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Chapter Text

Harry didn’t have nightmares, but it was still only a few hours later when he woke in the room Draco had provided him. He got up and showered, letting the hot water fall over him as he closed his eyes. His mind drifted, snatches of thoughts and fragments of dreams flowing through it.

What was he doing? He thought he'd been clear but it was all getting so messed up in his head. Catching Malfoy, solving the case, giving a shit about the missing people … it was all starting to mean less and less. He stayed under the spray for a long time, trying to drag himself into some sort of clarity - some sort of direction. Thoughts of the day he'd just had - just dreamt - kept intruding. He couldn't stop thinking about how right it had felt, how natural, to watch his son play with Draco's or to reach out and wipe a smudge of ice-cream from the corner of Draco's lips, bringing it to his mouth and smiling as Draco's eyes went dark and he looked away.

He shivered when he got out of the shower and the cold air hit his skin. He wrapped the towel around himself, huddling into its warmth. Then he dried himself slowly, wincing at the aches of his body as he bent and moved. He realised, as he picked his t-shirt up to slip it over his head, that his clothes were days old, and smelled it. He wrinkled his nose and considered for a moment looking through the drawers in the room or asking Draco if he had spares. The thought made him snort in wry laughter. It was getting too easy to forget that they weren't friends outside the dream - that the Draco he was seeing was a completely different person from the Malfoy in the real world.

He cast a Tempus when he was dressed and was surprised to see it was six at night. He frowned and felt a faint stir of guilt at the thought he'd missed work again. He should go home, get changed. Rest. But even the thought of those activities sent a stab of anxiety through him. He didn't want to leave.

He opened the bedroom door and was unsurprised to see the bar in front of him. He turned as soon as the door had shut behind him to touch the dragon and enter the dream room. Malfoy seemed resigned to his presence, waving Harry to his alcove with a distracted gesture. He was having a conversation with a man Harry vaguely recognised. He squinted through the smoky air, eyes widening when he realised it was Victor.

Victor seemed to be arguing with Malfoy, eyes wide and panicked, but Malfoy continued to speak to him slowly and emphatically, until at last his shoulders slumped and he nodded. He turned away from Malfoy, walking through the room and Harry was surprised to see that his face was blotchy, his eyes red, as though he'd been crying.

Harry watched him until he left the room, then sat on the edge of his bed. The room was more empty than usual. Maybe? He wasn't sure. He didn't know if it was just the time of night. It was, what? Wednesday night? Thursday? Maybe that was just a quiet time for the bar.

Malfoy interrupted his thoughts as he walked over, crossing his arms and staring down at Harry.
'Don't you have a home to go to, Potter?'
Harry ignored him. 'What's wrong with Victor?'
Malfoy's face became less impressed. 'None of your business. You slept, now go home.'
Harry crossed his arms. 'I don't want to.'

Malfoy raised one unimpressed eyebrow and Harry flushed slightly, knowing exactly what he looked like. Malfoy's next words confirmed that. 'Anyone ever tell you that you look like your four year old when you do that?'
Harry couldn't help but smile at the thought of Archie, even though it was tinged with pain. 'Since no one but you knows he exists,' he said, rolling his eyes, 'no, they haven't.' He sighed, dropping his arms. 'I want to stay, please? Just for a bit. It's late. There's no one at home. The house is cold and empty. I've missed work and I just slept. A few hours and then I'll go. Promise.'

Malfoy rolled his eyes in turn. 'You really are something else, Potter. Say I let you stay. What then? What sweet dreams does your little heart desire?' Something flickered in Malfoy's eyes and a slow smile came over his face. It made him look, just for a moment, like the boy Harry had flown with, so long ago. 'No, never mind, I have just the thing.'
He Accioed a bottle of Dreamless and Harry lay down as he was bidden, curious to see where Draco would take him.

He was headed home after a long day at work - a long week, really. He'd been working hard on a case all month and he had a feeling they'd finally cracked it. Ron had come in with the final piece of the puzzle and all they had left to do was put it together and draw out the arrests.

The trip from the Apparition point to his door at Grimmauld wasn't long, and Harry liked the walk. It gave him a moment to wind down from work, to let go of everything and to clear his mind for the evening ahead.
'Hey babe,' he called, as he stepped in the door.
'In here,' came the voice from the kitchen. Harry smiled and kicked off his boots, lining them up neatly and hanging his Auror robes over the peg by the door, giving them a quick flick to straighten them.

A delicious smell filled the air and Harry breathed it in appreciatively, following his nose to the figure at the stovetop, humming the words to some obscure song as he tilted a board, sending a cascade of mushrooms, bacon and onion into the pan.
Harry stepped up behind him, putting his hands on Draco's hips as he pressed a kiss into his neck. Draco tilted his head to give Harry better access, but didn't stop his humming, picking up a wooden spoon to stir the ingredients in.
Harry nipped at his neck lightly, rubbing his cheek against the shaved undercut of Draco's hair as he breathed him in. Draco arched back into him for a moment and then pushed him away with a huff. 'Set the table, you animal. This is almost done.'

Harry laughed, pressed another kiss to Draco's neck and then turned to the cupboard, pulling out what he needed.
'You want a white with that?' he asked, looking at the wine rack.
Draco nodded. 'There should be a pinot grigio in there. That would go well with the carbonara.'
Harry spotted it and cancelled the cooling charm on it, pulling it from the rack.

'Sell anything interesting today?' he asked, after they were seated. He lifted a forkful of the pasta to his mouth.
Draco shrugged. 'That crazy old woman was back. Remember the one I told you about? Bagshot?'
Harry shook his head, chewing and swallowing, 'No, I told you about her. She lives near mum and dad's place.'
Draco waved a hand dismissively. 'Whatever. Anyway, she was back again today, looking for more snake pins. Always the snakes with that one.'

Harry smiled and scooped more pasta onto his fork as he listened to Draco rant about one customer or another and their strange interests and requests. He'd thought, when they'd first started dating five years earlier, that Draco was unhappy with his job. He'd grown, quite quickly, to enjoy the way Draco brought his customers to life through his complaints, dramatically imbuing them with probably far more cunning, intelligence and vice than they actually possessed.

Harry cleared up after dinner, rolling up his sleeves to wash the plates. He let his mind wander into thoughts of the surprise trip to France he had coming up next month. He knew Draco didn't get across to see his mother nearly as much as he wanted to, especially since his father had passed. And it had been a while since they went away, just the two of them. The last few trips they'd taken had been with Ron and Hermione and Pansy and Blaise respectively, which had been nice, but there was something about being away with just Draco that was special.

Harry finished up, brewed the tea and went upstairs to find Draco. He was curled up on the end of the couch in front of the crackling fire, a book open in front of him. The sitting room had always been Harry's favourite, ever since his first visit to Draco's house six years earlier. He liked the whole house. It was light and airy and he had felt at home the very first time he walked in, but there was something about the sitting room that just spoke of warmth and comfort and home.

Harry smiled, placing Draco's tea on the side table and sitting at the other end of the couch. Without a word, Draco stretched his long legs out, putting his feet in Harry's lap. Harry put his hands on them, looking expectantly at Draco.
He continued to read for a minute longer, though Harry could tell he was faking it. His eyes were barely moving.

