The Curse of Charon

Harry left soon after Neville had, and walked down into the grounds, by the lake. He sat beneath the tree where he and Draco had first talked. Not just spoken, but really properly talked. The lake was a stony grey, echoing the moody sky's tumultuous storm clouds. The water looked freezing cold, far too icy to swim in. Impulsively, Harry began to unbutton his shirt, pausing only to flick his hair from his eyes. The shirt fell to the floor and crumpled, a useless piece of fabric without a body to fill it. Not that there was very much body to fill it anyway; Harry was thinner now than he had ever been, even when he had lived with the Dursleys. Draco guessed it was an effect of the combination of barely eating and rarely sleeping. Draco himself had always been small and slight, but he too had noticed his trousers becoming loose. Probably for the same reasons. He had been walking down to the spot by the lake that he had used to like, in a time that was really only a few days ago, in a place that was another world away. A place where life was lonely and love was almost absent; a place where he was miserable but free. Not so any longer, he was prisoner to his own heart, and the heart of the semi-clad man, little more than a boy, who stood, with Draco's world hanging off him by a thread of rope, beneath the oak tree.

Draco almost gave himself away by laughing at this thought. A soft, bitter little laugh, unable to believe that he could be thinking such things. His whole world, dependant on one person in so few days? His whole world dependant on anything? A week ago these notions would have been ridiculous, but the thought of taking his own life would not have. Now the former seemed natural and the latter was the ridiculous idea. That he could willingly die when there was more to live for than he had ever expected.

Another thought struck Draco, struck him when he wasn't expecting it. It was a nasty little thought. Was it really true that his whole world was so pathetically small and empty? His world must have been a veritable desert before, what was it now? The same, with one small oasis of hope? And in the shape of Harry Potter? So unlikely, yet so sadly true.

What did Harry want with his world? He was nothing but trouble, weighed down by all the things that played constantly on his mind, which had already begun to fray and unravel. Potter needed a nice, normal, sane girlfriend. Not an emotionally dependent wreck of a boyfriend.

Maybe he was just kidding himself. Maybe he hadn't kissed Harry; maybe Harry hadn't told him that he was always there. Maybe Harry had only come to his room the other day to tell him what a disgrace he was for not caring more about his girlfriend. Maybe he had been so drunk his poor addled brain had invented a sad, desperate love story that had begun to form an obsession.

Draco was about to turn and leave when Harry moved, pacing slowly towards the edge of the lake, closest to the deepest point. His trousers now lay next to his shirt, and all the pale boy wore were a pair of swimming trunks, their waterproof material scrunched and baggy around his slim legs. From the point where he stood, clutching the trunk of the old tree and peering around it, Draco could see goose pimples, raised from the outline of Harry's body. He looked a lot younger without clothes; the maturity of his face gave way to the youth and innocence of his body. In some sense, Draco felt a little better about burdening him. He may have seen terrible things, the deep lines of his forehead made no mistake of that, but at least he hadn't felt them quite as much. Or so Draco hoped.

Instead of leaving, as he had planned, when he saw Harry place a foot out over the water Draco leapt out from behind the tree and tried to grasp Harry from behind. It was pure reflex, he hadn't thought about it at all. Unfortunately its effect was directly opposite to the one his body had desired. Instead of preventing Harry from entering the ice-cold water he ended up pushing them both in.

Draco surfaced almost immediately, gasping from the shock of the cold and the wet, and spluttering from the fresh water in his lungs and throat, but Harry was nowhere to be seen. Just a small ripple remained where his body had broken the surface. Draco wiped the water from his eyes and ducked under the water again, peering desperately for any sign of the other boy. He caught a glimpse of something sinking downwards, eerily pale compared to the murky water that surrounded it. He saw the slight flailing of the limbs attached to the lake floor-bound object and realised it was Harry. He pushed himself down further, swimming wildly towards the sinking body. Luckily he caught Harry's limp form in his arms fairly quickly and swam towards the surface with a strength he hadn't been aware he possessed.

Back on dry land, he laid the body on the grassy bank and checked to see if Harry was breathing. After a gasping breath and a few moments of choking noises, it was apparent that he was.

Harry opened his eyes.

