Title: Princess and the Dragon
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R

Summary: Draco enjoyed the chase and would search London high and low for his Princess.

Warnings: Cross-dressing, D/s, slight SM, language.
Author's notes: Thanks to my betas KF and megyal and lbewarethesmirk . You are all wonderfully helpful and inspiring! Thanks for the quick turn around and wonderful suggestions. EWE. Written for hpwintersmut . This story has a rough history. It is my very first cross-dressing, D/s kind of work and then my original recipient dropped out and the poor story was floating in the ether, then I was assigned someone new, so I tried to mod it for that person, but that fell through as well. So this story now sits as it is after a few mods.

Also note that this is an edited version. Unedited versions fount on my LJ site.

Original request: First-time (with each other), cross-dressing, D/s, rimming, some anger and perhaps a bit of hitting.

"Hey there, honey; buy ya a drink?"

Bright green eyes turned to look over at the American bloke who'd stumbled into the bar. He leaned forward and grinned, showing perfectly straight teeth and a face covered in rough stubble. The man was obviously a tourist: he wore an "I Love London" t-shirt and a pin that stated that one should "Mind the Gap."

"Sure," came the quiet voice. The American beamed like he'd unexpectedly won the jackpot.

"Hey there," the man called out to the bartender, "another Stella and," the man turned back to his prize, "What're ya having?" he asked.

"Whisky sour."

"And a whisky sour, please," he called out.

He landed sharply on the neighboring stool and brushed his brown hair out of his eyes. "I've been in London for a week, and I just love it here."

"Really? How long are you here?" The American grinned with pleasure at the inquiry.

"Just another few days. Me and my buddies--we're from California--we just up and decided to visit London. Never been to England before. It's great. Kinda spontaneous too. Dave, his girlfriend just dumped him. I'm Stephen, by the way." He offered his hand and they shook.


"Nice name."

"I think so," Lily said warmly.

Stephen continued to talk about himself as the drinks slowly disappeared. His traveling hands covered Lily's each time he finished a story as if assuring himself she was really there. Lily commented once or twice, but had few words to say and seemed content to just listen to the American talk about his home and his job. Stephen's constant petting and touches were gently brushed aside, but he didn't seem to take the hint.

Finally, after Stephen finished his second drink—Lily was still sipping on that first whisky sour—another man approached him, and with an odd look at Lily, leaned close and whispered something in Stephen's ear.

"What!" he burst out.

Lily sighed. Here it was.

The man's eyes ran up and down Lily's body then rested on her throat. Her Adam's apple. No, his Adam's apple. "You're a man?" he asked, sounding more than a little disappointed.

Lily shrugged; it wasn't like Stephen was his type either. "Does it matter?"

"Yeah! Of course! I thought I was chatting up some gorgeous Brit, but I was hitting on a dude!" Lily flinched and then rose to leave. The bartender caught Lily's eye and the silent communication offered enough assurance that he sat again.

"Dude, let's just go," said the new arrival, tugging on his friend's arm.

"Yeah, definitely. And Lily, or whatever your name is, that's really crappy. Hanging out here, leading guys on. Fucked up."

Stephen stood up and walked away.

Lily, who wasn't really Lily, looked into the mirrored backing of the bar and caught his own eyes floating amongst the back sides of countless liquor bottles; green and full of a hollow loneliness. He'd gotten quite good at the feminine disguise, wrapped up in soft silks and an even softer nature, but his Adam's apple was left noticeable for those who knew what to look for. Not that he would have gone home with that guy anyway. Getting his arse kicked once was a valuable lesson, so he became very sure of his bloke before he ever made a move.

Needless to say, he'd never been a one-night stand kind of cross-dresser, and to his own frustration he had been alone for a very long time.

He examined his eyes in the mirror. His eyes. He had left his eyes the same: bright green and full of something pure from his mother—a sense of what's right and a willingness to follow through with hard choices. His hair was still black, a symbol of his brave father. But that scar, only a shadow now that Voldemort was gone, he buried beneath a layer of foundation, burying that reminder of everything that had broken within him the day he saved the world.

Harry walked down the street towards the Ministry of Magic, dodging in between other early morning commuters. The air had a harsh chill this close to the New Year. In one gloved hand he carried a double tall latte while theLondon Times was clutched in the other. He found it very important to keep apprised of the Muggle goings-on.

His mind wandered back to The Moon and Mars, something he tried very hard not to do when at work.

"Well," he mumbled to himself, "at least I'm not at work yet."

It had rained the night before and the air smelt clean, if you discounted the smoking tailpipes from the traffic jam to his right. The sky was a hundred different shades of gray; a thick layer of clouds covered the skyline as lower cotton puffs snagged onto some of the taller buildings. It was a typical London winter.

He found he couldn't take his mind off of The Moon and Mars, though it broke his usual strict 'separation of night life and normal life' rule. The American bloke had been nice, if a talker. And he'd been attractive, though obviously very conservative and totally oblivious. He grunted disdainfully. Who was he kidding; the guy was a complete idiot. Harry could do better. Plus, Harry didn't want to deal with someone that was going to be here today and disappear tomorrow.

The real bent bristle in his broom was that he knew he wasn't going to find the love of his life—however cheesy that sounded—at The Moon and Mars. He longed for someone who understood him and accepted his odd… requirements. But that was something he didn't like to dwell upon. He was who he was, nothing would change that.

The seedy bar haunted the end of London and apparently only drunk tourists frequented it. Harry often questioned why he continued to go there. There were probably more… open, friendly places he could go where the guys weren't going to freak out once he dropped skirt and his extra equipment was revealed.

He stepped across a puddle in the broken pavement and bumped into someone, muttering a quick apology.

Maybe he should find somewhere else to go…


Harry lifted his contemplative gaze from the ground and saw Hermione waving, crossing the street to meet him.

"Hey Hermione!" he said, waving in return. He waited at the corner and then they continued to walk down the pavement together.

"We missed you at Percy's. You should have seen Luna. She brought a few manoko. They were climbing all over her, but she didn't have a care about it." Hermione chuckled, shaking her head.

"Manoko?" Harry asked, half-listening, half-watching the gum riddled ground pass beneath his feet. A flock of pigeons flew by as they passed a park, cooing at the hopes of a handful of seed. They looked soggy and unhappy at the weather.

