Adamant and Starlight

Chapter 13: Archangel Rising

The mirror had appeared during the night. It hung on the wall opposite his bed, large and ornate, like something out of a fairy tale - or the gothic imagination of Hogwarts Castle. Draco had long since stopped thinking of the castle as an inanimate heap of stone. It had an awareness, sometimes malevolent, that watched and weighed everything that passed within its walls. This little room was a perfect example. The Room of Requirement, they called it, but Draco suspected that it was really just an elaborate joke played by the castle on the hapless wizards that stumbled into it, giving them toys to play with so it could laugh at their silly games.

He stood in front of the mirror, staring at the reflection of a stranger, wondering if the castle took some kind of perverse pleasure in the present state of affairs. Merlin knew, it had watched him preen in front of its mirrors often enough, probably chuckled to think of his fragile vanity and how easily it might be crushed. Now it had given him his own, private mirror in which to contemplate the ruin of his face.

His eyes moved to the half-healed, livid burn on his cheek, and horror writhed like a bundle of snakes in his stomach. He lifted a crystalline finger to touch it and felt the pain, as if from a long distance, throb beneath his skin. Until today, he had not seen the wound on his face, only traced its outlines when he secretly fingered it in the darkness. He had felt the swelling go slowly down and the dull burn of infection fade, but he could not tell its shape - until he saw it in the mirror this morning and finally understood why they had all gone to such lengths to hide it from him.

He wore the Malfoy monogram burned into his face. A brand. A mark that would never completely fade. After years of glaring at Harry's scar and envying the attention it brought him, Draco now had a scar of his own to wear for the rest of his life, but what kind of attention would this scar garner for him? Not fame, certainly. Or adoration, or envy, or approval. No, this was a mark of shame, like the brands burned into the faces of thieves and beggars after they had sat the night in the stocks.

Had he spent a night in the stocks, in some benighted village, where Medieval justice had never died? Was that what Dumbledore and Harry didn't want him to remember? Maybe he'd damaged his hand trying to tear through the iron locks that held him...

Lifting his hand, he spread its remaining fingers and stared through them at the stranger in the mirror. The horror twisted in his stomach again, more viciously than before, and Draco was briefly glad that he had skipped lunch. The two outer fingers were gone, nothing left but stumps, polished smooth by Dumbledore's magic. But how? The Headmaster had told him that adamant was virtually indestructible. What weapon could cut off his fingers? What weight crush them? What power destroy them?

His mind shied away from that thought, and he dropped his hand, bunching it into a fist. He had spent much of this week trying not to think too hard about his missing fingers. They, like the brand on his face and the lock on his door, started the fear churning in him until all he could think of was running. Hiding. Closing his eyes and screaming to drown out the sound of his own panic.

Just what he feared, he had no idea. It was lost in the yawning blackness that had swallowed two months of his life, but it was not gone. No. It definitely still lived somewhere inside him, awaiting its chance to leap out of the shadows and sink its claws into his quivering flesh. Harry kept it at bay. Auntie Genie. Even Dumbledore, odd as that seemed to him. When they were not with him, he retreated to the cushioned window seat provided by the Room of Requirement and watched sunlight and shadow creep across the Hogwarts grounds, watched and waited and tried not to think, until night fell and the stars came out. Then he could lose himself in their beauty and feel something close to whole for a while.

The Room had given him a comfortable place to sit, widened the window and deepened the embrasure a good deal, encouraging him to withdraw behind the velvet drapes and sit there by the hour. As far from the oh-so-polite but very-firmly-locked door as possible. Perhaps the Room thought this haven a fair exchange for his freedom. Perhaps it was right.

Draco had the urge to retreat into the window embrasure now, to escape the mirror, but he controlled it and made himself stare down his reflection in stubborn silence. He was afraid of a lot of things he didn't understand right now, but he was not afraid of this. Not of his own face.

He was better off, he told himself, knowing what he had become. He made himself look long and dispassionately at the purple hollows around his eyes, the lines cut into the corners of his down-turned mouth and between his frowning brows, the shadows beneath his sharp cheekbones, the brand. This is what his classmates would see when he stepped out that door for the first time today. This is what Harry saw that made his eyes go dark and sad, that made his voice roughen with awkward tenderness every time he looked at Draco.

He leaned closer to the mirror and fingered the brand on his cheek again, scowling at his reflection as he tried to distance himself from the shame and pain of wearing this ugly thing. He knew what his classmates would say about it. They would be no more understanding of his scar than they were of his shift in loyalties or his attachment to Harry.

Look at the filthy little Death Eater!

He could hear their jeering voices in his ears already.

Did you ever think Draco Malfoy could sink any lower? Now he's trying to mimic his hero-lover by parading around with that hideous thing on his face! Bet You-Know-Who did it, to remind him what he really is. Bet Potter can't even stand to touch it.

