One Thing

Chapter 8

Harry and Draco strolled into Potions with five minutes left in the double period. For some reason, Harry was totally unabashed at arriving nearly two hours late to a lesson with his most loathed teacher. Not to mention coming in with Draco, his supposed most hated adversary, both obviously freshly showered and lacking the previously viewed pajamas. Everyone turned and at looked them in silence, shocked.

"Well, Misters Potter and Malfoy: thank you for joi-"

"You're quite welcome, Professor Snape," Draco cut off the Potions Master's silky reprimand. "Now, may I, that is to say we, see you in your office?" There was a collective gasp from the class, and Harry heard Ron's distinctive snicker, despite the red head's unavoidable shock at seeing his best friend and worse enemy in their current state of togetherness. At this Harry wore a smirk to rival Draco's and followed his boyfriend as Snape nodded at the large black oak door behind his desk. His teacher sat down behind a grand mahogany desk and again nodded, this time at a set of matching mahogany chairs, which the two boys sat in. Then they just sat there for a bit. Harry blinked.

Well. I hope you both have a good explanation as to why you've decided not to attend my class this morning." Snape seemed confident that they did. Or at least that Draco did. His cool gaze never left his prized pupil.

"Well actually," Draco said with an evil smirk, "I do."

Oh God, Harry thought, panic-stricken. Oh God, he's going to tell him. This was all one big set up to get me to snog him so he could tell everyone and embarrass me and he's starting with the one man who may just hate me more than Voldemort. Harry was temporarily amused by the thought of the Dark Lord learning that his archenemy was a great bloody pouf. Then he went back to panicking. This, of course, was completely unwarranted, but as a new member of the Homo Elite Club, Harry was feeling a bit paranoid at the moment. Although, I suppose he had goof reason to, having just "slept with the enemy", so to speak. (Or rather, cuddled with the enemy.)

"Although," Harry snapped back to reality as Draco went on. "I'm fairly certain you don't want to hear it." At this his shark like smile widened even more. Harry was slightly nervous, but he felt Draco reach over and clasp his hand firmly, reassuringly. Harry turned and gave him a nervous smile.

"Very well," Snape said curtly, getting the general idea of where the two boys had been and what they had been doing. "You will go and sort this out with the Professor Dumbledore." He began scrawling a note to the headmaster, explaining the nature of the students' crime, and handed it to Draco. "Give this to him when you arrive."

Draco nodded and stood up, still holding Harry's hand. They turned, and Draco gave Harry a furtive wink. Harry got it. He put on an angry and flustered face and yanked the door open. He stomped out into the dungeon and proceeded to storm out of the room. Draco waited about thirty and was just getting ready to look pleased with himself for having victimised the golden boy again and make his entrance when he heard Snape's quiet voice.

"Are you quite certain you know what you're doing, Draco?" He sounded so annoyingly superior that Draco found himself getting angry. He whirled around.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I rather fancy I do. Why? Don't like the idea of your precious potions protégé associating with the Potter boy?" He spat out every word in pure malevolence. (Try it. It's practically impossible to say that sentence without spitting.) He raised a threatening eyebrow, as though threatening his elder to disapprove.

"Not particularly," came Snape's shocking reply. "But know one thing. That boy has undergone more trauma in his incredibly short life than you could possibly begin to fathom. If you even consider using, betraying, or hurting him in any way, I. Will. Have. Your. Head." His voice was still deadly quiet, and Draco knew that he meant every word he had said. He was speechless. Snape, protecting the Golden Boy? He had picked on him for years! Why was he now suddenly jumping to his defense? The boy was James Potter's son! Ohhhh. Suddenly, it seemed quite clear to Draco. He knew that Severus owed some sort of debt to Harry because of his father, and assumed that this had something to do with why the unpleasant educator was now threatening his favourite student with his life. He didn't know the nature of Snape's allegiance to James Potter, but he figured it must be pretty strong, due to the terrifying glare that he was now receiving. He nodded gravely.

p style="text-indent: 12.50mm; text-align: left; line-height: 4.166667mm; color: Black; background-color: White; "> "You have my word," he said very seriously. All of a sudden Snape seemed to believe him, and Draco remembered a comment of Lucius's from when he was younger, referring to Snape's gift at Occlumency. Satisfied that they had reached an understanding, he turned and swiftly exited the office.

