Title: Dungeons and Distractions v2.0

Author: Mizzy

E-mail: [email protected]

Rating: PG-13

Homepage: ;

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Summary: "Grab my wrist!" Midnight martial arts, invisible kissing at midnight, and Professor Dumbledore trying to smuggle in illegal immigrants? What's a boy to do in a mixed-up muddle of a mixed-up world?

Author's Notes: Title was going to be "There's kind of one thing I don't get", until I realised it was too cheesy. Decided on this one to freak some people out - some authors put up "apologies" into one chapter to explain why they're discontinuing. Hehe. Have a mean streak, but you already knew that. Why else would I discontinue the fic for two years and then pick it up again, eh?

Soundtrack: The Final Fantasy X-2 original soundtrack, esp. Saikai, Mataauhimade and Kuon-Hikari To Nami No Kioku. It actually fits for the whole series of D+D, so if you have it, listen to it!

-----

Part Six - "Apologies."

-----

"There's kind of one thing I don't get."

Esmerelda looked over the edge of the heavy mug, her large eyes blinking almost owlishly at the pensive teenager.

"I saw once a tapestry, a family tree, which included the Malfoys. Magical, I think, updating names and dates when anything occurred. So why doesn't Rebecca show up on it?"

Esmerelda shrugged once, slowly. "I suppose it is because, in the times when the Dark Lord walked the surface and reigned fire down from the heavens, wizard children didn't often last beyond their sixth birthdays. There was a cull in all babies born in the year of your birth, Harry Potter."

She observed the blanch that crossed his face, the warmth of compassion still within her reaching out to him.

"It was cast into many family spells that children would only be recorded if they reached their tenth birthday."

Harry nodded, his dark green eyes soft with contemplation. "I see. And Rebecca-"

"Crossed over before this date." Esmerelda put the mug down, leant forwards on her chair to lock gazes with Harry. "It was tough on Draco. We let Rebecca visit, once a year, and he thought it a dream. He loved her very much."

The words stung. Harry looked away.

"You know this pain."

It was a statement, not a question. Harry forced himself to look up at the green-clad vampire. "I-" The words were hard to find, even now. "I lost someone. Last year. Someone-" His throat constricted, and he fought past the lump that forced to mute him forever. "Someone I loved very much died."

Something within him shifted, and Harry fought down the tears and the self-loathing that threatened to fall. He had become an adult after that. He had died that day.

"Then you will understand-"

"I suppose." Harry nervously gulped down the rest of his drink, looking up sheepishly at Esmerelda. "Thanks for talking to me. I didn't know who to go to. I'm sorry for landing everything on you."

"Not at all." Esmerelda smiled. "You need someone who has suffered, who has grown, who has the same cause as you to talk to. None of your friends can even contemplate what you are going through. And you need to talk. You can't just bottle it up."

"Can't let it out loudly either," Harry said with a rueful smirk, remembering his outbursts of last year. He'd put that behind him, realising his own pain was nothing compared to the rest of the world. The greater good had to be served. He could not pause to soften the way for anyone, least of all himself.

Esmerelda seemed to know what he was thinking. She reached forward unthinkingly, taking Harry's hand in her own. He started at the coolness, and then winced apologetically at her. "There is another you could talk to-" she started.

Harry shook his head violently. "Dumbledore's gone cuckoo," he said flatly. "I mean, letting me keep the DA going, and then giving it to the twins to run-"

"Not Dumbledore." Esmerelda's eyes bored into him. "You know who I mean."

Harry deflated slightly. "I know. But I can't. Talking to him would mean having to let him in closer, and I do not think I could bear it if-"

"If you lost another that you loved."

Harry felt something within him call for denial, and then the rational part of him shot that down. "I suppose."

"You suppose." Esmerelda's voice was laden with sarcasm.

"All right, all right," Harry said swiftly. "I know." He seemed even more uncomfortable than his brief reference to Sirius. "I didn't plan to- well, you know." He shifted in his seat. "Didn't even know it was love." He stared bleakly into the distance. "Wasn't sure if I was capable of it."

"All who live are," Esmerelda assured him. "It is our ability to love that makes it life, Harry."

"Now you're sounding like Dumbledore," Harry joked lightly, leaning back in the seat. His poise was not the relaxed poise of a sixteen year old, but of an adult, waiting for war. An adult fear danced in his eyes, making him keen, making him dangerous.

"Ah, finally, a compliment." Humour lit her dark eyes. "It doesn't come along often, Harry. Love is- There's a thousand clichés I could use. A million. Love is something you are, something you just know. It isn't something you can exactly describe in words, else we'd all be looking in dictionaries and probably be a lot happier. It isn't something you can push away."

"It's something I can try to."

"What are you afraid of?"

The question struck Harry hard. "He-" He swallowed, taking a moment to compose his thoughts. He turned to Esmerelda. "He was my enemy for so long, Esmerelda. How can I forget that? How can I forgive him for-"

"For?"