What if Voldemort had given him the scar? Draco wondered. What if Harry couldn't bear to touch it - to touch him - now that he wore the Dark Lord's brand on his face? Or was it someone else who had marked him this way? Only one other person came to mind, but Draco couldn't bear to think that his own father would do this to him, so he resolutely thrust that notion aside, along with the question of how he'd damaged his hand and why Dumbledore kept him locked in this room.

So many things he could not face. So many questions he could not ask. And always, the yawning hole at his feet, gaping wider with every day that passed, with every scrap of information he gleaned from thoughtless comments dropped in his hearing and the evidence of his sharp eyes. It seemed that the more he learned, the more obvious the hole in his memory became, until he marveled that it did not swallow him up, body and soul.

The low hum of voices outside the door warned Draco that his privacy was about to be invaded and jerked him mentally back from that dark edge. He unconsciously drew himself up, his eyes shuttering and his face hardening, the haughty Malfoy mask firmly in place by the time the door swung open. Then he heard a familiar tread on the marble floor and relaxed even before he turned to look. It was Harry. At last.

"Hallo, Malfoy!" Harry called, as he blew into the room, bringing the smell of green things and cold wind with him. He exuded so much energy and eagerness that Draco felt instantly tired. "Sorry I'm late. Practice ran long, and I had to take that hensbane root back to Professor Sprout. It was starting to grow purple fuzz from sitting in the leeching solution too long."

Draco gave him a blank look. "What hensbane root?"

"Never mind." Harry flopped down on the foot of the bed and leaned back on his hands. His cheeks glowed red from the cold, and his eyes shone with happiness as they rested on Draco's face. "Ready to go?"

"I suppose so." Draco heard the note of reluctance in his own voice and felt his face harden again. He tried to shake off his growing dread, to smile, to find a measure of Harry's boisterous enthusiasm, but the best he could manage was a rather tepid smile that made his mouth go all crooked.

Harry abruptly stood up and crossed to where he stood. Chill, callused hands dropped to his shoulders, tugging gently, then he found himself close in the circle of Harry's arms, looking doubtfully up at him.

"You're cold," Draco pointed out.

"I've been flying for hours in a stiff wind."

"Maybe we should stay inside. Hot chocolate and wizarding chess."

Harry cocked an eyebrow at him, clearly amused by his hopeful tone, and shook his head. "Dumbledore said fresh air. I distinctly heard him. Mr. Malfoy needs some fresh air. A nice stroll about the grounds, perhaps. He was standing right here when he said it."

"And of course Perfect Bloody Potter never disobeys the Headmaster."

"Of course not." Harry grinned and dropped a chilly kiss on his lips. "I'm much too respectable for that."

"I don't have a cloak," Draco grumped, "or gloves or anything to tie my hair back with."

"We'll run by the Slytherin dungeon and get your cloak. You can put your hands in your pockets to keep warm - or in my pockets, if you prefer. And I like your hair this way." Harry reached up to twist a long, silver-blond lock about his finger.

"It blows in my face and gets in my mouth."

"You're just a mass of charm today, aren't you?"

Draco knew that he meant it teasingly, but Harry's words stung anyway, and he pulled out of his arms. "Excuse me if I don't relish parading myself about the school looking like this."

"Like what?"

Throwing Harry a fierce glare, he flung out a hand toward the mirror in a dramatic gesture that would have made his father proud. "Like a starveling ghost!"

Harry almost laughed. Draco could see it shining in his eyes, threatening to spill over. But one glance at Draco's face sobered him instantly, and whatever dig about vanity had been hovering on the tip of his tongue died unspoken. He regarded Draco thoughtfully for a long moment, then said, quietly, "Would it help if I told you that I think you look as gorgeous as ever?"

Draco lifted his adamant hand to touch the burn on his cheek. "Even with this?"

Harry sighed, and the familiar look of yearning sadness darkened his eyes. "Yes. Even with that."

"Bloody liar."

Shaking his head, Harry grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him close. Draco remained stiff and unyielding, though it cost him a fierce struggle to do it when he felt Harry's arms go around him.

"You recognized it," Harry murmured.

"How could I not? I've got that M stitched and stamped and carved into every blasted thing I own."

"It will fade, you know. And you'll get used to seeing it there. You won't notice so much." He smiled crookedly. "Trust me. I know about these things."

"It's not the same, Harry. Your scar made you famous. What does this one make me?"

He knew, by the look on Harry's face, that the Gryffindor did not have an answer for that - or not one he was willing to voice aloud, at any rate.

"Come on," he said, dully, as he once more drew out of Harry's embrace. "If we're going to do Dumbledore's royal bidding, we may as well get on with it."

"Don't you want to get out of this little room?" Harry asked.

Draco cast a look at the door from the corners of his eyes, unwilling to face it squarely, and felt the ball of snakes in his stomach writhe again. "I suppose so."

