A Certain Kind of Memory

I made my will today.

I don't think anyone faces their mortality

in quite the same way after having made a will.

It's an acknowledgment that you accept death.

More than any token affirmation or spoken platitude

to the reality of death -

they're just words, thoughts and emotions.

Making a will is a physical, tangible admission of limits,

of boundaries, and of a finite existence.

Proof.

Despite everything, I don't think I was ready for that.

Harry Potter, December 2005.

The relationship between Harry and Draco seemed to become more intense after Ron and Hermione's wedding. Or at least it appeared that way to Harry. He looked at Draco more closely, noticed minute details about the curve of his bottom lip and the hollow in his throat; noticed these things with his teeth and his lips as well as his eyes. He felt like a sponge, frantically soaking up infinitesimal fragments of experience for his senses: what Draco smelled like just after he came; a mixture of sweat and come and the breeze at the end of a summer day: how he sounded when Harry dragged a moan from deep within his throat; like he'd touched something profoundly vital and primal: how Draco tasted after he'd come home from the shop; a blend of sharp herbs, the remnants of his tools leaving traces on his lips: how Draco looked after he'd had a shower and stood with the sun behind him; like some ancient God, all white marble tinted with pink heat and shimmering with the light of the setting sun: how Draco felt when Harry came deep inside him; like a hard, tensed bundle of flexed muscle coaxing him deeper, to blend and merge with him the only way possible.

Their lovemaking, as Harry wanted to refer to it now, became more inquisitive, increasingly exploratory and questioning. The evening he'd spanked Draco left delicious memories of hot flesh, pink and angry looking, alongside the delightful noises Draco had made as he rutted against the bed on each downswing of Harry's hand.

They'd progressed to using Harry's old Gryffindor school ties to tie Draco's wrists to the bed head. Although Draco complained that Harry could at least use Slytherin green ones that went with his pale skin, he still moaned loud enough that it was music to Harry's ears and still begged for Harry to fuck him.

.o0o.

Draco had tried to teach him to cook something more interesting than basic steak and salad but, after he managed to burn pasta, he decided that he really didn't want to have to live with the smell of burnt food every day. Harry gave up and told Draco that he'd take charge of the steaks and Draco could cook everything else.

"Aww, poor baby," Draco had cooed, when Harry's last disaster boiled dry and set the saucepan alight. "At least your skills in the bedroom far outweigh your skills in the kitchen."

Harry had stormed off dramatically, pretending to be very put upon. "I know, you only want me for my body." He pouted. "I'm just a toy boy, I knew it."

Laughter took over the evening then but Harry didn't attempt anything more demanding than steak and Draco never asked him to.

Draco's shop was already so successful that he was beginning to pay Harry's loan back. He hadn't insisted on paying rent yet, but he did insist on making inroads into paying back the loan. It didn't matter to Harry either way, but he knew it was important to Draco to be seen as independent and making his own wealth and future. Draco worked long, hard hours to ensure that he was. And in the lead up to Christmas it was even longer hours. Sometimes it was midnight before Draco would stagger in, kiss Harry with his herb soaked lips, and fall into bed.

***

Not everything was perfect. Harry was happy that it wasn't, because life wasn't perfect and he wanted life. The main thing Harry and Draco disagreed on was Charles. Draco was adamant that Charles was an asset to the shop, as he had an impeccable bloodline, apparently. Harry would have been quite happy for Charles to take his impeccable bloodline and shove it down someone else's throat, thank you very much. But nothing Harry said would change Draco's mind and in the end Harry realised that it didn't matter anyway. When he was gone, Draco could do what he wanted and if that meant Charles fucking Frobisher remained in Draco's life and took on a rather different role than shop assistant, then so be it.

Charles inadvertently - read deliberately - caused their largest argument since they'd been at school. A few days before Christmas, Harry was preparing to travel to Hogwarts to assist in putting up the Christmas decorations. He'd participated in that ceremony since Hagrid moved to France after marrying Madame Maxine. Hogwarts always felt like home and going back once a year made him feel like he was keeping in touch with his childhood.