Finally he huffed a sigh, pushing one of his feet into Harry's hands as he laid down his book.
'Do I have to beg you for it, Potter?'
Harry's smile widened into a grin and he saw something flicker in Draco's eyes in return.
'Couldn't hurt,' he said, as he dug his thumb into the arch of Draco's foot, rubbing a firm stroke back up it.
Draco's eyes fluttered for a moment, his only concession to the pleasure, and then he picked up his book. 'Carry on, then.'

Harry reached for his wand for a moment, so his latest letter from Sirius - who seemed to be in Egypt currently - floated in front of him, then he returned his hands to Draco's feet, rubbing slowly over them as they sat quietly together in front of the softly popping fire.

----

He woke from the dream with a feeling of peace and contentment flowing through him. For a few minutes, it managed to resist the confusion and disbelief that crept in against it, the more Harry thought about what had just happened.

Malfoy wasn't in the room when Harry sat up. There were only two others, aside from himself. He pushed himself from his bed, staggering slightly as he stood. He righted himself quickly and moved back into the main bar, then he turned and looked back at the peeling green door. He wondered how Malfoy did it - made the door show him the different rooms. He closed his eyes and gripped his wand, envisioning the kitchen.

When he opened them he turned the handle, swinging the door wide. He felt his anticipation shrivel inside him as he looked back into the smoky dream room. He closed the door and gripped his wand again, trying to remember if he'd seen Malfoy do a spell or whisper anything.

'Don’t hurt yourself, Potter.'
Malfoy's drawling words interrupted his thoughts and Harry flashed back, for a moment, to Draco's dry wit as he told stories about his customers over dinner.
Harry's eyes flew open and Malfoy stood before him, the green door shut at his back. For a moment all Harry could think was that Draco looked wrong. His Draco was healthy, fit, always dressed in sharp, tailored clothes. He wouldn't be seen dead in tattered robes, with unwashed hair and with that unhealthy cast to his skin. Then reality came slamming back down. This wasn't his Draco. He didn't have a Draco.

'What the fuck are you playing at?' he growled, taking a step forward so they were chest to chest.
Malfoy didn't react other than to look down at him. 'I'm not playing at anything, Potter. Except pity, maybe. Bit pathetic of you, to go home to a dark, cold, lonely house night after night. Bit pathetic of you to tell me that, actually,' Malfoy mused, lips twisting into a sneer. 'Thought you could use something better.'
Harry felt those words strike at something deep within him. He was so fucking sick of being pitied. He saw it in the eyes of almost everyone around him. Malfoy - at least Malfoy - hadn't given enough of a shit about him to pity him.

'Fuck you,' Harry spat, as the anger and humiliation rose higher. 'I don’t need your damned pity.' He stepped back, turned away from Malfoy, forcing himself to leave. To leave before Malfoy said something else - did something else. A part of him protested. Draco wouldn't do this - wouldn't hurt him on purpose. It had to be a misunderstanding. They had their fights sometimes, that was normal.

Harry crushed the voice down, forcing it to shut up. That Draco wasn't fucking real. He slammed the door of the bar behind himself, just remembering to put his glamour up before he exited.

From the alley, he Apparated home, knowing what he needed as soon as he walked in the door. He sent an owl to Dean and then collected a bottle of Polyjuice. He didn't even grimace at the taste as he let the change wash over himself willingly. He didn't want to be Harry Potter anymore. His new body was hard and strong and tall and confident. Everything he knew he wasn't.

He walked in the door of Liquid Luck twenty minutes later as Erik. He squinted for a moment, disorientated. Gaudy gold light flashed all around him from the solid gold ornamentation and the sound of the bass thumped through him. But it only took him a second to adjust and he made straight for the bar. He caught the eye of one of the bar keepers who knew him by sight and held up three fingers.

The man nodded and a minute later he had three shots of Firewhisky in front of him. He handed over his Gringotts token for the start of a tab and then downed the shots, one after the other, blowing the smoke up into the air as he turned to look over the heaving dancefloor.
Liquid Luck was huge. A multi-level playhouse. It had been a while since he'd come to play.

He collected and downed another two shots and headed to the dance floor. Dean intercepted him halfway there. He was dressed much less flashily than he normally did, as thought he'd hurried over. He caught Harry by the arm, leaning in to shout to be heard over the music.
'Where the fuck have you been?'
Harry pulled back to give him an unimpressed look. He and Dean had an agreement. They went out, they had fun, they got wasted, they pulled and they went home. They didn't fucking keep tabs on each other.

Harry's brain began to tick again and he narrowed his eyes. Ron.
He leaned in to shout in Dean's ear.
'You can tell your new best mate I don't need a fucking babysitter,' he said, before he pushed Dean away, moving between twisting and heaving bodies as he entered the dance floor. He didn't bother looking over his shoulder. He knew Dean wouldn't follow.

He let the music and the alcohol flowing through him direct his body as he moved and swayed in time with the masses of people around him. It wasn't long before he felt hands on his hips, strong and sure. He didn't open his eyes, he just tilted his head back and slowed his movement. He felt a hard body fit itself against his back and lips brush against his neck. He shivered, feeling arousal throb through him in time with the thump of the bass. For a moment, in his mind, those lips were Draco's and he felt the ghost of Draco's body against his, but he pushed the thought away, angrily.

The hands on his hips pulled him into a dirty grind, one slipping up his shirt and scraping nails lightly over his stomach. Then the mouth was back at his neck, teeth grazing his skin before a searing hot kiss was pressed against him. Harry's mouth dropped open in a gasp and he pushed himself back against the body behind him. He wanted to lose himself in this. To forget everything else.

In response, the hand at his hip pulled them closer together so that he could feel the hard press of the other man's arousal against his arse. He ground back into it and felt the bite of teeth at his neck. Harry put his hands up, tangling one in the silky smooth strands of the other man's hair. It was long enough to grip and pull him closer, to encourage him not to stop. For a moment the texture reminded him of Draco's hair and he had a flash of memory - his fingers buried in Draco's hair as their mouths met -

The moan at his ear was loud enough that he could hear it over the music. Harry focussed on it. He wanted this. This was real. He wanted the freedom of a hook-up with a stranger - someone who had no idea who he was, and who he could have some fun with, just for tonight. He wanted to feel the man's mouth on his, press against him and get some relief for himself.

He pulled them apart, grabbing the man's hand and pulling him away, off the dance floor. The toilets were golden too, light flickering off every surface, searing into his brain. Harry didn't bother with what the man looked like, he just pulled them both into a cubicle, touched his wand and whispered the spells to prep himself before he shoved his pants down to his thighs.

His partner didn't seem to mind. He was inside and thrusting hard against Harry in moments, his pants and groans matching Harry's as Harry dropped a hand to his cock, stroking it in time with the fucking he was receiving. It was good. It was good but fuck, it wasn't enough. It wasn't -

Harry thought of Malfoy, standing in the doorway of the cubicle, watching him get fucked with that damned smirk on his face. He instantly felt his pleasure grow, burning through him. He pushed his arse back, with a grunted, 'Harder.' The man behind him complied, fucking him hard and fast. Harry didn’t want to - Gods he didn't want to - but he couldn't stop himself from picturing Draco, standing there, just metres away, watching him.

