. “I suppose you'll need more than fifteen minutes, then?”

“What are you talking about?” Harry was aware that he sounded whiny, but didn't care.

“Tour of the city today, remember? I promised.”

“Oh, no, Malfoy,” Harry groaned into the receiver. “I'm not up to it today. I feel like shit.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” he heard, and Malfoy hung up.

Sleep, Harry thought, returning the receiver to its cradle and snuggling into his pillow. He had nearly fallen asleep again when he heard a small popping sound and felt the mattress dip. He scrambled to a sitting position, crying out in surprise.

“Drink this,” Malfoy said, holding out a steaming mug.

“What the...?” Harry blinked. “Fucking hell, Malfoy, you scared the shit out of me!”

Malfoy smirked. “If you don't want strange wizards apparating into your room, you should put up the proper wards.” He gestured with the mug. “Drink.”

Harry stared blankly at him for a moment. Why hadn't he put up any wards? It was standard field procedure, but he hadn't even thought of it. Shaking his head, Harry took the mug and sniffed the contents. “Hangover potion?”

Malfoy nodded, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He really did feel terrible. He downed the contents of the mug in a few gulps, only belatedly wondering why he trusted Malfoy so easily. He looked up and realized Malfoy wasn't looking at his face. Harry pulled the sheet across his lap, feeling too terrible even to glare in return.

Malfoy grinned. “It's not like I haven't seen it before,” he said, taking his mug back.

“You haven't,” Harry countered.

“Communal showers can be quite educational,” Malfoy said with a wink. “I used to do a lot of looking. So, I'll meet you downstairs in thirty minutes?”

Before Harry could answer, he disapparated once again.

Harry could feel the potion beginning to take effect. It lifted his spirits, despite having just been ogled – whilst naked and wrapped in a spunk-covered sheet – by Malfoy, of all people. How embarrassing.

---

He made Malfoy wait for ten extra minutes on purpose, and then headed out the door. Malfoy was leaning against the side of the building, smoking a cigarette. Harry fought an urge to snatch the cigarette away and stomp on it.

“Feeling better?” Malfoy chirped. He couldn't have looked any gayer, Harry thought. Under his open sherpa coat, he wore a cream-colored turtleneck shirt that just grazed the waistband of his trademark black chinos, and a rainbow-striped scarf was wound around his neck.

Harry smirked in greeting, eyes fixed on Malfoy's shirt. “Gap?”

“Fuck, no. This is J. Crew.” Malfoy took one last drag from the cigarette and then put it out against the side of the building. “Honestly.”

Harry stifled a laugh and fingered the end of the scarf. “Could you be any more obvious, Malfoy?”

“I'm not ashamed of who I am,” he replied, tilting his head. A lock of auburn-streaked hair fell across his forehead and he blew it out of his eyes. “Besides, I'm your date, so what does that say about you?” Harry rolled his eyes.

They walked down to the streetcar stop at 17 th and Castro and took the F-Line to Union Square . Harry'd never ridden in a streetcar before – he felt like he was in an old Muggle film. They disembarked after an uneventful ride and walked down to the queue for the Powell-Mason cable car line.

Despite the fact that there was an empty cable car on the turntable, the crew were in no apparent hurry to load it with passengers. They waited for nearly half an hour; Malfoy passed the time by chattering away about nothing and everything, occasionally poking Harry in the stomach to make certain he was paying attention. Harry bought them coffees at a nearby café, and was rewarded with a squeal of delight from Malfoy when he produced a croissant for them to share.

As Harry held out the croissant for Malfoy to pinch off a bit, he became aware that people were staring at them. He'd been stared at for most of his life, but not like this. This was different – disapproving, rather than awed and curious. It didn't bother him that people thought he and Malfoy were a couple, but it unnerved him to see them quickly look away when he confronted their gazes with his own. He wondered if this was what life was like for Malfoy, who didn't seem to notice the attention they were getting.

People didn't really stare at Harry anymore, and hadn't done for several years. Or had he simply stopped noticing?

The cable car ride itself was fun, though chilly. Malfoy leaned against Harry in the crowded car more than was strictly necessary, but Harry didn't mind. Malfoy was being alarmingly sweet today, even flirtatious, and even though the behavior was suspicious, Harry found he liked the attention. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like that, or smiled at him so much, or laughed at his jokes. Not even Hermione did that anymore, and Cho had stopped smiling at him a long time ago.

They got off the cable car near the wharf and walked along the fish market stalls, staring at some of the stranger sea creatures displayed in glass cases. They bought clam chowder in bread bowls, and ate it while Malfoy told Harry what he knew about the history of the wharf, how it was no longer a commercial fish market, but a tourist attraction. Harry listened, but more to the timbre of Malfoy's voice than to the words themselves.

They walked along Pier 39 and stopped to peek in shop windows and applaud street performers. They watched the sea lions bask in the sun, and peered at Alcatraz through a telescope that cost a quarter. Malfoy hogged the viewer, and kept holding his hand out for more quarters. Harry didn't complain, and gave him all the quarters he had.

They walked down Beach Street towards Ghiradelli Square , bumping shoulders occasionally and ignoring the pointed stares of passers-by. Malfoy wanted ice cream, so Harry stood in line at Ghiradelli while Malfoy scanned a street merchant's wares. Harry returned with two cones just as Malfoy was examining a ring for sale by a man with two gold front teeth.

“This is real silver?” he asked, a skeptical expression on his face. The man insisted it was, and Malfoy snorted.

“Now that's an interesting piece,” the man said, eyeing the silver bracelet on Malfoy's wrist. “What would you take for it?”

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he handed the ring back to the man. “It's not for sale,” he stated.

Harry handed him his ice cream as they walked away, and caught a glimpse of the bracelet again. He hadn't noticed it before. It was clearly of magical origin, possibly made of a special kind of silver mined by dwarves deep in the earth. The design gave the subtle impression of a snake wrapped around the wrist.

“Where'd you get it?” Harry asked, indicating the bracelet.

“My mother gave it to me,” he replied.

Harry nodded. Malfoy's mother was dead, so Harry assumed it was a special possession. He fingered his ring self-consciously.

“Is that your wedding ring?” Malfoy asked.

Harry looked up at him, surprised. “No,” he replied. He wasn't ready to tell Malfoy any more than that.

Fortunately, Malfoy took the hint. “Cherry cheesecake,” he cooed at his ice cream, grinning. “Want a taste?” He held out his cone, and Harry took a huge bite out of it, prompting a laugh from Malfoy. Harry laughed too, feeling ice cream starting to drip down his chin. He froze awkwardly when Malfoy swept a thumb across Harry's lips, then sucked the sticky cream off, eyes twinkling.

They settled on the beach to eat their ice cream, staring out across the bay at the bit of the Golden Gate Bridge visible through the fog. It was cold sitting by the water, and Harry silently questioned the wisdom of eating ice cream outdoors on a foggy February afternoon. They were both quiet for a long time, watching small waves lap up onto the shore. Malfoy stretched his legs out in front of him and closed his eyes. Neither of them had mentioned the incident in the bathroom the night before, Harry realized. He wondered if Malfoy even remembered.

“Are you going to tell me about Neville?” Malfoy asked, eyes now focused on his ice cream.

Harry studied him for a moment. “What do you want to know?”

Malfoy shrugged, and then looked thoughtful. “What happened?”

“We don't really know,” Harry sighed. “It was Terry Boot who found him, along with the corpses of a few Death Eaters, in a muddy field near Cornwall . The last four spells he'd cast were the killing curse. The healers said his coma was probably due to the effects of several prolonged cruciatus attacks, maybe more than one at a time.” Harry paused. He hadn't thought about Neville in such a long time. Did that make him a bad friend?

Malfoy's ice cream was melting down his hand, but he didn't seem to notice. He was staring at the ocean.

“How did you two... ummm...” Harry winced at his own tactlessness, and mumbled, “Never mind.”

They were silent for a long time. Malfoy finally noticed his ice cream was melting, and tossed the remainder of it in a nearby rubbish bin. Harry sucked melted ice cream out of the bottom of his cone to keep it from dripping all over him.

“We had detention together,” Malfoy said, wiping his sticky hands on the napkin that had been wrapped around his cone. “It's almost a cliché, isn't it? Neither of us knew the other was gay until we caught each other ogling Professor Riley.”

“Riley,” Harry repeated. He'd been the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor during Harry's sixth year. He was young and handsome, and it seemed every girl in the school had been hopelessly smitten with him. He'd been killed in a battle in the Dark Forest near the end of that year, just a few feet from Harry. Protecting Harry, in fact.

“If it hadn't been such a mutual revelation, I probably would have used it against him,” Malfoy continued. “I could have made his life hell.”

“More than you already did?” Harry snorted.

“But I was intrigued by the idea that someone might understand,” Malfoy said, ignoring Harry's remark. “We made an agreement, a sort of truce. By the beginning of seventh year, it had turned into something else.”

“Until your father took you out of school?” Harry asked.

Malfoy nodded, studying the sand beneath his feet.

“We thought... well, you can probably guess what we thought happened to you after that.” Malfoy didn't look up, but smiled, almost sadly, and Harry decided to push a little more. “Why did you decide to become an auror?”

Malfoy took a deep, calming breath, closing his eyes. “Because I knew it would irritate the piss out of my father,” he said at last. “He thought I was sick , you know? He thought it was just a phase I was going through.” He opened his eyes and picked up a handful of sand, letting the grains fall through his fingers. “He thought he could wear me down, make me normal. After about six months of that, he caught me sucking off my tutor, and he just... exploded. To make a long story short, he told me that if I was so determined to waste my DNA, I could at least make myself useful to him by offering my services to the cause.” He shrugged, and Harry wondered what he meant by services . “At that point, I wasn't going to do anything he wanted. I'd turned eighteen in March anyway, so I had my trust fund. I figured there was nothing he could do to me. So I left.”

Malfoy stared out at the bay, face taut. Harry waited for him to continue, but he didn't. “Were you on your own after that?”

Malfoy nodded. “I went a little crazy, moved to London . After a few months, my father found me, and wanted me to come back. He wasn't going to let me refuse, so I decided to do something to protect myself.”

“So you applied for auror training?” Harry watched Malfoy's face.

“Yes. Had to take my NEWTs first, though. You know the rest.”

“No,” Harry retorted. “In fact, I don't.”

Malfoy shrugged and stood, dusting sand off of his trousers. “I'm getting cold. Let's go shopping.”

Harry allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, pleased he'd learned so much about Malfoy. Maybe this plan of making friends with him would work, after all.

Hours later, they were finishing dinner at the North Beach Restaurant. Harry poured the dregs from the bottle of Chianti into Malfoy's glass, watching him pick at the remains of his osso bucco.

“Anything you didn't get to see today?” Malfoy asked, tentatively sampling the marrow from his veal bone.

Harry considered. “There is one place I'd still like to go.”

Malfoy scrunched up his face and left the rest of the marrow alone. “Where?”

“Haight-Ashbury , of course.”

Malfoy's face froze for a moment, then he looked down at his plate. “You'll have to go there by yourself.”

“What?” Harry asked, surprised. “Haven't you been?”

“No.” Malfoy sipped his wine.

“You've lived here for six months, and you haven't been to the wizarding district at all?” Harry couldn't stop his eyes from narrowing at this potential clue. “You're an auror, Malfoy. Isn't that what concealment spells are for?” Malfoy shrugged and tried to change the subject, but Harry wasn't ready to let it go. “Surely you need some potions ingredients, or a book, or something . Haven't you missed being around wizards?” Malfoy shook his head. Harry pursed his lips, wondering how far he could push the issue. If he could get Malfoy to agree to go to Haight-Ashbury , it might lead to a break-through in his investigation. “We should go, then,” Harry said, as decisively as he could manage.

“I don't want to go,” Malfoy replied.

“We'll go tomorrow. It'll be fun.”

“I have to work tomorrow.”

“Then we'll go when you get off.”

“Damn it, Harry! I said no!” Malfoy's voice was just sharp enough that several heads in the restaurant turned their direction. Harry folded his arms across his chest and looked away.

The taxi ride back to Malfoy's flat was uncomfortably silent. Harry struggled not to fidget, worried he'd ruined everything he'd managed to gain that day in a single moment. Of course, he couldn't really blame Malfoy for not trusting him. Perhaps it was an indication of how deep in trouble Malfoy really was.

He followed Malfoy inside his building, not willing to walk away until one of them spoke. Malfoy was amazingly stubborn, so it looked like it would have to be him.

Fine, he thought. He'd been married. He was used to taking the blame for shit he didn't even know he'd done until it was too late. Malfoy unlocked the door and switched on the lights, and Harry opened his mouth to apologize.

“I'm sorry,” Malfoy said, so quietly that Harry wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Harry gaped at him for a moment, and Malfoy continued. “I have my reasons for not wanting to go there. I'm asking you to respect that, for now.” He looked up, and Harry could see that his eyes were concerned, even though his face was expressionless.

With a start, Harry realized Malfoy didn't want him to leave. He didn't want to lose Harry's company, even though he was wary. I'd be wary too, if all of my friends and lovers had been spying on me, Harry thought.

He nodded and tried to smile. “All right.”

Malfoy looked relieved for a moment, then regained his composure completely. “Going out with us again tonight?”

Harry's face fell. “I suppose.” He'd been hoping they could just hang out, talk more. He wasn't sure he was up to another night like the previous one.

Malfoy's lips twisted into his customary condescending smirk. “Don't worry. It'll be much more low-key. Just cocktails, and we may even come back here afterwards and relax.”

“Do I have to change clothes again?”

Malfoy grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”

---

Malfoy took a quick shower and then walked around the apartment naked for a good ten minutes, much to Harry's discomfort. His outfit had already been picked out and put on, so Harry sat on the bed and waited, trying not to look, but looking just the same. Malfoy was more wiry than skinny, Harry noticed, and he had a tattoo of a celtic knot at the base of his spine. Harry stared at the tattoo each time Malfoy walked by, and wondered if it had hurt. Malfoy was searching for something in his closet when Harry realized that the tattoo had morphed into a small dragon. He looked closer, and the dragon stretched its wings and yawned. Harry gasped, then immediately blushed when Malfoy's head snapped around.

“I... that tattoo... surprised me,” he stammered, feeling himself turn red. Malfoy grinned and walked closer, turning so that Harry could have a closer look.

“Touch it,” he said.

“Sorry?” Harry felt his cheeks flame even further.

“Go ahead,” Malfoy laughed, glancing over his shoulder.

Harry swallowed and tentatively pressed one finger to the dragon. It skittered out of his reach, glaring at him with its beady black eyes. “What the...?” Harry tried to touch it again and it moved away, shaking its head at him. Harry watched it dance across Malfoy's pale skin, dodging his attempts to catch it. He pressed the flat of his hand against Malfoy's skin, effectively trapping the dragon.

He smiled, and then he realized his hand was on Malfoy's backside. He froze for a moment, uncertain whether he should jerk it away or simply make a casual remark about the magical tattoo, as if there was nothing weird about having been fondling another man's arse for the last minute.

Malfoy cleared his throat and smiled over his shoulder. “Cute trick, isn't it?”

Harry stared up at him and let his hand fall away. “Do you show that to all the boys?”

Malfoy grinned. “It only moves for wizards, you know. It looks like a celtic knot, unless you look very hard.”

Harry blushed, realizing he'd been caught. Malfoy proceeded to get dressed and said nothing more about it, much to Harry's relief.

---

They met Colby and Jeremy at the Pilsner Inn on Church Street , a charming neighborhood bar that was packed with people. Mostly men , Harry thought, looking around. He was surprised at how easy it had been for him to blend into the scene. Fortunately, Colby and Jeremy had arrived early enough to snag a table for them. They smiled as Harry and Malfoy wound their way through the crowd. Colby gestured for Harry to sit next to him, grinning shyly.

“So, did you actually make it out of bed before dinnertime today?” Jeremy quipped. Colby elbowed him, shooting him a look .

“We rode a cable car, and went to the Wharf,” Harry supplied. “It was fun.”

“Good to hear Derek knows San Francisco is more than great nightlife,” Colby said with a wink.

“I venture out during the day quite often,” Malfoy replied, leaning back in his chair with an air of boredom. “I even leave the Castro on occasion.”

“And the earth somehow doesn't spin off its axis,” a voice behind Harry said. He saw a grin spread across Malfoy's face just before a man appeared and kissed him.

Kissed him, and not in the friendly, hello-how-are-you way Malfoy usually kissed people. The man wedged himself between Malfoy and Jeremy at the table, nodding at everyone else in greeting.

“This is Harry, a friend visiting from London ,” Malfoy told him. “Harry, this is Manny Padilla.”

Manny smiled as he reached across the table to shake Harry's hand. “Derek's told me a lot about you, Harry. It's great to finally meet you.” His eyes flicked up to Harry's forehead briefly.

“Yes, pleased to meet you as well,” Harry managed, wishing he could return the first part of Manny's comment. Manny's smile was charming, reminding Harry of Gilderoy Lockhart for a moment – but much hotter. He was approximately thirty, immaculately dressed, and was staring adoringly at Malfoy. Harry felt something twist inside his gut.

“How did the deposition go?” Malfoy asked, attention fully on Manny.

Manny flagged down the server with a casual wave and ordered a Heineken. “Horrible. The fools don't know what they're getting themselves into.” Manny shook his head, and he and Malfoy seemed to exchange a meaningful glance.

“You're a lawyer, then?” Harry asked, suddenly wanting to be part of the conversation.

Manny smiled. “Corporate, for engineering firms. It's really boring, actually.”

“But it pays well,” Colby muttered under his breath. Manny didn't seem to have heard. Malfoy asked him more questions about the deposition, and Harry found he couldn't follow the conversation. He cast a glance at Colby and Jeremy, and realized they were watching him. Colby offered him a small smile and nudged his knee under the table. Jeremy nodded his head towards Manny and rolled his eyes. Harry stifled a grin, and then it hit him.

Malfoy had a boyfriend.

His smile faltered, and he forced himself to look again. Manny had taken Malfoy's hand and was stroking his palm with a finger, and Malfoy was smiling and listening as Manny spoke. They looked like a couple to Harry, inasmuch as someone as promiscuous as Malfoy could look like he was in a couple.

Harry was angry, suddenly. Why hadn't Malfoy mentioned this before? They'd spent four days together, and Malfoy hadn't even hinted that he had a boyfriend. Wasn't that the sort of thing one went around telling people? Why hadn't anyone else told him? Manny's name had come up a few times the previous night, but he hadn't really paid attention. He'd just figured Manny was another of Malfoy's friends.

He'd felt so good about his investigation not an hour ago, thinking that Malfoy was opening up to him at last. This was quite a large detail to leave out. Harry scowled into his beer, not caring if anyone noticed. In fact, he hoped Malfoy noticed. He looked up again after a moment, but Malfoy was still talking quietly with Manny. Manny smiled and leaned forward to kiss Malfoy.

“Anyone want another round?” Harry asked. “I'll buy.”

“Sure,” came the chorus of replies. Malfoy beamed at him and turned back to Manny. Harry tried not to frown.

“I'll help you,” Colby said, to Harry's relief. They wound through the crowd towards the bar. “I take it he didn't tell you about Manny,” Colby said, that sympathetic look in his eyes again.

“Not a word,” Harry snarled, surprised at the venom in his tone. It probably wouldn't hurt to play the jealous lover, though. It was a good cover story, anyway. He scowled. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

Colby looped an arm through one of Harry's. “Oh, sweetie, Derek is just like we'd all be if only we had the balls. He does what he wants, when he wants, with whomever he wants.”

“And what does his boyfriend think?” Harry asked, not having to work hard to sound sarcastic.

“He puts up with Derek's shit, just like we all do.” Colby smiled and squeezed Harry's arm. “You either put up with it, or you move on.”

“Which one did you do?”

Colby shrugged and looked towards the bar. “What kind of beer did we want to get, again?”

The rest of the night was excruciating for Harry. He hadn't realized the extent to which he'd been the center of Malfoy's attention until he wasn't anymore. The more he thought about the fact that Malfoy hadn't told him about Manny, the angrier he got. After an hour, he was barely participating in the conversation, despite Colby's attempts to re-engage him.

“Well, boys, I gotta get up early in the morning,” Jeremy said around midnight . “Time to call it a night.”

“What?” Malfoy pouted. “We always go back to mine on Friday nights!”

Jeremy shrugged and glanced at Colby. Colby studied his watch for several seconds before looking up. “Sorry, but I'm beat. You boys are on your own tonight.”

“I can come over for a while,” Manny said. Harry felt his heart sink a bit.

“What about you, Harry?” Malfoy asked, directly addressing Harry for the first time in nearly an hour.

Harry considered. He really wasn't in the mood to be a third wheel, but he also didn't want to think about Malfoy and Manny going back to the flat together, alone. “Of course,” he said. I've nothing better to do.

Besides, he reminded himself, he was here to investigate. Malfoy's relationship with this lawyer could be an important clue as to why he was hiding here. Harry sighed. He was here to do a job, not to make friends or get involved in other people's lives. It was best if he'd remember that.

They said their good-nights to Colby and Jeremy outside, and then walked towards Malfoy's flat, which was less than a mile away. Malfoy chattered happily as they walked along, Harry on his left and Manny on his right. A muffled tune started playing, and Manny searched the pockets of his stylish wool coat.

“Sorry boys.” He squinted at the display on the phone and cast a glance at Malfoy. “I have to take this one. Diga?” Manny shrugged at them and walked a short distance away, speaking quickly and quietly. “Claro que sé quién es. Sólo me gustaría que alguien me hubiera dicho ..”

Malfoy turned to Harry and smiled, tilting his head. “Have a good evening?”

Harry snorted, resisting the urge to snap at him in response. “I suppose.”

Malfoy frowned. “Is something wrong?”

Harry cast a glance at Manny, who was gesturing broadly to no one while talking on his mobile. “No. Nothing is wrong.” He sighed and looked at his feet.

“Harry...” Malfoy started, reaching for Harry's hand. Harry jerked it away before he knew what he was doing. “What the fuck is with you tonight?” Malfoy snapped. “I tried ignoring you, and I've tried to be nice to you, and you act like a prick either way.”

“I'm being a prick?” Harry retorted. “Oh, for fuck's sake–”

“What? What did I do? Is this about Haight-Ashbury , still?”

Harry groaned. “It's not about Haight-Ashbury .” He sighed, and tried to pull himself together. Why was he so angry about this? He glanced at Manny again. The bastard was even gorgeous standing there in his coat in the dim streetlight, talking to no one.

“Oh my god,” Malfoy said. Harry looked back at him. “It's Manny, isn't it?”

Harry didn't know how to respond, even though it was the truth. He settled for a shrug. “I just... wish you'd told me.”

Malfoy made an exasperated sound. “Told you what? That he was coming tonight? He was supposed to come the first night – you know that.”

“That you had a boyfriend,” Harry said, very glad it was dark enough that Malfoy couldn't see the color he was probably turning.

Malfoy held his hands up in protest. “First of all, he's not my boyfriend. I don't do boyfriends.”

Harry smirked in response. “Didn't look that way to me tonight.”

“Second, I don't think who I'm fucking is any of your business.”

Harry struggled to contain the hurt he felt at that comment. It was true, though; it wasn't any of his business.

Then again, that was why he was here, wasn't it? He was supposed to learn as much as he could about Malfoy's contacts and activities. He managed a cool smile. Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

“Sorry about that,” Manny said, rejoining them. “I wish I could just turn it off, but that's what they pay me for.” He glanced back and forth between the two of them, as if sensing the tension.

Malfoy nodded at him and started walking again. They were silent for the rest of the walk. At the steps of his building, Malfoy paused, considering, and then looked at Manny. “I forgot – I'm out of vodka. I'll run down to the liquor store on the corner and buy some before they close. Let yourselves in.” He walked away, leaving Harry alone with Manny.

Manny rifled through his pockets and pulled out a set of keys. Harry frowned as he unlocked the main door. “Do you live here as well?”

Manny laughed. “No, I live in a loft over off of Market.” Harry followed him in, gritting his teeth. He had a key ?

Doesn't do boyfriends, he says. Ha.

He followed Manny into the flat – fucking key – and collapsed onto the squishy sofa. It had been his usual spot over the last few days. He wondered where Manny sat.

Manny settled onto the sofa beside him, smiling tightly. “Look, Harry, let's just get this over with, shall we?”

Harry forced himself to smile in return. “Sorry?”

“He obviously didn't tell you about me, and you're angry and jealous.” He settled back against the pillows, sighing. “I wish he was a little more careful with people's feelings, but–”

“Does it bother you that he fucks around?” Harry blurted, voice tight. It seemed a good question to ask. It had certainly been bothering Harry .

Manny shrugged. “He always has, and he's honest about it. He's very careful, as well. I wish he wanted to stay home and wait for me every night, but he doesn't.”

“That is seriously fucked up,” Harry grumbled.

“There've been a lot of boys just like you, Harry,” Manny said. “They come into his life, and he gets infatuated with them for a week or two, and then he gets bored.” Harry swallowed, shaking his head in disbelief. How could Manny be so nonchalant? “He just never got bored with me, so I'm still here.” He smiled, and Harry fought a strange urge to punch him.

On the other hand, Manny had clearly known Malfoy for a while, and he might be a good source of information.

“What makes you think I'm just another fling?” Harry asked, trying to mirror Manny's nonchalance. “After all, I've known him since he was eleven years old. I have a history with him no one else does.”

Manny's smile tightened again. “You're just visiting for a few weeks. You'll go back to England soon enough, and Derek will be right back in my bed, as usual. It's just as well you're here to keep him occupied, anyway. I'm going to be busy this week.”

Harry clenched his jaw and looked away.

“Oh, don't take it so personally, Harry. If it's any consolation, he's talked incessantly about you this week. I've even gotten a little jealous.”

“Really?” Harry asked, staring back at him. “What has he told you?”

Manny shifted closer, grinning. “What a great fuck you are.”

Harry's jaw dropped before he could stop it. “He said that?” He couldn't imagine why Malfoy would have made something like that up.

Manny nodded, dark eyes shining. “I can see why he's so interested in you.”

Harry swallowed, finally realizing Manny was coming on to him. He had absolutely no idea what to do. “I... erm... why is that?”

Manny cupped Harry's cheek and leaned closer. “You're hot as hell, and you have absolutely no idea.”

Harry had never been one of those men who pursued women aggressively, not taking no for an answer. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that kind of attention.

And the next thing Harry knew, he was being kissed. It had been months since he'd been kissed by anyone, and his brain shut itself down for a moment. Manny's tongue pressed into him, hot and slick, and he couldn't help but open his mouth in response. Manny deepened the kiss, sliding his arm around Harry's back. Harry heard himself moan.

Then he heard a small voice in the back of his head say, What the fuck are you doing?

He started to pull away, trying to think of way to protest without letting Manny know he wasn't , in fact, gay. Damn Malfoy for not telling his friends the truth. “Wait–” he started.

“For Derek? He'll be back soon.” Manny's mouth moved to Harry's ear and started licking in a way that had always made Harry melt. “He can join us.”

“Oh, fuck,” Harry whispered.

The doorknob rattled, and Harry leapt off of the sofa and away from Manny. Malfoy was coming in the door, brown bag in hand. He grinned at them.

“Have a chat while I was gone?”

“Yeah,” Manny said. Harry could hear the suggestion in his voice. He glanced up to see Malfoy staring at him, a strange look on his face.

Harry made a decision. “I'm sorry, but I'm really very tired. I think I'll go now.”

“Harry–” Malfoy protested.

“No, really,” Harry said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I'll... see you. All right?”

He didn't look at either of them as he walked out the door. He heard Malfoy call his name as he trotted down the stairs, but he didn't look back. He just kept walking, out the door, up Castro, and back to his room at the Inn .

7 February, 2004: Saturday

“I can't do this, Hermione.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“I'm not an auror anymore. I gave up field work years ago, and for good reason.” Harry sighed and stared at the ceiling. “Besides, it's Malfoy . I can't keep my personal feelings from interfering. Please, Hermione, get me taken off this case.”

“That's impossible, and you know it” Harry hadn't expected her to say she'd try, but he had hoped for a tiny bit of sympathy. “You can do this, Harry, auror or no. You're just going to have to work through your childhood animosity.”

Harry snorted. He wasn't going to tell her that the animosity wasn't the problem. The problem was that Harry wasn't ready for this assignment. He was feeling things he hadn't expected to feel, and it was interfering with his ability to do his job – as limited as that was to begin with. “Fine,” he muttered. “But I thought you, of all people, would understand how hard this is for me.”

“I do, Harry. But you've been there nearly a week, and Malfoy would be suspicious if you disappeared and someone new from the Ministry of Magic showed up to take your place.”

“I know, I know. Forget it.” Harry stretched under the sheets, yawning. “Why do you have to call me so horribly early? You have no idea what kind of hours Malfoy keeps.”

“Oooh, really?” Hermione cooed. “Has he been taking you clubbing? Is he...?” She paused.

“Yes, he is,” Harry said. “As are quite a few of the people who live round here.”

“You're comfortable with that, then?”

A little too comfortable , Harry thought. “Of course,” he replied. “Did you think I wouldn't be?”

“No...”

“Did you know Neville was gay?” Harry mused, twisting the phone cord around his finger.

“Yes. Everybody knew that.”

Harry frowned. “Am I the only one who didn't?”

“Harry dear – I love you, but sometimes you're completely oblivious.” Harry opened his mouth to protest. “It's nearly time to pick up the twins from day care, so I need to go. I'm going to send you a fax before I leave the office. It's very important that you read it straight away. I can't say more with people around.”

“I... All right.” Harry closed his eyes. “Thanks. Bye.”

He replaced the receiver and rubbed at his eyes. He was tired, and irritable, and confused, and horny as hell. He hadn't had sex for months, which hadn't bothered him until... lately. It had to be the result of the blatant display of sex and sexuality he'd been exposed to recently, courtesy of Draco Malfoy.

Of course, he'd been thinking quite a lot about Malfoy lately, and not always in ways that were comfortable. But that didn't mean anything, did it? The bathroom incident had happened while he was drunk, after all. He'd been hard before he even saw Malfoy there.

But he didn't have an excuse for his reaction to the kiss. He'd been sober then, and he didn't even like Manny – though he couldn't deny the man was gorgeous. It wasn't difficult to see what Malfoy liked about him. Harry had always been attracted to girls who were the aggressive ones in bed, and something about Manny just taking a kiss from him had triggered his arousal in a way he hadn't experienced in a long time. His stomach fluttered a bit just thinking about it.

He was stroking himself before he even realized it, and jerked his hand away in frustration. “You're not going to wank thinking about Manny,” he chastised himself.

He had to admit it made sense, though. Maybe he really was attracted to men as well as women. There had been so many moments in his life when he'd found himself inexplicably drawn to one of his male friends, in a way he had always sensed they hadn't felt in return. It had added to his sense of isolation. Marrying Cho had been an easy way out of that emotional mess.

And then there was Ron, and the kiss they'd shared as teenagers. Harry closed his eyes at the memory. He hadn't meant for it to happen. They were horsing around one moment, and the next, they were grinning at each other, far too close for comfort. Harry had kissed him because he thought Ron had felt the little shiver in his stomach too. He hadn't, it turned out. Things were awkward between them for months aftwerwards.

Harry managed to go back to sleep, but was plagued with dreams that kept him perpetually aroused. He finally got up and into the shower, washing Malfoy's styling products out of his hair before he let his hand drift down again. Water streamed over his chest and down his thighs, and he focused on the image of Malfoy, back against the wall, trousers around his knees. It was an image that had been working itself into his thoughts with alarming frequency.

He stroked his cock to hardness, letting the image evolve in his mind. Malfoy was biting his lip, eyes closed. The man at his feet – who was bearing more and more resemblance to Harry in this fantasy – was taking his time, swallowing Malfoy's shaft and releasing it again, licking at the head, making little sounds of pleasure in the back of his throat.

Harry leaned back against the cool tile of the shower, realizing he was adding details of a particularly good blow job he'd once received from a Muggle he'd picked up in a bar. It had been one of the few one-night-stands he'd ever had, and he'd never seen her again. He hadn't thought of it in years, but the memory flooded his mind now, unbidden. He concentrated on the things she'd done to him, imagining Malfoy's trick doing the same. His own reactions melded with Malfoy's: the image in his mind moaned with him when he sped up the pace, roughly stroking his water-slicked cock. He was close now, at the point where he usually would back off and wait before pushing himself to the edge of orgasm again. Manny's kiss popped into his mind out of nowhere, and in his fantasy Harry stepped forward and pinned Malfoy to the wall with one hand on his chest, and kissed him. Malfoy's lips parted for him, and Harry deepened the kiss, feeling Malfoy begin to tremble, close to coming.

Harry's hand was a blur, and he let the image go as he felt the tightening in his groin begin. He gritted his teeth and groaned as he came, then collapsed to the shower floor. He panted, shivering though the water was hot.

That was one of the best orgasms he'd ever given himself. Maybe he really didn't need the hassle of a partner after all.

In another ten minutes he was clean, shaved, and feeling significantly more relaxed. He walked out of the bathroom – and nearly cried out in surprise. Malfoy was sitting on the bed, dressed for work, and flipping through the San Francisco! tourist magazine that had been sitting on the nightstand.

“Fucking hell, Malfoy, what are you–” Harry began, and then remembered he was naked. He fished his towel from the bathroom floor and wrapped it around his waist.

Malfoy didn't even look up from the magazine. “Have a nice shower?” he asked, tone suggesting he knew exactly what Harry had been doing.

“What do you want?” Harry said, feeling tension creep back into his body again. “Why are you here?”

Malfoy tossed the magazine aside and smiled knowingly at Harry. “Just thought I'd pop in on my way to work. See how you were doing.”

Harry gritted his teeth. He really needed to put up some wards. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten, again. “I'm fine, honestly.”

“You didn't seem fine last night. I was hoping we could talk.”

“Malfoy, please...” Harry whined. “I'm tired. I'm naked. I'm not in a very good mood. Can we not do this now?”

“Oh, of course not now,” Malfoy said, standing. “I wanted to know if you could come over for dinner tonight.” At Harry's skeptical look, he said, “I can cook, I swear. Just you and me.” Harry's expression brightened. The idea of spending some time alone with Malfoy was appealing after the more disastrous events of the last two nights. “Some friends will come over later, but it'll be just you and me until then.”

Harry's expression faltered a bit, but he nodded. “What time?”

“I get off at six tonight. Why don't you just come on over when you're ready?”

After he'd disapparated, Harry realized Hermione's latest coded fax had been slipped under the door while he was in the shower; it had been lying on the floor the entire time. Not that Malfoy could have read it, but if he'd seen it, he would likely have known what it was. Harry retrieved it with a sigh, and tried to remember where he'd left his wand.

He'd been so absent-minded over the last week, but he had the feeling he'd been this way for a long time. Why hadn't it been an issue before? Had people simply tolerated him? Taken care of him? Protected him?

No wonder the Ministry had given him such a high-paying desk job after the War. Perhaps they were prepared to pay any price to get him out of the field and tuck him safely away. Harry sighed. Based on his performance so far, he could hardly blame them.

---

Harry spent the day sightseeing on his own. He'd finally relocated the copy of San Francisco: The Wizard's Guide that Hermione had thoughtfully bought for him at Heathrow, buried at the bottom of his rucksack. He'd planned to go down to Haight-Ashbury , but changed his mind at the last minute, thinking he might still be able to convince Malfoy to go with him later.

