He had made his polite nod to Draco Malfoy and Malfoy had hugged his son once and prodded him into the train. But Harry couldn't keep his eyes off him. Strange. Not that he'd seen Malfoy all that often. Just here and there and always in Wizarding places, never Muggle. The prat probably never fully learned his lesson.

Harry waved to his sons leaning out of their compartment window. He smiled at them. They were growing up so fast. It was such a good life. A good family. Finally, a family of his own. He glanced at Ginny, chatting away with Hermione and Ron. He couldn't have asked for a better companion in life. Funny how he never really noticed her until sixth year. She was always just part of Ron's family. Another Weasley. But a certain loneliness had permeated him that year and Ginny had seemed like the perfect object of affection, except that she seemed to have a new boyfriend each time he turned around.

Being part of the Weasley family for real was the shining moment of his life. And then when each precious child was born, that became his new Great Moment.

And yet. As time went by and they settled into married life and Harry had established himself into Auror training, finally becoming an Auror, and then heading the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the spark had gone. He expected that this was normal in families. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia-people he had scarce given a second thought to in twenty years-didn't seem lovey dovey, except where Dudley was concerned, and Harry could certainly see that. His children were his joy. Being a dad had been the best thing to come into his life since magic itself.

He cast a glance at his youngest, Lily, capering with the Weasley children, and sighed. He should be ecstatically happy. He should be loving every moment of his life. He loved his wife, his kids, his job. But each time he thought about that, he felt a hole in his heart and he wondered what it meant. Wasn't it enough to have married the love of his life, to have his wonderful children whom he loved beyond measure?

His eyes were drawn across the platform again to where Draco Malfoy was standing with his wife. Those grey eyes were looking at him, too.

For a moment, the world seemed to slow down. Harry looked over at Ginny still chatting. Harry felt himself drifting, stepping away from the light of the Golden Trio, and strolling along the platform, going nowhere in particular. He could feel people staring at him. They always did. He was still Harry Potter, even though Voldemort was killed nineteen years ago and the children and some of the young adults on the platform weren't even born yet. His face was on Chocolate Frog cards and currently, he was still the favorite, though there was a famous rock star witch who was slowly overtaking him in popularity. It made him smile to think of it.

Harry walked along the platform, ducking into a shadowed alcove away from the throng of parents. He leaned against the wall, feeling the solid, hard bricks against his back. Nineteen years ago. It had been a long time but the whole thing was as fresh in his memory as if it had happened yesterday. He had never told anyone about his visit with Dumbledore at King's Cross or wherever that had been. That was for him alone. He doubted if he would ever tell anyone. There wasn't anyone that close to him. But he thought about it often; how eternity turned on a pin; how the choices one makes, not the lot one is dealt, is what makes the difference. He thought about Voldemort-Tom Riddle-as a wizened fetus-like creature, whimpering in that nonexistence for all time simply because he had no remorse in him. Well, after all, he had nothing left inside but one eighth of his soul. And sometimes, Harry thought he almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Though Harry had been the only one alive to have shared visions and emotions with Voldemort. It was truly hard to muster much sympathy after experiencing that.

It was dark in his little brick hidey-hole and he had no idea why he was there and how long he had even been there, when a shadow passed over the archway. A figure stood, silhouetted in light and train steam. For a moment, Harry wasn't sure if it was really real or his imagination. He realized he should be frightened to be cornered like that-a rookie's mistake-but he knew where his wand was and he was so well-trained, he barely needed it for rudimentary defense anyway.

He kept looking, and the figure kept standing there until it finally spoke.

"Hiding?"

Malfoy? The figure strolled closer, each step a smooth gesture of grace and eloquence. Nobody walked like that but Draco Malfoy-except for his father. But that was clearly Draco's voice. What was he doing?

When the man had drawn close enough to be illuminated by the reflected light of the archway, Harry plainly saw that white-blond hair. It was parted in the middle, but a bit of fringe framed his wide forehead. The rest fell almost to his shoulders. One light brow arched over a grey eye, eyes the same as Harry remembered from his school days. That nose and that chin were unmistakable Malfoy, both pointed and sharp, skin pale as cream except for his lips which were a coral colour and slightly pursed with amusement.

"I'm not hiding," said Harry with a hoarse voice. He cleared his throat.

Malfoy merely looked at him. "I see. So is this where you usually conduct Auror business?"

Harry smirked. "Nice to see you, too, Malfoy. I mean, we haven't spoken three words to each other in...what? Nineteen years? And you still can't stand to be pleasant to me."

"Why would I have cause to be pleasant?"

