God in My Bed

/Before last night my heart was grey

Like my country is today/

Draco opened his eyes. Everything hurt, inside and out. The ceiling stared back, comfortless. He reached an arm out to the other side of the bed, not surprised when he encountered no one there to hold him. He had expected to be alone. Even if his lover had been there, he still would have been alone.

Everything hurt.

He thought he heard voices out in the flat, but maybe they were just in his head. It could have been visitors, though; come to offer congratulations or condolences. There were so many dead.

He flinched. Dead. So many dead. He heard the rustle of material and thought he smelled perfume. He sat upright, looking around frantically. The bedroom was empty, save him, and he wasn't sure he counted.

/Big kaleidoscope I see

A thousand people gaze at me

To break the ice I start to sing

About a cell called everything

A cell so big a word like small

Is suitable to say it all/

His lips formed words he remembered her singing. He wasn't certain if he was getting the tune right, but he sang anyway. His voice surprised him with its harshness, until he stopped to thing about how long it had been since he spoke to anyone. He continued singing, trying to make his voice sound human again.

He heard the voices again, a questioning tone in one of them. He realized now that they couldn't be in his head; they had heard him singing and were wondering at it. Footsteps came near the door. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He rested his chin on his knees and rocked back and forth, still singing. He had to keep singing. If he kept singing, maybe he could keep from thinking. Just focus on the lyrics. Try to remember what it was that followed this line, and followed the next, and followed the next, and followed...

/Is the fighting over?

I lost track

Like a wave it all comes back/

The final battle had come to pass. The world was a smoking ruin. His Mark was bleeding, a final act of Voldemort's. On this day, every year, it would bleed. It was a reminder to all of his Death Eaters to avenge him. Draco had no intentions of avenging him.

He heard someone behind him and, thinking it might be Harry, turned. It was not Harry.

"Hello, father."

Lucius smiled, ever the picture of cool and collected, no matter the situation. "Hello, Draco. I'm glad to see you are doing well."

"Come to take me home, father?"

Lucius continued to smile and shook his head. "I would never presume so much. You are aware of what has happened?"

"He's dead," Draco replied. "It's over, father."

"It's never over, Draco."

"You could always surrender."

"A Malfoy never surrenders."

"Then what am I?"

"You never surrendered, either, Draco. You betrayed."

"And will you kill me for that?"

There was no response, only a flash of green light and a rush of air. That was how Harry found his lover, staring at his father's body with tears streaming down his face. Draco had not spoken since.

Narcissa Malfoy reacted surprisingly well when the Ministry agents came to the Manor the day after the final battle. They informed her of what had happened to her husband and spoke sparingly of her son. She only smiled and led them into the parlor. She ordered a house elf to bring them tea, despite their protests. They showed her the papers that authorized them to search the house. She looked them over, a frown gracing her perfectly rouged lips for a moment, then her smile returned. She told them to look wherever they wished, then asked them if she was allowed to leave. When they told her they had no reason to keep her, she asked them not to break anything more than necessary and went upstairs.

She entered her bedroom through the door; she left it through the window.

/Same kaleidoscope I see

Someone standing next to me

It's hard to do, it's hard to try

Hard to stop wondering why/

Draco Malfoy reacted surprisingly well when informed of his mother's suicide. He did not scream, swear, or throw expensive objects. Rather, he did not react at all. He lay on the bed, unmoving, still wearing the clothes from the battle. He stared at the ceiling and no one was certain he blinked. To be certain he did not try and take after his mother, charms were placed on the windows, his wand was confiscated and he was kept well away from any sharp objects, rope, or pills.

The voices in the hall were silent.

Draco got out of bed and went to the window. He pressed his palms, and then his forehead against the cool glass. He looked outside but did not see.

There was a hand on his shoulder. It squeezed reassuringly, then was gone. Draco wasn't sure if the person the hand belonged to was still standing behind him or not. He did not want to move his head.

"Draco."

The name was so simple, but it held so much that was far from simple.

"Draco, what do you see?"

