~*~

No matter how many years passed since that day. Harry would always find the memory of it perfectly clear in his mind. He would be able to replay it with remarkable ease, pinpointing the exact moment when he thought his heart had ceased to beat in his chest.

After Hermione's revelation the two boys stared at each other with similar expressions of alarm and disbelief. She sat, looking between them with a nervous expression, and another thundering silence enveloped them, ringing painfully loudly in Harry's ears.

"I beg your pardon?" Draco asked in a voice that suggested only a thin scrap of control.

"You're lovers," Hermione repeated. "You have been for two years." Harry felt light-headed.

"I don't believe you," he said. "No way would that ever happen."

"Oh really?" Hermione asked and got up. She walked over to the shelves against the wall and plucked from it a picture that had been half hidden behind a white vase of lilies. It was a wizarding photograph of Harry and Draco. They were standing, locked in an embrace, their arms tangled round each other and their lips brushing. It was quite a recent photo, judging by their appearances, and left them in little doubt that what Hermione was saying was true.

"I think I'm going to throw up," Draco said suddenly, and he did look faintly green.

"So you mean, when we woke up in the same bed earlier..." Harry said, letting the question hang unfinished. Hermione grinned at him wickedly.

"You had probably just been having some hot, gratuitous sex," she said, and Harry felt his insides squirm most unpleasantly. Draco looked utterly disturbed, and sat down heavily on the other sofa.

"Oh God," he said, "this can't be happening." He held his head in his hands, and Harry knew he was wishing he could wake up and make it all a horrible dream.

"We have got to get back to our own time," Harry said emphatically. "I think I'm scarred for life."

"I think you should look for a way to return as quickly as possible," Hermione said, suddenly businesslike, "and I don't think you should tell anyone else about you being here, not until you know for sure why you came."

"We told you," Harry said in a strained voice, "the potion we made went wrong, nothing more complicated than that."

"Maybe," Hermione said. "It might be completely innocent but you can't rule out at this stage the possibility of a sabotage."
"By whom?" Harry asked, glancing over at Draco who was lying prone on the sofa, muttering to himself.

"Voldemort," Hermione said promptly. "Just think, Harry, you're a sixteen year old in the body of a wanted adult. You have only rudimentary knowledge compared to your future self, and you are both incredibly vulnerable right now. Especially to Death Eater attacks."

"I wouldn't be," Draco said from the corner.

"Actually," Hermione replied, "you would." Draco looked up with a start.

"Why?" he asked. "I'm the son of a Death Eater- oh shut up, Potter -why would I be in danger?"

Hermione looked at him with a sympathetic expression.

"You renounced the Dark Side years ago," she said kindly, "and you declared open support for Dumbledore and you joined the Order of the Phoenix. You have been helping our side, ever since you got together with Harry. You're a marked man as well, Draco." Draco seemed to have been rendered speechless.

"Oh crap," he groaned. "What the hell have I become?"

"Someone with a lot more respect than you would have been if you had stayed on the path you were treading," Hermione said sternly. "You made the right choice, Draco, and you have been invaluable to us." Draco felt his ears go pink.

"Praise from Granger," he said. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Draco," Hermione said with a sigh, "I told you. Don't call me that, I'm not a Granger any more."

"What are you?" Harry asked. "Who did you marry?"

"Tell me it wasn't Weasley," Draco said with a smirk.

"No actually," Hermione replied and then blushed, "I married a muggle. His name is Sean Peterson."

"You married a muggle?" Harry looked surprised. Draco made pointed vomit motions.

"I had almost forgotten what a prat you used to be," she said to him and he desisted, looking murderous.

"What else has changed?" Harry asked. "Tell us about our lives." Despite himself, Draco sat down, listening intently.

"Well..." Hermione said, "I don't know where to begin. You two have been together for two years, although in your seventh year you did have a couple of secret assignations that you only confessed to after leaving Hogwarts." Draco groaned. "You, Draco," Hermione went on, "went abroad after we finished school, and you travelled the world, studying dragons and getting attacked by some hybrid skrewts that escaped from Hagrid and found their way across the channel."

"I did?" Draco asked. "I always wanted to travel."

"Yes. You came back to England about two and a half years ago and then you and Harry met again," Hermione replied.

"What happened?" Harry asked, almost dreading the answer.

"Well let's just say it was lust at first sight," Hermione smiled. "I've never seen anything like it." Harry was making a point of not looking at Draco, whose expression he could clearly imagine. "You got back together not long after," she continued, "and you bought this place a year ago."

"Where are we?" Draco asked curiously.

"We live in Manchester," Hermione said, "on the border of the Wizarding Quarter. That's why you can have a TV without it going schizo because of the magic. I live a couple of streets away."

"What about Ron?" Harry asked eagerly. "And everyone else from Hogwarts?"

"We still keep in touch with Ron," Hermione said. "He's been engaged to Lavender Brown for over a year, and they live on the very edge of the city. Unfortunately Ron and you," she pointed to Draco, "still don't get on very well." Draco nodded in a satisfied fashion.

"Long engagements give people the opportunity of finding out each other's character before marriage, which is never advisable," he said haughtily, the trace of a smirk crossing his face.

"Nice to know some things never change," said Harry.

"Neville's running for Minister for Magic-" Hermione said with a smile.

"Neville?" Harry exclaimed.

"Yeah."

