This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's note: This is a sequel to Birthday Gift, written for Bets and Fae because they beg so prettily. It picks up six years and a month after the other fic.


Harry slung his bag higher on his shoulder, trying hard not to let his sour mood show on his face. It had taken two hours to get through Swiss customs, and that had been after a hellacious Portkey ride from Heathrow. He had a horrible headache and had lost one of his favorite shoes on the ride over ("Tie them more tightly before your next trip," the saccharine-voiced Portkey attendant had told him when he'd complained), but he tried to remind himself that none of that was the fault of the hotel clerk who was trembling before him.

The fact that his room wasn't ready, however, might be the clerk's fault, and Harry was having a hard time not blasting him for it.

"Are you sure this is the hotel you have reservations at? We are very heavily booked at the moment because of a convention," the scrawny young man said without looking up from his ledger, his tone disinterested. "If you spell your name for me, perhaps."

Harry bit back a retort, his hand tightening on the satchel strap. It would do no good to lose his temper. With his luck he'd end up on the cover of several wizarding newspapers and still not get his room.

"Potter. P-O-T-T-E-R."

The man flipped through the pages, humming unhappily.

"I am sorry, sir. There is no such listing. Are you quite certain you have reservations at the Lindner?"

Harry growled in frustration, his jaw clenching at the man's dismissive tone. He let his satchel fall to the marble floor and stalked over to the large placard in the lobby that advertised the prestigious convention that brought together the brightest magical minds every three years to discuss innovations in everything from spell casting to potions to herbology.

The clerk looked up when Harry dragged the placard and its easel over to the counter, turning it so the young man could clearly see the advertisement, which featured a rather large photo of himself above the words keynote speaker.

"Professor Potter!" the man squeaked, clearly mortified by his slip. They had been rather busy, and he had no bookings under Mister Harry Potter. The Swiss Minister for Magic had reserved one of the hotel's premiere suites for the conference's two top draws to share, which is why a repeated search for "Potter" had come up empty.

"My apologies, sir," the man said, his eyes wide with embarrassment. A dull flush crept up his neck under the starched white collar of his uniform, making him look even younger than he was. "You will be in the Royal Suite with another speaker. I'll have the bellman take you up immediately."

Harry smirked as the young man tripped over himself in his haste to summon a grey-suited bellman from the hotel's majestic entryway. He usually didn't take pleasure in using his name or status to garner favors, but in this instance he felt some degree of satisfaction in being Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and one of the most celebrated minds in Charms research the wizarding world had seen in over a century.

He'd been honored to be invited to the conference, which was generally reserved for international Ministry officials and the very elite in the world of magical research and development. The Swiss Minister himself, who was hosting the conference, had asked him to be the keynote speaker, as well as give a few seminars about spell creation. Since he was on break for the summer from Hogwarts, he'd seen no reason not to accept, and he'd been downright giddy about the opportunity to brush elbows with researchers he'd only read about in journals before.

Of course, when he'd agreed he hadn't realized he'd be at the conference on his birthday, nor had he realized it was to be held in Switzerland, the one place he'd avoided like the plague for the past six years. He and Leo had spent the last few summers traveling all over the world, but he'd purposefully left the small country off the list, even though they'd visited almost every country that borders it. Leo had been absolutely livid that Harry was going to be traveling on his birthday, but he hadn't thought it appropriate to bring him with, and now that he knew he was sharing a room with someone, he was doubly glad of that decision. Besides, some time apart would probably do them some good, seeing as how they'd spent practically every second of the summer break together so far.

Harry raised an eyebrow as a harried bellman hefted his small satchel to his shoulder, obviously intimidated to be tasked with taking the great Harry Potter to his rooms. He shook his head with a laugh, making a mental note to call down to the concierge for a Headache Potion when the movement made his temples throb, and followed him toward the lift.


