The Darkness

The Darkness

Chapter Two ~ New York State of Mind

If this world is wearing thin and your thinking of escape

I'll go anywhere with you, just wrap me up in chains

But if you try to go alone, don't think I'll understand

Stay with me

Stay with me

In the silence of your room, in the darkness of your dreams

You must only think of me, there can be no in between

When your pride is on the floor, I'll make you beg for more

Stay with me

Stay with me

You better hope and pray that you make it safe back to your own world

You better hope and pray that you wake one day in your own world

Cus when you sleep at night they don't hear your cries in your own world

Only time can tell if you can break the spell back in your own world.

Stay with me

Stay with me

~ Shakespeare's Sister (Stay With Me)

He looked out of the large plate-glass window and watched indifferently at the scene before him. Lights flickered on marquee signs while yellow taxis clogged the streets below. Muggles rushed back and forth on their way to fancy parties and home cooked meals. He watched them with envy in his heart. They were so lucky, so normal. What he wouldn't do to have normalcy back into his life.

A door opened behind him and he saw the reflection of a tall brunette enter the room, his personal assistant. She was quite lovely; her coloring reminded him of someone he'd left behind. Though, her voice would bring him back to the present. It was soft, but held the unmistakable dialect that belonged only to those who have lived on the Island of Manhattan their whole lives. "Mr. Malfoy, the car is waiting."

He turned to face her, she was quite lovely indeed. "Thank you, Donna," he replied, flashing a disarming smile. "I'll be down in a few." He headed towards his desk, lifting the fine Italian leather jacket off the back of the chair. He slid it on, catching another reflection of himself in the glass windows that walled one side of the room. Standing there he saw a man he had begun to despise. A man he had hoped he wouldn't become but inevitably did. Raising a single blonde eyebrow he turned away from the vision with disgust and left the loft that doubled as his office.

Down on the street, he slid into the warm Benz. "Where to tonight, Mr. Malfoy?" the chauffer asked after shutting the door and resuming his place behind the wheel.

The blonde blankly looked out the window as they pulled from the curb. "NA."

"Very good, Mr. Malfoy, very good." He turned the car, headed toward 14^th street and made his way to 246 West.

Sitting in silence, he thought of his destination and why he was going. There was a party to celebrate his latest collection. The months before the art was finished had been stressful for the blonde and he wanted nothing more then to go home and sleep. Unfortunately, his dealer wanted to throw him a party before the collection of paintings and sculptures went up in the gallery he owned. He had only agreed to the party as long as they could have it at NA. He was fond of the nightclub, it reminded him of home. The Muggles thought of it as boudoir-chic, to him it was a reminder of the life he'd turned from. The velvet settees and antique-looking chandeliers were more reminiscent of a New Orleans brothel, but to him it had the Victorian flair of his mother's sitting room.

He allowed himself a brief smile as they pulled up in front of the club. The chauffer, whose name he hadn't bothered to learn, opened his door and he stood up. He looked down his nose at the crowd lined up along the wall as they waited to be granted entrance on the whim of Crabbe and Goyle look a likes. He may no longer practice magic like he used to, but he was still a Malfoy and held himself above the plebian factor.

A rather rotund man approached him and led him toward the velvet rope, holding it aside so he could enter. Another, rather rat-like man with an atrocious overbite and obvious lack of personal style led him to his favorite black and white striped chaise lounge. "Right this way, Mr. Malfoy. Your party is waiting for you."

He snickered, my party. These people have no idea who I am and yet they all want to be my friend. Why was this so fun, so important once, when now, it was nothing more then painful and annoying?

"DM! Over here!" A tall man with dirty blonde hair and thick black framed glasses waved at him. It was his dealer, Marcus Pilner. "Isn't this fantabulous? I mean, look at all the celebs that showed." He held a glass of red wine and motioned for Draco to sit.

Shooing away a toothpick of a girl, the blonde sat down and took the glass. "Marcus, I didn't come here to celebrity watch. I really would like to go home soon..."