"Neville Longbottom?!" Harry couldn't believe his ears. The Neville Longbottom he knew was a round faced, forgetful boy who made a habit of melting his cauldrons and losing his toad.
"Ha! Longbottom as Minister for Magic!" Draco guffawed, the thought amusing him greatly.
"Don't judge," Hermione said sternly, perceiving his amusement. "He graduated with top grade NEWTS; it seems as though he was hiding his light under a proverbial bushel." Draco muttered something about cast-iron bushels which the others ignored.

Harry was impressed, "You're kidding? Well good for him."

"Dumbledore died the year before last," Hermione went on, picking out scraps of information that would be particularly relevant to them. "Headmistress McGonagall took over his position."

"Dumbledore's dead?" Harry felt suddenly very cold. "How?"

"Old age," said Hermione sadly, "the one thing that no-one thought would ever kill him." Harry was quiet for a moment and Hermione rested her hand on top of his.

"Is the Order still working against Voldemort?" he asked after a while.

"Yes," she replied, with a frown, "he's in hiding abroad again. He was weakened in a battle with some Order members about eighteen months ago and he fled. His Death Eaters are still active, though, and Voldemort was by no means defeated." Harry nodded, Draco was examining his nails. "Anything else?" she asked.

"What kind of a couple do we make?" came Draco's voice, and both Harry and Hermione looked up, surprised.

"You what?" she asked.
"You heard," Draco said. "What are we like as a couple?" he repeated. Hermione smiled at him.

"You're very passionate- trust me, we've heard you keep us awake at night -and very argumentative. You don't seem to go more than a fortnight without falling out, but you are more devoted to each other than any couple I have ever seen. You do almost everything together and..." she broke off, looking at them both with a fond, if slightly sadistic grin, "you fuck like bunnies." Harry let out a strangled cough and Draco sank lower into the sofa.

"Thanks for that mental image," he said,
"You asked," Hermione replied smugly.

"Now I feel sick," said Harry, leaning back and closing his eyes, "and I'd only just come to terms with all this time travel shit."

"That reminds me," Draco murmured, "how are we going to get home?"

"I don't know," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I can always look in my library, and see if anything turns up."

"You have a library?" Harry stifled a laugh.

"Of course," Hermione looked at him as if this was the most natural thing in the world, "did you ever doubt I would?"

"No," admitted Harry, "but what do you propose we do in the meantime?" Hermione laid one manicured hand on his lap.

"I suggest that you pretend to be Harry and Draco of this time," she said, "at least for the time being. Just keep up the deceit until I can find something that will send you home."

"Ok," Harry sighed. "Malfoy, do you agree?" Draco eyed him for a moment before nodding.

"I'll be good, Potter," he said, "but we had better find something quick, this is getting bizarre."

"I'll have a quick look in the library before dinner tonight," Hermione said, "and then you can come over on Thursday for a proper search if you like."

"What's happening for dinner tonight?" Harry asked.

"Oh right, you don't know," said Hermione, more to herself. "We're all going to dinner tonight at Le Petit Blanc. It's a restaurant near here which we are all very fond of."

"'We' being?" Draco asked.

"Oh, Sean and myself, you and Harry, Ron and Lavender, Ginny and Seamus. Sometimes the twins come as well. Their business in Diagon Alley is thriving but they don't get a lot of time off."
"Great," said Draco, "I get to spend my evening with a bunch of sodding Gryffindors." Hermione gave him an odd, unreadable look before nudging his knee.

"We haven't been Gryffindors for eight years," she said softly, "Those years are just long distant memories to us." Draco looked suddenly downcast and Harry, too, felt the burden of their impending pretence. One slip of the tongue could let everyone know their secret, and then they would have a lot of explaining to do to a lot of people. Harry agreed with Hermione's advice for their identities to stay hidden, the fewer people who knew about their predicament the better, or their lives could be in danger from anyone with a grudge against the Boy-Who-Lived. From Harry's experience, that was many.

Hermione, meanwhile, picked up her pinstripe cloak and swung it around her shoulders, fastening it below her collarbone.

"I'd better go," she said. "I want to go home and get changed. I'll come and collect you around six. Wear something smart, and remember who you're supposed to be." Harry and Draco stood up as she turned to leave.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, and she bent down and kissed him on the cheek.

"You're welcome. See you later Draco," she went to kiss him too before remembering who he was. Giving a short laugh at the expression on his face she left, exuding a bright confidence that Harry had never seen in her before.

Harry and Draco were left with the stifling silence of their flat and the knowledge that had come into their possession. There was an air of embarrassment hanging over them like a shroud, and neither really knew what to say to break the deafening quiet.

"That was..." Harry trailed off.

"Enlightening?" Draco supplied.

"You could say that," Harry answered. "At least we know a bit more about what this world is like."

"I can't believe..." Draco began, "...we're...you know."

"Yeah."

"It just seems so weird," he went on, "and according to Gran- Hermione, we get together in our seventh year."

"I know," Harry didn't know how to react to this news. "It's...unnerving."

"I can't even imagine how that would come about," Draco seemed really shocked, "I mean, you're going out with the Weasley girl and I'm..."
"Yes?" Harry prompted with sudden interest, noticing a pale blush grace Draco's cheeks. "Who are you currently shagging?"

"My love life is none of your business, Potter," Draco spat.

"On the contrary," Harry said nastily, "I am your love life, or did you miss the part about us fucking like bunnies?" Draco turned around very slowly and gave him an icy look.

"I heard," he said, "and as much as I wish it couldn't be true, there seems to be nothing we can do about it."

"You think I'm enjoying this?" Harry asked. "I don't want to pretend to be your boyfriend either you know, and I have as little idea how this came about as you do."