Harry felt much better two hours later, after he'd had a potion and a nap. His suite-mate still hadn't materialized, so he was enjoying a solitary tea in the suite's sitting room. The hotel was absolutely gorgeous, though he felt a little uncomfortable with all the antique furniture and rugs. He was used to a much less refined environment, between his quarters at Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place, which he'd kept as a home base. He rarely spent more than a week or two there a year, since he and Leo preferred to spend holidays at the Burrow or traveling. Leo quite liked Hogwarts, and Harry enjoyed seeing it through fresh eyes. He'd actually considered selling the house, since they rarely used it.

A knock on the door drew him out of his reveries, and he flicked his wand at it, opening it without moving from the sofa. The hotel wasn't strictly a wizarding establishment, but it had closed to Muggle business for the week the conference was in town at the Minister's request.

The same desk clerk from earlier was standing on the threshold, his arms laden with an enormous fruit basket. Harry held back a smile as he stumbled inside, sliding the heavy basket onto a table near the suite's entrance.

"A token from the hotel to apologize for my oversight," the young man stammered, looking as though he'd like nothing more than to melt through the floor.

"Not necessary, but thank you," Harry said, hoping the man would leave faster if he was courteous. His gaze flicked over the basket, noting that a few boxes of Swiss chocolates were tucked in with the fruit. He'd have to take them home for Leo.

"We hope the rest of your stay will be pleasant," the man said, and Harry wondered if he was working from a script the hotel manager had given him.

"Of course," Harry said with a half-bow. The stammering man took that as his cue to leave, backing out the door and closing it behind him.

Harry laughed, rising from the sofa and stretching as he made his way over to the basket. It had a fair selection of fruits, and he chose a ripe-looking pear, shining it on his shirt as he wandered toward the bedroom he'd chosen. It was the smaller of the two bedrooms in the suite, and he'd taken it since he hadn't wanted to cause any problems with his unknown roommate. He shut the door behind himself, holding the pear in his teeth as he unbuttoned his shirt. He had just enough time for a quick shower before he had to be downstairs for the opening reception.


As the night dragged on, Harry found his mind wandering more and more often. Minister Petrarch – no amount of pleas of "call me Johannes" could convince Harry to call the Swiss minister by his given name – had paraded him around the cocktail party for the better part of two hours, until Harry was forced to seek refuge in the lavatory for a break. He'd been dismayed to discover most of the conference attendees and speakers weren't arriving until the morning, leaving him with a room of politicians who all wanted a photo with the famous Harry Potter. It was a far cry from the quiet evening of intelligent conversation he'd been expecting.

He had no idea how long he'd been hiding before the door swung open, and he quickly straightened from his slouch against the wall. A familiar chuckle had him relaxing back into his previous position.

"Your absence is causing quite the stir," Kingsley said, winking at Harry's reflection in the mirror as he strode toward the urinal.

"Why am I not surprised you knew where to look?" Harry drawled, laughing when the man joined him at the sink.

"There is some precedent," the minister replied, taking the towel Harry offered him after he washed his hands. "It's safe to escape, if you like. Johannes is caught up finding a replacement for a last-minute cancellation on one of the panels."

Harry blew out a relieved breath. He didn't want to be rude to the Swiss minister, but he'd had enough glad handing and small talk for the evening. Retiring to his suite to relax with a book sounded heavenly.

"You didn't bring Leo?" Kingsley asked, holding the door open so Harry could pass through first.

Harry shook his head.

"Ava will be disappointed," the taller man said, steering Harry toward his wife so he could say hello.

She took both of Harry's hands in hers, giving them a squeeze as he leaned in to press a kiss against her cheek. He'd grown close to Kingsley and Ava since the war ended, and he looked to them almost as surrogate parents, just like the Weasleys.

"That she is," the striking middle-aged witch replied, releasing Harry's hands and kissing her husband on the cheek as well. "Who will entertain me during all these dreadful speeches?"

Harry laughed, trying and failing to school his face into a look of offense.

"You mean my dreadful speech?" he teased, his green eyes sparkling with amusement for the first time all night.

