Cadence

Edited during Beta Reader Appreciation Day, this story is dedicated to all those who help authors polish their work, taking out the nicks, shining the surfaces, buffing them clean. I -- we -- would truly be lost without you.

He sat, head bowed, in the old wooden choir stall, his forehead pressing into the hymn book it was leaning upon. The voice of the minister curled around him, the words always the same...

Brethren, be sober, be vigilant...

He closed his eyes, breathing in and smelling the scent of the wood, the hymn book, the anthem book, all mingling together with the smell of candle wax in the small chapel.

...for your adversary the devil goeth about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour...

He knew, of course, that there was no such thing as the devil. Evil, yes, but one source of it all? He knew better. Evil was no one man's doing -- no one fallen angel's doing. No red devil with forked tail, his horns a political profanity of the Horned God of the old religion, representing night as the counterpart to day, winter as the counterpart to summer. It was the thoughts and actions of all men, not just one being, which produced evil.

...whom resist, steadfast, in the faith.

He recalled his own steadfast resistance of evil. He swallowed quickly, the familiar sensation of nausea coming to the fore as always. Swallowing again, he breathed in through his nose, the familiar scent of the chapel lodging itself in his senses. But it was different tonight, somehow. There was another note to the smell of the small chapel, almost full with the three dozen people in it. He couldn't quite place it.

But thou, O Lord, have mercy upon us.

He opened his eyes, focussing beyond the hymn book immediately before him. Mercy? "Thanks be to God."

O God, make speed to save us.

"O Lord, make haste to help us." Help? From God? Unlikely, he thought.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost.

Yes, glory. The glory of what, though? A world lost to him? The new world he was living in? And was it truly all that different?

He sighed inwardly. "As it was in the beginning, is now, and forever shall be, world without end. Amen."

***

He walked out of the chapel, one of the last to leave, pulling his long black duffel coat up around his ears, the tune of the anthem still resounding inside his head. His breath rose from his mouth in a cloud of steam in the chilly air, the stars brilliantly clear above him.

"Out late," a voice said from behind him.

He stopped, recognising the voice. Slowly, he turned around, focussing on the speaker, a tall, dark-haired man in his late twenties, wearing a thick jacket and jeans with a red and gold scarf. "Indeed."

"Nice service," the man observed, rubbing his gloved hands together as he approached. He raised his hands to his nose and blew hot air into them to warm his face.

"Didn't think it was your sort of thing," he said, sizing the man up.

"It isn't."

"Would you...like to come back to my flat for some coffee?" he asked, pointing up at the top floor of a four-story stone building.

"Don't touch the stuff," the man replied, flashing a quick smile.

"Well...tea, then? Or something stronger?"

"All right," the man said, nodding and walking up next to him. The cologne the man wore, he realised, was the different smell from the chapel.

***

"Long time no see," Draco said as he uncorked and poured the 1979 Coleburn into a glass for Harry, trying to stop his hands from shaking as the amber whisky caught the dim light through the glass. Outside his sitting-room window, the moon shone brightly, vying to cast shadows with the lamp in the corner of the room.

"Indeed."

"Has to be what, eight years?"

"Nine," Harry said, taking the glass with a smile.

"Nine years..." Draco mused, swirling the whisky around his own glass. "So...what have you been doing?"

"Not much," Harry admitted, taking a sip of his whisky. "Took me about three years to sort myself out. Or, at least, as sorted out as I'm likely to be. You look surprised."

"I'm not. Surprised, I mean. I wouldn't be surprised if we never sort it all out." Draco took his first sip, rolling the smoky flavour of the malt around his palate. "Saving the world fucks people up. I've realised this over the last few years."

Harry made a noise in agreement and changed the subject with all the subtlety of a John Rutter anthem. "So, what are you doing, apart from singing in a chapel on a Thursday evening?"

"Actually, I'm studying here," Draco said, indicating the old wooden bookshelf built into one of the walls. "Mediaeval History."

"Draco Malfoy, studying Muggle History at a Muggle university. Who would ever have suspected?" Harry smiled cynically.

Draco laughed. "Indeed. But, then again, who would ever have suspected the Boy Who Lived of being the Boy Who Lived For Blowjobs?"

"More importantly," Harry said, "who would ever have suspected that you were so bloody good at them?"

"Touché," Draco said, lifting his glass in salute, the sparring coming back quickly to them both.

"I still can't believe that it took us so long to put all the pieces of that puzzle together while we were at Hogwarts," Draco said. "Seven years."

"Well, six and a bit," Harry said. "And I did have to almost jump you in the Prefects' Bathroom before you'd admit it."