"For not clapping in Cedric's memory. For being so brutal to my friends even though he was just acting. For-" His cheeks burned. "For not even letting me be me any more. I don't know who I am. All I know is that I can't find where I begin or end, unless he's there."

"And you just pushed him away." Esmerelda stared at him flatly. "Rebecca has been working on him, but there's only so much she can do. He still resents her."

"Resents her?"

"As much as you resent your... someone... for not listening to you, for leaving you."

"I don't-"

"Don't lie to me." Esmerelda's words were heavy, but her expression was gentle. "You are not the only one to have suffered loss."

Harry squirmed. "Sorry." He let a breath out into the silence.

"So how did you know you loved him?"

Harry looked up at her. "We were fighting, in the great hall." His eyes flittered from left to right as he relived the memory. "I've never seen him more alive then when he was looking at me up from the floor. Trusting that I wouldn't take advantage of having him in that position." He noted her shrewd expression and flushed brilliantly. "Not like that! I mean, by hurting him. I could have been lying. I could have wanted to hurt him, and I could have." A brief sweep of nausea choked him for a second. "I wanted to." Seeing him, knowing that he had not grieved for Cedric. "And then-"

"Then?"

Harry passed a calculating look over the leader of the Order of the Cantial. "You're awfully eager."

Esmerelda smiled, her pointed front teeth glimmering in the soft firelight. "Don't get much romance in a celibate Order. Let's just say I get to live vicariously for a moment through you."

"And then, it was just there." Harry continued as if the interlude had never happened. "I wanted to kiss him again. All I could think of was that warmth I felt. I felt like I was- falling. Falling, and he was there, a soft landing. And I knew in that second he'd always be there, if I asked." He shrugged ruefully. "That's also the second I knew I was totally screwed. I couldn't ask him to be there for me."

"Why not?"

Harry sighed. "Death follows me, Esmerelda. It's like, I'm on its radar constantly. Everyone around me gets caught in the crossfire."

"And you don't want to hurt him."

"Exactly." Harry stared at the flickering firelight, his eyes lost in the graceful leaps of the flames.

"But you've hurt him by pushing him away. And by staying away." Esmerelda's voice compelled Harry to look back at her. "And it may be permanent, unless you swallow your fear. Trust him. Give him a chance."

"But-"

"Give you a chance. You and him." Her voice was soft, a soft twang in her tone remnant of her commanding role in the Order. "I think you'll find getting rid of him a lot harder than you'd expect. Love does that to you."

Harry looked up sharply, but Esmerelda was looking away now. She did not turn back to face him.

"Has he- I mean-"

Esmerelda continued to stare at some invisible horizon. "He has been talking to his sister now. They are closer than they ever were, but he is sad, and she knows it's because of you. I do not like to think what she would do if you do not sort yourself out and go after him."

Harry got to his feet, the struggle evident on his face to be quickly replaced by a pure Gryffindor look of determination. His rather too-adult tilt of the head was quietly replaced by a more timid one, that of adolescence and uncertainty. "But- by now- he'll hate me, he'll-"

"Just try, Harry. That's all you can do. You do love him, don't you?"

Uncertainty fled his face, and he tilted his chin almost defiantly. "Yes." He balanced on the balls of his feet. "But-"

"Think on it, Harry." Esmerelda's voice was soft now, gentle to match her words. "Only you can decide whether or not to trust him."

-----

"There's one thing I don't get."

Ron arched a dark look at Hermione. Sweaty and tired, he forced himself to stand upright, leaning against the stacks of archive boxes with some small relief. "What don't you get?"

Hermione brushed a handkerchief over her forehead, and settled down on a solid looking cardboard box to rest. Ron joined her on an opposite one, hoping it wouldn't collapse beneath his weight. "How come two people can be enemies, and then all because of a love augur they're desperately languishing over each other."

Ron gave a small shrug. "Seen it happen before, mate," he said, sliding his wand into his pocket. At Hermione's frown, he continued. "Percy and Oliver, right? Had this big all round war going on. Some kind of deal to see who could prank the other the most. Percy even lowered himself to asking the twins for help the first couple of years. Then the pranks got more subtle." Ron smirked at the memory.

"Such as?" Hermione moved to lean forwards on the box, and squeaked involuntarily as the box shifted beneath her. She quickly leant her weight backwards again.

"Once, Percy Charmed Oliver's glasses so they were rose-tinted," Ron explained, sharing a smile with her as she got the joke. "He proposed to half of the Slytherins within a week before McGonagall figured it out."

"Professor McGonagall, Ron," Hermione chided, but she didn't sound too mad.

"Anyway, Percy was more than a little freaked out by the results, and-"

"Why was he freaked out?"

"'Cause it was the male half of the Slytherins."