Ava smiled and patted Harry on the cheek.

"Of course, dear."


The suite was still empty when Harry returned from his morning sightseeing trip, making him wonder if his roommate had been the speaker who'd canceled at the last minute. He stowed his purchases in his expandable satchel, careful to cast protective spells around some of the more fragile souvenirs before tossing them in the bag haphazardly. He'd wanted to get his shopping done before the conference kicked into full swing, since he doubted there would be time to run out and get things later and he'd promised Leo that he'd find him something special.

He had a quick lunch in the suite while he organized his lecture notes, separating things into different piles for the different sessions he'd be leading. He left the keynote speech for last, since it was the one he was dreading the most. He was comfortable lecturing about charms, since he did it daily at Hogwarts, but the opening speech for the conference was a different animal entirely. Hermione had chastised him for not preparing it before he left, but he'd thought it best to leave it to the last minute. Now he was regretting his decision. He gathered his things, stuffing his notes into a folder before grabbing his robes and heading downstairs. He had two hours until the ceremony started – maybe a change of scenery was what he needed to kick his brain into speech-writing mode.


Harry fidgeted, his fingers drumming against his thigh as he listened to the minister welcome everyone to the conference. His notes were in disarray, as were his thoughts. He'd retreated to the hotel's gardens hoping for inspiration, but instead he'd just found more distraction, since many of the guests there for the conference apparently had the same idea. He'd finally found a quiet corner in the hotel bar, but he hadn't gotten far before he'd caught a whiff of cologne that had seemed tantalizingly familiar. He'd spent the remaining time trying to remember where he'd smelled it before instead of concentrating on his speech, which was why he was sitting there between Ava and the Swiss minister's wife, his heart pounding wildly as he tried to look calm and collected while he waited for his introduction.

He rose when the minister motioned to him, smiling tightly as the applause swelled as he made his way toward the podium. The group continued to clap, and he waited politely for the noise to subside, using the extra time to desperately claw through his mind for something to say.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said at last, clearing his throat to call for silence. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's an honor to be here tonight. The International Colloquium for Magical Cooperation and Innovation is well known for being a meeting of the best magical minds in the world, though what we accomplish here is much more than the simple sharing of knowledge. It –"

A flash of blond hair at the back of the room caught his eye, and Harry looked up, the words dying on his lips. Draco Malfoy had just walked in the door, his formal robes flapping around him as he strode purposefully toward a table with an empty seat near the middle of the room. Harry felt a flutter of panic in his stomach, immediately followed by a jolt of desire that caught him even more off guard. He'd studiously avoided Malfoy for years, only to have him waltz in on one of the most important occasions of his life.

Harry swallowed, grasping for his train of thought. The image of the last time he'd seen Malfoy in person – tousled, sweaty and looking utterly debauched as they parted ways just outside the club six years earlier – barreled to the forefront of his mind, making his heart race even faster.

"It is a meeting of the magical community, a community we are all ambassadors for as we sit here tonight," Harry continued, forcing himself to look out over the crowd instead of directly at Malfoy. "I know Minister Petrarch has planned a great schedule of seminars and panels for us this week, and I for one am excited to begin, as I'm sure all of you are."

He gripped the podium tightly, a cold sweat trickling between his shoulder blades. He shot Kingsley a look of pure desperation, and the minister started clapping, obviously picking up on Harry's discomfort. As others joined in, Harry locked his knees, forcing himself to stand at the front of the room, smiling at all the witches and wizards crowded into the large ballroom. He was making an arse of himself, but he didn't know what else to do.

"Thank you for having me, and I hope I'll see you in a few of my sessions on advancements in the field of charms over the next few days."

He nearly sagged in relief when the Swiss Minister hurried up to the podium, shaking his hand and dismissing him before launching into a speech about the different opportunities available at the conference. Harry staggered to the table, sinking into his chair feeling utterly mortified.