"Yes, don't you remember, Harry? The grant she got to study them for Hogwarts?" A moment of silence passed between the two. "Harry, are you even listening to me?" She jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. He oofed in response.

"Of course. Sorry. I just don't remember." He didn't really remember much about his social life lately. Since he had so little of it, he thought the detail should have been etched into his memory. If Harry were honest with himself he would admit that he just didn't care.

"She'd discovered them in southern Italy during one of her 'walk-abouts.' They're pretty cute little things. Scaly, like a lizard, but round and floppy like a kitten. I bet they will be the new pet craze, assuming they'd be safe as pets and Luna wouldn't be affronted at the notion."

Harry grunted in shock. "I'm surprised you aren't affronted at the notion," Harry said.

"Why would I be?" she asked, her tone a little edgy.

"House-elves, goblins, centaurs…"

"Those are sentient beings, Harry, not some lower life form." Though Harry wasn't looking at her, he was certain she'd just rolled her eyes at him. "You would think after all your work redesigning the Ministry that you would at least have a grasp between the Beast Division and the Being Division."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Sorry, my mind's just somewhere else," he rushed to derail a Hermione blow-up.

"So, where were you?" she asked.

"Huh?" he asked, caught off guard.

"Where were you Saturday, when we were all at Percy's? You said you would be there." She leveled her gaze on him and he could feel her noticing and cataloging his every reaction.

Harry sighed. Even after all these years, Hermione really hadn't changed much.

"Did you have a date?"

"Whaat?" Harry asked, drawing the word out as he searched for something quick to say. He turned a scandalized look on Hermione; she couldn't know about his extracurricular activities. Nobody could know. He had been so careful.

Someone walking close behind bumped into him as he lost his stride. "Sorry," the woman apologized as she brushed past him.

"'tsokay," he murmured as he and Hermione continued their walk.

"Well, it has been awhile, Harry. You can't still be pining over Ginny, can you?" she asked, her tone suggesting he still wore his first year set of snitch pajamas to bed at night. She seemed… disappointed.

"What? No! Of course not. We went our ways on good terms, you know that." He lifted his hands to shield off the next volley of questions.

"So, that isn't why you weren't at Percy's?" she asked again.

"No, I mean… No. I just didn't feel like it. I was tired from work and I just wanted to relax." He flinched at the defeated tone of his words and almost flinched again as he noticed Hermione registering his first flinch. She didn't need any more fodder for her ever needling interrogation.

"Harry," she stopped in the middle of the rush hour crowd--the flow effortlessly parted around her like the river around a stone--and touched his arm. Someone bumped into him again. Harry groaned internally. He'd failed in steering her away from her concerned mode. "Maybe you're working too hard. It's been five years. You've reformed the Ministry. It's done. There isn't much else you can do; now, don't you think it's time to step back and see if it can truly run on its own?"

"You don't think it can?" he asked in alarm. He'd put the last five years of his life into establishing an honest and stable form of government for the wizarding world. He had lost his childhood to abuse, his adolescence to Voldemort, and then the prime of his life to the ungrateful masses surrounding him. Sacrifice played a major supporting role in his life; he didn't want that sacrifice to be for naught.

"That isn't what I was saying, Harry. I think it can, and I think it will. There will always be obstacles, but we've set up a good system. But seriously, maybe it's time for a vacation. Get away. Have some fun." Her eyes were full of love and Harry swallowed against a lump in his throat.

Fun. What an odd concept, alien in its carefreeness.

"I can't. I've got this meeting with the French ambassador, and the Committee for Werewolf Rights is still being stubborn; I couldn't leave it right now." There was so much to do. Harry couldn't just leave it all. That would be irresponsible.

"Okay, fine," she huffed. "Just think about it. Eventually, you will explode if you don't give up this work, work, work lifestyle. I don't want to see you burn out like Neville did," she said and turned to once again join the flow.

"I won't, Hermione." They'd reached the Ministry's south entrance and walked through the pet shop to the hidden room lined with a battery of Floos. Screeches and caws filled the air as they passed the aviary. Harry stopped, fishing around in his pocket for some cheese, and fed his favorite mina bird. It nipped at his finger when it'd eaten Harry's entire offering. "Vicious bugger," he mumbled to the bird affectionately.

Hermione fed a small parrot a bit of fruit she'd had wrapped up in cellophane. "Are you available for lunch?" she asked, sounding resigned.

"Can't, I've got to finish the third quarter report on the Department of Mysteries redevelopment." He turned from the bird and stepped up to his Floo.

Hermione huffed. "Fine. Take care, Harry."

"Yeah, okay. Bye," he said to her back as she Flooed to her office. With his own sigh, he grabbed some Powder and called out his own address: "Assistant Minister's Office."

They had wanted him to be the Minister of Magic, but he had refused the position. Three times. After Harry had used his power to oust Scrimgeour--angering many people--Kingsley Shacklebolt was offered the position along with Harry. Harry eagerly stepped aside, soothing some officials' ire who were under the impression that Harry pushed for Scrimgeour's dismissal so that he could attain the position himself. Nobody seemed to accept that Harry never wanted to be Minster and never would.

Nothing could get done from the Minister's seat. Harry sat in the real cradle of power; where he could affect the government and get rid of the rampant potential for corruption that had infested the Ministry during Voldemort's short reign of power; that had existed since Fudge and probably even earlier, if he were to be honest with himself.

Here, as the Assistant, he could develop the government without having the people's eyes on him. His influence infiltrated every office, touched every law. From rooting out existing corruption to limiting red tape, he knew he'd formed a better governing body. He was the shadow lord of the Ministry.

However, it was constant and it was draining: day after day of meetings, always putting on his public face, always thinking ten years ahead. The deals, the late night planning sessions, the heavy burden that it might not work; it seemed to suck out his light, his humor, and his optimism. Sometimes, Harry thought, he should have just been a Quidditch star.

It drained him even as it invigorated his existence. Eventually, he knew, it would pull him apart, just like Hermione had diagnosed.

The meeting had lasted for four hours. And then he had another emergency session with the Magical Games section. At nine that evening he finally walked through his front door, exhausted.

