Title: Montague and Capulet
Author: joanwilder
Team: AU
Prompt: 9. Reparo in time saves nine
Wordcount: 20,000+
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Character death of original (non-canon) characters.
Summary: Harry and Draco live in peace together at Grimmauld Place, but it's taken a hard lesson, taught to them by their children, to get them there.
Author's Note: My heartfelt thanks to jadzialove and scarlet_malfoy for the excellent beta-reading. Team AU, thank you for all of your support!

Montague and Capulet

We both realize now what we've done…but there are some times, no matter your regrets, where you don't get a second chance.

They say the only certainties in life are death and taxes. Being a wizard, I only know about the death part. How many times have I wished it could've been me, over the years, even when I was still at school? We don't get to make that choice, I guess.

But what the two of us have learnt is that the other choices…the ones we don't make, the ones we know we should make, but for some reason put off, or dig in our heels… Well, in a way, not making a choice can be the most terrible choice of all.

The sins of the fathers have come home to roost, we've found, whether we intended it or not. There's a saying that 'Reparo in time saves nine', but in our case, a simple act of reconciliation by either one of us would've saved immeasurable grief.

The two of us rattle around in this old house that's too large for us. It's been almost two years since Draco came to live here, and there's a certain irony in that; after all, it's the House of Black, and he's more of a Black than I could ever claim to be. He'd decided to sell his little house and find a flat; since I've always felt the emptiness here, we agreed that Grimmauld made a sort of sense for him as well. Not many memories in this place for me to battle, and none for Draco at all.

"How was your day?" I ask him when he steps through the Floo.

He looks tired, but still smiles. "Tolerable. We got a shipment in; that's always interesting," he comments as he wrinkles his nose. "What's that smell?"

"Cabbage," I tell him. "Dobby thinks it's good for us."

"And Dobby would know," he says dryly. "What about you? Any progress with finding someone?" he asks, sitting at the other end of the table as we wait for supper to appear.

"Two applicants. We'll see. I want to check references."

I took over Ollivander's shop a decade ago, and have just recently admitted that I need help. Although Draco's position at Obscurus Books isn't one he particularly likes, there's no question of the two of us working together, if only because we know we've stretched the Wizarding world's tolerance, so far as the two of us are concerned. They know we live together, but seeing us in Diagon Alley, working side-by-side, would be a different matter, one neither of us is anxious to explore.

After supper, he goes his way, and I go mine. We meet up again at bedtime, as we take the stairs to the second storey.

And though it's been two years, and our routine is set, there's still this uncomfortable pause at the top of the steps when I shuffle my feet and he looks awkwardly at the forbidding portrait of Cygnus Black, before reaching out a hand to touch my arm.

"You all right?" he asks, his gray eyes hidden in the shadow as he begins to turn toward his room.

I squeeze his hand for an instant, then turn to head in the opposite direction. "I'm good," I lie. "Good night."

"Good night."

We've had plenty of time to talk things out, to try and fathom what's happened and why, and we've both come to the conclusion that we missed our golden opportunity, right after the war.

That period of months when amnesty shone bright on our horizons, only to fade away when we both wasted it.

I suppose I bear more of the responsibility in this particular instance than he does. He had far more to deal with in that first year. The shame of his father's suicide must've weighed heavily on him, but I found it difficult to feel any sympathy, as Lucius Malfoy's attempt to cast the killing curse at me in the Great Hall, just after I'd brought down Voldemort, had come frighteningly close to putting an end to me. Lucius had been Stunned by an ever vigilant Tonks, then had decided to end his life in a Ministry holding cell that night, when faced with the specter of Azkaban again.

As a result, Draco and his mother lost all their lands and fortune; his mother married a short time later and fled the country. In retrospect, quite a bit for an eighteen-year-old to handle, seeing how he lost everything, except for Pansy.

Harry Potter, though, was a hero again. Not that I wanted it that way. I had grief of my own—the loss of Neville, who laid down his life in exchange for the destruction of a Horcrux. Ron's injuries were disabling, but Hermione would always stand by him. As friends should, we supported each other, especially those first months, and there was no need for me to worry about a roof over my head or where my next meal would come from. Most important of all, I had Ginny, of course.

The first time Draco and I met up was just after the inquest into the events surrounding the Battle for Hogwarts. On that particular day, Narcissa Malfoy had testified, and been begrudgingly cleared of wrongdoing. Without my testimony, of course.

We came face to face in a side corridor, at the door to the loo. We stopped and stared at each other. I remember that my heart pounded a bit, because I'd thought of what should happen that first time we'd meet. But oh how wrong I'd been, I discovered.

"You should be happy," I told him as I leant against the wall.

He looked wary. "Oh, why is that?"

"Your mother got off," I said with a shrug.

"No thanks to you," he bit out.

I straightened and crossed my arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, Potter. You'd have been dead, had she not done what she did," he almost hissed at me.

"She didn't do it for me," I said as calmly as I could, knowing this would only make him angrier. Besides, in my own mind, what she'd done had been neutralized by the murderous actions of her husband, a short time later.

"She risked her life, lying to the Dark Lord like that! And this is the thanks she gets!"

Well, given what I'd thought over the months, my reply was immediate. "Oh, you're one to talk."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he echoed my words of a moment ago.

"I mean, Malfoy, I pulled your sorry arse out of the fire, literally, and don't think I haven't noticed, so far as thanks are concerned. Haven't heard a word of that from you, not that I expected to." Of course, this was a lie. I'd believed for months he'd eventually have to say it, given what I'd done for him. Well, here was his chance.

His eyes became larger as his mouth dropped slightly open, and for a split second, I thought he might actually cave and do it.

I still believe that had he done it, the course of the future would've been altered. Not that this lays the blame entirely at his feet; no, I had plenty of occasions over the years to multiply this failing of his, ten times over.

I watched as the moment slipped away, and felt a confusion of regret, and relief. How would I have reacted, had he actually thanked me? What would I've said? I still don't know. But it's a moot point, because he didn't, in the end.

Shaking his head, he said bitterly, "You just did what you always do. You played the hero. I wish you would've left me there." He turned to leave, and I let him get halfway down the hallway before I called after him.

"You're welcome, Malfoy!"

In the morning, we sit and share the Prophet before we both head off to work. When we exchange sections, I catch a glimpse of his eyes, and know he's not slept well. Again.

"You look terrible," I tell him nonchalantly, watching…waiting until his eyes drift slowly up to mine.

"Why, thank you, Harry. So do you," he tells me challengingly.

I run a hand through my hair and stare at him. "We have to stop this. Do you feel as dead on your feet as I do?"

He shrugs as he picks up his tea. "Probably." I watch as he sits back in his chair to look at me, the paper forgotten. "I'll live, and so will you. Nothing new for either of us."

"Something's gotta give."

I find it funny now—that our lives after Hogwarts were so similar, except for actual fortune and wealth. The summer we both turned nineteen, we married our school sweethearts: Ginny and I in June, he and Pansy in August. Of course, my marriage was above the fold on page one, his stuck in the society pages in the ordinary wedding notices.

That next summer, too, we shared another life-changing event: the birth of our daughters. Jilly Claire Potter was born on July sixteenth, followed by Lisle Bea Malfoy on July twentieth. Treated by the Prophet in the same manner as the weddings.

I'd stopped thinking about Draco and even the war by that time, and Draco tells me he'd done the same. Children have a way of reordering not only your life, but your thoughts, the very way you process the world around you. I think that on the rare occasion that I thought of Draco and his family, I might've even believed that time would eventually mellow us both.

Sadly, I've found that time only increases bitterness, and resentment just foments more of the same.

It was the spring before the girls were almost three that we ran into each other again. Ginny and I'd taken Jilly to Diagon Alley and were working our way from shop to shop when we saw them coming from the other direction.

"Harry, is that…?" Ginny nudged me as I leant against the pushchair.

"Yeah, Malfoy and Pansy, it is," I muttered, eyeing the couple with the child, also in a pushchair. I put my head down, and we would've gone our merry way without a word, if it hadn't been for Pansy.

"Harry? Ginny?" she screeched, then tugged at Draco's arm. Ginny and I stood and waited as they maneuvered across the Alley. When they stopped in front of us, the two pushchairs facing each other, it might've been funny, had either he or I had a sense of humor.

"Will you look at that?" Pansy exclaimed as she bent down to peer at Jilly, Draco standing sullenly beside her. "They're both redheads!"

Both of the toddlers sat forward and stared at each other, and even I had to smile. Until Draco opened his mouth.

"Lisle's hair is auburn, and that," he pointed at Jilly, "is orange. Doesn't look anything like you, Weasley. More like a Metamorph. You sure they gave you the right baby at St. Mungo's?"

The words slipped right out of my mouth, bypassing my brain. "And Lisle doesn’t look anything like you, Malfoy. Are you sure she's yours?" I asked, the smile still frozen on my face.

"Harry," Ginny murmured, as she gave me a definite push to get me moving. "Nice to see you. Beautiful baby," she said to Draco and Pansy. I sneaked a look at Draco's face as we angled the pushchair around them, and saw that he was still groping for words, his mouth twisted and his eyes murderous.

"That wasn't nice," Ginny told me disapprovingly as we continued down the Alley.

"Neither was he," I retorted.

"Honestly, it's been five years, Potter. I'd think the two of you could put it all behind you."

"Not likely," I said serenely, still enjoying that look of wrath I'd provoked.

"Did you miss Pansy when she left?" I ask Draco, on a night when we've been liberally watering our sorrows with wine.

He doesn't even have to think. "No," he snorts. "Six years of hell, that's what we had. And Lisle made it harder, but sometimes easier as well. She was the only bright spot." His eyes darken. "I knew it wouldn't last."

"How? And if you did…why did you last as long as you did?"

"Pansy was bored from the beginning. Never enough money to do what she wanted. Having the baby kept her distracted for a while, but once she figured out it was a full-time job, well…" He shakes his head, flushing slightly. "I knew she was seeing someone. I'd come home from work, and there'd be a note to collect Lisle from her mother's." Draining the last of his wine, he Summons the carafe for more. "Sometimes I'd go days and not see her."

"But six years? God, Draco. I can't imagine you putting up with that," I tell him soberly.

"I was hoping she'd just…get it out of her system after a while. We fought a great deal, but I really believed Lisle needed her mother, so I tried the best I could. Until one day, she just didn't come back." His eyes are almost glassy from the wine, and his voice is slightly tremulous. Of course, I know the rest of the story, how Pansy divorced him and remarried a year later. Unlike Ginny, though, Pansy never had much time for Lisle—poor girl was lucky if she saw her on holidays, or once each summer.

"You had it a lot worse than I did," I murmur, snagging the carafe before Draco manages to empty it. Pouring the last of it into my glass, I bark out a laugh. "We were on the same schedule, though. Both of us divorced within months of each other. Although…" I hesitate, because I've never told this to a living soul, and although Draco is now my housemate and closest thing to a friend I've had in years, I'm not sure I want him to know.

He looks at me curiously. "Yours was a mutual decision, I heard. So the Prophet said," he almost sneers at me.

"Yeah, well, it was something we both agreed to in the end, not that I wanted it."

He eyes me and waits until I sigh. I was the one to open this can of worms.

"People change, I guess. Ginny did—we always said 'four kids'. But after Jilly, she was always putting it off—one excuse or another. She wanted to work and do something that mattered, and I wanted her to stay home and raise our daughter. She was bored too, I guess. But the big thing was…I think she figured out I wasn't who she thought I was. She told me she felt trapped; she hated how predictable I was, how content I was to just take one day at a time, never do anything exciting or spur of the moment."