"Good point," Draco said, taking another mouthful of whisky. "Harry, can I ask you something? I mean, it's quite personal, so..."

"Go ahead," Harry replied, shrugging.

Draco took a deep breath and swallowed. "When did you...when did you realise?"

"That I was gay?" Harry asked.

"Mmm." Draco nodded.

"When I was thirteen," Harry said. "Of course, everything before that made sense once I realised."

Harry looked deeply into Draco's eyes as he raised his glass. "To the thirteen-year-olds we used to know...used to be."

"To the thirteen-year-olds," Draco agreed, sipping at the whisky.

"So," Harry said brightly, changing the subject, "D'you have anyone special?"

"No," Draco said, shifting slightly in his seat. "There's this one baritone, though..."

Harry smiled. "The cute one with the dimple?"

"Yes," Draco said, eyes lighting up. "I have a feeling he might be gay..."

"Too late," Harry said with a shrug. "He was kissing his boyfriend while I was waiting for you."

"Oh, bugger," Draco sighed, sounding disappointed.

They sat quietly for several minutes, digesting the scene. It was surreal, Draco thought. After nine years, Harry turns up on my doorstep. How bizarre, how truly bizarre. He looked around his sitting-room with a new pair of eyes. The couch Harry sat on was a comfortable if well-used Chesterfield, the leather coming away from the arms just slightly. He himself sat on a matching armchair of a similar condition, a folding table and chairs beyond him. On Harry's left, in a deep alcove in one of the walls, was the small black television and large metallic multi-piece stereo set, the two tall speakers twice the size of the actual apparatus and set along the wall.

"May I?" Harry asked, picking up the brushed aluminium remote control from the table.

"Be my guest," Draco said, waving to the stereo.

Harry pressed the Play button. The machine whirred once and the speakers popped ever so slightly. The room was suddenly filled with the voices of a perfectly-timed tenor entry.

Sicut cervus desiderat ad fontes aquarum...

"Nice," Harry said, turning the volume down below voice level. "This is what you sang tonight, right?"

"Yes." Draco nodded and started following the tenor line in his mind, the notes blending with the rest of the choir on the CD. "It's Palestrina's Sicut Cervus."

"Which means..." Harry trailed off.

"Sicut cervus desiderat ad fontes aquarum. Like as the hart desireth the water-brooks," Draco translated.

Harry inclined an eyebrow. "And there was I thinking you were going to use a language I could understand."

"'Like as the hart desireth the water-brooks, so longeth my soul after thee, O God'. Psalm...something," Draco explained. He grinned suddenly. "Following, Potter?"

"Yes, Malfoy, I am," Harry shot back with a smile.

They sat for a minute, listening to the counterpoint of the voices singing, blending with each other. Draco sang the last few tenor bars as the line went up high in a traditional ending, a perfect cadence.

Neither of them spoke for the duration of the next piece, a sung Psalm which washed over them, the sound ebbing and flowing like the tide. Draco reached for the remote control as it finished and flicked it off. "Harry," he said quietly, "why are you here?"

Harry blinked and took a deep breath. "Partly, I'm trying to catch up with my past. And, partly, I'm trying to make some sort of future."

"Future?" Draco repeated confusedly. "With me?"

"Yes," Harry said simply.

Draco blinked, trying to process it. "That's...very flattering."

Harry smiled. "Someone once told me that flattery will get you everywhere."

Draco cocked an eyebrow and sighed good-naturedly. "Harry. You just turn up on my doorstep -- well, on the doorstep of the chapel I sing in every week -- and you expect to fuck me. Not that it isn't nice to be back to the old days, but..." He chuckled.

Harry frowned. "That wasn't the reaction I was hoping for," he said. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'oh, yes, fuck me now, Potter'."

Draco chuckled again. "Sorry. Oh, yes, fuck me now, Potter."

"Doesn't sound too convincing," Harry said resignedly.

"It's not that I don't find you incredibly attractive," Draco said, pensively. "But...I don't know. I don't know what it is that's stopping me, because I find you incredibly sexy, as a matter of fact."

Harry smiled. "I have to confess, I wanted to snog you the day we met, and I've never stopped."

"I know," Draco said with a grin.

Harry blinked again, doing a mild double-take. "You do?"

"Mmm," Draco said smugly. "I noticed your face was flushed, your cheeks bright red, and you were sweating."

"It was August!" Harry objected.

"In London, and it was overcast," Draco replied, smirking.

Harry shook his head. "Well, no questions about when you knew you were gay..."

"We Malfoys always were fast learners," Draco said, smiling.

"Mmm," Harry said, and they lapsed into silence, uncomfortable this time, as if there was something that needed to be said but neither of them could -- or would -- say it.

