Inrevocabilis Cantanem

Chapter 5: Regret to Inform

November the First, 1997

I am afraid of going mad...These dreams will not leave me be or give me a peaceful night's sleep. Whenever I close my aching eyes, a convoy of wizards and witches passes before me: mutilated; with neither arms nor legs; coughing; pleading; dying. There are claps and crashes like those of thunder. But doesn't thunder succumb to the wetness of fresh waters to quench the barren lands and soak into the earth's breast? This thunder that I hear is as dry as Hades must be. And then we are side by side on the battlefield. Everything I have known - destroyed. Turned into rubble at my feet. My wand seems heavier than ever, the weight against my fingers like boulders, causing them to shake, threatening to drop the wand. It's all fog. Everything around me a fog. I look for my father, but he's long since deserted. Long since turned his back on his master and the tip of my wand. My father has fled and I am sick and faint with murderous lust. My father and I have given up on each other because of him. Beside me, he lies bloodied, his head on his adversary's thigh. The heat emanating from the chest of the one they called the Dark Lord steaming as it hits the damp, cool air of this early morning. I know I must help him. I know I must carry his bruised, bleeding body over the lifeless bodies of those that were once his friends and our classmates. But I can barely hold my own wand. We're sixteen years old and we've seen more death than we have life. We're sixteen years old. If I can just gather strength, then I can carry him. He's carried me. I just need to sit next to him, put my head on his chest to make sure his heart is beating. To make sure that the smile that he cast my direction at Voldemort's demise wasn't his last. If I lean down, lie upon him, hold him, will he hold me back, or has that radiant smile forever frozen on his beautiful lips? Gather my strength. Then carry the only love I've ever known home. The only home I now know. I'll just lay here, my head on his chest, and sap his bravery some. Just enough to carry his body back home. Just enough to take him back and then both of our strength will return. Both of our lives will return. We're only sixteen. What will they expect of us when we come back? Our youth gone from cushy common rooms, Quidditch pitches, and bellies full of candy - the murders we are forced to commit haul us straight into the bowels of hell. What will they expect? His heart is beating against my ear. It's slowly beating, but he's alive. We're both alive. I'll carry him, but the wand's dropped now and my head is fastened to his chest. Please someone with enough strength to carry him, come and carry him. Come and pick up both of us. Carry us home. I'll give him what little life I have left to sustain him. Carry us home. And they do. Harry is left with a scar on his arm. Like the one on his forehead, it is permanent. He is older and left slightly wan, but strong. And in the dreams when I hold him on the battlefield, he kisses me. We lie amongst the dead in an embrace; every part of us embracing; the only life among the dead. And now Narcissa. My mother. Her soul died under a luminous silver moon. Her body was untouched. Surely her heart beat serenely as Harry's had; the blood coursed as ever through her veins, as Harry's had. But her eyes - deep, emotionless - had suffered long before the soul had left them. There wasn't on her face the expression of fear that the curse usually leaves, but an expression of resignation, as though she had ceased in hoping. Pleased that her end had finally come. I'll defy my father and bury her in our pretty fields. I'll lie on both of their bodies just as I had Harry's. Feed on their spirits. Give me bravery.

Harry ran his fingers over Draco's meticulous writing. His eyes wet with tears, he glanced around Draco's empty room once more as if Draco would have suddenly appeared.

Harry sat on the edge of Draco's bed, holding Draco's journal. He read the entry again. He had been completely unaware that Draco had been having nightmares about the war. He himself certainly had been, but Draco...Draco was...Harry thought, slowly breaking down all of his preconceived notions about Draco Malfoy. Draco was human.

Harry had no recollection of the events after the war. He hadn't known that Draco had lain on him, that Draco had held him, that Draco had loved him. He only remembered waking up in the hospital with Hermione holding Ron's hand and smiling at him. He only remembered looking for Draco and seeing him smiling weakly at Harry from the next bed. He only remembered Draco playfully telling Harry that Harry "wasn't bad" in the courtyard. Draco had held him; Draco loved him, he thought, smiling softly, his eyes scanning down the page.

Suddenly it dawned on Harry where Draco was and he stood quickly, placing Draco's journal back on the desk, throwing on his invisibility cloak, and making his way through the Slytherin Dungeons to the Tower to get his broom.

