Never Meant to Be Part One

by teecrushfic

Part I of a quartet of stories, plus an epilogue. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are meant to be...aren't they? Then why, why, does it not seem to work? Non canon compliant. AU. Suicide attempt, character death. Not cheery, fluffy or cute.

Never Meant to Be – Part One

"You can't be serious." Harry was laughing as he poured coffee into two mugs, automatically adding sugar to one, and just milk to the other.

"I am absolutely serious, Potter. Why do you find this so amusing?"

"Draco…we can't even spend an entire day together without arguing…how in Merlin's name do you think we could possibly manage to live together? The whole idea is absurd. Here." He handed Draco his coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, digging through the paper till he found the op-ed page, and handing Draco the financial pages.

Draco took his coffee, but didn't pick up the paper, but stood staring thoughtfully at Harry, who had already dismissed the idea out of hand and was snickering over "that fucking moron Oswald," his rival columnist in the Evening Standard.

"Jesus, listen to this!" Harry snorted and began reading part of the column out loud to Draco. This particular habit of Harry's had annoyed the living shit out of Draco when they first started dating, but it had grown on him over the past several months. He never really listened to the content, preferring to just listen to the sound of Harry's voice, its intonations and inflections as he mercilessly ripped apart any opposing viewpoints. Harry's latent nasty streak often made Draco laugh, as it was a side he didn't ever remember seeing at school.

Harry finished his recitation. "Did you ever hear anything so incredibly idiotic in your life? I mean, I know he's a Muggle and doesn't have much of a world view, but Christ!" He looked up at Draco, who hadn't moved. "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

"No…I just like listening to you. I like hearing you be bitchy."

"Good God, I'm becoming a stereotype. If I suggest we go shopping, shoot me, ok?" He laughed and reached for a cigarette to go with his coffee.

Draco sat down opposite Harry and took the paper out of his hands, setting it aside. "Harry love, listen to me; I'm serious. We spend all our non-work time together as it is…it's stupid to maintain two residences when we are always at either one or the other. Neither one of us is hurting financially, and won't be for the foreseeable future. We can get a place large enough so that we can both have our space for when we get pissy with each other. Please consider it."

"I didn't know you were so serious about this." Harry looked at him searchingly. "Are you sure that this is what you want?"

"Come here."

Harry stubbed out his smoke and took a long drink of coffee before getting up and coming around the side of the table. Draco reached up and pulled him down on his lap, wrapping his arms around him, moving his head so that it rested on Harry's chest. He sat there for a moment, listening to the strong beat of his love's heart, breathing in the smell of Harry's skin. Harry was rubbing his cheek against Draco's hair, his chin with its weekend stubble occasionally scraping against his temple.

"I want to be with you, Harry. I hate leaving you. I hate you leaving me. I want to wake up and know you're there…in the same house, if not beside me in bed. I don't care that you're a slob…that you don't sort your laundry and therefore have several pairs of pink boxers…that your idea of cleaning up is shoving stuff under the furniture….that you sing along with bad Muggle radio – fucking hair metal at that - and to add insult to injury, can't carry a tune…that you…"

"Hey, can't you think of anything I do that you DO like?" Harry sounded slightly affronted.

"Many things," smirked Draco. "I was going to list them last."

"Ok, as long as you recognized that I have some good points…carry on."

"My point is, I love you and there is nothing about you that I don't cherish."

Draco leaned up and kissed Harry's neck and soon they were involved in a heated snogging session that threatened to topple them both off the chair. "I take that as a yes?" asked Draco, catching his breath. "Uh-huh," answered Harry, who leaned precariously over the table to rustle through the papers for the real estate section. "Ok, here…country villa, three bedrooms, 2 baths, large living room…"

"I am not living in the country. Forget it. You can't get any good Thai takeaway outside city limits."

"You're a wizard, dumbass. Apparate in, get takeaway, Apparate back home! Simple."

"Dumbass…I love the pet names you come up with for me."

"Yeah, I'm learning a lot at the Standard. Now, how about this, then…2 bedroom flat, terrace, water views…"

"Water view means that there's a huge puddle in the front yard. And I want a house, not a flat. I need space."

"You need two bedrooms for your closet space alone, for Christ sakes," grumbled Harry. "Some of us have managed to pare down our belongings in search of a simpler life, and some of usare just accumulating more as time goes on."

"You don't complain about my shopping when I bring you home something," retorted Draco, grabbing the paper away. "Let me look, ok?"