He jerked and cried out, his orgasm catching him almost by surprise as he spent himself against the gleaming golden wall. Through it all, he could feel Draco's eyes on him, hot and knowing.
The man behind him was still going, pumping in and out. Harry had a mind to tell him to fuck off, but instead he just growled a, 'hurry up' over his shoulder, bracing his hands against the wall.

It wasn't until much later, when he was back home, staggering up the stairs, another six shots in him, that it occurred to him that he wasn't the only one who went home alone each night, and that just maybe Malfoy had been telling him more than he'd realised.

----

Harry was woken the next morning by a banging on his front door and Ron's voice yelling.
'Harry? Harry! Are you in there? Open up.'
He groaned and opened his eyes, regretting it as he felt nausea rise and the room began to spin. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, checked he at least had pants on and stumbled towards the bathroom, grabbing his wand to direct an unlocking charm at the front door as he did. He knew that tone in Ron's voice. The fucker would keep knocking until he got an answer.

Ron's noise cut off abruptly and Harry breathed a sigh of relief for small mercies. He pulled the doors to the bathroom cabinet open, shoving empty bottles and containers to one side before he grunted a pained thanks to whatever gods existed.
He stood slowly, breathing against the pounding in his head as he clutched the hangover potion to his chest. He uncapped it and swallowed it in one, shuddering as the pain and nausea peaked for one agonising instant which felt like an hour. Then he sagged, looking down into the sink, breathing heavily, the bottle clutched in his fist.

'Where the fuck have you been?'
Harry didn't look up, just let the bottle slip from his hand, clattering into the sink.
'Dean needs to keep his mouth shut,' he said heavily, running the tap and bending over to rinse his mouth out.
He stood and turned to face Ron at last. Ron blanched at the look of him, some of the anger leaving his face.

'You look like shit,' Ron blurted, stepping forward. 'What's wrong? What's going on?'
'Nothing,' Harry said, pushing past him and back into the bedroom. 'Big night.'
Ron reached out to put a hand on his arm. Harry stopped, but didn’t turn to look at him.
'This is more than a big night, Harry. You look wrecked. You look -' His voice trailed off, but Harry could hear the unspoken words. He'd thought them himself when he accidentally caught a look in the mirror. You look the way you did just after the war.

'I'm fine,' Harry said, pulling his arm away. He felt absurdly grateful Ron let him. He moved into his bedroom and slipped into the first clothes he found, turning back to face Ron and forcing a smile onto his face.
'Did you come to walk me to work? How nice.'
Ron grimaced. 'I've already been to work. I came by because the last two times I have, you haven't been here and you haven't been answering my owls and Dean just owled me to say he saw you at a club last night and you looked really out of it. But yeah, we can go to work together if you like.'

Harry walked past him and down the stairs, flicking the coffee machine on.
Ron followed him down and then hesitated in the doorway to the kitchen. 'About work. Robards has been looking for you too. I think he'll want to see you.'
Harry waited for some sort of emotion to follow that pronouncement, but there was nothing. He grunted and poured himself a cup of coffee.
'I don't think - well, he seems pretty pissed, Harry,' Ron began, but Harry cut him off.

'I can deal with Robards. I have for the last four years.' He cast his mind for anything to talk about but that prat. 'Bring me up to speed. What did I miss in the scintillating life of the Auror force?'
Ron hesitated again, looking torn. Harry glanced at him, bringing his mug to his lips and taking a sip, sighing at the warmth of it. He'd been so cold lately.

'Spit it out,' Harry said.
'Well, there's probably one case you'd care about,' he said, and Harry raised an eyebrow, waiting. 'Malfoy's,' Ron said. Harry felt his heart thump in his chest and he gripped the coffee cup tighter.
'What's the latest?' he asked, forcing his voice to stay steady - mildly interested.

'They sent in the undercover agent - Barclay - last night,' Ron said, a frown on his face.
Harry felt his mind racing. What day was it? That was supposed to be on Sunday. Wasn't it?
'What day is it?' Harry blurted.
Ron gave him a strange look. 'Friday. Tomorrow's the end of a twelve-day shift, which you've missed the majority of eight of the last days.'

'I thought the op was supposed to be Sunday?' Harry asked, aware his voice was rising but unable to stop it. I thought I had more time. 'What happened?' What happened to Draco? he wanted to yell.
Ron was looking at him as though he regretted even bringing up the subject.
'Nothing happened. Place was a ghost town. She went in, had a few drinks and was the only person in the place all night. Apparently Malfoy spent the entire time sitting in the corner watching her like some creepy spider.'

Harry let out a sigh that sounded a little too much like relief and Ron's frown deepened. 'What've you been doing all week anyway?'
Harry looked down at his coffee. 'I told you, I've been sick.'
'You go out clubbing when you're sick, do you?' Ron's voice was sharp, and suddenly Harry had had enough.

He put the coffee cup down, hard, on the bench, heedless of the way it splashed over his hand.
'Thanks for the visit, Ron,' he said. 'I should get to work. I've been away all week and my boss wants to ream me out for being a human being.' He gestured at the door, a clear indication that Ron should lead the way. 'Do you mind?'
Ron opened his mouth as if to say something but then his shoulders slumped and he walked out of the room.

He turned to Harry on the doorstep of Grimmauld. 'I'm just worried about -'
His words were cut off as Harry Apparated away.

He was in the office for fifteen minutes before he got the memo from Robards.

See me in my office at eleven.
G Robards

He had half an hour. He tossed up whether he should go and have a smoke, but Ron's words came back to him. Nothing happened. Place was a ghost town. Jeffries wouldn't tell him anything, the prat, but he wondered if he could weasel it out of Barclay. She wasn't in her cubicle when he wandered over, and he glanced around, a new course of action already decided.

He ducked behind her partition and rifled through the papers on her desk, finding nothing. Then he pulled out her drawer, flicking through the folders one at a time until he found the one he was looking for. Harry glanced around again before he laid the folder on the desk, duplicating its contents quickly, before shrinking the pages down and slipping them into his pocket.

He'd just slipped the file back in the drawer and moved away when Barclay returned, looking surprised to see him.
'Potter,' she greeted. 'I thought you were off sick?'
'I was,' he said, wincing as he realised he didn't have to inject a raspy weakness into his voice. 'On the mend now, though. I heard the Malfoy case was a bust?'
Barclay hesitated for a moment, then sat on the edge of her desk, tucking a strand of long black hair behind her ear.

'It was the strangest thing,' she said. 'I don’t think he pegged me for an Auror, but he didn’t show me the slightest bit of hospitality. Couldn't have cared less if I was there or not. I have no idea how the place stays open. I was there almost five hours and nothing moved.'
Harry bit his lip to stop a grin from spreading across his face at the memory of his first visit and the equally icy reception.

'Weird,' he agreed. 'So the op is off?'
'No.' Barclay shook her head. 'I'll be back again tonight. Start to build up some familiarity, turn myself into a patron. A place like that, something more than just drinks has to be going on. I need to be there long enough that he offers it to me, too.'

Harry almost laughed in her face, a strange sort of bubbling joy rising in him. He knew exactly what Malfoy offered, and somehow he couldn't imagine the straight-laced Auror Barclay taking it.
'Well, good luck with it,' he said, glancing up at the Tempus on the wall. 'I have to go. Robards wants to see me.'
A strange look flitted across Barclay's face for a moment before she smiled. 'See you.'

