Tempus Fugit

Chapter 9: The Curse of A Memory

~*~

Love's the funeral of hearts
And an ode for cruelty
When angels cry blood
On flowers of evil in bloom
The funeral of hearts
And a plea for mercy
When love is a gun
Separating me from you

She was the sun shining upon
The tomb of your hopes
And dreams so frail
He was the moon painting you
With its glow so vulnerable and pale

Funeral of Hearts - HIM

~*~

That evening, Hermione's excitement was infectious. She had invited Harry and Draco over to discuss something with them, sounding sufficiently secretive to incite their inquisitiveness and ensure that they came.

She was standing in her living room, pacing backwards and forwards when they flooed over and manifested out of the fireplace, coughing with the soot.

"Hi," Harry said, coughing again.

"You're here!" Hermione exclaimed happily.

"Yeah," Draco said, a little taken aback, "what's up?" Hermione's face was jubilant and she was practically dancing on the spot.

"I think," she said slowly, "I might have found a way to send you home." She paused for their reaction, which was predictable and gratifying. Harry took her in his arms and kissed her, while Draco laughed and punched the air for joy.

"You have?" he asked. "What is it? A potion?"

"A spell," said Hermione, moving over to a side table and picking up and ancient-looking book. "A spell that allows the subject or subjects to transport their minds from body to body. Or in your case, through time."

"Like a spell version of the potion we took in 1996?" Harry asked eagerly, his eyes alight with happiness.

"Pretty much," said Hermione, "and I think it will work, too."

"What makes you so sure?" Draco asked, his silver eyes narrowing.

"Don't you trust me?" Hermione said with a teasing grin.

"Of course I do," Draco said. "I'm just wondering." He had never heard of such a spell before and wanted to be certain that it wouldn't end up splinching them.

"It's basically the same concept that you described to me," Hermione said, double checking over the crumbling pages of the spell book. "You want to transport your conscious mind back into your seventeen year old bodies, correct?" she asked, looking up at Draco.

"Uh-huh," he replied slowly.

"Well that is exactly what this spell should do, with a bit of tweaking," she said, with an air of such confidence that her latter three words went unnoticed for a moment.

"Define tweaking," Harry said nervously.

"Well its original purpose was to allow someone to swap bodies with someone else," Hermione replied, frowning slightly, "but with a little rewording, it should work to swap bodies over a length of time."

Harry suddenly looked uncertain after hearing this particular piece of information. "Are you certain?" he asked.

"Deadly." Hermione did look very sure of herself.

"It's all we have," Draco said to Harry, shrugging.

"Let's do it," Harry said with the air of someone steeling themselves to do something they have a feeling they are going to regret.

"Can you do it today? Now?" Draco asked, an excitement building within him.

"Yes," Hermione said firmly. "I just need to do some preparation first."

*~*~*~*~*~*

By 'some preparation' it soon became clear that Hermione had meant an hour of cleansing, meditating and grounding to perform what became increasingly obvious as a highly difficult magical feat. Harry and Draco grew more and more uneasy as they watched her prepare, wondering for the life of them what this spell was going to entail, and why it required so much thought and work.

"Are you ready yet?" Harry asked gently, when Hermione re-entered the room holding her slim, ash wand.

"Yes," she said, "I am." She looked slightly nervous. "I want you to stand back to back in the middle of the floor and hold hands," they did so, their hearts pounding in their breasts with enough force to leap from their bodies. Their hands were warm as they clasped them and Harry leaned his head back on Draco's shoulder automatically.

"Good," said Hermione, "I'm going to try and send you back at the same time, and I need you to be as close to one being as possible." Harry had been going to reply to that with something highly filthy, but managed to stop himself just in time.

"What next?" he heard Draco ask.

"This might feel a little strange," warned Hermione. "This spell will literally wrench your minds from your bodies."

"Is this safe?" Harry couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Relatively," said Hermione. "I've managed to find a wand movement that corresponds with transfer over time instead of space. Instead of swishing it with an entire arm motion, you just do a simple flick of the wrist."

