A/N: I have been working on this story for quite some time, and am finally feeling like I can put the first couple of chapters out there in the world. I'll be coming back to edit constantly because that's just the kind of person I am, but I hope you enjoy! Please leave me a review if you would like to see more of this story so I'm able to crank some more chapters out.

Edit: I have redone a couple bits about this story and changed some of the chapter headings to pieces I am loving a little more. The first of which, the excerpt from the first chapter, (and the title of the fic itself) is just a gorgeous track that I couldn't stop listening to when first writing the story. I highly recommend you turn it on in the background and just lose yourself in the beauty of the melody when you get the chance.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, wish I did, et cetera, et cetera. Pls don't sue me.

Chapter One

"Oh, to see without my eyes

The first time that you kissed me

Boundless by the time I cried

I built your walls around me

White noise, what an awful sound

Fumbling by Rogue River

Feel my feet above the ground

Hand of God, deliver me"

-Sufjan Stevens, Mystery of Love

June, 1998

Sleep was a pursuit he had long since abandoned.

He lay on the couch, his breathing striking up a rhythm that threatened to lull him out of consciousness, but every time his eyes started to drift shut something in his body jolted him awake. He would remember to check on something in the kitchen, or suddenly need to dig his Sneakoscope out of his old school trunk, or feel a sudden burst of energy and decide that exercise was precisely the kind of release that would cure him of his restlessness.

This time, however, his thoughts of sleep were interrupted by a loud rapping on the front door.

He shot bolt upright, reaching instinctively for his glasses and wand, which were resting on the roll-top desk beside him in the study. Without really processing who could be paying him a visit this early in the morning, he stepped hesitantly into the entryway, trying to see if he could discern the figure at the door by the silhouette in the window. The knock came again, harder this time. He knew it couldn't have been Hermione, as she was on holiday with her parents in Greece. Ron, Ginny, or anyone else from the Auror department would surely have written him or tried to contact him via floo powder before just coming over...His mind flashed to a vision of him opening the door to face Voldemort, and finally meeting his end when he was least expecting it. He gripped the wand a little tighter, reaching to open the door.

The figure that stood in front of him was probably the last person he would have guessed would show up on his front doorstep. Draco Malfoy, all six foot 2 inches of him, black coat pulled up to his chin and the circles under his eyes looking almost worse than Harry had ever seen them. He had the look of a corpse who was being possessed by some, weak, lifelike spirit that had not learned to play a very convincing human. His grey eyes were glossy and lifeless, like he, too, had not slept in a lifetime or so. He looked, if at all possible, worse than Harry felt.

"What are you doing here?" The words tumbled out of Harry's mouth before he could stop them. He and Draco hadn't parted on the best of terms, but he immediately regretted his instant defensiveness when he saw the look on Malfoy's face.

"Granger didn't tell you I was coming?"

"No, she-" Harry stopped, remembering the letter she had left for him which was still on the kitchen table, unopened. She had told him to "think carefully about it, and let her know what he decided", whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. "No." He finished, realizing that he had answered the door without a shirt, expecting really anyone but Draco Malfoy to be calling. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Right then," Malfoy said quietly, his eyebrows raised slightly. He brought his eyes back down to his shoes.

"What's this about?" Harry began, stopping him from turning around and heading back to wherever it was he came from. "And how do you know where I live?"

Draco sniffed audibly and shifted his feet, still looking down at the ground. Harry wondered if his lack of clothing was making the boy uncomfortable.

"Granger," he replied shortly. "She set this up, said it would be a good idea for me to come get the wand from you in person."

It dawned on Harry suddenly, and he was surprised he hadn't thought of this before. The Hawthorne wand. The one that had killed Voldemort. Of course Draco would be wanting it back, now that the dark lord was gone and Draco was no longer permanently indebted to his service. He hadn't considered the possibility that Draco would be paying him a visit until this very moment.

"Why don't you come inside?" He said, mostly wanting to get out of the chill, morning air so his nipples would stop being so visibly hard. "You look like you could use a drink."

The taller boy's brow furrowed, although Harry noticed a hint of amusement in his expression.

"It's ten in the morning."