"That certainly wasn't boring," Ava whispered in his ear, making his cheeks flush even darker.

"Not feeling well," he murmured, taking a shaky sip of his ice water. It was true. He wasn't feeling well.

"Poor dear," Ava said, pressing a hand discreetly against his forehead as though checking for a fever. "I think you'll be alright. I've never heard of anyone dying from running into a one-night stand."

Her matter-of-fact tone startled a quiet laugh out of Harry, and he shook his head, relaxing a bit more into his seat. Few people knew of his history with Malfoy, but the Shacklebolts were two of them. She dropped her hand, finding one of his in his lap to squeeze reassuringly. Though nothing had changed, he felt substantially better from the contact. She was right; if Malfoy was attending the conference they'd likely see each other a few times, but it would always be across a crowded room or in a group of other people. His reaction was completely absurd. There wasn't any reason to be afraid.


There was every reason to be afraid.

Harry cursed his luck as he saw a familiar pale hand dart between the doors to the lift, forcing them back open. Sure enough, Draco eased his way into the space, offering Harry and the other two occupants an apologetic smile.

The quartet rode up a few floors in awkward silence until the car stopped on the fourth floor. Harry desperately hoped Malfoy would be the one to exit, but instead the older couple he'd chatted with briefly earlier were the ones to say their good-byes and take off down the corridor. As the doors shut behind them, Harry looked at the panel, horrified to see that only his floor remained lit.

"Fancy seeing you here," Draco said conversationally, and Harry flinched inwardly at the silky voice.

"I had no idea you were attending, Malfoy," Harry responded with polite interest, as though they were simply acquaintances thrown together by accident. Which actually, when he thought more about it, they were. Of a sort, at least.

"Neither did I, actually," Draco said with a brief laugh. "I hadn't planned to come, but when the minister himself asks you for a favor, it's hard to say no."

Harry stared dumbly at him, a sinking sensation in his stomach. He had a feeling he'd just met his roommate for the week.

"I'm filling in for a potions expert who had a conflict at the last minute," Draco continued, not noticing the look of dawning horror on Harry's face.


Harry Summoned his props, catching them all in a large box he'd hauled down for the session. It had gone well, he thought. He'd found the group of participants a bit less enthusiastic than his run of the mill Hogwarts seventh years, but once they'd gotten comfortable with the theory of free-form casting they'd made quite a bit of progress.

He rifled through the box, plucking out the dormant Snitch he'd used to demonstrate a new type of Hover Charm. Part of the evening's activities included a pick-up Quidditch game for any interested attendees, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to give it a go or not. The hotel had top-quality brooms available for guests to use, and he'd love the opportunity to get up in the air, but he was torn. Malfoy would probably be playing as well, and with them both being former Seekers – and talented ones, too – there was little chance they wouldn't end up pitted against each other on the impromptu teams.

They were halfway through the week-long conference, and so far he and Malfoy had managed to be coolly civil and detached, despite being roommates. Neither had mentioned their date, and part of Harry was a bit hurt by it, though the majority of his thoughts on the matter were sheer relief. The niggling worry that their encounter had been so completely unmemorable that Malfoy truly didn't remember it crept up now and again, but Harry pushed it back ruthlessly, reminding himself that he didn't want Malfoy to remember it. That had been his condition, after all. A no-strings-attached one-night stand.

He hefted the box, carrying it out of the conference room and turning the lights out behind him. He had plans to meet Romilda Vane, of all people, for dinner, and he didn't want to be late. Apparently she was living in Interlaken now and had seen the feature the local newspaper did on the conference. Her owl had been a welcome surprise at breakfast yesterday morning, relieving an awkward tension between the two men as they ate together but in silence on the suite's balcony.

The suite was empty when he opened the door, and a curious mix of relief and disappointment swept through him. He could tell Malfoy had been there recently, because the smell of his cologne lingered in the sitting room. He couldn't believe he remembered the smell of it after all these years, or that Malfoy still wore the same scent. But he did.