Hermione always insisted that he needed a vacation, but a few weeks on the Riviera still meant returning to life most regular. It wasn't that he wasn't happy… it just seemed that something was lacking in his life. He had such control at work that Harry wished he could give that up, that he had someone to take care of him for a change.

Sometimes he just wanted to relinquish himself to the hands of another master.

That desire drove him to visit The Moon and Mars even later that night, secretly hoping that tonight he would find someone, anyone, who wouldn't mind that he's really a man and take him home and touch him and whisk away his burdens. If only for one night.

The bar was adorned in mistletoe and garland in celebration of the winter season and while everyone seemed jolly at the new decorations, Harry looked on in sadness. The holidays always made him feel lonelier.

Scolding himself for such thoughts, he took his seat and caught his reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar. Bacardi, Blavod, Glendarroch, and a pair of green eyes. He watched the crowd's reflection behind him as the patrons came and went, drinking his whisky and wishing he weren't alone.

As the night tumbled past its zenith, Harry paid his bill with a resigned air and gathered his things to leave the bar, annoyed with himself. He didn't mind the time it took him to get presentable--the make-up, the coifed hair, the charms-- he was just frustrated with another solitary night. Frustrated with his love life. Frustrated with life in general.

He gave the crowd, thinning now at this early hour, one last glance and his heart nearly stopped as the last person he ever expected to see at The Moon and Mars walked through the door.

It'd taken him a good forty-five minutes to shake off his tail and Draco ducked into the first bar he came across. Really, his father had become far too watchful of him since he was released from Azkaban and placed on house arrest, and Draco didn't even want to dwell on the hints and suggestions that he should take a wife and settle down. He knew the family patiently waited for him to find a wife to bear the next heir, but he wasn't about to just settle for anyone. Plus, he would have to find a wife who didn't mind him straying on a perpetual basis. Women just weren't his slice of cake.

The bar certainly catered to a lower class than he was used to, but at this moment Draco didn't care. Even with the stale scent of cigarette smoke and beer infiltrating the air, it was still the air of freedom and he breathed deep. The crowd certainly registered low on the scale of human dignity, but even through the mass of tourists and journeymen, he still had hopes of finding someone to help him relieve a little stress for the night.

He shook off the damp from his wool coat and hung it on a rack, then turned to survey his choices.

Unfortunately, after a thirty-second scan of the people seated at the tables, Draco began to wonder if he wouldn't be better off with his "bodyguards"—as his father liked to call them—until his eyes stopped on a beautiful woman sitting at the bar. Not only was the woman beautiful, and usually he didn't bother with women, but his attuned senses picked up magic: she was also a witch. But unlike any other witch he'd ever sensed.

As he studied her from the entry of the bar--her dark skirt, slim legs, long black hair--she grabbed her purse and twisted on the stool to leave. She looked up towards the exit and caught his eye. With a look of unmistakable recognition, she dropped back down on the stool in shock.

He didn't know how this woman knew him and he couldn't for the life of him place her. Maybe his name and face preceded him, as it often did. He was damned unforgettable.

Smiling as he descended the steps into the bar, he approached her and said: "Hello there, Princess."

"Umm, hello," she said with a soft voice. Almost too soft, and as Draco watched her swallow with what appeared to be nervousness, he noticed it. The Adam's apple, and then he looked at her arms, the breadth of her shoulders. This wasn't a woman, but a man in drag. Draco couldn't believe his luck and blessed The Moon and Mars.

The woman's… no, theman's hair was black as night and his eyes seemed to glow like a cat's, green and almost phosphorescent. Such beauty. Draco would win him.

"Would you please share a drink with me?" Draco asked, turning on his allure. He rarely bothered trying anymore, but something about this man just drew him in. Maybe it was the situation, being out on the run, trying to live up his youth before he'd be tied down by the balls. Maybe it was the magical flux that wafted off of him, something Draco has only recently learned to sense.

"I was actually just leaving," his Princess said to him, clutching his handbag with delicate hands.

Draco wondered why he glamoured so much of his appearance to be feminine but still left that Adam's apple, like he wished to announce to the world that he was male.

Well… maybe he was only announcing it to those who knew where to look.

Draco smiled even brighter.

"Hello, I'm Draco. And you are?" he asked ignoring the man's attempt to leave, determined to find out more about this person, as if he were some mystery totally devised for Draco's own entertainment.

"Lily," and he reached out to shake Draco's hand.

"Come here often?" he asked, realizing it sounded lame even as the words emerged.

Lily laughed, rolling his eyes. "Oh, come now. I'm sure you can come up with something better than that."

"You. Me. My apartment. A night you won't forget."

As Draco delivered his proposition, he leaned close enough that their noses nearly touched. Lily smelled soft and fruity, but Draco also caught the scent of something underlying that cried out masculinity.

Lily jerked back in shock. "Wha…?"

"I know you're a man," Draco whispered. "I like that. What do you say?"

"But…" Lily seemed to lose his train of thought as he examined Draco. Those piercingly eyes drilled into him and Draco suddenly felt uncomfortable. Did he know this man? But then the gaze softened and those lips smiled and Lily nodded at him. "Okay."

"Yeah?" Draco asked.

"Yeah. Shall we?" he asked. As Draco offered his arm, Lily stood and took it, and then they walked out of the building.

"Shall we Apparate?" Draco asked after they'd left The Moon and Mars.

The smaller frame of the man next to him stiffened again. "It appears," he said in those soft and sultry tones, "that I have no secrets from you… Draco."

Draco chuckled at Lily's words, though noted the odd way Lily pronounced his name, like he was almost … shy of it.

"Don't worry, Princess. I'll let you keep the rest of your mystery about you," he said as he nuzzled Lily's neck.

Lily blinked, then nodded and suddenly they swirled away to appear in Draco's manor. With alarming alacrity, Lily left his arms and seemed adamant about avoiding Draco's gaze. Then Lily began to wander through the parlor. Draco watched as he looked around, wondering what thoughts were going through his mind. The more and more he watched him study the manor's decorations—looking at portraits, examining antiques, watching the flicker of candle flames, reviewing book titles—something nudged at Draco telling him that this person was familiar. But try as he might, he couldn't untangle what it was about Lily. While he promised Lily he would let him keep his mystery, he secretly vowed to himself that he would figure this man out.

