Here's the final chapter! Hope you like it!
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Disclaimer – This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
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.~*~.
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In his office on Monday morning, Draco arranged a grid of squares on a large board mounted on the wall; each square containing seven numbered lines. Beside the board hovered four lists of names, one list for each position: Beaters, Chasers, Keepers, and Seekers. As he tapped the first name or names on each list—one name for Keepers and Seekers, two for Beaters, and three for Chasers—the names disappeared from the list and reappeared on the grid in random squares. In the event of a team made up of the strongest players, for example, he would have to step in and move players around. He was also sure there would also be instance where some students who'd originally requested one position on the registration form but had changed to a different one would play both in order to fill all the teams. But, overall, he wanted the teams to be assigned as randomly as possible.
Only a few minutes into his work, Draco lowered his wand arm. He'd woken up with Harry's arms around him that morning. It had been a lovely feeling. In the two years he'd wasted with François, they'd never spent the full night together. Draco'd slept in Harry's bed now three nights in a row. On one hand, he still had trouble making himself believe this was really happening, they were really doing this, but on the other, Draco was realising just how very quickly he'd got used to waking up next to Harry. When he woke up alone next Saturday morning after Harry'd returned to England, his own bed was going to seem awfully big.
Draco's wand arm had fallen to his side. He raised it and returned to his work. He still had five days and four nights with Harry; he was just going to have to make the most of them. And that included making sure his work for the day was done when Harry finished his morning practices.
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.~*~.
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Monday afternoon, Harry and Draco headed to Paris' Latin Quarter, starting with a visit to the Musée de Cluny. The museum was a small one, and didn't draw the throngs of tourists one tripped over in other places, but it held an excellent collection of medieval art. They were now standing in a circular room whose walls were covered with six richly coloured tapestries depicting scenes of an elegantly dressed noble woman standing between a lion and a unicorn. The woman, slim and blonde, was depicted at different ages, from a young woman scarcely more than a girl to a woman approaching what would by twenty-first century standards be middle aged. Her gowns were covered with jewels, and her hair was covered by jewelled veils in her younger ages to elaborate headdresses to finally a crown. The vibrant red backgrounds were filled with flowers, fruit trees, animals and birds. In five of the tapestries, the woman's expression was one of contentment, but in one her face held unmasked sorrow.
"They were woven around the turn of the sixteenth century," Draco said softly without needing to consult the guide book. "I particularly wanted you to see them," he admitted.
"Why?" Harry asked.
"What do you think of the lady?"
Harry returned his attention to the tapestries. "She's beautiful." The tapestry he stood before depicted the woman sitting low to the ground, the unicorn to her left and the lion to her right. Strands of pearls were woven through her hair, and her long, full skirts puddled on the ground around her. The unicorn sat directly beside her with its front legs on her lap. As if a sentry standing guard, the lion was on its hind legs, and it held a flag bearing a coat of arms in its forepaws.
"Odierne Cateline Le Viste, la duchesse de Tourney. She's my very-many-times great grandmother."
Harry was clearly surprised at the fact that tapestries depicting a Malfoy were hanging in a Muggle museum. "'La duchesse de Tourney?' A Duchess? She was a . . . ?"
"Oh, she was a witch. There're portraits of her both in the estate here in France and the manor in England. It was her younger son, Armand, who left France and came to England. He dropped the Muggle name of Le Viste and adopted his mother's maiden name, which was already an old Wizarding name by then."
Harry looked back and forth between Draco and the woman in the tapestries. In spite of the centuries between them, they shared the same long, angular features, the same fair colouring.
"A Malfoy married a Muggle?" Harry asked doubtfully. He didn't add, "And wasn't disowned?" but Draco was sure he was thinking it.
"This was almost two hundred years before the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, you have to remember. It was a very different world. She would've undoubtedly been raised with the same ideology of wizard's superiority over Muggles I was—but money, and everything that comes along with it, is money. Before the Statute of Secrecy, securing a position of rank in the Muggle world was seen as demonstrating a family's influence and status in both worlds. My ancestors would've looked upon the wealthiest and most powerful of Muggles as being beneath them, but they'd have kept their contempt behind heavily warded doors. Publicly, they'd have embraced Muggles they could gain something from. Not exactly anything to be proud of, I know."
"It's nothing to be ashamed of either," Harry said sincerely. He slid his hands into his front pockets and looked around the room. "My dad was pretty awful to Snape when they were at Hogwarts together. I mean, really awful." Harry went on to say he'd seen things in Snape's mind when their former Professor had been ordered to teach him Occlumency.
Draco didn't mean to, but he laughed. "Snape was as powerful a wizard as your father was, I'm sure. You only saw his version of events. Of course, in his memory, your father was the instigator, but don't you doubt for a second that he gave as much as he got—and as good. He was a terrifically brave man, yes, but he was not a nice person. Or have you forgotten your Potions lessons?" As a child, Draco had thought Professor Snape's treatment of Harry and his friends great fun, but now as an adult, he looked upon it very differently—all the more so because he himself had become a professor. One highly admirable quality did not negate an equally shameful one.
