Title: Voices From the Fog
Author:
Recipient: dark_branwen
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount 13,731
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Something was going to happen today. He could feel it.
Author's Notes: Thanks for a great prompt! I messed around with the countries a little bit but tried to keep within your guidelines of European travel, Muggle world, cigarettes, and location hopping. I hope you enjoy this. Many thanks to N and F for the beta and coaching work and to S for all of the enthusiasm and handholding! Also please do note that it's not truly healthier to roll your own cigarettes, even though some people espouse this position.

Early October, Lugano, Switzerland

The stream of voices rubbed the edges of his mind.

You swore to obey me, Harry - go!

Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me.

The door, get to the door, the door!

Harry heard the sibilant hissing noises. Pressure built behind his eyes. A high-pitched noise started, like a steamtrain bearing down on him. Blistering heat seared his back; he saw Dumbledore's face; Aunt Petunia screamed; the mirror glowed and cracked down the middle. His vision went black.

Harry woke up sweating, hands clutched in the duvet. His body was clammy from the physical effects of the nightmare. His eyes darted around the room, finding the squared, glowing letters of the clock. 2:04. He breathed into the dark silence, inhaling the unfamiliar disinfectant and detergent smells and the lake air. Lugano. He was in Switzerland. At a small hotel. Facts about his journey came back to him, the train up from Milan, the small train station, the walk through the town, the lake and the mountains.

The blue nylon rucksack with the Canadian flag patch was still next to the chair in the corner; Cody had given it to him when he flew home to Winnipeg after a few weeks of glorious sex in Prague. Harry's wand was under his pillow. There was no sound in the little hotel except for the puff of his own breathing and the distant clicks of an electrical device, possibly the heating. He ran a hand through his hair and got up, shivering as the cool air hit his damp, naked skin. He found a water bottle and took several swigs, letting the mineral taste calm his nerves. He couldn't take a shower yet because it was too early and would certainly wake someone up. Pulling on a sweater and trousers, he walked to the balcony door and twisted the handle to open it up, breathing in the air outside. He stepped barefoot out onto the cold tiled deck. Out of long habit, he surveyed the street. Nothing. Not a bicycle. Not a car. Nothing out of order. Total silence. He looked beyond the clinical orderliness to the darkness of the lake below. He was in a new place, nothing more.

Something was going to happen today. He could feel it. He hadn't had a nightmare this bad in ages. He also hadn't dreamed of Dumbledore in months, since his twentieth birthday in fact, after a long celebration at the farm and too much homemade Himbeergeist. Briefly, he let himself worry the tooth of that old pain, the grief and the loss that were still so close to the surface, buried under the thin layer of recent experience like pale seeds under new earth. If he let himself, it would open the floodgate and he would lie in the room for days, reciting the litany of the dead and the lost and the destroyed. He wouldn't, however. He knew where the path of memory led; he had trod it often enough the past two years. Now he was ready to move forward; even if he didn't know where forward was yet, at least he was moving.

In under five hours there would be breakfast in the dining room of the hotel at the little tables with striped tablecloths: milky coffee and bread, eggs, sliced meats, and cheeses. His stomach rumbled and he remembered that he hadn't eaten since lunch in Milan. Traveling always made him forget meals. He dug a half-eaten chocolate bar out of his pack. Milk chocolate with hazelnuts was a funny midnight meal, but it was enough to quiet his stomach and get him to sleep again. He said a quick toothcleaning charm from his pillow and fell asleep.

The first day he spent walking the town, viewing fifteenth century churches and modern banks. He wandered through the arcaded shopping district but found nothing that caught his eye. So he walked on to let his feet learn the place and to quiet his head.

In the afternoon, the weather turned chill and overcast. Harry followed the silver curve of the lake along a deserted stretch of walkway with iron railings and tall lanterns. Looking up through the light fog, he could barely recognise the high slopes that surrounded the lake. He wandered the shore of a very different lake in his mind's eye.

After a mile, he saw a tall figure approaching out of the fog. He felt the thrill on his skin before he saw properly. After several echoing moments, he realised he was looking up into the face of Draco Malfoy, who seemed equally stunned to see him. They gaped at each other like a pair of goldfish, out of the water and ready to jump back into the lake.

"Malfoy." Harry recovered his voice first.

The pale face before him was still, the blond lashes blinked. "Potter."

Malfoy was wearing a Muggle tailored grey suit, nicely cut, and a soft blue muffler. It was cold enough for an overcoat, so Harry assumed he was staying nearby. His clothing was crisp, if completely incongruous with the Malfoy that Harry remembered. Harry felt underdressed by comparison in his wool trousers and navy sweater but didn't care. This was who he was now. And that was clearly who Malfoy was. Harry had always been scruffier than Malfoy, so the preservation of this fact, even in Muggle clothing, was strangely comforting.

"Good day, then." With a last frown, Malfoy nodded ever-so-briefly and started a long stride away from the uncomfortable face-off.

"Wait." Harry heard his own voice on the flagstones. Its echo jarred his teeth.

Malfoy turned, blond superciliousness yielding to curiosity.

"You can't just... I mean. We..." Harry paused to gather his thoughts. "What are you doing here?"

Malfoy squinted at him, tilting his head like an owl. "What am I... What are you doing in the Ticino?" he retorted sharply.

Harry shrugged. "Traveling. I wanted to see the lake."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "And I assume you are gallivanting about like some Muggle tourist?"

Harry grinned in spite of himself. "Exactly." He was proud of his Muggle achievements, doubly so in the face of Malfoy's scorn.

Malfoy sniffed. "Well, don't let me stop you from seeing the world." He turned to go.

"Wait." Harry said. Malfoy only half-turned this time. "Why are you here? I answered your question."

Malfoy hesitated for a moment. "I'm with my mother."

Harry was not surprised to learn that Narcissa was in Switzerland. He knew the Malfoys had left England after Lucius was sent to Azkaban. It was one of the last pieces of Wizarding news he remembered before he fled himself. "Do you hear from anyone else?" he found himself asking.

Malfoy turned and looked down his nose at him. "Potter, are you actually trying to "catch up" with me as though we were friends?" His face bore a look of aloof surprise mixed with horror.

"No, Malfoy. I'm asking you for news." Harry's answer was terse. He didn't catch up with friends and he didn't feel like explaining that just yet.

The answer seemed to catch Malfoy off guard. "Oh. Well, I'm afraid you've got the wrong person. I haven't spoken to anyone," he paused and sized Harry up, "either."

Harry felt irrational anger rising in his throat. This was the Malfoy he knew and loathed, the Malfoy who could find his weak spot with a single look and poke a slender, aristocratic finger into it. But Harry wasn't as unguarded as he had once been, and the cloud of his irritation passed. "Well, all right then. Sorry to have troubled you." Harry turned to continue his walk.

"Wait." The catch in Malfoy's voice surprised him. He turned back slowly. It was almost as if Malfoy was reaching out to him, although his body hadn't moved. "I did hear that McGonagall was made Headmistress. And they hung the portrait of Snape in her office." The corner of Malfoy's mouth curled. His eyes were bright.

Harry suppressed a gloating remark - he had paid for that portrait himself - and smiled instead. "I can't imagine the two of them in the same office." He paused. "Actually, I can, but it's not pretty."

They shared the moment together, a certain lightness that lifted the fog between them and made the day seem that much brighter. Then the curtain of blankness descended on Malfoy's features. "Well, I should go."

"Of course," Harry nodded. He could see Malfoy shivering in his suitjacket, and his hands were in his trouser pockets. "Thank you."

Malfoy looked at him closely, grey eyes wider and more open. "You're welcome. I'm glad to have someone to tell that to." His face contorted, as if he were angry at himself for saying too much. "Enjoy your world tour, Potty." He turned and strode off.

The old nickname was more humorous than hurtful. As Harry watched the tall, elegant figure lope away, he marveled that Malfoy had felt wounded enough by their brief connection to need to insult him again. He was covering for the fact that they had genuinely... genuinely what, exactly? Harry didn't know, but his heart felt lighter and the image of McGonagall arguing with Snape's portrait warmed a long dormant piece of his soul.

With no more than a moment's thought, he ran after Malfoy's hunched grey form, catching him after a few hundred metres. He put his hand on Malfoy's shoulder. Malfoy spun around with narrowed eyes.

"Come out for a drink with me, yeah?" Harry asked, catching his breath lightly after the sprint. When Malfoy hesitated, he added, "We can toast Snape."

