Artful Facade

Chapter 5: Illusions

His eyes reflect the world.

They do not reflect him.

Draco’s true thoughts are cloaked from view. His smiles often seem insincere because they never reach his eyes.

“Eyes are the windows to the soul.” Not the case with Malfoy. His eyes are windows to the world, mirrors showing the twists and turns in the souls of others. His own soul is unmapped, his emotions hidden behind grey glass.

Sometimes the reflection is like ice and I think that if I touch my eyelashes I will find them dotted with frost. Even on the warmest summer day, the reflection in Malfoy’s eyes can make the world seem frozen.

Other times the reflection portrays the world as a place of slow-moving people, their features so blank that they appear to be made of finely chiseled stone.

He makes the world cold. He makes it a carving out of stone. He makes the world haunted.

Sometimes I wish I could forever watch the world in his eyes. Not through his eyes, but in his eyes. I’d like to watch the reflection change and blur. I’d like to see people live and die in a dome of stone and ice. Somehow that seems safer than watching the world through my own eyes, where everything is sharp and bright and painstakingly real to the touch.

I read about a cold winter once, a winter that refused to bleed into a warm spring. There were butterflies all over; they were migrating. Only the warmth they sought wasn’t there. It was too cold and millions of their small bodies littered the ground.

I look for warmth in Draco too, but all I get is frostbite. I wonder sometimes if one more bitingly cold look from Draco is all it will take to freeze my wings off, send me tumbling downward. Sometimes I think that I’m just barely holding on, that my life depends on Malfoy and whether or not he feels like killing me with one last chilled glare. There’s something exciting about that. It’s one thing to know your life is in the hands of a friend, but in the hands of someone like Draco Malfoy…

His hands are warm. It doesn't seem like they should be. It seems like there should be ice encrusted across them like a sheet of glass. You'd think that the only chill his hands could bestow on you would be from the cold.

I like to think that those butterflies only died because the chilled air brought them such delight, they didn't ever want to fly again. They were happy just lying there, watching the ice dance upon their wings.

Butterflies. They're sort of like birds, aren't they?

~~~

The floor was cold but Malfoy was colder. His limbs were sharply angular; he pushed Harry to the ground or maybe it was Harry who pushed him. Difficult to tell when every second it is someone else pulling, someone else pushing, everything lost in a haze of robes that moved past their face like a whip of night.

Hogwarts robes were made to be billowy and they swept by in a curtain of black mist.

Harry fought to get through the mist, to Draco. He heard a rip of cloth, relished the sound of it.

He ripped at the cloth of Draco’s robes again, more slowly this time. He let it last, a hesitant tearing of fabric. The rip seemed to shatter all illusions of mist, and suddenly it was just Malfoy sitting there, just Malfoy with flushed cheeks and torn robes that did not billow, only rustled as he moved over Harry. He flattened Harry to the ground, pinned his shoulders down and watched the boy struggle against him for a moment.

His black hair tumbled over his eyes. Draco wondered what it was like, to have hair so dark that it was darker than the shadows behind closed eyes.

Then Draco swept the hair out of Harry’s face.

“Try to kill me again, Potter. Please.”

Harry kissed him.

“I want you to,” Draco insisted.

But he was kissing Harry back and it was all tangled arms and legs and eyelashes, so close were their faces.

Harry felt like he should be lost in the moment, but he was not. It was just the opposite in fact; every moment in the world seemed to be rushing at him. Every sight, every sound, each thought and sensation… They all whirled around Harry. Being so near to Draco made the world larger, more frightening and nonsensical, dangerous and deadly, until the world became too large to handle and collapsed upon itself.

It also felt really good.

Puzzle pieces of images appeared in Harry’s mind; life seemed a dream he knew he would forget come morning.

Draco, however, did not forget his dreams so easily. His lips remained on Harry but he reached out and groped the air like a blind man, before his fist closed on the invisibility cloak that was piled on the floor nearby, a forgotten stream of water.

He pulled the cloak over both of them.

Harry didn’t notice that they were covered by the cloak until Draco's lips pulled away from him.

“Huh?” asked Harry. And then, “Why are we under the invisibility cloak?”

“Someone is coming.”

“Yes,” agreed Harry crossly.

“Well?”

“I don’t give a damn if anyone sees us. Do you?”

“Of course. And so do you. You’re just upset about Black.”

“I’m upset about the world.”

“Just get off the ground, Potter.”

“Might be easier if you weren’t on top of me.”

Draco moved off of Harry. “Keep your voice down,” he warned as the two awkwardly stood up together under the invisibility cloak.

Harry was aware of their closeness. It was funny, when he was with Draco, holding Draco, Harry felt more whole than ever before. However at this slim distance all that mattered was Malfoy. Malfoy and Malfoy and Harry, who was he? Just a long forgotten boy whose mind had been abandoned, just a shell of a being. The world centered on Draco and his perfections and his imperfections and the shape of his eyelids and the curve of his neck, the sharpness of his elbow and the way his lips met together.

Harry became painfully aware of the air lingering between them, the distance that was dying to fold upon itself and crush their bodies against one another.

Harry saw Remus Lupin turn the corner from Dumbledore’s office. He strode right past the two boys, pale-faced. There were tears lying quietly in his eyes, unmoving but very much real. Harry watched him rush past. He looked intently into Lupin’s eyes, willing the tears within them to fall. Lupin hurried past but his tears remained unshed.

Fire burned a careful precise path down Harry’s face. He wondered dimly if the tears would leave a scar. Another scar, just what Harry needed. Perhaps this time his face would be so disfigured that he would no longer be the hero, he would be the freak. Harry didn’t think he’d mind that too much. It was, after all, what he truly was. It might be refreshing, no longer playing a part.

Draco tentatively reached a hand forward as if reaching to brush away Harry’s tears. Harry looked at him, eyes tracing his face like a stray breeze. Draco pulled his hand back quickly, then seemed to strengthen his resolve and reached forward again.

Harry grabbed his wrist before it moved any further. “Don’t.“ His gaze became firmly riveted on the ground.

Silence.

“Let them fall,” Harry said finally. “And don’t touch me again.”

“I won’t if you don’t.”

“I didn’t.”

“You do. You touch me with your eyes.”

His tone was deadpan. “I touch you with my eyes.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a neat little trick seeing as my eyes are pretty much stuck in my head.”

“You know what I mean and don’t try to be smart, Potter. It’s never been your expertise.”

“I’ll be taking this, if you’re done with it,” said Harry spitefully, too exhausted to come to his own defense.

“Taking what?”

The bell rang, signifying the end of class. Suddenly there was a soft whistle of air around Draco, then the feeling of emerging from the warmth of a clear pool.

“Ah,” he said to nothingness, realizing he was no longer invisible. “The cloak.” He looked to the place where he supposed Harry to be.

Harry gave a startled gasp.

Draco was looking directly into Harry’s eyes.

“You can see me?!” came Harry’s exclaim of surprise.

Draco looked puzzled. “No. Of course not. That’s sort of the point of a cloak that makes you invisible. Either that or it’s a blind man’s idea of an ironic joke.”

“Malfoy, I don’t think you understand! You’re looking right at me!”

Draco shrugged uneasily. “I knew where you were.”

“You mean you sensed me.” It was not a question.

Draco just looked at him.

“That,” Harry stated quietly, “is decidedly creepy.”

“Class,” Draco said shortly, turning around to go. Harry grabbed him and pulled him back into the shadows. It felt immensely surreal, as if the air itself had suddenly decided to pull Draco into oblivion.

Draco knew what this was about. “You want to set a time,” he said amicably. “Tomorrow evening then?”

“You’ve Quidditch practice tomorrow evening,” Harry reminded him.

“Becoming my stalker, Potter?”

Was it possible to hear a smile? “I think you’ve earned that title, Malfoy, not me. I know you’ve put that cloak to good use.”

“Twelve o‘clock then,” said Draco, ignoring this. “Midnight.”

“Eleven.”

“Midnight.”

“Eleven.”

“I said midnight and so it will be midnight! Don’t for a moment think you’re calling the shots, Potter.”

Draco could feel Harry’s breath against his cheek, so warm that Draco felt almost flushed.

“Eleven,” said Harry, in a very final way. “We meet here by Dumbledore’s office at eleven.”

Draco drew in a deep breath. “I hate you, Potter.”

“I’m going to class.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Draco held up a hand to stop him. “What do I do about these?” He gestured to several of the rips in his robes. “Claim I was mauled by a badger? Can‘t think of any spells that will replace this. The fabric is expensive.”

“Badgers aren’t big with the mauling. Pass it off as a new fashion.”

Draco made a dismissive noise. “Right. Like that’ll work.”