"No, I haven't forgotten. But I have forgiven," Harry said. Then, returning to the tapestries before Draco could comment, he remarked, "She looks very sad in this one. In all the others, she looks content."
After a considerable pause, Draco allowed the change of subject and agreed. In his opinion, it took a great man to both forgive ill-treatment and to not look for congratulations on that forgiveness, and he knocked his hand against Harry's, letting his fingers linger for just a second longer than necessary.
"As a young woman—here." Draco led Harry to the tapestry depicting his ancestor in her mid to late teens. She wore a sumptuous gown in blue and gold, and on her head she wore a gold-coloured veil, her garments all embellished with jewels. A young girl held a golden bowl filled with flowers, from which Odierne was fashioning a wreath. "She fell in love with a Muggle. She'd almost certainly have been disowned by her family when their affair became known, had the man in question not been the son of a duke. His position saved her there, but her indiscretions being publicly known, her parents' chances of arranging an appropriate marriage to a wizard had evaporated. Before the Statute of Secrecy, a family like mine might have very grudgingly accepted the marriage of a daughter—a daughter, mind, never a son,—to a Muggle, provided a proper match with a wizard were not possible, and they stood to gain substantially from the marriage. His family's position in Muggle nobility would have been enough to outweigh his being a mere Muggle to her parents, were it not for one flaw. He was a younger son. The title would not come to him upon his father's death, but to his elder brother, and it was the elder brother to whom Odierne's parents arranged her marriage."
Harry was appalled. "Knowing she loved—"
"At the time, a marriage contract had nothing to do with love. Not in a family like mine—nor in a powerful Muggle family, for that matter. One married for material reasons. The Malfoys already had magic and money. What they did not have, was a title. Odierne's parents would have viewed the introduction Muggle blood into the line as a necessary evil that over the generations would've been diluted enough to eventually be of no real consequence. The title, however, would remain. For their part, the man's family may've wanted the power being known to have ties to a magical family would have given them amongst their contemporaries. Had they not . . . Well, Odierne's reputation would've been ruined. Her place in society depended upon the marriage taking place, and her parents would've seen to it that it did."
Harry looked displeased, but not shocked or judgemental, Draco was relieved to see.
"Odierne did what any other well-born girl, witch or Muggle, would've done in her place. Or even a lower-born girl, I would imagine. She married the man she was told to marry. Then, after she'd done her duty and produced an heir, she discretely continued her affair with the man she loved. And if her son Armand bore a stronger resemblance to his uncle than to his father, well, no one would've remarked upon it. It's not unheard of for a child to bear a stronger resemblance to another close family member than to their own parent."
"Thank Merlin we live in a time when we can chose our own partner," Harry said.
Draco agreed, although he didn't believe that was really true. Were the Daily Prophet to get wind of Harry's involvement with him, nearly every owl in the British Isles would be circling above them with red envelopes tied to their legs.
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.~*~.
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"I think I'm going to trace my family roots when I get back to England," Harry said later that evening as they roamed Latin Quarter's maze of narrow, medieval streets. Walking without any direction, they'd stopped in several little shops and stumbled upon the ruins of a third century Roman amphitheatre.
"Potter, you are the most famous wizard alive today. I'm quite sure your ancestry is well documented. Both your magical and Muggle lineage."
"Names and dates, maybe. But I want to know their stories. Like you do. Do you have any idea how cool it is that you know all that about an ancestor who lived hundreds of years ago?"
Draco shrugged. "Odierne's an exception because of her and her son's importance in my line of the family. It's kind of intrusive, though. Like reading through someone's diary. Would you want your descendants knowing your deepest secrets?"
"Perfect strangers seem to think they've a right to. At least my great grandchildren would have a valid claim to the interest." Stopping to look at a shop window, he said that if he were to walk down a street in Muggle London with a man like this, he'd have to cast privacy charms over them both, or there'd likely be a full exposé on his every movement in the Daily Prophet the following morning. Worse, if he wasn't careful about who he went out with, the exposé could be accompanied by direct commentary. "You have no idea how nice it is to not have to worry about anything, to be able to just enjoy being out with someone."
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.~*~.
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That night, whilst Harry slept, Draco lay next to him, looking at him. He'd never felt the desire to just lie next to a lover and look at his face as he slept before, but with Harry he did. The contrast between the pure black of Harry's hair and the paleness of his skin, the pink of his lips, his eyelashes and brows, the coarse hairs along his jaw . . . Draco didn't know why, but he thought he could lie next to Harry for hours and just look at him, and when Harry's eyes began to move behind his closed lids, Draco wondered what he was dreaming.
He didn't need to wonder long. Almost immediately Harry began to thrash about, and he shot up, sitting up straight and gasping for breath, as if he'd been underwater for too long. His eyes were open wide, and his arm stretched out, desperately trying to reach something.
Reacting immediately, Draco grabbed hold of him and pulled him against his chest. Harry's hand gripped Draco's arm so tightly, his nails dug painfully into his skin. "It's alright. It's just a nightmare." Draco knew all about nightmares, and he laid his cheek on the top of Harry's head and rocked him slowly as he caught his breath, all the while telling him the nightmare was over and tracing random patterns on his back.