"It's that simple?" Harry asked.

"Yes," said Hermione, looking back down at the page, "magic is just the harnessing of energy to bring about a desired end, but the method with which the energy is harnessed is based entirely on the correspondences used by the caster. Wand movements, herbs, planet alignments all correspond to a certain type of magic. The properties of the colour silver, for example, include clairvoyance, clairaudience, psychometry and intuition, etc. This makes silver a good supplement for a spell to enhance psychic powers. Do you see where I'm coming from?"

"I think so," said Harry. "But such a subtle change in the wand movement will have such great effect?"

"It should do," replied Hermione. "By changing the direction of the wand, it changes the focus of the energy, thus changing the spell itself."

"You sound very sure," Draco said, trying to reassure himself more than anyone else.

"I am," said Hermione, "this is the only thing I have come across which has a hope of working. Everything else looks extremely dubious."

"Go on then, Hermione," Harry sighed, "do your worst." She looked up for a moment and smiled.

"Nice to see you're so optimistic," she said. "Now, I need you to drink this." she poured a vial of some green liquid onto their tongues.

"What is it?" Draco asked, his face screwed up against the bitterness of the taste.

"A solution of iris, mint, thyme and sage that should protect your minds so that they won't be damaged when they returned to your own time." Harry gulped nervously.

"What next?" he asked.

"Now for the spell itself," Hermione said, holding out her wand. She closed her eyes and took some deep breaths before flicking her wand in a decisive, snappy motion. Immediately, a jet of pure, white light shot out of the end of her wand and snaked towards Harry and Draco. It grew into a bubble of light, swallowing them whole and cocooning them inside its pearlescent walls.

The light was faintly warm around them as it obscured Hermione's living room from view and wrapped itself around Harry and Draco. It smelt a little like burnt wood and was crackling with an almost electrical current that seemed to be surging through it, sending sparks to the ground and shining too brightly to look at directly.

They could feel the strange, ethereal heat emanating from it, and Harry gripped Draco's hands harder, hoping beyond hope that when he opened his eyes again, he would be back in his own body. He could hear Hermione chanting something from beyond their glowing orb. Her voice grew stronger and stronger with each syllable and the words, spoken in some forgotten language, seemed to twist and writhe in Harry's ears, forming nothing of any coherency, sounding like complete nonsense to him. There was a rhythm to her chanting, and Harry felt the light grow more piercing with every repetition. Hermione was pouring her own magic into the spell, giving it her strength, and Harry's heart began to lift as he thought that any moment he might wake up in his own body.

He felt his mind becoming steadily more detached. He was floating above the scene in the living room, watching as his body became enmeshed in the cocoon of light, watching Hermione chant still louder, her wand pointing at them. Harry felt sure that this was it, he was going home. Nothing could stop him now.

A blinding, searing pain attacked every nerve ending in his head and he screamed in pain. At once he was pulled back into his adult body, his mind diving back forcefully, crumpling Harry to his knees, making him grasp his forehead in agony. The pain was excruciating, worse than the Cruciatus Curse, and growing so bad, so intense, that Harry wanted to die. He wanted it to end.

He felt himself cry out with pain. He felt the light die around him, he could hear Draco crying out as well, could feel Draco's limp body next to him. He couldn't concentrate on anything, though, other than the piercing ache that was thundering through his skull with heels of iron. It drowned out everything and made Harry want to yell for death, for release. Anything would be better than this.

Suddenly, as suddenly as it had arrived, it stopped.

Harry's vision returned to him in full, colourful glory and he was able to look around, confused, nauseous and disoriented. The room stopped spinning and he was able to take stock of where he was and what he was doing, conscious that Draco, beside him, had also stopped writhing with the paroxysms of pain.

He was conscious also of a new figure in the room. Ginny Weasley was standing next to Hermione, her hand clapped over her mouth and her eyes wide with shock. She was staring at Harry and Draco, her face confused and horrified. Hermione was watching her warily, unsure of what to do, whilst she kept glancing worriedly at Harry and Draco.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Ginny cried suddenly. Seeing that the pain seemed to have abated, Hermione knelt down besides Harry and Draco.