He had dim sum in Chinatown and then visited a famous shop owned by an old Chinese wizard. It was cleverly disguised as a “junk” shop, full of $3 t-shirts and cheap porcelain dishes. The sheer array of potions ingredients he'd never heard of was fantastic, though he wasn't sure what one did with dried dragon's penis.

He climbed up past Union Square to Nob Hill, but it was so foggy he couldn't see anything. He kept walking, slipping the guidebook out of his coat and peering at it occasionally. It had been charmed to look like a Tom Clancy novel to passing Muggles. Harry supposed that even wizards didn't want to look like tourists if they could help it.

He stumbled across a small square with a flea market and remembered he'd promised to buy gifts for Hermione's children. He paused at a table of handmade toys, thinking of the morning's fax again. He'd read it with a mix of emotions, and still felt uneasy. The summary of the CIA update had made it clear the agency was on Malfoy's trail as well, and they were prepared to take him into custody if he appeared to be a threat. Based on the earlier reports he'd read, Harry wasn't certain exactly what would constitute a sufficient “threat.” He hoped he could convince Malfoy to return to the UK before he unwittingly did something threatening.

Of course, Malfoy would hardly be welcomed back to the Ministry with open arms, either. Bass and Fallin wanted him brought in for questioning immediately, and they were considering bringing charges against him for collusion and obstruction of justice. Harry wasn't certain why the Minister for Magic had taken such an interest in this case. Fallin had even requested that Harry personally fax him a report of everything he'd learned so far.

The problem was, he still knew next to nothing, and even if he did know what was going on, he was less and less certain he would simply turn Malfoy's story over to the authorities. It was only Saturday, though, and he wasn't supposed to fax his report in until Monday. He had time to find a way out of doing it.

He bought some hand-painted wooden trains for the twins – things they could practice their blossoming magic on – and decided to look for something for Hermione as well. She had a fondness for quirky jewelry, and there was a large selection of that at the market. He was trying to decide between two necklaces of the chunky ethnic style she seemed to appreciate when a display of jade jewelry caught his eye. In particular, there was a brilliantly hued necklace of jade beads.

He fingered the ring on his right hand – it had a jade stone set into it, and there was something about the color that had always fascinated him. Hermione had smiled at him when she'd caught him staring at it one day. Maybe it's because of your mother, you know? Everyone's always said you have her eyes.

“I'll make you a deal on that one,” the seller said, having noted his gaze. “It was part of a set, but one of the earrings is gone.”

“I'll take it,” Harry replied, not even inquiring about the price. “And how much for the one earring?”

Later that afternoon, he stared at his purchases, sitting on his bed and wondering what had possessed him to buy a present for Malfoy as well. He cast a small protection charm on both pieces – not something very effective in reality, but usually considered a thoughtful touch, and tucked the earring into his pocket.

He was useless at cleaning spells – at least, that was what Cho had always said – so he'd had the Inn do washing for him. Malfoy's black shirt had come clean, to his relief. He decided to wear it again, as Malfoy had liked it so much a few nights ago. He pressed the buzzer outside the door of Malfoy's building at 6:30 , having waited as long as he could bear before walking over.

“Hiya,” he heard behind him, and turned to see Malfoy walking up the steps with a sack of groceries. “Keys are in my pocket.”

Harry blinked at him for a second before realizing Malfoy wanted him to open the door. He reached into Malfoy's coat pocket.

“Not that pocket,” Malfoy said, grinning.

“You're so predictable,” Harry said, digging his fingers into the front pocket of Malfoy's chinos. He grinned back, though, and Malfoy had the grace to blush when Harry realized he had the wrong pocket and tried the other one.

“Your hands are cold,” Malfoy said when Harry's fingers brushed against the bare skin of his stomach. Harry pressed his fingers against the warm skin under his shirt, and Malfoy yelped.

“Oh, but you're so warm!” Harry said, laughing. Malfoy looked strangely unsettled as he squirmed away.

“Just open the fucking door already. I've been carrying this bag uphill for eight blocks, and it's heavy.” Harry took the bag from him instead, and held out the keys. “What a gentleman,” Malfoy smirked, unlocking the front door.

As they walked up the stairs, Harry tried to look anywhere but at Malfoy's arse. It was difficult, since it was so conveniently located in front of his face. He almost ran into it when Malfoy paused at the top of the stairs, for no reason Harry could discern.

And that was when he first felt the wards. He wasn't sure if they'd been there before and he simply hadn't noticed, or if they were new, but there they were: pulsing mildly around the perimeter of Malfoy's flat, and a little stronger around the door. Harry frowned, wondering what else he'd been missing.

Once in the flat, Harry couldn't help but glance around for any evidence of what might have happened after he'd left the night before. The flat was in its typical immaculate state, however. There was only one coffee mug sitting on the counter. Harry pursed his lips. Maybe Manny never stayed the night. But he had a key, and–

“Just put the bag on the table,” Malfoy said as he hung up his coat. “Want some wine?”

“Please.” Harry set the bag down next to an unusual-looking plant. He stared at it for a moment, wondering why it looked so familiar. “Bonzai?” he asked, knowing better than to touch a strange plant.

“Opercularya decaryi,” Malfoy replied, rummaging through the bag for the wine bottle. “You know, good for anti-depression potions and such.” Harry blinked at him, and Malfoy gave him a long look. “You did earn a NEWT in Herbology, didn't you?”

“Well... yes, but that was ages ago,” Harry stammered. “I'm just surprised; that's all.” He looked around the flat and realized Malfoy had a number of magical plants, tucked away in corners and on shelves. “I would never have guessed you'd have a green thumb,” he mused.

“I dated Neville,” Malfoy stated, as if this should explain everything.

Harry was only allowed to watch while Malfoy threw together a simple meal. He insisted the kitchen was too small for two people, and that he had it under control. Harry was amazed that he was cooking entirely without magic.

“I like to cook,” Malfoy said when he pointed that out. “I only use magic for the shit I hate to do, like dishes, or cleaning the toilet.”

Harry decided his job was to keep Malfoy's wine glass full, and they'd finished an entire bottle before they sat down at the table.

“If we keep going at this rate, I may have to call in sick tomorrow,” Malfoy said with a wink, ladling Bolognese sauce over farfalle and handing the finished plates to Harry to take to the table.

“What, out of hangover potion?”

“As of this morning, yes,” Malfoy replied.

Harry struggled to open the bottle of Barolo Malfoy had just handed him. “I didn't think you were that drunk last night.”

“You left early, remember?” Malfoy tapped the top of the bottle with his wand, and the cork popped half a meter into the air before sailing into a basket full of corks in the corner.

Harry refilled their wine glasses and sat. “So you... hung around with Manny after I left?”

Malfoy took a bite of pasta and wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. It's fucking impossible to get good tomatoes this time of year.” Harry stared at him until he rolled his eyes and sighed. “All right. I was upset after you stormed out, with no explanation. You wouldn't even look at me.” His tone was stilted, and Harry could almost imagine a bit of hurt behind the words. “So I had several cosmos, and Manny fucked me, and then he left.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Why do you feel a need to give so much detail?”

“It's what you want,” Malfoy replied, raising an eyebrow. “Isn't that what you were asking, really?”

Harry stared at his plate. If he was completely honest with himself, he had to admit that was exactly what he'd been asking.

“And that's not detail, Potter. Detail is telling you that he sucked me off first, then fucked me on this very table.” Harry dropped his fork, and Malfoy's expression became predatory. “You want more detail? It all started when he told me about kissing you, and how hot it was to think about the three of us together. While he was inside me, he kept telling me how much he wanted to watch you fucking me.” He casually took a sip of wine, as if he'd been discussing the weather.

Harry still hadn't picked up his fork. He wasn't sure whether to be shocked, or jealous, or disgusted, or aroused by the thought of Manny fucking Malfoy and talking about... him . He took several sips of wine, unable to meet Malfoy's gaze.

“I'm sorry,” Malfoy said, with a hint of humor in his tone. “Maybe you didn't quite want that level of detail.”

“I...” Harry began, but didn't know what to say. He looked up and saw Malfoy watching him with a thoughtful expression.

“So he kissed you?” Malfoy asked, and took a bite of pasta.

“Yeah,” Harry said, picking up his fork and pushing the farfalle around on his plate. “He kissed me.”

“Well?” Malfoy asked, mouth full.

“It wasn't bad,” Harry said, starting to smile despite himself. “He's a good kisser.”

Malfoy grinned. “Is ickle Harry coming out at last?”

“I'm not gay,” Harry replied, gesturing with his fork. “I like women. I like the way their bodies feel, all soft and curvy. I like breasts.”

Malfoy made a face. “Breasts are for feeding babies, you know. You really ought to grow out of your Oedipal complex.”

“I like pussy,” Harry said, grinning. “I like the way it smells, the way it tastes.”

“Okay, please stop,” Malfoy said, holding up one hand. “That's far too much detail.”

Harry laughed. “Can't handle a bit of your own?”

“Oh, no,” he retorted. “That's not it at all. You see, I don't like women. I'm about as gay as a man can be. I've never even seen pussy, and unless one of my friends has a baby under some sort of dire circumstances and I have to deliver it, I doubt I ever will.” He paused and picked up his wine glass, leering at Harry over the rim. “You, on the other hand, seem to find men at least a bit attractive.”

“I can't say I'm averse to this idea,” Harry replied. It was true, after all.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and refilled Harry's glass. “First Weasley and now Manny. Two boys in the last ten years? You're practically bisexual.”

Harry chewed his pasta and smiled. He was relieved they'd returned to their flirtatious banter as if nothing had happened. But a lot had happened in the last 24 hours. He wasn't certain what it would be like when the others arrived, but at least they were talking again.

They lingered over the wine, tongues loosened, and reminisced about their school days. Not surprisingly, they had vastly different perspectives on many of the major events of their adolescence.

“Oh come on,” Harry groaned, gesturing broadly with his wine glass. “Umbridge was an evil bitch!”

“She was nice if you played her game,” Malfoy countered. “Honestly, Harry, you could have saved yourself an awful lot of trouble fifth year if you'd just kept your mouth shut about Voldemort. Everyone who really mattered knew you were telling the truth.”

“She was spreading lies and propaganda,” Harry replied. “I couldn't not respond. So many lives could have been saved if the truth had been acknowledged sooner.”

“Are you so sure?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “I doubt things would have turned out any differently had the news come out then or a year later.” He paused, studying his empty wine glass. “Denial is a powerful emotion, especially when fueled by fear.”

Harry stared at him for a moment, wondering if he was implying something about Harry himself. “Maybe,” he replied, uncomfortable with that possibility. They were both quiet for a while.

“I watched you with Ginny Weasley once,” Malfoy said at last, words slurring just a bit.

“You're joking.” Harry felt himself blushing, though he was thankful for the change of subject.

“You were in the Room of Requirement.”

“Oh god,” Harry replied. He remembered that day very well. He and Ginny had been dating off and on that year, and she'd been trying to get him into bed for months. It was just after he'd had his falling out with Ron, and he didn't think fucking his friend's little sister would have helped to heal the rift. Ginny had finally cornered him one day in March, and had convinced him she needed his help with a DADA spell. She'd taken him to the Room of Requirement and flirted with him for nearly half an hour before finally pushing him to the floor and kissing him. She'd got his trousers pushed down and her hand on his dick before he'd realised what was about to happen. She hadn't been wearing anything under her plaid school skirt, and had simply impaled herself on him, right there on the floor.

Harry exhaled. “That was my first time, actually.”

Malfoy snorted. “Right.” At Harry's earnest expression, his jaw dropped. “You're kidding!”

“No,” Harry replied, then blushed. “Well, my first time doing that , at least. How did you get in there, anyway?”

“You weren't the only person in that school with an invisibility cloak.” Malfoy cast a spell on the dishes and watched as they floated into the kitchen and emptied their contents into the garbage disposal before depositing themselves in the dishwasher. “I told you I did a lot of looking.”

Harry's eyes narrowed. “What else did you see?”

Malfoy stood, grinning, but didn't answer.

They lounged on the sofa, nursing their wine and half-watching the episode of “Survivor” Malfoy had Tivo'd. Harry complained about the shite Malfoy considered entertainment, but he watched it anyway.

He mostly watched Malfoy, though. He watched his face go from confusion to amusement, to surprise, to glee, over and over. He watched the way Malfoy's eyes flicked to Harry when he thought Harry wasn't looking. He watched the way Malfoy cast his eyes down when Harry teased him. Harry found himself longing to touch Malfoy in some way; to take his hand, to touch his hair, to press his thigh against Malfoy's – anything.

It felt like any other awkward date he'd ever been on; he knew he liked the person, but he was afraid to make a move. Despite the fact that he'd been pursued by women for his entire adult life, he'd never thought of himself as particularly handsome. He'd always been afraid of being rejected. Besides, the girls who wanted him had always just come on to him .

Maybe men were different. Maybe Harry , with men, was different. He swallowed, staring at Malfoy. Could he really do this? It was one thing to find a man attractive, but it was another thing entirely to have sex with one. Malfoy seemed to approach sex very casually, and though that wasn't something Harry was entirely comfortable with, perhaps sleeping with him would get Harry closer to his goal of gaining Malfoy's trust.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out the earring. “Hold out your hand.”

“What?” Malfoy asked, suspicious.

“I have something for you, stupid. Hold it out.” Malfoy did, and Harry dropped the jade stud into his palm.

Malfoy stared at it for a moment. “You bought this for me?” Harry nodded. “Why?”

“It made me think of you,” Harry shrugged, suddenly embarrassed.

Malfoy studied it. “It's beautiful. How sweet, you even put a protection charm on it.” Harry blushed scarlet, realizing what a hokey thing that had been to do.

“Apology accepted,” Malfoy smiled, exchanging the silver stud in his ear for the jade one.

I didn't apologize, Harry thought, clenching his jaw, but he knew better than to say it out loud.

Malfoy smiled at him then, and Harry's breath caught in his throat. He was radiant , though that word seemed a strange one to apply to a man. Malfoy's eyes were more silver than grey at the moment, and his hair fell loosely around his face. He tilted his head, and a red-streaked lock fell over his eyes. Harry reached out to tuck it behind an ear, then cupped Malfoy's cheek in his hand. Malfoy's eyes were wide, and his expression soft – a look that was almost inviting. Malfoy swallowed, and then his lips parted, just barely.

It seemed such a perfect moment to kiss him, so Harry did, tentatively pressing his lips against Malfoy's. He expected resistance, and when he didn't find it, he pressed a little harder, threading his fingers into Malfoy's hair and cupping the base of his skull. He swept his tongue across Malfoy's lips and felt more than heard the responding whimper. He opened his mouth and felt the movement mirrored beneath his lips. After that, it was a blur of tongues sliding together, and a bit of teeth, and heat, and the taste of wine. He hadn't been aware Malfoy was trembling until it stopped and Malfoy's arms were around him, pulling Harry down on top of him.

Oh god, Harry thought, feeling himself getting hard. He pressed Malfoy into the sofa, automatically sliding a knee between Malfoy's thighs to push them apart.

A buzzing sound caused Malfoy to stiffen beneath him. “Shit,” he muttered, pulling out of the kiss. “They're here.”

Harry sat up, trying to control his breathing. They stared at each other for an awkward moment before Malfoy straightened his clothing and walked to the door, pressing the intercom button. “Yes?”

“Dude, hurry the fuck up! We're freezing out here,” they heard. Malfoy pressed another button and took a deep breath before turning back to Harry. Neither of them said anything.

Harry had a flash of the terrible moment after he'd kissed Ron: the stunned expression on his face, the way his eyes had widened and then grown hard before he'd pushed Harry away and said, “What the fuck did you do that for?” Harry had stuttered an apology, but Ron had just left, and had avoided him until after Christmas. It had crushed Harry, and he'd sworn to himself he'd never do it again.

But he just had. Fuck, he thought.

Malfoy smiled at him and shrugged. “Bad timing. Of course, they all think we're fucking each other anyway.”

Harry glanced down at his obvious erection and panicked. “I'll just... uh... be in the toilet, then,” he mumbled, making as graceful an exit as possible. He was freaked out enough that willing his erection away was easy, and he stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment. “What the fuck are you doing?” he whispered to his reflection. It wasn't a magical mirror, so it had no advice for him.

He returned to the main room to see that Colby had arrived with a couple of boys Harry hadn't met before. “Oh, and this is Harry!” Colby said, by way of introduction. The new boys smiled at him.

Malfoy went to the kitchen for drinks, taking the boys with him so they could tell him what they wanted. Colby slid an arm around Harry and smiled. “You both look a little rumpled. Sorry if we interrupted anything.” He grinned when Harry blushed.

Ten minutes later, Jeremy arrived with another man; Colby told Harry they'd been dating off and on for a few months. Malfoy set the satellite radio on a channel playing mellow music, and they all sat around and talked. Harry was mildly entertained for a while – the conversation centered on local politics mostly, and the two younger boys turned out to be students at San Francisco State University . They related a particularly funny story about a recent campus altercation between the Young Republicans and the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgendered Student Alliance that had ended with the president of the Young Republicans being forced to write a public letter of apology for his insensitivity in using the word “freaks.”

“At least you have such organizations,” Malfoy snorted. Harry missed the rest of what he said, because Malfoy had seated himself very close to one of the students and was smiling at the boy in a way that was all too familiar. Harry's jaw clenched.

Jeremy and his friend were busy working with something that Harry soon realized was a pipe. They passed it around as the conversation continued, and Harry hesitated a moment before lighting it for himself. He'd smoked a lot of pot in the months after the War, and he and Cho had both sworn off drugs when she'd found out she was pregnant.

He watched Malfoy nuzzling the neck of the student, and forced himself to look away. Malfoy was being anything but careful around strangers, and Harry was starting to wonder if his behavior was intentionally self-destructive. Of course, the wards around the flat were strong. Harry doubted anyone would be able to do any harm to Malfoy while they were up.

Colby coughed and nudged him, and Harry looked down at the pipe in his hand. Best to blend in with the crowd, for the sake of the mission. Besides, he could always throw off the high with a spell, if he had to. He'd have to step into the toilet to do it, but–

Malfoy laughed across the room, and the sound of it made Harry grimace. He wasn't jealous so much as irritated by the situation. He would probably need this tonight if he were going to keep his cool. He flicked the lighter on and brought the pipe to his lips.

The hit felt stronger than he remembered, but didn't make him cough. Like riding a bike , he thought as he passed the pipe to Colby. He stared across the room at Malfoy and his trick-of-the-moment. Harry swallowed down his frustration, trying again to convince himself he wasn't jealous. After all, this boy was nothing more than a potential fuck for Malfoy. The odds of him being dangerous were low. Still, it might not hurt to remind Malfoy of what had happened between them earlier.

He got off the couch and crossed the room, stopping before Malfoy. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Malfoy looked up at him. “What, now?”

Harry folded his arms over his chest, embarrassed. He hadn't meant to make a scene. “Yes, now.”

Mafloy nodded his head very slightly towards the boy next to him, who was taking a hit off the pipe. “I'm a little busy at the moment.”

It was a struggle not to glare at him. “Please?” Harry said, hoping he didn't sound too pathetic.

After some eye-rolling and a promise he'd return quickly, Malfoy trudged after Harry into the bedroom.

“What is it, then?” he asked, clearly annoyed.

Harry couldn't help but snort in response. “You really have no idea why I want to talk to you?”

“No,” Malfoy replied. “I haven't.”

“You were kissing me not twenty minutes ago, and now you're–”

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Malfoy groaned. “I knew that was a mistake. Harry, look – you should know by now what I'm like.”

“What are you like, Draco?” Harry asked. “Please tell me, so I won't misunderstand whatever it is that's happening between us.”

Malfoy's jaw dropped. “Harry, there is nothing happening between us.”

“Then why did you kiss me like that? Why were you looking at me like–”

“I do that with everybody! Do you think you're special?”

“I... no,” Harry replied, feeling more hurt than he wanted to admit. Somehow this conversation had become very real, and it caught him by surprise.

“No, I think you do,” Malfoy retorted, shaking his head. “You always did. Well, I'm not going to be a part of your little post-divorce bi-curious fling. You can find someone else to fuck before you go back to England , back to the real world. This is my fucking life , Harry, not some sit-com you can pop into when you feel like it, just because you think you might like boys.”

“I'm not ... it's not just...” Harry paused, flustered. “Draco, I like you.” And he meant it, he realized. He did like Malfoy, very much. When had that happened?

Malfoy inhaled and looked away. “Look, Harry, I like you too. I really do, but... I can't...” He exhaled, as if trying to work up his courage. “My life is a bit complicated right now. We're only going to be friends, nothing more. I'm sorry.” He left the room quickly, without looking at Harry again.

Harry felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He sat on the bed for a moment, bewildered. What the fuck was happening? Malfoy had just looked at him like he really felt something, like getting involved with Harry was a risk he didn't dare take. And the kiss had been real, Harry was certain of that. His stomach did a flip at the memory of it.

Harry scrubbed at his face with his hands. This was all happening so fast, and he didn't have time to sort it out properly. He'd thought he could just have Malfoy if he wanted – after all, the man was hardly picky about whom he slept with. But seducing Malfoy didn't seem like a stealthy ploy anymore, but something real and dangerous. And what about Harry, himself? What did he really want? He wasn't sure of anything at the moment.

He opened the door and the scent of pot washed over him, along with the sound of laughter from the group. He returned to his place next to Colby on the sofa, noting that Malfoy had picked up right where he'd left off with the student. He didn't even glance in Harry's direction.

Harry gritted his teeth and let his head fall back against the sofa cushions. He didn't know how he was going to be able to stay in the same room as Malfoy tonight. He felt a hand on his thigh, and then someone leaned more closely against him. He opened his eyes to see Colby smiling at him.

Colby was cute, certainly. Harry smiled at him experimentally, and Colby smiled a little wider. Harry wasn't sure he was ready for a casual fuck with anyone, but Malfoy had known Colby for a while. Maybe getting closer to Colby would be useful, and could yield some important information about Malfoy's past. And perhaps if Harry appeared not to be taking sex very seriously, Malfoy would reconsider. Harry wasn't sure if he was ready to have sex with a man at all, but when he was, Colby would probably be obliging.

Harry put an arm around Colby and pulled him closer. Colby looked like Christmas had come early.

The pipe was refilled and passed around several more times, and more rounds of drinks were produced. Harry had no idea who was making them; they just seemed to appear before him. Encouraged by Harry's lack of resistance, Colby had started kissing his neck. It was rather nice, and reminded him once again how long it had really been since he'd had sex with someone other than himself.

“Having fun?” a familiar voice spoke in his ear. It was Manny – Harry had missed his entrance completely. He suppressed a groan. He'd had too much to smoke and drink, and his awareness had slipped dangerously. Time to consider that sobering spell.

“Yes,” he said, wincing as Colby climbed into his lap so that Manny could sit next to them.

Manny started talking about something, but Harry had trouble paying attention. Colby was squirming very purposefully in his lap, and it was distracting. He pinched Colby's arse in an effort to get him to stop. Colby resumed kissing Harry's neck instead.

Manny seemed unfazed by all of this activity occurring during a conversation. “Where's Derek?” he asked, glancing around.

Harry blinked. “I don't know. He was–” He pushed Colby away and looked across the room. “He was over there a little while ago.” How had he lost track of Malfoy too? Definitely time for the sobering spell.

Manny shrugged. “Probably taking a piss.” Harry looked around the room again. The boy Malfoy had been so cozy with was also nowhere to be seen.

“Maybe he went out for a smoke,” Harry said, and pushed Colby off his lap. “I need to piss, actually.” Colby's eyes lit up, and Harry shot him a warning look. “No, really. You stay here, like a good boy.” Colby smiled lazily and did as he was told, to Harry's relief.

The hall toilet was occupied, so Harry had an excuse to head towards the one in Malfoy's bedroom. He pushed the bedroom door open.

He wasn't really surprised by what he saw. Malfoy was naked from the waist down and straddling the student on the bed, his white shirt just grazing his hips. Harry stared, until he realized he could actually see the student's cock in Malfoy's arse, could see Malfoy stretched wide and taking it in as he moved down, pushed up, and moved down again. The movement was surprisingly fast, and the boy's hips were snapping up in an effort to match Malfoy's rhythm.

Harry stared, not certain what he should feel about this. He wasn't angry, strangely. He felt something else altogether.

“Go the fuck away!” Malfoy shouted, not turning to see who it was. Harry backed out and closed the door, then leaned against it and closed his eyes.

Part of him wanted to cry. Part of him wanted to cast a cruciatus at the kid in there fucking Malfoy. Part of him wanted to drag Malfoy off to a dark corner and pound some sense into him. And part of him wanted to show Malfoy he didn't care.

“You okay?” It was Colby, standing before him.

Harry shrugged, pitching around for an appropriate response. “I should know by now what he's like.”

Colby smiled, and then kissed him. It was sweet at first, gradually becoming more intense. Colby was nowhere near as good a kisser as Malfoy; he was far too enthusiastic with his tongue and seemed to think licking Harry's tonsils was a good goal to shoot for. But it wasn't bad , per se. Colby pressed him into the door, and Harry became aware of an erection against his thigh.

“God, I want you,” Colby whispered. “I want to suck your cock. I want to fuck you. Ever since the first time I saw you.”

Harry struggled not to laugh in response to what sounded like bad porn dialogue. “Okay,” he mumbled, wondering if he was making a mistake.

They almost fell through the door when it opened.

“Finally!” Colby muttered, dragging Harry through the door. Harry couldn't help smirking at the expression of surprise on Malfoy's face. Malfoy caught his hand as he passed and shot him a curious glance. Harry paused. It was on the tip of his tongue to say, “ See? I can be like you. How does it feel ?”

“Oh, no you don't,” Colby said, glaring at Malfoy. “You can't just fuck everyone you like and expect the rest of us not to do the same.” Malfoy smiled tightly and let go of Harry's hand.

It was only when the door closed that Harry began to panic. He was about to have sex with a man ?

“Fuck,” he whimpered, remembering what Colby'd told him he wanted to do. He wasn't sure he wanted anything up his arse, especially not... that .

Before he could think of a way out of the situation, Colby had pushed Harry into a sitting position on the bed and unfastened his jeans. They were pulled down to his knees roughly, and then Colby's mouth engulfed his semi-hard cock.

Harry gasped at the sensation – it had been a while after all. It wasn't the best blow job he'd ever had, but it was certainly above average, so he tried to relax and enjoy it. Colby was enthusiastic and thorough, and it wasn't long before Harry realized he was about to come.

He pushed at Colby's forehead with one hand, muttering, “I'm... I'm gonna...” But Colby didn't stop, and Harry came in his mouth. It was a moment before he realized Colby had swallowed, and he was both flattered and surprised. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about swallowing semen. At this point, he wasn't sure how he felt about sucking dick, either.

Colby released his cock when Harry started to grimace from over-stimulation, then stood and kissed him. Harry tried not to freak out about the fact that he could taste his own come. Cho had always hated it when he kissed her right after going down on her, and until now, he'd never quite understood why.

“God, that was hot,” Colby whispered between kisses. The frantic pace of the kissing had slowed down, and Harry was starting to reevaluate his first impression. Colby's tongue circled his and teased it out of Harry's mouth so he could suck on it. Harry's brain was starting to melt. Why had he thought Colby a bad kisser?

Colby shifted closer and Harry felt the wet tip of Colby's erection press against his bare thigh. When had he dropped his trousers? Harry tried not to panic; he realized he should probably think of something to do before Colby suggested something he didn't want to do. Harry had no experience with sex with men, but there was one thing he knew he was good at. He took Colby's cock in his hand and squeezed.

Colby whimpered, and Harry tried not to make a surprised sound. Colby's dick was... well, small . He felt a bit more confident then, and started to stroke slowly. Colby pressed his forehead into Harry's neck and moaned.

A bit of movement across the room caught Harry's eye. He squinted, and slowly, a shape came into focus.

Malfoy was sitting against the wall. He was using a standard concealment spell, one of the ones they'd learned to see through in auror training. It was almost as if he'd wanted Harry to see him there. Harry's eyes narrowed, and Malfoy grinned.

Harry wasn't sure whether to be angry, embarrassed, or flattered that Malfoy was watching. Not that he could do much about it anyway. Malfoy's eyes were following the movement of Harry's hand, and he was sitting so that Harry couldn't tell if he was aroused by what he saw or not.

There was a tube of lube on the nightstand. Harry reached out for it and then pulled Colby's chin up. “Turn around,” he said. Colby's eyes got wide, but Harry only smiled and turned him, pulling Colby's back tightly against his chest.

He squirted a bit of the lube into the palm of his right hand and then closed his fingers around Colby's cock. Colby shuddered as his hand began to move, slowly at first – long strokes, fingers lingering at the head. Colby was circumcised, which Harry hadn't seen up close before. He traced his fingers along the ridge and looked back up at Malfoy.

Malfoy only smiled.

Harry held Malfoy's eyes, even when he kissed Colby's neck, or nibbled on his ear, his hand moving slowly on Colby's shaft. He sped up his movements when Colby begged him to, and then slowed down again when Colby seemed to be getting close.

“Not yet,” he told him, and trailed his lips down Colby's neck. Colby moaned and leaned against him, his head falling back on Harry's shoulder, exposing his throat. Harry looked away from Malfoy then, focusing instead on the rise and fall of Colby's chest, the way his mouth opened and closed, the sound of his breathing. He had little freckles on his nose, and his eyelashes were long and dark.

Harry added a bit more lube and sped up the motions of his hand again. Colby whimpered. Harry traced the shell of Colby's ear with the tip of his tongue, and noticed his own breathing was speeding up. He kissed Colby's cheek and then Colby turned his head enough that Harry could kiss his mouth.

It was incredibly erotic, Harry mused, to know he was the one doing this to Colby. Colby was moaning softly into his mouth now, so much that it made kissing difficult, and Harry went back to his ear.

“That's it, come on,” Harry whispered, stroking hard and twisting his hand at the head, fingers sliding easily against lubed skin. Colby started muttering “oh god” over and over, finally tensing against Harry as he came. He relaxed then, nearly sliding to the floor. Harry caught him under the arms and pulled him back up, laughing.

“That sounded good,” he said, not resisting the temptation to nibble on Colby's neck.

“Fuck,” Colby replied, collapsing against him. “That was... Ah, shit.” He was looking at the floor. “Derek's gonna kill me for spooging on that rug. I'd better clean it up.” He pushed himself to standing and turned to kiss Harry before pulling up his jeans and heading to the bathroom.

Harry glanced in Malfoy's direction to see he was laughing and shaking his head. Harry grinned, and Malfoy applauded silently. He glanced pointedly at Harry's exposed crotch and raised an eyebrow. Harry was strangely unembarrassed about being on display and grinned back.

Colby reappeared then with a wet cloth and started to scrub the rug furiously. Harry watched him, glancing up at Malfoy occasionally. Malfoy didn't look that concerned about his rug.

“I imagine that's enough,” Harry said at last.

Colby sat back on his heels. “I guess. I'd just hate to get on his bad side, you know?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow across the room.

“Yeah,” Harry replied. This would have been a good opportunity to quiz Colby about his relationship with Malfoy, were it not for Malfoy's presence.

Colby smiled at him and crawled to rest his head in Harry's lap, eyeing Harry's still-swollen cock with interest. “Up for another round?”

Harry was, truth be told. “No,” he said, pulling Colby up to kiss him. The kiss was a sweet, lingering one, and Harry had to push Colby away before his lie became evident. “Maybe later.”

“Hmmm,” Colby replied. “You're probably just saving it up to fuck Derek later. Lucky bastard.”

“If I can pry him away from the other boys,” Harry retorted. It was all he could do not to look at Malfoy.

“That's the trick, isn't it? Well, I need another drink.” Colby retreated with a grin, closing the door behind him.

Harry turned to where Malfoy was sitting, but he wasn't there. Harry glanced around the room, but there was no sign of him: he'd gone. Harry sighed.

The sex had been fun, and he didn't regret it – not a bit. Colby was sweet and enthusiastic, and Harry couldn't deny that he found him attractive. Malfoy had called Harry bi-curious earlier, but the more Harry thought about it, the more he doubted that was true. It wasn't just curiosity about what sex with men was like. He could actually envision himself in a relationship with a man, and that seemed to make all the difference.

He gave himself a few minutes to get dressed and cleaned up before he returned to the party. Malfoy was still nowhere to be seen. Colby was deep in conversation with the university students, and Jeremy and his friend were making out in a corner of the room.

Harry retrieved an Amstel Light from the fridge and sat on the sofa alone. Colby turned to wink at him, but otherwise ignored him. Harry couldn't help but feel a bit empty. Even Colby was looking for his next fuck? Harry sipped his beer, trying not to look like he was sulking.

A noise behind him drew the attention of everyone in the room – Malfoy and Manny were exiting the hall toilet, both suggestively rumpled and grinning. Harry bit his cheek and looked away.

“Roughing it, eh?” Jeremy quipped, having come up for air.

“Well, someone was hogging the bedroom,” Malfoy retorted, collapsing onto the sofa next to Harry.

“As if you weren't doing that earlier,” Manny said, settling on Harry's other side.

Harry tensed and swigged his beer.

“Aw, don't be like that,” Malfoy cooed in Harry's ear, kissing his cheek. He was very drunk, Harry realized, much more so than he'd seemed in the bedroom. Malfoy leaned across Harry to kiss Manny, and Harry closed his eyes. He wanted to be anywhere else right now, anywhere else at all.

Malfoy turned and lay back with his head in Harry's lap, grinning up at him. “You're no fun.”

“You would know,” Harry grumbled.

“I need a drink,” Malfoy proclaimed, and stumbled to his feet. He was distracted by the students halfway to the kitchen, however, and ended up in the lap of the one he hadn't yet had sex with. Harry felt his jaw clench.

Manny slid an arm around Harry. “You really shouldn't let it get it you,” he said.

Harry let his eyes dart toward Manny, but he didn't turn his head. “That's easy for you to say. You already have his attention whenever you want it.”

“And you don't?” Manny retorted. “All I hear is ‘Harry this' and ‘Harry that'. I see the way he looks at you.”

Harry turned towards him then. “What do you mean?”

Manny shook his head. “And the way you look at him. The only reason I'm still in the picture is because he knows you're leaving.”

Harry swallowed, uncertain what to make of that comment. He was leaving, it was true. He was also hoping to convince Malfoy to leave with him. “Do you think he'll go back to England someday?”

Manny's eyes narrowed. “With you, perhaps?”

Harry swallowed. “Possibly.”

“I doubt it. He's very happy here.” They stared at each other for a moment. Manny seemed to be making an effort to control his emotions. “Tell me, Harry, what exactly is it that you do in England ?”

Harry smiled tightly. “I work for the government.”

“Of course,” Manny replied. “Doing what?”

Harry shrugged. “Paperwork.” It was the truth, of course. Manny could make what he wanted of it.

“Right,” Manny said, giving him a long look. Harry took a swig of his beer and continued to smile.

“You boys look far too serious,” Malfoy said, flopping onto the floor in front of them.

Manny shook his head, amused. “Derek, you're absolutely wasted.”

Malfoy grinned. “Yes, I am! Who wants to fuck me?”

Harry choked on his beer.

“That's a sign that the night is over,” Manny muttered. Harry nodded at him.

Fortunately, everyone else seemed to agree. Jeremy and his friend had reached the “get a room” point, and made a graceful exit. Colby announced he wanted to go dancing, and the university boys cheered.

“The clubs are closing, you know,” Manny said.