"I'm sorry I woke you," Harry said. His vice-like grip on Draco's arm relaxed, but he did not move from his embrace.
"I was awake already."
"You were gone. Your hand slipped from mine, and when I reached down for you again, you were gone. There was nothing but flames and smoke where you'd been. You were gone."
Draco tightened his grip and kissed the top of Harry's head.
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.~*~.
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Harry had trouble concentrating during his practices on Tuesday. Even after all these years, the morning after one of his nightmares was always rough, but this time, he thought, was not quite as bad as other times. Maybe because he had something to focus his attention on. He couldn't dwell on whichever nightmare he'd relived the night before.
Or maybe it was because he'd woken up to someone who understood. Maybe, this time, it wasn't the nightmare making it hard for him to concentrate. Harry was afraid it hadn't been a coincidence that it was the fire in the Room of Requirement he'd dreamt of last night. It was Tuesday. He only had four days left to spend with Draco before he would have to leave.
"Are you well, Monsieur Potter?" Émilie asked. She'd been giving him concerned looks all morning.
"Fine," he answered, trying to keep his voice light. "Just didn't sleep well."
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.~*~.
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Tuesday afternoon, rather than returning to Paris, Draco and Harry travelled to the Loire Valley and spent the afternoon sampling wines and wondering aimlessly through the streets of Amboise and along the bank of the Loire River. They visited the Château du Clos Lucé, where Leonardo Da Vinci spent the last three years of his life, and saw several working models of his inventions. Draco had only known of Da Vinci's paintings, and he listened to what Harry read aloud from the English language brochure. Afterwards, they walked through the Parc Leonardo da Vinci and watched multi-coloured hot air balloons drift overhead.
"They've got a fire in the basket, did you know?" Draco asked as Harry got a shot of a balloon passing over the Château. "I saw one up close once, preparing to take off."
Harry lowered his camera. "Well, of course, they've got a fire. They're hot air balloons."
"Can't be safe, that. And it's up above the basket itself. The flame actually shoots up inside the balloon. What good they think it's going to do against the cold—"
Draco paused mid-sentence when Harry gaped at him. Harry bit his lips as they fought to spread into a grin.
"What?" Draco asked.
"The fire is what makes the balloon fly."
"What are you talking about, the fire is what makes the balloon fly? What's a fire got to do with—"
"Well, how do you think they fly?"
"Well, they . . . they . . ."
Harry's smile broke free at the confused look on Draco's face—how do Muggle hot air balloons fly? Harry hadn't studied very much Muggle science, but this he did remember from his Muggle primary school. Seeing the photos of several hot air balloons filling the sky in his text book, the idea of flying had fascinated him. Rather funny, that, now he looked back on it.
"Alright, then. How do Muggles use fire to fly?" Draco asked, folding his arms in front of himself.
"It's very simple, really. Hot air weighs less than cold air. It's basic Muggle science."
"You expect me to believe hot air weighs less than cold air? It's still air, Potter. Air doesn't weigh anything—it's air."
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.~*~.
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That night, satisfied and spent, Harry crawled across the mattress and flopped down on his pillow, one arm spread across the sheets and the other hanging off the edge of the bed. His muscles ached, and he had a cramp in his side, but it had been worth it. He'd seen that position in porn movies before, and he'd fantasised about trying it, but he'd never had the nerve. With Draco, though, he never felt any of the self-consciousness that had always stopped him in the past. He rolled over and stretched from head to foot, arching his back and groaning.
Draco lay sprawled out at the foot of the bed. He'd yet to move from the spot where he'd fallen. "That . . . was brilliant," he said between breaths.
Harry nudged him with his foot. "Come up here." He yawned, his eyes already falling shut. His body heavy with the lethargy that comes after fantastic sex, Harry wanted nothing more than to sink into the blankets and sleep.
"Can't be arsed to move. Staying here," Draco whispered, sounding half asleep already.
Harry raised himself up to his hands and knees. He grabbed a couple pillows and crawled to the bottom of the bed. Dropping the pillows, he pulled the blanket down from the top of the bed, and Draco lifted himself up enough to lay his head on the pillow as Harry wrapped the blanket around them.
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.~*~.
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On Wednesday, the students in Harry's practice sessions were so hyper, one would've thought their breakfast had consisted of a large bag of sugar and a spoon. This would be their last morning of practices—tomorrow, they'd play matches, and they were buzzing with excitement.
As much as Harry enjoyed seeing their enthusiasm, he couldn't share it. Every morning he woke up next to Draco he was one morning closer to waking up alone. As much as he loved his cottage, his bed was going to seem awfully big Saturday morning.
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.~*~.
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That afternoon, they visited Strasbourg, near the German border.
"We are still in France, aren't we?" Harry asked. To look at the surrounding buildings, he'd have guessed they'd crossed into Germany, even the name—Strasbourg—was decidedly not-French.
"Historically, the region was Alemannic-speaking," Draco said after Harry commented on the city's non-French sounding name, adding that control of the area had repeatedly passed from one power to another during its two thousand year history.