"Dumbledore will give you your own password, if you ask him."

Draco said nothing to that, but followed Harry across the room with reluctant steps.

Harry spoke his password to the door and swung it open. Draco hesitated for a split second, willing his stomach to stay down and his feet to move, then he stepped firmly across the threshold. He found himself in the main ward of the hospital wing, empty but for the row of white beds, lit by the sunlight streaming through the windows on the opposite wall. All around the door, the beds had been cleared away, leaving a wide, bare space that seemed wrong to him. He turned back to look at the door and found himself staring into his own room through what ought to have been solid stone.

"What's this?" he demanded of Harry, his voice sharp with surprise.

"Dumbledore's magic. It turns the wall transparent from one side."

"They've been watching me all this time?"

"I told you that you were never really alone in there."

Draco frowned at the magical window, not entirely sure how he felt about this development. On the one hand, he felt vaguely smirched by the thought that Pomfrey, Dumbledore, anyone could have been watching him without his knowledge. On the other hand, they hadn't disturbed him. They had even let Harry sleep in his bed. So what harm did the window do, really? Deep down in his squirming innards, he felt an unaccustomed glow of warmth - he was tempted to say of gratitude - that they had not left him completely alone.

"There shouldn't be too many people about," Harry commented, as he started for the main door. "Saturday afternoon everyone's probably studying."

"Only Hermione Granger studies on a Saturday," Draco retorted automatically.

He trailed after Harry, catching him up in the corridor just outside the hospital wing. It was easier to step through the main door than it had been through his own, and he took heart from that. He gazed around at the portraits and suits of armor with the beginnings of a smile on his face, glad to see them again and reassured to find them unchanged. Two or three of the portraits even nodded a greeting to him as he passed.

At the top of the main staircase, Draco looked down into the entrance hall and saw a wide swath of sunlight cut across the marble floor from the open front doors. His spirits rose at the sight, and he went quickly down the stairs, some of his old grace and sureness in his step. Pausing in the middle of the hall, he turned to face the doors and closed his eyes, savoring the warmth on his face and the smells that spilled in with the light. It was the same smell that clung to Harry's clothes. Spring.

"Let's grab your cloak," Harry said, and he headed for the dungeon.

Draco turned to follow him, took a handful of steps, and then froze. In that instant, he felt as if every drop of blood in his body had poured out of him, leaving him shaking and sick, his hands and feet turned to ice, without the strength to move. He stared at the gaping maw of the dungeons, fighting down panic, and croaked, "Harry!"

Harry halted and glanced back at Draco. His brows snapped together in a frown, and he started back toward him. "What's wrong?"

He could not possibly explain his fear to Harry; he didn't understand it himself. He only knew that no power on earth would persuade him to step into that dreadful, black mouth.

"Draco?" Harry said, his voice sharpening in concern, his hand closing around Draco's arm.

"I don't need my cloak," he rasped out.

"Don't be a prat. You're always cold..."

Draco pulled free of his clasp and took a step backward. "I don't need it." He tore his eyes away from the lurking threat of the dungeons and started for the main doors. "Let's go."

Harry did not answer him for a moment and did not follow. Draco could feel his eyes boring into his back, reading the full depth of his panic, understanding things Draco did not, remembering things Draco had forgotten, knowing what was wrong and unable to tell him.

"I'll get it for you."

Harry's words halted Draco in his tracks. He spun around just in time to see the other boy disappear into that dread darkness. As he moved down the steps, Harry turned to glance back, and his face was ghostly white in the shadows.

"Harry, no! Don't!" But Harry did, and before the shout of protest had left Draco's lips, Harry was gone. Draco took a gasping breath and staggered back against the nearest wall, his legs suddenly unable to support him. Bent nearly double, he wrapped his arms around his midriff and fought down nausea, eyes screwed shut against that lingering image of Harry being swallowed by the yawning mouth of the dungeon.

Steps... leading down... darkness and stone walls... a ghostly-pale face looking up one last time as it vanished into the ground...

He saw these things behind his closed eyelids, saw Harry going down the steps, but the images kept sliding out of focus, tangling up in his head with something else. Something he couldn't remember but that he felt down in his gut, like a spike through his body. He heard someone keening in pain - a low, animal noise - and it was not until he heard the someone mutter Harry's name that he realized he was making that awful noise himself. He bit down hard on his tongue and tasted blood. The sounds stopped.

The slap of rubber soles on marble forced his head up, and he watched a familiar figure approach him through a blotchy haze of nausea and panic. Harry. The panic faded as Harry drew closer to him, and Draco took a deep breath, willing away the sickness. He pushed himself upright to meet the Gryffindor with some semblance of dignity, even venturing a step or two away from the wall, grateful that his legs held him up. His hand was almost steady when he held it out for the cloak Harry carried over his arm.

