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The sun is bright and scorching as Harry leaves the International Portkey Office, hand shielding his eyes from most of the glare as he removes his coat. It’d been raining when he left Britain, but there’s no clouds in sight here in Cyprus.
He opens the map from the desk wizard and spends a minute looking at it. The Portkey has brought him to Nicosia, the capital city, but from there he needs to make his way to Larnaca, one of the main Wizarding districts, and where he’ll be staying. The map gives him directions to get to a Muggle travel office a few blocks away with a fireplace open to Floo, because, oddly enough he thought, the Portkey office didn’t have one. Giving the map another glance, he folds it back up and starts up the street, walking slow enough to take in the sights.
By the time he finds the correct building, he’s sweating through his tshirt, and he understands a bit more as to why there are so few fireplaces available to use. Cool air greets him as he walks through the door, making his way through other holiday-goers to the front desk.
“Er, excuse me, please,” he says to a loudly speaking woman with an earpiece. “I’m looking for the, ah, Floo?” he asks, leaning in over the counter to whisper the last bit. She looks at him with dark eyes and he self-consciously flattens his fringe over his scar until she turns around to yell through a doorway.
“Stavros! Stav, magos! Ferte ti skoni!” Harry glances around in confusion, but no one seems to be paying any attention to them, and he has no idea what’s been said. Belatedly, he remembers that Hermione had taught him a Translation charm before he left, but before he can cast it, a man appears through the door holding a small, beautifully decorated cup.
“Eh, magos!” he cries loudly as he rounds the desk. “Ela, ela.” Harry only follows when the man beckons him, through a beaded curtain to another room where yes, there’s a fireplace. The man, Stavros, the woman called him, holds the cup out to him and Harry takes a handful of the familiar powder and steps up to the hearth. He double checks the name of where he’s going, and takes a breath before stepping into the fireplace.
“Kalo taxidi!” Stavros says, waving as Harry throws down his Floo powder, calling out “Tuck Inn!”, and hurriedly pulling his elbows into himself.
Ever since his first trip by Floo, landing in Borgin and Burkes just before his second year at Hogwarts, he’s had a weird thing (as Ron calls it) about traveling by fireplace. He’s never gotten better at exiting, usually tripping all over himself, and this time is no better.
At least this time, he has no robes to trip over, just his own feet. Thankfully, there seems to be no one in the lobby as he makes his way over to the reception desk, ringing the bell that’s available. As he waits, he rocks back and forth on his heels, taking in the charming paintings, which seem to feature a lot of throwing down plates cheerfully and with great enthusiasm. They are definitely not as composed as the portraits he’s familiar with, and he can only imagine what the portrait of Sirius’ mum would say about these ones.
He’s about to ring the bell again when a young girl comes round, smiling widely.
“Kali mera!”
He quickly casts a Translation charm and smiles back. “Good morning. I, er, have a reservation under Black?” He had thought it be easier using a different name, but so far, no one has looked twice at him and he feels like he can breathe a bit better.
“Ah yes, James Black. If you would just wave your wand in this pattern, like so,” she says cheerfully, demonstrating a spiral with a flick of the wrist at the end and he copies her, “excellent, thank you, that will be how you access your room. Of course, the inn has a standard access pattern, should we need to enter a room for any reason. Please sign here.” She, and Harry can’t see a nametag or anything, passes a form and quill over, and Harry signs his name with a flourish, almost forgetting to use his assumed name but remembering at the last moment. “Thank you, Mr Black. If you would, please, follow Tippy. She will show you to your room.” Harry looks down as, surprisingly, a house elf pops into existence next to him.
“If Sir would be following Tippy, please,” she says in her squeaky voice. He follows the elf towards a hallway and glances around at his surroundings. This is the first house elf he’s seen since getting to Cyprus, though as he’s not seen much yet, not entirely surprising. She brings him to a room nearly at the end of the hall and snaps her fingers; the door opens silently revealing a spacious, airy looking room, balcony doors open to tempt the breeze. White linen curtains flutter softly and he can hear birdsong in the distance.
The bed looks sumptuous, the pillows and bedspread looking like heaven from the doorway. There’s a little throat clearing cough, and Harry looks down.
“If Sir is needing anything, he need only call out, Tippy will hear.” She bows at the waist and Disapparates with a crack, leaving him alone. He pulls his luggage from his jacket pocket and restores them to size, leaving them at the foot of his bed before crossing the floor to the balcony.
The room is somehow at the top, despite not having climbed any stairs to get here, but the view is lovely. Down below is the street, with shops on either side, and in the distance, a tempting glimpse of blue water.
He turns back to the bed and crawls into it, sighing at the way it adjusts to suit his needs; he really does love magic. He closes his eyes and just breathes, he already feels better being away, and he’s just going to lay for a minute before he goes out.
He ends up falling asleep; apparently International Portkey travel is exhausting, and when he wakes up, it’s nearly dinner time. He changes his clothes then heads downstairs, where there’s a different girl at the desk.
He asks her if there are any good restaurants close by, and she gives him a recommendation for one called Red Pepper, and directions written on a piece of paper.
It’s only a block up from the inn, with warm golden light spilling from the windows and the open door. He casts another Translation charm, and he can mostly understand the chatter around him, with some difficulty over the accents.
A lovely, soft-spoken witch seats him at a small table at a window and leaves him with a small smile, and only moments later, a handsome wizard comes by and pours him a glass of water, and fills his wine glass, winking cheekily. Harry finds himself smiling up at him, and takes a sip of the quite refreshing wine. The waiter grins and sets a menu on the table in front of him before taking his leave.