Harry wondered if that was something he'd learnt from his former lover, but he pushed the thought aside, not wanting a dark cloud to dampen their time together.
The first thing they'd done was to visit the Cathédrale Notre Dame de Strasbourg, where he'd got some gorgeous pictures from the tower overlooking the city and of the stunning mediaeval stained-glass windows illuminated by the sun, before spending a couple of hours roaming around the Palais Rohan museum. They'd crossed a river, just as an open-air sightseeing boat passed beneath the bridge, and walked to a wonderfully picturesque neighbourhood of half-timber buildings with overflowing window boxes. The buildings lined both sides of a canal and reflected on the water's surface, and baskets of cascading pink and white flowers hung from railings at the edge of the pavement. Harry couldn't believe a setting so charming could exist outside of an illustrated children's storybook.
Standing at the railing and looking down at the buildings' reflections, he remarked, "I expect to see Hansel and Gretel any minute."
"Who are Hansel and Gretel?" Draco asked.
"Characters from a Muggle children's story." He rubbed his hands together, and with his eyes still on the water, he said, "This week, it's been pretty brilliant."
"Yeah. Yeah it has," Draco agreed softly.
They stood together, quietly watching the water for neither knew how long, both content to just stand there, lost in his own thoughts.
Nearby, a sightseeing boat passed through the open gates of one of the locks that controlled the water levels throughout the canals. Draco and Harry walked towards the lock and watched as the solid wooden gates closed behind the boat and those at the far end began to allow water to rush in. Within the lock, the water level was a good metre and half lower than on the other side of the far gates, and the deluge of water pouring in instantly turned the calm canal into a swirling torrent. The raging force of the water, and the noise it made, were awesome and reminded Harry of news reports in the Muggle media of flash floods. By contrast, the surface of the water on the other side, the deep side, was so smooth a pair of ducks swam within feet of the gates. It was surprising just how quickly the water level in the lock climbed, and Harry watched as the boat rose higher and higher. When the water within the lock was at the same level as the water on the other side of the gates, they slowly opened to allow the boat to pass on. It had taken maybe five minutes at the most.
Looking down at his hands, Draco said, "It was awful, being confronted with the reality of the Muggle world. Their ingenuity and accomplishments, their art and music." He shook his head, his eyes still on his hands. "Every word I'd been taught my entire life was a lie. None of it was true. It was hard to accept. So much pain, so many killed . . . And all of it for lies."
Harry felt Draco's words deeply, but he didn't respond. What could be said? He touched the back of Draco's hand, and the other man looked up at him briefly before turning his eyes down towards the water.
Eventually, they moved on from their once-again quiet spot beside the canal and idly roamed the cobblestone streets as they had done other times.
"I think I'd like to do a bit of travelling once Teddy starts Hogwarts next year," Harry said as they moved from one shopfront to the next. "This is the first time I've ever travelled anywhere, really. I mean, other than just taking Teddy somewhere for the day or to the beach for the weekend, or something like that."
The idea of travelling alone held little appeal for Harry. He'd enjoyed seeing the places they'd visited together because he'd enjoyed being with Draco—hard as that would be for anyone who knew him to believe. He remembered how many times he'd thought to himself when he'd first arrived that Draco was attractive, but of course he wasn't Harry's type. That was what he'd thought before he'd spent any time with Draco. Now that he had, Harry was beginning to think that Draco was exactly his type. It had been Harry's idea of what his type was that had been wrong.
He glanced at Draco. They still had Thursday and at least part of Friday, but this would likely be the last time they went somewhere together like this. None of their days had been pre-planned. He'd finished his morning practices and Draco'd finished whatever tasks he had that day, and they'd simply found each other and gone somewhere. Draco hadn't mentioned anything, but there were Quidditch matches planned all day Thursday and the first half of the day on Friday before a big farewell picnic on the palace's grounds Friday night. During the matches, Harry reckoned Draco would be expected to be onsite. And Harry would want to watch Teddy's matches, of course. Each child got to play in three matches, according to the schedule Draco had worked out: two on Thursday and one on Friday.
"You really don't think you'll ever want to go back to England?" Harry asked reluctantly, already knowing the answer. "What about the manor?"
Draco looked at him, then looked away. He turned to Harry again, something appraising and slightly defensive in his eyes and voice. "I suppose the Gryffindor in you thinks anyone with proper feeling should want to go back and reclaim their childhood and ancestral home."
"Not at all," Harry said categorically. That had been the first time there had been anything even approaching rancour between them since he'd arrived. "Not if it's not what you want. I think the biggest mistake a person can make is letting anyone persuade them into what they think their proper feeling should be. And I should know, because it's a mistake I made when I tried to stick out Auror training. All of wizarding society wanted to see me as an Auror, so I tried to make myself believe it was what I wanted, before Molly and Arthur sat me down."
Their eyes had held each other's as Harry'd spoken, and they continued for several seconds afterwards, until Draco turned away.
"How very philosophical," he said.
Harry smirked. "I have my moments."
"It isn't what I want," Draco said quietly. "To ever go back to England. Everything that for you is in England, for me is in France."