Harry didn't bother to knock, or to shut the door behind him. He walked into Robards' office, and dropped into the chair in front of his desk.
Robards looked up from whatever he was writing and his eyes flicked over Harry's appearance. He frowned heavily and set his quill aside, linking his fingers together on the desk in front of him.

'What's going on, Potter?' he asked.
Harry crossed his arms, putting his feet out in front of him. 'Everyone keeps asking me that,' he said.
'We're concerned,' Robards said, leaning forward.
Harry couldn't help the snort that left his mouth. Ron might be concerned, but Robards had never given a shit. He'd made that perfectly clear when he protested against Harry being accepted into the Auror program to start with.

Robards' lips compressed into a hard line.
'Auror Weasley says you've been sick,' Robards said, looking Harry up and down again. 'Based on your track record, I think I'd say that if you are, you've done it to yourself.'
Harry stayed silent, arms crossed. There was no point in defending himself. Robards had made up his mind a long time ago.

What Robards was saying was true anyway. He was sick. He'd known it for a long time, and he had no one but himself to blame for it. He wondered what Malfoy thought of him. He'd said Harry was a fuck-up, but then he'd let him come back, again and again. Malfoy had spun such sweet lies for him. Would he have done that if he thought Harry wasn't worth it? Harry frowned as he realised he hadn't even paid the last few times … he wondered why Malfoy hadn't mentioned it.

'I can't continue to look the other way,' Robards said, and Harry looked back up at him. 'A day here and there is one thing, but you've barely been at work. I've given you chance after chance. Pushed opportunities in front of you others would kill for, but you never took any of them -' Robards continued to talk, but Harry tuned him out, his mind returning to Draco, and the feeling he'd had as he left work - the satisfaction he'd had at knowing he was solving cases, working with Ron to make a difference. He focussed in on the feeling, turning it about, and wondering how he could have that again, what cases he would have to work to get that feeling of pride and accomplishment.

'What are you even doing here, Harry?'
Harry looked up at Robards, blinking as he came back to himself. Abruptly, reality came crashing down and he remembered that the feeling had been a dream - a fantasy. He was never going to be given cases to work - was never going to achieve anything in the Auror force.
His job - his real job - was a farce, just like so many things in his life.

'May I be excused?' he said, his tone flat.
Robards stared at him, nonplussed, then he sighed, leaning forward.
'Harry, you clearly hate it here. Those idiots in PR be damned; I want you to resign.'
Harry's eyes jerked up and he felt something in his chest twist. Robards didn't want him. Had never wanted him. He didn't know why, after all those years, that should still hurt.

He pushed the pain away, pulling other memories around it. He focussed on his family. Love. Happiness. Connection. Purpose. He layered himself with brightness, until he felt like he'd created his own internal Patronus.
After that, it was simple. He reached over and pulled a piece of parchment to himself, scooping up Robards' quill.

I quit.
HP

He threw it back on Robards' desk and shrugged out of his robes, leaving them in a pile on the floor and walked out. He didn't turn around once.

----

When he got to the Apparition point, he paused, unsure where he wanted to go - where he could go. But when he made his choice, it felt inevitable. His anger at Draco had faded. Now he just needed to see him again.

He approached the bar under his glamour, trying to act like he had on any other day. Barclay's words ran through his mind again. The place is a ghost town.
He was only in there a moment before Malfoy came out of the green door, crossing his arms with a glare.
'I thought you didn't need my pity,' he said, voice cold.

Harry refused to rise to the bait. 'I quit my job. Also, the woman with the long black hair who was in here last night was an undercover Auror. She'll be back tonight.'
Malfoy's eyes widened and he stepped forward, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him through the green door. When it had closed behind him and they were standing in the kitchen, Malfoy let go of him, shaking his head.
'Fuck's sake, Potter. What if they have a listening charm in the bar? I know she's a damned Auror, you git. Just like I knew you were when you showed up as that incredibly conspicuous dickhead.'

Harry looked at him, surprised. 'Why are you still here then?'
Malfoy snorted and moved over to the kettle, filling it and putting it on the hob. 'Because I am more than capable of handling Aurors whose noses are too big for them.'
Harry didn't say anything and after a moment Malfoy looked back over his shoulder. 'Sit down, will you? You make the place look messy.'

'Why are you so calm?' Harry asked, sitting automatically. 'You've been raided, you're under surveillance and you've had two visits from undercover Aurors.'
Malfoy barked out a short laugh. 'I hardly think you count, Potter. Yours was the most inept attempt at undercover I've ever seen.'
Harry bristled, 'I got into the dream room, didn't I?'
Malfoy pursued his lips, humming thoughtfully. 'You did. I take it back, you're not completely incompetent.'

Harry rolled his eyes, but a part of him felt a small bloom of warmth. Coming from Malfoy, that was practically a glowing endorsement. But Malfoy still hadn’t answered his question. Harry had his issues with Jeffries, but Barclay wasn't an idiot, and there was more and more focus coming onto this case. He remembered the papers he'd copied and shrunk down and pulled them out of the pocket of his jeans, belatedly glad he hadn't shoved them into his robes.

He put them on the table and unshrunk them, smoothing them out.
Malfoy leaned over, eyes flicking over the pages, before he glanced away, dismissing them. Harry opened his mouth to argue with him - to make him see the danger.
'I've shut the - what did you call it? The Dream Room,' Malfoy said, as he took a step back and leaned against the sink. 'None of my customers will be back short term. Maybe long term, depending on how long your friends hang about.'

'Not my friends,' Harry returned automatically, as he processed that. Then a more important thought occurred to him.
'Why have you left the bar open, then? Why not disappear?'
Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him. 'I'm not guilty of anything, Potter. I disappear, suddenly I am.'

Harry nodded. That made a strange kind of sense. Then his thought process ground to a halt as Malfoy's words registered.
'Wait -' he could feel panic beginning to rise in him. 'Does that mean - can't I -?' He couldn't get the words out. Can't I see my children? Can't I forget? Can't I have something - just one thing - that's not shit?

Malfoy read the rising anxiety on his face and he sighed.
'Calm down, Potter. As always, you are the exception to every rule.'
Harry closed his eyes and breathed out a shaky breath. He wanted to say thank you, but didn't. He wanted to question why Malfoy had decided not to cut him off, but he didn’t want to give him any reason to change his mind.

Something else occurred to him, thinking about the case, something that had been niggling in the back of his mind.
'Do you still have them?' he asked. 'My memories - the ones you bottled the first night I came?'
Malfoy stared at him, silently for a long moment and Harry felt himself begin to get nervous. He hadn't released them, had he? Surely not. Harry would have heard about it.
Then Malfoy turned back to the hob, lifting the kettle off as he muttered something Harry didn't catch.

'What was that?' Harry asked, half standing.
Malfoy's shoulder slumped in a movement that looked like a sigh. 'I said, I never bottled your damned memories,' he said, not turning around.
Harry sat heavily back into his seat, relief and confusion warring in him. He wanted to be angry at Malfoy, for making him think he had a sword hanging over his head, and at the same time, something in him responded to the fact that Malfoy hadn't carried out his threat, for whatever reason.