Hermione smothered a laugh. "Must have been a shock to Percy."

"You bet," Ron said. "Gave Percy a right old shock to the system. To the point of finding out Oliver really was uh- I want to say attractive, but I don't want to sound weird - well, attractive - underneath his glasses, and Percy freaking out so much he went and got himself a girlfriend."

"Penelope," Hermione realised. Ron nodded. "So, they-"

"Avoided each other 'til about the middle of their last year here. You know, the whole Sirius-" Ron paused, his freckled face going pale as he thought about it. Quieter now, subdued by the reminder of last summer, he quickly continued his narrative. If perhaps his words were a little quicker now, Hermione did not say anything. "Anyway. After about three years of freaking out around each other - boom."

"Boom?"

"As in big explosion, boom. Bombs, fireworks-"

"Ah. Boom."

"But it took three years." Ron sighed heavily, fidgeting on the seat. "It's weird enough that it's Malfoy, right, but I don't want Harry to be unhappy. We lost him enough this year. We can't push him away any further just 'cause the universe has given him a kick up the rear and pointed him vaguely in the direction of happiness."

Hermione nodded noncommittally, getting to her feet and heading towards the archival boxes again, noticing in despair that there was still hundreds of boxes to go. "That's true." She paused. "When did you get so wise, mister?"

Ron tipped her a cheeky wink. "When I had to look through a hundred archive boxes, looking for incidents of meat being brought into Hogwarts and all the times extispicy is mentioned in the old Hogwarts Curriculum manually. That's when I got so wise."

Hermione gave him a rueful glance. "Well, guess it's true what they say. You do whinge more, the wiser you get. Honestly, if you mention the fact one more that we're having to do this without magic, I think I'll-"

"You think you'll what?" Ron asked, a glint in his eyes as he flipped open an old and manky looking notebook.

"Ron."

Ron paused at the sound of her voice, strangled and thin.

"What?"

"Without magic." Hermione slammed down the almanac she was glancing through and looked at him with widened eyes. "The extra lessons, Ron. You know. What we've been doing, and the rumours that- the cooking, and the needlework - Ron."

"Hermione," Ron crossly echoed. "If you don't tell me what you've just eureka'd yourself onto in the next minute, I shall be forced to take this notebook and-"

"Ron, what if there was a way to remove magic?" Hermione stepped forwards to him, her hazel eyes sharp with new knowledge. "What if Voldemort removed all magic from Hogwarts?"

Wincing at Hermione's use of the 'V-word', Ron shook his head dismissively, bending his head back over the notebook he had found. "Nah, can't be done. Dad told me that the only way magic could go away was if someone used the four elemental treasures, but it wouldn't be done, because it wipes out all magic. You-know-who would never place himself at such a great disadvantage."

"Wouldn't he?" Hermione asked briskly. Ron looked up again from the page slowly, horror on his face. "You see!" Hermione crowed, misinterpreting Ron's expression. "He doesn't need magic, Ron. He can command creatures that don't need magic to fight us. Trolls, giants, Manticores, dragons, dementors, zombies, vampires... We'll be defenseless, Ron."

"Shit," Ron murmured helplessly. "It's the vampire thing I'm worried about."

"Only the vampires?" Hermione asked with a confused tone in her voice. "I'd have thought-"

"Here," Ron said, thrusting the notebook in her direction. He looked at her through the thick curtain of hair covering his eyes. "Seventy years ago, when vampires were exiled from the magical community, Hogwarts was listed as a sanctuary for the Cantial clan. Vampires. A magical bind was put on Hogwarts, that no vampire could enter save through the front door."

Hermione took the notebook, and paraphrased its contents out loud so that she could shift through the meanings that the words held. "The Cantial clan, or Order of Cantial, took a vow that no human being should be harmed by them." Her dark eyes glanced up. "The meat, Ron. They don't eat humans. They'll be eating the carcasses. The Order of Cantial is in Hogwarts, Ron!" Excited, she continued to read. "However, harmless as the Order may be, the bind put upon Hogwarts meant that any creature could enter Hogwarts throughout the front door. Hogwarts is protected by the most ancient of magics, connected directly to the earth, unaffected even by the elemental treasures..."

Hermione scanned the rest of the text in silence, her gut twisting in fear. "Ron, I think Volde- sorry, you-know-who - is planning to lay siege to Hogwarts. He cannot get in even if he takes the magic away, so he plans to lock us in here until we run out of food and agree to a surrender." Her voice quietened. "And I'd bet anything it'd be Harry and Dumbledore he'll want in return for letting us live."

Ron nodded darkly. "Guess that's why there's been all the secrecy. People have been trained to last through a siege, and we've been trained as part of the defense."

"Most sound as if they've been trained to help us sustain the siege," Hermione said lightly, pushing the boxes away so she and Ron could lean over the notebook. "Needlework, learning how to cook, defensive techniques..."