Marcus ignored him and continued, "Look, Kate Hudson is over there. She bought Emeralds and seems to be interested in purchasing another piece from this new collection." He beamed at Draco like a father to a son. Unfortunately, Draco had never been 'beamed' at like that before and he squirmed slightly. Marcus went on, "Sean Connery wants a private viewing and Liam Neeson is interested in purchasing a piece for his new home. They're from your area, right? Practically neighbors."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Connery was born in Edinburgh up in Scotland and Neeson was born in Ballymena in Northern Ireland, hardly neighbors." He didn't know why he bothered to explain. To these Americans, if you have a dialect that is 'English' sounding, you all must be neighbors. That made about as much sense as the idiots who believe the state of New Jersey is all industrial factories and slums. He'd driven to Atlantic City many times and was amazed at the beauty you would see even from the Garden State Parkway. He once visited a little resort town called Seaside Heights, though he ended up spending more time in the nearby town called Toms River, doing something called crabbing. It was brilliant and he had a blast. He had promised himself that he'd go back, but he never had the chance.

Draco couldn't care less if the most famous people in the world bought his art, what mattered was that his art reflected his emotions and gave him an outlet. He found that the Muggles loved it because when they gazed upon a painting or sculpture; they would be drawn in, carried off to another world or place in time. Of course, they weren't really, but the magic that Draco did still use, he used in his art. The portrait that was sold to Kate Hudson was one of his favorites. It was a field of green wheat, almost emerald in color. It gave the Muggles the impression that it swayed, to Draco and other Wizards, two small boys would run through it, playing and just being a boys. He originally didn't want to sell it, but the memories it brought to the surface pounded in his chest until he couldn't stand it. It was the reason he had resumed correspondence with some of his old friends, so they wouldn't worry about him. But he could no longer stand to look at it so it was sold.

"Marcus, I really want to go home," he tried to stress this to his dealer.

"DM, this is your night. Enjoy it, pick up a lady, make her feel special and then kick her out in the morning." His oversized mouth split into a piranha's grin.

Pushing himself up from his seat, Draco only shook his head, not willing to get into just how wrong that last statement was. He meandered over to the bar, leaned against it and sighed deeply. Ordering a scotch he thought to himself, what I wouldn't give for a bloody butterbeer? He felt himself smile..

"I'm glad to see you are having a good time, Mr. Malfoy. One could hardly expect much less from someone such as yourself." A honeyed voice spoke, sending shivers and memories of cold damp dungeons through his body.

He turned fast to look at the man beside him, long black hair and an unmistakable hooked nose. "Professor Snape? What are you doing here? Not that I'm not pleased, but..." he cast an appraising eye at the man's attire, "...Muggle clothes never struck me as your bag."

Severus was wearing black trousers with a sage green, silk button down shirt. He actually looked quite well, considering the broken man that he was the last time Draco had seen him. "I'm not here to discuss Muggle fashion with you, Mr. Malfoy. I'm here because you are needed back home."

Draco slammed his empty glass onto the bar, "It's been nice...well, not speaking with you, but I think it's well past my bed time and I need my beauty sleep. One cannot maintain such handsome looks and perfect skin by losing sleep and drinking all night." He turned to leave when a hand on his arm stopped him.

"Malfoy, you're still a spoiled brat. Run away, you seem to do that well," Snape narrowed his eyes, daring Draco to say something to deny that. "All I ask is that you hear me out before you turn tail and disappear into the night once more." He released Draco and lifted his own glass, sipping it slowly.

Closing his eyes, Draco sighed. "Fine, what do you have to say? Make it fast, I left that world behind and I'm not too keen on returning anytime soon." He leaned against the bar again, calling for another scotch.

Severus eyed Draco's drink. "Thought you didn't overindulge," a smirk crawled across his lips.

Draco sneered, "Well, let us just say you're a bad influence on me." He took his drink and slammed it back. "So, out with it, what is so bloody important that you need to interrupt my shitty evening with crap news?"

"Language, Mr. Malfoy. I may no longer be your teacher, but you will keep a civil tongue with me." He shot a glare at the younger man.

Draco seemed quite pleased with himself; he enjoyed annoying the dark haired man. "How is Rose? I hope she's well adjusted, though Merlin only knows how, being raised by you alone."

Severus only glared harder. During Draco's sixth year, a bounty hunter by the name of Julia Lee had joined the Hogwarts staff as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Severus hated her with a passion, yet the woman kept being nice and kind to him. Dumbledore had forced the pair to work together and yet out of that unlikely situation, a relationship bloomed. The star-crossed couple were married and shortly after the birth of their daughter, Rose, Julia was killed. The Potions Master had never fully recovered from the loss; his only saving grace was the small infant whose survival rested in his hands alone. Severus now had a precocious eight year old that was the spitting image of her mother with her father's uncanny snark. He loved her and would have died of a broken heart if he hadn't had her. He finished off his vodka and spat out the words, "She is well."