Once he was in the hallway, Draco approached his boyfriend and grinned, but saw that Harry looked a bit green.

"What's the matter?" he queried. "Are you all right?" There was a touch of anxiousness in his voice, as he was concerned for the young Adonis in front of him, who looked like he might be ill.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry stated, "but what on earth are we going to do?!"

"What do you mean?" Draco asked. "We'll just go to Dumbledore and you'll tell him what happened." He seemed perfectly calm, like it was quite obvious what on earth they were going to do.

"What?! Are you insane?! I can't do that!"

"Why not? You're his favourite, right? I mean come on, Harry, you're practically his son."

Harry was stricken by this comment. He'd never really thought of that before. He shook it off.

"So... what? I just stroll into the headmaster's office, hand him that note, and say, 'Hello, Professor. I've just been sticking my tongue down Draco's throat, instead of going to Potions, and I thought I'd stop by and tell you about it'?!" Draco looked at him dubiously.

"Well, technically...I st-"

"Oh shut it! You know what I mean! I can't possibly go in there and tell him what we've been up to!"

"Why not? I just did." Harry was silent for a moment.

"That's true," he admitted. Draco reached over, took Harry's hand again, and began walking at a leisurely pace, as though they were just taking a stroll down Lover's Lane. He turned to his boyfriend, and amused expression on his face. "Since when are you so affectionate?" he asked, glancing down at their clasped hands.

For a moment Draco looked tense, then he turned to Harry, a rather strained looking smile on his face. "Since you," he said smartly. This made Harry smile more widely, though inside he was worried about Draco and what had made him look tense like that.

As the young couple neared the headmaster's office, both began to become nervous. When they had come to the large oak door, they stopped and just stared at it. Then Harry turned to his companion and said, "Are you ready?" Draco gave him a reassuring smile and nodded, squeezing the beautiful boy's hand for emphasis. "Well, here goes nothing," Harry muttered, rapping sharply on the door in front of him. It swung open almost immediately, as though they had been expected.

Draco noticed this, as well. Upon entering he surveyed the room, eyeing all of the portraits shrewdly. His suspicions were confirmed as he spotted a portrait of a former Slytherin headmaster, which he had noticed outside the Potions dungeons many a time, waiting to see Severus. The geriatric fool, no doubt, had heard every word of his and Harry's conversation in the dungeon. No sooner had his eyes come to rest upon the sixty-something man and narrow in recognition than the man was gone, probably off to tell the Potions master that his students had arrived at their destination. Draco snorted in disdain at the pretentiousness of it all. He then turned his attention back to Professor Dumbledore, who was smiling benignly down at him and his mate.

"Please, come in. Sit. Make yourselves comfortable." He could not have sounded more thrilled. Draco fought the urge to shake his head in disbelief. He looked at the overseer and protector of a thousand young witches and wizards, (not to mention the only person respected more than the Minister of Magic himself,) with a slightly alarmed, but mostly amused awe for a moment; then he did as he was told and sat down. Harry went with him, and the headmaster joined them, sitting at his desk.

"So," the elderly man began after a few moments. "I understand that you both missed Potions, today." He looked from one to the other expectantly, as though awaiting further comment or perhaps an explanation. When none came he prompted, "Might there be any particular reason for this unfortunate occurrence?" Harry finally found the courage to speak up.

"I'm afraid not, Sir," he stated guiltily. "At least not a good one. We just...er, lost track of time." He looked to Draco for confirmation and the blonde nodded in admittance. They both tried their best to look gravely sorry and a bit disappointed in themselves, as though they wished nothing more than to have been able to make it to Potions that morning.

