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 19 Feb. '13

When the Time Comes

Chapter Five

When Ron and Hermione announced their engagement to the entire family at once, at Weasley dinner, Harry wasn't certain whether they were brilliant or quite mad.

"Have you told her parents?" Harry asked Ron.

Hermione was barely visible, engulfed in a hug from Molly that looked as though it might never end and surrounded by a throng of equally enthusiastic future in-laws waiting to do the same.

She had been slowly rebuilding her relationship with her parents after what, from their perspective, had been a gross betrayal. Harry had hoped they'd be able to put their remaining reservations aside and share her joy, but their absence – when they had occasionally attended other Sunday dinners – suggested otherwise.

"Yeah. They're trying to be happy for her, but..." Ron sighed. "They see this as losing her completely to the magical world. I think they'd been hoping she might give it up eventually."

Until recently, Harry wouldn't have been able to consider that as a possibility. What were the problems he had with the wizarding world when he compared them to a life without magic. Now, though, he thought about what his life would be like if he really were Holly and if Draco were a Muggle, and he couldn't be positive he'd never choose to leave.

He didn't reply with anything but a noncommittal sound that Ron could take as approval if he chose. Watching Hermione being passed from Molly's arms to Arthur, Harry wasn't prepared when Ron changed the subject. "How are things with… whoever it is you're seeing?"

Harry started, and Ron laughed. "Really, Harry? For the last… Since we left Hogwarts, really, you've been caught up in school or work to where Hermione has to drag you out. Then out of the blue, you're nowhere to be found when we try to reach you out of working hours? We hoped that was why. Bird or bloke?"

"Bloke," Harry admitted reluctantly, but only because he wasn't sure he was ready to answer the questions that were likely to follow.

But he was talking with Ron, not Hermione, and when he didn't press, Harry was grateful. "Well, when you wrap your head around it, bring him 'round. We need to make sure he's good enough for our Harry."

He wasn't 'good enough'; instead, he was far too good, though Ron would dispute that.

It had been weeks since Draco and he had first begun exploring the physical side of their relationship, and Harry still wasn't comfortable with genital contact. Once the dissonance caught his attention, it would trigger feelings of guilt and betrayal that would overwhelm his desire. Draco noticed, of course, but he was generous in his response, both during sex and afterward. He accepted Harry's deflection, though he was obviously both concerned and disappointed, and he suggested in carefully chosen words that Harry ought to consider counselling, but when he refused, Draco didn't press further.

When he was alone, Harry had tried masturbating, hoping that familiarity with his female form would alleviate his reaction. He found it interesting and pleasurable, physically; emotionally, however, it felt like practicing his lies. The guilt was such now that even the thought of touching himself as Holly was enough to kill any hope of arousal.

He didn't know how to get past it without confessing, which would mean losing Draco all the sooner, and that was the one thing he couldn't bring himself to risk.

"Draco! What are you doing here?"

Draco froze. He'd hoped to time his visit to the Muggle Relations office so that he didn't run into his best friend; that's why he'd made his appointment for Monday, when Greg's schedule was filled with near consecutive meetings. He turned with a smile. "I was in the area and hoped you might be free for lunch."

"Not on a Monday." You know that was left unsaid. "I have a few minutes before I meet with Granger, if you want to step in."

There was no way for Draco to avoid it.

"I was planning to stop by yours this evening actually," Greg said as he waved Draco toward a chair.

"Oh?" Greg's tone was too serious for him to have meant a social visit. "Is everything all right? Padma?"

"They're all fine, Padma and the babies." Greg reassured him, then spoke bluntly. "You have to stop seeing her."

Padma? Surely he didn't think…

"I saw you."

Draco stared at him, still confused.

"Last night, my sister Zari was visiting with Padma, and the two of them decided I needed a break. I went down to that pub of yours, thought we could have a drink after you finished. I saw you with her. You have to end it, Draco."