"This is quite the home you have here, Draco." Lily finally turned his back on the marble Floo to face Draco, arms hanging loosely at his sides. Waiting.

"Thank you," he said. "It's my ancestral home. Could I get you something to drink?" He began walking towards the bar.

"No, thank you," Lily said.

"Oh, well…" Draco usually used alcohol to relax himself and his partner. Going into this sober would be an entirely new experience. He redirected himself from the bar to the man standing there. The man dressed in three-inch heals with ruby red lips. Just looking at those lips stirred something within him.

"Hmm, can I kiss you then?" He stood directly before his Princess, running a finger up and down his arm.

Lily laughed, a pink flush spreading across his cheeks. "Yes, you may."

And he did.

Their lips met with all the tentative concern of two innocents, light and gentle. Then Draco wrapped his hands around the man's waist and pulled him close, pressing their bodies against each other, feeling the shaking anticipation in Lily's frame. The pressure of Lily's lips against his own sparked a fire in his belly, tingling its way down to his toes. He opened his eyes, for one quick glance at this beautiful person in his arms, and saw those eyes flutter, as if the tremor affected his every part. Draco enticed Lily's tongue to play, to tango with his own and with delight he saw that there was no fight for dominance, no struggle for who was going to lead this encounter. Lily was all his.

He pulled Lily even closer to him, pressing his groin to Lily's hip and felt an answering erection firm against his own thigh. Tearing his lips away, Draco leaned forward to taste Lily's smooth cheek, dropping kisses down his jaw, along his throat.

Merlin, Lily tasted divine.

"What do you like, Lily?" Draco asked, his words peppered between dainty pecks along that unmarred expanse of skin. Tiny goose bumps sprouted along his route of passage and he retraced ever inch of skin with his tongue.

"Everything," he said breathily, "anything… just…"

Before the words could escape Lily's lips, Draco swept in and kissed him again. Everything. Anything. The kiss demanded and Lily gave and Draco's nerves sparked with pure want.

Deft fingers trailed down Lily's shirt, swiftly plucking buttons and finally revealing skin. Lily's breasts were modest, but they were there, soft and generally in the way.

"I have one request," Lily said, one shoulder bare as the shirt slipped off of his frame.

Draco nodded in encouragement. He was offered everything and anything; he certainly could answer one request.

"Please keep the lights off, I don't want you to see me… what I really look like." Demurely, Lily looked away from Draco's face, trailing his eyes down Draco's front. Long lashes framed those brilliant eyes. Again, Draco felt a surge of familiarity.

He couldn't help but wonder if Lily had some terrible scarring or other disfigurement and that cooled his libido to think that he stood on the precipice of sex with an ugly person. But as he focused on the man in his arms, he felt that more important than appearance was that something between them. He felt drawn to this unknown man, to the mystery, to his magic. He couldn't name it or even fully describe it, but there was something here, and Draco was determined to uncover what this was all about.

"As you wish, Lily," Draco said, planting a kiss on his forehead. Lily flinched. Draco wondered at the reaction and tucked it away for further study; small things told long tales if you were willing to listen.

But now other things were far more central to his mental processes; he pushed off Lily's shirt, letting it fall to the ground and wrapped his arms around him, unsnapped the bra and let that too drop to the floor. He leaned back to look at the shorter, compact body, still holding on with one arm.

Draco chuckled and ran his fingers over the curves and planes of Lily's body. This was a man, he reminded himself.

"Do you want to keep a woman's form all evening?" he asked, hoping that wasn't the case.

Draco spread his hand out on Lily's belly, which felt firm yet soft and curvy as no man's could be. The candlelight seemed to mute everything, erase all harsh features. His fingers were pale and thin against Lily's darker skin and he knew that this man would go topless in the sun and Draco felt sure that he did so with pride and an arrogance that the Lily persona would never possess.

Who he was Draco swore he would discover.

"Would you prefer I wasn't?" Lily asked, sounding unsure, a little apprehensive.

"I prefer fucking men," he ground out through his lust, dragging his fingers into the soft flesh, leaving red lines in their wake. He didn't want breasts and a pussy, he wanted a firm cock and a tight arse and a willing lover.

"Remember your promise…" The words were more a question, more a tentative plea.

"Of course, now drop it. Be who you are." The words were harsh and edged with command and even as Lily tensed, eyes wide with a little fear, Draco knew he would comply.

Draco traced the edge of his jaw line--so feminine in this guise--with his finger, drew the nail of his pinky along those full lips. Sometimes a simple touch can reassure the most skittish of prey.

Lily pressed his hands on Draco's chest and gently pushed him away. Softly, Lily said, "Nox," and the candles puffed out, one by one, filling the air with their musky smoke.

Blind, Draco's heart beat desperately in excitement.

"Lily?" he asked the blackness.

"I'm here," said the deeper voice, as the definitely male body stepped up to him. He was taller than he was as Lily, though still shorter than Draco, and he was fit and defined, just like Draco had hoped.

"How shall I fuck you?" Draco asked, surprised at the hitch in his voice.

Lily released a groan, rich and so sexy that Draco's cock grew painfully full, making his jeans tight and pinching. That eager noise was the best offer Draco had in years and raw hunger raced straight to his cock. "To your knees," he demanded.

A nervous swallow echoed through the oddly quiet room and then Draco heard his Princess kneel to the floor. He reached down and grabbed Lily's head, forcing his face into Draco's groin. Another soft gasp urged him on. "Suck me," he ordered.

Questing fingers reached up and undid his pants, popping the button, slowly pulling down the zip. Draco's knees jerked when strong hands, a man's hands, pulled him out, aching and ready. It hurt it was so hard.

Draco released his clenched fingers, lightly laying his hand on the back of Lily's head as his Princess leaned forward to dance his tongue along his length and then slowly swallowed him whole. Lily was eager and skilled and Draco didn't think he would last long, so after endless pleasure, he desperately tugged him off.

"Stop. Stop," he begged, panting to catch his breath. The suction stopped and Draco slipped from Lily's soft lips.