Draco had just left for work when Harry received an invitation for Draco and himself to spend the night at Hogwarts after decorating the Great Hall, and then attend a holiday feast the next day before the children left on the Hogwarts Express to go home for the holidays.

He firecalled Draco's shop but Charles said he was busy.

"Can you give him a message for me, please?" Harry asked Charles, who nodded, his calculating eyes dismissive of Harry. Harry really disliked this young man.

"Will you tell him we've been invited to spend the night at Hogwarts and attend a feast the next day? He can Floo directly over when he finishes work. Tell him I'll see him around dinner time."

"Yes, Mr. Potter," Charles said in his smarmy manner. Harry nodded and ended the call.

If Harry hadn't been so busy disliking Charles, he might have remembered not to trust that Draco would even get the message.

Draco had been furious that Harry didn't return home that night and hadn't called to let him know he was all right. He'd had spent the night frantic, worried that something had happened to him. He admitted later that deep inside, he knew that Harry was probably staying the night when he hadn't arrived home by dinner time, however, that hadn't stopped him worrying because he didn't know. Harry hadn't had the decency to let him know.

When Harry arrived home the next day, equally furious at Draco not even bothering to let him know he wasn't going to be able to make it, they'd argued loudly. Harsh, angry words were shouted before Harry yelled that he'd left a damned message with Charles.

"You did?" Draco asked.

"Of course I did! I would never have gone off like that and not told you. I still can't believe you thought I would do that."

"That...Charles had better have a good explanation and be prepared to do some serious sucking up to me in order to keep his job," Draco stated angrily. Luckily the anger was now directed towards Charles.

"Not so much of the 'sucking' thank you," Harry snapped. "That would just be one more thing for me to be fucking pissed about."

"Oh, come on, Harry. I've never given you cause to think I'd cheat on you with him. Charles Frobisher? Honestly, Harry I'd rather shag a girl than him. And you know it. He doesn't hold a candle to you."

Harry allowed himself to be mollified. A little. But he swore that if Charles didn't watch his behaviour then he might decide to fight fire with fire. Besides, he didn't want to fight with Draco, who was watching him curiously.

"Right, so seeing as I missed out on your company last night and had to sleep in a bed all on my own, I insist that you take me to bed and prove that," Harry demanded. Who said Draco always got to be the demanding one?

Needless to say, Charles did his image a lot of damage in Draco's eyes after that fiasco. He only just managed to keep his job by begging, promising Draco he'd never forget to pass on messages again.

***

In the days after Hermione and Ron's wedding, Harry went to see Mr. Tort to make his Will. It was a harrowing experience and afterwards he never wanted to see his lawyer again if he could help it. Dumbledore's estate was put in trust for any student who didn't have the money for a Hogwarts education and was to be administered by Mr. Tort's firm, with Hermione and Pansy having the final say. Draco was to inherit the Black estate and the rest, if any, of Harry's own estate, after other bequests he'd made to the rest of his family and friends.

It was after making his will that Harry started lashing out at things occasionally.

Society or human nature or something would suggest that this should be one of the happiest times in his life. He was young, rich, good-looking, and he had a boyfriend he adored. He was in love and he was happy.

But the boundaries Death and Mortality placed around him shackled his ability to enjoy this happiness. At times the bitterness railed against his better, more common sense and he would often have to leave the flat, late, after Draco was asleep, and walk the silent streets. He'd wear trainers so his footsteps were muffled and, as it was winter and almost Christmas, he'd rug up warmly but would still have to wipe impatiently at his nose when the cold made it run.

He'd be gone hours, often just walking, peering into rooms dimly illuminated by lights on a Christmas tree left shining to throw multi coloured shadows across walls, casting flares of tradition through the window, tantamount to telling the world that all was well in that household.

