Many thanks to Joy Kreager for betaing on such late notice.

Disclaimer:

This story is loosely based on (admittedly two of the sappiest movies ever made) 'You've Got Mail' and 'The Lake House'. As well as my all time favourite books (other than the Harry Potter series, of course) 'Bridget Jones's Diary' and 'Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason', which were both based on Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' and 'Persuasion'.

This story also contains quotes and ideas from these movies and books.

I also quoted 'Bones' a little bit in this chapter too.

You all know that I don't own the Harry Potter characters (JKR does). But if I did, something like this would happen to them...

Draco and Pansy walked the path to Harry's garden. Its colors unrolled in front of them the moment they entered, shimmering in warm sunshine.

They crossed the garden and climbed into the hammock. Shade fell across their faces like a blessing.

"Are you nervous?" Pansy asked.

"Yes," Draco admitted.

"You have nothing to lose."

"I'm scared I'll cause more damage between us. We've experienced enough of that."

Even as Draco spoke he was reflecting on damage and how the instrument of his letters, if he had behaved incorrectly, could almost certainly smash the remnants of Harry's tolerance for him – if there was any.

There was their work to consider also and the complication that would be visited on them if Harry revoked him, but there was no stepping back. Draco had told Harry to meet him. All he could hope to do was walk forward. The thought was like a reprieve and it made a beat of happiness shiver thought him.

Pansy saw the change in his eyes.

"Do you have a plan?"

"No."

"How very un-Slytherin of you."

"I want it to be different than it was at school. The Draco Malfoy from Hogwarts is still stuck in his brain. It has to be different now."

"You are different." Pansy thought for a moment. It was almost like remembering a different person. Many of his mannerisms were the same, but he was no longer a glossy, reprinted image of his parents. The consequences of the war and their Muggle lifestyle had altered all of his perspectives.

"Harry still can't see it."

Harry was at least as lonely as Draco was, Draco understood. Draco remembered all of the stillborn relationships that had followed the war. It wasn't just the thought of Harry then, that had pinched the buds before they flowered, but something in Draco himself. He didn't like dating. There were no other men like Harry Potter. Draco knew what he had wanted all along.

Before he had re-encountered Harry, before his Ministry job, Draco had gone on with his life day by day. He had done his jobs because he needed to. He hadn't looked beyond what he possessed except to long for Harry – a yearning that had soaked up all the desires he had and more.

But in the way that everything can change, Draco knew that his life had taken a different direction now. He didn't want to drag the bulk of his unhappiness about with him any longer, and he wanted to make Harry happy too. The weight had become intolerable. If he had the choice simply to drop it and take a new direction – yes, that was the choice he wanted to make. It would have to be his choice. He was prepared to make the first move.

Draco knew that he wanted Harry now, this minute, and the recognition made his skin burn. Beyond that he had no idea how to sort the longings into a sequence he could give voice to.

He knew he had to try though. He didn't want to step back. It was impossible for everything to go on being exactly the same as well. Whatever happened, it would have to mean change.

Draco would have to explain everything to Harry. He would have questions and doubts and would be hard to convince. Everything that had happened between them up to now came into consideration.

Harry had always been unbreakable, but since the war he seemed even harder and more impenetrable. Draco always seemed to be banging his head against the bloody brick wall of it.

It was time to stop. It was time to take the final step. It was time to be brave and set them both free.

When the knock came at the door Harry did not have to ask him who it might be. He moved slowly to answer it.

Malfoy stood on the step holding something out to him. Harry looked and saw a box of chocolates, shop-tied with a rosette of red ribbon.

"You can tell me to fuck off if you want."

Harry did not say anything. There was a mixture of determination and extreme vulnerability in Malfoy's face that made whatever he said irrelevant.

"I was at my desk all day and thought about you. You're stuck here on your own and I thought…"

The speech trailed off and he made a visible effort to continue. "Are you feeling better?"

To Harry's own surprise he was neither angered nor annoyed by Malfoy's presence.

"I'm all right," he lied, and then added, "I will be alright," in the hopes against all odds that he might be.

"Do you want to come in?"

Malfoy nodded and handed Harry his gift.

Harry took the offering and secured the door behind them. He made his way to the kitchen and Malfoy followed.

The complex layers of smell in the kitchen contained stale bread and cold grease and confined air.

Harry took a seat, meekly seating and shielding his eyes with his hand. He still felt ill.

He had not given any thought, in the last few days, to the further silting up of his prison. He had stopped regularly cooking and eating meals, just as he had stopped going to bed to sleep, and he felt the remainders of his haphazard snacks cluttering the counter tops and clogging the sink.

There seemed to be no point in holding steady the repeating patterns of domestic life. If he had once cooked meals and washed dishes, because he could see the garden from his kitchen window, then there truly was no reason to do these things anymore.

