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 22 Feb. '13

When the Time Comes

Chapter Six

When Harry joined Draco in the kitchen the following morning, Draco spoke softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better." Thanks to the Potion Harry was finally alone long enough to take, though that didn't lessen the gallantry of Draco's behaviour the night before. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"I was happy to do it." Draco smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We have to talk."

Harry sat: Draco's tone made it obvious it would be that sort of discussion. He wondered why Draco had bothered leave the pub with him, let alone spend the night nursing him if he intended to break it off.

"How much do you remember about last night?"

Nothing that would warrant a talk. "Not much after we left the pub besides vomiting." The memory was enough to make his stomach roll again.

Draco nodded, then stared at Harry silently for several minutes. Harry waited impatiently for Draco to find the words he needed. When he did finally begin speaking, his words were hesitant and not what Harry expected.

"You mentioned meeting me at a club, called me a hero." Harry could feel the blood drain from his face. Draco nodded slowly and continued with more confidence. "There's only one incident I can think of that would qualify, and she didn't look like you."

Even if Harry had wanted to deny it, he knew his panicked expression had given him away, and he confessed that, using Polyjuice, he'd been the woman Draco had rescued. Before he could decide how to explain the greater of his transgressions, Draco was looking for other answers.

"You're magical, obviously." Harry nodded. "Who are you? You're certainly not from Britain, not from Hogwarts, at least. I'd have recognized you."

"I did go to Hogwarts. This isn't my true form either," Harry admitted, answering the easier questions first.

"Don't. Lie. To me." Draco had to bite out each of the words, and it was then that Harry realized that his hand was hovering near where his wand had to be sheathed.

"I'm not." He assured Draco earnestly. "It's experimental, a revised formula." Which was true in principle for as far as it went. When he tried to explain further, he found himself unable to push sound past the lump in his throat.

"Do you know who I am?" Draco asked abruptly.

Harry nodded, still unable to speak.

"Then why?" He waved a hand between the two of them. There weren't many in the wizarding world who would have done such a thing with honourable intentions – Not even the great Harry Potter, Harry thought derisively – and Draco knew that, so it was little wonder he'd asked that first. He moved for his wand again, and Harry's vocal chords were finally functional.

"Because you weren't what I expected in the club. Because I wanted to know who you were." Off Draco's sceptical look, he admitted the less ethical reason. "Yes, because I was suspicious, given your family history." Draco flinched, and Harry reached out to him. His heart ached when Draco stepped back so Harry couldn't touch him. "But it took no time at all to be certain that you didn't have nefarious plots, that you enjoy the anonymity or at least the lack of expectation." Like I do. "Mostly because I like who you are."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked with less anger and more hurt. "Holly, it's been months."

"I was scared. I was so scared of losing this."

Draco's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You know I'm magical," he said, working his way through the problem aloud, "You know I've moved beyond the blood-prejudice I was raised with – you know that, right?"

"Yes!" Harry put every bit of conviction he had into his reply. Even if Draco disregarded everything else Harry said, he had to believe this. "Draco, of course, I know that." He reached out faster than Draco expected and caught his arm. "I do."

Draco nodded once, then pulled away. "Who are you?" He asked bluntly.

And Harry knew it was over. He nodded in acceptance of that, closed his eyes and took a deep, bracing breath, then opened his eyes and mouth to respond.

"Wait." Draco watched Harry carefully for several moments, and Harry wondered what he was trying to find. "It's a simple question, yet you're terrified. That makes me terrified." The way his tone lightened between the two sentences gave Harry hope, but he wasn't prepared for what Draco said next. "I trust you. And I'm willing to wait until you can trust me to find out."

Draco was true to his word: he didn't push for answers when Harry sidestepped them, though he looked, and he did his best not to make Harry feel like a mystery he was attempting to solve.

Harry felt overly self-conscious anyway.

With magic and the wizarding world no longer secrets between them, Draco was eager to include them in in their activities - shopping in Diagon Alley, a Quidditch match, a visit to Malfoy Manor to meet his parents. He had mentioned doing research in the Muggle Relations office, 'for the future,' so Harry had a very good idea what that would mean. Keeping his identity from Draco who cared for Holly and hoped they could salvage their relationship as much as Harry did when the truth was known was one thing; keeping it from the very shrewd and very protective parents of his boyfriend was another thing altogether.