~~~

When Hermione and Ron asked Harry what Dumbledore wanted, Harry opened his mouth but the correct words didn’t come out. Instead, he had made up some idle excuse about information on try outs for the Quidditch team.

Now at supper, he again tried to tell them about Sirius. He tried to say the somber words but found it to be impossible.

They deserve to know, Harry told himself. Ron, Hermione... They were friends with Sirius too, after all. They cared for him liked him, watched out for him…

But they did not love him. They didn’t hear the stories Sirius had told Harry, stories of his days at Hogwarts and of Harry’s parents and how much they fought and how much they loved each other. Sirius was not their one remaining shred of family.

Harry wanted to tell them, he truly did. However he also wanted time, a day to keep the mourning to himself, a blank empty day in which he could shove the death to the back of his mind, feeling the grief and blind hatred of it only when he was alone.

Alone or with Draco.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and began to listen to the conversation around him. Hermione and Ginny appeared to be having an argument. Ginny was standing up and turning around in a circle.

“Well, I don’t see what’s wrong with them!” she cried.

“They’re… they’re silly!” Hermione put her hands on her hips. “Ginny, just because someone says something is cool doesn’t mean it is.” It was supper, later that evening.

“No one told me it was cool. I just thought it looked neat.”

“Right. And it just so happens that so did most of Slytherin, half of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, and even a few rebel Hufflepuffs!”

“It’s fashionable.”

“It’s childish and stupid!” Hermione turned around. “What do you think, Harry?”

Harry was still staring dumbfounded at Ginny’s robes.

They were quite artfully ripped at the arms and around the knees.

“Erm,” Harry managed. “Er. Nice?”

Ginny looked disappointed. “Just…nice?”

“Better than Lavender’s and Parvati's anyway,” Hermione said quickly by way of comfort. Lavender and Parvati had become a bit manic with the ripping of their robes. Boys kept staring at them, and they were both giggling like mad.

“That’s not being fashionable,” said Ginny, “that’s just being a sl-”

“Not you too!” Hermione exclaimed disdainfully, cutting Ginny off. She was staring at something behind Harry in absolute horror.

“What?” a voice by Harry asked innocently. Harry turned around in his chair and promptly snorted out a laugh.

The sleeves, the hem, and the back of Ron’s robes were torn and shredded so badly that it looked as though a hungry wolf had attacked him. He was rivaling both Lavender and Parvati when it came to lack of fabric.

“It was really quite simple to do,” said Ron with ease as he took a seat next to Harry. “These robes were already sort of ripped up, second hand. Besides,” he continued, looking slightly hurt, “it looks so cool. Bit chilly though. Stop laughing, Harry!”

Fashion sense at Hogwarts was a concept virtually foreign to the student body as a whole. However a push in the right direction, a slightly risky choice of clothing…

And two hours later over half the school had taken it upon themselves to be ‘fashionable'.

No one quite remembered exactly where the idea that ripped robes were all the rage had come from but, as he watched Draco Malfoy saunter by with a self-satisfied smirk and ripped robes of his own, Harry thought he had a very good idea.

That night at a quarter past eleven, Harry saw the sleek form walking down the hall. Harry stepped out from the shield of armor he had been waiting behind. He stopped in front of Draco and Draco regarded him without surprise. Harry frowned.

“You’re late.”

“Not very.”

“Still.”

“What?”

“You’re still late.”

“I’ll try and be more punctual next time, Professor.” Draco’s voice was mocking.

They stood together in the dark corridor.

“So,” said Draco finally. “We’re going to the classroom I took you to before. It’s just swathed in protection spells, anti-sound charms, the works. No one will be able to hear us outside of that room. If they even start to think of the classroom, the thought will leave their mind before it truly forms.”

“That’s good,” Harry murmured idly. “Here.” He threw the invisibility cloak over himself and Draco. “Lead the way.”