/Do I keep filing every case

When the answer's on your face

You can't see her but you do

Music is transparent, too/

Draco gasped softly; his eyes imagining movement in the cold world outside. "I see her," he whispered. "She came back. I knew she wouldn't leave me. She came back."

"There's no one out there, Draco," murmured a voice he knew better than his own. "She's dead. She can't come back."

"But I see her. Let me go to her!" Draco fumbled with the window latch, swearing at the charms that bound it. He covered it with a cupped hand and muttered a word. There was a flash and a popping sound, then the charm disintegrated. Draco hauled the window up and stuck his upper half outside. "Mother! Mother, I'm coming! Hold on!"

"Draco!"

Arms wrapped around his waist and hauled at him. He braced his arms against the window ledge, refusing to go back in. "Mother!! Mother, come back! I'm sorry! I didn't want to kill him! I'm so sorry!!" His hands slipped and he fell into the room, hitting his head on the window as he tumbled backwards. The world swam before him and he didn't realize he was crying. A hand cradled his head and smoothed his hair. Someone was speaking softly to him.

"It's all right, love. I'm here. I'm right here. Don't worry. It's okay. She doesn't blame you. She doesn't hate you. She just can't stay."

"Really?" Draco tilted his head back a little, staring into glittering green eyes. Is he crying?, he thought. Why would he cry? It's my mother that hates me. His mother's dead. Wait...my mother's dead, too.

"I know it," Harry said. "She could never hate you. You're her son. She understands."

"If you say so," Draco mumbled, resting his head against his lover's chest.

There was a long silence, then Draco heard singing. He knew it wasn't himself, so he looked up again. "Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Can I sing with you?"

"Of course you can."

Two voices began to rise and fall in uncertain harmony. After a moment, the song grew stronger and more solid. After a few minutes, Harry got to his feet and pulled Draco with him. He helped the blond man on the bed, then curled up beside him. They lay there, foreheads pressed together and an arm around the other, singing the song that both had learned from their mothers, though they didn't know it.

The pair soon fell into sleep, still entwined on the bed.

Outside, it began to snow.

When he woke up, Harry was alone in the bed.

"Draco?"
Harry jerked upright and leapt immediately to the window. Seeing nothing outside, he burst into the main part of the flat and flew through the living room on his way to the door. He had to get outside, had to see if Draco was all right, surely he couldn't have gotten far, the bed was still warm, but it was so cold out there with all that snow, he could freeze, he could have broken his neck, he could--

"Harry?"

--be right there on the couch.

Harry collapsed beside his lover. "You scared me," he sighed.

"I can see that," Draco said, smirking a little. His hands were curled around a steaming mug that he sipped from occasionally.

"What's that?" Harry asked, peering into the cup.

Draco edged his shoulder between his lover and his drink. "Just a posset my aunt taught me how to make," he said, taking another sip. His eyes glittered. "Consisting mostly of warm Scotch."

Harry laughed. "I think I'd like to meet this aunt of yours."

"You would. Aunt Isobel is one of the more scandalous members of my family. I have the sickening feeling you two would get along very well."

Harry leaned against Draco. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better--hey, I'm not after your bloody drink."

"Good," Draco replied. "Actually, I feel about the same, but between you and the Scotch, it's smoothing over a bit, I guess."

"Nice to know I could help."

They sat there in comfortable silence for a while, until Draco spoke up. "I never liked winter," he said. "Hate the cold. Can't stand it; makes me miserable. But you...I swear, your whole damn face lights up when it snows. You look like a bloody kid in a candy store. I think...I think I could like winter. For you, I mean. Maybe because of you."

"There's a difference?"

Draco pressed a kiss to the top of Harry's head. "Yes, there's a difference. I'll explain it to you later. Right now, I want to just sit here with you and finish my Scotch. All right?"

"All right."

/So join me, sing with all your might

Hallelujah, praise tonight

Far away and long ago

Wintertime meant feeling low

Now every single star looks bright

God was in my bed last night./