Harry shook his head at the maudlin direction his thoughts had taken, sitting the box on one of the chairs and unknotting his tie as he walked toward his own room. The suite's fireplace wasn't hooked up to the Floo system, but if he was lucky he'd be able to get Leo by cell phone. The magic in a place like the Lindner wasn't so oppressive that Muggle electronics wouldn't work, since it was open to Muggles most of the year. He just hoped Leo wasn't at the Burrow, since he doubted the call would go through if he was, and he really needed to hear his voice.


Draco soared through the cool night air, feeling more alive than he had in years. He shouted to one of his team members in French, directing him toward a weak spot in the other team's defenses that he'd been able to spot from his vantage point. Whoever had come up with the idea to hold a Quidditch game was a genius, in his mind at least. He smirked across the field, watching Potter's long legs curl around the broom. He'd Transfigured his trousers into Quidditch leathers, and Draco snuck an appreciative glance every now and then. It was a shame they weren't as form-fitting as the leather trousers Potter had worn on their "date" a few years ago, but they were certainly a far cry better than the robes he'd been in all week. From what Draco could tell, Potter's body was every bit as fit as it had been back then. His features had become a bit more chiseled with age, losing some of the boyish good look in exchange for something a bit darker and more serious. Draco liked it. He'd also lost the glasses, which made a huge difference. He'd always admired Potter's eyes, and now they were so much easier to see.

He swung around on his broom when he saw a hint of gold swoop by, feeling a rush of adrenaline coursing through him as he took off after it. He could see Potter spot it as well, bent low over his broom as he careened toward him at a breakneck speed. Potter still flew like they were kids at Hogwarts, immune to injury and good sense. Draco laughed out loud, the feeling of the wind running through his hair making him feel free from all of the constraints he'd put on himself, free to focus on nothing more than sailing through the night sky against the backdrop of snow-dappled mountains in pursuit of the Snitch.

Harry pulled up next to Malfoy as they cornered the Snitch, both of them reaching toward the tiny fluttering ball. His muscles were screaming as he stretched, his heart pounding with excitement and exertion. He nearly had it, his fingertips just brushing the cool exterior of the metal ball, when suddenly the bottom fell out of his world. Malfoy's sleeve was rucked up, exposing his wrist. Harry forgot about the Snitch entirely when he saw what was wrapped around it – a ratty-looking green ribbon that he'd seen twice before. Once wrapped around his cock, and once in a photo of Malfoy a few weeks later.

Draco didn't notice Harry's preoccupation with his wrist until he'd already snagged the Snitch. He let out a yell of triumph, turning to tease the other man just as Harry lifted his eyes from the ribbon. Draco's shout tailed off into silence as he realized what Harry had seen, and he lowered his arm, yanking his sleeve down, his fist still closed around the Snitch.

They were both silent through the celebrations, neither of them taking up their teammates' suggestions to hit the town for a drink after the game. Both seemed to know they needed to have a serious discussion, but neither wanted to start it. No one broke the silence until they were back in their suite, still in their Transfigured Quidditch wear.

"Malfoy, I –"

Harry didn't know what to say. He'd seen the look of complete panic on Malfoy's face when he'd realized Harry had seen the ribbon, so it definitely wasn't something he'd worn just to take the piss out of him. It had put his own horror into perspective, knowing their time together had meant something to the blond as well.

"Potter, don't –"

Draco clenched his jaw, cutting off an insult before it passed his lips. He'd been stupid to continue wearing the blasted thing after he'd realized Potter was at the conference, but it had become so much a part of his routine that he'd been unable to go without it. He'd worn it just about every day for the last six years. It was held together with spells, and he'd had to use Reparo on it more times than he count. He just couldn't bring himself to part with it.

He huffed out a breath, wondering if he'd subconsciously decided to keep wearing it in the hopes that Potter would see it and they'd have a repeat of their one-night stand. He had to admit it was entirely possible.