********************

Pushing his way through the gaping onlookers, Snape quickly strode toward Dumbledore and swept the unconscious Draco out of Dumbledore's arms. Snape made his way through the entrance of the Great Hall, Draco held infant-like in his arms, with Dumbledore following and Harry rapidly taking up the rear.

When they entered the hallway, Dumbledore halted abruptly, causing Harry to collide into his back. He turned his light blue eyes on Harry, the magical twinkle that was always present gone.

"Not now, Harry," Dumbledore said softly.

"But, Professor..." Harry started, realizing that his heart was hammering in his chest.

"In time," Dumbledore said. He quickly turned and followed the path Snape had taken up the stairs.

Harry stood in the hallway, watching Dumbledore's retreating back. He continued standing there, his eyes frozen on the stairs. He felt a hand close around his. Confused, he looked down.

"Harry?" Hermione was saying softly. "What happened?"

He looked up, facing his fiancée, staring at her as if he wasn't sure who she was. He was vaguely aware of Ginny, Dean, and Seamus standing with him and Hermione in the hallway, and that the music had started playing again in the Great Hall.

"Sweetheart?" Hermione's voice cracked slightly. She squeezed Harry's hand, limp in her own. "What's happening?"

Harry wanted to speak. He wanted to tell her that he didn't know. He wanted to tell her that one minute Draco was telling him that he wanted to sleep with him, and that the next Draco was being carried out of the Great Hall. He wanted to tell her so many things, but he could only stare at her, tears welling in his eyes.

"Hey, Draco. Why'dya faint like a pansy? Oh, you're not Draco. You're his little fuck-buddy."

Goyle's commentary as he, Ron, Neville, Tracey, and Crabbe exited the Great Hall was met with laughter by his ever-present buddies.

"Most likely because he and Potter were practically shagging on the dance floor," Ron chimed in. "I have to hand it to you, Harry. You must be good, what with his passing out like that and all. Then again, you look a lot like Malfoy right now. He can probably only get off if he's staring in a mirror."

The thought of a wand didn't enter Harry's mind. The realization that Ron was a great deal bigger than he was didn't enter Harry's mind. He simply lunged forward, his fingers wrapping around Ron's neck. They fell backward, Harry on top of Ron. Harry quickly put his knees on Ron's shoulders, impeding his movement, and began striking Ron in the face with his closed fists.

Everything was a haze: Dean and Seamus fighting with Crabbe, Goyle, and Neville; Ginny's, Tracey's, and Hermione's screaming that they all stop; the booming sound of footsteps as students and teachers alike ran into the entrance hall to check on the commotion. It was all a haze.

Ron had managed to get Harry off of him and the two of them rolled wildly about the hallway, each trying to get leverage over the other.

They were pulled apart. The hall was silent save Hermione and Ginny's sobs, the boys' heavy breathing, and the voice, very familiar to Harry, insisting again and again that Harry calm down.

In his first moment of clarity since Draco had been carried to Dumbledore's office, Harry looked up to see to whom the arms that bound his tightly behind his back belonged.

Professor Remus Lupin, who shared the Defense Against the Dark Arts post with Alastor Moody, held Harry firmly but protectively. Harry wanted nothing more than to turn, bury his face in Lupin's robes, and weep.

He looked around the hallway. Ron was sneering, blood pouring from his swelling lip. His feet were dangling above the ground, as Hagrid had him in a bear-like hold. He was sporting a nasty-looking cut over his left eye. Ginny and Hermione had their arms wrapped around each other, both weeping. Tracey had run to Neville's side and affectionately taken his hand. Moody was standing in the middle of the hallway, his eye rolling back and forth to keep watch over Seamus and Dean to his left, and Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle to his right.

"Would anyone," Professor McGonagall was saying, walking to join Moody in the center of the hallway, her mouth a tight, thin line, "like to tell me what is going on?"

She regarded each of the offending persons individually. Crabbe, Goyle, and Neville were staring heatedly at Seamus and Dean who returned the ferocity of their gazes. Ron was leering at Harry who simply leered back, his eyes emotionless.

"Or I could simply expel you all," McGonagall threatened.

"Professor," Ginny began timidly.

Minerva McGonagall turned her cool gaze in Ginny's direction.

"It...it..." Ginny looked toward Ron. She flinched, seeing the hatred in his eyes. She solemnly shook her head.

McGonagall sighed. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "I...er...I'm not sure what happened, Professor. We...we came to see that Draco was all right and...and Harry..." she looked at her fiancé. His eyes were cold and detached.