The two traveled up one staircase, hunched together under the cloak. Harry was filled with a strange anticipation. There was the thought of saying ‘Avada Kedavra’ and watching this action carried to life and then to death. There was the power he wanted to fill behind the words. There was also the fact that he wanted to see what the icy green light looked like from a different side. Was it as beautiful from the other end? Would it be as beautiful as it was when it shot from Draco’s wand? Perhaps not. What was more lovely, Harry wondered, to give death, or to receive it?

He anticipated the thundering silence that always followed the passing of waves. He anticipated also the locks of doors that such powerful curses could break . And he was anticipating, right at this very moment, the look in Draco’s eyes when Harry carried the spell through without trouble. He imagined the change. Perhaps the fire of death could melt the ice in Draco’s eyes.

Or perhaps the ice would quench the fire. Harry didn’t know, and that made the moment so much more exciting, unpredictable. His nerves were on end, he shivered inwardly every time Draco brushed against him underneath the cloak. It was not a shiver of pleasure, nor was it one of revulsion. Rather it was like everything else this damned night, a shiver of anticipation.

~~~

Draco lifted the lid off of the plain cardboard box without ceremony. Inside, several rats and mice scurried away from the light. They peered up at the two boys, their eyes moist and bright in the darkness.

“For practice,” said Draco, placing the box on the table. He picked one up and moved to hand it to Harry. Harry took a step backwards.

Draco sighed impatiently. “Don’t tell me you’re getting squeamish now.”

“I’m not,” said Harry, wringing his hands uncomfortably. “It’s only that… I thought we’d start with something smaller.” The rat blinked at him. “Like bugs or something. Insects. They‘re not…I mean rats, they kind of…look at you. Their eyes, I mean, there‘s intelligence behind them, you know? Thought. They just…I don‘t know. They look at you,” he repeated in earnest.

“Eloquent as always, Potter,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “Look, don't you think that Black’s killers looked at him?”

“No,” Harry said quietly. “I don’t see how they could.”

“Oh, they did,” Draco said without remorse. “Trust me on that. They looked in his eyes, Potter, and they smiled and gloated and laughed.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Maybe it’s time you start believing it. Killers have eyes and souls and sometimes they look at you and sometimes they feel sick but they kill anyway. They kill things with souls and sometimes they kill things that look back at them with eyes like that rat‘s. So get used to it, Potter.”

Harry frowned uneasily.

“It has to happen,” said Draco softly. “If you want revenge, if you want to win… You kill. Anyway, I seem to remember you being all too ready to kill me.”

“That was different. You’re more like a cockroach than anyone else I can think of.”

“You must have quite the affinity for cockroaches then,” Malfoy said coldly. “Am I infesting in your mind?” He smiled at the look of shock on Harry’s face. “Hmm, it seems I am, and I think you rather enjoy it.”

With a glare, Harry snatched the squirming rat out of Draco’s hand. He placed it in front of him and pointed his wand at it. “Avada Kedavra,” he said steadily.

Nothing. Harry repeated the words several times while Draco held the rat still. Again and again he said it, but the rat remained very much alive and Harry gave a sigh of impatience.

“Is it the eyes, Potter?” taunted Draco. “Are they looking at you again?”

“When it comes time that I must really kill,” Harry said, almost to himself, “I will rip their eyes out first. That way they won’t even think of looking at me.”

The darkness in these words caught Draco off guard and he was speechless. He waited for Harry to add something like “Just kidding”, but Harry did not add anything. He looked at Draco and said, “Let’s see you try it, shall we?”

“Fine, Potter.”

But Draco could get nothing, no matter how many times he cried the words. He threw his wand down in frustration. “This is madness!” exclaimed Draco. “Something must be wrong! The spell isn’t even working. I mean, honestly! Before at least something happened. Sure, instead of killing you I killed a rat, but really, anyone could make that mistake.” Harry was smiling. “What’s so funny?” Draco snapped.

“You. I always thought you were some big expert on the dark arts. That‘s how you act. But…you’re not, are you? Look at how upset you are. You can‘t even kill a rat. Not twice, anyway.”

“How many times must I tell you that Avada Kedavra is not a walk in the park?”

“So you’d have me believe.”

“It’s the truth! The Killing Curse is difficult. It’s not something to be done lightly. Get that through your thick head. Avada Kedavra is not a piece of cake.”

“Why do you keep doing that?” asked Harry, exasperated.

“What?”

“Using weird sayings. Walk in the park. Piece of cake. It‘s really annoying.”

Draco stared at him. “You are the most idiotic person I have ever met.”

“Likewise,” said Harry, although he really did not think Draco was idiotic in the least. He was frightening, perhaps, arrogant and strange, but also clever and conniving, in all the best and worst ways.

“Look,” Harry said. “We’ve been here an hour and we haven’t even had any showy sparks. Maybe we should…” He paused, suddenly feeling uncertain. “Er. I don’t know. Work together. If we both pointed our wands at the rat, if we both whispered Avada Kedavra…”

“The Killing Curse is a solitary act,” Draco said flatly, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You can’t know that for sure.”

“I do. If we even had a chance of pulling it off we’d have to have the same goals, equal purposes, identical minds… And in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly,”- Draco cleared his throat -“two peas in a pod.” He deliberately emphasized the saying, smiling as Harry sighed in annoyance. “Although,” added Draco, “we’re more alike than you’d ever admit.”

“Yes, we are,” agreed Harry, much to Draco’s surprise. “At least, we are in this moment. We both want to succeed in this spell, we both want to be able to do this, no matter what.” Harry steadied his gaze. “This isn’t just my issue, Malfoy, it’s yours too. You need to be able to pull this off. What would your father say if he knew how incompetent you’re capable of being? Maybe the question isn’t so much what he’d say as what he’d do. Lucius Malfoy is not someone I‘d call a nice man. Why do I get the feeling that he already thinks you can perform the Killing Curse effortlessly?”

“Ooh,” crowed Draco. “Manipulation! You’re learning, Potter. You really are.”

Harry frowned. Was Malfoy right? Was he really being manipulative, simply stating a fact he thought would set Malfoy off? Yes, that was manipulation, but was manipulation to be condemned? Not, Harry decided, when it was being used for good. Successfully pulling off the spell, even with Malfoy’s help, would bring Harry one step closer to avenging Sirius Black, one step closer to being the hero everyone was waiting for him to truly become.

After all, killers kill but so do heroes. And Harry knew deep down that no matter how much his morals were praised outwardly, inwardly the wizarding world wanted blood. Casualties were increasing and the so-called strange disappearances were now so commonplace they could hardly be called strange. The numbers were piling up. The days of praising strength of heart and strong values were drawing to a close.

It was action that mattered now, Harry knew, action and justice and a righteous deliverance from evil. A deliverance that called for blood and the purification of a screwed up world, no matter what means were used to achieve this purification.

The world was calling for a new sort of hero and nobody was stepping up, not the idolized celebrities and Quidditch players, nor the Ministry. Even Dumbledore was lying low, conducting his own affairs against Voldemort in secrecy.

Harry had never asked to be a hero. He had never asked for the adoration of fans, or the admiration from the wizarding world. He hadn’t wanted this, not originally, but life seemed to care very little for what Harry wanted. So here he was, and Sirius was dead and now the world was asking him to prove that his hero status was not a fluke, and dammit, he wanted to prove it, not just for the world but for himself.

He wanted the danger and the darkness and the thrill, and if he turned out to be nothing but one more lost teenager… There would be nothing left but unfulfilled cravings for vengeance and danger and a darkness that would have no real outlet in the ordinary existence of a boy. The danger that Harry had grown used to could only thrive in the life of a hero or a villain. Right now, Harry seemed to be the former but everyday the two opposites seemed more and more the same.

“Let’s try the spell together,” Harry murmured finally. “I don’t like you, Malfoy, but you said you would teach me and you’re the only person I can turn to. Anyone else would…”

“Be appalled that the noble Harry Potter dreamed of death?”

“I don’t dream of it.”

“They’d be shocked if they knew,” said Draco confidingly. “The golden hero fading to a lackluster grey… The world’s not ready for that. Not yet.”

