Differentiating Thresholds

Chapter 1-Familiar Stranger

Red and blue lights swam in the periphery of his vision. Silently, he thanked Mother Nature for the pouring rain that created a watery curtain around him. Only one more block and he would be safe, ensconced in the sanctuary that was Saint Michael's Church without having to worry about silver cuffs being clapped around his wrists, again.

It was only a candy bar, he rationalized. Less than a pound's worth of sugar and he was being hunted down like some sort of animal. Not that he wasn't used to it. It wasn't the first time he had been caught stealing. He just didn't fancy spending another night in a cold, dank cell with smelly old drunks and half-dressed prostitutes. The first two times were enough, no use adding a third to the list.

"STOP!"

The officer's amplified voice rang out on the quiet street but he ignored it. He could see the shadowy shape of Saint Michael's right ahead and picked up his pace, foot catching on the uneven pavement. He went down hard, knees slamming into the ground with brutal force. The man climbed shakily to his feet and winced as the rain fell on his scraped knees. Ignoring the pain, he began to run again.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!"

A car door slammed and a second later the slap-slap of the officer's shoes echoed against the wet pavement. He slipped his pistol from the waistband of his jeans and cocked it. Three strikes and you're out, the officer had told him last time as he grinned savagely at him. There was no way he was letting them take him there. Not ever.

He fumbled up the steps of the church and pulled hard on the door handle. The door didn't budge. "FUCK!" He tried again but nothing.

"THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING. PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD AND TURN AROUND. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST."

The man turned on the spot, sheer panic on his face. Not now, not when I'm this close, he pleaded silently. He lifted the pistol and pointed it at the officer, backing up towards the doors of the church.

"DROP YOUR WEAPON!" The officer slowly inched forward, gun trained on him.

The second his back collided with the heavy wooden door, he felt it give way and inwardly cursed himself for his stupidity. He grinned maniacally as he slowly walked backwards into the church, gun still pointed at the cop. The officer was yelling at him but the rush of blood in his ears drowned out any and all sound save the frantic beating of his heart.

Draco Malfoy slumped against the massive doors of the church, panting. So much for staying out of trouble, he thought wryly. Soaked head to toe, it was nearly impossible to stop the shivering that engulfed his body but he fought against it, shakily pulling himself to his feet and pushing his sopping blond mane off his face. He needed to dry himself off. And find something to eat, he thought as his stomach cramped painfully and he realized the stupid candy bar that had gotten him into this in the first place had slipped from his fingers sometime during the chase.

He made his way out of the vestibule and into the main church. The area was dimly lit, moonlight casting the only light in the ancient building. Quietly, he crept across the back of the church, ears peeled for any sound. He had seen no one so far and for that he was grateful. Being engaged in conversation with a priest or some friendly Christian was not what he wanted at the moment.

And then he heard it. Barely audible and almost imagined: a sigh. He would have discarded it for his own breathing if a small clink of a glass hadn't followed. Draco, pistol still in hand, held it low heading in the direction of the sound. No use starting trouble if he didn't have to.

A man stood in front of a table of candles, arm extended over the sea of flames. He touched the tip of the match to the wick of one of the unlit candles and watched as the action produced a flare of light and then died down. He blew out the match tip and placed it on the table before clasping his hands behind his back and turning his face upward. His eyes fluttered shut and then his lips began to move in silent prayer. A shot of recognition rushed through him. He had seen someone do that once, a long time ago.

In a darkened hallway, bathed in moonlight, he had watched a raven-haired boy stand in that same position and pray. The awe he felt at watching The-Boy-Who-Lived in such a private moment overcame the hate that had raged inside him only moments before. If he had been smart, he would have made his move then, knocked him out and brought him straight to the Dark Lord as directed, but something stopped him. Something indescribable, something so foreign that he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but stare blankly at the other boy.