“Oh, then I suppose we'll have to go back to my place then, hmmm?” Colby grinned. Manny called them a taxi.

Ten minutes later, Harry was helping Colby and company into a taxi, as all of them were so drunk they could barely speak clearly. Harry handed the driver a twenty and repeated Colby's address to him. The driver – whose native language wasn't English, let alone drunken American English – seemed to take it all in stride.

Harry glanced up and down the street before retrieving his wand from his jacket and casting a sobering spell on himself. He was a bit out of practice, so it didn't clear his head completely, but it certainly helped. The rush of sensation into his brain reminded him of a caffeine high.

He headed back up to the flat to find Manny and Malfoy glaring at each other.

“I'm only trying to help you,” Manny hissed, and looked away when he realized Harry had overheard.

“I don't need your help!” Malfoy exclaimed. “You think you can run my life, and I'm sick of it!”

Harry cleared his throat. He hadn't meant to barge in on a row. He wasn't entirely displeased they were having one, he had to admit.

“Fine,” Manny retorted. “I have better things to do with my time anyway.” He shot Harry a vicious look and left, slamming the door behind him.

Harry turned back to Malfoy, uncertain what to say.

Malfoy collapsed on the sofa. “What the fuck am I doing, Harry?”

“You're going to bed,” Harry said, crossing to the sofa and pulling him to his feet. “And tomorrow you'll feet like shit, and then you'll start to sort things out properly.”

“But I've fucked everything up,” Malfoy moaned as Harry led him towards the bedroom. “I hate myself. I hate all of this. God dammit!” He wrenched himself loose and stripped the duvet from the bed, as violently as he could manage.

“Calm down,” Harry said, pushing him towards the bed. “Everything will be fine in the morning.” He tugged at Malfoy's shirt, and Malfoy raised his arms over his head. Harry pulled it off, smiling at Malfoy's mussed hair.

“Promise?” Malfoy asked, lying back on the bed.

“Yes,” Harry said, feeling confident that Malfoy would remember none of this in the morning. He ought to try to cast a sobering spell on Malfoy, but... the man deserved a good hangover, after the way he'd behaved. Maybe it would teach him a lesson. He unfastened Malfoy's trousers and pulled them off, then pushed his legs up onto the bed and retrieved the duvet to tuck over him.

“Can I trust you, Harry?” Malfoy asked, eyes closed.

Harry paused and petted Malfoy's forehead. “Of course.”

“I want to trust you. I really do. Manny says I shouldn't.”

“Manny's a selfish prick,” Harry whispered, kissing his forehead.

“Ooo, that was nice,” Malfoy mumbled. “Do it again.”

Harry kissed his forehead again, and stroked his cheek, considering his options. He couldn't have asked for a better opportunity to question Malfoy about why he was here and what he was doing. Malfoy wanted to trust Harry, it seemed. He wanted to confide in him. Should Harry push him now, or wait until he truly had that trust, when Malfoy was sober?

“Oh, Draco,” he sighed, forcing himself to stand and step away. “You're going to hate yourself in the morning.”

“Stay with me,” Malfoy whispered, pushing at the duvet as if to make room for Harry. “Please.”

Harry bit his lip. It would be so easy to slip out of his clothes and curl up under the duvet. He had little doubt as to what would happen if he did. But as much as he was starting to want Malfoy, he didn't want him like that. It had only been a few hours since Malfoy had told him they would never be more than friends. A drunken fuck wasn't what Harry wanted at all.

No, he wanted Malfoy to come to him willingly – as a friend, a confidant, a lover. And he knew that would take time.

“Good night,” Harry whispered. He closed the door behind him and stretched out on the sofa. He turned the TV to CNN and turned the sound all the way down, and tried to go to sleep.

8 February, 2004: Sunday

Harry awoke to the sound of someone rummaging about in the kitchen. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes, noting that the clock on the cable box said it was 10:00.

“Fucking shit, fuck it all,” Malfoy muttered.

Harry stood and stretched, peering around the corner into the kitchen. “Draco?”

Malfoy appeared, looking pale in dark green pyjama bottoms. “I feel like shit,” he announced. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and sniffled.

“I'm not surprised,” Harry replied. He pointed to the sofa. “Sit. Whatever it was you were looking for, I'll get it.”

Malfoy groaned and walked to the sofa. “No, don't bother. I was just hoping I'd left some hangover potion somewhere.” He shrugged and sat, head in hands.

Harry went to fetch him a glass of water. “You'll just have to recover the Muggle way, I suppose.”

“How long does that take?”

“Sometimes days,” Harry said, unable to resist grinning. He handed Malfoy the water glass. Malfoy took a sip and made a face. “Oh god. I can't possibly spend the day like this.”

“Got any aspirin?” Harry asked. “That'll help. And you need to eat.”

“Not hungry,” Malfoy responded, closing his eyes. He opened them again. “Ack. Room spinning. Not good.”

“Preferably something greasy,” Harry continued.

“No,” Malfoy whined. “I don't want to eat. I want to curl up into a little ball and sleep.”

Malfoy didn't have any aspirin, it turned out, so Harry decided to go buy some for him. He returned half an hour later with eggs and sausage as well. Malfoy was tucked under a blanket on the sofa, asleep. He hadn't even bothered to take his glasses off.

Harry made some coffee and cooked them breakfast. Malfoy wasn't on the sofa when Harry set the table, but he returned shortly, looking even more pale than before.

“I just threw up,” he whimpered. “Is that normal?”

“You've never had a hangover?” Harry asked, incredulous.

Malfoy shook his head. “I always keep the potion on hand. And believe it or not, last night was atypical. I don't usually drink that much.”

“I don't think it was just the alcohol,” Harry muttered, steering Malfoy to the table.

“Well, no,” Malfoy said, wincing. “I usually avoid drugs. I have no idea what got into me last night.”

“At least two blokes did,” Harry snorted, pouring coffee.

Malfoy looked up, but said nothing. Harry bit his tongue after that.

“I should probably call in sick today,” Malfoy said when they were finished eating. “Where's my wand?” He stumbled to his feet and looked in its usual place in the cupboard above the microwave, but came up empty-handed. He thought for a moment, and then headed unsteadily for the hall toilet. He re-emerged a few seconds later, wand in hand. “This could last for days ?” he whined. Harry nodded. “And you feel fine?”

“Not exactly,” Harry replied, thinking it best not to mention the sobering spell. “I'll survive, though.”

“I don't think I will. The food did help a bit.” Malfoy sat heavily on the sofa and attempted to cast his housecleaning spells from there. A plate wobbled on the table, but nothing else happened. “I can't fucking concentrate,” he whimpered.

“I'll take care of it,” Harry said, retrieving his own wand from his jacket and casting the spells himself. He turned back to Malfoy. “Now that you've eaten, take some aspirin.” Malfoy nodded, and fell back into the sofa cushions. Harry brought him two pills and some water, and then badgered him into taking them.

They sat quietly for a moment before Malfoy had Harry hand him the phone so he could call the café where he worked. He made up a story about waking up with a sore throat, which they seemed to take in stride. Harry resisted the urge to crack a joke about why his throat might be so sore.

“There's nothing else for it,” Malfoy said after he hung up the phone. He turned to Harry. “You have to go to Haight Fair and get me some hangover potion.”

Harry laughed. “Fuck, no!”

“I'll give you the money,” Malfoy replied.

“I am not going down there on an errand for you ,” Harry retorted, grinning when Malfoy started to pout. “If you want to go, I'd be happy to go with you.”

“Oh, come on,” Malfoy whined. “You're the one who wanted to go so badly anyway. You could do the tourist bit, pick me up some potion, and come right back.”

Harry shook his head. “Sorry, but no. You'll just have to suffer.” Malfoy whimpered and closed his eyes. “You deserve it, anyway.”

“No one deserves this,” Malfoy moaned, falling against Harry's shoulder. “Please?” His voice was muffled by Harry's shirt.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Malfoy sighed dramatically, and then they were both silent. It was all Harry could do not to laugh.

“Fine,” Malfoy grunted at last, sitting upright again. “We'll go.” He glanced at Harry.

“Really?” Harry was genuinely surprised.

Malfoy nodded. “I feel like shit, Harry. I can barely do magic. I may not survive the day.”

Harry grinned. “When should we leave?”

“After we shower,” Malfoy said, sniffing at himself.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“Separately,” he continued, ignoring Harry's smirk.

Harry wasn't allowed into the bedroom until Malfoy was completely dressed. He took a quick shower, and then realized he was going to have to wear his clothes from the night before. Malfoy certainly wasn't up to performing a cleaning spell for him. He opened the bedroom door and peeked into the main room to find it empty. “Draco?”

He heard a flush, and Malfoy appeared in the doorway of the hall toilet, quite pale. “Now I have to brush my teeth again,” he said, pressing a hand to his forehead.

Harry had to bite his lip to keep himself from grinning too broadly. “Could I borrow a shirt? Maybe some underwear?”

At the word “underwear” Malfoy's eyes darted straight to Harry's groin – he'd conveniently left his towel in the bathroom, of course. Malfoy looked away again just as quickly. “Yeah, underwear's in the top drawer. Just pick a shirt from the closet.” He seemed uncomfortable.

Harry grabbed the first shirt that caught his eye – a long-sleeved grey t-shirt emblazoned with the logo for Queens College in New York . When he emerged fully dressed, Malfoy didn't seem to notice what Harry was wearing. He looked completely miserable in his fluffy green jumper, hair in disarray.

“Poor baby,” Harry said, starting to feel a tiny bit sorry for him. Malfoy smiled. “I like you in glasses,” Harry continued, reaching out to push the frames up Malfoy's nose a bit.

Malfoy pulled a black stocking cap over his head, nearly covering his hair completely. “I have no other option at the moment.” He reached for his coat and nodded towards the door. “Vamonos.”

---

The brief taxi ride to Haight-Ashbury was interrupted twice by Malfoy's stomach, though one stop was a false alarm. The taxi driver looked more than happy to let them off at the infamous street corner. Harry gave him a big tip and apologized profusely.

Malfoy looked around, squinting in the sunlight. “This is certainly a good place for the wizarding district to hide,” he quipped, glancing around at the city's counterculture mecca. A small grassy park was dotted with people relaxing, and the sound of buskers filled the air. Tourists walked about, snapping photos of people who looked suspiciously like magical folk to Harry's eye.

“So where do we go?” Malfoy asked, leaning against him and burying his face in Harry's shoulder.

“We're looking for a shop called The Magic Mushroom,” Harry replied. He'd left the guidebook in his room at the Inn , and that was all he could remember.

“So ask somebody,” Malfoy groaned. “I'm gonna be sick again.”

“All right, hang on,” Harry said, scanning the crowd. There was an amazing variety of people walking around. He stopped a middle-aged man with a large number of facial piercings and asked, “Sorry, but do you know where The Magic Mushroom is?”

The man gave him a funny look. “Is that supposed to be code, or something?”

Harry shook his head. “No, it's a shop.”

The man shrugged. “Never heard of it.”

Harry asked a few more people, with the same results. Malfoy threw up in a trash can, then wrapped his sherpa coat tightly around himself.

Harry pulled him into a hug. “‘I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I thought it would be easier than this.” Malfoy whimpered against his throat, and Harry began to feel horribly selfish for forcing him to come along.

“Looking for the Magic Mushroom, are you?”

Harry looked up to see a woman any Muggle would have described as a bag lady standing before him. He grinned, relieved. “Yes, can you tell us where it is?”

The woman smiled. “It's down Haight, that way, next to the Crescent City Café. Where you boys from?”

“London ,” Harry replied. “And thank you.”

“Anytime,” the woman said. “I went to London once, years ago. Met a handsome English wizard by the name of Ralph Cornwall. Would you know him, by any chance?”

“Erm... no,” Harry replied. “Sorry.” The witch shrugged and moved on.

They headed down the street in the direction she'd pointed. Sure enough, there it was – The Magic Mushroom. Muggles passed by without giving it a second glance, though Harry saw a pair of wizards look both ways before stepping inside. Harry and Malfoy followed to find themselves inside a sort of co-op bustling with witches and wizards shopping for organic produce. They glanced at each other. It wasn't at all apparent how to get to the wizarding district from here.

“Let's just ask,” Malfoy grumbled when Harry suggested following someone around until they went to the entrance. “You really must be straight if you can't even ask for fucking directions.”

Harry took him by the hand and dragged him to the cashier. “Excuse me, ma'am, but we're looking to go to the Haight Fair.”

The woman glanced up from her novel and smiled. “Oh, tourists! Welcome!” She looked to be in her sixties and had bleached blonde hair, and her name tag said “Sam” on it. She switched on a microphone by the cash register. “Tabitha, to the front, please.” She turned the microphone off and beamed at them. “You boys from England ?” They nodded. “I went to London about twenty-five years ago,” she gushed. “Diagon Alley was so quaint! I just love that sort of old world charm.”

Another woman apparated next to Sam, startling Harry. She looked to be in her late thirties. Her long brown dreadlocks were tied back by a scarf and she had a large silver ring through her nose. She eyed Harry and Malfoy. “They want to know how to get to the Fair, I suppose?”

Sam nodded. “They're visiting from London ! Remember the time we went when you were a little girl? You were so fascinated by all of the people dressed in robes!”

Tabitha looked mildly embarrassed. “I remember. This way.” She motioned for Harry and Malfoy to follow her.

“Now have fun, and be sure to visit the Rainbow Café!” Sam called as they wound through an aisle of gigantic heads of lettuce.

“You'll have to excuse my mother,” Tabitha said as she walked through an archway decorated with the words, ‘To the Fair.' Malfoy elbowed Harry and pointed to the sign. Harry winced. How could he have missed that?

“She's a little enthusiastic about tourists,” Tabitha continued, stopping before a cinderblock wall painted with a mural. “So, the way to get in is to tickle the Rastafarian with your wand.”

Harry blinked. “Sorry?”

“You heard me,” she smirked. “I think it used to be a mermaid or something. Somebody repainted the mural back in the sixties.” She rolled her eyes. “Probably my mother, on one of her acid trips.”

She left at that, and Harry stared at the mural. It was a scene of the park they'd walked past earlier, full of people who could best be described as hippies. They were milling about, chatting with each other, playing Crosby , Stills, and Nash songs on out-of-tune guitars, and smoking questionable-looking substances. A few people appeared to be having sex.

“Wow,” Malfoy said, leaning closer. “There's a threesome going on over here.” The figures involved heard him and paused long enough to wave.

“There he is,” Harry said, and drew his wand out. “I wonder where he's ticklish.”

“Unda the arms, mon,” the Rastafarian replied, moving closer to Harry.

“Oh, thanks.” Harry poked him a bit with the tip of his wand. The man laughed, and a doorway appeared in the center of the mural. Harry opened it.

“You'd think he'd be tired of that by now,” Malfoy said as they stepped through.

Harry wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it certainly wasn't this . They were standing on the edge of a very large open square lined by buildings like the ones they'd seen out on the Muggle street. Except there were three decks of walkways rising up above them, with the square forming a courtyard in the center. People were milling about on all three levels.

A group of kids on levitating skateboards whooshed by, calling out, “Coming through, dudes!” as they did. There were carnival rides on the square, and children ran about, eating caramel apples and squealing at each other. Food booths were all around, and people sat at tables, eating, drinking, and laughing.

“It's huge,” Malfoy said, still staring up at the top level. “Look at all of those corridors going off to the sides. There must be hundreds of shops.” He looked pale again, as if he were going to be sick.

“Are we looking for a place to buy potions ingredients?” Harry asked.

“Not ingredients,” Malfoy replied, shaking his head. “There's an American chain called Clark 's that carries most of the big brands of potions. They probably have one here.”

“Snape would be horrified to know you don't even make your own potions,” Harry teased. He hadn't made a potion himself since he was in school.

“I suppose he would.” Malfoy shrugged and took a deep breath; he looked extremely uncomfortable. “But then, he knows how lazy I am.”

“Where should we start?” Harry asked, looking both directions. He walked forward and realized Malfoy hadn't followed. He turned to see him still standing by the doorway.

“Are you going to be sick again?” Harry asked.

Malfoy shook his head. “No, I–” He swallowed.

He was nervous, Harry realized, even frightened. Malfoy had been adamant about not going to Haight Fair until that morning. Harry wasn't sure if it was the hangover that had driven him to change his mind, or if it was something else. Malfoy seemed to have taken care to make himself as unrecognizeable as possible; wrapped in his sherpa coat and with his glasses on and hair covered, Harry would have had trouble identifying him in a crowd.

Harry smiled at him. “Do you need me to hold your hand, or something?”

Malfoy scowled, and then realized Harry had meant it earnestly. “Yeah,” he replied. He stepped forward and slid his hand into Harry's. Harry squeezed his fingers and smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring. The fingers of Harry's other hand reflexively tightened around his wand. Nothing would happen to Malfoy, not while Harry was there.

They found a kiosk displaying a map of the Fair and touched the name of the shop they were looking for. The map lit up – apparently there were four locations contained in the Fair alone. The closest one was a short walk away.

Malfoy glanced nervously behind them and kept his coat wrapped tightly around himself as they walked. He seemed more interested in his feet than in the vast square around them. Harry, on the other hand, was enthralled. He'd never been in a wizard shopping area outside of England before.

“I hear the City Galleria in Los Angeles is even bigger,” Harry said, looking up.

“The Village in New York City was more like Diagon Alley,” Malfoy said. “But it was old, too. Narrow windy streets and such.” He stopped then, and looked up at a sign above his head. “Here we are: Clarks 's Potions Warehouse.”

They walked into a brightly-lit shop, finding it stuffed with people. There were several aisles with signs hanging over them indicating what sorts of potions they contained. They passed hair potions, beauty potions, potions for colds and flu, and for sexually transmitted diseases before they finally found “headaches and hangover” on aisle seven. There were several labels to choose from, and none of them were familiar to Harry.

“What, they don't have Johnson's?” Harry asked, scanning the labels.

“No, but this one's good.” Malfoy held up a bright blue bottle. He picked up a smaller bottle as well. “And they make single doses, which is just what I need now.”

They were barely out of the shop before Malfoy heated the single-dose bottle with his wand and downed it. “Thank god,” he said, eyes closed. “That was the worst I've ever felt in my entire life.”

“You must be optimistic about not getting so drunk again,” Harry smirked, gesturing towards the bag Malfoy was carrying. “That's not a very big bottle.”

Malfoy shrugged. “Now that I know where to go, I can always get more.” He glanced around while he spoke, though, and Harry had the feeling Malfoy probably wouldn't come here by himself.

Harry paused then, wondering why Malfoy had only now run out of hangover potion. “Did you bring a six-month supply with you from New York or something?”

“I meant it when I said I usually don't drink that much,” Malfoy replied. “I haven't needed it.”

“So this recent behavior's just been for my benefit, then?”

Malfoy smirked: a sure sign the potion was starting to work. “Well, I wouldn't say benefit .”

Harry raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more.

Malfoy relaxed as he began to feel better. They continued to stroll down the street, window shopping, talking quietly and pointing at interesting window displays. Harry drooled over the latest broom models in a sports shop display, until Malfoy pointed out that they were designed for Quodpot, not Quidditch.

“See how short they are? They're built for power, not speed.” Malfoy pointed at a particularly expensive model. “In Quodpot, it's more important to be able to plow through the defensive line than to out-fly or out-manouver your opponent. You'd get slaughtered on a Quidditch pitch riding that.”

Harry squinted at the broom. “So do you follow Quodpot, then?”

Malfoy opened his mouth as if to speak, and then seemed to think better of it. He shrugged. “Used to. Missed the last season though. Oh, look at that !”

Malfoy grabbed Harry's hand and tugged him across the street toward another shop window display. The mannequins in the window were dressed in a variety of fashionable items, most of which struck Harry as far too flashy for his own taste. The mannequins waved at them, turning and posing, and beckoning them into the shop.

Malfoy turned to Harry and grinned.

Harry's face fell. “Malfoy, whatever you're about to suggest, the answer is ‘no'.”

Five minutes later, Harry was staring at his reflection in a dressing room mirror, uncertain what Malfoy could possibly see in this particular combination of a sparkly shirt and black leather trousers.

“Yes,” Malfoy said, leaning against the wall of the dressing room. “You have to buy them.”

“No,” Harry said, pulling the shirt off and handing it to Malfoy. “I can't afford 500 dollars for trousers .”

“But you look really hot in them,” Malfoy replied.

Harry snorted. “Oh, that's a good reason to blow half a week's pay.”

“Even if they get you blown?” Malfoy's grin was beyond suggestive.

Harry unfastened the fly, smirking. “I don't think I need leather trousers for that. Colby was fairly enthusiastic when I was wearing jeans.”

“Well, if you're only concerned with impressing Colby–”

Harry pushed the trousers down to his knees and Malfoy broke off, looking away.

“I would've bought them for you,” Malfoy simpered twenty minutes later when they were window shopping again. He seemed more confident now, though he still avoided the gazes of passersby and stayed close to Harry.

“If you really want to spend that much money on me, by all means,” Harry replied, tired of arguing. “I'm surprised they use dollars here, and not a separate currency.”

Malfoy nodded. “There used to be a separate currency. They pegged it to the dollar when the US went off the gold standard, and people gradually started using dollars instead. I suppose it was easier that way.”

“Five hundred dollars for trousers – two hundred and eighty quid!” Harry shook his head. “You must be doing fairly well for yourself if you can even think of spending money like that.”

Malfoy only shrugged. Harry watched him for a moment. Malfoy turned his head away as a witch passed close by, and pretended to examine a street sign.

“Do you mind if I ask how you managed that?” Harry asked, when it became clear that Malfoy wasn't going to volunteer the information. “The money, I mean?”

Malfoy smiled and stopped in front of a book shop, peering at the titles in the window. “I converted my trust fund into pounds when I first left home. I was afraid my father would be able to take it from me if I left it at Gringott's.” Harry frowned – he'd always thought Gringott's was completely safe. Malfoy tucked a strand of auburn-streaked hair behind his ear, and Harry noticed he was still wearing the jade stud he'd given him the day before. “When I moved to the US , I invested very wisely – dot-coms and such – and then got out in 2000, right before it all crashed. I was very lucky.” His eyes drifted for a moment. “Of course, these days, I'm wishing I'd kept my money in pounds, the way the dollar's been sinking.” He smiled at Harry and shrugged.

He sounded so positively normal, Harry thought. What could he possibly be running from? Malfoy smiled a little wider then, in that way that always seemed to make Harry's breath catch in his throat. On an impulse, Harry leaned forward and kissed him.

Malfoy stiffened, but allowed it until Harry opened his mouth. “You're scruffy today,” he said, stepping away and wrinkling his nose. “I'm hungry. Want some lunch?”

Harry sighed and rubbed absently at his unshaven chin. It was only after they'd started walking again that he realized he hadn't hesitated to kiss another man in a public place. It had felt like the most natural thing in the world.

They passed three different Starbucks shops before they found the Rainbow Café Sam had recommended. “I can't believe they have Starbucks here,” Harry muttered after they'd sat down.

“Don't they have one in Diagon Alley yet?” Malfoy asked.

“No, but Hermione heard Malkin wants to put in a Caffè Nero franchise next year.”

“Ah, yes,” Malfoy grinned. “ Europe 's feeble attempt to compete against a cutthroat American chain.”

“They have good espresso,” Harry retorted.

“True, but one of the owners of the Starbucks chain is a wizard, so I don't know how they can compete in the long run.”

“Really?” Harry asked.

“Muggles always joke that Starbucks cafes seem to pop up overnight. That's because they actually do.” He winked at Harry and studied his menu. “Ooo, cheeseburger.”

They chattered on about the differences between the American and British wizarding communities until their food arrived, and then Malfoy tried again to convince Harry that the leather trousers were a good idea. He was in the middle of telling a story about how his own leather trousers had once helped him pull a Muggle celebrity, when a group of men entering the café caught Harry's attention.

There were three of them, all dressed in smart suits and talking amongst themselves, laughing and smiling. Harry stared at them over Malfoy's shoulder, unable to breathe.

One of them was Manny Padilla.

Manny looked up and saw Harry at that moment. He looked surprised and a little panicked, but not shocked – not as shocked as Harry felt. They stared at each other from across the café, both uncertain what to do. Manny's glance shifted to the back of Malfoy's head, and his expression hardened.

“Hello?” Malfoy was saying. “Harry, are you all right?”

Harry nodded and turned his gaze to Malfoy. Did he know Manny was a wizard? If he did, why hadn't he said anything? Had Manny already known Harry was a wizard as well? How many secrets was Malfoy keeping, anyway?

Malfoy turned around to see where Harry had been looking, but the men had disappeared. He turned back to Harry.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, looking down at his plate. “I– I just thought I saw someone I recognized.”

“You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Harry picked awkwardly at his salad. He needed to think about this. He needed to do a little research on Manny Padilla. If Malfoy didn't know Manny was a wizard, this wasn't the best time to tell him. And if he did know, this certainly wasn't the best place to have that particular conversation. Harry forced himself to look up at Malfoy. “It was nothing. What were you saying?”

Malfoy continued to talk, but Harry wasn't listening. His mind was whirling in a way it hadn't done in a long time.

---

Harry and Malfoy made plans for dinner later, and Harry went back to the Inn to shave and change clothes. The moment he walked in the door, the man behind the desk waved him over.

“You've had three of those faxes,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “and this phone message.” He held out a pink slip of paper. On it were printed the words “CALL YOUR MOTHER!!!” Harry winced. “She kinda freaked me out,” the man said.

“Yeah,” Harry said, embarrassed. “She does that. Sorry.”

He walked up the stairs and unlocked his room to find the three faxes just inside the door. He picked them up with a sigh and sat on the bed. It was after midnight in England , but he figured he should call anyway.

Hermione answered the phone immediately.

“It's me,” he said.

“Thank god! Harry, where have you been? I've been so worried! I've been calling for days–”

“I was only gone overnight,” he protested.

“Have you read the documents I faxed yet?”

“No, I just got back here and figured I should call first–”

“It turns out that the CIA's had an agent on Malfoy for months. The buzz we're getting is that you were recognized in San Francisco , and they're getting nervous that the Ministry is going to try to get him first and get him out of the country. They're looking for an opportunity to take him into custody, but they don't have a legal cause just yet.”

Harry swallowed, feeling the blood drain from his face. Manny. It had to be Manny, which meant that Malfoy probably didn't know his boyfriend wasn't a Muggle lawyer. And anytime Malfoy was alone with Manny outside the wards of his flat, he might be in danger. Manny might be able to apparate him away on a moment's notice, and there wouldn't be much Harry could do about it.

“I think I know who the agent is,” Harry said. “Can you do some research and see what you can dig up on a wizard named Manny Padilla?” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Hermione?”

“Sorry... it's just that ... that name is familiar.”

Harry felt his heart rate increase. “Is it? Might you have seen it in the CIA Intell?”

“I don't think so. I'm not sure.” Hermione sighed. “I'll get on it in the morning.”

“What I still don't understand is why they want Malfoy so badly,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair. “I've seen no evidence that he's engaged in any sort of suspicious activity. Excepting the fact that he's pretending to be a Muggle, he seems to be going about his life as if he isn't hiding at all. What do they think he did?”

“It's not what they think he did, Harry. It's what they think he knows. He allegedly has contacts with most of the important Death Eaters in the US , as well as the Mafia. If he talked, the CIA could take them all down. Or if he changed sides, he could be very dangerous to the US Department of Magic, since he had such a high security clearance. They're not convinced he has any loyalty to either side.”

“So he's quite valuable to them, and a huge threat to boot.” Harry sighed. “I'm sure the Death Eaters know that too and would also like to get hold of him.”

“Director Bass wants that information, Harry, and he wants assurance Malfoy is on our side. You've got to get him back to London .”

“How?” Harry moaned, frustrated. “He doesn't trust us any more than them. I've spent a week trying to get him to open up to me, and he won't. He won't talk about New York , or why he's here. I've even tried to get information from his friends, and they know nothing.”

“I'll see what I can do in the morning. Maybe I can get you some help. ” Harry nodded, even though she couldn't see him. “ How have you been? Having a good time, even though it's Malfoy, and everything?”

“Yes,” Harry replied, smiling despite the serious conversation. “It's been amazing. He's so different than I remember.”

“Really? So... how hard were you trying to get to know him?”

“Hermione...”

“Well, he was always pretty hot.”

Harry paused. “And why would that matter to me?”

“Well, it might. You know, if you... well...”

She was fishing. Harry sighed. “We'll talk about that later, all right?”

“Fine. But I want details.”

Harry smiled. “Good night, Hermione.”

He hung up the phone and picked up the faxes. It would take him the rest of the afternoon to decode and read them.

---

Dinner was tense, despite Harry's attempts to relax. The information from the faxes was swimming through his mind, and he had trouble reconciling it all with the image of the party boy he'd come to know. What was he missing? None of the pieces fit.

Worse, Harry was becoming more and more aware of what a terrible job he was doing here, and it was starting to shake his confidence. He hadn't done any research. He hadn't taken the most basic of safety precautions. He hadn't made any attempt to contact local magical authorities to enlist their assistance. Worst of all, he was letting his emotions interfere with his work, and it was much too late to change that.

This was why he'd left the field – after the War, he'd become an incompetent auror. The only thing he'd ever been good at was fighting Voldemort, and once that was no longer an issue, he'd lost his confidence, his focus, and his purpose. The Ministry had offered him a quiet little office job, probably out of obligation. He'd accepted it because he hadn't known what else to do. And with a baby on the way...

Perhaps they knew he'd fail here. Perhaps they were looking for a reason to get rid of him and that was why they'd sent him.

“What's wrong?” Malfoy asked.

Harry forced a smile and signaled for the check. “Nothing. Sorry.” He couldn't even think of a decent excuse for his morose behavior.

Malfoy studied him for a moment. “Want to go dancing tonight? The boys are meeting at The Café later.”

“Do you do this every night?” Harry asked, feeling tired already.

Malfoy shrugged. “Yes. It's fun.”

They walked to The Café from the restaurant, and Harry was surprised when Malfoy slid his hand into Harry's with a shy smile. Harry glanced down at their intertwined fingers as they walked, uncertain what to think. They met Colby and Jeremy outside the club and headed in together. Colby raised an eyebrow when he saw them holding hands, and Harry shrugged. Kisses were exchanged all around.

“You two don't look like you suffered much today,” Colby remarked.

“Oh, we did, though,” Malfoy moaned, and mimed throwing up.

“Good thing you had Harry to take care of you,” Colby grumbled, looking away.

Malfoy didn't reply, but Harry felt him tense at the words.

The moment they entered the club, Malfoy dropped the boyfriend act, ordered a round of fruity drinks for everyone, and hit the dance floor. Harry watched from the bar, stunned at the abrupt change.

“Here goes nothing,” Colby muttered beside him and took a few sips of his drink. He swallowed, then shuddered.

“They say it's the best cure for a hangover,” Harry said.

“Thought that was twenty-four hours,” Colby retorted, and took another sip. “I'll feel fine. I just need to take it easy tonight.” He glanced at Harry and smiled. “I... uh... had fun last night.”

Harry blushed. “So did I.”

“Wanna dance?” Colby tugged at his hand.

Harry started to protest, but then noticed Malfoy dancing with a bloke wearing leather trousers and little else. “Sure,” he said, and downed his drink.

It was more fun than he expected, and he didn't even mind when Colby ground against him occasionally. He saw Malfoy kissing Mr. Leather Trousers not far away. Malfoy's hand was cupping the man's groin rather blatantly. Harry gritted his teeth; it could have been him in those black leather trousers, if he'd just let Malfoy buy them for him.

“They should just get a room,” Colby grumbled, shaking his head. “He has to be so in-your-face about it.”

Harry didn't reply, watching them instead. Malfoy had got off with nearly half a dozen men in the week Harry'd known him. Why would he give himself so casually to strangers, but not to Harry ? Hary had made no secret of his interest, but Malfoy kept him at arm's length. He only flirted with Harry when he didn't have Harry's complete attention.

“Maybe we should take notes,” Harry said, pulling Colby closer.

The Blackeyed Peas's latest hit started playing as Harry slid his hands inside Colby's shirt and kissed him. It was a slow, sensual kiss, the kind he'd always employed as a signal to Cho that he was interested in sex. He felt Colby melt against him and moan.

“God, you're amazing,” he whispered against Harry's lips. “I'm hard already.”

Harry's hands drifted down to Colby's ass and squeezed, pulling their groins together. “Me too,” Harry mused. It was surprising, but true.

Colby grinned. “Do you wanna...?” He nodded his head in the direction of the bathroom.

Harry blinked at him for a moment before realizing what he meant. “Oh, uh...” Colby cut off his stammering with a kiss, one that left Harry panting.

Colby winked at him, then took his hand and pulled him toward the bathroom. Harry swallowed down his anxiety and followed. Nothing would happen that he didn't want. He'd just have to take charge of the situation.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed when they passed, and Harry felt a stab of irritation. What right did Malfoy have to judge him?

Harry sped up then, pulling Colby along behind him through the bathroom door. He pushed open a stall door and shoved Colby against the wall inside, kissing him blindly and pulling at his clothing. In some distant part of his brain, Harry was surprised at his own aggressiveness. He'd never been this way before, had never felt this sort of consuming lust for another person. It had nothing to do with how he felt about Colby. It was another sort of emotion altogether, one he couldn't quite place.

A few days ago, he'd been struggling to ignore his attraction to Malfoy, and dealing with being kissed by Manny. Now he was making out with a very willing boy in a toilet stall. Colby stroked Harry's cock though his jeans and Harry's brain shut off – he was completely, uncomfortably hard. He suddenly felt a near-overwhelming urge to bury himself in Colby, in any way possible.

That thought echoed around in his mind until it found its way out of his mouth and into Colby's. “I want to fuck you.”

“Mmmmph,” Colby replied, since Harry's tongue was immediately cutting off his speech again. He turned his head and Harry attacked his neck. “Gah, I'll bet you're an amazing top,” he whispered.

“Always have been,” Harry replied, figuring it wasn't really a lie.

Colby pushed on Harry's shoulders. “Down. That's a good boy.” He was unfastening his jeans before Harry realized what he wanted.

Harry swallowed. Well, if this wasn't a watershed moment, he didn't know what was. Colby's erection appeared in front of his face, and he looked up to see Colby grinning at him. It was only fair, he figured, if he could fuck Colby afterwards. He could do this. He'd had it done to him often enough, so he knew what to do – in theory, at least. Besides, it wasn't like Colby's dick was big enough to choke him. He took it in hand and stroked it once before licking the head experimentally.

“Just suck it,” Colby said.

Amused, Harry raised an eyebrow at him, but Colby's eyes were closed. Harry looked at the erect penis in front of him again, oddly fascinated by the lack of foreskin. He wasn't disgusted by the idea of doing this, he realized. It was intriguing, and even a little bit erotic.

He opened his mouth and took the head in, only to have Colby thrust his hips forward. Nose buried in pubic hair, Harry wondered if he was making a mistake. Colby's fingers were in his hair, and he started moving his hips, fucking Harry's mouth.

Harry had tried to do that to someone once, and she'd put a stop to it straight away; now he understood why. He pressed Colby's hips into the wall of the stall and managed to regain control.

Colby laughed. “Fine, have it your way, then. But I like it kinda rough.”

Harry set to work then, determined to do this as well as he possibly could. Colby didn't seem to mind the occasional bit of teeth grazing skin, and the harder Harry sucked, the more he seemed to like it. Just as Harry was starting to worry about the coming-in-the-mouth part, Colby pushed him away.