“Please,” Harry said, almost desperately. “Let’s just try the spell together.”

They both pointed their wands at the rat who was now magically bound to the desk. Then they looked sideways at each other.

“Er,” said Harry. “Would it work better if we, I don’t know…Maintained physical contact or something?”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “Is that a fancy way of saying you want to grope me? Nice try, Potter.” He turned his gaze back to the rat. “Ready?”

“Yeah, okay. On three then.”

Draco gave his nod of assent. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Avada Kedavra,” they hissed, their words swimming together.

It seemed a shadowed veil had lifted between their minds. Harry felt as if he and Draco were two puzzle pieces that someone was trying repeatedly to slam together. The dimness of the classroom was replaced by a golden light that was rapidly changing into the blinding green flames of Avada Kedavra.

Suddenly Harry understood. They had done it, they had almost done it… The spell was here, lingering in a half space, almost fully formed, simply lurking in their-

Harry felt a chill run through him. The spell was lurking in their minds.

He stared, began to whisper hurriedly. “Move forward. Forward. Forward.” He heard Draco echo his whispers.

If only they could get it, if only they could push the beginning of the spell into existence, into a reality where it could take form and cause damage… Where were they now? Some shaky place in between action and reaction. Their minds were connected by the light of the Killing Curse and together they were trying to force the spell into being.

What’s happening… Draco’s words drifted through Harry mind.

Don’t think about it! Concentrate! Get the spell out of your head! Force it to-

But it was too late. With this exchange the light from a half-formed Avada Kedavra began to fade. For a moment there was utter darkness and all Harry knew was Draco’s mind next to his. He felt his own thoughts reach out and slip around Draco’s, felt their minds not only meeting, but melding…

And then it was over and they were again in a dimly lit classroom. With a jolt Harry’s mind left Malfoy’s and he suddenly felt very much alone, frozen. Both boys stared at each other as if their eyes had never met before.

“I’m…cold,” Draco said uncertainly, rubbing his hands together. He paused, shook himself. “I told you we were too different for the spell to work.”

“But not as different as I thought we were. You told me that too,” Harry said slowly. "It’s almost worked, Malfoy. For a minute it was like we were one person. Do you know what? I’m cold as well. Your…your mind, your thoughts, it was almost as if they all belonged to-”

“Me.”

“I was going to say me.”

Shaky frowns.

“My thoughts belong to no one, Potter, least of all you. I’m not even sure if they belong to myself.”

“Are you sure about that?” His voice was soft. “Are you sure that I didn’t just claim your thoughts for my own, in the Killing Curse‘s light? That your thoughts are no longer possessed by me?”

Silent shivers.

“Perhaps it was your thoughts I claimed,” Draco whispered. “Perhaps all your thoughts are mine and you won’t ever even know it…”

“Oh, I’d know it,” Harry said.

They were cold. It was nighttime and the air would have been chilled, except that it was spiced with an unsatisfying warmth.

They were cold and their minds were empty and their thoughts were bare and frozen.

“I’d know it.”

Their lips met.

It was need, plain and simple. It was cold, it was October, they were alone in their minds and they were half-frozen, just like the half-frozen curse they had almost brought to life.

They tried to bring each other to warmth again, chilled skin against chilled skin. They became heated with the friction between their bodies. They took in the other’s breath, savoring. Harry could feel the world shredding to pieces around him, could sense the new world being built, a world casting shadows of green light. Harry thought for a moment that he could hear the ocean in Draco’s breathing. Then, if he listened even harder, he could hear silence. A world of nothingness.

Death.

They were building a world of death.

Harry shoved Draco away from him, suddenly and swiftly. Naturally, logic being what it is, a moment later they began kissing more feverishly than ever, ending up on the ground.

Their hands grasped folds of robes. The cloth seemed immaterial once they touched each other’s skin, which was warm again. It was more real and substantial than anything else this night.

Draco’s finger tips danced lightly across the scar on Harry’s forehead. “And here,” he murmured into Harry’s mouth with what breath he had left, “here lies the scar that came to you as an infant, the scar that rendered you a god. A child to a god, in one swift breath…”

He smiled.

“Such a transformation,” Draco went on, “all caused by one simple…jagged…line.”

Draco dug his nails into the scar, began tracing along it’s path. Harry winced as Draco coldly dragged his fingers down the scar. He didn’t move away, only looked at Draco stonily.

“You’re hurting me.”

“I know,” Draco replied absentmindedly. “You’re flinching underneath me.”

The scar was not very large but somehow the moment seemed to last forever. Harry felt his eyes and nose and lips diminished until all that seemed to exist of his face was a ghastly scar, and Draco’s fingers tracing it, sending waves of pain and fire coursing through Harry's blood.

Here lies the scar that came to you as an infant, the scar that rendered you a god.

“You think that I’m a god?” whispered Harry.

“No,” replied Draco. “I think that you’re a myth.”

Sweat-drenched silence. Harry waited until Draco’s fingers had left the scar, waited until the pain had subsided. When Draco moved his hand to Harry’s waist however, Harry stood up and walked away. Draco stood up as well, watching.

“Did I hurt you just now?” Draco asked, looking more curious than worried. “When I went over your scar?”

“Some.”

“You didn’t like it?”

“Didn’t say that.”

“No, you didn’t.” Then Draco said, almost brightly, “You were moaning.”

Harry felt himself blush. He thought he might be sick. He hadn’t been able to hear himself amidst the roaring flames in his mind. It thoroughly disturbed him, the idea that his mind and body had been so aflame, so disconnected, he could not even hear the sounds uttered from his own lips. He said, “We can’t allow this, Malfoy.”

“We just did.” Draco liked seeing Harry glare.

“Well, pretend that we didn’t. Pretend that between us there is nothing but hate.”

“That’s all there ever was in the first place. The funny thing is, our hate is so strong that it can even power-”

“If you say love I will destroy you.”

“I wasn’t going to say love,” Draco said, petulant. “I was going to say desire. Never chalk desire up to love, Potter.”

Harry sighed. Mentioning love around Draco Malfoy. Never good. “Look,” said Harry wearily. “Let’s just forget about this.”

“Ah, I see,” said Draco. “This song and dance once more. Pretend there‘s nothing here but cold indifference. Liar.”

“You’re telling me you want there to be something more between us?!” cried Harry. “You’re telling me you, you like this?”

“I like anything that makes you feel like you’re in hell, Potter.”

And, Harry had to admit, he did feel like he was in hell. Only he also felt like hell was the most wonderfully exciting and addictive place around.

Harry turned his attentions back to Draco. “So you’re only doing this,” he said, not quite sure what ‘this’ was, “to get me upset?”

Draco nodded and Harry shook his head in disbelief. “Right, Malfoy. Don’t lecture me about being a liar. What you just said is a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Come now, don’t flatter yourself. I only kiss you because it kills you.”

“And you’re too weak and incompetent to kill me with a wand or a knife or even with your own hands.”

“That’s not true. It’s simply more fun this way, like a round of torture, watching you die a little each time I touch you…”

“Is that what you mistake the look of disgust for? Death?” A pause. “I mean it this time, Malfoy. Don’t touch me again. You want to kill me, do it with your own wand. Until then, don’t lay a finger on me.”

“Fine,” said Draco airily. “See how long you can stand it. See how long until you crack. We can make it a game.” Draco gave Harry a particularly malicious smile. “If you’re done with this routine, shall we try doing the Killing Curse together again? We almost had it, I could sense it, Potter.”

Harry shook his head. “No more.”

Draco looked surprised. “Ever?”

“No, just tonight. Tomorrow we will come here again and practice. But we won’t practice together, only side by side.”

“I thought you wanted to master the spell! We were so close-”

“Yes, we were,” said Harry, and Draco realized he didn’t mean the spell. “We were too close and that’s not going to happen again. We’ll take turns killing the rats and we’ll watch each other and learn from each other but we will not touch one another unless the touch is to kill.”

“Every single time I touch you, it’s to kill,” Draco murmured softly. Harry said nothing, only looked at Draco before finally gathering up the invisibility cloak. He walked out the door.

“Eleven o’clock tomorrow?” Draco called after him.

“Midnight,” Harry shot back and then he threw on the cloak and was gone.

