Title: Metamorphosis
Author: islandsmoke
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Draco, Hermione, Ron
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: cross-dressing
Other Warnings: oral, anal, stand-up and first time sex, coming out
Word Count: ~10,800
Summary/Description: Sometimes all it takes to change a man's life is a little eye shadow and three inch heels.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to the mods for changing my posting date. Almost three weeks without a computer – yikes! And, as always, heaps of thanks to hogwartshoney who persevered through renovations, floods, visiting relatives and a wedding to ruthlessly cut, kick, and bully this fic into some kind of reasonableness. All remaining errors are mine.

Oh, and if there is anyone who doesn't know, the song lyrics are from "I Got You, Babe" by Sonny Bono.


~*~Metamorphosis~*~


Hermione kicked off her shoes, careless in her vexation. How she had ever let herself get roped into the Ministry's Christmas Talent Competition, she didn't know, but she did know it wouldn't happen again. This, the dress rehearsal, had been a dismal failure.

There was a sharp rap at the dressing room door.

"Come in." She looked up to see Harry, looking flushed, enter and close the door behind him.

"You were great, Hermione." His eyes were shining.

"No I wasn't." She bent over to straighten the shoes. "I totally blew that dance, and I've done it perfectly so many times! Gods, I almost tripped you." She sat on the edge of the make-up table in a huff.

"Well, I thought you were brilliant."

"Oh, Harry." She crossed the room and gave him a hug. "You're such a good friend, but I know the truth."

"Don't they say a bad dress rehearsal means a good opening night?"

"We only have one night, thank heavens."

Harry grinned. "There you go, then."

Hermione felt herself relax as she laughed.

"We still on for our drink?" They usually stopped at the Leaky Cauldron after rehearsal.

"Sure, Harry. I could use a drink after that fiasco."

"Aw, it wasn't much of a fumble." Harry looked sheepish.

He also looked… odd. Now that Hermione's focus was no longer inward, she noticed the bright spots of colour in Harry's cheeks, and the slightly feverish glitter to his eyes. She was about to ask if he was feeling all right when he spoke.

"We could wear our costumes," he blurted out. "That is, if you're in a hurry, or anything." His face suffused with colour.

Hermione glanced down at her costume: a Muggle man's three-piece suit. Harry, on the other hand, was wearing an outrageous red-sequined dress.

Really?

"Wouldn't stand out too much at the Leaky, would we?" She laughed lightly and pretended not to notice his crestfallen look.

"Yeah, you're right. You do look good in that suit though." His tone was slightly wistful.

"Well, you look a treat in that dress! Your eyes are gorgeous with a bit of make-up, you know." He lowered his eyes in a shy gesture that would turn many women green with envy. "Go on, now. Let's change and we'll get that drink."

~~

The next morning, Hermione entered her Ministry office, dropped her bag on a chair, collapsed in her big desk chair, and lowered her head to her folded arms.

"Good morning, Ms. Granger. Nice to see you looking so well." She didn't look up at the sound of Draco's voice. "What shall it be this morning: coffee, tea, or hemlock?"

She groaned and sat up, pushing her hair back with one hand. "Tea, Draco, without the commentary."

Draco set a bone china cup on the polished surface of the desk with perhaps more force than was necessary.

"As your director, I get to comment."

"Fine." She waved a one hand while stirring her tea with the other. "Unload the scathing remarks, then – I certainly deserve them."

"Actually," he poured himself a cup of tea. "You weren't half bad."

"I was awful."

"Sorry, Granger. I'm the director and I get the final word."

He sipped his tea while Hermione scowled at him. He was as impeccably turned out as usual, every hair in place. As brilliant an assistant as he had become, sometimes she hated him for that. She tucked an unruly curl behind her ear and stared petulantly at her desk blotter.

With an exaggerated sigh, Draco rose and picked up his cup. "Fine. I'll give you twenty minutes to pout and feel sorry for yourself, but then we need to get to work. I may have cleared your calendar for the afternoon, but there are things that must be done, and, remarkably, they are things that I can't do myself. Well, I can of course, but I mustn't."

She heard him hesitate a moment at the door, but when she looked up, he was pulling it shut behind him.

She poured more tea, added twice as much sugar as usual – maybe it would help – and sat back.

---

It had taken two years after the fall of Voldemort for Draco's trial to come before the Wizengamot. During that time, he had been under house arrest and had apparently filled his time with reading and introspection. His characteristic smug arrogance was under steely control during the trial, and he actually fared rather well. Four years service in the Ministry with minimal compensation, with two years suspended for the time he'd served under house arrest.

No one, however, had wanted him.

After the jokes and laughing had subsided, no one offered to take him on. Morrison, in maintenance, finally offered to give him the job of cleaning the toilets and scrubbing floors, and before she knew she had opened her mouth, Hermione heard herself declaring that he could be her secretary.

Kingsley hadn't laughed.

"Hermione, do you really think that the office of the Assistant Liaison for Wizard-Muggle Relationships is an appropriate place for a Malfoy?"

"He'll only be my secretary – which I need and you say the budget can't afford – and he's not stupid. He'll be fine."

After two weeks, she was almost ready to admit she'd been wrong. The Draco Malfoy of the trial was gone, and the old one was back. He showed up late, sulked, brooded, and did a lousy job. He was rude to almost everyone and drank gallons of tea. After he turned in yet another report full of errors and smudged ink, she called him in for a dressing down.

After he'd slouched out of her office, she had almost felt guilty, but it was true: a fifth year with no more than A's on their O.W.L.s could do better, and yes, she had thought that Malfoys had more pride. Pointing out that scrubbing toilets was his only other option might have been a bit below the belt, but it had worked.

His work had improved rapidly, and before long, he started trying to anticipate her. It was a little annoying at first, but he soon got so good at it that she started to rely on him for all kinds of details. She was pleased and impressed, and didn't hesitate to tell him so.

At first, he had acted suspicious of her praise, but soon relaxed under it, and even came to demand it as his due. His attitude of superiority was still there, but this time, it was earned. He was damned good at his job.

He became indispensable during the whole affair with the Duchess.

~~

The Duchess of Dinglewold was eighty-seven and had Magical folk among her distant family. The Ministry had approached her a couple of years before in an effort to start what they hoped would be a fruitful relationship, but she had rebuffed them. Hermione had been tasked to try again. She wrote a respectful letter asking for a meeting, and gave it to Draco to copy on official Ministry stationery.

Draco had refused. He re-wrote the letter, then waving off Hermione's objections, hand delivered it.

The invitation to tea with the Duchess came a day later.

Draco had then taken over, bustling her off to Madam Malkin's for "suitable" robes, then to the staid old hotel, Lee's, to brush up on her "etiquette." At the time, Hermione hadn't known whether to laugh or be furious.

