Pale Winter

Pale Winter 2 Harry shrugged into his school robe and threw his red and gold striped scarf around his neck. It was a cold day, though not raining yet, at least. He didn't think he'd have to go outside to find Draco, but maybe Draco would surprise him today.

He hoped Draco would surprise him today.

He adjusted the scarf and straightened his robes. He realized suddenly that he'd have to buy clothes next year; it was his last year at Hogwarts and he couldn't very well go out into the world wearing school robes. He'd have to find something.

Or then again, maybe he wouldn't. Don't, he thought. Don't think like that. He smiled briefly at the relevant line: Life's too short for unhappy thoughts. Right, very helpful. Though it actually was, in an odd sort of way, hearing it spoken as he did in Ron's voice. It was a very Ron sort of thing to say. He'd thought his sense of humour had become a bit morbid lately and had been sure it was due to Draco's influence, but maybe he was wrong about that. Another day that realisation might have been painful; thoughts of Ron usually were. He could barely stand to hear the words 'Quidditch Cup' anymore. Whenever he heard them, he saw Ron back in first year, looking into the Mirror of Erised, dreaming of being Quidditch Captain and Head Boy.

Do you think this mirror shows the future?

How can it, Ron? You didn't even live to see your seventh year.

Today he thought of Ron, and it strengthened his resolve. So much lost already, and the war barely begun.

Harry walked carefully down the dormitory stairs, not wanting to attract attention. The Common Room was full, a large group of second years playing Exploding Snap in front of the fire, and pairs of students spread about talking quietly. Hermione sat in a large armchair on the other side of the room, her books spread on the floor around her feet. She was studying for NEWTS; she was just about the only one who was. I have to do it, Harry, she had told him once. I have to believe there's going to be life after the war, and for life after the war, I'll need these marks.

Funny, for me it's the opposite, he had thought at the time. But he hadn't said anything. He rather thought Hermione knew that anyway. She hadn't tried to bully him into studying with her. Or maybe she just thought Draco would be jealous, and she was probably right. Draco tended to be a bit possessive. She had been rather tolerant of Draco's claims on his time this last year; there had hardly even been a discussion. When he'd finally admitted last year - after making her swear never to tell Ron - who it was he was sneaking out after lights out to see, she had simply fixed him with a serious stare and said, "Do whatever you need to do, Harry."

Right. And so now he was. Doing what he needed to do.

Harry made it through the Common Room with no more distraction than a half-hearted, "Hiya, Harry" from Neville and an absent-minded wave from Hermione. He slipped out the portrait hole and headed towards the south tower.

He was glad he'd worn his scarf. The castle was chilly as he made his way up the stairways to the fourth floor, which connected with the south wing. There was a damp, dreary feel to the day; it was a good day to be tucked up in an armchair studying the Goblin Rebellions of the late medieval. Harry almost turned back. He could almost feel the warmth of the Common Room, hear the quiet conversations. He wanted nothing more than to go back and join them, commiserate about England's loss in the European Cup and wonder what Zonko's had in new. Sit by the fire and pretend to feel safe.

No, that wasn't true. He did want something more, and that was why he was wandering around a chilly castle. What he wanted was an end to uncertainty. He wanted to live his own life, to live as just Harry, discussing Quidditch and Zonko's, but he couldn't do that when his life was little more than a weapon aimed at his closest friends. No longer, he thought. Not after today.

Harry wasn't sure exactly what destroying Voldemort would entail, but after the latest Order meeting, he had a fair idea. The magic necessary to strike at Voldemort and cause him harm was difficult but not impossible - as he knew first hand. The magic required to undo Voldemort, to truly remove him as a threat: this was the oldest kind of magic, and it required sacrifice. The Order had not come to an agreement on how to carry out the mission, but Harry had looked over at Dumbledore and known how it would be done. The information he needed had all been given in the meeting; this time he didn't even need Hermione there to piece it together for him.

