September, 1998

The room was dark when Harry awoke, the glimmer of sunset barely visible through the crack in the velvet blinds draped across his window. For a moment it seemed as unremarkable as any other day, the sound of London traffic echoing below, the slight chill in the air that accompanied September evenings spreading goosebumps up and down Harry's arms.

He remembered kissing Draco as he pulled him up the staircase, the feeling of Draco's warm breath on his neck as his fingers interlocked with Harry's, and then he remembered falling asleep listening to the gentle drum of water hitting the floor as Draco showered in the master bathroom. He had stirred for a brief moment when Draco climbed in bed next to him, and then had pulled the other man's clean, sweet-smelling body into his own. He wrapped his arms around Draco's waist, his face buried in the platinum blonde hair that still smelled somehow of the cologne Harry had come to associate with him, and let an entirely new feeling of comfort wash over him as he fell back asleep. He didn't have a single nightmare, and he couldn't remember feeling more well-rested since before the war.

Harry reached for Draco's body in the darkness beside him now, craving the reassurance that came from sharing his bed with someone else, but as his hand splayed across the sheets he found nothing on the pillows next to him. The warm, comforting euphoria he had felt quickly vanished, and he felt a lurch in his stomach akin to the wrench of the gut associated with grabbing a portkey. He remembered Draco's body slumped against the wall in the bathroom yesterday, how he would have managed to kill himself if Harry hadn't found him when he did. What if he had tried something like that again? What if Harry was too late to save him this time? Harry jumped to his feet, his breath quickening and the panic waking him like a douse of cold water to his face.

"Draco?" He bellowed, grabbing his wand from the side table and cramming his glasses on his face. He ran to the top of the staircase and yelled Draco's name again, not hearing any response issuing from below. His heart rate steadily rising, he cast a "Homenum Revelio" charm to save himself some time. He wondered for a sickening moment if this spell worked on the dead, but quickly pushed the thought out of his mind when a small spark issued forth from the end of his wand. The light circled the landing between the bedrooms for a moment, then halted in mid-air at the window half-way up the stairwell leading to the roof. Harry let out a deep sigh of relief, knowing exactly where Draco had gone. He ended the spell, tucking his wand into his pocket and prying the window open.

The sun was almost setting on the horizon, and the sky was painted pink and gold, with crimson streaks sprinkling the clouds throughout. From the roof Harry could see the Thames and the crowded buildings stacked along the riverfront, the bridges crossing the water and the many city dwellers bustling around, hurrying from one place to another. Harry often came up here to watch the people below when he was feeling trapped inside his head. There was something comforting about the fact that, no matter how stuck he was feeling in his own problems, the world was moving along as fast as ever right outside his window, and whatever problem he was working through was miniscule in the whole scope of things.

Draco was sitting on the roof, wearing one of Harry's old jumpers and drinking from one of the bottles of firewhiskey that he had retrieved from the kitchen. Harry walked over and sat beside him on the slanted roof, taking the bottle from his hands and taking a swig of the whiskey himself.

"You found my spot," he said, speaking to Draco as the other man stared straight ahead, watching the cars roll through the crowded London streets. He looked as though he might have been crying, although it was often hard to differentiate sadness from general weariness when it came to interpreting Malfoy's emotions. "You scared the living hell out of me first, mind you."

"Sorry about that," Draco said, his eyes still fixed on the city below them.

Harry glanced sideways at him again, trying to discern Draco's mood. The tightened jaw, the uncharacteristically ruffled hair, the way his arms rested on his knees and the curve of his usually rigidly straight posture. He couldn't help but think how attractive Draco looked in the woolen knit sweater he had borrowed, how the dark brown and red patterns were so much warmer than the colors he usually wore.

"Don't be. It's a good place to think, I come up here every so often when I'm needing some clarity." He drank from the whiskey bottle again, passing it back to Draco. The two of them sat in silence for quite some time. The sun was sinking further down in the sky every couple of minutes, and lights from households were beginning to illuminate the city like fireflies as it fell further into darkness.

