"At the Edge of the Crossroads and Leaning", Harry/Hermione/Draco, NC-17

[traintracks]

Title: At the Edge of the Crossroads and Leaning
Author: traintracks
Threesome: Draco/Hermione/Harry
Additional Characters/Pairings: Harry/Hermione, Draco/Harry, (Hermione/Ron)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 6,780
Contains (Highlight to view): *prostitution, double/triple penetration, BDSM and D/s elements (including some bondage and blindfolding), use of Lust Potion, scarring from a past burn*
Notes: This was a gift for rzzmg at hp_3somes's gift exchange fest. I feel really lucky to have gotten to pinch hit and write for prompts I considered both challenging and inspirational! Beta thanks to the wonderful elrhiarhodan! Also, major thanks to sdkshelly for a fic-saving suggestion in the 11th hour.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: When Harry sees something he shouldn't in the Pensieve, it changes his relationship with Hermione (and Draco Malfoy's life) forever.


He hadn't meant to pour her memory into the Pensieve. Harry had really thought it was his own: the minutes from that early morning meeting he'd spent caffeinated beyond all reason and still nodding off. But he'd picked up the wrong phial by mistake, Hermione's phial, and he'd found himself falling not into a memory but a fantasy. He just wasn't man enough to keep from avidly watching what apparently went on inside his girlfriend's complex mind.

He'd always suspected he wasn't her type. That hadn't been a bother really. She'd been with Ron, in love with Ron, married to Ron. When Ron had taken the job in the States and he and Hermione had agreed to separate and see other people, it hadn't exactly surprised Harry that he and Hermione had begun a fling. What surprised him was that they were in their second year of it. That they'd moved in together. That they'd gotten comfortable with each other's quirks and tendencies, enough not to want to separate, even though maybe they should have. Maybe at the end of two months, instead of linking their floos, they should have gone back to what they had been.

Except how do you go back to being partners saving the world when it's already saved and now all there is to do is make breakfast and try to squeeze the toothpaste from the end rather than the middle?

After what Harry had seen in the Pensieve…well, he had to admit it after the fact: He might have been a sulky bastard for a couple of weeks. He might have avoided her, slunk off to the office early, gotten home late, spent too much time watching the telly while she dreamed, only to come in, strip down, and lay there watching her sleep, himself unable to.

She'd noticed his mood, yet she'd said nothing. Perhaps because S.P.E.W. had gone global, and as CEO of the fastest growing witch and wizarding nonprofit ever, she simply didn't have time to work out Harry's little mope sessions.

He was glad he'd never said anything. That was, after all, how he'd come to the proper conclusion himself. That was how he'd decided, if it was the last thing he ever did for Hermione, he had to find Draco Malfoy.

*

At first he truly had himself convinced that it was for Hermione's happiness that he set off on this new mission.

It wasn't as though he'd never wondered what had happened to Malfoy after the war. Last Harry had heard of him had been the magnanimous donation. Lucius and Narcissa had fled in ignominy, even though Harry would always remember Narcissa's gift to him. Harry would always remember how Draco didn't name him, how feebly he fought to keep his own wand, as though he knew Harry ought to have it -- wanted him to.

They wouldn't have had to flee. Harry had been willing to fight for them. He longed for something to still fight for.

The last he'd seen of Draco Malfoy had been when he'd given Harry the Manor, the ancient mansion passing out of Malfoy hands for the first time in history. Malfoy had broken about a dozen enchantments to do so. He'd incurred personal injury, even – the Dark Mark burned off his arm. Harry had seen the horrible scar it left when Malfoy had turned over the deeds to him, his hand shaking.

"For a new Order. If it becomes necessary," he'd said.

Harry was secret-keeper.

Harry was everything, as far as he could tell. There wasn't even a house elf left.

He'd nodded and watched Malfoy walk away. Harry hadn't set foot in the house since, although he had had a curse-breaking team go through it square foot by square foot to make sure Draco hadn't missed anything. And then he'd had it cleaned top to bottom.

Still, it wasn't that he didn't check the papers for news of Draco Malfoy or his whereabouts or listen a little more closely around the office biscuit tray when his name surfaced. It was just that it was easier to convince himself that, if it was for Hermione's benefit, then finding him was a worth-while venture. Selflessness wasn't an easy thing to unlearn. Even when it was a selfish thing to hold onto.