"Fabulous, now why must I return? Is Voldemort back and St. Potter has finally realized he is a sad excuse for a savior?" His lip curled into a sneer. "Or better yet, Weasel killed Potter to feed his poor family and now there is no one to put things to right and you all need me." He stared off across the bar so Snape couldn't see the pain in his eyes.

"Last time I checked, Granger and Weasley consider you a friend. I can't presume to understand why, but they speak highly of you." He ignored the comments about the Dark Lord. "Potter is in trouble and Dumbledore believes you are the only person that can help him."

"Then why didn't the old man come here himself?" Draco yelled, catching the eye of some of the people near him. "I've been gone for six years and now they need me? No one bothered to look for me before, but now Potter is in trouble and now...NOW you need me?" He called over his shoulder as he stormed away from the bar, "Bugger off, Snape!"

Marcus saw him marching toward the door, looking to the bar to see who he was yelling at. There was no one there. "DM, where are you heading to?"

"Home, Marcus. Where I live." He continued to walk out the door and waited for his car to come around.

~*~

After a silent drive home, one in which he did nothing but fume over his encounter, he arrived at his apartment. Slamming the door shut behind him, Draco crossed the room and threw himself upon the sofa. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Bugger, bugger, bugger! Shite, damn, feck! Bloody arse head and hole!" he rambled, the profanity spilling from his mouth, uncontrollably. "Effing Snape? What the hell is with that?"

"I guess it wasn't one of my more brilliant moves, asking Severus to find you. Unfortunately, I have such difficulties blending in with the Muggles," a soft voice spoke.

Draco looked up and wasn't too surprised to see his former headmaster sitting on the leather chair. "Well, considering what a berk I've been to him, yes, I'd agree with your sentiments." Draco had been the one to tell his father about Snape's fling with the bounty hunter. It was the catalyst for a series of events that led to the poor woman's demise as well as the catalyst to show Draco that he no longer wanted to be his father's pawn. He closed his eyes and put his head back down, this time covering his eyes with his arm. "What has Potter done this time?" Draco could hear the rustle of the old man's robes and the unmistakable sound of a candy being unwrapped. The blonde cringed, some things never change.

"You are well aware of Harry's marriage to Ginevra Weasley, correct?" Dumbledore asked. If Draco bothered to look he'd see the twinkle disappear from the old man's eyes.

There was a flutter in his stomach, maybe he left the tart and he needs me. Oh, Draco that was horrible, but...

"I am aware of his choice."

"Good," he said, speaking softly. "Well, something happened and our young Ginny has perished. We are uncertain as to what caused her death, it is still under investigation. What we do know is that since her passing, Harry hasn't spoken to anyone. He has gone into himself and we are unable to reach him."

Draco sat up, his eyes flashed with anxiety, yet his voice betrayed nothing, "I don't see how this warrants you to bust back into my life. I'm very happy here and I have no wish to return to that world."

Albus offered a weak smile as he looked around Draco's apartment: stark white walls with black and chrome furniture. "Yes Draco, I can see how your current life is full." He motioned to the Spartan surroundings. "I had only hoped that you could help us reach him. You did it before, after the loss of his Godfather."

His breath caught in his throat as Draco nodded, "Yes, I did, but that doesn't mean I can do it again. If Har--Potter wanted me in his life, he would have written or visited. Pansy and Blaise know where I am and visit often. He doesn't want anything to do with me."

The headmaster raised a fluffy white eyebrow. "Draco, sometimes the ones we need the most are the ones we pretend aren't there." He stood up and placed an empty playing cards box upon the glass coffee table. "If you change your mind, you know what to do." With that, the old man disappeared.

Draco stared at the flimsy piece of cardboard, as though it would jump up and bite a chunk of his face off. He couldn't believe this night, it just kept getting better. Remembering a movie he'd watched with some of his Muggle acquaintances, he spoke out loud to no one. "Now I wait for the bloody ghost of Christmas yet to come." He pulled his knees toward his chest and continued to watch the ratty box as he thought. Eventually sleep claimed him and he slept on his sofa in his clothes.

