Summary: On an anniversary of death, Harry remembers an old friend.

NC-17

It was with customary stealth that Harry snuck down to the kitchen, feeling decidedly young again. He loved these little traditions that he kept up in memory of soft red hair and a kind smile. It was what preserved her memory in his mind far more then any photograph or tombstone could.

His cane, a mahogany stick topped with jade, tapped out a soothing rhythm on old beloved stone floors. Hogwart’s would always be his home and every echo of familiar walls was a reminder of that. He thought of his students all safe in their beds with little anxiety past exams and petty quarrels and smiled. No one had believed that they would live to see peace again in his last year as a student here, but this generation of Gryffindors was the first who could not remember the War.

Everyone knew of Harry’s eccentric late night walks by now, at least anyone who mattered. But for old time sake he made an effort of quiet, walking in the shadows and carefully muffling the sound of his cane. The kitchen beckoned cheerily, the light still on, some house elf undoubtedly working over time. Harry would have to shoo the poor thing out so he could get to his secret stash, but no matter. He walked in, thinking little more then of some excuse to send the elf away.

“Really Potter.” A familiar drawl snapped his attention to the preparation table in the middle of the giant kitchen. Sitting in a tall stool and sipping at a cup of tea was Professor Snape, a slight sneer on his lips. “I would have thought you’d grown out of sneaking around the halls.”

“Oh do shut up, Sev.” Harry shot back. He placed an affectionate kiss on the glowering face, before heading to his hidden cupboard under the frying panes. Excellent, it was still there. He returned to the table with a box of muggle cookies and a large glass of milk.

“Indulging your sweet tooth, Potter?” Snape sneered, but not until after he had taken one of the cookies and bitten into it himself. They clasped free hands, entwining their fingers.

“It’s Ginny’s birthday.” His voice lowered a little in reverence.

“Of course, how could I forget.”

Snape’s mere presence suggested that he had not at all forgotten. It was a courtesy he extended to Harry to be present on days of memory, just as Harry was there for his. They never acknowledged it, but it had long since passed into tradition. The two of them occasionally shared more then that, a relationship that had changed so many times that it had been inevitable to be on again off again lovers.

They sat in silence as Harry indulged in this tradition, remembering the way Ginny had giggled the first time they had celebrated her birthday with stolen milk and cookies. They had been children still at the time and delighted by such things. After the War, it was what remained with them as a memory of simpler times.

“You bought her roses, the last time.” Harry said suddenly, remembering the last birthday his wife had celebrated. “One white, one pink and one red.”

“Yes. You got her some of that insufferable music she was so fond of.”

“Country!” Harry said with a shudder, though sometimes, especially after she was gone, he would listen to a song or two. The sound was Ginny. “And Draco bought her that hideous green necklace that somehow looked good on her.”

“He had an eye for fine things.” Sev said lightly, before looking away. Silence fell between them, old and companionable, but thick with memories and sorrow. So much lay between them besides the wood of the table. The enmity of far away school days, the later harsh working relationship during the war and the strange love they shared were a part of it, but those were the only the surface layers. There was Ginny’s body in a puddle of blood the day she was mugged and beaten to death and Draco, who had taken ten long years to die.

(())

“Hey, Potter! Cripple Race!” Draco yelled the challenge with malicious glee as Harry exited his classroom. He rolled his eyes at the blonde’s antics, but fell in next to him.

In the battle against Voldemort, Harry’s leg had been shattered and later, painstakingly healed. It had been too little too late; he was left with a severe limp, his right leg almost entirely useless. A small price to pay for the final victory. Far less then Draco had suffered. For his betrayal against the Dark Lord, he had been left with a blood curse. Originally,

the curse had been meant to cut the brain’s contact with the body one limb and sense at a time over a period of days or weeks, but Voldemort had twisted it, forcing it to extend over long years. Every October 5 Draco would wake up screaming, something else robbed from him in the night. At the time, only a year had passed since the war, so Draco’s only loss the use of one leg to mid-thigh. No cure could be found.

“No challenge, I can run your arse into the ground any day.” Harry sneered, aware that his students were watching. Not proper decorum at all for a DADA teacher. Ever since the war, Harry had stopped caring about what was proper. Better to bring a smile to the pre-aged faces of these children.

“In your dreams, Potter! To the end of the hall and back?”

“Done. Ready, set...”

But Draco was already off, bastard Slytherin that he was and gamely, Harry followed. It should have been a pathetic sight; the two crippled young men limping like lunatics down a long hallway. Instead, it was just amusing and a little exhilarating with the kids cheering them on. Draco loved competition and Harry never failed to indulge him, not any more.

The blonde, even with his head start, arrived at the end wall several seconds behind Harry. Not bad considering Harry’s leg was only stiff where as Draco’s was completely numb. But part of their friendship meant never acknowledging weakness. They were both sweaty and panting from the minor emersion.

“Ten points to Gryffindor.” Harry said, smugly. “For speed against adversity.”

“Fifteen points to Slytherin for graciously allowing Gryffindor to maintain its dignity.” Draco returned, leaning against the wall. He looked paler then usual, the light bags under his eyes subtly deeper.

“Not getting enough beauty sleep, Drake?”

Drake meant seriousness, despite the tone, a code they had devised while Draco had played double agent.

“No.” The voice was tight. “It’s September”

“Worried about it already?” There was no good way to ask, so Harry spilled it. “You can’t think about it to much.”

“It’s not that. Well, it is, but other then. Bloody hell. Not out here. Let’s go hide in the staff lounge.”

Obediently, Harry followed as Draco dragged himself through the halls until they reached the relative sanctity of the lounge. It was a comfortable old room with plenty of couches and chairs that always smelled a little of mothballs. Once a year, some students were invited to take tea there and they reported back to their friends how dull it was, thus securing privacy from curious young eyes.

The two young men settled in soft chairs, near a low window that looked out over the Quidditch field. They stared at the view, mirror pangs of regret in their chest. Flying, especially the trick flying they had both excelled at, was no longer an option.

“What’s this all about then?” Harry asked finally.

“It’s Sev.” The blonde admitted immediately.” The man is insufferable, I may wake up next month not able to, you know, and he refuses to listen to reason! He’s always pushing me away when I want to talk about, feeding me excuses.”

“What? I thought you convinced him already, didn’t you have that huge fight over the summer to settle it all?”

“I thought we had.” Draco growled out. “But then he went away on that stupid ingredient gathering trip and I couldn’t go” There had been far to much hiking, but neither of the boys said it. “And by the time he came back, school was about to start and he was the same stubborn way all over again. I think I’m going nutters! And I’ve got a case of blue balls you wouldn’t believe Harry?”

The other young man had turned the most alarming state of red, his fists opening and closing at his sides.

“Drake, where’s Snape now?”

“Where he always is these days, in his lab.”

Draco had been teaching potions this year while Snape applied himself full time to the making of several necessary potions to treat post-war injuries and traumas. When he wasnt mass-producing healing draughts, the older man looked for cures for the stranger maladies that had struck down warriors of the good side.

“All right.” The Man Who Lived stood slowly. “I’m going to go have a chat with him. Go and teach your next class.”

“Don’t you dare hurt him!” The blonde rose quickly, trying to ignore the brief dizziness that overtook him. “I’m not some blushing virgin whose honor you must defend, Potter!”

“I never said you were. Go teach. I promise not to hurt him.”

With that, Harry began the long walk down to the dungeons. He knew that Draco would do as he asked. The other man had trusted Harry to help him many times before he would do so again. True rage beat in Harry’s blood and he was bizarrely grateful for it. It made him feel alive to be this angry.

