Paint Me a Memory

"Do you have to go?"

"You know I do."

"Fine, ask a stupid question," Draco scowled. "How long?"

Harry shrugged and turned away slightly to avoid Draco's gaze. "I don't know."

Draco stared hotly at the side of his face, fingers digging into his arms. "You mean you don't know if you'll even come back in one piece."

"I-" Harry couldn't answer. Anything he thought of was strangled at the back of his throat, dying before it could form. He looked up warily, almost meek in appearance, as if asking some question neither Draco nor he could comprehend.

There was a silence, not quite awkward but nonetheless painful between them. They were separated by a mere metre, yet it felt as if the whole world was hanging maliciously in the air, pushing them apart. Harry didn't even dare shiver, cold as he felt beneath his clothes and robes.

Finally, Harry glanced at the clock behind Draco's left shoulder and Draco looked down at the mat in front of the door, his brow creased and his lips pale.

"I'm ... I'm sorry," Harry mumbled. It was cheap, and Draco couldn't help but wonder if Harry was being short-changed as well. "You know I hate it as much as you."

"Yet they still pull your strings," he said scathingly, glaring at the mat and wishing it would burst into flames.

"I'm doing this as much for you as them," Harry argued sharply.

At this, Draco looked up and stared into burning green eyes. "Don't you dare," he whispered harshly. "I never asked you to do anything for me, and I never asked them either. I didn't choose to be here, you convinced me it was for the best. We can lie in the bed you made, but don't you dare try to convince me it's covered in rose petals."

Harry sighed, dipped his head and closed his eyes, bringing his hand up to grip the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache. "Alright. Can we at least not argue? Please? I don't want to leave with this being the last thing we ever said to each other."

"So you admit you might not be coming back," Draco murmured, suddenly looking very tired and just a little lost.

"No, I might not."

Again, they slipped into an odd silence and regarded each other, as if committing each other's features to memory. When Harry glanced at the clock again, Draco grimaced and took a halting step forward.

"Don't tell me, you're five minutes late already."

Harry shrugged and smiled slightly, almost pitifully. "Yeah."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I suppose it's a bit stupid telling you to take care, what with all that useless Gryffindor bravery."

"I'll try," Harry croaked out nervously. "Just make sure the wards go up properly again when I'm gone, okay?"

"Yes, I know, or you'll worry and be distracted and then it will be all my fault when you get run through with a horribly sharp implement. I'd be perfectly safe even if they weren't there."

"How silly of me to ever doubt your wizarding skills," Harry responded dryly. He then turned serious. "I'll try and get a message to you when I can."

"Good."

With one last glance at the clock, Harry took a deep breath and pulled Draco into a bruising hug, butting his nose against Draco's ear as he felt strong arms wrap around his waist and squeeze. Reluctantly, he pulled away slightly and wavered for a second, hating the look of near-defeat in Draco's eyes. Leaning forward again, he pressed his lips firmly against Draco's and shut his eyes, blocking out everything but the feel of Draco.

The kiss was desperate and tinged with frantic thoughts of "this could be it" and "my God, it's really happening". Fingers dug into clothes and skin cruelly, but neither noticed, the dull almost-pain grounding them and pulling them even closer together. Draco slid his lips across Harry's cheek, across to the soft skin just beneath his ear, mouthing, "Don't go" and holding him even tighter against him.

Eventually, they pulled away from each other and Harry walked towards the door before he could change his mind. Giving in to the urge to look back just one more time, he stared at Draco, who had his arms wrapped around his middle, standing tall and staring back. Draco nodded once and watched silently as Harry went, closing the door quietly behind him.

Two minutes later, Draco moved into the kitchen and put the kettle on. He left his wand lying beside the biscuit tin.

~*~*~*~

Four hours later, the washing up that had been sitting in the sink from the night before had been done and put away, the counter tops cleaned and emptied of clutter, the main room of their modest flat tidied and the dust vanquished. Draco was now in the small bathroom, putting things back in their proper place as he avoided thinking of the bedroom.