"Our future is so fucked up," Draco said, wandering into the kitchen and prodding the muggle appliances suspiciously. "Who the hell would have guessed I'd be living with you?"

"I don't have to listen to this," Harry snapped, storming out. "You're not the only one for whom this is an intensely unpleasant experience." He went back into the bedroom. There were clothes littered messily over the floor and Harry winced to imagine what shameless acts of passion had caused them to be hurled so haphazardly around. He took a better look around the bedroom, which he had neglected to do so earlier. It was a light, pleasant room, dominated by the large bed and expensive-looking silk sheets that were crumpled across it. There were two identical bedside tables with books, candles and wands piled over them, long, white muslin curtains swinging at the window and a large mirror hanging on one wall. It was all beautifully simple and stylish, and had the indefinable air of a place that was lived in and well loved. There were a couple of black and white muggle photographs on the wall depicting various aspects of city life, and when Harry looked over to the window he noticed a slender crystal vase with a dark red rose in it.

There were two built in wardrobes against one wall and Harry flung the left one open, judging which was his side from the side of the bed he had woken up in. It was full of some of the most beautiful clothes he had ever seen. There were casual t-shirts of every colour stacked up against each other, faded jeans, classic jeans, and dirty jeans all by Diesel, Armani or Ralph Lauren. There were also faultlessly tailored suits, a selection of designer shirts and a silver tray full of cufflinks, belts, necklaces and rings. On the other side of his wardrobe hung an array of long, flowing wizarding robes. There were fewer of these than muggle outfits, and Harry presumed that he worked closer to the muggle quarter than the wizarding one. Still, there were robes made of velvet, silk and linen, tied by delicate silver clasps and sewn by the esteemed Wizard Tailors 'Burben and Snickford.'

Letting out a sigh of bliss, Harry set about making himself even more good looking. He felt quite spoilt for choice as he beheld the vast number of clothes in his wardrobe, and didn't know quite what he wanted to wear. Hermione's advice to wear 'something smart' stuck in his mind, and he ended up pulling out a pale blue shirt and a pair of loose fitting, elegant dark grey trousers. The colours complemented each other perfectly and were light enough to effectively deepen Harry's tan, making him look even more arresting. Moving over to his bedside table, his fingers ran over a faded, brown leather cuff that looked well worn. Harry slipped it onto his wrist and noticed a small square of silver set into the leather itself. Engraved on that in a flowing script was written, 'For Harry. To remember this moment.' More than anything, Harry wished he could remember the moment that this had been given to him to commemorate. It must have been something of the utmost importance, and he felt again the longing to know more about the years they had skipped. He saw, also on the beside table, a pair of thick silver rings. Harry slipped them on his thumb and fourth finger of his right hand. They fit perfectly. Beholding himself in front of the mirror, Harry couldn't help but be pleased. He was glad that he had grown into such a person, even if his eyes were still too bold and his jaw too prominent. He could pass for handsome, even if he did say so himself.

Dressed and as prepared as he would ever be, Harry made his way back into the living room, where Draco still sat on the sofa, staring moodily into space. He was still wearing the clothes he had picked up off the floor earlier that afternoon, but they, like everything else, became him very well.

He looked up as Harry entered and Harry was gratified to see a flicker of distinct admiration in Draco's eyes.

"Well Potter," he said, slightly breathlessly, "let it never be said that you don't scrub up well." Harry's heart pounded a little at the compliment, and he couldn't stop his mouth quirking into a smile.

"You'd better get ready," he said at last, feeling Draco's eyes roving over him. "If your wardrobe is anything like mine, you're going to be in sartorial paradise." There was an unmistakeable glint of excitement in Draco's eyes and the blond grinned suddenly, and darted out of his seat. A few seconds later Harry heard a triumphant whoop and surmised that future Draco was as equally fashionable as he was.

Figuring it was going to be some time before Draco returned from the bedroom, Harry went nosing around the living room, taking a closer look and idly picking up pictures and books. He found a couple more photos of him and Draco, all similar, their arms around each other, either kissing or smiling. There was an intriguing, squat little statue that looked a bit like a house elf, and several plants clearly enchanted with the gift of longevity.

On the second to bottom shelf, Harry discovered a rack of muggle CD's and a CD player. Rifling through them he was glad to find that his taste in music hadn't differed much over the years. He still had classic discs such as Nirvana and the Chili Peppers, but accompanying those now were the Lost Prophets, Good Charlotte, Damien Rice and someone called Audioslave. Picking the latter up curiously, Harry inspected the front before taking the CD out and putting it in the player. There were a few seconds silence before the music started and he listened intently. This band was good. Harry sat down on the sofa again to wait for Draco, and picked up a newspaper lying on the coffee table.

Ten minutes later he looked up and dropped the newspaper in surprise. Draco was ready and he looked breathtaking. Whereas Harry had chosen light colours to draw out the richness of his tan, Draco had done the opposite. He was clad in dark clothes that accentuated the delicate blend of his pale skin and made him look utterly striking.

"What do you think?" he asked and struck a ridiculous model pose. Harry was lost for words for the briefest of moments. Draco was wearing a pair of well-cut black trousers that hung off his hips as though he had been born in them. He was also wearing a black roll neck that clung to every muscle and sinew of his torso, giving a distinctly sylphlike impression. There was a black and silver watch around his wrist and a leather belt around his slim waist. He was holding a long, black leather jacket slung over one arm and Harry could tell that it would complete the picture to perfection.

He eyed Draco critically. "You'll do," he said with a half smile, and Draco glowered at him, but Harry could tell he was too elated to be anything but good natured.