They stopped in front of a souvenir shop neither of them actually looked at.
"So, er, Friday," Harry began, about to ask another question he didn't want to. He didn't want to spoil another otherwise perfect evening, but pretending he wouldn't be leaving in roughly forty eight hours wouldn't buy them more time, and he'd have to ask eventually anyway. Best get it over with, like needing to take a particularly nasty potion. Then he could not think of it again and just enjoy what little time he had left with Draco. "When do I need to . . . How do I . . . ?"
"You're welcome to stay at the palace Friday night, if you'd like," Draco said in a flat, empty voice. "No point in leaving on Friday only to return to collect Teddy on Saturday."
Harry nodded his agreement. He would leave with Teddy and the other British students on Saturday. That settled, he resolved to put it out of his mind.
"Perhaps tomorrow night we could have dinner at l'Hotel de la Rose Rouge," Draco suggested, animation returning to his voice.
This was the first time they'd made plans beforehand. The idea of deliberately planning something, even something as small as dinner, was exciting.
"The view of the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe illuminated at night . . ."
"Yeah," Harry agreed readily. "Sounds good."
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.~*~.
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Thursday morning was the start of the Quidditch matches. Half the teams would play at nine o'clock and the other half at eleven. Unlike official Quidditch matches, the matches would end after an hour and a half maximum. Given the ages of the players and the number of matches needed to be played, a time limit was necessary. Because the kids would be on different schedules with their matches, lunch would be served in two seatings between noon and half past two. Then, the afternoon matches would begin at two for the first group and four for the second. It was going to be a very busy day and a half, and Draco was looking forward to getting away with Harry for a bit that evening.
"Teddy looks excited about his first match," Draco observed during breakfast. The boy's head of bright orange hair stood out, easy to spot from deep within the sea of nine and ten year olds leaning across tables and each other, talking and laughing eagerly.
"I'm sure he is," Harry answered. "I haven't talked to him. I want him to have this experience without me hanging over his shoulder. And, er," he looked poignantly at Draco, "I've been keeping rather busy myself."
Draco grinned in response, remembering how busy they'd been an hour ago.
"I've been thinking," Harry said.
"Merlin save us all."
"Shut it, you. I've been thinking the Cannons could host something like this next summer. What I have in mind is much smaller, mind. Just something during the day. Maybe younger kids, too young for something residential. They could Floo in. I've been wanting to create a Community department to organise different activities for Cannons supporters—"
"Now that they've got something to support," Draco murmured into his coffee cup.
Harry continued as if he hadn't heard. "I think something like this would go over well."
"I wouldn't have thought the Cannons had that many retired star players," Draco observed as he helped himself to more omelette. "Would they be teaching the children, or would the children be teaching them?"
Harry threatened to stab him in the arm with his fork but admitted he was thinking more along the lines of the up-and-coming players they had working with the trainers and coaches. "We've got some real talent, I think. The kids could work with players they'd be seeing play professionally in a couple of years."
"So, let me get this straight." Draco held out his hand and ticked items off on his fingers as spoke. "You're going to study both photography and French. And travel. And create a new department and organise a Quidditch day school for children. Anything else?"
"I don't think you quite grasp just how little I've got to do anymore. I've never not had things to do—whether it was Auror training, or training and playing for the Cannons, then negotiating the purchase of the team and rebuilding it. And of course, there's been Teddy to keep me busy. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself after he goes off to Hogwarts next year."
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.~*~.
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After breakfast, Draco left to check that everything was set for the first round of matches, and Harry made his way down to where the British kids were sitting, to wish them luck, just as other former players were doing with the kids from their respective countries.
Teddy and his friends were excited, but they were disappointed none of them had got onto the same team. They were also nervous, Harry could tell, but trying not to show it in front of each other, which made him grin. "Let me tell you about my first Quidditch match at Hogwarts," Harry said, and eagerly, the kids made room for him on the bench. "I was so panicked, I thought I'd be sick watching one of my friends putting ketchup on his sausages at breakfast that morning. It was Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and our team captain was called Oliver Wood . . . "
After talking with the kids for a bit, Harry walked around the palace's elaborately manicured gardens. Beauxbatons was different from Hogwarts in many ways, but it was similar in many ways, too, and Harry had come to feel very comfortable there during his nearly two week stay. He'd enjoyed himself. Of course, the wholly unexpected . . . thing that had popped up between himself and Draco had a great deal to do with that—a very great deal—but not everything. He'd enjoyed working with the kids more than he had enjoyed doing anything since he'd flown in his last Quidditch match with the Cannons.
Harry did like the idea of developing the Quidditch school he'd told Draco about. Maybe he could even do some of the coaching . . . but, of course, if he did that, he'd likely have full grown witches and wizards trying to de-age themselves to enrol. Harry sighed. It was amazing just how fast he got used to the anonymity he'd found in France.
