Without

It's cold in the emptied classroom and I can feel my body shivering slightly, tiny goosebumps breaking up all along my arms and my neck. It's dark too, only lit by a few candles, because no one really knows about us and he doesn't want to draw extra attention.

When we meet, it's always in darkness.

He's always late, every single time, and I absolutely hate waiting. Especially here, where there's nothing to do in the meanwhile. I never think to bring a book, always hoping that he'll be waiting for me when I arrive, but he never bloody is. Bastard.

Then there's the sound of shoes padding on the stone floor and I whirl around, because each time I'm always sure it will be someone else ready to end this whole thing. And this worry has increased with every meeting, so shocked am I that it's gone this far- I'm sure that some day Harry will come in and find me crouched under a desk, shaking with fright.

I guess I look surprised because when he comes closer he dryly comments, "Expecting someone else, were you?"

"Yeah. McGonagall and I are involved in a torrid sexual relationship. She really knows how to treat a man."

"Ahh, sarcasm."

"I'm always sarcastic," I reply, turning away from him and waiting for the groveling to begin. I like it best when he begs.

"I'm sorry that I'm so late, Malfoy." He comes up to me and wraps his arms around my waist, rests his chin gently on my shoulder. I almost flinch away- it's been two months, but after so many years of not being touched I can still get a bit uncomfortable with it.

Are you late? I hadn't noticed?

Oh, really? Nice of you to give it a thought, Potter.

I wonder if Harry ever stops to consider what I risk to be with him. Oh I know that he has his risks too, but I'm sure that after a few days of shock Granger and Weasley would forgive their bestest friend for his indiscretions.

Still, I take deep breaths and remind myself that this is Harry and it's not his fault if he's a bit blind - he does after all rush about saving people all the time- and that this is the good sort of touching. Breathe. His body warms me as I feel my goosebumps going away, his soft arms around me, holding me still. His messy black hair is so close to me, so close and I never thought that someone so, well, fucking messy would be the person I fall in love with. I breathe him in, he smells like peach shampoo and dirt- he probably just came back from some bloody do-good adventure with Weasley.

Still, I don't face him, only shut my eyes and rest against him. Harry Potter, super-hero of the people, could get hurt at any time. I know this and he knows this, we don't fool ourselves. We don't talk about it either, but we know. He's always running off to battle battle battle the forces of evil and I'm perfectly aware that some day he might not come back.

It makes me ache to think about it, makes my heart ache and my lungs get blocked and... well, it hurts, is all. So I take care to keep things in my head about him- how he kisses, so soft and so sweet, with full lips that are chapped most of the time. His bright green eyes, full of kindness and excitement. His voice, his taste, the little sounds he makes when I kiss him, the feel of his hands, the corduroys and sweatshirts he favors as outfits. I try to capture these moments in my memory, hold them and freeze them and keep them so that they will always be there. Even if Harry himself is not.

Then he digs his chin into my shoulder and I gasp with pain. "Hey!" I say indignantly.

He lets go of my waist and comes around to face me, his smile teasing. "You weren't paying attention to me."

I raise an eyebrow at him perfectly- one of my trademarks- his smile broadens when he sees it. "I'm always paying attention to you, Harry."

"As you should."

I take his hand and raise it, holding out his palm so that the dirt beneath his fingernails is visible. "And what have you gotten up to today?" I ask.

I know he won't answer, Harry hates to talk about it. Especially to me, since I always get upset once I know what's been going on. "You know, the usual." He pulls back his hand and then wraps both arms around my waist, holding me close. Our lips are almost touching, I can feel his breath. Then he rests his forehead against mine and gazes into my silver-colored eyes with his green ones. "It's cold in here, isn't it?"

I shrug and move in closer until our lips are so very nearly touching. "Haven't noticed." He kisses me, soft and strong and tasting of Earl Gray, and I kiss back- feeling, as I do each time- that this hurts too much and I should put an end to it. What's the point in a relationship with someone that you can't tell your friends about, that they won't tell their friends about? What kind of truth can there be in a love like this?

So even though I can't tell him everything, I decide to start small. Clearing my throat, I look down at the stone floor beneath us and say softly, "You shatter me, Harry. When I'm with you, when we're alone, the Draco that I thought I was - the only one that everyone else bothers to see- disappears."

There was silence for a bit, only the sounds of their breathing, and then: "You know, for a pompous git you can be quite cheesy sometimes."

"Shut up, Boy-bloody-Wonder." I smack at Harry gently. "Ruin a potentially beautiful moment, won't you." I'm joking but still slightly hurt- here I am, being all sweet and sentimental and the like, but Harry Potter has to go and make a bloody joke of it. And I'm the git?

"Well, yeah."

With a growl I launch myself at him and we tumble onto the hard floor, which, yes was maybe not the best plan because it does in fact hurt. But I pin him easily, as he never struggles against me, and as I look down I find myself wishing that I was that I was anyone else, that I hadn't been raised the way I was and that I didn't let myself so easily be led by it. I wish that I could just be in love with him and he with me, no good and evil or impending deaths to get in the way. It's such a scary thought, for us to be sixteen years old and aware that one, or both, of us will die and it won't be too long from now.

Do Muggles have to worry about things like that?

But I'm just not into the fighting so I get to my feet and watch as Harry does the same, eyeing me carefully. I dust myself off slightly as Harry says, "You're a prissy one, aren't you?"

"Fuck off, you love it."

I gaze into Harry's eyes and my thoughts, so evident, swim between us even if they can't be said out loud. I love you... it was there, in the room, as tangible as if they had been spoken.