Eagerly, he opens the menu and scans through the available choices. He’s so hungry, he feels like he could eat just about anything, but there’s so much to choose from, he has no idea where to start. He goes through the menu twice, and just as he’s about to start for a third time, his friendly waiter comes back.
“Have you come to a decision, sir?”
“Oh, er, no, I’m sorry. There’s just so much, I can’t decide,” Harry says, cheeks flushing under the waiter’s gaze. “Maybe you could help me out? It all looks so good.”
“Certainly. Tonight we have the roast vegetable and tomato soup to start, very rich. If you’re feeling adventurous, we have a crispy salt and pepper squid salad; or if that’s not to your taste, the house salad is very good, fresh greens and a homemade dressing. We have some delicious pastas, but if you don’t mind me saying, you look more like you would enjoy a steak. Might I recommend our Australian ribeye? Available in a 6 or 10 ounce, and with a lovely red wine sauce, and creamy garlic mashed potatoes.” Harry can feel his stomach rumble, and he hopes it isn’t audible.
“Thank you, that was very helpful. You are right, I would prefer the steak. The 6 ounce I think, medium rare, with the soup and salad to start.”
“Very good, sir.” The waiter gives him a little half bow and another grin before leaving him to his wine.
He wasn’t waiting long, which was good, because the smell coming from the tables around him had him just about salivating onto the table. Thankfully, before he could, the waiter was back with his soup and salad, as well as a refill for his wine and water.
He tucked in with gusto, nearly groaning out loud at the way the flavor of the soup burst over his tongue, and then again with his first bite of the salad, the greens crunching, sharp and tangy, and the dressing slightly sweet.
It doesn’t take him long to finish, and he’s pushing his bowl and plate to the side when the waiter comes back around.
“Was everything to your liking, sir?” he asks, waving his want to levitate the empty dishes.
“It was perfect,” he replies, “Thanks. I just Portkeyed in this morning, and I haven’t eaten since I left Britain. This definitely hit the spot.”
“That is good to hear. Your main dish should be ready in just a few minutes, I’ll return with it shortly.” He whisked the dishes away, and Harry relaxed into his chair, sipping his wine while he waited. The majority of his hunger has been abated but he can’t wait for the main course.
He’s not disappointed; the steak is cooked to perfection and there’s just enough garlic in the mashed potatoes. He eats until he’s fit to burst, and asks if he could have the pudding boxed up, as there’s no way he’s able to eat another bite, but can’t imagine the thought of leaving without his pudding.
He leaves the restaurant sated and walks back to the inn with his pudding in the early dark, the air slightly cooler now the sun has set, and twilight has taken over the sky briefly.
He waves a hand at the desk girl in thanks and heads to his room, where he runs himself a bath in the ornate clawfoot tub, with multiple faucets like the ones in the Prefect bathrooms at Hogwarts. He luxuriates for a while in the hot water and bubbles and thanks Merlin that Moaning Myrtle won’t be appearing in his bath water this time around.
Thoroughly knackered after that, he returns to the bedroom to find the bed turned down and a cup of tea on the bedside table underneath a Heating charm. With a smile, he waves away the charm and takes a sip of the just perfect tea. He climbs under the covers and settles in with his tea and a book of tourist attractions, and by the time he’s finished his tea, he’s picked some things to go and see for the next day.
The book and empty teacup end up back on the bedside table as he settles into the pillows, aiming a Nox at the lights. He rolls onto his side to face the open balcony doors and closes his eyes, breathing in the salty air and between one minute and the next, he’s asleep.
***
His second day in Cyprus, he spends exploring. It’s so different here from Britain; not only the weather, which is hot and sunny, not a cloud in sight, the air fresh with none of the pervasive smog .The people are different too, and no one here knows who he is. It means that they’re open and friendly for no reason other than that’s just how they are, and it’s a wonderful feeling after the oppressive bowing and scraping in Britain. He goes for breakfast at a lovely restaurant called Edem’s Yard, sitting outside under a large umbrella, leaning back in his chair and mindlessly letting the soft chatter of the other patrons wash over him as he eats.
Even the magical atmosphere feels different, light, brushing against his skin like a whisper as he wanders through the magical quarter of Larnaca. The weight on his shoulders is lessened, his whole body loose in a way it’s never been before.
He goes to Nissi beach in the afternoon, and floats on his back in the cool, clear water, soaking up the sunlight, surrounded by what appears to be a mix of Muggles and wizards, which is also something that would never happen in Britain. He paddles himself around with his hands, just enjoying the sensation of gentle waves and the way the water seems to leech the last bit of tension from his muscles.
By the time he heads back to his room at the inn, the sun is low on the horizon, though it’s still hot. He grabs something light to eat and watches from his balcony as the sun sets fully and the stars come out.
The breeze sends him into sleep, where he stays without moving or dreaming all night.
***
The next day dawns just as hot as the day before, and Harry decides to wander through the wizarding district, marveling at the similarities and differences between this world and Diagon Alley. No one wears robes here, which makes sense given the heat. There’s only so much a Cooling charm can do, and he’s thankful he doesn’t have to wander around wearing such heavy, oppressive clothing.
There are a number of curious little shops lining both sides of the sunny, paved lane. He peeks into some of the shop windows as he walks by, the sun hot on the top of his head, making mental notes to stop in for some presents to bring back for everyone.
