Tempus Fugit

Chapter 8: Buried Suspicions

~*~

You'll never live like common people
You'll never do whatever common people do
You'll never fail like common people
You'll never watch your life slide out of view
and then dance and drink and screw
'cos there's nothing else to do

-- Common People - Pulp

~*~

It soon became apparent that under the stars was not, perhaps, the best place for a little light-hearted fondling. Before long, Draco happened to look up from his activities to see a greasy old man staring avidly at them from a window in the next building. The idea of being watched by some such voyeur made him shudder and the pair retreated inside where there was warmth and a distinct lack of greasy old men.

That night they lay curled side by side in the large bed, their hands brushing with a tentative contact. Each was fast asleep and each was dreaming, as they did almost every night, of the significant times of the years they had skipped when they had drunk the potion.

Draco's were disappointingly banal that night, as he dreamt about various moments with the Slytherins, but Harry's were more vivid than ever before.

He was dreaming of Draco and himself, of the first time they had had sex since they had been reunited. He could feel, from the dream, that it had been a long time for both of them, and Harry felt himself writhe atop the bed as he witnessed their intense coition with something akin to arousal.

He awoke sweating and sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard. He had never dreamed that sex could be so passionate and fierce; at Hogwarts he had fucked pallid girls whose faces had blended into each other, he had fucked them to forget, to provide a moment's release from reality. In his dream, Draco hadn't let him escape for one moment. Their actions had blurred into a frenzied game of touching, tasting and the sheer, animal need of two people who could not bring themselves to be parted from each other.

It had been utterly perfect.

Harry felt his breathing calm slightly, even though there was still a sheen of sweat on his brow. He rubbed it, his thoughts replaying that sweet moment of ecstasy over and over again. The shift in his position had made Draco stir beside him.

"What's wrong?" came the groggy voice, as Draco struggled to sit up.

"Nothing," Harry said breathlessly. "Just had a dream, that's all." Draco rubbed his eyes.

"Me too," he said, "but it was really boring, what was yours about?" His eyes appearing less misty, he looked at Harry who glanced away, blushing.

"It was...um...the first time we had sex since we were reunited," he said.

Draco looked faintly interested. "Any good?"

"Yeah," Harry said distractedly, remembering particularly vividly the way in which Draco eyes had glazed over when he came. "Yeah it was."

"I can see it's had something of an effect on you," Draco said matter-of-factly, as his fingers traced Harry's inner thigh, resting on the hardness in his pyjamas. Harry didn't answer straight away. The dream had turned him on more than he would care to admit, and the position of Draco's hand was doing little to help him. Instead of shrugging Draco off and vanishing into the bathroom, his mind came to a more gratifying resolution.

Without a moment's hesitation Harry turned and crashed down on Draco, their lips meeting with incredible force and it was a second or two before the initial pain turned into a torrid pleasure. The flash of surprise on Draco's face soon melted into satisfaction as his eyes closed and he allowed Harry to rest on top of him, their lips moving as though trying to suck the souls from their mouths.

There was no soft tenderness, no gentleness, none of that careful application that had defined their other kisses. This was hard, exhausting and driven by a lust so strong that it shook them to the core. It was no more than a few seconds before Harry felt Draco become hard beneath him, and he moved slightly, so that they were aligned against each other, and so close that every motion was felt, and their heartbeats hammered against each other.

"Are you going to show me everything you saw, then?" Draco breathed into Harry's mouth, involuntarily grinding against him.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard you scream," Harry muttered back, grinding into Draco with much more force and feeling the blond arch beneath him, "and you're going to love every moment of it." He gasped as Draco sucked on the hollow at the curve of his throat, silently submitting himself. Harry could feel their heartbeats thudding next to each other between the cage of skin, both pulses racing as their blood flowed more quickly through their veins.

Whatever words Harry was going to say were snatched from his lips as Draco moved his mouth up and down his neck, alternately licking and nipping at the sensitive skin there. He felt the most wonderful tingling sensations as the warm tongue ran the length of his throat, sending shivers down his spine and making him want to drown himself inside Draco.