He wished sometimes that he didn't know, that he were watching this all from a distance, thinking, "Someone should do something", and not doing anything. Then again, if it was going to be someone, better him than anyone else. He knew the burden of ending Voldemort's threat was his. He remembered the moment - over a year ago now - when the burden had passed to him, the weight of it leaving Dumbledore's eyes to settle into his own. But as the responsibility fell onto his shoulders, he felt it pull him together, rather than drag him down. He felt decisive and ... found, as if he had not so much accepted a burden, but acknowledged one that was already his, and always had been. In resignation and acceptance, Harry Potter had found strength. That autumn evening in Dumbledore's office, the axis of the wizarding world had shifted, though at first only he and Dumbledore knew it.

The very first thing Harry had done with his newfound sense of purpose was seek out Draco Malfoy, to put an end to the wasteful feud of all their school years. Draco no doubt thought their encounter after that Slytherin Quidditch practice in sixth year was all his own doing: Draco Malfoy seducing the famous Boy Hero for his own nefarious purposes. Harry let him think so. It was certainly true that wasn't quite what he had in mind when he asked to speak to Draco after practice that day.

It was also true that it was something he'd considered, but discarded as impractical, unlikely to succeed. Well, Harry had always said he liked surprises.

Besides, Draco wasn't one for being corrected, as Harry liked to tell himself when he felt a bit guilty for letting Draco carry on under a misconception rather than telling him the complete truth about something. He did love Draco; he knew he did - but not more than he loved the idea of justice, or the possibility of a world free from Voldemort. It was that simple. Harry suspected Draco felt differently, and maybe that wasn't fair to Draco. But after losing his parents and his best friend to a homicidal Dark Wizard, Harry didn't see 'fair' as playing a big part in the world he lived in.

Maybe if he told himself that enough times, he would really believe it. It hadn't worked yet, but you never knew.

The door to the unused classroom was locked when he arrived. He opened it with a quick spell and went inside. Draco was already there, as he had expected. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, watching Draco look out the window, lost in thought. The pale sunlight of a winter afteroon cast an eerie glow to his features, making him seem some dangerous, otherworldly creature. And he was dangerous, to Harry at the very least, and anyone dangerous to Harry was in the long run a threat to everyone else.

Harry knew Draco didn't understand this, didn't see a clear difference between a world in the Light and a world ruled by Dark, so long as he himself figured highly in either. But you could only play both sides against each other for so long, and now time was up. Harry needed to be able to act without worrying about Draco. He probably could have just left and hoped Draco would know nothing until later, would assume he missed their regular meeting to do homework or play Snap with his friends, but something wouldn't let him. He suspected part of him just wanted to see Draco one last time. Another part of him was no doubt desperately hoping for a last minute conversion: yes, Harry, you're right. Of course I'll come with you. But he had to know. He couldn't be wondering about it later, when it would be necessary to do other things exactly right.

"Malfoy," he said, their standard public greeting. He walked into the room, toward the window, letting the door fall shut behind him.

In the pale winter light Draco was also beautiful; it wasn't something Harry could ever fail to notice. The bleak winter sunlight suited him as much as the light of any other season. Harry remembered the last rays of red-golden light casting a rosy tinge on Malfoy's hair that evening after the Slytherin Quidditch practice, more than a year before. He had approached Malfoy, who was flanked as ever by Crabbe and Goyle. They had looked at him with suspicion as he addressed Draco.

"Malfoy, could I have a word?"

"Sure, Potter. The word is no."

"Give it a rest, Malfoy. I just want to talk to you for a minute." He looked at Crabbe and Goyle. "Preferably alone, though if you're afraid of me, of course..."

Draco smirked. "The answer is going to be no, Potter, whether they're here or not. No, I won't switch to an earlier practice time so you lot can have the pitch, no I won't stop making nasty comments about your Mudblood friends, no I won't join you in your noble fight against the Dark Lord, and no - "

"All I said was that I wanted to talk to you. That's it. Not ask you to change Quidditch practice or any other favours. If that's too terrifying an idea, then I'll just-"

Draco sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine," he said airily. "I'll speak with you. No need to pretend to false bravery Potter - you'll tarnish your Boy Hero image, you know." He turned to Crabbe and Goyle, who were snickering at Malfoy's wit, and nodded. They walked off back towards the castle, still laughing. Harry had felt the comment was really not all that clever.