"Fine…you can be the bossy, demanding pain in the ass client to some poor realtor, and I'll be the kind, affable, don't-mind-him-he's-a-prat-like-that partner." Harry got off Draco's lap and stretched before settling back into his own chair.

"As it should be; you'd have us installed in some fifth floor walk up and sharing a bathroom with six other tenants, if you felt sorry enough for the realtor, you sap."

Harry lit a cigarette and sighed. "Whatever. Tell me where we're moving the day before so I can get my stuff together and tell the paper where to send my checks, ok?"

"Don't stick me with all the details…what features do you want?"

"Well, I always kind of wanted to be a blond until I met one, and then…"

Draco laughed. "Asshole. No, seriously….what are your must-haves?"

Harry leaned back and propped his feet on the table, making Draco grimace. "I want a nice kitchen; because unlike some others I know, I actually CAN cook…and I want two bathrooms, so I can have a fighting chance of getting in there to get showered in the mornings…and a deck or garden or something where we can sit outside when its nice would be good." He paused and thought. "That's about it."

"So you're going to do all the cooking? Excellent."

"I already do all the cooking…if you can't conjure it, you can't be bothered."

"If you can't conjure it, WHY bother?"

Harry shook his head, amused, and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. "Dammit…mine never come out right, yet yours always do. Why is that?"

Draco looked up. "It's a skill, Potter. Work on it."

"Yeah, I'll put it on my list of things to do." He got up and rinsed out his cup at the sink. "I'm going to try and get some writing done before we meet Ron and Hermione for lunch, ok? Oh, add that to the list…I need a space for a small office; if I'm going to have a house I want to be able to work from home more. This trying to work at whoever's kitchen table I'm at thing sucks."

"As you wish, Milord," said Draco who was now circling listings in red pen and making notes in the margin. He was on a mission. Harry smiled, recognizing that look; he got it whenever he was estimating futures, shares, trades or other stock market activities.

Here they were; a newspaper writer and a financial planner. Both largely non-practicing wizards, by choice. Both former members of the Order of the Phoenix, war heroes and Ministry of Magic honorees.

Who would have thought? For that matter, who would have ever thought that he and Draco could stop hating each other long enough to find common ground?

Let alone a love affair.

Harry had long ago learned that life was fucked. Just when you thought you had a grip on it, it kicked you in the ass and you had to start all over again.

He wandered into Draco's living room and over to his desk where his laptop was set up. Above the desk, a calendar was filled with Draco's small, precise writing. In larger letters across the top "Shop for Harry's Birthday" was written in red. His birthday wasn't even until month after next, but Harry knew Draco was already plotting and shopping, shopping and plotting. He had no idea what the gift would be, but it would be something he'd always wanted…even if he didn't know it yet himself. Draco had a talent for that.

He'd be 21 in July…he never thought he would live to see this number. And he was in love. And the one he loved, loved him back and wanted to live with him. He felt a shiver run down his spine. It was almost too much.

He sat down at his laptop and turned it on. He loved his computer, the internet, all the ways that technology worked. Magic was wonderful, but this was its own kind of magic. Having lived as a Muggle for almost 12 years before the whole "Hey Harry, guess what?" moment, this felt natural to him, right. Hermione loved her laptop as well, and they usually instant-messaged each other in the evening, sharing jokes, links and other silly things. It was almost like being back at school.

Except better, because Draco would be sitting next to him on the couch, rolling his eyes at the comments scrolling onscreen, and channel surfing. If Harry loved computers, Draco loved TV. He'd watch anything, even those horrible talk shows where people screamed and cursed at each other, and threw things. Draco found it all hysterical, and more than once he'd found the blond literally rolling on the floor over some of the more virulent scenes, gasping with laughter. "These people are fucking mental!" he'd snort. "Look at them!" And Harry would just shake his head and smile, because it was all part of this life he never thought he'd have.

Ok…work. He had work to do; lots of work, in fact. But instead of doing any of said work, he pulled his knees up to his chin on the leather chair, smoked, and thought about what Draco might be getting him for his birthday.

***************************************

"Working hard?" Draco came in half an hour later with the cordless phone and a heavily circled real estate section in his hand.

"Hardly working," he answered, a standard – if lame – joke between them.

"Jesus," said Draco, fanning the air. "Open a window or something will you? You've been smoking like a chimney lately and it stinks."

