The Space Between

The darkness inside me rejoices. I can almost hear it with my ears calling for my total submission, to allow myself to be subsumed by the Dark, now that I've killed a man in such a manner, just this side of cold blood.

Abruptly, I drop my arm, dropping Lucius Malfoy's body to the floor as well. It lands with a wet thud that twists my stomach.

It takes me a long moment of absolute stillness before I can identify my emotion as shock. The two parts of me are warring - the Dark rejoicing in my actually performing a spell Voldemort must have transferred to me and the Light wanting nothing more than to make me retch in horror before curling up between Ron and Hermione to beg forgiveness.

Ron and Hermione. Oh, hell, what have I done?

Distantly, I notice my limbs are shaking. My wand falls to the floor with a clatter once I can no longer hold it in my trembling fingers. Pain jolts through me almost as an afterthought when I fall to my knees. A keening sound fills the room. I look over at Hermione questioningly, thinking she's making the noise.

But, to my continuing horror, she is kneeling on the floor, head in her hands, sobbing.

I'm the one keening. The sound grates on my ears, but I can't seem to stop.

Agony pours through my chest - from the scar and the Dark rebelling in retreat - as shock, remorse and horror fill me. My stomach twists in knots as I try not to vomit on the floor at what I've done.

A wet, coppery scent begins to permeate the room. Blood. Even if the Dark hadn't imprinted that knowledge, I would know that scent. It imprinted itself upon my memories at the Battle of Hogwarts, then again during our imprisonment last year.

I want desperately to be able to stand up, heal Ron, grasp Hermione, and feel proud of what I've done. But I can't. How can I face them after what I've done to Malfoy?

Shit, was it only two hours ago that I was proud and cocky in the Puddlemere locker room? We were going to celebrate our anniversary tonight and now I've gone and fucked it up.

Fear more powerful than that which flooded through me when I saw Malfoy Junior attacking Hermione or Malfoy Senior torturing Ron drives ice into my veins.

What if they can't forgive me? How will I live without them?

I would rather die than live without them. They're everything to me and have been since we were eleven - the best parts of me come from them. Without them, I'm nothing.

Talons of pain sink themselves into my heart. The Dark wants to take advantage of my weakness, my despair and I'm almost willing to let it.

"Harry?"

I blink rapidly and slowly turn to Hermione, silencing my keening and rocking. Her face - I fight the urge to be sick at my earlier thought that she'd looked sluttish - is tear-stained. Her soft golden aura is whole and radiant around her.

"Yes?" My voice comes out as a croak. Clearing my throat, I try again. "Yes, Hermione?"

She reaches for me and I flinch. It's a completely involuntary reaction borne of my fear - no, expectation - of rejection. The years of conditioning with the Dursleys is hard to overcome. But the resulting anguish I see on her face and feel through our scar compels me to reach across the space between us to grasp her hand.

Her smile is watery, but genuine. Studying her more closely, I see bruises forming on her jaw and left cheekbone from Malfoy Junior. I brutally suppress the desire for revenge for fear of reawakening the Dark.

Moving closer to me on her knees, she kisses my hand, then chest. Her lips against my scar sends reassurance through me like a fuzzy blanket in the winter.

When she places her left palm to my chest - matching our scars - the immensity of love that fills me brings tears to my eyes. The Dark talons anchored in my heart retract under the unremitting force of Hermione's love.

And, in a burst of Light energy, her aura disappears. Mine flashes green - nothing black, just green - before disappearing as well.

So...Voldemort could read auras. The thought flits through my mind briefly before being driven out by the sudden earth-shattering realization that Hermione still loves me. Whether she has forgiven me or not will have to wait.

But she still loves me.

Some of my utter joy at that realization must be transmitted back to her because her eyes suddenly flare before half-closing in a look of desire.

"Harry?" she whispers uncertainly.

I open my mouth to say I'm fine, but realize I'm not. I'm a mess. The evening we had been so looking forward to has become a jumble of curses, injury and death.

As I look into her soft brown eyes, I hold her hand to my chest and whisper in a broken voice, "I love you."