The Slytherin slept only in grey boxers, which Harry was very grateful for as he slid a little down his body and began to suck insistently at one of his nipples. Draco writhed beneath him, sufficiently encouraging Harry to move to the other one, darting his tongue over it, teasing it with his teeth until it became firm and then soothing it with the warmth of his mouth. The puckered flesh became sensitised enough for Draco to gasp raggedly, all breath seemingly snatched from his lungs. Other than the night after Ron's party they had been constrained by a teenage awkwardness that seemed particularly out of place in their current bodies. The huge divide they had crossed in one night had not changed as many things as they might have hoped but Harry could feel that Draco wanted this as much as he did. He had been wanting to touch him again and again but had rarely dared to. Now he was throwing caution to the wind and taking just what he wanted.

Harry paused in his activities, his stomach clenching with anticipation as he felt Draco's hand rub against his groin, slip beneath his waistband and begin fisting him so hard that he was a second away from orgasm before he regained control of himself. For a minute or two they stayed in that silent limbo of eliciting pleasure, knowing that each other's shaky control was wavering, knowing that this was all just a prelude to something that promised to send sparks from the rooftops.

Draco withdrew his hand and skilfully divested Harry of his t-shirt, throwing it to the floor and scratching his nails down Harry's back. Harry enjoyed the pain quite as much as the satisfaction, and the stinging edge added a new dimension to their fervency. He kissed and licked a path up Draco's chest, flitting his tongue into the cavities between his collarbones, mapping the series of planes and angles that made up this beautiful human being.

Draco was a canvas, as pure white as a dove, however dark and corrupt his soul might have been. Harry itched to make his mark on that pale skin, to bite and tear and own a piece of Draco for himself, the way no-one else could. His senses were flooded with the taste, smell and sound of Draco. He smelt like coffee, the way he always did, he was making soft noises of gratification, and he tasted faintly salty. No-one else he had been with had ever been this piquant. Ginny Weasley had tasted like cotton, her cold breasts nothing more that folds of material draped into her unresponsive tapestry. Harry hadn't felt anything for her, even after weeks of flirting to please her and Ron, but now he was half in love with Draco, if only for the passion the blond managed to invoke in him.

He moved into alignment with Draco's body again, and the blond wrapped his legs round Harry's waist so that they were grinding against each other with strength enough to leave them both groaning with ecstasy. They fit perfectly, and for a few moments they established a glorious rhythm of thrusting and grinding, steadily working themselves to completion, whilst their hands clung painfully tightly to each other.

Draco's fingers tangled in Harry's black hair, tilting his head back so that he could kiss his throat again, tugging with a need that Harry shared. Harry felt nails raking his back again, and sliding once more beneath his waistband, but coming to rest on his arse, cupping him lightly before pulling them closer together. Harry trailed his fingers teasingly down Draco's chest, rubbing his throbbing length once before slipping between his legs.

Draco arched suddenly, his eyes flicking open in surprise at the intrusion, and Harry bit down on his lip to stop him from saying anything. He raised his lips from Draco's for a moment, pausing to look at the man stretched out beneath him and marvelling inwardly at the fact that anybody could be so breathtakingly beautiful. He wanted to stop for a moment, ask if Draco was ok.

"Another," Draco uttered, his voice rasping painfully. "Another." Harry couldn't resist diving on him again and kissing him over and over. He showered him with tiny kisses, nipping his lips and drinking him deeply. It wasn't practiced or flawless, a symphony of perfection. It was two boys pretending they were men, just touching each other. But it was enough.

Draco was still hard against his stomach, and Harry loved the feeling of him against his skin, withdrawing his fingers and gripping Draco's thighs firmly.

"Are you ready?" he asked, receiving no response other than a deep, slightly messy kiss. Taking that as a yes, Harry moved forward and slid himself inside Draco. He was worried about hurting him, about going too far, but Draco didn't look as though he were in pain. On the contrary, he was pulling Harry into him again, urging him deeper, a look of clear longing on his face.

"Fuck this, Potter, hurry up," he snapped, his teeth gritted, his eyes screwed shut. Harry gave a lopsided grin before driving himself forward, so hard that he was worried about hurting him, but Draco just bucked helplessly against him, before coming all over Harry's stomach. Harry, almost lost in his own pleasure, watched the expression of seamless rapture diffuse across Draco's face, and wondered if he had ever seen anything so utterly exquisite.

"Enjoying yourself?" Harry lowered his mouth to Draco's again.

"Shit, that's good," he muttered in between kisses.

"Say my name," Harry ordered, now thrusting harder than ever into Draco. Exertion was making his voice crack and his words incoherent.

"What?" Draco wasn't listening. One of his hands had gone up to grip the headboard behind them, allowing him more leverage.

"Say my name," Harry reiterated, moving harder and deeper, so that Draco groaned loudly.