"That is an amazing set of clothes," he said, picking an imaginary bit of lint off his sweater.

"I know," replied Harry, "our future selves have taste."

"And money,"

"I wonder where we got it from," Harry mused. "Do you think we have jobs?" Draco made a face.

"God, I hope not," he said. "Can you see me working?"

"What were you planning to do with your life?" Harry asked.

"I told you," Draco said nonchalantly, "marry a blonde, Swedish model, raise some lovely Malfoy heirs and live off my father's money for the rest of my life."

"So hard work all the way then?" Harry said. "Good, good." He glanced up and noticed something in the corner. "What the hell is that?" he asked. He walked over to a statue on a corner table. It was carved out of what looked like soap stone, and looked like a distorted figure of a human being.

"It's art, Potter," Draco drawled with his trademark smirk firmly in place. He looked more at home than Harry had seen him so far.

"That is not art," Harry said. "I bet you bought that."

Draco snickered. "Me? I'm the one with the taste!"

"You?"

There was a knock on the door that caused a halt to their bickering.

"Saved by the knock," Harry said, and made his way along the corridor. He opened the door, expecting Hermione but he was greeted by the sight of a blonde girl, grinning at him in a rather vapid manner.

"Er-"Harry was suddenly thrown, his heart starting to beat painfully hard in his chest. "Can I help you with something?" he asked. He knew at once that this was the wrong thing to say as the girl's face darkened and she looked momentarily confused.

"Harry?" She waved her hand in front of his face. "It's me!" She was wearing a pink, floral dress with a white cardigan over the top. Her hair was tied neatly behind her head and she was wearing an alarming amount of blusher and coral lipstick.
"Oh..." Harry tried to feign realization, "hi." He had absolutely no idea who the girl was.

"Well?" she said, obviously expecting something.

"Do you... d'you want to come in?" Harry asked, hoping this would be the right thing to say. It evidently was as she beamed at him and strode through. The way she effortlessly navigated to the living room convinced him that she had been there before and was someone from his past that he should know.

He followed the girl inside and watched with some amusement as Draco froze.

"Hello," he said neutrally.

"Draco!" The girl exclaimed. "How nice to see you again!" She swamped Draco in a warm hug and the Slytherin mouthed 'help me!' to Harry who was sniggering softly.

"Would you like a drink?" Harry asked.

"Oh no, I can't stay," The girl said, releasing Draco, who looked immensely relieved. "I just popped round to ask if you two are going to Mrs Johnson's coffee morning next week." Draco blanched.

"Er..." he stammered.

"I'll just check the calendar," Harry said, and quickly disappeared into the kitchen. Scanning the calendar he couldn't see any sign of a coffee morning planned,

"No, I don't think so," he said, "sorry."

"Oh. Never mind," the girl replied, apparently making herself at home. "So," she said, "how was your holiday?"

"Great," Draco said smoothly, a host of lies already at the tip of his tongue. If there was one thing he was an expert at, it was deceit, "really warm and sunny."

"It was?" she gave a little titter. "I thought you went to Norway?" Draco gaped at her and Harry was about to burst out laughing when someone else knocked on the door.

"I'll get it!" he said at once, and hurried to open the door. It was Hermione.

"Thank God," he said. "There's someone here and we have no idea who she is." Hermione let out an amused snort before moving into the living room.

"Hermione," the girl's grin visibly faded.

"Hello Kate," said Hermione haughtily. "I'm sorry but I'm going to have to steal these two gorgeous men away from you, we have dinner plans." Kate looked a little affronted, and seemed to try to straighten her posture in the face of Hermione's perfect etiquette and aura of sophistication.

"Oh," she said, "I was just inviting them round to Mrs Johnson's next week."

"How lovely," Hermione said insincerely, before turning to Harry. "We really should get going," she said. "We don't want to be late." Her manner indicated clearly that the little tête-à-tête between Kate and Harry was over.

"I'll see myself out then, shall I?" Kate said.

"Yeah," Draco sounded too relieved to be strictly polite, "nice seeing you again." Hermione bid goodbye to her and the blonde girl made her way to the front door. When she was gone and out of earshot Harry sank down on the sofa next to Draco with a huge sigh.

"Oh Merlin," he said, "that could have been nasty." Hermione looked like she was going to burst out laughing,

"Well done, I must say," she said. "I assume you improvised remarkably well considering she wasn't looking at you like a couple of delinquents."

"Who was she?" Draco asked despairingly.

"She's called Kate McGee, and she lives with her husband Terry in the flat below you," Hermione explained. "Lovely couple, you've slept with both of them." she grinned at Harry who choked and Draco burst out laughing. "She's always inviting you guys to some insipid gathering. I think she has a bit of a crush on you, Draco," Hermione went on. Harry snorted and Draco looked quite appalled, and he ran his fingers through his silver hair nervously.

"Great," he said, "she seems... nice."

"Never leave us like that again, Hermione!" Harry exclaimed. "I felt like such a prat, not knowing who the hell she was."

"Sorry," Hermione apologised, "I should have been more explicit about your lives here. You guys are quite popular, I'm afraid. I think it's the whole gay thing, you have every woman within a five mile radius after you."
"Don't say stuff like that," Harry said, rubbing his eyes. "Do you have to continually refer to us being gay?"

"You're just going to have to get used to the idea," Hermione said. "Face it, you two are in love," Draco interrupted to groan pitifully, "and you had better act like it at dinner."
"Do we have to go?" Harry asked hopefully, even though a tiny part of him was eager to see what his other friends looked like after eight years. Most of him, including his rational self, was quaking with terror.

