Scheherazade

Summary: A tale of abuse, hidden relationships and reconciliation. When you've lost all inspiration, who will be the one to help you tell your story? A Draco/Harry Romance. Slash. Post-War. Includes HBP canon.

He started writing during the war.

He came into his tent late at night, sopping wet and bone tired after searching for Horcruxes in torrential tsunamis and intricate books without success. It was common knowledge among his companions that he did not wish to be disturbed after coming back for the night, and so he was left blissfully alone. Then, left to his own devices, his brain simultaneously shut down and jumped into action all at once.

A thought skipped across the surface of his mind and he absently grabbed a quill from his traveling pack and scribbled chicken-scratched letters onto the side of a battle order. A letter from Remus informed him of things going on in Britain and reminded him to stay safe.

The war progressed and as Voldemort sightings and Death Eater skirmishes grew closer to home and increased in their intensity, so did his ideas.

He borrowed sheets from a journal Hermione kept one night, snuck into his tent, and combined his ideas into a story. There were no big words, dazzling analogies or any real substance. But it was his. Just his.

Writing was a dirty secret he kept to himself. He could write his ideas into anything - fairytale romances, toe-curling terror, or scenes of forbidden lust. The brilliant thing about it was that he could write what he wanted; there were no limitations, like in other things.

Soon it consumed him. He was leading a war against darkness while in his mind he manipulated characters into daring escapades and beyond. He loved it.

Maybe almost too much.

"Harry, where do you go at night?" Ron asked.

"To my tent," said Harry as he finished filling up his canteen, stepping aside so Ron could have his turn at the tap.

"I'm not that thick. I know you're in your tent, but, I mean," Ron kept his eyes on Harry even as he moved forward, "you have to be doing something else, right?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, taking a drink, wishing Ron would stop staring at him like he knew something.

"Well," Ron's eyes were now directed at the steady stream of water pouring into his own canteen, "I know if it were me I'd go absolutely stark raving mad all holed up by myself night after night with no one to talk to. It just seems like you're doing something, or going somewhere or bloody something that keeps you sane while you're by yourself."

"Nah," Harry took another deep drink, "I just need time to think. I've got a lot going on right now. Obviously," Harry snorted, cocking his head to the mini-society behind him as Ron looked back.

"Yeah, obviously." Ron said with half a smile. "Me and Hermione are here, though. If you ever need to talk or if you ever do go stark raving mad, because let's face it mate, you're not that far out of the nut house."

"I'll keep that in mind." Harry said dryly.

"You know," Ron said, turning off the water supply and closing the lid to his canteen, "I thought that's what you were doing. Thinking and all that, but you know how Hermione gets."

Harry nodded with a grin as Ron turned around and the pair began to walk back to the encampment they had called home for over six months.

"You might want to talk to her about it, come to think. Let her know you're not doing anything stupid or running off on secret missions."

"Is that what she thought?"

"It's Hermione." Ron said.

"Good point."

"Eh, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you met that new bloke that's been floating around here?"

"Course. Why?"

"I just don't trust him." Ron said, turning red.

"Ron, of course you don't trust him. You know if he weren't sniffing around Hermione you would be fine with him."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is."

"Whatever," Ron grumbled, stuffing the hand that did not hold his canteen into his pocket. "Wanna sit?"

Harry did.

The camp was nice like that. There was always a place to sit when you needed one. Harry supposed the designer knew that comfort in war was as much a necessity as wands were. The cleared out patch of land did not even resemble a war camp, or at least the type Harry had grown up seeing in Dudley's old muggle movies. If anything the camp reminded him of the Quidditch World Cup. On the outside each tent was compact and unobtrusive, but on the inside everything was colorful and cavernous.

"It's weird not seeing people outside, isn't it?" Harry asked.

Ron grunted in reply.

That was another thing about the camp. People did not go outside unless they were coming or going. Moody insisted, called it a safety measure and enlisted Hagrid to dig underground tunnels connecting the tents together. Nobody questioned Moody.

Harry understood the practicality of it, but the feeling of desertion unnerved him all the same.

"What gets me is the silence." Ron said, pushing his boots into the dirt.