"What...the...fuck...did...you...do...that for?" he asked, panting as he spoke.

"I don't know. I suppose you'd have done the same if it had been me."

Harry looked very irritated.

"You mean that if I saw you standing by a lake I would jump up behind you and push you in?" he asked, still coughing. Now it was Draco's turn to look puzzled.

"No! I didn't mean that. I meant the saving your life part. I thought that's what you meant. Anyway, it wasn't like that."

"So what was it like then?" Harry asked, looking away from where Draco sat.

"I thought you were about to do something stupid, so I tried to stop you. It didn't exactly work, though." Harry thought about this for a moment and turned his head to look at the other boy.

"I really don't understand what goes on in your head. It's like you have some sort of self-destructive problem alongside a hero complex. Makes no sense."

"My problems are exactly that: my problems. They have nothing to do with you."

"Even if I wanted to help you?" Harry asked, sounding angrier than he had intended to. Draco laughed aloud, a nasty bitterness haunting his laughter.

"You wouldn't want to help me. You're Perfect Potter, always ready to step in and save the day. Always prepared for a moment of glory. Am I to be your next project? Save the nasty Malfoy boy before the evil Dark Wizards take him away!"

"You can be such a prick. Did you know that?" Harry pushed himself off the ground and walked off towards the castle. Draco came running after him and grabbed him by the shoulders, spinning him around so they faced each other.

"Why are you walking away? Whatever happened to 'I'm here if you need me, I'll always be here'? I'm right here right now. I'm ready to talk. I'm talking to you right now." Harry looked at Draco, looked right into the other boy's glassy silver eyes, and instead of seeing a cold picture mirroring his own face; he saw a strange warmth mirroring his own heart.

"I think things changed somewhere between when I said that and where we are now," Harry said flatly, trying not to show how he felt, afraid of tears, be they of anger or sadness.

"What changed?" Draco asked pleadingly. Harry, for the first time, had more than just Draco's words to go by. For once it seemed that the invisible but insurmountable barrier that had stood between them had suddenly been swept away, and now Harry could see what he had longed to see since the first time he had noticed the great distance that stood between them. Now that he was seeing it, he really wished he wasn't. Instead of revealing the great mystery of his enigmatic new friend's crushed spirit, all he saw was the full extent of the crushing. It was so awful he wanted to turn away. Draco looked...needy. He looked like he needed to lean on someone just to stand up in the morning.

"A lot of things changed. They don't have to stay that way, but you need to work out how to change them back, or at least make things a bit better for the time being. I want you to tell me why you want me to be here for you now." Draco looked horrified. It was bad enough knowing that he had shown Harry who he really was, now he had to say how he really felt. And he couldn't do that. He just couldn't. There was no way anyone could know.

"Because we're both here now and I'm ready to talk." Harry glared.

"Don't give me that crap. I'll make it a little easier for you. I know. I know what you have to say, and I know equally that you can't tell anyone. I also know that the only way you and I are going to get anywhere is if you just go ahead and say it."

"You know?"

"I know."

"Fine then. I want you to listen now because I need you. I need you Harry Potter, and I have no idea why. I have no clue. No fucking clue. NO FUCKING CLUE, ALL RIGHT?"

"All right," Harry replied quite calmly. "I'm here now.

*

"Well, Miss Zabini, you can go as soon as you're ready," smiled Madam Pomfrey. Blaise nodded and began to collect up the few personal items that she had collected during her week's stay, including several cards and gifts of sweets and books. The books were particularly interesting. They included a paperback novel that had come free with last month's Witch Weekly, a very nice but very dull encyclopaedia of medical magic that Hermione Granger (who had been in the Defence class at the time and felt bad for Blaise) had brought and a very strange looking volume with a spattering of what looked like entrails that Draco had given her on the morning he had been hung over, probably without realising what it was. Blaise intended to return it to him as soon as she could; it had been making a few odd noises.

She felt a lot better; days of Pomfrey's potions had ensured that, but still something was missing. She could feel something was wrong, she still felt as carefree and strangely empty as she had when she had woken up in the hospital wing, but whereas then she had had an idea of what had been missing, now she had nothing. It was almost as if her memory had been wiped, up until a certain point. She could remember everything up until the end of her fifth year at Hogwarts. She could remember how nice Draco had been to her during the summer term, and how she had been worried about her OWLs, but after that there was nothing. It was unsettling.

