Thank you once again to all those who have reviewed, favourited and followed this story so far. It's completely written now - wow! Ten chapters including an epilogue as part of the tenth chapter.. so, after this, only two more updates to go! As soon as I've proof read them, I'll try and post them, so it won't be too long now! I'm currently looking at a few one-shots, but I really want to write another multi-chapter if I can, just need to become inspired...

Anyway - I hope you continue to enjoy - here it is!

Chapter Eight

George

Draco had no idea how long he laid there. No idea how long he stayed and watched Potter, his chest rising and falling as he slept, his eyelashes fanning his cheeks, fluttering every once in a while as he dreamed. He'd watched Potter before, but this was different.

Now when he looked at Potters face, he could see how it looked in the throes of passion; how Potter's lips parted, licked wet and ready as he moaned, how his cheeks flushed with the heat of his arousal, how his green eyes burned emerald with desire, want and need. A need Draco had been, in that moment, able to convince himself was only for him.

Now when he looked at Potters body, he could recall how it felt against him; how Potter's lips had explored him and forced all kinds of undignified sounds from him, how his hands had travelled the lines of his body, how his cock felt throbbing against his palm. In particular, he recalled the way Potter had pinned him down, leaning over him, rolling his hips until Draco was driven crazy with desire. In his experience, Draco had never bottomed – he was always the one in control, the one with all the power, just the way he liked it. But with Potter… Although they hadn't had sex, Draco had loved the way he'd taken control, his kisses and thrusts casting Draco into submission. He had never thought it would be, but giving himself to Potter like that had been a new feeling, a fucking brilliant feeling, and he craved more.

When he looked at Potter, he could also remember the moment he winced as his Dark Mark was revealed.

Yes, Potter had continued, but he had been drunk.

Draco seethed at himself for being such a fool. For allowing himself to believe that when Harry recalled the contents of George's letter that the words had a double meaning. That Harry wasn't just recalling the words George had written, but also directing the words to him. Merlin he was an idiot. As if Potter would think that they understood each other. As if Potter would think that they could be happy together.

Because they couldn't. No matter how the moment had played out. No matter what Draco had convinced himself that he had felt between them, they wouldn't be happy together. This wasn't two people who should not be together because of a past lover. This was two people who were completely opposite. Two people on opposite sides of the war, with opposite beliefs. Two people who, to everyone else, despised each other.

Except he didn't think Potter had despised him for a long time. He'd saved him from the fire in the Room of Requirement. He'd testified at his trial, saving him from Azkaban. He'd asked him to join them and play quidditch, of all bloody things. He'd seen the way that – when Potter thought he wasn't looking – that Potter would watch him. Watch him with a pitying, sad look in his eyes. Like Draco was a lost kneazle who needed saving.

Draco had to get away. Get away from the emotions which were threatening to overtake him. He had been a fool, he'd let his guard down, and now he would have to suffer the consequences. As carefully as he could, so as not to wake Potter, he slipped away from the sofa and almost ran to bed. He ran, but not before he had tapped a forgotten piece of parchment and transfigured it into a blanket it, carefully covering the dark haired sleeping figure he left behind. As he sank down on top of the covers, he buried his head in his hands. Here he was, a Malfoy, actually running away from a drunken Potter who he'd just allowed to give him the most glorious orgasm he had ever experienced. Of course, Draco had known for a long time he was as interested in boys as he was girls, but the thought had never troubled him. He always knew he could have fun while he was young before settling down to marry a nice, pureblood girl and continue his line. But now things were different. He still wasn't troubled by his attraction to men. He was troubled by his attraction to Potter.

Knowing that sleep would not come easy he rooted in his drawer and pulled out a small vial. He'd not used the potion, although McGonagall had insisted on providing him with several doses should he ever desire it. She had meant, of course, should he ever desire to rid himself from the horrors of the war. Those he could cope with. Those, he knew, would be much preferable to the images that would invade his dreams tonight. So that was why Draco pulled the cork away and in one, long gulp down the contents of the potion, tossing it away as he lay back and entered a deep, dreamless sleep.

As Harry woke, it took him a few moments to make sense of his surroundings. He was – Merlin he was naked on a sofa in the common room. Thankfully, he was covered by a parchment coloured blanket which gave him his dignity.

Dignity which was soon lost as realisation hit him like a stone dropping to the bottom of his stomach. Malfoy. The memories of last night assaulted Harry. Their touches, their kisses… Bloody Merlin. The memories almost made Harry giddy – yet the fact he was well and truly alone in the common room dulled the feeling instantly.

