See disclaimer in Chapter 1. If they were mine, the Epilogue would have been so different!

Thanks again to Kamerreon!

Harry arched and groaned, running his long fingers through fine, silky blond hair. He was covered in sweat, his heart beating frantically as he ground against Draco, his eyes bright as he watched his cock slide in and out of Draco's swollen red lips as he fucked his mouth.

Heavily lidded eyes blinked slowly as Draco's hand snaked around Harry's hip, roughly fondling his balls before pressing a knuckle against his perineum, making him gasp out loud again. He was transfixed as he watched a pale, slender finger disappear, his eyes finally drifting shut as he felt it trace a gentle pattern around his entrance. The finger was slick – Draco must have cast a wandless Lubrication Charm. A thrill rippled through Harry at the thought of having such a magically powerful partner and he cried out when not one, but two fingers slipped inside him the faint burning enough to stave off the climax that threatened just moments before.

Harry whimpered when Draco's talented mouth began to move in tandem with his fingers. Up, down. In, out. Oh, Merlin, now he was swirling his tongue over the head of Harry's swollen cock, his fingers mimicking the sweeping motion inside him, brushing over the sensitive spot that never failed to make Harry howl.

And suddenly he was coming in hot spurts, his arse clenching around the pleasurable intrusion of Draco's fingers …

"Christ!" Harry gasped, sitting up suddenly. He shivered in the cool night air, slightly disgusted to find himself bathed in a cold sweat and – he lifted the covers, his lip curling in distaste – cooling come.

The dreams had been increasing in frequency for weeks now, but the intensity hadn't started kicking up this high until last week, when Draco agreed to accept Harry's courtship. He grabbed his wand, but hesitated before he could cast the spells he'd come to rely on almost nightly. Really, wet dreams at his age? It was mortifying.

Harry sighed, throwing back the damp and sticky bedclothes and heaving himself out of bed. Cleaning Charms worked perfectly well, but this was the second time tonight he'd woken up in a pool of his own sweat and come. It was getting ridiculous.

Harry groaned, stripping the bed himself instead of calling for Kreacher. The elf would have happily done the chore for him, but he didn't mind doing it. It gave him some time to avoid thinking about why the bed needed to be stripped for the third time this week, especially since it was only Tuesday. He had another whole week of this before he could even see Draco, and there were further restrictions about being alone with each other – a big taboo – and touching each other – an even bigger taboo – for another few weeks after that.

Harry was halfway out the door with the soiled sheets before he realized he had no idea where Kreacher took the dirty laundry. He spent a moment reflecting on that, feeling curiously bad about it, before piling the sheets near the dresser and pulling on a pair of boxers to wear while he searched for fresh linens. Those, at least, he had a general idea of where to find.

Twenty minutes later, Harry was climbing back into his freshly made bed after a lukewarm shower. Two wet dreams in one night – he'd never even suffered this badly when he was in school! He wondered if Draco was having a similar problem, smacking his head sharply against the headboard when the mere thought of the blond had his cock twitching again. It was going to be a very long week.

Blaise poked at the framed black and white photo on the desk in Draco's study, wondering who Hugh Grant was and why Draco would be grinning like a loon over getting an autographed photo of him. He smiled in spite of himself at the words scrawled in messy black marker, positive Harry had used a light Persuasion Spell to get the man to sign it. A Muggle actor, Draco had told him.

"To Draco:

This Harry bloke seems serious about you. Anyone who is able to gain access to my private residence in the middle of the night to ask for an autograph is obviously quite determined.

Best of luck to both of you,

Hugh Grant"

Of even bigger concern was the fact that his good friend was now completely melting over the fact that Harry had sent him a box of Muggle candy. Malted milk balls. Draco hadn't paused long enough to explain the odd gift – even odder than the autographed photo and several dozen Muggle DVDs with titles like Love Actually, Bridget Jones' Diary and Notting Hill that had arrived yesterday – before darting off to pen a thank you note in reply.

Whatever they were, it apparently pleased Draco. Blaise sighed, his eyes drawn to the smiling Muggle in the photo again. Odd. Very odd.

Draco popped another DVD into the player yet again glad he'd purchased the Muggle device a few years ago. Like all electronics, it had taken some complicated warding to protect it from the ambient magic in the room, but it was all worth it now.

He grinned, sitting back to enjoy the unfamiliar film. He'd already worked his way through his favorites – Love Actually being the best, of course – and now he was into some of the ones he'd never seen before. He'd had no idea Hugh Grant had been in so many movies, but he was enjoying each one immensely.

Draco pulled a dormant Golden Snitch out of his pocket, absently stroking it until its tiny wings began to flutter. It was charmed to stay put until thrown, so he didn't have to worry about it escaping and wreaking havoc through the chateau. It was a poor substitute for Harry, but since it had been one of the gifts from him, accompanied by a written promise to play a Seeker's game sometime in the near future, Draco kept it close.