Eventually he arrived at the laboratory door, knocking politely. A young fresh-faced Slytherin answered and asked him to wait in the sitting room while she fetched the Professor. Harry tapped his cane in an impatient staccato against the floor.

“Professor Potter. To what to I owe this unexpected pleasure?” Despite their years of fighting together, Snape still took greedy joy out of snarking at Harry. The younger man was in no mood.

“It’s about Draco and the utterly despicable way you have been treating him! I have held my tongue for nearly a year, but I won’t stand by and watch you hurt him anymore! Do you know how much he loves you? Every time you push him away, a little bit of him dies and he has to come to me to fix it. It’s killing him!”

“What Mr. Malfoy and I do in our spare time is not you concern Mr. Potter.”

“It’s my concern when the person you’re hurting is my friend! Do you know what his biggest fear about his curse is? That he might loose something before he has a chance to be with you! Not that he might never see, speak or hear again or loose all feeling in his other leg or his arms! For some bizarre reason, the only thing he’s worried about is you!” Harry took a deep breath to continue, but Snape’s dry tone cut into him.

“I’m well aware of Mr.Malfoy’s fears, Mr. Potter. If you are so concerned about his sexual well being, then perhaps you can see to it yourself.”

“You bloody git!” Harry snarled ”Is that what this all about? Denying him because you think we’re shagging? In case, it slipped your mind, I’m getting married on Christmas to Ginny Weasley.”

“I found you in bed together”

“That was three bloody years ago and we were sleeping! Fully clothed! And we spent half the night talking about you. You’re the main reason he decided to change sides! How jealous are you, Professor that you can’t let go of even that?”

“He loves you.” Snape said firmly. “You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger. You make him weak with your defenses. You protect him from everything.”

“Only because you won’t!” Harry cried, loosing all patience with a man, whom he had some grudging respect for. “He loves me as a friend as I love him and if you’re willing to toss him out of your bed for a transgression he did not commit long before he told you how he felt then you’re an even bigger bastard then I thought.” Harry stared at him, comprehension slowly dawning. “You’re afraid. you’re afraid to take care of him! The idea of him growing weaker scares the daylights out of you! That’s why you keep pushing him away. You don’t want to take care of him at all!”

“How dare you say that to me?”

“Because it’s true.” A soft voice drew both their attentions to the door. Draco was there, looking drawn, leaning hard on his cane. “All my life at Hogwart’s I knew I could turn to you, Sev. You helped me through so much and then, seventh year came and it was like I didn’t exist. I had to go to Harry to help get through turning on my father and you couldn’t handle that in your absence I found someone else. I often wonder if you wiped your hands of me then.”

“Draco” Severus halted, searching for words. “I thought that you loved...you said”

“I say a lot of things that you don’t listen to.” The blonde continued. “Like that I love you more then anyone else in the world or that I’m scared to death of what I might lose on the fifth or that I’d rather die then find out, if you aren’t there to help me.”

“Drake!” Surprise and terror provoked the cry from Harry’s lips. “You never told me”

“It wasn’t any of your business Potter though you seem head strong in making it yours. I told you: I’m no blushing virgin that needs protecting. I chose my dragon and I’ll fight him until I get what I want.” Ice blue eyes turned on Snape, who had become quiet since Draco’s tirade.

“I think we should discuss this somewhere more...private.” Snape sounded choked, a few tears in his eyes.

“I agree. Hit the road, Potter.”

Obediently, Harry made for the exit, only turning at the last moment to see that Draco had gone to the Severus and had pulled the taller man into a reassuring hug. Amazing, Draco was the one who truly had something to fear and he was comforting Snape.

It seemed to have worked though. Harry’s heart nearly burst with joy as he said his vows on Christmas day with family and friends looking on. He could see from the corner of his eye, in the second row, Draco leaning against Snape, the older man’s arm around the blonde’s shoulders. Malfoy’s useless left arm hung straight from his body.

Being married to Ginny was one of the best things that had ever happened to Harry. She brightened his life like a star, busy and warm. Together they brought joy to Hogwart’s again, trying to bring smiles to the faces of students who had lost their families and their innocence in the span of a few months.

Ginny was like magic. Her quiet voice and soft hands mothered dozens of boys and girls when her womb produced none. Her multitude of nephews and nieces poured into the halls filling Gryffindor with a new generation of red headed mischief-makers. The other houses filled in their ranks slower, leaving many empty rooms. Slytherin took the longest to rebuild, but it gradually strengthened, freed of the evil taint that had plagued it for so long. Under the ever vigilant eyes of Snape, the once suspect house was growing its own respectable traditions. They would always be a little darker then the others with a cunning edge, but even Harry had learned that darkness had its place, even in Hogwart’s as long as it wasn’t malicious darkness.

“Harry! You just poured three cups of sugar into the cookies!” Ginny scolded, smiling at his vague surprise. “Honestly, I wonder where your mind goes sometimes.”

“Sorry, love. I was thinking about how almost all the seats will be full tonight in the Great Hall.” He said with a rueful grin, trying to make rapid repair work on the dough.

“Of course, dear. Draco! Get your fingers out of my pie!” The blonde laughed licking the strawberry filling from his fingers. It was another First of the Year and Ginny always insisted on making her own baked goods for the feast. Harry and Draco were supposed to be helping, but it seemed they were only making a mess of things.

‘Sorry, Mrs. Potter.’ Draco drawled.” Your baking is just too good for be to pass up.”

“That’s it!” Ginny said with a sigh. ‘Both of you get out of my kitchen! Useless lumps of magic, both of you.’

Laughing, Draco commanded his chair to take him into the sitting room with a repentant Harry at his heels. The magic controlled chair set Draco down next to the fire and Harry sank into a seat besides him. For a few minutes they sat together, staring into the flame laughing every so often when Ginny ducked her head in to make sure they were behaving themselves.

“Are you ready for another year?” Harry asked finally.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.’ The pale right hand flexed opening and closing, the only limb that remained under his control. There had been some debate as to whether or not he could maintain his teaching position, but Snape had more time now, so he could take on the easier courses.

“You know I hate to ask but are you and Snape getting on all right?”

A brief smile flickered across pale lips.

“Everything’s fine. He lives in terror of one of your speeches. Did you have to terrorize the poor man, again?”

Harry blanched. He didn’t think that Draco knew about the latest berating over the summer when Snape had been considering a trip to the states where, of course, Draco couldn’t follow. The young man rarely left the castle at all any more and he was too afraid of loosing Snape to actually confront him. So Harry and Ginny had double-teamed on the potion master until he agreed to hold off his sabbatical.

“I just want you to be happy.” Harry said finally. “And though I don’t think I’ll ever understand why, he does make you happy.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it? Just five years ago you would have rather kiss Ron then do something to make me happy.”

“Things change.” Harry said vaguely, a blush rising to his cheeks. “You’ve saved my life and helped me propose to Ginny.”

“Hold on a minute, Mr. Potter! You kissed the Weasel?”

Harry sighed a little.

“Just the once. Look, don’t make a big deal about it. Ginny doesn’t know. It was a dare in sixth year.”

“You are such a slut, Potter.” Draco smirked. “Whom else have you planted those lips on?”

“Uh....George, Fred and Charlie. It was the same night!” He protested the minute he saw Draco’s horrified expression. “It was over that summer and we got a little drunk, they dared me!”

“And the great Potter never turns down a dare.” Draco shook his head. “You’re a Weasley slut. That’s so pathetic.”