Her smile is radiant. Its warmth begins to fill the cold parts of my soul.

However, she fails to tell me she loves me. I take her physical comfort because I know she loves me, but the lack of words makes me uneasy. Hermione is a woman of words. Until she says them to me again, there is that little bit of doubt at the back of my mind that refuses be erased.

We kneel on the floor wrapped around each other for several minutes before we hear Ron groan. I scramble up and move to his side, pain slicing through my joints as I do so.

Falling to the floor beside him, I glance at Hermione, silently asking how he is. Sadness fills her eyes as she silently pleads with me to do something to heal him.

Damn.

A different sort of fear fills me. What if my...delay...has killed him? I can't live with that. Even if Hermione would forgive me, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself. To know that I was torturing Lucius Malfoy while Ron bled to death would be something I would never get over.

Ron coughs, drawing me out of my thoughts.

Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth; blood soaks his shirt. Hermione's healing spell earlier must have bound the worst injuries, but not brought him out of the life-threatening range. His freckles stand out against his pale skin like flecks of red-orange paint.

"Right mess, aren't I, mate?" he jokes.

Hermione stuffs a fist into her mouth and turns away.

I have to clear my throat before answering. "You'll be playing Quidditch in no time."

He laughs. "Only if it's your Snitch I'm Seeking."

Silence. He can't have just made a pass...could he? Then he winks. He did!

Laughing, I slap his shoulder and say, "You wanker."

"No," he retorts. "You do that."

We both laugh until he sobers uncomfortably. Searching my eyes with his blue ones, he asks hesitantly, "Seriously Harry, are you all right?"

Swallowing hard and glancing at Hermione - who is silently sobbing again - I answer, "No. I've been mostly dead all day."

Hermione turns in astonishment, snickers reluctantly, then breaks into full-fledged laughter. Ron laughs as well, then stops, groaning in pain.

I'm glad both of them remember the comment Hermione made to me when I asked what had happened after they healed me in Voldemort's dungeon.

I bend to give Ron a kiss. When our lips touch, his are nearly ice cold. Damn him, the bloody bastard. Why didn't he say something?

Keeping my lips pressed to his, I pull his right hand to my chest, matching scars. Love surges through me, but it's not as encompassing as Hermione's due to Ron's injuries. The feeling is there, but not the strength.

The sensation still causes Ron to jolt in surprise. I kiss him harder, coaxing his mouth open with my tongue. When he finally responds by opening his mouth and meeting my tongue with his, I continue holding his hand to my chest with my left hand and rest my right on his stomach. A taste of blood is in his mouth, on my lips and tongue. I smother the dark thrill that taste engenders inside me.

When I do, something I can't identify surges through us. It's good, it's Light, but too powerful to name with one word.

Briefly enough to disturb me, but also briefly enough to reassure me that the Dark seems to be held at bay, our auras flash and my green mixes with Ron's red. It's comforting in an odd sense, reassuring me that something is working.

Concentrating, I ease that magic into Ron. He tenses under my hand and lips, but I hold him down, driving my tongue deep to duel with his and burrowing my hand under his torn shirt to place it firmly against his skin.

His back arches as whatever it is between us works to heal him. He moans into my mouth, both in pain and pleasure. I break the kiss to move lower, pressing kisses to his jaw and neck before stopping at his chest. I rest my lips there, gently kissing his skin and tasting it with my tongue.

Hermione moves in to kiss him, bracing her left palm on his shoulder. All our auras flash briefly, mixing the green, gold and red, before disappearing again. When Hermione's lips touch Ron's, I feel the resulting jolt to his system as well. It's like being plugged into an electrical socket, but without the pain.

Ron clutches blindly with his left hand before grasping the tails of my shirt, which is still on Hermione.

The power that fills me now is nothing like before. While not as seductive, it's just as intoxicating. There is some element of sexuality to it - I can't deny that if we try this when we're all healthy, it would lead to a mind-blowing climax - but it's underlain with the emotions shared between us, the sense that we are each one part of a whole.

I pull my lips from Ron's skin and rest my cheek on his chest, looking up at Hermione kissing him. She seems to sense me watching and breaks the kiss, turning to look at me.

