Too Late

Harry sees Malfoy again for the first time in years at Al's first Quidditch game; he'd recognize that shock of white-blond hair, that haughty, unimpressed stare anywhere. He looks the same, Harry thinks to himself. Which is probably not true, but sitting so far away, across the Quidditch pitch in the Gryffindor stands, Harry can't really make out the lines or wrinkles that may be there. It has been a very, very long time.

He gets his chance to see Malfoy up close-closer, at least, than the space that separated them on the Quidditch stands-when they happen upon one another on their way out of the Great Hall.

"Potter," Malfoy says, inclining his head not a millimeter lower than is polite, a perfunctory nod at an old rival, a much-adored-but not by him-hero of the Wizarding World. Harry makes an effort not to stiffen, all the while feeling as if he has too much air inside him; he breathes it out slowly, hoping Malfoy doesn't notice.

But of course Malfoy notices. There is a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"Dad, this is Scorpius," Al says, gesturing at the boy next to Malfoy. He's almost a clone of his father. It is utterly, utterly strange. This close, Harry can see that Draco does have lines at the corner of his eyes, and there is some grey in his hair as well. It is not so pronounced as Harry's hair is, because Malfoy's (Malfoy, not Draco) hair is light, but it is there nonetheless.

Harry remembers himself and smiles down at the boy in front of him. "Al's been telling me about what an excellent flier you are," he tells the boy. "Youngest Seeker in ages," he adds, almost glancing up at Malfoy. "Your father must be proud."

Scorpius grins at him. "Younger Seeker since you," he says, no animosity in his voice. "Dad is still somewhat sour about that."

Harry does look at Malfoy now, eyebrow raised in surprised amusement. "I imagine," he says.

Malfoy rolls his eyes. "I simply found it unbelievable that such a dolt could manage to keep on a broomstick right, let alone be a Seeker," he drawls. To Scorpius he mutters "Traitor," not quite under his breath.

Instead of feeling offended, Harry is only somewhat bemused at the lack of animosity between them. But then, what more is there for them to lash out at one another about? Malfoy is married, and Harry... Well, Ginny might be gone, but Harry still has the kids, doesn't he? Things have changed. They have grown up.

They don't say much more to each other, letting the children chatter on for a little while longer before departing for home.

-----

He gets a telephone call late one evening some months later, when the kids are back at Hogwarts. It is Malfoy, and even before Harry has recovered from the shock of Malfoy calling him on a telephone, Malfoy is throwing something else at him.

"Meet me."

Harry frowns. "When? Why?"

Malfoy sounds annoyed when he replies. "Because I need to tell you something." Harry can hear him sighing on the other line. "Have your wards down for me. I'm coming in ten minutes."

"What if I don't?" He will, but he won't tell Malfoy that. He doesn't even know why he will.

"You will," Malfoy says shortly, and hangs up.

-----

Harry is not sure what to do with his wand as he waits for Malfoy to show up. Eventually he settles for stuffing it back into the pocket of his robe.

Malfoy arrives with ash on his face and in his hair. It has been a very long time since he's been here, at Grimmauld Place, in Harry's home. A very, very long time. He looks out of place, with his expensive robes and his stiff demeanor. But he doesn't complain about the soot, doesn't even try to brush it off of his clothes before stepping closer to Harry.

Before Harry knows it, Malfoy is standing only inches away, and grabbing Harry's robe to pull him even closer. It feels strange to have Malfoy touch him; it makes him tingle all over, and his heart is beating a bit too fast. "Hi," Malfoy says.

"What-" Harry starts to ask, but their faces are so close that he can feel his own breathe mingling with Malfoy's, he's speaking right into Malfoy's mouth. "-What're you doing, Malfoy?"

"Telling you," Malfoy murmurs, breathing warmth against Harry's lips, "that the divorce papers came through." His eyes are unflinching, and expectant.

"What?" Divorce papers? "You're getting a divorce?"

"Got," Malfoy corrected, "I got a divorce, Potter." Harry feels the fists on his robe tighten. "If you ask what this has got to do with you, I will punch you."

Who the bloody hell does Malfoy think he is, deciding to get married and then... then. "It's been years," Harry reminds him. "Why should it have anything to do with me?" His voice doesn't tremble at all, because he's a grown man of 40 and grown men's voices do not tremble, he makes sure.

Draco closes his eyes for a second, but he doesn't let go of Harry. "I hated you when you married her," he says vehemently, voice strained. "I fucking hated you."

"I hated you too." Harry doesn't know what to say, except the blindingly obvious. Draco must have already known.

"And I hated you," Draco says shortly. "And you hated me back all over again. But," and here he sounds as if it's hurting him to say it, as if it's a sour taste in his mouth, "it's been years." His voice is softer. "Now it's all over. I don't hate you anymore."

Harry's hands, quite unlike his voice, are trembling and cold, and his chest feels as tight a Draco's grip does. "What then?" he asks slowly.

"Father disapproves of the divorce and my friends think I've gone insane. Scorpius is the only one who doesn't seem to mind." Still not any explanation. Does he really expect Harry to just accept this? Ginny's only been gone for-

Harry realizes that it's been two years, and that this is the first time he's thought of her in a long time, and now only as an excuse not to give in to whatever it is Draco wants.

Draco shakes him a little, holds his gaze. "Potter," he says, and his voice is trembling, Harry notices with a bit of wonder (this has never happened before, not even when Harry told him to get lost after the wedding announcement), his mouth is twisted into an almost-pained grimace. "Just. Damnit." And he closes what little space between them there is left, and suddenly they are kissing.

It isn't a long kiss, and it's a bit ashy from the fireplace (Harry should get Kreacher to clean that up). It still makes Harry's breath catch, and it's a while before he can speak again. Why does Malfoy want him now,old and greying as he is? "Don't you think it's a little too late for this?" Harry asks in a voice that can't be his, because he's not saying no to Draco, not when all he wants is another kiss, just like that one.

"Is it?" Draco's eyes are dark and serious, and Harry knows that this is it: he can either say yes or say no. A million doubts rush at him. Can they really pick up where they left off? Can he really forgive Draco for what he did? Can Draco forgive Harry for his retaliation? Can he be sure that he won't regret this a week from now?

The answer to all of these questions, Harry knows, looking at Draco, is a resounding no. No, they can't pick up where they left off; they are too different now, and there's no such thing as going back back in time. But they can pick up from this moment in Harry's study, from that soft, tentative kiss. No, they can't forgive one another, but they can move on from that. No, he can't be sure he won't regret this, but it'll just be another regret among the many regrets he's harbored, and it will at least have company.

No, it's not too late. Not yet.

Harry pulls Draco in for another kiss.