"Yes," Hermione said briskly, "you do. It's been a long time since we were all together and the others will never forgive you otherwise."

"When you say act like it...?" Draco said warily.

"I mean act like you're a couple," said Hermione. "You know, kissing and holding hands and stuff. You, Draco, are infamous for trying to grope Harry under the table without anyone noticing." Draco suddenly flushed a brilliant red at Hermione's words and looked as though he wished the earth would yawn and swallow him whole.

"For the love of Merlin, please don't do that tonight," Harry said, sniggering, and Draco shot him a glare.

"You can hardly talk, Harry," Hermione said with a twinkle in her bright blue eyes. "I walked in on you giving Draco a blow job in a changing room once." Now it was Harry's turn to blush and as Draco was laughing at him, he sank his head into his hands, hiding the colouration of his cheeks.

"Wonderful," he said sarcastically, "just wonderful."

"We'd better go," Hermione said, looking at the time. "It's only a five minute walk from here. Do you like my outfit?" In all the confusion, Harry hadn't paid any attention to what Hermione was wearing. He noticed it now, though, and saw Draco looking at her with equal admiration.

"You look great," he said honestly, and Hermione beamed. She was wearing a low cut top of black silk, with a diamond nestling in her collarbone, and black trousers with heeled boots underneath. Her hair was swept up atop her head and clasped there and she was wearing make up that made her look perfectly flawless, and yet natural all the same.

She led them out of their flat, locking the door with her wand.

"Do the people in this building know we're wizards?" Harry asked.

"No," said Hermione quickly, "and they mustn't find out. Wizard-Muggle relations are at an all time low at the moment, and it's just easier to let them think you are two relatively normal guys."

Harry had never seen the outside of the flat. He and Draco were standing in a small, white corridor where there was a lift in front of him and some tinkling music originating from somewhere above their heads.

"What's that?" asked Draco curiously, who had never used a lift in his life.

"You'll see," said Hermione. "It's a muggle contraption that saves people having to use the stairs."

"Really?" Draco looked excited. The lift clanked into operation and the stainless steel doors slid open smoothly. "Cool," he said.

Inside was a mirror, and Harry found himself tidying up his hair and perfecting his reflection with practised fingers. Draco was looking curiously at the row of illuminated buttons. Hermione pressed the lowest one, and he gave a start as the lift began to move downwards.

"What the hell?" he stuttered, grabbing Harry's arm automatically to steady himself.

"You'll get used to it," Harry said, "they're everywhere."

The lift took them to a light, airy hall with full length glass windows and intricately shaped plants sitting in pots by the doors. Harry looked around with interest, this place was incredibly modern and expensive-looking. Hermione's heels clacked on the parquet flooring and the glass front doors slid open to reveal Manchester by evening. It was quite busy, with people bustling through the streets, their arms laden with shopping bags, taxis and cars battling to make it through the afternoon rush, and large, attractive buildings soaring from the mass of grey to perch in the sky.

The sun had streaked the clouds a dusky gold. It was setting behind the skyscrapers, forging giant silhouettes that towered over the people and cast their long shadows over a thousand upturned faces. The city was beautiful, and Harry could see why he would love it, he had never felt more alive in his life. Draco, too, was looking around with approval.

"I never pictured myself here," he said. "How things must have changed."
"Now," Hermione said, "the others will already be at the restaurant when we arrive. There are some further things you should know if you don't want to make complete pricks out of yourselves." Harry and Draco nodded, looking faintly anxious. "Ron has been ill recently, and spent a few days at St. Mungo's. He's ok," she added quickly, "but don't get confused if that topic arises. Seamus' father died last week so the subject of family is a dangerous one, and Lavender is as big an air head as when you knew her, Harry, so don't enter into any philosophical discussions."

"Why's Ron with her, then?" Harry asked, taking advantage of Hermione pausing for breath. She looked mildly disapproving of her friend's choice, demonstrated by the derogatory way in which her lips twisted.

"He says she has hidden depths," she replied, as though convinced that was all bullshit. "Don't ask me where they're hiding exactly. I never knew what he saw in her until I watched her eat an ice-cream once...and then I realised exactly what it was Ron liked about her." Hermione shuddered at what was obviously an enlightening memory.

"Anything else?" Draco asked.

"Oh yes. Sean knows all about the magical world so don't feel like you have to hide anything from him," Hermione said, her eyes sparkling once more. "There's a lot of history, though, between Ginny and Seamus, so if they sometimes snipe at each other, that's the reason. They were together for about a year and had a bit of a messy break up."

Harry nodded. "I could always picture them together," he said.

"Give me strength," Draco muttered.

"Don't forget," Hermione warned, "they all think you're together. Please make an effort, no matter how much it sickens you. Remember, it's in your own interest to play along, the Death Eater factions would love to get their hands on you both and neither of you can be too careful about where you go. Your adult selves have had to learn to live with the danger of being watched all the time but you won't be so aware. So please, just compromise your dignity for tonight and then we can get round to finding you a way of returning to your own time." There was a noted silence as both Harry and Draco steeled themselves for what was undoubtedly going to be a new and disgusting experience.

"Sure," Harry said unconvincingly.

"Whatever you say," Draco muttered, not looking directly at either of them.

Within the space of a few short minutes that seemed to last a lifetime, they had crossed numerous roads, and followed the line of the buildings until they came to a secluded park.