"Harry," he said, "oh God, Harry." He could have said it a thousand times in a thousand tongues, but that occasion, as Draco spoke his name into his ear and Harry came, he had never known completion so flawless. He had never known such bliss. Stars exploded behind his eyes and he wanted to scream out obscenities into the night.

There were a few seconds as Harry rode out the last of his orgasm, Draco squirming beneath him, and when he was finished, he collapsed on top of Draco, the both of them sweaty and exhausted.

Harry pulled Draco into his embrace, wrapping his arms around him, Draco's head nestled comfortably under Harry's jaw. They slipped into a comfortable position where Harry's arms acted as Draco's pillow and their legs hooked around each other, locking them together. They lay there, panting, Draco's fingers caressing Harry's brow gently.

"I never thought I would be on my back one day, being fucked by you," he said, holding Harry closer, breathing in his scent. "Was this as good as your dream?"

"Better," Harry said firmly, "this was real, for a start."

"True." They didn't say anything else. As their hearts slowed, their breaths fell in time with each other, and it was to the lullaby of this symmetry that they fell asleep, tangled together, sealed as one person.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning sent shards of annoyingly bright light into the bedroom to land directly on Draco's face. As the light intensified, he eyes fluttered open and he blearily cursed the sun with every profanity he could summon at so ungodly an hour.

"What are you swearing at?" Harry asked, waking up beside him but not opening his eyes. Draco looked down and smiled weakly at the head in his arms. Memories of last night bombarded him and he was left with the faint satisfaction that accompanied with the morning after a night of terrific sex.

He had never done anything like that before, and he had expected it to hurt a lot more. Everything he had heard from his elder housemates had been that sodomy for the first time was very painful. He had been pleasantly surprised to find that it was with only a moderate twinge of discomfort that Harry had entered him, which had soon faded to pleasure anyway. He supposed he had done it so often that this body was used to it. This thought gave him a sense of gratification, although he wasn't sure why.

"Bloody sun," Draco said, and Harry stretched.

"You sore?" he asked.

"No," Draco replied truthfully, "didn't really hurt." Harry nodded and yawned widely, his jaw cracking.

"What's the time?" he asked and Draco disentangled himself to roll over and look at the clock.

"Ten past eleven," he said with a trace of surprise. "Merlin, we slept late."

"All the exhaustion from last night," Harry said with a wicked grin which Draco couldn't help returning.

"You had fun, then?" he asked.

"Technically I got to both watch the show and take part in it," Harry said, thinking back to his dream.

"Yeah, well, my dream was really mundane," Draco grumbled, envious that Harry got to watch them having sex as well as practicing it.

"Ah," Harry said in mock sympathy, "poor Draco, can I make it better?" he began to kiss a trail of fire along each of Draco's fingers.

"I daresay you can," Draco grinned, and was just lowering himself onto Harry when the doorbell rang.

"Who the hell can that be?" Harry asked, his brows knitted in confusion.

"I'll go and see," Draco sighed, pulling on a black jumper and his boxers. He went out to the door and peered through the eyehole that looked onto the corridor outside. "It's Hermione!" He called to Harry.

"Let her in then!" Harry shouted back, busily making himself look presentable. Draco opened the door to see Hermione standing there smiling.

"Hello," Draco said, "why didn't you floo over?"

"I was visiting a muggle this morning," Hermione said, walking through the door that Draco held open for her, "and I came straight here; their fireplace wasn't connected to the floo network."

"Hi Hermione," Harry said, coming out of the bedroom, now appropriately dressed. "what's up?"

"Oh, nothing much," Hermione said, sitting down tiredly and conjuring herself a cup of Darjeeling, "I just thought I'd come over and see how you're doing, you haven't been to the library in a couple of days."

"I know," Draco said, sitting down next to her, "it feels like we've been through every potion book you own, and yet nothing." Hermione frowned,

"Really?" she asked. "Well that can only mean that the spell you used in the past was something that is now banned."

"What do you mean?" Harry looked confused.

"Fudge's successor was a wizard called Adrian Stickweed," Hermione said, "and he was a very controversial choice, because of his extreme policies. It was at the height of Voldemort's power, though, and so we needed a strong leader for the magical world. Anyway," she went on, "he believed that Voldemort was using an archaic method of mind control that couldn't be detected by Aurors in the same way that the Imperius curse can."

"Was he?" Harry asked curiously.