It’s in one such shop that he spies something he wasn’t expecting to see here so far from home. He feels his brow crease into a frown as he backs into a well-shaded alley, quickly casting a Disillusionment charm over himself as he hears a tinkly bell ring out cherrily as a door opens and shuts. He holds his breath, and seconds later, a familiar face walks by, and Harry feels a sting of anger followed by the same feeling of curiousity from his school days.
He steps out of the alley and joins the crowd, following the bright shock of blond hair in front of him.
Harry thinks they walk for about ten minutes through the winding street before Malfoy disappears through an unmarked door. He waits across the street for another ten minutes but Malfoy doesn’t come back out, and he can’t find find anything on the building to distinguish it enough to ask about it.
Frustrated, Harry walks back they way they came, eventually dispelling his charm. He goes by the shop Malfoy had been in, but the front window is a hodge-podge of items, nothing that stands out as something someone like Malfoy would be purchasing. With nothing better to do, he heads back to the beach and floats in lazy circles as he ponders this sudden development.
By the time he gets out of the water, his fingers and toes are pruned, and he’s waterlogged and dozy from the sun.
His room is deliciously cold and he shivers in his damp clothes, and he removes them quickly. He really should shower, but the thought of getting more wet is unappealing. Instead, he towels off and crawls beneath the covers of his bed, passing out promptly.
***
His third day, he wakes up in pain to discover that he forgot the sunscreen Hermione had pressed on him before he left, and after two days in the sun, his skin is hot and red, his body uncomfortable. He finds the aloe gel she also gave him, and slathers himself in it, sighing at the relief. It’s also enhanced with potions to take away the pain and redness, and by the time he gets dressed, nearly all of the redness is gone, leaving him more tanned than he’s ever been.
Outside, the air is muggy with the promise of rain, and he’s grateful for the reprieve from the sun, as well as the cool wind that’s sprung up. He stops at the little coffee shop next to his inn for a coffee and a really good sausage biscuit that he scarfs down quickly, sipping the coffee slowly.
Without really thinking about it, he ends up back at the same alley, leaning up against the brick wall, gazing up at the darkening sky. Disillusioning himself once more, he’s not waiting long before Malfoy walks past, holding a cup from the same place as Harry’s.
It’s second nature to follow him, this time taking in Malfoy’s long legs encased in a pair of linen trousers, narrow waist and surprisingly broad shoulders in a similarly light shirt. His low heeled boots click along the paved street as he walks at a steady pace.
However, as the day before, Malfoy disappears through the same unmarked door, leaving Harry to frown in consternation at it.
As if on cue, sensing his mood, the sky opens up and the promised rain begins to fall, soaking Harry within minutes. He trudges back to the inn, giving the desk clerk a rueful wave and apologetic smile for tracking water in. He settles in once he’s dry and changed and chooses to sit by his window, watching puddles form between the paving stones of the street below.
It becomes a routine (habit, his inner Hermione scolds) for the rest of the week. Harry wakes early and waits in the alley for Malfoy, following him at a safe distance. It’s like sixth year all over again, and Harry wishes for his Invisibilty cloak and map, though the latter wouldn’t work. His frustration grows as Malfoy goes to the same place every day and never reappears.
On his first Saturday, Harry decides to leave off mystery hunting and heads for the coast, to visit a park recommended to him by another tourist.
Cape Greco is beautiful, and he spends hours walking along the coast, staring out across the sparkling water. It’s warm without being too hot, with stunning views and wildlife definitely not seen in Britain, but would be more pleasant if he could just stop thinking about Malfoy for two seconds.
The last time he’d seen Draco Malfoy had been at his mother’s trial. Harry had spoken separately at both Lucius and Draco’s trials, wherein Lucius had been sentenced to ten years in Azkaban, with no chance of parole, a hefty fine, and permanent house arrest upon release and Draco had received a year’s house arrest in Malfoy Manor for his part in the war.
Harry had found himself speaking passionately about Draco saving his life, and had even offered up some memories to help things along. Afterwards, he’d gone to find Draco and had given back the hawthorn wand that had helped him win the war. He’d thanked Draco for saving his life at the Manor, and apologised for the events of their sixth year. He’d left him after shaking his hand somberly, heading back down the hall towards the room they’d used for the trials.
At Narcissa’s trial, he’d spoken of a mother’s love and duty to her family, for hadn’t his mother done the same for him when he’d been but a baby? He’d stated that he felt no ill will towards her, only gratitude. She had also only received house arrest, and Harry had been happy to know that she and Draco would be together.
Harry himself had only managed just over a year in London after the war. He had let go of his previous dream of becoming an Auror, explaining with some small amount of regret to Kingsley that he had a desire to experience what life would be like without someone trying to kill him every summer.
After that, he had had no idea of what he would do with his life and instead retreated to Grimmauld Place, spending his days cleaning and restoring it with Kreacher’s help, and his nights woken by nightmares that left him tense and skittish and unable to get back to sleep. He rarely left the house, and his hermit-like behavior only exacerbated the stories printed daily in the papers.
He and Ginny had never gotten back together after the war; they both had scars that needed to heal. They had still talked every other day, and after a few months, once she had returned to Hogwarts for her final year Ginny had told him that she had begun to see someone, and they had been on a few dates. Harry had been happy for her, a happiness only slightly dimmed when she admitted it was Blaise Zabini, who had been one of Malfoy’s friends at school. But the glow on her face as she spoke about him had eased his fears, enough that he had them over for dinner a couple of times.