"Are you all right?" she asked anxiously. "What happened?"

"Terrible pain," Harry muttered thickly, and Draco nodded, his mouth open, eyes dull with the aftershocks of the ache.

"It didn't work, huh?" Hermione asked sadly.

"Nope," Harry said, rubbing his head gingerly.

"What happened?" Draco asked. "I have never felt pain like that before, that was terrible."

"I'm so sorry!" Hermione looked as though she was about to cry, "I knew there was a possibility of that happening, but the chance was tiny."

"What?"

"Of the wand movement not working," Hermione said. "It should have done, theoretically, but I wasn't sure how effective it would be in practice."

"It's not your fault," Harry said, trying, unsteadily, to get to his feet. "We knew it was a long shot."

"But it was our only shot," Draco reminded him, also standing up and looking decidedly shaky.

"Are you ok?" Harry asked.

"I think so." replied Draco.

"That's what Cruciatus feels like," Harry commented dully. "Hurts, doesn't it?"

"You could say that," Draco said and sank down onto a chair. Hermione was still looking guilt-ridden.
"I should have done something different," she said. "I'm so sorry I caused you so much pain."

"It doesn't matter," Draco said, "at least you tried. Now make us a cup of tea, will you? Or something stronger." Hermione conjured them both a scotch and helped Harry to the sofa where he slumped next to Draco.

"Better luck next time," he said weakly and they drained their glasses.

"Will somebody tell me," came a shaking, croaky voice from beside the door, "what the hell is going on?" Ginny was regarding them with a look of worry. "What were you doing, Hermione?" she asked.

Harry and Draco exchanged a look. "I don't think we can lie our way out of this one." Harry said glumly and Draco agreed.

"Ginny, we have something to tell you," he said, standing up and then deciding against it.

"We...er..." Harry said, not sure where to begin.

"We drank a potion," Draco said.

"In 1996," Harry added.

"Which transported our bodies here, instead of our minds."

"Which is what the potion meant to do."

"And it should have worn off."

"But it didn't."

"And now we're stuck here."

"And Hermione thought she had a spell to send us home."

"In 1996 Harry and Draco's seventeen year old selves took an immensely strong Pertho Draught," Hermione explained gently to Ginny, who was looking thoroughly confused, "which transplanted their past and present minds. These men have the minds of their seventeen year old selves, whilst their present selves are trapped in the past."

"What?" Ginny exclaimed. "Are you kidding me?"

"I'm afraid not," Harry said, "I'm actually the Harry you knew when you were in fifth year."

"And I'm the Malfoy you knew in fifth year," Draco said.

"You...?" she seemed to have been rendered speechless. She groped for the armchair beside her and collapsed into it. "How long have you been here?" she asked.

"Since the beginning of February," Harry said.

"And you kept it a secret all this time?" Ginny said. "It's March! How have you managed to do it without being detected?"

"Hermione," said Draco, "she knew from the start and has been trying to help us."

"You knew?" Ginny shot at Hermione, "And you didn't tell me?"

"The fewer knew about it, the better," said Hermione tentatively, "otherwise they would have been in danger. They're very vulnerable like this."

"You didn't trust me?" Ginny asked, a flash of hurt lingering in her eyes.

"This isn't about you, Ginny," Harry reminded her quietly. "We didn't think anyone should know."

"You have no idea how hard it's been," said Draco. "In our time, we hate each other, so the kissing wasn't much fun at first."

"Well, it was interesting," Harry said fairly, smiling mischievously at Draco.

"This is crazy," Ginny said breathlessly, "I can't believe it."

"I thought I had a spell that would send them home," said Hermione, "but it couldn't be adapted properly. Well guys, I'm afraid it's back to the drawing board."

"The what now?" Draco asked.

"Muggle expression," Harry explained. "Don't try to understand them."

"Are you feeling better?" Hermione asked.

"Much. That pain was pretty intense, though," Harry said, rubbing his head again.

"That would have been your body forcing your mind back into it against its will," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "No wonder it hurt."