"Oh, I don't know. Because that is what is done? Because all that Hogwarts stuff was years and years ago? Because we're adults?"

Draco's mouth quirked. It was so familiar to Harry he almost laughed. "Water under the bridge and all that? Do you think that just because a few years have past that we should just shake hands and be mates?"

It was that same tone, too, and Harry sighed. "Why not? I don't know why you hated me so much anyway. I never would have picked on you if you hadn't been such a wanker all those years."

"I see." Draco smoothed out his coat and glanced toward the archway. He was the most elegant person Harry had ever seen. It was all that schoolboy arrogance that had grown into the smoothness of adulthood. It was Lucius Malfoy all over again.

He turned back toward Harry, and even though the lighting was dim, he could see Malfoy's grey eyes sparkle. That one glance was doing something to Harry. It made him catch his breath and he didn't know why.

Malfoy seemed to have heard it and his eyes were looking intently at Harry's face, studying it, and then his glance dropped to Harry's lips.

There was absolutely no accounting for it. For a moment, Harry thought it might have been a hex. But he would have known. His training would have clued him in.

They stared at one another. Harry felt fire between them, a hot cascade of emotion roiling over him, and it was sucking them closer. Suddenly, Harry's heart was pounding so hard it felt as if it would burst from his chest.

Malfoy's mouth was parted and he was panting.

Harry didn't know how it happened, but they must have stepped closer, because they were in each other's arms. Draco's lips mashed over his and they were opening. His mouth was so hot, so slippery. Their tongues lashed over the other, seeking each other out. Fingers were in Harry's hair and Harry found blond cornsilk suddenly in his hands. The pounding in his heart steadily headed south and his cock was harder than it had been in a long time.

Draco moaned, his lips working their own kind of magic in Harry's mouth. Harry hadn't kissed anyone like this for years. He imagined he must have kissed Ginny this way when they began dating again, but he couldn't remember. His mind wasn't working just then. His entire focus was on warm, soft lips and the scent of male sweat and expensive cologne. Harry began to grab at Malfoy, touching anything he could reach: arms, thighs, buttocks. Draco's moaning grew louder, intensifying right along with his kisses. Harry moved his hips and found another erection just as hard as his own. He rubbed his body against it and Draco began his own slow rhythm, cock rubbing cock. He didn't have time to think, to decide. He only reacted, and the sensation grew more intense. A knot of pleasure coiled in Harry's groin. Everything, his breathing, his heartbeat, all concentrated on that one spot. Even their kisses with intruding tongues became more intimate. They frotted faster and harder until his excitement peaked, his pleasure groaned upward, and Harry spilled his release into his trousers. Still rubbing the last of his orgasm free, he felt Draco come.

Their lips had never parted from one another, but the kiss became slower, more languid, tongues touching, lips sliding over lips. At last, after a very long time of mouth play, they gasped and parted, taking a step back. Panting, Harry gazed up at Draco-at that pointy face he had known so long-and saw it seemingly for the first time.

Draco looked back at him. His face was flushed and his hair was slightly mussed from Harry's fingers.

As they came back to themselves, the enormity of what they had done blossomed on Malfoy's blushing features. Harry felt the same hot flush on his own face.

"Shit," whispered Malfoy. He suddenly seemed fifteen again.

Harry finally had the presence of mind to get his wand and Scourgify the both of them.

Neither of them moved. Neither spoke. Harry didn't have the least idea what to say. What the hell had just happened? Harry was a perfectly happily married man with three children. A happily heterosexual man...who had just experienced the most intense turn-on of his life.

"We're thirty-six years old," rasped Harry, as if that were explanation enough to dismiss the whole episode.

"Yeah," said Malfoy, the puzzlement on his face certainly a match for Harry's.

"Well...er...I have to get back...."

"Yeah. The wife." Malfoy stood uncertainly for a moment, face flushing again, before he turned, not looking back at Harry.

When Harry composed himself and found Ginny again, he turned once to see if Malfoy was there, but if he was, he was lost amongst the steam and the crowd.

* * *

Back home at Godric's Hollow, Harry sat and watched Lily sit at the kitchen table and colour in her wizard's colouring book. If she finished the pictures properly and neatly, they would come to life. She had many such books, all with fairy tale themes.

