Chapter 10: Of the Melancholy

Still a little bit of your ghost, your witness
Still a little bit of your face I haven't kissed
You step a little closer each day
Still I can't say what's going on

Stones taught me to fly
Love taught me to lie
Life taught me to die

Cannonball - Damien Rice

I dislike arguments of any kind. They are always vulgar, and often convincing - Oscar Wilde

~*~

Draco didn't know where to go. The city was just waking up and only the earliest of workers were sitting in cafés or exiting their chic apartments ready for the day. They were like bees, swarming through the streets, hailing taxis or greeting friends.

Draco felt suddenly very alone.

He began to walk in a random direction, only narrowly missing being run over as he crossed a road in the path of a black cab. The driver sounded his horn and broke Draco rudely out of his reverie just in time to jump backwards onto the pavement and avoid certain death. He turned into a side alley and vanished into the darkness.

He didn't know where he was walking, just that he couldn't stop. Emotions of a thousand bitter kinds were sweeping through him malevolently, making him nauseous and dizzy. So much had been revealed to him that morning that he didn't know quite what to do, or where to go, and his limited knowledge of the city meant that before half an hour was up, Draco was quite lost.

He didn't care, though, he didn't care about anything any more. A single piece of knowledge was permeating his mind. His mother was dead, and Harry had killed her. Draco didn't know if he could hate someone so much, but he hated Harry more than anyone else in the world at that moment.

He hated him but a part of him was soaring. Harry had said that he loved him. Harry Potter of all people. Draco had never thought he would see the day and a strange elation had followed Harry speaking those words before it was quashed by the recollection that Harry was the reason his mother was dead.

Harry loved him? That thought was too bizarre to even contemplate and the twisted confusion that was Draco's mind was preventing him from remembering what he had said in answer to that. He had cast Harry's emotions aside as if they meant nothing and he had told Harry he hated him. He had told Harry that he made him sick, he had treated Harry more cruelly than anyone else in the world, the one person that actually loved him.

The image of Harry's face as Draco had slammed the door rose up again in his mind, more pitiful and desolate than Draco remembered. Harry had looked utterly distraught, not only by Draco's cruelty, but by the knowledge that he had done something to hurt Draco so deeply. It had been guilt on Harry's face. Even as Draco had been yelling insults at him, Harry had been feeling guilty for hurting him.

"Stupid, fucking Gryffindor." Draco kicked a wall, hard, and regretted it soon after as a throbbing pain revealed itself in his foot. A cat meowed loudly and sprang out of Draco's way as he stormed down the alley, he was so angry with himself and with Harry that he could barely think straight and he realised once more that he was getting himself very, very lost.

A couple of men skulking at the end of the alleyway fixed Draco with a malicious look and leered unpleasantly. They were heavily built and of the stinking brand of man that morning doesn't seem to touch and dens of iniquity seem to be full of.

"Can I 'elp you, sir?" one of them asked. Draco felt a slight pang of fear, all three of these men were much bigger and heavier than he was.

"Uh. No," he said quickly and made to walk past them. One of them put on hand on Draco's shoulder to stop him. Draco shuddered in disgust as the man began to slide his hand up Draco's neck to touch his face.

"Well aren't you the pretty one?" he asked, leering again. The other men laughed gutturally.

"Thanks," Draco muttered, keeping his eyes down and hoping his wand was in his pocket. One of the other men drew behind Draco and laid his hand on his waist. Draco could smell him, rancid breath and the sour stench of alcohol and it made him feel sick.

"Get off me," he said with a clenched jaw, his anger and revulsion rising with every breath. The men just laughed.

"I don't think so," one of them said. "We've been looking for a bit of entertainment, and you'll do just fine." Draco cursed the whim to walk down dark alleyways when there was no-one else around.

Screw the Statute of Secrecy, Draco plunged a hand into his pocket, drew out his wand and yelled, "Protego!" The men shouted in surprise as all three of them were hurled backwards into the wall by Draco's shield charm. They stared at him, eyes wide with shock. "Don't fucking touch me," Draco snapped icily before putting his wand back in his pocket and sprinting as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

He wandered around for another hour, carefully avoiding dark alleyways, until he came to a park. He didn't know it, but he chose the exact bench Harry and Hermione had been sitting on the day that he and Harry had been reunited. Draco sank down and rested his head against the wooden slats. He felt drained of energy, and had had to keep one eye open all day in case any of those men decided he was pretty enough to merit a second try.