They were in the middle of a forest somewhere on the outskirts of Germany. Moody also insisted, with the help of old Professor Flitwick, that all the trees be enchanted to grow as tall and thick as spells would make them. That way no sounds could be let out. Nothing attracted more attention than the sounds of life in the middle of a forest, Moody said. The only problem was that the thatched together birch trees did not let sound in, which created an all together dead feel to the place.

"We have a meeting with Moody today." Ron said.

"Do we?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, I figured you wouldn't have paid attention when he announced it the last time. You were too busy doodling on that notepad of yours."

"Hmm. All right, then."

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you always doodling in that notepad?"

"Why do you care?" Harry snapped.

"You're my best mate."

"So?"

"So, I just want to know what's going on with you." Ron said as he scrambled to his feet. "I know you're thinking and stuff, but I don't know, Harry. You're acting awfully secretive. Like you've got something to hide."

"That's ridiculous. What would I have to hide?" Harry asked hotly, pushing himself out of his sitting position and staring up at Ron.

"That's just the thing – I. Don't. Know."

Ron walked away before Harry could come up with a retort.

Maybe it was better that way.

Harry became manic. All he thought about was killing Voldemort and pages of words that melded into meaning, caressing him like a lover's embrace. He dismissed reports of trepidation that spies for Voldemort had worked their way under the wing of the Phoenix. He did not even blink when Ron came to tell him that Hermione and the bloke he did not trust had been sent out on a mission together. He did not even stop to turn when he overheard news that Malfoy Manor had been raided, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy dead in the wake.

"HARRY!"

"Hermione?"

"He – "

Whatever the cause of her distress was Harry did not know, because at that moment Hermione dissolved into tears. Aching, wrenching, gnawing tears.

"What happened?" Harry asked, rushing forward just as Ron sped into the hall Harry and Hermione were occupying. "Ron?"

"Mate," Ron took a few halting steps forward, his eyes oddly wet. "We tried."

"Tried what?" Harry asked, his voice catching in desperation.

Ron stopped and watched Hermione throw herself into Harry's arms before he spoke again.

"Remus is dead."

"Dead?"

"We got there too late." Ron said, crossing his arms across his chest and shutting his eyes.

"Dead?" Harry repeated.

"Harry." Hermione gasped his name as her tears soaked through his thin shirt.

It hit Harry that moment. Hit him so hard it was almost as if every realization he had ever had in his life was being relived one after the other after the other after the other – he had no parents. No godfather. No mentor. No adult.

And by the sound of Hermione's moans she realized the exact same thing.

The news came in later that the attack that had claimed Remus' life had also taken the lives of Gred and Forge Weasley. They had died defending their tiny shop in Diagon Alley whose only surviving remains were smoke and dead bodies.

"Ron?"

"Go away Harry."

"Hey, just let me – "

"NO." Ron roared, "No, just go away."

"You – "

"Why are you suddenly so interested in being my best mate?" Ron snapped, his eyes burning with a sort of disdain Harry never thought he would see coming from the one friend he valued above all others.

"What do you mean?"

"You wouldn't be trying to sit with me if I hadn't just lost my brothers. You would be off in that fucking tent of yours scribbling on your stupid notebook and ignoring me."

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it? Do you think I never needed you before now? That the only time I ever need you around is if somebody dies?"

"No – I"

"Just go away, Harry. Go away before I say something I don't mean."

Harry did leave. He left with the knowledge that he was the worst friend anyone could ask for, but apparently Hermione had other ideas.

"You heard all that?" Harry asked her.

She nodded, pushing herself off the wall she had been leaning on as Harry shut the door to the room Ron was in. He noticed her cheeks held fresh tear tracks.

"Don't listen to anything he just said." She said quietly, walking forward silently, linking her arm with Harry's and leading him down the hall. "He just wants you to hurt as much as he does right now."

"How d'you know?"

Hermione smiled sadly. "Because, he just did the exact same thing to me."

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed." Harry felt her sigh more than heard her. "They want us in the boardroom. The wards went off a bit ago and Moody wants to have a talk."

They continued to walk in silence with Hermione steering Harry the whole way. He rather liked not having to maneuver himself. He did stop her, however, when they were about to enter Moody's lair.