"Well," Harry said with a smile, putting down his glass and leaning forwards. "I think I should be off. Cheers for the whisky, Draco. I'll--"

"Wait," Draco interrupted. Harry stopped getting up. "As much as your arrival was completely unexpected and surprised me, I'm not unhappy to see you."

"Really?" Harry sounded hopeful.

"Yes," Draco went on, quickly but a little haltingly. "I've not had a boyfriend since a brief thing when I was twenty-one. I'd bet you haven't either."

"Nope," Harry said resignedly.

"So." Draco took a deep breath. "I wouldn't mind seeing you for a while longer. We could see if anything comes out of being together. And... where are you staying?" he asked, realising that he didn't know.

"My car." Harry nodded in the direction of the window.

"That settles it," Draco said, his voice final. "You're staying here."

"Thanks, I think," Harry grinned. "Sofa's fine."

Draco smiled, got up and walked over to an old chest in the corner of the room, and pulled out a thick blanket and a couple of pillows. "Here you go then," he said to Harry.

"You don't change, Draco Malfoy," Harry said from the sofa, sounding eighteen again.

"Really?" Draco asked, perching back on the arm of his chair.

"Really," Harry said, reaching out tentatively with his right hand and stroking Draco's cheek. Draco smiled as he felt the slight moistness of Harry's palm, the flush of Harry's cheeks invisible in the dim light.

"Hullo," said Draco softly, reaching for Harry's cheek and thinking of their first encounter in Madam Malkin's shop. "Hogwarts too?"

***

Draco woke, cold. Opening a sleepy, sluggish eye, he pulled the duvet over himself, turned over, and rolled out of bed and onto the floor.

"Hnnh?" Harry's voice came from the bed, eyes squinting over the edge.

"Don't mind me," Draco said, awake now, picking himself up and slipping back into bed with Harry. "Just not used to sharing a bed."

Harry snuffled slightly and pulled Draco closer to him, entwining their legs. "I thought you said Malfoys were fast learners," he said with a grin.

"We are."

***

They sat opposite each other on the train to Edinburgh two days later, watching the sea go by beneath them. It was a crisp, sunny winter's day, the sun sparkling up into their eyes as the train accelerated round a corner.

"So, if you don't believe, why do you go? Why not just sing somewhere else?" Harry asked, his hair catching the sunlight as he leaned his head against the window pane.

"Not again," Draco said, with a good-natured smile. "Harry, it's not what I do, it's just being there. The peace of the moment. The...the energy of all those people in that chapel, however many of them aren't just there for the music. All of those people, that hope, that faith...it's palpable."

Harry grinned. "You sound like an evangelist."

"Huh."

"Sorry," Harry apologised. "That came out wrong."

Draco looked pensive for several minutes, staring out of the window at one of the islands in the Firth of Forth.

"It's not just that," Draco said several minutes later, "but the fact that it's all so old. Most of it, anyway. The music we sing is, certainly. I mean, people have been singing this music for hundreds of years. There's something...powerful about that."

"Power?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. "As in magic power?"

"No," Draco said emphatically. "Not that."

"Then what?" Harry asked, watching the wince of pain on Draco's face as he thought about using magic.

"I don't know," Draco said, his voice dull. "I can't really explain it yet."

"Hmm," Harry said as they crossed the Firth of Forth over the famous rail bridge, the road bridge off to their right, its metal glinting in the sunlight.

***

The choir stood, the slight eddies of wind they created with their simultaneous movement swirling around in the candle light, making some of the candles sputter quietly as the organist played the first chord of the Psalm.

In thee, O Lord, have I put my trust; let me never be put to confusion; deliver me in thy righteousness.

Draco's mind whirred, his voice on autopilot as he sang the Anglican chant tune to Psalm 31. If this was a prayer, it didn't work. Let me never be put to confusion, indeed. He glanced over at the corner seat where Harry was sitting, watching and listening to the choir sing.

Bow down thine ear to me; make haste to deliver me.

Deliver me from...evil? Draco himself had done enough delivering from evil, and it wasn't something he ever wanted to do again. He shuddered slightly, remembering.

And be thou my strong rock, and house of defence, that thou mayest save me.

Sceptically, he considered the vulnerability implicit in that sentence. The attitude that so many in the world to which he used to belong had taken, only to find out that their strong rock, their house of defence, could not, would not, save them.

For thou art my strong rock, and my castle: be thou also my guide, and lead me for thy Name's sake.