Malfoy turned around, not meeting his eyes as he moved to the table and placed a cup of tea in front of Harry. Harry thought about challenging him - about pushing him to explain why he'd assumed Harry wouldn't go to the Aurors with what he knew, after that first visit. He wanted to, but he also didn't want to start a fight, didn't want to break the fragile thing that was growing between them.
He picked up his cup and took a sip. The tea tasted weak and milky and he made a face.

'I'm not giving you coffee,' Malfoy said before he'd even spoken, seemingly happy to latch onto a change of topic. 'It's tea or nothing. And you need to bloody sleep again, by the looks of you. When did you eat last?'
Harry shrugged, looking down at his ragged fingernails and picking at one. 'I had a hangover potion this morning,' he said, trying to make light of it.
Malfoy's gaze sharpened and his eyes flicked over Harry, then he turned to the fridge.

'You have a fridge,' Harry said, with belated surprise.
'Yes,' Malfoy said, 'and a toaster and a microwave and a television. Any other genius observations you would like to make?'
He pulled a few things out, and then there was the beep and hum of machines and a small bowl of spaghetti carbonara was sitting in front of him.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed it in. It smelled just like the dream. For a moment he expected to be transported into a different kitchen, a different life, but when he opened them, the Draco sitting opposite him was bitter and hard and had a look on his face that dared Harry to comment on the fact that he'd clearly made himself the meal he'd cooked for Harry in their dream.

Harry looked down at his bowl, twirling the pasta around his fork and bringing it to his mouth with a moan of pleasure.
'You're actually good at this,' he said as he swallowed and scooped another forkful. It was rich and creamy, the pasta cooked perfectly. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he'd eaten something so good.
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. 'I think you will find I am good at all sorts of things, Potter,' he said as he stood, busying himself with something at the sink. 'When you've finished, you should go home. I have a bar to run.'

Harry shook his head, suddenly determined not to leave.
'They can't find these rooms?' he asked.
Malfoy turned around, leaning back against the sink. He shook his head without saying anything.
'Let me stay,' Harry said. 'Just for the night. If I go home, Ron will pitch a fit at me for quitting.'
Malfoy hesitated before he huffed a sigh. 'Fine. I suppose you want some entertainment while you're here?'

Harry looked at him, unable to help the smile that crept over his face. Malfoy tried to make his tone uncaring, but Harry could hear the hint of interest that crept in.
'Well, if you're offering,' he said.
Malfoy jerked his chin at the bowl of half-eaten carbonara. 'Finish your lunch, and your tea.'

'Yes, dear,' Harry said, a hint of familiarity creeping into the words before he flushed and looked down at his food. That familiarity belonged to the Draco he lived with in the dream, the one who bossed him around and looked after him and always thought he knew what was best. It didn't belong to Malfoy.

Harry finished the meal quickly, enjoying the feeling of warm fullness in his belly. He stood and took his dishes to the sink, washing them and putting them on the rack automatically. When he turned around, Malfoy was watching him with a strange expression on his face. He turned abruptly and gestured towards the far side of the room, not the door Harry normally exited from.

Harry hesitated, looking at the green door and Malfoy sighed. Harry wondered how he managed to make his sighs so expressive. This one clearly communicated, I don’t go in and out of my bar every time I want to get up for a drink in the night, you moron.
Harry flushed as he realised that made sense. Whatever magic Malfoy had imbued his green door with, to be able to open to any room he chose, it made sense that the inner workings of his home weren't totally reliant on it.

They passed through a small living room that was neat, but reasonably bare, just a few books, a blanket thrown over the back of the couch and the telly on one wall. There were no photos, no personal items. Harry tried not to wince as he saw the similarities in the way he'd put Grimmauld Place together. It had been so much nicer when he lived there with Draco.

The next room they entered was a bedroom and Harry paused in the doorway, as he recognised it and a thought hit him.
'Is this your room?' he asked, looking over at Malfoy.
'There's Dreamless in the bathroom cupboard,' Malfoy said, ignoring the question, though Harry saw his cheeks pinken faintly. 'I'm sure you know the way. Take your shoes off before you lie down. The bed will reek enough of you when you're done. You don't need to muddy it up as well.'

Harry couldn't figure out which part of that statement to respond to first, the entirety of it swirling through him, sending a strange emotion fizzing in his chest, so he just did as he was told, crossing the room to the bathroom and fishing out the purple-filled bottle.

He kicked his shoes off, and considered for a crazy moment undressing down to his pants, but he pushed the idea away. That was ridiculous. That wasn't what this was. But somehow it was different - very different - to know that he was about to be laid out on Malfoy's bed, alone in his bedroom rather than a room full of others.

He glanced at Malfoy. Grey eyes met his in a kind of challenge he had never been able to resist. He sat on the bed, then laid back on the pillows, lifting the bottle to his lips.

As he felt the drowsiness begin to take over, Malfoy came to sit on the edge of the bed and Harry felt a soft touch down the side of his face.
He blinked his eyes sleepily open, but Malfoy hushed him, that same light touch sending a strange feeling of comfort and care through him.

He almost didn't catch Malfoy's words, as the darkness dragged him under.
'Let's see what you've been up to, shall we, Potter?'

Harry felt a sense of floating calm as he hung in the darkness. Then he felt the touch of Malfoy's mind against his, curiosity lurking as his memories were unspooled. Malfoy skipped past his scene with Robards. Harry got a hint of condescension sent Robards' way, then strangely anger flared briefly as Ron entered his house. It was gone in an instant as Malfoy continued to go back.

The memory stopped in a moment surrounded by golden light and harsh, panting pleasure. Harry felt something dark and ugly ripple over him and then the scene was spooling backwards again and he was in it.

Harry let the music and the alcohol flowing through him direct his body as he moved and swayed in time with the masses of people around him. He felt hands on his hips and tilted his head back. A hard body fitted itself against his back and lips brushed against his neck. He shivered, feeling arousal throb through him.

He was pulled into a dirty grind and a hand slipped up his shirt. Then the teeth were back at his neck, grazing his skin before a searing hot kiss was pressed against him. Harry gasped and pushed himself back. He wanted to lose himself in this. To forget everything else.

He could feel the hard press of a cock against his arse. He ground back into it and felt the bite of teeth at his neck again. Harry put his hands up, tangling one in the silky smooth strands of the other man's hair. It was long enough to grip and pull him closer, to encourage him not to stop.

The moan at his ear was loud enough that he could hear it over the music. Harry focussed on it. He wanted the freedom of a hook-up with a stranger - just for tonight. He wanted to feel the man's mouth on his, press against him and get some relief for himself. He wanted to lose himself in feeling and to not feel, all at once.

Everything felt strangely comfortable, familiar, until he turned. He turned and saw grey eyes widen in surprise and a familiar mouth form the word, 'Potter?'
Malfoy was frozen, his face shocked, his hands still on Harry's hips. They were so close that Harry could see the faintest of freckles dusting Malfoy's nose. Harry stared at him, surprise leaving him speechless. He hadn't seen Malfoy since sixth year - since they'd had a massive fight in the Hogwarts bathrooms and suddenly Malfoy had moved to France to finish school. That had been - that had been five years ago.

The moment seemed frozen in time. The music was pounding and all around them bodies were moving and writhing, but the two of them were still. Then Malfoy's eyes flicked down to his mouth, just for an instant, and Harry felt want throb through him. Slowly, deliberately, he moved closer. Not as close as they had been before, but close enough that he could feel Malfoy's body against his, hot and hard.