"This way," Hermione said, leading them around the corner into a cobbled square filled with old, impressive buildings. A fountain shot glittering jets of water from a hole in the ground, lit from beneath by a silver glow. The sign, 'Le Petit Blanc' was hanging, half-covered by ivy, over the entrance to a chic-looking restaurant furnished entirely in blue and silver.

"Nice," said Harry.

"Isn't it?" Hermione said, walking over to the attendant. "Weasley party," she said and he smiled at her, checking something in his register. "You might want to...um..." she said, looking at them, "look like a couple or something." She gave them an apologetic look.

Rolling his eyes and looking severely pained, Draco slung one arm casually around Harry's waist. The motion took him by surprise, and he couldn't suppress a tingle of excitement at feeling Draco's arm around him again. It had been a long time since someone had touched him like that. Like a lover. Gritting his teeth, Harry moved one of his hands to rest lightly at the small of Draco's back, wondering if his touch had the same effect on Draco as the latter's had had on him.

"Perfect," Hermione said, surveying them critically, and they allowed the waiter to lead them over to their table. It was large and round, and one of the more prominent tables in the room. Harry surmised that they must have been one of their regular customers to be treated with such importance. From the table, which was lit by the flickering glow of three or four candles, several people turned and smiled at them.

Harry's heart was pounding heavily in his breast. They were his friends, and yet they looked so different, eight years had passed and now they were all grown, all adults.

Harry suddenly felt very young.

His eyes roamed interestedly over the table's occupants. There was a man he didn't know sitting nearest them whom Harry supposed was Sean, Hermione's husband. Next to him was sitting Ginny, beside her brother who was waving at Harry jovially. Lavender Brown was next to him, and on her left was Seamus. There were then three empty blue chairs waiting for Harry, Draco and Hermione.

"Hi everyone," Harry said, unable to keep the tremor of uncertainty out of his voice.

"Where have you guys been?" Ron asked, his voice now a deep baritone. "Not another lovers' tiff I hope?" He was well over six feet tall now, Harry guessed, even though he was sitting down. His hair was as violently red as ever, but longer, so that it stuck up from his head like a shock of brilliant flame. His face had definitely changed, and was now thinner, but still round and freckly, with the same wide grin and button nose.

Harry and Draco exchanged looks at his words. What were they supposed to say?

"Leave them alone, Ron, they just got here," Ginny swatted her brother on the arm.

"I love how you sound so hopeful when you ask if we've been fighting," Draco quipped, and they smiled appreciatively. Draco was glad to see Ron's ears tingeing pink at his words. The pair sat down and greeted the others, each inwardly marvelling at the changes which eight years could wreak. They were all so different, Harry could scarcely breathe, he was so overwhelmed.

"You guys are late," Seamus said, in an Irish voice free of accusation, and yet laced with a certain amusement that Harry knew he had heard before. He studied the blond thoughtfully. Seamus had once been full of a natural exuberance that had shone from his face and infected all those around him. He looked as though he had gone to seed slightly, his sandy hair crowning chubby cheeks and an innate sadness that Harry couldn't help but perceive.

"Sorry," Hermione said, kissing Sean on the lips and sitting down next to him, "I had to fetch them, and Draco spent hours doing his hair." she grinned at Draco who scowled back.

"Nothing's changed, then," Ginny said happily. "We ordered you the usual." Harry hoped he liked whatever his 'usual' was.

"Great," he said, feeling a little disconcerted, "thanks."

"What's wrong with my hair?" Draco said suddenly, twisting a platinum lock around his fingers. Ginny laughed,

"Nothing, darling, that's the point," she said, and took a sip of white wine. Harry noticed two bottles on the table, and poured himself a generous helping of red wine, feeling as though he was going to need it before the night was out.

"Hey, check this out," Sean was saying, leaning over Hermione and showing something to Harry and Draco. Harry took it, and found that he was holding a slim, silver mobile phone. He had never owned one himself, the Dursleys feeling that most modern conveniences were too good for him, and he looked at this one with fascination. The phones from their time, what Harry had seen of them, were all large and cumbersome, but this one was sleek and discreet. He supposed that technology had come along in leaps and bounds. He showed it to Draco who looked bewildered.

"He's so impressed by that," Lavender said in a high-pitched, girlish voice.

"I know it may not look like much to you," Sean said merrily, "but to muggles this is highly remarkable."

"Can I see it?" Lavender asked, and Harry handed the phone across the table to where Lavender was sitting. He looked, then, at Sean, who was tracing light circles on the back of Hermione's hand and muttering something in her ear. He was not an imposing man, from what Harry could see, and his face was full of character rather than being strikingly handsome. The smile he had witnessed a few moments ago had broken across his features like the tide, warming Harry with a sense of the man's liveliness. He seemed someone inclined to quiet reflection, someone who would take the time to understand Hermione and love her for who she was. He was older than her by at least eight years, but Harry found himself liking Sean almost immediately, and heartily approved of his relationship with his best friend.

"Harry?" a soft voice hissed into his ear, and Harry turned to find Draco's face pressed very close to his, so that their skin was brushing with a faint contact. "What the hell is that?" he asked, completely oblivious to all things muggle.

"It's a mobile phone," Harry answered, his breath ghosting over the side of Draco's face. "It's a device that muggles use to talk to each other over long distances."
"Really?" Draco looked surprised, and not a little impressed. "Wow."

"You're so easily pleased," Harry commented, taking a sip of wine, and pouring Draco a glass.

"I must be if I'm dating you," Draco replied good naturedly.

"Touché," Harry grinned.