"Are you all right?" He asked.

"I'm as all right as I can be."

Harry thought she was the strongest witch he ever had the pleasure to meet. And he told her.

"Thank you, Harry." She said, followed by a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Sometimes I wonder if you've forgotten about me."

He was about to tell her he had not when she placed a finger upon his lips to silence him and used her other hand to key them into the boardroom.

Harry didn't like the boardroom. When he had mentioned the fact to Hermione she gave him a lecture about his Fourth Year demons and considering the fact that the boardroom was technically Moody's office, well, his reaction was to be expected. Harry thought it was something else. It was the way the room always held a pervasive, chalky smell. It was the way the lighting flickered and made him flinch while he tried to take down notes. It was the cluttered feel of the place, but most of all it was the knowledge that the only time Moody ever invited you in was in the beginning or in the aftermath of a major battle. And within each of Moody's lectures there was always the unspoken promise of a loved one soon to be lost, or, as in the current case, the memory of those so recently departed.

That atmosphere, though, was the furthest thing from Harry's mind as he was prodded through the doorway by Hermione. He froze.

Moody stood in the front of the crowded room with his magical eye pointed towards the back of his head in the direction of a bloodied, seated Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy looked strikingly similar to the way he had looked on the night of Dumbledore's death. He had the look of someone whose body had tried to grow, but had given up halfway through the process. He was thin, long and bony at every angle. His already pale complexion shone a deathly shade of white under Moody's intense lighting. His cheek bones were sunk in and the skin around his eyes was bruised. The normally styled hair was matted to the sides of his face with blood, sweat and dirt. The cloak he was wearing was shredded down one side and the shirt he was wearing only had half of its buttons. In his arms Malfoy clutched tight onto a handful of papers. Harry watched as every few seconds he would run a soot blackened thumb over the parchment's edge.

Moody began to bark out the details of Diagon Alley, while a piece of chalk moved itself up and down a large chalkboard illustrating the details. Quills started scratching at pads of paper with their owners looking away every now and again to remove an offending tear.

Harry did not move his eyes away from Malfoy once.

Moody began talking about Malfoy as though he was a mosquito. He had shown up and there was nothing to do with him other than test his intentions with Veritaserum and sign him into the ranks. They could not get rid of him for fear that he would defect back to the Death Eaters with the sole intentions of revealing the location of their camp. Harry felt as though that was a bit unfair, especially after Moody declared that Malfoy had provided them with key Death Eater whereabouts and all the knowledge he held about past and future attacks.

It was Malfoy, though, so he did not voice his thoughts.

Hermione, however, did.

"I just can't believe Moody sometimes. The way he treats people." She snarled as she and Harry pushed themselves out of the boardroom along with everyone else who had been in attendance at the meeting. "He's always been a brat, but he was never evil. He just got raveled up in something he couldn't handle. He's sort of like us."

"No, he's not." Harry said.

"Harry, yes he is." Hermione said, her exasperation clear. "It's all very cliché. He was born with a destiny exactly the same as you were. He was the dark side's prodigy just like you were the light's and just like you he felt like he didn't have a choice about which side he would join. But he's grown up now, Harry. His presence here proves that he knows he chose wrong. Weren't you listening to what Moody said at all? We should give Malfoy a shot, because thanks to his information the Order has the chance to save thousands of lives."

"But he's still Malfoy."

"And you're still Potter." Hermione said with a dim twinkle in her eye. "Is that all the problem is?"

"No." Harry said - a touch indignant.

"Then you better figure out what it is and do something about it, because I can guarantee you that you'll end up having to work with him at some time or another before this war is finished."

"Fine. D'you want to get breakfast in the morning?"

"Can't. I'm going on a scouting mission with Thomas."

"Ron doesn't like him."

"I know."

"Do you like that he doesn't like him?" Harry asked.

"A bit."

Women were so confusing.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow night then?"

"Of course you will. Someone has to take care of you and Ron."

"Good night then."

"Night, Harry." Hermione said, giving him a firm hug and a pat on the back. "Do me a favor and remember what I said?"

"Promise." Harry muttered. He heard her laughing lightly despite the day's distress as he turned and walked the halls to his own tent.