Saturday's gift was sitting on the coffee table in front of him, with several passages marked for future use. Want to Play With My Wand? 1,001 Pick-Up Lines for Wizards had been an inspired choice, and Draco fully planned to use each and every one on Harry at some time in the future. He grinned, a strangely content feeling creeping through his chest at the thought of having a future with Harry, even if it included cheesy pick-up lines. Hell, especially if it included cheesy pick-up lines. Because pick-up lines often led to sex and Draco very much wanted to have sex with Harry.

He focused his attention back on the screen where a young Hugh Grant was dashing, if not slightly ridiculous, in a large mustache and period clothing. Draco had no idea if that was really how Americans dressed before the Civil War, but it certainly worked on Hugh Grant.

It had been a constant battle to keep his thoughts away from Harry, but a necessary exercise. He'd never wanked this often in his life, not even after his emails and chats with Gryffin had taken a decidedly sexual turn. And of course, Harry had to go and make this a proper courtship, he thought uncharitably, his lower lip pouting ever so slightly. How did he even know what to do? Draco made a mental note to ask Harry who had coached him on the old laws and traditions, because it was obvious the Gryffindor had gotten his information from someone other than his friends. Even Neville, who had the same pure-blood upbringing that Draco did, had been unclear on some of the ancient courtship rules Harry had invoked.

And now we have to follow through with them, which means no sex in the near future, Draco thought morosely, reaching onto the table beside him to grab the box of malted milk balls Harry had sent over earlier. At least he had chocolate.

He sighed, bored with the film already. Deciding a book might hold his interest better, Draco turned the television off and Summoned the first edition copy of Wuthering Heights that had been Sunday's gift. It was the first gift Blaise actually exclaimed over, though the cost or rarity of the book hardly meant anything to Draco. He didn't dare actually read it, lest he disturb the Preservation Spell someone – likely Harry, since the book had come from a Muggle auction house – had placed on the book. He ran a finger over the cover, tracing the title and author's name. Ellis Bell. It had been the perfect gift, really. Not only did it mean Harry remembered his sympathy for Heathcliff, but the inscription inside had melted the last of his resolve.

"To Draco –

It seems that most of your favorite authors seem to use a pen name: Emily Brontë because she felt she had to change her name in order to be published, and Harry Potter because he was afraid his name would be the only reason he was.

You once said you felt Heathcliff was a kindred spirit, and you wondered what that said about you as a person. It says you're stubborn and domineering, with the propensity to be cold, calculating and vengeful. It also says you have the ability to love genuinely, deeply and forever. I wouldn't change anything about either of you.

With fondest affection,

Harry"

"I don't remember the exact words, but the gist was that he called him a cold-hearted bastard," Neville said, his eyes alight as he watched Hermione recoil in horror.

Harry laughed, rolling his eyes at Neville. The other wizard knew exactly what he'd meant – he'd been the one to tell him Draco had been extremely pleased with the gift.

"He's just winding you up, Hermione," Harry said, squinting as he studied the antique stone basin in front of him.

"So you didn't write those things to Draco?" She ran a finger over the raised runes that decorated the bowl, which looked like it had been carved out of soapstone. It was gorgeous. The absence of a price tag also likely meant it was expensive.

"No, I did," Harry said absently, raising his hand to catch the shop keeper's attention. "Can you tell me a bit about this?"

The older wizard hurried over, his eyes widening when he recognized Harry. His bored expression was immediately replaced with one of keen interest.

"This, Mr. Potter, sir?" he asked, reaching out to grasp the side of the stone basin. "It was hand-carved in 1611 by a renowned Seer named Chaitali, rumored to be the result of a thirty-day spirit meditation fast."

Hermione grimaced, hoping Harry didn't fall for the man's story. Harry's prophecy aside, she still thought Divination was by and large a hoax, especially those Seers who claimed to have spirit visitations. The piece looked old and fragile enough to be of that provenance, but she highly doubted a Seer had anything to do with it. It was probably just a story to hike up the exorbitant price even more.

"And the spells on it?" Harry asked, crouching down so he could see the carvings up close. They really were exquisite.

The wizard smiled, confident in his sale. It would take a very powerful wizard to be able to detect the magic swirling around the piece. This was definitely Harry Potter, and if what the wizarding papers said was true, he could certainly afford the hefty price tag.

"Very good, sir. They are ancient spells, not easily detectable," he said, watching Hermione and Neville both lean closer, curious about the magic they hadn't noticed before. "Since this belonged to a Seer, the bowl was imbued with several high-level clarity and protection spells. Specifically, the original owner cast Animus Ligo, Enucleo and Perduco spells on it, all sealed in place with a Fides Charm."

Harry's eyebrows rose at the complicated magic. It was perfect: rare, prestigious, ancient – a very worthy gift. He nodded to Neville, who grabbed Hermione's arm, pulling her toward the door. If Harry was set on buying it – and Neville agreed, it was perfect for Draco – there was no sense in letting Hermione nag.