"What are you two whispering about?" Ginny asked, her eyes narrowed playfully.

Ron looked up and saw them with their faces pressed together. Groaning, he said, "Oh please, no sweet nothings at the dinner table!"
"You can talk!" Hermione laughed. "You and Lavender hardly ever manage to tear yourselves apart."

"Yeah, but..." Ron stammered, seemingly unable to muster an argument.

"Come on, Ron," Sean said pleadingly, "lighten up. Hey, look what this can do." He held the phone up to show Harry, who was surprised to see a moving image in the screen. Sean pressed 'capture' and a picture of Hermione materialised before his eyes.

"Did you just take a picture with that?" he asked, impressed.

"Yeah!" Sean's excitement was contagious. "It's the latest model. Phones that you can take photographs with."

"That is cool," Harry said, unable to smother his admiration. Hermione gave him a warm smile and a wink.

"Thanks," Sean said, before turning the phone to face Harry and Draco. "Come on then, a picture of you two to complete my Hermione-filled gallery?" Harry looked at Draco, whose face remained utterly impassive.

"Ok," he said.

"Get together," Sean motioned for them to move closer together, "and a big wet kiss if you please." Harry's heart jolted unpleasantly in his chest. He cast a discreet, fearful look at Hermione who had suddenly got a little paler, her grin fading.

Draco turned his head slightly, conveying a silent dismay to Harry who received his message loud and clear, if only by the sudden tensing of the blond's shoulders. He couldn't. He didn't want to. This was disgusting. And yet, if they didn't, the others would surely think there was something amiss.

Draco moved back in his chair, seemingly resigned to what was promising to be a traumatic experience, and pulled Harry closer, his body pressed against him, his breath feathering over his lip.

"Oh, spare us!" Ron said, but the others were all smiling expectantly, and Sean was waiting to take the picture.

Time seemed to freeze.

Harry glanced helplessly at Draco's lips, which were full and a soft pink. For the second time he noticed that Draco had the comforting smell of smoke about him, and a faint hint of coffee, as haughty and arrogant as he was.

Draco's grey eyes dropped to rest on Harry's mouth, and, without knowing what he was doing, Harry slipped one hand to graze the side of Draco's cheek, feeling the blond shiver lightly under his touch.

He moved his head closer, and then their lips were brushing in the softest, most perfect kiss he had ever known. The faces around them blurred into the welcoming flicker of the candlelight, and the world melted until it encompassed just the two of them, their lips moving lightly over the each other's in an act of worship so intense that it made Harry's breath quicken in his chest.

There was the sound of a picture being taken. And it was over. Pulling away at the same time, and far too soon in Harry's opinion, he and Draco sat back, exchanging a lingering look that was lost on no-one.

Harry felt so euphoric and grounded at the same time that he thought he might explode. There was something fundamentally wrong about what he had just done, and even though he knew that, and he knew he shouldn't be kissing his enemy, it felt so right. He supposed it was the influence that Draco had on this body. He certainly had enough influence to send pulses of delight to parts of Harry's anatomy to which he had no desire to draw attention. Silently cursing the attraction of his future self to Draco, Harry shifted slightly in his seat.

"Great picture," Sean was saying, and he lifted up the phone to show them. Harry and Draco looked as though they were in another world, so absorbed in each other did they seem. He had never seen a picture where he looked so raptly concentrated, or so removed from everything else around him.

"Yeah," Harry said breathlessly. Draco was silent, his face displaying an abstracted, slightly troubled expression, and Harry could guess exactly what he was feeling. The entire situation was inescapably bizarre, and not one that Harry thought he would be in. Their company around the table soon lapsed into another conversation, but both he and Draco remained quiet, just mulling things over in their minds, paying little attention to everyone else.

Before long the moustachioed waiter returned to the table, laden with plates.

"Boeuf Bourguignon?" He asked, his voice a snooty drawl. Ginny raised her hand, and the waiter placed her plate down. "Two orders of the salmon?"

*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry ended up with a plate of chicken fricassee, which, to his great relief, tasted delicious. Whilst he and Draco had been reluctant to talk for fear of saying something amiss, there was employment for all with the arrival of the food.

"I never get tired of the food here," Ron said appreciatively, showing a little too much pleasure in his meal that was strictly appropriate. "I love nouvelle cuisine."

"Nouvelle cuisine, roughly translated, just means I can't believe I spent eighty galleons and I'm still hungry," Draco said scathingly, and everyone laughed.

As they were all eating and talking, Harry was granted an opportunity to study the dynamics of the group. Hermione had been accurate when she predicted some tension between Ginny and Seamus, the two apparently having a somewhat substantial history. Seamus, who appeared naturally raucous, was growing more and pink cheeked with each glass of Pauillac, and his jokes became increasingly tasteless and politically incorrect. The other members of the group merely smiled indulgently at Seamus' antics, but Ginny kept looking over at him reproachfully, which only served to make him more determined to remain the centre of attention.

Draco was looking at him with clear distaste, and Harry had to nudge his knee and remind him that his expression of disdain was unlikely to go down well. Unfortunately, he could tell that Draco was growing increasingly uncomfortable in the company of so many people that he had hitherto despised. Nevertheless, he seemed to be getting on very well with Hermione, and the two of them were laughing and talking as though they had been friends for years. Some buried respect for her seemed to have risen to Draco's mind, and quite a change was wrought over him.