"You know, I'm starting to be suspicious of that needlework thing for the General Studies students," Ron said. Hermione looked at him quizzically. "I mean, I know it'd be important for us to know how to fix clothes by hand. But, y'know, you know how to do it. What with that knitting lark you went on last year." Hermione flushed but let him continue to speak. "You could teach the rest of us, easy. Harry and Malfoy, they both take General Studies, but the blood they've spilled hasn't been from pricking themselves with needles."

Hermione giggled suddenly, covering her mouth with one hand. Ron eyed her suspiciously and fell silent. "Ron, you may as well continue. I'm not laughing at your thoughts. Honest."

Ron, disgruntled, continued anyway. "They've both beaten the shit out of each other several times last month. And there was the thing in the hall, with the poles. That didn't look like some - I'm so mad at you, I'll lash out with anything that comes to hand - thing. It looked more like they were trained to fight so well with those poles."

"They may be getting extra lessons," Hermione suggested. "I mean, extra, extra. Extra to the needlework."

"Sounds plausible," Ron agreed. "Or maybe... Maybe they let the rumours go wild. Have you heard one of them try and deny it? It is embarrassing. I'd deny it, even if it was true. The only reason none of them are denying it is because it's not true. They'll be vindicated eventually, so why deny it now? Especially if the real thing is as cool as that stick fighting they were doing."

Hermione was silent for a long moment. "Sounds very plausible," she said. "I don't think we should go around with these ideas, though."

"Don't want the school to panic, eh?" Ron looked slightly amused. "We should confront Harry about it."

"Or Malfoy," Hermione suggested, a small cat-like smile on her face.

Ron glowered. "Or Malfoy," he conceded. "Preferably the former."

"Or maybe we can find one of the vampires." Hermione smirked, and then gasped in realisation. "Ron, what if Malfoy and Harry weren't pissed at each other when they fought with the 'sticks'?"

"Can't see why he wouldn't be," Ron said lightly.

"Ron," Hermione said sharply, for the hundredth time that day. "What if the Order of the Cantial came in then."

"But we'd have seen it-" Ron started, before his mouth dropped open. "Unless they were a deliberate distraction."

"Exactly," Hermione said, nodding her bushy-haired head so hard her hair came out of the scrunchie she'd flung it into before starting the archive trawl. "Come on, let's try and track down one of them to talk to."

Ron nodded, pushing one box away while keeping hold of the notebook for future reference. They reached the door and pushed it open, expecting to come out into a small corridor. Instead, they came out somewhere on the eight floor.

Hermione sighed. "Last time I listen to you suggesting using the Room of Requirement for a short cut," she complained.

Ron grinned. "Saved us one journey, didn't it?"

-----

"Right, class. Return your bos to the rack. Well done, tonight. I'll see you next week."

They all bowed and murmured their thanks to Sensei Matani, who instructed them in the use of the bo. Harry passed his bo to Seamus to take to the rack, hanging back as he always did with Ernie to return the gymnastics mats to a pile in the corner of the dungeon practise room. As he headed to the mat closest to the door to pick it up, he was surprised to see Draco at the other end of the mat, preparing to help him carry it. A blush scurried onto Harry's cheeks before he could stop it.

"Hey," Harry managed, his voice squeaking uncomfortably, reminding him of that equally-horrendous period of adolescence when his voice had broken for the first time. It had been that summer after his first year, and was made only slightly bearable by the fact that for the most of it, Dudley was worried that Harry would turn him into a toad if he mentioned it in a negative way.

"I offered to swap with Ernie." Draco offered the information without Harry having to ask, looking at anywhere but Harry as they slowly started to cross the dungeon floor to where the mats were stored. "It's not fair you two do the same big job every night we're in here."

Draco's reminder that they were only in the large dungeon four nights a week reminded Harry of the other night, the Friday night, and that could only lead thoughts in a southern direction. Harry forced his mind onto keeping his footsteps matching Draco's, so there was no trips or falls.

"Right, boys, I'll leave you to do that."

The two boys looked up to see Sensei Matani pulling a heavy curtain over the rack of bos.

"Shut the door when you leave." His eyebrow twitched at them as he bowed goodbye and left.

"I suspect he's deliberately leaving us alone," Harry said softly, after a stiff second of silence when they'd dropped the first mat. They mutually began moving to the mat next-closest to the door without having to discuss it. "He usually stays until Ernie and I've cleaned the whole place up."

"He's trusting us to be alone and not fight?" Draco raised one eyebrow and smirked slightly.

Harry muffled a laugh. "Yeah. He's the one that supervises our Invisible Fighting, after all. He's seen everything we got up to in that."

Draco fell silent for a second as they dropped the second mat neatly on top of the first and headed for the next one. "Yeah," he managed eventually, his voice subdued, before grinning brilliantly. Harry looked up and caught the grin. Draco only smiled wider at Harry's confusion. "Guess we really mucked that one up, eh?"