Little did he realize that this venture would take him to Tooly Street south of the bridge in Muggle London -- that he would find himself accepting grimy business cards with very little identifying information and instructions on which alleys to frequent at which times. He hadn't anticipated when he'd begun that finding Draco Malfoy would make him feel things he'd been avoiding for over a decade – that he'd have to face an entirely magicless darkness, a sort of normal, human hopelessness he'd only encountered in the long summer days of suffering the Dursleys' derision and cruelty.

He'd gotten what felt like a good lead and found and used a telephone near a coffee shop he frequented on the way into the Ministry. A woman answered with the name of the company, and she sounded dull and trodden upon.

"Yes, I'm looking for a Draco Malfoy?"

"For how long?"

The question momentarily stunned him. "Er…I don't know what you mean."

She sighed. "He's got Saturday open all night, but if you need him before then, there are just a couple hours Thursday—"

"Oh. Oh, I see." Harry's heart sat somewhere in his abdomen. "Saturday then. Let's do Saturday."

"Where?"

Harry thought fast. "Tell him he knows the place."

"Yeah, right."

"Um, good then. Is it settled?"

"No," she said, and Harry felt immensely foolish. "Will there be special circumstances?"

Harry had never felt more out of his element. He'd have fought a dozen Death Eaters with more success than he was answering this woman's questions. "Um, yes. Yes, there will be."

"Fine. And will you want him to Dom or sub?"

Harry's mind shouted, 'Sub!' But it was only his mind. His body thrilled a little and he shifted his weight in the confines of the phone booth as he fairly whispered, "D-dom. Inate. Dominate, please?" He could feel himself blushing, and a fine sweat had broken out across his forehead and over his lip.

"Very good," she said, sounding anything but happy. "Paperwork will be sent. May I email or text or are you one of his that uses carrier pigeons?" The bored derision was clear.

"D'you mean owl?"

"Does it matter?"

"Well, yes. Um, owl. We'll take an owl."

"How many of you will be requiring Mr. Malfoy's services then?"

"Two."

"Very well. Fill out the paperwork, the both of you, and send it back by Friday. Payment's up front at the meeting place. Two thousand for four hours."

"Pounds?"

She snorted.

"That'll be fine, then," he stammered. "Is that all?"

"You tell me."

"Right. Good-bye." He hung up the receiver too hard, and the little bell inside the machine dinged in a way that made Harry's head ache.

If he wasn't completely mistaken, and he very well could have been, he'd just arranged to rent Draco Malfoy for Saturday night.

*

Hermione had been another matter.

They'd fought over dinner when he'd brought it up. The herb chicken went cold as she shouted at him from across the room, the table between them, each standing as though about to duel.

He'd told her the Pensieve was an accident. He'd told her he only wanted her to be happy.

She'd walked out and hadn't come back for two days.

The paperwork came in the meantime. The owl who brought it was no looker. Not like Malfoy at all. He wondered if it was the service's owl, if other wizards…were doing this.

Not for the first time, Harry wondered if he'd gone barmy. Completely mental. He hadn't expected to do more than find Malfoy and talk. And now here he was, looking over forms with bubbles to fill in for which sex acts he wanted and if he wanted beaten and with what.

He thought about throwing the lot out. Instead he tucked the papers away in a drawer and went to work.

When he came home, Hermione was waiting for him, the bottle of firewhiskey on the coffee table, two glasses, one socked foot tucked up under her and her hair in a messy ponytail. He felt a surge of love for her. He felt her presence through his whole body. He wanted to kneel at her feet, shove her legs apart and lick her through her thin pajama bottoms until she came so hard she obliterated all of their problems. Until she erased Draco Malfoy from his mind.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she answered.

And then he saw the papers in front of her.

She gave him a sad little smile.

*

They'd filled it out together, and it was like being let into the dark rooms in one another's minds. Harry was sort of shocked at which bubbles Hermione ticked with no qualms whatsoever. He was sort of shocked at his own really.

They'd made love that night on the floor in the living room, laughing like they used to before they were lovers. Fucking her felt like dancing again.

Then before they knew it, it was Saturday, and they were getting dressed, and Hermione kept asking him which panties she should wear, as if he knew which ones Malfoy might prefer – as if she would want to please him. A tight knot of unease settled in his chest. He had the desire to turn around and run out.

But he didn't.

They wound up on the drive to Malfoy Manor at ten to eight, the summer sun just then ducking beneath the horizon, casting mad tangerine streaks across the huge windows.

Harry took Hermione's hand and walked to the door. He didn't knock, just went inside.