*~*~*~*~*~*

Once Harry and Draco had returned home, the disappointment of their failure was beginning to sink in and they were shrouded by a noticeably morose air. They had stayed at Hermione's for an hour or two, in which they had tried to explain more articulately to Ginny, what had happened to them. There had been the nagging scrap of hope that she might have known something about the potion, but no such luck. She had promised to keep their secret, though, and to help them with their research in any way she could.

They both seemed struck by a sense of listlessness, and neither of them seemed able to amuse themselves for long. Their minds were on the options open to them, all of which seemed to point to the concoction Draco had been working on, as their last hope.

"Do you think you will be able to make a potion strong enough for both of us?" Harry asked.

"I should be able to," Draco said. "But it's a matter of collecting exactly the right ingredients and adding the exact quantities at exactly the right times. It's an incredibly complicated process, making a new potion."

"I never really appreciated that before," Harry murmured. "But if you think you can do it..."

"Oh it won't be easy," Draco warned, "and it will take me a long time to complete all the necessary calculations. One wrong ingredient and we could end up drifting about the astral plane for all eternity."

"Ah."

"But I don't think that's very likely," Draco said, resting his hand atop Harry's for a moment.

"I'm just disappointed that it didn't work," Harry said. "Hermione was so sure."
"I'm kinda glad it didn't," Draco replied. "If the rest of it was going to be that painful. I've never felt anything like that."

"Horrible," Harry shuddered.

"Never mind, we can always try again," Draco said, closing his eyes. There were shadows of pain on his face, sunk into the hollows beneath his cheekbones and beneath his eyes. He was no longer the bratty child. He was a man that had seen too much in his few years, and Harry could sense the darkness of his soul as a palpable force.

Lowering his mouth softly onto Draco's he pressed their lips together in the sweetest, most tender kiss he had ever initiated. Draco's hand slid round the back of Harry's neck, deepening their kiss and injecting a sense of urgency that made Harry want to take him, right here on the floor. He shifted towards him slightly and Draco pulled him onto his lap with such force that Harry was jolted forward into his arms.

Straddling him, Harry felt Draco's hand roaming idly over his back as they kissed, digging his nails into the familiar grooves, and sliding under his shirt to caress his naked skin.

Before either of them could stop themselves, they had both grown hard, and were grinding against each other, rocking backwards and forwards, Harry's warm weight heavy in Draco's lap, their mouths kissing and biting and tasting each other until they had no breath left.

"Aren't you the horny one, Potter?" Draco grinned against Harry's mouth and was rewarded with a vicious nip. "I'd never have guessed."

"And I'd never have guessed a Malfoy would be so into being bottom." Harry said, grinning back and feeling Draco bristle with irritation.

"Watch your mouth," Draco replied, tugging Harry forward to meet his lips again and duelling with him with the same fierceness that had defined their nocturnal encounters. "Just because you couldn't take it like a man."

"I'll have you know I am extremely fuckable," Harry said, grinding still harder against Draco who arched his head back, shivers of delight pulsating through his body.

Draco didn't answer him, he just plundered Harry's mouth one more time, before lifting him roughly from his lap. Together they stumbled blindly down the corridor, laughing softly, until they threw themselves down on the bed and Draco pinned Harry down by his wrists.

There was something about the way Harry was looking up at him, dark hair tousled, eyes gleaming like emeralds that made Draco wild with lust. His olive skin reflected the light shafting through the windows and the sight of his willing body, awaiting Draco, was enough to make the blond dive onto his mouth and kiss him over and over again.

"Extremely fuckable?" he asked. "We'll see about that."

A crumpled mass of clothes were thrown to the floor, a spell was uttered through swollen lips and every sound was drowned out in favour of the soul-wrenching groans of sheer ecstasy.

Exhaustion claimed them two hours later and they fell into the arms of sleep, tangled together, their limbs a knotted mass of completion, and sweat still shining on their skin. Draco fell asleep first and Harry looked at him blurrily, silver hair shining, skin like marble but so warm. His Draco.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco was dreaming again, but this one was anything but mundane. He could feel every emotion, every scrap of terror that flooded through his veins like crystalline ice. There was something ultimately dreadful occurring behind his closed lids and he was forced to watch it whilst his heart was rent into a thousand pieces and he wanted to scream with agony.