"At least she didn't cheat on you," Draco offers as he slumps down into his chair.

"No…but I did. Once," I say reluctantly, knowing I'll have to finish it now.

He sits up straight again. "You did?" he asks, clearly surprised.

I know I'm about to sound whingy and irritable, but I don't care. "It was a one-off. One time, and you know me, I had to tell her."

"Stupid Gryffindor," he mutters, watching my face.

"I was drunk. But that wasn't the worst part." I swallow hard. "It was a bloke."

Even though we get on fairly well, I want to reach over and slap that silly smirk off his face. "A bloke ?" he asks in disbelief. "You're queer?"

"No," I say testily. "I'm not queer, or at least I don't think…hell, what do I know? Like I said, I was drunk, I barely remember what happened. But for Gin, that was the final straw. She was never the same after that. Wouldn't even let me touch her."

"Have you…since the divorce?"

I shrug. "I'm a man. I have needs. So, yeah, a few times, but never with the same person twice."

He narrows his eyes. "But with men?"

Why, oh why, did I start this? Heaving a sigh, I admit it. "Yes."

He laughs. "Then you are queer."

"It doesn't matter now," I grumble, Summoning the second carafe from the sideboard.

"Well, maybe not now, but I'd say it was important at the time. Women can sense these things, especially that thing, and I imagine she didn't take too kindly to that."

"Well, whatever, she wanted out, and nothing I said made any difference. We shared custody for the first year, but when her work had her away for weeks on end, we agreed Jilly would be better off with me. Nearly killed Molly, not that it was any of her business." I sit and ruminate darkly for a moment, remembering all the nights Jilly'd cried for her mum, and how I'd been at a loss to comfort her. "But Ginny was still a good mother. She had her for weeks on end, and a large part of the summer. You know she was devastated when…" I upend my glass, unable to finish that sentence. Come to think of it, I never say the word, although I think it.

"I couldn't even find Pansy for the funeral, you know."

What can I say to that? It's stupid to say it, but I do. "I'm sorry."

Draco nods. "Does Ginny blame you?"

"Oh yeah, and she always will. It doesn't come up, though, since we rarely have reason to see each other anymore."

"Well, I'm sure she blames me as well," Draco tells me as he stands, then looks down at me for a moment, before adding, "On that sad note, I'm going to try the sleep thing. You coming?"

Shaking my head, because I know I'm not even remotely ready to try the sleep thing, I answer, "No, not yet. You go on up."

He reaches down and touches my cheek briefly with his fingertips, his eyes awash in that same grief I know shines out from my own. "Try not to…think too much. You're drunk, Potter. The two don't mix well together."

After he's gone, I bring my hand up and touch where his fingers were. Clearly, my confession…well, not quite a confession, but maybe a hint that I might be queer hasn't made me untouchable. But I realize I'll have to be more careful now. The last thing I want is for him to feel uncomfortable with me.

As the room spins around me, I'm sober enough to realize that this worry about Draco feeling awkward is the most ludicrous notion of my whole sorry life.

I sit and cry into my glass, thinking of Ginny and all that I've lost. For not the first time, I mull over the fact that she now has three children with her second husband. Damned if I can figure that one out.

Draco and I seemed to be star-crossed, I had occasion to think on a brisk October day when Jilly was ten. I'd taken her to the Muggle zoo, the very same one I'd visited with the Dursleys when I was eleven. It was a perfect day, the sun in our faces, her childish excitement warming my heart and making me feel like I was the world's greatest father.

It was outside the aquarium that we ran into Draco and his daughter. They were just about to go in as we were coming out. We would've passed each other by, if it hadn't been for the two girls slowing to eye each other's hair.

"Malfoy," I said curtly, then turned to Jilly. "Jilly, this is Mr. Malfoy and his daughter…I forget her name?"

Draco shoved his hands into his pockets as he nodded. "Lisle. This is Mr. Potter, and…Jilly Potter."

"Hello," they echoed at each other.

"You and Lisle are almost the same age," I told Jilly as I studied the taller girl, who'd begun to resemble her father. Same uptilted nose, same high cheekbones, same slightly reserved expression.

"Oh. You'll be going to Hogwarts, then?" Lisle asked Jilly.

Jilly glanced up at me first, then smiled shyly. "Yes, next September. You as well?"

"I'll be eleven in July, so me too," Lisle replied, looking curiously at her father. "You're Harry Potter from the war?" she asked as she looked back.

"I suppose I am," I said, slightly amused when her eyes went wide, then I watched as wariness crept into them.

"My father's told me all about the war," Lisle told me.

Jilly wrinkled up her face, then looked up at me again as if for permission. When I hesitated, she asked me, "Were you and Mr. Malfoy friends at Hogwarts, Dad?"

I paused for a moment before I answered her. "We knew each other, yes."

Draco didn't seem inclined to allow this misconception to stand. "We knew each other, but we weren't friends. He was a Gryffindor, and I a Slytherin."

"Oh," Jilly said, slightly abashed.

Lisle squinted at Jilly. "Your hair is horribly curly," she told her.

"And yours is terribly straight," Jilly fired back.

Snorting, Draco nodded at me. "This will be an interesting seven years, I can already tell."

I was at a loss for words, thinking to myself that a good parent should know how to respond, in the face of two ten-year-olds who were getting off to a rather bad start. But before I could find the words, Draco took his daughter by the hand and turned to leave.

"See you on the train," Jilly said, seeming slightly remorseful.

Lisle seemed about to answer, then closed her mouth after a glance up at her father, who shook his head at her as he pulled her along.

As I lie in bed, I think of that first meeting of those two ten-year-olds. It's clear to me now that Draco had already filled his daughter's head with his own version of things, his own prejudices, his own bitterness and misconceptions. Had I left things where they stood, though, perhaps it all would've turned out differently.

But I realize now that I'm as much to blame as he is, given the conversations I had with Jilly over the months before she left for Hogwarts. I filled her head with the same prejudices, the same water that should've been left under the bridge, only I'd done it a little later than my Slytherin counterpart.

We both sowed those first seeds in their minds. So why were we so surprised when they took root, sprang to life and bore fruit?

All wizarding children their age had heard stories of the war, of course. Jilly was no exception, although up to that point, I'd dealt in generalities. With the realization that Hogwarts would put some very real meat on the bare bones of my details, I took up the task of 'educating' her.

I explained about House rivalries, about Death Eaters, about the persecution of Muggle-borns and half-bloods. I told her soberly about my experiences at school, the part I'd played in the war, and then, finally, I personalized the account with why Draco and I had never been friends, and never would be.

"But…Dad. There're still Slytherins at Hogwarts," she protested, just a month before the start of term.

"Yes, there are. But the Headmistress doesn't tolerate any House nonsense nowadays," I tried to console her, slightly disgusted with myself for putting this worry into her head.

"What if…what if the Hat gives me a choice too?"

"Well, then that'll be for you to decide," I told her carefully. "Remember, though, you've met Lisle. She'll almost certainly be a Slytherin."

"Well, I won't be," Jilly declared with confidence. "I'll just tell the Hat like you did."

"Good girl. Not much chance of you being anything but a Gryffindor, though. I know my girl," I said fondly with a smile.

She chewed on a fingernail. "Dad, do you think there'll be kids who don't like me because of you?"

Tapping her atop her nose, I bent down to kiss her goodnight. "Not likely. I was a hero, remember?" Suddenly remembering the standoff at the zoo, I added, "But if they do, you give it right back to them, you hear? You're Jilly Potter, after all."

Adoration shone out from her eyes. "Yeah, I'm Jilly Potter."

I hear the Floo and I smile, hiding it behind my teacup.

"You're home early," Draco says as he pulls out a chair and sits tiredly. "I can't recall the last time you were here before me."

Setting my cup aside, I fiddle with my spoon while I deliver my line. "Get dressed. I'm taking you out for supper. Muggle place, casual, but good food."

He rolls his eyes. "All right, I'll bite. What's the occasion? You renewed the Ministry contract."

"Got that in March, Draco. Don't you listen when I tell you things?"

"All right…let's see. You've won the wizarding lotto, then."

"Have to play to win," I tell him snidely. "And I don't play. I'm richer than Midas."

He puts his head in his hands, then rubs at his temples. "I give up. Tell me."

"Happy Birthday," I say disgustedly. "Honestly, you really didn't realize?"

He looks up, stunned, then I can see the wheels turning in his head. "Oh, yeah, I guess it is." He frowns. "How old am I?"

I make a harrumphing sound. "You're now one year older than I am…for seven weeks, when I'll catch up."

"Let's see, I was born in '80, so that makes me…" He smiles lopsidedly.

"Thirty-eight, Draco, and I never realized you were so mathematically challenged."

"Time flies," he opines.

"It certainly does. Especially since I'm starving while you figure out how old you are. Now, will you go get dressed, or do I have to do that too?"

He laughs as he stands. "You wish."

I watch as he Disapparates, then think idly to myself, Yeah, maybe I do.

It's a quiet little restaurant I've chosen; there're only a handful of patrons here. I like Italian and I'm hoping Draco does too, but he doesn't even seem to consider before he orders.

While we wait for our food, we're unusually quiet, until he says, "I didn't forget about my birthday, you know. It occurred to me last week…and I decided that was enough of a remembrance."

"Thirty-eight's not that old," I tease him.

"Nah, that's not it. It's the other birthdays coming up…"

Well, he's right about that one. July's a tough month for both of us, that's for certain. "Isn't it funny how birthdays in families all seem to bunch together? Yours in June, then mine in July." I swallow before adding quietly, "And the girls, of course. Then Ginny's in August." I tilt my head at him. "When was Pansy's?"

His face goes blank. "I don't know," he mutters. "I don't think I ever knew."

I snort. "Ah, well, that was your mistake. Women don't appreciate that sort of lapse."

He screws up his face. "Maybe in February. Yeah, that's when it was…I think."

We share a rueful laugh, then when Draco's attention seems to drift again, I grope for something to say, and finally find it. "You know, Snape was our age when he died."

"He was? I thought he was older, for some reason."

"Because when you're seventeen, everyone over thirty seems ancient," I tell him with a smile.

"Yeah, doesn't feel all that old now, though." He looks up at me suddenly. "What do you think Snape would think? About…" He waves vaguely in the air. "…all that's happened? To you and me?"

I've already thought of this, and I have to confess I'm not sure. After all, I'd not known him at all, not really. "I think…you'd have a better idea of that than I would." I watch as he considers. "So?" I'm intrigued by why he looks miserable all of a sudden.

"He…he always tried to talk sense into me. Especially after Father went to Azkaban at the end of fifth year. Didn't listen, though. But still, even that last year when he was Headmaster, he still tried. Looked out for Mother and I, the best he could."

"Must've been hard for him. Playing two games at once."

Draco has the most expressive eyes I've ever seen. It's been a long while since I've seen them hard, like they are now.

"After the war, I missed him. Really didn't have anyone who'd be straight with me, like he always was. Mother missed him too. I can't tell you how many times she said, 'Severus would know what to do.'" He ran a hand over his forehead. "You had friends, I know. And I had Pansy, not a great help. But I think…"

I wait, watching as he struggles for control of his voice and his face, thinking to myself, 'Way to go, Potter. Nice birthday present, this trip down memory lane.'

"I think I might've got my head on straight if he'd been around. He'd have been all about putting the war behind us, making the best of what was left." He glances up at me, then adds softly, "He would've told me to make things right with you. That I owed you a Life Debt. That I should push my pride down and do the right thing."