"Oh, look who's talking…at least I can go more than a half hour without looking frantic and pawing at my jacket pocket," retorted Harry, who nonetheless felt guilty and opened the nearest window.

"You might be able to do it…but you don't. Why did we take up this habit, anyway?"

"We were stressed out from tracking down and being attacked regularly by really bad guys, and handled it by spending way too much time in seedy bars, drinking cheap whiskey…and since the only other thing to do in a bar besides get drunk and make bad romantic choices is to smoke…"

"Oh, that's right…well, at least we've upgraded to better booze since then."

"To progress!" They clinked imaginary glasses.

"I am sorry, though…I'll try to be better. It is a little out of control."

Draco laughed and kissed Harry's nose. "It's ok…you're actually cute when you're working and smoking…you're so intense, typing away, swilling coffee, wreathed in smoke, your hair standing on end. You look like a pulp novel hero."

Harry snickered. "You mean I don't look like some romance novel hero? I'm hurt."

"You don't dress well enough to be one of them…instead of white silk shirts open to the waist and tight pants, you slouch around in ratty jeans, t-shirts with holes in them, and the trainers you wore for Quidditch...third year."

"I have some nice clothes…I just don't see the point of dressing up on an everyday basis unless you have to. I spent seven years in a uniform, for God's sake! Give me a break."

"Speaking of nice clothes…wear some today. And shave, please. That 'ten days on a deserted island look' is wearing thin. And you need a haircut badly. If we leave a little early, you'll have time to get one. I'll go lay something out for you." He headed off to the bedroom, while Harry stood still, stewing. Then he followed Draco to the bedroom.

"Why do you get to decide what I should look like?" he demanded.

"Because you don't care, and I do."

"It's Ron and Hermione, Draco…not the Queen Mother."

"It doesn't matter who it is…it matters in general."

"Why?"

"Why are you putting up such a fuss?" Draco backed out of the walk-in closet with a shirt draped over each arm. "I'm thinking the plum, myself, but you like blue, so…"

"Don't try and change me."

"What?"

"You heard me. Stop trying to change me. If I'm not good enough for you as is, then you're wasting your time with those house listings."

"Harry, for god's sake…asking you to shave and wear something that isn't coffee-stained isn't trying to change you."

"Let's see…you rag on me for smoking too much, when you're just as bad…you say I'm a slob and my personal hygiene leaves something to be desired…and then you pick out my clothes as though I were five…at worst, you seem to think I'm some kind of moron, and at best a self-improvement project with the objective of turning me into a rank conformist."

Draco looked at him, then tossed the shirts down on the bed. "Fine, Harry. Do what you want. Look how you want, dress how you want. I'm taking a shower."

"Want company?" Harry felt slightly embarrassed; maybe he'd gone over the top a bit.

"No thanks. I wouldn't want to interfere with your pursuit of individuality." Draco stomped off into the bathroom.

The smart thing for him to do, he realized, was to actually shave, put on a clean shirt and go ahead to the barber…but having made an issue of it, he settled for showering in the second bathroom and slipping on a clean t-shirt that had no obvious stains that he could see. He combed his wet hair and reluctantly admitted to himself that Draco was right – as usual.

Draco came out of the bedroom buttoning his cuffs and proceeded to pointedly avoid saying anything except the barest minimum to Harry. He looked perfect for a weekend lunch out with friends, very much the young professional.

Dammit. Would he never learn to pick his fights?

"I'm going to go start the car," said Draco, avoiding his eyes. Harry nodded. He heard the door slam and sat down on the couch. This is why, he thought. This is why we shouldn't even attempt to live together. We made it for what, an hour? Hour and a half?

Suddenly, the day seemed not nearly as bright as before.

**************************************

When Harry finally emerged, Draco was idling his car, arm draped out the window, smoking. Harry slid into the passenger side and gave him a tentative smile, which Draco ignored. He pulled out into traffic, shifting gears effortlessly. They both enjoyed driving, but Draco was better at it, so he generally played chauffeur. The restaurant was in Soho Square, about a 20 minute drive from where he lived.

The first five minutes passed in silence, Draco looking straight ahead and Harry pretending to look at the scenery. "Mind if I put on the radio?"

"Feel free."

Harry punched buttons until he found the local alternative rock station; happily, it was playing a song he liked.