"Well, then," the likable old man said, as though that settled it. "Neither of you have any prior record of cutting lessons. That, in conjunction with my desire for an improvement of inter-house relations, especially those between Gryffindor and Slytherin," he paused, his eyes twinkling, and smiled at the looks of disconcertion on the delightful youths' faces, "lead me to come to the conclusion that this was a mistake and will not happen again?" he implored.

"Of course, Professor," the boys chorused.

"All right. Then I suppose we have nothing further to discuss. You may both report to lunch, now. I think lessons have just finished. And if I'm not mistaken, I believe we're being served meringue for dessert; my favorite." Again Draco pondered the esteemed mentor's sanity as he got up and headed for the door.

As he reached it, he turned and said, "Thank you, Professor." And with that he grabbed Harry's hand and rushed out the door.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The next few weeks were a golden haze of kisses and hand holding; of furtive glances in Potions and stolen moments in dark corridors between lessons. Harry became very familiar with the interior of a broom closet. He had never been so deliriously happy in his entire life. No one had ever treated him like this. Sure, Ron and Hermione were great, but lately they seemed to be so wrapped up in one another they barely even noticed Harry.

In truth they were just relieved that he was happy again. He had been so dark and brooding after Sirius's death, they had begun to worry that he'd never get over it. But now that he appeared to be cheery and bright again, (and my lord he smiled) they didn't question it. And Harry was quite happy with this arrangement. By now nearly everyone had forgot about the odd occurrences of that day when they had shown up late to both breakfast and Potions, but Harry had a feeling Hermione knew something; mostly because she always knew something.

Chapter 9

It has been shown time and time again, as in Pearl Harbor, Romeo and Juliet, Titanic, A Walk to Remember, Moulin Rouge, Star Wars, Wuthering Heights, X-Men, Rebecca, and Apollo and Hyacinthos, that true love does not last. If you are young, happy, and totally in love, you will die. That's just how it works. Luckily for you, that's not really where I'm going with this story. My point is, bliss could not have lasted; we all know this. So, I suppose we have only fate to thank for what happened next to our lovely young Wonder Couple.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

CRASH The Slytherins were getting worried. Their friend, BOOM leader, THUD and fellow conspirator was clearly BANG not well. Volley after volley of very unpleasant and slightly worrisome noises had been permeating the door to Draco Malfoy's room from the inside out for the last four hours. They were getting desperate.

"Do you think we should get Snape?" Pansy turned to Blaise, angst clouding her visage. Blaise looked very grave.

"I reckon so. I'll do it." He turned and marched swiftly out down the corridor. "What are you looking at?!" He demanded of the small crowd of people that had gathered outside their prefect's room. "There's obviously nothing to see, and whatever there is to hear, you can hear from the common room. Shoo!" They scattered and he made his way to Professor Snape's private chambers. He knocked.

"This had better be good," came the growl from within. Blaise heard a splashing sound followed by the unmistakable slapping of wet feet on the stone floor. The door opened. Snape was sitting in his chair by the fire in a fuzzy black bathrobe. (I didn't even know they made those.) "Well?" Snape demanded impatiently.

"It's Draco, Sir." Blaise got right to the point. "Something's wrong with him. All we've been able to get out of him are bangs and crashes. He won't talk to any of us. We figured we'd better get you, before he hurts himself."

No, not me. He won't be any more likely to talk to me than he'd be to talk to his own father. And if this is about what I surmise, that's a very low likelihood. Snape pondered it for a moment before making a decision.

"Clear everybody out. Send them all to their dorms for the night. And lock the doors. I know Slytherins and their affinity for nosiness. Then go directly to your room and wait there until morning."

Blaise looked slightly confused for a moment, but followed his orders obediently. As soon as he was gone Snape called his owl. "Apollo!"

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"What's this?" Harry asked, mostly to himself, since no one around him was paying the least bit attention to him. His face darkened a bit at the thought of the happy couple on the sofa a few feet away from him. He sat at a wooden worktable in the Gryffindor Common Room reading. He had occasionally over the last hour and a half, tried to start conversation with his two best friends, but they were so wrapped up in each other that they hardly even seemed to know that he was there. Presently he turned his attention back to the note in his lap.