He was going to die.

He knew this, and he was afraid.

He was in Malfoy Manor, but it had changed. The glittering silver was as dull as lead, the portraits slashed and broken, dust lying thickly over everything. Draco could hear the raging winds and lashing rain of a terrible storm outside, as the steel bullets of raindrops hammered on the arched windows, a shrill, terrifying chorus of noise that nothing could quell.

He held his hands over his ears, trying to stop the noise, but to no avail. Lightning forked outside the windows and Draco jumped, his heart thudding painfully, his eyes wide with fear.

The manor was dark, and shadows were ghosting in every corner, flitting backwards and forwards through the rooms as the light outside the window changed, lending everything a much more eerie atmosphere. Draco's footsteps were light on the carpet as he padded through his once-beloved hallways, but he knew he must be silent, if he was ever going to get out of here alive.

The Death Eaters had surprised him. He knew that he was being hunted ever since he declared his support for Albus Dumbledore, but he had assumed he would be granted a grace period before being marked down as wanted by his father's colleagues.

He had known them all. Macnair had been to his house for dinner on countless occasions, had told Draco just how much he was looking like his father, what a fine man he was growing to be. Nott was the father of one of his best friends. So was Avery, Draco and his son had been lovers, and now they were trying to kill him.

They had lured him to the manor that night, knowing that he would come alone, knowing that he would be unprepared for their attack. They wanted to exact revenge for abandoning the cause. Becoming a Death Eater was a life sentence, and Draco had disobeyed his father and turned against them. He refused to be their pawn and now he was going to die for that.

As soon as he had entered the manor he had known something was wrong. The candlelight flickering in the gloom was silvery grey. The candles were enchanted, of course, but that colour was only used to illuminate the house during times of bereavement. The only time Draco had ever seen the house lit in such a melancholy fashion was after the funeral of his grandfather, when Draco was five.

He had known at once that something was amiss, and as he stepped through the heavy, oak doors, they swung closed behind him, trapping him in the house.

The candles had all flickered out at once, shrouding him in darkness.

He had pulled out his wand from his robes, but six tall, black shapes with hideous porcelain masks had snatched it from his hands and leered at him through the slits in their mimicries of faces.

"Master Malfoy," one had said in a voice that did little to hide his triumph. "How good of you to join us for the evening."

"What do you want with me?" Draco had asked, trying to keep the fear from telling in his voice.

"I think you know the answer to that." A single, skeletally white finger was grazing the side of Draco's face, leaving behind it a trail of ice so cold that it made his blood freeze. "You abandoned us, little Draco."
"I will not bow down to your master," Draco spat. Arms gripped him and slammed him against the stone wall, knocking all breath from his lungs.

"You will," they said, laughing jeeringly, "or you will die."

"I choose death above servitude," Draco said, with a hint of the Malfoy pride he was so famous for. He knew now, though, that it was likely to get him killed.

"You are so foolish," that was Avery's voice. "If you swear fealty to the Dark Lord, we will spare your life."

"My life is of no value any more," Draco said in a voice of lead. "Do with it what you will." he knew he was sounding defeated and broken, but really something inside of him was screaming out that he didn't want to die. He was too young.

"You do not really want to die," Avery said, and stroked Draco's cheek again. Draco was struck forcibly by a fleeting emotion. Frederick, Avery's son, had once touched him in this way, but his caress had been of full of love. This was full of detestation.

"Let me go," Draco snapped, struggling uselessly against the strong arms holding him.

"I told your father you would be trouble," Nott said. "I told him you were too cunning for your own good, too delicate, too proud. You would make a traitorous Death Eater."

"Then let me go!" Draco shouted at them.

"Not until you reconsider our offer," Avery said harshly. "If you swear loyalty to the Dark Lord, and he has ways of maintaining that loyalty, you will die. We will give you two hours to think on it, and don't even think of trying to leave this house."