"I'll take it."

Draco fought his way out of sleep, aware of a hot, heavy weight pinning him to the bed. It was like being under a sweltering blanket, and he absently wondered if the room's Cooling Charm had failed sometime in the night.

He tried to turn over, his eyes snapping open when his torso didn't respond to his command. He blinked sleepily and his arms automatically felt around for his son. Cal was splayed over Draco's chest, his head resting against his shoulder.

Draco stretched as much as he was able without waking the boy, trying to wake up enough to shift Cal over to the mattress. He really needed to set some sort of alarm ward that would notify him when Cal was out of bed, he thought, easing himself up into a sitting position once the sleeping boy was safely nestled next to him.

Thankfully, he hadn't been awakened by one of the erotic dreams he'd been having about Harry this time. He felt his heart speed up at the memory of the dreams, which had become more explicit as the courtship wore on. Six more days, he reminded himself, willing away the beginnings of his burgeoning erection.

He glanced over at Cal, running his fingers through the dark hair that spilled over the pillow. He'd be six next month. Draco's smile faded as his thoughts turned toward telling Harry about Cal. He'd spent countless hours over the last week thinking about it, and he still didn't know how to proceed. Yes, I'd love to continue this courtship. By the way, I have a son. Straightforward, but maybe too much so. Remember how you said you'd like to have kids some day? How about right now? Good for shock value, but probably detrimental to his cause if he really wanted Harry to stick around.

Draco sighed, pushing the bedclothes back and easing himself up, careful not to jostle Cal. They'd had another epic bedtime battle the night before, so he was sure he needed the extra sleep. The house-elves had already laid out tea for him, and Draco shuffled through the door to his private sitting room to read the morning papers. They had all taken Harry's letters seriously – no word about Harry or his courtship had made it into any of the papers Draco or his solicitors were monitoring. There had been a few small pieces about Draco's retreat from London, and some gossip about Malfoy Industries hitting hard times, as evidenced by his desertion of his role as chairman. Draco snorted, picking up the Prophet. He hadn't been available for meetings lately, but the business hadn't suffered. Blaise was talented enough to run it on his own, not that Draco would ever tell the man. His ego was already big enough.

He smiled when he saw a front-page article about the release of James Evans' newest book. Apparently, it hit the shelves that day and it was already on the best-seller list, thanks to pre-orders. It deserved to be, he thought flipping to the business section. He'd enjoyed it immensely, back before he knew James Evans was Gryffin and Gryffin was Harry.

"Morning," Blaise said, breezing in without so much as a knock. Draco scowled at him, but the other wizard just shrugged, snagging a scone from the tray. "Thought you'd want an update before our morning meeting with the Ataliers."

Draco's frown deepened. He hadn't been able to allay Madam Atalier's fears a few weeks ago, nor had he been able to convince her that her son was the problem. She and her husband steadfastly refused to turn him out, despite the fact that the business had been on the decline since he took the helm. Blaise had put all the Atalier's Gringotts accounts under surveillance for the last two weeks, though, and they'd gotten the proof they needed to show the little bastard was embezzling.

Blaise dug in his robes, tossing a nondescript wrapped package to Draco. "For you."

"Are you playing messenger now?" Draco teased, restraining himself from tearing into it immediately. He didn't want news that he was over-eager reaching Harry. He had to preserve his advantage, after all.

He finished his tea, finally caving to his curiosity and calmly unwrapping the gift. It looked like a book, and he figured Harry had probably given him a signed copy of the James Evans novel that had just been released.

"Well, that's a bit chintzy," Blaise drawled, wrinkling his nose. "A copy of a book he gets for free? One you've already read, even?"

Draco laughed, cracking the book open. He loved the way the spine of a new book resisted at first, and the way the pages were so crisp.

"I don't mind," Draco said, flipping through the pages. It really had been a good book. He wouldn't mind reading it again.

A piece of parchment floated to the table, and Draco grabbed it, his brow furrowing at the cryptic message written in Harry's scrawl.

"Page 2."

He dutifully followed the instructions, turning to the second page. Maybe Harry had signed it? Draco's breath caught as he read the only printed words on the page. The dedication page.

"For Sly, who inspired me with tales of his childhood pet, Argie. You hold my heart in your hands."

Harry had jotted a few hasty words underneath in ink, but Draco didn't notice. He felt hot and dizzy. Harry Potter had professed his love for him in a best-selling book. Millions of people would see it. They might not know it was Harry, or that Harry was talking about him, but still.

Blaise shook his head, pouring himself another cup of tea. Draco was grinning like an idiot again.

TBC

Author's note: If you haven't already checked it out, I posted an extra scene from MLQ on my author page yesterday. It's called Snape's Voice, and it shows the unfortunate reaction Harry describes to the sound of Snape's voice in Potions. Hilarity and wanking ensues! *grins*