Harry handed him the cloak, frowning, his eyes dark with worry. "Are you all right?"

Draco nodded and swung the cloak about his shoulders, using this piece of business to avoid the other boy's troubled gaze. He tried to fasten the silver clasp at his throat, but between the tremor in his flesh-and-blood fingers and the lack of feeling in his adamant ones, he could not manage it. Harry did not let him fumble with it for more than a few seconds before he brushed his hands away and fastened it himself.

"Maybe we should go back upstairs," Harry suggested, as he moved his hands from Draco's throat to his shoulders and made as if to pull him closer. "We could have that hot chocolate and play some chess."

"No." Draco turned abruptly for the outer doors, ignoring Harry's attempt to hold him, and strode toward the promise of freedom and sunlight without a backward glance. He lengthened his stride until he was nearly running as he took the wide, stone steps down to the carriageway. When he felt gravel under his feet, he came to a halt, head up, eyes closed, basking in the touch of the sun on his face. Deep, deep inside him, a cold knot of fear loosened, and as he let the air out of his lungs, he fancied he was exhaling dread and despair with it. He felt suddenly, unaccountably lighter, and when Harry stepped up beside him, he smiled at the other boy.

Green eyes looked deeply into his own, and for the first time in a week, Draco saw a glimmer of happiness in them. Harry looped an arm about his shoulders; Draco settled against him with barely a second's hesitation.

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured, "I should never have brought you anywhere near the dungeons."

"You know why I lost it like that." It was not a question, but Harry answered anyway with a nod of his head. "And you aren't going to tell me."

"Not yet."

Draco didn't bother to argue. He knew by now just how stubborn Harry could be when it came to keeping secrets and doing Dumbledore's bidding. And if he'd needed a reminder of how important their silence was to his mental well-being, the sweat cooling on his face and the tell-tale churning in his stomach would serve.

He let himself rest against Harry for a long moment, enjoying the combined sense of wide, windswept openness and the shelter of familiar arms around him. He was cold, even in his heavy cloak, but for once he didn't mind. The bite of the wind brought stinging color to his cheeks and made him feel more alive than he had in... well, in longer than he could remember.

"We'd better move, before you freeze solid," Harry said, laughter in his voice.

"That's all right. I have my very own warming pan to snuggle up to, later."

"If you think I'm going to get into the same bed with feet that cold..."

"What?" Draco grinned up at him, privately delighting at the flare of heat in those incredibly frank, unguarded eyes. "I'm mad?"

"Completely mental," Harry agreed.

They both moved in the same instant, Draco lifting his head and Harry stooping, until their lips touched and clung together. The warmth of Harry's kiss burned through Draco with excruciating swiftness, melting his body and his resistance in the space of a breath. He turned in Harry's arms and slipped his own around the other boy's waist, holding him urgently, straining upward to deepen the kiss. Harry obligingly tightened his clasp, nearly lifting Draco from his feet and bringing their mouths still more firmly together. Draco freed one arm and flung it around Harry's neck, adamant fingers sinking into messy black hair, and Draco wished, in that moment, that he could crawl up Harry's taller frame, crawl bodily into his arms, and lose himself forever in the incandescent, gold-shot pleasure of that kiss.

When Harry at last let him go, settling him gently back onto terra firma, Draco kept his hand behind the other boy's head and looked up at him from beneath drooping eyelids. "I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to do that again."

"After seeing that magical window of Dumbledore's, you can guess why I've been so discreet," Harry retorted. "Besides, you haven't exactly been in the mood."

"It seems I'm in the mood now."

"So I noticed. You also happen to be standing right outside the castle, in full view of several hundred windows."

"That didn't stop you." Harry chuckled, and Draco smiled up at him, his heart shining in his eyes but carefully veiled behind silver-white lashes. "Being outside makes me reckless. I feel as though I can finally breathe again, and I don't know what to do with all this lovely oxygen."

"Let's walk for a bit, and I'm sure something will come to you. Or, in a pinch, we can fall back on the old standby."

Harry's smile told Draco exactly which 'old standby' he meant, and he knew a brief, violent urge to drag Harry behind the nearest shrub and have his way with him. Instead, he let Harry drop his arms and step away without so much as a flicker of disappointment showing in his face. When Harry slipped his hand into Draco's, the Slytherin returned the welcome pressure of his fingers and fell into step beside him, to all outward appearances perfectly satisfied with this arrangement.

It occurred to Draco, as he walked beside Harry down a long, sloping sweep of grass, that only a week ago - no, two months ago - he would not have allowed the other boy to hold his hand this way. But over the last several days, shut up in the Room of Requirement, haunted by the blank spaces in his memory and the fragments of emotion that spilled unbidden from them, alone with fears he could neither explain nor reason away, he had come to depend on the simple comfort of clasped hands. He had no desire to pull away from Harry's touch and no suspicion that the gesture was an empty one.

