The Girl in the Tower

The Girl in the Tower

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Part Four: Out of the Black
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Chapter Twenty-six: Home by the Sea

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"Don't peek." Harry smiled as he tied a silk scarf around Sara's eyes. It was hot in the cottage this time of year and he was anxious to get outside. When he was sure she couldn't see at all, Harry took her hand and led her into the bright morning sunshine.

Sara, her hair reflecting a golden halo of light, was barefoot and wearing a pretty white cotton sundress, which Harry thought looked much more comfortable than his t-shirt and denim shorts. He was sweating from being inside and wished he'd thought to come earlier and cool the place off as he led her down the path to the house. The sweet scent of roses and a mingling of other flowers perfumed the air, stirred by salty breezes drifting in from the channel.

Harry stopped where the path left the trees and opened onto the house's front lawn. The drive curved off to the left and the whole of the entrance sprawled before them in all its splendor. Holding his breath, Harry removed the blindfold.

Sara gasped, her eyes wide in amazement. "Merlins, Harry!" she whispered. "Am I dreaming?"

Harry smiled, pleased with himself. "No, you're not dreaming."

"I can't believe what I'm seeing!"

The house was enormous - a mansion to be sure - with plenty of flat rooftop and the little tower they'd planned rising into the air at one corner, situated right on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the water. The entrance was a garden straight out of the most beautiful of dreams, with immaculate little umbrella trees, entwined with morning glory vines and everywhere were blooms in a thousand shades of purple, pink and blue. White hydrangeas and roses lined the iron fence, the gate of which rose fifteen feet and displayed their crest on each wing. A stone walkway wound its way through the center of it all.

"I should have asked you about putting the reflecting pool right in the front yard, but I just had to hope you would like it."

Sara grabbed his face and gave him a big, enthusiastic kiss. "I love it." She grinned. "You built the house! Harry I can't believe this is real! Let's go!" She ran a few steps, then returned and threw her arms around him, crushing the air from his lungs and, just as quick, she was running up the walk, dragging him along by the hand. "Come on!" She laughed. "Hurry up!"

Sara grinned her way to the front gate and pulled it open, the skirt of her dress billowing out behind her. She hurried though the lovely gardens, trying hard to take it all in on the way to the entrance and came to a stop at the step, the smile fading away, replaced by anxious confusion.

Harry saw what she was looking at and dropped his eyes to the ground, letting go of her hand and turning his back. The memory of that night still haunted him, anger darkened his brow and he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Why did you do this? Harry, why did you paint the doors black?" She couldn't take her eyes from it. It was troubling just to look at. Not only was it poorly done, just slopped on and bare in places, but black paint stained the stone block all around the door. It coated the windows and even the knob. Great splotches of dried paint splattered the floor of the porch. In fact, the hardened brush and open paint can sat nearby, forgotten. "Harry?"

He spoke with his back turned, pretending to admire the view of the reflecting pool beyond the garden. "Sara, do you have any idea how it felt for me when you returned the ring?"

She fell silent at his words, her eyes on the door, painful understanding darkening her countenance. "No," she whispered. "Only how it felt to send it." Sara turned and rested her head against his back, her arms slipped around him. "Tell me."

"I understood all of it, you know. Why you had to leave, why you couldn't see anyone or accept our letters. I don't hold any of that against you. But the ring was a deathblow. It was over, I thought. My life ripped to shreds, my heart bleeding, and none of it made any sense. I died inside that night, Sara. And this house was the symbol of all that I'd lost."

"I'm so sorry," she managed as her silent tears stained his shirt. "I wanted to do what was right. I never meant to hurt you."

He spun on her so suddenly that Sara stumbled back a step with a sharp breath.

His voice was thunderous, his eyes angry and injured. "Then why did you do it?!" he shouted. "Did I not matter in the end? Did you really think turning your back on me, leaving me with nothing but a cold apology was the right thing to do?"

"That's not how it was!" Her hands cradled her face, her shoulders slumped. "I couldn't go on! Didn't Nikolae show you what I had become? What good was I to you? To anybody?" She paused as Harry's eyes softened. "You said you died inside that night. I was already dead. The blackness that consumed me consumed my faith as well. Harry, I've never known such despair! If it wasn't for Nikolae..." She turned away in painful frustration. He could never understand.

"Did you no longer love me? Do you love me now?"

"You know I do. You were there last night. I thought I'd made my feelings for you clear."

Harry's anger melted away at the mention of the night. His arms went around her and she buried her face in his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I thought my life was over. I thought I could never be happy again, but then he made me see that I couldn't be happy because I wasn't with you."