"Hormones will be hormones," Harry returned lightly, cursing himself that that was all he could of as a response. He watched a shadow flicker across Draco's face, a swarm of dark butterflies bearing ill tidings, and tried again. "It was all my fault, after all."

"Really?" Draco squinted at Harry. "Wow, he admits it, after a month of me blaming him."

"You don't sound surprised," Harry commented, pushing his end of the third mat so it settled comfortably in the corner of the dungeon.

"Why? Knew you'd tell the truth eventually. You'd not be a Gryffindor otherwise." Draco cast a long glance at Harry, before blushing and looking at his feet.

"We're not good at lying, that's true," Harry said. "But if we're stubborn enough, sometimes lies can keep going, and then- we're not too good at stopping them."

Draco's head jerked up so suddenly Harry almost dropped the fourth mat they'd picked up. "Trelawney's a crap liar, too. I knew the augurs weren't fake when she said they were."

Harry blinked at him, blowing to push errant strands of midnight hair out of his eyes, wishing he could use his hands. As soon as they put away the fourth mat, he pushed both of his hands through his thick shock of hair. "You knew I'd asked her to fake it."

"Yes." Draco's voice was quiet. "I knew you were scared, too. Scared of loving someone like me."

Harry laughed, and deliberately didn't bend down to pick up the fifth mat. "I was never scared of loving you." He stepped forwards onto the mat, and the mat fell uselessly out of Draco's fingers as the increased pressure from Harry's footsteps yanked it downwards out of his hands. He lifted one hand up before he knew what he was doing with it, and then determinedly pressed on through with the option his mind presented him with. He placed his hands firmly under Draco's chin, sweeping up those tormented silver eyes to meet with his own.

He was lost. He didn't know how it happened, when it happened, or why, but he knew in this exact moment he was eternally grateful for it happening. He didn't know how long he stayed there, fire crashing into fire, softening the pain, blurring the world around them. Harry felt his breathing quicken, and felt his own feet step forward despite himself.

"Wait," Draco said, the word slipping out with a little difficult. Draco's skin undulated under Harry's firm touch to form the word, and it hung awkwardly between them.

Harry's eyes flitted across Draco's face, feeling like he was home, but feeling like he was on the very edge of a precipice, which could any second send him tumbling over the edge. But it's worth it, he thought fiercely. It's worth it to know.

"Wait?" Harry gulped the word out in a breathless whisper, pulling his hand away slightly, only for it to be grabbed and held by Draco. Draco's hands were warmer than he'd expected, his touch firmer. Draco looked as if he could be swept away by a breath of a whisper, but his touch belied the truth. Steady as a rock, eyes endless like water, fire branding through their touch.

"Don't kiss me unless you mean it." The words came out in a rush of air, as if Draco was scared they were the wrong words to say, or if he was scared of what Harry would do. The fear soothed something deep in Harry's soul.

Harry stepped backwards slightly and the fire from the lamps fizzled out, the Charm not meant to last much beyond one am.

Disappointed, Draco looked around as moonlight abruptly flooded the dungeon. He didn't know if this was from Charm, considering that the dungeon was deep in the castle, or something else, but right at that moment he didn't care. He only cared that, once again, he was making a huge fool of himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Having convinced himself over the past few weeks that Harry had only kissed him as a tool for something, and that Harry did not care about him in the same way he- in the same way he cared for Harry, he hated himself. Hated that he still let himself hope that Harry may-could-perhaps still...

"I..." Draco's voice dropped an octave in horror, his tentative voice echoing ineptly against the stone walls of the dungeon, and he pulled back. The feel of Harry's hand against his chin flared up again, and the smell that Harry took with him everywhere accompanied it, a fluctuating smell of soap and crushed grass burning his nostrils, blurring his gaze. He didn't even stop to look at the expression on Harry's face, it was all he could do not to vomit at the thought of Oliver's face, disgusted, those too green eyes widened with amusement that Draco could think Harry could feel anything for him, finely shaped eyebrows lifting in derision. He fled, turning on his heel and fleeing through the door, ashamed at his pitiful idea that Harry could still... Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He was grateful for the thick, lush carpet down the dungeon corridors as he skittered across it like a two-legged spider in his shoes, aiming for the nearest toilets down near the potion store caverns. The dense green weave muffled the rhythmic, frantic thuds of his feet as he escaped, mortification flooding his cheeks like a tidal wave, abrupt and all-consuming as he slid the door shut and bolting it closed.