Harry blushed, unable to stop himself from feeling aroused by Malfoy's proximity. Despite the fact that the Quidditch leathers he was wearing were brown, not green, he couldn't help but picture a 16-year-old Draco Malfoy preening in his Slytherin uniform. That poncy git had nothing on the Draco Malfoy standing before him at the moment, though, and Harry's mouth went dry at the thought.

Draco turned, pacing over to the well-stocked bar in the corner of the suite. He uncapped a bottle of Scotch, pouring a healthy dose into a crystal tumbler. He hesitated, grabbing a bottle of gin as well and mixing Harry a gin and tonic.

Harry felt a shiver of warmth creep up his arm when Malfoy's fingers brushed his as he handed him the drink. He couldn't believe the other man remembered what he drank. Though to be fair, he remembered that Malfoy had tipped back only Scotch that night. He'd started drinking it himself a year or so later, simply because it reminded him of the blond.

Harry sat his drink aside, his gaze locked on Malfoy, who was staring out the large picture window that overlooked the dark lake below. His eyes wandered over broad shoulders and down to his leather-clad arse. In that moment he decided to forget everything outside their suite and simply give in to the temptation he'd been fighting for the last few days – the last few years, if he was honest with himself. How often had he fantasized about looking Malfoy up for another no-strings-attached shag?

Draco turned when he felt Potter walk up behind him, not surprised in the least when the other man's hands gripped his shoulders. They were roughly the same height, and he leaned back into Potter's touch when he ducked his head to kiss the back of his neck.

Draco groaned, the last of his self-control snapping at the feathery light touch of Harry's lips. He spun around, dropping his drink on the floor as he grabbed Harry's face, holding him in place as he brought their lips together. It was something they hadn't done last time, and the intimacy of it made both of them ache for more.

"Just tonight," Harry warned between kisses, his breathing harsh.

"Just this week," Draco countered, his mouth descending on Harry's again. After the conference Harry would go back to London and forget all about him again, but he wanted a few days with the man this time.

Harry hissed out a breath when Draco's fingers twined through his hair and pulled his head back, nipping and kissing his way down the tanned column of Harry's throat.

"Yes," Harry answered, panting now. "Yes. More."

Draco laughed, sucking on the salty skin.

"More, Draco," he prompted, thinking it long past time they started using each other's given names.

"More, Draco," Harry agreed, pushing Draco back against the cool window so he could press against him, grinding their pelvises together as he kissed him again.

Draco pushed him away, breaking the kiss and walking toward the center of the room. He wrinkled his nose as he looked down at what he was wearing.

"We should shower first," he said, smirking when Harry growled.

"Later," Harry said, wrapping himself around Draco again and forcing him down on to the sofa. He'd waited years for this, and he wasn't about to delay it another second. He tore at the fasteners on Draco's trousers, not even bothering to do more than push his shirt up so he could press kisses over his stomach as he eased the leather over his hips.

Draco kicked off his shoes, lifting his hips to help Harry get rid of the trousers. He gasped when Harry took his freed erection into his mouth immediately, the warm, wet heat of it curling his toes. He fumbled for his wand, stripping Harry with a nonverbal spell. It almost proved his undoing, since Harry moaned around his cock at the sensation of Draco's magic caressing his skin.

He pushed at Harry's head, but he refused to be dislodged. He groaned again when he saw Harry start to fist himself, pumping his thick cock as his mouth stroked Draco's. When Harry opened his eyes, the emerald green Draco had fantasized about seeing like this so many times right there in front of him, Draco came, his hips bucking up and forcing his cock further down Harry's throat. Harry moaned, the vibration prolonging Draco's orgasm and making him cry out as he struggled to keep his eyes open to watch Harry shudder through his own release, spurts of come coating his fist and belly.

"Jesus," Draco sighed, relaxing back onto the pillows. Harry slumped against the side of the sofa, his head pillowed on Draco's abdomen.