"Ironically enough," Hermione said, "you would be the only one here able to tell us. You knew more than anyone about Voldemort's actions."

"Because of the connection?" Harry rubbed the scar on his forehead.

"Partly," Hermione said, "and partly because you were part of the team of Aurors that were tracking his movements. I, for one, have no idea what he was doing, you never spoke about work to any of us."

"Oh," was all Harry said.

"It doesn't matter," said Hermione reassuringly, "none of us liked talking about Voldemort when it wasn't strictly necessary."

"So what did Stickweed do?" Draco prompted.

"He had always had a passionate mistrust for anyone who practiced an amalgamation of two kinds of magic," Hermione said. "He used Voldemort as an excuse to destroy many thousands of books devoted to the perfection of that art. He thought that Voldemort was using a combination of runes and herbs to control the minds of large masses of people, thereby forcing them to commit horrible atrocities. If the potion you used was anything that could be used for mind control, all evidence of it would have been destroyed." A hot swoop of anger was settling on Draco's stomach.

"Twat!" he yelled out. "Now how are we expected to get home?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, "all I can think of is making a potion of your own."

"That's what you've been preparing, isn't it?" Harry turned to Draco, who nodded.

"Yeah, but I don't know how long it will take to gather potency," he said, rubbing his temples.

"Don't worry about it," Hermione said firmly, "I didn't think the potion you used in the past would have been dangerous enough to be included in the ban, I'll keep looking. Just work on the potion in case we can find no other alternative."

"Ok," said Draco, but he felt downhearted.

"What have you two been up to, then?" Hermione asked conversationally. "Been getting along together alright?" The question was probably completely innocent, but the immediate twin flushes that rose to both Harry and Draco's cheeks alerted her to something between them.

"Not too bad," Harry said evasively.

"What are you hiding from me?" she asked shrewdly and Draco watched her eyes rest on Harry's crumpled hair and shy grin, before flicking over to himself, and he knew he looked as if he had been thoroughly shagged. "Oh, I see," she said with an annoyingly knowing grin.

"What?" Harry asked, genuinely surprised that she could figure it out.

"I always knew you were psychic," Draco said.

"Not psychic," Hermione replied, "but I do have eyes, and you two have been sneaking glances at each other all morning."

"Yeah, well, if you hadn't interrupted earlier..." Draco left the sentence hanging in the air, and Hermione's eyes twinkled.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "feel free to get right back to doing what you were doing as soon as I am gone. Which won't be long, I've got a lunch meeting in half an hour."

"How's work?" Harry asked, eager to change the subject from his sex life.

"Not bad," Hermione said, "I've been working on a new Shatter charm. It's supposed to produce a hairline fracture in an object you want to dispose of cleanly, but it's a little strong at the moment." She pointed her wand at a vase that stood on a table in the corner and muttered something under her breath. Immediately it exploded with a deafening crash and set the table on fire. "See?" she sighed.

"Impressive," said Draco, who had jumped three feet. Harry got up and calmly extinguished the flames.

"It's getting there," Hermione said. "Anyway, how are you getting on? You've been here for ages now."

"Missing the old us that are actually the future us but are now stuck in our past technically making them the old us?" Draco asked, confusing even himself.

"You're not that different," Hermione remarked, "although you, Draco, are a bit more of a prat, and you, Harry, get pissed off much more easily."

"Thanks," Draco said, surprised at Hermione's bluntness.

"Don't look at me like that," she chided, "I'm just telling you what I see. The Draco from school was in no way as nice as the Draco I have come to know and love."

"And the Hermione from school was a little less brusque," Draco pointed out, glowering.

"I know," Hermione smiled sweetly.

"Play nicely, children," Harry said absent-mindedly.

Hermione stayed for a brief time in which they discussed all the possible methods of concocting a potion for returning back to their own time. Harry, whose limited expertise was of little use, soon grew tired of all the potions talk and went to take a shower. When he was washed, dressed and feeling decidedly more ready to face the day, he sauntered around the bedroom, idly looking for something to amuse himself with. His eyes rested on the handsome black, leather box that he had found a couple of days ago and had yet to open.

Whilst hunting through his wardrobe, Harry had come across this box covered in clothes and well hidden behind his impressive display of shoes. His curiosity had been sparked immediately and he had lugged the surprisingly light box out and examined it closely. It was very handsome, forged of black leather and embossed with the initials H J P in gold across the top. It had elaborate gold hinges and a large padlock chaining it together, which didn't have a keyhole, but just had a smooth hollow where the keyhole should have been. Harry had tried all sorts of unlocking charms to open it, with little success. He supposed that he had fashioned some advanced spell to protect it, which his past self didn't have the expertise to break.