Looking back, she smiled. A bit of conversation from that surreal afternoon in Diagon Alley rose in her mind. They had been waiting in line at the Floo Station, and she was tired.

"I feel like Liza Doolittle."

Draco's face had warmed. "But can you can sing?"

"You know it?"

His expression had became guarded. "I rather like musical theatre."

"Muggle musical theatre?"

"Have you seen Wizard theatre?"

"Well, yes…."

Their talk had been cut short as two Floos opened up, and they went their separate ways.

~~

Hermione's new robes were beautiful. Done in a shade of dark, old rose with lighter trim, she felt positively elegant. Draco wore a Muggle three-piece suit in grey, with a green shirt and darker tie. "Bridging the gap," was what he said of his clothes.

The Duchess was a slightly formidable, keenly intelligent woman who reminded Hermione a little of Minerva McGonagall. The hour of their meeting passed quickly, and soon she and Draco were on their way back to the Ministry – in a car, no less – with the Duchess' promise to 'think things over.'

The following week, a letter arrived from her agreeing to most of their suggestions and containing a number of excellent ideas of her own.

That had been a turning point in their relationship. Draco had continued to excel at his job, growing more confident, and only occasionally over-stepping his authority to such a degree as to necessitate Hermione reining him in a bit. It occurred to her, now and then, that he was "managing" her, but he was so good at it, and the results were such that she decided she didn't mind. They became comfortable with each other, and she depended on him for a myriad of details. She would, she determined, go to the Minister and insist that he pay Draco a decent salary.

---

Hermione rubbed a hand over her face. Somehow, Draco's managing had included manoeuvring her into taking part in the Christmas Talent Contest. Draco was running the entire production this year, and was in charge of one of the acts as well. She had stopped wondering how he got her doing things, but how in the world had he roped Harry in? And into wearing a dress? And singing and dancing? She remembered Harry's awkward shuffling at Hogwarts trying to learn the classic dance for the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Now, she hardly recognized the same person in the way he took to the stage. He was really good, too, and he certainly went on and on about how good Draco was at managing, directing, coaching, planning, set and costume design, etc., etc.. Having them switch gender roles was inspired: their voices blended well, and Harry really was the better dancer. Hermione frowned in thought, something nagging at the back of her mind, something about….

"Draco!"

"You bellowed?" He lounged in the door.

"Draco, that suit I'm wearing in the show, is that yours?"

He gave her a sad look. "Hermione, with all due respect, there is no way you could get into my pants."

"Oh, ha ha. Seriously, isn't it the same style and colour as the suit you wore to the Duchess' last year? And come to think of it, why does my costume include a blond wig? Am I supposed to look like you?"

He didn't quite meet her eyes. "I hardly think that's possible." He glanced back at his desk in the room behind him. "Look, I've taken the liberty of clearing off that correspondence you had, if you want to go over it and sign – if you approve, of course. That way, you'll have nothing to do for the rest of the day but obsess over the show tonight. I'm afraid I'm going to have to desert you soon; there are last minute details that need to be seen to."

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you. The show and all." It was more of an observation than a question.

He drew breath to say something, then exhaled, giving her a wry smile. "Yes. Yes, I am."

"Have you ever thought of going into it? Theatre, I mean. You've only a little less than year to serve here, then…." She shrugged. "Can you sing?"

"I can, though unremarkably, but I prefer running things from behind the scenes, as I'd have thought you'd have noticed." He gave her a pointed look. "Not that it matters – Malfoys do not go into the theatre."

"Why ever not? I mean… surely…." She trailed off as his eyebrow rose higher. "But you're gay, aren't you?" She felt her face flame. "That is… I mean… not that…."

"Are you stereotyping me?"

She thought her face might catch fire, but he rescued her with a very genuine laugh.

"It's all right, Hermione. Yes, I'm gay, but the world knows that. Or it would if it were paying me the attention it should. And yes, there are perhaps a higher percentage of gays in the theatre than there are in the street, but while Pureblood Wizard society accepts the occasional eccentric, bachelor uncle, it does not accept a wizard who joins the theatre – Wizard or Muggle."

"And that's more important to you?"

His expression clouded. "You've no right to judge."

"No." She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Draco. It's just that you've seemed so happy lately." Her voice faded away.

"Hermione Granger." His voice held amusement and even a touch of affection. "Always trying to make the world right."

"Hopefully, that's not a bad thing?" She gave him a tentative smile.

He regarded her for a long moment. "No." His voice was soft, then he grinned. "Not usually."

Her thoughts suddenly filled with the memory of the way Harry had positively glowed after the dress rehearsal. Of how Harry had seemed to sort of drift after his break-up with Ginny and had no interest in being "set up" with anyone. Of how he watched Draco at rehearsals when he thought Draco wasn't noticing.

"Harry's very impressed with you, you know." She blurted it out before she thought.

"As well he should be; I am an impressive person." Draco smirked.

Hermione barely refrained from rolling her eyes.

"Draco, are we… friends?" She wasn't sure how to approach this.

"That depends, doesn't it?" He raised an eyebrow. "Are you about to impart some bit of juicy gossip that I can use as leverage against someone at a later date, or are you planning to ask a favour?"

Hermione let her head fall forward until it hit the desk with a thump.

~~

She stood in the wings, watching as the set was quickly changed. They were next; the last act of the show. She would blow it, she knew it. She would embarrass them all. She looked over at Harry where he stood next to her. He was just her height in the three inch heels he wore. How did he do it – dance in those shoes? He looked keyed up, but not nervous. His eyes positively sparkled with eager anticipation. The elaborate make-up Draco had designed; the swirls and glitter that adorned Harry's eyelids should have looked ridiculous, but instead it made his eyes even more exotic looking. The dress was cleverly styled to reduce the width of his shoulders and make him look slimmer, less like a Quidditch player, more like a dancer. He looked alive in a way she hadn't seen since he discovered flying.

"All right?" Draco gave a gentle tug to her collar and straightened her already straight tie.

Hermione nodded, finding no words that were adequate.

"You?" Draco looked at Harry.

"Can't wait!"

Hermione felt a thrill at his confidence, felt herself relaxing a little.

Draco winked at her. "Just don't over-think it, Granger." He slapped her arse then Harry's. "Break a leg."

And then the curtain was going up and he was stepping out to announce them. The music was swelling and Harry was positively quivering to launch himself upon the stage. Hermione stopped thinking.

~~

They won!

There were curtain calls, cheers and congratulations from the other participants, special recognition for Draco for producing the entire thing and for directing their number. They were finally heading for the dressing rooms, and Harry, eyes still shining, called to her.

"Still on for that drink?"