Sometimes he'd find the occupants still up, and he'd stand unobserved, watching them through their windows. An elderly lady was on the telephone, tears streaming down her face, but her eyes lit with joy. He cast a listening spell then, and heard her speaking to her daughter all the way across the world in Australia whom she hadn't spoken to since last Christmas.

Another man sat alone in his room, a meager tree with a lone light on the top of it beside him. Harry stood watching, almost keeping vigil with him until he turned off the light and headed to another room, presumably a bedroom.

These people, who were seemingly lost or held separate from the spirit of Christmas were those he identified with. And he'd stay there, watching them and their lives until they retired to bed and he needed to be on his way.

The destination for most of these walks tended to be a park large enough that casting a Muffliato spell to stop anyone hearing him, and covering himself with the Invisibility cloak wouldn't be noticed. Then, he'd sit on a bench somewhere and, hidden from the world, from every living soul, he'd cry out his grief with no one to witness his helplessness and vulnerability. It was private, his grief and anguish were not for others to share or to bear with him.

In the early hours of the morning, he'd slip back into bed behind Draco and press himself up behind him. He always felt better after having got that out of his system but he felt guilty that no one knew. He'd always had trouble crying, letting his grief go, and to do it in front of anyone else would be too hard for him. He was going to allow himself this weakness because control over what he did with his own emotions and pain was all he had left for now and for who knew how much longer. While he had a choice, solitary, private grieving was what he'd choose.

His life wasn't all doom and gloom, though. His book was coming along spectacularly well, although writing about his diagnosis and his reactions to it probably had a lot to do with his anguished state of mind and the way he was feeling lately. Not that he didn't have a reasonable excuse for his outbursts; anyone would allow him a reasonable temper reaction. But that was just the thing; he didn't want them to make allowances for him - he wanted to be told if he was acting like a jerk and to have his face slapped, or have Draco punch him in the jaw. Luckily, he hadn't had a temper tantrum that bad. Yet.

And all this internal thinking was mere exhausted rambling since he'd not had nearly enough sleep in the month since the wedding. There was much in his life to be grateful for and to be happy about, but finding the inner peace to enjoy and appreciate them and not ask for more was hard. How could you be content with leaving them? How could you not ask, beg and plead - hell - do anything bar sell your soul just to stay?

However, he'd found enough peace to enjoy the good times, and there were plenty of them.

***

Christmas turned out to be almost perfect. Draco insisted on celebrating Christmas at the flat. He said he'd freeloaded off all his friends for so long in the past that it was about time he began to repay all the hospitality.

So they'd magically enlarged the living and dining areas of the flat and invited everyone for a Christmas Eve dinner, leaving those who had families to see them on Christmas day.

By the time everyone arrived there were twenty-three of them. Harry emphatically refused to add Charles to the list and Draco didn't protest too much. Not after Harry made good use of the Gryffindor school ties again and tied him to the dining table, before taking the wooden spoon to his bum.

He kept that little piece of information from the guests during dinner. He didn't think it likely that Hermione's parents would appreciate knowing that Harry and Draco had christened that table extremely hard - hard enough to have it rocking so dangerously that it threatened to break apart.

Gift giving around the tree before dinner turned out to be a fun, chaotic affair, with Jasmine ripping paper off presents with gusto and squealing at each treasure. She had teamed up with Bill and Fleur's eldest who was a year younger and the two terrors made light work of many hours of wrapping. Before long it seemed the whole floor was covered in scraps of brightly coloured paper, loose ribbon and numerous gift tags.

Harry would have liked to have Mario, Vanessa and the staff from Mario's there, but mixing Muggles who had no idea there were such things as wizards with the Weasleys would have been too much. Everyone would have had to be on their best behaviour and with the amount of free flowing mulled wine, it was too big a task for anyone, let alone people like George who liked nothing better than to trick unsuspecting Muggles with harmless jokes and tricks.

Molly fussed over Alison, insisting on holding her so Hannah could relax and Hannah readily agreed. At four and a half months old, Alison watched the world and the colourful Christmas wrappings with wide eyes and a huge toothless grin.