Draco turned back to him with a haughty look, leaning back against the door to the Quidditch changing rooms."Well, then, Potter, what is it? This little conversation where you're really not going to ask me a favour."

Harry knew he was there to end this feud with Malfoy, but what had seemed like such a good idea in Dumbledore's office, was turning out a lot harder to put into practice. The thing he'd forgotten up in Dumbledore's office - and who knew how he'd forgotten it - was that Draco Malfoy was an irritating prick. There was a reason they had gotten into so many duels, and he was facing it right now.

"Look, Malfoy," he said brusquely, "what I wanted was to call a - a truce of sorts."

"I told you this would be you asking me a favour."

"Malfoy," Harry said through clenched teeth, "I'm sure it takes no more restraint for you to keep from harrassing me than it takes for me not to hit you right now. Believe me, I do understand the temptation."

Malfoy straightened and pulled away from the door, as if he were going to walk off to the castle after Crabbe and Goyle. "No, Potter, I don't think you do."

"You don't think I want to hit you right now? Well, I hope you're not taking a NEWT in Divination then."

"Hilarious, Potter. No, I meant, I don't think you understand temptation." Draco walked slowly toward Harry. "Because Boy Heroes don't have that problem," he said bitterly. "Boy Heroes always live a straightforward life: they get sorted into Gryffindor, do brave but stupid things that always turn out best in the end. They don't doubt themselves. They win the House Cup without even trying. They have trusty sidekicks and good intuition. They don't give into the temptation to be something or someone else because they never feel it." Malfoy's voice grew quieter as he walked closer to Harry. "Don't lecture on me on temptation, Potter," he said in a low, deadly voice as he stopped right next to Harry. "Don't even think about it." He was looking at Harry with one of the more hateful expressions Harry had ever seen directed at him, and that was quite an accomplishment considering Malfoy's history of hateful expressions. Then he started to walk off. Harry caught his arm, and Malfoy looked at the hand on his arm in momentary surprise.

"Malfoy, it doesn't have to be like this," Harry said earnestly. "This endless cycle of spiteful comments. It's clear from what you say that you don't know me at all, and maybe you don't want to. And that's fine. But can't we just ... steer clear of one another?"

Malfoy removed Harry's hand from his arm and looked up from his arm into Harry's eyes.

"No, Potter," he said quietly. "I can't. Or I won't." He shrugged and looked away. "It would be the same as joining your side - or that's what everyone would think anyway, and what else really matters? Yeah, it would be convenient for you - but unfortunately, it would be suicidal for me. Sorry, the answer is still no."

Harry was feeling desperate. He clearly hadn't thought this through well enough. And he wasn't thinking all that clearly at the moment either. He had a goal, that he knew. At least he had had a goal.

"Then join me, Malfoy."

Malfoy just laughed. Oddly, the hateful expression was gone. "You really are something else, Potter. Join you, just like that. Betray my family and my name, lose my fortune, all to join the losing side. You just don't get it, do you?"

"It isn't the losing side, Malfoy."

"You mean, it hasn't lost yet. No. But it will, sooner or later."

"You could be just as important to our side as to your father's - and don't tell me you don't feel trapped by his choices and his actions - what he does reflects on you, for better or for worse. Don't you want to be your own person, Malfoy?"

Malfoy wasn't pleased with the reference to his father.

"I already am my own person, Potter," he snapped. "Just because you're playing the role you were assigned doesn't mean everyone else has to. So you just carry on with your pathetic little quest and your pathetic little friends. I won't join you and the Mudbloods, not even for-"

Draco was yelling and broke off suddenly, turning away.

"Not even for what, Malfoy?"