Malfoy shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Why not?"

Drinks on the waterfront soon turned into a full Ticinese dinner at a rustic local restaurant and several more rounds of wine and grappa. The safe topics were few, but the evening picked up when they found common ground in Muggle football and the recent UEFA Euro 2000. Harry had watched many of the matches and enjoyed reliving the moments of surprise and triumph. Malfoy matched him story for story and had even attended the semifinal game in Amsterdam where Italy knocked the Netherlands out of the competition in a surprise upset.

As they grew tipsier, Harry grew more certain that Malfoy was ogling him. Malfoy had always examined him critically, but tonight he was looking a bit more than was necessary for critique. The alcohol caused Malfoy to be more obvious and Harry to be more blatant in returning glances. When Harry went outside for a cigarette, Malfoy followed him.

"Filthy habit," Malfoy said, grasping the proffered cigarette casually between his long fingers.

Harry lit it and then his own. Malfoy's lips were red and wet as he drew on the slim cylinder of white paper. He must know how good he looks, Harry thought, eyes following the slight hollowing of Malfoy's cheeks.

"At least you're not a Caporal man," Malfoy said, then French inhaled, a plume of smoke winding from his slightly jutted jaw into his flared nostrils. Harry nearly dropped his cigarette at the sensuous look on Malfoy's face. Exhaling, Malfoy looked straight at him in challenge. Harry's heart raced. They finished their cigarettes in silence.

"Let's settle the bill," Harry said.

Without speaking, without looking at each other, they walked back to his hotel from the restaurant, Malfoy matching his long strides to Harry's shorter ones. After traversing a few streets, they climbed up the stone stairs, past the inner courtyard with the garden, and up to the corner room on the third floor. Harry drew the key from his pocket and fumbled with the lock, a sudden nervousness turning his insides to jelly. Malfoy sniffed as they entered the room. Harry turned on the reading light, then walked into the toilet. When he returned, Malfoy had laid his jacket neatly across the back of the chair and was perched languidly on the edge of the double bed.

Harry walked over to stand in front of Malfoy, who regarded him with a fathomless gaze, then started unbuttoning his fine white shirt. Harry furrowed his brow, watching the pale fingers precisely free each off-white button from its hole. Harry took off his sweater and t-shirt. They still hadn't touched. As Malfoy's pale torso was revealed, Harry's groin tightened. He saw an answering response from Malfoy, the slowly rising bulge in his fine wool trousers. Harry's breathing was loud in the space between them, Malfoy's slightly less so but audibly quickened. Malfoy did not look at Harry as Harry reached a hand out to touch his pale chest, tracing with gentle fingertips the scarred ridges across the ivory softness of his skin.

Malfoy exhaled and reached out his hands, working at the top button of Harry's trousers. Harry bent awkwardly and nosed Malfoy's neck, just below his ear, lips grazing his hairline. Harry's trousers fell to pool around his ankles. He pushed Malfoy back onto the bed and opened his soft grey trousers. Sliding them off of the slim hips, he laid his warm body over Malfoy's - so long and such beautiful legs. They rutted against each other, cocks nestling in the hollows of their hipbones, torsos sliding together across the thick duvet. Malfoy sank his nails into the muscles of Harry's back, hard from the year of manual labor. Harry grunted and thrust as Malfoy raised his hips to meet him. The thin cotton of their underwear covered little as they ground together.

Malfoy pushed Harry off and shimmied out of his pants. Harry stood to remove his, rather awkwardly, not quite sure what to expect. Not looking at him, Malfoy drawled, "Surely even you have lube?"

Harry's breath burned in his throat. He walked naked to the bathroom and fished a condom and a barely used bottle of lube out of his toiletries. When he returned, Malfoy had stripped the bed of the duvet. He was lying on his back, face averted. Harry walked back to the bed and Malfoy pulled one leg up, glowering darkly, though not directly, at Harry. Harry stood thoughtfully, assessing the situation. He wasn't picky - he had done this and let others do it to him. Clearly Malfoy also had some experience as well. Harry slicked his fingers, then tossed the lube on the bed.

Malfoy gasped as Harry touched his arsehole with soft fingers. The connection was instantaneous; this was different from a casual fuck or a typical pickup, not only because their history was so deep - Harry had known Malfoy for nearly half his life now - but also for the crackle of magic that throbbed within his gut and jumped between them like a spark when their bodies touched. It had been a dull sensation when they were rubbing together but now, with his fingers entering Malfoy, it was like touching a Muggle electric plug. The shock of it traveled across Harry's skin, reminding him of the hidden, lost world they shared. He knew Malfoy felt it, too - he heard him breathing in little gasps and saw a faint rosy flush spread across his chest, tinting the ivory-gold column of his neck, even though Harry was barely inside him.

Pushing through the surprise of their first contact, Harry began to move his fingers, now one, now two, in and out of Malfoy and Malfoy had more trouble controlling his reaction, breath stuttering and body writhing to the rhythm of Harry's hand. Harry stared dumbly, mouth open in wonder. Everything to this point had been clinical, awkward, desperate even, but this - this was magic. Malfoy's light moans rippled across the surface of Harry's consciousness, sending waves of lust to his cock. As hypnotised as he was, some base centre within his brain told him he wouldn't last long at this pace, demanded more contact, more flesh, more of everything.

Harry slid his hand out wetly. He palmed his cock and then rolled the condom onto it. He positioned himself between Malfoy's knees, and then they were shunting, slipping, sliding across the smooth white sheet. Malfoy's thighs were spread across Harry's forearms and Harry was opening him up, achingly hard cock plowing into him, body overcome by the exquisite astonishment of sliding home within his once archrival. It was perfect and shattering and over far, far too quickly, but not before Malfoy - no, Draco; Harry could no longer think of him as Malfoy after this intimacy - had scratched red grooves, which raised into welts, into Harry's shoulders and arms, not before Harry had bent Draco's supple form nearly double - those flexible hips and long ivory thighs - and rutted into him almost beyond the limits of physical control; not before Draco yelled and Harry shook with the explosion of light and motion that spread through his body like Wildfire Whiz-bangs and traveled through Draco's body as well in waves and shudders. Harry slumped down, speechless, to the sticky, viscous trails on Draco's belly and the startling, electric hum of their skin. Draco shivered slightly and Harry struggled to recover. For a moment, they touched, exhausted and sweat-slicked, then Draco pushed him to the side, stood up, and half-stumbled to the toilet. Harry lay on the bed and sucked in air, still overwhelmed by the depth of his response, the intensity slowly yielding to waves of drowsiness. Through half-lidded eyes he watched Draco emerge and dress with shaky hands. Draco slid into his jacket, looked over to the bed once, then tossed his hair like a nervous horse. He said quietly, "Goodbye, Potter." Harry heard the click of the bolt as the door closed and knew that he was alone again.

Mid-October, near St. Germain des Près, Paris

The Firecall from the public Floo in the Wizard section in Paris was damnably expensive and it was worth every piece d'or when Ron Weasley's tousled head appeared. "Harry!" the green face exclaimed, "The hell-- Where are you?"

"I'm in Paris, Ron, at a public Floo. Listen, I need you to do something for me."

"Wait, what? You're in Paris? You haven't called in eight months and you want me to do something? My mother and my sister will gut me alive if I don't ask you to come home. Or figure out how to make you."

"Well, it's no use, Ron. And I'm not staying here long. I need you to find Malfoy for me."

The look of surprise on Ron's face spoke volumes.

"I know you can get access to his file. He's living somewhere on the Continent and I want to know where. I think it's among Muggles and it might be Holland. Or Belgium."

Ron frowned. "Right. Assuming I can get access to his file, which is nearly impossible, I have to say, and then find his address, which may not be in there, how do I find you to tell you?"

"Send an owl to the Poste Restante in Rheims. I'll pick it up there in a week. I have to go, my money is running out here."

Ron's eyes grew bright. "Glad you're okay. I'll keep this call a secret for both our sakes."

Harry nodded as his friend's face disappeared. He blinked back the tears in his eyes as he stood up and paid his bill.

Early November, Jordaan District, Amsterdam

Three weeks later Harry was standing in front of a white storefront in the Jordaan. The blue and white number 13 stood above the door. A brass sign, engraved with Johannes van den Bos, Musiekinstrumenten, hung prominently next to the door. Harry rang the bell. A tall blond man in his forties opened the door. Taking a good long look at Harry, he asked in a quietly melodic voice, "May I help you?"