"I don't know what to do." Draco said quietly, holding the firewhiskey bottle between his knees and taking a deep breath.

Harry remained silent, sensing that Draco just wanted someone to listen to him, rather than advice or guidance about his situation, which he had already offered enough of.

"If we go by your plan, if we do everything by the book and I give the ministry the names they want, I… I'll never see my mother again. It would be too much of a risk; Everyone would know to look for me at St. Mungos."

Harry turned to look at the man beside him. Draco's face was illuminated by the pink of the clouds overhead, his blonde hair angelic in the glow of the sunset. Harry was overcome by the urge to kiss him again, though he figured now wouldn't be the best time for it.

"I just…" Draco shut his eyes, lifting his head up to the sky. "I don't want to abandon her. She's not like father - She never wanted the Dark Lord to win. She just wanted us to be together. She doesn't deserve to die alone in a prison cell for that."

"She's in St. Mungos, not Azkaban…" Harry cut in.

"She's trapped in a room by herself. It's the same thing." Draco responded, still looking out over the city.

"Then we won't let her," Harry replied, as simply as if he had been asked about the weather.

"What do you mean -"

"We won't let her die alone. We can send her to live with your aunt, we can even bring her here. I'll pay for the healers, I'm sure that given the circumstances we could bind them to confidentiality. Nobody would have to know."

"I can't, Potter. It's hundreds of galleons a week just to keep her in the hospital. I can't imagine how much it would cost to bring her here. I couldn't ask you to do that."

"Then why don't we visit her there, under the invisibility cloak?"

"That's risky," Draco said, slowly.

"Keeping you here is risky too."

The two shared a look, their fingers brushing as Draco passed the bottle back to Harry.

"I know." Draco looked uncomfortable, as though he didn't know how to respond to this statement.

"Hey," Harry said conversationally, bringing his hand to rest on Draco's arm. "I understand the stakes. I knew what I did when I brought you here, I'm not under any kind of delusion that this isn't dangerous."

"I never asked you to." Draco stated, his voice barely audible above the noise of the city from below.

Silence fell between them again. Harry was wracking his mind trying to think of the right thing to say, but for some reason nothing was entering his mind. He felt his own discomfort mounting in the spaces between each of their breaths, and eventually spoke just to break the silence.

"Draco, I'm just trying to -"

"How long have you known you were gay?"

They both spoke at the same time, and Harry's eyebrows immediately traveled most of the way up to his hairline upon hearing Draco's question. It wasn't an unfair one, he supposed. He had just not been expecting it.

"Sorry," Draco said. Clearly he had just blurted out something that had been on his mind. He took a deep breath. "It just hasn't sunk in yet, that it's not just me. That I wasn't making it up in my head."

"That's fair," Harry said, smiling at the way Draco had felt he needed to justify his question. It was endearing, as many of his other small personality quirks had become to Harry. He tried pondering this for a moment, gathering his thoughts so he could communicate them in the best way to Malfoy. The truth was, this question had often come up in Harry's own mind, and he wasn't exactly sure he had an answer to it.

"I don't know if there was a definite point when I knew," Harry started slowly, trying to find the right words to say. "I always liked girls, too, so it wasn't a black and white thing for me. It was just thoughts here and there, like fancying quidditch stars who were fit, or starting to sweat a lot when Oliver Wood changed in front of me in the locker rooms," Harry took another large swig of the bottle, already feeling the sensation of inebriation loosening up his words, pushing him to share more than he normally would. "It never went beyond fancying people though, and sometimes imagining what it would be like."

"Did you think about what it would be like with me?" Draco asked, his pale grey eyes fixed on Harry's.