He'd got used to more than just enjoying anonymity. He'd also got used to falling asleep next to someone night after night. Harry'd had a string of relationships, but none of them had ever progressed to the point where either he or his partner'd had a drawer of their things at the other's place. He'd meant what he'd said to Draco last week in his hotel room in Paris—he really did hate sleeping alone after sex. But, until now, that was more often than not what had happened. It was strange, but Harry found sleeping next to someone much more intimate than having sex with them. It was the absolute vulnerability of it, he reckoned.
Harry sat on a bench and dropped his head into his hands. He had a life that he was quite happy with waiting for him back in England. He had his family and friends, and a job he mostly liked, even if he couldn't say he really loved it. He didn't have everything he wanted, but he had a hell of a lot. He should be looking forward to getting back to his life, but he wasn't. He shouldn't be feeling as strong a pull to be with Draco as to be with everyone he loved back in England, but he was. And quite frankly, what that might mean scared him.
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.~*~.
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If the view from the top of rooftop terrace at the Hotel de la Rose Rouge was impressive during the day, it was even more so as the sun began to set. Although the day had stayed dry at Beauxbatons, it had rained in Paris. However, that had been hours ago, and the clouds had largely broken up. Directly above them, the sky was purple streaked with clouds painted pink by the setting sun, and all around them the lights of Paris glittered. The Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe were illuminated, and in the distance, the Sacre Coeur gleamed bright white. It was stunning.
"Émilie and her uncle were right," Harry remarked. "The hour before sunset, the light is like gold."
Draco agreed.
That had been their evening so far. Observations or causal remarks. Small talk they forced themselves to carry on to fill awkward silences. Harry hated it.
"Teddy flew well," Draco said.
"Yes, he did."
Teddy's team had split their matches, winning the first and losing the second. The other two Beaters were a girl from France and a boy from Norway. They'd worked well together, in spite of never having played together before. But both games had ultimately been decided by who caught the Snitch, and that had disappointed Teddy, Harry thought.
"He seems to really like Chasing, but I think he's looking forward to Seeking tomorrow, too. I think he wants that moment, you know, one on one, just you and the other Seeker racing after the Snitch, throwing your hand up in the air with the Snitch in your fist and hearing all the cheers."
Draco looked wistful as he agreed. "That's a great feeling." He looked at Harry, his head tilted a bit to one side. "What was it like? Playing professionally, I mean. I'm sorry if it a sore subject—" he hastened to add, but Harry cut him off.
"It's okay," Harry said. He wouldn't have cared to talk about his short-lived professional career in the immediate aftermath of it ending—though Merlin knew the Daily Prophet had offered him enough Galleons to fill the Great Hall at Hogwarts for his story—but it had been years now. "It was brilliant. There's no other word. The stadiums are enormous—you know how big they are—and they're packed with people. Of course, playing for the Cannons, at least at first, most of those people were supporting the other team. But you know what? That made winning all the more fun. The only thing better than making people scream is shutting them up when they're screaming for the other team."
Draco laughed.
This was much better, Harry thought, and he sat back in his chair and relaxed. This was how they'd grown accustomed to talking with each other, and while he didn't want what they'd begun to end, if it had to, this was how he wanted it to end—how it had begun in the first place.
"You know. I'm just realising, I still haven't seen the Louvre. Not properly." They'd seen several smaller museums, but he hadn't seen anything of what was possibly the most famous museum in the world, at least apart from his first rather pathetic attempt at a visit.
"Well, that won't do at all. You can't go back to England not having seen the Louvre. No one will believe you spent two weeks in France. We'll go tomorrow, after the matches, before the picnic."
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.~*~.
.
The first thing Draco became aware of as he drifted into consciousness Friday morning was Harry's mouth moving across his shoulder. The second thing was Harry's fingers tracing circles low on his stomach. The third was that he only had one more morning of waking up next to Harry. Forcing the thought from his mind, he focused on the feeling of Harry's mouth and fingers, wanting to freeze every last moment into his memory. Perhaps he'd been a fool to ever start this, but no matter how much the thought of watching Harry board that carriage tomorrow morning made his insides seize up, he couldn't regret accepting Harry's invitation to go up to his hotel room a week ago. He wasn't sure when it had happened, but at some point he'd started falling in love with the man lying behind him. Draco's chest and throat felt tight, and they burned, but he wouldn't give up the time they'd shared to spare himself the pain of watching that carriage take off carrying the only man he'd ever felt this way for.
Draco rolled onto his back, and Harry moved over him. Their hands slid over the other's body, and they kissed, long, slow, lazy, desperate kisses that were unlike anything they'd shared before, and when Harry joined them together, Draco's legs wrapped around him, holding him close. He wanted to store his memory of this moment in a Pensieve so that he wouldn't forget a single touch. Afterwards, when the lay tangled together, still kissing, the words Draco couldn't let himself say burned in his throat.
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.~*~.
.
Leaving his rooms with Draco Friday morning, Harry's legs felt heavy, as if his bones had been replaced with lead rods. Holding Draco that morning while the other man still slept, Harry had come to a terrible realisation. Or maybe he'd just come to accept the realisation he'd already made. Last week when Draco had asked him why there was no one waiting for him back in England, Harry had responded that he'd know the right man when he found him. He knew now that he had found him. He had found the right man for him in the last man he would have ever suspected and in a man he could not keep. Draco had made it perfectly clear he had no interest in ever returning to England.