"Why in the name of Macha and Nemain would you– " Draco cut himself off. "You don't even know her!"

"Does she know she's virtually the twin of your long-standing unrequited crush?"

"This has nothing to do with Harry Fucking Potter." If his former rival weren't Padma's Healer, Draco was sure he wouldn't have even thought of him in months! He was willing to admit – to himself – that he may have, when he first met Holly, thought her smile looked familiar, but it had long ceased to remind him of anyone but her. "I think I love her, Greg. Holly– "

"'Holly'?" Greg repeated incredulously. "That's convenient. Makes it easy enough to convince her it was a slip of the tongue, yeah? 'No, really, darling, you must have mis – " He stopped speaking abruptly; most do with a wand pointed at their throats.

It hadn't been a conscious move on Draco's part, and when he realized what he'd done, he stepped back. Greg was staring at him in shock, so Draco confessed the one thing he thought might convince him Draco was serious and not out of his mind.

"I'm here to look into marriage regulations... and adoption."

"Marriage? Adoption?!" Greg knew as well as he himself did the Malfoy expectations, so Draco knew it was the thought of Draco marrying a Muggle that had him so stunned. "You mean, to guarantee a magical child?"

Draco choked. "Will it convince you that I'm serious if I tell you that hadn't even crossed my mind? She – she hasn't confided in me yet, but it's obvious she's uncomfortable with... that aspect of our relationship."

In the weeks since the night in Holly's flat when they'd first moved toward... 'penetrative' sounded so clinical, but he refused to belittle what they'd already shared and call it 'real' sex, they hadn't gone further. Holly seemed to be as enthusiastic as Draco, but she would inevitably tense if Draco touched or even referred to her genitalia.

But if she wasn't comfortable enough speaking about it with Draco, she certainly wouldn't want it shared with someone she still hadn't met. "I think she may have experienced... something traumatic. I want us to... have options."

Draco looked at Greg, hoping to find the calm, steady gaze that had always convinced Draco he could do anything. Instead, he was pretty certain the other man was thinking the same thing he was, though probably for different reasons.

Shite.

After the longest shift he'd ever worked, Harry was feeling like he'd been the bludger in a match between hippogriffs and dementors when he finally left St. Mungo's with orders not to return until Monday. He'd been at the hospital for four days straight, fighting – unsuccessfully, as it happened – to save the life of a wizard whose body was being consumed by his own magic. Harry had caught naps when he could, but there'd been few of them and each too short. By rights, he should be snug in his bed and dead to the world. As it was, he already regretted his decision not to take Pepper Up before leaving: his head was pounding. He hadn't, though, not knowing how it would interact with the sex-change potion, and he, more than anything, didn't want to miss the opportunity to see Draco for the first time in days.

By the time he arrived at the pub, Draco had finished playing, but he wasn't in his usual spot at the end of the bar. When asked, Pete directed him to a booth at the back. He looked like he wanted to add something, but he was called away before he found the words.

Harry thought he might know what it would have been, when he saw the people sitting on either side of Draco.

"Holly," Draco's tone was pleased, at least, even if he couldn't reach him, "Have a seat."

"Yes, please, do join us." It was the man who spoke, a handsome brunette in a suit that even Harry could tell was bespoke, and he waved a hand to indicate the seat on the bench opposite, next to the woman. She was equally over-dressed, but she had a warm, friendly grin that the man lacked.

"Holly, this is Claire and her brother, Trent."

That told Harry absolutely nothing, but he smiled as best he could. "I'm pleased to meet you." He wasn't certain anyone actually heard, since Trent spoke at the same time.

"Not simply that, surely."

Claire giggled and turned to Harry. "Have you known Mal long? We've been friends for ages, and he's not mentioned you."