~*~

Donna didn't understand, she thought that she had done something wrong and began to wrack her brains to think of the problem. "But Mr. Malfoy, are you sure you don't want me to come with you? It is my job as your personal assistant. What good can I be to you if I'm still here?"

Draco had been listening to her, but he was running back and forth trying to pack a bag for his trip. He had woken with a resolve to go and see what was wrong and then return, never looking back again. Then why the bloody hell are you packing so much, you berk? He stopped, his thoughts pulling him from his mad rush to pack all his hair care products. He shrugged and continued while he responded to his personal assistant. "Donna love, I do need you, but you cannot go where I'm heading. It's old family business and they are funny when it comes to the modern world. They wouldn't understand that I pay you to keep my life straight. They would assume we were married." He had emerged from the bathroom and stopped to kiss her on the cheek. He did adore her, but she really wasn't his type. "Now we really wouldn't want them thinking that, now would we?"

Donna stared at him blankly, thinking to herself that it wouldn't be all that bad to have people thinking she was married to him. She mentally slapped herself as she watched him look at the average size suitcase he had been packing and shake his head.

"This just won't do. Love, do I own anything larger? Like a trunk?" His silver eyes looked at her and she felt her insides melt.

She adored it when he called her love. "Y-yes let me send for it." She pulled out her cell phone and called the man in the basement who took care of the items stored down there. After a quick confirmation she followed Draco into the next room.

"Mr. Malfoy sir..." she began to say, but he stopped and lifted a hand.

"Love, how long have you worked for me? Two years? Please, call me Draco, but don't tell Marcus or anyone that that is what the D stands for." He pleaded with her, and then smiled as she nodded her head. "Now what were you about to ask?"

"Mr....um...Draco, sir, what should I tell Mr. Pilner? Obviously you won't be at the opening tonight." She was already dreading that conversation.

Draco stopped and gave her a cheeky grin. "Simply tell him to piss off and if that doesn't work tell him I'll cell him later." He gave her an appraising look; he was taken aback once again by just how pretty she was. He touched her cheek with his soft hands, "You are going to make some man very happy." He smiled before turning back to his work.

She was about to tell him that she was going with him no matter what, but the knock on the door disrupted that thought. Disappearing for a minute or two, a middle aged man entered with a hand-truck, pulling his old Hogwarts trunk along on it. Draco thanked the man and as soon as he left Donna asked him a question. "Hogwarts, that's a silly name. What is it?"

Draco wasn't sure how to answer, so he did what he'd been doing for six years, he lied. "Oh, it's nothing. I believe I inherited the trunk like that. Probably one of my nutty uncles probably wrote that." He flashed her a grin, "See, another reason to not be married to me, with the lack of sanity in my family I'm amazed I can use the loo without assistance." He waggled his eyebrows. In six years, this woman was the only Muggle, only person he felt completely comfortable with. Too bad he couldn't really love her.

"Well, if you'll excuse me love, I am going to get changed before I leave." He shooed her out of the room.

Before the door shut she said, "When you're finished, I'll have the doorman come up for your trunk."

Shutting the door behind him, he hurried over to a painting that hung over the sofa of the loft-like room. Pushing it aside to reveal a rather un-Muggle safe, it was only opened by sensing the aura of its owner. This was made for him when he was still a student and he had used it often. House of Slytherin my have some honor, but when it came down to it, they were mostly a bunch of thieves and grifters. He passed his hand over the stunning green jewel and the stone turned blue, there was a click and the ironwood door opened. Inside, on a velvet tray of green, sat his wand. He only took it out to create his art, but he knew he couldn't return home without it. He lifted the long thin wooden shaft and admired hits dark beauty. It was always like a homecoming to him to hold it; he could feel his magic swirling about inside of him, ready to be used. He carried it over to his bed, so that he could get changed before he left.

It was actually quite odd, his change of heart. Last night he had been so adamant about not going back. Hell could freeze over and pigs could fly and he knew he would never return to that life. He zipped up his trousers and pulled on his leather jacket, tucking his wand in the special pocket designed for the wooden object and pulled his trunk over to the portkey. Draco lifted the playing card box and felt the pull behind his navel. Just before he disappeared he said, "Don your ice skates, Satan, and watch out for pig shit from above."