"I hit Ron," Harry said unapologetically.

Hermione dropped her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"He was defending himself," Harry continued.

McGonagall seemed suddenly aware that all of the Hogwarts students were standing in the hallway.

"Prefects," she began, "get the rest of these students back to their common rooms. I do believe we've had enough excitement for one evening."

The Prefects quickly gathered the students, buzzing with conversation, and marched them to their respective common rooms.

Once the hallway was cleared of everyone but the Professors and Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Seamus, Dean, Neville, Tracey, Crabbe, and Goyle, McGonagall addressed Harry. Though her eyes were hardened and her mouth was still tight, there was something soft in her voice.

"What in Heaven's name possessed you, Mr. Potter?"

"I'm tired of his shit," Harry said.

Hermione's head jerked up. She, along with everyone else in the hallway, looked at Harry in surprise.

"Watch your mouth, boy," Moody growled.

Harry sighed, his chest jerking as he suppressed a sob. "I'm sorry, Professor," he said almost inaudibly.

McGonagall looked at the students in the hallway. With a sigh of defeat she began, "I honestly don't know what to do with you all. If I dock anymore House points, there will not be any need for a ceremony at the end of the year; that is, if you all make it to the end of the year."

Hermione let out a soft sob.

McGonagall looked around at her colleagues, all of whom seemed as defeated as she.

"Professor McGonagall," Lupin spoke, "may I take Ron and Harry to my office?"

********************

Harry slumped in the chair. Ron had gotten in a great shot to Harry's eye. It was puffy and he had difficulty opening it once he had blinked.

In the chair next to him, Ron also slumped. He was holding a handkerchief to his lip, the white of the cloth nearly red with Ron's blood.

Lupin had commented on how saddened he was about Ron and Harry's increasing problems. He had appealed to the past, remarking on what great friends the two had been. The question that had been placed on the table was what could be done to change the boys' current situation. Lupin had been waiting patiently for over five minutes for either one of the boys to respond. Neither one, however, seemed to have much to say.

Sighing, Harry reached under his cloak, pausing briefly to stroke the shimmering green fabric and wonder how Draco was doing, and withdrew his wand.

Ron tensed. Lupin raised his eyebrow. Harry smirked and raised the wand to his head. He magicked the silky, blond Draco-like locks back to his own inky black. Touching the wand to his forehead, his lighten-bolt scar reappeared. He closed his eyes, bringing the wand to his eyelids, and when he opened them again, his eyes had changed from the mercurial gray to bottle-green once again and the puffiness of the one eye had vanished. He tucked the wand back into his robes.

Lupin gave a small smile of appreciation as he brought his tea to his lips.

"Well," Ron muttered, "there's one thing. Harry's shagging Malfoy."

Harry raised his eyebrow nonchalantly. He didn't face Ron when he said, "And?"

"You're admitting it?" Ron spat. "That's disgusting! You're...that's..." Ron's face turned a furious red.

"Easy, easy," Lupin soothed.

Harry sighed. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm not shagging Draco, Weasley." Harry turned his eyes to Ron, a nasty smirk playing on the corners of his mouth. "I'm getting married, remember?"

"Harry," Lupin said softly.

Ron turned his head, his chin wobbling.

Harry let out a hearty sigh.

"Look, Ron," Harry said, "I'm sorry, okay. If that makes anything better. I apologize. I mean it. I'm sorry it happened the way it did. I'm sorry that you...I'm sorry you're so angry about it."

Ron continued staring at the wall.

"I'm not...I can't do this anymore." Harry openly wept.

Ron turned his icy brown eyes on Harry.

"Then leave her."

Harry shook his head, looking down at his hands.

"I love her, Ron."

"Then stuff it, Potter."

Harry grew angry. He stood, turning his frustration on his former best friend.

"You stuff it, Weasley! If I left her would you stop treating your sister like shit? Would you stop hanging around with Crabbe and Goyle? Would you stop torturing all of the students? Would everything be just the way it was, Ron, if I left her? Would you give Draco back his Amulet?"

It was Ron's turn to stand.

"Fuck you, Harry! You don't know anything! You've taken everything I've ever wanted. It's always you! The Champion of the Goddamned People!" His voice took an ominous turn. "But I know, Harry. I know people who know what you're about. You're nothing. Your Mudblood girlfriend is nothing."