He felt he knew where to go, even though the house was still unfamiliar to him. They walked up the freshly polished stairs to the second floor. There was a light from one of the rooms down the hall, and Harry walked toward it, hearing Hermione's short breaths beside him.

They stopped in the hallway. The door was cracked. Hermione was the one who pushed it open finally. And inside, leaned against an old desk, arms crossed, was Draco Malfoy, inscrutable.

"Come in," he said when they both hesitated.

The room was half study, half bedroom, and Harry wondered if it'd been originally designed that way or if Malfoy had arranged it so based on some of their bubbles. Harry eyed the desk Malfoy's arse was perched one-cheeked on. Then he eyed Malfoy himself: impeccable as ever, though no longer in all black. Malfoy wore grey dress trousers and a crisp white shirt. He looked like a Muggle business man. He wore no tie, and Harry remembered one of Hermione's written responses to her likes: licking men's throats. Harry gulped.

He and Hermione walked into the room and shut the door.

Malfoy, the slick git, smirked.

"So, do you want to rehash old times or should we just get straight to it?" he said, uncrossing his arms and placing his hands on the desk. He looked ready to spring and utterly relaxed at the same time.

It was Hermione who spoke. "There's just one thing I need before I do this."

Before I, do this. Harry didn't fail to notice her wording, and something like jealousy bloomed in his chest.

"Name it, Granger," Malfoy said. And although his words should have sounded arrogant and disdainful, instead they were entreating. If Malfoy were anything like a kind person, Harry felt sure he'd sound something like he just had. It was a bit confounding.

Hermione walked straight up to him, close. "I need to you to know that if you call me…that word…ever again, Malfoy, I'll castrate you."

Harry's mouth went completely dry. He'd never heard Hermione talk like that. Not really. But Malfoy seemed unsurprised. He blinked, and a soft smile flitted across his thin lips. Then he reached out and grabbed Hermione's wrist, hard enough to make her gasp. He held her gaze and lifted her arm – the arm Bellatrix Lestrange and inscribed with the very word he knew Hermione had meant. Apparently, Malfoy knew, too.

He lifted her forearm to his lips, parted them, closed his eyes, and slowly, gently, kissed her there where the word was still just barely visible.

Harry watched Hermione's lashes flutter, the quickening of her breath. When Malfoy's lips left her skin, she stammered, "Well then. Aren't we supposed to…pay you now or something?"

Something flickered in Malfoy's eyes. His gaze found Harry standing there. "After," he said. "I know you're good for it."

Harry took a step forward. "Malfoy," he said by way of wary greeting.

Malfoy's lips twitched. "Potter," he replied. He still had Hermione's wrist in his hand, and now he took the other one swiftly and pulled both behind her back. She gasped. "Shall we begin?"

*

Malfoy had walked back around the desk and brought out his wares: a blindfold, some leather ties, some toys, a phial. Everything but a wand. Harry wondered if he had one anymore. Harry wondered why he felt more concerned with Malfoy's lack of a wand than the surplus of other apparatus now laid out on the desk.

Malfoy walked back around and picked up the phial. "This first, I think." He unstoppered it. "Take a whiff, Granger."

She leaned forward and sniffed. "Freshly mown grass… New parchment…"

"Spearmint toothpaste?" Malfoy inquired when she stalled, and Harry couldn't believe he'd remembered.

"No," Hermione said, opening her eyes to look into Malfoy's. "No. Clean sweat."

"Well, it is lust, not love," Malfoy smirked. "Drink it."

Harry took an involuntary step forward.

"Or would you like to do the honors, Potter?"

Harry came forward and held out his hand, and Malfoy gave him the phial, their fingers touching for less than a second. Harry had expected Malfoy's touch to be dry, cold. Instead, his fingers were warm and moist. Harry wondered if this betrayed some form of fear or at least nervousness. If it did, Malfoy didn't show it in any other regard.

Harry brought the phial to his own nose and sniffed.

"Well, Potter?" Malfoy said. "What turns you on?"

For the first time since entering the room, Harry's cock twitched. It twitched hard.

"Cedar," he said, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat. "Firewhiskey." He looked up into Malfoy's bright eyes. The other man appeared to be holding his breath. "Leather." And once the word was out, Malfoy appeared, again, to be smirking. That kinetic possibility of him was released like a sigh. He was back in control.

Harry held the phial out for Hermione. She drank it in one go.

