In Which Harry Learns That Honesty Matters

Harry knew he had fucked up the second he had seen him that night. The pale blond young man had stood there, glaring at him with an expression of anger and pain that had cut Harry to the quick.

Harry hadn't expected to walk away from that meeting with both his life and all of his body parts still firmly attached as nature intended. Who, he wondered, had told Draco of Harry's original intentions? Harry did not know, but he wanted to find out so he could hurt them as badly as Draco and he had been hurt.

Right now, however, Harry was in no position to do anything more than sit with his head leaning sideways against the smooth cool tiles of his bathroom wall and pray that he had not consumed as much alcohol as his head and stomach were telling him he had. Neither the Ministry nor the Order of the Phoenix looked kindly upon wizards who allowed themselves to get so drunk that they were unable to manage a sobriety charm when they needed their senses about them.

Harry groaned and turned around, shifting into a sitting position with his back against the wall. He was monumentally annoyed with the idiot who told him that alcohol could make you forget pain and allow you to 'drown your sorrows.' The only thing worse than what he felt physically was the memory of the last year-and-a-half pressing down on his mind.

A little over seven months ago, the Dark Lord Voldemort, had staged his first and last open assault on the heart of wizarding Britain. On a busy Saturday afternoon, two weeks after the students were let out of Hogwarts for the summer, Death Eaters and Dementers had stormed Diagon Alley, throwing hexes and curses at innocent bystanders. After a heated battle, Voldemort himself had fallen in a final blaze of gruesome glory, but the price had been high. In all, forty men, women and children were left dead. Some were reduced to so much bloody meat strewn across the little town. Others were unmarked, but frozen with pain and terror forever etched on their faces. Like many of his friends and comrades in arms, Harry felt enormous responsibility for each death of an innocent.

To make matters worse, the fear and fighting had not ended with Voldemort's death. Currently under the lead of Lucius Malfoy, the Death Eaters were gaining more and more sway in their world through the use of assassinations, extortion, blackmail and threats. Harry's role in the Order and the war continued well into the following year. At least it had until someone had ruined everything for him. Ruined everything for them really. Harry's cover was blown and his heart was in shreds.

It was a year, six months, and fourteen days since Albus Dumbledore had given Harry the directive that had ruled his life almost completely since it had come into effect. He closed his eyes, settling his head against the bathroom tiles again as the memory of the late Head of the Order's voice rose to the surface. "We need him Harry. He has vital contacts and opportunities that Severus does not. I'm authorising you to use any means necessary to secure the loyalty of Draco Malfoy for the Order of the Phoenix."

'Any means necessary' was such a big authorisation for Harry to get, Boy Who Lived or not. He had always followed the rules and restrictions of the Order, if not the Ministry's laws specifically. Admittedly, he had had no idea of where to start, how far he should go and what would bring Draco Malfoy to their side. Another thing Harry quite readily admitted to himself was that Hermione Granger had once again pointed him in the right direction to his former enemy's greatest weakness. Unexpectedly, it had been his heart.

Harry flushed as he remembered the frank discussion Hermione had with him that day so long ago. "I know about your preference for men, Harry," she had told him quite bluntly. "I've always known. And I know that Malfoy is also gay." Moreover, she was convinced that Harry was the object of Malfoy's affection, however twisted the expression of such affection was.

Harry smiled bitterly at Hermione's uncanny ability to be right more times than not. "I know it sounds terrible," she had continued, "but you can use this to bring him to our side. He'll listen to you if he thinks that you love him."

He knew he should have listened to that ache in the pit of his stomach at her words. He was not cut out for that sort of deception and manipulation. Hermione had even warned him to not let his heart get involved as he ensnared Draco's.

Harry wished his heart had listened.

He was surprised how easy it had been to charm the Slytherin, once they got through heaping large amounts of verbal barbs and old arguments on each other upon their initial encounter. Draco, he found, was quite funny and even sweet in a rather offhand way. He was also devastatingly handsome.