"You've done that, though."

He laughs bitterly. "Yeah, a day late and a Galleon short."

I know how hard he is on himself, only because we're the same in this respect, so I have no choice but to say it. "He'd have told me a few things as well, I'm sure. About forgiveness…and expecting too much too soon from you."

"Maybe. We'll never know," he adds, almost forlornly.

I lift my glass, and nod at his. After he picks it up and shoots me a puzzled look, I clink them together. "To Severus Snape, who would at least be happy with us now."

He smiles. "To Severus Snape."

Neither one of us has much of an appetite after this, it seems. We pick at our food, and I'm figuratively ironing my hands for ruining the evening, when the proprietor catches my eye and raises an eyebrow. I nod resignedly. This was my plan, after all, so might as well go on with it.

When the wait-staff of three brings the cake, alight with candles, singing, 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow', Draco blushes—a rare enough event—and kicks me hard under the table.

And suddenly, the evening is redeemed, as he glows with pleasure. Such a little thing, a cake, and the small gift of a book he's wanted, but he seems happy.

And because he is, so am I.

Putting Jilly on the train that first year was one of the hardest things I'd done in my life, mostly because I felt sorry for myself. What would I do without my little ray of sunshine? Who would pester me to eat and comb my hair in the mornings? Who would fill my evenings with Exploding Snap, my weekends with flying in our secret meadow?

Little girls must grow up, and fathers must accept it graciously, I'd told myself firmly, but I still missed her terribly. There was a letter every week, and I relived my own first year through her eleven-year-old eyes.

That Yule was the best of my life, I think. I had her to myself for an entire week, listening to her girlish chatter, her eyes bright as she filled me in about friends, classes and teachers, flying lessons, potions and forbidden joke shop treats.

Both she and Lisle had done their fathers proud, being sorted into their fathers' Houses, with nary a suggestion from that meddling Hat. I reluctantly said goodbye when she left for her week at the Burrow, but joined them on Christmas Day, at Ginny's insistence. Why should your daughter have to spend the day without you? she'd demanded when I'd tried to decline, like I did every year.

It was an awkward day, feeling like a fifth-wheel, watching Ginny and her husband and their children. But well worth the sacrifice to see the look on Jilly's face when I arrived.

For the remainder of the year, I weathered through getting up every day and hauling myself off to work, looking forward to June and my Jilly.

She was happy to be home, and for the first few days, it was like it'd always been between the two of us. As the layers of her year were peeled away, though, I learnt that an old House rivalry had been rekindled, namely between her and Lisle Malfoy. They'd had 'words' on several occasions, mostly concerning their fathers. Alarmed, I told her that what was between Lisle's father and myself was exactly that: between the two of us.

But I could tell that in the short space of a year, the girls had managed to find each other's buttons and push them often. On the one hand, I worried, but on the other, I was proud of her; she'd done what I'd told her, after all—taken to heart the advice that she didn't have to sit back and let anyone harass her.

We spent a great deal of the summer flying, Jilly determined to make the Quidditch team that second year. After all, Lisle was sure to try out as well, and Jilly confessed that the girl was wicked on a broom. I thought I detected a certain insecurity behind her passion to succeed.

That Autumn of their second year, Lisle was picked as Slytherin Seeker, while Jilly was named as the Gryffindor back-up Seeker. For weeks, her letters were full of despair and contempt for her nemesis, but I remembered my own competitive nature when it came to Quidditch, and mentally made a note to settle her down at Yule.

"She wouldn't have been picked unless she were very good, Jilly," I tried to reason with her, knowing that Draco couldn't have afforded to buy his daughter's way onto the team the way his own had.

"You're right," Jilly confessed. "She's good. But it's…Dad, she taunts me about it constantly!"

"Well, next year, Layton will be gone, and you'll be Seeker then, hmmm?" I suggested with a smile.

She brightened. "Yeah, definitely."

"So then you'll have a chance to show that Slytherin your stuff. That'll make her shut it."

"I'll show her," she said stubbornly, her lower lip quivering.

"Jilly," I started hesitantly, "Competition is one thing, but the two of you…you have to try and get on. The Headmistress tells me you've both brought your friends into this…thing between you, and that's not acceptable at all."

Her chin came up at that. "Dad." She swallowed hard. "Dad, she says things about you."

I felt the hair at the back of my neck stand on end. "Oh, really. What sort of things?"

"That you were a spoilt prat. That you broke the rules and got away with it. That you were always making up stories about fighting Voldemort. That you defended the old Headmaster, when everyone knew he was a traitor." Her eyes were brimming with tears. "I can't just…stand there and let her say things about you. Things that aren't true!"

Why was I not surprised? The well had been poisoned and I shouldn't have expected otherwise. "Jilly…just because she says those things doesn't make them true—I know you know that. Have you talked to your Head of House?"

"Professor Delacour won't help. She said I should just ignore her. 'Steegz and stonze can break my bonze, but words will nevair 'urt me.' That's all she says."

I had to bite back a smile at her imitation of Fleur. As I considered my daughter, though, a probable truth occurred to me. And before I even asked, I knew the answer. "So, what do you say to her, Jilly? About her father, hmmm?" I ducked my head to catch her eyes.

"I…I might've said a…few things. But only because she did first!"

"What things?" I asked solemnly.

"Well…everyone knows her grandfather was a Death Eater. And that her father tried to kill Albus Dumbledore. And he did horrible things to Muggle-borns, and fought with Voldemort in that battle!"

"Jilly…you know he didn't try to kill the Headmaster. I told you this," I told her, concerned.

"Well, that's not what I heard," she said, almost defiantly.

"Whatever you heard, young lady, you should keep to yourself," I told her firmly, grasping her chin. "One of you has to stop this, and since you're the Potter, I suggest it will have to be you." I found I had to add, "Many of the things you've heard about her father are no doubt true. He was a berk, a sad excuse for a wizard, without a shred of integrity. And it sounds as if he's taught his daughter well. But as I said, it'll be up to you to take the higher ground. I'm not in any danger, being talked about by a little girl."

"It's not fair. Would you let someone talk about your father that way?"

Hmmm, valid point, I thought, thinking of Severus Snape. "I'm not telling you it'll be easy…and I suppose you have to speak your mind sometimes. I really do understand, Jilly. But try to tone it down, will you, and don't say things you know aren't true, just to hurt her. Doing that makes you just like her, and you don't want that, do you?"

I reached up and wiped away the tears about to overflow. She smiled tremulously.

"No, Dad, you're right." She sighed and wrapped her arms around my neck. "I'll try."

"That's all I can ask," I told her as I rubbed her back.

No, that's not all I should've asked. As a parent, I shouldn't have been asking at all. I should've shaken her, hard, and told her that hatred is a destroyer, that it kills your best instincts and makes you blind to the truth. I should've told her that the better person would turn the other cheek, and understand that her Head of House's words had been saner than her father's.

But I didn't.

Mea culpa.

Mea maxima culpa.

In the weeks following Draco's birthday, I can sense that something has changed between the two of us. I try to puzzle it out, this warmth I feel from him, this lightness I see in his eyes when I catch him looking at me.

We've been living here together for almost two years, and of course we've become comfortable with each other, but there are still moments of profound awkwardness, mostly because I think we both realize how bizarre our circumstances are.

We've done caring things for each other before. He makes breakfast for me sometimes, and on occasion, I've massaged the stiffness out of his shoulders after a hard day at the book shop. We've taken turns talking each other out of our more depressing moments, finding that often one of us is up when the other is down.

That little birthday dinner, though, our discussion about Snape, and the cake and gift afterwards—that'd been new territory. The most personal thing I've ever done for him, in fact. I imagine that was the catalyst to the change I see in him now. I wonder about myself and my reaction to this slightly different Draco, this…optimism I feel. A hope that both of us might one day get out from under this cloud of grief that still chokes us…keeps us from sleeping, and gives us nightmares.

I know I must have been on the verge of sleep by the way I startle when I realize he's in my room. Not the first time, for sure. He doesn't do it often, but sometimes when it's a very bad night, he flees his bed to sleep on mine.

"Draco?" I mumble, as I see his form move away from the door.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep," he whispers.

"Blanket's on the cedar chest…" I yawn and roll to my side to face the door. "You find it?"

"Got it."

I feel the bed dip as he lies on top of the coverlet, then see the flickering shadow as he snaps the folds from the blanket. As usual, he settles on his side, his back to me. The strangeness of this arrangement wore off long ago, as he's never actually in the bed with me, but on top of it. Even in summer, when there's just a sheet between us, he takes care not to touch me.

The bed shifts as he makes himself comfortable, and I watch as he bunches the pillow beneath his head, his hair silver in a swath of moonlight.

I've just closed my eyes when the motion in the bed makes me open them again. He's moved himself backward, closer to me, until I can smell the scent of his hair. My mind is still registering this…this something he's never done before, when he speaks.

"Your arm…can you…" It's almost as if he can't get the words out.

"My arm?"

He exhales loudly. "Your arm, can you give it here?"

Oh. He wants my arm… I reach out and rest the middle of my forearm on his shoulder, then am wide awake when he grabs my hand and pulls my entire arm to drape over him.

Oh.

Cautiously, I move as close as I can, and wrap my arm around him until he curls his hand around mine and pulls it to his chest. "I know…this is weird, but I…I just wanted." I see him flex his neck forward. "I just needed…."

I squeeze his hand. "S'all right. I know. Go to sleep."

In short order, he does. But I am left awake.

To wonder.

To my great delight, and the even greater delight of my daughter, she easily snagged the Seeker position in her third year. Her letters home were full of Quidditch, and of course I went up to Hogwarts for the two games in Autumn. There never was a prouder father. I found myself looking forward to her match with Slytherin in April. I did have occasion to wonder if Draco were anticipating that as much as I was.

At Yule, there were the usual grumblings about the Slytherins in general. I imagined that the old House rivalry had reasserted itself, but Jilly didn't mention Lisle, except to tell me they'd both been tossed from Potions once for 'disrupting class.' It appeared that my little talk with her had done some good, but still, I reinforced what we'd talked about over the summer. Jilly promised me that she'd be careful and try harder to hold her tongue.

Any delusions I entertained that the problems had been resolved were quickly put to bed when I was summoned to Hogwarts in early March. Minerva had been brusque and to the point: come this evening at seven to discuss your daughter's behavior.

I worried, of course, and mentally fueled my defensive arsenal, prepared to cite Jilly's accusations of the summer before to the Headmistress, if necessary. A resolution that was only strengthened when I stepped out of her office Floo to find Draco already seated in front of her desk.

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, Minerva set the tone for the meeting.

"Mr. Potter, have a seat. You're late. How are you?"

"Fine. You?" I ignored Draco as I sat and arranged my robes around me.

Minerva looked no different than when I'd had her as a student. Perhaps a bit more gray hair, but the forbidding look in her eyes told me that little had changed when it came to tolerating nonsense. Not that I intended any.

"I decided to speak to the two of you together. As this concerns your daughters and you both deserve the same speech, I see no need to repeat myself."

I shifted uneasily in my chair, already humiliated over what I knew was to come.

"This petty feud between the two of them has gone on long enough. Today, I had to confiscate both their wands. I'll be returning them after you've each had the opportunity to speak to them."

Draco gasped. "Took their wands? Why?"

She frowned until he abruptly closed his mouth. "I've talked to them on more than one occasion, you should both be aware. They've been at each other throats since they were first years. I wondered why at the time, but now I realize the only explanation is the two of you and what they've most likely heard at home." She eyed us with disgust. "Shame on both of you."