He had left it until last on purpose, not wanting to remove any indication that Harry had recently been there. It might seem stupid, and if it had been any other circumstance he would have scoffed at it himself, but it was a strange emotional tug on his heart. It felt odd and he didn't like it, but the silence was beginning to drive him mad. As he entered the bedroom, he turned on the radio sitting on Harry's bedside table, filling the air with the inane noise called Muggle music.

After the bed had been made and all the dirty washing picked up, including the shirt he had lost when Harry had unknowingly thrown it behind the chest of drawers during a playful yet passionate attack, he turned his attention to the wardrobe. Draco didn't often go in there because they only really kept their robes in it, and his had simply been gathering dust since the day they moved in.

However, he knew that Harry used it for things other than clothes as well, and a few times Draco had witnessed him chasing something or other across the floor as it rolled out from the wardrobe. With nothing else to do, and the promise of some interesting clutter to be sorted, he opened the door wide and took a step back, just in case.

Inside, he found a few cardboard boxes and piles of various paraphernalia sitting on the floor beneath the robes. Quirking an eyebrow at the organised mess, Draco gathered together all the robes and slung them across the pillows of the bed, hoping to at least create an illusion of space within which to work. Kneeling down, he carefully inspected a few things, even daring to poke a little odd-shaped thing that looked furry.

And so passed a few interesting hours, leading seamlessly into the evening without Draco noticing. He found many little mementoes no doubt saved from Hogwarts when the Trio were terrorising the pupils, teachers and portraits alike. At first he felt a little uncertain about handling such personal items, but Harry had never tried to hide them from him, and it was rather nice discovering a few things from Harry's childhood which Draco had never had access to as a Slytherin.

But he found the best bit near the end of his search, tucked away at the back of the wardrobe behind a cardboard box full of school textbooks. It was a taller box, and it looked newer than the others, with only a thin film of dust covering the lid. Dragging it out slightly, Draco flipped open the flaps and found a row of large picture frames, all the same height and width, lined up neatly.

Curious as to why Harry had so many paintings hidden away in the wardrobe when the walls of the flat were so bare, Draco frowned and pulled one out at random. Then his eyes widened slightly as he saw what it was. He wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a picture or a painting, but he could clearly see it was the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts. And there in the centre of the pitch stood Harry and himself, dressed in their robes and looking sweaty and windswept.

As he peered closer, he realised that he recognised it as a real scene from their last year at Hogwarts. It had to have been almost a year ago when they had played their last match, where Gryffindor, as expected, had won the cup. Of course, Draco had given him a run for his money and it had been a very close thing indeed. For some reason, Harry had asked him to meet him on the Quidditch pitch after the teams had gone for their showers and everyone from the stands had disappeared.

As he traced a finger fleetingly down the glass, the picture came to life. He watched, transfixed, as the image of Harry took a step forward and held his hand out. There was a long pause as Harry seemed to be talking, and then his own image raised his hand and grasped Harry's. And that was when he became aware of something else. As he let his finger drop back onto the glass, above Harry, he felt a sense of relief and happiness flood through his veins.

Snatching his finger back in shock, he looked warily at the picture as it went back to the beginning and froze in place again. Glancing at his finger with a frown, he touched the grass beneath Harry's feet and watched as the painting sprang to life again, his finger tingling a little as he once again felt that same mix of relief and happiness leap from the painting to him.

Laying it on the carpet beside him carefully, Draco quickly took another frame from the box and found a similar painting. This one was from their last night at Hogwarts, when they had met secretly by the lake, the moon hanging low on the horizon. They were both sitting by the lake, staring out at the dark beyond and the rippling surface of the mysterious-looking lake.

Spreading his fingers on the glass, Draco watched, already aware of what would probably happen. As Harry turned to face the figure beside him, Draco felt a wave of uncertainty and stubborn determination hit him, a sense of peace underlying it all, and then there was suddenly giddiness, surprise and a tinge of embarrassment as the shadowy figure of Harry leaned over and kissed his companion on the cheek.