As the memories of their time together rushed through in a cruel and treacherous replay in his mind, Harry brushed away a stray tear and then tried to close his eyes against the mental and emotional assault. Instead of peace and relief, he remembered their first time sleeping together. Harry had to admit to Draco that he had never been with a man before. Rather than mock him for it, Draco had been gentle and sweet, taking his time with Harry, letting the nervous Gryffindor set the pace of their lovemaking. Harry remembered calling Draco's name out loud as he climaxed. After that, Draco had stayed with Harry the whole night and into the morning. Draco later told him that it was the first time he had actually slept with a lover.

Harry shook his head and breathed deeply as he once again tried to rid his mind of all the memories. He even called upon his occlumency training, desperate for the mental and emotional numbing that alcohol did not provide. Unfortunately, one needed to be clear and sound of mind for it to work, neither of which he was at the moment.

His mind was flooded with images of he and Draco, mental paintings of the their year and a half together. Many times, they had stayed up all through the night talking about everything and nothing, sometimes laughing, sometimes arguing, and sometimes just remembering. Other nights, they spoke with their bodies, each satisfying a hunger in the other that no one else had ever touched. Harry remembered all the stolen moments snatched between meetings with the Order, Death Eaters and working full time for the Ministry.

He had not meant to fall for Draco, but he had, deeply and irreversibly. Now Draco was gone from his life and most probably had gone back to the Death Eaters. Harry wondered briefly if Draco had gotten any sensitive and potentially damaging Order or Ministry information during their liaison, but decided he really didn't care. What did matter was that Draco was hurt, angry, and probably hated Harry now.

Seven hours ago, he had found out that his cover had been breached and that Draco knew of his treachery. He had desperately apparated to his lover's flat and had tried to explain both his mission and his feelings. The explanation had been jumbled and piecemeal and Draco had regarded him with the all too familiar cold and cruel expression that he had worn for many years with Harry. Seven hours ago, Harry realized, was far too late for honesty and truth. The damage was done. Harry had lost the only man he had ever loved.

Tears began flowing freely again as Harry continued loving and missing Draco and hating himself. Just when he was contemplating turning on the shower and letting himself drown, he could hear Draco's voice in his mind again. He shook his head, certain that the voice would haunt him forever.

"Harry?"

Harry froze. Draco's voice sounded too clear to be his drunken mind playing tricks. "In here," he tentatively called out.

Draco strolled in, eyebrows raised at Harry's bedraggled and dejected appearance. Harry stared up at him from his seat on the shower floor.

After gazing at Harry for a moment, Draco raised his wand and pointed it at Harry. "What you told me earlier," he said, "did you mean it?"

"Does it matter?" Harry muttered. Draco frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut him off. "Yes, I meant it," he spat. "Every word of it."

Draco continued watching Harry. "Even the part about how you felt?" he asked. "About me?"

Harry nodded, not daring to even breathe or hope.

Draco's eyes fluttered shut, his face relaxed for a moment before his eyes reopened and his frown returned. "How am I supposed to believe you when you've been lying to me all along?" he demanded. "How am I supposed to know when you stopped pretending and really started caring about me?"

Harry blushed and looked at his feet. "Actually, I've always cared about you, even when you were being a prat to me back at school." He shrugged dejectedly. "I can't tell you when I fell for you because there was no big moment of realisation and no sudden switch that got flipped on." He looked up and met Draco's eyes, standing shakily as he did. "But I do love you, Draco. Please believe me. I love you." Harry's heart clenched painfully in his chest as Draco remained silent in the wake of his plea.

Neither man moved for several minutes. Harry's bathroom remained a silent limbo, a meeting place of trust and truth.

Finally, with a slight whimper, Draco moved forwards and embraced Harry. "I believe you, you git," he murmured hoarsely. He glared up at Harry with moist grey eyes. "Just, in the future, try to tell me these things before someone else does."

His heart full and singing, Harry smiled. "I promise not to hide things from you ever again, you prat." His smile turned into a wide grin. "Now how about helping me unplug the floo in the fireplace and set up the anti-apparition wards so the Order, the Ministry and those bloody Death Eaters leave us alone for one night?" As Draco smirked and nodded, Harry captured his lips in a kiss that was filled with promise and plans for a future.