Harry made a sarcastic display of rolling his eyes up into his head. "Alright, then just get inside so I can close the door. Merlin."

Draco obliged, following Harry into the entryway and shutting the door behind him. Harry could smell his cologne as he stepped into the house, and for some reason found the scent vaguely familiar.

"Charming place you've got here, Potter," Draco said with a bit of the drawl that Harry remembered from their school days. He ran a long, pointed finger along the banister leading up to the staircase, inspecting the layer of dust on his hand after doing so.

"Well not all of us can live in haunted mansions half the size of Wiltshire," Harry replied, bringing his hand up to ruffle through his messy black hair. Malfoy opened his mouth as though he had a retort to Harry's comment, but something like an invisible cloud passed over him, and he shut it again. He took off his coat and hung it on the banister in the entryway, rolling up his sleeves neatly and running a hand along the fade of his own hair, which was as tidy and freshly trimmed as Harry's was unruly.

Feeling suddenly very aware of his bare chest, Harry grabbed a shirt out of his dresser in the study and slipped it over his torso as Draco followed him into the kitchen.

"Do you often begin drinking before most people are awake?" Draco asked, still looking around at the furnishings and decor that adorned the house. It didn't look that different from what Draco must be used to, really — the family artifacts and symbols decorating the hallways, the remnants of dark magic still lingering in the corners of the house, despite Sirius' efforts to remove all traces of his family from this place.

"These days, yes," Harry retorted, cracking open an aged bottle of firewhiskey that Sirius had left in the pantry, and pouring them each a glass. Before he could cast a chilling charm on the whiskey, Draco had already picked his up and tossed it back in two, short pulls. Harry raised his eyebrows slightly, the corner of his mouth upturned.

"It appears that you're in no place to be criticizing my drinking habits," Harry said, smirking. He sipped at his own glass, refilling Draco's slowly. "Not that I'm complaining — None of the usual lot will drink with me. Something about 'not enabling certain behaviors'. It's Hermione's doing, mostly." Draco nodded in recognition at Hermione's name, and Harry had to press him on the issue, merely out of curiosity.

"How long have you two been... talking?"

Draco scoffed.

"We're not 'talking'. She sent me an owl a couple weeks ago, after...The end of term."

"What did she say?"

Draco narrowed his eyes, clearly not comfortable with people prying him for information.

"Nothing, really. She just thought you and I should talk in person," He began sipping the second glass, this time savoring the taste of the whiskey instead of inhaling it in one breath.

"What would we have to talk about?" Harry was getting more irritated with Hermione by the second. What was she playing at, inviting someone else into his home, facilitating an armistice between two people who wanted nothing to do with each other?

"Well, you do have my wand," Draco said, sipping his firewhiskey and leaning himself against the counter in the kitchen. Two faint, pink spots had appeared on his cheeks. He looked more relaxed than he had when he came in, and was taking on the same haughty demeanor again that Harry had grown to associate with him.

"Right, sorry...One moment." Harry placed his glass down on the counter next to Draco, straightening his glasses and excusing himself from the room. To his surprise, Malfoy did not interpret this as a mark of dismissal, but as an invitation to follow him into the hallway. Draco picked up Harry's glass and carried both it and his own as he trailed Harry into the study, where all of Harry's possessions were spread out haphazardly on almost every surface of the room.

"Christ, Potter. You live like a hermit." Draco sipped his whiskey from the doorway, his eyebrow arched as he watched Harry try to dig through books, rolls of parchment and loose potion ingredients strewn across the floor. "Didn't you acquire a house elf with this place?"

Harry knelt down to open his school trunk, rummaging through it's contents for a moment before drawing out his own wand to summon Draco's. "Yes, but I've told him to stay at Hogwarts, and Hermione has finally gotten off my back about the house elf liberation front. It's well worth it, if you ask me. Besides," he grunted, finally withdrawing the Hawthorne wand from the crevices of his school trunk. "It's nearly impossible to have a wank when he's just around the corner, mumbling about Sirius' mum and bursting into tears every half hour." Harry paused, noting after the fact that this was the kind of joke he would usually make in the presence of Ron, and not necessarily to the man who had tormented and bullied him relentlessly for most of his adolescence.