"You're home now. That's all that matters. Yes, I'm angry, but these things take time I guess. It would be foolish for us to think things could go right back to normal."

"I tried to tell you..."

"I know, but at that moment I didn't want to listen. We'll get through it all. Just don't leave again."

"I promise you, Harry." She lifted her tear stained face to look him in the eye. "I'll never leave you."

He pulled her closer and hugged her to his chest. He hated it when she cried - especially when it was because of him - but there was no rain today. Not a drop. In fact, the bright morning sun shone down on them.

"Come on," he said and took her hand. "Let's go inside."

* * *

"It's beautiful, Harry." Sara stepped through the tall glass doors that led into the courtyard. "It's like a painting."

Harry removed the spell that frosted the glass of every surrounding window, which he'd cast while Sara was admiring the lobby. He wanted to show her the rest of the house first and save this for the grand finale. Harry smiled as he watched her, standing stock-still, gazing around in delighted wonder, her fingers touching the Fortificus Charm.

Sara wanted to cry with the beauty of it all. The emerald velvet grass, littered with flower petals stirring in the breeze, dozens of trees alive with tiny purple blooms, violets everywhere and pinkish moonlight roses nestled amid purple flowers of every description. Little tufts of blue forget-me-nots vied with dark green vines for ground cover and added a glorious touch of cool to the warmth of the gardens.

In the corners were the mythical and fictional statues she'd had carved from fine Italian marble and scattered here and there were the intricate benches she'd sent, cut from the same material. In the center, like a pinnacle to the rest, was the fountain she'd dreamed of for many years. Frodo Baggins, her favorite storybook hero, stood steadfast and noble upon his pedestal, surrounded by jets of water tinkling like chimes into the pool below. The Ring on a chain around his neck, cloak cast over one shoulder, his soft curls frozen forever in stone. One brave hand rested meaningfully on the hilt of his sword, Sting. Frodo's eyes gazed upward, toward Mount Doom perhaps, or some formidable foe soon to be defeated.

"We're like him, you know," Sara said without turning as Harry arrived by her side. "Little people, gentle in nature and with our own burdens to bear. We, too, bend under its weight, but somehow persevere through the help of our friends." She took his hand. "Yet, in the end, we all stand alone."

Harry stared across at the bench he'd occupied the night he had related the ring he'd worn around his own neck to that of Frodo Baggins'.

"Harry?" She turned to look at him. "When can we move in?"

"Well, I don't know. There's no furniture except the stuff you sent."

"That's easily remedied. We'll stay in the cottage while we do our shopping. And Harry? Do you still want to marry me? Even after the conversation we had on the front step? I'll understand if you want to wait and see how things go."

"Of course I do! Sara, just because we have some things to work through it doesn't mean we aren't totally meant for each other. What does your palm tell you?"

She looked at it and was relieved to find no more rings where the lines separated. "That you'll never leave me."

"August first? Does that date suit you?"

"Are you serious? That's not enough time!"

"No more waiting, remember?"

"You want to have a nice wedding, don't you? Of course, we could get married in street clothes with whatever guests we can scrounge up, if that's what you prefer but, to be honest, I rather pictured something a bit more elaborate."

"Okay, fourteenth August. It's a Saturday and it will give us two more weeks to get everything ready." He helped her onto a bench and put his arm around her. She rested against his shoulder.

"I think it could be accomplished." Sara smiled, dreamy. "I'll need a dress and so will Hermione, Susan and Mary. I don't know who else I would have. Where do you think we should have the ceremony?"

"Hogwarts." Harry grinned. "And we'll have the party here afterward. That way all our friends can see our new house at last."

"We'll have to show a few people before that, you know. Ron, Hermione, Uncle Albus. We need protective wards and he's the master. He knows the spells that protect Hogwarts."

"Agreed, and we'll need help decorating."

"Who will you have stand up for you?" Sara wondered.

"Ron, of course. Seamus, Neville."

"Perfect then."

Harry cleared his throat, unsure of how this suggestion would go over with her. "Sara? You've never been super close with Mary. I know you're friends and all, but I'd like to make a suggestion. There's someone who's a big part of our group, although I know how you feel about each other..."

"NO!" Sara's eyes grew wide. "Not Ginny!"

"She might refuse but, even if she does, at least you made the offer of friendship."

"Is it what you want?" Sara asked, eyes downcast, considering.

"Yes."

"Then I'll ask - tactless as it is - and I hope she says no."