*

"I'm here now," Harry repeated, still as calm and clear as a windless ocean. Draco was staring at him, his eyes goggling slightly, eyes that hid all that they had revealed mere minutes before.

"What?" he snapped dangerously.

"I'm here now," said Harry for a third time.

"So is that all it took?" Draco shouted, a vein on his temple throbbing violently and his face turning a funny crimson colour. "Was that all I had to do? Just tell you that I needed you? Why did you bother? What was the fucking point?"

Harry didn't move, or flinch at the blonde boy's aggression.

"Yes, that's all it took. That was all you had to do. Do you want to know why I bothered? What the 'fucking point' was? I bothered because I knew it, but I also knew you wouldn't say anything to me. I knew you wouldn't tell me unless I forced you too." The calm demeanour had faded almost instantly, and Harry seemed just as angry as Draco.

"Why the hell did you need to hear it from me if you knew? Some sort of inferiority complex you've got going on there?"

"I didn't exactly 'know', not until you came down to the lake. Before that I thought we were completely fucked, especially after your drinking binge. And anyway, I couldn't be certain, even then. I needed to know for sure."

"Why?" Draco asked, his cheeks burning. "So you could use me?"

"No," Harry said, trying to blink back the tears that were forming in his eyes. "So I could love you. So I could love you like I've been wanting to ever since I first set eyes on you." He blinked again, but in vain, and the tears began cascading down his face, plastering his eyelashes to the top of his cheeks. He sat down heavily, his legs crossed, resting his face in his hands. All traces of the anger that had been so prevalent a moment or two ago were gone, and suddenly Draco didn't feel angry any more either. He just felt...sad, even though it was probably the worst word he could think of to describe his emotions. Nothing else fit. It was just sadness, an all-pervading, overcoming sadness. He was sad because Harry was crying, because Harry loved him, because he had made such a complete mess of everything, because, oh just because. He was feeling things like he had never felt them before. He felt sad that Sirius Black had died, even though he had never known the man. He felt sad because he had been nasty to so many people, because he had kissed Ginny Weasley for no reason, because he was going to have to hurt Blaise for no reason. He felt to sorrows of the world, felt sorrows that were not even his own.

He sat down on the cold, hard, remorseless earth; next to where Harry was still weeping for the love he thought he had lost. Draco did not cry, he didn't even know if he even could any more. He just sat and thought and ached as all of the things he had denied for so long came to haunt his troubled mind.

"Please don't cry," he said, unable to think of anything better. Harry sniffed loudly.

"What do you care?" he asked, burying his face in his hands.

"Because it makes me sad to see you cry."

"You're not sad. You don't feel anything. You just go around hurting people."

"That's not true!" Draco shouted, but then he realised it was. Harry looked over to him, his face red and tearstained. Draco noticed the two thin cuts across his right cheek. He traced them with his fingers.

"How did you get these?" he asked softly, running his fingers up and down the lines. Their faces were very close now, only inches away from each other.

"Neville," Harry said faintly. "He saw us kiss, and threw a glass at me." Draco inhaled sharply, and stood up, scanning the lawns murderously.

"He did WHAT? The next time I see him I'll give him something he won't forget in a while!"

Harry stood up as well, wiping his face with his sleeve.

"No Draco, don't. Just leave him. It'll be all right, he was just upset."

"I'll give him something to be upset about!"

"Please don't," said Harry, still sniffing forlornly. Draco looked grim, although he was feeling slightly better. It looked as though all was not lost.

"Everything was so good a week or so ago. I thought we had something, something special, even after Neville overreacted, even after you went a bit...well mental." Harry sniffed again, and Draco swallowed hard. "But then when Blaise almost died, and you went off on your piss-up, I thought everything was all gone, that I had imagined the whole thing."

"I thought I had imagined it all too, especially when you came down that day and I was so unreasonable." Harry turned to Draco, wiping his bleary eyes on the sleeve of his jumper. He put his arms around the slightly taller boy's shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. Even though it was against his instincts, Draco hugged back.