"The wand," Draco began, turning slightly pink, but otherwise ignoring Harry's comment about Kreacher. "Will it… will it work for me like it did before?" Harry got up and walked over to the entryway, taking his own whiskey glass from Draco, and handing over the wand. He noticed the boy's expression change as he ran his fingers over the intricately carved wood, a trace of a smile flitting across his face. It was as though he were being reunited with an old friend.

"It should," Harry said, staring into his glass. "I think I relinquished ownership when I chose my own wand. I haven't used it since, but you should be the rightful owner again." He wondered if he should tell Draco about the kinship he had with this wand, how it really did seem to work for him almost as effectively as his own. Did that mean this wand played to their individual strengths, or did they have some of these strengths in common?

Draco cleared his throat, finally looking up into Harry's face. His eyes didn't seem as cold as Harry had always remembered them being, and despite his thinner frame and the faint, dark blonde stubble lining his jaw, Harry thought him strangely handsome. He supposed he had always thought that, but something about the usually sour expression on Malfoy's face tarnished what attractiveness might have been found there. A memory that Harry hadn't recalled in quite some time resurfaced, and Harry had to fight to suppress it as he looked at Draco over his firewhiskey.

"And you really… you really killed him with this? With my wand?" Draco asked, staring at the object in his hand as though it had some profound, new power to it. Harry hadn't given this matter a great deal of thought. Yes, the curse had rebounded, but it had done so when he was using Draco's wand to defend himself. Perhaps that was why Hermione had wanted the two of them to speak about this matter. She might have thought Harry harbored some sentimental attachment to the item that avenged the murder of his parents.

"Er… yeah. I suppose I did."

Draco stared at the wand for a moment, visibly contemplating the amount of power this small, wooden object had been able to produce. Instead of mulling over the fact for too long, however, he drained the remainder of the firewhiskey left in his glass.

"Easy with that, Malfoy… it's probably older than your father."

Malfoy sputtered halfway through the drink. "Is that what you're spending your galleons on these days? Whiskey? God forbid you hire a maid to tidy this place up..."

"I like my privacy." Harry shrugged, walking back into the kitchen to lead Malfoy away from the mess in the study. "And Sirius left loads of stuff in the cabinets. I don't know where he got all of it, but there's enough to open my own pub, probably."

"I don't know of anyone who would set foot in a pub this revolting."

Harry let out a loud chuckle at this, which seemed to catch Malfoy a bit off guard.

"I haven't had any time to fix it up yet! This place will be a regular Hog's Head come September."

"I can't think of a worse spot to model your business after." A rare smile spread across Malfoy's face, and Harry couldn't help but stare at the way it transformed his features. Maybe the firewhiskey was going straight to his head, but there was something captivating about the way that Draco was casually leaning against the wall, making conversation with him like a regular human, and not a pure blood supremacist who was fighting to help the dark lord regain his power. Maybe Draco had never really been the person that Harry had made him out to be, or maybe the war had just changed some aspects of his personality. Regardless, Harry had to admit it was nice being around someone who wasn't constantly fussing over him, or trying to fix some part of him that needed time to heal on its own.

Draco finished what was left in his whiskey glass and then took a deep breath, as though he were gearing up for an important conversation.

"Look, Potter, the wand isn't the only reason I'm here." He brought his eyes back down to the floor, averting Harry's inquisitive gaze.

"Oh?"

"Yes, I wanted to talk to you about... that night, in the room of requirement." Harry's memory jogged, and he recalled where he had smelled Malfoy's cologne before. An image came to him of Draco gripping his waist for dear life as they escaped the fiendfyre in the room of requirement on a broomstick. Draco now looked the most uncomfortable Harry had ever seen him, and Harry had to admit it was a welcome change from his usual, casual arrogance. "Your actions were unnecessary, but appreciated, and if I didn't -"

"I appreciate the sentiment, but don't thank me for saving your arse," Harry said, cutting Draco off. "I wasn't about to watch you die in there. Not because of some bloody mistake your friend made."

Draco looked up at him briefly, then brought his eyes back down to his firewhiskey.

"I owe you a debt," He said quietly.