"Good," Malfoy said. Then without a wand, he flicked his index finger and the leather straps encircled Hermione's wrists, securing them behind her back with a flourish. She gasped again, her chest thrust forward by virtue of her arms' position.

Another flick of his finger, and an armchair skidded across the floor, stopping just behind Harry's knees. Malfoy made a gesture with the flat of his hand, and Harry sat. He very nearly sprang back up to punch Malfoy in the face, but one look at Hermione stayed him. Her eyes were dilated, her nipples hard against the silk blouse she wore. She looked, already, on the verge of orgasm. It was stunning.

Her legs, for the time being, remained unbound, and she made no move to run. That fact kept Harry in his chair more than anything else.

"Why don't you watch," Malfoy said to him then. "For now."

And even as the rage at being ordered around by Draco Malfoy built – even as the desire to protect Hermione flared – his cock was impossibly hard, and none of his fight seemed to matter in the face of her lust.

He watched Malfoy reach for her and pinch both her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, massaging them perfunctorily. Harry watched her nearly dissolve, arching into his touch.

Hermione bit her lip. "Draco…" she exhaled. "Please."

Harry, feeling more like an accountant now than a voyeur, was tallying Hermione's bubbles: bondage (with leather specifically), Lust Potion, nipple play, begging… All of this was Hermione's doing. Harry tried to remind himself of that. Malfoy was doing each of these things because she had checked them off – because they were paying him. Still, his illusion of control was nearly absolute. He played his part well – better than he ever had as a Death Eater. Malfoy twisted Hermione's nipples, uttered an incantation, and soon the blindfold was in place, too, tied neatly at the back of her head.

"And why don’t you not watch," Malfoy said to her. His voice was silk soaked in firewhiskey. Harry remembered the taunts the prat used to spit at Hogwarts. He remembered wanting to curse Draco Malfoy into next week.

He remembered staring at the Marauder's Map deep into the night, each of Malfoy's footsteps a bane on him, something stabbing him in the heart.

Malfoy ripped Hermione's blouse open and shoved her bra up, revealing her breasts. "Are you wet, Granger?" he asked, and Harry watched her tits blush under the words. "I bet you'd like me to suck these." He weighed her breasts in his hands consideringly. Hermione swayed. He pinched her again, hard. She leaned into it, and Harry's cock began to leak inside his trousers.

To his surprise, Malfoy looked over at him. Harry started, unready for the attention, for Malfoy's flashing eyes while his hands tortured Hermione's up-thrust breasts. Malfoy said nothing. He just watched Harry trying not to squirm. Then he spun Hermione, swept the various accoutrements to the floor, and laid her over his desk.

Not his desk. A desk. Malfoy didn't own this house anymore. He owned nothing in it. This was all Harry's.

And they were paying him.

Malfoy lifted Hermione's loose skirt, revealing pink panties Harry had picked out. He kicked her legs apart and then rubbed his hand roughly over her lace-covered cunt. "Very wet then," he pronounced.

"Please," Hermione begged again. "Please. Harry please make him fuck me."

Harry, again, started in his chair. Malfoy turned to him, smiling. His fingers stroked between her legs almost idly. Hermione had begun to tremble, her bare chest pressed to the desk blotter, the sides of them pillowing out so tantalizing Harry wanted to bite them.

"Well?" Malfoy asked him. "Should I leave her like this, Potter?"

His name. His name from the man after so very long. And like this…

Harry stood, and Malfoy's eyes flared with something other than malice. Surrender sat in Harry's throat, waiting. So he did it. "Fuck her, Malfoy," he said, surprised at the steel in his own voice.

Malfoy grinned, and he ripped Hermione's panties down.

*

Harry walked around to the other side of the desk, kicking the chair there out of the way. He watched Malfoy pull his cock out. It was long, not very thick. It was pink, hard and sticky. Harry had expected there to be more fanfare. He'd expected… He didn't know what he'd expected.

Malfoy shoved his cock into Hermione's pussy, fucking a moan from her throat. Just like that, he was inside her. Just like that, Malfoy had replaced Harry, just as Harry had replaced Ron. Harry had thought the jealousy would be eating him from the inside by now, but it wasn't. At least not in the way that he'd anticipated.

"Fetch that purple dildo, Potter," Malfoy grunted, easing in and out now.

Harry Summoned it from the floor. It was large, thicker than Malfoy but not as long.

"Toss it here."

