Say You're Here And It's All Over Now

Forbidden Field (formerly Forest), 20 months, I Day into the Final War

"Go rest," they told me.

"A few hours to yourself will do you some good; God knows you could use it." That's what Bill said me, their Commander.

Funny, before, I never thought of any Weasley as a warrior.

Hermione drags me to a tent and threatens to curse me to sleep if I did not stay. She looks exhausted. Her hair was pulled back loosely, frayed tendrils framing her face, and her eyes havebags of yellow and purple under them from worry and crying. Neither of us had heard form Ron in more than a month and with the way things were looking, I doubted we would hear from him any time soon, if at all.

I reluctantly move to the cot and sit, staring at the cloth wall in front of me. I am so bodily tired; I start shaking as soon as I'm still. My mind refuses to quiet, making any kind of rest impossible.

In the past few months, when I managed a few moments of rest, I was not lucky enough to dream of him. How I wanted to.

He always said next to my eyes, my hands were my best feature. He said when he watched me holding my wand he pictured those hands on his "wand." I felt my face heat up just thinking about it, as it always did when he mentioned it. But he wasn't here and I was alone. I felt the tears that always want to come out since the start of this, spill down my face. He's not here; he's a coward, he won't survive this because if he's at the end of someone else's wand he'll be dead.

I look at my hands and see dirt and blood under the broken and ratty nails. My left ring finger is missing a nail entirely, lost in a wrestle with a cursed Nogtail sent by the other side to thin our ranks. Didn't work. Scratches trace down the length of my fingers and a big, puckered scar disfigured the center of my right hand. I got in the middle of a Cutting Curse that was aimed at Mad-Eye. I blocked it but couldn't use my wand for weeks afterward. I very nearly became reliability.

I close my eyes and remember the last words he said to me: "I can take care of myself."

Stupid, bloody Slytherin. He has delusions of grandeur, thinking he could help defeat them from the inside. But I knew the truth. It would only end when either Voldemort or I died.

Sometimes I wondered if I should just forget him, let myself fall into the precipice I've balanced on the edge ever since I entered into the Wizarding world. Sometimes I feel madness creeping into me when I let my guard down. He is the only who could keep it away.

Sometimes I think to beat Voldemort to the punch, as it were: If I wasn't here, surely he would leave the rest of the world alone. Then I would remember him, and Hermione, and Ron; my reasons for living.

I feel myself drifting. It was like my thoughts were being sucked into a Pensieve, allowing some moments of peace. Darkness took me.

We fly above the pitch, each taking turns catching the snitch. Somehow it was early days in Sixth Year, that dark time after Sirius' death and before we decided it was stupid to hate each other and to pretend we weren't attracted to each other. The ground was still pristine and green, not muddy and full of brown rushes. But before me was Draco the Man, what he would become before our final month at Hogwarts and during our few brief months of happiness. Before the world pulled us in two different directions.

He cocked a brow at me and tossed the snitch at me, "Frightened, Potter?" he asks in a strange echo of that long ago duel.

I guide my broom up and ignore the flash of gold that flies below me. "Should I be?" I counter as I try to cock my own brow in return. I fail miserably.

Draco lets out a loud laugh that shows all of his teeth. I feel a longing so strong; I nearly fall off my broom. The things that mouth could do to me . . .

"I miss you terribly," I glide over to him and caress his face and follow it with a deep kiss. His hand catches mine and brings it to his lips. His brow furrows as he looks at the damage.

He peers at them as if they could tell their own story. "What happened to your hands," he demands.

I snatch them away, offended. "War will change a person, you know. You don't look any worse for the wear. What are you doing, sitting in His inner chamber, lounging in comfort while others go out and do the dirty work?" I'm lucky that only my hands show outward signs of wear. Others would never look or be the same again.

"I don't look any worse for the wear?" he says, his voice cracking.

His eyes darken and a large scar appears at a corner of his mouth, marring his perfect face. I see madness in those eyes.

"I suppose it was too much to hope that you would welcome me with open arms. I told Snape this foolish glamour wouldn't last. He said it would last as long as the Transference Potion. Hah. All I wanted was to see you. All I wanted was to know that you're alive." He points his broom down and flies down into the pitch.

I felt any hope and happiness I had turn cold as I follow him and dismount. Oh, what did they do to you! "This isn't a dream?" I blink back tears, knowing instinctively they would only anger him further.

"This isn't a dream?" he mimics. "No, you stupid, bloody, gitty, Gryffindor, this isn't a dream. I tried contacting you a week ago through a fire call. They were getting suspicious of me and I wanted out. They don't like it when you don't participate in the maiming and killing and only fawn at the feet of the Dark Lord pretending to be someone important, but I digress. This is me," he pokes himself in the chest, "telling you," he smacks me on the side of the head and I glare at him, "That I will be dead soon if you don't find a way to save me! Snape gave me this potion that would put my spirit into your dreams to contact you. I have tried every night but you didn't dream until today."