He had just pulled it onto his lap when he heard Hermione yelling goodbye and the door shut. Draco came in a few seconds later.

"What's that?" he asked inquisitively, sitting down on the bed.

"A box I found in the wardrobe," Harry said, frowning at it, "but I can't open it, I've tried every spell I can think of."

"It's not protected by a spell," Draco said simply, holding the padlock in his palm. "This is a security device in itself, only a certain fingerprint will unlock it."

"Really?" Harry asked. "I've never seen one of these before."

"Well, you're muggle-born," Draco stated with none of the derision that would once have laced such a declaration. "You wouldn't have." He got up and disappeared into the bathroom and Harry pressed each of his fingers against the hollow in the padlock, feeling a quiver of excitement as it sprang open when he pressed his right thumb against it.

Opening it, Harry felt the hinges creak and the scent of old leather filled the room. He realised at once why the box was so light, it was full of letters, scraps of parchment, photographs, both wizarding and muggle, and scrolls. Picking a couple out at random he laid them on the bed and began to read. He found letters that he and Draco had written to each other during their first year apart after Hogwarts. Harry scanned these eagerly, his throat tightening as he read what Draco had written to him.

Harry,

I got your last letter this morning. Hedwig (is that her name?) pecked me on the hand so hard it made me bleed. If you send that sodding bird again I will personally shoot her and put her in a pie.

You asked if I miss you. I wouldn't know, I've never missed anyone before in my life, I've never cared enough. If missing you is having a gaping chasm in the middle of my chest, wanting to run to wherever you are, and feeling miserable all the bloody time, then yes, Harry, I do miss you. I hope you are missing me. You didn't say in your letter and I am trying not to care, but I do, I care more than I would ever let on.

You said you can't stop thinking about me, well I feel the same. You are in every mirror, every pair of eyes, every laugh I hear. I think of you first thing in the morning and I hate you last thing at night because you are not with me. I don't love you because I don't know what love is. All I know is that I need you more than anything else and you are not here, and it has to be this way.

In three weeks I am leaving for Zakynthos, and in the golden light that spills from a Grecian sunset I know that I will be thinking of you. The Ancient Greek soldiers fought so hard to defend each other in battle because they were encouraged to take each other as lovers, did you know that? I know that you would defend me with your dying breath, because you love to be the hero. You would love Greece, you should be there instead of me. Do not think that now you are not here I will be fucking indiscriminately. No-one but you has ever made me care. I hate that you can do that to me, that I can't forget those laughing green eyes.

The Auror training sounds perfectly disgraceful. You had to fight a Manticore? Alone? I hope whichever hospital you're in is treating you well, but then again, famous Harry Potter gets treated like royalty wherever he goes.

Autumn is coming, and with it the stench of death. The grounds here are littered with rotting leaves, their skeletons turning to dust as the winds howl through the moors. The Manor is so cold and empty. I can hardly bear it. My mother is not back and I have heard nothing from her. The place is becoming like a prison. It has lost all the grandeur I beheld in it in my youth. The portraits are silent now, and they skulk and hide whenever I pass. Cobwebs amass like venomous nets and dust settles on anything stationary for more than a moment. I hate it here, Harry. The colours are all fading to nothingness, the silver has lost its gleam and has become tarnished, like the Malfoy name. I have nothing left here, and if I stay much longer I'll be reduced to a ghost of myself. A shadow.

Isn't that what you used to wish I'd be? You wished I wouldn't walk down the corridors so proudly because you hated the sight of me. You hated that I made you feel. You trained yourself in the art of apathy and I broke that, didn't I? Well now I'm becoming a shadow and you're not here to see it. You're not here at all. I want you so much I can hardly breathe and I spend hours writing to you because the silence here is so oppressive. There is no peace in a prison, and this one, though very fine, is turning me mad.

Another ex-Slytherin was killed today. My friends? I had none. None that I really knew. But that was the way with us, you wouldn't have liked it. I remember watching you, the Holy Trinity we used to call you, and I would be so jealous. I would see Weasley standing by your side and I would want to run and tear him away from you. I would want to kiss you over and over again, with everyone watching.