Luna remarked that Alison would be a Gryffindor just like her father. For all Luna's eccentricity, they all knew that when she made predictive comments like that they should listen, as she was almost always right.

"How do you know she'll be a Gryffindor, Luna," Neville asked, clearly not displeased that Luna thought his daughter would be in his old House at Hogwarts.

Luna cocked her head and looked off past everyone to the front door, as if thinking. After a short time, she nodded and returned her gaze to Neville. "Fred told me," she said, simply. The room went quiet, apart from Jasmine and Victoire exclaiming over a new doll. And when they realised that everyone else had gone quiet they stopped and listened as well.

"Fred, as in my Fred?" George asked.

Smiling, Luna nodded. "He wanted to come here and spend this Christmas with us because next year we won't all be here."

Harry paled. That could mean anything, really though, couldn't it? One of them might be away on business or could have moved overseas or any one of a number of possibilities. It didn't have to mean him. But he knew it did.

Molly became a little teary - even after all these years it was understandable. "Tell him we love him and miss him, will you, dear?"

"Oh, he knows that," Luna said cheerily. "He watches over all of us. He and James and Sirius are quite the trio on the other side."

Strangely enough, that made Harry feel better. There would be people waiting for him in his 'next great adventure'. So many people he loved had already gone; when he went he wasn't going to be alone.

"Does he have any messages for anyone else?" George asked.

Luna went quiet again and looked away. Then she laughed and shook her head. "He only wants you to know that he misses you most of all and -" she turned to Seamus, " -he wants you to know that had he not been straight he'd have chased after you after you did that strip at the bar for Ron's stag party."

There were a lot of opened mouths at that. Hermione hit Ron with an accusing stare before redirecting it to Harry and silently asking him to explain.

Harry was floundering until Draco spoke up. "Oh, come on, Weasley..." He was obviously directing his comment to Fred. "I knew you Weasleys didn't have much taste, but Finnigan?"

"Oi!" protested Seamus, laughing. "I'm not that bad, am I, Harry?"

Harry held up his hands, laughing. "Don't bring me into it. I'm already in enough trouble from Hermione for taking you all there, you can't honestly think I'd tell you you're hot with my boyfriend sitting right here?"

Seamus grinned. "But if he wasn't?"

"He is, though," Draco interrupted and tossed a scrunched up piece of wrapping paper at Seamus' head.

"I think this is all heading away from the real issue here," Hermione overrode. "And that is that you boys," she placed strong emphasis on that, "didn't see fit to inform me that you went to a strip show for Ron's stag night."

"Hey, nothing happened, love, leave it be," Ron said, patting her on the knee. "We all made it out in one piece. I didn't get sent to Australia by a non-returnable Portkey. We're all safe, although Seamus won't ever be allowed back into that club."

"He could work in one of the gay strip clubs, though," Harry quipped. "You'd earn a fortune." He laughed as Seamus held his hands up.

"No way, I'd need to get meself too drunk each night to get up there on stage and get me kit off. I'd be drinking me earnings."

"Will someone please explain what you're talking about?" Pansy asked, shaking her head in confusion.

"Finnigan decided, in his infinite Gryffindor wisdom, that as Harry, myself, Charlie and Davis were missing out in the entertainment stakes by not being offered young hot male bods to ogle, he would kindly be our entertainment," Draco expanded, a smirk upon his face.

"And caused us to be ejected from that fine establishment," Davis finished.

As everyone laughed, Hermione gripped Ron's hand hard and whispered, "We'll talk about this later, Ronald."

Draco had been up early that morning, preparing and cooking a large turkey with accompanying trimmings. Harry couldn't wait to see them all seated and eating together. He'd bought a Muggle video camera and charmed it to follow various people around the flat, recording everything. It had seemed like a wasteful, impulsive purchase at the time but now, thinking about it, he realised with a pang that this was to be his last Christmas, and it would give him something to look back on at some future date where he might be feeling down and lost. He could use this happy day to bolster his mood and remind himself how lucky he was to have them all in his life.