He was free to contemplate everything that had happened in the relative peace of the park. It was a beautiful place, with the onset of Spring had come the blossoming of trees of pink and pearl and the delicate buds of roses bringing colour to the otherwise grey world. Draco saw it all with amazing clarity, the stark white and blue of the sky, the gnarled brown of the trees and the deep green of the grass. It was almost painful to behold and the beauty of the world struck an unpleasant contrast with the darkness in his mind.

He wondered why he had been drawn here. It was almost as if his feet were practiced at following the path to this place and they knew exactly where to come to console Draco. He felt a faint sense of nostalgia glimmering in the air but without any memories, he didn't know why this park was so familiar. It was a strange feeling that suited Draco's mood.

The sunlight that shone down from the heavens did little to warm him, and a chilly wind was blowing through the trees, making them sway dreamily against the sky.

Draco wasn't watching them. He was shivering with cold but his mind was still occupied with the troubles of the morning. His anger was fading now, and turning into a deep bed of pain within him, that he had been unable to stop his mother dying. He had been forced to admit that Harry might have been right, and Draco couldn't see the bigger picture, but it didn't make anything any easier.

"I thought I might find you here." A woman's voice woke him up and he looked to see Hermione standing next to him wrapped up warmly against the wind and looking dreadfully tired.

"Hello," Draco said miserably. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"This is where you and Harry met for the first time after all those years apart," Hermione said, sitting down next to him and looking out over the park. It was like an oasis of quiet in the middle of the bustling city. "It's become like your haven and I wondered if something might draw you here." Draco didn't know what to say. "Harry rang me," Hermione explained. "He's really upset."

"So am I," Draco sighed, "and I had to watch my mother dying."

"Harry is tearing himself apart over this," Hermione warned. "He's racked with guilt." Draco didn't answer, he didn't know how to. "He called me to say that you had had a fight and you stormed out. He's worried about you."

"I said such horrible things to him," Draco said.

"He didn't tell me any of that." Hermione looked slightly surprised. "He just said that he was very concerned about you."

"He killed my mother, Hermione," Draco said, breathless. "How am I supposed to deal with something like this."

"There were reasons, Draco," Hermione replied, looking him directly in the eye with the same piercing stare that reminded Draco so forcefully of the Hermione he was acquainted with at Hogwarts. "Things have happened that you are unaware of. There are circumstances."

"What?" Draco asked, sounding a little accusatory. "What are they?" Hermione sighed.

"You want the whole story?" she asked and Draco nodded, severely lacking in conviction. "Ok," she said, "but you're not going to like it. After your father was imprisoned for the second time in your seventh year, your mother left Malfoy Manor without a trace. You had just switched sides and joined the Order of the Phoenix and you and her had a terrible argument in which she blamed you for your father's incarceration." Hermione said slowly. Draco nodded, and gulped, his eyes betraying his searing pain at hearing this. It was like having his stomach kicked in and he could tell Hermione knew the effect it must be having by her worried look. "None of us knew how deeply involved in your father's work she was."

"She wasn't though!" Draco exclaimed suddenly. "She never touched the Dark Arts!" One of his earliest memories as a child was of hearing his father trying to persuade his mother to join him in his Death Eater missions for fear of incurring their lord's wrath, but she had always refused. He had always supposed that it was only out of a lasting love for his mother that Lucius had tolerated Narcissa's disobedience.

"Oh she was," Hermione said sadly, "during your time at Hogwarts we realised that she had been helping your father develop some of the more terrible curses used in muggle torture. She was as deep into the Dark Arts as he was towards the end, perhaps not so much when you were a child."

"Oh sweet Merlin." Draco put his head in his hands. "I never knew."

"I know." Hermione stroked his hair fondly. "I'm sorry."

"What happened next?" Draco asked, dreading the answer as his tormented mind struggled to come to terms with what he had already heard.