A gentle smile on her lips, she kisses me softly, sending sparks through the three of us. Ron's gasp quickly turns to a soft moan.

"Better?" she asks, before swiping her tongue across my lips once again. A shudder of desire rocks me, sending a similar shudder through Ron.

"Yes," he and I answer at the same time.

I smile, pressing a light kiss to his chest.

Hermione returns the smile briefly before frowning. "We have to contact the M.L.E.S." She pauses, standing. "Are there magical coroners?"

As I sit back on my heels, I see the lecherous grin on Ron's face. I follow his line of sight and grin myself. Hermione is wearing only my shirt and Ron has a perfect view under the hem.

"Hermione, you might want to put something else on," I suggest.

She shakes her head slightly, distracted, as she looks down at me. "What?"

"You're treating Ron to quite a view. And while you may not mind that, we can't call the M.L.E.S. until you've got more on."

"Hmm?" Then she seems to realize what sort of view Ron has and glares at him. "You should have said something, Ronald Weasley."

"Well, Hermione Granger, it would ruin my fun if I did," he replies dryly. His tone is so matter-of-fact that it reminds me of Hermione when she talks about Hogwarts: A History.

I snicker as she huffs and retreats to the bedroom.

Ron groans softly as he sits up, rubbing his chest. I move behind him to prop him up, pulling his head gently back to rest against my chest. His hair tickles slightly, but the sensation is welcome.

Now sitting, Ron gets his first look at Lucius Malfoy, who happens to be lying directly in front of us. A shudder runs through him; flickers of both disgust and satisfaction filter through our connection.

"Ron?" I begin, suddenly fearful again. Hermione watched what I did and understood it wasn't really me doing it no matter what I may have said, but Ron was unconscious for most of it. What if he's the one who can't forgive me? "Please talk to me."

Ron swallows hard before turning away from Malfoy. His words are muffled by my chest when he finally speaks up. "Did you do that?"

"Yes," I respond tentatively, running my fingers through his hair. I'm not sure whether to take Ron's words positively or negatively.

He tips his head back and looks up at me, blue eyes slightly bloodshot but steady. "Good," he says fiercely, his aura briefly flashing a uniform deep crimson, before resting his head against me once more.

While relief and pleasure that he isn't disgusted flood me, Ron's reaction disturbs me as well. He's happy I killed. I killed out of necessity so Hermione wouldn't die, but the fact he's dead seems to be good enough for Ron.

"Ron, I nearly killed him in cold blood."

"One of us had to kill him." Ron's voice is flat but firm. He truly believes that Malfoy Senior had to die - and his tone implies to me that if I hadn't killed him, Ron would have found a way. No longer under the influence, I don't know if I agree, but the deed is done and cannot be undone.

We're both silent for a long moment, lost in our own thoughts, his breath on my skin the only sign of movement.

"You didn't answer Hermione's question about coroners," I say quietly, trying to choose a relatively neutral topic to ease the tension between us.

Ron's eyelashes sweep down as he closes his eyes. "The M.L.E.S. takes care of it all."

The silence that follows is broken by Hermione returning. She's put on a pair of jeans and a bra in addition to my shirt. She tosses me a sweatshirt, which I lay on the floor next to me. I don't want to give up the skin-to-skin contact with Ron quite yet. I need to feel his warm skin next to mine until the remembrance of his ice-cold lips dissipates.

I close my eyes and rest my chin on the crown of Ron's head, wrapping my arms around him tightly. I hear Hermione take Floo powder from the jar atop the mantle, then toss it into the fireplace and call the Ministry of Magic.

After a short discussion via Floo, Hermione returns to us. She nestles herself against me and under Ron, resting her head against his chest and her body against my side. The only way we can be closer is lying flat against one another.

When the Magical Law Enforcement Squad arrives moments later, that is how they find us: huddled next to Lucius Malfoy's dead body with Draco Malfoy's unconscious body lying under glass shards across the room. It takes the witch psychologists several tries to pry us apart, the space between us growing larger until we can't touch each other at all.