He winced inwardly, his mind flicking back to the familiar castle on top of a rock, looking down from a tower at the hundreds of Death Eaters approaching, knowing that one of them was his own father. He remembered precisely the feeling that had been in his chest, the sense of loss that day, as more people than he could count died defending the students of Hogwarts.

Draw me out of the net that they have laid privily for me; for thou art my strength.

He recalled running down a corridor, looking frantically over his shoulder as the Death Eater squad pursued him, hexes spinning past his head as he dodged through the corridors of the school, finally running into Minerva McGonagall and two other seventh-years. He dove below their counter-hexes, snapping off two of his own as he rolled.

Into thy hands I commend my spirit; for thou hast redeemed me, O Lord, thou God of truth.

Draco saw in his mind's eye the memorial service for the fallen from the battle, the sixty-three newly-planted trees with their memorial plaques in the infinity pattern in the middle of the Great Lawn, each tree corresponding to the dead student or teacher's wand wood.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.
As it was in the beginning, is now, and forever shall be, world without end. Amen.

Amen indeed. For, as much as the world might have seemed to have ended that day nine years previously, particularly for Percy and Ginny Weasley as they mourned three brothers, it had not ceased turning.

***

"So," Harry said as they walked out of the chapel, "have you figured out if you believe in it yet?"

Draco frowned. "I'm not sure. I find it comforting, certainly."

"But do you believe it? Do you believe the 'I believe in one God' thing?"

"The Creed? Not really. I think so much of the rules and creeds and things were created by political men with political motives," Draco said, and then started fumbling in his pockets for the front door keys.

"So why do you say it? Why do you go?" Harry asked, following Draco up the stairs.

"I love the music," Draco said, unlocking the flat door and hanging his coat on a peg. "It's just gorgeous."

"And that's it? Just the music?"

"I don't know, Harry," Draco said irritably, kicking off his boots. "I just don't know."

"Sorry," Harry said, putting his hand on Draco's arm. "I didn't mean to get at you."

"You didn't," Draco said with a sigh and a smile. "I was already thinking about it before you arrived. And also, the week has given me time to think, despite your...added distractions."

"And have you enjoyed being distracted this week?" Harry asked, sliding his hand to the small of Draco's back and scratching lightly through the fabric of his light blue button-down shirt.

"More than you can imagine," Draco murmured, leaning in for a deep kiss.

"Oh, I've got a very good imagination," Harry whispered into Draco's ear.

***

"Move over, lump," Harry muttered as his heart rate slowed and he wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Lump?" Draco stretched and murmured appreciatively.

"Yeah," Harry said, reaching for a towel. "Lump."

Draco chuckled, poking Harry in the ribs. "Okay, slice."

"Slice?"

"Yeah," Draco mimicked, flipping over to his stomach. "Slice."

"You arse," Harry said, slapping Draco's naked buttocks before he got up and stretched.

"'Your arse', not 'you arse', Harry," Draco pointed out, rubbing his arse.

Harry slapped Dracos arse again, kneeling back down on the bed and massaging Draco's back. "Yes. Mine."

"Are you sure you're not part rabbit?" Draco asked suspiciously.

***

Draco stood. This service, he was the cantor, singing the first line of the Evening Hymn alone. His voice rang out strongly but not loudly, the familiar song sung from memory.

Before the ending of the day,
Creator of the world, we pray
That thou with wonted love wouldst keep
Thy watch around us while we sleep.

Draco thought of the Death Eater raid on Hogwarts a month or so before the final battle, when an entire Ravenclaw dorm had been blown off the side of Hogwarts with the sleeping students unaware of their fates.

O let no evil dreams be near,
Or phantoms of the night appear;
Our ghostly enemy restrain,
Lest aught of sin our bodies stain.

He remembered waking up three times a night for several years after the battle, the faces of dead friends and enemies looming up into his dreams. Dead, disembodied faces, invading his sleep time after time.

Almighty Father, hear our cry
Through Jesus Christ our Lord most high,
Who with the Holy Ghost and thee
Doth live and reign eternally. Amen.

The chapel came back into focus as the hymn shifted into the Amen, the voices in unison ringing out into the acoustic of the chapel and reverberating.

***

"Do you ever think about using magic?" Draco asked that night as they lay in bed, the lights turned off. Harry was stroking his chest softly.

"Sometimes," Harry said. "But...I don't think I could."

"Too many memories?"

"Mmm. Even the thought of focussing my mind enough makes me shudder." A shiver rushed up Harry's spine.

"Me too," Draco agreed. "I could no more focus myself than I could fly without a broomstick."

"Not many of those about now, are there?" Harry said reflectively.

"Not any more," Draco replied, sadly. "I couldn't get on one even if I wanted to."