At the speed of thought, Draco shucked his jeans and stared down into the darkness where he could see a vague shape. "On your hands and knees," and again Lily raced to answer Draco's demand. He stared at the shape, butt tilted into the air, head down on the ground with mid-length hair fanned around him like a dark halo; his mouth watered at the sight. He sank to the floor next to the wanton man and ran his hand through Lily's hair, then trailed his fingers along his spine, dancing across each vertebra. He could feel scars crossing the soft skin and wondered at Lily's past. Then Draco's fingers ran into the waistband of Lily's skirt and he bunched it up around his waist.

Lily wasn't wearing a stitch under his skirt. Draco chuckled and licked at his skin. He squatted behind his Princess and leaned over his back, pinning him to the floor. Nuzzling his neck, he sank his teeth in, not enough to break the skin, but enough to bruise and show the world that Lily was his and nobody else better lay to claim what he owned. Lily groaned at the bite, and pressed up into him. Draco ran his hand up Lily's side, feeling the muscles flex and tense, and then wove his fingers through that beautiful hair; he couldn't get enough of that hair. He gripped and pulled.

Lily released a licentious groan, the kind that drove away things like thought and restraint. "Oh Merlin. Draco, please, make me yours, please." The incoherent stream of words raced from his lips.

"You're mine," Draco panted, and he pressed into the body below him, his voice cracking as he tried to memorize and analyze everything he felt, the touches, the heat, the utter welcome and acceptance by this total stranger. "Lily," he groaned, pulling tight on those thick tresses, and as he thrust again everything became mindless and terrible and so utterly overwhelming.

After timeless, pulsing moments, he collapsed, trapping that sexy man below him. Slowly, as the daze lifted, he nuzzled and kissed and licked his way over Lily's back, who flinched when Draco kissed an already marked spot.

He felt no guilt, only a sense of self-pride.

"Shall we retire to the bedroom," Draco asked, his voice husky and sated, but promising more for the very near future.

"Yeah, a bed would be preferable to the floor," Lily said, chuckling. Draco was pleased that Lily didn't sound shagged out, but his voice was definitely laced with satiation. Draco stood and drew Lily to his feet, and as they walked to his room, the lights snuffing out before them.

Harry looked at Draco, lying there, asleep and totally unguarded. Examining those features, he saw something that eased the tension he'd been suppressing inside. There was a softness there and Harry had to admit to himself that things had moved on, this was not the past and "Lily" was no enemy to Draco Malfoy.

He about cried as he gathered his things to leave. He found his skirt over in a corner and somehow his other clothing had migrated to a nearby table, neatly folded. Every time he crossed the room he caught sight of Draco, contentedly sleeping. This was something Harry wanted and knew he could never have. Draco wanted Lily, not Harry and Harry couldn't be what Draco wanted without his veil of Lily.

With a jumble of his things in his arms—he'd have to transfigure them into something that would suit his male body—Harry stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching the sleeping man. He could love him, he knew this: he could love and cherish him and submit to him in every way. Just the thought, that glimmer of a future warmed Harry, but then that warmth was dashed as he turned and fled the Manor.

Draco, by choice, was not an optimist. He was a realist and though he often hated to admit it, he learned quite thoroughly that some battles, some challenges, he would just never succeed at. Even more so, he learned sometimes it was best if one didn't succeed. Fortunately, he also forgot some of these lessons when deliriously happy, which was his current state of affair. Draco wasn't the kind of man to sit by in heartache.

He lay sprawled across his grand bed; one arm seeking out the warm spot that he knew would be empty. This knowledge came not only from a sense of expectation—Lily did seem a skittish thing at times—but also some innate ability to sense his absence, absence of self and absence of that magical spark that Draco had so easily become familiar, and comfortable with.

But the lack of warm body next to him did not perturb him, or send him into a melancholy. In fact he welcomed the challenge and knew he would find his Princess.

No, while this would have set any other suitor back, Draco saw it as a welcome and expected sign. He enjoyed the chase.

Through the window sunbeams brightened his room and Draco lay there and stared at the dust motes hovering in the air, dancing in the light. Weightless. His arm remained in that empty spot, grown cold by Lily's absence.

That night, rather desperate, he returned to The Moon and Mars. After five glasses of wine he had to admit to himself that Lily would not return that day.

"Hey, barkeep," he called to the bartender. The man walked over, one towel tossed over his shoulder and nodded at him. A pencil was tucked behind his left ear and he reached for the bottle of zinfandel.

"Another glass?" he asked, ready to pour.

"No, but I have a question for you," Draco said, sliding a large bill across the bar to the man.

The man's eyes opened in surprise and appreciation. "Whatsit?" he asked.

"That woman I met here last night—dark hair, green eyes, couldn't miss her—how often does she come in?"

The bartender took a step back and shrugged, eyes easily leaving the rolled up bill on the counter. "Sorry, buddy, can't help you." He walked away leaving Draco and his money behind. Though Draco knew he should be annoyed, he was actually pleased that Lily had people looking out for him. He'd just have to win over his guardian's trust.

"Fine," he called out to the man's back. "I get it. I don't give up easily. I'll just keep coming by… Everyday!" The bartender continued talking to another customer. "'Cause she's worth it." A satisfied smirk danced upon Draco's lips as the bartender turned towards him and watched him walk out.

And he kept that promise and returned every evening to The Moon and Mars until nine days later he met his Princess once more.

"You sure you wanna be here today, Lily?" Samuel asked, as he began mixing Harry's usual whisky sour.

"Why do you ask?" Harry peered at the bartender. He'd been coming here long enough he'd developed a friendly rapport with the bartender. He knew that Samuel recognized he was a man, but he still held up the mirage and Harry appreciated that.

"A bloke's been coming 'round, every night, looking for you. That blond fella you left with last week." He didn't judge; Harry knew how valuable friends were who didn't judge.

"What? Really?" Harry asked, shocked. He didn't think Draco would hunt him down like this. Every night?

"Yeah, usually shows up around 10 p.m. You got about forty-five minutes of peace if you wanna avoid him." He wiped off the bar surface before Harry and set the drink down on a coaster for a local ale. "Enjoy," he said and then he turned away to help another customer demanding a rum and coke.

Harry'd been trolling other establishments on the outskirts of London but hadn't been as comfortable as he was at The Moon and Mars, and Samuel was part of that. He'd even gone to cross-dressing clubs, but they were too aggressive and Harry didn't want control from someone he didn't trust.