By silent agreement, they made for the eaves of the Forbidden Forest, where they were least likely to meet any of their classmates. Harry took the long way around the castle, past the Whomping Willow, to avoid the Quidditch pitch where the Ravenclaw team was practicing for next week's match. They reached the outlying trees of the forest without encountering another soul and turned northward, in the general direction of Hagrid's hut.

Draco was glad to be outside, invigorated by the chill air and vibrant smells of the forest, but he was also disgracefully weak after so many days shut up in his tiny room. His legs felt increasingly heavy, and he lagged behind Harry until the other boy was half-pulling him along. He was about to suggest that they stop for a rest when he heard the crunch of feet on brittle grass and saw a flash of red through the trees - a pair of ginger heads sticking out of shabby black cloaks. Weasleys.

Harry stopped and shot Draco a slightly nervous glance.

Draco felt the sudden tension in Harry and tried to pull his hand free of his clasp, to put some physical distance between them and defuse the situation, but Harry tightened his fingers around Draco's hard enough to hurt. Draco obeyed the silent command, remaining close at Harry's side, their hands still twined together, as Ron and Ginny Weasley walked up to them.

No one spoke for an uncomfortable minute, while Ron stood with his hands buried in his pockets and his shoulders hunched, and Ginny stared fixedly at something over Harry's left shoulder. Then Ron cleared his throat and said, with a nod of greeting, "Harry. Malfoy."

Draco returned the nod. "Weasley." His eyes cut over to Ginny's face, and he amended, "Weasleys."

"Hallo, Malfoy," Ginny said, a determined smile plastered on her face and a brittle, overly-cheerful edge to her voice. "They let you out, I see."

Draco controlled the urge to snap 'brilliant deduction, Weaselby' and contented himself with another nod.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes." He hesitated, then added, "Thanks."

Harry's surprise was almost palpable, and Draco felt a small spurt of satisfaction at having confounded his expectations this way.

"What're you two doing out here?" Harry asked hastily, before this cautious truce could be shattered by some thoughtless remark on Draco's or Ron's part.

"Tea with Hagrid," Ron answered. His eyes narrowed, but whether with laughter or annoyance, Draco couldn't tell. "He was hoping you'd come, Harry, and he started blubbering when he saw that it was just us. I had to eat three of those ruddy awful scones of his to cheer him up."

"Three?" Harry demanded. "And you can still walk?"

"There are plenty left for you."

"Er..." Harry cast a wary, sideways glance at Draco.

The Slytherin stared intently at a tree branch hanging a foot above Ron Weasley's head, refusing to meet Harry's eyes or give him any hint of his thoughts. The last thing he wanted to do today was sit in the gamekeeper's foul little hut, sipping tea and breaking his teeth on concrete scones, but he would be damned if he'd tell Harry that. Sweet, stubborn Harry so desperately wanted Draco to get along with his friends - or at least stop trying to verbally knife them in the back - and so obviously doubted that he could, that even the smallest effort at courtesy on Draco's part took him utterly by surprise. This reaction was both endearing and infuriating, giving Draco the perfect opportunity to please him with little trouble while telling him that his lover expected only the worst from him. Well, badly as he wanted Harry to himself, he was not going to be held responsible for keeping him away from his friends. Even that great oaf, Hagrid.

"If you don't want to be waylaid and force-fed scones," Ron interjected, almost as if he sensed Draco's dilemma and wanted to help, "you'd better give his hut a wide berth."

Draco threw him a sharp, considering look, weighing his motives. Harry grinned shamefacedly at him and muttered, "Thanks. Hey, where's Hermione, anyway?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Where do you think? The last time I stuck my head in the library, I couldn't even see her over the stacks of books. She's spread out over three tables."

Draco did not say 'I told you so,' but he did smirk in a superior way that made Harry laugh.

"Has she color-coded your notes yet?"

"She would if I let her see them," Ron said, grinning back at Harry. "Well." His smile faded, and his shoulders hunched visibly as he drew in on himself again. "See you later then."

"See you, Ron."

Another nod in Draco's direction and a neutral, "Malfoy," and the Weasleys moved off, toward the castle.

"Bye, Harry! Bye Malfoy!" Ginny called over her shoulder, then she said to Ron in a penetrating whisper that carried easily to Harry and Draco, "Didn't Hermione say that Malfoy has had whole months of his life erased? That he might even have forgotten Harry, if they'd done it wrong?"

"Shut it, Ginny," Ron growled.

"Well, he doesn't act any different, except that he was so quiet. Even polite. Can you believe he actually said thank you?!"

"Shut it!"

Harry and Draco stood very still until the crunch of the Weasleys' feet and the hissing of their voices had faded. Then they looked at each other and broke out in matching grins.

"Am I imagining things, or did we just hold a normal conversation with those two?" Harry asked.