Draco had turned back then, and there was a fey light in his eyes. Harry stepped back involuntarily, but Draco just smiled at him, seemingly amused. He stepped closer to Harry, hesitantly reached a hand up and touched his cheek. He leaned forward and kissed Harry, at first a gentle brush of lips against Harry's own, and then a deeper kiss, full of longing. And then he stepped back. "Not even for that," he said, and Harry was sure there was a hint of sadness in the way he said it, despite the contemptuous sneer now firmly back in place. Draco turned around and started walking back to the castle. He hadn't gone ten steps when Harry called after him.

"Are you sure?"

Draco stopped. He didn't turn around, but he stopped. Harry walked after him.

Was it really over a year ago? Harry sometimes felt they were in the same place they had been that first day. It was still the same argument as ever. Well, today it would end, for good if the Order was right about Voldemort appearing near Hogsmeade. And then if...well, that was a useless train of thought. He was pretty sure there wasn't going to be 'and then', for him at least. If there was one thing he'd learned in ten years in the Dursleys' cupboard, it was not to wish for impossible things. Though a rebellious voice in the back of his mind pointed out, 'Yet impossible things happened - here you are Hogwarts.' And there was Draco, another impossibility, framed in the light of the window. Here, in this room, was the first obstacle of the day. Harry would feel bad about leaving Hermione behind, and he knew Hermione would be upset, but he also knew she would understand why. Understanding things was, after all, Hermione's great talent.

Draco would not understand. He had not, in an entire year of Harry's efforts to bring the point across, understood. Draco could make Harry laugh, or yell with fury, with no effort at all, but for anything more personal, he always treated him as a foreign country, full of incomprehensible ideas and customs, something to be admired from afar, visited only briefly, never truly understood. When they were together in intimacy, there was no need for language or ideas, nothing to separate them. In the harsh light of day, they remained worlds apart. Part of that was probably due to their keeping up the Potter-Malfoy rivalry from their earlier years at Hogwarts. At first, it had seemed the best idea; this was not a relationship that could become public knowledge without hurting them both. Keeping a distance had made it easier to be the same antagonistic Malfoy and Potter as always, and then it had become habit, part of how they were. But now it wouldn't matter what other people thought, and Harry wished he knew how to bridge the distance between them, make Draco understand.

Draco turned and looked at him, smiled slightly. "Potter," he acknowledged. Harry stared out the window, wishing he hadn't come to the tower. He should have just left. And risk Draco telling someone you were missing? And not give Draco a last chance? Anyway, here he was, he had to go through with it now.

"I thought you were going into Hogsmeade today, Malfoy. Change your mind?" Harry focused on Draco, smiling a little to mask his worry, willing him to understand. This is the last thing I can do for you, Draco. If I can even do it.

"No, not at all," Malfoy replied with a complete lack of concern. "I'm going in a bit later. Pansy's robe shopping today, you know, so I thought I'd better not be along when that started. Took all day last time."

This is not like last time, Malfoy. Harry wanted to scream that, but he couldn't. Draco would get worried, or scared, and Draco scared was dangerous. How could he keep him calm, and yet let him know...? He really should have planned his words a bit more, to convey the message but not give away the game. It was just... Harry knew that if he'd thought about it any more, he wouldn't have done it at all, and where would that leave Draco?

Harry chuckled, a little uneasily. Laughter felt unnatural today. "Right, Malfoy," he said. "You know, I've got permission from Dumbledore to go." So it won't be like last time at all, me sneaking out to Hogsmeade in that cloak, waiting at the end of the village for you and Pansy to finish that interminable shopping of hers. This time is different, Draco. Hear it, please. "It's a bit of an - errand. Do you want to come along?"

"With you?" Malfoy said disdainfully. "Oh, that would be a great idea. Head down to the Three Broomsticks, go a few rounds of mead and proclaim our undying love to the whole world?"

He either will understand, or he won't.

"Yeah," Harry said slowly, "something like that."

"Are you mad, Potter?" Malfoy leaned back against the window. "Don't take this the wrong way, but if you're losing your marbles, could you let me know? I'd rather clear out before the hexes start flying." He said it lightly, with a bit of a smirk.