Before Harry could wrap his fingers around Ron's neck again, Lupin was on his feet pushing the two boys apart.

With more force than he had intended, Lupin shoved Ron back into the chair.

"Harry, sit," he commanded, but Harry remained standing; his small frame seemed to expand with the rage burning inside of him. "Harry, please," he prodded.

Harry simply shook his head.

"I'm fine, sir. It's fine."

Lupin perched on the edge of his desk. He looked disbelievingly at Ron before saying, "Ron, why on earth would you call Hermione that?"

Ron wouldn't look at Lupin. He stared at the floor, his expression hidden.

"Because, sir," he began, "that's what she is, right?"

"What? No...she's not...why...how could you..." Lupin stuttered.

Ron sighed, "Sir, I thank you for trying, but this isn't getting resolved." He moved to stand.

Lupin cleared his throat. "I don't like to be the one who says or does things like this, but I do want the two of you to know that if you can't find a way to coexist with some semblance of peace, then I will, myself, speak to the Headmaster about your permanent removal from Hogwarts."

********************

Harry walked slowly, looking around. He was trying to figure out where he was, but this place was unknown to him. He stopped, trying to get his bearings, the scar on his forehead tingling. He unconsciously moved his hand to stroke it. It hadn't bothered him in nearly a year. Not since Voldemort's defeat. Stroking his head absently, he looked around. He heard voices.

"He's a Pureblood," came one voice. It was a woman, Harry thought, and not unfamiliar to him. But who?

"As was Voldemort." That was Lucius Malfoy. Of that, Harry was sure. He moved slowly toward another room: the room from which the voices were coming. He suddenly realized where he was: Malfoy Manor. "So, the Amulet shouldn't be any stronger."

"Ah," the woman's voice purred. "Potter."

Harry tensed, looking for his wand. He didn't have it. They'd seen him, he thought. He focused on the magic Draco had taught him, steadying himself for a fight.

"What about Potter?" Lucius spoke, his voice dripping with loathing.

"Potter told me that Voldemort wasn't a Pureblood. He told me when we were trying to get the Prophecy."

Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry thought, placing the voice with the woman to whom it belonged. What was she doing out of Azkaban? What was she doing here with Lucius Malfoy?

"Hmm," Lucius was thoughtful. "So, then, this boy, the boy who has it, will give it much more strength than Voldemort was ever able. Bellatrix, my love, we'll be indestructible."

"If he can be convinced."

Lucius chuckled. "He's closer than I'd ever dreamed. As soon as we get Potter out of the way, the boy is ours." He sighed contentedly. "But that won't be much of a problem, it seems, since Potter came to us."

A hand closed around Harry's arm.

Harry started, pulling his arm protectively against his side, and stared up.

He was lying on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. He was still wearing the tunic, but it twisted about his torso much the way his pants twisted about his legs. Harry was using the cloak as a blanket. His heart beat wildly in his chest. Hermione was standing beside him. She looked as if she had just gotten out of bed. She was wearing a light pink dressing robe. Her feet were bare.

He madly looked about the room. The light pouring through the window suggested that it was just daybreak. The fire roared complacently, throwing shards of light over Hermione's face.

"Oh, darling," Hermione said soothingly, kneeling beside him. "Were you dreaming?"

Harry nodded, "I...I think so, yes."

He slid his body toward the back of the couch to make room for Hermione who quickly lay down and curled up beside Harry. As she curled her body against his, Harry rearranged the cloak so that it was covering them both.

He looked around the room again, suddenly aware that everything was blurry. His glasses. Draco had told him that the spell that reversed Harry's near-sightedness was only temporary. But Draco still had his glasses.

As if reading his mind, Hermione reached into the pocket of her robe and withdrew Harry's glasses.

"Dumbledore brought them to me," she explained as Harry put them on, "only moments ago. I thought I'd look for you, seeing as how you didn't come to my room after your talk with Lupin. I'd expected you to."

Harry looked at Hermione anxiously.

"Did he...Did Dumbledore say anything about Draco?" he asked.

Hermione softly shook her head. "No, love, he didn't." She snuggled closer to Harry, her arms wrapped tightly around him.

He knew that she wanted to know what had happened in Lupin's office. He knew that she wanted to talk about his fight with Ron. He knew that she wanted to know what he had been dreaming. He wanted to discuss none of those things. Not now. Now he only wanted comfort. Now he only wanted to forget what Ron had called Hermione. That same word spoken by Draco five years ago had resulted in Ron's burping up slugs. Now Ron was using it? Harry sighed heavily.

