I Miss You

I Miss You

"Hello there

The Angel from my nightmares

The Shadow in the background of the morgue"

Number four Privet drive was burning. Harry stood in shock, staring up at the Dark Mark, outlined in flames in the sky. Molly and Arthur made a dash, pulling out their wands as they did so, as quick as if it was a particularly dangerous prank Fred and George had pulled.

Harry could do nothing. Images flashed before his eyes, memories. His parents, stood in the graveyard, right beside Cedric, Sirius, running towards him in the basement area of the Ministry of Magic, Arthur Weasley, falling prey to the snake in his dream, Ginny lay, pale and still in the Chamber of Secrets.

Sirius... so many deaths were on his hands. So many, and now, another three he could do nothing about. He might have hated the Dursleys, they might have deserved to die (though at that moment, Harry didn't think they did, not even Dudley), but they had been defenseless, their blood was on his hands.

Harry stood alone, even as the Order finished obliterating the memories of the neighbors, and disappeared under invisibility spells. He would not be alone, but without Draco by his side, especially since it had been Lucius' order - cult, more like - that had killed them, Harry felt more alone than even when he had been the fourth contestant in the Triwizard tournament, and only Hermione, and Hagrid had made it known to him that they believed that he hadn't cheated.

A hand fell heavily on his shoulder, and Harry started, reaching for the wand in his back pocket. But instead of the robes of a wizard, his searching hand encountered some sort of rubber.

Harry spun around, and looked up into the ice blue eyes of the leader of Little Whinging's Fire Department. "We'll have this fire out in no time. Go home, there's nothing to see." A tear, unexplained, dripped from the corner of Harry's right eye, and the Boy-Who-Lived only just managed to force out, "I can't. That's my house," from beneath the lump, also unexplained, in his throat.

A look suddenly came over the adult, and, as the rest of the team went to work, the leader took Harry aside, and asked him if he had anywhere else to go. From behind the leader, the bodies that Harry already knew were Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley, were removed from the remnants of the gutted building. Harry looked down on them as they passed by him.

"They were my family." He stated simply, as the firefighter opened his mouth to ask. "My uncle, aunt, and cousin." Harry looked up, catching a glimpse of blonde hair, glinting in the light of small fires like the Golden Snitch. The firefighter seemed not to notice Draco, standing near the fires of Number Four Privet drive.

'I'm sorry.' Draco's mouth moved, though not a sound came from his mouth. Harry nodded, once.

"Who are they? Where do they live?" The voice of the firefighter broke through to Harry's ears at last, and Harry blinked, looking briefly at the man.

"Huh? Who?" Harry looked back to where Draco had stood, but the boy was gone.

"Your family. You said you had relatives around here." Harry thought quickly. He could go to Grimmauld Place, or the Weasley's. No, he couldn't, they were wizarding places. Hermione.

"Um... I'm related to the Grangers, but I... uh... don't know where they live, my uncle didn't like my... uh... cousin much." True enough, Vernon hated witches along with wizards. The firefighter found the Grangers' residence in London; he waited on the sidewalk, as Harry, with his trunk, and Hedwig's cage beside him, rang the doorbell. The door opened, revealing Hermione, surprise written across her features.

"Harry?" Hermione's sweet voice broke through Harry's dreams, and the twenty seven-year-old wizard opened his eyes.

"Mmm?" Light filtered in through the drawn blinds, casting shadows in the well-kept room.

"Hedwig has a letter for you from Hagrid. He wants to meet you." Hermione shifted nervously. "He'd prefer the Three Broomsticks, but he can meet you where you want too."

Harry had walked away from the wizarding world the day he had killed Voldemort, the day he had done his job as 'the Boy-Who-Lived'. His wand, if it hadn't been for Hermione's cleaning, would be covered in dust with disuse. Ron and Hermione used Hedwig for messages back to the wizarding world, but never asked Harry to do the same. They knew he'd say no.

Harry rolled onto his side, slowly sitting up. Hermione was already dressed, and he internally cursed the day for being so goddamned cheerful looking. "Tell'm I'll meet'm at the bar at the corner of Laurier, and Kings. GABS... at 7 tonight." Hermione nodded, then, tentatively leaned forward, kissing his cheek.

Harry didn't acknowledge it, merely waited until she left, then got up, and pulled on a pair of black jeans. He worked today, but got off at six, so he figured he'd be okay for time. Wondering at the lingering memories of his dream, Harry set off, grabbing a slice of toast from Ron's plate, and tried to smile evilly, but failing horribly at both the looking evil, and the smile.

"The unsuspecting victim,

Of darkness in the valley

We can live like Jack and Sally if we want"

Draco wandered the halls of his now empty home, frowning at the cobwebs that hung from the ceiling, and corners. The house elves weren't doing their jobs. If he'd been his father, he'd have beaten them, and made them thank him.

But he wasn't his father, so he would remind them that the dusting was part of their duties, and maybe even stop them from punishing themselves, as they were wont to do.

Just then, a house elf skittered around the corner, and jump, snapping his fingers in the process, levitating in mid air, and produced a feather duster, quickly cleaning the clingy threads away, before skittering off just as quickly.