“ At least I’ve kissed someone besides my spouse! Who would ever think that Draco Malfoy was a prude!”

“I should never have told you that.” Draco muttered, red rising to his cheeks.

“What? That you were a virgin until you were twenty?” Harry teased, still delighting in making Malfoy squirm.

“Shut it, Potter.” The blonde warned, turning away.

“Do you ever wish...?” Harry trailed off, suddenly unable to ask the question. It was one that had been on the tip of his tongue since Draco, piss drunk, had admitted that he had never been with anyone. That had been in the middle of the war, one dark night and Harry, his heart aching had offered. The same wistful smile Draco had worn that night graced his lips now.

“Sometimes.” The other man’s good hand came to rest on Harry’s own, squeezing almost tight enough to hurt. “I wish it had been you, Harry. I wish my heart had been smarter. But it wasn’t. It isn’t. I love him, Harry. Even when it hurts so deep I think I’m going to die.”

Harry interlaced his fingers with his ex-archenemies and took a painful breath. In the kitchen, Ginny moved among the pots and hands, humming a little off tune. He felt tears sting his eyes.

“I love Ginny.” He said softly. “Everything about her. But if you had said yes that night...”

“Don’t.” Draco cut him off, his voice thick. “It’s best not to think of such things.”

“I’ve finished the tarts, dear. Do you boys want an early taste?”

“Yes, please.” They both chimed, the moment forever broken, but engrained in their hearts.

A month later, Draco lost hearing in his left ear. Conversation had to be directed to his right and his voice, once smooth and beautiful had taken on the loud, off kilter sound of the deaf. Harry and Ginny secretly learned sign language. They had offered to teach Snape, but the man had only glared at them, before stomping away.

The year passed with a graceful slowness that Harry had thought gone with childhood. He relished the days lecturing to his classes, teaching children defenses that they would hopefully never need as desperately as he had. His nights alternated between work for the school, spending time with Draco or simply being with Ginny.

In retrospect, Harry supposed that it was far better to have been that year rather then one of his busier hectic ones that Ginny had ventured out to wizarding London and not returned. When he found her inordinately late returning home, he immediately Apperated to her current location using a homing spell set in their wedding bands, too worried to think about repercussions.

The alley had been just as dirty and smelly as a muggle one; the body lying in the mess was not his Ginny. Not the woman he had kissed goodbye this morning over coffee and teased about over nurturing students. It seemed her attackers had only been after her purse and when she had fought back, ever the Gryffindor, she had been shot. Ginny had never really learned about muggle weapons beyond swords and blow darts the twins had once taken up as a hobby. She would not have known how to protect herself.

They were both found hours later; her head cradled his lap while he quietly sobbed over her broken body. Harry’s face was soaked with tears, his nose running unheeded and blood stained his hands and face. The young boy who found them had recognized the famous face and immediately owled the school.

“Come, Harry.” It was Minerva at his elbow, prying him up.

“I will take her back.” He said softly, rising, gently cradling his wife in his arms.

“We will catch the men that did this to her.” She promised. But Harry only sighed and shook his head.

“We won’t find them. If they’re using a gun then they have lives in the muggle world. It is too vast a place to search and it would not ease my heart to know that her death perpetrated misery for others. Even killers had families. No, she would be far more pleased to buried and forgotten then be known for how her famous husband avenged her death.”

Those words were the last to fall from his lips for nearly a month. He buried her in silence. He had no more words to say that he had not whispered to her broken body while he held her in the alley. He had no more tears to cry, no more emotion in the void that had been sucked from his chest. It was Ron, who broke him from his silence. Summer had come, school was out and Harry had come to the Weasley home out of habit to spend his first few weeks with the family that had claimed him as their own since he was a frightened little boy on a train platform.

His first stop when he reached the house was the small family plot and it’s newest tombstone. Too many cemeteries, too many graves that Harry could remember now. Too many funerals, too much of his heart buried in the earth. Ron had seen him arrive and come to stand vigil with him.

“Malfoy sent an owl. About how you haven’t said a word in almost a month. It’s strange, even after all these years, him being worried about you.” Harry only nodded, slightly, indicating his attention. “He said absolutely nothing worked to get a word out of you and I told him I’d take care of it. And I will.

“You listen to me, Harry Potter, stop being a selfish prig!” Harry jumped as his best friend began scolding him in the same tone that Molly and, his heart tugged, Ginny had always used. “You aren’t the only one who’s lost her! We’ve all been sick with grief. Mom’s got Dad, George has Fred and it seems that even Percy and Charlie have made a go at some type of talking. I’m the odd one out here and the brother who I always turn to has given up his voice.”

“Oh, Ron” Harry managed, his voice cracking. “I’ve only been thinking...of how I’m going to live without her.:”

“You’ll go on. Just as we’ve done before. It won’t be the first time we have stood at a grave together, Harry.”

Her name is unspoken between them, their silent pledge, but Harry broke it in the moment. It was the magic between them. Their Unforgivable Curse that was always forgiven. It was a blessed release and a tearing pain.

“Hermione”

“I have lived four long years without her.” Ron said stiffly, staring at the verdant grass beneath his feet. “Each day I think of her, every night I dream about her. But I live because she wanted me too. Ginny wouldn’t want you taking a vow of silence on her behalf. You know that. Just like you knew not to take vengeance on the jackals who took her life.”

Instead of words, Harry threw his arms around his best friend and drew him close. They cried together as they had only once before. The night that Hermione had fallen on the battlefield. Then they had cried with each other, sure in the knowledge that their lives might end at any moment. Now, with no immediate death threat, it was different, healing and not urgent. It was a singular moment. When they drew away again, they buried it, heading back towards the house; Ginny was buried alongside Hermione now in far more then dirt. Trust one Weasley to fix another.

So Harry managed to push his grieving from his conscious mind, apart, but a part from himself forever. The summer passed slowly, painfully, especially after returning to his beloved school that rang of memories. He might have gone completely mad there all summer if it hadn’t been for Draco’s continued attempts at keeping him amused. The blonde had difficulty actually doing much anymore aside from reading and learning how to manage with only one hand. He preoccupied himself that summer by learning slight of hand tricks from a muggle book that he had bought as a child,

“To prove to myself how stupid muggles were. Their attempts at ‘˜magic’ were amusing. But now, there’s a certain charm to them, I think. Look, I can make a penny disappear without using my wand!”

They were outside, trying to enjoy the weather. Draco was talking in his overloud tone, occasionally slipping to whisper for no apparent reason. The blonde had asked Harry to help him sit against a tree, which meant physically lifting him from the chair and having to watch the painful process of him rearranging his limbs using his right arm. After some careful primping, it had appeared as if Draco was simply sitting against the tree, legs naturally crossed, his left arm resting on his thigh.

“You’ve shown me that one already.” Harry chided lightly. “Try another one.”

“I will when I’ve learned another one.” Came the cheerful response. “I have to convert all these to using only one hand you know, takes time.” The last words were in a whisper.

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

“Doing what?’

“Well, you know, talking loudly and then a whisper. It’s started when I came back from the Weasley’s. What happened while I was away? And don’t lie and say it was nothing because I know that’s shit.’

“A swear word. You must be serious.” Draco muttered, sounding almost like himself again.

“Come on, Drake. Tell me what happened.”

“Honestly, Harry, it wasn’t anything important.”

“I wish you would stop defending him.” With a surge of irritation, Harry clamored to his feet, then winced as his leg reminded him that sudden moves were no longer his body’s expertise.

“I only defend him from you. He doesn’t need help with anybody else.” Draco pointed out, not looking up from the open book in his lap.