Looking at everyone seated around his table, the feeling of being blessed with wonderful, warm, emotional, passionate friends - family - washed over him and he was grateful for every single one of them.

Then Jasmine knocked over the gravy boat and in her haste to clean it up Hannah stumbled and brushed up against Blaise's arm, knocking his drink all over himself and causing him to stand up suddenly and bump the table, whereby glasses of wine toppled over and the candles looked wobbly in their holders. Not to be outdone, George let off the Weasley's version of fireworks in the room and utter chaos ensued. Harry just sat amongst it, laughing his head off while they all tried to clean up, interspersing bouts of cleaning with little spurts of helpless laughter. He hoped the camera caught it all.

Later that night, after everyone had left and the flat cleaned up, Harry sunk down onto the couch and pulled Draco down onto his lap.

"Enjoy yourself?" he asked, nuzzling Draco's neck and inhaling the masculine scent of his boyfriend that was inlaid with remnants of the days cooking.

Draco nodded and yawned. "They're quite something when they all get together aren't they?"

Harry made a snorting sound of agreement.

"I actually envy you that." Draco sighed.

"What?"

"That you had such a big circle of people that cared for you so ridiculously obviously," he whispered. "My Christmases were vastly different."

"I know," Harry said equally quietly, kissing the soft skin under Draco's ear. "Mine generally weren't anything like this either but now you'll have Christmases like this every year if you want them."

"We will, you mean," Draco said, turning his head and kissing Harry deeply. "Take me to bed, Harry," Draco murmured softly against his lips, tiredness teasing his tone.

Harry nodded and went to stand up lifting Draco with him but a sudden weakness in his arm made him stop for a moment and flex his fingers. He shrugged. "Sorry, hand must have gone to sleep," he said, lifting Draco and carrying him through to the bedroom, the prospect of being wrapped around a sleepy Draco pushing all other thoughts from his head.

***

"Harry, I need to talk to you. Can I come over?"

Harry didn't even think twice when Luna asked to come and see him. He loved her off-the-wall personality and the way she was always unashamedly just herself, no matter how dreamy or spacey or slightly insane she came across. Her ideas, much as her clothes, were an individual statement that spoke as much about her place in the world as it did the state of her intelligence.

Automatically, Harry said, "Sure, when do you want to come?" expecting her to reply with, "Oh, you know, tomorrow maybe," as she usually did but today she was forthright and direct.

"Now, if that's all right with you. I need to talk to you about why you haven't told anyone you're leaving us."

Oh.

Harry sighed. "All right, come on through," he said, not even thinking of disputing her or claiming to not know what she was talking about, rather just counting his lucky stars that Draco was already off at work.

When she stepped through, she was carrying a basket of odd-looking bits and pieces, which he eyed dubiously. He was about to ask what they were for, when she interrupted him.

"Your mother tells me that you will be joining them sooner rather than later," Luna stated bluntly.

"My--"

"Yes, your mother. She's a lovely lady, your mum. She was the one that made me keep that carriage free on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago. Do you remember that's how we met?"

"Of course, how could I forget?" Harry replied, slightly dazed that his mother spoke to Luna. "Does she say much?" he asked hopefully.

Luna shook her head "No, but she told me something was off with your aura and so I checked and it's clear that you have some foreign object growing in your head and it's killing you."

Harry sat down, nodding. "You're right."

"How did this happen, then, Harry?" she asked in a softer voice.

"It doesn't need to have a cause. It's a cancer, it destroys and that's all I need to know."

She pursed her lips, frowning. "Is there nothing to be done, then?"

"No. Not unless I want to live the rest of my life in and out of hospital, drugged up to the eyeballs with crap that will make me sick."

"But how much longer would that give you?"

"Maybe nothing," Harry replied. "Maybe a couple of years, no one knows."