The media storm that had kicked up after they started going out in public after they’d left school had caused Harry some trouble on the rare occasion he left the house, and sick of being hounded on all sides, had attempted to help by angrily stating that he was very happy for the couple and he wished them all the best. It had backfired on all of them, the papers twisting the whole thing, as per usual, to set blame at Ginny’s feet for breaking his heart.
Fed up and furious, Harry had somewhat recklessly gone to a Muggle club and let himself be photographed publicly snogging another man, then hid from the ensuing crazy that stemmed from it.
It had worked though; Ginny and Blaise’s relationship was no longer being dissected in the papers as much, but his brief, one time thing was being splashed across front pages everywhere, all the time. It had gotten to the point where it didn’t matter what he did or where he went, the Prophet had still managed to link it back to his illicit relationships, of which they were convinced there had been more than that one. He’d had to start warding against owls coming through with post, as there were marriage proposals on the daily from men and women both, and just as many Howlers.
Frustration growing, he’d prowled Grimmauld Place for things to do, but before he knew it, he’d fixed up everything and he had nothing more to accomplish.
Cyprus had been Luna’s idea, though originally Hermione had been the one to suggest he get away for a while during one of their regular dinners. Luna had been to Cyprus with her father, looking, of course, for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, and she’d also said that there were no Wrackspurts, as they could not survive the climate. And a lack of Wrackspurts, she added, was just what Harry needed to be able to think clearly.
And so Hermione set up the International Portkey for him, and within a few days, he was ready to go, was excited to get away and go somewhere far enough away where no one (hopefully) would recognise him.
Now, though, any pleasantness of his vacation is spoiled by this new mystery.
He goes back to Larnaca as the sun is beginning to set, and falls into bed wondering why the hell Draco Malfoy is in Cyprus.
Logically, he thinks as he stares up at the ceiling, he knew that Malfoy’s year of house arrest had come to an end, but it wasn’t something he’d given much thought to. Nor had he thought about what sorts of things Malfoy would do with his life once his sentence had ended, or the places he would go to.
How though, of all the places in the world, did they end up in the same town, at the same time? Harry falls asleep wondering, and wakes up no closer to figuring it out
Monday morning dawns without Harry figuring out what the hell Malfoy is doing in Cyprus. He’s also running behind to get to the alley, but he skids to a stop right on time. He bends over his knees to catch his breath and nearly misses Malfoy walking by, but the click of his boots alerts him. He straightens and hurries out of the alley before he gets too far away.
His being late is probably why it happens.
He’s not paying much attention, letting his feet take him in the direction he’s been going in for a week, which is when it happens:
A dizzying spin, then the hard press of brick against his back, and cold grey eyes staring at him furiously.
With a sinking feeling, Harry realises he’d forgotten his Disillusionment, and that he’d been openly following Malfoy down the street.
“Potter,” Malfoy spits, “I should have known. Didn’t get your fill of stalking in me in school, you have to do it here, too? You think I didn’t live with the Dark Lard in my house for two years and not know when someone is following me? More to the point, I finished my house arrest, you can’t do anything to me here!”
For a moment, Harry can’t do anything but gape at Malfoy. It’s not like he’s wrong; he isn’t an Auror, they’re a long way from Britain, and Harry is pretty sure Malfoy isn’t up to anything evil anyway.
He also doesn’t feel the seething dislike for Malfoy that he had in school. Following him had been a habit he thought he’d been well rid of, but as soon as he’d seen him wandering about, had fallen right back into it.
Before he get a word out to apologize and explain, Malfoy gives him one more shove into the wall and glares at him as he begins to back away
“Wait, Malfoy! Draco, come on!” The blonde stops in his tracks and turns back, his face a cold mask and his eyes sparking. “I’m not here to hurt you, or arrest you. I’m just here on vacation, I had no clue you’d be here in Cyprus as well.” he says softly, trying to convey his sincerity.
Malfoy- no, Draco- doesn’t say a word, just stares a moment and turns on his heel, disappearing into the crowd.
***
Harry doesn’t go back to the alley for the rest of the week. He sends a bird to Hermione, but too impatient to wait for a reply, Floos her from his room. He tells her about seeing Draco and following him (and she barely reacts to him calling Draco by his first name), tells her about being caught out. He doesn’t say anything about how fit he’s gotten, or how his shoulders have broadened, or how they’re about the same height now. He also doesn’t mention how good it felt to have Draco pressed up against him, but he doesn’t think he needs to. Hermione seems to already know in that way of hers, he can see it in her eyes.
Still, it’s nice to be able to talk to her after a few weeks of near radio silence. And when Ron joins her, he tells them about Cyprus and the things he’s done. He talks about how different the magic feels here, how relaxed the people are. He talks about their culture, and that sometimes their English isn’t the greatest, but it’s fun to try and communicate, especially with the older citizens, who seem to communicate mostly with cheek pinches and food. He’s picked up some of the language, and some new spells that are tailored for the heat of Cyprus. He teaches them some curses, and some charms that Hermione at least seems excited to try. She seems thrilled when he says he’s picked up a book on the magical history of Cyprus and that it’s interesting, with the construction, and the magical communities, and the different countries fighting over the control of it.
He looks up after a while to find that it’s nearly lunchtime, and he’s spent most of the morning with his head in the fireplace. He reluctantly lets Hermione and Ron go, promising to Floo again, and decides to go get something to eat. There’s another restaurant that he’s been wanting to try, and he has a good feeling about it.