Just as he and his trunk vanished, Donna burst into the room. "Mr...um, Draco?" She looked about the empty room, shocked that he was not there and neither was his trunk. This was not normal and she knew she had to find him. Picking up her cell phone she called Marcus Pilner. "Sir, Mr. Malfoy is missing. He was in his rooms and now he's not. Yes, sir...when I arrived this morning he was rambling about going to the U.K. and ...yes, sir... I was just outside the door, so I know he didn't leave that way. No, sir...the windows are all still intact and besides, his room is on the seventeenth floor. Okay sir, I'll call the police right now."

~*~

The world rushed into focus as Draco's feet touched earth. He regained his bearings and then sat down hard on his trunk. "I'm in hell." He shook the empty box, "Take me back! Take me back, now! It's a mistake; I shouldn't have even touched you!"

Throwing the offending cardboard to the grass, he rested his chin in his hands. His eyes traveled over the terrain, taking in his surroundings. It was just as he remembered, though considerably less bloody since his last visit. He sat smack dab in the center of the Quidditch pitch.

He then stood up and climbed atop his trunk, yelling at the top of his lungs. "I'm not leaving this spot until someone comes and sends me back home! I do not want to be here, it's a mistake! Send me home! NOW!"

~*~

"Albus, how long do you think he can keep this up?" asked the distinct Scottish dialect of the Deputy Headmistress. Minerva turned from the window in Dumbledore's office and resumed her seat by the small table set with tea.

Blue eyes twinkled as the Albus spoke, "I sent Dobby down to retrieve him. I think after screaming for two hours, he should be calm enough to speak with us."

Soon enough, a soft knock announced the arrival of the house-elf and the extremely disheveled Malfoy. Albus smiled and offered the young blonde a seat, which Draco took, grudgingly. "I see you are feeling much better, Mr. Malfoy. I trust that your trip went well?"

Draco narrowed his eyes and if looks could kill, Albus Dumbledore would have been dead, reborn and murdered once again. He cleared his sore throat and whispered, "Why the hell am I here?"

"Dear boy, I thought I told you last night, to help Harry." The old man's eyes glimmered with mischief.

Trying with all his might to maintain some semblance of control over his anger, it didn't work. "Oh bloody effing hell! I know why I'm here...in general. My question is why am I here? Here, as in, this ruddy castle. Here, as in, the source of my nightmares. Here, as in, the beginning of the end of my life." He could not believe this, first they fool him into leaving his sanctuary and now they taunt him.

"That is quite enough, Mr. Malfoy." McGonagall glared at him. "Obviously, living among the Muggles has caused you to lose the simple manners you were raised with."

He looked at her as if she had gone mad. "Which manners would that be? The ones that taught me that I was better then everyone, or the manners that told me all Mudbloods must die?" Draco said, giving her a challenging look.

She pulled her shawl tighter as she stood. "Albus, it was nice having tea with you, but I have some essays to grade. I shall see you in the Great Hall for supper." She then took her leave, muttering about insolence and disrespect under her breath.

Albus only watched her leave. "You shouldn't upset her like that, Mr. Malfoy. It is counter-productive. Tea?" He leaned forward to prepare a cup for the younger man. He resumed speaking as though tea time with Draco Malfoy was an everyday occurrence. "It's mint tea, I keep a special store of it for just these occasions. I find that, not only does the mint settle the stomach, it soothes the nerves." He handed Draco his cup and offered him a biscuit.

Draco shook his head and sipped the tea, hoping that the old man spoke the truth and he would be able to calm down. And if this doesn't work, I think I have a bottle of brandy in my trunk.

Albus sighed, his voice taking a more serious tone. "Draco, I understand that this is not easy for you. I know you left this world for reasons that are not my business. But what I do know is that you care enough about Harry to not want him to suffer as he does. Since Ginny's passing he has refused to speak or eat. If it wasn't for the fact that he gets out of bed, we would swear he'd drifted into a coma. He will not acknowledge anyone; he won't even look us in the eye. This is worse then when Sirius was lost." The old man looked tired, Draco noted. "I believe he is suffering from guilt."

Draco raised an eyebrow at that comment. "How did Ginny die?" He absently stirred his tea as he watched Dumbledore's eyes. He could tell there was a conflict going on inside the older wizard's head.

"They were in Cairo, visiting Ginny's eldest brother. He had taken them to work with him and the tomb they opened..." he broke off, not quite sure how to word this. "What do you know of the Egyptian Gods?"