Harry nodded. "I'm looking for Draco Malfoy."

The man pursed his lips and examined Harry more closely. "Why?"

Harry blinked at the abruptness of the question. "We went to school together. I saw him in Lugano a few weeks ago and I ... I wanted to see him again."

The tall blond man nodded. "He's not here right now." Harry's heart sank. "He doesn't get in until eleven on Wednesdays. Why don't you come in and wait?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at the unexpected invitation; his heart quickened. He was one step closer to... to what, really? He didn't know. He followed the broad, gesturing hand into the cool dark of the interior.

Bellies of wooden instruments were laid out in orderly disarray. Fine finishing tools, pegs, lengths of gut, all were carefully arranged on the low benches. Harry could smell the moistness of wood and assumed they had another workshop in the back. "So you make custom instruments?" he asked, looking around and not easily recognizing the shapes. "They look like guitars or violins."

The blond man smiled. "Close. They are earlier than that, though. Baroque and Renaissance viola da gambas and lutes."

Harry nodded, taking it all in and trying to imagine Draco working here.

"Coffee?" The blond man asked and without waiting for an answer, disappeared into a back hallway. Harry followed and found himself in a small kitchen overlooking a little courtyard. He waited at a suitable distance while the man brewed the coffee by hand with a filter. The man opened a window. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Not at all," Harry said, "if you don't mind if I do."

Harry reached for his pack of Gauloises and the man knocked his hand aside, handing him a pungent, thin handrolled cigarette from a leather pouch of tobacco. "You should learn to roll your own. It's much healthier."

Harry grinned and accepted it, also accepting a light from a weatherbeaten brass lighter.

Once the coffee was on the table, Jan (for that was his name) asked Harry, "So, ex-boyfriend."

"No!" he spluttered. He didn't know what Draco had said, if anything. He added more quietly, "We're just acquaintances from school, but we weren't really friendly." After a longish pause, Harry asked, "How do you know him?

Jan drew on his cigarette. "He was dating my nephew Erik. They broke up a few weeks ago."

Harry processed the information. He knew Draco would probably want to use the Killing Curse on him for finding out this much. "And he's still working for you?"

Jan nodded. "He's very good with his hands."

Harry suddenly saw Draco's long-fingered, elegant hands. He would have the coordination to handle the fine pieces Harry had seen throughout the workshop.

"So what do you do, Harry?" Jan asked.

Harry swallowed. "I've been working on a farm in southern Germany and now I'm traveling a bit." He took a slow drag on the cigarette, watching the smoke curl up from his hand.

Jan scanned his face. "Rich kid, then? Looking for yourself?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm an orphan, so I inherited early. I work for my living costs." It was the easiest explanation he'd come up with for Muggles.

Jan wasn't taken in by the glib reply. "I don't know what you left behind in England, but both you and Draco look like you don't have good reasons to go back."

Harry looked into the clear blue eyes and realised that Jan was hard to put one over on. "We don't. For much the same reason, honestly. I wanted to talk to him about it."

Jan took a long drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out. "He needs to talk. To someone. He's terribly lonely here."

Harry felt his own wave of loneliness, always close by, always threatening to roll over him again. "Yes. I can imagine he would be."

They spent the next hour in companionable conversation, with talk of the sights of Amsterdam, biodynamic farming methods, and the musical instrument trade. Jan pulled out a package of butter biscuits and made more coffee. He forced Harry to practice rolling cigarettes, mocking his early attempts and showing him the hand movements. Harry picked it up quickly and was able to roll a tight cylinder after several crooked and loose tries. Jan took the finished product and examined it carefully.

"Okay. You have good hands, too. Would you like a job?"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "I don't know if Malf- Draco would like that."

"Well Malf- Draco isn't asking," Jan said, regarding him levelly.

"Yes," Harry said, meeting the piercing gaze. "Yes, I would, thank you. I don't have any plans for the winter."

"Good." Jan said. "I'm short a pair of hands and I need help on deliveries. Can you handle wood?"

Harry thought of years of broomsticks and waxings and twig repair. "No, not really. I did do some repair work at the farm, but no fine work."

Jan shrugged. "Well, we'll see what you can learn."

The bell on the front door rang and a voice floated into the hallway. "Jan, open a window! The smell will get into the wood if you're not careful!"

Jan rolled his eyes. Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up at the familiar, imperious tones and the lick of magic now drawing closer.

Draco appeared at the doorway, dressed in a short grey wool jacket, darker grey trousers, and a pale blue collared shirt. He stood transfixed. "Potter," he breathed out in surprise.

Harry blushed slightly and stared at the hollow of Draco's neck, then raised his gaze to the angry grey eyes. He was aware of Jan's eyes watching their every gesture. "Hi Malfoy."

"How did you- Why are you here?" Draco demanded imperiously. "How do you have this address?"

Harry knew he was on thin ice. "I asked Ron. I thought someone from school might know where you were."

Draco fumed but could not retort without giving details. "Isn't Ron working for the police now?"

Damn. Draco always had been quick on the uptake. Jan watched their conversation like a tennis match, a faint smile on his lips. "Yeah. I used the grapevine, Draco," Harry hedged. "I rang him from Paris and asked him where you were."

Draco's eyes narrowed, mouth pressed into a faint line. Harry was sure he knew it involved confidential Auror records.

"Harry's going to work with us for a bit," Jan said placidly, rolling another cigarette one-handed and stowing it in his tobacco pouch. "He has good hands and we need someone now that Antoine is back with his lover in Ghent."

Draco stiffened. His mouth opened in a wordless rictus of protest.

"Don't worry, Malfoy," Harry said. "I'll probably be pants at it and poor Jan here will have to chuck me out." If you don't kill me first, he added mentally. Or fuck me. And then kill me.

Jan stood up. "I'm going to go check on the pieces in the back. Draco, why don't you give him a tour of the workshop."

With a calm and quick set of movements, Jan was on his feet and halfway down the hall in an instant. Draco wheeled on Harry. "I don't know what you're playing at," he hissed, "But get out!"

Harry held up both of his hands, trying in vain not to notice the pink flush of anger across Draco's features and its resemblance to another, rather more intimate flush. "I didn't plan this, Malfoy. I stopped by to talk to you and Jan invited me in."

'What did you tell him about us?" Draco demanded.

"Nothing!" Harry said. "Only that we knew each other from school. And not well."

"You know NOTHING about me!" Draco said. "And I want to keep it that way. You must leave."

"Actually, no, I musn't," Harry retorted. "I haven't planned anything for the winter and I'd like to work here. Jan seems a decent sort and I could use something to do."

He said the last bit as a quiet appeal, hoping that it would resonate with Draco as well. And he meant it. He'd spent enough time being adrift that the little workshop with the funny instruments and a brusque owner looked like a safe haven.

Draco glowered at Harry. "Fine. But we are not friends. I do not know you, and I expect you to keep away from me. I knew Lugano was a mistake." He seemed to be angry with himself over the situation as well.

Sullenly, Draco showed Harry the workshop, giving him long, technical explanations for every question. Then he sat down to work on a piece and left Harry to his own devices until Jan returned.

Harry quickly settled into the pace of the workshop and life in the new city. Jan gave him a room up in the attic and he unpacked his rucksack for the first time in months. During the day, he learned to handle wood and raw materials and prepare deliveries and do the cleaning in the workshop around Jan and Draco and Anders, the master woodworker. He went out and got stoned on the weekends, walking the canals or going to films or just hanging out in cafes for hours and hours with books. He found a second-hand English bookstore and several places where he could sit and smoke and drink coffee or beer and watch the rain. He also delved in to the city's nightlife, finding dim clubs and loud, small spaces where he could dance and spend a few moments in a hallway or a toilet or an alley, salving his loneliness with the warmth of another body. Men were not hard to find if one was looking.

Jan lent Harry and old bicycle with three locks to explore the city with, warning him about the rampant bicycle theft in the city. Harry observed Draco surreptitiously waving his sleeve at his own, shiny touring bike, and realised that, although he never saw him use magic otherwise, Draco was risking a locking charm to protect it. Harry took Jan's three locks but used Draco's method to secure his own ride through the city. As the days grew darker and colder, Harry bought a heavy winter oilcoat and new boots. The workshop became a little island of warmth and light as rain lashed the windows from the frequent storms blowing up off of the North Sea. Harry only saw Draco at work and, true to his word, Draco ignored him. Harry tried to stay out of his way but if he lingered in the room too long or got too close to Draco, sparks would fly of one sort or another. It was addictive in its own right, getting too close to Draco. Near him, a certain electric tension coiled in Harry's belly and his skin prickled. He could see Draco's body if he closed his eyes, stretched out beneath him like a promise, and remember the strange intensity with which they had coupled. He was sure Draco felt it and remembered, too. After a few moments of nearness, Draco would snap at Harry or glower until he went back into the storeroom and sat for a moment to clear his head.