"I suppose you could call it that. If two words qualify as a conversation."

"But you were so polite," Harry retorted, his voice rising in imitation of Ginny Weasley's high-pitched tones.

"Well." Draco couldn't decide whether to smile modestly, blush, or punch Harry in his smirking face. "I tried."

"I know." The smirk vanished, to be replaced by one of Harry's glowing looks. "And I appreciate it."

Turning away to hide the sudden flush of color in his cheeks, Draco growled, "Come on. Let's have some tea."

"With Hagrid?"

He halted his attempt to drag Harry forward and turned to face him again. "Isn't that what you want?"

"Not really. Not today."

Draco managed to hide his surge of relief behind his usual cool expression, but his voice betrayed him, warming noticeably when he said, "All right. What do you want, then?"

"Not to have to share you with anyone. Let's try the lake."

* * *

The shore of the lake was deserted - not surprising, considering that the wind was stiffening and growing colder by the minute - and they sat down very close together on the damp grass. Draco wanted to crawl under Harry's cloak with him, to steal a bit of his abundant warmth, but he opted for a dignified, if somewhat chilly, restraint. If Harry offered, he would not rebuff him, but Malfoys did not beg, even for body heat.

Draco drew his knees up to his chest and pulled his cloak around his legs, sheltering himself as thoroughly as possible from the gusts of wind. Harry sat to his right, still clasping Draco's hand and chafing it occasionally to keep the blood circulating in his stiff fingers.

"Do you want to go back inside?" Harry asked.

"I don't ever want to go back inside." The vehemence in his tone surprised even Draco, and he threw Harry a startled glance, only to find the other boy staring at him in wistful, sad-eyed understanding. "What?" he demanded. "What did I say?"

"Nothing."

"You're giving me that look again."

"The one that says I really, really want to kiss you?" Harry asked, hopefully.

"No, the one that says you know more about what's going on in my head than I do."

"Oh." Harry slipped an arm, cloak and all, around Draco's waist and coaxed him a bit closer. "Give me a second, and I'll switch to the kissing one."

"Harry..."

"You know where we are, don't you? This is where we had our first date. You were sitting in that exact spot when I kissed you the first time."

Draco shook his head. "That was in the hospital wing."

"You remember, do you?"

"How could I forget? Granger barged in on us and dragged you off to tell you how evil and dangerous I am."

"I didn't listen to her." Harry tightened his clasp on Draco's body until Draco was nearly in his lap. "I spent the whole time thinking how wonderful it felt to kiss you, and I didn't hear a word she said."

Draco stared up at him through his lowered lashes, hunger and pain filling him in equal measure. He could do nothing about the pain, but the hunger was something he understood, something he knew how to assuage. All he had to do was uncoil himself a bit... relax... let Harry lift him just a little...

Slowly, Draco loosened the hold of his left arm around his knees and turned within the curve of Harry's arm. His body twisted, his left arm came up around Harry's neck, and with another little tug, he was sitting in Harry's lap.

"I don't want to talk about Granger," he said, firmly.

"But you won't tell me what you do want, will you?"

"Can't you guess?"

Harry shook his head, grinning, and bent to claim a kiss from Draco's upturned mouth.

It was a gentle kiss, full of golden sparks and murmured promises, but with the passion carefully reined in, and it set the blood singing in Draco's ears. He endured the torment of it for endless, hopeful minutes, until the knot of hunger in his belly became too much for him to bear, then he broke the kiss to whisper against Harry's lips, "What's happened to you, Harry?"

"What always happens to me, when I touch you." Harry stroked the tumbled hair back from his face and kissed the deep frown line between his eyebrows, then moved down to explore the hollow behind his jaw.

"No. You're different."

That got Harry's attention. He left off nibbling at Draco's neck and lifted his head to meet his gaze. They looked at each other for a long, quiet moment, while emotions and memories chased themselves through Harry's eyes - whatever else may have changed, Potter still couldn't hide his thoughts worth a damn - and a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. Finally, Harry drew in a long breath and ducked his head again, burying his face in the hair falling to Draco's shoulder.

"I lost you." A pause, while he turned his face into Draco's throat and kissed it, then he went on, "Before this, I used to wonder what I would do if you were taken away from me. I used to wonder if I could still fight... still be the person they expect me to be without you. Now I know."

"You'll always be Perfect Bloody Potter," Draco said, laying his cheek on Harry's bent head and shivering with pleasure at the caress of his lips. He lifted his own hands to clasp the back of Harry's neck and stroke his hair, and was rewarded when Harry's arm tightened possessively around him.

"No. Not alone. Not anymore." Harry pressed his lips to the pulse point in Draco's throat, making his heart pound even harder. "Now I know exactly how much you mean to me, and I'll do anything to keep you happy... keep you here."

"I was planning to stay," Draco murmured.

A slight tremor went through Harry's body. "Good."