Draco couldn't respond before the six dark shapes had vanished in the flash of a bolt of lightning as it struck the grounds outside. He gasped for air, breathing hard, and tried desperately to tug at the iron ring that opened the front door. It wouldn't budge, the house had sealed him inside.

He ran, as fast as he could, up countless flights of stairs until he had reached what was once his bedroom. Slamming the door shut, he sank to the floor against it, his heart beating too fast, his limbs shaking. He knew that the Death Eaters were still in the house, hiding from him, waiting for the stroke of midnight when they would require him to make his choice. Draco knew what his choice would be. He had seen too much darkness to have be able to swear loyalty to it. He had seen so much horror that it turned his stomach to witness. He had seen blood enough to fill an ocean, and he couldn't commit any more crimes. It was too hard.

The darkness swallowed him like light.

The scene blurred, but when it cleared again, Draco was walking down the corridor, his ears pricked for any noise, his footsteps light. He knew he was in great danger. He had no wand to defend himself, the house was full of people who were going to kill him in under ten minutes, and he could find no way out. He had gone round every door and window he could think of, all were magically locked, and Draco was trapped. He had seen no sign of the Death Eaters, but he knew they were around. Occasionally he would hear a snatch of haunting laughter and dive behind a suit of armour. But it was as though the laughter was contained in the walls, as though it was the house that was jeering at him. Draco could not crumble. He would not. He had to find a way out of here.

A noise behind him made him turn at once to see who was there. A figure was moving through the shadows towards him, gliding in an almost ghost-like way. But this was no ghost, as the figure neared him, Draco was able to make out the image of his mother, her arms outstretched, her face smiling.

Instead of being comforted, Draco recoiled with horror. Narcissa's face was gaunt and pale, her once perfect hair was matted to her shoulders and her eyes were shining with a demonic glint that Draco had never seen before. Her skin was stretched taut over the bones of her skull and she was so thin that she looked more like a skeleton than anything else. Her smile was wide and manic, with a definite note of creepiness sliding into her countenance. Her dress was white and ragged, with strings of pearls hanging off withered collarbones and all the glorious jewels she had once possessed encrusted on her hands and throat.

Her skin was wrinkled and she looked like a terrible image of herself in forty years, a far cry from the elegant, graceful woman that Draco had once loved.

"Mother?" Draco croaked, scarcely able to believe his eyes.

"Draco, Draco, Draco." Her voice was high pitched and keening. "My Draco."

"What happened to you?" Draco asked, aghast.

"The Dark Lord is merciful," she said. "He loves me, Draco, he loves you, he loves Lucius." She looked as if she was going to cry. "Lucius, Lucius, Lucius. You are my light, Lucius, the light-bringer." She gave a horrible, tittering laugh.

"No, Mother," Draco said. "I'm Draco."

"Yes!" she snapped suddenly. "You are Draco. You betrayed me, Draco. You betrayed your father. He rotted in prison, he-" She made to move towards Draco in once, sudden movement, and then another voice echoed behind her.

"Draco, no!" It was Harry. Sprinting towards the pair of them, wand held aloft, Harry was running as quickly as he could, and Draco's heart leapt into his throat. He had to help his mother, though, she was crazed, she needed him.

She did not seem to have heard Harry's shout, she was still moving towards Draco, her arms outstretched, her fingers clawing at the air.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Harry bellowed, and a blinding flash of green light suddenly illuminated everything in sight. Draco shielded his eyes against the glare and fell to the ground as the spell blasted along the corridor. He was granted one, fleeting glimpse of his mother's face, contorted in terror, before she crashed to the ground. Dead.

She looked as though she had been dead for years. Her wasted skin hanging off her bones, soon to turn to dust.

Draco looked up. Harry was staring at him.