The mess that crept out of the corner of the house was a sour and tangible confirmation of the truth and solitude that winged and swooped around Harry like some black bird of despair.

Malfoy was moving around the room. Harry heard water running, then the rattle of the kettle as he filled and set it back on the countertop.

He opened a cupboard door and closed it again. Harry frowned and jerked up his head.

"What are you doing?"

"Making you some tea."

Malfoy stood still with his hands cupped around Harry's cold teapot, waiting for what he would say.

Dryly Harry nodded his head. "There are teabags in the cupboard to your left."

Malfoy made the tea and poured a cup for Harry, placing it on the table at a little distance. He left his own filled cup on the counter and turned to the sink.

Harry watched him as he cleared a double handful of teabags and egg shells and soaking crusts and dropped it into the bin. He ran hot water and squirted an arc of washing up liquid, releasing a sharp lemon scent.

Malfoy began to wash up, scraping plates and plunging them into the water, then deftly rinsing them and slotting them into the drying rack.

Harry drank his tea. He watched Malfoy working with his back to him. His leather jacket creaked faintly as he moved his arms. He was very large in the confined space between the sink and the table and there was an edge of control in his movements.

Harry stared at Malfoy. He was confused and amazed. In all his years of knowing Malfoy, the last thing he expected him to do was voluntarily clean, let alone voluntarily clean Harry's house.

The thought momentarily took away his grief and bitterness so that he felt a kind of natural relief that Malfoy had come here, to fill the empty aching space.

"Why are you doing that?" he asked.

Malfoy shrugged, beginning to clean the burned pan that Harry had set on the ring and forgotten about two days ago. "It looked like it needed doing."

"Your tea will go cold." Harry reminded him.

"I didn't really want tea."

"Then what do you want?"

Malfoy paused in his cleaning, letting the pan slip into the sink. "You're wondering why I came here".

"Stop washing up now," Harry answered, making Malfoy turn away from the sink reluctantly.

Harry gestured to a chair on the opposite side of the table. When Malfoy sat down Harry noticed his hands and the way his hair hung in light wisps across his forehead. He was a handsome man without even trying.

Harry went on, not waiting for him to answer. "You're helping me."

It was more of a question than a statement. "Yes," Malfoy answered.

"Why?"

Malfoy shrugged again, "Because I can."

Harry knew Malfoy was no longer being difficult. He was just being honest. This was strange and un-chartered territory for them both. He got up from the table and went to one of the cupboards. He took out the whisky bottle and two glasses and poured Malfoy a measure.

Malfoy looked blankly at him. "You're giving me a drink?"

"You wouldn't drink my tea. What else should I offer you? Flubberworms? A cup of bleach?"

A twitch of disbelieving laughter changed Malfoy's face. He picked up the glass and took a gulp of Fire whisky. Harry did the same. They relaxed and put their glasses to the side.

"You said you wanted to be my friend." Harry answered his own question from before.

"You act as if this is recent news."

"It is."

"No, it isn't. I've always wanted to be your friend. I tried in first year. You rejected me."

"So it's a pride thing?"

"No."

"You never liked to lose to me. It killed you every time I caught the snitch."

"This isn't about Quidditch, Potter. This is about you and me." Draco gestured to the small amount of space between them.

"You and I have always been the same; competitive on and off the Quidditch pitch. It all started when I wouldn't shake your hand in first year. You never let me live it down."

Draco sighed, slightly turning away. They had been having this same argument for years. It was like they were dancing, both fighting to take the lead. "We can never talk about our present without bringing up our past."

Harry nodded in agreement. "To accept you as a friend now would be forgiving you for everything you did. It's too hard to forget, too painful to rub out."

"I think our relationship will always be complicated, but that doesn't mean we can't put the war behind us."

"We would still have hated each other without the war, without Gryffindor versus Slytherin and without any past follies. There's something inside of us that causes it." Harry moved his chair so that they were face to face again, making Malfoy look him in the eye.

It was the same argument, but the energy was different somehow. It wasn't a fight for the sake of their ongoing warfare. It was a fight that would lead them towards a solution.

Draco met Harry's gaze, dragging his chair towards him, bringing them close again. "I don't hate you anymore. It's over. It's changed."

"Nothing has changed. The Ministry is still tracking down old Death Eaters. The battle isn't over. I still need security protection. I'm the same person I've always been and so are you." The expression on Harry's faced was pained and confused. He leaned forward.

They were as close as they could be to each other without touching. Draco could feel Harry's breath against his face. Harry's breathing was slow, but heavy. It made the hairs on the back of Draco's neck stand up. He breathed in slowly himself before speaking.