The young blonde was taken aback; he felt that this question was a bit out of the ordinary. "I've studied the subject a bit, why?"

"Have you ever heard of the goddess Ammut?"

"Yes, of course. Ammut was a key figure in the Book of the Dead. During the judgment of the deceased, the heart is weighed against the feather of Maat. It was Ammut who would devour the souls of those whose hearts proved heavier than Maat. This was a terrifying prospect for the ancient Egyptians. It meant the end of existence. They would never meet Osiris and live forever in the Fields of Peace." He thought for a moment, "What does this have to do with Ginny's death?"

"When the tomb was opened, something..." again, Albus was at a loss for words. "...Bill explained it as if Dementors rushed them, and when everything returned to normal, Harry was unconscious and Ginny was dead." He looked sadder then before.

Draco looked out of the window, thinking the situation thru. Something didn't sound right. "Where was this tomb located?"

Albus opened his mouth to speak, when Madam Pomfrey's head appeared in the fireplace. "Albus! Albus come quick. It's Harry, he's taking a fit."

Draco was at the fireplace before the mediwitch could finish her sentence. The pair floo'ed into the Hospital wing and right smack into Harry's fit.

Beds were overturned, beakers smashed, bed pans dented. It was horrible, and in the middle of it all stood a very angry Harry Potter. Draco's breath caught in his throat at the sight of the angry young man. Harry's emerald eyes were flashing as if looking for an unseen enemy. His brow was furrowed and his messy black hair was even messier.

Albus rushed to Pomfrey's side as he ushered her out of the room and to safety. Over his shoulder he gave Draco a pleading look. The blonde nodded and pulled his wand out, just in case.

"Oiy, Potter! What the hell do you think you're doing?" He called and was quite amazed at how easily he stepped back into his old persona. "You do realize I'm not cleaning up after you this time. You spoiled, self-centered, egotistical prat!"

Harry turned to face him. Well, that wasn't quite right; he looked thru Draco, not seeing the blonde. He had a glass jar in one hand and a bedpan in the other. Draco could see that there was blood dripping from the one holding the jar.

Slowly, he approached Harry. "C'mon, Harry. You cut yourself, now is this how the Savior of the Wizarding world behaves? Because, if it is, then I'm glad I moved to New York. At least there, if you get cut it's because you pissed off a wino and not because you are being a self loathing fool." He went to take Harry's bleeding hand and ducked the swing from the one with the metal bedpan. "Silly, I taught you that. Never trust anyone, just because you shake a man's hand doesn't mean you shouldn't watch his other for a knife."

Harry suddenly collapsed, crumpling to the floor, his body shaking with silent sobs. Draco wasn't sure if he should console him or just tend to his wounds. He went for the former and gently took Harry's injured hand, pointing his wand to the wound and muttering a spell he didn't even realize he remembered. "Medicor!" He watched as the cut closed and healed over. "Now let us clean up this mess before Pomfrey returns and gives us detention." He stopped, realizing what he'd just said and shook his head. "Sorry, force of habit."

He realized Harry was not about to move so he sighed and bent over to hitch him up to stand with him. "Come on you pain in my arse. Always making my life difficult, always going out of your way to spread horrible rumors about me, always...well no that would be me spreading the rumors about you. I guess we're even then." He had managed to get Harry onto one of the few beds that had not been overturned. He helped him lie down and covered him with a blanket.

Draco sat down on the next bed, watching the raven-haired young man. "Damn it Harry, what did you get yourself into this time? I don't know if I can help you again. There is no war, I have no rallying speeches. I'm not angry with you...well I'm not as angry with you." He leaned over and brushed hair away from his eyes, eyes that rarely blinked and only stared ahead. Draco had missed that face, the fire that would burn behind those emerald eyes when ideas came to him. He missed the contagious silliness that was sometimes rare, but always fun. Mostly, he missed just sitting and talking for hours about everything and nothing all at once. "I'm sorry she's dead, Harry. I'm sorry you're hurting. Mostly, I'm sorry that I never said goodbye."

There was still no reaction, only the silent stare and the soft breathing of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Draco stood up, straightening his trousers. "I best start cleaning all this up, seeing as how you're not likely to be doing it yourself. I should also look for that barmy old codger and see where I'll be staying during my tour of hell."

He attempted to walk away from the bed when a soft voice whispered to him. "Stay with me."