Alone

They stand alone in the room, silver and emerald gazes interlocked in silent communication.

"I want something from you," Harry Potter breaks the silence with after several intense minutes, "something only you can give me."

Pale blond brows rise in achingly sarcastic amusement. "What's that, Potter, a passionate night of frenzied fornication with the Slytherin Sex God?"

"Don't be crude, Malfoy." Irritation glitters in Harry's eyes briefly before being replaced with some other nameless emotion.

"Then what do you want, hmm? And what could it possibly be that you think that I would grant you, considering our rather... disagreeable history?"

The dark-haired boy -- no, young man, for war ages a body more than anything -- of nineteen looks thoughtful but at the same time, deeper undercurrents of hopelessness emanates from his entire being. "Because I know you would enjoy this. That's why I am asking this of you." He hesitates.

"Then spit it out, Potter. Maybe I'll be generous for once and give you this," Draco cedes with a calculating tone, and then adds, almost as an afterthought, "as a last request before the Dark Lord completely obliterates you, of course."

With a newfound confidence, Harry Potter stares directly into the eyes of his enemy, his antithesis, and says clearly and resolutely, "I want you to kill me."

Not as firm as he seemed a moment ago, the tow-headed Slytherin takes much longer to find his voice. "Why? Tired of carrying the Boy Who Lived title? Crumbling under the heavy mantle of Hero of the Wizarding World?" His eyes adopt a colder mocking glare, his voice drops to subzero temperatures, infiltrating the room with wintry chill. "Or are you just trying to save yourself the embarrassment of begging for your pathetic life later, when you face Lord Voldemort?"

Harry's gaze drops from the other's eyes to settle on the toe of his enemy's very shiny, and likely very expensive, black dragonhide boots, and his voice gains strength with the act. "Know this, Malfoy: I will kill that disgusting parody of a man."

"Then why, Potter? Enlighten me of your brilliant reasoning." False sincerity oozes from his last jibe.

"Bec--" the tenor cracks and the man winces in reaction. Emerald eyes shift from Malfoy's well-polished shoes to the far left corner behind him and Harry tries again to vocalize his thoughts. "Because... because I won't be needed anymore. Because after Voldemort, I won't have to care about anything, and I won't. There's no point."

He still stares intently at the junction of the walls and floor and doesn't notice the quick, silent steps that brings Malfoy's cloaked figure into his line of vision. A strong hand grips his chin and tugs his face to tilt upward for inspection. Surprisingly, there is no resistance and Harry submits himself to be guided by the aristocratic fingers grasping him like a doll. But Harry, either truly unwilling or perversely aggravating the blonde, refuses to look into Malfoy's eyes and instead focuses on the lobe and curves of Draco's left ear.

"Is that all that you're basing your request on? You're pathetic, Potter." Before the words even fully form, Malfoy flicks his wrist powerfully, pushing the uncharacteristically lifeless man down to the dusty ground. In one smooth, practiced movement, his wand is in his hand and pointed at the spot on Harry's chest beneath which his heart pumps away. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just turn you over to Voldemort now and save myself the embarrassment of dirtying my hands with your weakling blood."

"You can't."

Silence rings in the wake of the sedentary man's simple statement. Then Draco scoffs. "And what in bloody hell gave you that idea?"

Now finding his range of view lowered due to his current position, the eyes beneath the ink-black hair transfix themselves onto the tip of Malfoy's wand. "I know you, Malfoy. I know that, if you had intended to do as you say at all, you would have done so already and I would be dead by now." And reducing his voice to a barely audible whisper, Harry --remorsefully, bitterly? -- asks, "But I'm not dead yet, am I?"

The point he was fixated on suddenly moves forward, and as it disappears from his line of sight, makes its presence known by gently brushing against the underside of Harry's jaw. The wand's holder follows the motion downward and Draco Malfoy's pointed chin fills the sitting boy's field of vision. His voice, as harshly grating as it is quietly menacing, hisses the words out. "Do not presume to know the first thing about me, Potter." Irked that those green eyes still refuse to meet his own grey ones, he snaps, "Are you so very frightened?"

When no answer presents itself, the tow-headed young man scoffs. "Was there something else you wanted to waste my time with or may I go now?" Pools of sarcasm collect on the dusty floor as it drips from Draco's words.

Turning to head out the door back to his master's side, Draco walks slowly, as if waiting for some unseen signal.

"You want to know why?"