Harry had thought about this matter, and had considered the possibility of Draco being indebted to him as Pettigrew had been when Harry spared his life, but it didn't feel like the same situation at all. They were all trapped in the flames together, and saving Malfoy's skin felt just as natural as trying to save his own. Malfoy didn't feel like an enemy in that moment. He was just a desperate boy in a gruesome situation who was trying to escape death. Besides, any debt that Malfoy might have owed Harry surely would have been repaid in the next couple of hours of that night when his own life was spared for the sake of Malfoy.

"Have you talked to Hermione about that?" Harry asked him, opening up the cabinet in the kitchen and digging for another bottle of firewhiskey. "About a life debt?"

"No." Malfoy took a seat at the kitchen table, running his finger lazily across the rim of his empty glass. "She said I should speak with you."

"I don't know if you knew this," Harry began, not really sure what was bringing him to say this, but feeling like the words would help Draco understand what he, Ron, and Hermione had determined about the subject. "Your mother, in the forest when Voldemort tried to kill me, she told him I was dead. She knew the only way she would be able to see you again is if Voldemort had won. She knew I was alive, but she risked her life to save mine. All for your sake."

Draco was looking into Harry's eyes, and Harry noticed that they weren't all grey; there were hints of green towards the middle of his pupils. He was just now realizing that they suited him nicely. Draco cleared his throat suddenly, and brought his eyes back down to the glass.

"Wish she had told me that in her letter, it would have saved me a visit to your terrible pub."

Harry laughed, pulling a fresh bottle of whiskey out from the cupboard and unlocking the wire cage around the opening. Instead of opening like the other bottles, however, this one let off a shrieking noise and exploded, sending shards of glass skidding across the kitchen, and several slivers into Harry's hand.

"FUCK," He exclaimed, quickly throwing the bottle in the sink and examining his hand. To his surprise, Draco, who had stood up instantly when the bottle had exploded, was now at his side, wand outstretched. "It must have been a prank bottle Fred and George planted," Harry explained, trying his best not to think about Fred, and at the same time trying to avoid looking at his hand, which had several bits of glass lodged in it and was leaking blood freely onto the floor. "Shit — Go see if you can reach Hermione by floo power, her healing spells are really excellent-"

Before he could finish speaking, however, Draco was holding the Hawthorne wand over his affliction, muttering some of the healing incantations that Hermione often employed, but also several spells that Harry had never heard before. He winced as the shards dislodged themselves from his hand, and the wounds healed instantly, the blood disappearing from his trousers and the floor beneath them.

"Merlin," Harry breathed, his hand as good as new and an incredulous expression on his face. "Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

Malfoy secured his wand back in his pocket, casting his gaze to the sink to stare at the exploded remains of the bottle. "I've always wanted to be a healer, I studied for it on my own at school. Father would never hear of it."

"You're good. You're really good. You shouldn't let that stop you."

Harry met his eyes again, and saw something he would have never looked for in Malfoy - It was the most human he had ever seemed to Harry. He couldn't help but wonder if things had not gone so wrong between them at school, maybe their relationship would have been completely different.

Malfoy's eyes flitted down to Harry's lips, and Harry felt a strange, tingling sensation in his body that had usually been reserved for his days spent with Ginny exploring the secret corridors of the castle. He was close enough that he could see every detail on Malfoy's face, and he knew exactly what that expression meant. His breath hitched slightly, and it was like a wave of cool air passed over him; his bare skin forming goosebumps up and down his arms. Unbidden, the image of Blaise and Draco in the Quidditch Locker Room over Christmas Break reemerged in his head. This time, however, Harry imagined himself in Blaise's place, on his knees in front of the tall, pale boy as Draco slowly thrust into his mouth, pulling his hair at the roots and moaning his name...

And then, out of nowhere, it was like a switch had turned off, and the atmosphere in the room completely shifted.

"Fuck you, Potter," Draco spat, his eyes narrowing into slits.

"Sorry, What?" Harry stuttered, his head still spinning from the thoughts that were wandering through it seconds ago.

"I know what you're doing."

Harry paused.

"What are you talking about?" He thought for a horrifying moment that maybe Draco had been using legilimency to read his mind, but he dismissed this thought almost instantly. He would have known if someone was trying to get into his head; he could always feel it when Snape was practicing this in their occlumency sessions.