Romeo,

Get thee to thy love, as was decreed,

Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her.

But look thou stay not till the watch be set,

For then thou canst not pass to Mantua.

Sincerely,

The Nurse

What the bloody hell is this all about? Harry thought to himself, perplexed. "I'm going up to the dorm," he muttered distractedly as he got up.

"Yeah, sure, mate," came the equally distracted reply.

As soon as he was in his room, Harry went to his bag of books and began searching through it to find his copy of Romeo and Juliet, which he was currently reading in Muggle Studies. He looked up the verse in the note and thought about its context. Then he began interpreting it. Romeo, that's me, is hated by everyone in Verona, which I supposed is Slytherin. My love, that's Draco, is in his chamber, in the Slytherin dungeons. I'm supposed to comfort him? Something must be wrong with him. But I should stay not till the watch be set, which I suppose is morning, as it was in Romeo and Juliet, because then I won't be able to get back to Gryffindor without getting caught. The Nurse, Juliet's mentor, would be...Snape! He was thoroughly pleased with himself for sorting that all out, and without Hermione's help. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why Snape would need to code the note, but he assumed it must have had something to do with the reason Draco was upset.

Suddenly he became very panicked. Wondering what was wrong with his love, he grabbed his map and cloak and rushed out the door. He ran through the common room without a passing glance in he friends' direction, and dashed down the corridor, throwing his cloak on as he ran. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good." He found Draco's dot in his room, and saw that all of the other Slytherin dots were in their respective rooms, as well. "Good," he muttered to himself. He ran as fast as he possibly could to the sliding wall outside the Slytherin common room. He looked down at his map. His dot now had a speech bubble. "Alla Stoccata," Harry said breathlessly. The wall slid open, allowing him to enter. Seeing no one, neither on the map, nor with his own eyes, he rushed to Draco's room. It was deadly silent. He had expected some sort of fit. Somehow he didn't think the silence could be a good thing. He knocked softly on the door.

"I thought I told you to GO AWAY!!!" came the shrieking response.

"Draco? Are you all right in there?"

"Harry?" The young Slytherin sounded anxious.

"Yes, Draco, it's me." There was silence.

"Go away, Potter. I don't want to see you."

Harry was shocked. He just stood there for a moment, as though slapped, and then said, "What do you mean, you don't want to see me? I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific. Do you mean, you don't want to see me at the moment, or you don't want to see me ever?" Again there was silence. "Well?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," came the muffled reply. It sounded very drained.

"Draco, I'm coming in."
"No!" was all Harry heard before the door burst open under his complex spell combination. What he saw terrified him.

The room was scattered with various items, such as books, pages of books, candles, shoes, and a shattered broomstick, which lay at the bottom of a wall which appeared to have a newly acquired dent. There were also several scorch marks, varying in size, on different walls. The air had an acrid stench to it, and Harry couldn't see the floor, for all of the debris covering it. Draco knelt in the middle of it all, his head in his hands, looking totally broken. He looked up, seemingly surprised, and quickly picked something up and turned to his bedside table, depositing it out of sight.

"I didn't think you'd be able to get in," he said shakily, obviously trying to act like nothing was wrong, which Harry found ludicrous, given the circumstances. "But then," he continued bitterly, "I forgot who I was dealing with. No charm's strong enough to keep the saviour of the wizarding world out."

"What can I say? It's a gift" Harry replied wryly. He approached his boyfriend, very worried. Draco flinched and took a hasty step backward.

"Stay away. Just, stay away." Harry was confused, and even more concerned.

"Draco, what's wrong? I got a note from Snape..."
"Snape?" Draco's head shot up. "He knows? Of course. He's always been far too close with my father," he mumbled darkly.
"Knows what, Draco?" Harry asked, exasperated. "What is going on?" Draco sighed, as though resigning, and nodded toward the desk.