Feeling only a slight twinge of guilt, Hermione answered in the positive.

~~

Harry stood in the shadows across the street from the Muggle pub to which Hermione had given him the address and watched people come and go. There were certainly all types, including the unconventional, and Harry felt hope that here indeed was a place where they could wear their costumes and not be stared at as freaks.

Because, he realized as he threaded his way through the crowd to the bar, he was certainly being stared at by some. It was the appreciation in the glances, and even the surreptitious hand on his arse that filled him with warmth. He did like this dress, outlandish as it was, all red sequins with a back that dipped to his crack and a slit up the side to his hip. Draco assured him there was more than just magic holding it up, and after completing the very energetic dance with no mishaps, he didn't give it another thought.

He had removed the way-over-the-top stage make-up, and replaced it with… well, still probably over-the-top make-up, but really, the silver and gold glitter in the eye shadow did make his eyes look even greener. And here, it didn't seem to matter; he wasn't the only bloke wearing eye shadow.

Where was Hermione? Harry squinted for a moment, trying to distinguish faces in the low light. He's slipped his glasses into a pocket in his cloak; they really didn't go with the rest of the outfit.

Then he spotted her at the bar, one hip resting casually on a stool and facing away.

"Hermione." He was a bit breathless as he squeezed along side.

"Not quite." Draco's self-satisfied smile belied the look of amusement in his eyes.

"But…." Harry looked Malfoy up and down. He was wearing a twin of that gorgeous three-piece suit Hermione had worn for their routine, and damned if he didn't look even better in it. "That's Hermione's costume."

"No, Potter. This is my suit. Hermione's costume was the same in many ways, but we are hardly built the same way, ergo, we could hardly wear the same clothes."

Harry stared. "It's… really nice."

Draco snorted, then caught the eye of the barman and raised his glass slightly. The young man nodded, then went on to someone else further down the bar.

"Disappointed?"

"What? Um, no! That is…. Hermione and I usually have a drink together after rehearsals, and she suggested this place, and…. Is she coming?"

"No." The barman set Draco's drink on the bar.

"Your drink's blue." Harry was feeling totally off balance.

"With such keen observation, it's easy to see why you're a top Auror. It's Sapphire Gin. What are you drinking?"

"Oh, er, pint of ale, please."

The barman drew Harry's drink and set it on the bar. Draco produced some Muggle money.

"And one for you, mate."

"Ta." The barman smiled and swept up the bills.

Draco slipped off the stool and held out the glass. "So here is your brown drink. Shall we sit?"

Harry took the glass but didn't move.

"Over there?" Draco gestured with his glass. "Really Potter, anyone would think this was your first date."

Harry blinked. "My what?"

Draco's hand was warm on his back as he guided Harry to an empty table where his cloak was draped over a chair. He took Harry's cloak, which Harry had removed on entering the club, and hung it over his own.

"Sit." He looked on the verge of laughing.

"Oh, right." Harry plopped down gracelessly and sucked down half his drink at a one go.

Draco bit his lip. "Are you really that uncomfortable, Potter?"

"Well," Harry glanced around. "I've never exactly been out to a pub with another guy. Well, with a guy, sure, but not with a guy, not that we're…. And I'm wearing a dress. The dress is new."

"Which is making you more uncomfortable?"

"Oh." Harry felt his face heat. "I, uh, dunno. I guess I was just expecting someone else, you know."

Draco studied him for a moment, then sighed and, placing his hands flat on the table, rose. "I told her this was a bad idea."

"Told who? No, wait." Without thinking, Harry reached out and grasped Draco's wrist. "This is… you planned…?" Harry was sure his face was as red as his dress. "Just sit, OK? I'm a little off balance."

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched, but he sat back down. "Hard to believe you're so good at Seeking and duelling when you seem so slow about other things."

"Can we skip the insults, Malfoy?" Harry drained his glass.

"Sorry." The softness of Draco's expression flustered Harry even more.

"You really are talented, you know." Draco sipped his drink. "I roped you into that part as something of a joke – though I did want to see Harry Potter in a dress – but you were brilliant." His smile became a bit predatory. "And I haven't words for how you look in that costume."

Harry felt a thrill of pleasure. "I…. It was so much fun. The dress, too, and the make-up, and…." Would his face ever not be red again?

Draco cocked his head. "You don't know you're gay, do you?"

Harry finally felt the blood – all the blood – drain from his face. "What?"

"Oh, dear. Too busy saving the world all through school to notice?" Draco actually looked amused. "Let me get you another drink."

While Draco was gone, Harry stared at the table. Draco thought he was gay? But…. Well…. A number of things clicked smoothly into place: how his relationship with Ginny had always felt more like a friendship than a romance, how after their break-up, he hadn't been interested in dating again. How – the thought whispered in the back of his mind – his exhilaration after Quidditch had been as much for the showers as the game.

The sudden memory of the feel of Draco's hands running over him, smoothing and fitting his costume nearly caused him to moan aloud.

About the time Harry was wishing a hole would open up in the floor and swallow him, a glass of ale appeared in front of him, and Draco dropped gracefully into the chair across from him again. Harry drank gratefully.

"Easy, Potter. I might try to seduce you later, and I don't want you crying diminished capacity if I succeed."

Harry took a deep breath and a firm grip on his Gryffindor courage. "If you're going to try and seduce me, don't you think you should call me Harry?"

Draco threw his head back and laughed. It was a pleasant sound that Harry had never heard before and it made him eager to hear it again. "If you call me Draco."

"Done." Harry sipped his drink nervously. He had no idea what he was doing, but it was feeling more right by the minute. "Why don't –" he gulped. "Why don't you take me home? This seduction thing might take a while, and I'm a bit tired. The show and all."

Draco grinned. "Your home or mine?"

"Mine's a tip."

"Figures." Draco swallowed the last of his drink and stood. "Come along then. I do like taking my time, and I won't have you irreparably damaging my ego by falling asleep in the middle of things." He held out his hand.

Harry took it, feeling shy, and stood. Draco smoothed the back of his knuckles over Harry's cheek. "You are so beautiful…."

The look in his eyes left Harry with no doubt about his sincerity. He felt himself relaxing.

He had picked up his cloak and taken two steps toward the door when Draco stopped him.

"Potter!"

Harry turned, slightly annoyed, but Draco was grinning. "Did I teach you nothing? You're walking like a boy in a dress!"

Harry drew himself up. "A boy in a dress and three inch heels."

With that, he turned gracefully and put every bit of sway and slink into his walk that he could manage without falling over as he made his way to the door. Several cat calls told him he was succeeding.