Harry thought again of that time after Quidditch practice, when he had unwittingly walked in on Draco and Blaise together. He thought about how many times this scene had run itself through his head afterwards. Even in the midst of everything going on that year, and despite his justified hatred of Draco, he had still managed to retain that memory and utilize it when he was alone in his four poster bed at school, desperate for the relief that it brought him to imagine himself in that scene. He had never been able to explain the thrill that accompanied this particular fantasy, and it was only now starting to make sense to him.

"Yeah," he responded, feeling his face growing red. "Loads of times."

"I thought about you too," Draco said, the corners of his lips turning upwards. "More often than you did, I guarantee it."

"Well you certainly didn't act like it," Harry retorted, feeling a rush of exhilaration upon hearing that Draco fantasized him as well. He tried not to smile outright, hoping not to let his emotions betray him right away, but it was a difficult task.

"I don't think you realize how satisfying it is to get a rise out of you, Potter."

The smirk on Draco's face made him look like his old, teenage self. It was reassuring to see that he was slipping back into his old persona, that the events of the last 24 hours hadn't completely wiped out all of his infuriating tendencies that were now as equally charming as they were irritating.

"Is that what you were doing? When you were being a complete arse to everyone at school who wasn't a Slytherin?"

"That was years ago, Potter. Give it a rest." He took the bottle from Harry, grinning broadly now. Harry thought once more of leaning over to kiss his smiling, pink lips, hoping to catch him off guard as he did the first time he had kissed him in the kitchen, but he held himself back. He still wanted to know more about Draco's life, while they were on the topic.

"When did you know?" Harry asked. "That you were gay?"

The smile slowly faded from Draco's face, and he went back to staring straight ahead of him at the city traffic below. Part of Harry wished he had just left the conversation as it was, instead of pressing him for more.

"I think I always knew," Draco said. "Well, I always knew I wasn't interested in girls, at least." He took a deep breath. "I tried to deny it for the longest time, but Blaise and I started messing around fourth year, and I think everything sort of clicked into place then."

"How long did you and Blaise… See each other?" Harry asked, unable to help his curiosity. Zabini was significantly more attractive than Harry was, and he couldn't help but wonder if there was a possibility of him popping up at a later point in Draco's life again.

"It was never serious," Draco said, his eyes gleaming as though remembering an old joke. "We mostly just experimented together, practiced getting each other off. He liked girls too, but I was always around, and we slept in the same dorm anyways, so we just helped each other out."

"Right," Harry said, feeling the blush rising back into his cheeks. He wasn't even going to pretend that he understood the inter-student relationships within the Slytherin dormitories, or that he had the faintest frame of reference of what "experimenting" would have looked like with his Gryffindor classmates. It was a completely separate world from his own. He wondered how much different his life might have been if he had been sorted into Slytherin as well, if he might have been the one that Malfoy experimented with instead of Zabini.

"So you just… shagged each other, and that was it?" Harry asked. "You didn't go out or anything?"

"Basically, yes. Blaise had a girlfriend 5th year, so he didn't want anyone finding out. Besides," he continued, taking another swig of the whiskey. "It's really stigmatized, especially in pureblood families. My father found us over break that year and beat the living shit out of me."

"Oh."

Harry's heart sank. He knew that things had been hellish enough in the Malfoy house with all of the death eaters and Voldemort supporters hanging around his father, but he didn't know that physical violence had been a part of Draco's childhood as well. The Dursleys had been terrible to him, but the most they had been guilty of was emotional abuse. Harry was starting to see a new, vulnerable side of Draco which was explaining many of his actions when they were younger.

"Yeah," Draco said softly, proceeding to finish the rest of the whiskey bottle.

"I didn't... I'm sorry."

"Don't be. If anything, I have you to thank for not outing me to the entire school."

"Did he… do that often?" Harry asked. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," he added quickly.

Draco glanced sideways at Harry, as if gauging whether or not he wanted to dive further into this subject. It was growing colder outside by the minute, the wind starting to whip at their faces up on the rooftop, pulling patches of red blush up to the hollows of Draco's cheeks.