Hermione and Sean appeared a well suited couple. It was clear by the starry glaze of his eyes that he was devoted to her, and under his gentle encouragement, Hermione seemed to come even further out of her shell, and truly blossom among their company. She was vibrant, witty and a pleasure to be around. There was an element of co-dependency in her relationship with Sean, which Harry couldn't fail to notice. She would occasionally turn to him for silent support, or he would place his hand on her arm, and instantly her spirits would revive again. Harry could only imagine the imprint they would leave on the world, and the laughter and joy they would leave in their wake.

The other couple at the table, Lavender and Ron, were less suited than they might have been. If Hermione hadn't professed the great affection between them, Harry would not have guessed there were any signs of peculiar regard. Lavender was certainly very pretty now, with her long blonde hair and petite frame, but there was something weak about her smile, and an degree of banality in her speech. However, Harry found her easy enough to get along with, and trusted Ron's romantic judgement implicitly. As further quantities of wine were imbibed, Ron seemed to grow a little more sure of his role as fiancé, placing a possessive hand on Lavender's knee when she was talking to Seamus, and whispering in her ear.

"You're being very quiet this evening," Ginny commented, a concerned glint in her clear eyes. It was true. Neither Harry nor Draco had said much for fear of cocking up and saying something stupid. So far they had managed fairly well, but Harry's insides clenched with nervousness every time a question had been directed his way. Hermione had been a lifesaver. Anticipating their uncertainty, she had answered many questions for them, and led them into conversations which they felt capable of holding their own. Discussion of current events was out of the question, of course, but subjects like Quidditch tactics, for example, were easy to converse over.

"Yeah, sorry," Harry said, rubbing his eyes. It had been a very long day. "I'm just really tired."

"Draco keeping you up again?" Ginny asked and Harry smiled embarrassedly. Draco looked up at the sound of his name, and turned faintly pink as he guessed the subject of their conversation. Ginny smoothed down her emerald silk green top and fixed Harry with a worried look. "Is there anything you want to tell me?" she asked quietly, aware of Seamus' beady eyes upon them.

"Why do you ask that?" Harry asked, stiffening automatically.

"I don't know," Ginny replied, "you just seem...distracted." Harry nodded, not really knowing what to say to that. He was very distracted, trying to follow the threads of every conversation at once, gleaning as much as he could about their collective lives.

He was saved from answering by the arrival of the waiter and their desserts. Lavender was giggling like a schoolgirl as she and Ron fed each other spoonfuls of sorbet, and a heavy sense of lethargy fell across Harry's bones. It might have been the combined effect of so much good food and wine, but he felt a little more relaxed, and at ease with their predicament. Draco, who had just ordered an Irish coffee, was sipping at it thoughtfully, his eyes smouldering against the candle light.

"How can you drink that?" Harry asked in distaste, looking at the cup.

"I'll have you know that Irish coffee is the only beverage to contain all of the major food groups," Draco said with a wry smile, "sugar, alcohol, caffeine and fat."

"How foolish of me," Harry held his hand apologetically to his chest.

"I'm sure I'll regret this in the morning," Draco said suddenly, leaning close to Harry's ear, "but the Gryffindors have shaped up ok."

"I know," Harry said, "I never really pictured them after Hogwarts. This wasn't really what I had in mind."

"I wonder what happened to put us here," Draco mused, a rush of colour tinting his cheeks from the wine. Harry was silent for a moment.

"We won't know until it happens for real," he said.

"If it happens for real," Draco replied. "If we get home." He suddenly looked very disconsolate, and much more like the child Harry had known than he had looked all evening. A flash of vulnerability crossed his face in a flicker and Harry couldn't help sympathising with him. At least he knew these people. Draco had never spoken to half of them in his life.

"We'll get home," Harry reassured him, playing absent-mindedly with a sugar sachet. "I think someone will notice something's wrong when our past selves start kissing passionately in front of all our friends." Draco grinned and let out a feeble moan.

"That's not going to be fun to go back to," he said, "assuming our future minds are actually in our past bodies and not just floating around the astral plane." Harry threw down the sachet of sugar and sighed, thinking hard. The flickering of the candlelight cast a dancing, romantic air over the table, which was now much quieter than it had been earlier. Hermione and Sean were absorbed in each other, talking softly, their hands clasped under the table.

This was what Harry wanted. Someone he trusted without reservation. Someone he loved and who loved him back.

"Do you think we're like this?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Like what?" Draco asked. "Like them?" He motioned to where Ron and Lavender were talking to each other in contrived, simpering voices. "Not a chance," he said. "I'm really not the mushy type." He fiddled with something in his pocket, before withdrawing his hand clasped around a packet of cigarettes. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "Thank Hecate not everything changes." He promptly lit up, taking a long drag, and filling his lungs with smoke. He rested his hand back on the table, where it was next to Harry's, touching it, and setting off a trail of fire along where their skin brushed. Harry saw Draco looking at their hands pensively, and something deep within him was dying to know what he was thinking.

"So whose house are we going back to, then?" Ginny asked from across the table, snapping everyone out of their reveries.

"We let you bastards trash our place last time," Hermione grumbled, "so count our place out."

"I think we'd better call it a night," Harry said, wanting to escape the possibility of making a prat out of himself. There was a rousing chorus from everyone else.

"You can't!" Ron exclaimed vehemently. "It's tradition, man."

"Yeah," said Sean, "don't think you can get out of having us all round, you know. I do think that it might be your turn."

"What?" Draco asked, a look of consternation on his face,

"Yeah," Seamus said in his Irish accent, "it's most definitely your turn to have us back for drinks."

"That's settled then," Lavender said. "Shall we get the bill?"