"Harry," Hermione began timidly.

Harry looked into her eyes. He shook his head.

"Hermione, no," he said simply.

She nodded and nuzzled her head underneath his chin.

Harry stared forward into the fire. The dream. Had it been a dream? What was Lucius Malfoy up to? Draco had told Harry that his mother was concerned by Lucius' behavior, but Harry hadn't been nearly as disturbed about it then as he was now. Lucius had spoken about a Pureblood wizard who currently had the Amulet. No matter what they had been through or how many punches had been thrown, Harry just couldn't believe that Ron could be that wizard. Draco was convinced of it, though. Draco. Harry wondered where he was and what Dumbledore had told him the night before that had resulted in his being carried away from the Great Hall. Away from Harry. Harry absently stroked Hermione's arm, his mind revisiting the past month. Draco had kissed him. He had kissed Draco. Draco wanted to sleep with him. When Ron had said in Lupin's office that Harry and Draco were having sex, Harry had been surprised by his own response. Was that devil-may-care attitude legitimate? Did he really not care if the whole of Hogwarts suspected what Harry knew had the probability of coming true? He sighed, looking down at Hermione's bed-tousled hair. He moved his arm, cradling her head in crook of his arm and using his fingers to play with the cinnamon brown tresses.

She raised her head, looking first into Harry's eyes and then down at his lips. With the exception of a few stolen moments here and there, Hermione and Harry hadn't made love for the better part of two weeks. She rubbed her nose against his before bringing her lips to his.

He returned her passionate kiss softly, taking time to nibble her lips and suck gently at her tongue. She moved her body, stretching to her full length against Harry.

He wasn't aroused. Between his legs, he felt as if he were simply dangling: a snake with no backbone.

Grumbling softly, he intensified the kiss and ground his hips against Hermione.

Maybe, he thought, it wasn't just him. Maybe with all that had gone on the night before, Hermione wasn't aroused either. Maybe they were just going through the motions because each thought that this was what the other wanted. Surely it couldn't be that because Hermione wasn't Draco, Harry's body wouldn't respond.

He reached between their bodies, pulling at the satin belt around Hermione's waist. Under her robe, she wore a small t-shirt; it was one like Harry had seen many Muggle girls wear out in public. It looked as if it were half the length it should have been and showed Hermione's soft belly.

He circled her navel with his finger before flattening his hand against her stomach and moving it to the waistband of her panties. His fingers captured between the silky material of her panties and her soft, downy fur, he realized he was wrong.

His fingers slid through Hermione's wetness, the liquid from those lips like unspooled strands of gossamer.

She bucked her hips against Harry's hand. She let out a soft moan through her closed lips. She reached for Harry, but he quickly grabbed her wrist, causing her to open her eyes and stare at him in confusion.

"I'm not...It's not...I can't...um," he stammered.

"Oh," she said softly, her eyes alight with sympathy and concern. "Oh."

Harry began to sob. Hermione took him quickly in her arms. He pulled his hand out of her panties, using the outside of them to wipe off his fingers before wrapping his arms around her slender frame.

This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. He was marrying Hermione. He was in love with Hermione. But she was unable to elicit the response that Draco had various times; the response that she had elicited from Harry's loins numerous times in the past. Draco, Harry thought, was taking his soon-to-be-wife's place. And Harry hated Draco for that.

Harry cried until the sun began throwing light on his and Hermione's bodies. Until the fire extinguished itself. Until Professor McGonagall appeared at their sides, telling Harry that the Headmaster would like to see him.

********************

Harry sat across from Dumbledore's desk. He wasn't in the mood to be there. He wasn't in the mood to be anywhere that included people.

Dumbledore was still upstairs in his private rooms. Harry looked around the office, his eyes falling on the Pensieve. He wanted one, he decided. Had he a Pensieve, he would completely remove all thoughts and memories and sit numbly in some corner.

He smiled softly to himself. The image in his head was of him sitting in the Gryffindor common room staring blankly ahead, drool forming at the side of his mouth and falling, a continuous drip, to his robes.

Dumbledore was descending the stairs, his mouth characteristically fixed in a small smile.

"Where's Draco?" Harry demanded informally.