Harry frowned, but he did it. Hermione's mouth was open. She was panting. He wanted to use her. It made his stomach clench even as his cock throbbed. He watched Malfoy set the toy down beside her writhing body. He fucked her in this unhurried way that set Harry's teeth on edge. That had him wanting…things. Things he shouldn't.

Malfoy put his thumb against Hermione's arsehole and pushed it into her. She groaned, and he fucked both holes slowly, one and then the other so that when his cock was deep in her, his thumb tickled her rim, and when he pulled almost out of her cunt, his thumb slipped back inside her arse.

Hermione bucked, quite obviously loving it.

Harry hadn't seen her like this since the beginning. Maybe not even then. And still he wasn't jealous. He stood there and actually tried to make himself feel jealous. He just couldn't.

"Fuck her mouth, Potter," Malfoy said, and there was the edge of undeniable arousal in his voice – something breathless and greedy. Harry unzipped and pulled himself out. He noticed Malfoy's heavy gaze dropping to it, staring. Harry stroked himself. Hermione, sensing it, maybe smelling him, opened her mouth.

He guided the crown to her bottom lip, and she surged forward to take him fully inside. Malfoy laughed and stepped in closer, shifting his stance. He started fucking her hard. Harry thrust, not letting her suck him. As ever, her mouth was inordinately hot, her tongue eager and proficient. He watched Malfoy replace his thumb with two fingers, whispering a Wet charm. Hermione fairly screamed around his cock.

Harry fought the desire to look anywhere but Hermione's stretched mouth. He fought the need to look up. But when Malfoy grabbed the fat toy and aimed it at Hermione's arsehole, Harry couldn't help it. When he pushed, and the huge thing started disappearing inside her, Harry came.

And then Hermione was groaning and shaking and trying to swallow, and Malfoy was relentless, pushing it all the way up her arse and then fucking, again, in tandem. And all Harry could do was quake. He watched Malfoy and felt Hermione and came inside her mouth until his legs felt like they wouldn't hold him up anymore.

When he pulled out, Malfoy was still going strong. Harry felt, of all things, awkward. What should he do? Should he stroke her hair and whisper that he loved her? Should he sit back down? Should he…touch Malfoy?

As if he'd heard the thoughts, Malfoy's eyes found his. "C'mere."

Harry's spent cock tingled. He shoved it back inside his trousers before Malfoy could see it start to get hard again. He walked around the desk, and when he got close he could smell them together: Hermione's sharp musk, Malfoy's clean sweat.

"Get your hand down there and do her clit," Malfoy instructed, his words punctuated by fucking her.

For a moment, Harry couldn't move. He could only watch the cock plowing into her very wet cunt, the toy plundering her delicate arse, and the movement of Malfoy's arm as he wielded the thing. The muscles in Malfoy's arm jumping, working…

The burned mark just visible up his shirt sleeve….

"Do it," Malfoy demanded, and Harry found himself moving in close, searching out Hermione's clit between her legs, feeling Malfoy's fucking moving her on his fingers.

If he shifted his fingers down just two inches, he could touch – he could feel Malfoy's cock…

But before he could really think about it, before anything untoward could happen, she cried out. Her little clit quivered, and Malfoy groaned as, no doubt, she seized up around him.

The orgasm went on and on. Harry had plenty of opportunity to just shift the angle of his fingers, of his wrist, and touch him. But he didn't. Not because Draco Malfoy was unattractive. If he hadn't been such a bastard, Harry would have beat off to thoughts of him long ago. It was simply their history. A history Harry had almost completely gotten over. Almost completely. Just not enough to twitch his fingers two inches down. Just not enough to admit anything outright.

But he'd begun to wonder if he'd done this for Hermione after all. He'd begun to wonder if he hadn't done this – all this – only for himself.

When she slumped limp onto the surface of the desk, unmoving, Malfoy instructed him, a foreign tenderness in his voice, "Slowly now," indicating Harry's fingers. He wanted to retort that he knew how to pull his fingers free of his girlfriend's pussy, thank you very much. But he didn't. He just eased them from between her legs to the tune of her gasping. Then he stood there and watched as Malfoy pulled the dildo free. Hermione mewled. Then Malfoy pulled out of her, still hard.

"Carry her to the bed," he said, pulling her gently up and turning her into Harry's arms.

Harry licked suddenly dry lips and did as suggested, as ordered. He carried her spent body to the large bed across the room and laid her down.

Malfoy snapped his fingers and both bonds and blindfold Vanished. Hermione squeezed her eyes closed tight against the soft light. Then she blinked them open, and Harry saw the remains of her tears on her lashes. She circled her wrists, popping them.

