The Strongest of Us All

Chapter 7

May 12, 2002

"Stupid boy." Snap. Whimpering. Pain. I feel the blood trickle down my back. "Did you really think-" Snap. It's almost soothing. " - That you would get away with it?" It's strange because blood means pain... Snap. "I know Draco." ...but I feel better once I bleed. "I know everything." Snap. And 'snap' is a strange noise. It's seems kind of harmless. He grabs my chin roughly. "Don't ever defy me again."

I look up into his cold gray eyes and very deliberately spit in his face.

And nothing happens. No flicker of emotion in those eyes, no showing of surprise on his face. He crouches there, whip in hand, coolly surveying me. Then he backhands me, hits me with enough force to send me skittering across the floor and into the wall. And that was the day I knew that if there had ever been anything human in my father it was long gone.

There's a bright flash of light, and the last thing I see are those horrible gray eyes.

"Draco? Draco, wake up. Wake up Draco, it's just a nightmare."

I was startled to find myself in Harry's arms. Why is everything red and gold? Where's the stone floor I was lying on? Why am I so cold?

"So cold," I whimper, burrowing into Harry's chest. "It's so cold!"

"It's all right," he whispers soothingly. "I'm here."

Where's here? I make hoarse noises in his arms, curling up tight to him. Where's here?

Gryffindor Tower. With Harry. Harry, who's always here. Harry, who always holds me. Harry, my love. Harry. I relax into him.

"That's it, I'm here ma chrisha."

We sit there for a long time rocking back and forth, Harry murmuring my name and assurances in my ear. I'm warmer now. Safer.

"It was Lucius." It's not really a question if you all ready know the answer.

"Yes." It's always him. I hate him.

"He can't hurt you anymore."

"He gets out today." It's been three months all ready.

Harry moves so that my back is to his chest and his arms and legs are wrapped tight around me. Harry the human shield.

"I'll protect you, always." Because you're the strong one.

"The point is I need protecting." I'm so weak Harry.

I push him back on the pillow and snuggle until I'm comfortable. "I'm better now."

"Going back to sleep?"

"I'll try."

I close my eyes and try not to see his face. Running my hand lightly up and down Harry's arm I hear the sound of skin on skin; this slightly abrasive sound that you can only hear when you're not doing anything else. Harry's skin is rough in most places, tanned by the sun and roughened from Quidditch. Mine is still smooth and white as ever. It's like nothing can touch me. Nothing gets under my skin. Which isn't entirely true. Harry got under my skin, God knows how he managed when I've built up such a defense but he slipped in there. Now he's cheerfully pulling my heartstrings, dancing around and laughing. He's good for me.

I ruffle his hair lightly. By now we both know I'm not going back to sleep.

He chuckles lightly. "Flying?"

"Flying."

We grab our brooms and race to the pitch, not caring if we get caught. It's 4:30 in the morning, and even though we're not supposed to be out until 5, the only thing we have to lose is points. And maybe we'd have to serve a detention or two.

He doesn't ask what I want to do. He knows things like this. He understands me all too well sometimes, because he knows what kind of hell a nightmare like that can be. Everybody has their phantoms, the things we're afraid of. The problem is that Harry's and mine like us that way. Afraid.

We're two of a kind, him and me. It took me so long to see that. We could never have ended up with anything else. It just wouldn't work. I know him better than I know myself, because it's easier to see what's in front of you than inside you.

We fly when we're hurt or scared. You know why? Because when we're up in the air on those brooms, Harry and I are invincible. We defy gravity. We move amazingly fast. And there are no restrictions on where we go. In the air we are completely free. You don't have to be anything. I feel like the wind. Unrestricted. Liberated. Weightless.

Harry shoots up into the sky, a black and silver blur. I hop onto my broom and take off after him, mimicking his every move. He shoots up and down, side to side, easy things at first, to wash the sleep from our eyes and feel the breeze lightly on our face. Then he starts to dive, gradually getting more involved and difficult, from plain nosedives to Wronski Feints. We chase an invisible Snitch, one that only he and I can see. He looks back at me before he lands, stars in his eyes and love on his lips.

"I love you," I breathe before claiming those lips as mine. A cold good-morning kiss. But a better cold than I was before. The sun's broken over the horizon now; we must have been in the air for hours. We lose track of time a lot. I like to think we make our own time.

I lightly trace the scar on his forehead. "All right Boy Who Snogged, ready for breakfast?" I could use something to eat. I'm actually hungry today.