"But you have to tell me the truth about something."

The warm, pliant, welcoming body clasped so strongly to his went suddenly rigid. Harry's head came up, and his eyes narrowed. "Is that a threat?"

"No, no," Draco waved away his suspicions impatiently, "I didn't mean it like that. I just need to know the truth."

"I'm not going to say anything that might hurt you or make Dumbledore..."

"To Hell with Dumbledore!" Draco snapped, pushing himself away from Harry and sliding off his lap. "I'm not asking you to break any of his precious rules, just to tell me - yes or no - if I've got it right."

"Got what right?"

Kneeling on the grass, Draco fixed earnest grey eyes on Harry's face and asked, "Have you ever wondered if maybe this whole thing is a mistake? You and me?"

"What?! Why would you even think that?"

Draco shrugged, trying very hard to keep his expression neutral, not to let his mouth twitch into a frown or his eyes slide away from Harry's. "Because of who I am. Harry, what if the person you love doesn't exist? What if... the real Draco Malfoy is what his parents made him, and he's only waiting for a chance to come back?"

Draco could tell by the sick, horrified look in his eyes that he'd hurt Harry in some visceral way that he had not intended, but the other boy did not lash out at him, shout denials or rail against him. He only sat there, starting at Draco, with his soul bleeding through his eyes.

"What if I betrayed you?" Draco went on relentlessly. "What if I couldn't be who you want me to be, and I went back to Voldemort? To my parents? Could you still love me, then?"

Finally, Harry spoke, his throat working painfully to get the words out. "You wouldn't do that to me."

"Maybe not... now that you've erased my memory."

"Bloody hell!" Harry's hands shot out to grab him by the shoulders, clutching at him hard enough to hurt, and gave him an angry shake. "You think I let them erase your memory to keep you from betraying me?!"

Draco made no attempt to pull away, refusing, for once in his life, to avert his eyes from the truth. "No. I think you did it so I wouldn't remember a betrayal that has already happened. So you could have the Draco Malfoy you love back again."

Harry gaped at him, at a complete loss for words.

"I've gone over and over in my mind what could have made you do it, what could have been so terrible that you couldn't even allow me to remember it. I can only come up with one thing. I betrayed you to Voldemort."

"Draco..."

"That's the only thing that makes any sense."

"No, no! You've got it all backwards!" Draco winced as Harry's fingers tightened, digging into his fleshless shoulders. "You incredible git! This is not about you hurting me! It's about..."

"What?"

Harry gave him another shake, then let him go. His head drooped between his shoulders, shielding his face from Draco's gaze, and his voice came out sounding muffled, but Draco could hear the pain in it all too clearly. "I wish it was that simple, and all I had to do was to forgive you to make this whole thing go away. But you didn't betray me, Draco. You didn't. I swear it."

"Then what did I do that's so terrible I have to forget it?"

"It's not what you did; it's what other people did to you. What they forced you to do to save yourself and to stop Voldemort."

"You're just trying to protect me, Harry..."

"Damned right I am!" Harry shouted, furiously. "All of this happened because of me! You lost your mind because of me! And I'll be damned if I let it happen again!"

Draco felt the blood drain from his face. "I what?"

Harry's eyes were bleeding agony again, and the touch of their gaze made Draco flinch. "I shouldn't have said that."

"But you did. Now you have to tell me."

"I can't!" he wailed.

"I lost my mind." Draco swallowed once, painfully. "I'm crazy."

"No, you're not," Harry murmured, his hands now clasping Draco's shoulders gently, trying to draw his stiff, resistant body closer. "You never were crazy, just too badly hurt to face your own memories. That's why we took them away, and why we tried to take the emotions that went with them -the fear and pain and..."

"Guilt?"

"You didn't betray me!"

"Then what do I have to feel guilty about?"

"If I could tell you that, none of this would be happening. Please, please, if you love me at all, let this go!"

"I never said that I love you."

"Draco Malfoy, you incredible git!" Harry grabbed his head in both hands and pulled him into a long, deep, violent kiss. Just as Draco was beginning to thaw, to let go of his fear and resistance, to believe that he might have figured it all wrong, Harry broke the embrace and pushed his head back far enough that their eyes could meet squarely. "Sometimes, I want to wring you neck. I swear, if I didn't love you so much, I'd have killed you a hundred times over by now."

For a brief, giddy moment, Draco felt the power in Harry's hands and knew that the other boy could, in fact, snap his neck with a single movement. But at the same time, he knew that Harry wouldn't do it. Harry would never hurt him, even if he deserved it. Because Harry loved him. And in the end, maybe that was all the proof he needed that he had not betrayed that love.

Harry kissed him again, fiercely, then wrapped both arms around his waist and pulled them both up until they knelt on the grass, touching from chest to knees, their mouths a hairsbreadth apart.