“Tell me please, Drake. I promise I won’t say a word to him, no matter what he deserves.” Laboriously, Harry settled down again, wincing at the pain lancing through his leg. He’d be paying for that sudden move for days.

“We were chatting and he winced.” The words, once drawn forth, tumbled over each other. “I asked him why and he said I was yelling like a fishwife. When I tried to lower my voice, I could tell he couldn’t hear a word I was saying. I’ve been trying to modulate, but I can’t get used to only hearing half my voice!”

Silence reigned as Harry tried to work through his initial rage, so he could be of some help for his friend. Eventually, the anger faded, leaving only a tired bitterness in its wake.

“Why do you stay with him when he can ruin you with a word? The man picks you apart for something that you cannot help and you defend him. I don’t understand. He’s supposed to be your partner. Doesn’t that mean that you share something? All I see is you taking care of him and never him taking care of you!” The words had been building up in Harry since the first time Draco had cried on him about Snape when they had been little more then children armed with deadly politics.

“I love him. Have since I was a child. “ Draco said simply, his words even and not at all of the strange off kilter tone he’d had since October. “But he doesn’t love me and it kills him. I can see it in his eyes. He takes care of me because he is honorable and good at tricking himself into penance. If I were a better man, I would leave him. I never said I wasn’t selfish and with him I am as greedy as I can be, for all the time I have left.”

“There you are!” A cheery greeting came from behind them. “Minerva told me you would be here.”

“Sirius! How long have you been back from Egypt?” The excitement of greeting his godfather drove Draco’s painful confession from his mind for the moment, but as the months passed they would echo in his head again and again. Especially in the rare moments that Snape publicly showed affection for Draco, whether it was helping him with dinner or placing a hand on his shoulder. Surely, Harry thought, Draco was wrong. No one would stay with someone for years, simply out of obligation?

Whenever he tried to bring it up, Draco deftly changed the subject; leaving Harry to wonder if the blonde regretted his words that maybe they were merely the idle talk of a last summer afternoon. That was the year that the blonde lost all sight in his right eye, a milky cataract filming over the once sparkling blue. For the first time, Draco did not immediately recover his good cheer. In the past, after a week of depression, he would emerge a smirk slathered over his pain. A month had passed now and the despondency had shown no signs of lifting. Draco barely left his rooms now.

The knock at his study door was not unexpected and even though he was only half way finished grading the third year Hufflepuff tests, he mentally put his work to bed for the night.

“Enter.” The door swung open, charmed to his voice to reveal Snape. The man betrayed no emotion and entered, swiftly shutting the door behind him and coming to sit in the spare chair Harry kept for guests.

“I have run out of patience with him, Potter.” Snape began, plunging into the subject with all his usual bluntness. “He refuses to engage in even the slightest activity and I have my own things to attend to.”

“Can you not indulge him in it a while longer, Severus?” The potion master winced at the use of his name. Harry took a grim pleasure from addressing him so informally.

“The last thing he needs is to be indulged! If I had it in me, I would slap him.”

“If you feel so strongly about that, then why are you here, about to ask me to rouse him from his stupor? Surely, I am another form of indulgence.” They locked stares, but where once Harry would have held it for as long as he could as a bizarre sort of pissing contest, he now deliberately broke it. He didn’t want to play games.

“You are my last resort, before I try to shake sense into him. He takes it hard enough when my words are harsh, I can hardly imagine what type of breakdown he would have if I laid a hand on him in discipline.”

“You know?! You know how much you hurt him and you persist? What kind of man are you, who would cause intentional pain in the one who trusts you more then any other?”

“The kind who did not ask to be trusted.” For a moment, Snape looked every year his age, his voice affected with burden. “Go to him, Harry. It’s you he needs, not me.”

Before Harry could reply or call him on the use of his first name, the man was gone, nearly running from the room. It seemed an age, but was perhaps only moments later, that Harry rose from his desk to descend to the dungeons. The familiar damp smell rushed up to embrace him with emotion of a thousand memories. The steps were uneven, but he had long since learned their capricious ways and avoided the more treacherous patches of lichen. The door to Snape’s quarters opened with a whispered word, letting Harry into the pit of Hogwart’s.

“Draco?” Harry called out loudly, muttering “lumos” under his breath. Faint lights sprung up around the rooms, but Draco was not in the main part. “Drake?”

“Bedroom.” The reply came and Harry followed the voice to the bedchamber he’d only been in a handful of times. The lights had answered his call here as well, warming the room. The blonde was sitting in his usual enchanted chair, his good eye looked at the floor, the blinded one staring out blandly into space.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Wallowing. In my misery. Indulging myself as Sev would have it.” Self-hatred filled the uneven tone. “He sent you down here, didn’t he? He’s run out of patience to deal with me and he sent you. I think he believes you’re a bandage for all my emotional troubles.”

“I’m not.” Harry assured him, sitting on the antique bed that Draco had been facing. “In fact, I don’t think any one should be. You’ve a right to be depressed. You’re always pretending that everything’s all right, but you’re dying, Drake. Piece by piece and if I was you I would throw far more tantrums and sulk more then you do.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” The argument was sure, but not followed by a reason. “I want to ask you a favor, a fairly large one. Possibly the biggest I’ve ever asked of anyone.”

“What is it?” Apprehension clear in his voice. Harry Potter was used to people asking him for favors that he did not want to grant.

“I want to know what it’s like to be with someone who loves you” A long pause and Harry was certain that Draco wasn’t going to finish, but the blonde seemed to collect himself and managed to continue on. “You’re right. I’m dying and I don’t think about it to often because it’s far to frightening to dwell on. But this,” He halted to touch his useless eye, “this steps over the line. I woke up, finally and realized that my days are numbered; my chances of happiness are becoming fewer and farther between. I would like to die, knowing that I did not pass you up.”

“But Snape” The stumbled beginning has no end to it as Harry simply can’t form the words to describe the utter wrongness of what Draco is asking of him because underneath he wanted it badly enough not to care.

“Is my love for whatever I have left of life, but he will never feel about me the way you do. I want to know what it’s like to be loved by an equal, not by a master, Harry. Please.”

“Not here.” He managed. The please had undone him. If this is what Draco truly wanted then Harry would not to deny him. For years he had loved from a proper distance for both of them, cursing Snape for getting Draco’s heart before he had. One night, for that was all it could be, would not make up for the lifetime that could have been, but it would be enough to soothe something in both of them.

Without further words, Harry apperated them both to his own bedroom.

“Why here?” Draco asked, expressing no surprise at his sudden dislocation. He’d arrived without his chair, propped on pillows on the large soft bed.

“We talked once, Ginny and I, about what would happen if the other one should die. It was one of those silly conversations that young love has, I suppose and it was after the war. She told me that if I should take another lover after her death then she wanted it to be in our bed. She didn’t want me to hide as if her ghost still lingered in the mattress.” He paused. “Plus, I’ve always wanted to see you on Gryffindor colors.”

Draco looked down at the sheets, seeing their deep wine red color trimmed in gold and let out a hiccupping laugh.

“Glad to fulfill at least one of your fantasies.”

Harry stood, unsure, over the blonde.

“How much do you want, .how much feeling do you have?” Tentative, embarrassed half questions came from his lips before he could stop them. “What does Snape...”.

“We don’t do anything, any more. Not since I lost all feeling below the waist. But I want you in me.” The strange harsh tones only served to define how strongly Draco felt. “ don’t care if my body can’t feel it. I will.”