He had stupidly opened his heart to Malfoy. He had told him about George's letter. He had quoted George's words, but he had looked at Malfoy as he said them, his eyes telling him that the words weren't just George's, but his too. Malfoy had seemed to respond. He had said, what had he said? But maybe they'll be happy. That was it. He'd said it, more of a question than a statement. As if he was asking Harry if they could be happy. As if he was telling Harry he understood, that he felt the same. He had believed with all his being that yes, maybe they could be happy, and he had told Malfoy that with his body and Malfoy's response had been loud and clear that yes, he thought that maybe they could be happy too.

Except now he was gone.

He quickly dressed and ran to his room, finding with ease the Marauders Map. He hadn't needed to use it over the past week as he and Malfoy had spent most of their time together. Now he scanned the map with wild, panicked eyes. Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. Not in their tower, not in the Great Hall or the Owlery. Where was he?

Harry discarded the map and paced the room. Suddenly he felt as if his skin was crawling. Malfoy's touch was clinging to him and it was invading his mind. How he had felt the touches were real, genuine in their need to be close to Harry. Apparently, he had misread the entire situation. Stripping he dove under the warm spray of the shower and stood, hoping the water would wash away his thoughts as well as his skin but with no such look. As Harry continued to think about last night he concluded the only thing the water was washing away was his sanity. Magically charmed water never ran cold and for that, Harry was glad. He was certain that if he were in a muggle shower he'd be under a cascade of ice he had been there for so long. He dressed – taking care to throw yesterday's clothes and their memories into the wash – and descended to the common room.

As he reached the foot of the stairs he saw Malfoy entering the common room through the portrait hole opposite him. Their gazes connected and Harry knew. He knew he hadn't imagined the connection the night before, he knew that he and Malfoy understood each other. He knew that Malfoy had sensed the double meaning in his words and he knew he reciprocated the message. His Gryffindor courage coursed through him as he crossed the room, asking,

"Where did you go?"

"Flying," came Malfoy's reply. That hadn't been what Harry meant, he had meant last night, but he was momentarily distracted – Malfoy had no broom.

"Without a broom?" He asked, raising his eyebrow.

Malfoy missed a beat, yet smoothly replied "I didn't plan on flying. I went for a walk, so I took a school broom from the quidditch store."

They then stood for some time, a few feet apart, neither knowing what to do or what to say. Yet again, it was Harry's courage that broke the silence.

"Look, about last night-" he began, but was cut off.

"Forget it. You were drunk. It never happened." Malfoy spat. His words were laced with a venom Harry hadn't heard in some time. They stung Harry and the rejection burned. His shocked silence gave Malfoy a chance to push past and disappear up to his room.

Malfoy did not appear again for the rest of the day. Harry watched his dot for hours, never straying from his bed chamber. Harry had eaten in the Great Hall alone and was now laying on his bed, staring wide eyed at the ceiling of his four-poster. After composing himself from the sting of Malfoy's words he was strong once again. He was still convinced that there had been something real for both of them that night, a connection like that couldn't be imagined. Yet he was lost. What could he do? How could he just make Malfoy see? He needed someone to talk to, someone who would understand.

Inspiration hit him like a Lumos and he scrambled for a quill and ink, writing a quick note.

George,

I did need the present after your letter, but not for the reason you thought.

I need to talk. I think you might be the only one who can understand this.

Meet me in Hogsmeade tomorrow, around 1pm?

Harry

He took the note and ran all the way to the Owlery, aware of the late hour and the need to get this message to George with the time for him to agree to the meeting. When he arrived there he was met with the image of the pure white owl with its slate grey eyes, swooping in from the night sky. It seemed to stare at Harry as it entered the room. It took a perch beside a school owl and Harry approached it tentatively, expecting it to disappear and prove it was, as Harry had always suspected, a figment of Harry's imagination. Yet it didn't. It stayed, almost impossibly still, staring at Harry. Harry reached out his hands, holding up the rolled parchment and nodding toward the owl's leg. Why he did that, he didn't know. Owls were trained to carry letters. Then again, he had received a particularly nasty bite from a school owl at the start of the holidays who apparently hadn't wanted to deliver his letter to Ron and Hermione, so better to be safe than sorry. He tied the parchment to the owls leg and stroked its feathers gently. The bird seemed to give a low, happy hoot before it spread its wings and took off into the night sky.