He felt Hermione sigh beside him. "The next part I only know from what Harry told me," she said. "He learnt of the danger you were in, that night you were trapped inside the Manor, and he managed to get in the house before it was sealed shut by the Death Eaters. He found your mother wandering the hallways, threatening death to you if she found you. She was half-mad but she still had a lot of magic left in her and Harry knew that if she saw you, she would kill you on sight." Draco had visibly paled. "I'm so sorry," Hermione said, "that you have to find out this way." She looked it, too. It was so horribly unfair that everything should have come together like this, that his life should quite literally have been torn apart and everything change so suddenly. It hurt more than Draco would ever have imagined possible and the feeling as though the ground had given way made everything a hundred times worse.

"She wanted to kill me?" Draco could scarcely believe it and felt instantly numb.

"She went mad," Hermione explained in as gentle tones as she could. "She left to go looking for your father, and when she couldn't find him, she turned to Voldemort. The various tests and punishments that he put her through thoroughly unhinged her. She didn't know what she was doing. Harry had no choice."

"Harry came after her?"

"He knew that you were in danger," Hermione said, "and he risked everything to protect you." Draco didn't know what to say, information was bombarding him and he couldn't take it all in at once.

"He saved my life," he said hoarsely.

"He did," Hermione sighed, "and he went against direct orders from his superiors who thought that a rescue mission would prove too dangerous because they didn't want to risk his life for yours."

"So he came alone?" Draco's eyes widened. "Stupid prat."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed, smiling, "yeah, he is. But he's your stupid prat."

"God, I've been so evil to him," Draco said, suddenly recalling the argument with a renewed clarity. "The stuff I said."

"What did you say?" Hermione asked.

"I told him he made me sick," Draco said with a horrible sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. "I told him that I hated him for what he had done and that any feelings I had for him could never survive a revelation like this."

"You said all that?" Hermione looked surprised.

"Right after he told me that he loved me," Draco said, smiling bitterly. "I just threw that back in his face."

"Oh," Hermione said, "I wouldn't worry about it, he sounded anxious more than angry and you know Harry, he can never hide his feelings."

"But I feel guilty," Draco said, shivering harder now as the wind picked up.

"Are you cold?" Hermione asked and he nodded, feeling the early morning chill step up in his veins. She took off her scarf and draped it around his neck. There was a strange sense of irony in the gesture, which was lost on neither of them.

"He'll forgive you," Hermione said. "How do you feel about him?"

"I don't know," Draco said, looking at his hands. "I feel something, but it has just been overshadowed by anger and confusion. I don't know what it is anymore."

"Do you think you could love him?" she asked. Draco thought of the way Harry had looked that morning, sleeping next to him so peacefully, he thought of the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed, the way his skin glistened like bronze, the way he held Draco as if he never wanted to let go. Harry had given him so much warmth that Draco could hardly stand it. They had been forced to grow closer and from that had sprung a deep compassion that Draco knew had developed into something else. Harry made his heart race and his mind swim. Harry made every bitterness sweet.

"I think I do," he said wonderingly, coming to the realisation for the first time.

"

That's ok, then," said Hermione, "as long as he knows that, he'll forgive you."

"I'm still angry," Draco said. "I don't understand any of this."

"Of course you don't," Hermione said. "It's ok to be angry, it was a terrible thing what happened to you. You have to know, though, that Harry acted out of the deepest affection for you and he probably saved your life."

"I realize that now," Draco sighed.

"I'm going to leave you to think," said Hermione, standing up. "Ever since that potion went wrong, I haven't done a full day's work."

"Sorry." Draco smiled weakly, a smile he knew couldn't stretch to his eyes.

"I'll see you later," Hermione said, kissing him gently on the brow. "Bye, Draco."

She walked away slowly, her hands in her pockets. The knowledge of what had happened to his mother was made clearer by her explanation, but it did not make the burden of her death any easier to bear. Draco was thankful to her, though, for clearing Harry of any blame, but it made it much more difficult to hate him when Draco knew that what he had done, he had done for love. The guilt for what he had said was rising in him again and Draco wanted nothing more than to run back and apologise for the way he had treated Harry.