Shaking, he gripped the edge of the china-white hand basin, paused like a bird on the edge of flight, perched uneasily on his toes. All he could see was his hair, hanging black seaweed trails covering his eyes, and a hazy shade of grey. Eventually he lifted his gaze to stare, hollow-eyed, at his trembling reflection. A gaunt boy stared unflinchingly back at him, ash-blond hair dulled to a charcoal grey in the moonless bathroom. Fear was plastered indelibly on his anguished cheekbones, pain raw in his endless eyes, hair clinging to his head like a clenched hand. Draco looked down almost immediately, at his pale hands, white with exertion as they clutched desperately at the implacable surface. He let go, and flexed his hands, before fumbling with the taps and splashing too-cold water on his fear-shrunken face.

Draco stayed there, water tumbling off his cheeks and his hair, not moving for a towel. For a long time, he clung to the edges of the basin again for support, before tiredly lifting his head as if it was the largest burden he had ever carried, and clumsily groping at the bolt to undo it. He pulled the door open, and as it slid open too easily he came face to face with a white-looking face.

Harry inhaled sharply and stepped forwards firmly before Draco had a chance to stumble backwards. Draco felt hands on his face, damp but certain, and saw Harry's face detach itself from the darkness behind. Soft lips grazed against his, and Draco's eyes fluttered closed along with the breathy whimper that crawled up his throat, expelling itself into the ether. Draco kept his eyes closed, concentrating on the feel of Harry's breath, warm on his face, rapid and regular. He felt his own arms moving up, his own hands gently and wonderingly on Harry's hips, heat seeping through the simple cotton t-shirt that Harry wore, white like Harry's aura, like the house, like the light smashing through Draco's vision.

No one ever said about the images that accompanied a sensation like that. Behind his eyelids, Draco saw clouds that rushed unsteadily beneath his feet as he tried to ride a broomstick - a Cleansweep he'd gotten from his father - for the very first time, his first trip to muggle London, seeing Harry Potter for the very first time and realising in fifth year that the reason he couldn't stop thinking about the lithe and focussed Seeker was because he had a crush on him. The images started flittering wildly across his vision as those lips surged forwards, insisting and probing. Like his first exam, the quill poised nervously on the empty page as he realised he didn't remember a single thing except how to vomit. Like the time Pansy kissed him, but she was too soft pressed up against him, soft and overwhelming and sickly.

Like that time when the Malfoys revealed they were good to Dumbledore, when Harry Potter smiled like sunshine at him, and he realised that the crush he'd ardently tried to believe would go away was something different to hormonal infatuation.

Draco wondered at his own hands. They seemed to have a life of their own. As he kissed Harry back desperately, mouth open, tongue possessed into a frenzy of trying to meld with Harry's own, one of his hands slipped under the rumpled t-shirt that Harry wore. The cotton material rode up easily, and Draco skimmed his fingers desperately over the smooth surface he wanted to brand to his senses. His other hand lifted up, idly twisting in the hair on the back of Harry's neck.

This kiss. This was the kiss that Draco had been waiting for, damn the cliché, but all his life. Firm and in control, fuller lips than his own that rubbed deliciously on his own, and Draco could taste apples and pumpkin juice and Harry. The combination of tastes, or maybe it was just the way Harry was pressed up against him now, awkwardly pushing his back against the cold tiled wall, or the way Harry's tongue was tracing Draco's alveolar ridge, wet and warm and awaking something low within Draco. The images crashing across Draco's senses faded into a brilliant light, and the feeling of velvet and heat and something animalistic within remained. Harry's chest was now flush against his own, his Quidditch muscles melding into Draco's lean body. Harry moaned down Draco's throat, his fingers turning into claws, desperately grabbing at Draco in the heat. Draco's eyes flew open, and a delicious growl or a purr emanated from Harry as Draco's head fell back against the cool surface.

The claws paused, and stars burst along his vision. Draco could make out the green of Harry's intense gaze. He pulled away from Harry long enough to skid over to the door, slamming it shut and bolting it closed. Harry looked up at him, eyes widened with shock, before pushing Draco up against the surface. It hurt, but that didn't matter, because it hurt less than being apart from Harry, and Harry's touch soothed any pain.

Harry bent as if to kiss him - was that kissing or was he eating me alive? - and then paused. His face, inverted by the shadows, hovered tantalizing by his own, Harry's hands firm on his wrists stopping him from moving. Draco jerked his chest forward, frustrated, and even thought that he had whimpered when Harry pulled his face back and he couldn't kiss him again.

Disappointment bristled over Draco's bearing, but Draco continued to stand strong. "Unless I mean what," Harry whispered, his voice still sounding as loud as a shout to them both in the stillness of the toilets.

The note of teasing in his tone was unmistakable. Strengthened, Draco pulled himself upright as much as he could in Harry's forceful grasp, but did not say a word. He lifted his hand, a salute, alighting his hand gently on Harry's cheek.

Harry couldn't think of a single word to say. His knees seemed suddenly to collapse beneath him, and suddenly Draco was holding him, letting them both sink to their knees on the cold stone surface. Draco's fingers traced his face where his hair met his skin, his jaw line, his cheeks, leaving burning trails behind him. Trembling, Harry put one hand under Draco's chin again.