“Up,” he panted. “I want...” He turned around and pushed his jeans down to his ankles.

“Oh,” Harry said, feeling a stab of excitement. He stood, a bit wobbly, and fumbled with his jeans. He paused and absently stroked his own erection, which hadn't flagged much during the blow job. “Um... have you got...?”

“Yeah.” Colby bent over and fumbled through the pockets of his jeans. Harry was momentarily mesmerized by the sight of Colby's spread ass cheeks. Wow , he thought, I really do like this . Colby stood again, and handed him a condom and a small bottle of Astroglide.

He fumbled with the condom wrapper for a moment, but managed to get it on. It had been a while since he'd had to wear one.

“Taking all night?” Colby grumbled.

Harry slapped him lightly on the ass. “Maybe.” He put some lube on two fingers and pressed them between Colby's cheeks, probing gently.

“No, no,” Colby said, sounding impatient. “I like it rough. Just do it.”

“Okay,” Harry said, surprised. The few times he'd done this with Cho, she'd wanted a lot of foreplay. He'd never done it standing up either, but figured the anatomy of it was basically the same. He put a little more lube on himself and spread Colby's cheeks with his thumbs. He found Colby's hole with his finger, lined up his cock, and then pressed forward. There was a little resistance, but not much. Colby hissed, and Harry hesitated.

“No, just do it,” Colby whispered. “Oh god...”

Harry pushed all the way in, panting. It had been a while since he'd been inside anyone, and it was always amazing: hot, and slick, with pressure in interesting places, and it always felt like a privilege.

He finally started moving when Colby pushed back against him. He tried to keep up with Colby's cries of “harder” and “faster”, trying to hold off as best he could, but it just felt too good. He came, shuddering and trying not to say anything, lest he say the wrong name. He kissed Colby's shoulder and caught his breath.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I couldn't wait. It was so–”

“Let me turn around,” Colby said, and Harry pulled out, holding onto the condom. He dropped it into the toilet and looked down at Colby's erection, which was fairly in need of attention.

He dropped to his knees again, this time letting Colby fuck his mouth roughly – anything, anything to make him come after that. His only warning that Colby was coming was fingers clenching in his hair to point of pain. He gagged as he felt fluid hit the back of his throat, and he tried to cover up the sound he was sure he'd made with a moan.

It was then he realized his mouth was full. Ugh , he thought, not sure what to do. He had two choices, obviously. He finally closed his eyes and swallowed, figuring it couldn't be any worse than what he'd seen on one of those reality TV shows Malfoy was so fond of watching. It wasn't so bad, really; the taste left in his mouth was salty and a little bitter, but not unpleasant.

Remembering the night before, he stood and kissed Colby. Colby whimpered against his lips, and grinned.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Sorry – I thought you were gonna snowball me there for a minute.”

“Snowball?” Harry asked.

Colby kissed him again. “Never mind. That was great.”

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “Thank you.” Colby looked a bit surprised, and smiled a little wider.

They dressed and headed out of the bathroom, grinning at each other like naughty children. There were several other couples having sex in the adjacent cubicles, as well as questionable activities going on along the walls. As they pulled the door open, Harry almost laughed. Had he really just had sex in a toilet ?

They headed back to the bar and ordered more drinks. Jeremy came bouncing over at some point, grinning happily because he'd just got the number of a hot man he'd been ogling for weeks.

There were all there, except for Malfoy. “Where's Derek?” Harry half-shouted above the music.

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Oh, Manny showed up and they got into some sort of argument.”

“Manny?” Harry repeated, looking around.

“They went outside. Maybe they left,” Jeremy shrugged.

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. Had he just fucked up completely? What if Manny was waiting for Harry to look away so that he could–

“I'll be back,” Harry told Colby, and pressed through the crowd toward the door of the club. The street was empty, in both directions. Harry's heart started pounding. He felt a very clear sense of panic, more than he'd felt in a long, long time.

Malfoy couldn't be gone. They couldn't have gone far, unless they apparated, or Manny shoved him into a taxi, or something. Harry headed down the street, in the direction of Malfoy's flat, trying to regain control of his thoughts.

He passed an alley and heard voices, both of them familiar. He dug through his jacket for his wand and cast a quick concealment spell on himself, intending to get as close as he could to them before revealing himself.

He paused then, wondering if this was the best course of action. After all, both of these men were wizards. For all Harry knew, Manny could also be an auror – or whatever the American equivalent was called. He could probably see through a concealment spell as easily as Malfoy could.

And then Harry's cover would be blown entirely. “ Finite incantatum ,” he whispered, and felt his skin tingle as the spell faded.

There was nothing for it but to step into the alley and make his presence known, so he did. Manny and Malfoy were glaring at each other in the dim light coming from an apartment above. Malfoy was smoking a cigarette, a defiant set to his features. Manny's arms were crossed over his chest.

“You're making a big mistake,” Manny said.

“I know what I'm doing,” Malfoy replied.

“That's what you said last time,” Manny retorted. “I do actually care about you, despite what you think.”

Harry stepped on a piece of rubbish then, and both men heard the crunch. They turned to look at him. Harry felt strangely guilty for eavesdropping.

“Hiya,” he said to Malfoy. “Jeremy said you'd gone and... I was worried.” He shrugged and glanced at Manny.

Manny stared back at him coolly. “Harry, could you give us a minute? In private, if you don't mind.”

“No,” Malfoy interjected, before Harry could reply. “I don't want to do this now.” Manny started to protest, but Malfoy held up one hand. “Please? Just call me tomorrow, okay?”

Manny looked away for a long moment, and then nodded. “Fine,” he said. “But don't blame me if–”

“Enough,” Malfoy said, tone sharp. He sounded exhausted. He put out the cigarette and looked at Harry. “Take me home?”

“Of course.” Harry held out his hand, and Malfoy took it. Harry cast one more glance at Manny before they left the alley. Manny's eyes narrowed, and he shook his head, as if in disgust. Harry didn't look back as they walked away.

He finally managed to hail a taxi after several minutes of trying. Malfoy settled against his shoulder in the back seat. He hadn't said a word since they left the alley.

“So what was that about?” Harry asked. He didn't expect a straight answer, of course, but sometimes the lies people told provided clues.

“I'm fucking up my life,” Malfoy replied. “That's what it's about. I'm tired, and I'm lonely, and I hate this...” He dropped off and looked out the window of the taxi.

Harry pressed a kiss to the top of Malfoy's head. “You asked me last night if you could trust me.”

Malfoy made a sound like a laugh. “Did I?”

“Yes,” Harry continued. “You can, you know.”

“Can I?”

It seemed to be a rhetorical question. Harry watched Malfoy's profile glow and darken as the taxi passed under streetlights. He looked so sad, Harry thought – so lost. Harry couldn't believe this was the same person described in the CIA's intelligence reports. It simply couldn't be true. Harry needed to learn the truth, desperately – he needed to hear the story from Malfoy himself. It was the only way Harry could save him from a fate Malfoy may not even know was coming.

Of course, he was supposed to turn that story over to the authorities, and he was less and less certain that would be in Malfoy's best interest, either. Harry sighed.

“What was that for?” Malfoy asked, turning toward him again.

Harry smiled sadly, and stroked his finger down Malfoy's cheek. “I could help you, you know. Whatever it is you're running from–”

“I'm not running,” Malfoy replied.

Harry started to argue with him, but was stopped by the expression on Malfoy's face. He was looking at Harry longingly, almost sadly. Harry was afraid to move, afraid to break the spell. And then Malfoy leaned forward and kissed him.

It caught him by surprise – every real kiss they'd shared so far had been initiated by Harry, and he hadn't expected that to change anytime soon. But Malfoy's lips were moving gently against his, tongue teasing his lips apart before retreating again, drawing Harry into him. Harry felt his heart pounding in his ears. He was sure Malfoy could hear it, and maybe the taxi driver could as well. When Malfoy sucked lightly on his lower lip, Harry heard himself whimper. He pulled Malfoy close then, deepening the kiss. He was excited and terrified at the same time – this incredible feeling could end at any moment, and he couldn't do anything about it. He could only kiss Malfoy with everything he had.

The taxi driver cleared his throat, and Malfoy gently pushed Harry away. The taxi had stopped in front of Malfoy's building. Harry stared at him in the darkness – his lips were flushed and his eyes wide, and Harry wanted him terribly. He couldn't imagine Malfoy didn't feel the same way.

“Goodnight, Harry,” Malfoy whispered, sliding away from him on the seat.

Harry groaned. “Draco–”

“I'm sorry,” Malfoy sighed, pressing a palm to his forehead. “I shouldn't have kissed you, and I don't mean to be a tease. But this is a bad idea.”

“Why?” Harry asked, taking his hand.

“I like us as friends, and I don't want to fuck that up.” Harry opened his mouth to protest, and Malfoy continued, “It always does, Harry. I should know.” He squeezed Harry's hand and opened the door of the taxi. “I'll be at work tomorrow afternoon. Come by, if you want. I'll buy you a coffee.” He smiled and got out of the car.

Harry watched him walk away, watched him until the door of the building closed behind him. He sank down into the seat of the taxi, feeling as if he'd been flattened by a large animal. His stomach hurt, and his head hurt, and he wanted to curl up and sleep, maybe for days.

“Tough break,” the driver said. “Where to?”

“The Inn on Castro,” Harry said. “Just a few streets up.” The taxi pulled away from the curb, and Harry didn't open his eyes until it stopped again.

9 February, 2004: Monday

Harry had to read the fax twice.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry Potter, as an agent of the Investigative Services branch of the Ministry of Magic, is hereby granted permission to use any means necessary (including force not inflicting permanent injury) to take into custody and transport to the United Kingdom the suspected Death Eater sympathizer and former auror Draco Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy will be arrested by Ministry authorities upon arrival; hence this order expires at that time.

Certified this Ninth day of February, 2004
Arnold Bass
Director, Investigative Services

Approved:
Typhebus Fallin
Minister for Magic

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shit, he thought. This was serious. They wanted Malfoy brought back, and they had just given Harry carte blanche to do it. At this point, Malfoy had no legal rights anymore, except those Harry himself saw fit to grant him.

He placed the paper in the now-bulging manila folder he kept in his rucksack, and wondered what the hell he was going to write in his report. Hermione had awakened him with a 6:00 am phone call to remind him that they needed the report before midnight GMT.

He'd told her he needed more time to write it; that he didn't really have enough information to present a coherent picture just yet.

“I talked to Bass's office this morning, Harry. They want this taken care of by Friday.”

Harry had nearly dropped the phone. “Friday ?! You've got to be kidding!”

“I wish I were. I've made a reservation for you and Malfoy to portkey back to London on Thursday at noon , your time. There'll be aurors waiting to take him into custody when you arrive.”

Harry had laughed then, unable to help himself. “Hermione, he won't agree to that.”

“He doesn't have to agree, Harry.” Hermione had sighed then, and Harry could almost see the furrow in her brow. “I'm sending you a fax right now. You'll understand when you see it.”

And so he did. Somehow, he had to get Malfoy to the portkey station downtown, perhaps even against his will, portkey him to New York and then on to London , and then stand by as he was arrested and taken away by the Ministry. He closed his eyes against the headache he knew was coming.

I can't do it, Harry thought. It would mean betraying Malfoy in the worst possible way. Even before he'd got to know him, Harry wasn't sure he could have done such a thing. It reminded him yet again why he hadn't been able to stomach the field work required of an auror after the War. He couldn't stomach it now, either. He wasn't sure he belonged at the Ministry at all, if this was the way they treated people.

He worked on his report for the next two hours, hand-writing details about his days and nights spent with Malfoy. He left out the most personal information, but was very frank about their developing friendship, and about the fact that he had worked very hard to gain Malfoy's trust. He wrote that he thought Malfoy was close to opening up to him, and that he needed more time.

He had filled two pages with small print along these lines; all of it was leading up to his request. Well, demand was a more appropriate term. He picked up a third sheet of paper and began to write.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Director Bass,

As a result of what I have learned in the last week, I cannot in good conscience turn Draco Malfoy over to the Ministry of Magic. I am requesting: (1) an extension of my assignment by two weeks; (2) assurance that Mr. Malfoy will not be taken into custody upon arrival in the UK, but will retain the rights and privileges afforded a British citizen and an auror of his rank; and (3) full disclosure to Mr. Malfoy of any and all intelligence pertaining to his work and personal life in the US.

If these requests (or a reasonable compromise) cannot be granted, I will have no recourse but to resign from my position in the Ministry.

Sincerely,
Harry J. Potter
Assistant Director for Investigation of Unusual Spells
Investigative Services Office

~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry read over it several times before signing his name. He wasn't sure why he'd even thought of resigning, but once the idea had popped into his head, it had felt like the right thing to do. He'd become increasingly aware of how much he hated his job over the last few days – he didn't have very much to lose, really.

He sat and stared at the papers in his hand for a few more minutes, and then cast his encryption spell on them before walking downstairs to have the fax sent. He returned to his room ten minutes later, shaking.

Had he really just threatened the Investigative Services office and possibly wrecked his own career, all on behalf of Draco Malfoy? Well, it wasn't just about Malfoy, was it?

He decrypted each page of the fax as he read over it again, then placed the pages in the file. He paused, holding his wand over the coded page containing his ultimatum. There was something far too familiar about the way he was holding the paper and his wand. And the way he was feeling was almost like déjà vu – it stirred a memory he couldn't quite reach. He dropped the paper into the file, suddenly uneasy.

---

The Jumpin' Java Coffee House was nearly empty on a Monday afternoon. Malfoy smiled when Harry walked in; he looked relieved to see him. Harry sat in his usual spot in the far corner with a copy of the San Francisco Chronicle . Malfoy came over within a few minutes and set down a pint glass of coffee and a small plate with a muffin.

“As promised, a latte with a double shot and a little foam,” he said. “The blueberry muffins are good today. I know you like the cranberry scones better, but we're all out.”

Harry smiled at him, and Malfoy winked before walking back to the counter. Rosie made a comment to Malfoy as he approached, and he laughed and blushed before glancing shyly at Harry. Harry felt a little shiver in his belly, the same one he got when he thought about the way Malfoy had kissed him in the taxi last night. He'd thought about it several times that morning already.

And each time, he'd got a horrible sinking feeling when he remembered what he was supposed to do in three days. He stared into his latte, trying not to panic.

Should he sit Malfoy down and be honest with him, explain the situation? The problem was that Harry hadn't been honest all along, and Malfoy didn't trust him as it was. Admitting that there'd been good reason not to do so couldn't possibly improve the situation. And Harry didn't completely trust Malfoy either. Malfoy was still keeping lots of secrets, so why should Harry be the one at a disadvantage?

Besides, he was clinging to the hope that Bass would give him more time. With a few more weeks, he could get to know Malfoy better, and gradually explain the situation to him. Earn his trust.

And maybe earn his affection, as well. Harry closed his eyes and sighed. He wanted that very much, more than he dared admit.

Malfoy didn't have much to do that afternoon with so few customers, so he checked on Harry frequently. Harry switched to decaf after the first few coffees, lest he stay awake for the next three days. Malfoy brought him little packets of artificial sweetener when Harry asked for sugar.

“What, you think I'm getting fat or something?” Harry teased.

Malfoy laughed. “You eat too much sugar, that's all. It's not good for you.”

“Says the bloke who's been drunk every night for the last week,” Harry snorted.

Malfoy shrugged. “We're not talking about me , now are we, Harry?”

“We never talk about you,” Harry replied, emptying a packet of Splenda into his latte. Malfoy smiled and walked away again.

Harry was just finishing the editorial section when someone kissed him on the cheek. He looked up to see Colby smiling at him. “Thought you might be here,” Colby said, and sat across from Harry.

“Erm... hi,” Harry stammered, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Colby replied. “I'm taking a late lunch today.”

“Oh,” was all Harry could think of to say.

Colby's smile dimmed. “So what happened last night?” At Harry's blank expression, the smile disappeared completely. “You said you were coming back, and you never did.”

“Oh, shit,” Harry groaned, feeling a sharp stab of guilt. He'd completely forgotten about Colby after he'd found Malfoy in the alley. “I'm sorry, I...” He squinted at Colby, trying to judge if the other man was angry, or hurt, or disappointed.

“I assumed you'd found Derek,” Colby sighed, looking down at his folded hands. “It's okay. I know... It's not like I expect...” He stopped and shrugged, then looked up at Harry.

Harry felt terribly guilty. Colby had been very sweet, and Harry was growing to like him. They'd had sex twice, after all – it was the closest Harry had been to a relationship since his divorce. Harry closed his eyes. What had he got himself into? “I'm sorry, Colby.”

“No, I understand,” Colby replied. Harry looked up to see the smile had begun to return. “You can make it up to me tonight, if you want.”

“How?”

Colby reached across the table and took his hand. “Take me out tonight,” he said. The expression on his face was so earnest it made Harry feel worse.

“He can't tonight,” Malfoy interrupted, putting a glass of coffee in front of Colby and joining them at the table. He gave Colby a cool smile. “It's movie night, remember?”

“We haven't had movie night for nearly a month,” Colby replied, forehead furrowing.

“We're having it tonight,” Malfoy said. He and Colby stared at each other for a moment, until Colby looked away. “We order a pizza and watch a movie on Mondays,” Malfoy said, turning to Harry.

“You go to the cinema?” Harry asked.

“No, we watch one at mine.” Malfoy picked a bit off of Harry's muffin and ate it, licking his fingers.

“Yeah, he's got a sweet set-up,” Colby said. “68-inch plasma widescreen, six-point-two dolby surround, B&W speakers...”

Harry wondered why Colby felt compelled to describe Malfoy's flat in such detail. Harry'd spent a lot of time there, after all. He smiled. “Sounds like fun.”

No one said anything for a moment, and the tension between Colby and Malfoy became palpable. Thinking it might be best if he wasn't there, Harry excused himself from the table. When he returned from the toilet, the two were talking quietly. Harry peeked around the corner and tried to listen.

“Jealous?” Colby asked, sipping his coffee.

“Of you?” Malfoy retorted. “Hardly.”

“Could've fooled me.”

“As if that were difficult,” Malfoy snorted, and Colby's eyes narrowed. “Harry came here from England to visit me , Colby. The fact that he's decided to shag you on occasion doesn't change the fact that he's my friend. Don't think there's anything more going on between you.”

“Whatever is going on between me and Harry is none of your fucking business, Derek .”

A woman passed Harry on her way back from the toilets, and both Colby and Malfoy looked up when they saw her approaching. Malfoy stood, giving Colby an icy smile. Harry chose that moment to step around the corner, hands in his pockets. He smiled at them. Malfoy walked away.

Colby stood as Harry approached. “Listen, I get off around five. Do you want to get a drink or something before we head over to Derek's place?”

“I... sure,” Harry replied. Colby's expression brightened considerably, and Harry worried he'd just made another mistake.

“I'll come by your hotel when I get off,” Colby said, and then leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss. Harry watched him leave, feeling both flattered and panicked at the same time. He hadn't meant to give Colby the wrong impression; he liked him well enough, but it had just been sex for Harry, really. He sat back down and sighed.

“So, can you come over around eight?” Malfoy asked, appearing with another glass of coffee.

“Yes, of course,” Harry said. Malfoy was watching him, a strange expression on his face. Harry looked away.

Malfoy sat next to him. “Harry,” he began, and then paused, biting his lip. “Colby isn't really...”

Harry turned to stare at him. “Isn't what?”

“You don't know him, and I don't think you should... get involved with him.”

“I can't believe you're giving me relationship advice,” Harry snorted.

“I'm just saying that he's not... good for you.” The words seemed painful for Malfoy to speak.

“This is rich, coming from you. At least he's not pushing me away.”

“No, I'm sure he'd bend over for you anytime you wanted,” Malfoy retorted.

Harry gaped at Malfoy. “And you don't do that for everyone else?” Malfoy's jaw clenched, but Harry didn't stop. “Honestly, Malfoy, if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black–”

“Stop it, Potter.”

“It's the truth, isn't it? You'll fuck anyone, but you won't fuck me.”

Malfoy buried his face in his hands. “Please don't do this.” His voice was small and tired.

Harry looked around the café to see that the few customers present seemed quite interested in their conversation. “I'm sorry,” he sighed. “I'm just a little frustrated.”

Malfoy looked up again, eyes searching Harry's. “I don't care if you fuck half the men in the city, Potter. In fact, I encourage you to do so. But Colby's just... complicated. I don't think you should get involved with him.”

Harry tried to smile, and failed. “Are you offering me an alternative?” Malfoy bit his lip and said nothing. Harry's half-smile faltered. “I thought not.” He stood and pulled some bills out of his wallet, and tossed them on the table. “For the coffee. I'll see you tonight.”

He glanced over his shoulder as he left the café to see Malfoy still sitting at the table, staring down at his own hands.

---

There was a message waiting for him at the Inn . “Your mother, again,” the man behind the desk told him as he walked by. He handed Harry a slip of paper that said he should expect an important phone call tomorrow at 6:00 am . Harry sighed and walked up to his room.

It was midnight in London , but Hermione was usually awake at this hour. He dialed her number and sat on the bed. He was fairly certain this “important phone call” was related to his earlier faxed demand. Any advance warning of what to expect would be helpful.

After five rings, someone answered. It wasn't Hermione.

“Sorry,” Harry said. “I must have a wrong number.”

“Harry? Is that you?”

Harry's heart seemed to stop beating momentarily. He opened his mouth, and his voice was barely more than a squeak. “Cho?”

“Yes, I stopped by to check on the cat while Hermione and the kids are up at the Burrow overnight,” she replied. She sounded as if he'd awakened her. “They'll be back tomorrow.”

“Oh, shit,” Harry groaned. The Burrow. He'd forgotten. “I just wanted to catch her before they left, since... Molly still doesn't have a phone... miscalculated the time change...” He cringed, feeling as bad about the lie as he did about forgetting.

“No, it's fine, really,” she said. It sounded like she was yawning, and then she continued. “I'm sure they miss you this year.”

“Why didn't you go?” Harry asked. He hadn't spoken to her in months, and it seemed quite surreal to be doing so now.

“I didn't think it would be appropriate, without you. I don't know. I never knew Ron well, anyway. I didn't want anyone to be uncomfortable.”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, not sure what to say. It was probably for the best. Molly still hadn't forgiven Cho for cheating on Harry, despite the fact that Harry had repeatedly told Molly it was already over by that point anyway. “How are you?” he asked.

“Fine, good,” she said. “You?”

“Fine.” There, that wasn't so difficult.

“Hermione said you were in San Francisco, working.”

“Yes. It's lovely.” He had no idea what Hermione had told Cho he was doing.

“Aaron's been to San Francisco . He said it was really beautiful, tremendous fun.”

Harry swallowed down the lump in his throat. “How is Aaron, then?”

“He's great. He loves teaching at Cambridge.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Harry wracked his brain to think of something to say. Something other than, ‘Does he still love fucking you in that nurse costume, too?'

“That's good,” Harry replied at last, wincing at the memory. Unfortunately, the image had been burned into his brain. It wasn't every day one came home early to find his wife playing “doctor” with her boss. Straddling him in their own bedroom...

“Well, I've got to get up early. I'll tell Hermione you called.”

“Yes, of course. Sorry to have disturbed you.” Harry closed his eyes and sighed.

“Owl me when you get back to London , all right? We should have lunch sometime.”

“Sure,” he replied. “Good night.”

He hung up the phone and lay back on the bed, feeling immensely sad. He'd forgotten how talking to her made him feel. He'd forgotten how hurt he'd really been when their marriage broke up, and how he'd felt no one else could possibly ever love him. If she didn't love him, who would?

He'd been so numb these last few years, but in the last week he'd felt and thought and remembered more than he had in a long time. And then he'd forgotten even to send an owl to Molly. Hermione would make excuses for him, of course, but he'd been every year since Ron died. He and Hermione and Cho and Ginny and Fred, and Bill, if he could make it – they'd visit the family graveyard, and then they'd all stay up late and talk, and cry, and laugh. Molly would put the twins to bed so Hermione could relax, and they'd drink hot cocoa around the fire.

The Weasleys were the closest thing he had to a family. He suddenly, wrenchingly missed them.

---

He was walking down a corridor at Hogwarts again, but this time, something was different: he knew where he was. He'd always wandered aimlessly in this dream, but now he looked around, and he was clearly in the corridor that led down to the dungeons. A little flare of excitement ran through him at the realization. This dream had made him so uneasy in the past, but now–

He rounded a corner, and saw Ron sitting on the floor.

“I'm sorry,” Ron said, looking up at him.

“I'm not.” Harry tried to smile, and found he couldn't.

Ron held out his hand, and Harry reached for him. Ron was holding something in his closed fist. Harry opened his palm.

“Are you sure?” Ron asked.

---

The phone rang at 5:30 , startling Harry awake from a nap he hadn't even realized he was taking. He sat up slowly, and picked it up.

“You have a guest waiting for you in the reception area,” he heard.

Colby. “Right, sorry. Tell him I'll be right down.” He hung up the phone and stretched. The dream began to fade from his mind, like wisps of smoke he couldn't quite catch with his fingers. It had never seemed important to recall the details of it before, and now that he wanted to do, it was difficult.

He shook himself awake, then went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and tame his hair into something presentable. As he was studying his reflection in the mirror, it occurred to him that he was going on a date, of sorts. He grinned at himself.

“As a matter of fact, Cho, I'm having a fantastic time in San Francisco ,” he said to the mirror. “If you only knew.”

He winked at his reflection and headed out, making certain to hide his wand in his jacket. Colby was sitting in a chair by the front door in the foyer, flipping through a magazine. He smiled when he saw Harry approach.

“Hiya,” Harry said, and leaned down to kiss him in greeting. Colby beamed. “Where to?”

“There's a great little bar just down the street,” Colby said as he stood. “It's on the way to Derek's place.” The manager winked at Harry as they walked out, and Harry couldn't help but grin in return.

They walked down Castro to a place Harry had noted nearly every time he'd walked past. It was simply called “The Bar”, and it always seemed to be busy. When they made their way inside, Harry was momentarily stunned. The club was full of men, most of them young and well-dressed – the term “meet market” came to mind. A dark-haired man dressed neatly in black bumped Harry as he passed. He started to apologize, but smiled and looked Harry over instead. Harry smiled back. The bloke was hot , and he was looking at Harry as if he could eat him for dinner. Colby pinched Harry's arm and shot the man a glare, and he moved on. Harry grinned at Colby, unable to help himself.

“You and Derek,” Colby sighed, shaking his head. “Maybe you really do deserve each other.”

“Oh, don't be like that,” Harry replied, putting an arm around him. “I'm not used to being able to look , you know?”

“Why not?” Colby asked. “Got a boyfriend at home?”

“Er, no.” Harry replied, and pulled him towards an empty table.

It was Happy Hour, so they ordered martinis at half price and scoped the scene. Harry found that he and Colby had quite different tastes in men.

“That one,” Harry said, pointing out a boy with green-streaked hair. “He's adorable.”

“Too skinny,” Colby replied, wrinkling his nose. It was an expression Harry found strangely endearing. “I want a man , you know? Like...” He scanned the room again. “That one. Black jeans, ponytail.”

Harry's eyes widened. “No, no, no. He's a bit frightening, actually.”

Colby tossed back the last of his martini. “Maybe I like that in a guy.”

“Then I have no idea what you see in me,” Harry retorted. Colby opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. Harry wondered if he'd assumed too much. “Well, I don't think I'd like a bloke who's bigger than me,” he continued.

“Well, you haven't got much to worry about in that department,” Colby quipped, glancing at Harry's crotch suggestively.

Harry blushed, though it would be difficult to tell in the soft red light of the bar. “That's not what I meant.”

Colby signaled the waiter to bring them another round, and then studied him for a moment. “I think you like boys who remind you of girls.”

Harry nearly choked on his drink. “Sorry?”

“I think you do. Derek's a good example. He's not exactly the macho type.”

“I...” Harry blinked, realizing it was somewhat true. He hadn't had much of a chance to think about it, really. “I suppose so.”

Colby grinned. “Are you having an epiphany, or something?”

“I don't know,” Harry said. “I'm sorry. It's been a weird day.”

“How so?” Colby asked, retrieving his wallet to pay for the drinks.

Harry considered for a moment. He wasn't sure how much personal information he should reveal, but he'd already decided to try to gain Colby's trust. He was one of Malfoy's friends, after all, and could be a good source of information. “I talked to my ex-wife today.”

Colby's jaw dropped, as did that of the waiter, who was just setting their glasses on the table. “Ex- wife?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, hoping the waiter would make Colby's change and leave before he had to continue. “It was a mercifully short marriage. But still, divorce isn't fun.”

“Ex- wife?” Colby repeated.

“Right. So, I'm bisexual, actually.” It was the first time he'd said it out loud, he realized. It felt good. “I guess Derek didn't mention that?”

Colby pushed a martini glass toward Harry, eyes wide. “He didn't say much about you, to be honest. You fuck girls, for real?”

Harry grinned. “Yes, I fuck girls, Colby.” He took a sip of his martini and raised an eyebrow. “Boys too, if memory serves.”

“Wow,” Colby said.

“Yeah,” Harry replied. This conversation wasn't going the way he'd expected. Maybe he'd have to be more direct in order to get any useful information out of Colby. Colby was tossing back his third martini. He was smaller then Harry, so the alcohol would probably work in Harry's favor. He put his own glass down and smiled coyly. “So how'd you meet Derek, anyway?”

Colby blinked. “Ummm... In a club, I think. We hooked up one night, and we kept running into each other. Had a little fling, very intense until you-know-who got finished with a trial and came back to reclaim his boy toy.” He rolled his eyes, then looked thoughtful. “So what's it feel like to fuck a girl, anyway?”

Harry laughed. “Maybe you should try it sometime. Just for kicks.”

Colby snorted. “I hear girls are really hard to pick up in bars. Boys are easy.” He winked at Harry. “I should know.”

“So you and Derek had a thing, then?” Harry asked, determined to keep him on topic.

“Two glorious weeks,” Colby said, sighing dramatically. “We must have fucked three times a day.” He leaned forward and whispered, “He pounded me so hard a few times that I could barely walk afterwards.”

Harry's eyes widened. He'd never thought of bottoming for Malfoy. He'd always pictured it the other way around.

Colby grinned at him. “What about you? How did you two get together?”

“You've already heard the story,” Harry replied, taking a tiny sip of his martini. He wasn't sure he could remember the one Malfoy had spun.

Colby pursed his lips. “Well, how did you end up coming out here, then, to visit?”

“I needed to get away,” Harry said, studying the olive floating in his martini glass. “The divorce, work. I'd never been to the States before, and I'd heard good things about San Francisco .” He looked up to see Colby studying him intently. “What?”

The expression broke and Colby grinned. “You're so fucking cute, do you know that?”

“No, I'm not,” Harry replied, smiling. “But thanks. What happened with you and Derek, in the end? You're still friends, unlike the other thousand blokes he's fucked and forgotten.”

“That's not bitterness I sense, now is it?” Colby grinned. Harry shrugged. “I was persistent, I guess. He decided to keep me around for some reason.”

“That hardly sounds like friendship,” Harry retorted.

“Derek is one of those people it's fun to be around,” Colby replied. “You accept whatever he offers you, because it's better than nothing at all.”

“And you're happy with that?”

“I never said that,” Colby replied. They were silent for a moment, both contemplating their martini glasses. Harry plucked the olive from his and popped it in his mouth. He looked up to see Colby watching him again, the same intent expression on his face.

“Is something wrong?” Harry asked.

Colby shook his head and looked down. “Harry,” he began, and paused, as if steeling himself. He looked up to meet Harry's eyes with his own. “I should tell you–”

“Another round, boys?” the waiter asked, nearly spilling the many drinks on his tray. “Happy Hour's almost over. Get ‘em while they're half off!”

“We don't need another round,” Harry groaned. “Walking is going to be difficult as it is.” He'd had enough to drink already, and he needed to focus on his job tonight.

“Sure we do,” Colby replied, and nodded at the waiter. Money was exchanged, and drinks set on the table. Harry sipped his martini and waited for Colby to continue talking, but he didn't. He smiled at Harry and changed the subject completely, as if he'd lost his nerve.

It was 7:30 when they finished their drinks, so they decided to head to Malfoy's flat. They'd had several martinis each by then, and soon found themselves giggling uncontrollably outside of Malfoy's building.

“Did you know Manny has a key?” Harry blurted.

“Of course he does,” Colby snorted. “Hurry up. I hafta pee.”

“Fucking key,” Harry muttered, and pushed the buzzer for Malfoy's flat.

“Hello?” he heard, after a moment.

“Oi, open up,” Harry said. Colby giggled.

“Harry!” Malfoy replied. “Thank god. Get up here!”

Harry and Colby looked at each other. They were almost half an hour early . The lock clicked open and they went in. Colby trudged up the stairs ahead of Harry, and Harry found himself mesmerized by the sight of Colby's ass moving in front of him. He slid an arm around Colby's waist to halt his progress up the stairs, and bit into his butt playfully.

Colby yelped, but didn't wiggle away. “God, Harry–” Harry bit again, hard, and Colby laughed. “You're going to be fun tonight.”

There was a cough at the top of the stairs, and they looked up to see Malfoy standing in the doorway of his flat, arms crossed over his chest. “Coming in?” he asked. “Or coming out there?”

Colby and Harry snickered at the joke, but Malfoy didn't seem to find the situation funny. His face was stony and pale, and he almost looked angry. Harry and Colby unsteadily made their way up the last few stairs. Malfoy allowed Colby in, but blocked the doorway with his arm when Harry started to walk through.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he hissed. “I've been trying to call you for two hours.”

“You said eight o'clock ,” Harry replied. “We went out.” He shrugged, confused. What was Malfoy angry about?

“I was worried, and...” Malfoy paused. “Are you drunk?”

“Maybe,” Harry replied, leaning towards Malfoy. “Had a few drinks with Colby is all.”

“Harry...” Malfoy began.

Harry leaned closer, until his lips were almost brushing Malfoy's. “You were worried about me? How sweet.”

Malfoy exhaled, and the corners of his mouth turned up very slightly. If either of them leaned forward a hair's breadth, their lips would touch. Malfoy closed his eyes.

“Derek, do you want me to go ahead and order the pizza?”

Harry froze. He looked up to see Manny standing in the doorway, just behind Malfoy.

“Yeah,” Malfoy said, and dropped his arm to let Harry pass.

Harry and Manny stared at each other for a moment. They'd barely spoken since Harry had spotted him in Haight Fair several days before. Manny had not looked pleased to see them there, and he didn't look happy about Harry's presence now, either. Harry felt himself grow tense.

“Pizza, now,” Malfoy said, tugging Manny's sleeve. Manny turned away. “Harry, what do you want to drink?”

“Got any vodka?” Harry asked. A small voice in the back of his head warned him that would be a bad idea. He told it to fuck off.

“Yes, but not for you,” Malfoy retorted, closing the door of the flat. “You'll be six sheets to the wind at this rate.” He walked to the kitchen and pulled a beer from the refrigerator.

“Amstel Light it is,” Harry sighed, taking the bottle. He took a sip and winced. “Do you have to keep it so fucking cold ?” Malfoy ignored him.

Manny was calling in the pizza order, and Colby returned from the bathroom and collapsed on the sofa. Manny hung up the phone and whispered something to Malfoy. Malfoy made an exasperated sound in response and shook his head. Harry wondered how long Manny had been there that evening.