Harry knows I might never be able to say it, just as he knows that once out of every five touches I will pull away from, but still he stays with me. "I love you, Draco," he says and my name has never sounded so good from anyone else's lips and never will. He reaches out and cups my cheek but I pull away, ill at myself for not being able to say it back and for not wanting to be touched right this second.

He sighs and his eyes fall with hurt, his lids lowered as his gaze focuses on the floor beneath our feet. I hate to do this to him, hate to make him feel this way, but how do you change how you were raised in only two months? "Sorry," I murmur." "I'm just feeling a bit, um, sick." Harry looks like he doesn't know if it would be better to hold me or stay away. I clutch my forehead, which is now pounding with worry and confusion. "Are you going to leave me, Harry?"

He laughs and the look he shoots me says 'no, you daft moron'. "Well," he replies, "Not today, certainly." He starts to move in towards me but I pull back again. Hurt covers his face for a moment before he masks it with another smile. "Would you like to sleep?"

We've worked out a way to be able to spend the night together, one of us makes sure to never oversleep so that we can sneak back in time. Usually it's me, up at six am to wake him and start gathering our things.

I nod. Yes, yes, anything to make this pain go away.

And to make him stop looking at me like that.

***

Nightmares, nightmares, each and time I close my eyes and drift away. Before this all began with Harry I'd never had one, now they come each night- dreams full of mist and fog, shadows and blood and darkness, always darkness.

I don't sleep much anymore, it takes so long for me to drift off and when I finally do I am restless, waking every so often sweating and shifting and out of breath, my heart beating fast and furiously.

With Harry it's not so bad. Funny, that, my former worst enemy being my only comfort. I still don't sleep well, even with his arms around me, but my waking hours are definitely more pleasant.

We're lying in a bed together, arms wrapped around one another as we speak quietly and gaze into one another's eyes. What would you do if this was it? It's cold where we are, Potter's hold on me limp and weak. If I said 'The Great Harry Potter is dying', what would you do? What would you say?

I'd say, Harry,'what makes you so great?'

And then we aren't in bed anymore and it was even colder, even darker. We're outdoors and all the trees around us are bare, the air smells of magic gone wrong and it's silent, so silent that I can hear Harry's breathing, weak and shallow. He's on the ground and I'm holding him, covered in blood and dirt. My own face must be streaked with tears, I can feel them coursing down my cheeks, I can taste their salty wetness in my mouth. I reach up to touch my own face and find that it too is covered with blood and dirt- but I am not bleeding so the blood must be Harry's. I look down and the dark red pool is spreading spreading all around us covering his chest my chest his hands my hands my knees the back of his cloak and he's bleeding bleeding bleeding and it won't stop and oh God there's so much blood and I hear hitching sobs my own? it's everywhere...

I'm drying, Malfoy.

Oh God, I whisper, don't call me Malfoy, not now. My hands are shaking what do I do how can I stop this? I can't I can't I'm so useless Where's that Malfoy calmness and distance now when I need it?

He coughs and it's an awful sound, weak and painful and - and-

You never told me what you'd do if this happened?

Well it wasn't supposed to! My voice sounds hysterical to my own ears, loud and fearful.

Well it has! he snaps and coughs again, his body shaking with the force of it.

Calm, calm, calmcalmcalmcalmcalm. I can't, I can't tell him especially now when just knowing it hurts so much there's a ripping in my chest a tearing of vessels and veins and oh god I thought when people said that their heart was breaking, ripping in two it was only a cliché.

His lips are chapped and I reach out to trace them with my fingertips, always chapped, someone needs to buy that boy lipbalm, now caked slightly with blood.

Are you ever going to say it?

Bt you already know!

I thought I did, he wheezes, But if I'm here at death's bloody door and you won't say it than I guess that I must have been wrong!

His eyes narrow at me and then he shudders, gasps, goes still in my arms and I hold him, frozen, still unable to say the words.

I wake up and find his eyes already on me, his strong, warm arms holding me close. "You were dreaming too loud," he says. "It woke me. Are you all right?"

He's so beautiful, his hair eyes lips touch skin scent his not-deadness. I pull him as close as I can and even then it's not enough, never will be, and I know that I will always long for more. "Harry," I gasp, "I love you."

"Yeah?" he asks, smiling slightly. He wasn't expecting that, looks a bit dazed. "I knew, but..."

I bury my face against his neck, soft and smelling that Harry-smell I can't get enough of. I can't believe I said it, can't believe that I'd never said it before, i can't believe can't believe and my mind is whirling and spinning how could I have been so scared? It feels so good and so right and I don't know why I ever thought it was difficult. "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou..." I repeat over and over, unable to stop.

"Shhh." He pats my hair down, it must be so sweaty and mussed. Pressing a kiss to my forehead, the tip of my nose, my lips. Mmm, Harry-kisses. I feel tired again as he clutches me close. "Save the 'I love yous' so that you can tell me again some other time. I'd hate for you to use them all up now."

Normally I would smirk at that, try to save face and seem less pathetic. But I don't care. His hands smoothing my hair makes me drowsy, makes me drift.

Instead of death and emptiness I dream of Harry and his kisses, the way it feels when he holds me. I dream of his smile and his eyes, a sweet joyful green behind his glasses. I dream that we're away from Hogwart's, somewhere nice and comfortable, and in my dream there is no evil to be vanquished, no wrongs for him to hurry off and make right. When I wake up the next morning I can remember most of what I dreamt, although the details are a bit fuzzy, and I watch Harry asleep on the blanket next to me. Eyes shut, glasses off, he looks so cute and you wouldn't know that this is the boy who's meant to save our world. I realize that it's the first time I've not had a nightmare in a very long while.