He smiles and slips his hand into mine. We lock our Firebolts in the broom closet to get them later and head to the Great Hall, ignoring the rolled eyes we get from the Slytherin table. I sit down next to Hermione and grab some toast.

"What are we doing in Potions today?" Hermione asks.

"Appearance Altering Potions," I say absently.

"Aren't they restricted by the Ministry?"

"These are mild ones. To lighten or darken your hair or skin, not change it to something completely different."

Ron groans and stuffs another half a pancake into his mouth. "It's 'unna 'e 'orrile idn't it?

"And in English that would be...?"

He chews and swallows. "It's gonna be horrible isn't it? Like really complicated?"

I push a piece of toast at Harry, before turning back to Ron. I can't have a boyfriend who's skinnier than me either. "The thing to remember is to add hazelwort leaves to go darker, and toad bile to go lighter. The rest is really simple, I swear."

"Maybe for you and 'Mione," he grumbles. "But the rest of us mere mortals are barely passing Potions as it is."

"It's your own fault," Hermione says primly. "Even Harry hands in his homework. You don't even try."

He makes another noise and shoveled more food into his mouth. I still don't get how he can eat that much. How can he fit all that food in there? It boggles the mind, really. It's not normal, that's for sure.

"It's a wonder you're not as fat as Dudley, Ron. You could out eat him any day of the week!"

"It's a Weasley thing," he shot back defensively. "We all eat a lot."

I smirk. "I've never seen Ginny eat that much. Or even Fred and George put together." Pig. He turns bright red again. Haha. Maybe I should transfigure his food into a spider again...

Hermione glances down at her watch and peers around the room, noting that most of the students have all ready left. "We're going to be late Ron. Slip a few bagels into your pockets or something."

He perks up a bit. "Now there's a good idea!" And he actually does it.

"You're such a pig Ron!"

My thoughts exactly.

"Is the boomslang skin supposed to go in before or after the potion boils?"

"Hopefully after, since it's all ready boiling," I say dubiously. Oh well. "Just toss it in there."

"Right-o," Harry says dutifully. "You're the Potions expert around here." Ha, I wish. I didn't mean to lie to everyone, but these potions are pretty fricken' hard to make. Have you ever tried to measure a 2.573cm piece of boomslang skin? It's not fun. Not to mention it has to be fresh skin. Boomslangs don't skin easily. And it's kind of gross. Except more gross. So, really gross.

Harry slips in the boomslang and the potion begins to make a hissing noise, turning from a churlish gray to a mottled green.

"What's it supposed to look like?"

"No idea. But we still have to add the hazelwort leaves or the toad bile. That should probably change the color."

"So? Are we going lighter or darker?" He absently pushes his glasses back up onto his nose. He looks so tired and frustrated. Damn, there're those pinprickings of conscience again.

"I'm sorry I woke you up this morning," I mutter under my breath. Snape (because out of class he's Uncle Sev, but in class he's Snape) is surveying the room scornfully.

He's startled. "Drake, it wasn't a problem."

"Piss and piffle, you're barely keeping your eyes open!"

"Piss and piffle?" he giggles.

God, that was unbearably cute. "Something my grandmother used to say." I smile at him.

He returns it but he frowns a little after. "Don't worry about waking me up. I'd have felt ten times worse if you were scared while I just slept." He reaches over to cover my hand with his own. "I'm always here Draco."

I grin and hug him quickly. "I know Harry."

While we were having our meaningful discussion, Crabbe took the opportunity to throw a little something extra into our cauldron.

BOOM.

They'd talk about it for years to come. The class that blew up the Potions classroom. Well, not blew up like it was gone, but blown up in the fact that everything in the class was completely destroyed. Crabbe had tossed in asphodel, which is the one thing in the whole bloody world that causes the potion we were making to become unstable. He got to spend the rest of the year in detention with Professor Snape. I almost felt bad for him.

Almost being the operative word there of course.

But the important thing here, is that you know when people look back and think, 'Those were the days'? Well, those were the days.

June 17, 2002

"Hermione, it's 11 at night. You've been in the library for 5 hours straight. Don't you think you should stop?" plead Harry.

"I can't Harry, the N.E.W.T.s are in five days and I haven't memorized the vampire code restrictions of 1463. Professor Binns told us specifically that it would be on the test!"

Ron and Harry groan. This girl is insane. Insane! We are a group of not quite right individuals but this is just insane! Zany! Something worthy of Loony Luna!

"Hermione, you've passed you exams with flying colors. You're going to get at least 10 N.E.W.T.s if not more, and that's enough to get you into any Ministry job you want," I say reassuringly. "You could be the next Minister of Magic!"