That night Harry had gone to sleep as soon as he returned back to his dormitory, eager to wake the next morning to talk with George. His reply had arrived early the next morning, a short simple agreement to meet Harry outside the Hogs Head. Harry had alternated between pacing his dormitory floor, trying and failing to begin writing McGonagall's scroll on Animagus wizards and – mostly – watching the dot labelled Draco Malfoy sitting at the desk in his dormitory. His mind was focused on what he was going to say to George and, more importantly, how George might react. He was beginning to wonder if this was a mistake. Sure, he'd always liked George, but they'd never been close. But George had helped him out with getting him into Malfoy's trial and his Christmas letter had confided something in Harry that he doubted anyone else knew yet.

Before he knew it, it was time to grab his invisibility cloak and head for the secret passage which would take him down to Hogsmeade. He was sure that, if caught, he could get away with his brief visit when faced with McGonagall but it seemed pointless to take chances. As he reached the passageway he checked over his shoulders and, when sure he was alone, slipped behind the tapestry and down the familiar path. As he reached the mouth of the tunnel he swept the cloak over his shoulders and walked toward George who he could already see waiting a few feet from the pub.

"George, its Harry," Harry whispered as he approached, causing George to jump out of his skin. "I've got my cloak on, to be safe. I'll take it off when were inside."

Regaining his composure George gave a slight nod, big enough for Harry to see yet small enough that he wouldn't look strange to any passers-by. He walked toward the pub, swinging the door open widely to allow Harry enough time to scurry in behind. The pub wasn't empty – it was the festive season, after all – but it was far quieter than the Three Broomsticks would have been. Harry was thankful that George sought out a secluded booth at the back of the pub, hidden away from most of the early afternoon punters. He went to the bar, ordering two Butterbeers and two glasses of Firewhiskey. The bartender did not appear at all fazed by the order even though George had entered alone moments ago. The Hogs Head was notorious for a 'no questions asked' 'what happens in the Hogs Head, stays in the Hogs Head' policy which often saw wizards come to drown their sorrows in copious amounts of alcohol. The drinks were expertly levitated to the table they'd selected and when George returned, Harry swept of the cloak.

"Thanks for coming," He said, unsure of what else to say.

"Well, your letter sounded… Intriguing. So I took the liberty of ordering two kinds of drinks. Don't know which I'm going to need." He said, nodding toward the butterbeer and Firewhiskey before them, starting by uncorking his butterbeer and lifting it to his lips.

"So, how're you?" Harry asked first, painfully aware he was making small talk to avoid the real reason he had invited George to meet him.

"I haven't told them, yet, if that's what you're asking." George sighed as swallowed the first swig of his drink. "But I get the impression that, as interesting as my new relationship may be, it is not the reason were here. So quit stalling, Harry, and spill."

George's tone was forceful, demanding but not in a threatening way. In a way that told Harry he just wanted to know what was wrong and help him if he could. Harry relaxed a little although his nerves were still on end. He swallowed nervously, trying to slick his increasingly dry throat. "Well, you obviously know I stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas. Didn't fancy being the third wheel to Ron and Hermione all holiday, especially with, well… The way things are with Ginny." Harry scratched the back of his neck in his familiar awkward gesture, aware he was talking to an older brother of his ex-girlfriend who, unlike Ron, didn't have the protection of being his best friend. George however, simply nodded, waiting for Harry to continue. "Well, that wasn't the only reason." He continued, clearing his throat. "You know how I've been, well… With the trial and everything, I – your right George, he probably is still a massive git but – He thanked Hermione for going to his trial for Merlin's sake and well – he – he's not evil but he's so… He just looks so broken and – I don't know, I know it's not my responsibility but, well, I just wanted to – wanted to see if I could help so…." Harry was painfully aware he was rambling and his cheeks coloured as George made no reaction, continuing to eye him carefully. After a moment, George spoke.

"I know," He said simply "I er – well, I overheard Ron and Hermione. Saying something about you watching Malfoy and Hermione wondering if you're starting to confuse trying to fix your own life with fixing his. I didn't listen long, I don't like to pry."

If Harry had not been shocked by George's revelation he would have reminded him he was the inventor of Expandable Ears, a magical tool used solely for the purpose of prying on other peoples private conversations. But he was shocked, so he didn't. So Hermione had started to pick up on something, as their conversation before the holidays had suggested. But she hadn't – or at least George hadn't heard her mention it – picked up on what Harry hadn't understood himself until the evening two nights ago.

"Yeah, well, she's right." Harry admitted, his cheeks colouring somewhat with embarrassment. He cursed his bodies reaction to the admission; if he was embarrassed by admitting that, his cheeks would be hot enough to set the place alight by the end of this conversation. Suddenly, Harry was very glad George had ordered the Firewhiskey. Harry took a deep, steadying breath before continuing. "Except the part about me confusing the part about fixing his life and mine, because I'm pretty sure I'm not confused. In fact, it was your letter that sorted that out for me. When I read, what you said about Angelina - It's like, we're both lost without – We understand each other. On our own were just bloody messes, the both of us, but together…" Harry quoted and George's own cheeks burned at the memory of writing those words. "Well, that made me see that, it's kind of, well – That's… That's how I feel. How I've been feeling for a while, actually, without knowing" Harry paused, aware his voice was dipping so low it was barely audible "about Malfoy."

