Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic/Raincoast; the title is from "Kiss Me Slowly" by Parachute. No copyright infringement is intended.

Warning(s): Nothing graphic is shown "on screen," so I didn't use the archive warnings, but it could be triggery for rape and assault.

Additional warnings for gender-bending and for Harry being stupid.

Additional notes: This was written and posted as part of the 2012 HD Holidays fic/art exchange on livejournal. My giftee was Amythystluna, who gave me such a fantastic set of prompts. I'm sorry I wasn't able to use them as plentifully nor in as much detail as I wanted.

Thanks also to my beta readers and to the fest mods for their patience and general awesomeness.

Originally posted for the 2012 hd-holidays fest on livejournal; posted on FF 15 Feb. '13

When the Time Comes

Chapter Four

The Zoo.

Draco Malfoy's idea of a venue for a first date was the zoo.

It was unexpected and brilliant. It allowed them ample opportunity to get to talk, and provided ready topics of conversation should it lag. Harry was surprised to find it didn't: when he wasn't talking to Harry Potter, it seemed Draco could be witty and engaging, and Harry nearly forgot why he'd accepted the invitation.

"So what do you do when you're not playing piano at the pub?"

"I'm a grad student in social work, and I volunteer at a youth centre," Draco replied, then paused a moment, considering, and waved at the monkeys in front of them, "Which is probably what prompted me to suggest the zoo."

Harry laughed reflexively, but his curiosity was caught. This was Draco Malfoy. "Why social work?"

Draco narrowed, and Harry realized how that must have sounded. "I didn't mean anything by it. Just that it's not the typical sort ambition one latches onto from childhood nor is it lucrative." He shrugged. "I just thought there might be a story there."

Draco was smiling again, though not so easily as before. "Oh, there is, though it's probably not suited to a day such as this."

"I'd like to hear it, now or later," Harry invited.

Draco searched Harry's face, looking, Harry supposed, for evidence of sincerity. He seemed to have found it.

"I was the only child of loving, attentive parents, and I had an idyllic childhood. Once I became a teenager, though, things became much more complicated. My father and others had very clear and very high expectations for me, and I came to realize that, no matter how hard I tried, I wouldn't be able to meet them. Even if I wanted to, and I wasn't entirely sure I did.

"Things were particularly bad through my late teens. I was charged with a variety of crimes, but thanks to the intervention of … certain influential people who had no reason to want to help me, they were fewer and lighter than I deserved. I was lucky, though I never would have admitted it at the time," he said with a rueful smile. "I was required to participate in community service and counselling, both at the Wandsheath Youth Centre. It was a long, frustrating battle for many people, but in the end, it taught me a great deal about becoming someone other than who I was expected to be. I want to do the same for others. Even the ones who act like monkeys."

Harry, reeling emotionally, was nevertheless able to find a smile. "Especially the monkeys?"

He shrugged elegantly, but his cheeks were tinted pink. "Perhaps."

They had dinner afterwards at a small, family-run Greek restaurant that Harry probably wouldn't have even noticed on his own.

There had been a few awkward moments: when Draco mentioned Doctor Who, for example, which Harry remembered listening to from his cupboard. (He was pretty sure Vernon only watched it because he thought it would give Harry nightmares.) Draco had looked at him oddly when he admitted he hadn't known it was airing again. Realizing it had likely been well publicized, Harry had explained that he'd spent most of the previous year buried under medical texts – which was largely true. Draco seemed to accept that and suggested they might watch it together.

By the end of the evening, he was certain Draco's intentions regarding the Muggles weren't at all nefarious, and he could even understand the reasons living his life largely amongst them might be appealing: the anonymity and possibility of a fresh start certainly weren't available options in the wizarding world, not for either of them.

Draco walked Harry to his building but refused Harry's invitation to go upstairs, which was disappointing. Harry may have started the day hunting for information, but it had become – from his perspective at least – a very pleasant date.

When Draco leaned in to give him a light kiss, Harry reconsidered that Draco might have enjoyed it as well.

"I'm playing at Pete's tomorrow. Will I see you there?"

Guilt held Harry frozen. It hadn't been a date; he knew that. It had been a day of Harry fishing for information because he was a suspicious bastard. He'd admitted Draco's story made sense, knew he'd created a life for himself in the Muggle world for good reasons, and there was no reason to prolong the charade.

The only proper thing for Harry to do would be to confess the truth and never use the George's potion again. Or at least avoid the pub as Holly.

But he didn't want to spoil the day. He could wait until tomorrow. It was Sunday, so he was expected at the Weasleys' for dinner, but he could leave early and tell him then.

"I wouldn't miss it."

Draco smiled, warmth reaching his eyes, and he leaned in for another kiss.

Harry felt a bit awkward arriving at the pub on Sunday. Draco was already playing, but he looked up though as the door opened, and he seemed genuinely pleased.

Pete had seemed pleased as well. "I hear you spent the day yesterday with our Mal."

Harry nodded. "It was fun."

"I'm glad to hear you had a good time. He's a good man, Mal is." There was a warning in it, and Harry didn't have to look very hard to find it. His stomach squirmed, and he tried to keep the guilt from showing in his face. "I know he is."

"Good." He smiled then, and the contrast was pronounced. "Now, what can I get for you this evening?"

When Draco was finished, he approached the bar, pleasure showing in his smile. "You made it," he said, as he moved to sit on the stool next to Harry's. As he settled, he leaned toward Harry, and at the closest natural point, he paused, looking from Harry's eyes to his mouth, and back. Harry smiled a bit, accepting the invitation. Draco placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, and they leaned in together to share a light, lovely kiss of greeting.

His hand caressed Harry's back as Draco pulled away, and Harry felt his nerves tingling where Draco had touched him for far longer than biology would have explained.