Outside, Draco took Harry's cloak and draped it over his shoulders, then guided him into the adjacent alley. When he turned Harry toward him, and slipped his arms around him, Harry's heart pounded with a rush similar to that of flying. Then came the squeeze of side-along Apparition and the momentary disorientation that made him almost stumble when he landed on the plush carpet of a cosy and well appointed parlour.

He looked around. "This isn't the Manor."

"No." Draco hung up their cloaks. "As soon as I was out from under house arrest, I fled that mouldering pile of stone." He ran his finger tips down Harry's upper arm. "Too many very bad memories."

Harry nodded as he glanced around. "Nice."

Draco smiled. "Care to see the bedroom?"

Fortunately, the particular undergarment Harry was wearing was snug enough to prevent all his blood from pooling in his groin, so even though he became light-headed, he didn't pass out.

He gave a nervous laugh. "That's kind of abrupt, isn't it? Shouldn't you be offering me a drink or something?"

"You want a drink?" The intensity with which Draco was staring at Harry's mouth made Harry swallow convulsively.

"Not really."

Draco moved closer, close enough for Harry to feel the heat of his body. He leaned in slowly, a half smile on his lips, and Harry could do nothing but wait for the connection, the soft brush of Draco's lips against his.

It was different. Light and warm, Draco's lips moved over his, teasing, tempting, until Harry moaned and leaned into Draco, his arms coming around his waist. Draco's tongue was requesting entrance, and Harry immediately complied, and was almost overwhelmed with the difference between kissing girls and kissing… Draco.

Draco Malfoy. He was kissing Draco Malfoy while wearing a dress. Harry started to giggle.

Draco pulled back, his expression between amused and wary.

"Sorry." Harry wasn't sure where to look. "Just feel a bit ridiculous, you know? I mean, all this – " he gestured at his costume – "and, and…"

"You've never done this before." It was a statement.

"No, no I haven't. Not even with girls. I mean…."

"Relax, Potter." Draco held out his hand. "Just come with me."

Harry took his hand and was led into the bedroom. It wasn't huge, but it wasn't cramped either, and was beautifully appointed.

"This is so nice! My place really is a tip."

Draco looked at him with mock concern. "Maybe you're not gay after all."

"Well." Harry took a deep breath. "Given that I'd really like to be naked in bed with you, I think there's a good chance that I am."

Draco's traced a finger over Harry's collarbone. "The Saviour of the Wizarding World is a shirt lifter. Who knew?"

Harry felt his face heat as he looked down. "I sure didn't."

Draco laughed, that delightful sound Harry had wanted to hear again and again, and he relaxed.

"You know," he ran a finger over the buttons on Draco's waistcoat. "I really like this suit. Really like it. You look amazing in it."

"I always look amazing." Draco's voice was teasing.

"Uncle Vernon used to wear three-piece suits, and they never did a thing for me."

"I would hope not."

"But you." Harry laughed. "Well, Hermione looked pretty hot in it, too."

"A clothes fetish, Potter?"

"Harry." Harry had finished unbuttoning the waistcoat and was loosening the tie.

"Harry." Draco repeated as he bent to capture Harry's lips again.

By the time the kiss ended, Draco had lost his jacket, tie and waistcoat, and his shirt was unbuttoned with the tails hanging loose from his trousers. Harry's costume required a bit more concentration, as it was designed to stay on though vigorous activity.

Draco turned him, unhooked the collar of the dress and ran a finger down Harry's spine. Harry felt a tingle as the magic securing the dress released its hold, then Draco's hands were smoothing the fabric off Harry's shoulders and down his arms. The dress fell to the floor in a sparkling puddle and Harry stepped out of it, kicking it aside.

"Careful with that, it's a Malfoy original." Draco growled into his neck.

"And it's brilliant, but I want it gone now." Harry caught his breath as Draco's arms came around him from behind. Warm, strong hands stroked over Harry's stomach and down.

"Gotta get this off." Harry hooked his thumbs in the waist of the specially made corset and tugged.

"Hang on." Draco cast a charm that would hold up Harry's stockings. "I think we need those." He smoothed a hand over Harry's arse as it emerged. "So nice and high and tight. No padding needed here, just on the hips."

"Nice to know." Harry gave up struggling with the garment and vanished it with an impatient wave of his hand.

Draco laughed again, but his face sobered as Harry turned to face him, and he absently licked his lips.

"Now that is simply gorgeous." Draco eyes darkened as he reached out and trailed a finger up the length of Harry's incredibly hard cock.

Harry shuddered deeply and almost came where he stood.

"Oh, yes." Draco gave Harry a predatory grin as he sank to his knees. "This is not going to wait." He closed his eyes and nuzzled his cheek against Harry's cock, burying his nose in the thick curls and fondling Harry's sack.

If he were capable of thought, Harry might have been a bit embarrassed, but any chance of coherency went out the window when Draco's tongue lapped up the underside of Harry's cock and swirled around the head. Harry nearly passed out when Draco took in his entire cock, working the underside with his tongue. So hot, so wet – Harry's orgasm exploded in Draco's mouth without warning, and Harry's knees nearly buckled.

He was still unsteady when Draco stood, wrapping his arms around him and kissing him deeply. Harry could taste himself – salty and slightly bitter – on Draco's tongue and groaned at the thought that it was over.

"I'm sorry – I didn't mean to – that was – "

"Relax, Harry. Just getting the first one out of the way so I can take my time." He nipped Harry's neck.

"You mean…?" Harry felt his eyes widen, it wasn't all over?

Draco smiled softly and Harry blinked. He'd never imagined….

"Come on, Harry. We're just getting started."

He laid Harry out on the bed and slid on top of him, kissing him hungrily, then slowly working his way down Harry's neck, along his collarbone, down to his nipples. When he suckled firmly, Harry whimpered and gripped the back of Draco's neck, and when he nipped sharply, Harry bucked up against him with a cry.

"Like it a little rough, do you?" Draco murmured as he moved over to give the other nipple the same attention.

Harry was glad Draco didn't seem to be expecting an answer, because he was pretty sure he couldn't manage one.

Then Draco was sliding down, tickling his naval, sucking on the soft skin of Harry's belly, then further down… oh!… he bypassed Harry's cock to lick and nip at the inside of his thighs, nuzzling down the tops of Harry's stockings and tugging at them with his teeth. His mouth then travelled back up the inside of Harry's other thigh, and… gods, yes!… he was once more rubbing his cheek against Harry's cock, which was already growing hard again.

"Gods you're huge." Draco's breath was hot against the sensitive skin of his sack. "Size of a bludger bat." He licked lazily at the slit and Harry's cock responded by coming fully, gloriously erect. He started licking at the shaft as if it was a giant lolly. "Your cock is going to feel so good buried in my arse." He paused a moment to take Harry all the way into his mouth, sliding up and down the shaft until Harry was making bleating, begging noises.