Of course, as his luck would have it, Draco is waiting outside, leaning up against the wall next to the entrance of the inn.
“What are you doing here?” he asks rudely, thrown off guard by his appearance, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. He sees Draco’s eyes drift downwards and he holds himself a little tighter.
“This is the only inn, Potter, it wasn’t hard to find you.” he drawls in that familiar way, all posh voice and snobbery.
“Why would you want to? You didn’t seem best pleased to see me the other day.” At this , Draco’s cheeks seem to flush pink slightly and his eyes dart away quickly before returning to his.
“I may have been over hasty in our earlier encounter, but to be fair, you were also in the wrong.” His voice was sharp, but his eyes weren’t. “Then again, you’ve never been able to just leave off, you’re like a hound on a scent trail.” Though it’s worded as an insult, Harry can’t help but chuckle a bit.
“So why are you here now, Draco?” he asks, unbending a little from his defensive pose.
“I thought, perhaps, since you put so much effort into following me around, you could follow me to the coffee shop down the street?”
Flabbergasted with the turn of events, all he can do is nod and follow Draco down to a tiny coffee shop that he’s never noticed. Inside, it’s got cozy looking chairs and big windows letting in lots of light, and soft music playing underneath the quiet conversations amongst the patrons.
Draco leads him to a table by a window, and Harry is pleased to find that the chairs are as comfy as they look. He watches Draco peruse the menu for a moment and then tap it with his wand, so he copies him, ordering coffee and what sounds like a delicious chicken sandwich and a bowl of Hungarian mushroom soup. That done, he looks back up to find Draco watching him.
“So, Potter. How have you come to Cyprus?” he asks, as the girl behind the counter levitates their cups over to their table.
“Oh, er, well. It was Hermione’s idea to get away, you know, but Luna was the one to suggest Cyprus. Something about the lack of Wrackspurts.” He pauses and takes a sip of coffee, closing his eyes in contentment; there’s almost nothing like a good cup of coffee. When he opens them, he catches Draco looking away quickly, cheeks pink. “Anyway, so Ginny and I ended things before she went to finish up at Hogwarts, and when the public found out, the papers and owls started coming in daily. Then I quit Auror training, and Ginny and Blaise started seeing each other. The public kind of went mad, and they couldn’t go anywhere without being mobbed. So I, er, had a bit of a reckless moment and went to a Muggle club and got into it with a quite attractive bloke. My plan kind of backfired, the Prophet had a field day with it, blamed Ginny for turning me gay, and I just had to get away. So here I am.”
Their food arrives then, and it smells as good as it sounded on the menu, so Harry takes advantage of Draco’s silence and digs in. He’s pretty sure he’s never eaten so well, he thinks with an silent apology to Molly.
“So, why are you here in Cyprus? And if there’s only one inn, how come we haven’t run into each other there? Surely we would have, it doesn’t seem that large.” he asks after a few quiet minutes of eating, putting his fork down to pay more attention to the blonde across from him. Draco picks up his cup and takes a careful sip, sighing as he puts it down.
“I am not staying at the inn; my mother has a villa here in Cyprus, that was part of her dowry when she married my father. If you must know, it passed to me when I turned seventeen, but as we were in the middle of a war, and my subsequent house arrest that followed, I was unable to visit. Thankfully, I am able to now. As to my being here, well. Since I had a year where I could not leave the house, Mother hired a private tutor and I was able to sit my NEWT’s. Once I had my results, I was able to begin further studies, which is why I am here.”
“Did you go for your Potions Master? I always figured you would.” Harry says, pushing his plate to the side so he could fold his arms and lean in.
“In a sense, I suppose,” Draco replies. “I went into Healing, with regards to Potions as my specialty. I am here training, and then I will go back for a position at St Mungo’s in the fall as they have been without a proper Potions expert for some time. I am nearly done, so I expect to go home in another month or so.” Draco resumes eating, so Harry assumes that is the end of the conversation about that.
The rest of the meal is fairly quiet, and it isn’t until they get up to leave that Harry realises that Draco paid for their meal at some point, probably when he’d excused himself to the loo.
He waits until they’re part way down the street towards the inn before he speaks up again.
“Are you, er, did you have plans for today?” he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets awkwardly, glancing at Draco from the corner of his eyes. He looks good today, having traded in his heeled boots for something more resembling loafers, while his clothes are a light, breezy material he can’t identify. His sunglasses cover his eyes completely, and his hair, worn longer now than at school, is tucked behind his ears. He looks comfortable, at ease with himself, in a way Harry can’t recall him ever being.
“Hmm, not so much. I usually have weekends off from training, but with my mother staying at our place in France and me here, I tend to stay around the villa. There’s a lovely garden that I sit in when I’m studying.”
“Would you, er, like to go somewhere with me today? Hermione gave me a book of tourist attractions, and I was thinking of visiting St Hilarion castle?”
“Are you not sure, Potter?” Draco asks, a slight sneer in his voice.
“I was going to go there, and I’d like to know if you’d like to join me, if you don’t have previous plans.” Harry almost misses the way Draco’s mouth turns up slightly at the corner before he nods in acquiescence.
“Very well, I suppose it could be fun.” Rolling his eyes, Harry turns them in the direction of the nearest Portkey station. They’re just in time, there’s a Portkey already scheduled for St Hilarion in just a few minutes, and the desk clerk is just going over the times for return Portkeys, or options for Apparating back.