"You may find those wanted Death Eaters, you may not. Either way it won't matter to anyone. The rest of the world is moving forward again and you know it. I can tell you're miserable. You know that you're being left behind. Weasley, Granger, Shacklebolt and everyone around you is happy, and you don't understand how they could be after everything that has happened to them. It all went for so long. You don't know what other directions there are for you to take."

Draco took another breath, this time leaning back.

"I can help you there."

He held out his hand, offering it to Harry to shake.

Harry stared for a moment at Malfoy's outstretched hand. There was a strength in his gesture – that of an independent and determined man. His hand was outstretched with his palm facing up, with the comfort of innate acceptance. No hesitation. He seemed to sense Harry's uneasiness.

"We are what we are, Potter. You can go on fighting this battle, but you'll be fighting alone."

It was the way he said it, alone, that opened up a vista for Harry of how everything in Malfoy's landscape had changed too, gone dark, just as it had for him. Malfoy was lonely too and stuck in a place that made him miserable. And then, in an instant's clear perception Harry understood that Draco Malfoy felt exactly as he did. They weren't different. They were the same.

Harry reached out and took Draco's hand in his. They shook hands and let go. There was a long, silent moment in which Harry felt an unexpected connection, a thread of magnetism between them. Unsure of what to make of it, Harry stood up again and filled their empty glasses with more firewhisky.

They drank quickly, the silence still stretching on. Neither of them seemed to know what to do now. It was a moment neither of them had believed would ever happen.

In the end, it was Harry who broke the silence. "Do you want something to eat?"

As Malfoy stared at him Harry laughed and suddenly shrugged. "Actually there isn't anything to eat now; I come to think of it. But there is plenty to drink."

"We could go out for Chinese or something," Malfoy said tentatively.

"Yeah. Okay." Harry's glass was empty. He stood up and needed to steady himself on the table.

Malfoy stood up too. He did it too quickly and his chair almost overbalanced. The clatter startled them both. Belatedly, Harry reached out with his other hand to stop the chair from falling. His hand somehow landed on Draco, in the place between his shoulder and neck.

In a brief pause, they stared at each other, and then Harry swayed forward unexpectedly. Without thinking, Draco reached out to steady him, both of his hands finding Harry's waist.

Draco was slightly taller, so Harry had to look up to see him properly. The movement pulled their faces together. Harry blinked confusedly.

Maybe he had drunk too much too quickly, or maybe he hadn't been looking at Malfoy properly all these years, but somehow a strange thought occurred to him.

Malfoy's face wasn't sharp or pointy as Harry had originally thought. It looked soft, his expression gentle.

"We probably shouldn't have drunk the whisky," Draco said, "You're still a bit sick."

"I'm fine, Malfoy. I just stood up too quickly," Harry assured, as his knees buckled a little and Malfoy had to his waist tighter.

"You know, we should probably start calling each other by our first names now," Malfoy said, his hands warms and secure against Harry's t-shirt.

"Right. That's what friends do." Harry nodded, his hand leaving the table and patting Malfoy on his other shoulder, "Draco."

Draco smiled. The depth of the moment was crystalline and absolute, without the smallest possibility that it would be shattered in the next second by the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

"Harry!" a woman called. "We've come by to see how you are doing. We picked up your mail on the way."

They both realized it was Hermione. Suddenly, she was standing in the kitchen with Ron like a surprise party gone wrong.

Hermione gasped. Ron shouted, reaching for his wand, "What the fuck are you doing here, Malfoy? Get your hands off him!"

Draco carefully let go of Harry, moving him to lean against the table in case he still needed some support. "I'll be going," he said to him.

A plea rose in Harry's throat, don't, but Draco turned and went before he could articulate it. Ron's wand carefully followed Draco as he left. He began to follow him up the stairs, but Harry stopped him.

"It's okay, Ron."

Ron whipped around. "How?" he demanded.

Harry sighed. There was no use trying to explain. "I'll make some coffee."

He didn't look at either of them as he went deliberately about the business of filling the kettle with water and retrieving the coffee tin from the shelf.

Hermione took the coffee tin out of Harry's hands. "Harry," she said with concern, "What's going on?"

"What was he doing here?" Ron added.

Harry stopped what he was doing, turning to face them. "We were just talking. We drank some firewhisky. I nearly fell and he stopped me."

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

Ron's face was stiff with angry disbelief. "How could you let him into your house after what he did? Has he done something? You've got to tell us. Has he threatened you? Harry, he must have done, you couldn't have just let him in."

"Couldn't I?" Harry challenged. To defend himself had become the most vital thing. They were always protective of him, now in a way that was suffocating him. He realized that half of the reason he accepted Draco as a friend was to revoke them. He wanted to show that he didn't need their protection anymore. He could take care of himself. He felt like a teenager disobeying strict parents.