"Thank you." He smiled and kissed her head. "It means a lot to me. To Ron and Hermione as well, I'm sure." Harry felt now was a good time for a change of subject. "I suppose you'll have Dumbledore walk you down the aisle?"

"No, actually. He'll perform the ceremony. There's someone else I had in mind."

"Please don't say Snape."

"Snape."

"Ugh. Is that really necessary?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Then I'll have Draco Malfoy as ring bearer."

"Now you're being ridiculous."

"Well, it's an equally horrible idea."

"Harry, Severus has always been there for me. I love him and he's been a wonderful friend. I don't see what's so horrible except the fact that you hate him."

"Whatever makes you happy."

"You make me happy."

Harry smiled as he looked at Sara, sunlight collecting in her hair and in her eyes. Just yesterday he'd thought he might never see her again. But here was his Sara, and his whole life had changed in an instant. Right when she'd walked through the door last night and, thankfully, interrupted dinner. Harry's eyes grew anguished as he recalled how she'd looked then, cracked, brittle hair that nearly touched the floor and black as death. Her once beautiful skin dry and matte, her face a testament to sadness.

She was his Sara again as he looked at her now, smiling and radiant, but the shadows had yet to leave her eyes. Something troubled lurked just behind them and it made Harry's heart ache.

Harry glanced at his father's watch. "Come on. We're set to meet Ron and Hermione in London in less than an hour."

Sara took his hand and he helped her up. "Of course, we'd better get ready." She followed half a step behind, still holding his hand.

Sara stopped and he turned to see fear underlying her countenance. "Harry? Let's just send an owl and schedule it for another day."

Harry gave an incredulous laugh. "You caught all those Death Eaters and you're afraid to see your own best friends? Sara! They can't wait to see you!"

"I'm terrified."

"Don't be. I promise, you won't be sorry you went."

"Are we going to tell them that we're getting married?"

"Well," Harry considered. "We're going need all the help we can get."

"Then I guess we'd better."

"We'll wait for the right time."

"Agreed." Sara held the door for him. Together, they hurried down the corridor of their new house.

* * *

Draco left his house for the first time in several days. It was only afternoon and he had no clear idea of where he was going, but he had to get out. He had been inside for so long that the bright sunshine hurt his eyes and he put on sunglasses as he slid into the cool of his limousine. To hell with Voldemort's orders, he thought. He would lay low when he felt like lying low. For now, he would get some lunch and maybe do a little shopping.

It was too hot for the silk shirt he wore, but Draco knew this when he'd put it on. His mother had always told him it was improper to wear short sleeves unless dressing casual and Draco never dressed casual, even in summer. When he was home, he would lounge around in a t-shirt and shorts, but not when he went out, even for lunch and shopping. Besides, the cooling charms he cast on his clothes always allowed his confidence to endure.

It was his father who'd told him an impeccable presentation was the key to success. Draco smiled as he thought that no one ever had faults to point out when it came to his appearance, except the fact that he appeared to have no faults.

So, here he was on a hot Saturday afternoon, riding in his air conditioned limo, wearing black trousers and a green silk shirt with his long platinum hair tied back, watching the Muggles go about their miserable, insignificant lives on the busy streets of London. His mind wasn't on Muggles, though. It was on a book that he'd helped steal a few days before. The man who carried it had died. And Voldemort now had Sara's book. Since Granger had turned hers into the ministry for safe keeping last year, and it had promptly disappeared, that was all four. Draco wondered what the dark lord planned to do with them.

Big Ben chimed 2pm in the distance and the limo pulled up to the Criterion's front entrance. The door opened and Draco slid across the seat, into the shade of the awning. He left his father's snake-headed cane - which he'd been carrying around since last year - in the car.

"A table in your darkest corner," he told the Maitre-d, matter-of-fact. "Where no one will see me, but I can see everyone else."

"Of course, sir," the stout, bald man replied. He had one of those annoying twisted-up mustaches that Draco wanted to grab and yank. "If you'll follow me, please."

Draco gave a gracious half-nod and took to staring at the shiny spot on the back of the man's head as they made their way across the room, which was unnaturally sparse of lunchtime patrons.

The table was to his liking and Draco ordered a glass of merlot, his preferred wine since his phase of defiance against his father, when he'd turned to Muggle luxuries just to infuriate him. He had always kept a bottle hidden in his room at home to help him get through his father's parties with his sanity intact. He had a nice collection of it at his house, too, and enjoyed a glass with dinner on occasion.