Harry and Draco join the small group crowded around a muggle baseball cap and they each touch a portion; within a minute, that familiar sensation hooks around his navel and they’re whirling away to land at the base of the castle.
“Well, Potter. Here we are. Where did you plan on going first?” Draco asks, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head.
“Well, Draco, it would be nice if you could call me Harry. Makes me feel like you’re about to hex me when you call me Potter.”
“I suppose, if you’re going to be sensitive about it...Harry.” Harry just smiles, and turns to take the path up to the castle, without looking back to see if Draco is following.
St Hilarion castle, Harry discovers, is warded like Hogwarts. To the Muggles in the area, it appears as a ruin, to which Draco tells him that it actually was years ago, before wizards had fixed it up and set up the wards.
There’s a guided tour by a house elf whose entire family line had served in the castle, but Draco tugs him in the opposite direction and gives his own version, and Harry finds that the dry humor Draco shows off is something he wants to keep hearing.
Before he knows it, the sun is beginning to set, and the castle is quiet. The Portkey they would have taken left a long time ago, but he and Draco are still wandering slowly through the corridors, exploring every room. Draco points out the room that one of his long-ago ancestors slept in, and then shows him the portrait hanging in the throne room that looks surprisingly like Draco, save for a few traits.
They apparate back to Larnaca shortly after, and Draco walks him to the inn.
“Unfortunately, Harry, I must get some studying done tomorrow, so I won’t be available. But maybe during the week? I’ll Floo you.” Harry nods, and Draco heads off back down the way they came, and Harry watches until he can’t see him anymore.
He has a feeling this is going to get out of hand.
***
Draco does Floo him on Tuesday evening and they go for dinner; Harry takes him to the Red Pepper, and tries not to gag in disgust as Draco gets the crispy squid salad and seems to eat it joyfully. Harry sticks to the steak and potatoes, and manages to even have room for pudding, which he watches Draco eat in fascination.
The rest of the week, Draco is unfortunately busy, but the following Saturday Harry takes him to Cape Greco, and they wander through the grasses. Draco starts getting pink, so Harry casts a subtle sunblock charm at him, even though the pink of his nose and neck is rather cute.
When they’re exhausted, Draco apparates them back to his villa, and Harry gets his first look at where Draco has been staying.
They have a light dinner, and then Draco sets him up in one of the spare bedrooms, and Harry passes out quickly, under the light of a nearly full moon spilling through the window.
***
There’s something about villa Siyah that Harry loves. He’s been here a few times now, since that first time, and he finds something new almost every time. Perhaps it’s because it was a Black dwelling, with a hallway of portraits reminiscent of the one at Grimmauld Place, including one of a young Sirius. Harry spends a couple of hours in front of that one at one visit, talking at it even though it can’t respond past waving.
Or maybe it’s for the way the setting sun sets the marble ablaze, a riot of orange and pink and purple.
But maybe it’s more for the way Draco looks here, warm and unencumbered, moving through the world with a different kind of assurance than what he had at school.
Watching him makes Harry ache with a number of feelings that he’s not quite sure he’s ready to think about.
The few house elves that are here are deferential to Harry, but they treat Draco like a prince. He figures they’d been with Narcissa for years, and with Draco his whole life.They also, Harry notices, seem to be okay with calling Draco on his shit, and it’s hilarious to watch Draco sulk after being told off by a house elf. He’s also very kind to them, talking to them like they’re family, and Harry feels bad for being surprised by it.
Nothing happens between them for over a week.
Draco’s seemingly offhand comment about former Malfoys sexual preferences while exploring the castle has Harry’s mind running mad. There’d been a portrait hanging on a wall in one of the bedrooms that Draco said was a distant relation who had been in a very loving relationship with one of the kings who had ruled here. They hadn’t had any children, but Draco said that it would have been possible, and that there had been other Malfoys in the line that had done so.
Harry, of course, had thought about having children with Ginny, but that had disappeared when they had broken up. He knew Muggles had ways of having children when conventional methods didn’t work, so wizards must have similar ways, he thought.
It’s something he thinks about as he’s busy apparating between the villa and his room at the inn, but he’s not been able to bring it up to Draco, especially as they’ve not yet talked about what’s going on between them.
Because Draco is busy during the weekdays, Harry continues his exploration of Cyprus during the day, trying new foods and getting slowly darker under the blazing sun. He always returns to the villa in the evenings, wandering through the garden, or watching Draco in his potions lab.
One evening, they Floo to Nicosia for dinner, Draco taking him to a restaurant he apparently goes to often, as the owner comes out and greets him by name. He introduces Harry, and the owner rattles off something in Greek that has Draco blushing so brightly as he responds.
It’s a lovely place, lit just enough to see their food and each other, and Harry is struck by how beautiful Draco looks in candlelight. He has the sudden urge to take him back to the villa and disrobe him completely, get at all the skin that’s hidden away from him. He buries the feeling for now, instead focussing on the meal and their light conversation as best as he can, until Draco calls for the cheque.
He’s not sure what Draco sees in his face, but whatever it is has the blonde hustling him out of the restaurant and into a nearby alley.
Draco surges forward as soon as they’re away from the lights, curling a hand into the fabric of his shirt, his other finding purchase at his waist, gripping firmly as his mouth slants over his own, parting his lips expertly.
Harry groans, suddenly dizzy as all the blood rushes downwards, and kisses back fiercely, getting his own hands on Draco, curving around his sharp hips to his lower back, pulling him closer.