It's only just a crush, it'll go away
It's just like all the others it'll go away
Or maybe this is danger and you just don't know
You pray it all away but it continues to grow

I want to hold you close

Soft breath, beating heart

As I whisper in your ear

"I want to fucking tear you apart"

Draco snorted. "Nice sentiment."

"It's passionate."

"The guy is probably an axe murderer."

"He's got a thing for the girl…he wants her. You know what that's like."

Draco shot him a sideways glance. "No, actually, I don't know what its like to want a girl. I only know what its like to want a snarky git who takes offense at the weirdest things."

"I may have overreacted."

"You think?"

"Ok, fine, I did. I'm sorry. But you should have heard yourself. You sounded like you had a to-do list and I was just something else to check off."

"I didn't mean it that way…I was just thinking out loud as things came to me."

Harry sighed. "I know…look, do we still have time to get to the barber?"

"No, we'd be late. You're just going to have to be your messy, unkempt, lovable self. Weasley, Granger and the Queen Mother will just have to deal with it."

Harry smiled. "I'll go afterwards, ok?"

"Don't worry about it; it's not a big deal."

"It is to me…I want to look good for you."

They'd reached the restaurant and Draco pulled into a parking space and turned off the ignition, then turned to Harry. "Babe, you always look good to me."

"You're just saying that to get in my pants."

"Well…yes, but also because it happens to be the truth…plus, I love you and I hate arguing with you."

"Yeah, me too."

Minutes later, a sharp rapping on the window interrupted them. Harry rolled down the side window and smiled brightly. "Hi!"

Hermione sighed. "Do you need another minute?"

"Please," Draco muttered from the other side. "I was almost there."

"You were not," said Harry, tugging down his shirt. "It would have been at least another 7, 8 minutes." He got out of the car and hugged Hermione warmly. Ron was leaning against the next car, rolling his eyes. "You two never miss a chance, do you?"

"Nope," smiled Harry, letting go of Hermione to clap Ron on the shoulder. "Never. Life is short, my man, and death is forever."

"Cheerful bloke, isn't he?" Draco had emerged and was pecking Hermione on the cheek. "He sounds brilliantly philosophical, but he got that phrase from a fortune cookie."

Hermione laughed. "You two are way too cute…ready to go in?"

"Sure…but can we sit outside in the garden?"

She gave them a look. "No. You two can hold off on your filthy habit while we eat. A nice corner table inside will be fine."

Draco looked around. "Mum? Mum, I didn't know you were here, what a lovely surprise!"

"Wiseass. Come on." Hermione led the way in to the restaurant, followed by Draco and Ron and Harry, who were both trying not to laugh.

Lunch went well. Surprisingly enough, Draco had learned to not only tolerate Ron and Hermione, but to grudgingly enjoy their company. Harry was invariably grateful for the effort, and would reward Draco later in a manner that they both enjoyed.

"There's a new bookstore opening down the street," Hermione noted during dessert. "Want to come with me to check it out, Harry?"

Ron and Draco were affronted. "What are we, chopped liver?"

"Ron, you don't read anything but the paper, and I've never seen Draco in a Muggle bookstore, …now if it was Harrods or Dior I'd expect to see him beat a path to the door, so I just thought…"

"That I was an uncultured slob," finished Draco, draining his wine. "That's fine Granger. I'll just wait on the bench outside and fantasize about clearance items and half-off shoe sales. Weasley will sit with me and pick his nose. We'll be fine."

"I just meant…"

Draco waved her away. "No, no, it's ok. I understand. Harry has that 60's beatnik, could- give-a-damn-less look that you intellectuals find so hot, and you are obviously a bookworm, so no, you two go, and we low-IQ folk will just laze around in the sun, smoke cigarettes, and look like ads for public assistance. You go on, now."

Harry cracked up. He loved it when Draco took Hermione on. She was never quite ready, and Draco was relentless. It made for a good show. Across from him, Ron was choking on his peach cobbler. "You ok, mate?" asked Harry, reaching across the table to whack him on the chest.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He drank some water. "You know, Malfoy, we could go with them and just embarrass the hell out of them with our lack of culture."

Draco regarded Ron. "You know, Weasley, I like the way you think. I'm thinking some fresh air, a quick smoke and then acute humiliation…what do you say?"

"Sounds good to me," said Ron, getting up. "Lead the way."

"You do realize that fresh air and smoking cancel each other out," said Hermione, gathering up her purse. "You really should…"

"Quit, Granger. Yes, I know. Get Wonder Boy here to do it, and so will I."