He added a salad and some pasta entrée that the waiter recommended. To tell the truth, he wasn't very hungry. Especially when he spotted Harry Potter and the Weasel walking in with Granger in tow, who was deep in what appeared to be an exciting and delightful conversation with Sara.

Draco didn't know Sara had returned and his heart leapt into his throat as his eyes lingered on her. She looked fabulous, he thought. Resplendent in a pretty white cotton sundress, her long golden hair twisted up and piled on her head in the general fashion of summer. She looked glamorous, yet casual and carefree and Draco wondered if she'd forgotten the fact that she was a murderer. It was his father's words that drifted into his thoughts at that moment. Impeccable presentation.

He wanted to talk to her in the worst way. He'd been thinking about the day they would meet again, as Sara had once predicted as she'd stood in his Hogwarts dorm room with tears in her eyes. Draco thought about the necklace she'd given him then, the Amidon that still felt warm against his skin where it lay under his shirt. The necklace which he had never removed since she'd placed it around his neck two years before. His fingers found it now, and pressed it closer against him.

He couldn't talk to her like this. Not while she sat at a table with the three amigos. He would feel foolish approaching them and decided against it. In his mental wanderings of this day, never once had Potter, Weasel, and Granger been part of the picture. When he finally spoke to her, it would be alone.

* * *

Draco sat in the back of the limo, watching through the tinted glass. Sara had gone into a bridal shop with Granger more than three hours before and had yet to emerge from it. He could only wonder who was getting married. Remembering the flashy diamond he'd seen from across the Criterion earlier, he had a good idea. His heart sank as he thought of this and resentment burned inside him.

Had he ever really liked Harry Potter? A part of him thought that he had, but really, they were just partners in misery for a time. If Sara chose a different course of action so long ago, he would never have spent a single night on the roof of the tower or stepped foot into Potter's house. It seemed more likely that Draco had used Potter as a crutch of sorts, someone to talk to who understood and nothing more. Besides, nearly two years had passed since he'd asked Harry for help and, as it stood, Voldemort still lived and breathed. He was still a Death Eater. He owed Harry Potter nothing.

Draco longed to see her. Every fiber of his being wanted to see her smile, which had always filled his stomach with butterflies, wanted to reach out and touch the softness of her hair, to remember what it was like to be in her presence. But not here. Not while she was shopping for her wedding dress - and with that foul Mudblood Granger around for that matter. He would just have to wait for that one moment when she would be alone long enough for him to 'bump into her'.

Draco lowered the muted glass by a switch beside his left hand. "Driver," he instructed. "Go into that cafe and get me a mocha latte. Don't be taking your time, either." Draco pressed several Muggle pounds into his hand. "Get yourself something as well. I don't want you falling asleep tonight."

"Yessir." The almost elderly chap leapt from the car and hurried away toward the coffee shop, pushing the money into his pocket as he went.

No sooner had his driver disappeared than Sara and Granger came out of the store and stood in animated conversation over some fabric swatches, their arms laden with bridal books and magazines.

* * *

Sara checked her locator. "It says they're drinking. They must be in that pub on the corner."

"Come on, then." Hermione grinned. "Before they're pickled."

Harry and Ron were perched on stools at the end of the bar, drinking pints and going over some fabric swatches of their own. They also had a small pile of catalogs and the girls added theirs to the top.

"How goes it?" Sara asked as she and Hermione took seats on either side of Ron and Harry.

"Mind boggling," Harry answered. "I thought tuxes were simple!"

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "They've got a bloody million in there and then there are accessories." He took a hearty gulp of beer. "Let's just wear dress robes and get it over with."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't be a spoilsport, Ron! It's a wedding, not the Yule Ball."

Ron mumbled something about his wedding, which Hermione ignored and Harry and Sara smirked at.

Hermione and Sara ordered sodas and sipped them through straws.

"So what are our plans from here?" Harry asked the others.

"Well," Ron answered. "What are our options?"

"Sara and I need to buy some furniture for the house, you still need to see it, and we have some planning that needs to be done. You could help us shop and then we'll hang out there for a while?"

"Gee, I thought we might be heading down to Slytherin Spirits later." Ron frowned.

"Well, we can if you want..." Harry began, but broke off when he saw what was coming.

Hermione's brow creased in annoyance. "Nonsense!" She gave Ron a cutting glare. "Harry, we would much rather see your new house, especially since we'll be having the reception there. We'll need to know what it looks like before we can start the planning." She shot another deadly glance at Ron. "We can go to Slytherin Spirits anytime!"