But he wasn't really watching her. His mind was on him and Malfoy. That had been the maddest thing! He'd never done anything of the kind before, never felt any inclination before for men. Or...had he? He thought long and hard and did remember something in his fourth year. He'd just met Charlie Weasley with that dragon tooth hanging from his ear and he thought he was the coolest bloke he had ever met. There was quite a sparkle in Charlie's eye when he smiled at Harry and it had made Harry feel funny inside; special and excited and...and...well. There was no other word for it: lusted after. Charlie had looked at Harry in that way more than once, and Harry had felt a thrill he had never known before. He chalked it up to meeting someone with a really cool job who bothered to give him the time of day; to his raging hormones that were going haywire for Cho and Cedric and...what? Cedric? Oh god. Cedric. He was so handsome and he had a habit of leaning in toward Harry when he spoke to him. There was that twinkle in his eye, too, as if he had the world by the tail and had merely to reel it in. Cedric was sexy. Harry thought he had been jealous of him, being with Cho and all, and that he wanted to be like him instead of awkward, short Harry Potter. But that wasn't it. Cedric was sexy but acted as if it was just part of him like his hair colour or something.

What was going on? Was his whole past a lie?

"Harry!"

Harry jerked back and stared up at Ginny, his heart pounding.

"Harry. Where were you? I've been asking you for the last five minutes what you wanted for dinner."

"I...I...sorry, dear. I was just thinking of something. Something...about work."

"Problems?" she asked, a worried tinge to her voice. She had always tried to keep the fear out about his Auror work. After all, she was the most fearless woman, besides Hermione, he had ever met, but it was something she worried over. As if anything could top Voldemort. Harry never had a problem dealing with dark wizards. Just showing up was almost enough to defeat them. Here they were, facing down the Harry Potter. They were scared shitless and usually gave up without a fight. Usually.

"No, no. Nothing like that. Just paperwork piling up."

She sighed. "Oh, Harry. You really do have to keep up with that. You're head of the department. It isn't all glamour, you know."

"Yes, I know."

"So what do you want for dinner?"

"Oh, anything sweetheart. Anything you like."

"Good. Then I'll take down that ham, shall I?" She waved her wand toward the pantry and a ham nudged its way out the door and floated toward the counter.

Harry rose, ruffled the auburn hair of his daughter, and shuffled out the back door into his garden. He often went there when he was feeling off. He Accioed a hoe from the tool shed and began weeding the Muggle way, trying to get his mind wrapped around what happened at King's Cross.

* * *

Draco Malfoy brooded in his west wing library. The parents lived in the east wing, but they hadn't been home for a while, still taking their leisure on the continent, so he was free to brood in peace. The wife would not disturb him. She knew better than to do that while he was in the library. And anyway, she was happily ensconced in her own suite, no doubt. They may not even see each other for dinner.

He stared into the flames, his fingers pinching his lower lip. If he concentrated, he could still feel the touch of Potter's lips on his.

With an exasperated sound, he flung himself from his chair and paced across the antique Persian carpet. What the hell had happened? Had they been cursed? But Draco had done a check of his person the minute they arrived home. No hexes, no spells. Nothing. Whatever had happened had been spontaneous. But why? Draco wasn't gay. Neither was Potter. At least he didn't think the Hero was. No, no. He was married. Had been for ages. Three kids.

Draco glanced up to the mantle to a picture of Scorpius. Blond like him, his same features. Thank god he got nothing from his mother. He loved his son. He never believed he was capable of loving anyone more than his parents, but here was that little bundle put into his arms eleven years ago and he had been gobsmacked by his emotions. Such a tiny creature. His. He had been overwhelmed with an unshakable feeling of protectiveness that had never left him. Scorpius had the best of everything. The best toys, the best playmates, the best clothes, the best room. All for his little boy. And when it was time, he had his choice whether to go to Hogwarts or Durmstrang, and when he chose Hogwarts because that's where his friends were going, Draco never batted an eye, though he had wanted to scream "Anywhere but there!"

He had little doubt he would be sorted into Slytherin, though he had told him, as was the fashion these days, it didn't matter what house he was sorted into. He would excel. Even if it were Gryffindor. Though Draco silently prayed to whatever deity would listen, that he was sorted anywhere but Gryffindor.

His long fingers stroked the picture frame of his smiling boy, waving enthusiastically at his father. A lump formed in Draco's throat. He missed him already. It was a long time till Christmas.