Harry frowned and looked past Malfoy out the window. That was it then; the answer was no. He wouldn't cry; he wouldn't yell at Draco. He wouldn't. He wouldn't regret this.

Well, not for long anyway. There's one bright spot.

"So that's how it is?" he heard himself ask. He felt far away from the castle now, already on his way into Hogsmeade and whatever awaited him there.

"That's how it has to be, Potter. You know that."

Harry shrugged. He knew it didn't. On some level, he thought even Draco knew it didn't have to be like that. Or maybe now it did. Maybe it was too late now anyway.

"Fine, Malfoy." He turned his eyes back to Draco; he felt empty and hollow, as if all his caring - and its sister emotion, worry - had drained out of him. He couldn't even feel properly angry. "I'd better go then." He turned to go and lock the door; he should have done that at the beginning, should have known Draco wouldn't just follow him out of there and into Hogsmeade. He wished that hope were a virtue instead of a liability; he seemed to have an embarrassing amount of it.

Draco slid gracefully off the window ledge and walked over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't be upset, now," he said. "You know it would be unwise to change things. You agreed before that being seen together like that in public wouldn't help either of us. Nothing's different now." He ran his hand along Harry's jaw. Harry leaned into the caress; he couldn't help it.

It was with that touch that the dam broke; the wall that had been holding back his emotions crumbled, and all the rage and helplessness he felt broke free. He grabbed Malfoy by the collar of his robes and threw him against the wall. Distantly, through a haze of anger and hurt, he heard Malfoy's head hit the stone wall of the tower room, and knew that if he didn't control himself, he would kill Malfoy, and that he shouldn't do that. A curtain fell between him and rage. He took a deep breath - he was calm now, he would just finish what he had to do and then he would go - and looked at Malfoy. Draco looked terrified, and Harry knew he would try to fight him. His wand was out in an instant; he disarmed Malfoy, immobilized him, before Draco could even reach his wand. He realized then that he was holding Draco, who was looking at him out of widened eyes beginning to fill with tears. He had never seen Draco so scared, or so - confused. Harry realized then that Draco didn't understand at all, and now it was too late to explain. And he wasn't sure there was any reason to explain. Would it do any good to say to Draco, "I loved you more than anyone I've ever known or dreamed of, but it wasn't enough. I loved you more than anything but life itself, and now life itself has claimed me." Would it matter at all? If he at least knew where Malfoy stood and what he felt, he could have said something helpful, something worth remembering. But he had only guesses to go on. Maybe it was all anyone ever had.

"I gave you every chance, Draco. Every chance I could. Remember that," he whispered.

He was kneeling over Draco, looking into his tear-filled eyes and trying not to think of all that could have been but hadn't. His rage was gone, completely spent. He reminded himself that he had plans for the day, and those plans had been made knowing that he would, one way or another, lose Draco this day. It didn't make him feel better. He felt like a traitor, like he was betraying Draco, betraying the only trust Draco had ever offered anyone. He knew he wasn't. He knew he was really saving Draco from himself, putting him in a position where he couldn't choose or be forced to betray Harry. Putting him in a position where he could be saved, by either side, really, if he were lucky and if he played it smart. But that's not what it felt like; it felt like betrayal. And Harry was pretty damn sure Draco didn't feel saved. Maybe he would understand, later, in a clearer moment. Maybe. Harry touched his lips to Draco's, a soft brush of a kiss like their first, and then stood up.

He had to get out of there. Apart from today's plan being a little time sensitive, he knew that if he stayed there any longer he would break down and undo the spells, undo it all, not go into Hogsmeade at all, and that wouldn't be good.

Harry picked up Draco's wand from where it had fallen out of his robes onto the floor and pocketed it to drop in Dumbledore's office before he left. Dumbledore would ensure that Draco was treated fairly, he was confident of that. Harry walked quickly to the door, not allowing himself to look back. He fixed in his mind the image of Draco framed in the window, pale light spilling over his features, illuminating his white-blonde hair, shining in the dreary stone room with a defiant brilliance. He didn't look at the prone form on the stone floor, closed the door quickly on his present and his past, and went to face the future.