"Good luck with that," said Ron. "Harry's oral fixation is legendary."

"Thank God," said Draco fervently. They all laughed and exited the restaurant, Hermione taking Harry's hand and pulling him down the street with her. Draco took a seat on the aforementioned bench, lit up, and Ron lounged beside him, stretching out his long legs and closing his eyes against the sun.

"So when are you and Harry going to make it official?"

Draco looked over at him. "Official in what way?"

"I don't know…get married, live together, something like that. I still, after all this time can't believe I'm saying this, but you and he seem to belong together."

"Actually, Weasley, we talked about buying a house together today, as a matter of fact."

"Really? Where? Wizarding London? Hermione would love it if you two were closer to us."

"I don't know…neither one of us is much into magic these days; other than conjuring the occasional chocolate pudding or accio-ing lube when needed."

"Thanks for the mental image, mate. You haven't turned your back on it, though, right? So living in our part of town wouldn't be any big deal."

"True." Draco thought about it. Living in familiar surroundings wouldn't be a bad thing, and Pansy, Blaise and Greg all lived there as well. Its not like it really made a difference, after all…he could apparate anywhere he needed to go if he didn't feel like driving to work. It bore some consideration.

Draco stubbed out the butt and threw it in the trash- he hated it when people just tossed them in the street- and stood up. "Ready to go be our buffoonish selves, Weasley?"

Ron grinned. "Definitely. Let's see how long it takes them to pretend they don't know us."

The bookstore was fairly crowded on a Saturday afternoon, but Harry was easy to spot in the computer book section. After making Hermione glare at him in the "Women's Studies" section with a loud offhanded comment about how if women really wanted to be like men, they should stop shaving their legs and learn to belch 'God Save The Queen', Draco ambled over to the aisle where Harry was deep into Photoshop for Dummies. Draco wrapped his arms around his waist and propped his chin on Harry's shoulder. "Borrrrrring," he pronounced after reading a few sentences. Harry shrugged him off. "No its not…it's a program that can manipulate graphics, pictures…it's pretty cool."

"You're a hopeless techno-geek," sighed Draco. "Look at this, instead. "29 Ways to Make Your Man Beg for More," read Harry. "Why only 29?"

"Lack of imagination, apparently. Look at number 14, though."

"Ouch….can you even bend that way?"

"We could try, later." Draco waggled his brows suggestively at Harry, who snorted. "Only if you put a chiropractor on speed dial; I'm not as young as I used to be."

Draco scoffed. "Harry, for fuck's sakes, you're not even 21 yet!"

"Some days I feel very old. What else did you pick up?" He took the books from Draco. "Running with Scissors?"

"Yeah, I've heard good things about this guy, even though he's American. Had a childhood that makes yours AND mine look normal."

"Jesus," said Harry appreciatively "poor guy."

"Yeah…at nine, his goal in life was to create his own line of hair-care products."

"So he's like a role model for you, then," snickered Harry, who got punched in the arm for his trouble.

They turned as Ron and Hermione entered the aisle, Hermione obviously fuming and Ron trying desperately not to laugh, his cheeks red.

Harry almost didn't want to ask, but was a glutton for punishment. "Oh God…what did you do to her, Ron?"

"Nothing, mate, I swear!"

Harry looked at her. "Hermione?"

"Some….some cockhead of a man just asked me if I and my girlfriend" she indicated Ron, "could recommend a book for his wife on how to handle your child coming out of the closet!"

"He thought you were gay?" Harry dissolved into laughter and Draco grinned into his hand.

"Yes! And it's not funny!"

"How in the hell did Weasley ever get mistaken for a woman? Was the guy blind or…"

"He just saw the back of Ron's head, and the long hair, and assumed…and well, I don't know why he thought I…"

"Uhm, Hermione… I told you, that haircut does make you look well, kind of severe."

"Ronald, there's a huge difference between 'severe' and lesbian!"

"Not when you're old as hell and shell-shocked that your daughter likes girls!"

Harry was laughing so hard at this point that he was on the floor, leaning against the shelves, his shoulders shaking.

"You know, Granger, "drawled Draco. "There are worse things in the world than being mistaken for gay…or even being gay, for that matter."

"I know that! I just never had it happen to me, before."

"Well, as Weasley pointed out, you do look a tad…"

"Fine! When I get home, I'll brew a growth potion and just go back to looking like a wild animal!"

Ron gathered her in his arms. "I like wild animals."