Thus the conundrum with Draco Malfoy.

He knew Draco. Strangely, he felt comfortable with his old school rival. Harry had no worries about letting Draco take over, and in that game Draco seemed to be quite sure of himself. Harry snorted. This was Draco Malfoy he was thinking about, of course he was sure of himself.

While musing over his current circumstances, a man sat next to Harry at the bar.

"Hi, is this seat taken?" he asked, and then abruptly sat down with a shit-eating grin, like he thought he was cute with his rudeness.

"Actually, I'm meeting someone," Harry said, turning his body away from the newcomer.

"Oh, don't be that way, sweetheart. Don't snuff a bloke before ya get to know him," he said, right into Harry's ear. Harry swiveled around on the barstool and was face to face with bad breath and a set of leering eyes.

"Hi," he said again, and the he leaned forward for a kiss.

Shocked, Harry reached out to slap the bastard, but his hand was caught and held. "Now, now, none of that," he said as Harry tried to pull away.

"I don't think the lady appreciates your handling her that way," came the calm, droll words from behind Harry. Harry twisted his head around to see Draco standing there, hands relaxed at his sides, posture perfect, sneer and haughty demeanor right in place.

Instantly, Harry recognized that Draco has his wand positioned up his sleeve and that Draco would free him from this vexing letch. Relief flooded throughout Harry.

"I was here first, buddy. Go find your own trollop." He began running his hand up Harry's thigh.

"Trollop!" Harry said, tone shrill even to his own ears. "Unhand me, now." He yanked his arm again and the bloke finally let him go. Scrambling from the stool, Harry darted behind Draco, more than willing to let the "men" deal with this.

"I suggest you leave, before the police are brought in to take out the unwanted trash of this dubious establishment," Draco said, his voice full of command and Harry found himself inching towards him. Almost on their own accord, his hands rested on Draco's shoulders and Harry relaxed his head against that sturdy back.

"Whatever, idiots," the man sneered and walked away.

Draco spun around and wrapped his arm around Harry. "You okay?" he said, burying his face in Harry's hair, nuzzling him in public.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am. Thank you." Harry leaned into Draco, gripping him in relief. He hated guys like that. A shiver shook his body and Draco squeezed him.

"Shall we go to my place?" Draco asked, his voice thick and the tone of it sent tingles along Harry's skin. He just nodded against Draco's chest and then followed him out of the bar, hanging onto his arm.

They Apparated away when it was safe and immediately fell to kissing and petting and divesting of clothing. The lights went out and Harry dropped his disguise, marveling at the way Draco worshipped his body, treating him like the Princess Draco called him over and over.

"My Princess, my beautiful Princess. Merlin, you're marvelous. Don't ever leave me again." As Draco entered him, nipping him the entire time and keeping a tight hold on his hair--that drove Harry crazy--the two men called out to each other and the gods and promised forever in a moment's breath.

Afterwards as the night grew quiet and the two men lay in each other's arms, warm and protected, Harry tried to forget his other life out there and snuggled into that warm embrace until they both fell asleep.

And as before, before morning dawned, Harry slipped out, heart breaking, leaving Draco cold in the morning's first light.

After that second night with Lily, Draco admitted to himself that he could settle for no one else. His Princess had affected him in ways that seemed only hypothetical, if not silly, just a few days ago. He couldn't define exactly what it was, but his life seemed hollower, definitely less satisfying, without Lily around. Though they had shared only two nights and a handful of words, he couldn't help seeing something, like a bright flower or a beautiful painting, and wish he could tell his lover about it. His lover… Were they lovers after only two nights? Draco wasn't fool enough to lie to himself; he knew that he would never be satisfied with another.

So, he began to put together Lily's profile and tried to find out who he might be. He was a wizard who liked to dress like a woman and play the submissive role in bed. He probably held a high position in whatever company he belonged to. Draco had never actually seen him use much magic, but the man was powerful; he could sense it every time they were together. And he knew Draco; he'd recognized him when they first met. Maybe they'd even gone to school together; they seemed about the same age, though it was hard to tell with the glamour. Lily's body didn't feel old, anyway.

Above all else, Lily seemed familiar to him. Something in the voice, or maybe the way he carried himself. It was like trying to remember a word and it was not only on the tip of your tongue, but the back of your brain and if you thought about it directly, it would dissolve into the ether. You had to distract it, make it think you were looking for something else, then bring your mind back to it and catch it before it fluttered away. He was certain he would recognize Lily if they ever met in person, positive that connection would flare up like dragon flame if he ever met Lily's true self face to face.

So Draco made it his goal to begin haunting all of the local wizarding establishments, to attend all of the parties and presentations.

He still continued to meet with Lily: find him at The Moon and Mars. They would go home and fuck and God, Draco didn't know if he could handle another morning alone, but he kept coming back and kept taking Lily to his bed and kept begging him not to leave, though they both knew he would.

And they would talk. Not, Draco noticed, about anything personal enough to allow Draco to find out who Lily was, but they would talk about the world and the war and things that made them happy or caused them endless frustration. They began to know each other on these serendipitous meetings.

However, every morning without Lily left Draco more and more desperate. More and more cold.

Hermione strode into his office and smirked.

"What?" Harry demanded, immediately turning red, though he wasn't quite sure why.

She planted her butt on the edge of his desk. "You've been seeing someone," she stated.

"How would you know?" Harry asked, more than a little annoyed. Last thing he needed was Hermione nosing about. She'd figured out he was gay—that had been a fun conversation… but he didn't think she would understand the whole cross-dressing thing… or the Draco Malfoy thing.

Or the fact that Draco Malfoy wasn't aware he was shagging Harry into the carpet. Casually, he lifted his hand to the back of his neck and brushed against the bruise he'd hidden away behind magic.

Harry flinched, he'd just broken rule #1--thinking about his alter identity at work. Crap, he was slipping.

"Ha! You are seeing someone. So, tell me all about it," she demanded, sounding pleased. "Who is she… or he?" she said in that nosy tone. As if he would tell her.

"None of your business, and no, I'm not seeing anyone." He dropped his gaze and stared at the report on his desk. The lines blurred together. Damn it, he could smack himself in the head. He might as well wear a sandwich board saying "Hi, I'm In Love."