Malfoy bit his lip and Harry brought his arms up slowly, half expecting Malfoy to push him away and disappear into the crowd. But he didn't. Instead Harry felt Malfoy's hands move slowly from his hips to his arse. He saw Malfoy's eyes darken with want and he knew - he knew - this wasn't going to be some casual thing he could just forget after tonight.

He knew it and still he pulled Malfoy's face down to his. Malfoy's mouth was hot and bitter. He tasted like whatever he had been drinking. His kiss was hard. There was no give in him and Harry immediately responded, opening his mouth to Malfoy's tongue and feeling desire flow through him. He closed his eyes and focussed on touch - on the feeling of Malfoy's body against his, on the movement of their mouths as they fought back and forth. Malfoy's hands on his arse were hard as well, gripping him and grinding him closer.

Harry moaned and Malfoy nipped at his lip, the sting of pain making Harry open his eyes. Malfoy's were so dark they were almost black when Harry met them and he jerked his head in a clear direction.
Harry nodded. Yes. More was what he wanted, and he couldn't get that here.
Malfoy smiled in approval and, to Harry's surprise, reached for his hand, linking their fingers together. Harry looked down at their hands under the golden light and smiled in return. They looked good together.

He made for the direction of the bathrooms, but Malfoy shook his head, pulling Harry close to yell in his ear.
'My place.'
His breath was hot and he followed the words with another biting kiss to Harry's neck. Harry groaned and leaned against him, putting his arms around Malfoy and pulling him close, grinding them together again. Malfoy sucked hard on his neck, and Harry knew he'd have a mark there tomorrow. He smiled as he tilted his head to the side, wanting more.

But Malfoy stepped back, a smirk on his face, as he pulled Harry towards the door. As soon as they were out of the crush of bodies, Malfoy pulled Harry close, and then he felt the sickening pull of Apparition. The moment they landed, Malfoy's mouth was on his again, and Harry's hands moved to Malfoy's shirt, fumbling with the tiny, slippery buttons. He growled into Malfoy's mouth and Malfoy laughed and then stepped back.

Harry let his hands drop to his sides and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. They were in a small room, neat and clean. Something about it seemed familiar and Harry looked around with a frown. The thought left his mind as Malfoy deftly undid his buttons, sliding his shirt off his shoulders to pool on the ground. Harry pulled his own shirt over his head and let it drop. Malfoy's eyes moved over him in a gaze that was very clearly appreciative.

Harry's eyes were drawn by Malfoy's hands, deftly undoing his belt buckle and then his flies. He watched, unable to look away as Malfoy shimmied out of his tight jeans, standing naked, cock jutting in front of him. Harry licked his lips, but Malfoy took a step forward, dropping gracefully to his knees, as he opened Harry's jeans, pulling his cock out and pausing to look up at him.
'You're going to want no one but me, after I'm done with you,' he said, his voice low and husky.

Harry felt Malfoy's grip around his cock, looked at the possessive heat in his eyes and shivered. He didn’t know how to say that he already felt that way, so he just dropped a hand to Malfoy's hair and urged him gently closer.
He closed his eyes as he felt Malfoy's cleaning charm tingle over him. Then the sensation was replaced by the heat of Malfoy's mouth and he tipped his head back, fingers clenching in Malfoy's hair, pulling him closer.

Malfoy sucked back harder, tongue swirling as he worked his hand up and down Harry's cock in time with his mouth.
Harry moaned at the feeling, unable to stop himself from jerking forward. Malfoy's mouth was relentless, bringing him to the edge harder and faster than he ever had in his life. Within a minute he was crying out and spilling down Malfoy's throat.

He looked down, embarrassed to have come so quickly, but Malfoy was licking his lips, looking up at Harry with a look of debauched pleasure on his face. Harry could see his cock bobbing, untouched between his legs, and he was about to offer to return the favour when Malfoy pulled his jeans the rest of the way off. Harry stepped out of them, and then let Malfoy pull him towards the bed.

He lay down on his stomach, unresisting, as Malfoy knelt between his legs, pushing one up. He knew it exposed his arse, but he didn't care. It had been so long since he'd done this in a bed. So long since it had been more than a brief fumble or a quick fuck.
Malfoy's hands were on his arse, and then his mouth was and Harry grunted in surprise, biting his lip at the slippery heat and the unfamiliar sensation. After a moment he spread his legs wider to give Malfoy access, and Malfoy hummed his appreciation, fingers tightening on Harry's arse cheeks.

Malfoy licked and sucked at him, tongue a delicious pressure as it worked at him. When Harry was panting in time with his movements, and could feel his cock beginning to stir back into life, Malfoy stopped, nipping lightly at his leg.
'Do you like -' He kissed Harry's skin. 'This.' Another kiss. 'Potter?'

He licked again, a broad, wet stroke over Harry's arse, and Harry groaned.
'Fuck, yes,' Harry gasped, pushing back into him. 'So good.'
Malfoy licked him again.
'Anyone ever done this for you?' He pushed his tongue inside Harry, just the tip, and Harry groaned again.
'No. Just you.'

Malfoy hummed in satisfaction again and then Harry felt a finger pressing at him. He relaxed and felt Malfoy's slicked finger slip inside. He pushed back against in, closing his eyes as Malfoy worked it inside him, sliding another in and crooking them just so.

It was only another minute before Harry was rocking back against him and Malfoy was pulling him to his knees. Harry felt Malfoy line himself up behind him and he spread his legs, burying his face in his arms. He wanted this. Gods how he wanted this.
Malfoy slid inside him in one smooth glide and Harry panted against the feel of him.

Malfoy bent over him, reaching for his shoulder and pulling him up so that they were both kneeling, Malfoy's arms around Harry's chest, mouth against his ear. He tilted his hips, sliding out slightly before snapping them back, his cock driving into Harry. Harry cried out at the feeling of it, curling one arm behind his head to grip Malfoy's hair, to hold his mouth against him.

Malfoy pulled out again, grinding himself back in.
'You're mine,' Malfoy said, pressing into him. 'No one else, Potter,' he growled in his ear.
Harry gasped. Nodded.
'Say it,' Malfoy said, his voice hoarse with need.
'No one else,' Harry groaned, pushing back. 'Only you.'

-----

Harry woke up as he came, grinding into the mattress with a cry of pleasure. He could still feel Malfoy on him, in him. He could taste and smell Malfoy all around him. He pushed against the bed again, wanting to reach for the man behind him but aware with every passing moment that Malfoy wasn't there. That it hadn't been real.

His clothes against his skin felt rough and wrong. He felt empty. Unfulfilled, where a moment before he had been lost in pleasure he'd never felt before. None of his one-night stands had even come close to how he'd felt under Malfoy, their bodies writhing against each other.

He drew in a deep, shuddering breath and tried to focus on slowing his heartbeat. He opened his eyes and rolled to his back, grimacing at the wetness in his pants. He glanced around the room, the same one he'd just dreamt in, somehow expecting to see Malfoy there with him, but the room was empty.

He reached for his wand and sent a cleaning charm over himself and then slid his legs over the edge of the bed, a languid satisfaction to his body. He didn't bother putting his shoes back on, walking back through the door and into the small living room. Malfoy, to his surprise, was sitting on the couch, reading a book. He didn't look up as Harry entered, but there was a stiffness about his body that told Harry that Malfoy knew he was there, knew exactly what had just occurred and was trying to pretend nothing had happened.