It had come as a shock to him to learn of all the pain and hardship they had gone through to lead them to where they were today. They had survived years apart, deaths, fights and treacherous Slytherins and they were still together. Draco couldn't fathom it. He would have thought that in a relationship where there was so much pain, the easiest thing to do would be to start again. His teenage mind couldn't understand how any two people could love each other so much as to survive all that.

It was beyond him.

He wondered, and not for the first time, if Harry and he were really right for each other. There seemed to so much darkness between them, so much that time could not forget, that Draco could not forget. He knew the right thing to do was to go back to the flat, take Harry into his arms and tell him he was sorry, but he couldn't do it. The image of his mother's face was imprinted in his mind and he felt a hot lump rise to the back of his throat. He wanted to shed those scalding tears, just for once.

Draco couldn't go back to Harry. Too much had happened for this to be a relationship that ever worked. He couldn't understand that two people could live with so much pain. Every time he looked at Harry he knew he would see Narcissa's withered face, and he couldn't do that any more.

The best thing to do would be to finish the potion to send them home as quickly as possible. That was where all this had started, and that was where it would all finish as well. Everything would be over.

Everything.

Draco rested his head in his hands and wept for the mother he had never truly known, and the lover he was about to lose.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry was sitting, alone in the flat, when Ron flooed over later that morning. He had spent hours worrying about Draco, wondering where he had gone, hoping he might forgive him. He had rung Hermione straightaway and she had given him a condensed version of what she had told Draco. Harry had been glad to learn of the circumstances surrounding the whole affair, and hoped that wherever Draco was, he would understand that Harry had done what he thought was right.

Hermione had told him that she had spoken to Draco and the Slytherin was feeling a little contrite but wanted some time alone to think. Harry had felt a great weight leap from his chest as he listened, happy to know that Draco was no longer angry at him. He had been waiting for him to return for hours, wondering how much time he needed and whether he should go out looking for him. He couldn't believe he had said what he had said. He wasn't sure quite how he felt about Draco but as the words had tumbled from his lips, they felt so right that he couldn't have taken them back if he tried. As Draco had said once, love wasn't just hearts and flowers. Lust could turn into love and the understanding you can only find in one person.

It was this Harry had found, and it was this Harry was so eager to hold on to.

Green flames suddenly shot into the grate. Harry knew it was to much to expect it to be Draco, but he expected it anyway, which was why he was very disappointed when Ron came sliding out.

"Hi," he said, dusting himself off.

"Hi," Harry said morosely.

"You don't have to look so pleased to see me," Ron said, frowning.

"Sorry," said Harry, "what's up?"

"Bad news, I'm afraid," Ron suddenly looked worried, "we need to go over to Grimmauld Place, Remus has just sent us word of those Death Eaters he's been tracking for six months."

"What?" Harry asked.

"You know, the ones that he had Kingsley and Tonks follow in France late last year," Ron elaborated. "The last remnant of the British Circle."

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, having no idea of what Ron was talking about but too tired to question him further.

"Well, he's finally found out what their intentions are," Ron said.

"What are they?"

Ron suddenly looked very nervous. "They're...um...planning an attack against you and Draco."

"What?!" Harry leapt to his feet.

"Which is why you two have to come to Grimmauld Place, now," Ron said urgently, "It's the only place you will be safe."

"Why are they attacking us?" Harry asked.

"Well you're you," Ron said, "and Remus thinks Draco's been a target for months. Death Eaters have long memories and haven't forgotten how many trials he testified at." Ron looked even more concerned.

"Oh God," Harry said, grabbing his jacket. "Draco's not here."

"Where is he?" Ron looked worried.

"We had a fight," Harry was to be having trouble thinking straight, "he stormed out, I don't know where he is."

"Oh bugger," Ron said. "Would anyone else know where he is?"

"Hermione might," Harry said, "she went to talk to him for me."

"I'll contact her," Ron said. "You just get to Grimmauld Place now. The attack is planned for very soon but we're not sure on an exact time."

"Ok," Harry said, stepping towards the fireplace, "but Ron, you have to find Draco."

"I will," Ron said, "just go, quickly!"

Harry grabbed a handful of floo powder, threw it into the fireplace, stepped in and shouted, "No. 12 Grimmauld Place!" He was swallowed by the flame.