I knew Snape knew Draco was trying in his own way to help our side, just as he was. It relieves me that he is there to watch out for Draco. I also thank all the deities I could think of that Hermione was part of my camp. I felt a big grin fill my face. "Don't worry," I reassure him.

"Fine." He grudgingly agrees as he reaches for me. We always feel safe in each other's arms. "Do you know you look like a lunatic when you grin, Harry? Harry?"

"Harry? Harry, wake up!"

My eyes snap open and I gasp.

"Must've been some dream. You were out for four hours!" Hermione musters up a smile for me.

"It was an interesting one," I agree. I blink drowsily at her and steel myself for an arguement. I know what I must ask her and hope she will understand and be willing to do it.

"Hermione, my brilliant, brilliant friend, I need your help. Listen, I need to have something ready when Snape checks in later this week . . ."

Lair of the Dark Lord, 20 Months, 2 Days into the Final War

I got through to him. Finally.

Stubborn idiot, refusing to dream. I can only hope whatever harebrained plan he has works. I'm so thankful Snape is still a viable spy. I thought old Dumbledore would've retired him by now.

My thoughts are so muddled these days, what with the semi-regular torture and all. I keep drifting to things we used to do together and remember Muggle stuff he would share with me.

I keep going back to this Muggle song Harry sang to me when we returned from our post-Leaving duties (Mine included kissing Father's arse in preparation for this and putting together a secret fund, his included a sojourn to his Godfather's memorial and a stay at the Weasley's): "Reunited and it feels so gooood."

Feh, never thought he could get more corny than that time he gave me a rubber duck for my birthday. I ask you, what is the point of a duck made of rubber? "I just want to see you bathe with it," he said. So I did and enjoyed his grin while he watched me bathe with a floating duck in the water.

My muscles seize again, the aftereffects of a few hours' intermittent Cruciatus curses. I feel like cursing Harry for some reason but it isn't his fault I'm in this situation. If he could know what I was thinking he would pat me on the head and call me a "Good little Drakie" and then tweak me on the nose. I do like to think I have matured a bit since my Hogwarts days. I think I would shock the Weasel (he would turn the color of a tomato and scowl because he couldn't curse me) and Granger (her hair would frizz out like a cat's and she would have a scowl that matched her twit of a boyfriend) with my newfound maturity.

I smile and let my imagination go wild; I have nothing better to do as I am bound to a chair in a locked room.

The door clicks open and a man enters, face hidden by a blank white mask. His long sliver-blond hair cascades down his back. My Father. Did he really think I wouldn't know it was him? How I loathe him and all he represents. I want to hide under my bed as I did as a boy when he was in his foul moods. I want to close my eyes and shut him from my vision; deny him. And I will.

"You are a traitor. Crucio!" He bellows at me and I am again hit with that cursed curse. You think being a sidekick of the Dark Lord, he would be a little more original but he still uses the old standbys and unoriginal dialog.

This time, one curse too many in so few hours takes its toll on me; I black out.

Why does it seem we always return to school when we dream? I'm in the Slytherin common room and Harry with his now-imperfect hands sits across from me. Is this a side effect of the Transference potion, the prolonged ability to visit each other's dreams? But no, it not an actual Harry, but a phantom made up by my mind. He is dressed in his Quidditch robes.

I love him in his Quidditch robes.

"You'll be all right, you know." The vision-Harry speaks to me in soft tones, so unlike his real voice. "He will give you something to bring you to me." His eyes sparkle behind his glasses in the firelight.

"We must continue to haunt each other until we can see each other." I don't know why I say that. It's true I suppose. Never a night passes when I didn't dream of him.

We sit and look at each other, silent. We are comfortable in each other's presence. I vowed, as I did every night since I've come here to allow Harry to tell his loved one about us. I never agreed before, fearing the repercussions from Voldemort and my father and his friends. What a coward I am.

Forbidden Field (formerly Forest), 20 months, 3 Days into the Final War

I had to tell Hermione about us. It wasn't as awful as I thought it would be.

"So you're sure he loves you?" She asks again for what seems like the twentieth time since we've started this conversation. She looks at me with concern in her eyes.

"Yes, I'm sure. I wouldn't be asking you to do this if I wasn't sure. Can you do it?"

I'm impatient with want and uneasy about waiting.

I asked for a simple port-key to take him from there to here. To me. Voldemort is so overconfident; he does not have any wards around his camp to prevent people from port-keying in or out. Our intelligence has discovered this fact months ago and would have used but they feared there could be traps once our troops went in. We didn't want to risk it.

One port-key out of his Lair would hardly be a blip on his radar, I think. Snape confirmed earlier that they travel to many locations in this way so not to tire themselves out by Apperating. How thoughtful of old Voldie to this for them.

How like his arrogance.

After a few moments of silence, she gives me the answer I knew she would not deny me: "I would only do this for you, Harry."