/Potter is so predictable, so easy to manipulate./

With some leftover tone of mockery, he turns again to face the other and flippantly remarks, "No, I don't, which is why I asked 'Why' so very nicely."

Then, in a blur of motion, Harry's gaze locks onto the Slytherin's eyes, and he rises from his position on the ground to stand firm once again, all fluid grace and poise. Malfoy is stunned by the very unexpected elegance.

"I need you to kill me after all of this is over because I won't be able to finish this. I'll kill Voldemort. I'll kill your father. I'll kill all the Death Eaters myself if I must. But I won't kill you. So you, Draco Malfoy, must kill me."

Subdued and hesitant, Malfoy asks tentatively, "Why not, Harry Potter? Why won't you kill me?"

Staring into silvered irises, Harry Potter answers. "I can't kill you." He takes a deep breath, as if he is about to jump into the abyss. "Because I don't hate you."

Silence once again reigns in the dusty room. The green eyes speak of such conviction behind the statement that Draco seems to drown in their verdant depths, suffocate as Harry's simple yet so complex declaration surrounds him, invading his senses. His world shatters with the breaking of a heart he does not think he has.

"Yes."

The word is whispered and quiet, but reverberates as loudly as a divine voice in the dead stillness. It hangs in the air like a mist, a cloud of mellifluous vibrations. It carries the weight of their accumulated lives. Their many fights and few comfortably silent detentions; their wills clashing in their directed glares in the Great Hall at meal times; tricks each has played on the other over the years. Madam Malkin's. The train. Potions. Battlefields. One shining moment stands out from the rest. The moment that never happened.

<

They understand each other.

No thoughts of last names touch their minds as they gaze into each other's souls through the portals of their eyes. The moonlight, in cold contrast, makes Harry's verdant gaze soft and longing, and Draco's stormy irises warm and sorrowful. Time ceases to be as they stand locked.

A clock chimes twice somewhere within the depths of the old castle, reviving the boys, now almost men, from their reveries. Harry turns to lead the way to the giant doors that guard the castle's entrance. Draco follows. At the threshold, they, for the first and last time, embrace as brothers or lovers would, holding on tightly as if to meld into one. Parting, Harry brushes the slightest kiss upon Draco's lips.

Draco is not shocked, but resigned. He returns the gesture. Then he is gone, walking with his possessions down the winding steps and hill past the castle's wards and spells. Harry watches his back, enshrouded in the customary black robes of the school's uniform, as Draco disappears into the dark and velveteen night.

He whispers, "Survive," and the word is lost to the vastness of the empty, black skies. But he knows that Draco hears him, and he smiles sadly. It is the last time he smiles.>>

Now, moments before the battle of a lifetime, they are once again seventeen. The years of cruelty and hardship in between melts away. It is as if time runs back toward the past, but nothing changes. They are still standing in the same room, still enemies, still one of the light and the other of the night.

The fragile calm breaks and Draco Malfoy turns his back on his nemesis and walks away. Away from the past, away from what could have been but never was. What never will be.

Behind him, Harry once again looks on as the fair-haired man recedes into the horizon. Draco pauses as he hears a soft 'Thank you,' then continues on his way. He does not look back, leaving the other to stand alone in the empty little room.

~*~

Two hours later Harry Potter will walk onto the final battlefield. He will face off with Lord Voldemort, the most notorious Dark Lord of present times. In the most crucial second of the battle, he will kill him, the shadow of a former Hogwarts Headboy once called Tom Marvolo Riddle.

All but one of the Dark Lord's faithful followers will perish in the backlash of their lord's demise. Draco Malfoy will stand with the victorious Harry Potter on the battlegrounds, surrounded by the dead bodies of both sides of the war.

Harry Potter will give his last standing enemy a book. In it will be his memoirs and his last will and testimony. It will allow for immunity on Draco Malfoy's behalf. He will wait patiently for his death. Draco Malfoy will be merciful and release the Boy Who Lived, now the Man Who Killed Voldemort, from his obligations, his body, his never-ending nightmare of a life. Draco Malfoy will raise his wand to the lightning shaped scar and say the fateful words that began this entire tragedy.

Then, alone amidst the carnage of war, Draco Malfoy will lie down beside Harry Potter and return the kiss he had received a lifetime ago. He will use his wand one last time and turn the killing curse on himself. Avada Kedavra.

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter will no longer be alone. They will be together in death, as they could not in life.

It will be a hollow victory.