Disclaimer: Sadly, it's not mine. Though if it were, Sirius and Remus would be together in a flash and having passionate sex. Oh, and Sirius would have a clone so that I could have one of him. And so would Draco, for my friend MK. And his clone would be passionately in love with Harry (ps—yes, MK must have the original).

Author's Note: Well, there's not much to say. Please read and review. Johnny says hi to all those who know him and care to talk to him.

Cure

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Slowly, ever so slowly, Draco got over Harry. It took a hell of a lot of hard work, though, and he knew he wasn't really over Harry at all. It was just a substitute, a way to live.

He first started realizing that he was getting over Harry three months after he stopped smoking. One morning he got up and made breakfast--Harry's favorite of course, pancakes and milk. Draco didn't even know how he discovered that little piece of information, but he knew it.

Then he got up and got dressed. Underneath his black and green clothes, he wore a tiny pendant with a lion on it. In memory of Harry, of course. After that he went out to go to work. A reporter, so as to hear any news of Harry whenever that news came. And in hopes of interviewing Harry, of course, though he knew that wouldn't happen. Harry had specifically asked that Draco not interview him.

Then Draco had--miraculously--went nearly an hour without thinking about Harry. He rarely got a minute without Harry--now he had gone an hour. He nearly cried, both out of relief and sad, terrible grief. His life was miserable, and he was the first to admit it.

Slowly, even slower then before, Draco got to where he could go more and more without thinking of Harry. Eventually, after nearly a year and a half, he could go a week with thinking about Harry only when he woke up and when he went to bed--the two times he couldn't help it. Another six months after that, he didn't even need to think of that dark-haired, green eyed God at those times. His thoughts of Harry came more and more far apart, though they always came.

Draco knew he was slowly getting over Harry, but he also knew he wasn't over Harry yet. That was a dream Draco liked to entertain, but he knew it would be a long time in attaining. But it would come. Draco only thought about Harry when his name was mentioned, or one of his close friends, or another thing that reminded him so closely of Harry that it couldn't be helped. One of those times had been a deep, romantic kiss that a young lady he had been entertaining had given him. He broke up with her immediately.

Draco started living a normal life and gaining real friends. True, he had become addicted to chocolate covered strawberries to the point of it being ridiculous, but that was okay. Some things in his life needed to be strange so he could survive.

His mother had nearly fainted when she learned that Draco was openly gay. He never entertained young ladies any more--he saw no point in it. They were obnoxious, loud, and they all had annoying, high pitched laughs and they decided to laugh at the most inopportune moments. They were far too emotional and they always wanted attention and hugs. Most believed themselves Gods, and those who didn't believe themselves Gods believed themselves to be either irresistible or ugly beyond all get out. He told this to his mom and she had cried. His dad had laughed and patted him on the back.

A year passed, and Draco began to live a normal life. He went to his job and complained about his boss and his low pay. He ate lunch at the dingy diner like every body else. He went out to movies and bars and he laughed at the people who were freaks...and he envied those obviously in love, but he wouldn't admit that to himself. Draco began to slowly make friends, though he didn't trust them much at all. None of them learned much about him, though they all enjoyed his company and they all confided their darkest secrets in him. At times, Draco even enjoyed their company, though those times were rare.

His friends, or really, the people who were closest to him and he referred to as his friends for the sake of not confusing the people around himself, worried about his love life. He obviously had no interest in females, and when asked, admitted he was gay. But he never went after anyone. His friends tried to set him up numerous times, but Draco always ended the night after the dinner, saying he had better places to be. Draco was also very closed about his school life. He would talk about anything except the last couple years of school--he always avoided those. His friends also noticed that he always avoided the subject of The-Boy-Who-Lived, the famous Harry Potter.

After investigation, his friends found out about Draco and Harry's deep rivalry and hatred of each other. They just never learned about Draco's deep need of Harry's mouth. They reasoned that Draco didn't want to talk about Harry because of their rivalry, and that Harry might be another reason he avoided his last two years. They reasoned that those two things might be tied together, but never how or why. They never pulled into account Draco's avoidance of relationships.