She grins at me, her first real happiness since news of Ron's disappearance reached us, "I can't wait to see Ron's reaction when he hears of this!"

"Glad I can amuse you, 'Mione. Be sure that Snape gets that before he heads back to Voldemort's. Don't forget to calibrate it so that it brings him to me. I have a feeling that Draco's time is running out."

Lair of the Dark Lord, Same Day, A Few Hours Later

All I know is pain. I think my mind is splintering. Again.

"Eructo!"

Father has come again. I must be his assigned personal plaything to abuse for amusement. I think this is the third time he's cursed me in so many hours. I was shocked; I would've fallen from my chair if I hadn't been attached to it, when he decided to use a Vomiting Curse on me instead of the good ol' Cruciatus. It hurts like Hell when you have nothing in your stomach. Maybe he decided he needs a little variety in his life; after all, how exciting can kissing variously the Dark Lord's hem and ass daily be?

My vision is starting to tunnel and I think: Does he really exist? Harry would never leave me here. Harry would never let me suffer like this. Is this pleasing him? Is he gloating somewhere with an I-told-you-so grin on his face?

He hits me again with that curse. Father, please!

The darkness wants to take me. I want to allow it. But, no, Harry won't abandon me here. I know something is coming and I must be ready.

The door opens and admits two shrouded figures and some weak light.

"Luiciusss," hisses the first shape, "We do not want him dead yet. Our Potions Master is here to give him a serum so that he will stay awake. You can enjoy him better that way."

I see the darkened blur of the Dark Lord's shape and the glowing red of his eyes. Oh, why did I ever think spying was such a good idea?

The second figure removes his cowl and Snape stares at me, his expression unreadable. His hand goes into a pocket of his robes and brings out a clear phial of amber liquid. Wait a minute, weren't energizing potions supposed to be stored in metal containers? Harry, Harry, Harry. If this is your rescue, I will love you forever! I try to think of some witty repartee to say to Lucius and Voldemort to remember me by but my battered mind cannot process anything but my freedom right now.

Snape approaches with a wave of permission from the Dark Lord and Father watches from behind his mask, eyes gleaming in anticipation. The closer Snape gets, the lighter my heart and mind feel. Yes! reverberates throughout my body.

I sneak a peak at Father and watch as his eyes narrow, focusing on the phial. He realizes something is not right. Drat the Slytherin's affinity for potions making!

He lunges toward Snape and cries, "Master!"

I feel my elation being replaced by numbing fear. Snape is too quick for them. He grabs my arm and I feel a tug behind my navel.

Forbidden Field (formerly Forest), 9 Seconds Later

I land with a thump and pain travels through my body. Snape's next to me, shaking the disorientation from his head. I guess his time as spy is over.

I feel arms surround me and rock me, a voice, familiar, whispers soothing words. I know it is Harry. He smells of salt and copper and certain tanginess. I want to say something, anything, but my mouth refuses to work. My eyes open a crack and I see the bushy haired shape of Granger rushing over from the entrance of the tent. As she nears, I can see worry and apprehension etched on her face.

Suddenly, a loud boom! is heard from outside the tent. I feel the arms around me tense and then gently, oh so gently, slide me into a prone position.

"He's followed them!" Harry shouts to Granger. Instantly I'm forgotten as she runs out the door.

I finally see his face. I can barely focus on it. "I will be back; I won't let you go again." No. No. No. NO! I will be lost without you! But he can't read my mind. He caresses me like he did in the dream and raises his wand.

"Contego Clementia!" he shouts and I know that I am safe in the night.

Four hours later . . .

The sun is shining and blinding me. There is a hole in the roof of the tent allowing the light in. It was dark when the battle started and ended. I returned to him, exhausted and hardly spared a glance around. I was just cognizant enough to see he was still there. I awoke and saw the world afterwards, in light.

He's still asleep, my Draco. Hermione healed him nicely but now he just needs rest. She assures me that Voldemort nor did his father permanently harm him in any way. The scar on his face should be the only reminder of his plight.

I stretch my arms out and my hand encounters the sword, with its gleaming red gem in the hilt. It was this that finally ended it all. No fancy tricks or spells, just good old fashioned brutal fighting.

I scratch my nose and try to ignore the noise beyond the cloth walls. The crying of mourners. The elation of winners. The whispers of the afraid. The rustles and grunts of people moving bodies.

I push my glasses up and run a finger over the scar. I'm so afraid that it's not really over. I feel weary down to my bones. I close my eyes and sigh.

"Hi."

I hear the husky whisper and open my eyes. He's awake.

"Hi, yourself," I answer with a smile.

I cross over to him and crouch down besides his cot. I kiss him and will all my frustration and happiness to be put across to him.

"Miss me?" he asks and raises a hand to brush away the hair off my forehead.

Did I ever.

I charm the cot into a bigger size and lay down next to him. He looks at me, clear gray eyes hiding nothing.

"It's done?" he inquires.

I agree. We can be together. "It's all over now."

End.