Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and those to whom she has licensed her creations, including without limitation Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I make no money from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N:Well, everyone. This is it. The final chapter of Draco's Boy. This is how I've always envisioned the end of the story. I hope you find it satisfying.

As always, great thanks to Sansa for her fantastic beta skills and wonderful cheerleading.

Thank you to everyone who read this, cheered me on, shared their stories and reminded me of why I got into this writing game to begin with.

CHAPTER 31: Tales of the River Stone

Harry looked out over the Malfoys' back garden, his journal finished for the day. The Japanese maples glowed like fire in the waning sunlight. They'd grown quite a bit over the course of a year—obviously well cared for. Pride swelled within him. He'd planted those trees. He'd given them a home.

He ran his fingers through the soft, summer grass. There was a new shoot arriving, its green bright and translucent. He was always humbled by shoots pushing up through the Earth, struggling for survival before blossoming into uncommon beauty. His fingertips brushed the new shoot gently, welcoming it into life with silent reverence.

But it was the tangle of wild jasmine creeping along the side fence that held his deepest regard; its come-hither undulation mesmerizing, its scent reminiscent of many silent evenings. At first glance it was completely out of step with the rest of the garden, but its unerring, confident sprawl couldn't be ignored. Mrs. Malfoy had almost cut it down, but Harry had stopped her, asking her to keep it. That she did without question meant a great deal to him.

A hand trailed along his shoulder and lips kissed the back of his neck. He looked up.

"Finished for the night?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded.

"Why do you come out here to do it? It's so dark. How can you see to write?"

Harry shrugged. "It's familiar. Reminds me of my little garden. The one from before."

"I remember," Draco murmured. "None of those huge white flowers here, though. You should tell Mum you want to plant some. They'd look good in this little corner. Especially with the jasmine running across the fence."

"I'm surprised you noticed what it was," Harry said without sarcasm.

Draco cleared his throat. "Well I've got to know something about all of this, haven't I? Otherwise I'd be bored to tears every day at lunch. Why Mum insists that we take lunch in the gazebo I'll never know. There aren't bugs and flying things in the house."

Harry snickered. "I think she has this vision of how she wants things to be between us. I'm afraid to ask her what it is, though. I'm afraid one of us might wind up in a pink smock with a toddler on his hip."

"Don't even joke about things like that," Draco said. He looked down at the journal. "That helping?"

"I don't know. It seems stupid. He didn't even tell me what to write. Just said I had to write every day. I don't talk about anything important or anything."

Draco shrugged as he joined Harry on the grass. "Can't be all bad. Dr. Westbourne must know what he's talking about. After all, he works with troubled youth for a living," Draco said with a silly, affected drawl.

Harry cut a glance at Draco and grinned. "You're right. And speaking of troubled youth, this journal is the perfect opportunity to recount your deadly battle with that gardening menace, he-who-must-not-be-named, the bumblebee of death. I wonder what Dr. Westbourne would make of that?"

Draco's cheeks colored. "Tell me you didn't talk about that with your therapist. You didn't, did you? You're not going to, are you?"

"Maybe not that," Harry said with a chuckle.

"Hmm. So what have you said about me?"

Harry's cheeks felt hot and a bubble of glee bounced around inside of him. He looked away at Draco's snicker. "S'not funny."

"Yeah. Sure. Not funny in the least. Oh, that reminds me, Mum's planning your birthday party. Ickle Harrykins is turning sweet sixteen," Draco said in a high-pitched voice.

"Shut it, you stupid prat," Harry said with a chuckle. "And stop with the voices. Makes me wonder if you've damaged your equipment."

Draco's breath caught for the barest second before he smiled at Harry's innuendo. It had been a long while since they'd joked with each other like that. Harry knew it had been rough going those first few weeks. On top of that, he was only just out of casts and slings and bandages.

"You know it's going to be a big affair, don't you?" Draco asked.

"I sort of got that impression. That weird little cake man? He was a dead give-away."

"The pastry chef? You're calling the pasty chef a 'weird little cake man'?"

"He is weird."

Harry felt Draco scoot closer. "Shall I protect your virtue from the weird little cake man?" Draco asked, his hand sliding down Harry's chest.

"Perhaps I should ask him to protect it from you."

"I disagree," Draco said, leaning in for a kiss.

Harry took charge of it, cupping Draco's face with his hands, keeping him in place.

"Someone's frisky," Draco murmured as he pulled away, only to resettle himself behind Harry, pulling him against his chest.

"Been a long time. Weeks. Days. Eternity," Harry said while running his hands up and down Draco's thighs.

He smiled in victory at the slight choking sound Draco made when his hands crept towards Draco's groin. Victory was short-lived, however.