"You don't fucking know me. You don't know anything about me."

"Sorry," Harry spoke, incredulous. "What are you talking about?"

"You knew. You knew about Zabini, we fucking saw you for christ's sake. You and Granger, this is all just some elaborate ploy to humiliate me..."

"Draco, I have no idea what you're on about," Harry answered honestly, his mind reeling from what Draco was accusing him of. "If this is about you being gay-"

Draco slammed his fist on the counter top, making Harry flinch. It seemed like Draco would have happily aimed a punch at his face instead.

He swore loudly, running his hand instinctively over his slicked back hair, trying to regain his composure.

"I'm not." He said in a quieter voice, noticing the Harry's shocked expression at his outburst. He exhaled slowly through his nostrils. "I'm not."

Harry slouched against the counter, moving his hands into his pockets and trying to avoid eye contact to alleviate some of the discomfort in the room.

"Right, then."

There was a pause that felt like eternity in which both Harry and Draco stared straight ahead of them at the wall in the kitchen, trying to concentrate on the patterns of the floral arrangements depicted on the wallpaper to distract themselves from the situation at hand. Harry's mind was racing; he was trying to wrap his head around the thoughts that were now pouring in like tidal waves, trying to find some justification for why he was feeling this way. He and Ginny had hardly spoken since the end of term, he hadn't had any kind of proper sex since last summer, and he was probably just feeling lonely and stir crazy. To make matters worse, he couldn't help but acknowledge the sexual tension between himself and Draco, the chemistry that had probably been lying dormant for quite some time. He stared straight forward, trying to suppress what thoughts that he was able to block out.

After several, long moments, Draco stood up a little straighter, exhaling deeply and adjusting the sleeves on his shirt once more.

"Right, then I guess I should be going-"

Before he had finished his sentence, Harry caught Draco's wrist with the dexterity of a skilled quidditch player and pulled him into Harry's body, their lips crashing into each other. There was a brief, terrifying moment where all Harry could think about was the signifigance of what he had just done, but his mind was soon unable to focus on anything except how fantastic it felt to have Malfoy's mouth pressed against his own. The smell of Malfoy's cologne mingled with the taste of his lips, which Harry decided he enjoyed more than those of anyone he had kissed before.

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy responded ardently to his advance, as though he had been anticipating that Harry would reach for him all along. He brought his hands into Harry's untidy hair, deepening the kiss and pinning Harry against the counter so he could instantly feel Draco's erection against his own. Harry's mind soared with elation, his body responding in turn, and lust taking over the remainder of his willpower. They became practically ravenous, urgency seeping out with each gasping breath as the two caressed each other's bodies. Harry moaned as Draco reached down to massage his cock through his trousers, and Draco bit down on Harry's bottom lip so hard that he nearly drew blood. Draco kept kissing Harry, one hand now exploring the muscles that Harry had built from Quidditch and Auror training under his shirt, and Harry responded by kissing him harder and firmly pushing Draco's lithe body against the wall so that Harry had complete control over him. He felt drunk, taking in all of the sensations and savoring the taste of Draco's mouth on his own. His hand fumbled for the clasp on Draco's belt, not entirely sure what he was about to do, but knowing that he wanted as little clothing as possible between the two of them. Draco let out a soft moan as Harry trailed his tongue down to Draco's neck, pressing a couple of wet, rough kisses into the pale skin he uncovered.

Draco broke away from him suddenly, his pupils the size of small moons, his gaze darting back and forth from Harry's mouth and his bespectacled, green eyes.

"We can't do this," he said quietly, staggering slightly back to the counter and composing himself as best as he could. "I can't. This never happened - this doesn't change anything."

Harry felt as though he had quickly come up from underwater, and struggled to wrap his mind around what Malfoy was now saying.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" He panted, his chest still heaving and his pants still uncomfortably restrictive below his waistband.

"We can't do this," he repeated, looking more flustered by the second. "I can't... I just can't. I have to go." Malfoy turned on his heel and began to make his way back into the hallway, his dress shoes clicking on the polished wood.

