Thirty Million Seconds

Though I've tried, I've fallen...
I have sunk so low
I messed up
Better I should know
So don't come round here
And tell me I told you so...

Sarah McLachlan- Fallen

Draco sat in the cold apartment, which a disgrace to his former mansion. Nothing adorned the walls and nothing was covered in lush fabrics and rich patterns. Nothing. He could hear the clock ticking by the minutes, or did he even have a clock? He knew he had a phone; it always rang with telemarketers wanting to sell him a wide array of products, but never anyone he care about or who cared about him. Yes, he had a clock too. The one thing he had taken from the manor of course. It was in his room when he was young and gave him a sense of motherly security. It sings a song, he recalled, on the hour. Why couldn't he hear it? He didn't care. The only think the clock showed now were seconds and minutes ticking by. "Tick, tick, tick." People waste them everyday. Do they realize that the time given to you is all you truly own in the world? Draco's minutes ran short.

-•-

It had been a full year today. "One entire year, twelve months, fifty-two weeks, three hundred and sixty-five days, eight thousand seven hundred and sixty hours, five hundred and twenty five thousand six hundred minutes," Harry figured on a napkin in The Leaky Cauldron, "since I left him and made the biggest mistake of my life, I think." Harry was about to begin to figure out the seconds but Holly Short, a kind and friendly waitress that Harry had grown to know over the years, had brought him his food.

"You alright Harry, dear?" she asked in earnest.

"Yeah, Holly, I'm fine, Harry responded despondently.

"Now eat up boy, and put some meat on your bones! After all my cooking all these years you'd think that you'd be as big as a house, but no! Eat up!" she concluded as she fussed about with some other tables, cleaning them off and setting them. Harry usually enjoyed her company and she always had a thing for Harry.

"No use worrying over spilt milk," he whispered and tucked into his sandwich and pumpkin juice.

-•-

Draco looked around his flat, wondering what his father would think. He could practically hear his cold voice sneering, "Draco, if you followed me you could have done so much better", "no Malfoy should live like this, but then again, you mustn't be a Malfoy" or "see what Potter got you?" He shuddered at the thought of his name. "Yah, well fuck you too, Dad," thought Draco. The internal conflicts in his head had to stop. Staring at the cold wall, he could see the battle scene played out before his eyes as if it was yesterday. It was one year ago.

Harry was paired off with Voldemort and me with my own father. Dodging hexes, throwing curses, and scrambling for cover was becoming almost second nature. We were too arrogant, too self-confident, even though we had every right in the world to be. We were the two strongest wizards of our generation. Not Hermione, it was Harry and I who were strongest. We fought, all the while smiling out patented "eat shit and die" smirk. Yah, it was a favorite of ours, but you can do that when you're the best.

We were doing fine, after years of torture from my father I could read him like a book. I knew exactly what was coming next and Harry seemed to do the same. Maybe it was the "brain connection" thing Harry and Voldemort had going on, or maybe it was because they were so opposite, or maybe it was just because they had fought before, but by any means Harry was doing marvelously. I stupidly stopped for a second to look at him fighting, looking like the epitome of his father. He looked so strong, so unbeatable. I let my guard down for a grand total of three point five seconds to look at him and my father took those three point five seconds to attack. Mad-Eye Moody would have been so disappointed and I could hear him yell "CONSTANT VIGILANCE" in my head as a hex hit me square in jaw. My own father was going to torture me with Cruciatus, but it wasn't like it was the first time, it was just the first time he couldn't deny doing it. I felt the familiar burn go through my finger tips and into my toes. As many times as it had been put on me, I could barely fight it. Who am I kidding? I couldn't fight it at all. Another reason I looked up to Harry so much, I always wondered how he managed to fight it so well. I fell to the ground with a scream.

Harry, do-good, brave Gryffindor Harry, was not going to see me go down like this. He stopped fighting Voldemort and fought my father for me. Before I knew it, or could move to help, he was fighting them both. Harry, although he was so strong, could not face the two strongest dark wizards of the time. All I could do until I regained feeling in my limbs was watch him fight for his life. And hell, did he put up a fight.

He hit Voldemort with the Killing Curse. You could see the amount of strength it took from him to mutter those two foul words, but he knew he had too. A blinding green flash and it was all over. Everyone expected it to have some catastrophic or cosmic release of magic or power but he died just like any other would have. He was still human. My father was knocked down by the blast, and nearly knocked out from the shock that his precious "master" was dead. Being second in charge, he naturally took it upon himself to avenge his dead master.

"You fool! You thought if you just killed him it would be all over? Thousands, no, millions support him! If you think it's over, boy, you have never been more mistaken in your life. And don't count you lover, whom I used to claim as a son, to come to your rescue. I've taken care of him." God, he was an evil, soul-less bastard.

He was playing on emotions since he knew he did not have the sheer power to defeat Harry. He knew that I was laying a few feet away unable to move, and he knew Harry would come to me, whatever the circumstances. Damn Gryffindors.