His head spins under the onslaught, and after a second he realizes that they’ve apparated out of the alley, and are now clutching each other tightly in the entrance of the villa, ensconced in the shadows. Harry can’t help but tug Draco more firmly against himself, moaning at the feel of Draco’s cock, more than half hard, aligning with his own.
“Ah, fuck, Draco,” he hisses, pulling his tender mouth away so he could gasp in a breath. Taking the opening, Draco latches onto the tender skin of his neck, nipping sharply, then soothing the spot with his tongue before finding a new spot to nibble on.
Harry’s vaguely aware of his shirt sliding off, but he has no presence of mind to figure out how Draco slipped all his buttons free. All he could do was hang on as Draco’s mouth tracked downwards over his chest, tongue flicking maddeningly across his nipples.
Until, of course, there was a sudden gust of warm breath low at his belly, and Harry couldn’t help but groan at the sight of Draco on his knees, staring up at him as he yanked open his belt and fought with the zip of his trousers. He was grateful for the wall behind him as his legs suddenly turned to jelly.
He wanted to laugh; here he was, in another country, with Draco Malfoy at his feet about (he hoped) to suck him off in the entrance of his villa. It was a far cry from their school days where they were more likely to hex each other or start throwing punches, and it was definitely different from the fumbling he and Ginny had gotten up to.
The laugh cut off in his throat as Draco tugged his pants down and licked a firm stripe up his cock, tongue teasing at the slit for a moment before sucking him down, like he was a treat he couldn’t wait to devour. Harry found he couldn’t catch his breath as he tipped his head back and watched Draco through half closed eyes, hips arching forward as Draco ran his nails up and down his thighs. The sharp sensation was doing wonders at bringing him closer to completion, so in an attempt to warn Draco, he reached out and tangled his fingers in soft blonde hair, tugging gently until Draco looked up at him.
“Pull off, I’m going to come,” he gasped out as Draco sucked lightly at the head like it was a lolly. Draco just lifted an eyebrow and went back to it, eyes closing as he hummed around his mouthful, and that was it for Harry as his will to hold out crumbled, biting his fist to keep his cry muffled as his hips jerked and he came in Draco’s mouth. His hand trembled as he tucked Draco’s hair behind his ear so he could have an unobscured view of his face as he pulled off, cheeks flushed.
He wasn’t particularly steady as he got to his feet, so Harry gently pulled him in and kissed him, groaning at the taste in Draco’s mouth and the feel of him hard against his hip. He licks at the inside of his mouth, chasing the taste, only to whine when Draco pulls away.
“Come on, I’ve got a better idea, rather than standing here giving the house elves a show,” he whispered, and Harry suddenly remembered that they were quite in the open, despite the darkness. He felt his cheeks flush as Draco took his hand and led him to the stairs, tugging him up them quickly, and down the hall. His stomach clenched as he realized that Draco’s room was on this floor.
Sure enough, that’s where they were headed, as Draco pushed the door open, closing it firmly once Harry was inside and dragging him to the large bed in the middle of the room. Suddenly nervous, he lets himself be lead up onto the bed, where Draco arranges him to his liking and kisses him gently, one hand carding through his hair.
“Draco?” he asks, and the blonde pauses, hovered over him. “I’ve never done this before.” he says nervously, biting his lip. In answer, Draco rolls onto his back and pulls Harry with him, kissing him again, hands dropping to his arse, squeezing firmly and making Harry moan.
“I’ll walk you through it, if you want,” Draco mumbles against his lips, and Harry can imagine Draco giving him instructions in that posh voice strung tight with desire and he finds himself nodding in agreement. Draco is still in his trousers, and he needs no instruction in this part, tugging down the zip, wiggling them down over his hips as Draco lifts them helpfully. His mouth goes dry as he discovers that Draco isn’t wearing pants and he groans, cock twitching in an attempt to get hard again.
Draco kicks his trousers free and once he settles, Harry leans down, pressing his mouth to sharp jut of his hip, dragging his teeth over the bone, hearing Draco groan above him.
“Good, just like that,” he whispers, hands already fisting in the covers. Harry gets his first look at Draco’s cock, and finds it’s just as pale as the rest of him, the head flushed pink, resting in a nest of golden curls. He bites his lip again, this time in anticipation as he watches a drop of pre-cum bead at the top.
“Scared, Potter?” Draco asks breathily, squirming slightly as Harry watches him.
“You wish,” he replies, chuckling a bit at the throwback, then leaning back over him and taking the head of his cock into his mouth. He doesn’t taste like much, a little salty but it’s not terrible. He experiments with sucking a bit and is rewarded with a drawn out groan from Draco that spurs him on further.
He finds he can’t take him as deep as Draco did him, but he makes up for it by wrapping a hand around the base, jerking him as he sucks at the head. Draco’s hand finds its way back into his hair, tugging lightly, and Harry makes a soft sound around Draco’s cock at the feel of it, and in return Draco moans.
“Harry, I’m not going to last, please,” he murmurs, and Harry pulls off, not quite ready to go as far as Draco had, instead just jerking him off steadily, twisting his hand and squeezing around the head as Draco squirms. A few more strokes and Draco tenses, body shuddering as he comes, pearly fluid dripping down his cock to coat Harry’s hand where he slows his motions. After a few minutes, he seems to have stopped, so Harry raises his hand to his mouth and licks at his fingers, grinning around them as Draco makes a sound.
He casts a quick cleaning charm and collapses next to him, tugging the covers from under their bodies, wiggling underneath them, rolling onto his side until he’s comfortable.