His hand fell away and he found himself staring into the fire again. It seemed he couldn't think of Hogwarts without thinking of Potter and now he couldn't stop thinking of what happened at King's Cross. Why had it happened if there was no hex or spell? Why? Draco wasn't gay. But he remembered the feelings. They had been so strong, so intense. He had wanted to devour Potter. He had never kissed anyone like that before. Certainly never a boy. And it had been...it had been...so...unbelievably marvelous. So...so... hot. His hand clutched at a stomach whirling with tension, but slowly pushed down his body until the heel of his hand pressed against his growing erection. He couldn't even think about it without getting a hard-on. Potter's lips, Potter's arms, his hands, his body, strong and toned from Auror training. And his cock. Potter seemed to have an enormous cock. And it had pressed hard against Draco's. He never imagined such a thing would be such a big turn-on. Never. But it was, and the thought of it was turning him on again. Potter's cock rubbing against his had been the hottest damned thing he had ever experienced-bar none. He wondered-even under an embarrassed blush-what it would look like; what it would be like to touch in the flesh.

No, no. He pressed his palms into his eyes. He had to stop thinking about it. He'd go mad if he didn't. Potter was still famous with his perfect little wife and his perfect little house and his perfect little children all sure to be sorted into Gryffindor (Gods! More Gryffindors in the world!) and all of it would be just so perfect he could scream.

He leaned his hands hard against the mantle. He had to forget Harry Potter. He had been perfectly content to forget Potter for the last nineteen years. The next fifty would be just peachy for him.

But even looking at his green leather sofa reminded him of Potter's eyes. His damnable eyes, that looked at him with such lust that in remembering it, he almost came in his trousers again.

He was so fucked.

* * *

A fortnight had gone by since Harry had sent his boys to Hogwarts. Albus had owled the following day to tell his family he had been sorted into Gryffindor. Harry smiled at the scrawl that was his son's handwriting on the little parchment. He had handed it to Ginny, who had smiled from ear to ear, and tucked it away into a scrapbook she kept of all the children's firsts.

Harry was very pleased. Another Potter in Gryffindor. He looked at his youngest, at how sly she was and manipulative and wondered vaguely if she wouldn't be sorted into Slytherin when her time came. After all, he had almost... But that was Voldemort's fault. That was Harry's being his bloody Horcrux. The thought never failed to make Harry shiver. To have been a vessel of something evil all that time. To have had that secret in him all those years. And Dumbledore knowing it, or at least suspecting it. No wonder he had been so odd to Harry for so long. How do you tell someone who is like a grandson to you that he must die to save the world?

It was never far from his thoughts. Even in his happiest times, he always considered that this would never have happened if he hadn't made the choices he had made nineteen years ago.

But inevitably, thoughts of that time brought other images. He thought of King's Cross and of Draco Malfoy. What was Draco thinking of right now? Was he thinking of Harry? Was it with disgust or something else?

Because Harry never thought of it with disgust. He thought of it often and never with anything other than embarrassed lust. He had even-god help him-thought of it when he wanked and when he made love to Ginny just the other night. He couldn't help it. It rose up in his mind like some great looming shadow and overtook any tender feelings he had for his wife, and he had many of them. But the mad frotting assailed him, sending him to an early and intense climax, so intense that Ginny even remarked on it.

At first he thought he simply wouldn't think of it anymore, but that had only made it worse. And then he decided to face it, but now he could think of little else.

An insane thought had taken hold of him in the last few hours even though he tried talking himself out of it. What would happen if he sent Draco an owl? Would he reply to it? And if he did, what then? A myriad of ideas came to Harry. Maybe they could meet. Just to talk it out, get it out in the open so they could put it aside and get past it. Yeah. That's what Harry wanted most of all. To get it behind him so he could move on. And it didn't seem likely that they could do that unless he confronted Malfoy again.

He spent hours darting glances at his writing desk until he finally got up the courage to sit there and pen a note.


Dear Malfoy--

But that was wrong from the start.


Dear Malfoy,
     It was pleasant seeing you at King's Cross-

Bloody hell! Why was this so hard?


Dear Malfoy,
     It was pleasant seeing you at King's Cross I really think we need to talk. Would you meet me at-

But where could they meet that wouldn't arouse suspicion? No, that was mental. No one suspected anything. And anyway they weren't doing anything. They were just two blokes going to meet to talk. That was all.


Dear Malfoy,
     It was pleasant seeing you at King's Cross I really think we need to talk. Would you meet me at the Leaky Cauldron at 10:30 this Friday morning? A reply would be appreciated.
Harry Potter

Harry sat back exhausted. That was the hardest letter he had ever written. He didn't think it had even been that hard getting up the courage to ask Cho Chang to the Yule Ball.

He blotted the parchment and rolled it up before calling for Fortescue, his brown barn owl.

"Hey, 'Cue. Take this and...er...hurry, would you? You can wait for a reply. If he wants you to. Okay, off with you now."

He watched the owl sail into the drizzly air, never failing to think of Hedwig when he did.