~~~

Harry was annoyingly true to his word. He didn’t touch Draco, didn’t speak to Draco except when it was necessary, and he refused to perform Avada Kedavra with Draco’s help. Every time Harry even considered saying the spell with Draco, he saw again a world of death and darkness. More frightening yet, he remembered how it felt to be so close to Draco’s mind, his thoughts, his wishes… He had felt as if he could simply reach out and scoop the dreams from Malfoy’s head.

There was a feeling of too much power and the scariest part of all was that Harry was drawn to it. The magnetic pull had become so strong, Harry was terrified and decided that he would never set himself in such a situation again.

Despite a few feeble protests, on the whole Draco was relieved that they didn’t try the spell together again. He had been lost in that moment, settled into a confusion. They had not performed the spell correctly, yet even in a half-formed state, the Killing Curse had wound their minds together in a loop. If their minds had been so close after performing the spell incorrectly, what would happen if they did it right? Draco had a suspicion that their minds might just become one in the same, and the thought of losing so much control scared him witless, kept him awake at night.

It was only fear that stopped them from repeating their cooperation on the Killing Curse, although they would never admit this to each other.

Months went by and still they were unsuccessful. Night after night they would meet, try the spell, and fail. Sometimes they would not try the spell at all. They would bring their homework to the small classroom, do it in the silence of each other’s company.

Other times they would look up from their parchment and stare at one another, as if having a captivating conversation without saying a word. Harry grew to almost enjoy these evenings, even though they were not always the most productive.

Harry also knew that if he did not show up each night, even if their meeting was for but a minute, it would be like losing to Malfoy. He did not forget Draco’s comment about the game between them. Who could go the longest without cutting the tension between them, who could go the longest without breathing in the other’s scent? How long could they last without the other’s touch, taste, without the other‘s assaults or caresses?

Harry and Draco showed up at the empty classroom each night, as if proving to each other that they had withstood another day and were none the worse. The looks they exchanged were never of longing, only of a quiet intensity. If there was any strong desire between them, and there surely was, they admitted it only to themselves and never to each other.