George's features gave no reaction to the words and for a while, Harry was sure his final words had been so quiet that he hadn't heard him. Then George reached out – Harry flinched, sure he was going to punch him – instead he reached for his Firewhiskey and downed it in one.

"Fuck." He breathed as the empty glass hit the table.

"Fuck." Harry concluded.

"So?" George asked, accompanied with a questioning gaze. "Look, trust me, that's more than enough for me to take in mate, but I've got a feeling there's more you need to get off your chest."

Harry paused, taking a moment to register a number of emotions; first, relief that George hadn't punched him, then relief that George hadn't judged him, then gratitude that his companion had sensed there was something more and was willing to listen. Blowing out what seemed like all the breath in his body, Harry took a long drink of his butterbeer – as tempting as the Firewhiskey was, it reminded him of Malfoy, and he may be in more need of it after, rather than before, this admission anyway - before continuing.

"So, after your letter made me… Realise. I – well, we'd been getting on alright. Studying together, talking a bit about quidditch, playing chess… Just normal stuff, y'know... But after your letter, well, obviously he knew something was wrong. After the feast we went back to the common room and I was all ready to pack up and run to the Burrow, but then he said I looked like I could use a drink." Harry suddenly had an urge to lighten the conversation somehow "So really, I'm blaming you for all of this." He added, George doing nothing more than waving a hand which signalled for Harry to continue. Come on, Potter, he told himself. Get it out. "So I did, have a drink. He asked me if it was that bad." Harry gave a short, shallow laugh at the memory – it turns out it was spectacularly bad. "So, well – I don't know what made me do it. But I – I told him about your letter, and what it said." Harry paused, certain this time that George would punch him – of course, he had every right. Something Harry had suspected, and know knew for certain, that George had confided in him and no one else, not even his family, and Harry had told Malfoy. However, George once again did not react so Harry hastily continued, eager to pass the awkward moment. "But I didn't just – I didn't just tell him what it said. I… I tried to make it clear that it was what I wanted to say, but couldn't say it myself. Anyway, when I got to the point where you finished, where you said but together… I kind of finished it for you. I said that together you could be happy, that you could make each other feel better. Fix each other."

George nodded softly and clearly, and Harry knew he was right. He felt about Angelina the same way Harry had discovered he felt about Malfoy. The thought, as a straight male, he was sure should disturb him, but it didn't.

"He knew what I meant. He knew it wasn't just you. Or, at least, I think he did. He said… He said 'maybe it's a bit unhealthy, but maybe they could make each other happy'" Harry shivered as he recalled Malfoy's words, the way he had felt, the certainty he had had that they weren't about George and Angelina, but meant for him. "He said it – he said it the same way I said it. We were talking about other people, but speaking to each other. I know it."

Harry was aware he'd been talking for a long time with George saying very little in return but really, what was there to say? Only a little story left to go, anyway. "So, well… Kissed and… stuff. It was – well, it was like nothing else. It was right. After I wanted to say something – I didn't know what, still don't – but he didn't let me. He said I was drunk and I must have fallen asleep." Harry stopped, aware his voice was now dropping with the horrible feeling this particular part of the memory brought with it. "I woke up in the morning and he was gone. When I challenged him he told me to forget it, said I was drunk and it never happened. But it did happen. I can't forget it."

With the story closing Harry reached out and took his Firewhiskey, draining the lot with a shudder.

"Glad I bought those in, then," were the words George used to break the silence. "Merlin, Harry." He whispered after a pause.

"I know."

"Well, if there's one thing, when this comes out it'll certainly take the heat of me and Angelina." George said, his mouth quirking up in a half-hearted smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"It won't. He's avoiding me. He doesn't want to admit it." Harry muttered, looking dejectedly into the bottom of his empty glass.

"Look, Harry." George sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not going to pretend I'm going to dance over the rooftops of Honeydukes with happiness about this. I know I said he's not evil and I stand by that – but he's still a git. He was still on their side and even if he didn't believe in their methods, he believed in their morals. I must admit, I'm surprised to find out he's as camp as Christmas. Not really acceptable for the only heir of a Pureblood family."

"So you're not surprised about me?" Harry asked. It wasn't really the point of the conversation but he needed to know just how much other people knew about Harry before he'd even worked it out himself.