"I know," said Harry, reaching over and enveloping Draco in an empathetic hug. "I know."

***

"Drake?"

Draco looked up from the Mediaeval History book he was reading. "'Drake'?"

"Don't you like it?" Harry asked, carrying over two mugs of tea.

"Er...actually, I do," Draco said, taking one and sipping. "Drake."

"Good." Harry grinned. "I was thinking."

"About the God thing again?"

"Sort of," Harry admitted. "You know that Creed that is said every time, right? And I asked if you believed it?"

"No," Draco replied. "That one I definitely don't believe in. I don't believe there's only one God. Many gods, or no god, but not only one god. And certainly not the Christian God."

"Why certainly?" Harry sounded curious. "And why do you say it, then?"

"Because," Draco explained, "there's so much crap in Christianity. You know, the editing of the Bible and so on. That's in the book I was reading yesterday, actually. Um...also the selective use of the Old Testament. The picking-and-choosing of which laws to obey. The fact that religion is basically politics with god attached. That all pisses me off."

"So you're not Christian?" Harry said. It was more of a statement than a question.

"No," Draco replied. "I don't think I'm anything in particular."

"Eh?" Harry said, sitting down on the Chesterfield next to him.

"I just like church music and the ritual of church services. You can't deny that the Christian musical heritage has an amazing background."

"No, I can't," Harry said. "Then again, music isn't really my area of specialty."

Draco put his book down and rubbed his eyes, flicking them to Harry as he opened them again. "Damn...my neck hurts."

"That, Draco Malfoy, was the worst 'give me a massage' line ever," Harry said, reaching over and kneading Draco's neck.

"It's only bad--ahh--if it doesn't--ooh--work," Draco said, relaxing backwards.

***

Draco screamed, snapping bolt upright in bed, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes wide open, the nightmare still vivid in his imagination.

"Draco? What? What's wrong?" Harry's voice was clipped, each syllable jolting him out of his sleep state.

"Nigh--night--nightmare," Draco gasped, hyperventilating at the sheer horror of his dream. It had been so long since he'd had one of those...

Harry simply drew him close and hugged him. "Shhh... It will all go away," he lied. "It will. Really. Shhh...Draco...shhh..."

A single tear splashed off Harry's shoulder as Draco's breaths turned from choking gasps into quiet sobs.

"Shhh," Harry said, rocking Draco backwards and forwards, stroking his back in round, comforting motions. "Shhh, Draco."

***

The day dawned bright the following morning, the winter sun shining weakly in the Scottish latitude, casting long shadows. Draco stretched and yawned. Harry was still asleep by his side, one arm hanging off the side of the bed.

Draco wandered naked into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge and taking out the carton of orange juice. He poured himself a glass and drank deeply, the sweet liquid chilling his throat as it slid down into his stomach. He put the glass by the sink and headed for the bathroom.

He emerged, showered and shaved, a towel around his waist, to the smell of frying bacon and eggs. "You're up early," he said to Harry, who was standing in a t-shirt and boxer shorts at the stove. Draco walked over and they shared a few moments of kissing before Harry flipped the bacon.

"Go get dressed, then," Harry said. Draco went into the bedroom, pulling on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a thick brown woolly jumper before padding barefoot back into the living room. Harry was just bringing out the toast to go with the bacon and eggs.

"This is a pleasant surprise," Draco said as he sat down and picked up his fork.

"I thought you could use a good breakfast after your night's sleep," Harry answered, passing the toast.

"Thanks," Draco said through a mouthful of bacon. "Been a while since I've had a night like that."

"Me too," Harry nodded, his eyes showing his understanding. "Couple of months, anyway."

Draco swallowed. "I can't stand them. At least--at least I wasn't sick this time."

"You get that too, eh?" Harry said. "I only vomit when I've been using magic in my dreams. Still so...so horrible." He trailed off quietly, closing his eyes in remembrance.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," Draco objected, his eggs and bacon getting cold. "We won."

Harry sighed. "I know. And yet we vomit whenever we even dream of using magic."

"I was thinking about it the other night, just thinking about using it, and my stomach started to turn over." Draco swallowed, taking a gulp of orange juice. "I don't know, Harry. I just don't know why. And I don't know why, in the past nine years, nobody has been able to figure it out."

"If only we still had Hermione," Harry dropped his eyes and brushed away a tear.

Draco moved around the table and hugged him. "I know. I know, Harry."

***

Draco rose, the Nunc Dimittis this evening set to the chant which he knew so well that he sung it without looking at either words or music, singing with only half his mind on what he was doing.

Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word.