"Well, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, Harry." She reached out and patted his shoulder. Harry shook it off and glared. With a smirk she moved on. "Anyway, we have a ribbon cutting for the new Severus Snape Clinic and Research Labs. You're going, aren't you?" Since she decided to drop her interrogation, Harry relaxed.

"Yeah, yeah. Let me grab my robes. Just… I'm not seeing anyone and I don't want to talk about my sad and lonely life, okay?" he whined.

"Sure, whatever. Good luck with that," she said with a wink.

The two friends left the Ministry for the newly established Severus Snape Clinic and Research Labs, specializing in curing and supporting those with curses such as lycanthropy and vampirism. The Clinic's establishment proved to be one of Harry's more trying achievements, due to the community's prejudice against both Severus Snape and cursed partial humans. Because of that, it was also one of his more proud accomplishments.

The air was crisp in the winter's evening, and Harry and Hermione were bundled up as they marched through the wet streets. He wore a Weasley wool scarf and hat as well as his outer cloak, trying for a good impression of a toddler overly dressed by an over protective mother.

They reached the door and Harry held it open for Hermione and then followed her in. A large crowd was milling about as they filed into the hall. Ministry events were always well attended in these peaceful years. Even if the people didn't care about the Clinic, it was an opportunity to see what the other witches and wizards were up to. It became a chance to see and be seen.

"It's you," Harry heard from his right and his blood froze. He recognized that voice. Deny it. He would deny everything.

"Is it you?" Part of Harry longed to acknowledge those words, turn to the man who spoke them and offer himself up, but that strong, in-control part that faced the world scoffed.

Slowly, Harry turned to face Draco Malfoy. His heart broke as he plastered on an indifferent expression. "Malfoy," Harry said with a slight nod. "Are you talking to me?"

Draco looked dumbstruck; his usual quick sneer not even making an appearance as he stared at Harry like he'd been betrayed. "What? You're not…"

"Hello, Malfoy," Hermione said, butting in like the prying friend that she was. Harry loved her even as he cursed her. "Are you here for the dedication?" she asked.

Draco tore his eyes away from examining Harry's every feature and then stared at Hermione with a lost look. Finally he seemed to recognize her and smiled his politician smile. It was all so fake, nothing like the Draco Harry had gotten to know. He had to get out of there. "Why yes. I was excited to hear that Professor Snape wouldn't go unnoticed in history."

He turned his gaze back to Harry, who continued to stare in return. Hermione looked from one man to the other. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Move!" Harry thought to himself. If he didn't move he wouldn't be able to break this spell Draco seemed to have cast upon him. "Nothing," he told Hermione, nodded once at Draco and turned to walk away.

"Potter! Don't leave. I need to talk to you. I know it's you. Please!" he pleaded, but Harry disappeared into the crowd.

Lily was Harry Potter. Holy Fuck. He'd been sleeping with Harry bloody Potter. His heart thudded in his chest, banging against his sternum as if trying to break loose. How had he not figured that out? As Draco watched Harry run from him, a confused Hermione trailing behind, Draco remembered things like his hair, the jerk whenever he touched his forehead, his magic. Those eyes. Harry Potter, Assistant Minister, the man who practically rebuilt the Ministry of Magic, was a closet submissive cross-dresser. And Draco was certain he was in love with him.

Draco tried to make sense of the twisted humor of the universe. He'd obviously been a very evil man in a past life.

It was pure art how Harry had transformed himself into Lily. Not only with spells, but with personality and mannerisms. The voice. Draco was completely flummoxed. His heart continued to race and he ran his damp palms together. Lily was Harry. Lily was Harry.

Did this change things? Did he want to maintain this weird relationship of masks and lies? Was Harry Potter worth it?

Lily was worth it, Draco knew that in his very core. And what were a few masks and lies to a Slytherin; really, he thrived on subreption.

Draco entered the dedication hall decked in holiday splendor, mindlessly grabbed a mug of mulled wine and stalked Harry from afar. The Assistant Minister was mingling, talking to all of the important people in attendance. They all gathered to shake his hand. It was obvious that Harry knew Draco was watching him. Even if Draco wasn't certain from thatfeeling he got when he saw Harry, Harry's downright avoidance and guilt was a good enough indication that he was Lily.

Harry stood before the huge crowd and delivered his speech like a master, so confident and sure, unlike the shy Lily. The crowd cheered him on and he waved a bit before he descended the stage steps and disappeared into the masses, letting Kingsley have his turn to speak. Draco ran to where he last saw Harry, excusing himself as he bumped and jostled the merry supporters of the Clinic. Unfortunately, when he arrived at the stairs, there was no Harry around. He turned in place, searching.

"Malfoy." Draco jumped as he heard his name and whirled around to see Hermione.

"Granger," he said.

"What's going on between you and Harry?" she asked.

The nosy know-it-all still needed to know it all. "Why," he found himself asking, "Did he say something?"

"Well, no… but he was certainly acting oddly from the moment you called out to him. You seemed shocked to see him as well. What's going on?" She crossed her arms and adopted that determined air that had annoyed Draco to no end back at Hogwarts.

"I don't see how it is any of your business," he said in reaction to her query.

She peered at him and Draco was certain she wasn't only reading his thoughts but also his soul.

"Well, I'm sure if you did have any business with the Assistant Minister, you could find him in his office. After hours his secretary is gone and he always forgets to ward his door." Draco's eyes grew wide, staring at her as she spoke the words so nonchalantly. "Of course, I will be up soon myself to talk to him about the ceremony. In about a half-hour. Have a nice day, Malfoy," she said and walked back towards the crowd, her sensible heels clicking on the floor.

Holy shite. Hermione Granger just gave Draco the keys to the kingdom and all he had to do was turn the knob. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all. With focused determination he darted back through the crowd to the exit and Apparated to the Ministry's offices. The halls were empty but the thin carpeting helped dampen his foot falls. It didn't take him very long to find the Assistant's office and Granger had been right; there was no secretary and the door stood ajar.

Quietly, walking in slow, exaggerated movements, Draco crept up to the door and peeked in. There he saw Harry leaning forward on his desk. His elbows propped up his arms; his hands cradled his head. Fingers massaged his skull through his mop of a hairstyle and he was slowly shaking his head.