One afternoon as the sky settled into dark blue, an obscenely handsome, dark-haired man came through the shop door and began talking to Jan. From Draco's not-so-furtive glances, Harry realised that this must be the nephew, Draco's ex, Erik. Draco sat primly at his bench and coiled gut in his hands. Harry saw it biting into his skin, leaving white lines. Erik sauntered over to Draco.

"Fancy seeing you here," he said in a sexy, lightly accented voice.

"Mmm. I work here," Draco said in a bored tone, glancing up after a few moments.

Erik tossed his dark brown hair and his handsome face opened in a confident, sexy smile; Harry noted with surprise how truly beautiful he was. "We're going out for dinner. Would you like to come?" His lush lips rounded on the final "m."

Draco regarded Erik thoughtfully. "I might," he said after a few moments.

Erik's eyes swept over Draco's shoulder to Harry, who was trying not to stare but failing rather pitifully. The dark eyes looked Harry over from head to toe and Harry's cock twitched as they lingered on the way back up. Traitor he chided his eager anatomy. His face flushed.

Eric advanced upon Harry. "You must be Draco's friend," he purred. Draco shot a murderous glance at Harry. "I'm Erik, Jan's nephew." He held out a strong, tanned hand.

Harry brushed his hands on his trousers and held the right one out. "Harry," he said.

"You never said he was this good-looking, Draco," Erik called back over his shoulder, still holding Harry's hand. Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously. Harry wondered idly if Draco would pull a wand on him and then just Obliviate the others. His wand was in his bag in the storeroom. He formed the thought of an Accio in his mind. Erik let go of Harry's hand and looked him in the eye, his eyebrows barely forming a suggestion.

Jan broke the tension by walking over and shooting a staccato stream of words at Erik. Switching to English he said, "Are we going out today or tomorrow?" In the end, they all found themselves, Jan, Harry, Draco, and Erik, at a place around the corner that served excellent food, where everyone seemed to know Jan and Erik. After a hearty meal, several rounds of beer and numerous political discussions enveloped the little fellowship, interspersed with news and chances to gossip with the other patrons. Harry observed the various conversations, occasionally offering impressions from the few weeks he'd been in Amsterdam or telling stories from his travels when asked. Mostly, he watched Draco. He hadn't spent this much time near him since he had arrived. Draco's pale skin shone in the muted, warm light and his eyes took on a smoky quality. The space where Draco's collar gapped to reveal a triangle of his throat and chest mesmerised Harry. Jan asked Harry a question about recent political changes in Germany and Harry's attention snapped back to the faces looking at him. Draco smirked faintly and took a long, sensuous swallow of beer, his Adam's apple bobbing. Harry bit his cheek and formulated a reasonable answer, not watching the muscles of Draco's throat constrict and relax out of the corner of his eye.

Erik was also charming and beautiful to watch. He had even teeth and a beautiful smile. He wore his gorgeous, lean body with easy grace and his haircut could not have cost less than five hundred euros. It framed his symmetrical face, dark-lashed eyes, and sensuous lips perfectly. He knew he was beautiful and he displayed himself easily. Harry had heard something of his modeling career and frequent international travels, not to mention whispers of a Brazilian underwear model whom Draco had found him in flagrante with.

As he watched Erik and Draco, Harry saw that the chemistry between the ex-lovers definitely hadn't fizzled out. It sparkled and snapped between their challenging glances and mocking jests. Harry wasn't jealous exactly - he and Draco had an entirely different history together and Erik seemed a little too self-assured in his supernatural beauty - but Harry couldn't help noticing that it hurt Draco to be near Erik, as indifferent as his posture and manner were. Harry's cock throbbed at their palpable desire for each other; he contemplated going out later to one of the late night clubs and finding a bit of release at the hands or mouth of a stranger.

Well into the evening, Harry got up to go to the toilet. On his way back, Erik cornered him in the dark, narrow hallway, pressing him up against the free postcard display.

"So," Erik reached out and fiddled with a crooked collarpoint on Harry's shirt. Harry's pulse quickened. Normally he would bite his lip and let Erik grab him and they'd be in frotting and pulling and sucking in the toilet or fucking in the back in a scant minute, but Jan and Draco were outside and this was home territory, not anonymous. Frustration tightened its grip on him; Harry returned Erik's calculated, attractive look with an aggressive, "So what?"

Erik licked his lips and leaned in to say something, his mouth close to Harry's face, his hand still on his shirt, and Draco walked around the corner.

"Oh for fuck's sake - " Draco wheeled and stormed back in the direction he had come. As Harry slid out past Erik and walked quickly to the main room, he was just in time to see the front door open and close as Draco stalked into the inky night. Jan was picking up the money Draco had thrown on the table, bemused. Harry wanted to chase the receding figure but didn't dare this time.

As if reading Harry's thoughts, Erik said from right behind him, "It's always better to let him go when he's in that sort of mood."

Harry sat down to finish his beer. If Draco isn't talking to me anyway, how is it going to get worse? But he knew he had not yet reached the coldest depths of the hell that was Draco's displeasure and he might soon find out how deep one could go.

Erik slid in next to Harry, pressing a muscled thigh against his and reaching for his own beer glass. Jan stood up to leave. He said to Harry, "We're going to start early tomorrow. Delivery at seven." He nodded at his nephew and turned to settle the bill at the bar.

Harry finished a long swallow and got up, too, leaving Erik alone at the table. The brief flash of annoyance on his face told Harry this was not something Erik was used to. Jan hid his own surprise with a quick raise of his eyebrow and a slight cough. After they settled the bill, Harry and Jan walked out together into the cold, wet night. Jan wished Harry a good night, and Harry set off for the house alone, moodily wondering whether he should have stayed with Erik or chased Draco but knowing he didn't want to get into between them. He was too tired and too irritated to go out again.

In the blue light, Harry lay on his bed, alone, trying to sort it all out. He began to wank to memories of recent encounters, and then images of Erik's lips wrapped around his cock as he fucked that far-too-pretty face, but he kept seeing Draco frowning at him, a frown that dissolved into little gasps as Harry's pace quickened. Harry saw the splay of Draco's long limbs, the soft curve of his ass, the rosy fullness of his balls, and he came with a muffled shout, convulsing and cursing and not at all satisfied.

After too little sleep, Harry rolled sullenly out of bed and went down to the workshop. Over coffee and after the first cigarette, Jan said, "You know, I think Draco was jealous."

Harry's face flamed and he sucked a long drag. The events of the previous evening lay heavy on his mind and he realised he would have to face Draco soon. "I'm sure that was Erik's intent, but he needn't be. I wouldn't pick up his ex in front of him." Although I almost let myself get picked up. he thought.

Jan nodded slowly. "My nephew will fuck anything that moves, as long as it's pretty enough. And he's used to getting what he wants." He regarded Harry for a few moments, then stood up to wash out his cup. "But I don't think Draco was jealous about him, exactly."

Harry stared openmouthed at Jan's shoulders, hunched over the small metal sink, and could only think, It is far too early in the morning for this.

Relations between Harry and Draco grew even colder, as Harry had expected, and the weather mirrored the frostiness. Advent arrived and with it fresh smells of baked goods and Christmas trees and the sparkle of lights across the city. Jan gave Harry tickets to several of the concerts in town to improve his musical education. On one Sunday evening, Harry stumbled into an old candelit church in a small courtyard to hear a cycle of medieval and Renaissance songs and carols. He didn't know whether it was the plaintive, soaring sound of the voices, or the candles of memory, but Harry found himself weeping uncontrollably in one of the wooden pews at the back. He sat for a long time after the voices stopped, stilling his breathing and wiping his hot, tearstained face, images of children and of sacrifice large in his mind. He walked the canals and grachten for hours that night, weaving a web with his feet, his mind wandering the labyrinths of the past.