"Yeah," chips in Harry. "You'd be loads better than Fudge."

"Anyone's better than Fudge." Dad always had him in his back pocket. Shudder. Hermione's better than that.

She bites her lip and looks down. "I..."

Whoa. 'Mione not taking a stand. Something is wrong with this picture.

Ron places his hand on her arm. "You can tell them you know, they won't bite your head off." You should see how he's looking at her right now. When did this progress from a crush to full-blown love? We've paired off like birds in the spring. Yick. Squick. Ick. Next thing you know even Millicent Bullstrode will be snogging someone.

She sighs, shying away from his touch. "But... everyone thinks it's dumb. You should have heard the talk Professor McGonagall gave me. 'Wasting your talent' and 'I expected more of you'."

Ron starts to get angry. "It's not dumb! It's you deciding what you want to do with your life. If you want to go back into the Muggle world and live like a Squib that's you decision. If you want to open a store on Diagon Alley and sell Nosebleed Nougats that's your choice too! She can't tell you what to be." His voice softens a bit. "Do whatever makes you happy 'Mione."

Ok, for one, it can't be as bad as wanting to be a Squib. And everyone is too hard on her. She's a bloody genius but that doesn't mean she has to spend the rest of her days as a paper pusher. Though, you think she'd want to, huh?

Harry leans toward her conspiratorially. "Hermione, I know how it feels when people put expectations on you. You know what I mean? People think... I can be the hero. The savior. The guy who always comes out unscathed. Not true. The way we see it... you are the smartest person in Hogwarts. Probably the smartest person who ever graduated from Hogwarts."

"Now you're exaggerating," she sniffs.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But that doesn't mean you have to let these expectations rule your life," he continues.

"Pretend you're me."

They turn and stare at me. Oops. Said that aloud.

"Well, me before this year. I was good at Potions. The Dark Arts. I was training to be a Death Eater. My father wanted me to be a Death Eater. I had a history filled with Death Eater-y activities right? So why am I not a Death Eater? Because I don't want to be a Death Eater. Simple as that."

"Simple as that?"

"Simple as that." In a way. Refusing to be a Death Eater sort of had more complications than that (*cough* Voldemort *cough*), but yeah, in a way it was simple. Still one question though.

"What did you want to be anyway?"

Hermione stops twisting her hands and actually looks at us for a second. "Write books."

We stare blankly at her for a few seconds. "Like textbooks?"

"Yeah." She goes back to twisting her hands nervously. "You don't think it's stupid?"

"Of course not!" Harry and I burst at the same time.

"It's bloody brilliant!" I gush. "It's perfect for you Hermione. You could write 'The Big Book on Bloody Everything'! Or a biography. I can see it now... "The True Story of The Boy Who Lived!" " I announce theatrically, my hands flying about in the air. Hermione laughed a little.

"Really," Harry adds a little quieter. "Whatever you want. Not what everyone else wants for you."

She brushes her hair back off her face, eyes and nose red but much happier looking. "Thanks guys. What would I do without you?"

"Hem hem." We all swivel around to stare at Ron this time.

Harry smacks him upside the head. "That was too much like Professor Umbridge for my comfort."

Ron scowls and rubs his head. "I just wanted to say that Hermione and I have another announcement."

Hermione drops the book she had been flipping through. "Here?" she squeaks. "Now?"

"Yes," he says firmly. "Right now."

I HATE these serious conversations. You know what happens? Awkward silences and misunderstandings and, and... just bad things! Remember the last few of these I had? It was not pleasant.

Hermione took a deep breath, while Ron just sat next to her looking remarkably calm for once. "Ok. Here goes." She exhaled slowly. "Ron and I... are getting married after graduation."

Oh my god. Wow. Big wow. The world is ending kind of wow. Married. Hermione and Ron married. Like getting a house and raising little Weasleys married. Til Death do us part and sickness and health and MARRIED.

At least it seems Harry is as shocked as I am.

"Married...?" he whispers. And there's that awkward silence I was going on about...

But finally he snaps out of it. "I'm so happy for you two. Ron, I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

Ron has the decency to blush. "I just... I don't know. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he says warmly. "Just take care of her."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm right here you know. I can take care of myself."

I grin mischievously. "I'm sure there's some things Ron could help you with." They both blush.

We laugh and joke and act happy for a few more minutes, declaring this a perfect occasion to sneak into Hogsmeade and celebrate. Ron and Hermione practically glow. Harry basks in their happiness. But not me, because the whole time I think, what about me and Harry?