Harry slept fitfully that night and every night after that.

Voldemort sent him dreams of screaming Weasleys and a mangled, crucified Remus and Harry knew, deep down he knew, that the casualties incurred were not coincidence. Those he loved were targeted first.

Hermione pulled back from Harry, not because of want, but because of circumstance. Moody put her on every assignment he could, calling her the best brain they had.

Ron did not, could not, get over the loss of his brothers. Harry seemed to only get in the way.

Then there was Malfoy. Malfoy who stayed in his rooms until ten in the morning and retired promptly at eight, but in the interim was as dedicated, if not more so, than all the other members of the Order. They had had a few brief conversations that mostly consisted of passed papers and murmured thank you's, but Harry thought it was a fair start.

Harry began to wonder over Hermione's words more and more as the days filled up and flew by.

Through writings and characterizations, Harry had learned that things were not what they appeared to be on the surface. He had come to grips with the fact that there was no black and white in the world - there was no good, nor was there evil. It all just was.

So, it was with an air of unexpected benevolence that Harry Potter pondered the fate of one Draco Malfoy.

It became another obsession. Another story.

Harry began weaving strands of the war, memories of life on Privet Drive, schoolyard rivalries, betrayals, alliances, pain, confusions, struggles, uncertainty, love, lies, and anything else he could think of into a thick, sprawling, pasted-together tome on the life of a hero. He titled it with the words i Closets to Narnia /i , signed his name with swirling cursive letters, and tucked it under his cot.

He was quite proud of it.

While Harry had been whittling away at his masterpiece, the Death Eaters, to his great dismay, had grown in number and strength.

"Potter!"

Harry stopped in the hall at Moody's gruff voice.

"You're on the field tonight."

Harry turned and sighed. That meant this was a big one. Moody never sent him out unless there was a greater than chance probability Voldemort would be making a cameo.

"Sir?"

"This is one of Malfoy's battles. Confirmed through Veritaserum. I still don't trust him. Constant vigilance, Potter, constant vigilance. Once a death eater always a death eater."

Harry nodded. It was wise not to say anything when Moody got on one of his bents.

"We're sending him out."

"Malfoy?"

A grunt of affirmation.

"Why?"

"I don't like it any more than you do. Malfoy knows the way these things are set up. He's guaranteed to be at this one. We've gotten them too many times now. He wants to know why."

"Sir?"

"Go find Malfoy. You're portkeying out with him. Stay next to him all night."

Harry wanted to protest. He really did. He wanted to scream that Malfoy could look after himself. He had found his way to their camp unassisted, hadn't he?

Instead Harry turned away and retreated to his rooms where he dressed in black and fastened a spare wand to a holster on his thigh.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Coming," called Harry.

Well, he had been coming. At least he had been until he tripped over a stack of parchment on the floor and hurdled head first into the bureau.

"All right?" A too familiar voice sounded and once more there was pounding at the door.

Harry inwardly cursed. How great was that? He had a schoolyard nemesis at the door and blood trickling down his left cheek at the same time.

"Coming!"

He searched the crowded room in vain for a rag, and upon giving up and not wanting to dirty his sheets grabbed one of the pieces of parchment he had tripped over and held it to his temple.

"Classy," Malfoy greeted once Harry had pried the door open.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked.

"Don't be daft." Malfoy said with a pointed glare at Harry's attire.

"I knew that!" Harry protested. "I thought I was supposed to go find you!"

"I beat you to it." Malfoy said, peering over Harry's shoulder at his mess. "Obviously."

"Fine, let's just go." Harry pushed past Malfoy and into the hallway.

"Not so fast."

Harry flinched when he felt Draco's firm grip take hold of his wrist.

"Malfoy, we don't have time to wait." Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, my apologies." Draco didn't sound sorry at all. "I wasn't aware that you wanted to go charging out into battle holding a piece of parchment to that gaping hole in your skull. Does it help your aim?"

"All right!" Harry pulled his arm away from Malfoy. "We'll go by Pomfrey's tent on the way out."

"No need. I can do it."