Luna shifted and sat beside him placing her arm around his shoulder. He looked at her and gave her a sad smile, which she returned with a cheerful one. "Never mind, Harry. You can say hello to my mum when you go and give her a hug from me."

Harry smiled despite his shock at seeing Luna give him such a cheery smile. "I will. I know you miss her a lot,' he said.

Luna placed one hand over her heart and removed the hand from round Harry's shoulders and placed that on her forehead. "But I have her in here, and in here," she said. "She's never left me lonely because she's always with me. When I get sad or lonely, like in the times before I met Daph, I ask myself, "What would mum do?" And she always tells me here," Luna tapped her forehead, "and hugs me here." The hand over Luna's heart patted at her chest.

"That must be a great comfort to you." Harry smiled, touched.

She nodded. "It is."

"Do you...do you think that I can be that for Draco?" Harry asked timidly.

Luna shrugged. "If he's let you into his heart, then maybe. But you haven't told him yet, either, have you?"

"I haven't told anyone. I don't want anyone to know," Harry explained.

"You don't think that as your friends we should know?"

Harry sighed. "Most people aren't as accepting of death and the afterlife as you are, Luna. I don't want them to change the way they treat me, just because I'm dying. I want the last months of my life to be spent with them. Enjoying them, them enjoying me."

"And you think that won't happen if they know?"

"I know it won't happen. They'll look at me differently. I saw how things were when Ginny was injured, how everyone was afraid to say the wrong thing to her; how upset they were. I don't want that. I don't want to see the pain in their eyes when they look at me...I don't..." Harry stopped, his voice deciding to crack. He swallowed hard. "I don't want anyone to do anything different than normal. I just want to live what time I have left how I want it and I couldn't stand to see them look at me any different than they always have."

"I understand, Harry. Hermione would spend what time you have left looking up a cure."

"Exactly," Harry said. "And she'll get that really sad look in her eyes and she'll be watching me every second for some sign that the illness is progressing. I can't...I just can't l-live what time I have left with that sort of attention."

Luna's arm went back around Harry's shoulder. "How long do you think you have left?" she asked quietly.

Harry sighed and leant into the embrace, resting his head on her shoulder. "Five, maybe six months," he said. "They have no idea. I'm taking a potion to mask the symptoms but I need it more regularly now. Every two weeks instead of once a month."

There was silence for a while then; Harry was kind of relieved to have someone other than his Healer to speak to about it. No matter his intentions, it was hard carrying the burden of this knowledge on his own. He thought he'd dealt with it as best he could, but he was so tired. The lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll on him but he knew that he could take the best care of himself and he'd still be deteriorating slowly.

"I bought along some things that will help you sleep. Your mum was worried about that."

"She was?"

Luna nodded and pointed to the basket. "Just brew up a tea with the herbs and drink it before bed."

"Thanks, Luna." Harry smiled at her.

"You're handling this very well, I can see, Harry," she said, inspecting his face closely.

"I don't feel like it at times," Harry said tiredly.

"No, I expect not. When are you planning on telling them? When are you planning on telling Draco?"

Harry could feel his face crumple at the mention of telling Draco. He shook his head. "I can't...I don't know what to do. It wasn't meant to...I didn't mean to..." He took a deep breath. "I never intended to fall in love with him," Harry forced out.

"Oh, Harry," Luna breathed, reminiscent of Hermione. "You need to tell him. Partners are there to be a support to each other in times of need."

"No." Harry shook his head emphatically. "No. Call me a coward but I'm not putting him through that. When things get to a point where I won't be able to hide things much longer, I'll break up with him." Even Harry could hear the painful breaking of his voice.

"But he's in love with you, too, Harry. How can you not see it? We've all seen it for years. The two of you are the only ones who refused to see what was plain as the nose on your face. If you break up with him and then he finds out this news, which he will, you'll have devastated him twice. How can you do that?"

"I don't know, Luna, I just know that I cannot make him sit through the last weeks of my life watching me die. I just can't!"