The next thing he knew he was stumbling out of the fireplace at the other end and being hauled to his feet buy a worn, callused hand. He found himself staring into the careworn face of Remus Lupin, best friend to his father and godfather.

"Harry!" Remus pulled him into a long hug, "It's been so long." he looked so old, older than he should have looked. His robes were patched and torn and his skin had a sallow quality that made him look extremely ill.

"Hi, Remus," Harry breathed, unhappy at the change which had been wrought in his friend. "I've missed you."

"We've all missed you, Harry," came the cockney accent of Tonks. She gave Harry a hug as well. "How are you getting on?"

"Fine," Harry said. "I'm ok."

"Where's Draco?" Remus looked worried.

"I don't know," Harry said quietly, the truth piercing him like a needle. "Ron's out looking for him. We...er...had a fight."

"Oh no," Remus said. "He's in serious danger if he doesn't get here soon."

"What have you learnt?" Harry asked.

"That the Death Eaters Macnair, Avery and Lestrange are on the move again," Remus said, leading Harry over to a gigantic map in which sparkling pins were glowing. "They have returned to Manchester from Bordeaux and are intending to ambush you either tonight or tomorrow morning. We aren't too sure."

"Bloody hell," Harry said, realizing suddenly how little his life had changed. "What I wouldn't give for a quiet life."

"I know." Remus looked sad. "That's why you gave up being an Auror, and it still hasn't stopped them." Harry was silent. "You'll be safe here, I've summoned Hermione, Seamus and the Weasley twins. Soon the whole Order will be here."

"Ok," Harry said, looking around at Grimmauld Place. It had hardly changed at all and he felt the same pang of longing that he always did as he remembered Sirius' last days here.

"Are you ok?" Remus asked, looking at him searchingly.

"Yeah," Harry said, "it's just this place." He looked at the floor.

"I know," Remus said, "I feel it too." There was a diversion in the form of Hermione sweeping into the room followed soon after by Fred and George.

"Hi, Harry," they said in unison.

"Hi."

"Ron can't find Draco," Hermione said, looking concerned, "he just told me."

"We have to find him!" Harry exclaimed.

"You're staying here," Remus said firmly, "where you'll be safe." Harry would normally have contested this with every fibre of his being but as the realisation that he had only a teenager's knowledge of fighting the Dark Arts, he decided to take Remus' advice.

"Find him," he pleaded, the thought that he might lose Draco forever after only just discovering him was a present threat in his mind, "please."

"We will," Hermione assured him. "Come on you guys, lets go. Tonks, you take the lower half of the muggle quarter, Remus take the other half, Weasleys and I will scour the wizarding quarter."

"Ok," George said, "come on, we'll have to hurry."

One by one they disapparated.

Harry was left alone in the house, a house that he hated because it had been Sirius' prison. His thoughts were his companion but now they were in turmoil as he worried endlessly over Draco. He knew it was stupid, that the blond was more than capable of looking after himself, but it didn't stop the nagging feeling that grew at the back of his throat.

He knew that if Draco didn't want to be found, no power on the earth would make him reveal himself; he had a streak of stubbornness that would one day prove his downfall. Harry doubted very much that anyone would be able to find Draco. They would scour the streets for hours, visit every friend, every place they had frequented together. They didn't know Draco the way he did, he would want to be on his own, he wouldn't want to be found.

And yet, he would want a sense of familiarity, he would go somewhere he knew, but somewhere he could get some privacy and some alcohol. A thought struck Harry with the force of a lightning bolt and he got to his feet at once. What was that pub Draco had mentioned once? The Merry Mage? It was the only place in the city which Draco had been to alone, and Harry thought it was highly likely he would have gone somewhere like that at a time like this.

He looked at his watch, it was a little after one. If the attack was going to happen that afternoon, Draco needed to be rescued as soon as possible, and he was in great danger. Harry paced back and forth, wondering how he was going to contact any of the others, but Grimmauld Place didn't have a telephone, and Harry had no idea in hell how to Apparate. His eyes strayed over to the glittering pot that stood on the mantelpiece. He could floo straight to the pub, grab Draco and be back again before anyone realised he was gone.

Hesitating for the merest moment, Harry grabbed a sheet of parchment and scribbled a note on it just in case anyone came back to check on him whilst he was gone.