On impulse, Harry stopped in at a shop one day to buy a small clock with its works showing: it was something Arthur would like. He started to assemble small presents: wooden tulips, miniature clogs, cigars, a botanical handbook, lewd sundries from a sexshop. He packed all of it up with a carefully spelled Delft plate for Molly and tons of chocolates and sent it from the post office, care of Hermione's parents' address. He even filled in his real return address: he was ready for them to know where he was, even if he wasn't ready to go home yet. An owl pecked at his window on Christmas Eve with a miniaturised box. He almost didn't recognise the sound. After restoring the box to its original size, he opened up a treasure chest of presents: a hand-knit blue sweater and mittens, chocolate frogs, Bertie Botts and a giant box of Wheezes. Hermione had included a book on the history of magic in the Low Countries. The letter from Molly recounting their year and reminding him to write brought happy tears as he tore open frog after frog. After decimating the frogs and eating one cauldron cake, Harry put the rest of the things away to savour and wore the sweater to bed. It was unusually fitted for a Molly Weasley creation, reminding him of how much he must have grown since Molly had seen him last.

Everyone had cleared out for Christmas: Jan was with his family near Utrecht, Anders had flown to a friend's in Rome, and Draco had taken the train to Switzerland. Harry spent Christmas at a communal house with friends from the autonomous artists' bar he had begun frequenting; it was a potluck meal consisting of vegetarian casseroles, numerous fancy desserts, and hash. The next few days were spent in a pleasant haze of smoke and holiday treats and indiscriminate group sex. Eventually Harry staggered home to the workshop and slept for almost two days, needing to feel the boundaries of his body and the quiet of his little room. Once he had recovered, he went out for meals at the local pub that stayed open and spent his days reading books that Jan had left for him: an American author, Mark Twain, on travel in Europe in the 19th century and several mystery novels by Patricia Highsmith and Josephine Tey.

The workshop reopened on New Year's Eve for Jan's annual birthday bash and Oudejaarsavond party. Jan came in that morning and woke Harry to help him cart in the crates and crates of beer and sparkling wine and soda. The entire workshop had been cleaned before the holiday began, so everything was safely stowed and the surfaces were clear. They threw thick cloths over the benches and laid out buffets of smoked fish and meats and cheeses. By six that evening, the entire neighbourhood began to pour in, bringing presents and wine and flowers. And fireworks. Lots of fireworks. Harry's friends from the cafe came, as did most of the small business owners in the area, several groups of musicians, passels of assorted friends, and Erik, with a number of beautiful men in tow. There were a few musical performances to open the festivities and celebrate the birthday boy and then the party started in earnest. Draco arrived about two hours before midnight and stowed his bags upstairs. He looked a bit drawn from traveling but perked up after a few glasses of prosecco and a plate of food. Harry mingled and chatted and watched Draco, always keeping a good distance between them. He saw Draco go over to Erik and observed the gradual softening of their body language, a sure indication that some combination of alcohol, nostalgia, and temporary forgiveness was at work.

At midnight, the entire company flooded into the street, kissing and drinking and singing, to set off fireworks. Harry risked a very simple Whiz-bang from George and Fred, smiling as the yellow dragon climbed higher and higher over the canal and disappeared over the tightly packed roofs.

As he walked to the building to have a smoke, Draco grabbed his arm and marched him to an adjacent doorway.

"Why did you do that?" he hissed.

Harry blinked. "It's New Year's," he said simply.

"But anyone could have seen!"

Harry sighed. "Draco. Everyone is so drunk. It was just... I wanted something from home, that's all."

Draco let go of Harry's arm as if it burned him all of a sudden. He swayed a little and leaned against the doorframe Harry could feel how close they were standing together in the narrow space and see the pulse beating rapidly in Draco's neck.

Draco passed a hand over his face. "It's just... well, it isn't safe, you know. Not everyone has been rounded up." He gave Harry a significant look that made the bottom drop out of Harry's stomach. Harry knew he was talking about Death Eaters and he must have had news while at Narcissa's.

Harry clenched his jaw. "If they come here, they'll be sorry."

Draco's wide grey eyes searched his face. He nodded slowly. "You know, I almost believe they would be."

After a moment, Harry pulled out his cigarette case and offered Draco one. Draco selected a handrolled cylinder and let Harry light it for him. "I liked the dragon," Draco said, crossing his arms and looking away to where their friends were singing in the street. He exhaled a slow plume of smoke.

"I thought you might," Harry said simply, drawing on his cigarette. He could see Erik looking for Draco in the crowd.

Draco saw him, too. He dropped his cigarette and ground it under his heel. "Well, Happy New Year's, Potter," he said.

Harry looked at him. "Happy New Year's." He was not prepared for Draco to lean down and brush the lightest of kisses on his lips, nor for his own reaction as he dropped his own lit cigarette and snaked a hand into the hair at Draco's neck, pulling him close to crush their faces together and sink his tongue deep into Draco's willing mouth. The explosion of sensation and heat was almost like a second burst of fireworks, magic skittering like a dragon across their joined mouths and twining bodies.

With a deep breath Draco broke free. His pupils were wild and his hair hung in his face. Harry was sure he looked equally stunned. As they drew apart, Erik caught sight of Draco and started walking towards them through the loose crowd.

Draco said, "I'm going to go now, Potter."

Harry nodded. "I know."

Draco muttered, "I'm a fool for wanting him."

Erik was almost upon them, his beautiful features clear and his bright, cocky smile gleaming as he approached.

"No." Harry said in a quiet voice. "He's a fool for having let you go."

Harry greeted Erik pleasantly and walked away without looking back.

In January Harry discovered jazz and began bartending some nights at the autonomous artists' cafe. He tried to work on his Dutch, to great comic effect. His friends encouraged his halting, butchering attempts and spoke beautiful English in return. At the workshop, Jan decided he was doing well enough to progress to training with wood, so Harry worked alongside Anders, learning about stresses and grain, sanding and finish, learning to prepare lacquers and create fine base coats. Harry was given practice pieces and small projects to master, student instruments and mock-ups for display.

One night as he was tending the bar, toward the end of his shift, Draco's slim form appeared in the door, hands in his pockets. His friend Marijke leaned over. "It's your Englishman. I think he's slumming," she said with rich emphasis. Harry smiled; Draco's fastidiousness did look a little out of place in these countercultural surroundings.

Draco sat down at the wide rough-hewn length of wood that served as a bar.

Harry walked over with a towel and wiped the surface clean before looking to Draco for his order.

"A double whiskey, on the rocks."

Harry poured a generous glass and set it down. Draco mumbled something as he was turning around, and he turned back. "Pardon?"

"It's Severus's birthday," Draco said more loudly, looking up at him with a face of false bravado and ill-concealed pain. "Would you join me for a drink?"

Harry asked Marijke to cover and brought the bottle and another glass over to a corner table. He and Draco drank to memory and to hatred, vying with each other to tell the worst stories and best pranks of their early Hogwarts years, sparing each other and themselves no shaming detail. By tacit agreement, they skirted over the war years and the troubles, hearkening back to the simple days of a godlike Potions Master and their younger, boyish selves.

It was only at the end of the evening that things broke down. Draco started weeping softly and Harry was at a complete loss for what to say. Draco turned his face aside, tears dripping from his long nose onto his tailored sleeve.

Eventually, Draco took out a linen handkerchief and wiped his eyes. "We were lovers, you know," he said casually.

Harry's mouth opened slightly, but he kept his astonishment in check out of respect. "Oh." He took a deep swig of whisky, imagining the weight of the secret and the loss. "I didn't know." And then after a moment, he said, "I'm sorry."

"I never told anyone." Draco's mouth twisted. "I can't believe I'm telling you."

"I know." Harry agreed. "Snape would be rolling his eyes if he could hear you. And probably think it my fault."

Draco sniggered and took a strong gulp of whisky, wiping his mouth carelessly with the back of his hand, eyes bright.

They walked home in silence. As they paused at a street corner before parting, Draco said drunkenly, with great self-importance, "Potter, I loathe you for not being able to loathe you quite so much any more."

Harry looked up at him, blinking. "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment. Thanks, Malfoy." With a rough salute, he turned and stumbled off to his own bed, world spinning and lips curved in a wry grin.

The new understanding between them lasted exactly two weeks and a lovely two weeks they were. Harry enjoyed being able to talk to Draco casually, to enter the room without getting his hackles up. He improved in his workmanship with Anders and the concerts of those weeks were particularly fine. Although he knew his circle of friends from the bar and Draco wouldn't mix well, he did think about inviting him along for a jazz evening.