“All right.” Gingerly, careful not to bang the other man around, Harry took off his own shoes and socks then set to work on Draco’s. All the while he could feel the one eye on his back, bright and alive. Dimly, he wondered if he should be happy about this. He was doing his friend a favor, caving into his own long buried desires and even fulfilling Ginny’s wish that he would not be alone after her passing. But contrary to everything else; Snape was a friend. Ginny had liked and trusted the man. If it hadn’t been for their continuing alterations over Draco, the Potions Master and Harry might have had a very deep friendship.

“No regrets, Harry?” Draco asked, his voice at the pained whisper and the reminder of the reason for his uneven tone set Harry to work again. With calm detachment, he shed his robes then helped the other man out of his.

Naked, Draco was even more beautiful then he was in his artfully cut clothes. Pale skin that rarely saw the sun was smooth and soft under Harry’s reverent hands. The muscles in his legs and left arm were slack with disuse. His cock, which now hung fairly useless between his legs was long and thick.

“Beautiful.” Harry muttered, moving over the still body again. Draco’s good arm draped over his shoulders and laced into dark hair.

”You too. Now, show me.”

With a soft sigh, Harry leaned down and kissed sweet lips. He had laid many casual friendly kisses on that pale mouth, always longing to hold on a little longer, taste deeper. Now he could and that freedom him spurred him on more then any words that Draco would try and ply him with. At great length and leisure, Harry tried to memorize the feel and taste of Draco Malfoy. His mouth yielded up only the clean minty wetness that Harry associated with a through tooth brushing. Continuing, he licked gently at the pouty lower lip, finding there a bit of unique spice, a bit of coppery blood and dry skin.

Seized by an urge that he could not explain, Harry performed the same ritual Ginny had always demanded before and after they made love. With feather light touch, Harry dropped a kiss on the tip of Draco’s aristocratic nose, the lids of both his eyes and both cheeks.

“ ‘S nice.” Came a breathy whisper, so Harry kept on, butterfly kissing as much of the beautiful face as possible, before dipping down into another sweet lip lock.

“Love you.” Harry whispered into the still functioning ear. He felt the shiver run through the body beneath him. “Drake?”

“Mm?”

“I want to try something...tell me when you can’t feel my kisses?”

Confused, but willing to play along the blonde gave a single nod. Harry moved to kiss the rounded chin, decorating the long slender neck. He wanted desperately to suck at the juncture between shoulder and neck, but knew that this artwork was on lend. Instead, he licked and Draco said something to low to be heard, but might have been a curse. Encouraged, he continued. The right shoulder was still safe territory, he trailed down to suck at one beautifully small nipple. In a strange half-arch, Draco leaned into that touch, a cry of pleasure. Harry left it for the moment and traveled to across the thin chest, too thin. Draco had been in fine Quidditch shape, once upon a time, but the curse had sapped him of his strength piece by piece.

“I won’t feel anything there”

Harry glanced up. Draco’s expression gave nothing away. He was paused over the left side of the emaciated chest. Without pause, he gave the numb side the same treatment he had lavished on the one that sensed.

“How does that feel?” He asked.

“It doesn’t, except...I can feel the warmth” The good eye widened. “I can feel warmth!”

“Good.” Harry said simply, then continued concentrating on Draco’s skin.

Draco gave no further indication that he could feel Harry’s caresses. When he arrived at the pale man’s quiescent cock, he sent a querying gaze. The single ice blue eye gazed down at him, attempting detachment.

“I can’t. No touch could rouse that flesh, so don’t try.”

Harry placed a gentle kiss there any way, before returning to sweet parted lips. He kept his hands running gently skimming patterns over the motionless body beneath him.

“What do you want me to do, Drake?” He felt strange, speaking so loudly with his bed partner. He was used to the intimate whispers that lovemaking with Ginny had always entailed.

“I want you in me.” The voice was pleading and hopeful.

”But you won’t feel...”

“I will.” The blonde insisted. “Even if it’s not the way I would have”

Reluctantly, Harry withdrew for an instant to search for the hand lotion he used only once in the long months since Ginny’s death. He coated his fingers before moving to cover Draco once more. With careful hands, he shifted the other man, so that one leg was draped over his shoulder, a move that would have been easier had his partner had any control over the lower half of his body. Given Draco’s condition, it would have been easer to do this from behind, but Harry had promised and making love was just not the same if you couldn’t see the persons face. Harry was sentimental and romantic like that.

“You’ve done this before, right?” Draco teased a little. “ I mean, what with being such a good husband all these years”

“I was a very different person before...everything, and you know it.” Harry scolded lightly. “It may have been a long time, but I haven’t forgotten how.”

That being said, he leaned down to pull a sweet kiss, silencing the unnaturally loud voice. As he deepened the contact, he pushed one of his lubricated fingers to Draco’s opening. The blonde made no sign of feeling anything, so Harry pushed deeper, adding another finger faster then he would have with a lover who still had functioning nerve endings. No muscles contracted around his fingers, but there was still a certain tightness that Harry would always associate with this type of sex. He reached for the lotion again, Draco grabbed it from him with his good hand. With all the talent that Harry had always suspected those long talented fingers possessed, Draco coated the scared man’s burgeoning erection.

“Love you.” Harry whispered, hoping the other man would just read his lips. He entered in one smooth stroke, aiming his kisses lower, dusting them across that elegant neck. He concentrated on the functioning right side, using a hand to pinch the sensitive nipple. Draco shuddered and sighed as Harry moved against him, leaving a trail of owning marks that seared his flesh.

For Draco it was like being in a warm bath. He could feel Harry’s deepest strokes touching on some place in his body that still owned the ghost of feeling. It was amazing to have this again. To be touched with reverence was new and wonderful. Sev always touched him with concern and vague irritation, if he touched him at all. This was beautiful. He felt saddened when Harry shuddered against him, signaling the completion of the act. To his surprise, the soft warmth didn’t immediately subside. Instead, Harry remained in him, engaging him in another searing kiss. For a long moment, Draco felt whole.

Slowly, Harry pulled away, summoning a damp cloth that he ran between Draco’s legs and then his own. He threw it aside and then moved so that he was curled against Draco’s good side.

“Love you.” Harry said clearly into his ear, nuzzling it a little.

Draco let his arm curl around the Man Who Lived.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Harry practically purred, snuggling against the warm body in his bed. “Now rest a while. No one’s expecting us anywhere for a few more hours.”

In moments, Harry fell asleep. His hot breath caressed Draco’s neck in long even strokes. They lay like that for hours, Draco carding pale fingers through his partner’s dark locks and trying not to think in “what ifs” and “maybes”

“Are you pleased with yourself now?”

The voice was so infinitely familiar that at first, Draco barely stirred. It took him a moment to remember that that voice should not be here. Not now.

“I...” He trailed off, fumbling for something. Wished to all that was holy that when he turned his head, he wouldn’t see what he knew he would see.

“Mr. Potter, you have something that belongs to me.”

Harry stirred at his side, rousing slowly then all at once when he recognized the harsh tone. He sat up and turned slowly to face the potions master, who was currently standing at his bedroom door.

“You entrusted him into my care, Snape.” He surprised himself with the evenness of his voice. “You knew exactly what would happen.”

“How dare you!”

“Your own words.” Its you he needs, not me.” Well you were right. I only did what I was asked.” Even as he said the words, he let a hand drift to Draco’s own, squeezing lightly, reassuring him.

“Is this what you would choose, Draco?” Dark eyes burned into pale flesh and Draco felt sudden rage take him as it had not since his school days. He let if flow through him, embracing his old self, briefly.