She leaned against him and smiled a bit. "Do you?"

"Yep…especially brilliant, sexy, brown-eyed ones."

"Oh Ron…."

"Here's our cue to leave, Potter." Draco pulled Harry up by the arm and all four hugged and promised to get together soon. Harry and Draco left the store, Harry still snickering. "Poor Mione…that might have been the first time in her life that she was ever at a loss for words."

"Well, it was an honest mistake. She stands like someone shoved a stick up her arse and that haircut was unfortunate, to say the least."

"Well, she just wanted a change. You can't blame her for that. Speaking of…"

"I know. Here we are." He parked the car.

"Coming in to supervise?"

"No, I think you can manage this on your own. I have faith in you."

"Gee, thanks." He leaned over to kiss Draco. "Be out in a few."

He went in to the shop, and Draco tilted the seat back and closed his eyes.

He thought about what Weasley had said, about them making it official. He'd thought about it before, actually, but had always pushed the thoughts away before they got too deep.

He knew he loved Harry, couldn't imagine his life without him…but Draco still kept things hidden, things so dark and heavy that he barely wanted to acknowledge them himself. Things he was ashamed of, things he'd tried to change about himself, and couldn't. Things his father had taught him that he knew were wrong, but stayed in his mind. Things he'd seen during the war.

He could never tell Harry, for instance, that when things were going badly for the Order, and casualties were heavy, that he'd considered defecting, taking the Mark, turning spy. He had always been taught that Malfoys are never on the losing side.

He couldn't tell Harry that he had been ready to kill Dumbledore if for no other reason than he thought the old man was daft, and that Severus had merely done it to save Draco being prosecuted at such a young age. Harry thought he hadn't done it because he didn't have it in him. He knew better.

He couldn't tell him that although Harry was everything he'd ever wanted, that he still prowled sometimes. Working late, having drinks with a client often meant standing at the bar of some of the more seedy gay bars downtown, eyeing the current merchandise. He had never touched…but he thought about it.

Much more than he should.

He knew he idolized Harry. He knew that he put pressure on Harry to be more perfect than anyone should have to be…because Draco sincerely thought he was perfect. And he knew that he, himself, was anything but. He didn't deserve Harry.

And he knew that one day, he would fuck it all up. He just didn't know when.

Harry came out, looking beautiful, and Draco smiled to see him. This gorgeous, wonderful, incredible man was his. No one else's…his.

Harry got in. "Acceptable?"

"More than; you look hot."

Harry pulled down the mirrored visor and regarded himself critically. "Yeah, I'm a hottie. Take me home and mess me up?"

"I was afraid you'd never ask."

*********************************************************

"Ok…I have three appointments for showings on Tuesday…check your calendar and see if the times are ok." It was later that day, and Draco had been wandering around with the cordless for nearly an hour, discussing fireplaces, the virtue of hardwood floors v. carpeting, and the need for double sinks in the bathrooms. Harry had half-listened, amused, as Draco went around and around with one realtor, finally saying "what is it about no fluorescent lights that escapes you?"

As much as he'd purported to despise the Slytherin's smarmy attitude in school, he found it riotous to listen to now. Probably because it wasn't directed at him, and he was no longer in the uncomfortable position of having to pretend it didn't turn him on.

"Harry? Check your calendar, ok?"

"Oh, right." He brought up his electronic calendar and looked it over. "What times again?"

"1:30, 2:30 and 4:00. The houses are all in Islington, so they should be reasonably close to each other."

"Islington is where Ron and Mione live."

"I know…I thought we might all go out for drinks after the last house."

Harry looked surprised. "You thought?"

"Yes, Potter, I thought. I do that occasionally, and before you say it, not always about myself."

"But that's a wizarding neighborhood."

"Yes it is."

Harry spun the chair around. "I thought you wanted to stay away from that, now."

"I did, but then I thought, your friends are there, Pansy and some of my other former mates are around, and it might be nice to have some places around that cater to magical folk. This doing everything the Muggle way is getting tiresome."

"I don't mind it, especially."

"You grew up in this world. I didn't. And frankly, the idea of moving all this crap manually is just not happening for me. In that section of Islington, no one thinks twice about someone moving in with just one box…in a Muggle neighborhood, they're nosy as hell, and you know for damn sure if all they see going in is a trunk, and then they can see a big-screen plasma TV though the window, there's gonna be some talk."