And then it all came crashing down. On a Tuesday in late January, Draco came to the workshop with a fierce twist to his mouth and flaring temper. Harry was particularly singled out for abuse. At first, Harry was hurt and wondered if he'd done something, but then he realised that Draco was just in a mood. When the mood stretched on for days, Harry accepted that the thaw with Draco had been temporary and nothing good and improbable lasted for very long.

On top of Draco's foul temper, the workload at the shop suddenly quadrupled. Several urgent repairs for longstanding customers came in at once, just as they were trying to finish off a shipment of instruments for Jan to take to an important event in Japan. Everyone's fuse was short, and Harry found every moment of his long days full of difficult tasks, which he could never perform quite well or fast enough. He felt like he was surrounded by ogres. Anders and Jan mostly cursed impersonally, but Draco would lash out at him directly. Harry suspended all of his extra activities and began working nights and weekends at the shop to help out with the glut of work, pausing only to drop into bed and then crawl back out.

Tensions rose as the date of Jan's departure neared; Harry and Draco nearly came to blows in the kitchen one morning. Harry wasn't sure how. He was smoking a cigarette, and Draco walked in for a coffee. Something sharp came out of Draco's mouth, and Harry just snapped like he was twelve again. He launched himself at Draco, ready to hit and kick. Draco lashed out first and hit him in the eye. Harry realised he was much stronger than Draco now and just pinned him to the sink, furiously glaring into his eyes and not knowing what to do until Jan grabbed his collar and hauled him off.

"I don't know what is wrong with you two," Jan said in an unusually terse voice, "but I am leaving in two days. I don't care if you fuck each other or kill each other, but this has to be settled by the time I get back."

Both Draco and Harry gaped as he pivoted and walked off.

"Killing it is," Draco drawled, recovering first. "I'm not going where half of Amsterdam has been."

"At least I'm not fucking my ex," Harry retorted savagely.

Draco glared at him. "Neither am I."

Aha. Harry suddenly understood the shift in Draco's mood. He rubbed his eye. It was throbbing and beginning to close.

Draco grabbed his hand. "Stop it." Harry felt the familiar electric hum tickling his fingers where Draco held them. "You're making it worse."

Draco slid his wand out of his sleeve. "Episkey."

Draco's magic washed over his skin, and Harry's eye was back to normal. The throbbing was gone. Harry blinked and opened his mouth. Draco bared his teeth at Harry in a snarl, before he could thank him, and stalked off.

The next two days were blurry. Harry didn't snatch more than three hours of sleep as they got everything ready for Japan. Jan managed to recruit colleagues to finish the last repairs, but the instruments for delivery were completed hours before they had to go into their packing crates. Through a fog, Harry helped Jan get the final things ready and promised to clean up the workshop. Jan had come to work in his traveling clothes, with his suitcase and just made the taxi to Schiphol.

Harry stumbled upstairs and slept for fourteen hours. Hunger drove him from bed. He pulled on Mrs. Weasley's sweater and an old pair of jeans. Slipping on a pair of shoes, he walked downstairs to get something to eat. The lights were on in the workshop. After inhaling two cups of coffee, three thickly buttered slices of bread with cheese, half of a dry salami, and half of a bottle of apple juice, Harry walked out to investigate. Draco was methodically sorting the wreckage on the workbenches. He had already cleared a small corner and was expanding the circle of order. He was dressed in a charcoal wool sweater and a pair of jeans. Harry marveled at the sight of a Malfoy in jeans and then remembered to check out his ass. As lovely as he remembered.

"Nice sweater," Draco remarked, turning around.

Nice ass, Harry thought. "I don't think I've ever seen you in jeans," he said.

Draco shrugged. "I'm not cleaning up this mess in bespoke clothing."

Harry started working on the floor, stripping away layer after layer of wrappings, shavings, and other detritus from the mad rush. Draco progressed across the workbenches, wrapping, coiling, measuring, discarding. They worked to well past midnight, surrounded by a strange sort of calm.

As they finished for the night, standing in the stillness of the restored workshop, Harry smiled at Draco.

"It's almost like detention."

Draco laughed, a real laugh.

On the spur of the moment, in the echo of that laugh, Harry said, "Draco, tomorrow is February first. Do you want to come over for dinner?"

Draco paused. "Imbolc, eh?" He smoothed his hair absently. "What time?"

"About eight," Harry said.

Draco nodded. "I'll bring the wine." He shouldered his coat on and walked to the door, turning to say something but then thinking better of it. He left.

Harry sat down on a bench, wondering what the hell he'd done that for. He and Draco were just barely speaking to each other. It can't go well, can it? he thought. He smoked a last cigarette in the kitchen before going upstairs, wheels beginning to turn in his head.

By the time he woke up, Harry knew exactly what he wanted, just not how to achieve it. He made a provisional list and went through the city methodically, searching for the items. He spent the longest time in the Wizarding quarter off of St Luciensteeg, wandering like a child through the strange but oddly familiar shops, trying not to look too much like a tourist and not to buy everything in sight. Bicycle and rucksack full of parcels, he cycled home to try to finish everything he had planned before eight arrived.

At five minutes to eight, Harry was downstairs at the door and showered, his hair only a little damp. He was dressed and reasonably well-groomed but a little cold in light trousers and a thin navy shirt. Draco appeared at eight sharp, key scraping in the lock, large black bag over his shoulder. His hair was glossy and he was perfectly turned out. They looked at each other awkwardly.

"I've got everything ready upstairs," Harry said, gesturing to the stairwell.

Draco frowned and then followed as Harry began the climb to the fourth floor.

When they reached the door to his room, Harry couldn't resist turning to glance at Draco in the narrow hallway. The swell of magic from the room was evident and Draco looked at him curiously. Harry gave a little smile and opened the door.

Draco's mouth dropped open. On the other side of the door was a large grass meadow filled with flowers and fireflies. The smell of summer hung in the air and a starry carpet adorned the sky. With a swallow, Draco looked at Harry and then stepped over the threshold, eyes wide in wonder. There was a picnic cloth spread out and a large basket next to it. Two place settings were arranged on the cloth. The temperature was appropriate to a warm summer night. Harry followed Draco and closed the door. Draco set down the bag carefully, then took off his sweater. He turned to face Harry.

"How?" he shook his head.

Harry made a circular gesture. "It's supposed to be the first day of spring, but I felt like summer."

Draco grinned. He pulled a champagne bottle out of the bag.

As Harry opened the basket and set out truffled pâte and baguette, cold chicken and watercress salad, strawberries and zabaglione, Draco gave a little sigh of pleasure. He transformed the wine glasses into champagne flutes and poured, then handed a glass to Harry.

"To spring," Harry said.

"And to summer," Draco added.

They clinked glasses and both took a sip. The cold, fruity, dry aftertaste lingered on Harry's tongue. "This is excellent."

Draco curved his lips and took another languid swallow. "It'll do."

The champagne disappeared in a froth of bubbles and light conversation. Draco transfigured their champagne flutes to balloon glasses for the velvety red wine as Harry dished the salad. Watching Draco eat was an exercise in aesthetic restraint. Most of the meal was bearable, as Harry was very hungry and not paying as much attention as he might have, but then Draco insisted on eating his zabaglione as slowly as possible, his swallows accompanied by breathy little inhales, to test the limits of Harry's patience. Harry's cock positively sang when Draco circled his lips around the red flesh of a strawberry and sunk his perfect white teeth in, then swallowed with his eyes closed.

Opening his eyes, Draco looked over to Harry with an expression of absolute sensual glee. "These are so good! How did you find them out of season?"

Harry exhaled the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Luck, I guess." He watched Draco's face sink back into its reverie as he selected another juicy, crimson victim and bit.

After dinner and a quick cleaning charm - Oh, the joys of cleaning charms! Harry thought - they lay on their backs in the grass smoking, shirts untucked, shoes off. Draco had transfigured their glasses yet again into the appropriate shape for the sweet dessert wine they were each sipping occasionally.

Draco trailed one long hand over the hollow of his stomach while he drew on the cigarette. Harry watched him from under half-lidded eyes, pleasantly at peace with the world and the softly lit, verdant slice of the here-and-now.

"Do you ever get lonely?" Draco asked, watching the stars of the ceiling.

"I don't think I've ever stopped," Harry answered and pondered the honesty of the statement.

Draco sighed. "I despise Erik. But I can't seem to stop following him whenever he crooks his little finger." Draco waved his pinkie in the air in demonstration.