”I wanted to see what it was like to be with him.” He used his good arm to prop up the rest of his useless body. The odd skewering of his vision was momentarily forgotten as he concentrated all the raw scorn into his halved vision. “It was very beautiful. I’m only sorry that I never realized it could be that way before.”

“If you’re so very happy in Professor Potter’s company, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you relocating your things to his quarters. You’re no longer welcome in mine.” With a last cold glare, Snape turned and left.

“Oh shit shit shit.” Draco muttered, falling back to the pillows, blinking back tears.

“You are free to stay with me...”Harry started, then stopped and sighed. He would gladly take Draco into his quarters and care for the man, but it meant changing his whole life and he would live every day knowing that the blonde was unhappy. Draco was never happy away from his potions master.

“He doesn’t want me.” Draco said stiffly, through his tears. “He set us both up and now, he’s punishing me.” Harry could not find words to fill the silence, so instead he settled back on the bed, holding the pliant body next to him. “He wants me to come begging for his forgiveness, and he’d be right to expect it, but I won’t give it to him. I won’t be manipulated like this. Not any more. You really wouldn’t mind if I stayed with you?’

“Not at all. I need the companionship.” Harry admitted. It would be nice to have someone to come home to, besides empty memories of his greatest love. “As long as you need to.”

“Good. Then there’s something I need to do. Could you help me back into my chair?”

Harry rose and obliged, shocked afresh at how light the Slytherin had become. During the war, he’d had the opportunity to feel Draco’s full weight from dragging him from the battlefield. He’d been all muscle then, a solid pack of weight that made it almost impossible to save him. Now, he was little more then skin on bone, lighter then Ginny. He settled the slender man into the chair that carted him around the school. Without a word, he left, floating out.

The long journey down to the dungeons gave Draco plenty of time to think. He steeled himself against the inevitable pain in the upcoming confrontation. He’d handed Severus his heart on a plate for years and he’d learned all to well what it felt like when he gave back that gift. If Draco was honest, and more and more as his days became numbered, he would admit that part of Sev’s appeal was his isolating nature. Draco had always had a touch of masochism in him.

The door to their rooms still responded to his password, so Severus had probably been pacing the halls before barging in on him and Harry, rather then Draco-proofing his life. The thought was oddly reassuring, though he did not allow it to be. With a deep breath he entered. Severus was sitting in his chair, by the fire, a glass of wine in one hand.

“If you’ve come to apologize, I don’t wish to hear it.”

“I came to get my things.” Draco used the same imperious tone that once had been reserved for insulting muggles.

He didn’t wait to see if Sev was going to reply. He went to their bedroom and found his wand. It was his wand arm that remained free of the curse, the most resistant part of his body. That came in handy for a crippled wizard. He shrank his things and gestured them into an open sack, then hung the sack from the back of his chair. There was only his clothing here and some of his books. Nothing of his was in the main room. His eyes stung with unshed tears as he realized how little of himself he had maintained, living all these years with a man who would not let him in.

He turned the chair, ready to leave, but unwilling to let go of the damp stone rooms that had been his home for so long. He ran a hand over the side of the bed that he had slept in for his entire adult life. The sheets were black fine cotton that warmed briefly beneath his caress. A part of him wanted to steal something of Sev’s, anything at all. Something he wouldn’t miss, but would smell like him. He resisted, too proud to stoop to such a pathetic deed. He waited until the stinging of his eyes passed, before heading for the exit.

Sev was still in his chair, his expression the same scowling blankness it always was for his students. There was something in his slump that stopped Draco from leaving in the silence he had planned. Without turning or indicating in any way that he was speaking to anyone but the wall, Draco tried to maintain a reasonable volume.

“I won’t sleep with him again, if that’s what you’re thinking. You won’t manipulate me into loving him. I want you, only you. If you ever want me back, then come to me, but this time, I won’t come back to you. I am a Malfoy, Severus Snape. No matter how little that means to the outside world any more, it means something to me. I will not beg or plead any more. I will not grovel. I will wait and that is far lower then I should be.” He wished he could hear his own words as something other then a dull echo. Not wanting to see Sev’s expression, he left. Making his way back up to Harry’s quarters, he let the tears he had been holding in fall down his cheeks. The students he passed started at him oddly, but he didn’t allow himself the pleasure at snapping at them. It was a habit he had, after all, inherited from Sev.

Living with Harry was something completely different to what Draco had ever been used to before. It was not the cold austere Malfoy manor, it was not the dank solitary confinement that the Slytherin or the hopeful void of Sev’s rooms. Harry moved his life, shifted his things and made room for Draco. He didn’t so much as frown when the blonde requested a different place to sleep. He showed him the guest room and told him to redecorate it however he wanted.

Potter had always been too fundamentally decent for his own sake, good to the last atom. It was the only thing that sullied the experience of living with him was that he was unable to comprehend the darkness that would always linger in his soul. Harry understood enough not to question when he moved to the window and stared for hours, but he didn’t understand.

That was somehow more fundamental then Draco believed possible. Other then that, other then that, Harry was perfect. He took care of him without being overbearing, watched him without making him itch and most of all-he just knew that he loved him. It was in every breath and ill-made cup of tea. It was like a warm blanket after the longest winter of his life.

Nonetheless, he thought about Sev almost continuously. Harry carefully did not mention him, not even when describing the days when he doubtless had had to encounter the man for a staff meeting or conference. Draco had long since ceased to work for Hogwart’s, so he could get away with hiding in Harry’s rooms. Their rooms. He had found a spell that gave books a voice. They read themselves to him in a loud even tone, soothing and informative.

He told Harry that he spent his days continuing the research he had been doing while still living with Sev. In truth, he was just listening to various author’s stately voices and absorbing everything he could. His world was shrinking, sense by sense and Draco had no intention of going out of this world without knowing as much about it as possible. He listened to books on dozens of subjects, anything that caught his attention.

It was something he had started the first time he messed up a potion Sev had had him working on. It wasn’t as if Sev had said anything, but he had given him that Look. The Look that said, ˜Completely erroneous to the point of insulting. Detention Mr. Malfoy”. The one that pierced him soul deep. Gradually, using his annual losses as excuses, he stopped working on potions and started his own topics.

He slammed the volume on Egyptian mythos closed. Dust rose from the pages. He wanted desperately to do something. To jump from the chair and run for the sake of running, he wanted to scream and really hear his voice, but more then anything he wanted to close his eyes and when he opened them he wanted to be back in the dungeon. He wanted to see Sev bent over his desk, muttering curses at third year Hufflepuff papers. He wanted to see Sev smile at him, if it was only once more and say something biting about Minerva. But Draco was used to being left wanting.

“Drake?” Harry’s voice rang through the rooms. “I brought you dinner, if you want it.”

“Thanks.” He yelled back, wincing at his own voice, hoping it didn’t sound to terrible. “I’ll be there in a minute”

He put away his book and told the chair to take him to the kitchen. Harry was already sitting at the table, laying out the food he had no doubt charmed some house elf into giving him. Sev had always complained bitterly about having to take his meals with the staff and student body. He’d be pissed to know that Harry’s mysterious disappearances from the nightly meals were little more then the man stealing from the kitchen like a little boy.

“It’s stew. Again. I managed some of the bread you like though.” Harry waved a hand over the buttered rolls that Draco practically lived on these days.

“Perfect.”

They ate together, in comfortable silence until halfway through the chocolate cake, Harry started to twitch. It wasn’t anything very noticeable, just the slightest movement of his bad leg periodically.