"Cigarette break?" Malfoy offered off-handedly.

Harry's jaw clenched, but Hermione sighed from her place amongst silk pillows, "That'd be grand."

Harry watched Malfoy conjure a pack. He lit one cigarette with Muggle matches and handed it to Hermione who Harry had never known to smoke. She inhaled deeply and exhaled long. Malfoy lit his own and sat on the bed at her side, his hard prick still sticking out of his trousers.

"You sure you don't want one, Potter? Don't worry, I won't charge you for the pack." He smiled. Draco Malfoy smiled at him. A real, genuine smile.

Harry frowned. "I need to— Excuse me." He left the room for the loo. He could scarcely breathe, and he didn't need to piss, so he just splashed water on his face and stared at his own wet, scared-looking reflection.

God, what was he afraid of? He'd defeated Voldemort. He'd died and come back. What was that fear in his eyes?

Harry didn't find any answers in Malfoy's former loo. So he came back to the room, expecting perhaps to see money exchanging hands, clothes being righted. Instead, he saw Malfoy taking a long drag even as Hermione straddled the fingers of his other hand and fucked herself on them. Malfoy blew the smoke away from her face and then caught Harry's eye. Malfoy's gaze dropped to Harry's tenting trousers.

"Ready for another go?"

*

They had her over and over again. They had her on the bed, over the armchair, bound, free, begging, crying. Harry fucked her arse with Malfoy teasing her lips with his cock, never letting her suck. They checked off all her bubbles. Harry had come so many times he knew he'd never manage it again. But then Malfoy had waved his fingers with this little crooked smile on his face, and Harry's cock had stiffened again. Their gazes locked. It was the closest they'd come to touching the entire time. Harry swallowed and then fucked his girlfriend while Malfoy pinched her tits. When Harry came, it was dry, agonizing – and he didn't look at Malfoy once.

They went beyond the four hours. They went until Hermione called a stop to it. And then that was that. She kissed Harry, and then she looked at Malfoy for what felt like minutes but was really just a few seconds. Then she declared that she'd never needed a shower so bad in her life. She left to use the loo. And they were alone.

There was silence at first. The distant, normal sound of running water.

Then, incomprehensibly, Harry reached for Malfoy's hand. Just to shake it. He'd only meant to shake hands. He wasn't sure how they began kissing. He wasn't sure how he got Malfoy's back pressed to the wall. Harry wasn't sure why the taste of cigarettes on a man's breath – a man he'd hated – tasted so bloody good. He wasn't sure if he'd opened his own trousers again or if those had been Malfoy's quick fingers.

And in a split second, it was his own back against the wall, the air leaving his lungs, Malfoy biting his bottom lip, pressing their cocks together, sliding.

They found their rhythm easy. They rutted hard, Harry's hands at Malfoy's hips only to be knocked away and then held against the wall by his head, Malfoy's hands around his wrists, his grip stronger than it seemed it could be. Malfoy looked as he hadn't all night. His grey eyes were lit, his teeth bared.

Harry was making him look like that. He realized he'd been making fists, unconsciously fighting Malfoy's attempts to hold him there. Harry loosened his fingers. He smiled. And that's when Malfoy came.

He hadn't come once all night – had just stayed hard and fucked Hermione over every piece of furniture in the room. But Malfoy had never let himself come.

He thrashed against Harry, his hips bucking hard. They'd both be bruised the next day because of it. Harry couldn't come again. He was only half hard. The arousal was low in his belly instead. It lived in his chest, deep in his body and in his mind which felt free for the first time in ages.

Malfoy's cock pulsed between them, smearing Harry's stomach where his shirt hung open. Malfoy grunted and rocked against him, breathing in Harry's face, lips going slack finally, lashes fluttering.

As if realizing what he'd done, Malfoy shoved back, stalking away, stumbling a little. He ran a hand through his wilting hair, swiping it out of his eyes. He tucked his cock away, and Harry watched him. Harry followed suit, though more slowly. Then he came away from the wall, cautious, as though Malfoy were more animal than human.

For the first time in maybe an hour, Harry spoke. "Two thousand, was it?" And immediately – before the sound had evaporated between them – he knew it was wrong.

Malfoy's eyes went hard. "I don't want your money," he spat.

Harry blinked. It was an odd thing for a prostitute to say. Merlin. A prostitute. Harry swallowed. Truth was, he didn't want to pay Malfoy either. He told him so.