"Every time," Harry said, truth flooding his simple words. "Every single time I meant it. And every single time from now on, I will mean it." In wonder, he felt Draco's body, stilled as it was next to his own. A warm tingle swept his body, and he could bear it no longer. His thumb reached up to brush Draco's cheek, trace the edges of a smile that threatened never to go away.

Draco's heart leapt. He felt abruptly scared that it wasn't real, and then felt abruptly scared that it was. Then his fear melted away, and it was just them. Real. There. Fighting for the same thing. Desperate for each other. "I love you," he whispered, eventually. "It's okay if you don't. I just- needed you to know where I was. With everything. With us."

Harry paused, as if to think. The moonlight flooded Harry's face, smudging his features, but his eyes were clear. Draco looked at him, not nervous, not scared, just trusting. Something dark took hold of Harry's eyes. He started to stand, and Draco helped him up. "I-" He seemed to think better of what he was going to say. Eyes flickering to the side, Harry mumbled his next words. "Guess we'd better get the rest of the mats tidied away, then."

Draco stepped backwards, feeling a little disconcerted and nervous as he watched Harry moving, business-like, snapping the bolt away and silently leading them back down the corridor to the practise room. They passed the practise room. Draco was so distracted, mortification that he'd probably just made a huge fool of himself flooding his pale cheeks with colour, that he almost didn't notice. As Draco followed Harry up several more passages, he decided to bring up the subject. "Harry, this isn't the way to the-"

Harry stilled, and twisted back to smile softly, reassuringly, at Draco. Firelight from the torches danced over his face, hiding his eyes in shadows. "Just trust me."

Draco nodded, unable to speak, and padded gently after Harry, not even looking now where Harry was leading him, concentrating instead on Harry's back. If Harry were not to lead him into the Gryffindor common room, wake the lot of them and tell them what Draco had said, then Draco would follow him there.

Draco trusted, hoped, and followed Harry as they left the dungeons.

-----

"Did you have something to do with this?"

Flourishing in the darkness, Rebecca smiled toothily up at her mentor and friend. Esmerelda did not look down at Rebecca, but watched the two figures amble off together down the corridor with an answering smile on her face.

"I meddled as much as you, Becky."

Rebecca shifted a little. "I didn't know if he'd dare trust himself again."

"When love's at stake, little one, daring is all you can do."

Rebecca narrowed her eyes. Years beyond her appearance accompanied this expression of annoyance. "I thought you promised not to quote clichés at us anymore."

"You listened to me. I'm shocked."

"You used the word stake. I'm shocked."

"Bratling."

"You wouldn't have it any other way, Esmerelda."

Esmerelda smiled, and looked down at her young charge. "That I wouldn't. It's just a pity."

"A pity?"

"That their love must come at a time when the whole world will be at strife."

"Isn't that the best time for it to come?"

"Why so?"

"A little spark of hope can make an eternity of distress bearable, I should think."

"Such a wise head on little shoulders."

"Not my fault I can't grow any more."

"We could stretch you."

"Eh."

They fell silent, watching as Harry and Draco disappeared around the corner.

"They'll need that strength," Rebecca said softly, feeling Esmerelda's hand alight on her shoulder. "To get through."

"Even that may not be enough." Esmerelda's face darkened over. "Three weeks until the full moon."

"So soon?" Rebecca shifted until Esmerelda's hand. "I had wished so much for more time with him."

"We all have wished so, little one. Our fate is not to be that. You know what the prophecy says. We will not have long when the magic fails."

"Neither will Voldemort." Rebecca's face gleamed with the strength of this knowledge. She suddenly looked fierce, terrible, and this look echoed on Esmerelda's older, knowing face.

"It means we have a chance. Slim. And if we fail, it will be all up to them."

"As it was in the beginning, so it will be in the end."

"Poetic."

"Need a little poetry at the end of the world, don't you think?"

"Need a bloody miracle, more like."

"Maybe they're it."

"To end the apocalypse? Two boys? Wish we could have taken you when you were older."

"Two boys in love," Rebecca corrected. "Empires were born on that."

"And thrived, and fell on that too. We'll see, little one. If they can pass the first test, I think we have a bigger chance than I'd give them credit for. Else..."

"Else?"

"Else, I fear, we shall have to prepare them all that this could be the end. Not just of their kind, but of the whole world."

"And we're putting this on the shoulders of two boys in love?"

"This was your idea, you know."

"Eh, I know. It's just- the fate of the universe in the hands of my big brother? I don't know what the muggles would think if they knew."

"Probably several four-letter words."

"Cake. Food. Pipe."

"Impudent brat."