“What is it, Potter?”

“Huh?” For a moment, green eyes widened in bewilderment.

“What’s making you twitch?”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“You are the worst liar ever, Potter. Tell me now.”

“Eat the rest of your cake.” Harry scolded as if Draco had never spoken. “You’re getting too thin.”

“Mmm. I’m losing my manly figure. I might waste away.” He let the subject change, gracefully. Whatever Harry was hiding simply couldn’t be that important. Nothing was any more.

“I’m serious. Don’t joke around. I want you here as long as possible. I can’t...I can’t lose someone else this soon” He reached across the table and laid a hand on Draco’s arm. “Promise me you won’t self-destruct”

“If you promise me something,” It was something that Draco had wanted to broach previously, but didn’t know how. “I want, Harry, when I loose everything...the year when I can’t speak or hear or see at all anymore..don’t let me live through that year. I’ve studied the curse. My heart is the last thing to go, what will eventually kill me, but there will be a whole long year trapped in my own mind. I don’t think I could handle it.”

“You want me to kill you?” In his late twenties, Harry’s voice could still crack like an adolescent.

“I want you to put an end to it. I want to know it was you.”

“That’s how could you put that one me? Why not..” Then Harry trailed off as he realized how completely Draco had isolated himself since the war. The blonde had had no friends beside himself, Ginny and Snape. Not that you could even really count Snape and Ginny was dead. “Oh.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I could think of anyone else. I want it to be someone who loved me, Harry. If you refuse... I’ll find someone else. Don’t make me find someone else.” The blonde pleaded, curling his own hand around the one Harry had left on his arm.

“I’ll do it.” Harry muttered around the lump in his throat.

“Now promise, you’ll be around for me to do it.”

“Nothing self-destructive. Promise.” He let it sit between them a moment, then broke the silence. “So what were you nervous about?”

A knock resounded through the rooms and Harry rose from his chair, leaning on the cane, he limped towards the door. As he went he spoke,

“I want you to know that I had nothing to do with this. I don’t want you to think I had to yell or beat him into it. He came to me” With that mysterious statement, Harry opened the portrait to the rooms and limped away to his own bedroom. Not that Draco noticed.

Because Severus was standing in the doorway. He looked absolutely horrid. After years of being with the man, seven as his student, two as his battle companion and five as his lover, Draco had seen him in every state possible. This was one of the worst, aside from the bloody almost carcass he had been at the beginning of the war. He had dark bags under his eyes and it looked like he hadn’t eaten in the three months since he had told Draco he was no longer welcome in his apartments.

Draco groped for the right words, wanted to say something, anything to fill the horrible voiding silence. It seemed that they were going to stay there locked together in some strange limbo. After what might have been hours, Sev moved. To be more precise, he walked. He took even slow steps until he reached Draco’s chair. It was familiar pose for them, Sev standing over him, talking down as if to a child. It was something Harry would never do. Draco shivered, slightly, intimidated as he always was by the man who could provoke such deep emotion from him by standing there and just breathing.

In a move so sudden and fluid that Draco barely had time to register it, Sev fell to his knees in front of him.

“I am sorry, Draco.” The words fell into the blonde like stones, sinking into him and filling him with confusion.

“For what?” He managed to ask.

“For throwing you out of our home.”

“isn’t our home. You’ve never let me make it mine.” He surprised himself with his own firmness. This scene was radically different from anything Sev had ever done before, it threw him off kilter, but he would never let it show.

“I know. But that will change. As much as I can change, I will for you.” Sev lifted his head, dark eyes meeting one blue. ”I know this is not what you have come to expect of me, but Draco...¦ I thought I was doing the right thing, for you. You were supposed to be happier with him.”

“I rarely do what I am supposed to do, Sev. You know that.” He raised his right hand to touch the silken mass of black hair. It felt as wonderful as it always did and he sighed.

“I spent the past three months, looking up and expecting to see you and you weren’t there. It was like having the mark again. You’ve insinuated yourself into my life, Draco. I don’t know when, but somewhere along the way you made sure that I couldn’t live without you.”

“Don’t make it sound like it’s my fault, Sev. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to love me. And you never will. So I’m better off here, even if it makes me feel like dying.” Carefully, he unlaced his hand from jet-black hair and turned his face away.

“You ridiculous boy.” The tone turned him back and he saw the smile curving on the lips that most saw only in its permanent frown. “I’ve loved you since you were a willful child. I loved you when you turned on your father and when you crawled into the bed of a boy you hated to tell him that you would fight by his side. I loved you when you kept your promises and when you found out about your curse.”

“But all these years...you never and I thought...the way you...”Draco managed to choke out.

“I did not understand myself, I did not want to watch you die. But I’ve come to realize that it would be worse if I was not with you in the years you have left, I would regret it for the rest of my own time.” Gently, in a way he had once reserved only for his beloved potions, Severus cupped his lover’s face with one hand. “Will you return to me?”

“Yes.” There was no need to think, no need to wonder at his own release of anger. Severus Snape loved him! He had said it! And meant it. It was...it was more then anything he could have expected.

“Then by all means let us go and leave Mr. Potter to himself. I’m sure he will enjoy having his rooms returned to order.” The man rose, but not before placing a gentle kiss on pale lips. It was the first of many that day.

Harry was resigned to letting go his temporary companion. His rooms were empty again and he had to keep reminding himself to be happy that everything had worked out for his friend. His heart felt heavier and finally, he decided on inviting Ron for a visit. The Auror was more then happy to take some time off from his work and they spent a very pleasant week together, catching up. After the red head was gone, the sense of emptiness had lessened a little. He kept a continual flow of students in his study, tutoring and counseling, enjoying being Head of Gryffindor again.

In the stillness of the night, he thought of Ginny, keeping his memories sharp. It was better then any photograph, muggle or wizard to have her in his mind. Sometimes, when things were particularly dark, he would talk to her favorite chair as if she could still hear him. Barely thirty and he’d turned into a doddering old man.

Draco was happy though and it showed every day. He came to meals now and ate with gusto, winking at Harry every time he took a second helping. The blonde began chatting amiably with others again, turning on the charm that everyone thought lost with his youth. On his part, Snape changed little in his behavior towards the world at large, but his entire affect with Draco had changed. Even in public, he would lay a gentle hand on the younger man’s knee or help him cut his meat. It was an incredible change.

That October Draco lost his sense of smell. It was such a small thing, so ridiculous compared to the other losses that had been incurred on his flesh that he scorned it and made frequent jokes about it actually being a favor as he could no longer have to endure the smells of Sev’s laboratory.

Time began to move at a clip again as Harry learned to live without Ginny and in a way, without Draco. He coped and did his job and the year came around again and took Draco’s other eye. Severus took two weeks off, the first time in recorded history, and helped Draco learn his way around without vision.

The next year it was his other ear. Draco was almost entirely isolated from the world. Severus approached Harry and together they worked out a series of symbols that they could trace into the still sensitive skin of Draco’s right arm to communicate. The blonde picked it up slowly and knew the differences between the touch of his lover and the touch of his closest friend. Whenever he was sure it was Harry, he would whisper in harsh tones.

“Keep your promise.”

That summer was spent trying to ignore the fact that this was the last they would ever share together. Harry found himself frequenting the dungeon more then ever and making his peace at last with Severus Snape. They spent many long hours, creating the language they used to the talk to Draco. The language that would soon become useless. They spent time talking as well of things that had been done and would be done. They talked about the school and how well or poorly Minerva was handling the Head Mistress title on any given day and what Dumbledore might be doing in his long over due retirement.