"Mate, I had an idea when you didn't run back to my sister after the war and shag her silly." George replied with a shallow laugh "Not that I'd have been dancing with joy at that, either, she's my baby sister. But it's what everyone expected, what she expected, I know. So when it didn't happen, I wondered, but I never thought…" George paused, a glazed, distant look overtaking his features "Well... Malfoy."

"I never even wondered, so you can imagine my surprise." Harry said dryly, wishing desperately he had more to drink. As if reading his mind, George signalled for two more glasses which appeared with a pop before the pair.

"The way I see it, you didn't go through all this shit to have your life ruined by some scrawny little git like Malfoy." Harry was about to open his mouth to inform George that, although admittedly a git, Malfoy was neither scrawny nor little in any way but swallowed the words when he thought better of it. "So if he's going to be it, if he really makes you feel like I feel when I'm with Angelina… If he can really make you feel alive after all this…" George trailed off, unable to find the words to encapsulate the horror of the war, but Harry understood. "Then the chances are that he probably feels the same. So if you want my advice – and bear in mind I'm completely forgetting that this is Malfoy were talking about – then I say you've got to go for it. This war took a lot from us all. It took a hell of a lot from you, right from being a kid. So you deserve the best shot at a future you can get."

Harry looked long and hard into George's eyes, searching for and finding the raw emotion that was held there. Merlin, when had George become so wise? Of course, losing his twin and had changed George, he was older and clearly wiser.

"And if that's with Malfoy, like mine with Angelina, then everyone else will just have to bugger it." George finished, his final choice of words reminding Harry that this was George Weasley he was talking to.

He let the words settle over him and for some time, the pair sat in silence, sipping their Firewhiskey. Harry's head once again felt fuzzy; he wasn't sure if it was the drink or the weight of his thoughts but he was sure his skull was about to burst. He couldn't believe that George had been so… Well, he certainly wasn't happy about it, he'd made that much clear. But he didn't check Harry for misplaced curses or love potions, or worse declare he should be shipped straight off to St Mungo's. He had sat and he had listened and he had accepted what Harry had to say. When had George, of all people, become so wise? Harry's thoughts then led him down a darker path; George, more than anyone, had been left in a post-war grief that would never fade. Loosing someone so close, close in a way Harry could never himself imagine, could obviously effect someone quite deeply. He pushed the thought away, feeling a need to break the silence which had now become, at least to Harry, heavy and uncomfortable.

"When did you become so wise?" He mused aloud, attempting to sound light hearted and jokey, although his deep desire to hear George give him a reason other than the one he had himself provided betrayed him, leaving his voice sounding low and croaky.

"Lot's of things have changed, Harry. For a long time, I was broken..." George paused, shifting a little before continuing "But that was no way to live, Fred wouldn't have wanted it. So, I figured, if I changed the way I look at things.. The things I look at will change. It makes life better." George's reply wasn't filled with sadness, but came in a low, meaningful tone. Once again, Harry thought, George was proving his new found wise nature.

When their drinks were empty the pair stood and Harry pulled the cloak over himself, disappearing as he and George exited the pub. "I think it's high time me and Angelina faced the music." George said to Harry as they stepped behind a corner although if someone were passing it would look very much like George were talking to himself.

"Good luck." Harry whispered, despite the fact there was no one around to hear him so no need to worry over the volume of the voice coming from his invisible body.

"Good luck yourself," George smiled ruefully, giving Harry a mock salute as he turned on his heel and disappeared down deeper into Hogsmeade joining the bustle of the main street.

Harry himself turned, walking in the opposite direction and returned to the opening which would provide the familiar path to Hogwarts. Spurred on by this conversation, Harry's thoughts now flickered wildly to how exactly he would convince Malfoy of what he knew to be true; a tricky task even if Malfoy completely wasn't avoiding him. Once safe inside the tunnel he removed his cloak, his head still spinning, still formulating a plan of what he would do, how he would convince Malfoy there was something between them.

As he returned to the common room, he wasn't surprised to find it empty. He was, however, surprised to find that it was six o'clock. He and George had talked for hours, although it didn't seem that long. A distinct rumbling told Harry he hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast, but the throb of his head from the alcohol and weight of his emotions told him that, actually, he could think of nothing worse than a plate piled with food and in fact could think of nothing better than his nice, warm bed. His body was heavy as he dragged his feet upstairs and once he reached his room he had barely kicked off his boots before dropping to his bed, pulling himself under the covers without removing his clothes. His day hadn't been physically exhausting, but the emotional revelations of the day were enough to send Harry into a deep, long sleep.