Draco looked at him but quickly looked away. Harry grinned although he felt anything but happy. Draco did that a lot, he'd noticed—look at him quickly then just as quickly look away.
"Madame Maxime is coming after breakfast," Draco said. "She's coming to watch the last morning of matches, and she'll stay for the picnic tonight." His voice sounded different than it had other times, vacant, like he was thinking one thing and making himself say something else.
Feeling much like that himself, Harry asked, "Is she? I'll have to find her and say hello."
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.~*~.
.
After breakfast, Draco led Harry through the palace to Madame Maxime's office.
"She'll be glad to see you," Draco said.
The Headmistress's office was high up in a tower in the opposite side of the palace from the dining hall, so Harry got the Beauxbatons grand tour. Much like Hogwarts, the corridors were wide with tall ceilings, walls covered with portraits, and large oak doors to the classrooms.
"It's a beautiful school," Harry observed.
"It is," Draco agreed.
An idea occurred to Harry. "The racing teams, you said there were short and long distance and a relay?"
"Yes."
"What do you think of an obstacle course? Like the one Émilie flew, but a less difficult course. Do you think the kids would like that?"
"They'd race one at a time," Draco picked up Harry's line of thought. "Against a clock. Then best time wins."
"Exactly."
"I do think they'd like it. They're mostly all here, aside from a few who couldn't make it. You can ask them at lunch, before we go to Paris."
"They're your students. I wouldn't want to intrude—"
"It was your idea," Draco insisted, adding again that he thought Harry would've made a good professor.
"Hogwarts has a flying instructor. Madame Hooch retired a few years ago, and Roger Davies took the post." Roger was only a couple of years older than they were, so it wasn't likely he'd be retiring any time soon. Besides, as much as Harry loved Hogwarts, he couldn't picture working there.
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.~*~.
.
Harry walked back towards the castle after Teddy's match Friday morning with his eyes on the ground, lost in his thoughts. His steps slowed until he came to a stop. He stood for some length of time in contemplation until he began to walk once more, slowly at first, but with every step he took his pace grew more determined and urgent until he fairly sprinted up the steps to the palace.
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.~*~.
.
Draco didn't know where Harry'd got to. Earlier, they'd gone together to the pitch where Teddy's last match was held, but Draco'd had to leave to visit the other matches being played. When he'd returned, the match had already ended with Teddy having caught the Snitch, and Harry was nowhere to be seen. Draco finished making his rounds, checking in a second time on the remaining matches still being played, thinking that maybe Harry'd gone with Teddy to watch one of the other matches, but he'd yet to find him anywhere.
Walking towards the palace, Draco saw Émilie with some of her friends talking to a group of Polish students about the matches they'd played in. When she saw him walking towards her, Émilie excused herself from the group and met him.
"Oui, Monsieur," Émilie responded when Draco asked if she'd seen Mr Potter recently. "Il y a vingt minutes, environ. Il était en train de monter les marches du palais en courant," she said, indicating where she'd seen Harry. "Est-ce que tout va bien?" she asked, adding that she'd called out to Harry, but she didn't think he'd heard her.
"Il courait?" Draco asked.
"Oui, Monsieur."
"Merci" Draco said before rushing off in the direction Émilie had indicated. He heard Émilie ask him again if everything was alright and heard her footfalls as she came after him. Draco didn't know what reason Harry could have for running into the palace other than if a child had got hurt, but Draco'd been to all the pitches and there had been no accidents. Had something happened not involving the matches being played? One of the students who'd played earlier in the morning? Or one of his own Beauxbatons students? Or Teddy? Imagining the worst, Draco made straight for the school's hospital wing.
He hurried up two flights of stairs taking two at a time and turned into a corridor, where he ran right straight into Harry, coming from the opposite direction.
Out of breath, Draco began to ask, "What—happened—" but his words were cut off when Harry grabbed him and kissed him, nearly knocking him off his feet and pushing him up against the corridor wall. Lost in the kiss as he always was with Harry, everything else was forgotten, and Draco melted against him.
A small giggle partially disguised as a cough interrupted them. "Excusez moi, Messieurs," Émilie said, ducking and turning her head discretely, her hand covering her mouth. She hurried off, the sound of soft, girlish giggling following her.
"Weren't you the one who was worried about corrupting my students?" Draco asked.
Harry pressed his forehead against Draco's and ran his hands down his arms. "I don't think we surprised her. Actually, I think she's been hoping for this since last Monday." He kissed Draco again, his hands cupped around his face.
"We really can't do this here," Draco said. "But if you'd care to continue somewhere else . . . ?"
"I'm mad about you."
Draco's throat felt tight. They'd never spoken about how they felt about the other before.
"I talked to Madame Maxime," Harry said next.
Draco was sure he hadn't heard Harry right. Why on Earth would he mention Madame Maxime right at that moment? "Madame Maxime?" he asked slowly, trying to think what Harry might really have said that he'd misheard.