This was Lily. The man he loved. He swallowed hard and then reaching out a finger, he poked at the door and it slowly swung open. Harry's head shot up and his wand was in his hand before Draco had a chance to say hello.

"Hello," he said tentatively and took a step in the office.

"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy," Harry said with a disdain that did not reflect in his eyes. His eyes told a completely different story of sorrow and loss.

"Harry, can we talk?" Clicking the door closed behind him, Draco walked into the room, halting before Harry's desk. Two stacks of papers sat on the surface as well as a jar of ink and tin of quills. It was all very neat. Draco could see the back of one silver framed photo propped up, but couldn't see who was in it. He wondered to himself if it was Harry's dead parents, or a reminisce of the Golden Trio. He knew so little about Harry.

"Talk? About what? We've nothing to talk about. Leave." Cold, hard words.

"I don't want to leave. I miss you. I want you." Harry's eyes grew wide, reflecting a myriad of emotions. The wand tip dipped a little. "Whether you're Lily or Harry, I want you," Draco said softly.

"Don't call me that!" Harry screamed; spit flying from his lips as he jumped to his feet, his wand as sturdy as ever in his fury. "You bastard. Think you can just come into my ordered life and fuck everything up, take over? Well, I don't need you. I don't need anyone. Don't you think if I wanted you, I would have kept you?" With two long strides Harry was on the other side of the desk, yelling in Draco's face. They were chest to chest and Draco realized that this body was the body he dreamed of at night, this voice was the one that moaned out his name.

"Harry," Draco said softly, letting his love support the word. Cautiously, he reached out a hand.

"You don't own me! You mean nothing!" Harry pushed Draco hard, sending the taller man across the room. Racing after him, Harry grabbed the front of Draco's shirt, his face inches away, anger and an aching sadness roiling in his green eyes. These were Lily's eyes; there could be no others that vibrant and alive.

Gripping the collar of Draco's shirt, Harry slammed him against the wall. Draco grunted at the impact and clutched at Harry's strong arms, trying to pull them off. Rough portions of brick wall dug into his back and head and he growled under his breath.

"Fuck, Potter. Why are you doing this? It's me. You like me." Draco was certain there was a connection here, was certain that Harry wanted Draco as much as Draco wanted him.

"Not like this, Malfoy. I'm not that person. Don't you get it?" Harry yelled, and then he released one hand from Draco's clothing and brought the fist right smack into Draco's jaw.

"What the hell!" Draco screeched as Harry hit him again.

"I'm not that person!" Harry continued to yell, pummeling Draco, his athletic frame adding momentum to his barrage of punches. "I'm not!"

Draco brought up one hand to cover his face, then wrapped his leg around Harry's and tugged, causing Harry to fall hard to the floor, dragging Draco down with him as Harry continued to clutch at his collar.

"Potter, what the fuck…" he said, grabbing for Harry, but then his words were cut short by a sharp knee to his groin.

"Getoffme!" Harry cried, struggling under Draco's larger frame and his grip on Harry's arms.

As the stars faded away, Draco realized he'd had enough of this shite. He released his grip on Harry's arms and aimed for his hair instead. Once he got a handful he pulled tight and whispered in a commanding way, authoritative and sure: "Stop fighting me, Harry." And Harry did.

He went limp underneath Draco, his eyes glistening as Draco pulled on his hair. Draco leaned forward and breathed him in, taking in the male pheromones, the cologne, the fight and arousal. Burying his nose in Harry's ear he nuzzled and licked and bit down on the soft portion of his neck. Harry whimpered.

"Draco, don't do this," he begged.

Draco was sure Harry was as hard as he was, aching and leaking and just wanting to fuck like they had before. To love like they had before. Draco pulled harder on Harry's hair causing him to whimper again. Draco's cock jumped.

He climbed off of Harry, sitting back on his heals to examine the man sprawled on the floor. He wiped at his lip, shocked at the blood that came away on the back of his hand. "Get up. On your knees, Harry," he ordered, and Harry rose to his knees, head hanging forward, shoulders slouched in defeat.

Draco's heart grew tight at this surrender. This isn't what he wanted. He didn't want Harry defeated, he wanted him willing and totally his.

"Nox," Draco said, casting the room in darkness. Reaching out he touched Harry; carding his fingers through his thick hair, caressing his cheek. Finally, he wrapped his arms around the other man and drew him close. A tremble rippled through Harry's body, but Draco held tight until all of that stress slipped away. A clock ticked the minutes away; the only other sound was the quick, shallow breaths from Harry that eventually slowed from their frantic pace.

"Draco," Harry sighed.

"Lily?" Draco questioned… were there really two people here?

"Harry. Please, just call me Harry," Harry said and brushed his cheek against Draco's, tilting back his head to expose his neck and chest and offer himself up to Draco.

"Harry, my Princess," Draco called him, and then leaned in to kiss away the pain.

Draco stood at the entrance to The Moon and Mars and watched the beautiful man with black hair wrapped like a present in a long skirt and silk blouse. To everyone else, he was a woman, but Draco knew the truth; had known for some time. He loved watching him as he sat and sipped at his drink, leaving red lipstick on the rim. Sometimes he would glance up at Draco through long lashes, his bright green eyes stroking him as they roamed over his body.

His breath hitched, he couldn't stand it any longer.

He descended the steps from the entrance of the bar and walked over to him. "Hey Princess," he said. "Buy you a drink?"

The bartender rolled his eyes at Draco and moved the bottles as he begin mixing a drink.

"Of course," his Princess said with a smile.

Finally, Draco leaned down and kissed him and that ache of separation drifted away.

"How was work, Lily?" he asked.

Lily shrugged, "Same old, same old. I think I might be ready to retire. Maybe take a little vacation."

Draco smiled, he'd been waiting for this. "Need any company?" he asked

Lily stood and wrapped his arms around Draco's waist and leaned against him. Draco buried his nose in that black hair and took comfort in the scent. Lily felt right in his arms, as a woman or a man, they just fit.

"Of course," he said. "I need somebody to carry my bags." He chuckled and Draco squeezed him tight.

"Anything for you, my Princess, anything for you."