Draco's hard earned and fragilely constructed, almost normal life shattered one lonely, terrible night.

Narcissa, who was still shaken up about Draco's sexual preferences, told him that he should come to the approaching party. It was in celebration of You-Know-Who's defeat, which had finally been confirmed a mere month before. Harry, of course, would be there, Draco knew. But he couldn't refuse his persistent mother, nor the will of his friends, who all told him that he still didn't get out enough. Anyways, it would look strange if he didn't go to the party. After all, every single wizard in the world would be there, and the only ones who would miss it would be Voldemort's followers--and even some of them would be there so as not to look suspicion flashy; he didn't want to be noticed--and decided he would arrive late. His reasoning there would be that anyone that might be greeting people would be gone, and he would come in somewhat unnoticed. He would talk to a couple people so they would know he had been there, seem truly happy that this war was ended (for though he was truly happy this madness was over, he didn't want to be there because of Harry), and then say that he really had some pressing business to attend to and leave immediately. It was a perfect play--until it was ruined, of course.

Draco made it to the party without being noticed, talked to his mother for a little while (who tried to introduce him to some very beautiful and total airhead women), then to his friends for a little while. He finally found that the garden outside the large building volunteered for the party was nearly empty--or at least, empty of prying people.

Draco made his way down to the garden and found a somewhat private place in one of the farthest corners. The nearest people were a young couple who were passionately kissing in celebration of the Dark Lord's defeat.

Draco moved to where he could no longer hear all but their loudest sounds and sat down. He put his head in his hands and a tear slipped out of his closed eyes. He had glimpsed Harry once, and that was what had driven him to find a quiet, uninhabited place where he could mope and pity himself. He was disgusted that he would do something like that, but he knew and admitted that that was what he was doing. Moping and pitying himself.

The first sign he had that someone was approaching was when a foot nudged him gently. Upon reflection, he realized that the couple had said hello to someone briefly and enthusiastically a few moments ago.

Draco knew who it was before he looked up, and he desperately wished he didn't have to look up. He desperately told himself to keep his head bent and the person toeing him would leave. He desperately wanted to die and wither away into an unremarkable pile of dirt, but, of course, all his wishes, hopes, wants and commands couldn't keep him from looking up and seeing those piercing green eyes.

Draco smiled weekly and hoped that the dark would cover his tear-swollen and bloodshot eyes. But he knew that the dark-haired boy--no, man--saw them. He also knew that that very same man saw all the vulnerability, sadness, hopelessness and terror written in every feature of his body.

Draco could see nothing of what Harry was thinking or feeling. He couldn't glimpse a shred of remorse, pity, disgust, or--that bastard who fucked up Draco's life and who everyone called God forgive--love. "Malfoy."

He wasn't sure how he managed it in such a calm, deep and assured voice, but Draco replied, "Harry, I would hope we were past the childish game of calling each other by last names out of spite, hate and rivalry."

"I'll call you whatever you wish. What are you doing out here?"

Draco decided to ignore both comments. He pulled his legs up to his chin and looked up at his love and straight into that man's eyes. He was beginning to pull his cold indifference back together, thank that bastard God, who was finally having some pity on Draco. "Congratulations, Harry, on a victory we've needed in a long while."

Harry knew that Draco was avoiding the question, but he played along for a little while. "Thanks, Draco. We have nearly every single name of the Voldemort's followers, and we're slowly gaining all the others. He's dead, you know. But not the way we're playing it off as. We don't want the world to know that the reason this whole war is finally over is because Neville Longbottom screwed up a damn spell he was aiming at a Death Eater and hit the Dark Lord with a powerful curse he didn't even know and ending up killing the damn guy entirely by accident. We prefer to say that it had been a group effort and that Neville was the key player--that way, Neville gets his fame and we don't look like complete idiots."

Harry let out a dry laugh and Draco forced a chuckle. "Never knew Longbottom had it in him."

"Thought we were past the childish act of calling people by their last names?" Harry questioned, and Draco almost believed he could hear a hint of laughter in that tone.