"That must be some little finger," Harry laughed and Draco's mouth twisted in a smile as his hand dropped back to the grass. "You know, there are plenty of men in Amsterdam."

Draco rolled onto his side to face Harry, who was still lying on his back. A strand of white blond hair fell into Draco's eyes and he brushed it back impatiently. "Yes. I know. You've slept with most of them." He stuck out his tongue, his face transfigured by the childish gesture.

Harry closed his eyes and inhaled a long drag of smoke, then rested his hand on his forehead as he exhaled. "Well, I've fucked a few, yes."

Draco's eyebrow twitched at the blunt acknowledgment. "Does it help?"

Harry shrugged. "It passes the time."

"But don't you want to do more than pass the time?"

Harry stubbed out his cigarette and propped himself up on his elbows. Draco was taking a last, delicate drag, smoke wreathing his fair head. Harry looked at him - really looked at him - at the sensual curve of his lip and the dark circles under his eyes, the flare of his nostrils and the soft flutter of his lashes as he exhaled. "What are you asking me, exactly?"

Draco blinked. "I don't know. I suppose if I knew, I wouldn't have to ask." He crushed the cigarette into the grass with a frown.

The quiet was suddenly quite loud. Harry was aware of the welling of magic enclosing them, the waves that traveled back and forth between them as they spoke. If he closed his eyes, he could feel a particular presence within it that was Draco's own. Even without the wine, Harry would have been drunk on being around this much enchantment again; Draco just added to it. When Harry opened his eyes, Draco was looking at him and didn't avert his gaze.

"Draco, are you flirting with me?" Harry asked finally.

Draco's face gathered in a soft frown. "I don't know how you pulled so many men, Potter, if you can't tell a simple thing like that."

Harry leaned forward and brushed a blade of grass from Draco's hair. The pale strands were silken against his fingers. He let his hand linger. "Is it really that simple?" The gravelly, needy sound of his own voice surprised him.

Draco tilted his head. "No." He leaned forward and opened his mouth to Harry, kissing him in soft, hesitant waves. His mouth tasted of cigarettes and wine and strawberries. Harry cupped Draco's jaw in his hand and let his tongue slide between Draco's lips. Draco moaned and tightened his grip on Harry's shirt at his shoulder. They kissed wildly, more teeth, more tongue, more gasping and thrusting.

It was like pulling magnets apart to break contact with Draco, but Harry did just that. Draco's lips were slick and red and his hair was mussed in a fashion that made Harry want to devour him. "Draco... If you just want someone to fill your time, there are lots of places to look. And better choices than me."

"Potter, you noble slut. You'll fuck anyone else in this city but not me?"

"I care about you."

Draco looked alarmed at those four simple words. Harry was alarmed by them himself. They rang true like a bell.

"So it's not just sex between us," Harry continued. "It's something more."

Draco huffed and then shifted his weight, propelling Harry to the ground under him. Crouching over Harry on all fours, grey eyes feral, Draco said, "As ever, you are the champion of the obvious."

Harry looked up with his mouth open as Draco swooped and sucked on his lower lip. "Oh," he said as Draco's mouth moved to his neck. "OH." Draco bit gently, rolling the skin between his teeth. Goose pimples broke out on Harry's arms and he shivered. In the moment of surprise, Draco grabbed Harry's wrists and pinned them over his head. A frisson of danger shot through Harry's body. He had not forgotten how formidable Draco was as an opponent, nor was he sure enough of their temporary truce to know that this wasn't dangerous.

Draco lowered his arms and sat back on his haunches, weight pinning on Harry's hips. Harry tried to lower his arms, but they wouldn't move. He realised his wrists were bound above his head. Draco smirked, tapping his wand thoughtfully against his thigh.

"I've wanted to get you into this position for so long, Potter." The cruel lilt to his voice had an alarming effect on Harry's erection. "But now that I have you here, I wonder what I should do with you."

Harry gulped as the tip of Draco's wand lodged against his throat. His breath stopped, then started shakily as it traced a path down his chest. Shudders of danger and arousal made his skin ripple with tension. Draco sat back a little further to bring his wand lower on Harry's belly and Harry felt the tight clench of Draco's arse over his throbbing groin. Harry twisted, eyes locked on Draco's face. He knew that Draco would be extra savage for having bared his soul earlier. Draco's ass ground against Harry's thighs as the tip of his wand slid between the buttons of Harry's trousers. Harry choked out a harsh, reedy cry, hips bucking but restrained under Draco's weight. His shoulders ached already from straining against the bonds and the ungainly position. Draco flicked his wand, and Harry's shirt buttons came open. Harry bit his lip and tasted blood. Fiery heat followed by cold played across his nipples, his abdomen, the hollow of his hips. He writhed as Draco's spells rolled across his skin.

Opening his eyes and curling his neck up as far as he could, Harry drank in the sight of Draco above him, wild, distant, and faintly cruel. "Not like that," Harry said. "Not with magic. Touch me."

Draco frowned at the request but yielded to it. He laid his wand down within ready grasping distance and took his time unbuttoning his cuffs and his shirt placket, shrugging the soft cotton off of his shoulders and casting it aside. As he draped his warm skin over Harry's torso, Harry's groin ached. Who needs magic when you have this, he thought distantly. Draco nipped at his earlobe, his neck, the taut skin over his collarbone, as his fingers cruelly pinched Harry's nipple.

"Is this what you want, Potter?" Draco splayed a hand over his chest, stroking Harry's nipple with his thumb as his hips ground against Harry's.

"Yes," Harry said, closing his eyes and thrusting back against Draco's pelvis, his face warming. He let go and sank into the rhythm of their movement together, arching his back and clenching his buttocks to press himself to Draco as closely as possible. He wanted more, but this was a damn sight better than he'd expected.

"You're so easy," Draco chided, propping himself up to look at Harry.

"Maybe." Harry agreed. "I find it more satisfying than being complicated."

Draco frowned. "Are you saying I'm complicated?"

Harry laughed. Draco was not amused, and he sat up, rolling off of Harry and pulling his knees up. Harry couldn't stop laughing. The situation was just too absurd.

"I'm sorry," Harry said at last. "You have me tied down, you keep verging on insulting me, and then you wonder if you're complicated. Draco Malfoy, you're one of the most complicated people I have ever met."

Draco stood up and glanced around. The fireflies were flickering in the distance. He looked at a loss for what to do, hair disheveled, clothing untucked.

"But did I say I didn't like complicated?" Harry asked. He began to wonder how exactly to get himself out of this position.

Draco turned and looked down at Harry. "You did say there were better choices."

"I meant for you. I'm easy in some respects and utterly impossible in others," Harry countered.

"And you didn't seem to want this very much." There was a note of real hurt in Draco's voice.

Harry inhaled. "Other than the fact that my trousers feel like they're going to split because I'm so hard and my skin is on fire, sure, I feel rather lukewarm about the whole thing." He let his head fall back to the grass and shifted his shoulders, thinking about when to Accio his wand or whether to try to get out by other means.

Draco sniffed. "Potter, I'm going. Thank you for an unusual evening." He put on his shirt, buttoned it swiftly, and reached for his shoes and socks.

Harry sat up and swung his numb arms to his lap, feeling the cincture of the bonds. "Draco, stay."

Draco didn't look at him. "Why? So we can insult each other more and add to our long list of unfortunate encounters."

"No." Harry kept his voice level. "Stay so I can feel your skin under my hands. I've been thinking about it for weeks."

Draco's head jerked up, and he wavered, his body swaying slightly as though suspended on a wire.

"Stay so I can watch you come."

Draco trembled visibly at the words. He turned and sneered. "You just want me to take off the bonds."

Harry twisted his wrists and the magic gave. Draco raised his eyebrows as Harry separated his hands and rubbed the circulation back into his forearms. Harry looked up. "How are you going to find out what either of us wants if you don't stay?"

Draco's mouth fell open slightly. His expression was almost pained. "What if I don't want you?"

Harry shrugged and leaned back on his hands. "Then you should go."

Draco walked a few steps toward Harry and dropped to his knees. "I'm not sure what I want," he confessed, pulling at a blade of grass.

Harry inched forward and ducked his head to catch Draco's eyes. "Why don't we try this again?"