"I couldn't remember the way to her office. It took a while to find it, but one of the portraits helped me."
Draco felt like he'd missed a few minutes of conversation. "Why did you need to find Madame Maxime so urgently you went running into the palace?"
"I asked if I could apply for the Muggle Studies post after Madame Canfield's term ends."
"You . . . what?"
"I asked about the Muggle Studies post," Harry repeated. "I'm as qualified as anyone else. I grew up in a Muggle house, and I know all about electricity and euros. Muggle transportation and communication and their technology."
Draco felt like his heart had jumped into his throat, and he couldn't breathe around it. Was Harry really saying what Draco though he was saying? "You . . . don't speak French."
"Yeah, she brought that up, too. It's a problem, but I've got a year. I can learn."
Harry was really talking about staying in France. Draco's mouth was dry. He had a feeling something like pins and needles from head to foot. He tried to remain calm, but inside he was jumping up and down like a child on Christmas morning. "Learning a new language well enough to be able to speak and understand it comfortably is no small task," he said. "It'd take a lot of work. A year is not a lot of time."
"I'd have to spend a lot of time practicing. Completely immerse myself in it. Luckily, I know someone I think could help."
"You're serious," Draco said. Harry was saying he'd asked about taking up a post that would require him to live in France at least for the school year. Draco knew it, but he couldn't quite make himself believe it yet. "What about the Cannons?"
"Any meetings I need to be involved in, I can participate in via international Floo, but if it comes to it, I can sell them."
"You'd really leave England and live in France?" With me?, Draco wanted to add, but didn't. He felt a bit giddy, and he rather wished there were something he could lean against. The corridor felt like it had gone all wobbly.
Harry breathed deeply and looked directly into Draco's eyes. With barely controlled emotion, he said, "If I have a reason to."
"Everyone you love is in England."
Harry shook his head. "Not everyone."
Not everyone . . . Had Harry just said . . . ? Had he really just said . . . ?
"Look, Draco. I know this is madness. I know it's only been two weeks—not even two weeks. And I know real life is not travelling someplace different every afternoon and having bloody brilliant sex every night—and morning. I know if we really do do this, word will get out and when it does there'll be hell to pay—for both of us—from people who think they've got some right to tell me how I should live my life, but I know how I feel about you. I know it's sudden, and I know it's mad. I know everyone we know will think we've lost our minds. And maybe I have. But I also know I've never wanted anything more than I want to be with you. If that means picking up and moving to France, then, then so be it. Turns out, we're wizards. Floo to Paris, Portkey to England, and I can visit everyone I love there anytime I want. But that doesn't work the other way around, not for the kind of relationship I want."
Harry closed his eyes and breathed in and out.
When he opened his eyes, Draco thought he might drown in them.
"If we try it and doesn't work out, then so be it. I finish out my term then go back to England, and you stay in France. But I need your answer. Do I have a reason to stay or not?"
Draco couldn't speak at first. The words were there, trying to fight their way through the tightness in his throat, and when they finally broke through, he'd have expect them to be shouted, but they came out as such a hoarse whisper, Draco himself scarcely heard them. "Yes," he said, then repeated it over and over, each time they grew stronger. "Yes, yes, yes."
Harry's body sagged as if a tremendous strain had just been relaxed. "Say that again," he requested. "I want to make sure I heard it right."
"Yes," Draco said placing a kiss on Harry's lips. He began to laugh like he was drunk. "Oui," he said again, kissing the corner of Harry's mouth. "Oui." He ran the tip of his nose along Harry's jaw. "Oui," he whispered to his ear. "Oui."
.
.~*~.
.
In a villa in la Côte d'Azur, several photographs lined the top of a mantelpiece and covered the walls. The photos captured special events and everyday moments of no particular importance to anyone other than those who called the villa home. Taking pride of place in the centre of it all, one photo stood in a silver frame. This particular photo had been taken before any of the others, and in it, two men sat sharing a table on a terrace overlooking an idyllic mountain lake. The men weren't looking at lake, though. They were looking at each other, and they were smiling.
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.~*~.
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Author's Notes:
Thanks for reading!
With the exception of the wizarding destinations, all the places Harry and Draco visit are real, and I tried to describe them as accurately as possible.
The tapestries they see at the Musée de Cluny are real. They were woven around the turn of the sixteen century and are called "The Lady and the Unicorn." Five depict the five senses, and the sixth one is called, "A Mon Seul Desir" ("To My Only Desire"). The woman in the tapestries really does have rather Malfoy-ish features, which gave me the idea to make her an ancestor of Draco's. It is unknown who the woman is, but I gave her the name Odierne Cateline Le Viste, la duchesse de Tourney. Odierne—an Old French form of a Germanic name, probably composed of the elements od "riches, wealth, fortune" and gern "eager, desiring." It sounded like an appropriately Malfoy name. Le Viste is the surname of the noble family believed to have commissioned the tapestries, and her title was taken from a noble family rescued by the Scarlet Pimpernel, but they were a Count and Countess, not a Duke and Duchess. In the movies, these tapestries cover the walls of the Gryffindor common room. Once I read that, I absolutely had to include them.