It was completely devoid of all the things one would expect to find on a desk, such as ink, candles, paper, etc. (A quick glance around the room told Harry where these things had ended up,) but there was one thing remaining: a crumpled, tearstained letter. Harry picked it up, his hand shaking slightly, and read it.

My Dearest Son,

I have considered this letter carefully for quite some time. If you presume that you detect undertones of sarcasm and bitterness, you are correct! That seems to be the only way to reach you. You have not replied to any of my previous letters, hinting at what we all knew would be coming, so now I'm blatantly telling you. You will be required at the Manor on All Hollows' Eve for your initiation. We have tried to raise you to expect this, but you still hee and haw at the idea of joining our ranks. Sorry about my luck.

You have no idea how much this disappoints me. Or perhaps you do. If you are trying to hurt me with your defiance, you have succeeded. I don't know if I've done anything to make you want to hurt me or if it's just another one of your moods. If I did something, I won't apologise. I cannot fathom anything that would warrant such blatant defiance from you. And moodiness is absolutely no excuse. If it had slipped your mind, it wouldn't have bothered me, but we both know that's not the case. I must say, however, that if you meant to shock me, you did not achieve your goal. I was a bit surprised, but not at all shocked at your unforgivable behaviour. Your Great Aunt Helen, however, was extremely shocked when Narcissa informed her of your insolence. Hurt and shocked, to be precise. For at least a quarter of an hour we heard how shocked and hurt and upset. So perhaps you can take some solace in shocking a seventy-two-year-old widow who adores you and thinks that you are one of the best children she's ever known. (Or should I say, thought.) Feel proud.

No, you didn't shock me, but that fact DOES shock me. To think that I have become so used to your lack of obedience shocks and dismays me. I truly worry about what will become of you. Parents expect to get nothing but pain and inconvenience from their children, but please do not disillusion yourself into thinking that friends, lovers, future employers, etc. will tolerate it. They won't.

This last paragraph is meant to be heartfelt, not bitter. I think it would be in your best interest to talk to someone whose opinion you trust and respect. If it is a friend, ask them if they enjoy intentionally hurting people that care about them. Ask if they are vengeful. Then ask them if they see you as cold, uncaring, insincere, or hurtful. I really and truly want you to be happy and successful in life. And I don't think that is possible without friends and people who love and respect you.

Love always,

Your caring father

Harry looked up as he finished reading, tears in his eyes.

"And that from a man who's always preaching about self-sufficiency and not needing anyone to complete you," Draco smiled bitterly.

"Draco, what were you doing when I came in?" The blonde, tearstained boy turned away, facing his bed.

"Nothing. Just, sitting here. Crying."

"You gave me three answers there, Drake, and I don't think any of them were honest. Now, tell me, please, what you were doing when I came in."

"Nothing you need to be concerned with, Harry. Now, would you please just, leave me alone? I need to clean." Harry began to get agitated.

"Nothing I need to be concerned with?! Bull, shit! I'm your bloody boyfriend and damn it, Draco I love you! Now you tell me what's going on!" Harry was a bit shocked at the words that came out of his mouth, but that was nothing to what Draco felt. He just stood there, gob-smacked, mouth hanging open, saying nothing. Then he broke the tense silence.

"You don't mean that," he whispered sadly.

"What? Of course I do. I love you! Is that so hard to believe?" There was a pause. And then,

"Yes," Draco whispered hoarsely.

"Why?!" Harry demanded, completely dumbfounded as to how a relatively simple concept like love could be so hard for someone to grasp.

Draco glanced down at the letter, still clutched in Harry's hand, and contemplated answering. He didn't. The answer had come to him immediately, but he couldn't say it. Saying something like, "Because nobody ever has," would be way too melodramatic, teen angst for him. No, Malfoys were strong. At that thought, he couldn't take it. He broke down. He didn't want to be a Malfoy. He didn't want to be strong. He didn't want the pressure, the responsibilities, the expectations, the coldness, the violence. He didn't want any of it.

"I don't want any of it," he sobbed, dropping to his knees. Harry rushed forward and knelt down next to him.