Draco nodded, and Harry moved slowly forward, raising his lips to Draco's. His movements were unhurried, languid even, giving Draco adequate time to protest or demand. When no objection came, Harry pressed his lips more firmly against Draco's, tongue gently teasing between Draco's lips. Draco shivered once, and Harry shivered with him, feeling the shift in the energy of their bodies as they aligned. Harry ran his fingers through the soft hairs at the nape of Draco's neck and scratched lightly across the sensitive skin. Draco opened his mouth, and Harry continued to kiss him softly, tongue gentle and slow against Draco's. Draco curled a hand at the waist of Harry's trousers. They kissed, sinking into each other, exhaling gentle breaths.

When Harry drew back, Draco's grey eyes were luminous. "How's that?" Harry asked.

Draco nodded and leaned in for another kiss, reaching under Harry's shirt and flattening a palm on his back. He trailed his lips down Harry's jaw. "Mmmm. I might have to see some more before I make up my mind."

Harry turned his face to kiss as much as Draco's mouth as he could reach. "Good."

Draco reached to unbutton his own shirt and Harry covered his hand with his own. "Let me," he said. He worked the line of buttons to the bottom, opening the billowing cotton to reveal the smoothness of Draco's chest, marked by the harsh gouged lines of scars. Harry chewed on his lip as he traced them gently, thanking Severus Snape and all of the luck that day that Draco was here, now, for him to touch.

Draco lifted Harry's hand to his mouth and kissed his fingertips. "It seems like a long time ago, doesn't it?"

Harry nodded, seeing the horror of that bathroom. "Sometimes."

Harry's further thoughts were swallowed up by desire as Draco took two of his fingers into his mouth, working his tongue across them, then sucking them in until Harry's palm was flush with his lips. Harry watched the hungry look on Draco's face and his cock throbbed. Harry slid his fingers out and rubbed them across Draco's red lips, then reached to circle a pale pink nipple with the wetness. Draco arched his neck, displaying a long line of pale throat. Harry licked and kissed his way from Draco's jaw to his collarbone as his finger continued to worry Draco's nipple. Draco gasped as Harry bit down at the base of his neck and sucked gently, raising a small mark.

"Are you sure you're not a vampire, Potter?" Draco asked breathlessly.

Harry pinched Draco's nipple, a little hard. "I want to suck more than your blood."

Harry snaked his other hand between Draco's spread thighs, cupping the hard bulge and rubbing against it. Draco made a small, choking noise and pressed into Harry's hand. Harry slowly undid the buttons and zip of Draco's trousers, deliberately enough that Draco pressed harder against him in anticipation.

At that point, Harry's plans of restraint flew out of the window. He pushed Draco back onto the grass, pulling his trousers and pants roughly down his legs. Leaving Draco half constrained by the fabric around his knees, Harry bent over his cock. This he knew how to do. With a sure grip, he wrapped his hand around the base of Draco's erect cock and brought his mouth to the head. Draco groaned. Harry took him fast and deep, pushing the limits of the position. Draco grasped a handful of Harry's hair and thrust into his mouth. Harry swallowed the brackish, musky taste of Draco, loosening his jaw and focusing on the demands of flesh and pressure. It was almost easy this way. Except each of Draco's little cries quivered through him and Harry's skin felt like it was melting into Draco's, with each slide, each push, each subtle movement. Draco writhed as he got close and Harry tasted magic in the back of his throat, the pulse of everything building until Draco shouted and Harry saw stars just from having his mouth wrapped around Draco as he came.

Harry wiped the back of his hand across his mouth to remove the traces of what he hadn't been able to swallow. Draco lay slumped in the grass, thin arm over his eyes, shirt open, pants around his knees, pale flesh gleaming like starlight. Harry was horrified at the sight, or, rather, the deep swell of emotion in his chest it evoked. Oh shit. I think I'm in love with him. Or whatever this is. Draco was making him feel, and he didn't like it.

Draco started to laugh. "Wow. That was... Worth the grass stains, I'd say." He sat up slowly and examined his shirt, then flashed a grin at Harry. Harry had this underwater sensation of everything moving slowly; he smiled back at Draco, but it took him a moment.

"What's wrong?" Draco's eyebrows knit together. "Are you okay?"

Yeah. Except you're fucking surrounded by a halo of light and I'm acting like I've swallowed Amortentia. "Um, yeah. Was there anything in that wine?"

Draco frowned. "Grapes? Why?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. I just feel..." He looked at Draco and saw how liquid his grey eyes were, how open his face was. "I just really liked it, that's all."

Draco nodded. "Yeah. Take off your clothes."

Harry complied with the brusque command without a moment's hesitation.

After taking off his stained white shirt and stripping his trousers off, Draco reached into the side of the black wine bag and pulled out packet of lube and a condom.

"Do you want to just... We could use spellwork." Harry said hesitantly. "But we don't have to."

Draco nodded. "I've almost forgotten how."

He reached for his wand and said the protection charms that all Hogwarts students learned. He waved the packet of lube. "Muggle lube is still better."

Harry watched Draco advance, wondering what he wanted next. The look in Draco's eyes made his balls ache.

Draco stated, "You're going to lie down, and I'm going to ride you, Potter."

Harry's breathing stopped for a moment. Draco Malfoy was possibly, just possibly, the sexiest thing on the earth at that very moment. "O-okay," Harry stuttered. He lay back in the grass.

Draco's hand was cool and slick as he fisted Harry's cock, spreading the viscous lube thoroughly. He climbed over Harry's legs, raising himself onto his knees above Harry's stomach and reaching behind to slide a finger, then two into himself. Harry watched the composure of his face, even now, even here in this moment. Draco's hair was tousled and his face was smooth, concentrating. His torso was stretched like a bow; Harry's gaze slid lower to the lovely swell of his balls and the half-full beauty of his spent cock.

Draco shifted and grasped Harry's cock, positioning himself over it. Harry watched Draco seek the angle of entry and find it. The heat of Draco's body swallowed him whole and Harry bucked up, restrained by a hand on his hip, his neck arching and his heart pounding like it was going to come out of his chest. Draco sighed and sank down slowly, taking more of Harry with each shift of his lean hips. Every sensation ran together in Harry's body, the grass, the stars, the warm air, the silence broken only by their breath, the sight of Draco slowly taking his cock into his body and the close heat of it.

Draco arched his back and sank the last inch to rest flush against Harry's hip. His pale thighs were spread, skin so translucent that Harry could see a fine tracery of blue veins. Draco frowned a little in concentration and Harry though he would explode. Harry reached his hands forward to rest on Draco's hips, tracing one flat hipbone with the pad of his thumb. Draco's thighs tensed as he raised himself and then let himself fall. Harry bent his knees, braced his ankles, and used his legs to thrust up to meet Draco on the downward strokes. Draco floated over him like a profane angel, mouth open in pleasure, body fluid and flexing. A hum filled Harry's ears as they established a rhythm and then broke it, accelerating in fits and starts. Draco was growing hard again and Harry watched through half-lidded eyes as he palmed himself. He's just so beautiful Harry thought while he could just barely think, wondering if the bounce of Draco on his cock was even legal; in this town where anything could be had, he'd never seen or experienced anything like this. The effect was like that of being hopelessly stoned, although Harry knew it was only wine and Draco.

Groans and little ah oh uhhhh sounds of pleasure streamed from their lips. Harry's ears could no longer distinguish who was making what sound; his body was entirely focused on Draco. On a hard upthrust, Harry felt Draco's arse clench around him, and he tipped over an edge that had been building all night, the sum of all tension and all desire spilling out of his body in a single, shattering moment, to leave him hollow and exposed on the ground as if his chest had cracked open and revealed his organs like the workings of a clock.

Draco moved over him and then semen splashed over Harry's belly in a wet stripe. Harry smiled, eyelids heavy as though weighed by coins. He heard the cleaning spell and then Draco flopped on the grass next to him. Without opening his eyes, Harry reached for Draco, pulling him close to his chest and smelling his hair and the clear, heady smell of his skin. Their heartbeats were the totality of the universe for a moment.

"Unbelievable." Draco said, breaking the silence.

"Mmm. What?" Harry had his nose in Draco's neck.

"Just... You, Potter. You're really surprising."

Harry relaxed, hand idly stroking Draco's back. "Me? Is that good."

Draco frowned with his eyes closed. "Don't know yet."

Their bodies were sleek and warm together on the enchanted grass and the fireflies hovered at the corners of Harry's fading awareness. As Draco's breath fluttered across his collarbone, Harry realised wasn't sure what would happen next, but he knew that this was a start.