Harry eventually told Ron and Hermione about Sirius Black’s death. They were upset. They cried. Harry did too, once, but he never felt like that was enough. Ron vowed that the Death Eaters who did this would pay, and Hermione added with a sniffle that she was sure the Ministry would find out what had happened and find whoever had murdered Sirius. Strangely, The Daily Prophet did not once mention Sirius’s death. Harry, Ron and Hermione all found this very suspicious.

“I can’t think of why they wouldn’t mention it,” Hermione said thoughtfully, one early evening in the common room. It was the beginning of March, months after Sirius had died. “I mean, even though Snuffles… I mean, Sirius,” she added, remembering that there was no need for security now, “even though Sirius never got his name cleared, it’s still a big deal, isn‘t it? He was a killer on the loose, after all. People would want to know that he’s…” She lowered her voice to what she hoped was a respectful tone.. “That he’s dead. They’d be relieved, feel a bit more safe.”

Ron‘s eyes lit up. “Or maybe,” he gushed, “maybe Sirius isn’t even dead! Maybe Dumbledore only said that to make it so Sirius had even less chance of being found. Or maybe Dumbledore just thinks Sirius is dead but really he’s alive and he’ll turn up soon! Maybe that‘s why the Prophet hasn‘t reported anything!” Ron looked up triumphantly. “Because there isn't any body!”

Harry looked away quickly. Hermione fixed Ron with a stern look and he deflated, looking down at the floor.

“Never mind,” Ron mumbled.

Harry excused himself to bed earlier than usual that night. He threw on the invisibility cloak and came back down to the common room. Ron and Hermione still sat by the fire, talking over their homework, absentmindedly holding hands. Harry smiled and his gaze drifted to Ginny, who was sitting with several friends from her year, Colin Creevey among them. Harry quietly tiptoed over.

“Wait until you see these, just wait!” Colin was saying enthusiastically. He was opening a book, and from it spilled many photographs which littered the table. Harry saw Ginny’s eyes widen.

“D’you like them?” said Colin, bouncing on the balls of his feet before sitting down again. “I think they’re rather fetching myself! But of course,” he added modestly, “I took them.”

“These…” Ginny began as several girls in her year giggled behind their hands. “These are all of me?”

“Most of them!” Harry craned his neck . They were indeed of Ginny, Ginny smiling nervously, or concentrating hard in class, or laughing, or bent over her homework. Harry had never been in a class with Ginny and it felt strange to watch her gazing into space as McGonagall lectured the fifth year students.

“I’ve never had a picture taken of just me, alone,” Ginny said softly, gazing at herself. “There were always so many other people around.”

“Never had a picture of you, just by yourself?” exclaimed Colin, as if this were akin to not liking chocolate. “Gee. Well, now you have dozens!”

“Wow, Colin.” Ginny was beaming. “Wow. This is just so impressive!”

Harry thought it was rather creepy himself.

Still, he was glad to see Ginny happy. He was aware that on occasion he did neglect her. He made a note to spend more time with her, but this thought slid away as he slipped out of the Gryffindor common room when another student entered. He turned several corners and hurried down stairs until he reached the second floor. This was where Dumbledore’s office resided, and this was where Harry and Draco often met as it was nearly always completely empty, solitary in its silence. It was also only one staircase away from the classroom they used. The boys had decided never to meet in the abandoned classroom. They were wary of drawing attention to the place.

Draco stepped out from behind a statue as he spotted Harry, and Harry threw the invisibility cloak over them both. It was a few minutes before ten o’clock.

“You’re very early,” Draco said into Harry’s ear.

“So are you.”

They began walking to the staircase when Harry grabbed Draco’s wrist and stopped him. “Shh,” he said. “Listen.” Angry voices floated down the echoing hall, and Harry and Draco both clearly heard someone say “Potter”.

They backtracked down the hallway until they got to Dumbledore’s office. Next to the stone gargoyle stood Dumbledore and Professor Lupin. Harry looked on in surprise. He had not seen Lupin at all in the months since Sirius’s death.

“I won’t leave, Professor!” Lupin was saying, in a hushed but angry voice. “He has to know, I’ll tell him myself-”

“No,” said Dumbledore, looking anxious. “Remus, I appreciate your concern in the boy but we cannot do this to him! Now we've discussed this quite enough in my office, if you would kindly-”

“Harry has every right to know! He was his godfather, for God’s sake! The only true family he had.” Draco felt Harry tense.

“I refuse to place such a burden on Harry,” said Dumbledore. “It would only confuse his loyalties. This incident has confused even my own!”

“You have no loyalties to anything but the truth, Professor.”

“I wish it was that simple. I have pledged my loyalties to a cause, Remus. Please try to understand that.”

“A cause?” replied Lupin sarcastically. “Do you truly think the Ministry is worth all that?”

“The Ministry is a well-meaning, albeit muddled, organization.” Dumbledore took on a pained expression. “I disagree with it, yes. It infuriates me, true. But my dear boy, at the moment it’s all we’ve got! If we do not keep the Ministry on our side, if we do not stay united, we might as well give up right now.”

“The Ministry is a joke!” cried Remus, angrier than Harry had ever seen him. “Sirius was an important aid against Voldemort, he captured several Death Eaters and delivered them to you in the past year. Don’t you value such an important source? A source which is now gone because of them?!”

“Of course I valued Sirius, but what‘s done is done, Remus. My focus now lies in uniting our forces against Voldemort. Harry is an important part of that force. If the boy is not behind my plans, if he‘s not there to rally the people into coming together and fighting…”

“Surely you don’t plan on putting Harry into such a position of leadership.”

“I plan on nothing, Remus. Harry is an individual and it would be foolish to base my plans on choices that are his. However, I do believe strongly that with him as a figurehead for our side, people will unite. They see so much in Harry. He represents hope to them, he represents the end of dark times and the beginning of light. He’s represented such ever since he was one year old. If he is not on our side, one hundred percent-”

“On our side or the Ministry’s side, you mean?” snapped Lupin. “Sirius Black is dead because of them.”

“It really was not all the Ministry’s fault,” said Dumbledore calmly. “If only I had tried harder, convinced them… Because I did try, you know.” And for a moment Dumbledore looked very sad. “I tried to tell them and I tried to warn Sirius… They didn’t believe me. They didn’t believe that Sirius was on our side, refused to understand that sometimes not everything is black and white.”