"And a good morning to you, too, Harry," Dumbledore smiled as he seated himself in his chair. "Would you like some tea? I was thinking of an English toffee flavored concoction myself."

"Where is Draco?" Harry repeated, ignoring the old wizard's question.

Dumbledore continued smiling, conjuring up a tea cozy, a steaming pot of water, some tea and tea bags, and two cups.

"It might calm you," Dumbledore continued.

Harry stood, anger controlling his movements. Restraining himself and his tone, he repeated, "Where...is...Draco?"

Dumbledore was preparing the tea. "You do take cream, don't you, Harry?"

"Look, sir," he erupted, balling his fists and using them to support his weight as he put them on the desk. He leaned forward menacingly. All restraints gone, he continued, "I don't want any bloody tea! You told me that Draco needed me. You pulled me from my entire world - in so doing, turned it completely upside down - and had me befriend this...this...this cocky asshole. So, I'm only doing as you asked. I want to know where Draco is. I want to know what the hell is going on."

Dumbledore absentmindedly motioned for Harry to sit, placing one of the teacups in front of Harry and sipping from the other. Placing his cup on its saucer, Dumbledore turned his ice blue eyes upward, meeting Harry's angry glare.

Harry felt himself being pulled backward, as if some invisible hand held his shoulder and guided him back into the chair.

Though he hadn't stood or even moved from the chair, Dumbledore seemed to loom over Harry, causing Harry to sink a little in his seat.

Dumbledore spoke softly, but with a hardened edge to his voice, "You will, Harry, calm down. Drink your tea."

Harry was tired of crying, but he felt tears escaping from the corners of his eyes.

"I don't really want any tea, sir. Thank you." His voice was shaky and his mouth was completely dry.

"Anything else, then?" Dumbledore asked.

The teacup in front of Harry changed into a glass of milk. The glass of milk changed into a glass of pumpkin juice. The juice changed into a glass of water.

Harry nodded gravely and took the water from the desk.

Dumbledore's presence seemed to once again contain itself behind the desk.

"Now," he began, "I can honestly say that I cannot tell you where Draco is because I do not know."

Harry nodded softly. He felt worthless.

"Can you tell me, sir, what happened last night?"

Dumbledore smiled, sipping his tea.

"I could, Harry, but I would rather Draco be the one to share that news with you. For, you see, it is not my place."

Harry again nodded, looking down into the glass of water as if it would unexpectedly reveal to him everything he ever needed to know.

"Is there something you would like to discuss with me, Harry?"

Dumbledore's voice jolted Harry. He looked at the wisened old wizard.

"Anything at all?" Dumbledore smiled.

Harry shook his head sadly. How could he reveal everything he was feeling? He couldn't, he had decided.

"No, sir. Not at the moment."

********************

There was no sign of Draco that cold Saturday.

The rest of the day was a blur to Harry. He spent most of it sitting by the lake, Hedwig and Persephone at his sides, until the air grew so chilly that he finally forced himself to go in. He was aware of Hermione and Ginny constantly on the fringes, but allowing him space.

Hermione had suggested that Harry sleep in her room as so not to be bothered. When he returned to the castle, he had gone directly to her room, thanking his lucky stars that her room wasn't connected to the Gryffindor common room.

He didn't sleep much that night. He lay on his back staring at the ceiling, his fingers habitually tangling and untangling themselves in Hermione's hair. He found comfort in her head, glued to his bare chest, and her legs, coiling themselves around his. He decided that he would get up very early the next day, put on his invisibility cloak, use his Marauder's Map to find a way into the Slytherin Dungeons, go to Draco's room, see that he was all right, and then tell him that he wanted nothing more than friendship. He was in love with Hermione. He was to marry Hermione. That, as they said, was that.

But the thought of being alone with Draco in his room was enough to give Harry that erection he had long sought when he and Hermione had lain together earlier that morning on the couch. Full, eager, and awake was his manhood.

He nudged Hermione gently. She awakened quickly, looking quizzically into her fiancé's bright green eyes.

With the skill of a well-paid paramour, he deftly spread her legs, mounted her, and thought only of Draco as he released himself into her silken aperture.

********************

Draco was asleep on the stone slab that was situated near his aunt's grave. Next to Joliet's was a freshly turned mound of earth. It was there, Harry realized, that Draco had buried his mother. He looked at the marble headstone: Narcissa (Black) Malfoy, August the Nineteenth, 1958 - October the Thirty-First, 1997, Beloved mother, daughter, aunt, and cousin, May her soul finally have peace.