Draco smiled, remembering the moment perfectly. In the painting, they both sprang apart a little, and then there was an aura of wonder around them both, which slowly metamorphosed into wickedness and warmth as Draco slid closer and claimed Harry's lips in a real kiss.

And so Draco spent the next hour pulling out memories and watching them unfold before him, experiencing the same feelings as sharply as if they were new and fresh. There was even one of the first time Harry had found him bloody and seething, having been ambushed by two fellow Slytherins who were following orders from daddy and trying to teach him a lesson for cavorting with That Gryffindor. Of course, Draco had disposed of them, yet it had taken him half an hour of pacing by the lake and venting at Harry before he had calmed down.

It had been strange at first, being able to feel both of their emotions during the memory, but it made it so much more, seeing the whole picture and being able to feel that bit closer to Harry. He was on the last painting now, and feeling slightly hungry. But when he saw what it was, he froze on the spot. It was the day they had moved into the flat. They were both standing in the doorway, looking inside dubiously.

Draco almost shook when he pressed his finger into the corner, the frame cool against his warm flesh. As the image sprang to life, he felt swamped by the emotions: trepidation, uncertainty, a little sadness, a strange sense of pride, hope, and thankfulness. He watched as they both walked into the flat and closed the door. Harry turned and made that awful joke and they both laughed, more as a way to relieve the tension than because of any real humour.

And then Harry gave him that look, the one that froze the blood in his veins before it suddenly boiled and rushed back to life, making him tingle. Draco watched it all, a slight blush tainting his cheeks as he watched himself push Harry up against the door and ravish him. The lust that rippled through the glass from the image to him made his blood hum and sing in memory.

Just then, he heard the front door open and dropped the painting to the floor as he rushed through to the main room. Harry was standing with his back to the door as he pushed it closed. He looked up and smiled tiredly at Draco, who could only stride towards him and bury his fingers into Harry's hair, pushing him back against the door with his body.

As Harry gasped and let his hands fall, startled, to Draco's hips, Draco covered his lips with his own and kissed him, hard. Dragging his tongue along Harry's lower lip, he nipped at it lightly before pressing closer and brushing Harry's tongue with his, tightening his fingers in thick, dark hair. Harry's fingers clenched around his hips and then burrowed under his shirt, rubbing the skin around his waist with cool fingers.

Shivering, Draco shifted his knee to lean it against the door, pressing his leg tightly down the side of Harry's and shifting his hips closer. He felt Harry hooking his other foot around his ankle, tangling their legs even more and pulling Draco in against him as much as possible. When Draco pulled back, breathing deeply and tasting Harry on the back of his tongue, he leaned his forehead against Harry's.

"I found them."

"The paintings?"

"So they are paintings," Draco mused breathlessly.

"I painted them, but I used magic to make them look real and add the emotions from the memories."

"Aren't we a clever little wizard," Draco breathed.

Harry cracked a smile and wrapped his arms lazily around Draco's waist, still beneath his shirt. "I'd been saving them just in case-"

"Don't. If you'd died and left them for me, I never would have touched them. They'd have rotted in a damp corner somewhere. But ... I'm glad I found them."

"Really?"

"Really," Draco mumbled against his lips, moving in to steal another mind-melting kiss. "I take it you killed him, then."

"We think so. We'll have to wait a few days, see what happens, but Dumbledore has high hopes."

"So you won't be needed for a few days, then."

Harry laughed at the smirk on Draco's face. "No, I'm all yours."

"And don't you forget it." Draco replied, grabbing Harry's wrist and tugging him towards the bedroom.

Harry winked. "I'll paint you another memory."

Grinning wickedly, Draco turned off the radio and linked his fingers through Harry's. "No need. You can just refresh my memory the old-fashioned way."

Pushing Draco onto the bed, Harry straddled him and nuzzled his ear, pausing only to whisper, "I like that idea. Very much."