I leant forward and opened my mouth to protest, but she held up a hand. "No, hold your tongue, Mr. Potter." As I sat back, I shot a sideways glance at Draco, who was staring straight ahead.

"Last term, Professor Stanley sent them to me after they'd acted out in Potions. I spoke to both of them separately then, and discovered the rubbish you two have filled their heads with. They were both contrite, so I'd hoped I'd nipped it in the bud, but clearly I was wrong."

She fastened her eyes on Draco. "Today, your daughter cast a Stunner at Miss Potter, in plain sight of dozens of students."

I immediately took offense. A third year casting a Stunner, and on my Jilly, no less!

But Minerva glared at me. "In response to a barb about Mr. Malfoy being a Death Eater, whose wife left him because he was practicing Dark Arts."

Suddenly deflated, I stared at her, my eyes wide. "Jilly said that?"

She nodded. "And that's just the half of it. I learnt that last week, your daughter cast a Stinging Hex at Miss Malfoy on the Quidditch pitch," she paused as she shifted her gaze to Draco, "after your daughter, Mr. Malfoy, had taunted her with the implication that she'd only made the Gryffindor team because her father had bought her a place on it."

She waved her hand wearily. "I'll not go into the rest of it; what these two believe about each other and their fathers is complete and utter bunk. But I've been able to deduce that much of it has come from the two of you; some of it they're making up as they go along." She lowered her voice, which was slightly shaking now. "And for the first time in more than a decade, I've had to deal with members of your two Houses setting themselves against one another! Something I worked very hard to root out after the war, and for the most part, I'd believed I succeeded. Until now. Sides have been chosen, and students who formerly had no difficulty getting along are now drawing lines in the sand. I won't have it! Not again!" She slammed the palm of a hand to her desk, then sat back, her usually pale cheeks slightly flushed.

"It's none of my concern what the two of you think of each other. But as adults, I expect you to keep it to yourselves, and not pollute the next generation. Why you didn't put an end to all of this at the end of the war is beyond me. I would've thought that both of you, given your experiences, would've been eager to set aside your differences…set an example." She sighed. "Once again, clearly I am wrong. And horribly disappointed." She looked at Draco, then to me. "Which leaves us with what must be done now. Be it on your heads."

"Headmistress…I've tried to talk to Jilly, honestly," I told her, twisting my hands in my lap.

"Same here," Draco muttered.

"Well, you'll both be talking to them momentarily. But I must caution you—any further misbehavior on this scale will see them both expelled, as much of a hardship I know that would be. Given your high profiles, the press will have it in a heartbeat. Do and say what you must to rein them in. And a bit of goodwill between the two of you might do a great deal to reverse the tide. As your former professor, I believe I have the right to tell you both that you've behaved abominably," she bit out.

A silence stretched out, with neither Draco nor I having a word to say to each other. Goodwill, I thought to myself. How in bloody hell does that begin to happen, after…what? Over twenty years of loathing and mistrust.

"Mr. Malfoy, Lisle is waiting for you in Professor Stanley's office. Do your best. Use the Floo," she instructed him, then waited as he stood and headed for the fireplace.

After he was gone, she looked at me almost pleadingly. "You must set her straight, Harry. I know it's been difficult, raising her on your own. But I fear for both of them, if this doesn't stop." As I stood, she shook her head sadly, and waved me to the Floo.

I left for Professor Delacour's office without saying a word in my defense. Because there wasn't one.

The split second of Floo travel didn't give me much of a chance to compose myself or plan what to say. I felt humiliated and horrified and fearful, all at the same time.

"Dad!" Jilly cried out when I stepped from the Floo. She nearly knocked me over as she threw her arms around my neck.

I held her close as she cried—huge wracking sobs that wrenched my heart. For a moment, neither of us spoke, then Fleur stood from her chair and announced softly, "I'll leave zee two of you alone for zee moment."

When the sobs had become occasional hiccoughs, I pushed her away and used my handkerchief to wipe her face. "Are you all right?"

Rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand, she nodded miserably. "My shoulder's sore from where I fell, but I'm fine. Dad…I'm sorry." Her eyes radiated remorse, and once again, I felt a twinge of guilt. But there was serious work to be done, so I pushed it aside.

"Jilly," I said sternly, "I've just spoken to the Headmistress, and," I paused, "Lisle's father was there as well. So she's told us everything. The two of you have us all very worried."

"I know, Dad. I…but she Stunned me!" she moaned plaintively.

"Jilly," I growled. "You provoked her, and cursed her last week out on the pitch. I know it all, young lady. We talked about this last summer, and at Yule, you remember? So why?"

"She's always looking at me, Dad. She says things in class, so only the students hear. And last week I ruined a potion, and I just know she did something! And—and she keeps telling me I'm a worthless half-blood, that I'm not pure like she is."

I felt a muscle twitch in my cheek. "Well, that part is true. We've talked about this as well, several times. There's nothing special about being a pureblood, you know this, Jilly. This is what the war was about—people thinking purebloods were better than the rest of us. And it just isn't true, so you can hold your head high and just ignore her when she brings that up. Although," I sighed heavily as I remembered, "I realize how hard that can be, truly I do."

"The Headmistress took our wands," she said tremulously. "I’m so ashamed—she's never taken anyone's wand before."

Taking both of her hands, I said, "She did that to make certain you had time to settle down, and to let the two of you know how serious a thing it is that you've done. Hexing one another…" I shook my head. "Never again, young lady. Do you understand?"

She nodded, her eyes blinking rapidly. "I know… I was just so angry, Dad!"

"I'm very serious about this, Jilly. If the two of you do something of this sort again, you'll be expelled. Permanently. You don't want that to happen, I'm sure, and neither do I. And there is absolutely no excuse for using a wand because you're angry at what she's said. No excuse at all," I told her flatly.

"I know. But what if she draws her wand?" she asked, her eyes suddenly narrowed.

"First, don't you give her reason to. I know what you said to her, Jilly. And if you think about it, she Stunned you because she was angry. You were as much at fault as she was, seeing how you hexed her as well. But," I paused, as I thought this through, "I don't expect you to stand by and let her hex you. You may draw your wand, but only if she's drawn hers too. Understood? And if you have to use it, only a defensive spell."

"All right, I guess," she sighed and slumped into her seat. I knelt in front of her.

"You need to stay away from her, Jilly. You and she are…very much like her father and I were. I'm well aware that you're not entirely at fault, but you have to promise me that you'll do everything you can to stay out of trouble. Can you do that?"

She leant forward to wrap her arms around my neck again. "I will, Dad, I promise." She began to cry softly again, and my heart was about to break when she sobbed next to my ear, "Take me home, Daddy. I want to go home."

Patting her back, I pulled away and tipped up her chin as I shook my head. "You don't mean that; I know you, sweetheart. Running away won't solve your problems, and besides," I said with a slight smile, "you're a Gryffindor. Not a very good example to set for the first years."

She sniffed and rummaged in my robe pocket for my handkerchief again. After scrubbing at her face, she gave me a watery smile. "I suppose not."

I stood and reached down to pull her up, then tucked her hair behind her ears. "After I leave, you'll be getting your wand back. I trust you, Jilly," I said solemnly, waiting until she nodded in reply to continue, "And maybe, after a few days, you and Lisle could sit down and talk things out. Her father's most likely telling her the very same things right now."

"Talk to her?" she asked doubtfully, pulling away from me. "I wouldn't know what to say."

"Start with swallowing your pride, and tell her you're sorry. That's always a good place to begin." I suddenly realized that I was asking a thirteen-year-old to do what two adults had neglected for over a decade.

"I'll…try, Dad. Honest, I will."

"That's my girl," I told her as I hugged her again. As I headed for the Floo, walking backward, I reminded her, "I'll see you in a month—the match with Slytherin, yes?"

She smiled, and suddenly she looked so much like Ginny that it took my breath away. "Sure thing, Dad."

We've finished dinner in mid-July, sitting at either end of the table in the kitchen. It's been a mostly silent meal. It's July after all, a month that seems to catch both of us off guard, given the birthdays coming up.

I absentmindedly stir sugar into my tea, then look up and decide to ask him. "Draco, you remember when Minerva called us to Hogwarts…that March?"

He starts, and I realize he's forgotten I'm here. Pushing his cup to the side, he sighs. "Yeah, I remember. So?"

"When you talked to Lisle that night, what did you two..?" I see the wariness in his eyes, so I explain, "I was thinking about it today, what Jilly and I talked about."

Leaning his elbows on the table, he rests his chin in his hands. "I got her side of it, and I let her know I knew about her part in it." He stares at me for a moment before going on, "And I told her it had to stop. That it was out of the question for her to be expelled." He smiles humorlessly. "Slytherins don't need to use their wands when Gryffindors get mouthy, is what I told her. The whole 'cunning and don't get caught' speech, and only as a last resort was she ever to draw her wand and use it. Lot of good that did." He rubs his eyes, then looks at me again. "Well, we don't know about that part, I guess."

I'm a bit amazed at how alike our little discussions had been. "I told Jilly mostly the same," I murmur, thinking that yes, little good had come of it.

"She cried," he says softly as he swallows visibly. "Something she rarely did. She was so ashamed about having her wand taken," he admits.

"It's funny, how alike the two of them really were," I mull aloud. "They might've even been friends."

Draco nods. "I don't know what came over me—and I've wondered how things might've been different if I'd not suggested…that they try and talk things out…in private."

I'm stunned. For a moment, I can't even speak. I grasp for words, and when I find them, they come out raw and hoarse. "Same here. They must've decided on…"

He grimaces. "The pitch."

I can only nod, not trusting myself to speak again.

"And this is the worst part. She…" He flushes, and before he even gets the words out, I'm filled with horror and regret and a sudden urge to lay my head on the table. "She begged me to take her home."

"Jilly too." The silence between the two of us is almost deafening, until I ask, "What did you say to that?"

His eyes are bright. "That she had to stay and face things. That she'd be the laughingstock of the school if she left. That it wasn't the Slytherin way."

I almost whisper, as if saying it out loud will alert the world to our failures. "We should've taken them home. God we should've taken them home."

"Well, we didn't," he says flatly, his shoulders slumped as he pushes back his chair to stand. "And that's that. So many things we both could've changed, and that was the last of them." As he rounds the table for the door, he briefly squeezes my shoulder on the way out.

I mutter to the empty room, "The very last."

When I go to bed a short time later, I know sleep will be hard to find. I'm not surprised when Draco slides onto the bed in less than an hour. This time he doesn't need to ask: I drape my arm over his shoulder and pull him close, but still, I'm aware that neither of us sleeps.

Montague and Capulet, indeed. I'd have occasion to think of those two sorry souls in the months that were to come: how their hatred and pride, how their projection of their sympathies—or lack thereof—took their most precious treasures away, in the most tragic of circumstances.

But that morning in late March, I had no idea that my world was about to fall in around me. I'd checked with Minerva at least twice a week since that visit to Hogwarts, and as far as I knew, the girls were on their best behavior, their animosity in check. I could only hope that the truce would be a permanent one.

At the sound of the Floo, I looked up, surprised to see a familiar but out-of-place face.

"Kingsley?" I asked, puzzled for an instant, then was filled with a sudden and horrible premonition.

"Harry. You need to step through to Minerva's office. Now," he said soberly.

Grabbing up my cloak, I was only a moment behind him, lurching out from the fireplace to find myself in a deathly silent room.

