A/N: Wow! A new fic! Shocking. I'm positive I don't have a follower left. Maybe no one will ever read this. But I'm finding it satisfying to write, that's enough for me.
This started as a oneshot, but it turned into a chaptered fic somewhere in the second paragraph. A short one, probably, but still chaptered. I've never cared much for the idea of exploring what happens after the series ends. But with the time-frame and plot I picked I actually liked this idea enough to really want to run with it. It doesn't follow the world set up in the epilogue, nor does it follow the series perfectly. But if that's what you're looking for why are you on a fanfiction site?
It's rated T now, but that will likely change.


Harry sat with his forehead against the rain-streaked window, staring out at the dark. A familiar pose for him; he'd spent many a summer night on Privet Drive wallowing in his misery just like this. All of those long summers longing for the magical world, Quidditch, Hogwarts… the Weasley's home. On this particular cool and drizzly summer night however he was actually at The Burrow. It was a strange phenomenon to be sure, to be in his favorite place and still longing for something so deeply.

To be sure, he had virtually no right to be in misery like he was. It had been a little over a month since Voldemort's defeat. He was finally able to go back to a real life: no hiding, no fighting, no one was out to get him. And he had even gotten the girl in the end, along with the blessing of her family. Though by no means were they allowed to sleep anywhere near each other while at The Burrow; Ginny was still young after all. True, he had lost many of those that were nearest and dearest to him in the long struggle against Voldemort. After everything that Harry had gone through it made perfect sense for him to have leftover feelings of loss and unhappiness.

The thing was, those weren't the feelings plaguing Harry the hardest lately. It wasn't that he didn't mourn for his lost friends; he did every day. It was that he yearned so deeply for something that seemed completely out of his reach. Every day spent that summer at The Burrow, laughing and playing and relaxing, was tainted by that feeling. Every kiss and touch with Ginny was defiled by desire for something, someone, else.

It wasn't that Harry didn't love Ginny; he absolutely did. But it wasn't genuine and passionate; his heart, or any other part of his body, had never truly ached for her. He may not have even realized that she wasn't enough if he hadn't felt what it was like to be with someone who was. Someone who made life feel like more. And that when he was with on a secret night he desired so greatly that he wished they could become a part of each other; he wanted to be lost forever in the tangles of sheets and limbs and sweat. Harry felt the desire that night resting on the window, tears of frustration and craving fought to his eyes. He snuck to the kitchen to pour himself an oversized glass of firewhiskey, something to ease the ache.

Harry stood looking out the kitchen window, sipping at his drink in a daze. After finishing the first and starting on a second, he suddenly began a feverish search for parchment and quill. He sat at the kitchen table writing quickly and fiercely. His heart was beating hard against his ribs and he could hear it in his ears as he wrote, further fueling his passion. He was sure most of the inspiration for this letter had come from the alcohol, but he felt as if he would be ruined if he didn't take action. He folded and addressed it, and sent the Weasley's new owl on its way with that precious, potentially life-changing letter in its care.


Draco Malfoy was awoken to early morning sunlight by a tapping on the window. He sat up quickly, easily startled as he was. After a quick glance around his small bedroom he found the source to be a barn owl at the window. Stumbling, he let the owl in, took the letter and tossed it on his nightstand, then sent the creature back out. The blond yawned and rubbed his eyes. He had to assume the letter was urgent, considering the time it had come. But he rather thought he should be a little more awake to deal with it if it was. At the rate things were going for him it would be from the Ministry telling him more of his parents' things were going to be taken away. They'd already lost the mansion, a dozen heirlooms and a good chunk of money. Draco was living in a small house by himself now, with his parents in prison.

When his eyes felt more like they were able to open fully, Draco went to his nightstand and picked up the letter. The front was labeled 'Draco' in vaguely familiar writing. It didn't look like anything official, still, as he looked at the front his heart began to pick up speed; as though his body had made the connection before his mind. Warily, he slit it open with his wand.

My Dear, Dear Draco,

I know, I know I shouldn't be writing to you. I'm sure you'd like less than nothing to do with me after everything we've gone through. And I'm sure you think I want the same. We haven't had the best track record over the past few months. Though I'm not going to delve into that.
Why I'm writing is, because I don't want nothing to do with you. Did that make sense? I miss you, Draco. I miss you so much, every day. Regardless of what we went through, and how much I should hate you. I can't get you out of my mind, it hurts. I can't enjoy myself. Ginny and I have been together but I want none of it. Because it doesn't make me feel half as good as I did with you. There isn't as much desire. And honestly, sexually I can't even make a comparison. I have never wanted her like I've wanted you even on our worst day. I'm supposed to be happy now, my life should be great. But it can't be without you. I love you, Draco. I know you never much liked it when I brought that up before, and to this day all I have is a hope that you ever felt the same. But my feelings are strong enough to make me try. That's why I'm writing this letter. That and firewhiskey.
I really hope you'll write back, and we can be in touch. Use codenames, if you'd like. Be as discreet as you would like but I'm begging you for contact. I'll understand if you don't get in touch with me, but it might also kill me.

Love,
Harry

Draco sat for a moment, looking back over the letter at certain parts. The whole thing was written in decidedly shaky handwriting. The word 'love' kept jumping out from the page at him. Finally he stood up and walked out to the kitchen, beginning to crumple the letter in his hand, prepared to toss it in the garbage. But something made him stop and look back down. Then he suddenly found himself at the table hastily writing out a reply.


Harry wasn't expecting anything, just hoping and wishing deeply. But he thought the most he might get in reality was some cruel reply. When Mrs. Weasley called the evening of the day that he had sent the letter to tell him that an owl had come for him his whole body was pulsing and burning. Ginny touched his back and asked what that could be about. He responded that he didn't know and shook her off to go read the letter in private.

Harry,

I was rather surprised to get your letter this morning. I certainly didn't think I'd hear from you, ever really. I suppose it was a pleasant surprise…
Ok. I'll admit. I've had many nights plagued by thoughts and fantasies of you. I'm reluctant to use some of the words you used, I won't say I miss you. But I certainly long for your body. And company, I suppose. This letter is going to make you remember what a prick I am, and you're going to realize you want nothing to do with me. Someday I'll hear that you made monstrous babies with that Weasley girl.
And writing that hurts much more than I care to say. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm going to include my address at the end of this letter. I would not object to you showing up tomorrow night, and staying.

Draco

Harry read the letter with disbelief, then read it again. He still had a sneaking suspicion that it might be a fake address. Or maybe there would be some sort of trap set up when he got there. However, he also considered it to be well worth the risk. He held the letter tightly, and considered how long it was until tomorrow night. He was nervous, and a little scared, but at the same time his heart was fuller than it had been in so long.