Harry remembered Malfoy's words. You're mine. Suddenly he'd had enough of it. Enough of Malfoy's pretences. He couldn't live one life inside the dream and one life outside of it. Harry sat down next to Malfoy, turning to face him, one leg tucked under himself.
'What was that?' Harry asked.
Malfoy paused for a moment, his finger moving to hold his place on the page. Harry noticed his cheeks were slightly flushed and he wondered, for the first time, just how Malfoy experienced the dreams. Had he just come too? The thought sent a curl of heat through Harry and he caught his breath.

Malfoy looked over and he raised an eyebrow. 'Sex, Potter. You seemed familiar enough with it.'
Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy's sarcastic and dismissive tone. He was sick of being pushed away. There was something between them. He knew there was.
'I know it was sex. Why were we doing it?'

Malfoy shrugged and looked away, closing his book and putting his hand on the arm of the couch, as if to push himself up.
Harry reached out and gripped Malfoy's arm, holding him in place.
'No. No walking away this time. What do you want from me?' He paused, trying to put into words what he wanted to say.

'The things you show me - you don't do that with other people.' He didn't make it a question. He knew. You're the exception to every rule, Potter. Malfoy scowled, his scar twisting angrily.
Harry thought of school. The park. Their kids. Their house. The club. Malfoy inserting himself in a hundred ways into Harry's life. Malfoy giving him what he wanted and needed again and again, in a way no one ever had. 'You're making a life for us. The two of us - together.'

Malfoy pulled his arm away from Harry and stood, walking into the kitchen. Harry jumped up and followed him, huffing in frustration.
'Stop, will you? Talk to me about it.' He knew there was a pleading edge to his voice but he didn't care. This was becoming more and more important to him by the minute, as if the realisation that he wanted this - wanted something with Malfoy - had been hanging over his head, and it had just taken one final moment for it to crash over him, until it was all he could see.
'It's time for you to go,' Malfoy said, turning to him and gesturing him to the green door.
'No,' Harry said. 'I want to talk about this.'

'I don't,' Malfoy said. 'Fuck off.'
Harry felt his anger rise. Why did Malfoy have to be such a fucking shit in real life? In the dreams he was so different. Harry felt his thoughts leap.
'Draco,' he said, quietly. He saw Malfoy's face twist with surprise, and something else. Something that told Harry he had found what he needed.

'Draco, I like it,' he said. 'I like the life you create for us. I -' He felt his face redden. 'I like what we just did.'
Malfoy scowled, looking at the ground, but he didn't tell Harry to go again. Harry stepped forward, moving closer. 'Can we maybe try, in the real world, try to see what happens?'

Malfoy jerked his head up and Harry knew he'd just made a fatal mistake.
'The real world?' he sneered. He took a step forward until he was chest to chest with Harry, his eyes cold as he glared down at him. 'In the real world, Potter, I'm a Death Eater. I'm Marked. I'm an outcast. In the real world, you're the Saviour of us all. Our Golden, Chosen Hero.' He clenched his teeth and Harry could see the anger behind his eyes.

'In the REAL world,' he went on, pushing a finger hard into Harry's chest as his voice rose and his words came faster, 'I make my living twisting people's dreams for money. I trap them in a life that will never exist, and sometimes they die. They die because they won't leave the dream.' He took a deep, shuddering breath. 'I have to live like that - I had to see my mother die like that - because your fucking Ministry won't let me live any other way.' He pushed at Harry again, his voice thick with anger and pain. He didn't even seem to register what he'd just said.

Harry felt shocked, rooted to the spot by the vehemence in his tone and the words he'd just heard. Malfoy's face was dark and certain.
'In your precious real world, Potter, we're both ruined, and even if we weren't, no one would let us be together.'

Harry shook his head, shaking himself back to life. He refused to give up that easily. If they could have something in the dream, something so good, surely it was worth fighting for.
'No - my fri- people would understand.' He hesitated, wondering if this was true, before he pushed past the thought. They would have to. 'We could - things could be different. You showed me that. You showed me what things could be like.'
Malfoy sneered again and it was an ugly, bitter thing. 'Voldermort never existed in the dreams, Potter. Not one of them. He's tainted every reality we have. The dreams will only ever be a fantasy. They can't be real. He made sure of that.'

Malfoy's voice was certain, but Harry refused to believe. Refused to let Voldemort take one more thing from him. He leaned forward, taking Malfoy's arm, willing him to listen. 'He can't. He's dead. I killed him. He can't decide our lives for us anymore.'
Malfoy pushed him away. 'Exactly. You killed him. You killed him and I supported him. You're Harry Potter and I'm Draco Malfoy and that's all there is. Now fuck off.' He turned away but Harry reached out again and spun him around, anger rising in him.
'Fuck Harry Potter!' he shouted. 'I don't want to be him.'
Malfoy's eyes widened in shock. Harry gritted his teeth. He wasn't going to take it back. It was true, he realised. It was the way he'd felt for a long time.

'You don’t have a choice, Potter. It's why you have to Polyjuice to leave the house. It's why you can't do your job. It's why you're falling to pieces and you're only twenty-three. They will never let you forget who you are,' Malfoy said bitterly, waving an arm at the world outside his small apartment. 'Never.'

Harry felt Malfoy's words tug at him. He tried to ignore the brutal truth of them, tried to pull at the thread that might get him somewhere. Might get Malfoy to rethink.
'My job? Is that what this is about? Because I used to be an Auror? Because I hid the reason I came here from you? I know what happened now. To those people.' He paused, wondering for a moment what he would say next. The words that came out of his mouth surprised him. 'They made their choice. They came here willingly, and if you showed them anything like what you show me, they probably died happy. I don't care about what you do for a living. You help people more than hurt them.' He realised as he said it, that it was true. Malfoy did more good than harm, he was sure of it.

Harry was cut off by Malfoy's laugh, hard and harsh.
'I don't give a shit if you know what I'm doing, Potter. Your entire investigation from start to end has been a joke.' He stared at Harry, his gaze challenging. 'I've been inside your mind, Potter. Did you really think you could fool me with your piss-poor Obliviation? You forgot to do it half the bloody time and I could pick the other half apart in my sleep. I've known the whole time.'
He raised an eyebrow at Harry's look of shock. 'Don't look so surprised. You wanted me to know, Potter. A part of you did, anyway - wanted to lay yourself bare before me. You're a better wizard than that - or you used to be.'

Harry felt the confidence leave him, his certainty draining away. Malfoy's face had nothing of the love, the passion, the fun or the life from the dreams. He looked like Harry was a perfect stranger, just another client he was pushing out the door.

'Draco,' Harry said, something inside him clenching in pain. 'Please. Don't do this.'
Malfoy's eyes softened for the briefest instant, but then he turned around, leaning his hands on the sink, head dropping slightly.
'Go home,' he said, voice low. 'Go home, destroy that fucking display on your wall and pretend you never came here.'
Harry sensed that that was the end of it. Malfoy would not unbend.

'So that's it?' Harry asked, pushing all of his disdain into his voice. 'You're just going to give up? Not even try to have something real?'
Malfoy didn't turn back around, his shoulders stiff and angry.
Harry glared at him, bitterness flooding through him. He had had enough. Enough of everything.
'You're still a fucking coward,' he spat, before he wrenched the green door open and stepped through.