During the day, our pretence was flawless, wasn't it? You wouldn't suffer me to speak to you, and I wouldn't suffer your presence. But at night, you would bite down hard on my lip and tell me why I wasn't worthy of you. With the same breath you would liken my skin to the alabaster Apollo that stood in ruined temples, tell me how my eyes were like the heavens' stormy maelstrom. You were always a contradiction to me. You still are.

I cannot see you or talk to you, but I can know that you are reading my words. The trees whisper your name malevolently to me as I pass them. The world won't let me forget you. You are scratched upon me, and how I love you for that.

This may be the last thing I send you until I am returned, unless my owl fancies a really long trip. Know that I'm thinking of you, and that it hurts. Take whatever grim satisfaction in that you please.

Yours, always yours,

Draco.

Harry laid the letter aside, deeply moved. The letter was dated a mere year after they would have left Hogwarts. How could his relationship with Draco had developed so fast? In their own time, they still hated each other. They would argue and fight and exchange pithy slurs whenever they met. Harry had to admit, though, when reading the letter, he was struck by the sense of truth that seemed to permeate the words there. Draco's emotions were mirrored somewhat in himself. He tried not to care about anything that happened. He had perfected apathy and used it to protect his heart from everything that happened at school. No matter what he did, though, Draco was a voice he couldn't drown out, a presence he couldn't ignore. Draco made him feel, in a way no-one else could. Harry had never understood that before.

The handwriting was elegant and scrawling. There were many similar letters, all dated around the same couple of years, after which the correspondence seemed to have stopped. Returning the letter to the bundle from whence it came, Harry leafed through the various other pieces of parchment that were stacked more haphazardly. These were covered in scrawls, diagrams and scribbled notes of his own handwriting and he pored over them. They seemed to be pages devoted to working out what the Death Eaters were doing.

Harry saw names of known Death Eaters circled, with arrows pointing away from them towards various other names or places. There was a sketchy map on which he had labelled many names followed by question marks, crossed them out or drawn crisscrossing lines across the world, mapping movements, documenting attacks. There were pages and pages of writing like this. Scribbled, frantic, obsessive notes. There were pictures of Death Eaters in their hoods, all frowning maliciously from their photos.

There were horrific images of families, lying slaughtered, children covered in blood, their bodies horribly disfigured. There were hundreds of pictures like this. He saw photographs of women which had been defiled, their dignity stripped as their corpses were left propped up, their legs splayed. On the back of all these were names of Death Eaters who had done this and their last known location.

Harry also found a list of Voldemort's allies, with some names crossed off as they had been killed by Aurors, with lists of their crimes written beside each name. Harry's heart began to thud painfully in his chest. Hermione had been right, he was obsessed. He flipped open a muggle notebook. Every page was devoted to the same subject, every page covered in scribbles and question marks and neurotic scrawls about Voldemort.

Harry slammed it shut. Sickened.

He couldn't believe that he had let himself get like that. These weren't the casual notes of someone who took a mild interest in current events, these were paranoid and suspicious, with every name imaginable listed as questionable.

"What's the matter?" Draco came out of the bathroom, towelling his hair dry.

"These." Harry motioned to the parchment covered in his writing. "She was right, Draco, I was obsessed with fighting the Dark Arts. Look at this." He held up a complicated flow chart that began with wild accusations and didn't even end in anything concrete. "There are hundreds of them." He sounded jaded and weary.

"You had more reason to worry than anyone else in the world," Draco pointed out, "you have been a marked man for twenty five years."

"Still," Harry said, "I was absolutely paranoid. I suspected everyone, even you."

"Me?" Harry pointed to where he had written Draco's name followed by three question marks. "Well, I suppose my father is a Death Eater." Draco sighed and Harry looked surprised.

"You're taking my mistrust of you with admirable aplomb," he said.

"Well with a history like ours," Draco said, "I wouldn't expect anything less." Harry still looked downcast. He had spent so many years fixated upon the darkness. How much time had he wasted fighting it? Draco seemed to sense his worries because he put his hand on his shoulder and kissed him on the corner of the mouth.

"Stop thinking about it," he said firmly, "or I'll hit you."

"Huh?" Harry looked up suddenly. "How's that supposed to help?"

"It won't," Draco shrugged, "but at least I stopped you thinking about it, if only for a moment." Harry laughed and it seemed as if a great weight had slipped from his shoulders. He rested his head against Draco's for a moment, and felt very much like a boy again.