Ron gulped, embarrassed. "I just thought we should celebrate?"

Now Hermione smiled. "I think you're right! We could pick up a few bottles of champagne right down the street and we'll stop at the market, too. We can make dinner. Or we can get carry-out if that's easier."

"Right!" Sara said, her eyes alight. "The kitchen in the cottage has everything except food. And don't worry about champagne. I sent plenty home while I was gone."

"And if that doesn't suit you, Ron." Harry grinned. "I have enough swill to stock a warehouse. There's a whole room under the house packed full of it."

Hermione looked surprised at this. "Harry, that's not the best idea, you know. Light a match and there goes your new house."

Harry appeared to have never considered this before. "Good point. We'll serve as much as we can at the wedding then."

"Well, let's go." Hermione slid from her stool. "What are we shopping for?"

"The house is nearly empty, so everything, I guess. I don't know. What's the closest store?"

Since Hermione knew the city best and seemed to recall where everything was in frightening detail, she offered a response. "There's a furniture store only a few blocks from here. It has great stuff, Sara, you'll love it."

"Lemme finish my pint, will ya?" Ron complained, doing his best to gulp down as much as he could without chugging the whole glass.

Harry, however, pushed his away, still half-full, and got to his feet.

Sara waited on the front step of the pub, the door propped open for a little summer cross draft. Hermione waited just inside, her arms laden with bridal catalogs and Harry still stood next to his stool, waiting for Ron to finish his beer. He'd made good progress - the glass was nearly empty - and Ron had moved to a standing position. Harry had already gathered up the stack of catalogs and fabric swatches from the tuxedo shop and now they were all just staring, expectant, at Ron.

"What?" he asked over the brim of his pint. "When your mum is my mum, you don't go wasting anything."

He swallowed the last of it, set the glass down on the bar, and made to take some of the burden from Harry's arms. Harry looked Ron in the eye and spoke in a hushed voice from the side of his mouth. "Take Hermione's, you git!"

Sara had gone outside ahead of the others with one purpose in mind. She'd had the feeling since lunch, but hadn't noticed anyone lurking around. There were six or seven limos lining the street, all with darkened windows, but limos were to be expected in the higher end of London's elite shopping area. Her eyes landed again and again on one of them, but she felt no threat from it. It wouldn't surprise her if she was being followed, but thought it very well could be a remnant of the constant anxiety of keeping her book safe in Romania. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

* * *

Draco lost them beside the same cow pasture he'd been subjected to in Potter's Jaguar. He even recognized the tired old workhorse who now appeared to be dead on its feet.

They'd used the Portkey and gone to the cottage, then. Only he had no clear idea of where that was. He knew it was on the English Channel, as the water was to the east, but he would have to scour the entire coast within a few hours of London in order to find them. He was sure Potter's place was Unplottable, but thought he might recognize a few landmarks here and there. Like "The Golden Fish," a restaurant near a marina he remembered passing only a few minutes after leaving the cottage. This was a job for his Lightning Mach 1.

Draco leaned forward as he lowered the glass panel. "Take me home."

* * *

Staying at the cottage turned out to be a great idea. Each had forgotten the fun of being a group, especially Sara, who found it hard to believe that only a few days before she had stood on a ledge, waiting to see if she would let go of the rail. The past 2 years now seemed to be just the blur of a half-forgotten dream. She was back among her friends, she had Harry and their magnificent house to look forward to, she had Hogwarts and her beloved Uncle Albus only a Portkey away and Lucius was just a bad memory. She remembered the good times, though the darkness lurked deep in her memory, poisoning every good feeling she had. Sara tried her best to ignore it, tried to keep a smile on her face for their benefit.

The only thing she now lacked was Draco. She missed him immensely, though she knew Draco must hate her and that seeing him would upset Harry. Everyone knew Draco liked her as more than a friend and they were no longer in school. Seeking him out so soon after coming home might be a bad idea. Perhaps she'd wait a few weeks and send him a note. Invite him over or something.

As it was, the dinner dishes were rinsing themselves in the sink after a wonderful meal where Ron and Harry did most of the cooking. Hermione and Sara had done the prep work and set an elegant table. Sara chose several bottles of wine from the cellar, all excellent in honor of the occasion, and three of them were now empty as they moved to the lounge to relax and talk awhile, the room alight with flame from dozens of candles and a roaring blaze in the fireplace.

