Summary: Many years after the war, a work assignment leads Harry to France. There he meets someone unexpected, creating some similarly startling changes in both their lives. HarryxDraco. Slash.

Begin At The End

Chapter One

"Bonjour, Monsieur Potter."

Harry nodded in response at the officially-clothed government escort. The poor man had been waiting most of the day it seemed for his arrival via the Portkey, which had been placed unobtrusively at the edge of a farmer's field. Although a beautiful spot, Harry felt guilty about his lateness; there didn't seem much to do to pass the time here. He considered responding in the man's native language but decided against it. Previous attempts at conversing with French ministers at earlier meetings had been less than successful. Harry could still picture the mixture of confusion and disdain colouring their faces as he introduced himself as Mr Gloucester who lived in Harry Potter. He wouldn't be trying that again in a hurry.

A limousine awaited Harry, parked on the verge of a quiet road that ran alongside the fields. Obviously an attempt to help him blend into the Muggle world, unfortunately the most conspicuous vehicle possible had been selected for the task.

"Er – would it be okay if I walked to the house?" Harry enquired. He wiggled his index and middle fingers, pointing towards, trying to create an impression of walking.

The escort blinked. "Walk?" he repeated slowly, unsure. Harry nodded. "But – is no safe…" He was looking at Harry as though the English wizard was completely insane.

"I'm sure I can manage it. The village can't be that far away."

After a moment's deliberation, the man sighed and gave a small shrug of the shoulders. "Allo, oui" he consented. "But I come with" he added, giving Harry a look that implied it was not a point for discussion. They walked in silence, the language barrier preventing any conversation from arising. The French man kept glancing nervously around the pair, obviously uncomfortable with his role of getting Harry from A to B safely. Thankfully, after twenty or so minutes walk a village – quite large in size – appeared on the horizon.

It was another few minutes stroll before they arrived in the village of Rivière d'Or itself. Harry had done a little bit of research about this place already upon hearing that he was to be based here for a work assignment. He knew, for instance, that it was one of the oldest wizarding communities in western Europe, like Hogsmeade; a village Harry held fond memories of. A quick walk around the streets alerted one to the fact that it was a lot wealthier than Hogsmeade: expensive shops lined the perfectly kept roads. Harry peered into the impeccably clean window of Monsieur Rammique's Boutique de Chocolat and, upon viewing the hefty price tag on the display sweets, jumped back from the glass as though afraid of being charged for simply looking.

"Monsieur Potter." More than a hint of impatience was evident as the government representative tried to gain Harry's attention. Once he noticed the man once more Harry followed him round a series of twisting cobbled pavements before finding himself standing in front of a very impressive old building. The man rummaged through various pockets until he produced the house key and handed it over. He pointed to Harry, then to the key, then to the house; just in case Harry had somehow not understood the purpose of the item he had been given.

"Oh yes. Thank you. Merci." Harry said. The man gave a polite bow before leaving Harry on his own. Upon opening the door, however, Harry still sensed that the man was watching him.

The house was as elegant inside as it was on the exterior. Harry felt incredibly out of place. His own home back in England was a very different picture: even though his children were grown up, the house was still a constant mess due to their reluctance to move out. Unfortunately all of them seem to have inherited his knack for untidiness. This house, however, was very grand and impeccably maintained. The French Ministry obviously wanted to make sure he was happy enough to work wholeheartedly with them on this assignment.

His eyes roamed the room, taking it all in. He spotted his suitcase already waiting for him. Unzipping it, he took out the framed photographs that lay on top of his crumpled clothes and placed them on the black marble mantelpiece. One of the few photographs he possessed of his parents smiled out at him; next to them his children, all much younger, rolled continually down a grassy hill, disappearing from view at the bottom of the picture only to reappear at the top once again; and beside that his twenty-year-old self grinned back alongside Ginny as they fed each other cake on their wedding day.

Harry smiled sadly at that photograph. He had probably spent more time looking at that image than he had with the real person over the course of their marriage. His work as an Auror had meant constant worldwide travel on the trail of dark wizards and organisations. Ginny, too, had always been continually on the move: first touring as a Quidditch player for the Devonshire Dragons before becoming a full-time coach for in Scotland for the Edinburgh Eagles. When they did get to see each other, it was usually school holidays or family occasions. They were rarely alone together. Unfortunately they were both very stubborn people and neither was willing to give up their dream careers for the other.

Harry's rumbling stomach provided a welcome distraction from his musings. When he examined the kitchen cupboards, he was grateful to find them fully stocked – although what exactly the packages contained led to a rather strange concoction for dinner.

The next morning Harry awoke early to prepare himself for the first day on a new assignment, He often wished he had some sort of deep and dynamic preparation routine but in reality it consisted simply of scrambled egg on toast teamed with a large mug of tea. Not much of a chef, he longed for the days when sumptuous food would appear in the blink of an eye at Hogwarts' mealtimes.

Wolfing down the last bit of toast, Harry hurried to the door, grabbing his battered jacket on the way. No matter how early he woke up, it was never early enough. His life was a perpetual rush. Only just remembering to take the house key, Harry stepped out into the place morning sunlight and began a brisk walk towards the village centre. In the many documents outlining the nature of his stay in France, there had been a brief mention of a Portkey in the central square that linked to the Ministry.

Upon reaching the centre he indeed found a few locals hovering around what appeared to be a broken statue. They were all glancing at the impressive clock tower that dominated the square. That had to be the Portkey. Harry strode up to the group, ignoring the curious looks that he received, waiting for the clock to strike eight. Once the stares had ceased, Harry chanced a closer look at the others. Upon lifting his head, however, he received a real shock.

The man opposite him noticed Harry's reaction and turned his head to face him straight on. Harry couldn't quite believe the image in front of him but there it was. The pointed features, the alabaster skin, the silvery blond hair.

There was no disguising a Malfoy.

A/N: Please let me know what you think of this chapter - this is hopefully going to become a multi-chapter fic. I really appreciate any feedback

~Ash