July 23, 2002

I've been thinking about it for a month now. It's been bugging me, almost festering. I wasn't quite sure how to bring it up with Harry. I didn't want to seem needy. Or clingy. Or whatever. But I really wanted to know. I mean, for now, Harry's practically got an expiration date stamped on his forehead. But then again who thought he'd make it this far, right? So maybe...

"Harry?" I asked, hating my voice for quavering a bit and sounding so vulnerable. I am, but I don't need to sound it! I fiddle with the pillow underneath my head, staring at Harry who's across the room sitting at his desk.

"Yeah?"

"You ever think about... what you wanna do after graduation?"

He tapped his quill a few times on the desk. "Not really. I didn't know if I would make it this far. And even though I have, who's to say he doesn't kill me in a year?"

I wince. How can you talk about being dead so carelessly? It just doesn't faze him anymore.

"But... if you were? Alive that is? What would you do then?"

He pauses for a second, setting his quill down and resting his chin in his hand. "I... never thought about it. I never even thought about thinking about it," he adds regretfully. "But... now..."

He pauses to think some more, eyes flickering dimly. "My parents left me a ton of money, so I actually wouldn't have to work, at least for a while. So for a few years I want to go out and see the world - the Muggle world and the wizarding one - see all the things I've never seen." He glances at me, a self-depreciating smile on his face. "You know I've never even been to the beach? I've never actually shopped for any clothes besides my school robes. I've never just gone into a restaurant to eat. I've never been out of England! Despite being the so-called savior of the wizarding world I've been pretty damned sheltered."

I hate them. They're dead, and you're really not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but god I hate them. How could they be so cruel to him? No wonder he was always so eager to go back to Hogwarts. He's told me before that they were unkind to him; that they didn't feed him and locked him in his room sometimes. But some things you need as much as food and water. I don't think I'd damn them to Hell but I certainly wish them some time in Purgatory.

"You Draco?"

I skirt the issue a bit. "You know where the most beautiful place in the world is? The south of France. Especially in the fall. I always had this secret desire to live there. I've never told anyone, because I was expected to live at Malfoy Manor." Even though I hated it.

"You want to live in a huge house in the south of France?" Harry laughs indulgently. "You're so aristocratic Draco!"

I flush. "I didn't say I wanted a huge house. A little place really, maybe just a garret. I don't really need a lot of space. A ghost or two to keep me company," I say dreamily. "You, if you can manage it."

There's this huge deafening silence. Wrong thing to say. Shit. Ok, I'm crushed here. Now's a good time to say something. Too bad I can't think of much of anything.

"Or not..." I finish jokingly, hopefully believably enough. "You travel the world and I'll..."

"Travel with me," he interrupts, striding over to where I'm lying on the bed. "And we'll make our home in the south of France."

I look up into his serious face. "I... didn't really know if you still wanted this."

"Of course I do." Good. Really good. I've learned my lesson; I didn't want to give you up, the person that means so much to me. I would have, if that's what you wanted.

He sits down next to me. "How could you not think that? Do you think this means nothing?" He's getting angry now. I didn't mean to make him angry, definitely was not in the plan.

"No! God, no. This means a lot more than 'nothing' does. I love you Harry. I love you so much if you wanted to go somewhere else, do something else, be... with someone else, I'd let you. I can't force you to be with me just because I love you. I want things to work both ways." You've been pulling away from me lately. You're so tired; you're falling apart at the edges. Tell me what's wrong.

He looks away, rumpling his hair. "I... thought about doing what you did before. Pushing you away so you wouldn't get hurt." He laughs derisively. "But then every single day without you will be filled with 'If only Draco was here' or 'I miss Draco'. And seeing Ron and Hermione just made things worse. Because that's what I wanted for us. But they don't have to worry like we do."

"Yeah. You've practically got a 'Kill Me' sign on your back."

"Exactly," he says, face softening. "But I can't stop loving you anymore than the sun can stop setting or rising."

"Anymore than the moon can help waxing and waning."

"Anymore than Snape can stop hating Gryffindors."

"So that's the plan then?" I say hopefully, feeling vulnerable again. "Someplace off the coast of France with a ghost or two upstairs?"

"The perfect plan."

I gently nip his lip. "I think we can handle that. What are we fighting for anyway?"

He smiles. "Just love Draco. As much as we can handle." Kissing me lightly he started to push my robe off my shoulders.

I smile softly. "Love you Harry."

Suddenly the door bursts open, a flushed and rumpled Ron standing in the doorway, panting.

"Hogwarts is under attack!"