They'd toured the larger house as soon as they'd arrived and Ron and Hermione's reactions to it thrilled both Harry and Sara. Hermione had started making plans for the decorating right away. She threw off a hundred ideas until she fell into an animated conversation with Sara about the possibilities for the reception and the two of them wandered off together. They'd been too hungry to see everything, so Harry promised to take them through the cellars and the rooms he'd carved beneath the house after breakfast. He also promised to take them all out in his rowboat, which now had a motor attached. He only hoped they would all fit in it.

"So what did we end up getting today?" Sara asked the room. "I remember ordering twelve matching sofas, 6 love seats, and 18 chairs for the lobby. After that, it's all a blur."

"Seven beds," Ron offered, appearing to be deep in thought. "Those odd lamps, too."

"Seven bedroom suites," Hermione corrected. "And Sara, I think the guestrooms should be themed. They would be much more fun to decorate."

"Themed?" Ron looked as though he'd stuck his hand in something unimaginable. "Who wants to stay in the Slytherin Room?"

"Ron, where do you get your ideas?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "There are seven guest rooms and only four houses at Hogwarts. Besides, we aren't students anymore. We've moved beyond such trivial things as school houses."

Sara considered the idea. "Well, we could do a room for each continent. Or we could use literary themes. It would go along with the statues in the courtyard. What do you think, Harry?"

"Can we do a room for Batman?"

Sara and Hermione laughed.

Ron just looked perplexed. "Who the bloody hell is Batman?"

* * *

Draco returned to his house on the hill exhausted, his hair a mess from the wind, his face red from hours and hours of flying with no success. It was nearing the hour of five AM and he collapsed onto his bed after throwing his clothes on the floor. He was tired, but found he couldn't sleep.

He couldn't stop thinking of Sara. Seeing her today had knocked the wind out of him. She'd left so long ago that he truly never expected her to return to London, much less return to Harry. And now the two of them were getting married. Draco turned pale at the thought of it, rolling onto his back to stare at the canopy. It seemed he would never get his chance.

The idea of marrying someone other than Sara was ludicrous. No other girl held his fascination the way she did, or connected so well with him that she could change his deepest beliefs simply by being in the room. His heart raced whenever she turned her eyes to his and with it came an acute awareness of his own breathing. Sara had the most affectionate way of smiling, like nothing in the world pleased her more than running into him outside Potions class.

His thoughts wandered to the Yule Ball, as they often did, even though he'd given the later half of that memory to Potter for safekeeping and the emotion usually attached to it was diminished. He still remembered the swirl of a shimmering black cape and Sara smiling, mischievous, as she offered her hand and said, "Come dance with me." Refusing her would have been impossible. There was nothing he wanted more than to be close to her, and dancing with Sara was an experience in grace and elegance. Her touch left a pleasant sensation in its wake, like low voltage.

So much had happened between them, he wasn't sure how she'd react to seeing him again. The fact that she'd killed his father presented a multitude of unknowns, but he had to seek her out. He had to know. And then, there were two words he would have to say to her.

Draco rolled onto his side and lifted the Muggle photo of him dancing with Sara and brushed his hand across the glass. He clutched the Amidon, swinging from its chain, and the familiar warmth radiated through him. Draco's eyes fell closed as the frame came to rest atop his chest. He slipped onto his back, the exhaustion finally giving over to sleep.

* * *

Hermione and Ron stayed three weeks. With their help, Harry and Sara had amassed enough furniture for the four of them to stay in the house, but it was assumed by all that the first people to sleep there would be Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter. They remained at the cottage or in the tower at Hogwarts, planning the wedding and the reception, as well as going over samples and photographs from the interior decorator Sara recruited. Also, there was to be a small party Saturday night where the engagement would be formally announced. This party would be held in the new house and would include only their closest friends.

It was Friday and Hermione and Sara were out scouring the city for medieval embellishments for the dining room, which was currently full of enough suits of armor for half the Royal Army. The armor had been Harry's find - and a good one indeed. They gleamed in the rich light of the dining room, all polished brass with scarlet plumes attached to their helmets, lending a warm and regal feel to the room.

The master bedroom, which was inside the little tower at the back of the house, was almost completely furnished. The drapes had been hung, the walls painted and adorned with renaissance paintings Sara sent from all over Europe. At the westernmost point in the circular wall was a doorway onto the roof of the main house and a small spiral stair, which opened, via trapdoor, onto an observation deck on top of the tower itself. A large telescope was mounted on the easternmost turret, providing an excellent view across the channel.