Draco woke up, drenched in a cold sweat and breathing so hard it was painful. His pulse was racing and blood pounded frighteningly loudly in his ears, making him temporarily deaf to everything that was going on. He found himself shivering, despite the warmth of the coverlet, and every part of him was shaking with the abject terror of what he had just witnessed. His mother, so broken and gaunt, had been killed by Harry? It seemed too dreadful to imagine. He couldn't believe what he had just seen, the image was flashing before his eyes and he couldn't stop himself replaying it. The last ear-splitting scream uttered by his mother as she fell to the floor, all life snuffed from her body.

A movement next to him alerted him to Harry's presence. Draco looked down and shuddered, Harry's arm was lying casually across his thigh, his warmth melting into Draco, his face pressed close to where Draco's had been. They had made love for what seemed like hours but now Draco couldn't stand the sight of him. It was just too painful.

Dislodging Harry as gently as he could so as not to wake him, Draco moved out of bed and got dressed, feeling horribly cold. He felt as though he was in some numb dream where nothing was real. The sick, swooping sensation in his stomach reminded him that everything was very much real and he had just learnt how his mother had died.

Casting one look at Harry, sprawled peacefully in the bed, Draco went into the living room, which the first light of dawn was beginning to brighten. He sat out on the balcony, watching the sun rise without seeing it and thinking hard. He loved his mother and she loved him. He had always had a wary respect for his father which had overridden any true affection but Narcissa had always been the model parent, loving and attentive. She had doted on Draco, as a child, and had always slipped him treats when his father had reprimanded him, or taken him on days out with his friends. He had never been ashamed of her, or disappointed, she had always been the very essence of courtesy, love and affection and Draco had been very grateful for her presence in his life.

He could not believe that Harry had killed her. Merely seeing his mother so twisted and broken had been enough to make him sick, but seeing Harry wipe the life from her body had made Draco so angry that he could have killed him as he slept. How dare he take away the only person to ever show him any real love? Draco felt a hot, burning anger sweep through his body as his mother's last moments played themselves over and over in his mind until they were all part of one, inescapable tunnel of misery.

Harry didn't wake for another hour or two. He slumbered happily in bed, unaware that Draco was burning inside with an inexpressible fury. He knew that it was irrational to be angry at Harry, who had no idea what had happened, but that didn't stop him, so fervid was his ire. When Harry did wake up, it was to the unpleasant surprise of a cold bed. Draco heard him get up in the other room, put some clothes on before coming into the sitting room. Draco did not turn around from where he sat, frozen and motionless on the balcony. He heard Harry's soft feet moving across the room, before making their way towards him.
"There you are," Harry said. "You're up early." He came up behind Draco and laid his hands on his shoulders, looking out where the sun was dripping liquid gold onto the spires of the city.

"Hmm," was all Draco said. He could sense Harry feeling a little put out, by the way the man lingered behind him, as if searching for something to say. He wondered if Harry thought he regretted their activities last night, and knew of the uncertainty that the ex-Gryffindor had to be battling with at that moment.

"Do you want some breakfast?" Harry asked, shivering and going inside.

"No," Draco said, with more coldness than he had intended. He heard Harry stop.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Draco muttered and knew at once that Harry didn't believe him. He sensed Harry shrug and attribute it to one of Draco's moods before vanishing into the kitchen and open all the cupboards.

"Are you sure you don't want anything?" he asked.

"Certain," Draco said quietly, but Harry heard him. He continued to watched the waking city beneath his feet, wondering if anyone felt as low as he did right now. He could hear Harry flicking through the pages of a newspaper as he ate a bowl of cereal and suddenly just couldn't bear to be in his presence any longer. That mouth, the one he had so wildly kissed, had been the one to send his mother to her grave. Those hands that had raked over Draco's back had held the wand that killed her. Draco couldn't stand it.

He got to his feet and crossed the room without looking at Harry, who sprang up at once and grabbed his arm before Draco could reach the door.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked, a faintly accusatory note in his voice.

"Nothing." Draco tried to push past Harry who wouldn't let him.

"Bullshit!" Harry said. "Tell me what's the matter." His eyes, like emerald lances, seemed to spear Draco's soul. "Do you regret last night or something?" Harry asked and Draco could see a flicker of anxiety around his bewitching irises.