Then he moved to Harry bollocks, lipping the skin and lapping.

"I can hardly wait to feel you stretching me, pushing in inch by inch, filling me until I feel like I can't take any more, and then giving me more." He licked the shaft again. "Deeper," wiggled the tip of his tongue in Harry's slit. "Harder."

"Malfoy!"

"Draco. You have to call me Draco." Draco slid up Harry's body, coming to rest with their cocks pressed together.

Harry's laugh had a tinge of desperation to it. "I'll call you Merlin Almighty if you want, just…." He trailed off, unsure of exactly what he wanted.

"You want to fuck me, Harry?" Draco purred the question in his ear.

"Yes! Please gods, yes." Harry was gripping Draco's arms tight enough to bruise, and his hips were thrusting up, trying to get more friction on his cock.

"All right." Draco's grey eyes were glittering as he sat up, and Harry stared. No one had ever looked at him with such naked hunger.

Draco summoned a tube of lube from the nightstand and spread a generous amount on Harry's cock, spending more time than needed stroking and squeezing. Just when Harry felt he couldn't possibly wait any longer, Draco tossed the lube aside and rose up on his knees.

"Harry." It took a moment for Harry to focus. "Listen, this is important. Don't thrust. Let me do this; you're big – it's going to take a few minutes – so you mustn't thrust."

Harry blinked at him.

Draco bent down and nipped Harry's shoulder. Harry jumped.

"Got that?"

"OK," Harry gulped.

"Good." Draco kept his eyes on Harry's as he reached back and positioned Harry's cock at his entrance, then slowly bore down.

The pressure increased little by little until Harry felt the head of his cock suddenly breach Draco's entrance and slip inside. Draco inhaled sharply, his eyes fluttering closed and his head falling back. They stayed like that, in a frozen tableau, Harry gazing in awe at Draco's slim form, at the faint sheen of sweat that covered his chest. Draco was trembling. What was he feeling? He was so tight around Harry's cock.

Draco breathed deeply and Harry felt him relax a little. And that was when he bore down again, sinking another inch onto Harry's cock.

"God and fuck you are huge." Draco's voice was a strained whisper. He blinked the sweat from his eyes and looked at Harry. "So fucking huge."

"Does it hurt?" Harry's whisper was more of a croak.

"Oh, it hurts. It hurts so fine." Draco rose up that inch, then came down slowly again, taking in one more inch. He was panting slightly. "It burns, but that will stop, and it feels as though you're going to split me wide open. It feels full."

"That's… that's good?" Harry realized he was making bruises where he was gripping Draco's thighs and tried to ease up. He couldn't believe how hot, how tight, Draco was around his cock.

Draco gave him a lazy smile. "That is good beyond belief."

Then Draco rose up again, but this time he came down hard, impaling himself fully on Harry's cock. He gave a sharp cry, and his hands fisted in the hair of Harry's chest.

"Don't move!"

Harry hardly breathed, staring wide-eyed at Draco, watching him gather himself, seeing the shaking stop, and feeling him relax a little around his cock. Draco rose slowly until just the head of Harry's cock was inside him, then slid back down again, just as gently. Harry gasped and trembled as Draco slowly fucked himself on Harry's cock, leisurely rocking his body, his face aglow with pleasure.

At the point Harry though his brain might explode, Draco leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "Fuck me now, Harry."

That was all Harry needed to hear, and his first thrust was so enthusiastic that he almost unseated Draco. But Draco just laughed, bracing his hands on Harry's ribs and coming down hard on every one of Harry's thrusts.

In no time, Draco started to twitch and he sat up, fisting his cock hard and letting Harry do the work of driving up into him. Three, four strokes and he was coming: body arched, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut and Harry's name on his lips. His muscles clenched hard on Harry's cock, pulsing in time to the spurts of come spattering his belly, and Harry's own orgasm ripped through him.

~~

He watched, fascinated, as Draco gathered himself: watched his closed eyes, his slightly parted lips. Watched as Draco's breathing steadied, and he stayed still but for gently stroking Draco's trembling thighs.

Draco blinked and gave him a lazy smile. "Not bad."

"It's gets better?" The words blurted out before Harry could stop them.

Draco's shout of laughter made Harry a bit unsure, but before he could think about it too much, Draco leaned down and kissed him. It was a hungry, greedy kiss that left Harry breathless as Draco sat back up.

"Yeah."

A grin split Harry's face. "You have lipstick all over your mouth."

"You should see yours," Draco retorted as he raised himself off Harry's cock. He winced slightly as Harry slipped free, then he flopped down beside Harry and looked up at the ceiling.

Harry shoved his wig aside and scratched his head. It itched when he thought about it.

"We could have doing this all along?"

"Mmmm." Draco sounded sleepy.

"Even in school? Gods, we wasted all those years trying to kill each other."

"Is that what we were doing?" Draco sounded amused.

"Wasn't it?" Harry frowned at the ceiling.

Draco sighed deeply. "A couple of kids being pushed around like pawns by two crazy old wizards. It's a wonder either of us survived."

"It is, isn't it." Harry wondered at his lack of need to defend Dumbledore.

"Well, come on." Draco levered himself off the bad. "Let's get cleaned up, sleep a bit and do it again."

"Really?" Harry had to laugh. He rolled off the bed, unsteady at first on the heels he was still wearing. "Oh, shit." The bedding was torn to ribbons where Harry had dug in the high, sharp heels. "I'm sorry."

After giving Harry an amused look, Draco summoned his wand. "Good thing at least one of us is a wizard." A few passes of his wand, along with the proper spells and charms, and the bed looked as though no one had lain on it since it had been made that morning. Harry's dress was draped neatly over a chair, and his wig topped one of the bedposts.

Harry sat to remove his shoes and stockings, then padded after Draco into the big bathroom. He let out an undignified squeak when he saw the reflection of his face covered in smeared make-up. "I look like a clown!"

Draco turned Harry's head with a finger under his chin. "You look gorgeous." He kissed Harry firmly, then reached for the jar of cream that would remove the make-up.

~~

They showered until even heating charms couldn't keep the water hot enough. There was soap and slippery skin and soft laughter. There was Harry, his back to the cool tiles, his hands pinned over his head by Draco's firm grip, head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open, as Draco slowly thrust up against him, sliding their cocks together. Harry's cock wasn't ready for another round and could only twitch and quiver with frustrated desire, but Draco was rod stiff as he ground against Harry.

Harry didn't care. It just felt so good, so different from anything he'd experienced, so perfect.

Draco came quietly, eyes squeezing shut, breath caught, then releasing in stutters until he finally relaxed, kissing Harry deeply.