"Yeah, well some things change and others don't. So how the hell'd you get away from that crowd of people all proclaiming your name in joy?"

"I told Hermione and Ron I was going to the bathroom and snuck out a window. It took a lot of work, but I desperately needed a little space. It's not all that fun being The Boy Who Lived--it's a lot more work then it's cracked up to be. Anyways, the girls are getting annoying. They all want to show their assets and the best parts about them to me just because I'm the famous Harry Potter who defeated Voldemort too many times to count in one lifetime. And when I mean show their assets, you'd think some girls would be embarrassed to show so much cleavage. And I swear, if one more girl follows me into a bathroom or bedroom I'll scream."

"I heard Mudblood and Weasley were hooked up."

"Hermione and Ron, and yes, they're getting married this weekend. I just hope there won't be as many people, though I know I can't hope too high. Another chance to see The Boy Who Lived and his amazing team is like heaven to these people."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I know one person who won't be there." Harry said nothing to this.

"You never answered me. What are you doing out here?"

"I don't know. Sitting. Thinking. It's far too crowded in there. My mother can't get over the fact that I'm gay, so she keeps trying to set me up with girls who have more space in their brains than fish in the ocean, and if that's not bad enough, my friends are trying to set me up with every available gay man in there, and some who aren't."

"What--available or gay?"

"Both, I think." Harry let out another dry laugh, though this one seemed less thought about.

"Really. It's much the same, here. Hermione and Ron keep getting the idea that I feel left out and lonely, so if it's not some girl throwing herself at me, it's Hermione and Ron finding 'some knew girl who they truly think I would get along with.' It's sick."

"Really? Because out of all the girls in there, all of whom would have you the second you asked--even some who were taken already--I'd think you'd be able to find one you like. I mean, there's so many girls in there I'd kill myself over if I was locked up in a room with one for too long, but still. There's got to be at least four or five worth holding a conversation with, and for a perfectly straight man, there's got to be at least one that you could fall in love with."

Harry took this point in time to crouch down on his knees directly in front of Draco and look him directly in the eyes. "There's one thing wrong with that," he said softly, so softly that Draco almost didn't hear. "I'm not," he said, his face getting closer by the second, "a perfectly," Draco could feel Harry's breath on his face and desperately hoped that this was what he thought it might be, "straight man." With the last word, he leaned forward and kissed Draco deeply.

This time he tasted like champagne. Harry's mouth was warm and wet, and his tongue hot and searing. Yes, that's right--his tongue. Draco had barely gotten over the shock of Harry's nearness when he felt Harry's tongue dart into and take over all the space in his mouth.

Draco resigned his sanity for later and decided that he would think this over once this wonderful dream had ended and he was left in tears in his bed. He let his knees fall so that Harry could push closer and wrapped one hand around the small of Harry's back, while the other went up behind Harry's neck. Harry straddled Draco, a knee pressed against Draco's waist on either side to prevent any escape attempt that would never be attempted, and a hand went to steady himself on the rock Draco had been resting against. The other hand cupped Draco's chin tenderly, stroking it distractedly.

Draco melted in this passionate kiss, and felt it was over far too soon. Not a sound was uttered on either side save for the quiet, though loud breathing that came from both people. Harry's eyes connected with Draco's and Draco felt himself lose himself immediately, drowning in those deep green, passionate eyes.

"I missed you, Draco," Harry said softly, sounding almost frightened. "It was hard. I never--I never knew how much I depended on those few times we met in the bathrooms," he continued, rushing on before Draco could interrupt him. "I learned that over the war, when I was away. I started losing interest in girls and gaining it in boys." Harry leaned his forehead against Draco's and tears began to slip down his cheeks. "I managed to convince myself it wasn't because of you, though. Then we defeated Voldemort." Draco nearly shuddered at the name, but stopped himself short. "You were one of the first people investigated, of course, because of your father," Draco knew this--he had been taken into three days of interrogation after his father had been captured, convicted and given the kiss, "and I knew soon that you weren't the enemy. That filled me with such relief I was scared. Then there was this party--I knew you would be there like every other wizard in the world, just for the sake of making your appearance and leaving."