Harry was about to demand that Malfoy not touch him when he felt a soft, strong pressure tilt his head towards the ceiling. Harry could feel the parchment peeling away from the wound and the beginnings of a fresh stream of blood trickle down his face. Malfoy whispered a spell under his breath and the cool blood and the dull ache vanished almost as fast as they had come.

"Thanks." Harry muttered.

"No problem." Malfoy's gruff voice answered.

"Er, Malfoy?"

"Hmm?"

"You can let go of my face now."

"Oh, yes, right." Malfoy pulled his hand away and tucked the parchment and his wand into the pocket of his robe. "Shall we head off, then?"

"You make it sound like we're going to the races." Harry commented. It seemed like an amicable comment. The sort of thing that Hermione would approve of.

"Oh, but Potter," Malfoy's grin was feral, "we are."

Harry tried not to show how much Malfoy's comment had unnerved him as they took the stairs up and out of the underground society they both called home, but he seemed to be having a hard time of it. Malfoy was right. They were going to the races. In a metaphorical, mass-murdering, maniacal blood letting way.

"Snap out of it, Potter. Now is not the time to be daydreaming."

"I – "

"Potter, look," Malfoy said, rubbing a hand over the black stocking cap he was wearing that obscured all of his blonde hair from view. "I talked to Moody about you."

"What?" Harry spat.

"About your history on the battlefield."

"What?" Harry's voice didn't lose any of its venom.

"Everyone knows you did stuff in school not many people could and that now, during the war, you're ace on the field. But Moody said in the quiet times – the times when you think things have slowed down for a bit – your mind wanders. And that that's hurt the Order in the past."

Malfoy was staring him down. A sensation made all the more intense by the fact that the only part of Malfoy that wasn't covered in black was the grey and white of his eyes. His face was covered in black shoe polish, his hands covered in black, spandex gloves and his body shrouded in black cotton undergarments and a black silk robe.

"Potter?"

Harry didn't answer.

"I want us to be friends."

Harry started sputtering.

"Maybe not off the battlefield – but on," amended Malfoy. "This one is going to be huge, Potter. The biggest one so far. I'm just trying to tell you that even when you think it's slowed down – even when you think it's safe to turn around – it won't be. Never lower your guard. Never lower your wand. And never, ever lower your mental shields or the Dark Lord will know your location before you can blink. It won't be safe to think until your home in that messy hovel you've built for yourself. Trust me, yeah?"

"Trust you?" Harry tested the words out in his mouth. "Trust you?"

"Trust me."

Harry sized Malfoy up in those few moments. Sized him up more than he had ever sized anyone else. He ignored Hermione, Moody, Ron, Dumbledore and anyone who had ever spoken the name Malfoy besides himself. Did he trust this man? This man who he had hated at school. This man who had most likely killed, ravaged and tortured. Malfoy had probably made more orphans like Harry. He had probably stolen sons and daughters from loving parents like the Weasleys. All in the name of a monster masquerading as a man.

Did he trust him?

Oddly, yes.

"I trust you."

"You trust me?" Malfoy asked.

"I thought we had decided that." Harry said, feeling a little vindicated that he seemed to have momentarily gained the upper hand.

"Right, we have. You ready to go out there then?" Malfoy asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be." Harry answered.

"Then we go."

Malfoy pushed open the trapdoor that separated the underground from the outside and the pair scrambled over the ledge and onto the cool grass.

Harry inhaled deeply. It had been so long since he had been outside.

"It's a dark night." Malfoy commented.

"That's normally what happens at night – it gets dark."

"Shut it, Potter. I'm talking about the cloud cover." Malfoy muttered more to himself than to Harry. "Here."

"I can't see you."

"Follow my voice."

"Following your voice won't show me what you want me to see." Harry said.

"Lumos." The clearing lit up, revealing Malfoy standing directly in front of Harry. "Oh look, I found you."

"Shut it."

"I have the portkey."

Harry looked down at Malfoy's hand. In it was a long, cylindrical, black piece of rubber.

"Malfoy!" Harry gasped, "Is that?"

"Of course not." Malfoy said, making a pointed look towards his watch. "Grab hold now."

"I am not grabbing hold of that – that thing."

"Stop being such a prude. It would take too long to make another."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Harry fumed.