Harry gently placed his broom on the ground next to Draco's. He looked at the sleeping boy. Draco was still wearing the Gryffindor Quidditch robes, but had removed the cape and was using it as a pillow. His hands were folded across his chest. Between his creased fingers he held a single narcissi. Draco's legs hung limply on either side of the bench. He had magicked himself back into his own skin, the ashen blond hair hanging shaggily over his dormant eyes. Harry noted the dirt underneath Draco's usually meticulously clean fingernails and covering the Quidditch robes. Dirt caked the blonde's hands, a sharp contrast to his pale skin.

Harry looked down at the quiescent boy. His breath caught in his lungs, difficult to expel. The flood of mixed emotions raged in him again. How could he hate anything...anyone...so damned beautiful?

Harry reached to move some of the blond tresses that covered Draco's eyes. His eyes still closed, Draco swiftly moved his own hand, wrapping the fingers gently around Harry's.

"Draco dormiens nunquam titilandus," Draco said softly.

"What?" Harry asked, removing his thumb from Draco's grasp to rub it along the ridge of the blonde's hand.

"Draco dormiens nunquam titilandus," Draco repeated. "'Never tickle a sleeping dragon.'"

Draco opened his liquid gray eyes and looked up at Harry. The whites of his eyes were bright red. Harry noticed how swollen they were.

Harry smiled down consolingly at Draco, his thumb still running up and down the blonde's hand.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Was I tickling you?"

Draco nodded slightly, releasing Harry's hand so that he could push himself up, which he did with a pained groan.

"A little," Draco said, patting the bench. Harry sat. "But I think I knew you were here. I think I was dreaming that you had come here."

"You weren't easy to find. I snuck into your room. I...I glanced at your journal."

Draco smiled, though the movement of his lips seemed to cause him discomfort.

"Should have been a Slytherin," he said softly, turning his eyes to the two graves.

Draco sighed, his chest slightly pitching, and turned again to face Harry.

"Draco, I'm terribly sorry," Harry said.

"I got to see her. Without Lucius knowing that I was there, of course. Dumbledore took me to St. Mungo's where they had her...her body. He had so many wards protecting me, Harry," Draco smiled slightly. "It was amazing. He's amazing. Lucius had me convinced that Dumbledore was a quack, but Gods..." Draco's face darkened. "He killed my mother."

"Lucius?" Harry said.

Draco nodded, turning to look back at Narcissa's grave. "He killed her. I know he did. Dumbledore knows, too. But there's nothing we can do. He's Fudge's golden boy. Fudge's meal ticket. Fudge would never believe us. I saw him - Lucius - when Dumbledore and I were leaving. He actually had the nerve to be crying." Draco scoffed, his features hard and steely. When he looked back at Harry, his eyes were moist with tears.

"How do you do it, Harry? How could you have lost everything you've ever had, but you're still living? How do you have this much strength? I just...part of me died Friday night. How are you still intact?"

Harry moved quickly, gathering the weeping boy into his arms. He whispered softly that it was all right. That he understood. That he would be there for Draco.

Draco maneuvered his head so that his lips were parallel to Harry's. He moved to kiss the black-haired boy, but Harry quickly turned his head.

"No, Draco."

"I need you, Harry," Draco pleaded.

"You've got me, Draco. You've got everything I can afford to give you. But not this."

"Not now?" Draco asked softly.

"Not ever," Harry said, dropping his head slightly.

Draco violently pulled out of Harry's embrace. He turned again to face his mother's and aunt's graves saying, "Fine, Harry. You leave me, too."

Harry sighed, an emotion he wasn't used to building inside of him. It was part anger, part regret.

"Listen, Draco, I'm not leaving you. Just because I can't give you what you want -"

Draco sneered. "What I want? What do I want, Harry?"

"You told me on Halloween. You told me at the Masque what you wanted. I can't give you that."

"Funny. I don't remember hearing any protest then."

"We're friends, Draco," Harry said, moving to his feet. He started pacing. "That's it. I can't give you anymore than that."

Draco watched Harry. He said calmly, "So, the last time we were here, then; were we just being friends then? Were we just being friends at the Masque? You nearly poked a hole through my thigh. Is that what friends do? Did you and Weasley have that kind of friendship?"