“And because the Ministry is colorblind, Sirius is dead,” Lupin murmured softly. “They didn’t even listen to you, Professor! They couldn’t believe the story, they wouldn’t believe in one of my very best friends. Killed in cold blood because they thought him to be a threat. And then they cover the whole thing up! Even the Prophet was bribed not to discuss it, not to spread any rumors… Professor, the Ministry is corrupt! How can you support them after what they‘ve done?”

“I give them my allegiance because without them, we are dead. Or worse! How many times must I tell you that? What will it take to make you understand?!”

Lupin looked down in the face of Dumbledore’s anger. “All right. I won’t question your trust in the Ministry, though I by no means agree with it. Just…Please. Tell Harry. He deserves to know what happened to Sirius. We owe at least that to old Padfoot’s memory, don’t you think?”

“The truth will do nothing but confuse him,” said Dumbledore more patiently. “I need Harry on our side. You can separate yourself from the Ministry if you like, Remus, but Harry cannot. He’s too important, too vital to our fight. I won’t allow you to make him question his place in the scheme of things.”

“So you will lie to him,” said Lupin coldly. “Fine! Fine. I won’t say a word to Harry, but I want you to know that I’m completely against all of this.”

“Please,” said Dumbledore wearily, “keep your voice down. Let me escort you to your carriage.”

They walked away together and Harry held his breath until their footsteps could no longer be heard. He could feel Draco’s eyes scrutinizing him.

“What?” Harry hissed as he turned around.

“Do you want to go to our classroom?” asked Draco, almost kindly.

“Yeah, okay.” Harry’s eyes seemed to be burning but he said the words casually.

They walked up to the classroom which they now thought of as their own It had a lived-in feel to it, rolls of parchment and spilt bottles of ink, a few spare robes for the occasions when Harry or Draco would accidentally fall asleep in the tiny room.

“You okay, Potter? It doesn’t really make a difference of course, but…Well, are you?”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it was just then,” said Harry, his voice completely steady, “not to take out my wand and kill Dumbledore right there, on the spot? I would have, I think. If I knew how to perform the Killing Curse, Dumbledore would be dead on the floor right now.”

Draco tried to laugh. “Please. Dumbledore is so old you don’t even need a spell to finish him off. You could jump out at him in a clown costume and he’d die of fright.” Draco chuckled at the imagery but Harry remained somber.

“He lied to me, Malfoy! Do you know, that hurts worse than knowing Sirius is dead? Sirius didn’t even die the honorable death he deserved. He died at the hands of the Ministry. Dumbledore always told me they were good.”

“It’s propaganda,” said Draco. He felt a fierce anger as he watched the helpless expression on Harry‘s face. “All of it. You heard it yourself. Dumbledore needs you to think the Ministry is some blessed home of truth or whatever. He needs you to lead the way in his fight.”

“Why me?” Harry asked, his voice cracking. “Why me?”

“Because you’re Harry Potter,” Draco said simply.

“Bloody brilliant reasoning, that is. I had faith in Dumbledore, I trusted him to no end and…That’s all gone now. All of it.” Harry kicked a chair and it toppled over. For a moment he wanted to run to Draco, wanted to grab him and watch this world fall apart as they built a new one together. Why couldn’t he just give up on this world?

He said none of this to Draco, only glowered and muttered “Let’s find some rats or something.”

“You’re not concentrating,” reprimanded Draco. “Your mind is all over the place. You could never perform the spell tonight.”

“It’s not like it makes much of a difference,” said Harry. “We’ve been trying for months and still haven’t succeeded.”

Draco sighed. “Why don’t you…I don’t know. Go back to your Gryffindors. Talk to your little pals, let them pat you on the back. I‘m being sincere, Potter. I think that‘s what you need.”

“What I need is you,” Harry said quietly.

His eyes rose to meet Draco’s. A quiet fury and need lurked within them.

Draco looked down. “Please don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because the moment you start talking like that, I know we’re in trouble. You hate me, remember?”

“Yes. But hate is something I understand. It’s clear and simple. Everything else I’m feeling now… It‘s so complicated, endless…” Harry shook himself. “Dumbledore was right. I’m not ready to deal with this.”

“Don’t say that.” There was true anger in Draco’s voice. “Dumbledore is not right. Dumbledore is an idiot. Dumbledore is a manipulative man and Dumbledore is wrong about you. He’s underestimated you. Do you know that’s the most dangerous thing you can do? It’s one thing to underestimate your enemies, but never underestimate your friends.”

“But I wasn’t his friend, don’t you see? I was his project, the clay with which he molded some stupid symbol. And the Ministry! They claim to have such high morals, claim to be on the side of right, yet they‘ve murdered Sirius without a second glance and Dumbledore has lied to me. He said it was Death Eaters. I‘m sick of playing to the role which they‘ve cast me in!”

Draco watched Harry cautiously. It was disturbing to hear the less than eloquent Harry Potter rattle off metaphors with ease, and it was equally disturbing to see him so visibly shaken. Draco remained silent.

“Well?!” cried Harry. “Why so quiet? I’d think you’d be bursting with I-told-you-so’s and criticisms. After all, you were right. All I’ve been living in is a hero’s dream world. Isn’t that what you said? Tell me Malfoy, did you take into account what it would be like for me to wake up out of that dream?”

“No,” said Draco. “But I suspect it’s like a nightmare.”

“It’s worse than that, because it’s all reality. There’s nothing to awaken from in reality, and real life is tougher than any nightmare.” Harry glared. “Are you glad I’ve woken up, Malfoy? Have you been waiting for this day so that you could laugh in my face?”

“Ha. Ha,” said Draco dryly. “Potter, you’re getting too worked up.” Watching Dumbledore’s greatest fan twist himself into a frenzy of anger was not as much fun as it sounded. “Go back to your little tower, get some rest.”

“No. We’re going to get the spell to work, once and for all.”

“What if the only way to get it to work is to try it together again?”

Harry frowned, torn.

“Exactly,” said Draco. He paused. “I’m going to bed. Meet me outside the Great Hall after supper tomorrow.”

Harry looked so startled that for a moment he forgot to look angry. “After supper?”

“I’ve got something planned.”

“A romantic getaway?” Harry scoffed.