"What did I tell you about paying attention?"

"I – " Deep down Harry knew Malfoy was right. Bastard.

"You what?"

Harry didn't answer, but instead grabbed firmly onto – well – he wasn't going to even think it. He did not have time to think of how twisted Malfoy was, though, distracted as he was with a jolt at his navel and a sharp pain in his knees as he landed hard in a muddy patch of land.

"Quiet." Malfoy hissed against Harry's ear, his breath encasing the shell. "Hear that?"

Harry did. There were yells and shouts coming from behind a large mound of earth not too far out in the distance.

"Yes."

"Let's go, then." Malfoy said. A large burst of light illuminated the area enough so that Harry could see the blonde crawling forward, crouched low to the ground.

Harry grabbed the hem of his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy hissed.

"Shouldn't there be more of us?" Harry asked.

"There are. They left from another hub. We were the only ones who left from camp. Now – come on."

"Why?"

"Potter, now is not the time for questions." Malfoy snapped.

"Fine. What do we do if we get separated?"

"What do you mean?"

"Moody said we were guarding each other tonight. What happens if we lose sight of each other?" Harry asked.

"We won't." Malfoy stated matter-of-factly.

Somehow that was enough for Harry. He let Malfoy tug out of his grasp and take hold of his hand, pulling him all the way down onto his stomach.

"Crawl." Malfoy ordered. "And pay attention."

No more words passed between them as they made their way slowly across the half mud, half grass field that kept them from the battle. Every now and then Harry's palm would dig into a sharp rock embedded in the soil and he would let out a small hiss of pain that Malfoy would studiously ignore. Other times one of those lights in the distance would flash again and Harry would see Malfoy wipe the sweat from his brow, but keep crawling no matter how many times he flinched.

Finally, they reached the base of the swelling hill. Harry collapsed against the earth and felt Malfoy do the same.

"Okay?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

The sky lit up as bright as it would have on a warm summer day and Harry lurched forward under the quake of the largest blast they had experienced upon arrival. Malfoy groped for his hand and upon initiating contact, squeezed tightly.

"Are you scared?" Harry asked.

"Of course." Malfoy replied, simply. "Aren't you?"

"Terrified." Harry said with a laugh devoid of all humor.

The ground shook again, knocking Harry even closer to Malfoy.

It was Harry this time that pulled them up and pushed them forward. They climbed up the hill, using roots and each other as stepping stones. When they reached the peak, as if under an unspoken contract, both boys peered cautiously over the edge to meet a sight Harry would not soon forget.

"Merlin." Harry heard Malfoy breathe next to him.

It was a bowl, Harry thought. Around the fighting wizards and magical folk was a three hundred and sixty degree raised border. There was no way out except to climb the walls. No way to escape.

Spells ricocheted off the sides of earth and did not stop until they found someone solid to hit. The screams of those taken down echoed in the hollow.

"We're sliding down." Malfoy said, gripping Harry's hand again. His voice shook.

"Okay."

Malfoy scooted closer to Harry and wrapped his arms around his slightly smaller frame.

"What are you doing?" Harry hissed.

"It'll be easier this way." Malfoy said, concentrating on entwining his legs thoroughly with Harry's. "Link your arms in with mine."

Harry did with a very large swallow.

"Okay," Malfoy said, easing their bodies over the rim of the hill. "Stay tucked in with me."

Malfoy's head was resting in the crook of his neck. Was that normal?

"I'm pushing off now."

Harry vaguely registered the words before he and Malfoy were speeding down the vertical patch of land. The wind howled in Harry's ears and stung at his eyes, forcing them closed. Harry grunted as his body was dragged over a loose twig sparking a deep pain in his thigh. Malfoy held on even tighter. Harry tucked his head into the soft material of Malfoy's cap. Malfoy groaned at something. Harry couldn't tell what. And then they were a heap on the ground.

Malfoy shoved away from Harry and was on his feet in seconds, yanking Harry up with him.

"DIFFINDO!"

The hooded figure that had been advancing on them fell, his neck severed.

"Totally just saved your arse," commented Malfoy. "REDUCTO!"

A blast of bodies plowed apart, making room for Harry and Malfoy to walk through.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" Harry called.