"YOU BASATRD!" he yelled as he ran towards me. I must have appeared dead, I couldn't move still form the curse, but I wasn't dead. Soon, I felt him by my side; his presence was the biggest comfort I could ask for. He shook me, I tried my best to respond, and when he saw the panicked look in my eye he knew I was okay. He didn't know my father was right behind him. And guess what the low down bastard did then? He punched him, like a child in a fist fight, sucker punched him from behind. He knew when it came to magical ability he was already defeated, so he resorted to a fist fight. Low down bastard. Harry's body fell limply onto me.

The rage that echoed through my body probably registered on the Richter scale. I tried to move frantically, grabbing for anything I could, and I found Harry's wand. With my arms still shaking and aching from the curse I shouted "Avada Kedavra" and watched as my father fell to the ground in a dramatic heap. It was over.

-•-

Harry rubbed his head thoughtfully, "It's been an entire year already. Since the war, since I left." Feeling fully satisfied from Holly's excellent cooking, Harry paid the bill, left a hearty tip, and grabbed his coat. As he stepped out into Muggle London, the wind whipped around his face turning his haircut-needy hair into his face. Harry took a deep breath and sighed deeply. He could see rain clouds hanging ominously overhead. Just like it had been that night, one year ago.

The rain clouds in the sky looked as if they were fit to burst. Hanging ominously overhead, they were foreshadowing to the war. Magic was all around; it felt like electricity in the humid air. And there he stood, looking like the epitome of evil that he was.

I, with Draco by my side, approached him. We could hear that cold rattle that was his breath, feel the coldness that was his being, and feel the emptiness that was his soul.

"Potter," he stated with disgust.

"Tom," I said with total nonchalance.

It was on.

Immediately following our "greeting" we attacked. Curses, hexes, and shields flying everywhere; Draco and I didn't miss a beat. We knew where to step when, where to dodge what, and how to curse at the exactly right time. Draco and his father stood in a face off as I took Voldemort, each of us so unlike our counterparts.

I was cursing, hexing, and feeling rather cocky. At a mere seventeen I was giving the Dark Lord a run for his money and was enjoying every moment of it. I smiled Draco and I's "Yah, you wish" smirk and proceeded to fight. He was toast.

Midway through Voldemort decided to be the regular evil bastard that he was, but nothing was keeping me from winning. It seemed too easy, really, but as he lost his balance for a second I yelled the killing curse and meant it with every bone in my body. It hurt to say it, to take someone's life, but he had never once considered it as anything major. But then again, I wasn't like him. He fell to the ground in a heap; he was done. Nothing spectacular, nothing amazing, he was just dead. Then, just as I thought my biggest worries were over, I heard it.

Draco screamed and my heart stopped. I looked to the right and say him lying unmoving on the ground. Lucius was yelling at me, saying something about I hadn't won, but I couldn't and didn't want to hear him. The smirk was quickly wiped off my face and my heart was in my throat. "Oh God, no," I pleaded, "please, please no." Forgetting about Lucius Malfoy I ran to Draco praying that he was alright.

When I reached him, he looked up at me in sheer panic. I was just glad he looked at me at all. I felt tainted from the curse, and Draco, whose pale face and hair shone in the moon light looked simply perfect. I felt dirty, not worthy. But damn right I was going to save him, try to regain salvation after what I had done. Then it all went dark.

-•-

"He left me," Draco thought, "after all I did, everything I tried, all I gave up and all the sins I tried to atone for, he just left." Draco looked down at the metal killing machine in his hands. He made his choice. He gave up everything for Harry, now he had nothing, and no Harry. Why live? The memory still hurt.

"Harry, please get up, please!" I yelled, shaking Harry's muscular frame. His shirt was torn, and he had a cut on his otherwise perfect cheek, but other than that there were no physical wounds. "Thank God." Harry stirred slightly.

He looked up at me, his emerald eyes in shock, and I didn't know what to say or do. "It's all over," I whispered, "it's going to be okay." Huge rain drops began to fall to earth, soaking both of us in seconds.

"When I leave, Draco, all I can ask is that you don't follow .Because if you do, I won't be able to turn around again," he whispered, his body thoroughly soaked with rain from the mini-monsoon, and he left. He got up and left, walking away into the dark horizon. I did the last thing that he asked, although it was against my better judgment, and I stayed and watched the one person that I had ever truly loved walk away from me. As he walked away, he took a part of me with him.

-•-

"I can't decide if that was the best or the stupidest thing I have ever done in my entire life," Harry mused as he aimlessly walked down the streets of London. He could go home, or he could stay out, or he could do the thing that he owed Draco for a year now. He was stuck in a state of mental turmoil as memories came flooding back.

Everything came back blurry at first, nothing was clear. I could hear faint voices that seemed to be far, far away. As things came into focus, and my hearing was somewhat normal again, I saw a blond angel over me. His name was Draco.

"Harry, please get up, please," he begged. I tried to stir, tried to comfort myself and him, but all too quickly I remembered what I had done. I had to get away before he saw me as the murder that I was. I'd rather him remember me as walking off, away from him, than a cold blooded murder. I did the hardest, and decidedly stupidest, thing I could ever do. I told Draco that when I left, not to follow, and I got up and walked away. Just then, as I was leaving him, I realized that it was raining outside, as if the rain had come to wash away the sins of the battle. I felt as if an ocean couldn't cleanse me.