Malfoy's hard veneer broke a little, and he laughed. "Cheap bastard."

Harry finally felt it was safe to walk over to where the other man stood, back where he'd started, in front of the big desk. The big desk that was not his own but Harry's.

"Where's your wand?" Harry found himself saying.

"You have to ask?"

"You mean you never had another made?"

Malfoy just stared at him.

"Malfoy…" Harry began.

"I'll take your gold before I take your pity."

Harry shook his head. "I don't pity you. I—"

"You what."

"I need— The Ministry needs wizards like you. I just—" Words were like cement blocks at that moment. Each fell hard, too blunt, missing the mark of truth. What did Harry really want to say? He didn't know. "Why don’t you come back?"

"Why?" Malfoy spat. "You want to know why, Potter?" Malfoy jerked his sleeve up to his elbow, revealing the horrible warped skin. "This! This is why I can't come back!"

Harry shook his head, speechless. He took a step toward Malfoy. They both heard the water go off. Malfoy blinked at him. Harry took his wrist, as Malfoy had taken Hermione's hours before. Before he knew what he was about, Harry turned the arm in his hands. He raised it up, and Malfoy didn't fight him. Harry brought the arm to his lips, pressed his lips to the scars, and felt Malfoy shiver.

"What the hell are you doing?" Malfoy breathed.

"Dunno," Harry answered against his uneven skin. "I just know that this is why you can come back."

Malfoy's inhale was measured, and Harry felt his pulse beating wildly against his lips.

"I really should have brought a change of clothes," came Hermione's voice from the door. "I'm afraid my mending charms aren't the best."

Harry turned to look, Malfoy's arm still in his hands. Her blouse looked fine to him, but Hermione always had been a perfectionist. She looked beautiful and healthy and graceful. She looked like something had changed for her. Harry looked back at Malfoy and released the man's arm. Malfoy rolled down his sleeve and buttoned his cuff, looking around the room, anywhere but at Harry.

"I like what you've done with the place, Potter."

Harry shrugged. He scrubbed his head, his wild hair. "Are you sure we can't—"

"No," Malfoy cut him off. "No, don't worry about it." He refused to meet Harry's eyes.

"Where are you living now, Malfoy?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

Malfoy looked at him now but didn't speak.

"Well, it's just that you could live here, you know. If you wanted."

Malfoy blinked. "I don't want."

Harry nodded. He looked back at Hermione. "We ought to be going."

She nodded and came to his side. She held out her hand, and Malfoy took it. He held it rather than shaking. "Take care of yourself," Hermione said. She sounded somehow complete. As if there was nothing left between them to cause her to want to stay.

Harry almost couldn't conceive of walking away.

But when Malfoy reached for his hand, Harry shook it obligingly. "See you, Potter."

"See you, Malfoy."

He and Hermione turned to go, but Harry stopped in the doorway. "Don't forget what I said." He couldn't meet Malfoy's eyes now.

"Yeah."

Then Harry and Hermione left down the hall, descended the polished stairs, walked out the heavy front doors and down the lane. They Disapparated home.

*

It was three months later when the message came.

Three months of regular life – work and passing one another with brief kisses, dinners and breakfasts and parchments and meetings – punctuated by some of the best sex Harry had ever had in his life.

Something had shifted between them – some construction of their own making moved aside. Things were easier. The light came into the rooms differently.

And then the message came.

"I miss you." That's all Ron wrote. Hermione's pained look at Harry spoke volumes. Harry just smiled at her, hugged her, held her, gave her his blessing, expecting her to be packed for New York by the end of the night.

Instead, they fought.

"What are you doing, Harry, giving me your bloody blessing? Am I that easy to let go of?"

"What? No!"

"What then?"

At a loss for words, he went with the facts. "S.P.E.W. is really taking off there, isn't it? I mean, it's a good place to be right now."

"Rubbish!" she shouted at him. "You think I'd leave you for that? You think, if I needed to go there, that I wouldn't want you to come? Or that if you couldn't come, that I'd break it off? Have the last three months meant nothing to you? The last two years?"

Quite suddenly, Harry realized this had nothing to do with Ron or S.P.E.W. It had to do with them and maybe with Draco Malfoy, the very person Harry had tried not to think of and couldn't bear forgetting. That pained look hadn't meant she wanted to be with Ron. It only meant that Ron wasn't nothing. Her heart could hurt for him, for what once was, and still not want it back again.