“Sorry if we interrupted anything, boys,” Colby said, echoing Harry's thoughts.

“Not as sorry as I am,” Manny muttered. He and Malfoy exchanged a glance.

Harry gritted his teeth. He was jealous and frustrated, but now he was worried that Malfoy had apparently made up with Manny. When had this happened? Was it because of the argument Harry and Malfoy had got into that afternoon? Had he sent Malfoy running right back to Manny, right back to the CIA agent who might just be waiting for an opportunity to turn him over to the US government? Harry could feel the strength of the wards around Malfoy's flat; he knew it would be nearly impossible for Manny to harm Malfoy here. But Manny was much bigger than Malfoy – bigger than Harry, too. He didn't necessarily need to use magic to hurt him.

Fortunately, Malfoy sent Manny to pick up the pizza after a few minutes, and Harry got a break from glaring at him from across the room. He was opening his third beer when Malfoy took the bottle from his hand.

“Harry, we're having wine with the pizza,” he said, quirking an eyebrow.

“So?” Harry retorted. Malfoy's mothering of him was getting annoying, especially since it was the only attention Malfoy seemed to be paying him tonight.

Malfoy contemplated Harry's expression for a few seconds before pulling him into a kiss. Harry's muffled sound of surprise melted into something more like a moan. Malfoy pushed away again after a moment, sucking lightly on Harry's lower lip as he did. “You taste good,” Malfoy whispered. “Don't get too blotted tonight, okay?”

He tweaked Harry's nose before turning away, and Harry's heart pounded in his chest. He turned to see Colby watching from the sofa. Colby smiled weakly, and Harry felt guilty for the fifteenth time that day. What the hell was he was doing? And what was Malfoy doing? He seemed to push Harry away until Harry was ready to give up, and then he'd reel him back in again. It was almost like he was playing a game.

I'm not here to play, he reminded himself. I have a job to do. He hadn't a clue where to begin, though.

Harry watched Malfoy cross the room to hand Colby the beer he'd just confiscated from Harry. The two smiled coolly at each other.

“Having fun?” Malfoy asked.

“Always,” Colby replied.

“Drink up,” Malfoy said.

Harry watched Colby glare at the back of Malfoy's head as he walked away. He'd been so busy watching Manny earlier that he hadn't noticed the tension between Malfoy and Colby until now. Was this really about him ? He couldn't stifle a smile at the thought. Colby's eyes moved back to Harry then, and the expression on his face changed to a weak smile.

Manny returned with the pizza a few minutes later, which seemed to relieve Malfoy immensely. He handed Harry a bottle of wine to open and shooed him into the kitchen. Harry had to rummage through a drawer until he found the corkscrew, only to find it wasn't a corkscrew at all: it was a cork puller , which he hadn't a clue how to operate.

He looked back and forth between the bottle in his left hand and the cork puller in his right, thinking. A shadow fell over the bottle – Manny was standing before him, looking annoyed. He took the bottle from Harry and, without breaking eye contact, passed his hand over the top of the bottle. The cork popped out.

Wandless magic, Harry thought. It was clear what Manny was trying to do, and Harry could play that game as well. He'd been playing around with wandless magic for the last few years, though he couldn't do much yet.

All of those thoughts flashed through Harry's mind before the cork began its downward trajectory. He raised his hand and focused on the cork, and it halted its fall in front of his chest. With a flick of his wrist, it started a slow spin. He smirked at Manny.

“Where's the wine?”

Harry snatched the cork out of the air. They turned to see Malfoy peeking around the corner. He glanced back and forth between them, as if surprised to see them in such proximity and not swinging at each other. “Come on, then. Time to eat.”

Manny gave Harry an appraising look before leaving the kitchen with the wine bottle in hand. Harry leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Wandless magic took a great deal of concentration, but Manny had done it effortlessly. Harry swallowed, realizing he – and Malfoy – might be in far more danger than he'd thought. He'd best keep his eyes open and his mind clear.

They squeezed onto the sofa with wine glasses in hand and plates carefully balanced on their knees. Harry had put himself between Malfoy and Colby, much to the chagrin of each of them. Manny sat on the other side of Malfoy, and kept casting suspicious glances in Harry's direction.

“So, what's the gay cinema feature tonight?” Colby asked, just before taking a bite of his pizza slice.

“Gay cinema?” Harry asked, nudging Malfoy ever so slightly with his elbow.

“There's a theme,” Malfoy told him.

“What, porn?” Harry asked. Colby snickered.

“Would you prefer porn, then?” Malfoy grinned.

“I just didn't know there were that many gay films,” Harry mused, sipping his wine.

“You'd be surprised,” Colby retorted. “Derek can find gayness in strange places.”

“Like what?” Harry asked.

“Here we go,” Manny muttered, rolling his eyes.

Malfoy shot him a mock glare before turning back to Harry. “It so happens there is a tremendous amount of homoerotic subtext in modern film. You just have to look for it.”

“Try him,” Colby said, absently picking an olive off of his pizza. “Give him a movie, and he'll tell you why it's about being gay.” Colby and Manny settled into the sofa. Clearly, they'd had this discussion before.

“Okay, give me a minute,” Harry said through a mouthful of pizza. For some reason, he couldn't think of any films he'd seen recently. “Oh,” he said, and swallowed. “Star Wars.” Manny and Colby groaned in unison.

“Easy,” Malfoy replied, settling back against the sofa. “Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were so doing it.”

“What?” Harry laughed.

“It was obvious,” Malfoy said, gesturing casually with his wine glass. “All those intense little looks, the way they touched each other. The only Star Wars character gayer than Obi-Wan Kenobi is C-3PO.”

“Come on,” Harry sputtered. “Obi-Wan Kenobi is not gay.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “He was trapped for days on a ship with a bunch of teenage girls, and he spent the entire time whinging about when Qui-Gon was going to come back.”

Harry paused. That was strange, he had to admit. “But... they're Jedi. Jedi are like priests, or something. They don't have sex.”

“Then where did Luke and Leia come from?” Malfoy retorted.

“Well, Anakin Skywalker is hardly a good example, now is he?” Harry scoffed. “Besides... Natalie Portman? Not even a Jedi could resist that .”

“I could say the same about Ewan McGregor,” Malfoy replied, grinning.

“Can we just start the fucking movie already?” Manny groaned.

“Natalie Portman?” Colby asked. He made a face. “She can't even act.”

“Who cares when she looks like that?” Harry asked. “It took me three hours to get through the DVD of Where the Heart Is because I kept having to pause it.” He made a universally crude gesture, and the room went completely silent.

“Dude, wasn't she like, pregnant for half of that movie?” Colby asked.

Harry turned beet red.

Malfoy burst out laughing. “On that note, I think we'll introduce tonight's feature presentation.” He picked up a DVD case from the coffee table and held it up.

Harry squinted at the cover, which showed a picture of two men in drag under the words Party Monster . “Is that Macaulay Culkin?” he asked. Malfoy nodded, grinning.

“This should be interesting,” Manny mused. “Actual gay boys this time, and not just you trying to twist it all around?”

“Actual gay boys, yes,” Malfoy replied, and picked up the remote control.

Ten minutes later, Harry wondered if he was obligated to watch the entire film. He glanced sideways at Malfoy to see him staring blankly at the screen. He looked the other direction just as Colby was stifling a yawn.

“He's not such a good actor, is he?” Harry mused aloud.

“No, but he's cute,” Malfoy replied.

“He's too skinny,” Harry noted, squinting at the screen. “Looks like you, actually.”

“Like I said, cute.”

Colby snickered. “I'm sorry, but this movie sucks.” He got up from the sofa and returned a few minutes later with a bottle of clear liquor and some shot glasses. He carefully poured out four shots and handed one to each of them. “It'll help, I swear,” he told Harry, winking. “I don't remember half the shitty movies I've seen here, but I've always had fun.”

Harry clinked his glass against Colby's and they each downed a shot. Vodka , Harry thought, shivering slightly. It burned its way down his throat, but it was a pleasant sensation. Colby promptly refilled their glasses. Malfoy elbowed Harry again, and Harry turned to see he was sipping his drink very slowly. So was Manny.

Hadn't he just promised himself he'd be careful tonight? Harry winced and settled back against the sofa. He wasn't sure if he should feel flattered or irritated that Malfoy didn't approve of Harry's growing friendship with Colby. In fact, Malfoy seemed to be doing his best to submarine it, despite the fact that his own boyfriend was present.

Colby tugged the blanket draped over the back of the sofa down over him and Harry, and snuggled closer. Harry smiled – it had been a while since he'd cuddled up with anyone. He didn't mind when Colby's head leaned against his shoulder, or when his hand drifted to Harry's thigh.

But then his hand drifted higher, and started caressing Harry's cock through his jeans. Harry swallowed and glanced at Colby, but his eyes were fixed on the screen, as if there was nothing going on under the blanket. Harry had no idea what Colby's intentions were – was he just teasing?

Colby's fingers pressed more firmly and Harry could feel himself getting hard. He slid down on the sofa a bit and spread his thighs apart in an effort to get more comfortable. Colby took this as a sign to continue, and moved his fingers to the waistband of Harry's jeans.

It took him nearly a minute to unfasten the button and work the zipper down without making a sound. Harry bit his lip when Colby's fingers slipped beneath his underwear and contacted skin. He glanced down, but the blanket had been expertly tented, so it wasn't obvious what they were doing.

Colby's fingers moved in slow teasing strokes; it wouldn't be enough to bring him to completion, but it felt good. Harry knew he should probably reciprocate, though he couldn't really move his hands. Perhaps he could do something for Colby later; for now, he concentrated on keeping his breathing even.

Colby's fingers ghosted over his skin, making him shiver. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy turn to look at them. He didn't dare turn his head. If Malfoy saw his face, he'd know; Harry was sure of it. At that moment, Colby's hand wrapped around his dick and squeezed. Harry bit his lip.

Malfoy made a sound like a cough, and Harry couldn't ignore it. He turned his head just enough to glance sideways at him.

Malfoy tugged lightly at the blanket. “This is more interesting than the movie, I imagine.”

Harry sucked in a breath, preparing to protest, but Malfoy pulled the blanket away. Colby snickered, and Manny whistled as he peeked around Malfoy to look.

Malfoy's eyes widened, and Harry realized Malfoy had never actually seen him erect before – not from so close, at least. He allowed himself a smug smile just as Malfoy's eyes darted up to meet his. Malfoy's eyebrows raised a hair, just enough to return Harry's expression, and a smile spread across his face.

Malfoy settled back against Manny's chest. “Well, get on with it, Colby.” Colby glanced back at Harry – who was sure he was turning pink – and started moving his hand again.

Harry was just drunk enough not to be completely mortified, but he was still embarrassed as hell. He doubted he'd be able to come in front of an audience, and that made him feel even worse.

“Suck him,” Malfoy said. Harry's head jerked toward Malfoy just as Colby leaned down and swallowed his cock. His intended protest turned into a grunt of surprise.

Colby was sucking enthusiastically, as per usual. Harry looked down at the dark head bobbing in his lap and thought he must be dreaming. It was too ridiculous to be happening, really.

“God, Colby, you always did give terrible head,” Malfoy snickered.

“There's such a thing?” Manny asked. He'd turned back to the television.

Harry threaded his fingers into Colby's hair and let his head fall back against the sofa cushions. “For the record, Colby, I'm not complaining.”

“No, no, stop,” Malfoy said. Colby looked up, lips wet and swollen. “Let's do this properly. Start by licking. Slowly.”

Colby hesitated for a moment, and then did just that.

“Lick around the head... good. Then one long lick up the underside. Use the flat of your tongue.”

Harry shivered at the sensation of Colby's tongue sliding against his cock. It was better.

“Slip the tip of your tongue under the foreskin,” Malfoy said, voice huskier now. Harry whimpered at the feeling of hot wet tongue probing the head of his cock. “Tap your tongue against...” Harry closed his eyes and bit his cheek to keep from making any noise. “Lightly,” Malfoy continued. “He's really sensitive.”

Harry opened his eyes, wondering how Malfoy was able to read him so well with his eyes focused on Harry's dick. Malfoy's cheeks were flushed, and his hair was falling into his eyes. He reached up with one hand to push it back, and chewed his lower lip. Harry found himself transfixed.

“Now take the head in your mouth and suck lightly.” Colby wasn't making a move without Malfoy's instruction now, and he was doing exactly as he was told. “Swirl your tongue around the head, then...” Malfoy swallowed and paused before continuing. “Come off again. Lick.”

Harry closed his eyes and clutched the sofa cushions.

“Press just the tip of your tongue into the slit,” Malfoy said. Harry bit his lip, and Malfoy said, “He likes that. Do it harder.” Colby did, and Harry clenched the sofa even more tightly. “Take it in your mouth again.” The wet heat of Colby's mouth was amazing after all of the licking, and Harry had to concentrate not to moan. “Take him in, slowly.” Colby's lips slid down his shaft, and Harry felt him shift his position on the floor. His lips slid down further, until Harry could feel the back of Colby's throat. This had to be one of the best blow jobs he'd ever had.

“Careful, there. Deep-throating is not for amateurs,” Malfoy said, with a hint of humor. “Come back up before you choke yourself.” Colby's mouth moved upwards, sucking lightly. “Use the flat of your tongue when you come up,” Malfoy said. “Keep your tongue moving, and keep the suction as strong as you can.” Colby's mouth descended again, as far as he could.

“Use your hand at the base to make up the difference,” Malfoy said. His voice sounded closer, as if he were leaning forward to see better. “Yeah, like that. Now, pull down when your mouth comes up, and push up to meet your mouth when you go down again.”

Colby managed to coordinate the movement, to great effect: Harry moaned aloud before he could stop himself. After a few more strokes, he was getting too close, and he put his hand on Colby's head, panting, “Wait!”

Colby paused. “Good boy,” Malfoy whispered, and Harry felt him settle against his side and drape one arm behind him on the sofa.

Harry opened his eyes to see Colby looking up at him, waiting. He nodded, and Colby went back to work. He was perfecting the hand-mouth coordination now. Harry's cock was wet with saliva, and Colby's hand was sliding easily against his skin.

“Now twist your hand too,” Malfoy said, so close Harry could feel his breath against his cheek as he spoke. “Keep moving your tongue. If your jaw isn't aching, you're not working hard enough.” He nuzzled Harry's cheek with his nose.

Colby made a muffled sound, which could have been born of pain or of pleasure. Harry's pleasure was spiraling now, swirling in his belly and spreading out, beginning to draw him under. All he could hear was Malfoy's voice explicitly describing what the hot mouth on his cock was doing, and it was driving him mad.

He shifted his hand and brushed Malfoy's thigh. He kept reaching until he was stroking Malfoy's erection through his trousers, desperate to touch him. Malfoy gasped and pushed Harry's hand away, then pinned his wrist to the sofa.

Harry whimpered again, feeling a bizarre combination of frustration and pleasure. He was on the edge, but so consumed by it that he couldn't ask for what he wanted, or say what he needed. He could only sit there, sprawled on the sofa, engulfed and feeling .

He felt Malfoy's lips brush his ear, and felt hot breath tickling his skin before he registered the whispered words: “Are you thinking of me, Harry?”

He wrenched his hand free and grabbed a handful of hair, yanking Malfoy's head down. With a muffled squeal, Malfoy fell forward, almost on top of Colby. Harry kissed him roughly, probably hurting him – but he didn't care. He needed to consume Malfoy somehow, to do something .

And then he was coming, so hard he nearly bit Malfoy's tongue. His hand clenched tighter in Malfoy's hair, and he moaned loudly into his mouth. Malfoy pulled away, and Harry was vaguely aware of Malfoy's soft curses as he pried Harry's fingers out of his hair. Harry sank into the sofa, panting. He forced his eyes open, even though he was still trembling from the aftershocks. Colby released his cock and looked up at him.

Malfoy grabbed Colby's shirt, pulled him up with surprising strength, and kissed him. It was a brutal kiss, not unlike the one Harry had just given him. Colby tried to push Malfoy away, but couldn't manage to do so.

Malfoy released him after a moment, staring down at Colby and licking his lips. Colby wiped a sleeve across his face. He looked stunned.

“God, Derek. You're such a freak,” he said, voice sounding more surprised than anything else. Malfoy grinned maniacally at him.

Manny pulled Malfoy backwards into his lap by a handful of shirt. “He just likes the taste of spunk,” Manny remarked, a touch of forced humor in his tone.

Harry looked back and forth between Colby and Malfoy. They were staring at each other intensely. Malfoy was grinning, but there a definite maliciousness to his expression, and Colby seemed to recognize it.

Suddenly, Harry felt like the air had been sucked out of him. That hadn't been about him at all. It had been about the blossoming rivalry between Malfoy and Colby. It was Malfoy's way of staking a claim, even though he had no intention of claiming Harry for himself. He had merely reminded Colby that he could, and that Harry would come when called.

In his own twisted way, Malfoy had just used Harry to fuck Colby over.

Colby looked away then, and pushed himself onto his knees. He poured himself another shot of vodka. Harry leaned forward and took the glass from him, downing it. “Excuse me,” he muttered, and handed the glass back to Colby. He stood unsteadily and pulled his jeans back up, and then walked to the hall toilet.

He felt sick, so he leaned his head forward against the toilet bowl for a few minutes. He wasn't going to throw up, though, so he settled on the floor instead, against the wall. He closed his eyes and struggled to contain his emotions.

He'd completely lost control of this fucked-up situation. Malfoy had learned how to play Harry like an instrument, while Harry was no closer to understanding what Malfoy was doing than he'd been a week ago over sushi.

A week ago, he'd thought he was straight. He'd thought his lack of interest in dating was a natural reaction to the divorce. He'd been certain it would only be a matter of days before he would solve this mystery and portkey home.

But a week later, his entire life had been turned upside-down. He was aware of things he hadn't noticed before; so many things, all the time, almost so much that it was overwhelming. What was happening to him? Was there some sort of magic being used that he didn't know about? Was he in danger?

He couldn't do this anymore. And the worst part was that he was starting to feel . If he wasn't careful, he might even fall in love with Malfoy – and that would be a complete disaster.

There was a knock on the door. He didn't answer it.

“Harry?” he heard Malfoy call.

“Go away,” he groaned. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

The doorknob clicked, despite the fact that Harry'd locked it, and the door opened. Malfoy peeked inside. “Decent?” he asked, though he came in without waiting for an answer. He closed the door behind him and sat on the toilet, facing Harry. “You all right?”

Harry snorted. “Oh, yes. That's why I've locked myself in your toilet.” He stared at the tile between his thighs.

“Harry–” Malfoy began.

“Don't,” Harry interrupted. “Please, don't.”

“Don't what?”

Harry looked up at him and sighed. “Just... stop playing whatever game this is you're playing, all right?”

Malfoy's jaw dropped. “What are you–”

“Either fuck me and get it over with, or stop this game of teasing me and pushing me away. I can't deal with it anymore.” Harry paused, and Malfoy just stared at him. “I think I'd prefer the latter, if it's all the same to you. I'm not like you, you know. I can't just have meaningless sex with people.”

“You seemed to being doing just fine with Colby,” Malfoy retorted.

“Yeah, well...” Harry shook his head. “Not anymore. That's over.”

“Could've fooled me. He just sucked your cock for twenty minutes. You made an awful lot of noise.”

“Oh, come off it, Malfoy. That was you . And you know it.” Malfoy furrowed his brow and looked away. “You won't even have sex with me, except through other people. I can accept the fact that you're not interested in me, all right? Just... stop flirting with me. Stop kissing me. Stop looking at me like...” He trailed off and picked at a spot on his jeans.

“Harry, it's not that I'm not interested. It's just... it's complicated.”

“It's sex, Draco. It's not that complicated. My dick, your ass. Or some variation thereof.”

Malfoy bit his lip, as if trying not to smile. “That's not what I meant.”

Harry snorted. “Look, I've made no secret of my feelings. You obviously don't return them.” He paused, in case Malfoy wanted to correct him. He didn't, and Harry felt his heart sink even more. When had this started to matter so much? At this moment, Harry couldn't care less about his assignment to bring Malfoy back to the UK . All he wanted was for Malfoy to feel something for him – anything. “I should go. I'm sorry.”

“You're drunk, Harry. You're not going anywhere.”

“You think I want to stay here and be tormented by you? Sit back on that sofa again and watch the rest of that horrible film, with you sitting next to me, reminding me...” He pressed his face into his hands and laughed. It felt oddly good to say these things out loud, to be honest at last. “I am so fucking pathetic.”

“No, you're not,” Malfoy sighed. “Harry...”

“I don't think I could handle a one-night-stand with you, anyway,” Harry mumbled. “I'm just not cut out for casual sex. I've finally realized I like men, but apparently I'm still the relationship sort. Funny, that.” He dropped his hands to see Malfoy watching him, a strange look on his face. “What?” Harry asked.

Malfoy extended a hand. “We'll talk about this in the morning, all right? Come on, let's get you to bed.”

Harry allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, and then remembered his morning phone call. He winced. “I should just go back to the Inn ,” he said. He couldn't explain why, and he hoped Malfoy wouldn't ask.

“Nonsense,” Malfoy replied. “It's too far to walk by yourself this time of night.”

Harry squinted at him. He'd managed to get himself home every night for more than a week, and Malfoy had never once expressed concern for his safety. “I'll apparate, then.”

“You've had too much to drink,” Malfoy said, tugging him towards the door. “You'll splinch yourself.”

Harry pulled back. “Draco, no . I'm not sleeping here.”

Malfoy looked irritated, and crossed his arms over his chest. “All right, I'll take you back, then.” He opened the door and walked out, ignoring the incredulous expression on Harry's face.

Harry took a few minutes to collect himself before walking back into the main room. Colby was sprawled on the sofa, watching the film play, and Malfoy and Manny appeared to be arguing quietly in the corner. Harry crept closer, but he couldn't make out anything they were saying. Manny looked angry, that much was clear. Malfoy noticed Harry and turned to face him. Manny released his breath slowly, as if trying to maintain his temper.

“Ready?” Malfoy said. Harry nodded.

“You're leaving?” Colby slurred, looking up. Harry noted that the vodka bottle was nearly empty.

“Yes,” he replied. He couldn't think of a good excuse, so he said nothing more.

Colby shrugged and flopped down onto the sofa again.

Manny caught Malfoy's arm as he started towards the door. “Fifteen minutes,” he whispered.

Malfoy nodded. “All right. Fine.” He turned towards Harry and rolled his eyes. He plucked his coat from the hook on the back of the door, then opened it and nodded Harry through.

“What about Colby?” Harry asked.

“Manny will call him a taxi. Don't worry.”

Once the door was closed behind them, Malfoy opened his coat and smiled at Harry. Harry stepped forward into his arms, pressing his body against Malfoy's. He was enfolded in the warmth of the sherpa coat for a moment before he felt the world shift around him. He heard a pop and opened his eyes. They were standing in his room at the Inn .

Malfoy released him and stepped back. “Would you like me to tuck you in?” he asked, smiling mischievously.

Harry grinned. “No, it's fine.” He sat heavily on the bed and toed off his shoes. “The world is just spinning a bit.”

“I'll pop over with some hangover potion on my way to work,” Malfoy said.

“Okay,” Harry replied, and pulled his shirt over his head. He tossed it to the floor and unfastened his jeans.

“Maybe tomorrow night we can do something,” Malfoy continued. “Just you and me.”

“Sounds good,” Harry said, pulling his jeans off. He flopped back on the bed, and groaned. “I really am drunk. Shit.”

“Come on,” Malfoy said, and helped him under the sheets. Harry stretched out and yawned, then looked sleepily up at Malfoy.

“We'll talk about everything tomorrow, all right?” Malfoy stroked his forehead, and Harry closed his eyes.

“M'kay,” he whispered. He felt Malfoy trace his scar with a fingertip, and he smiled. No one ever wanted to touch him there. Even Cho had avoided it.

“I'm going to put up a ward. It'll be temporary, until you open the door in the morning. Call me if you need anything, all right?” Malfoy's lips pressed gently against his forehead, and a moment later Harry heard the door open and close.

The last thing he was aware of as he drifted off to sleep was the gentle thrum of the ward around him, cradling the room in magic.

10 February, 2004: Tuesday

Harry was awake at 5:30 , head pounding as much as his heart. He stared at the ceiling, occasionally glancing at the clock to see how many minutes had ticked by since the last time he'd looked. His stomach was churning with a blend of anxiety and hangover.

At 5:45 , the phone rang, and he sat straight up. He let it ring three times before he picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Harry, it's me. I just wanted to make certain you were awake.”

Harry flopped back onto the mattress. “Of course I'm awake, Hermione. I'm lying here in a complete panic.”

She snorted. “You should be nervous. All hell broke loose here yesterday when Bass got your fax.”

“Oh god...”

“And Fallin went positively ballistic–”

Harry nearly dropped the phone. “Fallin ? The Minister for Magic saw it?” He sat up again, and clenched a hand in his hair. “Oh, shit.”

“He's the one calling you this morning.” She paused at Harry's sharp intake of breath. He imagined her tilting her head and giving him that look she always gave him when she was about to tell him exactly what he should do. “Harry, just promise me you'll listen to him, all right? You're not going to get everything you wanted, but I think you'll be able to live with it.”

“Okay,” Harry breathed. His mind was completely blank. What had he asked for again?

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. No. Fuck.”

“Cho said you called here last night.” It sounded like she was trying to change the subject, to calm him down.

Harry focused on breathing. “Yes, I did. How was The Burrow?”

“We missed you. I told them you were doing important work out of the country.”

“How'd the kids do?”

“Fine. They kept talking about visiting Daddy, the whole time on the train.” She paused.

Harry wished he could be more sympathetic, but his head was throbbing. He had no idea how he was going to pull off this phone call with Fallin when he felt like utter shit. “Is there anything else you can tell me before Fallin calls? Anything I should know in advance?”

“What I've heard is that Fallin's going to try to negotiate with you. Just listen to him, won't you?”

“Why is everyone so worried? I can be reasonable, you know.”

Hermione sighed. “I know, I just... Harry, what's happening between you and Malfoy?”

The question should have surprised him, but he was too self-absorbed at the moment. “Nothing,” he answered, truthfully. It pained him to have to admit it out loud. “We're friends, and that's all.” Hermione was silent, and Harry closed his eyes. “I would have liked it to be more than that, but...”

“Oh, Harry,” she replied. “Are you sure you can be objective about this?”

“Yes,” Harry lied. “Of course. That's my job.”

---

The phone still hadn't rung at 6:04 , and Harry didn't think his stomach could take it much longer. He paced the length of his small room, running his hands through his hair to keep himself from chewing on his nails. He had no idea what he would do if Fallin refused to offer Malfoy some sort of amnesty. He supposed he could follow through on his threat and just resign, stay here. Maybe go into hiding as well, and try to find a way to help Malfoy.

But he was here on a tourist visa, so he couldn't really do anything. He couldn't get a job, not even in the wizarding district. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, but his queasiness increased, so he opened them again. What he wouldn't give for a mug of hangover potion. He pressed his thumbs against his temples, and the pain of the headache faded.

The phone rang. Harry counted to three, and then picked it up. “Yes?”

“Hello, Harry.”

“Minister Fallin.” His knees were shaking a little, so he sat down on the bed.

“We both know why I'm calling, so let's get right to it, shall we?”

“Of course, sir.” Harry took a deep breath and said the words he'd been rehearsing for the last fifteen minutes. “Let me start by reminding you that I was sent here by Director Bass to do a job, with no parameters or specific instructions other than to find Malfoy and learn why he left his position in New York. I've done the best I can, with limited resources. I'm asking you to consider this situation carefully.”

“I have considered it, son, believe me,” Fallin replied with a heavy sigh. “That was quite a threat you made yesterday. Do you intend to carry it through? ”

Harry swallowed. “Yes, sir. I hope it isn't necessary.”

“As do I. But the situation is far more serious than you may realize. We need you to return with Mr. Malfoy this week, or the consequences for us all may be dire. ”

“Consequences?”

“You'll be debriefed upon arrival.”

“That's not good enough,” Harry replied, steeling himself. “I'll need more than your insistence to convince him to return.”

“That's all we can give you. I'm sorry.”

“What about asylum?” Harry asked, resting his elbows on his knees. “He won't come back if he's to be taken into custody.”

“Harry, you may trust Mr. Malfoy, but the government does not.”

Harry made an exasperated sound. “With all due respect, Minister, I believe I know more about Mr. Malfoy's trustworthiness than the government does.”

Fallin made a sound like a snort. “We've sent you the intelligence, Potter, and the picture it paints is clear. I suspect your judgment may be a bit clouded by your... personal feelings for Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry's jaw dropped and he sat straight up again. “Sorry?”

“We know that Draco Malfoy has been in contact with his father, a known Death Eater and collaborator with–”

“What do you mean by ‘personal feelings'?” Harry repeated.

Fallin paused. “I read your report, and I've seen the intelligence from the CIA. We didn't send you there to–”

“My feelings have nothing to do with this,” Harry retorted. If only it were true. “I thought you sent me here because you trusted my judgment. Because you thought I could find him, and–”

“Of course I trust your judgment. It's just that... you must know what the situation looks like, from here.”

“No, sir. I'm afraid I don't.”

Fallin sounded like he was taking a measured breath. “Harry, what exactly is the nature of your relationship with Draco Malfoy?”

“I... He's become a friend, I suppose. I've got to know him and–”

“Are you sleeping with him, Harry?”

Harry blushed, even though no one was there to see. “No, sir,” he replied. “I'm not.”

“Our intelligence would seem to indicate otherwise.”

Harry felt his stomach drop. “Intelligence? I've been under surveillance?”

Fallin was silent for a moment. “You must try to understand what it looks like from here. We get little information back from you, and your report doesn't coincide with the CIA's intelligence, and then we start getting reports of you as a suspicious character, running with Malfoy's crowd, and possibly cooperating with Death Eaters? What were we to think?”

“It's not...” Harry gritted his teeth. “We've allowed people to believe that we're lovers, but we're not.”

“The CIA seems convinced of it, Harry, enough to be suspicious of your motives. There's even been some suggestion that you and he are working together.”

“For what purpose?” Harry asked, dumbfounded.

“Any number of purposes, Harry, and none of them are terribly flattering. I have to admit that it looks suspicious to me as well, especially in light of your recent demands. Why would the two of you go out of your way to convince others that you're lovers when you aren't? I didn't even know you were–”

“I'm not gay,” Harry interrupted. “And we're not working together. He barely trusts me, despite all of my efforts.” Harry felt his cheeks burning. He was angry and embarrassed, and startled that the minister was even making such an accusation.

“I don't have a problem with it, Harry. I'm an open-minded man. I have a cousin who's gay.”

Harry groaned in frustration. “Sir, I know what it looks like, but the situation is... complex. I can't explain it, but you have my word that I want nothing more than to bring Malfoy back with me, and to protect him.” His head was still throbbing, and he dug his thumb into a pressure point in his eye socket. It helped, a little. “There was a time when my personal assurance meant something to you. Is that no longer the case?”

Fallin sighed. “Let me be honest with you, Harry. Your name still carries a certain amount of currency in the Ministry, but if you press this Malfoy issue now, you will have spent it all.”

Harry exhaled. “I understand, and I–”

“I don't trust Malfoy, but I do trust you , despite the CIA's reports. I've known you since you were a boy, and I don't doubt that you believe what you are saying. However, I remain unconvinced your faith is well-placed.”

“Sir, I trust him,” Harry said, feeling his stomach lurch at the words. It was true. He trusted Malfoy, despite the fact that he had little reason to do so. And he was willing to risk everything on the basis of that trust. Harry took a deep breath. “You could release him to my custody, if you like. I would be responsible for him.”

Fallin didn't seem surprised by this suggestion. “Are you certain, Harry? You'd be taking quite a risk.”

Harry closed his eyes. He still wasn't sure he could convince Malfoy to return at all. What would he do if Malfoy refused?

“Yes,” he replied. “I'm certain. And I want immunity from prosecution for him. If he really does have valuable information, he should be afforded the opportunity to volunteer it.” Harry paused, wondering what else he could possibly say to convince the man. “He's an auror, you know. Doesn't that mean something?”

“Yes, Harry, but he's also a suspected Death Eater, and a flight risk .”

“I don't believe he's either, sir. Any contact he has had with Death Eaters, or anyone else – it was all in the line of duty. He was working undercover for the FBI in New York .”

“Our intelligence indicates he was working as a double agent.”

Harry closed his eyes. “Yes, I've seen that intelligence. But I've seen no evidence to support it. It was based on the testimony of an ex-lover, someone who may or may not have had an ulterior motive.”

“It was enough evidence to convince me, and the Director and senior staff of the Investigations Office.”

Harry clenched his jaw. “Of which I am still a member, sir. And I disagree.” It was on the tip of his tongue to make a comment about the relatively small amount of evidence needed to convince a government official of something he or she wanted to believe was true.

But the same could be said of Harry, couldn't it? He didn't want it to be true, so perhaps he was seeing Malfoy as he wanted to see him.

“I think he got in over his head, sir, and he's running. He hasn't come to us because he probably doesn't believe we can protect him.” Harry was speculating heavily, but he had little choice. “We need to give him a reason to come home. He needs to trust us, more than we need to trust him.”

Fallin was silent, though Harry could hear him breathing. He could almost picture the man rubbing absently at his bald spot, as he always did when thinking. “All right. Immunity, and he'll be released to you, on the condition that he arrives with you on Thursday.”

Harry tried not to sound exasperated. “I need more time than that.”

“The longer you're there, the more danger you are in, Harry. If the CIA thinks you're working with Malfoy, they might take action against you as well. We need you back here, as soon as possible, with or without Malfoy.” Fallin paused, as if waiting for him to argue, but Harry remained silent. “And he'll be your responsibility once he's here. If anything goes wrong – if he turns out to be other than what you say he is – I'll hold you personally responsible.”

Harry closed his eyes, wondering if he was doing the right thing. He did trust Malfoy, though he wasn't sure he'd be able to earn Malfoy's trust in the next two days. He desperately needed more time, but he wasn't going to get it – not right now, at least.

“I can accept that,” he said at last. “And I want it in writing. Two copies, in your hand, on parchment, signed by you and Director Bass. Give one copy to Hermione Granger, and Fed Ex the other to me here in San Francisco . I won't be able to convince Malfoy without that document in my hand.”

“Fed Ex?” Fallin asked.

Harry sighed. “It's a Muggle post service. Ask Hermione's assistant. Thank you, sir.”

“I'll get that document out today, Harry, and I'll look forward to seeing you Thursday night.”

---

Harry lay on the bed for a while afterwards, staring at the ceiling. The CIA was spying on him as well? He had little doubt that Manny was behind these reports. He was clearly jealous of Harry's friendship with Malfoy, and the possibility that Harry might convince Malfoy to return to England . But was Manny working for someone else, as well? Was Manny the double agent?

He couldn't go back to sleep, so he took a hot shower, hoping it would help him relax. It did, happily, and he stood under the steaming water for a long time, letting it pound down onto his back. It was only the guilt of using more than his share of “California 's most precious resource” – as described on a little card by the sink – that made him turn it off.

He opened the shower curtain, and nearly shouted: Malfoy was standing not two feet away from him, looking pale.

“Fucking hell, Malfoy, didn't you ever see Psycho?” He wiped water from his eyes and pointed to the towel rack.

Malfoy handed him a towel, blushing. “I'm sorry, but I knocked, and when you didn't answer...” He looked away. “The ward was still up, so I took it down, and came in. I'm sorry.” He turned and walked out.