Peace. The shattered peace of a fighter, an eighteen-year-old fighter, too young to know what the repercussions were going to be. Too young to know more than the fear of attack and the exhilaration of combat, ducking through halls and firing off hexes. Until his friends began to die.

For mine eyes have seen thy salvation,

He saw eyes. Pleading eyes, pleading with a Death Eater for mercy which never came. Sightless eyes, staring forever into the air. Hateful eyes, dark and cold as stone. Lifeless eyes, moving but not seeing. Red eyes, staring deep into his soul.

Which thou hast prepared before the face of all people;

He saw faces. The faces of the Hogwarts staff and their reinforcements, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg. Looking concerned, then slipping on their poker faces in front of the students. The faces of the older students, determined but afraid, the Gryffindors' bravery shared between them all. The faces of the younger students, scared, knowing what was going to happen, and understanding, understanding more than anyone gave them credit for.

To be a light to lighten the Gentiles and to be the glory of thy people Israel.

And he saw light. Coloured light, flashes of it, as the attack on Hogwarts began, the green and red magical energy playing over the windows of the entry hall as the younger students were shepherded down into the mazelike Warren beneath Hogwarts, led by Argus Filch, not seeming so malevolent now. The older students who had siblings watched their younger brothers and sisters hurrying down the stairs, wands held in shaky hands, faces tight-lipped, eyes flicking from shadow to shadow, until Dumbledore closed and sealed the stairway to the Warren.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost;

Glory. Glorious war, making heroes of the least of men. Inwardly, Draco laughed, a black, throaty sound in his mind. Making corpses of the best of men, more like. And women. He saw them now, falling in the fight, shrieking with pain as they were taken down indiscriminately by the bolts of roiling green fire flung by the advancing phalanx of Voldemort's supporters.

As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.

And yet it wasn't the first time, or the last, that this would happen. It had happened before, and it would happen again. Draco knew that it would not only happen again, but that it would happen an infinite number of times, in an infinite number of places. An infinite number of deaths. He felt numbed, flung against the rock-lined shores of pain by the waves of his memory.

Sinking back into his stall as the Nunc ended, he caught sight of Harry watching him. Harry's eyes said, "I know. I know."

***

"Penny for your thoughts?" Harry asked as Draco walked silently back to the flat, the cold rainy wind whipping in their faces.

"Just remembering," Draco replied, hunching his shoulders up to protect his ears from the stinging rain.

"Ah," Harry said, falling silent until they were upstairs, out of the rain and into the central heating of the flat.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No," said Draco firmly, picking up a bottle of Bacardi and taking a deep swig. "I want to forget about it entirely."

"Drake..." Harry trailed off, walking over and gently taking the bottle from Draco's hands. "That won't help anything."

"Yes, it will," Draco said, picking up a bottle of sherry and pulling the cork. "I will forget about it entirely for the evening."

"Do you do this often, drinking yourself into a stupor?" Harry asked, taking the sherry bottle from him as well.

"Not very," said Draco, reaching for the port decanter but finding only Harry's hand in the way. "Don't, Harry."

"Drake...Draco. You can't do this."

"Oh, yes I bloody well can." Draco reached for another bottle. "Because you're not going to stop me."

"I'm afraid I am," Harry answered, and Draco stopped. "Unless you want to kick me out of your flat."

Draco paused. He'd got used to Harry being around, to his faintly musky smell, to his smile, to his laugh. To his skill in bed. To Harry.

Draco's hands fell to his sides. "I...I don't know what else to do," he said quietly. "I just want to forget."

"Me too," Harry said. "I want to forget it all. But I know that getting pissed out of my skull won't do a thing to make me forget it. Trust me, Draco. I've tried. Gods, I've tried."

Draco sank into Harry's arms. "But...what can I do? What can I do to forget?"

"I don't have that answer, love of mine. I don't have the answer."

***

Draco slept fitfully that night, the nightmares coming faster and more frequently than before. Each time he awoke, screaming, crying or in pain, Harry was there, cradling him in his arms, soothing him with words and sounds, wiping his tears, stroking his hair. And each time, Draco would lie there, hugging Harry for what seemed like hours, trying to stay awake so the nightmares couldn't return.

The sky outside the windows was turning from black to dull grey as Draco fell asleep finally, outlining ever so slightly the old trees across the road as the sun rose, hidden behind the multiple layers of cloud scudding slowly across the sky.

Harry awoke a few hours later, the drizzle spattering the window. He opened his eyes to see Draco sleeping peacefully at last, a slight smile under his downy blond stubble, his dreams finally untroubling.

Draco awoke and padded into the sitting-room in the early afternoon to find Harry curled up on the sofa with a mug of cocoa and a book, a single incense stick burning in a new stand on the coffee table. "Whassat?" Draco asked, yawning as his vocal muscles returned to use.