"How about if it's me who decided that Draco and I should be friends? How about if we forgive each other? How about we're sick of fighting a war that ended years ago? Can't you imagine?"

Ron shook his head. "No. I can't imagine. It's unnatural, immoral. It isn't you, Harry."

"Ron," Hermione murmured, warning him.

"How do you know?" Harry asked coldly, taking the tin of coffee back. He did not care to make this better now. He was angry and did not want to smooth and reassure or dissemble. He wanted to be himself.

"What about Dumbledore?" Ron pleaded.

"Dumbledore is dead." Harry stonewalled him.

"Yeah, he is, because that slimy--"

"Draco didn't kill him."

Ron stepped back in disbelief. "Draco? Since when is he Draco to you?"

Hermione stepped forward, blocking Ron. "Harry," she began again carefully, "Is there something going on between you and Malfoy?"

Harry shrugged. "We're friends now, I guess."

"WHAT?!"

Ron shouted and Hermione stepped even closer.

"What kind of friend?" she asked, giving Harry a strange look. "

"I don't know," Harry begun. "Just--" he stopped when he realized what she was hinting at.

Harry turned away from her in disbelief. "It's nothing like that."

"I'm sorry, but the way you were touching each other before…"

"I don't fancy him." Harry pushed out the words impatiently.

"You've been awfully quite lately and you didn't come to the dinner party. Was it because of Malfoy?" Hermione continued.

Harry cringed. He knew there was only one way to stop her.

"I didn't go to the dinner party because I'm seeing someone. It's not Draco Malfoy."

"Who?" Hermione and Ron asked together, their concerned expressions changing to ones of nosy interest.

"You don't know him. It's kind of a long distance relationship."

"When did you meet?"

"We haven't."

"What?"

"No."

Harry turned to the stack of letters they had brought with them. "We write to each other," he said, gesturing towards the pile."

Hermione and Ron exchanged nervous glances.

Harry knew what they were thinking. "It's safe," he told them. "He lives in my old apartment. He forwards my mail, that's how it all started."

"He must write one hell of a letter," Hermione commented, as Harry reached for the letter on the top of the pile. He had immediately recognized Austen's handwriting.

Ron and Hermione watched him in bewilderment, as he opened the letter and read its contents.

"What does it say?"

Harry smiled. "We're finally going to meet."

"You're finally going to meet! YOU'RE FINALLY GOING TO MEET!" Pansy chanted, skipping around the room, Harry's reply in hand.

"Stop fucking opening my mail!" Draco snapped, snatching the letter from her. "It's private."

"You can't hide anything from me," Pansy retorted. "I found a lipstick stain on one of Daniel's shirts. I think he's cheating."

"No surprises there."

"Do you think I should kick him out of the apartment?"

"Yes," Draco answered, carefully opening the letter. "Then hex his testicles off, staple them to his forehead and push him off the top story of your building."

Pansy sighed sadly, taking a large gulp from the bottle of wine they were sharing. "Do you think it's worth it?" she asked.

"What are you talking about?" Draco asked, studying the letter happily before folding it away safely.

"Relationships," Pansy replied. "Do you think it's worth having your own happiness contingent on another human being?"

Draco paused in his search for writing paper, slightly stunned by Pansy's sudden seriousness.

"Don't start," he warned, taking the bottle from her and taking a sip. "You shouldn't waste any more time thinking about that wanker."

"So you don't think relationships are worth it?"

Draco considered the question, before the bottle of wine back and disappearing into his bedroom. "All relationships are worth it, you just have to find the right person."

"But what if they died?"

"We're all going to die."

When Draco returned, pen and paper in hand, Pansy was already opening a second wine bottle.

"What am I supposed to do then?"

"Finish the wine," Draco said simply, taking a seat in his armchair and beginning to write. "Get messy. You're supposed to cry and scream and bitch and be miserable."

Pansy stared at him confusedly. "So you're not convinced that loving someone is worth it?"

Draco didn't look up from his letter, his pen moving quickly across the page. "You're supposed to be in pain."

"I am."

"Good." Draco nodded. "Then tomorrow morning you get up, pick up all the broken pieces of you're fucked up life, put them back together again and become a better person because of it. Everything is worth that. Every wanker. Every fuck up. Every moment. It's all leading somewhere."

Pansy's mouth curved into a large smile. "You have read too much Proust, Draco Malfoy."

Draco smiled back. "What doesn't kill us makes us who we are."

"So do you think that your years of suffering are over, Marcel?"

Draco sighed, putting his pen aside and folding his letter into an envelope. "There's only one way to find out."

My dearest Harry,

I will meet you in the garden tomorrow at nine o'clock. When you come around the curve in the path, you'll find me there waiting. The timing is finally right.

Please review!  Lucy