“Wait!” Harry called after him, wrapping the towel around his waist and nearly slipping in his haste to get out of the tub. Malfoy was standing in the middle of the room, looking flustered. “It's okay, really. You gave me a fright, is all.”

Malfoy looked exhausted, as if he'd not slept at all. “I'm a bit tired this morning. Sorry.” He pointed to a steaming mug he'd set on the nightstand. “Brought that for you. Will you come to the café after you've dressed?” His eyes raked over Harry once, nearly an unconscious gesture.

“Sure,” Harry replied. Something about Malfoy's expression was disconcerting. “I'll come right over. Fifteen, twenty minutes.”

Malfoy nodded. “I'll make a latte for you.”

---

The hangover potion worked quickly, much to Harry's relief. He spent several minutes trying to decide which of his three clean shirts to wear, and settled on a navy jumper Malfoy had particularly liked when he'd worn it out to dinner one night last week.

He'd just set foot outside the door of the Inn when he heard someone call his name. He turned to see Colby waving at him from across the street. Colby jogged over, dodging a speeding Suburban, and gave him a pained smile.

“You all right?” Harry asked.

“Hung over as hell,” Colby replied, running a hand through his mop of dark hair. “I called in sick today, actually. I have no idea how I got home last night. Just woke up on my sofa, feeling like shit.”

“We got you a taxi,” Harry offered.

“I have no memory of that,” Colby grinned. They started walking north, towards the café where Malfoy worked. “The last thing I remember was you disappearing after...” He broke off, biting his lip.

Harry stopped walking and sighed. “Yeah, well–”

“Harry, I was looking for you this morning because we need to talk,” Colby blurted. “Last night–”

“Stop,” Harry interrupted. Colby stared blankly at him. “Look – I like you, Colby, and you're a very nice bloke, really. But I'm leaving Thursday.” Colby's brow furrowed, and Harry paused. There wasn't an easy way to say this. “I plan to spend the rest of my time here with Derek.”

“Oh,” Colby said, a strange look spreading across his face. “God, you're... This is it, then? Is that what you're...?” He looked away, and Harry felt horrible.

“I only have two days left,” Harry continued. “I did come here to visit him, after all.”

“I see,” Colby replied, still looking down. “So what was that, with me, then? Just a way to pass the time until Derek was free?”

It was, of course. Harry schooled his features into something resembling sympathy. “Colby, I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. It's just... You're a sweet bloke, very nice. If we lived closer together, things might be different.” Liar , he chastised himself.

“No, they wouldn't,” Colby grumbled. “Not as long as Derek was around.” They started walking again, and an awkward silence stretched between them. Colby seemed to be lost in thought. He glanced up several times, as if he were going to speak, but didn't. He finally made a sound like a disgusted laugh. “I can't believe you just gave me the ‘You're such a nice guy' speech.”

Harry tried to smile. “Better than ‘It's not you, it's me', isn't it?”

“I suppose,” Colby replied. “I'm just tired of losing great guys to men like Derek. Nobody wants a nice guy, you know. They all want someone like him . A high maintenance jerk who'll fuck around on them.”

Harry sighed. He'd had a very similar conversation with Cho, right before she'd left the first time, only he'd been on the other end of it. Harry, you're a wonderful man, and I wish I could love you like you deserve to be loved. I just can't give you what you need, and we both know that. You're better off... She'd been better off with Aaron, it turned out.

 

“It's horrible, I know,” Harry said. “I've no excuse, and I'm sorry.”

They turned at 15 th Street and again on Noe, and Harry wondered if Colby was going to follow him into the café. But Colby paused outside the door, and stared at him.

“Well,” Harry said.

“Oh god, this is it, isn't it?” Colby muttered. “I'm not going to see you again.”

Harry sighed and shook his head. He hated this, he really did. He didn't know what to say. “Thanks” just didn't seem appropriate.

“Wait,” Colby said, and fumbled through his pockets for his wallet. He opened it and handed Harry a business card. “That's my home address and phone number and email on the right. If you're in town again, or whatever...”

Harry took the card and smiled. “Sure thing.” He didn't have a card to offer in return, so he just tucked it in his pocket.

“Right,” Colby said, looking down at the ground. “So...”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “It was nice meeting you, Colby.” He reached for the door handle.

“Same here,” Colby said, biting his lip. “Bye.” He glanced at Harry once more, and then walked away.

Harry went right into the café so he wouldn't be tempted to turn around. That had felt completely horrible. He swore he'd never do that to anyone again if he could help it.

Malfoy was busy and didn't look up when Harry walked in. Harry went to the counter instead of sitting at a table. A woman he didn't recognize beamed at him and asked what he wanted to order.

“A cappuccino, with a shot of caramel,” he said.

“And an extra shot of espresso,” Malfoy added. Harry glanced over to see Malfoy grinning at him. “Or are you cutting back on the caffeine?”

“Can't get enough,” Harry replied, smiling.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “That's not your usual order, you know.”

“It's always been my favorite,” Harry replied. “I just never told you.”

“I'll bring it to you,” Malfoy said. He seemed happy to see Harry, more so than usual.

Harry found a seat in his favorite corner. There was a copy of the San Francisco Bay Guardian lying on the table, to his delight. He'd developed a fondness for the quirky newspaper over the last week.

Malfoy brought his coffee and sat down across from him. “Anything interesting?”

“This sex column is hilarious,” Harry commented. Malfoy grinned back, and they just looked at each other for a moment. The blow job from the night before flashed through Harry's mind, and he felt his cheeks heat. “How are you?”

Malfoy smiled. “Good, actually. Hangover potion help?”

Harry nodded. “Thanks.” Malfoy's eyes were unusually bright, and they were fixed on his own. Harry swallowed, wondering what Malfoy was thinking. “We were going to talk today, right?” he ventured.

“Yeah,” Malfoy said, glancing down almost shyly. “But not here. Later. In private.” His eyebrows raised a fraction, and Harry felt a twinge in his abdomen.

“Okay,” he replied, grinning.

“I'm going to take off a little early,” Malfoy continued. “We have a dinner reservation at six.”

“That's early for dinner,” Harry remarked.

“That's because we're going to the theatre tonight,” Malfoy grinned. “I thought it would be fun.”

“Sounds lovely,” Harry replied. “Is this a date?”

Malfoy shrugged. “I guess.” He winked at Harry and walked away.

Harry watched him off and on over the next hour, marveling at how happy Malfoy seemed. Perhaps what happened between them the night before had caused Malfoy to look at Harry in a new light? His heart began to beat faster at the thought. Maybe this was going to work out after all. Maybe Malfoy would finally open up to him, finally trust him. Maybe they could be honest with each other, at last. Harry could tell him everything, and maybe Malfoy would agree to return to England with him.

Maybe.

Harry finished reading the paper and picked up a copy of a news magazine someone had left nearby. He was just getting interested in an article about Julia Roberts when someone stopped in front of his table. He looked up to see the stony face of Manny Padilla glaring down at him.

Manny was very handsome, but he had the kind of face that could seem frightening when he was angry. Manny pulled out a chair and sat, still staring at Harry. Malfoy spotted them from across the room and shot a concerned look at Harry. Harry expected Malfoy to rush over with a cup of coffee for his boyfriend, but he didn't. He just watched, a wary expression on his face.

“Have a good time last night?” Manny asked. It didn't sound like he hoped Harry had.

“Yes,” Harry replied. He attempted a smirk. “Derek gives amazing head, doesn't he?”

“Do you think I'm jealous of you?” Manny's smirk was much more convincing.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I do.”

“I'm not, Harry. I know who you are, and why you're here.” His expression darkened even further, remarkably. “And you're not going to succeed. I plan to make sure of that, personally.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Harry replied, sipping his coffee – a gesture he hoped appeared calm. “I'm here to visit him. That's all.”

“Maybe that's what you'd like him to believe,” Manny replied. “But my sources tell me differently.”

“Your sources are stunningly inaccurate,” Harry snorted, though his stomach was twisting into a large knot. The morning's phone conversation flashed through his mind, and he wondered who Manny's “sources” were. Perhaps he was just fishing for information. “While we're on the subject, I know you're not a lawyer. I know why you're here as well.”

Manny's eyes narrowed, and his voice lowered to a whisper. “If you really care about him, Harry, go away. Leave him alone. Stop fucking with his emotions. Every day you're here, he's in more danger.”

Harry's brow furrowed. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Manny smirked. “I think you do, though. Leave him alone.”

“Maybe I want to protect him.”

“You can't, Harry.”

Harry clenched his jaw. “Are you so certain?”

Manny glared at him. “He may trust you, but I don't. And I'm watching you.”

“Is that a threat?” Harry asked, trying to be flippant.

“Yes, it is,” Manny replied. He stood at that, and cast a brief glance at Malfoy before leaving the café.

Malfoy watched him leave, and then looked back at Harry. Harry managed to smile at him.

A few minutes later, Malfoy brought him another cappuccino. Harry still had half a glass left from the last one. “What was that about?” Malfoy asked, sitting in the seat recently vacated by Manny.

“I don't know,” Harry replied. “You tell me.”

Malfoy shrugged and tilted his head. “He's jealous, I think.”

“Does he have a reason to be?” Harry asked.

Malfoy paused for a moment, eyes locked onto Harry's. “Yes, I think so.” He exhaled, and smiled.

Harry's heart was pounding in his chest. Did that mean what he thought it meant?

“So, I was thinking,” Malfoy began, tracing his finger through a puddle of spilled water on the table, “that we could go to Napa on Thursday. I'm off Thursday and Friday, and we could hire a car, make a weekend of it.” He looked up at Harry again, a radiant expression on his face.

Harry's heart sank. “Oh, Draco, I...” He paused, uncertain what to do. Malfoy's expression faded, and Harry took a deep breath. He should start being honest, right now, but he couldn't bring himself to do it just yet. “I'm leaving on Thursday at noon. I got a call this morning, and I'm needed in the office on Friday.”

Malfoy's face had gone pale, and he stared at the table in front of him. It looked as if he was thinking feverishly. “You're leaving?” he said at last. His voice was unusually small.

Harry took his hand across the table. “Yes. I'm sorry. I tried to get them to let me stay longer, but...”

“So that's it? Holiday over?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied.

Malfoy's smile was weak, and he squeezed Harry's hand before pulling away. “Well, we'll just have to have fun for the next few days, I suppose.” He stood and returned to the counter.

Harry wanted to go to him, to take him in his arms, to kiss him – anything to get that smile back. He silently cursed Minister Fallin. He needed more time here, and he would just have to tell Fallin that. He'd call him tomorrow morning, and demand it, in fact.

Malfoy's attitude was different after that, though. Over the next few hours, he went back to being his old self again – closed, sarcastic, and unreadable. Harry also had the strange impression he was relieved.

---

Malfoy had assured him casual dress was perfectly acceptable at the theatre, which was a good thing for Harry: he didn't have anything nicer to wear. They took a taxi to the restaurant, an Asian fusion bistro called Ponzu, near Union Square . They chatted amiably over a meal that seemed to consist entirely of duck, and drank several bottles of a sake called Bishonen. The conversation never drifted towards a serious topic, no matter how hard Harry tried to steer it. Malfoy was skilled at avoiding subjects he didn't want to discuss.

After the plates were cleared away, Harry sighed and poured the last of the sake into their glasses. “I'm really going to miss this,” he said, looking up at Malfoy. “I'm going to miss you .”

“No you won't,” Malfoy smirked. “You'll head down to Soho the minute you get back and fuck your brains out. I'm jealous.”

“You could come with me, you know,” Harry ventured.

Malfoy snorted. “Oh, yes. I could be your arm candy. We could work together to pull cute boys.”

“I'm serious, actually,” Harry replied, smiling.

Malfoy studied him for a minute. A muffled tune began to play. Malfoy blinked, as if he'd been somewhere else, and searched his coat pocket. He produced his mobile, furrowing his brow as he did.

“Hello?... Eating... Yes.” He rolled his eyes. “No, I told you–” He listened for a moment. Harry had little doubt as to who was on the other end of the line. “All right, all right. I will.” He snapped the phone shut with a sigh and smiled at Harry.

“Who was that?” Harry asked, as casually as possible.

“Who do you think?” Malfoy snorted.

“Everything all right?”

Malfoy shook his head. “I think so. He's just...” He shrugged. The waiter dropped their check on the table and Malfoy snatched it up before Harry could. Malfoy smirked. “Some seeker you are. I'm getting this tonight.”

Harry grinned. “Finally.”

They walked to the Marines Theatre, which was just a few streets away. It was uphill, and they were both panting by the time they got there. The house hadn't yet opened, so they stood outside with the rest of the crowd. Malfoy seemed nervous, and tugged Harry over to stand against the side of the building. He fumbled with a packet of cigarettes and finally managed to light one.

“I wish you wouldn't smoke,” Harry remarked.

“Me too,” Malfoy said, and took a long drag. He leaned his head against the wall, looking up at the sky as he exhaled.

“You okay?” Harry asked.

The mobile started ringing again. Malfoy groaned and dug it out of his pocket. “What?... Oh, for fuck's sake! I'm at the theatre, and I'm shutting this bloody thing off the minute I walk in the door.” Harry raised an eyebrow at him, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Not now, all right? I'll call you later, I swear.” He listened for a moment, and then began to smile. “A viente, pendejo. Cuídate .” He turned the phone off and slipped it into his pocket. “Sorry,” he said to Harry.

Harry stared at him for a moment. “Do you speak Spanish?”

Malfoy shot him a strange look. “No. I know some swear words and a few handy phrases. Manny switches to Spanish when he's really cross with me. I had to learn enough to figure out what he was saying.” He shrugged and returned his attention to the rapidly burning cigarette.

Over the next twenty minutes, Harry tried every romantic gesture he could think of – anything to make Malfoy smile again. He held his hand until Malfoy pulled away. He kissed him on the cheek in full view of the crowd waiting to go in. He humored Malfoy when he pouted about having spilt soy sauce on his shirt at dinner.

“But I love this shirt,” Malfoy mumbled, frowning.

Harry slid his arms around him and hugged him from behind, hooking his chin over Malfoy's shoulder. He glanced down at the tickets in Malfoy's hand. “Noises Off . So what's this play about, anyway?”

Malfoy leaned back against him, and Harry nuzzled his hair. “It's about a theatre troupe that's trying to put on a play, but everything keeps going wrong. It's supposed to be quite funny.”

The play was indeed funny, though Harry spent as much time watching Malfoy as he did the stage. They strolled out into the street afterwards, still giggling.

“You know, I don't think Americans get British humor,” Malfoy said.

“Everyone was laughing,” Harry noted.

“Not as hard as we were, though. And the accents were terrible .”

“Well, I've heard worse,” Harry grinned. “You're difficult to please tonight, aren't you?”

“I can't help it if I have high standards.” Malfoy winked, and Harry felt his stomach flip. “Want to get a drink?”

Harry took his hand. “I want to get a taxi, actually.”

Malfoy looked away. “We'll never get a taxi with all these people around.”

“Then let's walk up a few streets.” Harry looked at the slope of the hill and reconsidered. “Or maybe down , now that I think about it.” He grinned and pulled Malfoy by the hand, but Malfoy's feet were planted. Harry sighed. “You promised me we'd talk today, remember? If we go to a bar...” He looked away, frustrated.

“All right,” Malfoy replied, voice barely more than a whisper. “But we'll apparate.” They walked down the street, and Malfoy tugged Harry into an alley. He looked both ways before gesturing for Harry to come closer. Harry slid his arms around Malfoy and looked down at his face. In the dim streetlight, he looked almost fragile.

Malfoy looked up at Harry, his eyes dark and wide. “What?”

“God, you're so beautiful,” Harry said, realizing it sounded hokey, but not caring.

Malfoy just stared at him in response, breathing much too hard for a person standing still. It was a wonderful moment, and Harry couldn't resist leaning forward and kissing him. Malfoy's lips were surprisingly soft under his, and they parted when he pressed the tip of his tongue between them. Malfoy's mouth was warm, and Harry didn't even mind the taste of cigarettes so much. With every passing second, he felt a little more lost in the moment. They were leaning against a grimy wall now, Harry pressed tightly against Malfoy.

Malfoy's hands slid up inside Harry's shirt, across his back, and he turned his head enough to pull out of the kiss. He tucked his forehead against Harry's shoulder, panting, and hugged Harry tightly. Harry hugged back, and closed his eyes.

“Ready?” he heard Malfoy whisper. He nodded in response, knowing Malfoy could feel it, and then he felt the strange shift that accompanied apparition. Right after the feeling of his feet hitting pavement again, he heard a metallic crashing sound. They turned to see a homeless man staring at them, mouth open, a plastic bag of aluminum cans spilling at his feet.

“Oops,” Malfoy muttered, releasing Harry. “Come on.” He led Harry out of the alley they'd apparated into, looking around carefully. Harry realized they were about a street from Malfoy's flat. “I can't risk apparating into the corridor of my building,” Malfoy said. “The neighbors are nosy enough as it is. I can only imagine the looks I'd get if they saw me appear out of thin air.”

Malfoy seemed relieved once they had passed the front door of the building, and he heaved a sigh when the door of his flat was closed behind them. Harry instantly pinned him against it, kissing him. Malfoy's body was tense, though, and his arms hung by his sides. He didn't return the kiss so much as tolerate it. Harry leaned away from him and sighed. He was hurt, and frustrated, and didn't know why he was being pushed away yet again. Or why this seemed to matter so much. Was it all about getting Malfoy to leave with him, or wasn't it?

Harry sat on the sofa while Malfoy went to get them drinks. He returned with two bottles of beer and sat across the sofa from Harry, tucking his feet under him.

“So,” Harry said.

“So,” Malfoy repeated. He looked uncomfortable.

“You said we'd talk, and you've avoided it all day,” Harry sighed. “And now you're avoiding me . What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” Malfoy replied, picking at the label of his Amstel Light. “It's just that... Harry, you're leaving day after tomorrow.”

“What does that have to do with us, now?”

“It's for the best, though,” Malfoy continued. “You'll go home, and that'll be that. So there's nothing to talk about.” Malfoy still wasn't looking at him.

“Draco,” Harry began, and paused. He wasn't sure what to say. “If I weren't leaving, would it be different?”

Malfoy shrugged, still not looking up. “I don't know. I thought so, last night. I thought about it all morning, and... I do care about you, Harry. But my life is really fucked up right now. I can't be in a relationship, not even with someone who lives here . You live in London .”

At the word relationship Harry felt his stomach lurch. He took a deep breath. “I'm going to call the office tomorrow and tell them I want to stay longer.”

“No,” Malfoy said, making a sound like a sad laugh. “You're not listening, Harry. I can't do this. You'd leave, eventually, and it'd be that much worse. We're better off not going there at all.”

Harry wracked his brain trying to think of something to say. There was nothing else for it but to throw his cards on the table. Sort of. “I was serious earlier when I said you should come back with me.”

Malfoy looked up at him then. “Harry, that's a horrible idea.”

“Why? What's keeping you here? You're running from something; that much is clear. If you come back with me, I can help you.”

Malfoy snorted. “You can't help me, Harry. And I'm not going anywhere.”

“Why not?”

“It's a long story, and I don't feel like telling it.” Malfoy's tone had changed to one of warning.

“All right, fine,” Harry replied. “You don't have to tell me. But promise me you'll think about it.” Malfoy stared at his beer bottle and said nothing. Harry slid across the sofa until his thigh was pressing against Malfoy's knee. “Draco, I really care about you. I don't think I realized how much until I found out I had to leave. I don't want to walk away from this, without even trying to–”

“Trying to what ?” Malfoy interrupted, meeting Harry's eyes again. “Give me a fucking break, Harry! You only figured out you were bisexual, what, a week ago?” Harry swallowed, and Malfoy continued before he could reply. “You don't have a clue what it's like to be gay. You've been on holiday here, playing a game. What's going to happen when you get back to London , and the big story in the tabloids is that the fucking ‘Boy Who Lived' fucks boys? You have no idea how that's going to affect your life, and you want me to be there, to take the blame when you decide you were wrong?”

“Draco, I'm not going to decide–”

“Harry, you've just been through a divorce. How do you know you're not just angry at women and trying out men instead?”

“I know what I feel!” Harry retorted.

“You can't deny that you're fucked up emotionally. I'd be a rebound fling, and I'd be out of the picture the moment you started missing the taste of pussy again.”

“That's not fair!” Harry spat.

“I know it isn't,” Malfoy said, standing. “Life's not fair, and I have to look out for myself. I learned a long time ago that no one else is going to do it.”

“Maybe I would, if you'd give me a chance,” Harry replied, standing as well. He took Malfoy's hand and pulled him close. “Why won't you let me in?”

Malfoy was trembling against him, but it seemed he couldn't tear his eyes away. “I can't afford to be hurt by you, Harry.” Harry started to protest, but Malfoy pressed his fingers against Harry's lips. “Listen to me. You've been a part of my life since before we met. I don't think you have any idea how much of a role you've played, in everything. When you showed up here last week...” He stepped back, putting some space between them, and ran a hand through his red-streaked hair. “I really wanted to make love to you tonight. But I can't bear the thought of having you and then losing you.”

Harry's heart pounded in his chest, and he reached out for Malfoy again, but Malfoy pulled away.

“God, Harry... I could fall in love with you, and that would be the worst thing that could happen to me. You might think you could love me back, but... I know you. You want to get married, and have a family, and have all those things you didn't have as a kid.”

Harry swallowed and looked down at his shoes. It was true, of course. Before a week ago, he couldn't have imagined his life being any other way.

“You can't have those things with me,” Malfoy whispered, “and one day you'd realize I wasn't enough. And then where would I be?”

“Draco, please...” But he couldn't think of anything to say. He felt horrible, and his stomach was churning. He didn't know what he wanted, except that he didn't want this . He didn't want it to end now. “I don't know what's going to happen, but I can't leave without you. I can't bear the thought of not even trying .”

“I'd be the one taking all the risk,” Malfoy said. “God, Harry, could you be any more selfish? You want me to drop everything – my life here, my friends – and just run away with you?”

“I'm trying to help you!” Harry cried. “I know you're hiding here. I know you're in danger. If you stay here–”

“You don't know anything about me.” Malfoy's tone had become belligerent again.

Harry's frustration was nearing the breaking point. “Will you cut the shit, please? I know more than you realize.” He took a step closer, and Malfoy backed away. “You trust Manny so much, but I know who he is. I know he's a wizard, and a CIA agent as well.”

Malfoy's eyes widened. “You... what the fuck?”

“They're going to arrest you. They're just waiting for a chance, and you–”

“You don't know what the fuck you're talking about!” Malfoy took a few more steps backward. He looked shaken.

“Draco, please listen to me.”

“I think you should go,” Malfoy replied, eyes hard. “Before either of us says something he regrets.”

Harry stared back at Malfoy, feeling almost desperate. There was nothing he could think of to say that might ease the tension between them. Maybe it would all be better in the morning, after Malfoy'd had a chance to think.

“Look, we'll go out for sushi or something tomorrow, all right?” Malfoy sighed. “And we're not going to talk about this any more. We're just going to have a fun evening, and then you'll go back to England . It's best that way.” He stared at the floor, suddenly seeming very tired, and walked to the door and opened it. “You can apparate from just outside the door, if the neighbors aren't peeking.” He looked up at Harry, and there was no emotion in his eyes.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, stalling for time, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He crossed to the door, pausing to kiss Malfoy. Malfoy turned his head so that Harry's lips met his cheek.

“Good night, Harry,” he said. His voice sounded tense.

Harry stepped into the hall, and the door closed behind him. He stood there for nearly a minute before apparating to his room at the Inn . He stripped out of his clothes, pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms, and stretched out on the bed.

It was only then that he allowed himself to think, and to feel. He closed his eyes and the room seemed to spin, even though he'd had nothing to drink for hours. He wondered what would happen if he didn't show up at the portkey station on Thursday, didn't go back to England . There was no reason to go back. There was nothing there for him. There was no one there for him. The only person who seemed to matter right now was Draco Malfoy.

Harry was jolted awake by a hand pressing firmly against his mouth. He tried to sit up in bed, but he was pushed down again. A spell was whispered, and a wand cast light over the face of his intruder.

It was Malfoy, and he was holding a finger to his lips signaling Harry to be quiet. He released Harry's mouth and whispered another spell, then swept a circle around the room with his wand. A small point of light appeared in a corner of the room, near the ceiling. Harry squinted at it and reached for his glasses. Malfoy whispered again, and a bubble of light emerged from his wand and floated across the room, encasing the point in the corner.

“Muggle listening device,” Malfoy murmured. “The CIA is fond of using them on us, because we tend to expect magical surveillance methods. It can't hear us now.”

Surveillance, Harry thought, the morning's conversation with Fallin returning to his thoughts. “How long has it been there?”

“No telling,” Malfoy said. “That's not important now. Harry, you have to leave, immediately. You're in great danger.” Malfoy stood and held out his hand. He pulled Harry to his feet. Malfoy was still dressed in the same clothes he had been earlier, though it was the middle of the night.

“What?” Harry asked, baffled. Was he dreaming? If he was, at least it was something new.

Malfoy pulled his silver bracelet from a pocket and placed it on the nightstand. “This is a portkey, and I've charmed it to work only for you, as soon as you touch it.” His tone was urgent, and different than Harry had ever heard before. “It'll bring you through the wards, straight into to my flat. You'll be safe there.”

“What's going on?” Harry asked.

“I can't stay here any longer,” Malfoy said. “Gather whatever you wouldn't want someone to find, and use the portkey. Hurry.”

He gazed at Harry for a moment, and then disapparated with a pop.

Harry was frozen to the spot for a full second. He had no reason not to trust Malfoy, but it was hard to believe he was in danger. The memory of Malfoy's tone jolted him into action, and he stuffed everything he could find into his rucksack. He switched the lamp on, glancing around for the most important item.

Wand. Where was his wand? It had been in his jacket, and he remembered taking it off and tossing – the bathroom. He found his jacket on the floor by the toilet, and located his wand.

And then he heard the distinct sounds of two people apparating into his room. He quietly cast a concealment spell on himself and peeked around the door frame. There were two hooded figures, now moving around his room.

“Our intelligence said he was here,” one of them hissed. The accent was British.

“He may be yet,” the other replied. The voice was strangely familiar. Harry clutched his rucksack to his chest and crept forward. If he didn't move too quickly, they wouldn't notice him. He only had to reach the bracelet on the nightstand.

The figures began searching the room, yanking the sheets off the bed and pulling drawers out of the dresser. Harry took another careful step forward. What were they looking for, other than Harry himself? He was running on adrenaline and a sense of detachment now – there'd be plenty of time to think later. For now, he focused on the bracelet, on escape. The silver band seemed to gleam in the soft lamplight, beckoning to him.

“Check the bathroom,” one of the men said. Harry froze, only steps away from the bracelet. The man walking towards the bathroom was on a path that would lead him right into Harry, and Harry couldn't move out of the way without catching his eye. He braced himself and tried to focus his mind, running through a catalogue of defensive spells that would work best from such a short distance. His mind was remarkably clear.

“Master, look!” The man had stopped and was pointing to the nightstand.

The bracelet, Harry thought, feeling a shiver of fear.

“Yes,” the other man said. “That is very interesting, indeed.” He produced a wand from his robe and pointed it toward the bracelet, whispering, “Accio.”

Harry dove forward without another thought, catching the bracelet in midair. Just before the sickening twist of his guts, just before the room disappeared around him, Harry was – for a split second – looking into the face of Lucius Malfoy.

And a moment later, he was standing in Draco Malfoy's flat, clutching his rucksack and panting, arm still extended and holding the bracelet. Malfoy was standing by the sofa, with the look of someone who'd been pacing nervously. He froze when he saw Harry.

They stared at each other for a moment. Harry was too rattled even to speak.

Then Malfoy made a strangled sound and charged at Harry. Harry dropped his bag, the bracelet, his wand – and found his arms full. Malfoy was kissing him, clinging to him and trembling.

“Oh god, I thought I'd lost you!” he whispered against Harry's lips.

“How did you know?” Harry asked, pulling him closer, trying to calm himself down. His heart was pounding. If Malfoy was frightened, he must have known something was going to happen. For the first time in years, Harry wondered if he'd narrowly escaped death, or worse.

“I was terrified,” Malfoy replied. “Oh god...” And he kissed Harry again, so hard their teeth knocked together. “I'm sorry,” he whispered into Harry's open mouth. “I'm so sorry I pushed you away.”

“I'm here,” Harry whispered back, and pulled Malfoy tightly against him. “I'm fine, it's okay.” Malfoy melted into him, arms around Harry's neck, whimpering into his mouth as Harry kissed him back with all of the feeling he'd kept pent up for days.

Everything else began to melt away – the room, the memory of Malfoy's father's face in the dark, the fear that had been pooling in his gut. It was all replaced with a steadily growing arousal. Harry pulled out of the kiss, worried that his sudden erection was inappropriate, that this was the wrong time and place to feel this way.

But Malfoy pulled him back and pressed himself against Harry, kissing him with a sort of desperation. Malfoy was hard too, and this time, he wasn't pushing Harry away.

Harry's mind was losing the battle with his hormones, slowly but surely. “I want you,” he whispered, moving his lips to Malfoy's ear and pressing their groins together. Their erections brushed, and they both hissed.

“Bedroom,” Malfoy whispered, and took a step backwards. They stumbled across the room, still intertwined, still kissing and touching each other as much as possible. Harry had never felt anything close to this level of passion before – he couldn't take his hands or his mouth off of Malfoy long enough even to walk, or to remove clothes.

They reached the door, but bumped into it so hard that it closed. Harry pressed Malfoy up against it, pinning his hands on either side of his head against the door, kissing him hard enough to bruise. Malfoy ground against Harry and hooked one ankle behind his knee to pull him even closer.

Harry shifted his position and their erections brushed again. His moan mingled with Malfoy's, and he started thrusting against Malfoy without even thinking. He became aware of Malfoy rocking against him in return, both of them pushing harder, growing more frenzied in their movements.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, because time seemed to have stopped. It was just him, and Malfoy, and their lips and tongues, and their cocks pressed together through thin cotton and rough denim, harder, faster...

Malfoy cried out and pulled out of the kiss, tilting his chin up. Harry devoured his exposed throat, feeling his orgasm spiraling ever closer. He hit his forehead on the door, but he barely felt it – all he became aware of was the tightening in his groin, the rush of sensation, and the crest of it reaching the breaking point as he came. It seemed to last a long time, and then they were both shuddering together, supporting each other in the aftermath. When his mind had cleared enough to think, Harry released Malfoy's wrists, and felt arms slide around his bare torso.

“We didn't quite make it to the bedroom,” Harry said, breathing in the mild scent of sweat in Malfoy's hair.

Malfoy blew out a breath. “We didn't even make it out of our clothes. Is that pathetic, or what?”

Harry took a step back. Sure enough, they'd both soiled themselves. Harry looked back up at Malfoy's flushed face. “I don't care.”

They stared at each other for a moment, not quite sure what to do. Neither of them had meant for that to happen, and if Harry had been in his right mind, he'd have stopped them. He had no idea what this meant for them, or how it changed things. Did it mean Malfoy had changed his mind?

Malfoy gazed up at him, expression unreadable. Harry swallowed, and tried not to feel guilty that he was more worried about whether or not Malfoy would shag him now than he was about their safety.

Harry sighed, hoping his anxiety wasn't too obvious. “What do we do now?”

Malfoy pushed away from the door enough to open it. “How about a shower?” There was something almost shy about his manner, and it tugged at a place deep inside Harry. He could only nod in response.

He followed Malfoy into the bedroom and watched him strip out of his clothing layer by layer, holding Harry's gaze steadily all the while. Harry stood, mesmerized, as Malfoy pulled his shirt up over his head and then blew a few strands of hair out of his face. Malfoy kept his eyes locked on Harry's as one hand trailed down his chest to unfasten the button of his jeans, and he didn't drop Harry's gaze when he bent over enough to push them past his knees and step out of them. More and more pale skin was bared until finally, Malfoy was standing naked before him.

Harry could hardly breathe. He was afraid to move or to speak at all, in case this really was a dream. Harry felt a stab of fear that this was an elaborate tease, and that Malfoy had no intention of making love to him at all. Malfoy turned away then, and stepped through the bathroom door. Harry hesitated a few seconds before pushing his sticky pyjamas off and following.

Malfoy smiled over his shoulder at Harry just before he stepped under the spray. It seemed to be an invitation, so Harry followed. He stood at the side of the shower for nearly a minute, watching Malfoy tilt his head back under the water. Malfoy's eyes remained closed as he threaded long fingers through his red-streaked blonde hair. He pushed it away from his face, reminding Harry of the way he'd worn it as a child, and then tilted his head back a bit further. Water trickled down his cheek, under his jaw, and down his throat.

Harry found himself torn between continuing to watch and joining in. At last, he lathered his hands and tentatively ran them over Malfoy's chest. Malfoy started, but allowed Harry to touch him freely. Harry's hands moved smoothly over soap-slicked angles of skin and muscle, lightly over spots where Malfoy seemed far too thin, and lingered in places he found intriguing. His hands slid down Malfoy's back, down to where his body curved just above the swell of his ass. The dragon tattoo blinked at Harry, then yawned. It curled up like a cat when Harry traced a finger down its spine. Harry smiled, and let his hands move lower. Malfoy sucked in a breath when Harry's fingers delved into the cleft and teased at his opening before moving on again. Malfoy reached for the soap then, and tugged Harry under the shower as well.

Harry closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of slick fingers moving slowly over his chest, down his sides, tracing the length of his spine. He hadn't been touched this way by anyone in a long time, and he'd forgotten how vulnerable it made him feel. There was a part of him that wanted to push those hands away, before they made their way under his skin. He stayed still until he couldn't bear it anymore, and then kissed Malfoy instead.

They stood under the spray of the hot water for a long time after they'd rinsed all the soap away. Harry thought he might die from the slow slide of Malfoy's tongue against his, from the feeling of water dripping down their faces and into their open mouths, from the brush of hot lips against his own.

At last, Malfoy stepped back and turned the water off. He glanced down between them and grinned. “Is that for me?”

Harry took Malfoy's hand and wrapped it around his renewed erection. “You really need to ask?”

Malfoy pulled his hand away and passed Harry a towel. “We're going to do it properly this time. Lying down, on a bed.”

Harry grinned and started drying himself off.

They managed to keep some distance between them for the few minutes it took to get mostly dry and into bed. Harry felt oddly embarrassed when Malfoy fumbled through a drawer and produced condom packets and a bottle of lube. He set them on the nightstand and turned to Harry. The expression on his face was guarded.

Harry reached out to trace a line of shadow down Malfoy's side. “You said before that you couldn't bear to make love to me. Are you sure about this?”

Malfoy nodded and moved closer, stretching out next to him. “I'll probably regret it, but... I think I'll regret it more if we don't.” He kissed Harry's shoulder then, so tenderly Harry felt his throat tighten. “What about you? You said you weren't the sort for casual sex.”

Too late to worry about that now , Harry thought as he pulled Malfoy closer. He found himself hoping this encounter was far more than casual. He slid a knee between Malfoy's legs. “I assume we're safe here? From–” He paused, realizing he hadn't yet told Malfoy what he'd seen.

Malfoy kissed him, as if to stop him from saying any more. “We're safe,” he whispered. “Everything else can wait for morning.”

With that, he rolled onto his back, tugging Harry along with him. Harry smiled down at him, marveling at the feel of so much warm skin pressed against him for the first time in months. Malfoy was smiling – beckoning, really – and Harry couldn't resist dipping his head down for a kiss. Malfoy made a contented sound and shifted beneath him.