He took a pinch of floo powder and threw it into the grate. Hoping very much that the Merry Mage was connected to the Floo Network, Harry cried,

"Merry Mage, Manchester!" before adding as an afterthought, Draco had better fucking appreciate this.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The pub he arrived in was not the kind of place he expected someone like Draco to go. The windows were filthy, the bar sopping wet, the chairs lacked stuffing and the atmosphere was smokier than in an opium den.

Harry stepped gracefully out of the grate and took a good look around, his eyes scanning the room for a telltale flash of platinum hair bent over a glass of Firewhiskey. A few of the customers looked up in mild interest as Harry stepped into the bar area, before turning back to their drinks, grunted conversations or sticky packets of 'Pandora's Best Peanuts.' One quick glance told him that he had been right in assuming Draco would pick this place to hide in. He caught sight of the blond sitting in a corner booth, a large glass of some amber liquid in front of him, his eyes roving listlessly over his glass, fingers playing idly with a box of matches.

Harry paused for a moment, unseen, just to watch him. His lips quirked into a kind of smile as he saw Draco bat away the advances of a giggling, blonde witch who seemed to have taken a liking to him, before resuming his disconsolate silence amid all the noise of the pub. It was very loud in there, with several raucous dwarfs drinking heavily, all perched precariously on the high bar stools, only falling off occasionally, to be picked up by their fellows and offered another drink. There were hordes of young witches and wizards trying to get served, a couple of leprechauns sitting in a corner and booth after booth of haggard old men and women who were cackling at each other and playing Wizard's Chess on their tables. The room was wreathed in a bluish smoke which filled Harry's lungs with its malignant odour, making him cough involuntarily.

Draco was absorbed in watching the dust motes dance in the flecks of sunlight, and he didn't see Harry approach his table. Harry moved quietly, dodging a pair of hags, until he was standing almost directly in front of Draco.

"The entire Malfoy fortune at your disposal and you choose a place like this to hide," Harry said softly, and Draco looked up with a start.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, with an edge of hopefulness tinting an otherwise dejected voice. He sounded resigned, and Harry was a little unsettled. He took a seat next to Draco, close enough so that they were touching.

"I was worried about you," Harry said truthfully.

"You needn't be," Draco sighed. "I'm just surprised you want to be anywhere near me."

"You're a bitch," Harry said frankly, "you're mean, and you lash out when you're scared without thinking of the consequences. You said some awful things, Draco."

"I know," Draco replied through what sounded like a clenched jaw.

"But I know how upset you were," Harry said, "and I want you to know how sorry I am for what I did."

"Don't apologise," Draco said, still not meeting Harry's eyes, "Hermione explained some things to me, and I understand why it happened."

"Oh," Harry said, "well, good." He didn't really understand why Draco looked so wretched, he supposed it was the knowledge of how he lost his mother still eating away inside of him.

"I'm sorry I said those things to you," Draco said uncertainly. "I didn't mean them."

"Yes you did," Harry said, "at the time."

"Well I would take them back if I could," Draco said quickly and with a flash of irritation. "But Harry, so much has happened..." he struggled to get the words out and looked Harry straight in the eye for the first time. Harry was struck by the dreadful helplessness in Draco's gaze. He wanted more than anything to comfort him, to put his arm around him and kiss him, but he still wasn't sure what was wrong.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, resting his hand on Draco's knee.

"I don't see," Draco said slowly, "how we can go on being lovers when we know about all this. So many terrible things have happened between us."

"But we've made it through," Harry said nervously. "Somehow. Don't ask me how, because I haven't got a clue, but there must be something holding us together."

"You asked me earlier," Draco swallowed slowly, "if I felt anything for you." Harry nodded. "Well I do," Draco said, "you know I do, but I don't know if it's strong enough."

"I love you," Harry said. "Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Of course it does," Draco sighed exasperatedly. "I'm just saying that I don't see how we can be right for each other, Harry. I am a different person in this time, I have betrayed all my ideals, I have lost my family, my friends, my life. I am not the same person any more, and that scares me." Harry looked hard at Draco whose face was tired and wan, a sheen of greyness lighting his cheekbones, making him look young and frightened.