"Two can play that game," Draco murmured.

Harry gasped as the point of Draco's tongue dragged up and down the side of his neck. He let his head fall to the side, relishing the attention.

"So what shall I give you for your birthday?" Draco asked.

"Any—anything," Harry said, pressing against Draco's erection.

"You mean that?"


"Because I was thinking that I might give you what you gave me for my birthday. I've still got the book, you know."

Before Harry could answer, Draco nipped at the side of his throat and laved the spot with his tongue. Just the way Harry liked it.

"What—what are you after?" Harry gasped.

"Nothing. Just missed you," Draco said in between nipping kisses.

"Bollocks. You—oh, fuck, that feels good—you want something."

"Right now, the only thing I want is you. Lay down."

"Out here? On the grass?"

"Why not?"

"Erm . . . your Mum?"

"Is out with her friends at some charity event. I assure you, we are very much alone."

Harry started to protest, but Draco silenced him with another kiss. Harry scooted forward and turned around before lying down. He closed his eyes as Draco settled himself on top, his knees straddling Harry's hips.

"God, I've missed this," Draco said, rolling his hips and pressing his erection against Harry's.

"Me too," Harry said, grateful to have got out of that stupid sling. "Want to—?"

"No. Not yet. You're still recovering."

"Am not. We could—"

"We will. Later. Let's . . . god, you feel so good. This feels so good," he said, his hips snapping faster and faster.

Harry reached up and undid Draco's trousers.

"What are you—?"

"Better this way." Harry said, trying to concentrate on his task.

"Wha—oh. Course," Draco mumbled as he sat back on his heels and undid Harry's trousers.

They wriggled out of their trousers and pants, their erections heavy and wet. Draco started to get back into position, but Harry stopped him again.

"Put your arm around me," Harry said as got to his knees, tucking them in between Draco's.

"You sure? Is your ankle—"

"I'm fine. Stop treating me like a bloody china doll and finish what you started."

Draco's answering smile would have looked at home on a crocodile. "If you insist."

Draco slid his arm around Harry's back, holding him tight, while Harry did the same on the other side. They both reached down with their free hands and wrapped them around their cocks, holding them tight in the grip of their hands.

"Fuck, yes," Harry hissed, his back arching. "Missed this. Missed you."

"You've no idea," Draco panted, their hands sliding up and down while they thrust.

Harry groaned, trying to concentrate on finding a rhythm that would work for both of them.

Draco's hand rubbed the small of his back. "Feel good?"

"Yeah. Just . . . that's it, budge a bit to the—oh, fuck, yes. God, I love you," Harry blurted, still concentrating on the feel of his cock sliding against Draco's.

Draco's hand flew to the back of Harry's head. He cupped it and dragged it forward, drawing him in for a bruising kiss.

Harry squeaked, almost losing his balance, but quickly melted into the kiss, kissing back with enthusiasm.

Their tongues danced as their cocks thrust into Harry's hand over and over and over until neither of them could bear another second of it. They came with groans swallowed by kisses, the feeling more intense that Harry ever recalled it being.

Breathing hard, they collapsed to the ground in a sprawl.

"God. That was brilliant," Draco said in between heaving breaths. "You okay? I didn't hurt yo—"

"Finish that sentence and I'll punch you."

Draco chuckled. "Okay, okay. I get it. You're not a delicate china doll. You're a big, brute of a man."

Harry looked over. "That is quite possibly the gayest thing I have ever heard anyone say. Big brute of a man? What is that? The title of some sort of homosexual romance novel or something?"

Draco lightly punched Harry's shoulder. "Don't be such a bastard."

"Bastard, eh? I'll show you a bastard," Harry said, scrambling to his knees and pouncing on Draco, pinning him.

"Get off, you stupid prat." But Draco made no serious attempt to get free—the bucking of his hips was far too rhythmic.

"Not on your life." Harry leant in and kissed Draco until he was moaning and pulling Harry closer. He felt his cock getting harder by the second. God, it was glorious to be a teenager.

"Ready for round two?" Harry asked.

"The real question is, are you?"

"More than you can possibly know."


The night sky was alight with the glow of a million stars.

"See that one there? That's Lyra. There's a story about that one," Harry said.

"There's a story about all of them."

"Well yeah, I suppose that's right." Harry rolled onto his side, pillowing his head on Draco's chest. He felt something hard against his cheek. He sat up. "What's that?"

"What's what?"

"That thing in your shirt."

"My chest, you mean? Interesting. I never thought I'd actually be able to fuck your brains out."

"Ha, ha. In your pocket, you prat. And you didn't fuck me. Not yet, anyway."