With his father gone, and his mother run off to God knew where (Draco didn't much care), the young man had found himself in control of a rather large estate, without anyone to dictate what he should do with it.

The first thing Draco had done was to convert half of the rooms from torture rooms to either guest rooms or reception areas. Then he had let go some of the worst of the house elves when they objected to his changing the rooms as he did. Those elves reminded him of his father.

Of course, having been let go, they whined, and he thought of Hermione, which made him think of Harry, and then he always ended up yelling like a maniac at the poor house elf... oh dear god... he sounded like the mudblood.

Draco clenched his fists, growling into the humid air of the mansion. Harry. The great man was perfect. The bastard was such a muggle lover. But Draco's hatred for Harry was only matched by his love... and loneliness.

A terrifying accident trapped the two together in the summer before first year. Draco's wand had broken, and Harry's had been far out of reach. The two had worked out their differences in the attempt to escape their makeshift prison, and - to the surprise of everyone, everyone who found out - had even begun going out.

The end had come just a year later, though. A week into the summer of seventh year, Death Eaters, led by Draco's father, attacked the house that Harry lived in, slaughtering his family. What had angered Draco, and ended their relationship, was that Harry had cared. They were just Muggles, and not particularly nice ones, either.

How can he care so much? Draco wondered. How can he possibly care so much about things that are so much lower than us? And now, he was living with them, like one of them. Draco tried to move on, had gone out with other girls even, but it had never been right. He had tried to live normally, and so, he suspected, had Harry, but, at least in Draco's case, trying had been as hard as hiding their love had been.

Draco wondered, and wandered the halls of his home for hours, considering different witches and wizards who associated with Muggles, and were happy. There were so many, and yet, he, born of a pureblood family, and living in a huge mansion, could not share in that happiness.

Maybe I'm wrong.

"Where you can always find me

We'll have Halloween on Christmas

And in the night we'll wish this never ends, we'll wish this never ends

(Miss you, miss you, miss you, miss you)"

The music, played by Dark Dove Dying, blasted at the ears of the members of the exclusive wizard club. Draco grabbed Harry's hand, and pulled the dark haired boy onto the dance floor. Here, in the Black Swan, no one cared who you were, no one cared who you were seen with.

"I missed you." Draco yelled over the blaring music.

"I miss you, too." Harry yelled back, only guessing at what Draco had tried to say, since even with yelling, neither could hear. The two had been separated for the length of time Harry had been at Ron's, and would be separated again until school started.

Draco and Harry smiled, and both danced to the music.

Draco sighed, remembering the good times of his relationship with Harry, half asleep over estate papers. "Miss you..." he muttered, his eyes closing, and falling into blissful dreams of having Harry again.

"Where are you, and I'm so sorry

I cannot sleep, I cannot dream tonight

I need somebody and always,

This sit straight darkness comes creeping on

So haunting every time"

Harry lay in his four-poster bed, unable, and unwilling to sleep. Hagrid was being the messenger for Dumbledore again. The Hogwarts headmaster wanted Harry as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Harry had told the groundskeeper no, flat-out. Harry wanted nothing to do with the wizarding world, not after his battle with Voldemort.

Harry couldn't sleep, he didn't want to, because every time he drifted off, he was haunted by dreams of the war, or Voldemort, the numerous people who's deaths he caused by merely living, and, worse than any of those, Draco.

The prig had turned out to be an affectionate lover, who began to put up a show of greater arrogance than he had, to stave of hurt from the scorn of others. Draco had learned at an early age that the Malfoys were not universally loved, and had pretended that nothing could touch him.

They had kept their relationship secret, of course, because while Harry knew that Draco was far more open than he seemed, Harry was nowhere near as sure about his ex's father.

"Why do you bother? Voldemort will win, and all the mudbloods will die. There's nothing you can do."

"Harry? Are you listening to me?"

"I love you, Harry, you know that, right? No matter what happens, I'll always love you."

Harry gasped, snapping his eyes, which had drifted shut, open. He must have dozed off, but hearing the familiarly haunting voice shocked him into being fully awake. Harry sat up, not wanting to be accosted by the dreams that would surely haunt him if he let them.

"God, I miss you, Malfoy." The words, whispered into the night, went unheard by any but the whisperer. "You're a stubborn prig, but I miss you. I think, at this point, that I'd give anything to have you back. I'm sorry I ever let you go. Where in the wizarding world are you? I want you here, with me." Harry knew that Draco would never hear him, but hoped beyond all hope that somehow, he wouldn't have to.

Harry stayed sitting, not trusting himself to stay awake if he lay down. A cold breath of wind passed through the rooms, fluttering the curtains, and chilling the hero of the wizarding world.

Harry shivered, and felt the room temperature drop. He got up, turning up the thermostat, and closing the windows, found that despite those efforts, the bed was still cold.

Harry became painfully aware of how empty the bed was.

"And as I stared I counted the webs from all the spiders

Catching this and eating their insides"

Draco stared up into the darkness of his bedroom, the walls decorated as they were by green and silver banners, sheets, and curtains, and the cobwebs that decorated the ceiling. One, one, two, four, three, seven. Draco played a counting game he had played as a child, counting the number of cobwebs there were, and at the same time counting seconds. In less than ten seconds, he had counted that there were seventeen cobwebs in his room, nine of which were at some corner of the room.