"Yes. More often after he found out I was gay, like he could beat it out of me if he tried. It makes sense, I guess. He wanted an heir, otherwise the family line would end with me."

"Did your mother do anything about it?" Harry asked. He couldn't picture Narcissa sitting idly by if she knew any of this was going on.

"No, she never found out. I got really good at healing charms, so I would fix whatever marks he left and just keep it a secret."

Harry was starting to realize just how lonely of a life Draco had led. Each time he had encountered something that seemed impossibly difficult in his years at school, he at least had Ron and Hermione to talk to. He couldn't imagine having to keep everything that happened to him a secret, not being able to confide in anyone around him. It was no wonder that Draco had felt like he was at the end of his rope the previous night.

"Sorry if that was… too much…" Draco said slowly.

"No," Harry said, interrupting him. "It's not, I just… had no idea." He leaned back on the rooftop so that his elbows were supporting his weight.

"Fuck," Harry exhaled, watching the whisp of vapor that formed from the warmth of his breath meeting the chilled air.

"I think everyone wishes they had a different life," Draco said, sounding like he was deep in contemplation. "From time to time." He had adjusted his pose to match Harry's, and now looked directly at Harry from under his long, dark eyelashes. "But if I did, I wouldn't be here."

Harry took this opportunity to look at Draco, to really look at him and take everything in. The slight, jutting curve of his cheekbones, the sharp angle of his jaw, the tendons and veins in his neck and the protruding bulge of his adam's apple. Every inch of him was pale, white like bleached parchment and then contrasting in beautiful, astounding ways; the dark eyebrows, the pink stains on his face where the wind had brushed against it, the cool, grey eyes that were like shining, frozen pools of ice. Harry thought he could look at him all day. He couldn't quite express how he felt about Draco being here with him; the feeling didn't seem to have words with which it could be communicated. The closest thing Harry could think of was "happy", but it wasn't just that. It was overwhelming relief, that he had someone here who understood him, that he didn't have to go through the next couple weeks of his life alone in this house. He wanted to reach out and touch Draco just to make sure he was real, that this was really happening to him right now.

Draco's eyes flicked down to Harry's lips, as they had earlier that morning, and Harry felt that familiar twinge of lust that, if left unchecked, would easily take over all of his willpower and make him a slave to his physical desires. He blinked hard, suddenly remembering an idea.

"You don't fancy a drink somewhere, do you?" He asked. Draco looked a little disoriented, obviously surprised that Harry wasn't leaning into his kiss like he clearly expected he would.

"I thought we were supposed to stay here," Draco said, adjusting his jumper to bring the sleeves further down on his wrists. It was a little too short for his long, narrow arms, which Harry thought made it even more endearing on him.

"The place I have in mind is… Well it's not really a spot that wizards normally hang around. But it's brilliant."

Draco's eyes brightened, a smile now playing on his lips.

"Yeah, Alright," he said. "I could go for a bit of fun."

…

The street outside the club was less crowded than it was when Harry was here last. They apparated together into the alley next to the neon, light up signs indicating the entrance to the bar. Harry let go of Draco's hand, which he had been holding to perform the side-along apparition. Draco glanced sideways at him, straightening his hair with his fingertips.

"You're good at that, Potter," he said, brushing some dust off his shoulders. He had changed into a more formal-looking black shirt and a pair of Harry's dark wash jeans, which, despite him being a bit taller than Harry, had fit him quite nicely. Harry wore a dark T-shirt and a denim jacket which provided him with some protection against the brisk, autumn air.

"I thought it was actually a bit rough," Harry said. "I don't normally apparate when I've had anything to drink. It messes with my concentration."

"Well I splinched my shoulder almost clean off when I left your kitchen in June," Malfoy replied. "I guess you could say the same for me."