Bantering with Pete, Draco reached for Harry's hand, and Harry realized he'd been wrong.

It wouldn't be at all fair to tell Draco in public.

Somehow, the time and place never seemed to be right, and the need to confess became smaller and was buried deeper in the back of Harry's mind, tucked next to the idea that he should simply walk away.

They visited the British Museum, which Draco thought was a crime he'd never visited, given how close to it he lived. They spent a day explored the Mayor's Thames festival and watching the Great River Race, which Harry had heard of but had never had the opportunity to see. They browsed more antique markets than Harry knew existed because watching Draco's face light up when he found a bargain and listening to his scathing commentary about everything else was more fun than Harry could remember having in years.

They talked about how complementary their professions were, and the challenges that came with healing mind and body. They commiserated – guardedly, since they were both keeping secrets –about the pressures of family and expectation. They found common tastes in world politics, in books, in music.

When Harry made certain all evidence of the wizarding world in general and 'Harry Potter' specifically were confined to his workroom and charmed the door to be hidden to anyone but himself, just in case, he knew he wasn't planning to tell Draco anytime soon. It was wrong, he knew, and he couldn't – didn't – expect to be able to keep up his double life forever, but he wanted to enjoy it for as long as possible.

Harry hadn't had a romantic relationship that wasn't complicated by the war or expectations of who he was or who his partner thought he should be. Draco was interesting and amusing and fun, and Harry was tired of being honourable and sacrificing.

If he was going to be dropped for not being what his partner wanted, well, at least this time it would be his own doing.

And when his heart was broken, Harry wouldn't be able to find solace in martyrdom or vengeance.

They'd been out to dinner and a play, the first time Draco accompanied Harry up to his flat.

After pouring wine in the kitchen, Harry picked up the glasses and returned to the front room. Draco hadn't turned on the lights, so it took a moment for Harry to find him, standing at the large window, staring out at the city.

"Lovely, isn't it?" Harry said, passing over a glass.

Draco locked his eyes on Harry's. "Very," he replied, holding his gaze as he sipped.

Harry was flattered, but he knew that he couldn't compare – in either form – to Draco. He was gorgeous, bathed in moonlight. They stood enjoying each other for a few minutes longer before Draco turned back to the view from the window.

"I don't often take the time to appreciate the city from this perspective."

Given how few wizarding areas were well populated, Harry wondered if he'd ever seen it before from this height. Draco's own flat, Harry knew, was a on the first floor of a converted townhouse. He hadn't been gaping in the lift the way Ron had, but he hadn't been completely comfortable either.

Harry's musings were interrupted when Draco took the glass from his hand and placed it next to his own on the window ledge, then placed his hands on Harry's hips, drawing him closer.

He tasted like Merlot and heat and impossible dreams.

Harry wound his own arms around Draco and enjoyed the contrast of firm muscles under soft cotton before sliding them further up and into Draco's hair. He let his nails graze lightly along the nape of Draco's neck, loving the way it made him groan and pull Harry more tightly against him. With one hand on each cheek of Harry's arse, Draco clenched his fingers, and Harry nearly came apart in the best possible way.

They hadn't been enjoying each other nearly long enough when the chill of the cool night air through the glass of the window and the unforgiving, hard plane of glass behind his head became distractions he could no longer ignore.

He pulled away regretfully, quickly considering the options. He wasn't ready to commit to the offer that would be implied by suggesting they move to his bedroom nor did the confines of the sofa appeal.

He grabbed the blanket folded over the back of the chair next to them, spread it on top of the thick rug, and pulled Draco down with him.

Smart man than he was, Draco was reaching for the buttons of Harry's blouse before he'd fully settled, though he waited for Harry's impatient agreement before he began to undo the buttons.

When he grazed his teeth gently on Harry's nipple, Harry inhaled sharply. Draco looked up to grin wickedly, his eyes dark with desire, and resumed his exploration, planting light, wet kisses randomly down Harry's abdomen, periodically gently blowing air, always moving further down.

His hands explored the way the denim moulded the curve of his arse, teasing fingers following the seams down the outside of his legs and up the inside. Were women's inner thighs more sensitive than men's? Harry thought they must be.

Any pretence of rational thought abandoned him when Draco cupped him between the legs. His hand, warm and hard, pressing against the seam of his jeans made unfamiliar muscles clench, others seemed to melt, and Harry gasped.

Draco chuckled, a low, pleased sound, and Harry might not have forgiven him, had he not brought his face up for a kiss. It was deep and languid. He moaned when Draco pulled away to drop kisses along Harry's jaw – light, fleeting ones and others that were wet, teasing with teeth and tongue – randomly.

Draco's hand was moving now, rubbing the seam of Harry's jeans with the heel of his hand, Harry's awareness narrowed to that one spot and the pleasure that emanated from it. He begged, shamelessly, but Draco continued to tease him mercilessly, bringing him so close to the edge but not over. Desperately needing it to stop, needing to come, he reached down to grab his cock and ended up with his hand wrapped firmly around Draco's wrist.

Draco lifted his head so it was no longer touching Harry and raised his head so he could see Harry's face.

"Are you all right? Did I – ?" his voice was soft with concern

Harry smiled, trying to sound reassuring and sincere rather than confused and embarrassed. "Not at all. It's lovely. I'm - I'm just feeling a little spoiled."

"Are you sure?" His eyes searched Harry's face. "Because we can stop – "

No matter how much Harry knew stopping was the right thing to do, he couldn't bring himself to do so. Most of Draco's weight was balanced on one arm, so it was easy enough for Harry to push him onto his back. As Holly, his mouth and hands were the same or nearly, and maybe if he didn't have to think about the differences in his body, it wouldn't feel as strange. "Very sure," he said and began to explore Draco's body as thoroughly as Draco had his.