"The Spiral Dance," Harry replied, looking up at Draco and folding the book down on his knee. "Wiccan stuff."

"Huh." Draco wandered into the kitchen and clicked on the kettle. "Why are you reading that?" he called through, over the noise of boiling water.

"Interested," Harry called back, picking the book back up and leafing backwards through it.

"Where'd you get it? That place down the street?"

"Yep, and the incense too," Harry said. "It's really interesting philosophically, Drake. You should read it."

"Hmm," Draco said, walking out of the kitchen with a mug of coffee. "Trying to make me doubt Christianity even more than I am already, are you?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, that's right."

"Thought so," Draco said, putting his mug down, sliding onto the sofa and squeezing Harry around the middle.

"Oh, sure, distract me from my very important reading," Harry said with a grin as he twisted his neck back to kiss Draco.

"Oops," Draco said, squirming to get a leg around Harry's torso and sitting with his stomach to Harry's back.

"Something tells me it wasn't a mistake," Harry said, reaching backwards to pick Draco up in a piggy-back, heading for the bedroom.

"Now what would make you say that?" Draco asked, tightening his legs around Harry as his lover dropped onto the bed with him.

***

Draco leaned forward for the ending Collects, sliding his hymnbook under his head to soften the hard edge of the ledge on which his music, the Libera Me from Faure's Requiem, rested.

Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, O Lord; and by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night; for the love of thy only Son, our Saviour, Jesus Christ. Amen.

The memories returned, but triumphant memories. The younger students emerging from their hiding place in the Warren, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the light. The Ministry wizards removing the bodies by laying rune-carved stone Portkeys on them, the bodies disappearing to a morgue somewhere. The perils and dangers of the night had passed, not through the defense of an almighty being, but through the sacrifice of wizards -- children -- like himself.

Look down, O Lord, from thy heavenly throne, illuminate the darkness of this night with thy celestial brightness, and from the sons of light banish the deeds of darkness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

But it hadn't been God, had it, banishing the deeds of darkness. It had been the sons and daughters of light themselves, driving away the darkness with their individual candles of light, insignificant alone but beacon-bright when joined together in defense of their school, their friends, their home.

Be present, O merciful God, and protect us through the silent hours of this night, so that we, who are wearied by the changes and chances of this fleeting world, may repose upon thy eternal changelessness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

The epiphany struck Draco like a hammer to an anvil -- he could almost hear the clang as the new idea forged through his mind. The protection through the silent hours was there -- Harry, sitting in the corner of the chapel, watching him now. But more than that, the protection came from his friends, his dead friends, who had given him their protection so that he might live. The tune from an anthem and its words came back to him: Greater love hath no man than this: that he should lay down his life for a friend.

It seemed to Draco as if he suddenly flung off a shadow which had been clinging to his shoulders for nine years. In his mind, he heard the shadow slam into the wall several feet behind him with a quiet thwack, sliding slowly down to the floor, where it pooled and evaporated into the air.

Draco stood with the choir at the conductor's signal, holding the sheet of music with Libera Me printed on it. The minister spoke the closing responses in counterpoint with the congregation, the words so familiar, yet now so different.

The Lord be with you.

"And with thy spirit."

Let us bless the Lord.

"Thanks be to God."

The almighty and merciful Lord bless, preserve and keep us, this night and for evermore.

"Amen."

The congregation sat, looking attentively at the choir. Draco swallowed, a lump forming in his throat as he stared at his line in the music, his solo. The baritone whose solo it should have been, the one who Harry had seen kissing his boyfriend, was sick this week, and the conductor had asked Draco in the afternoon if he could sing the Libera me.

Draco looked up at Harry, whose gaze was silently reassuring, and then the organ started, the pipes low in volume and pitch. Draco breathed in deeply, his diaphragm expanding downwards, and then opened his mouth.

Libera me, Domine, de morte aeterna, in die illa tremenda: quando coeli movendi sunt et terra. Dum veneris judicare saeculum per ignem.

The rest of the choir joined in quietly as Draco's solo ended, no more than a quick breath before he joined in with the tenor line, higher than his solo, and softer. He saw Harry's face over the conductor's arm, in a state of...happiness? No, not happiness. Contentment, that was it.

Tremens factus sum ego et timeo, dum discussio venerit atque ventura ira.

The organist changed the stops on the organ, pulling out several in quick succession as he hit the trumpeting chords, and the choir came in strongly, their voices quickly passing through forte and into fortissimo.

Dies illa, dies irae, calamitatis et miseriae, dies magna et amara valde.