"No," Draco sighed, "that's not it."

"Then what?" Harry sounded frustrated.

"I had a dream," Draco said, "but I don't want to talk about it."

"What if Martin Luther King had said that?" Harry asked with a weak smile which Draco did not return. "Oh for fuck's sake, what did you see?" he asked, exasperated. "Did I cheat on you? Is that it?"

"No," Draco said and the same anger seemed to rise within him again, "something worse."
"What?" Harry looked really worried now. "Please tell me, Draco, what have I done?"

"Don't say my name," Draco snapped, the words 'Draco, Draco, Draco, my Draco.' were ringing through his mind. Harry flinched as though he had been bitten.

"What have I done?" he asked, slowly and determinedly.

Draco looked up at him and their gazes fused with such an intensity that emerald and silver were locked to the death.

"You killed my mother," Draco said in a voice as soft as sunlight and as cold as ice. A look of utter shock diffused over Harry's face and his arm dropped from where it held Draco's to land limply at his side.

Draco stalked out.

It was a second or two before Harry followed him, into the room next door where the piano lay. Draco sat at it and began to play a twisted, haunting melody that reflected his mood. Harry came and stood by him,

"What did you see?" he asked, and when Draco didn't answer he repeated the question in a voice that grated with anxiety.

"I saw you killing my mother," Draco said simply.

"How?"

"I was in Malfoy Manor, and she came towards me, her arms stretched out, you screamed 'no' and shot her with Avada Kedavra," Draco said, his fingers moving deftly over the keys, dancing a path of fire over the ivory, the music rising into a bitter crescendo, as if Draco was trying to drown out Harry's presence.

"I did what?" Harry sounded genuinely shocked.

"You killed her, Potter," Draco said and there was silence before he began to play again. This song was equally haunting but with a much more sinister quality.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly, "I had no idea."
"You didn't even wait for me to help her," Draco snapped. "She was wandless and mad, she kept talking about my father, she wanted me to help her, and you killed her in cold blood." Harry didn't know what to say so Draco went on. "You didn't even say anything, you just stood over her body and looked at me. You didn't even fucking say anything!" he yelled and struck a grotesque chord with his trembling fingers.

"I'm sorry!" Harry yelled back. "But I have no memory of this, how can you be angry with me?"

"How?" Draco asked, standing up from the seat and fixing Harry with a frosty glare. "I don't care how old you were when you did it, Potter, it was still you. You murdered her!"

"What can I do about it?" Harry said. "Please, Draco, come on, you don't know what happened exactly. There might have been circumstances you're not aware of." He tried to grab Draco again but the blond just gripped Harry's arm painfully tight.

"I saw you murder her," he said in a voice that threatened to crack with emotion. "What else is there?"

"Draco, please," Harry looked upset and Draco faltered for the briefest of moments.

"Don't say anything," he said. "You took her from me. The only person to ever love me."

"I love you," Harry said suddenly, then looked surprised at himself.

"Don't be stupid," Draco snapped.

"I'm not." Harry looked indignant. "I love you, Draco. I wouldn't hurt you." Draco made to leave again but Harry stopped him and made him look at him. "Tell me that you feel nothing for me beneath this anger," he said.

Draco didn't know what to say. He had gone from a bitter hatred for Harry to lust to something deeper that he couldn't define. Was it love? Not right now, right now he was so angry he could kill but he couldn't overlook the pleading expression on Harry's face.

God, he was so beautiful.

"If I did feel something for you," Draco said, "it can't survive this. I hate you for taking her away from me. My own mother." He shot Harry a look of such venom that he felt the other man flash with fury.

"You have no fucking idea of what you saw!" he yelled. "You don't know what went on or why!"
"I don't care!" Draco shouted back, "I just know that she's gone and it's all your fault!"

"I've had enough of this," Harry snapped, turning away. "I don't even remember it!"

"You've had enough of this?" Draco bit back in a voice that would have frozen flame. "I'm going, you make me sick." He lingered just long enough to see the look of utter devastation flit across Harry's face before he slammed the door and stormed out of the flat.