Minerva was seated behind her desk, Draco in one of the armchairs in front of it. As I took the empty one without prompting, I noticed the two Aurors standing on either side of the room.

When the Headmistress stood, it was only then that I noticed that her eyes were red-rimmed, her face drawn and pale. And suddenly, I wanted to stop time, because I knew. Senseless to fathom just how, but I did. As I listened to her voice, I lost all sense of who was there with me.

Their Heads of Houses had alerted the Headmistress that both girls were missing when their dorm mates had got up that morning. The alarm had gone out and the search had begun, the teachers beginning with the castle itself, then spreading their net to the grounds, where they'd finally found them both on the Quidditch pitch.

No one knew when they'd gone out there—they'd both been last seen in their common rooms close to bedtime. Their friends had told the Headmistress that the two of them had agreed to meet and have a 'talk', but hadn't been aware of their plans beyond that.

They'd been on their brooms, out on the pitch, in the middle of the night. Why they would've chosen such a place and time was anyone's guess. Lisle was found first, off to the side of the Slytherin grandstand. It was obvious that she'd fallen from a great height, given that her neck was broken and her broom in pieces.

Jilly was a short distance away, and it wasn't clear, but the consensus was that she'd died a short time later from massive injuries to her face and head. Her broom was intact a short distance away, the only evidence that she'd fallen, the fact that the handle had furrowed a foot into the muddy ground.

Their wands were missing, but a search of the pitch located them, and given that they'd not been found on their persons, Priori had been performed on both of them.

I was aghast as Kingsley droned out the list of spells and hexes that had been cast: Body-Binds, Reducters, Stinging Hexes, and lastly, Stunners had been the final curse that each girl had cast. I'd had no idea that my daughter had even known how to cast it.

It was assumed that they'd Stunned each other almost simultaneously, then had plummeted to the ground and to their deaths.

As the account ended, with Kingsley informing us that the Headmistress had filled him in on the girls' long history of mutual baiting and feuding, I looked up blearily, in shock, at the room around me, suddenly aware that the two Aurors had their hands on their wands in their sheaths. I realized that what they expected made perfect sense. We were the fathers of two girls who'd been trained by these very fathers to react to each other with hostility.

I was only vaguely aware of Minerva's, "You'll want to see them, of course," then Draco being led from the room by Kingsley and one of the Aurors. I felt a hand on my knee as the Headmistress knelt in front of me.

It was an effort to focus on her face. My heart was pounding in my ears, and I was reasonably certain I was about to lose my breakfast, and I did. She held the bin out for me as I retched, then sat back on her heels, studying me worriedly.

"Harry, I'm so very, very sorry," she said gently as she handed me her handkerchief.

I wiped my mouth, then put my head between my knees for a moment, before finally looking up. "I…I don't know how…oh god, Ginny!" I groaned as I put my face in my hands. "Has she—"

Minerva shook her head. "That can wait for the moment, dear. We'll collect her after Draco's gone. I think that would be best." She hesitated. "You don't have to be here for that, if you'd prefer…"

I shook my head as I looked up again. "No, I'll stay. OH GOD! How could this happen? They're only thirteen! " I cried out, suddenly standing to my feet. I had to move, I had to get out of here…I had to see my daughter! It was a mistake—it couldn't be true….it couldn’t be true.

My hands balled in fists at my side, I stared at Minerva, whose face had paled, just two bright circles of color in the center of her cheeks. "Harry, they've been on this path for a—"

"No, I don't need to hear that right now," I said slowly as my eyes filled.

Her face sad and resigned, she said, "No, I imagine you don't." She turned to her desk and poured me a measure of firewhisky. "Drink," she commanded as she held it out, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

My hand shook as I tossed it back without protest, then fell into the chair again. She sat beside me then, the two of us waiting in silence, as she held my hand and stroked it comfortingly, as if I were a distressed student.

When the door opened and Kingsley said, "Harry," I methodically got to my feet and followed him through the silent hallways to the infirmary. I wondered idly where all the students were, and guessed they'd been confined to the Great Hall for the moment.

Madam Pomfrey murmured a "I'm so very sorry, Harry," as I took in the room where I'd spent so many days of my student years. At the far end of the infirmary, there were two beds shielded from view by curtained partitions. I followed numbly as I was led around one of them, then was faced with the brutal evidence that I wanted desperately to flee, but needed desperately to confront.

I knew it was Jilly by her hair, which had been brushed out and arranged on the pillow. Her face was almost unrecognizable, bruised and swollen by the impact. A chair appeared behind me, and I sat and pulled it close, vaguely aware that I'd been discreetly left alone.

I took her hand and threaded my fingers through her lifeless ones, staring at her face. "Jilly," I mouthed, but no sound came out, the word stuck in the back of my throat. Reaching around her with my other arm, I pulled her close, and buried my face in the crook of her neck, and then, finally, the tears came.

A hundred images flashed through my brain: the newborn I'd held in my arms, the toothy baby I'd bounced on my knee, the giggling toddler I'd chased through the hollyhocks, the gleeful child I'd taught to sit a broom, the winsome girl as she chose her robes at Madam Malkin's, the gangly adolescent who still managed to climb in my lap.

Then the final picture was of the third-year watching me apprehensively, pleading with her eyes, as I'd stepped backward into the Floo, only weeks ago. How I wished then that I'd taken her words to heart. If only I'd listened, and taken her home.

If only…

If only…

If only…

The aftermath was a blur of pain, self-loathing and blame.

Oh yes, blame.

Ginny was inconsolable, and when she heard the whole of it, she blamed me. I couldn't argue with that. Molly blamed me as well. Ginny's brothers were mostly silent, but I could sense their condemnation.

I blamed Draco, of course, at least in those first weeks, but even then I knew this was a smoke screen for the person who deserved most of the blame. I was certain that Draco was dealing with his own dragons of self-doubt and guilt. In the end, we'd both have to face the regrettable parts we'd played.

Mostly, I blamed myself.

Why had it been so important that Draco acknowledge his debt to me? Why had I not understood, at the time, that he'd been grieving for his father, for the mess his life had become? I understood, over a period of months, that his grief alone might've accounted for his treatment of me, that first time we'd locked horns. But then…he'd had his chance to make amends afterward, and had chosen his path as well. So we'd both been at fault, it would seem. Why had we put the screws to each other the way we had? I supposed it had to do with years of practice and habit.

But the most unforgivable thing we'd both done had been to instill that legacy into our daughters. Two little girls who otherwise might've met on the train and, finding themselves in that rare redheaded league, could've very well been friends. With no knowledge of the hostility between their fathers, with no ingrained distrust of each other's motives and hyped-up rhetoric learnt at home, they would've had no reason, none at all , to carry on where their fathers had left off.

Both Draco and I were drawn and quartered in the Prophet , he more than I, given my slightly faded hero status. I heard the murmurs in the Alley, the furtive looks as people came into the shop, but I didn't care. My Jilly was gone, as well as Draco's Lisle, and nothing could bring them back. We both had to live with the knowledge that it could've been otherwise.

As July approached that year, I was paler and thinner than I'd ever been. Sleep came in short spurts, only when exhaustion forced it on me. I muddled through my days, dreading my nights, but as Jilly's birthday approached, I laid my plans. Then on the afternoon of the sixteenth, I closed the shop early and headed for Muggle London.

Muggle, because I wanted to avoid the flower shop in Diagon Alley. The last thing I needed was to run into any of the Weasley family buying flowers for the same occasion. I went home and had a cup of tea, waiting for dusk, knowing that by then they would've paid their respects and been long gone.

I Apparated to the cemetery in Ottery St. Catchpole, watching warily to make certain I was alone. Walking slowly toward the family plot, I was filled with memories of how Jilly'd loved to come here as a child. We'd walk between the plots and read the family names and dates, Molly telling her stories about the people who rested here. I reached the top of the crest, then took a moment to stop and look down at the small, gated enclosure where the Weasley clan was mostly buried.

My breath caught in my chest as I saw him. What the bloody hell is he doing here?

I didn't relish a confrontation with him now, not here, not on this day. But then I noticed that he was holding a large bouquet of flowers.

And suddenly, I understood.

As I watched him, the last of the sunset catching the silver in his hair, I realized that he was speaking, and all of a sudden, I was undone, as my eyes filled with tears.

He was talking to my Jilly, and I could only imagine what he might have to say to her. He reached up a hand and wiped at his eyes, then went to one knee on the ground to place the flowers to the side of the marker. After he'd stood again, he bowed his head for a moment, then turned on the spot and was gone.

I threaded my way between the markers, wondering if I'd imagined the entire scene. But the flowers were there.

A clutch of asters and roses, pinks and purples, they were tied together with a soft yellow ribbon. I knelt to the ground, on both knees, and it only seemed right to take up the flowers and unwind the ribbon, then tie my own into them. Laying it gently back in place, I realized that Draco had probably spent the last few months much the same as I had, and had regrets, not only for his daughter, but for mine as well.

I knew that Lisle's birthday was the twentieth, only because it'd been so close to Jilly's, and Ginny and I had found that funny at the time. In the four days since I'd witnessed that remarkable event, I'd come to the conclusion that Draco had done something that I wouldn't have even thought to do. It wasn't a matter of not wanting to be out-done, not at all. I realized that I mourned for both of these beautiful girls, and so, spurred on by his gesture that'd touched me more than I wanted to admit, I repeated my routine of just four days ago—purchasing an identical bunch of flowers—then almost panicked when I realized I didn't know where the Malfoys buried their dead.

Rummaging through the pile of old Prophets that Dobby never threw out, I found Lisle's obituary and the place of interment. Relieved that I'd be able to pay my respects, I Apparated on the evening of the twentieth to the small plot that stood just outside the borders of the former Malfoy Manor.

A perfect Apparition that landed me just twenty feet from Draco Malfoy.

I prepared myself for the worst, standing stock still, as he looked at me from the other side of the plot, his eyes wide. When he didn't speak, but only looked down at the grave, I cautiously made my way to stand beside him.

There in front of the marker lay the same clutch of flowers, but with a blue ribbon this time. We stood in silence for a moment, then I knelt down and gently placed my bouquet beside his own.

Standing, I took a look around me. "It's a beautiful spot," I murmured.

Still not looking at me, he nodded. "Lisle liked to come here. I brought her to see her grandfather's grave. She was fascinated by the markers and the engravings…the history of the place."

And with those words, this simple fact of his daughter's life that he'd been willing to share with me, in an inexplicable moment of candor, it was all wiped away. I was filled with sadness, and the dawning of terrible irony, that it'd taken this …to finally bring us to our senses.

"How have you been?" I asked him, turning to face him.

His mouth twisted as he replied, "Pathetic. Same as you, I expect."

Looking down at the marker, he seemed distracted as he bit his lower lip, and I knew it was time for me to go.

"Take care of yourself, then," I told him as I prepared to leave.

He nodded, unsmiling. "You as well."

This year, we've decided to visit the girl's graves on the same day, in between their birthdays, settling on the eighteenth.

At the Malfoy family plot, I'm wandering amongst the tombstones, brushing dead leaves away to read the engravings, giving Draco a bit of privacy before we leave.

When I see him stand, I casually make my way to stand beside him. He's already placed the flowers we've brought, and for a moment, the two of us are silent. Neither of us has cried this time, although the sadness is palpable.

"What do you say to her when we come?" I ask him curiously, no longer afraid of intruding.

He smiles as he turns to look at me. "The other years, how sorry I was, but this time, I told her about you and me."

"You and me?" I ask, surprised.