"Unfortunately," Harry whispered, breath hot on Draco's lips, "I do love you, so I'll have to find something else to do with you."

Draco lifted a tentative hand to touch Harry's face, and the other boy turned to press his lips into his crystalline palm. Draco knew that he had no nerve endings in his hand, but he couldn't control the shiver of pleasure that went through him at Harry's touch or convince himself that he had not felt it.

"Right here?" he asked, his voice trembling with laughter. "In full view of several hundred windows?"

"No, I've got a better place."

*** *** ***

"Look at the stars. They're enormous!"

Draco sat on the roof of the North Tower, wrapped in a red and gold Gryffindor blanket and Harry's best warming spell, propped against Harry's chest, his head tilted back into the taller boy's shoulder so he could look at the magnificent array of light above them. The stars looked huge tonight and very close, so close that he was tempted to reach up and catch a glittering handful, to let them spill through his adamant fingers like so many diamonds snatched from a bed of black velvet. But he couldn't bring himself to loosen the blanket or Harry's arms to free his hand. He felt too comfortable, too protected to dream of breaking the spell.

Harry stirred slightly behind him, craning his neck to look up at the stars, then down at Draco's face. "You're smiling." He ducked his head to nuzzle the hair at Draco's temple and whisper in his ear, "You look happy. Are you happy, Draco?"

"I'm warm," Draco answered, softly.

"That's it?" Harry demanded in mock dismay. "All these months, all I needed to make you happy was a better warming spell?"

"It's not the spell, you bloody great prat." Draco lay back against him, soaking up the incredible warmth that radiated from Harry's body, and murmured softly, "I've been cold for so long... down deep inside, where nothing could touch it. My mind doesn't remember being alone, but my body does, and it just kept getting colder and colder..."

"I'm sorry, Draco."

"Don't apologize. You're the one who fixed it."

"I should have done it a week ago."

Draco threw him a provocative, sideways look over his shoulder and purred, "Shag me senseless, with Dumbledore watching? Or Auntie Genie?"

"Well..."

"I didn't think so. Forget it, Harry. You aren't responsible for saving the world, or even for mending all my cuts and bruises. You'll go mad if you try."

"You're probably the only wizard in Britain who thinks I'm not responsible for saving the world."

"Yes, but I'm the only one who counts," Draco retorted, smugly.

Harry let his breath out on a single whoop of laughter, then drawled, "We are pleased with ourselves tonight, aren't we?"

"A good shagging has that effect on me."

"I'll keep that in mind." After a moment's silence, Harry went on in a more thoughtful tone, "Sometimes I think I'll never quite figure you out."

"Of course not. I'm a Malfoy, and we are very complex people. Far too complex for the simple Gryffindor mind to comprehend."

"Then it's a good thing you love me for my body, not my mind."

"Do I?" Draco twisted completely around this time, letting the blanket slide from his shoulders so that the starlight shone on his pale skin and caught like gems in his hair. "I don't remember..."

Chuckling, Harry bent close to brush Draco's mouth with his. Draco's lips parted in silent invitation, and Harry leaned more eagerly into the kiss. His hands came up to clasp Draco's face, and Draco responded by looping his arms about Harry's neck. He could feel a potent mixture of lust, longing and playfulness in Harry's kiss, but Harry was still holding himself back. Draco knew why, and he was grateful for the concern that had brought on this attack of restraint, but he didn't want restraint or tenderness now. He wanted Harry - the Harry he remembered from so many spectacular nights on this tower, when nothing had yet come between them to scar Draco's face and throw shadows on their hearts.

Harry pulled back gently, his hands still cradling Draco's head between them, his thumb brushing the brand on his left cheek. Draco remained poised and still, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, savoring the taste of Harry's kiss on his lips. After a long moment, he swallowed once and whispered, "I remember that part."

"Here's the real question." Harry shifted his body closer to the other boy's while holding their faces the same scant few inches apart. "Is it a good memory?"

"Harry," he breathed, soundlessly, and his lashes lifted just enough to show Harry the gleam of hunger in his eyes. "My Harry..."

A sigh of pure delight rippled from Harry's lips as he brought them to meet Draco's. Then Draco found himself sprawled on his back on the red and gold blanket, with Harry lying half on top of him, kissing him as though it were their first night together and he had never tasted anything so marvelous in all his life. Draco certainly never had - not in his sweetest fantasies or darkest longings - and the harder Harry kissed him, the more desperately he wanted to tell Harry exactly what that kiss meant to him. What Harry meant to him.

The words rose on a bubble of aching, agonized joy inside him, rising in his throat until they choked off his breath. He tore his mouth away from Harry's for a moment and lifted his lashes to find the other boy's blazing green eyes fixed on him. They stared at each other for a breathless moment. Then Draco's eyes fell closed again and his arms tightened around Harry's neck, drawing him wordlessly down into another kiss.

To be continued...