-----

He went straight home, locked his Floo, warded his house and Accoied a bottle of Firewhiskey and the rest of his Gillyweed. He then proceeded to get blindingly drunk while he killed things on his Playstation. He considered at one point, early on, asking someone to come over. Considered maybe he shouldn't be alone with his thoughts right now. But then he thought of the response he'd get from anyone he knew if he tried to explain this, and he gave it up for a bad joke, taking another deep swallow from the bottle.

It was hours later when he passed out on the couch. He woke into daylight glaring through his curtains and he got up for a piss, stumbling through the house until he reached the bathroom and the blessed relief of hangover potion. Then he collected his pouch of tobacco, another bottle of booze and went back to the lounge. If he was drunk, he wouldn't have to remember Malfoy's bullshit.

It worked until the third day.

On the third day he woke up dreaming of Draco. Dreaming of their place together, of waking up beside him and lazy Sunday breakfasts and apologies made of kisses and coffee. He dreamed of the laughter of children downstairs and it made something hurt deep inside him.
The dream was hazy around the edges, hard to remember when he woke. It didn't have that same feeling of reality that his dreams of Draco normally had, but it was enough to remind him of how good they felt together.

He wrestled with himself for twenty minutes before he gave up.

He Apparated to the bar and immediately knew there was something wrong. Barclay was stationed outside the door, dressed in Auror robes. Harry ran towards her and her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of him. He went to push past her and Harry saw the exact moment that she remembered he'd resigned. She held up a hand. 'Sorry, Harry. Active investigation.'
Harry tried to look past her. 'What's going on? What happened?'
'I can't give out details on a case, Harry. I'm sorry.'
Harry could feel his fear rising. Something was wrong. Something was so, so wrong.
'Fuck the rules,' he said, knowing that his voice was rising but not caring. 'What happened? Where's Malfoy?'

There was the noise of movement inside and then Ron stepped out of the door, the same look of surprise crossing his face as he saw Harry. The next moment it faded into concern as he took in Harry's appearance.
'Are you okay?' Ron asked. 'Robards told me you'd resigned, but I haven’t been able to get in. Did you ward your Floo?'
'What happened?' Harry asked, interrupting Ron, aware there was panic in his voice but unable to stop it.
Ron grinned at him, the smile breaking through his concern. It was a broad smile that he seemed unable to contain.
'We got the fucker!'

Harry looked at him, unable to comprehend the words.
'What do you mean? Got who?'
'Malfoy,' Ron said, putting his arm around Harry's shoulder and leading him off to one side. Harry wanted to shrug him off - wanted to shake him and shout at him until he started explaining what was going on. Ron seemed oblivious, that proud smile still on his face.
'We arrested him yesterday. Inside is just the evidence team.'

Harry shook his head, the panic starting to rise again, battling with his confusion. This didn't make sense. None of this made sense. Malfoy had known what they were doing. Had got around all of them. He'd told Harry he had. He couldn't be -
'How?' Harry demanded. 'What happened?'

Ron let go and turned to face him properly. 'Are you okay, Harry? You look terrible. Like, really bad. And you - have you been drinking?'
'I'm fine,' Harry snapped. 'What the fuck happened to Draco?'
Ron's eyes widened at Harry's use of Malfoy's first name, and then a complicated expression flitted across his face.

'What do you mean 'Draco'?' Ron asked. 'That was just part of your cover, wasn't it? Those notes you made about him?'
'What are you talking about?' Harry said, frustration running through him. None of this made sense.
'I found your board,' Ron said. 'In your room.' Harry felt sick understanding flow through him, guilt and fear flooding him.
Ron must have mistaken the expression on his face for anger, because he began to explain quickly.

'I wasn't trying to pry, but I came by a few days ago, and you were gone again. I've been worried about you,' he said, his voice sounding defensive. 'We all have. And well, there was a disturbance in your room, and I was afraid maybe something -' he paused, clearing his throat and for just a second, Harry remembered the dark days, the days after the war, after he'd died, where he'd been lost in his head and unable to find the way out.
The thought was overtaken by his overwhelming need to know where Draco was.

'Your case board,' Ron said, face lighting up, 'Bloody brilliant, mate. There was easily enough there to arrest him - so much evidence. We barely need what we can find at the bar. You did a great job. Robards is impressed, too.'
He reached out to clap Harry on the shoulder, but Harry flinched away.

'Where is he?' Harry asked, mind racing, trying to figure out what he could do to stop this. Ron's next words turned that to ashes.
'Azkaban.' There was a cold satisfaction in his tone. 'Pending trial, but that will be an in-and-out. Convicted Death Eater who couldn't keep his nose clean. He'll get life this time.'

Harry felt the words echo through his mind. He'll get life this time. He felt nausea swirl and rise in him and he fell to his knees, vomiting into the gutter.

-----

He spent a lot of time dreaming. In and out of consciousness. Sometimes he was at St. Mungo's, sometimes at home. Once, he thought he recognised the Burrow. When he could get whisky, or Gillyweed, they helped to dull everything for a while, make it all go away. Even the dreams stopped on those nights - faded, washed out things that they were. Sometimes he wondered if it was a blessing to forget Draco's touch, to forget the faces of his children. But he was watched more and more, and oblivion became harder to find.

He was told the date every day, an attempt to keep him present, apparently, to ground him in reality. And so he knew that it was two and a half months after Draco was arrested when he felt it - a touch at the edge of his mind. A whisper into the darkness. He curled away from it at first. It had been a long time - so long - since he had wanted contact, reassurance, anything but the spiral of despair and pain.

But the words teased at him, pulled him from the guilt and shame he'd layered himself with.
'You're a very hard man to find, Potter.'
Harry could feel every nerve in his body begin to come back to life at the sound of that familiar voice, the one he'd been aching to hear. He wanted to cry and shout and curl up into a ball. Pain ricocheted through him. No. Draco was gone. Draco had been taken from him. This was just the booze talking again. He'd been fooled so many times before, woken from dreams that were just wisps of wanting, a sick parody of what he needed.

'Draco?' he called anyway, unable to help himself, spinning around in the darkness.
A shape started to solidify before him, a familiar figure, a familiar room. Harry felt his heart pound in his chest and he caught his breath with aching hope.
'Hello, love,' Draco said, silver eyes shining.
Harry rushed forward as the room stabilised, throwing his arms around Draco. He felt Draco embrace him hard in turn and he buried his face in Draco's neck, breathing in the scent of him. He could feel the emotion surging in him, months of pain and regret, anger and fear. He felt tears rise in his eyes and he let them fall, gasping into Draco's skin. Draco just held him tighter, shushing him gently. Slowly, inch by inch, Harry could feel the loss begin to bleed away.

He focussed just on Draco - on the feel of him in his arms, the heaviness of his body, the strength of his grip. Finally, after what felt like an age, he pulled back slightly, looking at Draco, drinking in his clear grey eyes, the smile on his lips.

Harry reached up, tracing his fingertips down Draco's cheek.
'Is this real?' he asked, voice cracking.
Draco raised an eyebrow, his smile quirking.
'Does it matter?'

Harry didn't even have to think. He shook his head and pulled Draco's mouth to his.