Harry's eyes flashed treacherously in Draco's direction. He stopped walking. "Don't bring him up."

"Ah," Draco said, standing. "So that is how it was. Is the Weasel upset because I'm going to take his place?"

It was Harry's turn to scoff.

"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. You're not taking anyone's place. You leave Ron out of this. This is between you and me."

Draco slithered up to Harry, reaching around to cup Harry's backside.

"Seems as if there's a lot...between you and me," he said silkily.

Harry hit Draco's hand away and backed up.

"I'm serious, Draco. I'll support you. I'll be there for you when you need me. That. Is. It."

Draco narrowed his eyes.

"No, Harry. It isn't. You know it as well as I."

"Shove off," Harry spat. "I'm not going to be your next conquest."

Draco laughed dryly. "Who's flattering himself now, Potter?"

Harry's temper flared.

"I've never hated anyone, Malfoy. I don't even think I hated you when we were younger."

"So, how's that assessment working out for you now, Potter?" Draco interrupted. He softened his tone slightly. "Do you hate me now? Huh? Do you hate me now because you want the same things I want? Do you hate me because, like me, all you can think about is the next time we get to be alone together? Do you hate me because I'm fucking up your perfect little world?"

During Draco's speech, Harry's face grew more and more red.

"Yes, okay! Yeah, you're ruining my life! Does that make you happy Draco? Is that what you want?"

Draco sadly shook his head.

Harry continued, "I can't even make love with my fiancée!"

"Whose fault is that?"

Harry's jaw dropped. "What? Who started this, Draco?"

Draco quickly closed the gap between he and Harry.

"Maybe I initiated this, Harry, but you were an active, willing participant. If you had not wanted it, you would have stopped it long before it started. You didn't seem at all concerned about Granger then."

"Don't tell me who or what I'm concerned with, Malfoy," Harry said, his face perilously close to Draco's. "You know nothing...nothing...about me."

Harry walked to retrieve his broom.

"I know," Draco said as Harry moved to mount his broom, "that you care more than you want to. I know that you love more than you want to. I know, as much as you'd hate to admit it, that your favorite color is silver. I know that your friends and what they think of you matters more than anything in the world. I finally know what it feels like to lose everything that's important to you and how that makes you feel like you have to shut out everyone else in the world for fear that you'll lose them, too. I know that feeling, Harry, because that's how I've felt for the past two days. But it didn't win. That feeling didn't win because all I've wanted..." Harry heard Draco's voice pitch. "All I've wanted was you. So, fly away, Harry, if you don't want this. It will kill me, but I'll understand. Every man must kill the thing he most loves."

His foot on the footrest of his broom, Harry turned to look at Draco. The Slytherin sobbed silently. He had sat back on the bench, staring down at his interlocked fingers. Harry thought of Draco's journal. He thought of the many things he read in it. He knew that if Draco hadn't intended for anyone to read the pages that revealed his innermost thoughts, as Harry was sure he hadn't, then there could be no manipulation there. He had written that he loved Harry during the war. He had written that he wanted to kiss Harry as Harry lay unconscious on the battlefield. The war was nearly a year ago. Had Draco felt this way for all of that time?

Harry lay down his broom. He stood looking at Draco. It all suddenly made sense. Harry and Draco were quite similar. They shared an understanding that very few people in the world could share; they were both devoid of any family. But Harry had the Grangers. Draco had nothing but Harry for over a year, and the time he was able to rekindle with his mother was brief, ending too quickly. He walked slowly over to the blond, his hands in his pockets.

"Draco?" he said softly.

Draco didn't look up to acknowledge Harry. Harry sat next to him, reaching between the boy's knees to take his hand. He held the fingers gently in his own. Rubbed them softly against his own. Brought them to his lips and kissed them tenderly.

He laid his head on Draco's shoulder.

Draco turned teary-eyed to Harry.

"Will you hold me?" he asked softly.

Harry nodded and allowed himself to recline against Draco who was pulling Harry toward him.

Harry wanted to tell Draco about the fight and the dream and his sudden disinterest in Hermione, but lying on the cool stone bench holding Draco, Harry realized for the second time that there in the pretty fields, they were the only two living souls for miles.

Save the one he couldn't see.

The lone figure standing behind the yew tree watched the exchange with interest. He smiled softly to himself before turning to walk away. He had left his broom a considerable distance away. Picking it up, he flew back to Hogwarts.