In short, Harry had been an arse.

He went to the most relevant facts. "Hermione…" He took her face in his hands. "I love you. I don't want you to go. I want you to stay."

She gave him a stubborn smile. "That's better." She sniffed.

"Do you love me?" he asked suddenly.

"When did you become so thick, Harry?"

She kissed him then, slow, and Harry decided making out in the kitchen was one of his bubbles.

"Let's get take out," she finally said when they'd had their fill. She wrapped her arms around his neck, looking satisfied and smart. Looking like she loved him.

Harry felt like he'd just caught the Snitch.

"There's that new place three blocks away. Indian, is it?"

"Sounds spectacular," she said. "I'm going to…write him back now," she said.

He nodded. "Be back soon."

When he stepped out onto the pavement, the afternoon sun had him squinting, unable to see for a moment. The air was cooling, readying for autumn. Fallen tree detritus crunched under his feet as he walked to the corner.

And standing there, bold as brass, was Draco Malfoy. He leaned against a lamppost as though he'd been waiting for Harry as one waits for a bus.

It had been three months, and there wasn't a day Harry hadn't thought of him. Of what had happened. Of what hadn't. Now here he was.

Harry had kept the card in his sock drawer. He'd thought about finding another phone to call. Not for sex. At least not for sexual services. He just wanted to see him. He just wanted…everything.

And there he was. Harry wanted to smile, but he quelled it.

He walked over, and Malfoy pushed away from the post, a lit cigarette in his mouth. He took a drag and then dropped it to the ground, stamping it out. "Hey," he said.

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from pulling him in and snogging him. "Hey."

"I thought you should know, I had an interview at the Ministry yesterday."

Harry felt like he wanted to burst, like he'd been hexed brilliantly. "And?"

Malfoy sighed as though put out or embarrassed. "And I start Unspeakable training next week."

Harry's hands came out of his pockets of their own accord, but he stopped short of touching the man standing there, his stupid hair falling into his eyes. "Brilliant," he said softly.

"Padma Patil's making me a wand. She's in the business now."

"She's good I hear," Harry replied. God, he wanted to bury his face in Malfoy's neck and just inhale.

"Yeah." Malfoy shifted his weight. "So, you're an Auror then?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Suits you probably."

"I suppose."

"We'll be floors apart, yeah?"

"Er, yeah."

"Not even really considered colleagues."

"I dunno," Harry said, at a loss. Was Malfoy trying to put distance between them? Trying to one-up him or something?

"So, if I bought you a pint, that wouldn't be, for instance, fraternizing."

Understanding finally dawned in Harry. He smiled. "Right." Then he added, "Well, I guess it would sort of matter what happened after the pint."

"But we're on separate floors, Potter," Malfoy said, agitated now. As if how many meters and layers of magic and flooring between them really mattered.

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding. "Entirely separate."

"So?"

"So what?"

"Do you want to go for a pint or what, Potter?" Malfoy was all-out scowling now.

"Yes," Harry said, no longer hiding his smile. "Yes, I'd love a pint, Malfoy."

Malfoy shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded briskly. "Good." Then he lifted his chin toward the door of the flat. "Granger in there?"

"Yeah." Harry couldn't seem to stop his smiling. "Yeah, I was just going for take out, actually. I know a place walking distance from here." Harry gestured with his thumb. "I'll just go grab her, and we can all go out – together."

"Brilliant," Malfoy said, still frowning a bit, as though that could qualify this as normal, as if he still needed just that small safe distance.

Harry practically ran back to the flat, barging through the door and yelling, "'Mione!"

"Merlin, what?!"

Harry grinned at her, looked back at Malfoy now waiting with his hands in his denims pockets. He looked back at his girlfriend, his partner. "Guess who I found smoking on the corner."

The expression on her face went from confused to delighted in mere moments.

"Get some shoes on," he called. "We're going for a pint."

"Brilliant," she breathed, and it wasn't long before they were all standing on the pavement together in the nearing dusk. Hermione and Draco exchanged soft greetings, a tentative hand shake that turned, instead, into a long hug.

"How've you been?" Hermione whispered.

"He can tell us over that pint," Harry said. "I'm starving."

And then they were all walking down the pavement, and Harry's heart was going like mad.

Hermione walked on one side of him, their arms linked, a happy smirk permanently affixed to her lips. Malfoy walked on the other side of him, their arms brushing casually, the sparks between them invisible although anything but imaginary.