Harry laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"You had the same look on your face when you said "big-screen plasma TV" as you do right after orgasm. Almost the same thing to you, isn't it?"

"I love TV. I admit it, I'm an addict and I need help."

"Speaking of addictions…you realize if we live nearby to Hermione, if she catches either one of us – or, god forbid, both of us - outside having a smoke, she'll probably charm a bucket of water to dump on our heads."

"I'm going to put up anti-interference-in-our-lives-wards all over the fucking place, then."

"She'll get around them; she was always better at Charms than you."

Draco sighed. "Well, there is that…we'll be near people again who, although they love us, can be a pain in the ass. Pansy will want to help us decorate, Goyle will be after me to play golf with him…and Weasley will want to watch all his sports on my…"

"Big-screen plasma TV? The bastard!"

"Exactly. Here, at least, no one bothers us. No one gives a shit."

"Muggles have a lower tolerance for same sex couples, though…we wouldn't get the looks from people there that we do here."

"We only get looks because no one can believe how absolutely fucking gorgeous we are together."

"Is that what it is?" Harry tilted the chair back until it was almost parallel to the floor.

"Damn right. You know, that chair is a lot more flexible than I thought it was." Draco raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"That reminds me…look at this picture I made." Harry clicked on an icon and a shot of them doing something quite acrobatic came up on the screen. "Wow…what are we doing?"

"Number 14," answered Harry smugly. "I told you it was a cool program."

"You may have been right about the chiropractor after all."

"Told you. Now, what houses are we looking at?"

Draco was dumbfounded. "You show me a picture of us doing THAT and then change the subject to houses?"

"We can't shag ALL the time, Malfoy. We need to at least pretend that we are functional in other ways. Do they all have at least three bedrooms?"

"One has four, the rest three, I think."

"Four would work…one for us, one for an office, one for guests and one for your wardrobe…."

"Two for my wardrobe. No guests. That's what Apparating back to your own house is for."

"You just don't like sharing."

"You're right, I don't…especially sharing you."

Harry laughed and turned back to his computer.

Draco sat down on the couch and lit a cigarette. "You know, Weasley asked me today if we were ever going to make things official."

"How much more official do we need to be?" He was typing away, and his tone was nonchalant…but Draco watched his shoulders tighten up a bit. He knew that Harry wanted a more definite commitment from him, but they had never discussed it before.

"He asked if we were ever going to live together, or get married or anything like that."

"Oh." He continued typing. "Are we?"

"Why do you think I've been on the phone all afternoon arranging house showings?" Draco rattled the paper to emphasize his point. "It hasn't been for my health."

"I think you just want two bedrooms for your clothes, and figured you might as well bring me along." Harry's tone was light, but the undercurrent was not one Draco was familiar with. He looked at his boyfriend closely, as though a balloon describing Harry's true emotions might pop up over his head at any moment.

"Hey…Harry, come over here for a moment, will you?"

Harry got up and moved over to the couch, settling a bit further away from Draco than he would have liked.

"Is that what you really think? That I'm just asking you to live with me because it would be more convenient for me than otherwise?"

Harry didn't answer immediately, which made Draco nervous.

"Harry?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what, exactly?"

"I think you want me with you. I think that you think it's the right thing to do at this point in our relationship. I just don't know if you're as ready to do this as you think you are." Harry picked at a thread on the couch cushion.

Draco leaned back, staring at him.

"Why would you think I'm not ready to do this?"

"Oh, I don't know…the fact that you still cruise gay bars as a single man a few times a month makes me wonder a bit."

Draco gulped. How the fuck did he find out?

Harry looked at him, his green eyes calm.

"If you're wondering how I found out, let's just say that I have a lot of casual acquaintances these days, and you are not exactly inconspicuous. It's interesting to go to work the day after you've been sighted and hear "Hey, Potter, saw your boyfriend last night…you must've been in the loo 'cause I didn't see you. He's a sweet piece, isn't he?"

"I…Harry, I'm sorr…"

"Sorry. Yes, I know. You're sorry as hell, but it doesn't stop you from doing it."

"How long have you known?" Draco's mouth was dry, and he licked his lips nervously.

Harry took his time lighting a cigarette, and exhaled thoughtfully before answering. "A couple of months."

"You never said anything."