"Did you really?" Harry asked, looking concerned. He still wasn't used to the nonchalant way that Draco would sometimes reveal startling information, as though it was hardly anything to be bothered with. He hoped Draco was running out of things that would shock Harry about his past, and that they were nearly done unpacking most of the traumatic events Harry had known nothing about.

"It's not a problem, I fixed it," Draco said, smiling at Harry's reaction. "I just clearly was concentrating very hard on something else."

Harry tucked his wand into an inside pocket of his jacket, still looking rather apprehensive about Draco's comment.

"You need to take better care of yourself," he said. "You can't just go around blasting your limbs off whenever you like."

"I wasn't trying to do it," Draco said, as they began walking towards the bar. "I didn't think it was going to mess me up like it did. Besides," he added, with a smirk in Harry's direction. "That's what I have you for now. You know… The fussing over me constantly part. Not the limb blasting," he said, as though this was an important clarification that needed to be made. "Where is it we're going, anyways?"

"It's right up here," Harry said, slipping his fingers inside of Draco's again and stepping towards the entryway to the bar.

"Potter," Draco said, stopping in his tracks and pulling his hand back, looking around to make sure there weren't any people watching them in the street. "It's not that I don't want to, I just don't really fancy getting beat to a pulp in a muggle bar tonight."

"It's okay here," Harry said, smiling reassuringly. "I promise." The look on Draco's face was still one of fearful reluctance, so instead of reaching for his hand again he just continued forward, hoping that bringing Draco here had been a good idea.

The music from the club was just as loud as Harry remembered it, the base vibrating so hard that he felt it all the way down to his heartbeat. As they descended the many steps leading to the dance floor, Harry was granted with the familiar scene again, the men dancing in the colored, pulsing lights, several of them shirtless or else wearing very little, and many more of them wrapped in each other's arms and kissing with absolutely no pretenses of hiding what they were doing. It was so freeing, so comforting to know that he wasn't the only person like this. There were almost a hundred others packed into this club who were proud to defy societal norms, and this was a sacred gathering place created just for them.

He had started walking towards the bar, glancing behind him to gauge Draco's reaction, but as he turned around he saw that Draco was still standing at the foot of the staircase, a strange expression upon his face. Harry quickly returned back to him, trying to discern whether he was angry or on the verge of tears.

"What is this place?" Draco asked, taking in the whole scene in front of them, his voice quieter than it had been outside.

"It's a gay club," Harry responded, looking around with Draco. "I've come here a couple times before, but I've never done it properly."

"So everyone here…" Draco trailed off, his voice getting lost in the sound of the music from the dance floor.

"Yeah," Harry responded, smiling at him again. "Well, nearly everyone, I suppose."

Draco didn't speak, but the look in his eyes reminded Harry of his own reaction when Hagrid had brought him to Diagon Alley for the very first time, when he had learned that there was a whole community of people who were just like him, and he wasn't as alone as he thought he had been. That had been one of the best days of his life.

"I… had no idea..." Draco said slowly, clearly at a loss for words.

"Come on," Harry said, motioning towards the bar. "Let's get a drink."

…

As soon as the fact that they were in a gay club had fully sunk in for Draco, he became about as enthusiastic as Harry had ever seen him. After their first round of drinks Draco had insisted they do shots, him and Harry laughing as they linked arms to swallow the contents of their glasses whole. They walked jauntily throughout the club, their hands linked together tightly as Harry gave Draco a "tour" of the place, as though he were an old patron of this building who knew all of its nooks and crannies intimately. They ascended a spiral staircase to the second floor, where there were several couples engaged in what looked to be a little more than snogging, and even scurried past a group of four that were overtaking the chaise lounges Harry had his eye on previously. They went back for two more rounds, their words beginning to slur as they clinked glasses again and again. Harry had never seen Draco this happy, this animatedly charming. All of the worries they had been discussing only a couple hours ago seemed millions of miles away.