*~*~*~*~*~*

That weekend found Harry, Draco and some of their friends sitting in a trendy café on the corner of a street near Deansgate. In the midst of copious amounts of chrome and oddly shaped tables, the men were having a drink while they waited for Hermione, Ginny and Lavender to return from a morning's shopping.

"How long are they going to be?" Sean complained, "I'm hungry." he was looking at his watch for the thousandth time.

"They wouldn't mind if we started without them, would they?" Draco whined and Harry laughed,

"You think way too much about food," he said, kissing him quickly on the lips. Draco wasn't facing him directly so he had to turn slightly so Harry could kiss him properly, their mouths lingering together longer than was strictly necessary.

"Do you mind?" Ron looked faintly nauseous across the table.

"I would have thought you'd be used to it by now," Harry said, smiling slightly, his lips tingling. He felt Draco's hand move to his knee under the table.

"It doesn't mean I have to like it," Ron persisted,

"Oh stop being such a prude," said Sean good-naturedly, "they're young and in love. Much like you."

"We don't complain when you and Lavender kiss in public," Draco said, his hand moving just a little further up Harry's thigh. Ron muttered something incomprehensible that sounded suspiciously like, 'well at least that's all we do in public,' which both Harry and Draco chose to ignore.

"Ok, my round," said Sean, standing up, but he was saved from buying drinks by the arrival of Hermione, Lavender and Ginny who crossed the road to meet them, talking and laughing.

"Hi you guys," Harry said, being a gentleman and taking the girls' bags so they could sit down, "how many shops did you buy out today then?" he asked, looking at the number of heavy bags.

"Oh just a few," Hermione said, kissing Sean and sitting down.

"What did you buy?" Draco asked curiously and for the next ten minutes or so, every garment was taken out and scrutinized before the men commented appreciatively on the wisdom of the purchases.

"You spent how much on a handbag?!" Sean exclaimed suddenly, looking at a black, leather shoulder bag Hermione was now sporting and looking rather guilty about.

"Darling, four hundred pounds isn't that much," she was saying in a placatory manner, "especially not for Anya Hindmarch."

"Who?" Sean threw up his hands in confusion, clearly thrown by the idea that anyone would be willing to spend such an extraordinary amount of money on a bag. "Good thing I never got round to buying drinks," he said disconsolately, "I don't think we're going to be able to afford to eat for a month or two."

This ritual seemed of vital importance and could apparently not be overlooked, so a considerable amount of time had passed before any food was actually ordered. As they were all eating and talking, Draco was struck by a realisation he hadn't had before. Looking around the circle of friends, he was forced to admit that many of them were perfectly amiable, but not a single one had been a Slytherin.

None of these people had been one of his friends, he hadn't been friendly with any of them at Hogwarts. He had been wondering what had become of the Slytherins for a while now, without voicing any of his thoughts to Harry. He had flipped through the black, leather address book that sat by the telephone when Harry wasn't home and had not been impressed by what he found there.

There were hundreds of phone numbers and addresses, many of which Draco didn't recognise, but not a single one of which belonged to anyone he had been friends with at Hogwarts. The absence of any Slytherin names had been immediately conspicuous and Draco thought it was highly unlikely that he would have lost contact with all of his old friends.

He hadn't spoken to Hermione about this because he was partially afraid of the answer she might give him but now, as he sat among so many ex-Gryffindors, he was eaten up by curiosity as to the fates of his friends.

"I was thinking," he said, mock casually to Ron.

"Careful," Ron said, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"About the Slytherins at Hogwarts," Ron looked up, startled.

"You were?" he asked.

"I've almost forgotten what became of them," Draco said, careful to keep his voice down, careful to look nonchalant.

"Yeah, well," Ron sighed darkly, "after the first one turned it became hard to keep track, didn't it?" First one turned?

"Hmm," Draco murmured, hoping for more information, his insides squirming uncomfortably.

"I mean," Ron went on, shovelling pasta into his mouth, "after Pansy Parkinson declared her support for Voldemort, it became something of a fashion."

"Oh yeah, I'd forgotten Pansy was first," Draco lied and Ron gave him a funny look.

"I'll never forget when she stood up in the Great Hall and screamed that 'the Dark Lord was coming' before collapsing," Ron shuddered. "I've never seen anyone laugh so maniacally. Imperius Curse of course, but you were abroad when Aurors investigated her case."

"Yeah," Draco said carefully, "You know, I never really found out all the details."

"I envy you," Ron said, "some of the stuff that came to light was dreadful."

"Like what?" Draco asked, burning with curiosity.