He wondered what he could do without falling asleep. His firs thought was find Harry, and while the idea was appealing, it would mean coming in contact will the bloody Muggles he loved so much. There was no was to get in contact with him any other way, or so he'd been told. Perhaps he could apparate...? No, that would require knowing where Harry was, or at least lived.

As much as he hated it, Draco couldn't help but picture the look on Harry's face as he apologized for being a jackass over some Muggles. Driven by images of being back with Harry in his arms again, Draco sat up suddenly, and went up to the aerie. He scribbled down something onto a piece of parchment, sending it off to Dumbledore. The old coot should know what Muggles wear.

"Like indecision to call you,

And hear your voice of treason

Will you come home and stop this pain tonight, stop this pain tonight?"

Dumbledore's response was mercifully quick, and left nothing for Draco to do, but go. A large package arrived with the morning post, labeled 'Draco, good luck continuing your relationship with Harry.' Draco blinked, reading this. How much did Dumbledore know?

Despite the revealing, and at the same time cryptic message on the front, the inside was filled with Muggle clothing, all of which Draco tried on, and decided he could stand to wear. Inside, underneath all the clothing, were two scraps of paper, one with number on one side, and the other looked like a guide to wearing Muggle clothes. Apparently, wearing two pairs of pants, six pairs of socks, and three shirts at the same time was going to get him noticed faster than his wizard robes.

Once Draco had removed enough to be in one pair of jeans, a golf shirt, a single pair of socks, and a baseball cap, he looked at the second scrap, the one with numbers. It, too, was a guide to using Muggle things, this time a 'telephone booth'. It came with a picture of a telephone booth, so that Draco could recognize one.

Beside the picture, were instructions, complete with magically animated doodles of people using the telephone. Dumbledore had given Draco Harry's phone number, and an advisement to call first.

Draco took the advice, unsure, now, how his first meeting with Harry in ten years would go. He apparated to Diagon Alley, then walked, purposefully ignoring the stares of others, who recognized him to be the head of Malfoy Manor, straight to the Leaky Cauldron. Seconds later, Draco Malfoy took his first steps, into the bright sunlight of a Muggle World.

It was busier than Draco would have thought, there were a lot more Muggles than he had ever suspected there to be. Children screamed, playing with others, running around, their parents chasing after them, laughing, despite their efforts to contain the children. Something, what looked like a Quaffle with its charm removed, bumped against his ankle. A small child, a girl who couldn't have been more than six, with bright golden locks, ran up to him, grabbing the ball. She hesitated slightly, then called out 'Sorry, Mister!' as she ran back to play with her friends.

Draco wasn't sure what, but he could tell something had changed in him, even as he located, and headed for a telephone booth. He dialed the number on the parchment, which he had stuffed in a pocket. Strange sounds came from phone, before a slight click, and the sound of a familiar voice emitted from the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Weasley."

"Malfoy?" Ron sounded angry. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

"Calling for Harry. Could you please put him on?"

"No. He's sleeping."

"Then can I talk to the mu- Hermione? Please?" Draco didn't know what was going through his mind, but Hermione at least, wouldn't have deaf ears on which his pleas to see Harry would fall.

"Okay..." Ron sounded doubtful, but nevertheless surrendered the phone to his wife.

"Yes Draco?" Hermione had apparently been told who it was.

"To see Harry. I promise, I'm not going to do anything to him, I just want to see him a talk." Draco was aware of how desperate he sounded, but now was not the time to be smug, that would get him nowhere. It took a while, but Hermione agreed not to hex him if he apparated there, though why Draco had no idea. Maybe Harry had told Hermione about their relationship.

"Don't waste your time on me you're already

The voice inside my head (miss you, miss you)"

Harry lay on the bed, not willing to get up. The dreams of Draco had come every night lately, and Harry just couldn't stay awake long enough to do anything. He was currently in lucid dreaming, half aware of went on outside his dreams, but not sure what was what.

"Harry?" Harry heard Hermione say, but he didn't know whether she had said it in or out of his dream. He responded anyway.

"Mmm?" Harry heard some whispering, and figured that it must have been the dream Hermione who spoke. Dreams had a funny way of seeming real...

Footsteps... Harry didn't bother looking, though he knew that those weren't in his dreams.

"Harry?" The voice was part of his dreams. Draco hadn't talked to him in years, so his voice, now, must be part of his dreams. "I - I'm sorry." Harry didn't respond. The more he ignored the dream, the faster it would go away. "I missed you." Still Harry didn't respond, waited for the person who had walked in to speak.

Someone put a hand on Harry's shoulder, and Harry jumped at the touch.

"Harry?" Harry's eyes opened, shocked out of sleep. Draco's blonde hair fell in long locks, as though he hadn't cut it in years. A haunted look hid in Draco's eyes, and He looked as though he hadn't slept any more than Harry. "I missed you." he repeated again.

"I missed you, too." Harry smiled, maybe, just maybe ready to believe that Draco was his again.