* * *

Draco had been standing on his terrace, sipping tea, when he saw the owl approach. Immediately he ran through the different owls in his head that he knew, and decided that he did not know the sender of this owl.

The owl swooped in smoothly and landed on the railing. Hooting, he lifted his leg toward Draco and the man warily took the rolled parchment from the bird. He unfurled it and nearly dropped his tea cup when he saw the signature.

With shaking hands, he set the saucer down on the table and read the terse note again. Meet? Meet? Was he mental? Of course they shouldn't meet! That was a monumental mistake. He grabbed the parchment to tear it up when he stopped himself. Slowly he lowered his hand and looked at the note again. There was Potter's scrawl. It looked no better than when he was in school. Who taught that man how to write script? His owl?

Draco frowned, staring at the writing done in Potter's own hand. What should he do? Meeting was clearly out of the question. Should he even bother replying? No, it would be rude not to reply, and Malfoys may be many things, but outright rude was not one of them.

He went inside and the owl followed. Clearly it had been given instructions to await a reply. Draco went to his writing desk and sat down. He took a sheaf of parchment with the Malfoy crest and set it in front of him. He smoothed out the bleached parchment with his hand and stared at its blankness. This was ridiculous. He could certainly reply to a simple note. He could just pretend it came from someone he loathed inviting him to lunch. That was easy to do. He did loathe Potter, after all.

Draco wriggled in his seat a bit. Well, he used to loathe Potter. He could certainly remember how that was.


Dear Mr. Potter,
     As touched as I am by your kind invitation-

Bugger it. That was all wrong.


Dear Mr. Potter,
     As touched as I am by your kind invitation. Having received your missive, I regret to say-

Fuck all and damnation!


Dear Mr. Potter,
     As touched as I am by your kind invitation Having received your missive, I regret to say- Are you mental? I can't meet you at the Leaky Cauldron or anywhere else. Just forget it, all right!
DM

His hands were shaking so much that he sloppily rolled the parchment and barely got it tied to the bird's leg before it flew off. Draco flopped back in his chair, completely drained.

* * *

Harry had been tapping his fingers on the window sill absently when he saw the speck in the sky. He sat up, heart pounding and nearly grabbed the owl before he had a chance to light. He snatched the note and read it quickly, shoulders slumping in disappointment.

Damn him! Slytherin to the last. Couldn't scrape up the least amount of courage to face Harry, eh?

Harry stomped over to the desk, adjusted his chair three times, and grabbed the quill so hard it cracked in his hand.


Malfoy,
     Don't be such a wanker. Strap on a pair and meet me. We have to TALK.
Harry Potter

* * *

Malfoy was biting a manicured nail when he noticed the owl soaring toward the terrace again. Dammit! Potter just couldn't leave well enough alone, could he?

Sure enough, the owl lighted on the railing again lifting its leg toward Draco. Draco was staring at it from the safety of a French door between them, but he couldn't very well put the owl off too long. It would begin pecking at the door and then finding another way in.

Draco pushed the door so hard, the window cracked against the wall when it slammed opened. He snatched the parchment off the bird's leg and nearly upended it. When he read the note he fumed. How dare he order Draco Malfoy around like he was one of his Ministry cronies! This wasn't Hogwarts anymore! There was no Dark Lord to cower behind and take Potter's crap... Draco slumped, crackling the parchment in his hand. It could still take his breath away, thinking of Potter back then, thinking of That Day, when they were all trapped in the Room of Requirement and Crabbe, of all people, set the FiendFyre. Draco knew he was doomed. But when he saw Potter swerve and arc back, he knew, he just knew he was going to save Draco. Why would he do that? Why on earth would he do that? There was only once explanation. He was a Hero. He just was. He didn't parade it around. He hated it, in fact. But just as Draco was simply devious, Harry was a Hero.

Funny how Draco always thought of him as Hero with a capital H.

He remembered Potter soaring back toward him, heard Weasley yell something at him but Potter ignoring it. And when Draco reached up his hand as high as he could, flames and heat so unbearable all around them, it was inevitable that Potter would clasp it. He held onto Harry Potter tighter than he had ever held anything. Just having his arms around the boy was a stunning revelation. That was the first time he ever felt anything for anyone. It was relief and giddiness at the sudden rescue, he knew that. But looking back, he was certain it was more.

Staring at the parchment, Draco heaved a sigh. He dragged himself back to his writing desk and took a quill.


Okay, Potter. Have it your way. I'll meet you there.
Malfoy



On to Chapter Two
"Rendezvous"

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