The sky had been churning mercilessly all the time they had been there, and it had grown heavier in the last few minutes. Now the clouds had finally broken and the rain came pouring down in great wet sheets. Their robes became soaked, their hair wet and darkened. Great drops of rain rolled down Harry's face, mingling with his salty tears until he could no longer tell the two apart. Everything he had felt for so long was coming out now, draining down the back of the strong, silent boy who held him tightly.

"Thank you," Harry whispered finally, after they had stood, locked together, for what seemed like ages. Draco immediately loosened his firm grasp of Harry's waist. Harry squeezed him one more time and extricated himself.

"That's ok. We're here for each other now." Harry nodded, trying to wipe some of the wetness from his face, and failing miserably since his sleeves were as saturated as his sodden skin.

"It's raining heavily, maybe we should go inside." Harry nodded in agreement, and they set off towards the school building. When they reached the entrance hall Draco turned to go down to the dungeons and Harry went towards the staircase.

"Draco," he called to behind. Draco turned around when he heard his name.

"What?"

"Don't stay away too long."

*

"I really love you, you know I do," he said softly, the moonlight playing on his dark, lustrous skin.

"I know you love me. You know I love you too."

"Well of course you do. Can't you see? I love you, you love me, we love each other. It's perfect. We're perfect."

"I know," said the other boy, slightly glumly. "I just don't want to. Not here, not now. I want it to be really special."

"It is special! It couldn't be more special if we tried. I know you're the one for me, and I think I'm the one for you."

"I know. I know you're my soul mate, I know I love you more than anything else, I know we're meant to be together. I'm just not ready."

The first boy pouted, jumped up from his bed, grabbed his wand and lit the fire.

"Oh Seamus!" he said irritably, the brisk firelight revealing the gentle curves of his shoulders and the tautness of his buttocks. "Why won't you sleep with me? I brought you here specially."

"I'm just not ready, Dean," he replied. Dean sat next to him on the bed. "I'm so glad you feel the same way I do, and it's so wonderful that you brought me here to the Room of Requirement just so we could, well, y'know, but it doesn't feel right. Not at school, not while we're so young." He looked into Dean's deep, silky-brown eyes. "But I am so glad that I'm with someone who is so special, so willing to please me, and so understanding of how I feel." Dean's heart melted, his childish pout disappeared and he smiled.

"I still don't mind some things," Seamus said, a twinkle in his eyes, and he leant into Dean's shoulders and licked the other boy's lips. There was a crashing noise from far downstairs, in the bowels of the school, but neither of them noticed it. They were far too busy, lost in each other.

*

Draco unlocked the door of his room with the enchanted key his father had given him over the summer. Lucius was always extra-vigilant in security matters after some of the family heirlooms had been seized by the Ministry from beneath the trapdoor of the study during a raid a few years ago. Lucius himself had let some information slip in Knockturn Alley and had never really forgiven himself. As a result, security was now an issue of great importance to all the Malfoys. At least, that was what Lucius hoped. Draco actually couldn't give less of a shit whether or not anyone got into his room. All they would find there were old socks, a few girly magazines and a cupboard of empty bottles.

That was not to say that Draco did not have his valuable possessions, but they were even more secure than his room was, hidden away in a virtually un-openable chest. Unless, of course, you knew how to open it.

The room was dark, and Draco walked over to where he had left his wand in order to light a fire. As he did, his leg snagged a piece of what felt like string or rope, and he tripped and fell onto the bed. There was an almighty smash and the crystal chandelier that had once hung from his ceiling lay on the floor, shattered into a thousand pieces. Draco knew it was a set-up, that it couldn't have occurred on it's own.

"Who?" he asked aloud of no one in particular.

He lit a fire, and I doing so answered his own question. An envelope lay on his chest-of-drawers, addressed to 'DrAkko mALfoY'. His name was spelt (or rather mis-spelt) out with letters that seemed to be cut from a newspaper or magazine. Inside was a piece of paper, with words made of similar clippings.

' i kN Ow UR dUrti LiTTle sEEcriT.'

"Charming," he said dryly, and tossed the note onto the fire.