Draco's eyes went glassy and his mouth fell open. Harry used his distraction to paw at his shirt. How they'd stayed clothed on top was a mystery.

Draco came out of his sex-induced stupor and batted his hands away. "Hey! Stop tickling!"

"It feels like a stone or something. Why do you have a stone in your pocket?"

Draco scrambled back and sat up, his hands out in front to keep Harry from advancing.

"It's, it's—oh, sodding hell!" he spat. He reached into the pocket of his shirt and held out his hand. Nestled in his palm was a small stone threaded with a length of leather cording.

"What's—What is that?"

Draco looked away. He bit his lip. "Stay here for a second? I'll—I'll be right back," he said. He got to his feet and slipped on his trousers before trotting back to the house.

Harry watched him go, completely perplexed.

Draco returned a few minutes later, his arms loaded with a blanket, basket and a small torch.

"What's all that?"

"I figured if I was getting up, I'd get us a blanket to lie on and some snacks and things."

"And the torch?"

Draco quickly spread the blanket and sat down, patting the spot beside him. "Erm, the torch is for . . . it's . . . . Here," he said, thrusting something into Harry's hand.

It was another small stone, also with leather cording threaded through it. Harry looked closer. It seemed familiar. The torch clicked on, bathing the small stone in light. Realizing what it was, he gasped.

"Draco? When—?"

"When I was with Mum. Over spring holiday. I—there was this man who tumbled and polished stones, made them into jewelry. I—I had him cut the river stone in two, polish each piece, and thread them with leather cording."

"But how—"

"It was in my pocket. It's, erm, it's always in my pocket. Ever since last year. It—I—it's, erm . . . " Draco rolled his eyes and snorted. "You'll think it's stupid."

"No. I won't. I really won't."

Draco hesitated for a moment. "Do you remember when you gave it to me?"

Harry nodded.

"Tell me about it."

"I don't see what it has to do with anything."

"Just—please, just tell me."

Harry swallowed and looked away for a few moments. "You remember. I gave it to you that first morning you invited—"

"No. Not that. Before. Where'd it come from?"

"Oh, erm." Harry sighed. "When I was little, I never had anything that was my own, you know. I, erm, didn't get presents and things."

Harry shot Draco a look and waited for him to nod before continuing.

"So I found my own presents. My own treasures. And—I found that river stone in an old creek bed the summer before we moved to Magnolia Crescent. I felt like I'd found treasure."

Draco cocked his head to the side. "If it was your treasure, why'd you give it to me?"

Harry cleared his throat. "You were my first friend and I wanted you to like me. And—"


Harry took a deep breath. "It . . . it reminded me of—"


"Erm, nothing. Just . . . nothing."

"Out with it. It reminded you of what? My—my—" Draco looked down at his part of the stone. "What could this stone possibly remind you of?"

"Your eyes, you idiot! Your eyes," Harry said, exasperated.

He winced, waiting for the peal of laughter he was sure would follow such a ridiculous declaration. But the only thing he got was a soft tug on his arm, soft lips pressing against his, and warm, silver-colored eyes staring at him as if nothing else in the world mattered.

"It was your treasure and you gave it to me," Draco murmured.

Harry nodded.

"When I found it again last summer . . . I had to see you. I had to know what had come of the one person that I could never forget. I think—" Draco laughed.


"I think I was about to say something so ridiculously sappy that it's best saved for when we're drunk enough that I have a defense for saying it, and you're too shattered the next day to remember."

"Why'd you—but I—I said something far sappier! And you goaded me into it, besides. Jesus, Draco. I told you that dumb stone reminded me of your eyes."

"Yes, well, that's the difference between you and I. Hey, I'll tell you someday. It's just something to look forward to now, yeah?"

"I'll hold you to that, you know."

"You'd better."

Harry stared at his piece of the river stone. "Thanks for this," he said as he wrapped the leather cording around his wrist, making sure the small stone was nestled against his pulse point. When he struggled to tie it off with one hand, Draco helped silently.

And as if there had never been such a moment of solemnity—of promise, of memory—they lay back down, staring at the stars, jasmine swaying over their heads.

"See that one there?" Harry asked.

Draco nodded.

"That's Sirius. The dog star. There's a great story about that one. Quite an adventure, really."

"Really? Never heard it," Draco said, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Harry smiled, half-wishing he could somehow extract this memory and bottle it, keeping it with him always. But no matter what the future brought, Harry knew that Draco would always be a part of him. He'd never forget him, and he'd never forget this moment.

"Harry? The story?"

"Oh. Right. Well Sirius, you see, was Orion's dog . . ."