The tears were coming more steadily now. "I asked around, made sure you were coming. And then I saw you here. I knew you would arrive late, but I couldn't help looking to the door every five seconds. And then you showed up. I knew you had worn that plain--though probably very well cut and expensive--suit so as not to draw attention. You're a little taller, and your hair's a bit longer. I like that you don't put half as much gell in it and I love how you pull it back into a pony tail." Draco unconsciously ran a hand and pulled a non-existent piece of stray hair behind his ear. Harry began to slow down his stream of words. "You were so beautiful right then and there, and I knew I loved you. I couldn't deny it any longer. I miss you, Draco. I miss you so much."

Harry had closed his eyes and missed the tears that were beginning to fall down Draco's face. He didn't, however, miss the hand that tightened behind Harry's neck and the other hand that pulled Harry closer. "It took me forever to be able to live, Harry. I couldn't breath, eat or sleep without thinking about you. I'm addicted to chocolate covered strawberries and pancakes, and there's not a second I lived hoping you'd say something like this. My mother thinks I'm weird and my friends are worried about me. For a while I thought I might be able to get over you, but the moment I saw you in there, I knew I couldn't. And it killed me."

"So that's the real reason you're out here," said Harry in attempt to make light of the situation.

"And I assume it's the same for you," Draco said with a nod. Harry nodded and smiled in reply, and Draco couldn't help but let out a broad, warm gin back.

Draco leaned forward and began to kiss Harry again, a little softer and much less desperately. Harry succumbed to the kiss, letting Draco take full control, responding in little ways to let Draco know he was there. Too soon, the kiss ended, and Harry pulled away.

"I have to get back to the party," he said softly in Draco's ear, "or they might suspect that the Dark Lord's back yet again."

"Yes," said Draco with a sad smile, "I suppose you do."

Harry stroked the back of Draco's neck, where the hand that had once been balancing on the wall had taken residence. Harry fully trusted Draco, and he knew it, and that scared the blonde haired boy a lot. "It's not a dream," said Harry even softer, "I promise, Draco. It's not." To prove his point, Harry gave a swift tweak to Draco's neck, which Draco barely acknowledged. "It's not a dream, because these past three years have been hell, and if this was a dream, I'd die." Harry tenderly brushed the last remnants of a tear away from Draco's cheek. "Anyways, if it was a dream, you and I'd probably be naked and in a hot tub with a hell of a lot of lube."

Harry and Draco both chuckled and smiled. "That can be arranged, you know."

Harry became solemn again. "In time. But tomorrow, I want to see you in that dingy cafe near your office at noon, sharp. And if you're not there--well, you'll have hell to pay."

"What," joked Draco, "I don't get to come back to your flat right now so we can fuck each other senselessly?"

"No," sighed Harry reluctantly, "you don't. I'll probably be at this party all of tonight and most of tomorrow before the most persistent girls allow me some peace and Ron and Hermione stop mentioning all the prospective, young, smart women."

"Would you like me to accompany you through this obvious torture and maybe set things straight?"

"Draco, there is nothing 'straight' about this. Matter of fact, I think things are pretty damn crooked."

They both laughed and got up off the ground. Draco placed one last, warm, chaste kiss on Harry's lips so that if he did wake up from this wonderful dream he wouldn't regret it and followed Harry out of the garden. Once at the door, however, they went their separate ways--Harry to bear the women of the party for just a little longer and Draco to go home and curl up next to the fire with a plate of chocolate covered strawberries and a good book on all the interesting positions of gay sex.

Needless to say, Draco was twenty minutes early for lunch the next day, and Harry was thirty. They both shared a private laugh and sat down to eat lunch. After much catching up, Draco had to ask one question.

"Harry, I have to know. Was it you who sent me the cure for smoking a while back?"

Harry's grin grew mysterious and his eyes playful. "All addictions have their cures--some just different from others."

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