"Shower?" he asked, standing and pulling Draco up with him. Draco let himself be pulled along, but he stopped Harry before they could go into his room.

"My bathroom has a soaking tub," Draco said, arching his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry grinned, changing direction.


Harry's eyes blinked open, his body going tense as he realized he wasn't alone in bed. He relaxed slightly when his gaze settled on the arm slung over his body, the tattered green ribbon still tied around Draco's wrist. He grinned dopily at it, his belly heating with lust and an emotion he refused to name when he thought about Draco wearing it year after year.

There was no reason they couldn't enjoy the rest of their time here at the conference and then go their separate ways, Harry reasoned. He knew he was setting himself up for a big emotional letdown in a few days time, but for some reason that knowledge did nothing to dampen the giddy excitement he felt right now. He tried not to think about how the choices he was making right now would affect his life at home. Could he really do this and then go home to Leo guilt-free?

Draco stirred, snuggling closer into Harry's back, his hair tickling against Harry's shoulder. It was wrong to do this without telling Draco about Leo; he knew that. But if he told him everything would change, and they wouldn't be able to enjoy their carefree few days together. No, Harry decided, grinning when Draco pressed his erection into his back, letting Harry know he was awake. Better to take this time with Draco now, the only way he'd ever be able to have him, and deal with the consequences later.

Harry wiggled his hips, feeling Draco's length slide between his arse cheeks. He ground against him, letting Draco slip inside his still-lubricated entrance. The blond groaned, his hands gripping Harry's hips as he held him in place so he could thrust into him. He peppered Harry's neck with kisses, soothing over purpled marks from last night's bites.

"Fuck," Harry hissed, unaware he'd slipped into Parseltongue until Draco picked up the pace of his strokes to a near-frantic level, his hand snaking around to close over Harry's erection.

"More," Draco pleaded, and Harry smirked, hissing out things he'd never be able to tell him in English. He arched into Draco, his hissing becoming louder as Draco's hand moved more insistently over his cock.

"Yes," Draco panted, his fingers slipping against Harry's sweat-slicked skin as he tried to drive himself deeper. He buried his face against Harry's neck, muffling his cries as he came hard inside him. The sound drove Harry over the edge, and he found himself coming as well, hissing out Draco's name and a rush of endearments in Parseltongue as he did.

Harry closed his eyes, breathing heavily and focusing on listening to the thrum of his heart. Inside he felt the walls he'd built up all those years ago begin to come down, and he didn't know what to do about it.


"Happy birthday!"

Draco ripped away Harry's blindfold with a flourish, laughing when the other man did a double-take at the cake in front of him. He'd had the hotel's pastry chef make it just for Harry. Not only was it their last night together, it was also Harry's birthday. Draco was determined to make it memorable.

"It's really … something," Harry said, laughing again as he looked at the cake.

"It's a broomstick," Draco scolded, turning his head to look at the cake from a different angle.

"I can see that," Harry said, choking on more laughter.

"Do you think about anything other than sex?" Draco murmured, his tongue teasing along the shell of Harry's ear before his lips skimmed down his jaw line.

Harry would rather die than admit the things he thought about Draco that didn't involve sex, so he merely hummed in approval of what the blond was doing, leaving the teasing question unanswered. He didn't want to think about anything other than Draco tonight. Tomorrow he'd be going home to Leo, and he'd have to deal with the guilt of what he'd done. But tonight – tonight was just the two of them.

"The cake?" Draco prompted, pulling back enough to look at Harry's face. The pure need he saw in Harry's eyes made his pulse race, the green almost completely obscured by black.

"Screw the cake," Harry groaned, his voice thick with arousal as Draco's hand cupped his erection through his pants.

"Screw you," Draco corrected, already opening Harry's belt buckle. "Eat the cake later."