Then the water went icy cold and, with a squawk from Harry and a curse from Draco, they jumped out of the tub. Drying off, Harry paused and placed a hand flat on Draco's chest.

"You act as if this is all so… normal for you." He was staring at Draco's ribs.

"Normal as in, I-do-this-all-the-time, or normal as in… normal?" His voice was soft.

Harry looked up, unsure. "Both, I guess."

Draco smirked a bit. "Well, I don't do this all the time, but being in a relationship with a man is certainly not new to me. As for being 'normal', of course it is. We don't choose who we're attracted to."

"A… a relationship?" Harry felt more than a little lost.

"Harry." Draco slipped a hand around the nape of Harry's neck. "After having a hard-on for you for years, I'm not likely to be satisfied with a one-off, am I? Besides, I don't bring one-offs to my bed." He suddenly grinned. "If the word 'relationship' is too much for you, we can pretend we're just dating."

Harry closed his eyes. "How about if we just don't talk about it at all?"

"You brought it up."

"Can we forget that I did?"

"For now." Draco kissed him gently. "But come morning, you're not going to pretend any part of this didn't happen."

Harry just nodded as they went back to the big bed. He lay looking at the ceiling and listening to Draco's soft breathing for a long time, his mind a mass of muddled thoughts.

~~

The late winter sun found its way between the curtains on Draco's bedroom windows. It crept across the floor, up the side of the bed, and lingered on Draco's pale skin as though captivated by the sight.

Harry certainly was. The softest sheen of sweat clung to the fine, light hairs of Draco's body and shone like an aura when stroked by the morning light.

"Harder, dammit!"

The spell was broken, and Harry slammed his hips forward. The impact with Draco's bottom sounded like a slap, and Harry relished the feeling of his bollocks bumping hard into Draco's.

Draco was on his knees, his hands braced on the headboard, his knuckles white as he struggled to maintain his grip with sweaty palms. His head hung down between his arms and his hair swung in his face as he shoved back hard, meeting Harry thrust for thrust.

Harry reached forward and raked his nails down Draco's back, fascinated by the red welts left in startling contrast to the white skin. Draco grunted and arched up into Harry's hand, his whole body shuddering.

Harry's orgasm exploded without warning, causing him to shout out in surprise, then hunch forward as his straining body emptied his bollocks deep inside Draco.

And Draco was coming, too, his cock untouched and spurting wildly on the sheets as his muscles clamped almost painfully around Harry, milking the last from his quivering cock.

With a groan, Harry slid slowly from Draco's body and they collapsed on the bed, shoulder to shoulder.

"You're a quick learner, Potter." Draco's eyes were closed.

"I was always better at the practical stuff than classroom study."

Draco choked on a laugh.

"You really like it, don't you?" Harry turned his head toward Draco who stared at him with a look of utmost incredulity.

"That has to be the dumbest question in the history of the world."

Harry felt his face warm, and squirmed around so he was lying on his side, facing Draco. "I meant being fucked."

"As opposed to fucking?" Draco grinned.

"Yeah, not that it isn't all fucking, but… you know." He stared at a spot on the sheet between them.

Draco turned to face Harry and brushed a lock of damp hair off his forehead. "I like them both, but when it comes to a cock the size of yours, I have to admit it's hard not to beg for it." He grinned as Harry's face warmed. "Make no mistake, though. You will have plenty of opportunity to discover just how fantastic it is to have a hard cock driven up you arse, pounding into you until all you want to do is scream for more. And you're going to discover what's it's like to come without having a single touch to your cock.

"Ever have your prostate massaged?" Draco smirked.

"My what?"

"Oooooh, it's going to be so fine, listening to Harry Potter beg for more. Beg and cry and promise me anything if I just do that again, just make you come."

Harry gulped. "I don't know…."

"No," Draco touched his lips with a gentle finger. "But you will."

He leaned in and kissed Harry, and for several minutes it was quiet in the dim bedroom as even the sun decided to move on and give them privacy.

"It's Saturday, isn't it?" Harry had finally come up for air, though his fingers remained tangled in Draco's hair.

"Mmm. Why?" Draco was getting drowsy.

"That just means we don't have to get out of bed for 48 hours, doesn't it?"

Draco's eyes snapped open. "Not even for food?"

It was Harry's turn to laugh. "I though at least one of us was a wizard? You can't summon a cup of tea?"

His laugh was stifled by Draco's mouth as he rolled on top of Harry, aligning their cocks and rocking slowly while he kissed Harry into silence.


__________*more than two years later*__________



Hermione couldn't seem to concentrate. It was Friday, but that had never before had any effect on her ability to work, though she certainly saw signs of inattention elsewhere in the offices.

She had been thinking about Harry. Draco, too, but mostly Harry. When Draco had arrived at work the Monday after the Talent Competition – an unprecedented five minutes late! – she had asked how the evening had gone. He has simply smiled before turning to make their tea. But it was a private smile, a smile of such gentle sweetness, that she asked no more questions.

Harry didn't say anything either, and she wasn't sure if she should bring up the subject. After all, she had stood him up that night, but she finally decided to say nothing unless he did. If they were choosing to keep their relationship private, that was their business. That they were in a relationship seemed obvious to her, and given the looks they traded with each other when they thought no one was noticing - looks that could scorch a dragon's scales – she was surprised everyone wasn't noticing. There was a tiny prick of hurt that Harry didn't confide in her, but she reminded herself sternly that this wasn't about her.

Months later, when old Rogers had retired and she was promoted to Liaison, Draco had declined the post of Assistant Liaison and had, instead, continued as her personal assistant until his time of service to the Ministry was up. She had severely twisted the Minister's arm to get him to offer Draco a considerable amount to stay on, but Draco had declined. He'd been unusually vague about his plans – "A Malfoy doesn't have to do anything, you know." – and she wasn't really surprised when he simply dropped out of sight.

Nor was she especially surprised when Harry, leaving for his two week holiday at roughly the same time, had turned in his resignation letter and similarly vanished. His heart, she had noticed, no longer seemed to be in his job.

It had been two months before she heard from Harry. The letter was apologetic and rambling – typical Harry – but said that he and Draco were in New York and had bought a night club together. He asked for her discretion, and sent a return address.

After that, she'd heard from him every few months, chatty letters that didn't really say much – there was live entertainment at the club, and he got to be on stage now and then – but she could read the happiness between the lines.

Draco she heard from less often, though Harry usually included his greetings when he wrote.

She smiled as she recalled the short note she had gotten from Draco a week before a big meeting of the International Ministry of Wizard's Convention, at which she was to be Britain's representative. Apparently, Draco and Harry were taking the Prophet and had seen the official announcement. Draco's letter had arrived the next day.