The forte dropped to mezzo-forte and then through mezzo-piano to piano, the level of sound diminishing with the pitch of the notes.

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.

The choir returned to unison then, the final chorus echoing in perfect time around the chapel, swelling and fading with the tune.

Libera me, Domine, de morte aeterna, in die illa tremenda: quando coeli movendi sunt et terra. Dum veneris judicare saeculum per ignem.

The choir stopped singing, as Draco sang out the last solo line of the piece, watching Harry, directly behind the conductor, as he sang simply and from his heart.

Libera me, Domine, de morte aeterna.

The choir joined in, passing below pianissimo, barely more than humming with words as they sang the final words of the Roman Breviary's Office of the Dead, the quiet peaceful sounds accompanied by the quiet thrumming of the organ's last notes.

Libera me, Domine.

***

"Draco, what's wrong? You haven't spoken a word since we left the chapel."

"Nothing's wrong," Draco said, cheerfully, pulling off his gloves as he walked up the stairs. "In fact, everything's right again."

Harry blinked as Draco flicked the key at the lock and muttered something. The lock clicked into place and Draco walked into the flat, hanging his coat on a peg and reaching for Harry's coat to hang it up too. Harry followed Draco into the sitting room and was surprised to see him with his old wand in his hand.

"Draco, are you okay?"

"Yes, darling boy, I am."

"'Darling boy'? I'm older than you are, Drake."

"Well then, come here, you decrepit old thing, and kiss me," Draco called, picking up the remote control. From the speakers erupted a joyous Jubilate Domino, sung by a counter-tenor.

"I'll show you decrepit old thing," Harry growled, kissing Draco passionately, his hands almost ripping Draco's shirt in their haste to unbutton it in time with the music.

"I was--rather hoping--you would," Draco said between kisses, eagerly pulling Harry's shirt off and then moving to his trousers.

"Manipulative--Slytherin," Harry shot back as he gasped in air, feeling Draco hooking his thumbs in the waistband of Harry's boxers, pulling them and his trousers off in one quick, fluid motion.

Harry stepped out of his trousers as he pulled Draco's off too, the wrinkles already starting to form in the pressed wool as they hit the ground. As they wrestled each other to the bedroom, Draco murmuring words of affection into his ear, Harry saw from the corner of his eye the trousers landing on the back of a chair.

"Good throw," Harry muttered as he licked Draco's ear.

"Thanks," Draco replied, nibbling on Harry's chin after they fell onto the bed. "You always said I'd have made a better Chaser than Seeker."

"Draco," Harry said, pushing back from Draco's chest, feeling that something was not quite right, "why are you talking Quidditch at a time like this?"

"Because, love of mine, I can. I can talk about it without crying, without wanting to throw up." Draco massaged Harry's chest, kneading into the muscles.

"How?" Harry asked, his voice catching in his throat, arms limp by his side.

"I realised," Draco said as he leaned down to kiss Harry, "that it was all in our mind."

"Draco, for the love of the gods, stop being enigmatic!" Harry snapped.

"Sorry," Draco apologised, realising that he was playing unfairly with Harry. "People died, Harry. Nobody can take that away, or make it stop hurting less. But... if I'd died, I wouldn't have wanted people to stop using magic, or enjoying things they enjoyed. I don't think we're honouring their memories by doing that."

"You're right," Harry said finally, reaching forward to kiss Draco tenderly. "We should talk more about this tomorrow. Pass the lube."

"No," Draco said, a glint in his eye. "Accio wand."

"Draco!" Harry yelped. "You--"

The wand slapped into Draco's hand. "I what? Can do magic again? I know."

"Can--can I?" Harry's voice sounded almost plaintive.

"Only you can know that. Here, try with my wand." Draco handed it to Harry, whose eyes were moist. As Harry touched it, he felt the familiar tingle of the magic in his fingers. He swish-flicked a pair of his boxers over, which landed on Draco's head.

"Oh...my...gods..." Harry muttered, sounding stunned as the music in the sitting-room rose into a triumphal coloratura arpeggio.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" Draco said, removing the boxers from his head. "Shall we get back to the matter at hand?"

"What matter at--"

"The matter in my hand right now, Harry," Draco said forcefully, the music in the sitting-room rising into a fanfare.

"If you insist," Harry moaned softly, kissing all the way down Draco's neck.

"Lubrica me, Domine," Draco sang quietly into Harry's ear.

Draco laid back on the bed, gazing into Harry's eyes in utter contentment.

In the sitting-room, the Jubilate swelled up, floated on the top notes, flowed downwards, and finally soared rhythmically into a perfect cadence.