"Yeah, how we're getting on. What we do every day." He pauses, seeming thoughtful. "I think they'd be happy about that, don't you?"

There's a lump in my throat, but I swallow it down. "Yeah, I think they would."

Later that day, his confession of the fact that we're 'getting on' echoes in my head. I can't deny that it's true; we are getting on; we depend on each other; we draw strength from each other; we look out for each other. I wonder, for not the first time, about the rightness of it, and more importantly, how exactly this has happened. This 'getting on.'

It occurs to me that it's a matter of that age-old question of the chicken and the egg: which came first? Are he and I becoming closer because our grief is lessening, or is our grief diminishing because our friendship is deepening? I have a wild irrational thought that this isn't right, that we should pull away from each other and hold on to our anguish. But it's a fleeting thought; as with most emotions in life, grief must have its day, then it's time to do what you must to move on.

It was a week after that chance meeting on Lisle's birthday that Draco showed up at Ollivander's at closing. As he stepped to the counter, I could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

"Draco," I said, realizing suddenly that I wasn't at all surprised to see him.

He nodded curtly, then opened his mouth, and for a moment he seemed to be at a loss at what to say. He did surprise me then when he said my name. "Harry." He glanced back at the door, then turned to me again. "You're about to close?"

Lifting my wand, I flipped the window sign to 'Closed' and turned the lock. "Just did."

"I just got off as well, and I wanted to stop by and…" He cocked his head to the side. "I was thinking that we need to talk."

Standing from my stool, I pushed my logbook aside. "I think you're right," I told him soberly, watching as he tried to hide the relief in his face. "Where…would you like—"

"Doesn't matter to me. Here, or I suppose we could go to my place." He held up a brown paper sack. "I've bought us some Ogden's."

Shaking my head, I gestured toward the Floo. "How about Grimmauld? Dobby's expecting me, and we could have a bite to eat, then…talk."

"Grimmauld," he murmured. "I've not been there since I was a child." He considered me shrewdly. "I'd forgotten you had an elf."

I rolled my eyes. "Sometimes I think it's Dobby who has me. " I hesitated. "At the end of the war when the Ministry ordered Kreacher to be Kissed, Dobby sort of adopted me." I wondered why I'd felt the need to tell him this. "So…you'll come?"

He shrugged. "Of course."

It wasn't the most pleasant of evenings; neither of us really ate, making Dobby tsk and mutter as he removed our barely touched plates.

After we'd settled into the library, 'talking' began in earnest.

We started with the present and worked our way backwards: the agony of the past four months, the reaction of the press and the wizarding world, how we avoided socializing with people we normally saw, and finally we spoke of the emptiness.

He told me about Lisle and what she'd been like, and I listened, hearing the echo of my own grief and loneliness in his voice and in his words. I talked about Jilly, too, and Ginny.

We'd consumed about half the bottle, each of us, I think, preparing for the hardest part yet to come. There was a lull in the conversation, an awkward silence that signaled we both knew that one of us would have to be the first. Given that Draco had done his part by appearing in my shop, I decided it only fair that it should be me.

"Did you know, in third year, the Headmaster gave Hermione a Time-Turner so she could double up on her classes?" I asked.

"Really?"

I nodded, then added wistfully, "I've thought about that a lot lately, how I wish I could use one to…go back and do some things over." Glancing down at my drink, I took a moment to summon my courage. "If only, you know. Like what I said to you after the inquest. I could've avoided all of this if I'd just been decent to you. God, you'd just lost your father," I murmured. "Pretty heartless of me to treat you the way I did."

"It was a horrible time," he agreed. "I wasn't sleeping. You sort of caught me off guard."

"Well, I’m sorry for that, I really am. And for all the times after that too. It seemed like every time we ran into each other, all I could think was 'same old Draco.'" I searched his face anxiously. "When Jilly was older and started asking questions—that was the part I'm most ashamed of. She was a captive audience, and the things I told her, well, I knew it wasn't right, what I was doing, but I didn't…" Shaking my head, I backtracked. "I was going to say I didn't think, but that's not true. There's no excuse for…any of it." I smiled sadly. "I was Jilly's hero, and she took offense for me. Picked up my attitude…and Lisle got caught in the middle."

Draco had set his glass aside and leant forward in his chair to put his head in his hands. For a moment, he didn't speak, then he finally looked up. "But the 'same old Draco' part was true. I knew what I should do, months after the inquest when I'd got my head straight. And I can't even blame it on Malfoy pride. It was my choice, at that point; I let all of it go on, because it felt good, in a way."

I made a face. "That time we met in the Alley, with Pansy and Ginny? You're right—that felt good."

"It did, because I'd convinced myself that you weren't interested in an apology or a thank you, that you'd go on believing what you wanted to. Pansy tried to set me straight, but I wouldn't listen." He sighed and sat back in his chair, his eyes fixed on his hands in his lap. "Lisle…I filled her head with stories about you, not nice ones. What you were like at Hogwarts, how Gryffindors looked down on purebloods…she never had a chance. Both girls were caught in the middle of our…." Slowly, his eyes drifted up to mine. "You said it—if only. If only we'd done this sooner."

We talked for a while longer, but as we both stood when it was time for him to go, I turned to him and held out my hand. "I'm so very sorry, Draco, for my part in this. From the very beginning."

He stared down at my hand, then looked up at my face. Reaching out, he took my hand and shook it firmly. "Myself as well," he paused, then swallowed. "Although it's years overdue, thank you for saving my life."

Although no one but the two of us knew that we'd finally settled our differences, I took comfort in the knowledge that the wrong had been righted, but still grieved over the fact that it'd come too late for our daughters.

Over the next few months, Draco stopped by the shop after work, now and then, and I'd haul him off to Grimmauld, where we'd share a meal, then spend the evening talking, sometimes just sitting in silence.

After Yule, he became a weekly visitor, usually on Friday nights. I lent him books from the library, and he even brought me a few from Obscurus he thought I might like. We often talked about Jilly and Lisle, about our marriages, and on a rare occasion, played a game of chess or backgammon.

By spring, he was a daily visitor for supper. Dobby was beside himself with joy, finally having someone who appreciated his more elaborate dishes and 'experiments.'

It was early in July when he asked me, "Does it ever bother you, living here? You know, with the memories, the empty house?"

I thought for a moment. "Not really. Grimmauld was shut up until I moved here after Jilly left for Hogwarts. So she was only here for one week at Yule, then part of each summer." I looked around me. "But…I don't let myself think about it too much. Those times when she was here." I scrutinized his face. "Why?"

He wouldn't meet my eyes. "I've decided to sell the house. Been there since before Lisle was born, and just recently, I've realized…" He looked up finally. "…it's not good for me. So, I'm looking for a flat."

"In London?" I asked slowly.

He nodded. "Makes sense, don't you think?"

"About the house, I guess I can understand that. But a flat? You're used to…space, and privacy."

Shrugging, he agreed. "True. But I'm not there all that much anyway. Just to sleep, although the weekends are hard sometimes." He smiled at me suddenly. "I work during the day, and the rest of the time, I'm mostly here," he said sheepishly.

"Which I'm glad for, honestly. Who knows? Maybe I'd think more about…things best left alone, if you weren't."

I thought about it over the weekend, and realized what I'd told him was true. I was rarely alone now in the house, except for the weekends, when I managed to keep myself distracted with books and outings. When Draco was there, I almost felt content in my solitude.

Who would've ever thought that we'd end up this way? After years of outright hostility, after a common tragedy, after a year of grieving, here we were, spending most of our free time together. I knew that most would consider it ludicrous, what I'd decided to offer, and I wasn't so stupid as to think there wouldn't be talk, and perhaps unpleasant repercussions.

When he came on Monday, I waited until Dobby'd cleared the dishes, then asked him to leave us alone until I called for tea.

"What is it? Is something wrong?" Draco asked, seeming slightly curious.

"I've been thinking about this all weekend, and…" I'd meant to outline my reasoning first, so surprised even myself when I just blurted it out. "I think you should move in here. At Grimmauld," I said firmly.

He sat up straight, his mouth dropping open. "Here?" he asked disbelievingly.

"You're here most of the time anyway. The house is huge, there's plenty of space. We wouldn't even have to cross paths if you didn't want to." I realized how stupid that sounded, so I added, my face suddenly flushing. "I mean, I'd like it if you wanted to live here. It's…lonely and I've come to…depend on you being here. There's the library, and you'd have your own study, if you want. And we'll share the expenses, although that wouldn't even be necessary." I stopped, wondering why I felt so awkward and anxious.

His face was a picture of astonishment, but I knew him well enough to detect the slight glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "You've thought this out, haven't you?" he asked.

"Yes, I have, and if you'd just think about it, you'd see how sensible it is."

He finally smiled. "People will talk, Harry."

"Like that'll be something new," I muttered, but then I had to smile as well.

Placing his hands on the table, he chewed at his lower lip, then murmured, "I don't know what to say."

"Say yes."

He looked around at the kitchen, obviously moved, then answered quietly, "Yes."

I called Dobby and told him to forget the tea, and bring us whisky.

Oh yes, there'd been the mother of all backlashes when the news broke out. The Prophet had run a series on the two of us, chronicling our personal histories, from our infamous rivalry at Hogwarts, through our opposing stances in the war, to the inevitable saga of how we'd failed our daughters.

The most surprising ally in all of this had been Ginny, who'd paid us a rare and surprise visit at Grimmauld. There'd been tears, then a mind-boggling congratulations on our 'relationship.' Draco looked on, flummoxed, as I unsuccessfully tried to disabuse her of this notion.

And so, we began this new chapter of our lives, two erstwhile enemies, living in peace and attempting to pick up the pieces of our mutually orchestrated self-destruction.

Jilly would've been seventeen two days ago, Lisle as well, in two days' time. It's the evening of our joint visit to decorate their graves, and as usual, we're slightly maudlin and uncommunicative. Not uncomfortable with each other, though. Just quiet. I suppose we'll suffer through this every year in July…forever…but it's easier now, having someone close by who suffers the same, and understands.

We say our good nights, and I'm still lying awake when he comes to my room. I'm to the point now that it's almost impossible for me to fall asleep before he gets here.

Eyes half-closed, at first I barely register the break in his routine. I notice him drop his robe to the chair, then instead of the usual dip in the bed when he lies atop the coverlet, I see him lift it instead and slip quickly beneath it.

As he moves closer to me in the bed, I roll to my side. "Draco."

"Hmmm?"

"You're in bed with me," I tell him stupidly.

"Yeah? So what else is new?"

"I mean, you're in bed with me. Not on the top."

There's a slight pause. "Yeah, I know. Is that a problem?" he asks, reaching out to place his palm against my chest.

"No, it's not a problem, but…you do remember that I'm queer?"

"I thought you weren't sure," he says softly, and I can hear the tease in his voice.

"No, actually, I am sure," I grumble. "Just checking that you understood that."

He pulls his hand away. "Listen, I can't fall asleep without you. I'm tired of sleeping on the top, and I figure that if we're going to share the bed, then we should share the bed. Unless that's a problem." He rolls to his usual position, facing away from me.

"No problem," I tell him hoarsely, as he reaches backward for my arm, signaling me to move closer. "It's just…you're warm, and fit, and…a man, " I groan out as I feel the inevitable begin to happen.

He's felt it too, and I'm shocked when he only laughs. "It's all right, Harry."

"Easy for you to say," I mumble into the hair at his neck, then sigh as he laces our fingers together against his chest.