When they had finished their fifth round of drinks Harry reached out and kissed Draco, pulling Draco's body into his own and smiling into his lips. Neither of them cared who was watching them. They were safe here, in their own, anonymous club, filled with people who were like them. They could forget for a minute about the war, about the dangerous predicament both of them were in. They were just two men who could very well have been muggles kissing in a bar. It was as simple as that. Harry couldn't remember the last time he had felt this happy.

"Come dance with me," Harry mumbled into Draco's mouth.

"I'm a horrible dancer," Draco responded.

"I am too, believe me," Harry laughed, remembering his disastrous encounter with Pavarti Patil at the Yule Ball. "We're both drunk, it doesn't matter." Harry fixed Draco with what he was sure was a devilish smile, hooking his fingers through Draco's belt loops. "Let's just let loose."

"Potter," Draco said, looking so intensely into Harry's green eyes that for a moment Harry wondered if he had completely sobered up.

"Yeah?" Harry responded, still feeling the effects of his stomach dropping from the piercing look Draco had given him.

They looked at each other for several seconds, Harry waiting expectantly for Draco to say something, anything, but instead they just remained still as the club continued to bustle with activity around them. Harry wondered if this was what it felt like to stop time entirely, to make everything else not matter except the man in front of him. With a shock that felt like electricity going through his whole body, he wondered if this was what love felt like. Surely it was just the drinks, the raucous environment, the company of someone with whom he was quickly becoming close with, but it felt like elation, nonetheless. Like pure, unadulterated happiness.

He had forgotten that Malfoy had said his name. Evidently, Draco had too, as they both just stood there and looked at each other like the universe was slowly starting to make sense, all at once.

"Let's go dance," Draco said finally, smiling again and slipping his long, pale fingers into Harry's hand so they could walk together over to the dance floor.

…

They were welcomed onto the lit-up floor by two shirtless muggles with body paint on their chests who looked to be around their own age. After exchanging incomprehensible pleasantries over the roar of the music, they slowly migrated into the flow of men who were dancing and grinding in the center of the room. There were hands and bodies and drinks everywhere, it felt like a bit of a chaotic fever dream the longer they stayed in the middle of the crowd. Harry was right about the dancing; nobody seemed to care about doing it properly. Everyone appeared to be intoxicated to an extent, and he was blending right into the throngs of people as he couldn't remember doing since he was a young boy.

He smiled at Malfoy under the changing, colored lights, and remarked upon the way the blue light transformed Draco into an ethereal-looking frost prince. Draco seemed to have noticed Harry was staring, and threw his head back laughing.

"You're being ridiculous. People are looking at us!" He shouted so that Harry could hear him over the music.

"Who cares? Let them look!"

Harry scanned the crowd around them, only to find that people were not, in fact, watching them, but were completely transfixed upon their own partners, dancing and enjoying themselves just as much as Draco and Harry were. Harry glanced towards the entryway, which was clearly visible from this part of the floor, and was shocked to see a familiar tall, sandy head of hair make his way towards the bar.

"Hold on, Draco!" He shouted, grabbing Draco by the forearm and motioning towards the doorway. "That's the man I met here last time, the lawyer. He's one of us, I should go and say hello!"

Draco's eyes followed Harry's gaze to that section of the bar, and it looked like at that exact moment the lawyer had sensed their eyes on him and turned his head towards the dance floor.

"Don't," Draco said, his voice suddenly very serious. "Don't go over there. We need to leave, now." Harry looked at him and was startled to find that Draco had paled and lost every inch of the animated spirit he had possessed only moments ago.

"Why? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"We have to get out of here," Draco repeated again, pulling Harry's arm away from the dance floor and towards the back of the large room. "Do you think there's a back exit?"

"Tell me what's going on."

Draco looked back into the crowded room towards the bar, panic evident in his grey eyes. It was obvious that he had recognized someone, the question was whether or not their lives were now in danger.

"He saw us." Draco said, swallowing hard. "Harry, we have to run."