"Sshh, it's all right. I'm here. What's wrong? What don't you want?" He whispered soothingly into the boy's silky silver hair. "Draco, you have to tell me what's going on, or I can't help you." Draco suddenly jerked back.

"Well maybe I don't want you to help me," he said, frowning.

"All right, fine, don't tell me. I just don't know what you want me to do, Draco. I really don't know what to do with this situation. Other than, obviously, tell you not to do it."

"Do what?" Draco said, suddenly panicky. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Go home with your father," Harry said slowly, knowing for sure now, that something was up. "Why? What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing. Look, Harry, we're just going to have to talk later. I'm quite tired." He did look exhausted.

"I'll bet," Harry chuckled, looking around at the wreckage that had once been Draco's room. That must've taken a lot of energy. He picked his sleepy boyfriend up and laid him on the bed. He closed his eyes immediately and Harry could tell he was out. He turned to the room and did what he'd always done after Dudley had had a temper tantrum: clean. About ten minutes later it occurred to him that he should change Draco into his pj's. He went to the wardrobe and opened it. On the bottom was a pair of folded black silk pajamas. They were the same ones Harry had seen Draco in that morning at breakfast. He smiled fondly and went back to Draco's sleeping form on the bed. He cast a quick spell, (somnoliens) to make sure he wouldn't wake, and then proceeded to remove his robes.

"Good lord, he must be dying in this," Harry muttered to himself when he saw that Draco was wearing a tight black turtleneck under his robes. He reached down to the cuff to pull it off and was startled to find that it was warm and wet. He assumed that it was tears shed before he'd got there and proceeded to pull both sleeves up and off of Draco's arms, thus pulling the shirt off of the boy. He nearly screamed when the Draco's arms were finally exposed.

"My God," he murmured. Blood smeared his stunning boyfriend's pale left wrist. Upon closer inspection he found that the sources of the blood were numerous small perpendicular slashes that criss-crossed the wrist. Harry was very alarmed now, but judging by the amount of blood on the turtleneck, Draco hadn't lost much. So Harry just grabbed a towel in the bathroom and wet it, then applied it to Draco's wrist, wiping the blood off of it. Seeing that no new blood blossomed from the wounds, he was somewhat relieved. But then he noticed the other lines. Some recent, probably from the past few days, some just faint scars from a long time ago. Harry barely had the strength to stand. How long had this been going on? Why? He had so many questions to ask Draco, but decided to wait until he woke up, seeing that he needed a lot of rest. So instead, he turned to the bedside table and pulled out the drawer he had seen Draco shove something into when he'd come in. His stomach turned at the sight of a silver dinner knife, probably something he's nicked from the Great Hall. The edge was coated in blood. Harry pulled it out, wiped it off, wrapped it up, and put it in his pocket. He then proceeded to walk briskly down to the kitchens.

"Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby was thrilled to see him. "What can Dobby do for you, sir?" Harry pulled the knife out of his pocket.

"Here. I believe this is yours. Also, do you think you could get a few house-elves to help me clean something up?"

"Certainly, Harry Potter, sir!" the elf replied, all too happy to be of service. Soon Harry was marching back to Draco's room with Dobby, Winky, Mipsy, Toddles, and Gypsy in tow. It only took them about an hour to clean up the mess that Draco had spent the day creating, and Harry went to work casting reparo on everything that needed fixing.

"Thank you all very much," Harry said to the house-elves, smiling. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hand full of change, prepared to give them all a couple of sickles each for their help, but they all flatly refused before popping out of the room. When they were all gone Harry walked over to Draco's bed. He smiled sadly down at the young blonde beauty and stroked his hair as he sat down in the chair he'd pulled up from the desk. He thought about all that had happened in the past few weeks, all leading up to today. He felt overwhelmed at the idea of Draco becoming a death eater, and cutting himself, but knew that it didn't even begin to measure up to how plagued Draco must have been feeling, if he felt the need to cut himself. Quietly and patiently Harry waited for his lovely mate to wake up.