I was stained.

-•-

The clock rang out. Just then Draco realized it was a tune his mother used to sing to him, and one he hummed to Harry whenever he was scared or worried. He looked at the clock, took aim, and shot at it. The shot rang out and the tune died. It brought up too many memories that were just too painful for right now. "Daddy always said don't be a coward," he thought, "well now daddy, I'm going to be brave, just like you've always wanted me to be." Draco took the gun and rested it on his temple.

-•-

Harry looked down at his small cell phone, still amused by the minute muggle device, and dialed the number to the apartment that he once shared. As soon as he hit the last number he hung up, and repeated the exercise about five times all while walking aimlessly down the street. He looked up from the phone for a second and realized with a start where he was. The complex hadn't changed much, and hopefully neither had their phone number. Harry hit dial and nervously put the phone to his ear. As he heard the receiver on the other end pick up, he prayed it was Draco. He heard the other end click.

"Draco?" he asked tentatively.

"Harr--," the voice on the other line choked and a loud bang was heard. The receiver went dead and all was silent.

-•-

"I'm ready, I can do this," Draco thought, "he's never coming back and you know it. Why live?" It was this simple in his eyes. His finger was taut on the trigger, for it was now or never. Just then, the phone rang. "I won't answer," thought Draco, desperate to get the job done and put himself out of his misery, "but what if...?" The thought was too provocative to ignore. He took the gun down from his head, but not out of his hand, and answered the phone. On the other line was his saving grace. And then the shot was heard.

Was his salvation too late?

-•-

"Fuck!" yelled Harry as he broke into a run to the apartment complex. Being nearly hit by a car, and having the horn blasted in his ear, he bounded into the lobby and up the stairs taking them two at a time. He knew that sound, it was a gun, and as he leapt up the stairs he prayed that he wasn't too late. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as he reached the fifth floor. He exited the stair well and ran down the hall looking for number 504. When he found it, the brass four hanging upside down, he started banging on the door. He yelled, pounded, and nearly broke the door off its hinges. "Please, God," he prayed, "Please don't let me be too late." As he finished his mantra for the fourth time, all while still banging on the door, he heard the loosening of a lock and the turn of a knob.

As the door swung open, a skinny and tired, but alive, Draco Malfoy fell straight into his arms. Glistening tears were already spilling down his face.

-•-

The shock was incredible. Draco, hearing the sound of Harry's voice, went numb as he let the gun and phone fall from his hands. As the gun hit the ground it fired a shot across the room. The phone fell dead to the ground. Draco stood shaking, praying, and wishing that what he heard was real. He hurriedly picked up the phone only to find it dead. He slammed it onto the floor, realizing that he may never know if it was Harry and if it was what he wanted to say. But, as he cursed the phone, tears running down his face, he heard a pounding on the door. His entire body froze and he was scared that if he did move he would be awoken from his dream.

As is fingers numbly fumbled for the lock, his heart caught in his throat, and as he opened the door his heart nearly stopped. There was Harry, a year later, in his hallway. He fell into his arms, not caring why he left or why he was back, and felt the warm teardrops on his face.

-•-

Suddenly a year of dreaming was reality. Harry embraced Draco, vowing mentally to never ever let him go again. He felt so right in his arms, so perfect, that Harry almost had to kick himself for letting him go in the first place. He moved them both back into the apartment and shut the door behind them.

What he saw was not what he expected to see in the least. Bare walls, empty rooms, and shattered clocks were not your typical Malfoy décor. He glanced briefly at Draco. He wasn't in your typical Malfoy shape either. His clothes, which were more of fitted rags, hung loosely from his scrawny frame. He had clearly lost weight and had almost wasted away, but something was still the same and when Harry looked into his eyes he found it. It was that spark, it was that love; he was home.

"Draco, I--," stammered Harry before he was cut off by a finger to his lips.

"You can explain it all later, but for now, just tell me this is real."

Harry leaned over and kissed Draco on the lips, softly and sweetly.

"Yah, Draco, its real."

"Harry, I almost...but you called...and thank God...and...,"Draco stuttered, his sudden sobs causing his voice to crack. Harry looked down on the ground where Draco was pointing: a pistol lay on the ground. Harry shook at the thought and understood. He was almost too late.

"I should have called a damn year ago! I was so stupid!" Harry screamed, "But you can explain it all later. For now, just tell me it's real."

Draco leaned into Harry's embrace and kissed him softly on that spot on his neck. "Yes, it was most definitely real," Harry thought as he shuddered. "I have been gone for one entire year, twelve months, fifty-two weeks, three hundred and sixty-five days, eight thousand seven hundred and sixty hours, five hundred and twenty five thousand six hundred minutes..." Harry said before he was cut off again by Draco.

"And thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty six thousand seconds," Draco said as he looked deep into Harry's loving eyes that were filling with tears, "and within the next day, twenty-four hours, one thousand four hundred and forty minutes, eighty-six thousand four hundred seconds, I plan to fully make up for everything we have missed, love."

Finite.