It was particularly uncomfortable because Harry couldn't explain why he was so set against going, and Draco assumed it was because they had been Death Eaters. The argument was derailed when Harry began choking after Draco yelled that they may have done terrible things, but they were his parents, and more importantly, they loved him, and even Harry Potter admitted it was true.

In a compromise, Harry had agreed to attend the pub quiz night with Draco, though he'd been little help to their team. Draco had spent much of the night trying not to seem as though he were watching Harry, so he was unsurprised when Draco suggested playing a wizarding world trivia game a few days later. Afterwards, Draco had commented that Harry 'seemed to have had no upbringing whatsoever.'

It was awkward and a bit tense in between the moments in which they forgot it mattered. There was no way it could last.

And it didn't.

When Draco called to see if he could stop by, Harry suspected.

When he opened the door and saw Draco, he knew.

He held it wide so Draco could enter, neither expecting a kiss nor getting one, though Draco surprised him by hanging his jacket. Assuming that meant he intended to stay for at least a short while, and to give his hands something to do, he offered to make tea; he had poured the hot water over the leaves before Draco spoke.

"I don't know who you are."

Harry nodded. "I know."

"I'm not talking about the name you were born with." Draco said impatiently. "I'm talking about who you are. We've talked about various forms of entertainment, current events, any number of things that take place out there." He waved, a grand gesture that encompassed, the door, the window, and everything else. "What you haven't done is tell me about you: your childhood, your life experiences, your ambitions."

"But you said it didn't matter, that you were willing to wait."

"I said I didn't need to know your name, and that's true. But what accomplishment are you most proud of? What are your friends and family like? Where have you travelled? These are all questions that can be answered without even hinting at your name."

They weren't, but Harry couldn't explain that without revealing everything.

"You told me you studied medicine and that you hadn't yet chosen a field. Was that simply to avoid questions about medical technology or to avoid discussing magic?" Draco sighed, and it was a defeated sound. "Was any of it true at all?"

"Of course, it was."

"There's no 'of course' about it. I don't see how anyone with medical training could ignore obvious trauma–"

"I haven't been traumatized! If this is about your cock– "

"Holly! It's not about what sort of sex we have! If you didn't want it, that would be fine. But it's clear that you do, until you don't, then you pull away, and you won't explain why. I don't know what it is I've done or haven't done, and you won't tell me. I'm terrified of what's happened to you."

"Nothing's happened to me, not like you mean," Harry replied emphatically.

"Then why do you shut down?"

There was no answer Harry could give, so he said nothing.

"And that's the problem. I know you're not ready to tell me everything, and that's fine. But you shut me out of everything. Who you are. You don't have to introduce me to your friends, your family, but you don't even talk about them."

Draco pushed up from his chair and walked to the door.

"You're nothing but a golem, created by that damned potion of yours and just as substantial. I can't live like that anymore." He left without saying another word.

The closing of the door seemed to echo, though Draco hadn't slammed it, and Harry stood to clear the cups. They're still warm, Harry thought incongruously.

He didn't notice the tears running down his face.

It was the first time in a very long while that Harry was able to spend the afternoon at the Burrow with no mixed feelings whatsoever. There was no resentment that he had to make an appearance before escaping to Holly and the pub. No guilt for that resentment, nor the double life he was leading – had been leading.

He was still extremely guilty about what he'd done to Draco, and he was miserable, but each of those was a separate issue, and they could be soothed by home and family.

Not that the Burrow was particularly soothing today – they were gathered not only for the weekly dinner but also for Bill's birthday, Charlie had just arrived home for a month-long visit, and Molly was ecstatic to have nearly the entire family together again. Ginny was still on tour of course, but she'd be home for Christmas.

In her honour and because they were Weasleys, an impromptu Quidditch match was taking place on the back field. Harry was playing Seeker, which was the only reason he saw it. As it was, he was nearly too late.

Victoire was clearly her father's daughter, and she'd also inherited the twin's capacity for mischief and Ginny's fierce independence. She'd broken the locks on the shed, retrieved an old broom and was flying toward them. Unfortunately, the broom – two decades old at least – was no longer capable of the speed or the height she was asking from it.