He's torturing me, I finally decide, but after a few days, I begin to get used to him being there like that …every night. It's a comforting thing, really, to feel the heat of someone else's body against your own, pressed in tightly. I know I can't control my reaction to him, and as it doesn't seem to bother him, why should I complain? But once again, I wonder…

In late September, I can tell the moment he steps through the Floo that evening that something's happened. He's smiling, his eyes alight, his face the happiest I've ever seen it.

"Well, you must've had a brilliant day," I comment as Dobby serves us.

"I did," he tells me smugly. "Dobby, this smells wonderful!"

Dobby beams. "I made Master Draco's favorite—sweetbreads and rashers!"

"Super!"

"Draco," I growl. "Spill it!"

His eyes sparkle. "I've been promoted, back to the front of the shop again! Starting Monday, no more inventory, no more uncrating, and no more haggling with suppliers. I'm the new chief counter man!"

My mouth drops open. "That's terrific!" I enthuse. "I know how bored you've been back there. So, what brought this on?" I'm truly happy for him, as this is the position he'd held until he'd been 'demoted' after the girls…because the proprietor didn't want him interacting with customers.

"Mr. Claiborne says he's really missed having me out there, and now that things have settled down, he wants me back to making sales. I was so chuffed when he told me, I wanted to Floo you right away."

"You certainly deserve it," I smile at him.

"You have any plans for tomorrow? I need to get new robes, and some ties, and maybe a pair of shoes, and a decent cloak. And a vest," he rambles on happily, as my heart is about to overflow, just as happy as he is. Well, very nearly.

"My day is yours," I tell him. "And afterward, we'll celebrate. Go to a pub and toss a few back. All right?" I ask him.

"You're on."

We spend the afternoon shopping, and for once, he doesn't seem to worry about money spent on clothing. I aid and abet his momentary extravaganza, as he's usually too frugal for his own good. I even talk him into a pair of Muggle jeans and a soft gray jumper, with a pair of black trainers thrown in for good measure. That night, when we're getting ready to go out, I insist that he wear them. He looks…carefree and casual, so unlike the everyday Draco I've lived with for the past two plus years.

I take him to a pub I've frequented for years, where there's a jazz band and a rugged mahogany bar that runs the length of the room.

We're well into our cups, toasting his good fortune and anything else we can think of. Turning in our seats, we to listen to the band for a while, then at the break in the set, he touches my arm. I know he's noticed the clientele is mostly men, so I'm prepared for the question.

"So. This is a gay pub. Is this where you come when you…?" He raises an eyebrow.

"When I what?" I ask innocently.

He blinks. "When you're looking for…someone?"

I know I could have some fun here, but I decide to be straightforward. "I've not been here in a while. But yes, it's where I used to come."

"So…how does that work exactly? Finding someone?"

I purse my lips. "You really want to know that?"

He frowns. "I asked, didn't I?"

"Draco, it's the same as if you were in a pub, looking for a woman. You see someone interesting, you buy them a drink, or they buy you one, you talk, and then see what happens. End of story."

"Oh. I wasn't sure." He has that look on his face, the one he wears when he's trying not to show how curious he is about something. "So…how often do you come here?"

I reach out and flick his cheek with my finger. "When was the last time I went out and you didn't know where I was going?" I ask him dryly.

"I…I can't recall you ever doing that," he says doubtfully.

"Exactly, because I haven't. Not since you came to live at Grimmauld," I tell him nonchalantly.

"But why? Don't you have…needs?" he asks, his face flushing slightly.

Admiring the blush in his cheeks, I have to smile. "Same ones you have. And no, I've not had the urge to come here, mostly because you and I occupy each other's time."

"Well, sure, but not that way," he protests.

"If you haven't felt the need to find someone , then why do you think I would?" I ask.

He tilts his head as he thinks about this. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

"Well, there's your answer. Anything else? A tutorial on how we do it?" I ask sarcastically, just to see him blush again, delighted when he does.

"No, no…I just wondered." He smiles slyly. "And I'm perfectly aware of how you do it."

"Thank god. I wasn't looking forward to that conversation," I grumble, but have to smile when he laughs out loud.

That night, we take the stairs up together as usual, but at the top, instead of heading for his room, Draco makes the turn with me to mine.

"It's stupid, me going through the motions of walking down there, then coming back here, ten minutes later. If you don't mind?"

"Why would I mind? Mi casa es su casa," I tell him, making him snort.

I'm in bed before he is, mostly because I never bother to fold or hang my clothes until morning. I watch as he undresses, folding each item and stacking them neatly on the chair. I'm lying on my side, not expecting him to shed his boxers and tee-shirt, his usual sleeping gear. I can't help but take in a breath of surprise when he does. Before I get much of a glimpse, he's Noxed the light and slipped into bed.

I'm wondering why the change in his routine, when the answer becomes crystal clear.

"Can you…lie on your back?" he asks as he slides close to me.

"Sure," I say as I roll from my side. "But why do you—" I gasp as he throws an arm across my bare chest, then slips his leg over my equally bare…bits. "Draco," I groan out, turning my head toward his face as he nuzzles my hair.

"Shhh, it's all right," he says breathily.

I suffer through his rearranging himself until he's comfortable, and it's an incredible feeling, having him draped around me this way. Except that I'm almost fully erect beneath his leg, and although I'm not embarrassed, I have to say it.

"What's got into you?" I ask gently, bringing my left arm up to curl around his back.

"I…just wanted to hold you. You do it for me all the time, so… Don't you like it?"

"I do, but…it's making me wonder about you."

But my wondering is cut short as he grinds himself into my hip and I feel him, fully aroused against me.

"No need to wonder. Remember what you told me at the pub? You're interested in me, hmm, you bought me a drink, we talked, so…let's just see what happens."

Oh, I don't need any convincing on that point. I reach up and ruffle his hair in response.

"I've been thinking about us…you…a lot," he tells me softly. "And all I'm asking is that you…give me some time to get used to it." When he ruts against me again and groans, I have to smile. "So…can we do this , while I'm thinking on…that?"

"No argument here," I laugh as he groans again and buries his face in my neck.

In the morning, I'm awake first. He's still draped over me, his breath tickling my ear as he softly snores. I'd forgotten how good this feels—limbs tangled, skin sticking together in slightly sweaty spots. One of the most incredible feelings in life.

I smile as I think of Jilly, and how she'd tried to find me someone . Even as young as she was, I think she sensed there was something I needed she could never give me. Someone. Someone to sleep with, someone to hold and someone to wake up with.

A lover.

Not that we're there yet—not that I've ever in my wildest dreams imagined we would be—but now, as I gently smooth the skin of his hip, I wonder if the impossible, just possibly, might be on the horizon.

This is the fourth Yule we've spent together. I remember how awkward and stilted that first one was, when Draco had just come for dinner. We'd not had too much to say to each other, lost in our own private memories, that first Christmas without our girls.

But the successive ones, although somewhat easier, weren't celebrations either. We passed them as we did any other non-work day, and it was only Dobby's insistence on a turkey with trimmings that made the day different from any other.

This year, though, it's Draco and I both who're different. We've teased Dobby about the menu, and how we're expecting plum pudding and Christmas crackers. In typical Dobby style, he's planning on both.

We arrive home on a Friday, and after dinner are astounded to find a huge Christmas tree lying in the library, still bound up in its roping. I look at Draco and roll my eyes.

"Dobby!" I call out, and he pops to my side instantly. "What's this?" I ask him sternly, pointing to the tree.

"That is Master Harry and Master Draco's Yule tree," Dobby says calmly. "Dobby brought it from Hogwarts. Professor Hagrid helped Dobby to find it."

"Oh he did, did he? We don't put up a tree, Dobby, you know that," I chastise him, shooting a cautious look at Draco, who's walking a circuit around the tree.

"Dobby forgot," the elf lies glibly. "And Dobby is very sorry, but Dobby's lumbago is frightful, and Dobby cannot decorate it. Dobby is very sorry, but Master Harry and Master Draco will be needing to put the decorations on themselves."

I can see the tug of the smile at the side of Draco's mouth as he comes to stand beside me. I'm having to do a bit of mouth-straightening of my own. "Dobby, the elves at Hogwarts use magic to decorate the trees. Hmm?"

Wiping a gnarled hand against his forehead, Dobby whinges, "Dobby cannot do it, even with magic, Master Harry. Dobby is feeling very poorly, sir."

I put my hand to my face to cover my mouth, then tell him, "All right, Dobby. You can go." When he's gone, Draco and I stand for a moment and stare at the tree.

"We've just been handled by a house-elf," he murmurs.

"Yeah. So…" I look at him. "What do you want to do?"

"Decorate it, I guess."

So now we have a tree, decorated with the few things Jilly and I had, along with a small box of family ornaments that Draco kept. Clearly some of them were made by the girls; we smile as we work, telling each other the stories that go along with each of them. When we're done, we light the fairy lights and sit cross-legged in front of the tree. I can't help but think of the last tree that stood there.

Draco must sense this, because he drapes an arm around my shoulder and squeezes hard. "You all right?"

I stare up at the tree, the glittering ornaments and lights, and breathe in the fresh pine smell. Laying my head on his shoulder, I whisper, "I'm fine."

We visit the pub, every now and then. It's nice to have a reason to dress up in something other than robes and go out where there're people who don't know us. We sit at the bar and talk for a while, then end up listening to the band.

I've watched Draco as he watches the other couples. I know at first he had to struggle not to stare, but now he doesn't even blush at what he sees. I think that's mostly a good thing….

Because honestly, there're nights when I have to fight not to pin him to the bed and just finally… But I never would. I know he's working things out in his head, even if other parts of him seem more than ready.

I sure as bloody hell will be ready when he is. And at least for me, it's not just a matter of lust. I'm genuinely fond of him. Fond of Draco Malfoy . Now there's a bizarre combination of words. True nonetheless, though.

For some reason I've not been able to figure out, in the last few days before Christmas Day itself, there's an…air of expectation, not only in the house, but between the two of us. Part of it's Dobby's fault, for sure. He's been baking and cooking for days. Wreathes have appeared on all of the doors; festive candles float in the rooms; holly has been twined along all the railings. I've not said a word to him, because I've finally decided that it's high time we celebrated something in the usual way.

And the two of us have been lighthearted and playful with each other in a way we've never been before. There's a glitter in Draco's eyes when he looks at me that makes me shiver, and I've noticed that he no longer looks away when I catch him watching me: instead, he smiles.

Even at night, Draco's hands have begun to stray into new territories, touching me with his fingertips as he cautiously explores the 'safer' areas, and I've been bold enough to touch him back, tracing his lips with my fingers, smiling in the dark when I feel the tip of his tongue against them.

On Christmas Day, it appears that Dobby is in charge, ordering us from breakfast to the library, where I notice there are several gifts beneath the tree. There's one from the two of us for Dobby—a black lacquered box with his name engraved on it, containing six pairs of argyle socks. I finally have to order him to stop his bowing, hinting that his lumbago might start up again if he doesn't. He leaves us to deal with the rest of the gifts alone.

There's a package from Minerva that's marked with both our names. It's a set of photos, individual shots of Jilly and Lisle in their Quidditch gear, taken when the teams had sat for photos in their third year. Draco and I sit side by side and admire them, as they wink and wave to us, their cheeks pink and hair blowing in the wind, a Snitch darting in and out of the photos.

We decide to set them on either end of the sideboard, then both of us stand and watch them for a moment.

"I think they'd be happy for us," Draco says softly, his hand finding mine between us.

I squeeze it. "I think they would be too."