He had no idea how long he stood there in the shadows, hand gripping the stone statue beside him, Potter's silent prayer for his parents, his godfather, his friends seeming to go on forever. When he finally did finish, he let out a soft sigh, turned and then headed right towards Draco. Malfoy shrank back into the shadows, flattening himself against the wall behind him. He prayed Potter wouldn't notice him and he didn't, instead strolling right past him down the hall and into the darkness. It was only when he was sure the other boy was gone that he let himself slide to the floor, hands trembling before him. He buried his face in them and took a deep shuddering breath.

He couldn't kill Potter. He knew that now. They were classmates, rivals, they had grown up together and as much as he may have hated the boy, he couldn't be responsible for his death. Handing him over to Voldemort would be just as bad as pointing the wand at him himself.

Draco shook the memory away and cleared his throat. Slowly, the man turned around and the blond couldn't help the small gasp that escaped him. Haunted was too weak a word to describe the man before him. Death may have been more appropriate. His eyes were still the emerald green they had always been, but as they stared at him now, there was something darker hiding just behind them, something that said "I've killed before and I won't hesitate to do it again." But that wasn't the only difference. Gone were the nerdy glasses that he was never seen without during his Hogwarts day. The unruly black hair of his youth had grown to his shoulders in soft waves. And though he matched Draco in height, his build was strong and muscular, making the blond feel dwarfed in his presence.

"Potter?"

He breathed the name so low; it came out as a whisper. The man's brows furrowed in concentration before recognition dawned on him.

"Malfoy?"

He raked a hand through his dark hair and the long strands parted, giving Draco a clear view of the infamous lightning scar. Unconsciously, his eyes were drawn to it and he thought it odd that he had never, in all his years of knowing him, truly looked at it. It wasn't until Potter's next words that he drew his eyes away.

"You're supposed to be dead. They held a funeral for you and everything."

"A funeral? What are you on about?" He stared at the other man blankly. Surely Potter hadn't gone daft after the war?

"There was a funeral for you, Malfoy, at Hogwarts . . . What happened?"

There was a pleading note in his voice as he stepped forward. Draco forced himself not to take a step back. Harry's eyes raked over him as he mumbled something unintelligible under his breath. He reached out a hand toward Draco and this time he did take a step back. The other man made to step forward again but Draco's raised pistol stopped him.

"Don't come any closer, Potter."

Harry's eyes clouded over for a moment and then the darkness Draco had seen in them when he had first turned around was back.

"Why? Scared, Malfoy?" he challenged.

"No," Draco spat. He glared back at his former nemesis knowing that it was a lie. Indeed he was scared. Scared of finding out what had happened to make them all think he was dead, scared of that maniacal look in Potter's eyes, scared of what could happen if he stayed here any longer.

"Forget we ever saw each other. This never happened." He started to back away, gun still pointed at the other man, when his vision began to swim in front of his eyes. He clutched at the pew beside him in an effort to steady himself.

"Malfoy?"

Draco blinked a few times to try to clear his vision but it didn't work. He had to get out of here, away from him. He pushed past Harry and headed towards the front of the church. There was a side exit leading off to a small courtyard and then an alley. He could disappear unseen into the night, forgetting Potter and Hogwarts and his past. He grabbed the pews for support as he forced himself to keep walking. He could hear Potter's footsteps getting closer but he didn't care. He had to keep going.

"Malfoy, wait."

Potter's voice sounded so far away though his conscious mind told him he was only a few steps behind. Draco didn't answer, just kept walking, even as his legs wobbled beneath him. He stumbled and tried to stay upright but the effort was futile. He fell to his knees, the pistol landing on the floor beside him with a clang. The noise echoed off the stone walls and he felt himself flinch at it.

"Malfoy, are you all right?" Potter was suddenly beside him, face only inches from his own.

"Do I look bloody alright?" he ground out between clenched teeth. He looked over into the other man's face and wanted to laugh at the concerned look on Potter's face. "I'm fine," he stated, more to convince himself than anything. But even as he said the words, the blackness that had been threatening to overtake him finally won out and he felt himself falling into unconsciousness, Potter's worried face looming over him the last thing he saw.