"What is there to say? You say you love me, and I believe that you do…but you obviously don't believe in this relationship, or feel comfortable in it, or else you wouldn't feel the need to go look…look, not touch. I don't think you've gone that far. But when you ask me to live with you, share a home with you, I have to think of this and wonder how long it will be before you DO touch, and what it will be like for me the day I come home unexpectedly and there's someone in my bed with you who ISN'T me . I have to wonder how it will feel. And since I'm fairly sure it will feel really shitty, I think that my having a place of my own, and YOU having a place of your own makes sense…until the day comes when you don't want or need to look anymore. If that day comes."

"You've given this a lot of thought."

"Unfortunately, I have, yes."

"So, no house showings?"

"I'll go look at anything you want with you."

"But you won't live there with me."

Harry sighed. "I can't, Draco. I may be a lot of things, but a masochist isn't one of them."

"Then why did you go on about it with me this morning?"

"Because it was fun to pretend for a while that we were a real couple and that we would do this, and that it would all be fine. But then Ron's comment made me think about just how far from "official" we still are."

"Harry…I must have told you ten times today that I love you."

"At least. Your loving me isn't the problem, Draco. I know you do. Your intent is the problem."

"So you want to know when I'm going to make an honest man out of you." Draco tried for a light tone, but it fell flat.

"No…I want to know when I'm going to make an honest man out of YOU."

With that, Harry got up and went into the kitchen, the door shutting behind him. Draco heard the refrigerator door open, and the sound of a bottle being opened. Then Harry's footsteps fell on the stair treads, growing fainter with each riser.

Draco put his head in his hands and pushed his fingers back through his hair, rubbing his temples. Fuck…he knew. Harry knew. Score one for carelessness, Malfoy.

He could hear Harry moving around the bedroom and went up after him, a cold feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

Harry was putting his stuff in his duffle bag, his shirts, jeans, sneakers…all the things he customarily kept at Draco's flat so he didn't have to pack for weekends.

"What are you doing?"

Harry took a swig from his beer. "Getting my stuff together."

Draco didn't want to hear the answer, but he had to ask. "Why?"

"I think it might be a good idea for me to spend the rest of my weekend at my place. I have work to do, its not getting done here, and I need a little time to myself."

"Are you breaking up with me?" The blond's voice was small.

Harry looked sad. "I think its time we spent some time apart."

"How…how can you say this? Do this? What about today, last week, all the weeks before this? Fuck, the last year? I'm sorry, I've been wrong, I won't go out again, I don't know WHY I did, but I'll stop, I promise. Just don't leave me flat like this." He fought down rising panic. Harry couldn't be serious.

Except he never joked about things like this.

"Draco, love…I know why you go out. You aren't ready for this. Ok, I understand that. But imagine for a moment that the places were reversed, and I told you I loved you all the time, you believed me, but then you found out I was checking other guys out. That I still acted single the second you weren't around. I mean, just think about that, ok? That's what I've lived with for weeks now.

I love you. I have for almost three years now, and who knows, probably for years before that as well. But today, for some reason, it all came crashing down on me. We woke up, shagged, had our usual weekend argument, had lunch out, came home, shagged, made plans to do couple things…it was all so normal, so wonderful…and so fake. Fake because you aren't really mine, never have been. When you can give yourself to me the way I'm willing to give myself to you, then…then maybe we can try again."

This is not happening, this is not happening. I don't get left, I do the leaving!

"We can still spend time together, if you want to. The fact that you are my closest friend hasn't changed."

"You have to be fucking joking, Potter. As though we'll go to lunch, chat lightly about nothing and shake hands afterward."

"I'm trying, here Draco. Ok?"

"Leaving me is trying?"

Harry looked up at him then, and Draco saw tears in his eyes. His heart twisted.

"Leave ME then, if it makes you feel better. Make it official."

He would hate that word forever after this.

"So we're no longer friends…we're not anything at all?"

"I can't do a halfway, Harry…either I have all of you or none at all."

Harry nodded and blinked.

Harry had long ago learned that life was fucked. Just when you thought you had a grip on it, it kicked you in the ass and you had to start all over again.

He zipped his duffel closed and looked around at the room to see if he'd missed anything. But the one thing he'd miss was standing by the door, looking like he'd just lost everything.

Maybe he had. Maybe they both had.

Harry slid by him and walked down the stairs, pausing only to take the key to Draco's house off his ring and place it on the table by the door. Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Draco stood at the top of the stairs and watched the door click shut.

And he knew that one day, he would fuck it all up. He just didn't know when.

Now, finally, he did know.

~ End of Part One

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