Before Harry could respond, she kept talking, explaining how she'd met Draco at an estate auction years ago and introduced him to Trent and recounting numerous tales of their friendship. Harry would have felt guilty for not holding up his share of the conversation, but Claire talked enough for all three of them. Which was for the good, really, since Trent and Draco didn't participate either, at least not with the table generally. Any time Trent spoke, it was to Draco alone, so quietly no one else could hear. Draco had the grace to smile at Harry apologetically one in a while, but he didn't deliver the scathing rebuke Harry expected.

"Are you all right?" Draco asked, when Trent was distracted by the waitress.

"I'm fine, Mal," Harry twisted his mouth into what he hoped was a smile and not a grimace. "Just a headache."

"I have paracetamol if you'd like?" Claire offered helpfully.

He couldn't take Muggle medications, not if he was going to take a potion as soon as he returned home and certainly not as Holly. "Thank you, but I'm allergic."

"I might have –" She didn't finish the sentence, distracted with rummaging through her bag.

Harry stopped her. "Actually, I'm allergic to pretty much everything."

"You poor thing! I have a friend who..." She went off again, and Harry tried to listen politely, but he didn't manage much more than wordless noises of encouragement; even nods were too painful to waste. When asked, he ordered food. He wasn't the slightest bit hungry, but it might help.

It didn't. Rather than getting better, the food making him nauseous. Coupled with the pounding in his head, it was too much to bear. As much as he hated the thought of it, he was going to have to head back to his flat.

He was pleased when Draco offered to walk him home and gratified when, in the face of Trent's cajoling, he insisted.

Draco hadn't been so grateful for an escape since the end of the war. It wasn't fair, of course – Trent had been the injured party in their break up, and, under other circumstances, he would have been delighted to have Trent appear ready to forgive him and attempt to salvage their friendship and possibly more. Unfortunately, between the newness of his relationship with Holly and, if he were being honest with himself, Greg's accusations, the timing was rather bad.

He could just imagine explaining it to Holly.

'You've nothing to worry about: I broke it off when it became patently obvious, even to me, that I was using him as a substitute in a substitute as I tried to live out a childhood fantasy.'

'And what did they have in common, Mal, Trent and your childhood crush?' Draco imagined her tone to be teasing..

'A lot of physical features – slight stature, dark hair, delicate build, though they were very different in personality. Trent was very reserved; Harry was more like you, I think.'

'Like me?!'

With his luck, she'd walk out before he could explain that he didn't know, for sure, since Harry and he had communicated only in schoolboy taunts and desperate situations: they hadn't known each other. If they had, and if Harry had been half as suited to Draco as Holly was, Draco would have been happy dating him.

Now, though, he couldn't imagine choosing anyone over Holly.

He was happy to help, simply to be with her, even under these circumstances. He wondered if Greg would believe he loved her, if he heard that.

Holly was violently ill for longer than Draco thought reasonable, and he tried to convince her to let him take her to the hospital or consult a medical professional. She pointed out rather sharply that she was a medical professional, and it was a perfectly normal illness, however unpleasant.

So Draco held her hair, rubbed her shoulders, and dampened cloths. She kept trying to convince Draco to leave, but her protests were feeble at best, and she didn't have the strength to sit upright on her own. When it appeared things had settled enough that she could move, Draco helped her change and settle into bed. When he suggested he could leave her to sleep, she agreed with such reluctance that he offered to stay. That, she accepted readily.

They talked a bit, though her words slurred, and she was drifting in and out of consciousness. Either way, he enjoyed holding her.

"You're a hero," she mumbled.

He laughed lightly, careful not to jostle her too much. "Hardly."

"You are," she insisted as firmly as someone could when she was nearly asleep. "It's what made me interested."

"What was?"

"You being a hero. It was unexpected."

That didn't make any sense, unless he was talking about their flirting over the drink she'd nearly spilled on Pete's piano. He didn't think she was. "When was that?" he asked, trying to keep tension out of his tone and his body.

"You know, with the guy in the bar. The first night we really met." She shifted to a more comfortable position and settled in to sleep.

He kissed her temple and lay holding her ... for what he was afraid might be the last time.