Granger,

Wear your Ministry dress robes to the first get together, then your daily ones for the working part of the conference. However, DO NOT wear Ministry robes to the dinner and dance at the closing.

Take the robes you wore to tea with the Duchess to Madam Malkin for alterations; I have sent her specific instructions.

Draco

She had laughed, but had done as instructed, and sent off an equally short note in return informing him so. After that, she had heard from him about twice a year; short notes, and like Harry's, not revealing much about their lives.

The reserve from Harry saddened her a little, but then, things change….

She knew he wasn't any more forthcoming with Ron, in fact, as far as she knew, he hadn't even told Ron he was with Draco.

Ron had changed a lot since the War. They all had. They – everyone involved, really – had aged beyond their years, had rearranged their priorities. She and Ron had parted ways amicably, and Ron was now married to Lavender and expecting their forth child. Lavender had become very different after the War, and matured a little more with the birth of each child. Hermione actually enjoyed her frequent dinners with them in their little cottage bursting at the seams with chaotic life.

She herself was still single, and quite enjoyed her quiet life with Crookshanks in her little flat, dating when and with whom she pleased.

It was to this flat that she retired after an unproductive day, her thoughts still with Harry. She picked up the mail from the rug inside the door and tossed it on the table. Preoccupied, she almost missed the heavy envelope of clearly expensive paper, but it's size and weight caught her attention, and when she saw the New York City PO Box address that she knew to be Harry's – there was never a name – she opened it eagerly.

It looked like – it couldn't be! – a wedding invitation.

Out of the heavy envelope came several items. A large card, a small R.S.V.P. card and envelope, a mid-sized card, and another, smaller, R.S.V.P. card and envelope. She read the large one first.

Harry Potter
and
Draco Malfoy
Joyfully invite you to
The Reception
Celebrating their Marriage Vows.

The event of the decade is to be held at
The Golden Snitch
from nine-thirty on the Evening of
the Sixth of August
until the last person drops.

R.S.V.P.

Hermione bit a knuckle to keep the grin from splitting her face. She was so excited that she almost forgot the mid-sized card.

Harry Potter
and
Draco Malfoy
Request your presence at the exchange of their
Wedding Vows
on the Fifth of August
at Hilltop Resort,
Centerville, MA.

At the bottom, in Harry's untidy scrawl, were the words, Turn over. She did, and there was a note.

Hermione,

As you've figured out by now, Draco and I have decided to take advantage of the new Muggle law allowing same-sex couples to marry in Massachusetts. Neither New York, nor the Wizarding World will allow us to do this, and somewhere along the way, it has become important to us to have the world – even a small part of it – acknowledge our relationship for what it is: a life-time commitment.

The service is going to be very small – less than half a dozen guests – and we'd both like for you to be one of them.

Harry

PS. I've invited Ron. I haven't told him about Draco – it may be a bit of a shock.

At the very bottom, in Draco's neat hand, were the words, Please come. And if you must, drag the Weasel with you. For some reason, it's really important to Harry.

Hermione blinked back the pricking in her eyes. How like Draco to use seeming indifference to cover what was important to him. And what was important to Harry, was obviously important to Draco.

She bounced slightly with delight. She could even overlook Harry's incorrect use of 'less' she was so excited!

She looked at the invitation to the reception again. The Golden Snitch. Was that their club? She moved to her desk and opened her laptop. She didn't take it to work with her, but it was an invaluable tool in her job.

She brought up Google and typed in: "golden snitch" new york. She had 50,000 items in .0016 seconds, the computer smugly informed her. She scanned the page. There were news items: "fabulous new club," "new drag sensation," "THE place to be," "East Coast Drag Queen contest to be hosted at…" Hermione's eyes widened, and she clicked on the club's website.

It burst onto the screen in a riot of colour. The background was vibrantly fuchsia overlaid with a lacy black filigree. At the top were the words, The Golden Snitch, in glittering gold, and a little winged snitch whizzed about the screen. Below the name was a gilt frame in which a slide show pictured scenes of a large room, sometimes with a crowded dance floor, sometimes with a stage show going on.

She scrolled down to a picture labelled, Your Host and Hostess. Hermione frowned. There was Draco on the left, wearing an impeccable three-piece suit of light grey, but there was a woman beside him, a beautiful, but overly made-up woman with a fall of loose black curls. Her sequin-covered dress matched the page's background – and Draco's tie – and she stood facing Draco, both hands resting on his shoulder and her chin on her hands. She was pressed against Draco's side with one foot kicked up behind her. Draco's hand rested on her hip. Her face was turned and she was smiling into the camera, an unabashed come-hither look that made Hermione seethe with anger. Where was Harry?

She blinked. Then peered at the picture more closely. Those heavily but, she had to admit, attractively made-up eyes were electric green, and that smile, oh yes, she knew that smile.

Hermione laughed out loud, and quickly clicked on the tab labelled "Gallery." She was immersed in the videos when there was a knock on her door. Minimizing the screen, she rose. A look through the peep hole showed Ron on the other side.

She welcomed him in.

He got right to the point. "You got one of these, right?" He held out the wedding invitation.

"Yes, I did."

"Did you know? About Malfoy? You knew, didn't you." The last was a statement.

The hurt in his expression stabbed her heart. "I did."

"Why didn't he tell me? Is this why I've barely heard from him for two years?" He paced her small living room.

"I've haven't heard from him a lot, but…. Maybe he was afraid… I mean, he knows how you feel about Draco."

"The same as he did, I thought." Ron sighed. "What an absolute wanker. I followed him into Aragog's lair, for gods' sake! Did he think this would turn me away?" He dropped the invitation on the desk and ran a hand through his hair.

"Um, there's a bit more – and this I didn't know either. Grab a chair, there's something you need to see."

They sat at her desk, and she pulled up the website, turning the screen a little to give Ron a better view. She centred the picture of Draco and Harry. Ron looked, then suddenly stiffened and leaned forward, squinting.

Without saying anything, Hermione clicked on a video clip from one of the "Movie Nights"; a clip of Harry doing the jazz number for "Victor, Victoria." Ron watched with silent concentration until it was over.

The silence continued for a few moments.

"He's got great legs." Ron was still staring at the screen. "'Course I knew that after the Talent Competition. His singing and dancing has really improved, don't you think?" He finally turned toward Hermione, an odd smile on his face.

"Er, yes. Yes, he's very good. Um, this doesn't bother you?"

Ron shrugged. "Why should it? Best mates, right? It was obvious at the Talent Competition that he loved performing, and that the costume was part of it all." He looked back at the screen. "Do you think he dresses that way all the time?"

"He doesn't." Hermione reached for the mouse pad. "Have a look." She clicked on the file labelled, "Candid".