"You know I try." Rebecca paused, thoughtful. "If anyone can do it, they can." She grinned, showing her full set of teeth. Danger lurked beneath her innocent guise. "But I'll say one thing."

"What?"

"He'll be absolutely insufferable if he succeeds. Almost glad we won't be around to see it."

Rebecca waited for a sarcastic remark to come from Esmerelda. Instead, the older vampire pulled her into a motherly hug. Rebecca settled into the hug, her tiny arms moving around Esmerelda's waist.

"Courage, little one. Prophecies are not always right."

"Not always wrong, either," Rebecca retorted.

"That's true." Esmerelda pulled out of the hug. "Your brother had better come through, or I swear, just before the end, I'll break my vow and kill him."

"Not if-"

"-you get there first, eh?"

"Well, I was going to say the universe, but yes, if I can beat you to it I will. There are benefits to being smaller, you know. We're faster."

"Easier to tickle," Esmerelda commented, leaning down to tickle Rebecca unmercifully for a few seconds. Rebecca shrieked in laughter, and Esmerelda laughed at her happiness before they both fell silent. Rebecca wondered at that for a while, wondering how come whenever they laughed, whenever they played, it inevitably ended up in a long silence as they contemplated the end of the universe.

She eventually gave a shrug and returned with Esmerelda to their hiding place within Hogwarts by the secret passages they knew well, figuring eventually that impending doom did that to you.

-----

Harry paused before a door at the end of their winding trek, squinting quickly at the door to make sure it was the right one. Abruptly deciding that yes, it was, Harry pushed the door open and pulled a startled Draco through after him.

It was dim in there, and Draco blinked furiously as his eyes got adjusted to the new light level. He gaped in stupefaction as he realised where they were. "Harry, this is the main hall," Draco realised quickly. He turned his face to Harry's, expression wide. "What are we-"

"Just follow me," Harry replied evasively, leading Draco through a maze of trestle tables and chairs. Abruptly he stopped at the edge of the Ravenclaw table, and stepped up onto one of the chairs. He lay down on the empty table, and looked at Draco. "I said to follow me."

Draco blinked, and copied Harry, lying down on the hard, cool surface. He looked at Harry, who was just looking at the representation of stars rippling on the ceiling as if they were the only thing that mattered, and copied him there too. He could just about manage to see Orion, blinking over the edge, peeping across the top of the door.

"There's a whole universe out there that's never heard of any of us. We're on our own, Draco. We have to solve our own problems. Realise what we're feeling all on our own."

Draco could picture Harry's expression in his mind's eye, staring out at the field of midnight fire, the points of light reflected in his eyes. "Sometimes it's hard," Draco replied. "Sometimes we just have to make a leap, take a stab at defining what we feel." He felt Harry's cooler fingers take his own.

"I know what I feel."

Harry's words were deeper than usual, and so intense that Draco twisted anyway, expecting to see Harry still looking upwards, and everything inside falling as he realised that Harry was looking at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. Draco tried to moisten his lips again, but to no avail. He concentrated on Harry's hand in his own, and stuttered the words out through dry, abused lips. "What do you feel?"

Harry smiled enigmatically and turned to glance briefly at the sky full of stars, before looking back at Draco. The stars blinked back at him, resplendently reflected in Draco's turbulent but hopeful gaze. His voice caught in his throat, but he threw out the words regardless. "I love you."

Draco's fingers tightened on his own. Draco was looking at him as if he couldn't believe what Harry had said, as if the sky had fallen and burn and shattered around their feet. Maybe they had. They wouldn't have noticed. All Draco could notice was how close Harry seemed to be, how tight their hands were entwined together. He hadn't even realised he had wanted to hear those words so much until his brain realised what had been said, and he exhaled slowly.

Harry pulled his hands away, and Draco refused to let out a whimper of loss as he realised Harry was shifting to move closer. They lay still, bodies pressed together, looking at the universe reflected in each other.

"Promise me something," Harry breathed eventually, moving his face close to Draco's own when the silence threatened to pull them apart and leave them stranded in eternity. "Never leave me."

Draco felt the words rather than hearing them, and nodded. "I promise." He leant forwards, closing that last distance, pressing his mouth against Harry's with such reverence that he could scarcely believe that it was happening.

"We really ought to clear up those mats," Harry murmured as the slow kiss dissipated on its own, and Draco's throat tightened for a second until he recognised the mirrored regret open on Harry's face that he was certain was plainly on his own.

Draco nodded slowly, moving his protesting body off the table, and they walked together back down the practise room, hands touching only barely, at the fingertips. It wasn't enough contact, and yet it was too much, all at the same time. Contented, Draco edged a hesitant smile at Harry, only for a full-blown grin of disbelief from Harry who obviously couldn't believe what had happened. Draco wasn't scared by that disbelief. His own soul recognised it, embraced it, yearned for it, as a comrade, as something he had known all his life, as something... as something he would always know.

-----