They don’t say anything, just kiss softly until Draco yawns fit to crack his jaw, and with a kiss to his cheek, rolls onto his side, back to Harry. He shifts closer and presses a kiss to the nape of his neck and settles into the pillows, closing his eyes as sleep takes over.
***
Morning dawns with the sound of the sea and the squawk of gulls clamoring for food.
Harry rolls from his back to his side to find Draco still sleeping peacefully next to him, eyelids fluttering as he dreams. It’s late enough in the morning that the sun cascades across the bed and turns Draco’s skin golden. He wants to reach out and touch, but before he can, Draco sighs and his eyes open slowly to adjust to the light.
“Watching me, Potter?” he asks, a soft smile curving his lips.
“Always, Malfoy,” he replies, casting his gaze down the length of Draco’s body, still mostly hidden by the sheet. His eyes find what remains of the Dark Mark on his left forearm, faded grey, the details fuzzy. He feels Draco tense and he looks up to find his eyes shuttered and his mask back on. Harry can feel his heart break at the way Draco tries to turn in on himself and he reaches out, grasping his wrist.
“You are more than than the mistakes of your childhood, more than how you were raised, Draco. This mark doesn’t define you,” he whispers, and Draco takes a deep shuddering breath and rolls into him. Harry holds him against his chest until Draco pulls away, face calm once more.
“Why did you quit the Aurors, Harry? I thought that was your dream?”
“Not afraid to dive right in to the deep stuff, are you?” Harry sighs, before sighing. “I was fifteen when I decided to be an Auror, and at the time, it was partly because Umbridge said I couldn’t do it. I’m afraid I never could turn down a challenge,” he sighed, ruefully.
“Once the war was over, I think everyone, including me, expected me to go right into training. The Ministry had even waived all the necessary forms, and ignored the fact that I didn’t have my NEWTs. They said that vanquishing the Dark Lord was good enough for them. I started the training like they wanted, and it will surprise you to learn that I did follow the rules. But after spending a year running and living in a tent, and then trying to live up to everything the public wanted you to be, it wasn’t much fun. And then I found out that they mostly wanted me to be more of a figurehead for the Ministry. Well, after that, I said fuck it and quit right there. I spent a lot of time after fixing up Grimmauld Place, trying to make it habitable, but once I finished that, I was kind of at loose ends. So here I am, no closer to knowing what it is I want to do.”
“I think you don’t have to decide that right now, Harry. You’re young, you can take your time finding out what you want to do. I think it’s enough that you knew what you didn’t want to do. Sometimes that’s the most important thing.” Harry finds he has no words, and instead rolls over and kisses Draco till he’s breathless, and even then, doesn’t pull away from him until there’s a crack and one of the house elves is standing at the foot of the bed. Harry hides his face in embarrassment as Draco laughs at him.
“Thank you, Pip, we’ll be down for breakfast shortly,” Draco replies to whatever it was Pip had said, Harry is trying to pretend he can’t hear a thing with his head covered by a pillow.
Only when he hears the sound of Pip disappearing does he pull the pillow off his face, only to find Draco looking down at him with amused exasperation.
“The house elves have seen worse in their time, Harry. Sirius used to be a regular visitor here, and you know what he was like.” Harry snorts; yes, he did have a bit of a glimpse into what Sirius had been like as a teenager, but it was still embarrassing to be caught by an elf snogging their master.
Eventually, Harry, finding it exhausting to continually Apparate back and forth between the villa and the inn, pays up for his room and brings his belongings to the villa at Draco’s insistence, citing how much he’s ‘paying for a room he never uses and how he’s already here all the time anyway, it just makes sense.’.
The days pass too quickly for Harry’s liking, with Draco gone during the days, and getting busier as his training comes to an end, and the day they go back to London gets closer.
Harry had decided to go back when Draco did, but he was starting to sort of regret his hasty decision, even though he did miss everyone.
He’d already told Ron and Hermione about things moving forward with Draco, and he’d attempted to tell Ginny, but she’d already heard it from Blaise, who had it right from Draco.
Draco, being more observant than Harry ever had any hope to be, and sat them down and straight forwardly said that they didn’t have to go spreading the news around, it wasn’t like he was that eager either to get back, only he had a job waiting for him that he had to get to.
That somehow was reassuring, as the last thing Harry wanted was more articles in the paper, which was why he’d come here in the first place.
In the final week, once Draco had finished his training with a ceremony that Harry had gladly gone to, whistling loudly as he’d received his diploma and making him blush in front of everyone, they’d not left the villa unless they had to, preferring to spend the rest of their time with each other only.
On their last day, with all their things packed and just waiting to be shrunk, Draco took Harry to bed and opened him up slowly, breaking him apart piece by piece before putting him back together, and then taking a nap, only to do it again.
Draco walked him through it, and Harry thought that nothing could be better than this, until Draco tangled their hands together and kissed him fiercely, and Harry was flying off a cliff, letting go of everything except for the man in his arms. It didn’t matter if he had no clue what to do with his life, or where he was going, because he knew Draco wouldn’t push him until he was ready for the push.
***
“Are you still nervous to be going home tomorrow?” Draco asks softly, hand tightening in his as they watch the sun set over the water from their spot along the marble balcony, the sound of the surf crashing against the beach down below them the only disturbance in the peace of the villa.
“Not at all,” Harry replies, facing him. He can’t help the smile, looking at Draco, tugging him closer. “Wherever you are, wherever you go, is home for me.”
THE END