The rooms just below the master bedroom were the first part of their suite. It sat in the back corner of the house, not actually a part of the tower at all, but the foundation upon which it was built. It was much more spacious, contained a cozy sitting room, a fireplace, and a small kitchenette, useful for little more than making tea or sandwiches. The bathroom was of a generous size and tastefully done in marble. The dressing room was big enough to hold all of Sara's clothes and more. It was actually a large chamber with a vanity, tons of mirrors and racks of accessories with five walk-in closets lining one wall. One for each season, and one for nothing but shoes and handbags. In fact, she'd already brought the stuff she wasn't wearing over from the cottage and hung them in the proper places.

There was still more to do, of course, but the general living areas were coming along and all four of them were run ragged. All the lists the girls had to make, the shopping, the phone calls, not to mention the grueling job of choosing a dress, were delightful, yet exhausting. Harry and Ron did many errands and worked at the Swill Factory as well, but managed to lend a hand in the planning. Thankfully, they were down to a few choices for their tuxedos and would wait for input from Seamus and Neville before the final decision was made.

Keeping the wedding a secret from everyone was difficult, mostly because they were all bursting with excitement and dieing to tell Dumbledore and McGonagall and Seamus, Neville, and the Weasleys. Sara, of course longed to tell Snape she was getting married and couldn't wait for Saturday's party. As excited as she was, Sara was also afraid. After leaving Harry for two long years, she wasn't sure how people would react to the announcement. More than a few were sure to have reservations, even if they didn't say so aloud. Even Ron and Hermione. She knew they were happy for her and Harry, but their concern seeped through. It hurt her, the distrust, but she understood.

For the most part, Sara's relationship with Harry was like being enveloped by love itself. The intimacy they felt was strange and wonderful and her heart ached just to look at him. She missed him when he left the room and he always looked so relieved to see her again when he returned, his eyes reflecting Sara's own inner glow. They talked a lot, mostly while wandering the woods together or puttering around in Harry's little boat, and the closeness they'd once felt was nothing compared to the bond they now shared. Sara often worried she'd be overcome by the strength of it.

Harry had accepted the new facets of her personality with little or no resistance, but there were moments when his face would darken with some small reminder of the things that still hurt him, wounds that were slow to heal. The length of her absence. The lack of communication. Harry would turn his eyes away and mutter "not that you would know" in reference to some past occurrence. This was like an arrow straight to the heart and Sara often cried in the bathroom out of guilt, but she knew he loved her still. She saw it in his smile, felt it when he touched her face as he so often did and, when he kissed her, the world had a way of just melting away to nothing.

Sara and Hermione returned to the cottage tired, but in good spirits. It was yet another warm July day, the top was down on the Jaguar and the drive from the cow pasture was refreshing. There were dozens of bags crammed behind the seats and even more in the boot, so Sara beeped the horn in the hopes help would come. She soon heard the bustle of Harry and Ron coming through the gate, levitating wooden pallets down to the car.

Sara managed to narrow her choices of wedding gowns to a dozen and making the choice was harder then she had ever imagined. There were so many that were elegant and exquisite that she wasn't sure she could ever decide on just one.

Hermione had done well today. Since they were to have an evening wedding, she'd chosen midnight purple for the attendants' dresses and that was more than fine with Sara. In fact, she wondered if Hermione picked it just to please her.

They'd ordered the flowers from the shop in Diagon Alley for the reception as well as the engagement party the next night. On such short notice, they couldn't fill a large order, so Sara thought she could spend the evening cutting fresh roses to round it out. She and Hermione could finish the invitations after dinner, and then she would sneak off to the courtyard for an hour or so, since Harry planned to listen to a Quidditch game on the WWN. She'd spent two years alone and now she was always with someone else it seemed. A little private time surrounded by roses sounded just wonderful.

* * *

"What do you want now?" Draco snarled as he found himself back in the catacombs under the ruins, looking at Voldemort.

"Disturb you yet again, did I Draco?"

"Not really. Actually, I was bored."

"We're going to open Potter's books in just a few moments. I thought perhaps you'd like to join us?"

Draco smiled. "You know I would."

"Follow me." Voldemort walked from the room and Draco followed. "I have been most anxious for this."

The room was filled with several people. Wormtail of course. A few others he saw now and again. The two creepy guys with whom he'd gone to get the book from the Muggle on the train. Crabbe and Goyle were there with their fathers, but they did not greet him when he entered.

The books were arranged on the table corner to corner to form a square of empty space in the center, where there sat some old relic. Draco moved into the shadows and leaned against the wall.

Four wizards performed the spell to open the books while the dark lord looked on in quiet anticipation. It went quickly and Draco watched as light sprang from each book and connected with the relic to unite in the center. A large archway appeared, like a liquid mirror, and he wondered where it went.