Abandoning the game, Harry flew toward her; Charlie, obviously assuming he'd spotted the snitch, was quick to follow and even quicker to see the danger. Victoire decided she didn't want to be caught, and she banked sharply, or tried to. She tilted precariously for precious seconds before losing her grip entirely.

There was no way Harry could have caught her, not at that speed or from that distance, but it didn't stop him or Charlie from trying. Their combined power may have slowed her descent, but they couldn't do anything to prevent her from landing in Molly's thornguard hedge.

It was a very bad landing, Harry could tell when he reached the ground; she had a broken leg at least, and a great many scrapes and splinters. He didn't think any of the branches had pierced her dangerously, but he wasn't able to tell for certain: the family members crowding around her made it impossible to see. He tried to move through them, tried to get their attention, but no one was listening to him; they seemed to have forgotten he was a healer.

He was about to scream in frustration – it might be enough to get their attention – when a piercing whistle broke through the din. "Oi!" Ron was using his Auror voice, the one Harry should have stayed in training long enough to learn. "Let Harry work. What do you need, mate?"

Harry issued orders to each of them according to their individual temperaments. Really, what he most needed from them was space and for them not to stare; the easiest way to ensure that was to move most of them somewhere else. He did keep Ron nearby however, in case his voice was needed again.

By the time the various members of the family had returned with the blankets and other things he'd requested them, Victoire was feeling comfortable, certainly well enough to listen to the lectures her parents and grandmother were calm enough to deliver now that the panic had passed.

"You're good at that," Ron said when they were finally alone.

Harry looked at him quizzically, and Ron gestured back at the crow surrounding Victoire. Uncertain exactly what he meant, Harry kept his response simple. "Thanks."

"I mean it," Ron added earnestly, "and not just Victoire and the family, but Elliot and Kingsley and me…. Not just the healing but the dealing with people as well."

"I like healing better, but it takes both." He smiled at Ron. "Just like being an Auror in that."

Ron made a face – dealing with hysterical witnesses and family of victims was his least favourite part of his job, and Harry knew it. "But you're happy. Healing."

"Yes. I am." Harry was grateful that he finally understood that.

"Good."

Harry felt the tiniest bit of his heart start to knit back together. It was a different kind of love, but a healing sort all the same. When Ron decided it was time to rescue his niece – and his stomach – by reminding Molly that she hadn't yet served dessert, Harry decided it was time to get another difficult conversation out of the way. George had been trying to catch Harry alone for weeks now, and he'd been avoiding it long enough.

He found the other man coming back from the shed, where he'd been returning the abandoned brooms, and asked him to stop. "About the potion…" Harry began hesitantly.

"What about it?" George replied guardedly.

"I think, with a timed reversal, it has product potential. Without it…." Harry let out a deep breath. "Without it, I think there are benefits, particularly in medicine, but… it needs to be a controlled substance."

"Thank Merlin!" George said, much to Harry's surprise. He reached over to give Harry a brief but heartfelt hug. "I was scared you were going to ask for more. The papers are already filled out; I'll file them in the morning." He moved toward the table where Molly was distributing plates and clapped Harry on the back as he went. "Good man."

"What does it do?" Ron asked quietly.

Harry hadn't seen him approach but wasn't surprised. He explained about the potion itself but couldn't bring himself to admit what he'd done with it. It turned out to be unnecessary.

"Your bloke found out, did he?"

Harry nodded, and it took a moment before he could force the words out. "He knows I'm magical, that it was a potion. Not that I'm me."

"Bloody hell, Harry. You have a talent for getting yourself into the strangest scrapes; you'd think I'd be used to it by now. What are you going to do about it?"

Harry shrugged.

"Useless you are," was Ron's opinion of that. "If you do nothing, you've lost him for certain. Tell him, and you've at least a chance at keeping him."

Harry barked a laugh. If only Ron knew. "There's no way–"

"There's no way to know unless you try." Ron's face contorted for a moment, as though he'd sucked on a lemon. "Besides, Malfoy's been in love with you for years."

Harry stared at him dumbstruck, and Ron laughed. "I am an Auror, highly trained in observation and investigation."

Harry might have accepted that as the reason – it was true, after all – but he knew his best friend too well. Faced with Harry's disbelieving stare, Ron capitulated. "Hermione may have overheard him talking to Goyle in the Muggle Relations office, figured it out, and mentioned it to me. A few times. But I only had to be spelled stuck to the floor for the first one."