Harry forced himself to be patient. He didn't want to think this might be their only night together, but just in case, he wanted to make the most of it. He kissed Malfoy for a long time before leaving his mouth to pay attention to his neck and chest.

He'd never actually made love to a man, he realized. Not like this, at least: slow and careful, naked and vulnerable, and feeling so very much. He paused to look at each new patch of skin before he tasted it, to marvel at the fact that Malfoy's body wasn't as perfect as Harry had imagined – and that he didn't care.

Actually, he liked the fact that Malfoy had a few ugly scars in places he usually kept covered by clothes, and that he had a large bruise on his side that looked to be a week old. He liked the fact that Malfoy was too skinny in some places and strangely muscular in others. He ran his fingertips over the wispy strands of blonde hair scattered across Malfoy's chest that made him look almost boyish compared to Harry. He kissed the freckles on Malfoy's shoulders, making a note to scold him for spending too much time in the sun, fair skin unprotected.

Malfoy sucked in his breath when Harry flicked his tongue across a rapidly hardening nipple. He squirmed until Harry bit – and then he yelped. Harry glanced up, but Malfoy's eyes were closed. He moved to the other nipple, wondering if this was the sort of thing men did in bed. He had little more than his experience with women to go on, and he hoped it would be enough.

“I've never done this before, you know,” he whispered against Malfoy's chest.

“Hunnhh?” Malfoy grunted in reply. Speaking seemed to require effort. “What about... Colby?”

Harry licked along a rib, one that seemed much too prominent. “That wasn't like this,” he replied. “Standing up in a toilet is hardly an ideal sexual encounter.” He pressed his nose into Malfoy's navel, and Malfoy chuckled.

“Mmm, I suppose not.”

Harry nipped at the line of fine blonde hair running from Malfoy's navel south, and his chin brushed Malfoy's cock.

Malfoy inhaled, and Harry propped himself up on an elbow and took a good look. He didn't have so much to compare it to, but Malfoy's erect penis seemed to be about average in size. It was smaller than Harry's, bigger than Colby's, and maybe even looked a bit larger than it would on someone of normal weight.

Malfoy made a frustrated sound above him. “I don't suppose you could speed things up a little?”

Harry leaned forward enough to plant a kiss at the juncture of hip and thigh. “In a hurry or something?”

“No, I'm just about to go mad, is all!” Malfoy's tone was light, and Harry had the feeling he really didn't mind at all.

Harry kept kissing and exploring – hips, knees, and feet, and then kissed his way down the inside of one thigh. Malfoy made a whimpering sound when Harry's breath ghosted over his balls, and another one when Harry trailed the tip of his tongue up the underside of his cock.

Harry started to sit up, but Malfoy's knees closed around his ears. “No, no, don't stop! Please just...?”

Harry laughed and pressed the backs of Malfoy's thighs forward until his knees were touching his chest. “Haven't you heard of foreplay?”

Malfoy made a grumbling sound. “That's something girls fancy, isn't it? Along with chocolates and sappy films.”

Harry grinned and slid down onto his belly. Malfoy's breathing sped up when he realized Harry was getting comfortable. Harry released his hold on Malfoy's thighs, and Malfoy's hands moved down to hold his own knees back. It was a position Harry had always loved to see a woman in – holding herself open for him, trembling with need. He realized he liked to see a man that way just as much, even if the view was different.

He nuzzled Malfoy's balls with the tip of his nose, and then flicked his tongue over the skin just below. Malfoy stopped breathing for a moment, only to inhale sharply when Harry's tongue moved lower still.

“Oh god...” Malfoy mumbled.

Harry swirled his tongue around his entrance, and then pressed into Malfoy with the tip of his tongue, probing gently. Malfoy pulled his knees up harder and made an incoherent noise. Harry pushed in as far as he could, slowly fucking Malfoy with his tongue. He could feel Malfoy trembling, and he couldn't help but smile.

“Are you sure you haven't... done this before?”

“Girls have arseholes too, you know,” Harry laughed. He flicked his tongue lightly across the hole before pressing in again.

“Not fair,” Malfoy mumbled, and the mumble turned into a moan when Harry began small fast strokes, in and out.

He continued until his jaw began to ache from the effort, and then he licked his way back up to Malfoy's cock, not being so careful or gentle now. He took the leaking head into his mouth and sucked, trying to remember the movements of Malfoy's – Colby's tongue on him the night before. Malfoy released his legs, hooking his knees over Harry's shoulders, and clenched his hands in the sheets on either side.

“Oh god... Harry stop, please...” Harry released him and looked up. A fine sheen of sweat covered Malfoy's chest, making him almost seem to sparkle in the dim light. “I don't want to come that fast,” he panted.

Harry crawled forward, Malfoy's knees still over his shoulders, and smiled down at him. “What do you want, then?” Harry knew what he wanted.

Malfoy grinned. “I want you to fuck me. No, I need you to fuck me.”

“Need ?” Harry laughed. He thought about teasing Malfoy for his choice of words, but Malfoy was already reaching his hand out for a condom. He winked at Harry as he opened the package and rolled it on Harry's cock without even looking at what he was doing. Harry's eyes closed at the brief touch, and he began to wonder how long he could possibly last. He'd been fantasizing about fucking Malfoy for a while now, after all. The lube bottle was pressed into his hand then, and he blushed when he saw the amused smirk on Malfoy's face. He spread a copious amount of lube on his fingers and leaned forward enough to kiss Malfoy while he pushed one finger into him, and then another, moving slowly.

Malfoy's expression changed completely. “You're trying to kill me, aren't you?” he whispered against Harry's lips. “Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?”

Harry's tongue traced Malfoy's lips, and he smiled. “I'm making this up as I go along.” He removed his fingers and replaced them with his cock, pushing forward slowly, until he was sheathed in Malfoy's body. He could feel Malfoy pushing back against him, willing his muscles to relax. Harry's instinct was to thrust, but he forced himself to stay still, and to be in the moment as completely as possible.

The moment of entry was always amazing for Harry, and this time was no exception. The sheer heat of another body engulfing the sensitive skin of his cock, the pressure, the sense of reaching inside another person – he didn't know how people could give this away so easily, so casually. He had to close his eyes against the intensity of what he was feeling, lest it overwhelm him.

But then he opened his eyes again, and saw Malfoy's face. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was open, and his expression was somewhere between pain and pleasure, as far as Harry could tell. Malfoy's forehead wrinkled, and he exhaled slowly.

“God, that's perfect,” he said.

Harry could feel his heart beating in his head. “Yes,” he replied, and started to move. He forced himself to go slowly, excruciatingly so, in fact. It felt so intensely good he was afraid he'd come if he went even a tiny bit faster. Harry braced his forearms on either side of Malfoy's torso, pressing their chests together. Malfoy was nearly bent in half, but he didn't seem to mind. Harry tried to kiss him, but it was far too difficult to concentrate on more than one motion at a time. He settled for touching his forehead against Malfoy's, and finally found a rhythm he could maintain without losing control.

Harry had no idea what this felt like, and could only hope he was doing it correctly. He'd fucked Cho like this a few times, after a good deal of rimming and pleading. He'd always wondered why this particular act had seemed so erotic to him.

Well, maybe there was a good reason, he thought, stifling a smile.

Malfoy's eyes opened, and he grinned. “Having fun?” he whispered.

The question caught Harry completely off-guard, and he paused mid-stroke. “Yes. Are you?”

Malfoy's arms slid around Harry's shoulders. “Fuck, yes. Don't stop.” He lifted his head enough to kiss Harry, and Harry felt something melt inside his abdomen. He pushed Malfoy down into the mattress, taking his mouth as he was taking his body. Malfoy moaned and shifted his hips, moving with Harry.

“Can you come like this?” Harry whispered into Malfoy's open mouth. “I don't know what to–”

“Touch me,” Malfoy replied, and pushed one of Harry's hands down between their bodies.

It took some coordination and exertion of abdominal muscles, but Harry managed to stroke Malfoy's cock and fuck him at the same time. His own orgasm was hovering close by, but he wanted Malfoy to come first.

“You feel amazing,” Harry half-moaned.

“So do you... oh, keep doing that... with your hand...”

“I can't give this up,” he continued, brushing his lips against Malfoy's as he spoke. “I can't go back without you.”

“Not now, Harry,” Malfoy panted.

“Please, just... promise me you'll think about it.” Harry's thrusts were speeding up, almost unconsciously.

“Harry, please,” Malfoy whimpered. “Don't.”

“I need you,” Harry said.

Malfoy made a sound almost like a sob, but it seemed to be a cry of pleasure. “Oh god...”

They were both sweating now, and Harry's hand slid easily on Malfoy's cock. “I want you to come with me,” he whispered, conscious of the double meaning of his words. “Please...”

Malfoy cried out then, arching his back and forcing Harry's hand to stop moving. Harry braced himself against the mattress and kept pounding into him, startled when he felt Malfoy's body clench around his cock. He was losing control now, vaguely aware that his hips were slamming against Malfoy's ass. He buried his face in Malfoy's shoulder as he came.

They were still for a moment, except for their breathing. Malfoy's arms were wrapped tightly around Harry, so tightly he began to wonder if Malfoy was all right. Harry wriggled a bit and Malfoy let go, and then Harry's back was cool where the air from the vent above hit his sweat-soaked skin. He shifted his hips enough to pull out of Malfoy and spent a moment fumbling with the condom before relaxing against him again.

“That was amazing,” Malfoy said. “Oh, god.”

Harry grinned against his shoulder. “Please – call me Harry.”

There was a second of silence before Malfoy snickered and swatted his shoulder. “You are such a twat!”

Harry raised his head and kissed him. Malfoy squirmed and laughed, but finally gave in, letting himself be kissed. When he made a whimpering noise, Harry shifted his weight onto one elbow and gazed down at him.

“I meant what I said. I want you to come back with me.”

Malfoy closed his eyes. “Harry...”

“I can help you. I still have some pull with the Ministry, you know. All I'm asking is that you consider it, maybe just come for a few weeks.” Malfoy opened his eyes again, and Harry kissed the tip of his nose. “You could stay with me. We could do this every day.” He raised an eyebrow.

“And twice on Sundays?” Malfoy asked, smiling. Harry's heart skipped a beat. “I can't make any promises, Harry,” he continued, smile fading. “It's complicated, more than you can imagine.”

Harry nodded, and nuzzled Malfoy's cheek. “I want to understand. I want to help. But mostly – to be completely honest – I want you .” He settled his cheek on Malfoy's chest and sighed, listening to the beat of his heart. “I can't bear the thought of leaving here without you. I'd rather not go back at all.” He meant it, he realized.

“Not go back?” Malfoy asked, hand smoothing circles on Harry's back. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. I've been thinking about quitting and staying here. There's nothing for me back there.”

“Nothing but your job, your home, your friends...”

“None of that seems very important lately.” Harry sighed.

“You're not safe here,” Malfoy whispered, tightening his arms around Harry again.

“Neither are you,” Harry countered.

Malfoy was silent for a full minute. “All right,” he said at last.

Harry started. “All right?”

“I'll think about it.”

“Really?” Harry asked, head popping up. Malfoy nodded. He didn't look terribly enthusiastic, but Harry kissed him anyway. “Just for a few weeks, maybe. It's been ages since you've been home, hasn't it?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said, and closed his eyes. “It has been.” Harry's kisses on Malfoy's throat turned to nips and licks, almost unconsciously. “Harry,” Malfoy groaned, “it's almost five in the morning. Can we sleep before we do it again?”

“Sorry,” Harry whispered, settling down beside him. “Can't help it.”

“We have all day tomorrow, if you want,” Malfoy yawned. He turned onto his side, and Harry spooned against him. “All day, if my ass can take it,” Malfoy whispered. Within a few minutes, he was asleep. Harry clung tightly to him – something he rarely was inclined to do after sex – and managed to fall asleep at last.

---

11 February, 2004: Wednesday

The sun seemed high in the sky when Harry awoke. He stretched under the duvet and yawned. The pillow smelled of Malfoy, and the duvet smelled of sex. Harry grinned, almost giddy.

He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. He was alone in the bed, but the scent of coffee was heavy in the air. He wondered if Malfoy would come back to bed eventually, if he just stayed there.

After several minutes, he began to feel lonely, so he sat up and squinted around the room. His glasses were on the floor, along with his pyjamas from the night before. He held out his hand and concentrated, and his glasses slowly rose in the air and moved toward him. It took effort, but it was much easier to do than he expected. Maybe he could apply for training in wandless magic when he got home. With this successful mission under his belt, he could even request reassignment, perhaps back to some sort of field duty. Maybe he and Malfoy could work together, even.

Among other things. He'd awakened with an erection, and his mind was now turning to ways to alleviate that particular problem.

He briefly considered walking out of the bedroom naked, hoping Malfoy would take the hint, but pulled his soiled pyjama bottoms on again instead. There was certainly a lovely memory attached to those .

He pushed the door open and wandered into the main room. “Draco?”

Malfoy was sitting on the floor of the living area, knees pulled up against his chest. His silver bracelet was floating in the air before him, revolving slowly. And he was surrounded by papers.

“Oh god,” Harry said.

The bracelet clattered to the floor, and Malfoy looked up at him. His eyes were red-rimmed, as if he'd been crying – hours ago. The expression on his face was unlike anything Harry had seen before.

“Draco, no–”

“I trusted you,” Malfoy said quietly. “He told me not to. He told me who you worked for, and why you were here, and that I was a fool for trusting you.” He shook his head and looked away.

Harry was frozen to the spot. He had no idea what to say, or what to do.

“I think you should go,” Malfoy said.

“Draco, please, I know what it looks like–”

“What it looks like?” Malfoy scoffed. “Fucking hell, Harry!” He picked up a paper from the floor and waved it before him. “ This looks like summaries of intelligence the CIA collected on me in New York , and this one is my phone logs, and this one lists people I fucked, as if that was any of their business.” He scanned the floor and picked another paper up. “And this one, Harry – this one is all about how you've been getting to know me, how you've been working so hard to gain my trust.”

“No,” Harry whispered, shaking his head. “Draco–”

Malfoy picked up another paper. “And once you'd gained my trust, you were going to hand me over to the Ministry.” He looked up at Harry then, expression hard. “And that's what last night was all about, wasn't it?”

“No!” Harry replied, beginning to grow frantic. “Oh, god, I know it's... You haven't seen everything. Let me explain–”

“There's nothing to explain,” Malfoy replied. “You lied to me, and you've been lying to me all along.”

Harry began to panic in earnest, and took a step forward. Malfoy's wand appeared in his hand, as if out of nowhere, and he pointed it at Harry. “Stay right where you are,” he growled, and leapt to his feet. “You almost had me, you know. I believed everything you said last night.” He shook his head, disgusted. “I was going to go with you. And you would have held my hand up until the very moment you handed me over, wouldn't you?”

“No,” Harry said. “You've got it all wrong. Please don't do this.”

“What have I got wrong?” Malfoy sputtered, brandishing a paper. Harry saw it was the one giving him authority to bring Malfoy back using any force necessary, and winced. “Did they send you here to seduce me into coming back, or was that part your idea?”

“It's not like that, I swear.”

“And why the fuck should I believe you now?” Malfoy snorted. His expression was one of intense anger, but Harry could see pain beneath it. “I never lied to you, Harry. I evaded the truth, certainly, but I never lied to you. Not about anything.” He clenched his jaw.

Harry could only stare at him. Malfoy was right. Harry should have told him the truth sooner, and now... He stepped forward, scanning the floor frantically. If he could find the paper he'd written threatening to resign, maybe that–

Malfoy growled something that sounded like a spell, but it wasn't one Harry had ever heard before. The papers on the floor swirled up around him, tearing violently through the air. They flew into Harry's empty rucksack, along with Harry's jacket and wand. And then the rucksack flew through air towards Harry.

He ducked, but the bag seemed to anticipate the movement. It hit him in the stomach, hard enough to knock the breath out of him. He staggered back, coughing, and stared at Malfoy. The wand was still pointed at him, and the expression on Malfoy's face was one of deadly anger. Harry swallowed, shocked at how much Malfoy resembled his father at that moment.

“You should leave, Harry,” he whispered. “Now, before I do something I'll regret.”

Dazed, Harry edged his way toward the door. This couldn't be happening. He had to be dreaming. Surely he'd wake up at any moment, and Malfoy would still be in his arms, sleeping soundly.

The door opened of its own accord, and Harry backed through it. He knew he should say something, but he had no idea what. He was completely, utterly lost.

The door slammed shut, and he was standing in the corridor outside Malfoy's flat in his pyjamas, clutching his rucksack to his naked chest. He heard a small gasp and turned to see an old woman peeking through a cracked door at him. He ignored her and turned back to Malfoy's closed door. Malfoy was hurt and angry, and Harry couldn't blame him for that. Perhaps he would calm down in a few hours, and Harry could come back, try to reason with him. He pulled his jacket and shoes out of the bag and put them on, and started down the stairs.

He wasn't sure if the Inn was safe, but he had nowhere else to go. The rest of his belongings were there, and he'd have to go back to settle his bill at some point. And he could call Hermione. He felt relief rush through him, and he picked up his pace. Yes, Hermione would know what to do.

He considered apparating from the alley, but just popping into his room seemed a bad idea. He was barely aware of the people around him as he walked up Castro. All he could think about was the look on Malfoy's face, and the horrible moment when Harry had realized he'd learned the truth.

But the truth had changed, at some point, when Harry wasn't paying attention.

He walked through the doors of the Inn , glancing about for any sign of danger. All seemed quiet, and completely normal. Harry's fingers tightened around his wand as he headed toward the stairs.

“Mr. Potter, is it?”

Harry turned to see a familiar-looking man in a suit glaring at him. He nodded.

“I'm Carl Unter, the manager.” He didn't extend his hand to Harry. “I'm afraid we'll have to ask you to settle your bill and check out, immediately.”

Harry gaped at him. “I... Sorry?”

Unter wrinkled his nose at Harry's odd appearance, only barely disguising his annoyance. “I don't know why you felt the need to destroy your room last night, but I can assure you we'll hold you responsible for the damage.”

Harry winced and nodded. “Yes, of course.” He doubted it would do any good to explain that two evil wizards had tried to kill him last night. “May I go up and collect my things?”

Unter nodded curtly. “I'll have your bill ready in ten minutes.”

If the staff had been in, his room was probably safe. Still, he held his wand before him as he pushed the unlocked door open – and stared. There wasn't a piece of furniture in the room that hadn't been overturned, damaged, or outright destroyed. The drapes were shredded, and the singed scraps of white fabric blanketing the room could only be the remains of the sheets. There was even a large scorch mark in the carpet in the center of the room. Harry began to feel lucky that he was only going to have to pay for the damage. The Inn would have been well within their rights to have him arrested.

He closed the door behind him and began sifting through the rubble, looking for any clothes that might have escaped notice. Behind the door of the bathroom, he found a pair of dirty jeans and a grey shirt. He couldn't find any underwear. He stripped out of his clothes and turned on the shower, but no water came out. The sink faucets were missing altogether, and his toothbrush seemed to have been melted into a large green lump of plastic.

Groaning, he cast a half-hearted scourgify and pulled the jeans on. Going commando in denim was hardly ideal, but he didn't have a choice. There weren't even any scraps of sheet large enough to transfigure into underwear. He turned the grey shirt right-side-out, and realized it was Malfoy's Queens College t-shirt, the one Harry'd worn to Haight Fair a few days ago. It seemed like a month ago now. He brought it to his face and inhaled. It smelled mostly like him, but there was a hint of cigarette smoke as well. He pulled it on and sighed.

The phone had been smashed apart, so he couldn't call Hermione. He searched the room for a few more minutes, but nothing else seemed to have survived. Malfoy had told him to gather everything of value, and he'd been right.

Harry sank to the floor and emptied the contents of his rucksack. The papers had organized themselves into a surprisingly neat stack; he only had to tuck them into the folder again. He folded his pyjamas and stuffed them back into the bag. There was something else at the bottom, something hard and smooth and–

He pulled the silver bracelet from the bag and stared at it for a moment, feeling a strange emotion fill his chest. He had no idea how it had got there. Draco could have put it in the bag intentionally, or the spell he'd used could have simply gathered everything Harry had arrived with. He had no way of knowing.

It certainly wasn't a portkey anymore. Harry slipped it over his hand, and was surprised when it fit itself snugly to his wrist.

Draco had known, somehow, that Death Eaters were coming last night. He'd saved Harry, and then Harry had betrayed him.

He didn't try to fight the tears that welled in his eyes. They spilled down his cheeks silently, only accompanied by the sound of his breathing. He didn't bother wiping them away. There was something cathartic about the feeling of tears on his skin.

Why did this hurt so much? He couldn't remember hurting like this even when Cho left him, though he was certain he had. Perhaps you couldn't remember how painful love could be, so that you wouldn't be afraid to fall in love again.

Was that what was happening to him? Was he falling in love?

A few minutes later, he made his way back downstairs. He knew it was obvious that he'd been crying, and that he needed a shower and looked like utter shit, but he didn't care. Unter had no sympathy for him as he handed Harry a document to sign and took another imprint of Harry's credit card.

Harry shouldered his bag and turned to leave.

“Mr. Potter, this arrived for you this morning,” someone said. It was one of the staff, and she was holding a large Fed Ex envelope.

Harry stopped breathing as he stared at it. The woman gave him a funny look and walked over to him, holding it out.

“Thanks,” he managed, and turned it over in his hands before opening it. The document was there, exactly as he'd requested, and signed with Bass's oddly loopy signature, as well as Fallin's illegible one. Harry's heart began to pound. He put the parchment back in the envelope and tucked the envelope into his bag.

He managed to walk calmly to the door, but he started running the second his feet hit pavement. He ran down Castro, back towards Draco's building, only realizing he could have apparated when he was nearly there. He pressed the buzzer for Draco's flat, but there was no response. He peered inside the door to see the foyer was empty. He looked both ways, and then apparated inside.

He was still panting when he knocked on the door. There was no answer, so he pounded. “Draco!” he called. “Please open the door. I have something important to show you.”

He heard a sound nearby, but it was only the neighbor peeking out her door at him again. He glared at her, and she scowled. He pounded harder on the door, and then rested his forehead against it.

And then he realized the wards were gone. His head snapped up, and he pressed both hands flat on the door. He couldn't feel anything, despite the fact that the wards had been immense only an hour before. He knocked again. “Draco?”

The neighbor coughed, and Harry whirled to face her. “Do you fucking mind ?” he hissed. She sucked in a breath and closed the door. Harry retrieved his wand from his bag and pointed it at the door, whispering a powerful unlocking spell he'd learned years ago in auror training. The lock clicked. Wand at the ready, Harry pushed the door open.

And gasped in surprise. The room was empty, completely empty, as if no one had been there at all. Every drape, every wire, every mug, everything was gone.

“Draco?” he called frantically, moving through the flat, opening doors. But there was no one there. There wasn't even any dust. In one hour, every trace of Draco Malfoy had vanished.

Harry heard footsteps, and whirled to face the door, wand before him. “Hello?” he heard, and tucked the wand behind his back just in time. A man Harry assumed was the super peeked through the doorway. “How'd you get in here?” the man asked, a wary glint in his eyes.

“I'm a friend of Derek's,” Harry replied, trying to quell his steadily rising panic. “I... it was open. Where is he?”

The man blinked at him as if he were stupid. “Moved out. Got a note from him this morning, along with a check paying off his lease. I don't know when he moved his things, but he was sure quiet about it.”

Harry nodded, feeling some of his anxiety lift. It was likely Draco had left of his own free will, then. “Did he leave a forwarding address, by any chance?”

“Nope.” The man pushed the door wide open and gestured. “I'm sorry, but I'll have to ask you to vacate the premises.”

“Of course,” Harry replied, and turned to stash his wand in his jacket. He glanced around the empty room. It was surprisingly full of memories for the short time he'd spent there. So much had happened, and much of it had happened here. He snorted at his own sentimentality and walked out, not looking back.

Once on the street again, he headed for the closest alley, and then apparated to an alley near the café where Draco worked. He was usually quite cautious about using magic in public, but no one saw him appear out of thin air.

Draco wasn't in the café either, and Rosie told Harry he'd dropped in not long ago and told them he was quitting. He hadn't wanted to wait around long enough to pick up his last paycheck.

“Could you give it to him?” Rosie asked, handing him a folded piece of paper.

Harry nodded and tucked it into his coat pocket. There was already something in his pocket, though – Colby's card. Harry pulled it out and turned it over in his hands. “Rosie, could I make a phone call?”

---

Colby's flat was in Pacific Heights , so Harry took a taxi there. Colby was sitting on the stoop, waiting for him. He stood and waved in greeting, seeming frazzled.

Harry knew he'd probably sounded half-crazy on the phone. “I'm sorry about this,” Harry said, stopping before him. “All of it. I just... I don't know anyone here, and...”

“Come on,” Colby smiled, gesturing towards the door with his keys. Harry followed him up to his flat. It wasn't nearly as nice as Draco's place had been. “Sorry ‘bout the mess,” Colby muttered. “I've been a little busy lately.” Harry shrugged and stared at the floor in front of him. Colby took his hand and led him to the sofa.

“Derek's gone,” Harry said, sitting.

Colby blinked at him. “Gone? I...” He sighed. “Harry, I'm sorry. I know you cared about him, but he's not exactly into commitment.”

“No, you don't understand,” Harry groaned. “He left. His apartment is empty. I can't find him anywhere.”

Colby's jaw dropped. “You're kidding! He's... he's gone?” He sank against the sofa, looking pale. “Oh my god. And you have no idea what happened?”

“No,” Harry replied. “I was hoping you might know where he was, or...” Harry leaned forward, head in his hands. He imagined he sounded horribly selfish.

Colby was silent, and Harry looked up to see he was staring at Harry's wrist. Harry pulled the sleeve of his shirt down over the bracelet, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Colby looked away.

“You have a lot of nerve to come crying to me about this,” Colby muttered.

“I know. I'm really, really sorry.”

“But it's okay,” Colby continued, with the tone of one trying to be strong. “I'll put on some coffee, and we'll talk, all right?”

Harry nodded, and Colby stood. Harry leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes. He could hear Colby moving around in the kitchen, opening a cabinet, and then a container of coffee with a small pop . Harry didn't know what had motivated him to call Colby's mobile and insist he meet Harry right away. Colby'd been at work, but he said he'd go home straight away, it was no problem...

“Colby, you're an angel,” Harry said.

“Am I?” he heard, and then something hard and cold was pressed against the back of his head. Harry felt the blood drain from his face. “I wouldn't make any sudden moves, if I were you,” Colby said. “This is a 357 magnum. Your brains will be splattered on the floor before you can reach for your wand.”

For the third time that day, Harry thought he must be dreaming. “Colby?” he squeaked, bewildered.

“Hands where I can see them,” Colby replied. Harry held his hands in front of him. “Good boy.” Colby reached into Harry's jacket and removed his wand. The gun barrel was removed from Harry's skull, and he heard Colby cross the room. He turned his head enough to see that Colby had placed his wand on the dining room table.

Colby moved to stand in front of Harry then, and kept the gun pointing at Harry's chest. “Don't get too comfortable,” Colby said, smirking. “They'll be here any minute now.”

“What's going on?” Harry asked. His mind was reeling, and he had to pull himself together. “Who's coming?”

Colby smiled. “I can't believe you didn't figure it out, Harry. You have a reputation for rushing into situations without thinking, but this was far too easy.”

Harry struggled to keep his voice calm, though he was frantic on the inside. “What didn't I figure out, then?”

Colby's eyes were fixed on the bracelet, though. “He must trust you. Maybe he even told you everything. That makes you just as valuable as he is.”

“Valuable to whom?”

Colby laughed. “To everyone, Harry, but I'll settle for the highest bidder. There are quite a few people interested in Draco Malfoy, and you too, apparently.”

“Death Eaters?” Harry asked.

Colby laughed. “If that's what you like to call them. Stupid name, if you ask me.” He watched Harry's face for a moment. “I was approached a couple of years ago by a man – a wizard, actually, with very interesting connections. He was looking for his son, and he offered to pay me very well to find him. I did, but sonny boy didn't want to be found. Didn't want anything to do with daddy, it turned out.”

“Can you blame him?” Harry asked, letting a little sarcasm creep into his tone.

“I see you know him,” Colby replied. “Mr. Malfoy doesn't take no for an answer, now does he?”

“So you followed Draco here to San Francisco ,” Harry said. “And you struck up a friendship with him. You spied on him for his father.”

Colby grinned. “You're not as dumb as you look, Harry. It was easy enough to catch Malfoy's attention and get into his pants, but staying there...” He shook his head. “Not that you were any different.”

Harry took a calming breath. The shock of finding himself in this situation was beginning to wear off, and now he was thinking, planning. If he could just keep Colby talking, he might be able to distract him. Colby always seemed to love to listen to himself, and that might work to Harry's advantage.

“Why the interest in me, though?” Harry asked.

Colby shrugged. “I was hoping you could tell me. Everything was going along smoothly, until about a week ago,” Colby said, shifting his weight onto one foot. “My division chief at the CIA was delighted I'd found the fugitive they'd been looking for, and they assigned me to watch him here. Mr. Malfoy was reasonably happy with the arrangement.”

Harry swallowed. Colby had been the CIA agent all along, and he'd been convinced it was Manny. He hadn't suspected sweet, harmless Colby at all.

“It was fun, too. Sex, drugs, clubbing every night – who wouldn't enjoy that? All I had to do was write two sets of reports, three times a week.” Colby shifted the gun to his other hand. “And then last week, I noted that an old school friend of Draco's showed up, some Brit with a strange scar on his forehead. And all hell broke loose.” He shook his head in amazement. “Mr. Malfoy was particularly interested, especially when I told him you were fucking his son. My new assignment became... you.”

“Hence your sudden interest in me?” Harry felt oddly relieved.

Colby smiled. “Don't get me wrong, Harry. You're a great fuck, but not really my type.” His smiled faded into a thin line. “Besides, I'd already failed Lucius Malfoy once. I wasn't going to do it again.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?” Colby's hand was slowly dropping, and the gun was only generally pointed in Harry's direction now. He couldn't see his wand, but if he focused on the memory of it lying on the table, he might be able to retrieve it. He had to get it quickly, though, or Colby would shoot him before he could cast a single spell.

“Why do you care, Harry?” Colby laughed. “Besides, they'll be here for you very soon. Any minute now, in fact.” Harry closed his eyes and visualized the wand flying through the air and into his hand, and he pushed with his mind as hard as he could.

Colby gasped and tackled Harry, pressing the gun into his forehead so hard that it hurt. “Nice try,” he whispered. “I didn't know you could do that. Now drop the wand.”

Harry released the image, and heard his wand clatter to the floor a few feet away. He fought down a rising sense of panic. Now he had no idea what to do. He opened his eyes to see Colby glaring at him.

And then Colby's eyes widened in surprise.

“Give me the gun, Colby,” a voice hissed. Harry looked up to see Manny standing just behind Colby, his wand pressed into Colby's throat. “I know you've seen what these things can do. I can assure you a bullet is hardly a challenge.”

That wasn't quite true, Harry noted, but Colby didn't seem to want to call Manny's bluff. He opened his hand so that Manny could take the gun from him. Manny yanked him backwards, away from Harry. Colby was staring at Manny in shock, and he looked terrified.

“Get up, Harry,” Manny said. “We're leaving.”

Harry blinked at him.

“Don't do it, Harry,” Colby said, glancing back and forth between them frantically. “We work for the same people, and he just wants to be the one to turn you over to them.”

Manny made a sound like a disgusted laugh. “He's lying, Harry.”

Harry stood and held out his hand, and his wand flew to him. He studied both men's faces. He had no particular reason to believe either of them, at this point.

“Harry, we can go to the CIA instead,” Colby said. “If we leave now, we'll have time.” He stared wildly at Harry, clearly panicked. “He'll just turn you over to the Death Eaters.”

“Like you were planning to do?” Harry snorted. “Who's the highest bidder now?”

Manny shot an annoyed look at Harry. “We don't have time for this.”

Harry took a deep breath and gripped his wand. He could knock either of them off their feet with a word. Or both of them, for that matter, but it wouldn't get him any closer to finding Draco. He knew now that he couldn't trust Colby, and he had no idea what to expect from Manny. Choose the evil you know , Aunt Petunia had always said.

He touched the bracelet on his wrist, almost unconsciously, and it hit him: Draco didn't trust Colby, but he trusted Manny. And Harry trusted Draco, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

He leveled his wand at Colby and said, “Petrificus totalis.” Colby had a split second to look shocked before he stiffened and fell to the floor.

Manny raised an eyebrow. “Crude, but effective.”

“Should we tie him up, or something?” Harry asked.

“There isn't time,” Manny said, stepping towards Harry and holding out his hand. “I've got to port you out of here right now.”

Harry hesitated. “Port?”

Manny shook his head. “Or whatever the Brit term for it is... apparate.” He was starting to look nervous. Harry nodded and picked up his rucksack as he stepped forward. Manny pulled him into a tight embrace, and then everything shifted.

He found himself standing in a room with no windows, dimly lit by a single light bulb. Manny released him and stepped toward the door. He turned back to Harry as he opened it.

“Vamonos , Mr. Potter.”

Harry steeled himself and followed.

They walked through the door and into a corridor bustling with people, all of whom seemed to be carrying clipboards and talking on mobile phones, hurrying to get somewhere. Harry turned around to see that the doorway he'd just passed through had a large sign posted above it: “Warning: Active Port Room – Atención: Salida de Portuario Activo”. He couldn't help but stare at the people walking by. They ignored him for the most part, but smiled warmly at Manny. Particularly the women, Harry noticed.

They turned at the end of the corridor and climbed a flight of stairs, then walked through a doorway into what appeared to be a reception area. A sharply dressed young man sat behind a desk, and he looked up when they entered.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Padilla,” he said, and beamed at Harry.

“Hold my calls, Jack,” Manny told him as they walked by. “And let Ms. Montes know I have Harry Potter here.”

Jack's eyes snapped to Harry's forehead, but that was his only reaction. “Yes, sir.” He was already picking up the phone as Manny opened a door and gestured Harry through it.

Harry found himself in an office that looked quite a bit like he might have imagined a lawyer's office to look, except that it contained an odd mix of Muggle and Wizard technology. A laptop computer was open on the desk, next to a magical clock that displayed the time, date, weather, and probability of hailing a taxi in several large cities around the world. A pair of pigeons snoozed on a perch, ignoring their entrance, while a portrait of a grey-haired man nodded at Manny in greeting. The room was lit by fluorescent lights, but there were candlesticks here and there, with half-burned candles in them.

Manny tapped his wand against a silver coffee service on a counter, and it began to steam. He collapsed into the chair behind his desk and sighed. He looked up at Harry, but said nothing.

Harry looked past him, out a large window overlooking a street he realized was in Haight Fair. There were a hundred questions Harry wanted to ask, but he wasn't sure where to start. He turned to Manny at last, forcing himself to smile. “I still don't think you're a lawyer,” he said.

Manny smiled tightly. “Have a seat, Harry.”

No sooner had Harry sat than the door opened and a woman walked in. She appeared to be in her mid-fifties, with dark hair and eyes, and reminded him intensely of Minerva McGonagall. He stood again, uncertain.

“Hello, Mr. Potter,” she said, extending her hand. “My name is Cecelia Montes. I'm the director of the San Francisco office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Division of Magic.”