Voldemort walked around the table, considering the archway from every angle. There was a long silence, and then he pointed to the younger Crabbe and Goyle. "You two. Pass through the arch, then come back and tell me what you saw."

Crabbe and Goyle shared a nervous glance and then turned their eyes on Draco in the hopes he would get his old friends off the hook. Draco smiled and waved, but made no move to speak up on their behalf.

With obvious apprehension, Goyle pushed Crabbe ahead of him with a pained expression and watched as Crabbe climbed onto the table, stepped into the archway and vanished. Goyle hesitated only a moment, and then followed.

* * *

Sara sat on the grass in the courtyard, alone in the light of the moon, which turned the thousands of roses to gossamer silk. Humming as she worked, the many baskets she'd brought along were filled with flowers and Sara thought she had enough.

An idea had appealed to Sara as she sat there and she went to the study - still bare except for a desk and a chair - and found the stationary that bore their crest. She hesitated as she looked at it, wondering if maybe plain parchment would be a better choice. There was some in the cottage, but that would mean explaining what she was doing if she ran into anyone. She could always lie, but knew she would not. And this letter she would rather keep to herself. Sara dipped a quill in ink and began the letter she'd wanted to write for two years.

Dear Draco,

Words can't explain how sorry I am. I never meant to hurt you and I can only hope you believe it. You know what I was going through with your father and we both knew someone had to put an end to it. As you said, he wouldn't have given up. I only wish there had been another way.

I trust that you're well. Severus said that he'd seen you a few times and that you seemed to be coming along, but I worry about the news he gave me. My heart keeps telling me it can't be true, but the fact that you welcomed my companion and me into your home while we posed as Death Eaters tells me that it must be. Draco, this is not the life for you and I know you did not choose it. I don't hold against you what you are or what is forced upon you...

Sara crumpled the letter and threw it in the trash.

Leaving the desk, she paced the room, wondering what to do. She had to see Draco, had to apologize to his face for killing his father. There was no way she could send him a letter after all this time and expect him to react favorably. He would see Lucius' murder as a betrayal of their friendship, of this she was sure. It was best handled in person, even if he would never forgive her.

The Orb of Arassel had told her little over the years. She knew he was angry and that was about it. There was something significant about what she'd seen the night they said their goodbyes at Hogwarts, but Sara didn't know what it was. She had seen the future, Draco's hair was long like his father's and he looked at her with agony in his eyes. She wondered what it meant. Sara was sure he still loved her in some way, she'd felt it the few times she'd reached out with her mind and sensed his innermost feelings. And the expression on his face when he'd spoken of her the night she and Nikolae had recovered the book from him. He loved her, just as she still loved him, even though the closeness they'd once shared was but a memory.

Sara returned to the desk and withdrew a clean sheet. This time, the words came a little easier.

Draco,

I know how you must feel toward me after all that's happened, but I must see you. We need to talk and it shouldn't wait. It's been too long already.

Please accept my most sincere invitation for lunch tomorrow at two o'clock at Angelo's in the Royal Westcott Hotel. Please come, Draco. I've missed you.

Forever your friend,
Sara

Sara sealed the letter with a trembling hand and gave it to Topenga, who had just flown in through the window. She took off with it at once and Sara sighed. She had no idea how he would respond.

Tomorrow was a busy day. With the engagement party scheduled for seven and now a trip into London at two, it was sure to be a challenge. Hermione and Sara had picked up their party dresses and hers was already hung in the closet at the cottage, so all there was left to do tomorrow was a short stop in Diagon Alley. Hermione was brewing some kind of potion and needed a few ingredients for it, which Sara had volunteered to pick up. Plus, there was the setting up to think about, and the caterers would surely be there early. Then there were at least a hundred fresh cut roses to arrange and it was her responsibility to get them all into vases. She would have to start early and keep her lunch with Malfoy under 2 hours.

* * *

The Quidditch game between China and England was still in progress when Sara crawled into bed next to Harry, who was sound asleep with the candles burning. It was well past midnight, so Sara switched off the WWN and tried to sleep. It was useless.

She couldn't get her mind off Malfoy. She was afraid to see him, didn't think she could bear his anger and imagined the hateful things he might say to her. She tried to force good thoughts, but to no avail. Certainly, it would be nice if he hugged her, smiled, and reminisced with her over a wonderful meal, but it's not what would really happen and she knew it. Sara only hoped he would hear her out before he left her life for good.

* * *

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