"What are you saying?" Harry asked, his voice not nearly as strong as he would have liked it to be. "You want to end this? Us?"

"I don't know," Draco whispered, looking at his drink.

"Stop being such a sodding coward and look at me," Harry snapped, and several people from the next table looked up. Draco stared at his glass for a second before tilting his chin upwards and turning his face to Harry. Harry felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach, and it was a decidedly unpleasant sensation. He couldn't believe he was hearing this. He had forgiven Draco for speaking so harshly to him, he had been ready to forget the whole incident and Draco wanted to end it? There was something horribly unjust about the whole affair.

"Stop being a child for one minute," Harry said, fighting to control his voice, "and listen to me. I know this has been hard, and I know that everything has moved very fast, but you can't deny that there is something between us."

"I'm not trying to deny it," Draco spat.

"Then what's your problem?" Harry raised his voice a little.

"I don't see how we can continue to be together with this knowledge between us," Draco said coldly, "I just don't."

"We seem to have managed for two years," Harry said. "Why can't you trust your own judgement?"

"Because I don't grasp any of this," Draco said, and the same vulnerability flickered again in his eyes. "You're telling me to stop being a child when in reality that is what we are. We nothing more than children playing with a fire we can't handle."

"Maybe in the future we can," Harry said quietly, moving his hand from Draco's knee. The movement made the blond stiffen slightly.

"Maybe," he said.

"Where do we go from here?" Harry asked, fingering a silver ring.

"I don't know," Draco said again, and there was a moment's silence where neither of them looked at each other.

"You say you don't understand any of this," Harry muttered. "Well neither do I, but I know that both of us have changed. We've had to change, to survive the years that we missed. We're not the same people any more, Draco."

"I know that, I..."

"Let me finish, just for once," Harry said, and Draco shut up. "Thank you. I was just saying that neither of us can begin to comprehend anything that has gone on, or how our future selves feel about it. We have children's eyes in adult bodies and neither of us have the capacity to deal with any more burdens than we already have."

"So what do you propose we do?" Draco asked. "Forget all of this?"

"Yes," Harry said. "That's exactly what we should do. We are going to relive all of this anyway in a couple of years time, unless we change our futures, so all we can do now is forget it, because thinking about it constantly will do nothing but torment you."

"You killed my mother, Harry," Draco said. "I don't know how to come to terms with that." There was the clank as someone dropped a glass.

"You know why that happened," Harry said. "Or, at least, part of why. How do I know that you haven't done something terrible to me along the line? I wouldn't put it past you." Draco was too weak to smile. "You've changed, Draco, deal with it. Your future self is obviously happy with the life of luxury, devoted friends, incredibly handsome lover and massive wardrobe. Why can't you just accept that this is where your life has led you, and you're content with it?"

Harry knew that he had a valid point and that Draco was thinking hard. The blond's brow was furrowed and his eyes looked dull from tiredness and from worry. Without being able to stop himself, Harry moved his hand to caress Draco's cheek. It was the lightest gesture but it left a tingling touch on Draco's skin, and Draco leaned into Harry without thinking.

"You're right," he said softly. "You're always right."

"You've changed for the better, you know," Harry said. "You're not nearly so arrogant as you used to be." Draco let out a short laugh. "And you're less pretentious than you were," he said, and turned slightly so that they were facing each other, their faces mere centimetres apart. Several people at the next table were watching them with ill-disguised interest, including the busty barmaid who had been cleaning the same glass for ten minutes.

"One day all of this will make sense," Harry promised, nudging Draco with his nose.

"But for now, sod it," Draco finished, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips on Harry's with the lightest pressure that made sparks of happiness flare behind Harry's eyes. They were blissfully unaware of the excited muttering that was going on next to them, of the leprechauns craning their necks over the partition and of the giggling young women, whose mouths had dropped open as they stared at the two young men kissing passionately in front of a pub-full of people.

They were blissfully unaware of everything, until three of the wizards at the bar stood up fluidly, and cast their worn travelling cloaks to the ground. It was only when people started screaming that Harry and Draco looked up, and then their blood froze in their veins.

White masks that hid twisted faces, long black robes, skeletal fingers grasping wands, all pointing at their chests.

Harry gulped. This was not good.