"Well you probably know most of this, despite the Ministry hushing it up, but there was Blaise Zabini," Ron said, looking thoughtful, "he killed four families before Aurors managed to lock him in Azkaban. He's still there as far as I know."

Draco dropped his fork in shock. Blaise? His Blaise? Best friends for years and he would never have thought he could commit such a terrible deed. He knew his look of utter surprise must seem very suspicious so it was with some difficulty that he feigned indifference.

"Who else?" he asked, not trusting his voice to remain steady for long.

"Well Pansy is still in St. Mungo's, but you know that of course," said Ron, "in one of the long-stay wards. Voldemort's curse really affected her brain. There was MacDougal who gave her own child to Voldemort to be raised as a vessel for his power, there were Crabbe and Goyle. You remember what they did."

"Oh, yeah," Draco said, "of course."

"I'll never forget reading about that," Ron mused, "it was on the front page of the Daily Prophet. 'Death Eaters Goyle and Crabbe Kill Minister for Magic.' I'll never forget that headline as long as I live. I think it was the fact that we knew them, you know? It made everything seem a lot more real." Draco was stunned into speechlessness. His salad lay neglected as he stared, openmouthed, at Ron. "Hey, are you ok?" Ron asked, perceiving Draco's distress.

"Fine," Draco said distantly, looking away.

"I suppose it must be horrible thinking about it," Ron said. "I remember when you announced your allegiance to Dumbledore. You lost half your friends that day, and the only ones that stayed loyal to you were the ones that really loved you. It must have been really hard."
"Yeah," Draco said, completely lost in thought, "it was very hard." He glanced at Ron to seem him looking very worried all of a sudden.

"Draco?" He waved his hand in front of Draco's face. "Anyone in?"

"Sorry, Ron." Draco shook his head as if to try and shake the thoughts from his mind. "I was miles away." Ron didn't look satisfied but returned to his meal nonetheless, and Harry, taking advantage of his inattentiveness, leaned close to Draco.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

"No," Draco said, feeling rather lost and bewildered. "I just asked, obliquely, what became of all my friends after Hogwarts and they're all either murderers, insane or locked in Azkaban."

"Oh Draco," Harry breathed, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Draco said, more snappily than he intended, "it's not your fault." An embarrassing wet heat was pricking behind his eyes and an uncomfortable lump had formed in his throat. "I'll be back in a minute," he said, getting up so suddenly he made everyone jump and heading for the door marked 'Gents'.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Ginny worriedly. "He looks like he's about to cry."

"I dunno," said Ron.

Sean frowned. "What were you talking to him about?"

"He was talking about his friends from Hogwarts and about the stuff that happened to them after we left school," Ron said.

Harry noticed Hermione look up sharply. "What did he say?"

"Nothing much," said Ron, shrugging bemusedly. "That was the funny thing, it was as if he needed reminding of everything that happened. I think it brought up all the betrayal again."

"He'll be out in a minute," Harry said soothingly, although he exchanged a worried look with Hermione.

Draco spent a good five or ten minutes in the bathroom, trying to compose himself and stem the angry tears that threatened to flow. He didn't know what he had expected when he broached the subject of his old friends, but to hear that each of them had succumbed to the darkness was more terrible than Draco ever imagined it would be.

It suddenly struck him how little he actually knew the people he spent every day with. They were effectively his family and they still had the power to surprise him like this.

Pansy, his darling Pansy. They had been friends since birth, lovers for a brief time and still the closest of companions after that. If Draco loved anyone it was her and she was now insane and lay in St. Mungo's branded with the Dark Mark. Draco couldn't believe it was true, and yet knew it to be so. He had thought he had known Crabbe and Goyle, his cronies, his bodyguards. They had shared everything, they had protected him form every conceivable danger and their adult selves had killed the Minister for Magic. Draco didn't know what to think or to believe any more. He felt as though he was falling very fast, and the sensation was eerily dizzying.

He clamped his hands to the cool ceramic of the basin to steady himself and splashed liberal amounts of cold water in his face. The sight of himself in the mirror was enough to bring him back to a painful consciousness of what was going on and he realised he needed to pull himself together if he was to face the others again.

He just couldn't believe what Ron had been saying. It all seemed very unreal. In that moment Draco made a vow to himself. If he ever got back to his own time, he would try to change what had happened, he would make things better, for his friends if no-one else.

Composing himself, he pushed open the door and returned to the anxious faces at the table.