There was a shot of Harry at a dance class; an action shot that caught him in mid-routine, stretched up on one toe. He wore a snug black t-shirt, and black tights. He had a purple scarf tied around his forehead, the tails of which hung down past his collar. It matched the purple leg warmers that he wore.

Another shot was of him and Draco painting a stage set. Both of them wore jeans, but this time, Harry's very tight t-shirt was red. Draco wore a light blue button-down with the cuffs rolled up a neat two turns. The main difference between their clothes was that Harry's were streaked and splattered with paint – as were his face and hair – while Draco's clothes were immaculate.

The next shot showed Harry painting a broad green streak down the front of Draco's shirt. This was followed by a shot of Draco putting a dab of blue paint on the end of Harry's nose.

Ron snorted.

"But, did it have to be Malfoy? I mean, I suppose it is, isn't it, it's not just that he's caught up in the whole theatre bit?"

"Watch." Hermione clicked on another video, one she had already watched twice, and the picture filled the screen.

"Ladies and gentlemen, and those who aren't sure!" The man in the brilliant yellow-green suit quieted the crowd. "As you know, tonight is the long-awaited 'Cher' night!"

There was wild applause with whistles and the stomping of many feet.

"As always, the lovely Harriet Le Rue will be leading the night off – " (more cheers and catcalls) " – and tonight, she's even managed to get that very shy – and totally gorgeous – man of hers to join in." Then, shouting over the cheering, "Let's welcome, Sonny and Cher!"

The lights dimmed and the music started. Two back-lit figures walked to the edge of the stage and the spotlight came on. Harry and Draco were dressed in vintage Sonny and Cher costume, complete with bell-bottoms and wigs in the couple's distinctive hair styles.

Harry started, the words ringing out in his clear, powerful tenor: They say we're young and we don't know, we won't find out until we grow.

Then Draco swallowed and chimed in, his voice soft and not quite steady. Well I don't know if all that's true…. Harry half turned toward him, reaching out and twining their fingers together. They locked eyes, and Draco visibly relaxed, his voice becoming smooth and strong. It was a light baritone, pleasant, but not remarkable. 'Cause you got me, and baby I got you.

Ron watched, chin in hand, an amused look on his face.

They finished the song facing each other, smiling, and as the last line, "I got you, babe," faded, Draco leaned in and kissed Harry, a gentle, lingering kiss that drove the crowd wild.

The video stopped there, with the image of them kissing frozen on the screen.

Ron grinned. "I haven't seen that many sappy looks since I was going with Lavender sixth year. Well, OK, I guess it is Malfoy." He shook his head. "Gits."

Blinking back the prickles behind her eyes, Hermione choked out a laugh.

Before either could speak again, there was a sharp rap on her window. She opened it to find a huge owl standing there, the correspondence tube on his leg emblazoned with the symbol of the International Owl Post. She took the parchment roll and absently gave the owl a treat before shutting the window.

The scroll was addressed, in Draco's neat hand, to Ronald Weasley.

"It's for you." She held it out.

"Me?" Ron took it and unrolled the parchment with a puzzled frown.

Hermione saw him blink when he looked at the signature, then watched as his eyes widened as they skimmed the letter. He reread it more slowly, then his eyes went slightly out of focus and he stared at it, thinking. After a few seconds, he passed it to her.

Weasley,

The owl was instructed to deliver this after you received the invitation, so at least you know why I am writing. Or maybe you don't.

I know that Harry has not written you very often, and that there are other reasons for this beside the fact that he is an abysmal correspondent.

You and Hermione know, better than most, what an appalling childhood Harry had. It is a wonder that he has retained the capacity to love at all, but he has, and not just in a guarded, niggardly way, but with his whole heart and soul, and in spite of the fact that he fears losing that love.

I can not pretend to know how you feel, Ron, but I do know Harry. Given the animosity of our school days, he fears that you may see his love for me as a betrayal of your friendship. The thought that you might make him choose between your friendship and my love keeps him awake at night. Make no mistake, he would choose me, and not just me, but the life we have built. He is happy, happier than I've ever seen him, but having to make a choice would devastate him.

This letter is not meant to rub your nose in anything; I'm writing it because the silly bugger is breaking his heart over the whole thing when it should be the happiest time of his life, and I can not bear it. I was going to offer a suspension of hostilities, but what I have discovered as I write this is that, on my part, there is no hostility left. Perhaps I've moved on, perhaps I just no longer have the energy to hate. I can only hope you feel the same.

If not, I am prepared to do whatever it takes to make Harry happy by having you at the wedding. If I need to grovel at your feet in apology for past wrongs, I will. If I need to come over there and put you under Imperius, I will.

Harry has told me, more often than I need to hear, of the many times you have put your life on the line for him. Surely, this shouldn't be that hard by comparison.

Maybe this letter is unnecessary, maybe you're already packing your bags, but if you were thinking of refusing, I'm asking you, please come. For Harry.

Sincerely,
Draco Malfoy

Hermione sniffed hard and handed the letter back. Ron's face was nearly expressionless as he rolled the parchment up and tucked it in his pocket.

"You know, I could have been wrong about Malfoy."

"You think so?"

Ron thought a moment. "Nah." Hermione felt her heart sink. "He really was a poisonous git, he's just changed." He grinned. "Must be Harry's influence." He gave her a bitter smile. "Or everything else we've been through."

Hermione's felt as though her face would split from her huge grin. "You're going?"

He gave her an impatient look. "Of course I'm going. For Merlin's sake, what do you lot take me for? Harry's my best mate. Period. I'd dance at his wedding if he married the Dark Lord himself. Although…." he grinned, "I'm rather glad that's not a possibility."

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione launched herself at him, hugging him hard.

He laughed as he pried her arms from around his neck. "I won't say is doesn't hurt a bit that he didn't trust me," Ron's face sobered. "But I have to say, he had reason. I'm just glad he gave me the chance."

"He knows." Hermione blinked back tears. "When it comes down to it, he knows. There's just so much at stake for him."

A thought struck her. "Isn't Lavender expecting about then?"

"The week after – and she was late with the other three. Molls is old enough to be a big help to her now. She says she'll be fine, and if she didn't think so, believe me, she'd say so."

Ron held up the R.S.V.P. card. "Shall we write back now, or make him wait?"

"Ronald!" Hermione dug in the desk drawer for a biro.

They checked: Will be attending. on all cards, and slipped them into their envelopes. Ron scrawled a note on the bottom of one of his cards. Hermione looked over to see.

Tell Malfoy he's buying all the drinks!

"Well, why not?" He responded to her look. "Might as well take advantage of the situation." Ron dropped the envelope on top of Hermione's. "Do you think Harry'll wear a dress?"


~~*~~