“FBI?” Harry asked, and glanced at Manny. Manny nodded, looking extremely tired. Harry shook Cecilia's hand, not certain if he should feel relieved or cautious.

“Please, sit,” Cecelia said, gesturing towards Harry's chair. She turned to Manny. “¿Qué le has dicho?”

“Nada,” Manny replied, eyeing Harry coolly. “I'm not yet convinced we can trust him.”

Cecelia paused, turning to Harry and considering him carefully. Her dark eyes began to sparkle. “What happened today?”

Harry wondered if she was addressing him then, but it was Manny who replied. “Hannick revealed himself at last, and he admitted to everything.”

Cecelia's eyebrow lifted. “I hope you managed to record that.”

Manny picked up his wand murmured, “Simulo.” The sound of Colby and Harry's tense conversation filled the room, much to Harry's surprise. He had no idea how long Manny had been there in Colby's flat, or how he'd hidden himself, or how he'd found them in the first place.

Cecelia leaned against Manny's desk while she listened, tapping one finger against her temple. Harry was embarrassed by the intimate details revealed, but Cecelia and Manny didn't react. They finally exchanged a glance when Colby's voice said, “I'd already failed Lucius Malfoy once. I wasn't going to do it again.”

“Silencio,” Manny said, and the recording stopped.

The room was quiet for a moment, and then Cecelia turned to Harry. “I imagine you have a few questions for us, Harry.”

Harry released a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. “I don't know where to begin,” he replied.

“I'd like to know why he's here, first,” Manny said.

Cecelia nodded. “I'll send the squad out then, and leave you to it.” She smiled at Harry and left the room.

“Coffee?” Manny asked. It seemed to be an effort to break the tension between them.

Harry turned to him. “I know you don't trust me, Manny, and I can't say I blame you.”

Manny snorted and stood, moving to pour himself a cup of coffee. “After what you did to Draco this morning, why should I?”

Harry's eyes widened. “You've spoken to him? You know where he is?”

“Of course I do. Where do you think he went after you handed his heart to him on a plate?”

Harry sank down into his chair, feeling a painful mix of emotions. Knowing Draco was safe was an incredible relief, but the pain of the morning's fiasco was still very fresh in his mind.

Manny studied him for a moment, and poured another cup of coffee. “Cream and sugar?” he asked.

Harry nodded. “He's safe, then?” His voice trembled, but didn't break.

“Perfectly,” Manny replied, handing him the cup. He leaned against the edge of his desk and stared at Harry. “I'd like to believe you care about him, Harry, despite what you did to him.”

Harry opened his rucksack and pulled out the stack of papers. He hesitated for a moment, and then opened the folder. He had nothing to lose, at this point.

“I work for the Investigative Services department in the UK Ministry of Magic,” he said. “I was sent here to find Draco Malfoy after the CIA reported him missing. I'm not a field agent, so I assumed they'd sent me because I knew him personally. I had almost no information when I first arrived, and this” – he tapped the stack of papers with one finger – “was sent to me over the last week.” He rifled through the stack, and pulled out all the intelligence reports. He handed them to Manny.

Manny's brow furrowed as he thumbed through them. “Looks like CIA.”

“There's an articulation agreement,” Harry said. “They share intelligence with us, and we with them. Or at least that's what we both say.” He exhaled, realizing the degree to which he was breaking his security oath. No turning back now. He rifled through the remains of the stack. “At first, I just had a general directive to find out what was going on, and to try to convince him to return, but as time wore on, it became clear they wanted him back, no matter what.” He handed Manny the directive from Bass authorizing force.

Manny's eyebrows rose. “I heard about this one.”

“I imagine you did,” Harry sighed. “Along with this report.” He handed over more papers, and Manny nodded. “Draco saw all of that this morning. As luck would have it, the most important documents were still coded.” He spread the coded pages on Manny's desk and tapped them with his wand, uttering his decryption spell.

Manny's eyes widened as the jumble of letters morphed into English. “That looks a lot like Granger's public-key algorithm.”

Harry blinked at him in surprise. “That's just what it is.”

Manny whistled and picked up the page containing Harry's list of demands. “We're still using Data Encryption Standard, you know. Her work is incredible. I met her at a conference in Madrid a few years ago.”

Harry couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. “She's my best friend.”

Manny glanced up, surprised. “Draco said he went to school with her, but I always thought he was shitting me.” He returned his attention to the paper and snorted. “You have some serious cojones , Harry. How did they react to this?”

Harry described the phone conversation he'd had with Fallin, and showed Manny the parchment he'd received that morning. Manny stared at it for a long time, then stood and touched a device on his desk.

“Jack, could you ask Ms. Montes and Mr. Thompson to come down when they have a chance?” He returned to his seat behind the desk, staring at the parchment in his hands. Harry watched him silently, wondering if he'd done the right thing. He still had no idea what the FBI wanted with Draco, nor what part Manny played in everything. Harry was at their mercy now, certainly.

The door opened and two figures walked in – Cecelia Montes and a suited young man, who grinned when he caught Harry's eye.

“Hello, Harry.”

“Jeremy?” Harry gasped.

“Jeremy Thompson, CIA internal affairs,” he replied, offering his hand to Harry. Harry stood and shook it, trying not to gape. Jeremy winked at Harry, and nodded at Manny. “I hear the shit hit the fan while I was in DC.”

Manny snorted. “You have no idea. Have a seat.” Everyone settled into chairs. Harry realized that the number of chairs in the room always seemed to match the number of people who needed to sit. “I think it's time to bring Harry up to speed,” Manny said, glancing up.

Everyone seemed to be looking at Cecelia. She nodded, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. They had decided to trust him.

“I think you know Draco Malfoy was working undercover in New York ,” Manny began. “He was officially an employee of the New York Bureau of Magic, but his charge was to present himself as a potential Death Eater contact.” Manny paused, and glanced at Cecelia, as if looking for permission to continue. “Essentially, he was undercover, posing as a double agent. He was good, too. He had every Death Eater in the northeastern US eating out of his hand, and some of the mafia as well.”

“But he wasn't really a double agent?” Harry asked.

“No,” Cecelia replied. “He fed them just enough intelligence to keep them from getting suspicious. It worked brilliantly, and we learned a great deal. We even managed to thwart several major attacks by Death Eaters as a result of the information he provided.”

Harry felt inordinately proud, for some reason. “What went wrong?”

“Lucius Malfoy,” Manny replied. “Apparently he learned that his son was making a name for himself in the US , and seized the opportunity to expand his own influence. Draco didn't want to blow his cover, so he took advantage of the fact that they'd been estranged for years. He told Lucius he wanted nothing to do with him. That's when Colby Hannick came into the picture.”

“He told me Lucius hired him to find Draco,” Harry said.

“He actually admitted to working for the Death Eaters?” Jeremy asked.

Manny nodded. “In so many words, yes. It's enough to bring him in, I think.”

“We dispatched a team to his residence ten minutes ago,” Cecelia said. “If he's still there, they'll take him into custody.”

“Wait,” Harry said. “You've been after Colby all this time?”

Manny looked thoughtful. “Draco was posing as a double agent for us, but he learned from his father that there were real double agents, working for both the Death Eaters and the CIA.”

“And that's where I come in,” Jeremy said. “The internal investigations office had been suspecting for months that we had a leak. Our investigation was going nowhere until we got a tip from Hannick himself, claiming he'd learned Malfoy was a double agent. My office was used to dealing with wizards, but we weren't prepared for Death Eaters and dark lords.” He shook his head, as if he still couldn't believe it.

“You're not a wizard?” Harry asked.

Jeremy smiled. “No. It's been quite an education.” Harry's look of surprise seemed to amuse everyone in the room.

“There isn't as much separation between the Wizard and Mundane communities here as there is in Europe ,” Cecelia told him.

Harry glanced curiously at Manny, who mouthed the word “Muggle.”

Jeremy shifted in his chair. “Our office was split down the middle as to whether or not Malfoy was the spy. I saw the evidence, but there was something about it that didn't sit quite right. Then Hannick was assigned to go to San Francisco , out of the blue.” He shook his head. “I convinced my supervisor to let me come out here and watch him. I'd never met him, so I figured I could get to know him, slip in under the radar...”

“But Jeremy and I had met before, when I worked in DC,” Manny grinned. “We recognized each other instantly, and then realized we were interested in the same person.”

“So we decided to cooperate,” Jeremy continued. “It wasn't long before I realized my office had been set up, and by then...”

“The CIA was convinced Draco was a spy for the Death Eaters,” Harry finished.

“It's much worse than that, though,” Cecelia said. “Draco discovered that the Death Eaters had infiltrated the CIA to an alarming degree. The mafia were pulling the strings in the Mundane divisions, and the Death Eaters were doing the same in the magical divisions. The web went deep, much deeper than we'd imagined.”

“To make a long story short, Draco was in danger,” Manny said. “He knew far too much, and his father was starting to get suspicious. We had to get him out of New York .”

“And you tried to hide him here?” Harry quipped, shaking his head. “He wasn't exactly living an inconspicuous lifestyle, you know.”

Manny snorted. “Everything was fine at first, and then Colby showed up. We pegged him for CIA almost right away, but what we couldn't figure out was how he'd found Draco so quickly.”

“The registration spell on his wand,” Harry remarked, pursing his lips. “We only found out about that when the CIA told us they'd located Draco in San Francisco .”

“That was big news here last week,” Cecelia interjected. “We knew it was a possibility, after the Patriot Act, but we had no idea the CIA could actually implement it as a way to track people. Our legal department is working on a challenge already.” She shook her head, her expression one of mild disgust.

“We thought some sort of dark magic had been used,” Manny shrugged. “We knew Colby wasn't a wizard, so we assumed he must have had some connection to the Death Eaters. It was Draco's idea to befriend Colby, to use him to investigate the Death Eater-CIA connection.”

“He used himself as bait?” Harry asked.

“Against my better judgment, of course,” Manny snorted, looking up at Harry. “When Colby started hanging around you, I was convinced you were working with him. We knew about the CIA-Ministry connection. But Draco insisted you had nothing to do with it.” Manny shook his head, and Harry couldn't tell if he was disgusted with himself or with Draco's faith in Harry. “And then two nights ago, one of our agents spotted Lucius Malfoy here in San Francisco . Draco went ballistic. He was convinced they were after you, and that Colby was trying to lure you into a trap.”

Harry winced, embarrassed that he'd been so easily fooled. “He was right. But why would Lucius Malfoy want me?”

Cecelia and Jeremy looked at Manny. “We aren't sure,” Manny said. “But I think Draco knows.”

“And he won't tell you,” Harry finished.

Manny shook his head. “He won't tell anyone.” His eyes drifted down to the silver bracelet around Harry's wrist. “I thought he might have told you.”

“No,” Harry replied. “He's told me almost nothing.” He stroked the bracelet, finding it calmed him. The room was quiet for several moments.

A sound not unlike the croak of a toad seemed to be coming from the desk. Manny touched a button, and they heard Jack's voice. “Sorry to interrupt. Ms. Montes, you're needed in the Ops Center .”

Cecelia nodded, and she and Jeremy stood. “I'd like a chance to meet with you again before you leave, Harry.”

“How about tomorrow morning?” Manny suggested. “He's leaving on the noon portkey to JFK.”

“No, I'm not leaving,” Harry interjected. “I can't leave now, not when there's so much at stake!”

Cecelia smiled at Harry. “I can assure you Draco is quite safe, but you are not. England is the safest place for you right now. Besides, I have a proposition for you that will require your prompt return. I'll have the details worked out by morning.” She turned and left, Jeremy at her heel, and Harry was left feeling like a schoolboy who'd been scolded.

Manny was quietly studying Harry when he looked up again. “You look exhausted,” Manny said.

Harry snorted. “So do you.” A question had been nagging him ever since he'd arrived. “How did you find me today?”

“The bracelet,” Manny replied, looking down at Harry's wrist. “Draco put a tracking spell on it before he gave it to you, and charmed it to go off the moment you came within ten yards of Colby.”

“Oh.” Harry swallowed, not sure how to respond.

“Even though he was angry and hurt, he made me promise to keep an eye on you,” Manny continued. “I didn't want to, you know. But he was right. As usual.” He smiled. “I ported into Colby's apartment, and a concealment spell was enough to hide me from him. I just waited to see what would happen. When I realized you really didn't know what was going on, I hoped he'd confess.”

“That he did.” Harry fingered the bracelet again, and it made him feel better. “I suppose I should commend you for your impeccable timing.” He smiled at Manny, who shrugged noncommittally in response. “So what happens now?”

Manny stood. “You're staying here tonight. We have some safe rooms upstairs. You look like you could use a shower and a change of clothes.” His nose wrinkled, and Harry felt self-conscious. “Are you hungry?”

Harry nodded. “I haven't eaten today.”

“Like Chinese?” Manny asked, and Harry smiled in response. “I'll have Jack order takeout for us.”

“Us?” Harry repeated.

“We still have a lot to talk about, Harry,” Manny sighed.

---

Jack opened the door of the safe room and gestured Harry inside. “You can put your laundry down the chute,” he said, pointing toward a panel on the wall marked ‘Laundry'. The housekeeping staff know some amazing cleaning spells, and they'll send it back pretty fast. I think the bathroom's got whatever you'll need.”

Harry dropped his nearly-empty rucksack on the bed. “Thanks,” he said, looking around. The room was small and plain, but comfortable enough. A bed with a nightstand and a lamp were pushed against one wall, and a small table with two chairs lined the wall opposite.

“Are you a vegetarian, or anything?”

Harry blinked at him. “Um... no.”

“Mr. Padilla said I should ask before I ordered take-out for you. Got any favorites?”

Harry shook his head. “Sorry. I'm a bit scattered at the moment. I'll eat anything, though.”

Jack grinned. “Let me know if I can get you anything , then.” He closed the door behind him.

Harry fell onto the bed, closing his eyes. He was tired, and drained, and oddly numb, despite everything that had happened today. He took a deep breath, caught a whiff of himself, and snorted. “Shower,” he mumbled. “Definitely need a shower.”

He stripped out of the t-shirt and jeans, and dropped them into the hamper. As they vanished from his sight, he wondered if he'd get them back before Manny returned. At least he'd be clean. He could probably transfigure a towel into a robe, if necessary. He stroked his stomach absently as he stepped into the bathroom, and realized there was a rough patch on his skin. He looked down.

Oh. He ought to have been a little disgusted at having dried semen on his stomach, but he wasn't. For a moment, he reconsidered the shower. It would mean washing away every trace of Draco, all evidence of what had happened between them. His numbness had started to fade over the last hour, and was being replaced by an intense sadness. He closed his eyes, but that only brought back the image of Draco sitting on the floor, staring up at Harry, surrounded by papers.

He found himself touching the bracelet on his wrist again, and stopped to look at it. His first impression had been that it looked like a snake, but now that he looked more closely, it was more of a botanical design, almost like a vine wrapped around his wrist. He probably ought not wear it in the shower, he thought, so he tried to tug it off. It had fit itself snugly around his wrist, though, and didn't seem to want to budge. He shrugged and left it alone.

The water pressure in the small shower was fantastic, and he stood under the hot spray for a long time, letting it pound down on his shoulders. He washed his hair and scrubbed at his chest, and tried not to think about the gentle sweep of Draco's soapy hands on his skin.

He shaved and brushed his teeth, and finally emerged from the steamy bathroom feeling renewed. He peeked in the laundry chute, but there was nothing there. He wasn't sure how they would send his clothes back. There was a small television set in the room, and he was delighted to find there was a large selection of channels available. He set it on CNN after surfing for a few minutes. More US soldiers had died in Iraq today, the anchor was saying. Harry turned the sound down and watched the ticker scroll across the bottom of the screen instead.

There was a knock at the door. He stood, uncertain what to do – he was completely naked, after all. He fished his towel from the floor and crossed to the door. “Yes?”

“Got your laundry,” he heard Jack say. Harry wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door, relieved. Jack's eyes widened at Harry's appearance, just before he averted his gaze. He handed Harry a package wrapped in paper. “Mr. Padilla will be up in a few minutes, and he'll bring the food. Can I... uh...” Harry couldn't help smiling as Jack began to blush. “Do you need anything, Mr. Potter?” Jack forced his eyes up to meet Harry's.

Jack couldn't have been any older than him, and Harry found the honorific uncomfortable. “Please, just Harry is fine. And actually, I really need some underwear.” Harry tried not to grin at the expression on Jack's face.

“Okay,” Jack replied, eyes darting down to Harry's waist and back. “Boxers or briefs?”

“I honestly don't care,” Harry replied, and raised an eyebrow. “Your choice.”

Jack blushed even more. “Right. I'll... um... Yeah.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

Harry closed the door behind him, grinning. He wondered how many men had looked at him that way, before he'd realized how much he liked it.

He was dressed when the next knock came. This time it was Manny, carrying a bag of food and smirking in the doorway.

“Any chance you're responsible for the state of my assistant?”

Harry stepped back to let him in. “All I wanted was underwear. I didn't mean to offend him.”

Manny slapped a pair of white briefs against Harry's chest. “Oh, he wasn't offended.” He rolled his eyes and set the bag he was carrying on the table.

When Harry emerged from the bathroom – infinitely more comfortable – Manny had set out plates and several containers of Chinese food. He pulled a six-pack of Diet Coke from the bag and handed a can to Harry.

“What is it with Americans and sugar?” Harry groaned.

“Oh, you say that now,” Manny smiled. “Just wait til you hit thirty.”

They talked amicably as they ate, to Harry's surprise. Manny knew a good deal about Harry's past, it turned out. Much of it had come from research he'd done over the last week, under suspicion that Harry was working with the CIA against Draco.

“I have an FBI file?” Harry'd asked, stunned.

Manny had given him a funny look. “Of course you do.”

Some of Manny's knowledge had actually come from Draco, whom Manny claimed had been talking about Harry for years. “You have no idea how excited he was when you showed up,” Manny told him, picking up a bite of sesame chicken with chopsticks. “It was ‘Harry this' and ‘Harry that' for days.”

Harry surprised himself by smiling. “You've known him for a long time, then?”

“Ever since I moved to New York a few years ago,” Manny nodded, peering into the containers of food as if trying to decide what to eat next. “It was a... strange time in my life.” He studied a potsticker before popping it in his mouth.

“How so?” Harry asked. He wasn't curious about Manny so much as about Draco's life in New York .

Manny seemed to be thinking while he chewed. “You know, new place, all alone, didn't know anyone. Draco arrived in the States a few weeks later, and he worked under me for a few months.”

Harry snorted. “I'll bet.”

Manny ignored the comment. “Then he decided to take the undercover assignment. We kept in touch, even though his work was isolating and difficult. When he got into trouble last summer, he contacted me, and asked me to help him.” Manny paused and sipped his soda.

“So you came here,” Harry said, feeling his heart sink a little more.

Manny nodded. “We had no idea that we'd be found again so easily. I guess we thought we were just running away.” The word together wasn't said, but Harry heard it all the same.

“So, what now?” Harry asked. He put his chopsticks down, not hungry anymore. “What will happen to him?”

Manny sighed. “I don't know, Harry. But he is safe. We should've done it this way in the first place. He's just so fucking stubborn.”

It was as if a small light had come on in Harry's head. “He's being protected by a fidelius , isn't he? And you're his secret-keeper.”

Manny gazed back at Harry in response, expression guarded.

Harry sighed, and felt immensely sad. “I'm glad, really. He cares about you, and he trusts you, more than he'll ever be able to trust me.” He shook his head and stared at his empty plate. He'd managed to fuck things up for all three of them. “Look, I know it hasn't been the same between you and Draco since I showed up, and I'm sorry for that. Whatever happens after this, I... I won't get in the way.” The words felt as if they were being carved in his skin as he spoke them. I won't come between you. I won't come between you.

Manny continued to stare at Harry, though his expression had softened. “You really care about him,” he said.

Harry nodded. “Of course I do. But I want him safe, and happy, so if that means being with you...” Harry broke off, unable to complete the sentence.

There was a moment of silence, and Harry looked up to see Manny stifling a smile. “That's very noble of you Harry. But I have to say I'm not really Draco's type.”

Harry blinked at him. “What?”

“He prefers men who are... well, a bit more... gay.” He resumed eating, a hint of a smirk on his face.

“What, you mean you're not...?” Harry could only gape at him.

“Not gay, Harry.” Manny shrugged. “I gave it a shot, honestly. I mean, Draco is hot. I'd just gotten divorced when I moved to New York , and I went through an experimental phase. He kept flirting with me, and one day I just thought, what the hell?”

“Not gay ?” Harry repeated. “What about that time last week? He said you fucked him on the table.” It was an image that had driven him insane with jealousy.

Manny blushed. “Oh. Yeah. Well... He told you about that?” Harry nodded and Manny winced. “We'd made a bet, you see. He thought you were straight, and I thought you were just pretending to be straight, you know, to lure him in. So...” He made a sound like an uncomfortable laugh. “That was why I kissed you that night, to see how you'd react. And then you freaked out and left, so... He won.”

“And he won... you?”

“Yeah.” Manny seemed more embarrassed than Harry had ever seen him. “Anything he wanted, and he wanted... I worried it was a bad idea. It was fun, though, and it had been a while since I'd had sex with anyone other than myself. And I knew he was interested in you, so I may have said some things about you and him, while I was...” He ducked his head, blushing.

Harry smirked. “He actually lost that bet, you know.”

Manny grinned. “He can pay me back later. It turned out to be a good thing, honestly. He didn't freak out afterwards, so I knew he'd finally gotten over me. It sounds bizarre, but it actually made things easier between us.”

Harry shook his head. “I can't believe you're not gay.” He grinned, unable to help himself. “Not even bisexual?”

“I'm not even sure what that means,” Manny sighed. “We were lovers for several months, and the sex was fine, but... I just wasn't going to fall in love with another man. It was just sex for me, and he wanted more.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “But I thought...” He seemed to have lost the ability to articulate his thoughts. “He wanted more ?”

Manny smiled, an endearingly lop-sided expression. “The whole non-commitment thing was part of the act, to lure Colby in. It was also a defense mechanism, I think. Meaningless sex was better than being alone, for him. He's really needy, you know.”

Harry was starting to feel a bit giddy now. “Oh my god,” he muttered. “He certainly had me fooled.”

Manny smiled, though it was a sad smile. “I wish I could have loved him back, but... I'm just not wired that way. It's been horrible watching him self-destruct these last few months. He's miserable, and lonely, and he hates it.”

“It doesn't have to be that way,” Harry said. “You'll show him the agreement, won't you? He can come back, and...” He paused, biting his lip.

There was a moment of silence, and Harry felt his emotions roil again. He shouldn't let himself think this way. He shouldn't allow himself to hope.

“He thinks he's falling in love with you,” Manny whispered.

Harry closed his eyes, willing the tears not to come.

“He was devastated this morning,” Manny continued, voice soft. “I've never seen him so upset. He said he wanted to hide away and never be found.”

Harry buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed. He'd come so close to having what he hadn't even known he'd wanted. But now... He chewed his lip, determined not to cry in front of Manny. He took a shaky breath.

Manny looked away. “I wanted to kill you, you know. But despite everything, he still wanted to make certain you were safe. He wants you to go home, where you aren't as vulnerable. He made me promise to take you to the portkey station myself.”

Harry's throat was burning, and he concentrated on breathing. He couldn't bear the thought of Draco being so hurt. “It was all a misunderstanding,” he whispered. “But it's too late now, isn't it?”

Manny sighed. “I'll talk to him, Harry. I'll show him the agreement from the Ministry, and everything that's been decoded. But I don't know if he'll risk it again. He has everything to lose.”

“No,” Harry replied, wiping at his eyes and looking up at Manny. “He has everything to gain. If he stays here, what kind of life would he have? He'd have to run forever. He'd always be alone.” Harry shrugged, and sniffled. “I can help him, Manny.”

“You think you can save him, don't you?” Manny's tone wasn't judgmental.

“I know I can,” Harry replied. “If only he'll give me a chance.”

---

Harry had The Dream again. He was walking down a darkened corridor at Hogwarts, though it wasn't the same corridor as usual. In fact, he realized he was close to the library. Ron was sitting on the floor somewhere below, near the dungeons. Harry wondered if he should go find him.

His lantern kept going out, and he stopped to relight it with his wand again and again, but he couldn't see much of anything. He kept walking. He turned around a corner and found himself staring at a huge door. He pushed at the door, but it wouldn't budge. He pointed his wand at it, and realized he'd forgotten the spell.

---

12 February, 2004: Thursday

Harry had put his only clothing down the laundry chute again before he went to bed the night before. To his relief, there was a paper-wrapped package lying on the table when he woke up. He showered and shaved, even though he didn't need to – he found the water pressure relaxing. Once dressed, he gathered up his belongings and wandered downstairs, hoping he could remember the way to Manny's office.

Jack met him halfway and took him to a small meeting room where Cecelia, Manny, and Jeremy were waiting for him.

“Coffee?” Jack asked. Harry shook his head. Even the smell of coffee reminded him of Draco, and he wasn't sure he could handle drinking it. He took a seat at the table, smiling at everyone in greeting.

“Sleep well?” Manny asked. Harry nodded, realizing that it was true. “We need to have you at the portkey station in a few hours,” Manny said, glancing at his watch.

“Well, let's get to business then,” Cecelia said, turning to Harry. “The Magical Division of the FBI doesn't currently have an articulation agreement with the Investigative Service of the Ministry of Magic. We'd like to change that.”

Harry nodded, considering his words carefully. “It isn't within my authority to form any such agreements on behalf of the IS, but I can pass the message along.”

“We were hoping you'd be willing to serve as a liaison between the two organizations, actually,” Cecelia continued. “Along with Manny, of course.”

Harry glanced at Manny, who was watching him carefully.

“I'll need to talk with Director Bass,” Harry said. “And Minister Fallin, as well. He has a rather strong relationship with the US Secretary of Magic, and I've had the impression he doesn't think too highly of the FBI these days.”

Cecelia and Manny exchanged a glance. Jeremy cleared his throat. “The political situation is complicated, to say the least. But the fact that I'm here demonstrates such agreements can work.”

“The IS and the FBI have cooperated in the past,” Manny said, “but it was years ago. We'd like to re-establish those ties, open an office in London , and share resources in order to better combat the Death Eater threat in both our countries.”

Harry sighed. “I'll do what I can to convince my colleagues. I'm starting to think our relationship with the CIA has blinded us.”

“I'd have to agree,” Jeremy said. “I won't presume to suggest there are Death Eaters working in your government, but–”

“I would,” Harry snorted. He wondered why it hadn't even been an issue recently, when it had always been a suspicion years before. They'd just been coasting along since the War ended, as if nothing was wrong. He'd been doing it too, he realized, lost in a haze of self-doubt and personal strife. “Shit,” he murmured. “What have we been missing?”

“We've been missing it too, Harry,” Cecelia said. “It's been too quiet for the last few years, and lately, we've become complacent. The Death Eaters stir up just enough trouble to keep us from getting suspicious, but I think they're planning something.”

“Something big,” Harry whispered. “Do you think Draco knows what it is?”

Manny sighed and turned to Harry. “I don't know. If he does, he isn't talking to us. He isn't talking to anyone.”

They were silent for a moment. “Colby Hannick escaped yesterday,” Cecelia said. “When the team arrived, there was no trace of him. We've kept surveillance on his apartment, but he hasn't returned.”

“Maybe he's dead,” Manny ventured.

“I doubt it,” Harry said. “Lucius Malfoy wouldn't kill someone so useful to him. Not yet, anyway.” He turned to Cecelia. “I do agree that our organizations can benefit from cooperation, though, and I'm willing to help make it happen. What terms did you have in mind?”

Two hours later, they'd written out a proposal for Harry to take back. He tucked it into his rucksack, which was otherwise empty. He was leaving behind all the faxed IS intelligence as a gesture of good faith. They'd also formulated a plan to begin investigating possible Death eater influence in the Ministry of Magic. Harry would be heading that investigation, with assistance from the FBI – and from Hermione and a few trusted colleagues, he hoped.

“We should get going,” Manny said as soon as Harry'd had a chance to say goodbye to Cecelia and Jeremy. Manny was portkeying to New York with Harry, for security reasons.

“I don't need a babysitter,” Harry grumbled, though he didn't mind the company. He hadn't yet faced the fact that he was going home, alone. Without Draco.

“No, you need a bodyguard,” Manny replied, with a glint of humor. “Can't have Death Eaters kidnapping you from JFK.”

They walked up to the port room together, Harry lost in thought along the way.

“You all right?” Manny asked as he pushed the door open. The room was empty, walls and floors bare. Harry remembered the anxiety he'd felt when he found himself there less than 24 hours before.

“Yes. No.” Harry shrugged. “I don't want to leave, not with everything so fucked up.”

Manny smiled. “I know, Harry. Give him time, all right?”

Harry wasn't sure he could remember where the portkey station was, so Manny offered to help him apparate there.

“Haven't done so many double-apparitions in years,” Harry grinned as he stepped into Manny's arms.

“You just can't keep your hands off me, that's all,” Manny teased.

“You're really not my type, you know,” Harry retorted.

It wasn't until they were standing in the Virgin portkey lounge that Harry realized he was really leaving. He hadn't let himself think about it all morning, but now, here he was. He'd be in London in half an hour. He took a deep breath, but it didn't help. If Manny noticed the abrupt change in his demeanor, he didn't say.

As luck would have it, it was the same agent – the woman who'd reminded Harry of Cho when he'd arrived – who greeted them. She was very pretty, Harry thought, though he didn't quite feel the same twinge in his gut now. He hadn't thought of Cho very much since he'd been here, actually. He glanced at Manny and saw his eyes were fixed on the woman's chest.

“You really are straight, aren't you?” Harry whispered when the woman turned away. Manny only blinked at him in response.

It wasn't necessarily easier for Harry to portkey with someone else – he still hated it. Some very powerful wizards could apparate across great distances, but Harry'd never really considered trying to learn. If he was going to be a liaison between the FBI and the IS, though, he might have to consider it.

The attendant handed Harry the portkey disc, warning him that they had one minute before departure. The disc was larger then the one he'd held when portkeying alone. He stepped into the painted circle on the floor, and Manny joined him, reaching out to grasp the other side of the disc. Harry kept his eyes fixed on the Virgin logo while he waited.

“Ten seconds,” the attendant chirped. “Have a nice trip.” Harry didn't respond, counting in his head. Eight seconds, and then he'd be in New York . Five seconds, and he'd be two thousand miles from here. Two seconds, and he'd have lost his chance to–

He felt his stomach lurch, and then he was battered against Manny for several long seconds until his feet hit a surface again. They were standing in a portkey lounge in JFK. Harry was disoriented, as usual, but Manny didn't seem affected. Americans must be used to portkeying all over their huge country , Harry thought. Manny handed the disc over to the attendant, who was welcoming them to New York in a tone that didn't indicate much enthusiasm for their arrival.

They made their way through the crowds of business travelers to the lounge for international departures, neither of them speaking. Manny stayed close to Harry and glanced about, but he didn't look overly worried. They found seats in lounge three, sitting far away from the other waiting travelers.

Manny began to chatter in a way that was almost out of character, telling Harry about his favorite restaurants in New York , apparently trying to distract Harry from his thoughts. It wasn't working.

“You know,” Harry interrupted when Manny began waxing philosophical about New York steakhouses, “I had hoped I'd at least see him again before I left.”

Manny blinked at him, surprised at the sudden change in topic. “It's not safe for him to go anywhere right now, you know.”

“Yes, of course,” Harry said. He suddenly couldn't bear the thought of being so far away from Draco. At least yesterday they'd been in the same city, as far as Harry knew, but now... He realized he was fingering the bracelet again, and looked down at it. “I really should give this to you to take back,” he said. “But I don't know how to take it off.”

Manny examined it for a moment and shrugged. “I have no idea. I never saw him take it off in the entire time I knew him. He showered with it, slept with it – everything.”

Harry felt a little shiver at the thought that he had something of Draco's – something so very important. “He said his mother gave it to him.”

Manny nodded and stroked it with one finger. “He told me it had been in his mother's family for centuries.”

“Oh god,” Harry groaned. “I can't possibly keep it!” He tried to pull it off again, with no success.

Manny put a hand on his, stilling his efforts. “Harry, I think he meant for you to keep it.”

Harry swallowed. Why would Draco have given him something so valuable, at the very moment when he thought Harry had betrayed him?

“Besides,” Manny grinned, “if he really wants it back, he'll just have to come and get it himself.”

Harry tried valiantly to smile.

“Harry Potter to the departure gate please,” the announcer said.

Manny winced. “Let's just put a big fucking sign on you, how about?” They stood, and Harry sighed; he really didn't want to leave. “They're going to have people waiting for you, right?” Manny asked. He looked nervous.

Harry nodded. “Including Minister Fallin himself, I believe. Nothing to worry about.”

They walked to the gate. The attendant stopped Manny from going in, so Harry stepped back through the doorway and held out his hand.

“Thanks,” he said. “For everything.”

Manny ignored his hand and pulled him into a hug instead. “I promise I'll try to talk some sense into him, okay?” he whispered. Harry nodded against his shoulder, swallowing down the emotion that rose in his throat. “And I'll talk to you soon.” He released Harry and stepped away.

Harry managed to smile before he turned around and entered the gate.

“Thirty seconds,” the attendant chastised, pointing at the portkey disc lying on a table. She clearly didn't want to risk an accidental trip to London by handing it to him herself.

He took it and stepped into the departure circle. In less than a minute, he'd be back in London , and nearly on the other side of the planet from Draco. He had no idea if he'd ever see Draco again, and part of him wanted to drop the portkey, walk back out that gate, and imperio Manny into taking him to Draco.

“Ten seconds.”

He looked up and caught a glimpse of Manny's face through the open doorway. Manny smiled sadly and waved. Harry felt the familiar unsettling tug behind his navel, and he closed his eyes. He was batted around, wind and light swirling around and past him. It seemed to last longer than he remembered the trip before being, and he started to get nervous. Just as he was about to worry outright, everything slowed down and his feet gently touched a floor. Heathrow must have finally installed those landing buffers his colleagues had been talking about at the water cooler months ago.

“Harry!” He opened his eyes just before Hermione tackled him. She pressed herself against him tightly, her breasts crushing against his chest. He slid an arm around her waist, acutely aware of how different a female body felt against him. He closed his eyes again, inhaling the scent of her hair, still reeling from the effects of the transatlantic portkey. She squeezed him once more before she stepped back and glared at him. He winced, realizing he hadn't called her since he'd been kicked out of his hotel.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek.

“You're alone,” she remarked. “What happened with Malfoy?”

“I need to see Bass and Fallin right away, and then I'll explain everything.”

“Hello, Harry,” Fallin said, peering around the door frame at him. He scanned the room as well, and seemed mildly disappointed to find it otherwise empty. “We thought we'd give Hermione a chance to chastise you for all the worry you've caused.”

“With good reason, sir,” Harry said, straightening his shoulders.

Fallin's smile faltered at Harry's expression. “I take it Malfoy slipped away?”

Harry shook his head in response. “I hope you're prepared to stay up late tonight. We have a good deal to talk about.”

Fallin's eyes narrowed. “It can't wait for morning?”

“I'd rather not wait,” Harry said. He turned to Hermione, who was staring at him curiously. “Can I meet with the senior staff tomorrow morning?”

She nodded. “I'll call them all tonight.”

Harry turned back to Fallin, gesturing towards the door. “After you, sir.”

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