Draco gives me a cloak brooch, a gold-filigreed wandmaker's insignia with a small ruby where the two wands intersect. "It's beautiful," I murmur as I examine it, my heart full when I see the uncertainty in his eyes give way to satisfaction.

"It's for your cloak," he tells me as I fasten it to my jumper.

"I know, but I want to wear it now. Thank you," I tell him as I wrap my arms around him, then pull back to kiss him on the cheek.

When I hand him the small box, he sits on the settee to open it. His eyes go wide as he lifts out the heavy silver link bracelet, a shimmering moonstone set into its clasp.

"Your birthstone," I tell him, then lean in to take it from him. He sits quietly as I undo the clasp and fasten it around his wrist. As I admire how it looks, he lifts his hand, and pats my cheek.

"Thanks, Harry. It's…well, you know how I love jewelry," he smiles, then brushes my hair from my eyes as he inches closer, and for a moment I think he's going to… But he throws his arms around my neck and holds me fiercely for a moment.

We take a walk in the park that afternoon, and it just seems natural for me to reach down and take his hand, not surprised when he doesn't pull it away.

Dobby has outdone himself this year; the table is piled high, and we both tease him that he should be working at Hogwarts. As requested, there's plum pudding, and even ice-cream, although I'll be damned if I know where he got it.

We spend the evening over several games of chess. The library is warm and welcoming, the tree throwing a prism of colors onto the walls of the room, the fire in the hearth crackling cozily as we take turns trouncing each other royally.

As the final treat of our Christmas Day, we break out the 'special' brandy, then take our snifters and sit side-by-side on the settee. We have nothing more to say to each other, and for a while we're contentedly basking in the warmth of the fire, watching Jilly and Lisle's photos as we sip away.

He nudges my knee with his own. "Ready for bed?" he asks as he sets his glass on the table in front of us.

"Yeah, I am." I set my glass beside his, then sit back with a sigh. "It was a good day."

"We'll have more of them, I think," he says softly.

"I think so too. God knows we…" I stop, as saying we 'deserve' them seems wrong somehow.

As I feel him move, I roll my head to the side to look at him. He's up on his knees, then surprises me when he brings his face so close to mine that I have to refocus my eyes.

"We do deserve it. My god, we've hated ourselves for what we did…would've ripped our hearts out, both of us, if it could've made a difference. All I know now is that I've changed, Harry, and so have you." He brings a hand up and takes hold of my chin. "Do you have any doubt at all what Jilly would tell you?"

"No," I reply hoarsely. "None at all."

He nods. "Neither do I. So…more good days." His eyes drift slowly down to my lips, and in that very second, I know what he's about to do. "And I think a good place to start…" He's closed his eyes, angling his head, and I watch, fascinated, until that very last moment when I close mine as well.

It's a chaste kiss at the start, dry lips against dry lips, until I use my tongue to wet them. He's moved on the settee, his arm around my neck as he holds my head in place. I've reached up to hold on to him too, and for a moment, everything ceases to exist, except for the feel of him. Everywhere he touches me—his hands, his lips, his knee in my side—is on fire, and god I want more of him .

When he pulls away, his cheeks are pink, his eyes wide as he brings a hand up to my face. I grab it and kiss the inside of his wrist, then smile against his skin when he groans.

The kiss was a good place to start, he said. I'll second that, I think, as we don't waste any time making our way up the stairs to my room. But as I watch him undress, I'm already wondering if that's where we'll leave off for the rest of the night. He's asked me to give him time to get used to things, and that kiss…well, if I have to settle with that for a while, I'll be perfectly content.

Draco slips into bed, as he throws the coverlet to the end of it. I watch, wide-eyed, as he straddles my hips and sits firmly atop me. So much for taking time to get used to things….

As he leans in, our chests together, he tells me, his eyes dilated, "I think I’m queer." As he slides his hands beneath my shoulders and lies against me, I laugh out loud.

"You do, do you?"

"Yeah, but…only queer for you," he mutters against my collarbone.

"That'll work," I tell him, sliding my hands down over his arse. He jerks forward and grinds our cocks together. My god , I realize soberly, I have to be careful…so careful.

I roll us in the bed without warning, and his gray eyes are huge as he stares up at me.

"Draco…let me…I want to…I've wanted for so long…" I cover him completely, and for a few moments, the only sound is the two of us breathing harshly, my head bent to the side of his neck as we hump frantically against each other.

I begin that slow slide of discovery downward, stopping to suck his nipples as he twists his fingers in my hair. Gently, I force his legs apart, then slip down between them, resting my face in the wiry hair at his groin. He groans and pushes against me, then lets out a rasp as I take him into my mouth. When he arches upward, I hold him in place with my hands, using my mouth and tongue to force more delicious sounds from the back of his throat.

When he's close, I can sense him trying to warn me, but I shake my head and bob my head up and down faster. He comes, and I pull the wet warmth of him deeper into my mouth, swallowing noisily and hungrily around him.

Holding him afterward, he's pressed against my chest, my arms cradled around him. His eyes are closed as I brush his hair from his face. Then, overcome with a tenderness I've never felt before, I lean down and kiss him thoroughly and gently.

"You swallowed," he says as he opens his eyes, then reaches out to rest his hand at the back of my neck. "You always do that?"

"I'll always do it with you," I tell him, smiling. "Did you like it? Still think you're queer?" I tease, tapping his nose with my finger.

He catches it and sucks it into his mouth. I can't help it—I groan and push my cock against his hip.

He pulls my finger out and makes a show of licking it afterward. "Oh yeah, I think I am. And I…did I like it? Couldn't you tell?"

I'm about to burst if he keeps this up. "You seemed to. Just making sure."

"I loved it…so…what's next?" He pulls away and comes up on an elbow, then reaches between us to finger the head of my cock. He swallows nervously, though. "I…I wanted you too. But you'll have to tell me…."

I smile and move closer, arching into his hand. "Just keep doing that…and I'll…" My eyes flutter closed at the sensations he's creating, then snap open when he pulls his hand away.

"No, not a chance," he says. "I want…I want to fuck." He frowns. "Not fuck you. I want you to fuck me."

"Draco," I whisper. "We have all the time in the world. Don't have to do everything in one night," I tell him, taking his hand and putting it back on my cock, but he pulls it away again.

"You're right, we can do everything later. But tonight, you're doing the fucking part." His eyes are insistent, his chin coming up in that stubborn Malfoy way I know so well. "Please…don't make me beg you," he adds, in what clearly sounds like begging to me.

I smile slowly. "Now there's a tempting prospect." I lean in and kiss him again. When I pull back, my eyes are solemn. "Are you sure?"

He nods. "I'm sure. Just…tell me what to do."

"You trust me?" I ask, trying to ignore the ache between my legs, wanting this to be perfect. "I won't hurt you, I promise. But if I do, you have to tell me…if it's too much."

Licking his lips first, he murmurs, "I want to take care of you…the way you've done for me. So…can we just…"

"Roll on your side," I tell him, and when he does, I put my hand behind his upper thigh and push. "Bend your knee and pull your leg up. That's it," I praise him. Reaching behind me, I find the lube in the drawer of the bedside table. When my hand is ready, I slip in close behind him and press my chest against his back, sliding my hand between the cheeks of his arse. "Relax…this part can really feel good if you just relax."

I've done this once before, but I know what it's like to be stretched this way, so I take my time, and I notice he's making 'mmmm-ing' sounds as he presses his face into the pillow.

I pull my fingers out and he moans. "Are you ready for the next part?" I ask.

"Only if the next part is your cock. God , do you always talk so much?" he mutters over his shoulder.

I grin even though I know he can't see me. "No, just talking you through it. Next time , there'll be no talking at all," I warn him as I lube my cock.

Pressing in between his cheeks, I grit my teeth to keep from coming. He's tight, and hot, and I'm suddenly filled with emotion that almost chokes me, as I realize what a step he's taken tonight, but especially because he's taking it for me.

In one quick thrust, I'm into him, and then I stop when he cries out, freezing in place for a moment. "Relax," I breathe into the hair at his neck, rubbing my hand gently across his stomach. In response, I feel him squeeze around my cock, and I growl, "No, that's not relaxing, and if you do that again, I'll come, so…relax…please."

I wait until I feel him obey, then we're on our way. I quickly get lost in the rhythm and sensation of it, only vaguely aware that he's reached back to clutch at my hip, matching me, thrust for thrust.

When I come, I bite him lightly on the shoulder, then pant heavily into the flesh of his back as I pulse it all into him. My arms are wrapped around him, holding on tightly, licking at the salt of his neck until I feel myself slip out of him.

He turns in the bed as I collapse behind him, and I see him sit up and reach for the coverlet. Lying back, he faces me and moves as close as he can, then forces a leg between mine, so that we're forehead to forehead, our arms draped over each other.

"You all right?" I manage to breathe out, still out of breath.

"No more talking," he says against my lips, then kisses me once…twice. "Sleep, Harry."

"Yes, sir," I mumble.

He's gone when I awake. I shower and dress, then head for the kitchen, where I find him reading the Prophet.

"Happy Boxing Day," he says as he slides me the first section, not looking up.

"Same to you," I say as I pour my tea. Dobby is hovering at my elbow, wearing a 'cat-that-swallowed-the-cream' expression. When I lift an eyebrow at him, he graces me with a beatific smile, then nods before he pops away.

When breakfast is over and the paper fully perused, Draco raises an eyebrow at me. "Sleep well?" he asks, smiling slightly.

"Very well. You?"

"Never better. A bit sticky, though," he adds, his eyes sparkling. "Next time…a cleaning charm, I think."

"Draco…" I hesitate, and am chagrined when I see him slightly tense. "What you said last night about being queer…for me," I pause again.

"Yes?" he asks warily.

"I…I just want you to know that I don't expect that from you. I mean, I don't expect you to be…to do what we did just for me."

"Aha. I get it. You think I'd sleep with you just because you're queer and I might feel like I owe you something?" he asks, and I can hear the mild disgust in the question.

I shake my head. "No, I don't think that at all. I just wanted to make sure you know…" I don't finish, my eyes going wide as he pushes his chair back and stands. Rounding the table, he stalks down the length of it. I continue uncertainly, "You know perfectly well how much I want you, and…" I stop when he's standing beside me.

Pulling my chair out, he's on my lap in a heartbeat. His head on my shoulder, he tells me, "I want you , and if that makes me queer, then so be it. Not because I feel obligated, not because it'll make you happy…well, that's part of it, I guess, but only a fringe benefit." He lifts his head to look at me. "You want me, and I want you. Not just in bed, either. Don't you know that by now?"

I feel the flush in my face; it's not embarrassment, though, it's pure and simple pleasure. I angle my head and kiss him then, a long, slow kiss that I suspect will mean a detour back to bed. "I know it."

I lost the two people in my life whom I'd always thought would be there, and now find I'll be spending the rest of my days with the most unlikely of companions.

We both wonder how our lives would've turned out if we'd done the right things; it's an intriguing contemplation, but for the most part, we don't dwell on that too much. Neither Jilly nor Lisle would've wanted us to, we both sense.

Are we still Montague and Capulet? I think so. It's an imprint from our past that can never be wiped away, given what we did…and failed to do.

Yes, the sad truth is that 'Reparo in time saves nine' could've saved the lives of our daughters. But this last Reparo, between the two of us, has changed Montague and Capulet into simply Harry and Draco, star-crossed lovers who are more at peace than we have a right to be, content with each other, happy with our days and comforted by our nights.

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy and other Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling and her associated businesses. The Harry/Draco World Cup and its participants make no claim upon them.