Okay. So don't kill me. This chapter took forever to write, and it's horridly short. This is what happens when it's uber hot, and three in the morning. My mind wasn't all together. So.. enjoy the short chapter!

"If you're so bent on it, prove to me that it wasn't just the past."

Draco stared, jaw fallen. He didn't know what to say. How did Harry expect him to prove that it wasn't just the past. Was he supposed to have brought a Time Turner with him or something? Oh, he'd sooner be locked in a room with a bunch of Doxies. At least then he would know what to do. At the moment he couldn't even look Harry in the face, that was something he was sure had not changed yet. It was his blasted eyes! Even in their younger years Draco could never look Harry in the eyes without feeling guilty. On many occasions he would find himself lost in the other boy's (at the time) eyes.

What right did Potter have to say that it was all in the past? If it was still affecting one of them then it wasn't just in the past. It was more well - dragged out, so to speak. Even as he stood there, avoiding Harry's face directly, he could feel the other man's eyes on him. Searching him. Oh, bugger. Bugger, bugger, bugger.

"Right," Harry said finally, pulling up his robes more closer to himself. "I knew it. Draco, Mr. Malfoy, Malfoy - whatever I'm supposed to call you, go home. Get some sleep," he said with a sigh, scuffing his foot. Glancing once more at the blonde man, Harry sighed. He should probably go check up on Janie.

"Potter."

"What is it now -!"

Just like that Harry found himself pinned against the wall in the place where Draco had just stood. There was only one had against his chest, and one hand alone keeping him there. Well, not really keeping him there so much as letting him know that he needed to stay where he was. Frankly, it just confused him, Draco's actions that is. What was he supposed to do? Stare opened mouthed like some moronic idiot.… Er, well, that is what he did anyway. Despite himself. Oh, this was madness. But how could he not have expected it? A look of shock was all that was written across his face. And that was when it had happened.

Draco pulled their bodies close together, unable to keep his eyes away from Harry's as he pressed his lips against the other mans. The two stayed like that for quite sometime, Draco with a hand behind Harry's back, and Harry with a arm loosely slung around Draco's waist. Completely kept up in the moment neither of them noticed the elderly witch who passed by as she let out a squeal, and continued on her way, with quicker steps than before. Neither of them cared, on some level of rational thought, however, they did care. They knew the world was out there.

And it was only a matter of time before people started prying back into their lives.

Pulling away, Harry felt flushed. His cheeks and his head were burning. Upon looking at Draco he notice instantly the tinge of pink that spread across the mans pale cheek. He wanted to laugh. He had seen Draco flush before. He wouldn't really call it a blush, and he had only witnessed Draco crying once, on the day he was disowned. Harry cried too. How could he not? That night he could still remember vividly, and it was something he was sure neither of them wanted brought up. Their sixth year had involved a lot of near death, and death experiences. While Draco had nearly died, Harry died for a total of two weeks. No one knew why.

Harry thought it was as strange was the Black brothers being brought back to life, among others.

"Proof enough for you, Potter?"

"I suppose so, Malfoy."

Both smirked. This time it was Harry who had pulled Draco in for a kiss, and to both their delight, captured the other man's lips in a kiss. For a brief moment Harry softly bit down on Draco's bottom lip, a thing he had come accustomed to as a sixteen year old. For awhile, after their second kiss, they moved to the side of The Three Broomsticks in each others arms. Despite how - mushy it might have been, it felt home to them. They didn't say much at first, enjoying the silence. Of course silence never lasted.

"People want to know, Potter," Draco said, his voice hinting the serious note. Both of them shifted. "The Daily Prophet hasn't given up on that article, at all. They saw us in the middle of it, the aftermath, and your death -"

"Of which I still have an empty gave," Harry grunted. "Not very charming."

"That's not the point."

"Oh, right, and your lovely trip, and stay at Azkaban -"

"Of which I am still blaming you for."

"That's not the point. I was sixteen. How was I supposed to know I was going to die?"

"Anyway," Draco said, with a roll of his eyes. "Yes, my time in Azkaban, because of you, the day the wizarding world knew of your return up until then end of seventh -"

"Which was entirely all your fault, might I add."

"No, you might not."

"Poor sport."

"Potter!"

"Oh, right. Back to the - er… Hang on, what are we talking about?" Harry asked randomly. Draco let out sigh of frustration before hitting his head on the other mans shoulder twice, the final time leaving it there. "The paper, Potter, what do we tell people?"

"What do you think?"

"Stupid question. Hold on a moment, why was the end of seventh my fault, you're the one that broke up with me!" Draco said with a huff as he looked up.

Harry shrugged. "Because you wanted to be on top."