They'd agreed not to contact each other after the conference was over, but neither could resist prolonging their stay just a bit, putting the few hours Harry was able to delay his Portkey home to good use. Draco had come with him to the airport, which had surprised him. They'd had a hurried shag in one of the terminal's toilets, very reminiscent of their first encounter, just minutes before Harry's Portkey was scheduled to leave.

He'd known it would be hard to walk away from him, but Draco hadn't been prepared for the emptiness he felt inside before Harry had even gone. He could see the other man slowly retreat into himself over the last few hours, putting up the barriers he'd dropped over the last few days firmly back into place.

Draco realized they hadn't asked any questions about each others' lives in the week they'd been together. He had no idea if Harry was dating someone back in London or not. He fingered the ribbon around his wrist, blowing out a sigh. He didn't want to know anything about Harry's life. He liked what they had, but there was no way they could keep it up. The illicitness of it was half the fun.

He stepped forward a bit, giving Harry a lingering kiss. He had no right to wonder who those lips would be kissing in a few minute's time, but it didn't stop him from feeling shattered inside.

Draco untied the ribbon, curling Harry's fingers around it. He grinned at the man's questioning look, shaking his head when Harry tried to return it.

"Birthday present," he said, kissing him again before they hurried back out into the terminal so Harry could get into line.

He stayed until Harry's Portkey left, acutely feeling the absence of the ribbon around his wrist. He slid his hand into his pocket, pulling out his wedding ring and slipping it on his finger. His wife knew him too well to ask about what had happened to the ribbon, just as she'd been too smart to ask why he'd worn it all these years.

He sighed, heading down the corridor toward the Apparation point.


Harry let go of the Portkey, the now useless spoon clattering to the ground. The Portkey attendant retrieved it with a quick spell, giving Harry a dirty look when he failed to move out of the arrival zone as soon as he'd regained his balance.

He tightened his grip on his bag, sighing as he followed the arrows toward customs. He breezed through the checkpoint without a problem, finding himself in the Apparation room mere minutes after his arrival back on British soil. He wasn't sure he wanted to go home, not with the taste of Draco's kiss fresh on his lips. The tattered ribbon sat heavy in his pocket, making him remember so many things he'd like to forget.

He was surprised when Leo didn't greet him as soon as he walked in the door to the Burrow, until remembered he'd caught the latest Portkey back he could. Leo would be in bed. Harry let his satchel fall to the floor quietly, not wanting to wake Molly, Arthur or any of the grandkids that were sure to be here. He made his way into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of Firewhisky and wishing it was Scotch as he tossed it back. He felt waves of guilt and regret wash over him as he fingered the green ribbon, his mind on not his latest encounter with Draco but one six years earlier.

He climbed the stairs quietly, poking his head in the first open door at the top of the landing. Tufts of messy blond hair were the only part of Leo that were visible, since he had the duvet pulled up over his head to block out the light in the room. Harry sat on the edge of the bed, the ribbon still in his hand as he tugged the blanket down, revealing smooth pale skin flushed with sleep. Leo stirred as he ran a finger lightly down his face, and Harry's heart was heavy as he thought of all the opportunities he'd had to tell Draco about him over the last week. He hadn't taken a single one, preferring instead to selfishly keep Leo a secret from the one man who had the most right to know about him.

Thin limbs moved restlessly as Leo shifted, burrowing deeper into the mattress and instinctively turning his head away from Harry's touch. Harry sighed, stooping to pick up the worn stuffed dragon that Leo always slept with off the floor. He held it in his hand for several minutes, just watching Leo sleep. He'd give him the chocolates and other gifts he'd brought him from Switzerland in the morning, but there was one thing he should have now, something he should have had years ago. Harry brought the green ribbon to his lips, pressing a light kiss to it before tying it around the dragon's neck and nestling it into Leo's arms. The scrap of ribbon was unnecessary as a reminder of their first time together – he had Leo for that – but it was nice to have something tangible to give to their son. He pressed a kiss to Leo's forehead, too, before pulling the duvet up, tucking it around him and quietly leaving the room.

–End –