Harry started after him, opening his mouth to protest, but as soon as he had followed Malfoy into the hallway, there was a loud, cracking noise letting him know Malfoy had vanished.

Harry stood in the entryway, his hand still stinging from the glass that had sliced through it. He stared at the closed door ahead of him, trying to take deep breaths, focusing on the light from the window pouring in from outside.

He had just been voraciously, passionately kissing Draco Malfoy, like he hadn't kissed anyone else in his life. He didn't know what had brought it out of him, or how long he had been wanting to do that, or if it had really even happened... All he knew for sure was that needed more. There was a desperation, a longing to figure out what he should do next, but he had no idea where to begin understanding any of this. He stared at the door for several more, disbelieving minutes, and then walked back into the kitchen he had been kissing Malfoy in only moments ago. The two glasses of firewhiskey sat on his kichen table, next to the note addressed to him from Hermione. He picked it up quickly, realizing that Malfoy must have been referring to this letter when he was talking about Hermione earlier.

The letter was lighter than any of the other ones she had sent him over the last month, which was surprising as he had assumed she had millions of stories to tell him about the ancient temples they had visited, or the artifacts in the museums that she had vistited.

There was only one page of parchment upon which he recognized Hermione's tidy scrawl. He skimmed through it quickly, ignoring the exchange of pleasantries and the "hope that he was sleeping better", and fixated on the section where he saw Malfoy's name.

"I'm not sure if you've been paying attention, but he's been through a great deal in the last few weeks. His father just got a life sentence in Azkaban, and just after the war his mother had to be admitted into St. Mungo's with a spell damage related heart condition. On top of all of that, Witch Weekly published an article last month about Draco's homosexual affair with an American professor. We can all agree that that magazine is a load of rubbish, but I think when that issue came out Malfoy lost the remainder of the support he had from his family and the community he grew up in.

I'm not saying all of this so that you'll feel sorry for him, and I'm not even necessarily saying you should speak with him face to face. I'm just asking if you'll consider reaching out, because as much as I hate to admit it, I think you both have a lot in common.

I've been writing to him since I read about his parents in the prophet, and I've told him I think it would be a good idea for you to meet. I believe his main concern is whether or not his old wand will work for him, if you're able to dig that out of your school belongings. Please let me know as soon as you've received this, as I've told him you'd be available this week for him to collect it.

I've included his address below, in case you're wanting to write to him. Please let me know how you're doing, and give Ron and everyone else my love."

The address that was scrawled at the bottom of the page was a room in the Leaky Cauldron, which must be where Draco was staying while his mother was in St. Mungo's. Harry set the letter down on the table. If anything, Hermione had just given him even more to think about, and made the entire situation with Malfoy even more confusing. Why hadn't he mentioned anything about his family? Harry felt a sinking feeling of guilt creep over him, and he wished more than anything that he could have a chance to take back the last half hour, or at least speak to Draco about any of this. Had Malfoy really just thought that he owed Harry a life debt, and come here in a meager attempt to arrange repayment? Or was there another reason he had followed Hermione's advice and wound up on Harry's doorstep, despite everything they had been through in their years at Hogwarts?

Harry wandered automatically back into the study, which he had found was the room he had the least trouble sleeping in. He had tried sleeping in Sirius's old bedroom, still adorned with the Gryffindor banners and pictures of scantily clad muggle girls pinned up all over the walls, but that just brought unwanted memories and even more guilt about everything that had happened during the war. He wished, more than anything, that he had someone he could talk about these things with, if only to get it off his chest. Someone who would listen quietly and offer helpful, well-guided advice without telling Harry they felt sorry for him. Then again, he didn't think he would tell another living soul what had just happened between him and Malfoy. He wasn't sure he could even fully reconcile that with himself.

He laid back down on the couch in the room, staring at the ceiling and trying to get his mind off things. His eyes were finally beginning to drift shut, merely out of exhaustion, but in the back of his mind he couldn't stop thinking about why Malfoy had left when he did, or what he must be doing now. Did he plan for things to happen the way they did? Had he been wondering what kissing him would have been like since their 5th year, as Harry had? A light rain began to beat against the windows outside, and the soothing rhythm of it was finally enough to lull Harry into a quiet, dreamless sleep.