The fall came to quickly and Harry found himself anxious all the time, his mind jumping from one problem to the other. There were his students first and foremost, helping in the first years, dealing with new problems and conflicts. Then there was the horrible weight of responsibility on him, a balance of chance. If Draco should loose his right arm come October, then Harry would not be able to bring himself to keep his promise. If he lost his voice; Harry had begun to go threw methods.

In the beginning, he came up with all sorts of crazy schemes. It was easier to approach it like an interesting problem then to think about actually stealing the life of his best friend. Eventually September began to wane and it dawned on him that he would have to come up with something. This wasn’t something he could fudge through as he always had, even in the war. He wanted to give Draco a stately and fitting death that wasn’t easily traceable back to him. No matter what Snape would probably suspect what had happened, but there was no point in making it obvious.

He contemplated using potions and went so far as to check out books from the restricted section on poisonous combinations. Most of them were fairly gruesome and many more would reveal themselves to Snape with little trouble. He almost gave up on them entirely until he stumbled upon the answer in a much more innocuous book.

Intending to do some research into a question a student had asked during his fourth year Hufflepuff DADA class, he ended up taking out a book on ancient spells. Almost immediately, he forgot the question and found himself immersed in some very interesting notions. The spells of the ancient wizarding world were mostly defunct because something more effective had been found, but some had merely been forgotten and they might be helpful if the ingredients could be found. One page with a beautiful moving illustration of a blood red dragon caught his attention.

“Dragon Tear,” the text began, “is a relatively simple potion derived from the distillation the rare mountain flower of the same name. It can be used, if heavily diluted, to heal major injuries. If used in its purest form, it would kill the patient by sending him into such an extreme state of healing that the body would shut down.”

It went on to describe the legend behind the flower and the exact process of distillation could be performed. Harry didn’t read any further. It was Saturday morning, so he left a note for his students that he’d gone away for the weekend and Apperated to the nearest range of mountains. Within hours, cheating with magic, he had found the rare blossom that hung in startling blue clusters.

The potion took ten minutes to make and Harry began to wonder why killing his best friend was turning out to be easy. No, he couldn’t kid himself, this was going to be the hardest thing he had ever done. There was nothing that could prepare him for this, no amount of death. He had never killed in cold blood before and this was a horrendous way to begin.

October fifth came all to fast and he spent most of it in a daze, glad he’d been teaching long enough to lecture on automatic pilot. Severus and Draco were nowhere to be found. Snape had taken off again, leaving his students to wonder what was so special about this time of year. Only three years before, the whole school had known about Draco, but it seemed time and an influx of new students had washed them blank. It wasn’t as if the blonde had been particularly visible the past few years.

The night is worse because he can’t go down to the dungeons. He wants to give Draco and Snape their last moments of full cognition. In truth, they had been saying goodbye to one another since long before Draco was cursed. It seemed to Harry sometimes that both the other men thrived on the long aching pains of love, rather then the softer pleasures of it. Maybe that was why Draco wouldn’t stay with him, why Draco had chosen Severus again and again. Harry pushed away the feelings of rejection that had plagued him since childhood. There wasn’t time to indulge.

Midnight came and went with no answer. He spent hours staring into the fire, a vile of crystalline liquid tumbling from hand to nimble hand. No word came, but really he expected none. Snape was the type of person who had to mourn in silence. He waited until he could see the sun peeking over snow-capped mountains before he reached for his beaten Invisibility Cloak, still the best way to be unseen.

The dungeons had never seen more formidable then they did in the earliest hours of the morning. Harry moved with practiced stealth into the rooms of his ex-teacher. The silence of stonewalls seemed accusing as he moved past the cluttered office/dining room. He stood poised in the doorway of their bedroom, on the cusp.

They were both asleep, judging by rise and fall of the sheets. The older man was wrapped around the sleek form of the younger, protective. For a long moment, Harry chose not to move, but rather memorized the scene that could have been any couple in sleep. They were beautiful, he decided and with no little trepidation, stepped into the scene. Like the muggle idea of black robed Death, he drew forth the vial and whispered a spell to stifle the sound of his cane.

With care, he settled himself on the bed, next to the still form of his one time lover, dreading what he would find, he reached for the pale right hand. It clenched around him so hard, he could feel his bones shifting to accommodate the harsh grip. Long fingers told him all he needed to know. A gentle finger on pale lips forced them open far enough to pour the entirety of the precious fluid down the paralyzed throat. Delicate massage forced the liquid down.

A long tense second passed when it seemed nothing at all would happen. Harry was about to give it up as a botched attempt when Draco’s eyes flew open, healed and the same deep ice blue that pierced him to the soul. The hand still clutching Harry’s own tightened even farther. A deep ragged breath and the blonde fell limply to the bed, no breath left in the beautifully healed body.

Draco Malfoy was finally dead and it seemed to Harry that the whole world had gone dark.

((()))

“Harry?” A harsh low voice roused him from his memories. Sev was staring at him, a little suspicious of the long silence. Harry gave him a vague smile and tightened his grip on the long pale fingers still entwined with his own.

“I was just thinking.” He stuck his tongue out at the snort from the potions master. “I wanted to tell you something.”

“Very mature. What do you wish to inform me of now?” His tea must be long since cold, but Sev sipped at it anyway.

“It was Dragon Tear.” He sipped at his milk, trying not to look up.

He had waited ten years to tell Severus that. After Draco’s death, the potions master had made a yearlong attempt to find out what had stolen his lover from him. He had somehow known that it was Harry who had done the deed though he never out right accused him or even asked him how. It seemed the simple obsessive nature of the puzzle distracted him from the immediate harshest grief.

“That’s...that’s impossible.” Harry glanced up at Snape’s face.

“Why? I just found the flower, distilled it, it wasn’t that hard to find for something that’s supposed to be rare”

“Harry, did you ever stop to think why something so easily found is never used? A healing spell that powerful?”

“I assumed it was because in the wrong dose it kills. But now I assume I was mistaken.”

“You always played with things that were too dangerous for you, Potter.” The potions master stared at the man he still thought of as an errant student. “Dragon Tear was banished from use because it was completely unpredictable. It was used for a long time as a healing potion with no ill effects until 1238 when it began to do wild unpredictable things. It was later traced to the emotion of the one administrating the potion. Some of the recipients went mad or were torn apart by invisible hands, others still were rendered magically useless. In one case the body died once and then was resurrected years later. After that every single one of those blooms was found and destroyed. There are none left in the known world.â€�

“I found it in the mountains just outside the school.” Harry managed to say around the lump in his throat. “A whole clump of blue blossoms. How is it Possible; resurrected?”

“As if he had never died, all the wounds he had initially sustained were gone. What passed for a Ministry back then kept it all a secret and gave him a home in the country. Those allowed to research it had a lot of theories. The main hypothesis was that since the one who had administered the potion was his wife, her love revived him. An over emotional idea, I’ve always gone with one of the side theories, that the she gave him the potion in such a large quantity that his body went into a prolonged magical healing shock. His wounds were sustained in a wizard’s duel and should have been unfixable. Dragon Tear would have suspended him until it was completely healed, before reviving him. The account describes him waking in a tomb.”

The silence stretched taut between them as they both mulled over the same thought. Draco’s wounds had been magical and Harry had dosed him with the pure substance.

“How long was he dead?”

“A decade. He revived on the anniversary of his death.”

“Do you have a date for October sixth?” Harry asked, trying to maintain a light tone. “There’s this really nice mausoleum I’ve been meaning to camp out at in the middle of the night.”