Draco actually smiled. “Something like that.”

~~~

The sun was setting when Harry met Draco that night. It was not a glorious sunset, but a sunset that seemed stuck in between the tail of Winter and the awkward start of Spring. The grey lining of the sky now had a slightly rosy tint, but besides that it certainly was nothing too spectacular.

Harry caught his breath anyway.

Draco was skimming the clouds on a broomstick, flashes of golden-white hair catching the dying sunlight. When an errant breeze hit him, Draco only grinned and flew straight into it.

Harry stared. He had rarely, if ever, seen Malfoy flying above him. In the Slytherin matches against houses other than Gryffindor, Harry was too busy watching for weaknesses to really look, to really see Draco fly.

Suddenly, Draco glanced down. His eyes met Harry's and a moment later he sped out of sight.

Harry blinked, dumbfounded. Did Malfoy want to meet or not?

Five minutes later Harry caught sight of Draco once more. He was holding something and as he drew closer Harry recognized it. It was his own broomstick.

He grabbed Draco by the collar as soon as he landed. “Where did you get that?! It's mine.”

“From your room. The window was open. I flew in. I found it.”

“You went through my stuff?!”

“Like I haven’t before. How do you think I got the invisibility cloak from you?”

“So you were in my room. Going through my belongings.”

“Oh, don’t throw a fit.” Draco quickly changed the subject, not anxious to recount the night he slept next to Harry in his bed. He didn’t want to speak of those flickering images and emotions, not to himself and definitely not to Harry. He threw the broom at Harry, hard, but Harry caught it. “In any case, you were just brimming with glowering anger yesterday. Fun as it was to watch, it’s not very productive. I won’t have your little temper tantrums distracting me from carrying out Avada Kedavra correctly. I thought a bit of flying might help you relax.” He added casually, “I‘d be coming along.”

“You? Well, if you're there, then there’s no chance of relaxation.”

“Do I excite you that much, Potter?” Draco gave a wicked smirk.

“Shut up. I meant that you were stressful.” A pause. "Do you remember," said Harry suddenly, "when we were up there before and we started to, er, fight." That had been less than a year ago? Why did it seem as if that had happened in another life time?

"Of course I remember."

"I...I don't want to do that again, Malfoy. I promised myself that I wouldn't."

Draco gave a sigh of impatience. "Potter, I'm alone with you in a dark room just about every night. If I wanted a snog I think I'd have taken my chances by now!"

But Harry still looked uncertain. He was remembering the boundless sky, the way the world had seemed a translucent mirror within Malfoy's eyes...

He wasn't sure if he was ready for that again. He looked up at Draco, uncertain.

“Get on the broom,” Draco ordered.

“You can‘t tell me what to do.” But Harry reluctantly mounted his broom and took off, Draco following shortly behind him. Higher and higher they went, until the clouds and the sky were swallowing them whole and they became nothing more than a vagrant ray of the setting sun.

Harry squinted down at the ground. The world there seemed to be made of bits and pieces, a nonsensical mess of dots that never formed a whole. That was the problem with it, thought Harry, you could never see the big picture in a world where every human insisted on painting their own separate design.

In the sky everything was precise and full. The picture here made sense with a perfect simplicity, while the canvas of the world below burned away into oblivion. The sky did not make Harry forget; rather it made everything he remembered seem worth forgetting.

Draco was laughing at the dying day, soaking in the uncertain March air. His laugh was contagious and Harry began to grin.

“Do you see,” said Draco, “how desolate everything is on the ground? Empty and bare?”

“Yeah,” replied Harry with a smile. “And up here in the sky, everything seems so full of life and yet we are the only ones living!”

“Not the only ones living,” Draco corrected with a playful grin.

“Who else?” Harry cried out happily. "Who else breathes this air but us?"

“Well, there are always the birds,” said Draco teasingly. He gestured with one hand to a far away flock of geese who were passing by noisily.

“Not any more.” Harry grinned to Draco and pointed his wand easily at one of the geese. “Avada Kedavra!” he called out, still grinning.

There was a rush of green light and suddenly the wind seemed to increase, just a bit. Harry and Draco watched, transfixed, as a black dot flying across the horizon suddenly froze in it’s place and began to plummet.

Down and down it fell, until it disappeared from view.

The two boys listened in silence to the upset squawks of the rest of the flock. After a moment, the geese began to pump their wings faster. They were not sure what had happened to their fallen comrade, but they sure weren’t going to wait around to find out.

“I killed it,” said Harry numbly. He was staring forward, mouth slightly opened. “I saw the color of it's feathers. I saw the words and it’s wings were flapping and then they weren’t and- And I could see it‘s wings, Draco.”

A beat.

“But not it’s eyes.”

“No.” Scarcely audible. “No, not it’s eyes.”

They watched as the geese traveled swiftly along the horizon.

“Want to have a go, then?” Harry asked suddenly, almost lightly.

“What?” said Draco, taken by surprise.

“At the geese. I reckon they’ll be out of range soon.”

“You mean you want me to-”

“Yes. Kill one of them. That is unless,” Harry's voice was carefully neutral, “you don’t think you can manage it.”

Draco frowned, then turned to the flock of geese. He took his wand and pointed it at one of them. He could feel Harry’s eyes, boring into the back of his neck. He felt the fierce edge of a contest that had goaded him into years of despising Harry, a competitive hatred that was relentlessly egged on by his fellow Slytherins and his own father. It had been a competition that Draco had wholeheartedly embraced because it was the only thing, besides himself, that interested Draco in the least.

Harry was watching him. Harry was testing him. Harry had killed and Draco knew word for word the question which Harry was wondering.

Could Draco keep up?

He took a deep breath and felt a moment of clarity. “Avada Kedavra,” Draco murmured into a wisp of cloud.

The two boys watched in a trance as a second bird fell, its wings at its side. There was another chorus of startled squawks, and then a trill of rapidly beating wings.

Draco tried to get his mouth to move, tried to make some scathing, mocking remark. No sound came from his lips, it seemed all words had left him, had burnt themselves to a crisp inside his throat. They died in the sky, just like that bird had.

Helplessly, Draco turned to face Harry, but Harry was already beside him, seizing Draco’s mouth roughly with his own. Harry's arm slipped around Draco's neck, his breath snatching away the ashes of all the words Draco had hoped to say.

Dusk fell and the remaining birds flew away.

---

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