One down, about a million to go he thought to himself.

Malfoy dodged a red light ahead of him and tucked himself into a crowd of shrouded individuals. Harry followed.

"Ferula," Harry whispered to himself. A wooden beam appeared in his hand. He held it ready to strike at his side. The pack of individuals they had just entered seemed too quiet to be safe.

"Hello, Potter." A distinctly nasty voice spoke in his ear.

Harry spun and crashed the beam over the head of the owner of the voice.

"CRUCIO!" Harry heard somewhere from the pack. Was that Malfoy's voice?

Harry watched as the man he had hit fell to the ground, his face still shrouded.

"FLAGRATE!" Harry yelled, hoping Malfoy would recognize his voice. He drew an arrow in the air pointing towards the outside of the group. He would be damned if he stayed stuck in the midst of a bunch of what he was quite sure were Death Eaters much longer.

Harry brought the wooden beam down on several more heads as he pushed out of the circle. What did Malfoy think he was playing at?

Once Harry reached relative safety away from the group he dropped the beam on the ground.

"IMPEDIMENTA." The figure that had been running towards him slowed. "STUPEFY!"

"Not good, not good." Harry muttered to himself as he ducked a beam of yellow light. Where the hell was Malfoy?

"INCARCEROUS!" Harry heard from behind him. He whipped around to find Malfoy at his back, two tied death eaters at his feet. "Saved your arse – again." Malfoy said with a smirk.

"INCENDIO." The woman that had come up behind Draco burst into flames. "You were saying?" Harry asked.

Malfoy laughed.

"I thought you were scared?" Harry spoke loudly over the noise, pushing Malfoy down to avoid a ricocheting spell.

"I am." Malfoy said, pushing Harry even lower into the ground to avoid yet another burst of light. "This is how I cope."

"This is a suicide mission."

"What?" Malfoy yelled, another thunderous blast sounding from their left.

"THIS IS A SUICIDE MISSION!"

"I KNOW!"

Unfortunately for them the racket had quieted down for a few moments and Malfoy's yell had attracted attention.

"Shite," Malfoy cursed, rolling off of Harry and moving to a crouching position. "CRUCIO!"

"LANGLOCK!" Harry incanted. "REDUCTO! REDUCTO! REDUCTO!"

In the corner of his eye Harry saw Malfoy duck.

"LOCOMOTOR MORTIS!" Harry called, but no sound could be heard over the growing number of screams around him. His only indication that the spell had worked was his opponent crashing to the ground before him.

Someone had cast the Dark Mark. Harry felt his stomach roll as he spared a glance at what was now a green sky.

Another blast shook the field and Harry fell to his knees.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy yelled, pulling him to his feet and pushing him forward. "Pay attention! REDUCTO!" Malfoy directed his spell at the wall of earth several feet to their right. Rock and mud crashed down on the group of Death Eaters that had been backed against it by members of the order.

"I am." Harry growled, pulling away from Malfoy, conjuring another beam of wood and sending it crashing into the face of a Death Eater. The Death Eater blinked dumbly at him from where he lay. "Relashio," Harry added, sending fiery sparks at the man. "That one was for Remus."

"DUCK!"

Harry did.

He'd have to thank Malfoy for that one later.

As the battle raged on and on and the night grew colder and colder Harry realized that Voldemort would not appear. It was a trap. Malfoy seemed to have realized it as well.

"I can't believe we fucking fell for it." Malfoy spat, kicking the Death Eater he had just brought down in the stomach.

"SECTUSEMPRA!" Harry incanted at a charging Death Eater, which effectively removed him from the fight.

Malfoy's eyes looked shadowed when Harry met them again, but he passed it off for the stress of the battle.

They separated after that. Malfoy was always in Harry's eye and earshot, but they operated on their own.

As time passed Harry's spells grew less ferocious. He found himself incanting muffling curses and Jelly Legs Jinxes, but nothing that could permanently maim. Malfoy, on the other hand, could be heard yelling unforgivable after unforgivable after unforgivable.

"IMPEDIMENTA!"

"Potter, watch out!" Malfoy called over his shoulder, but it was already too late.

A warm body had already collided with Harry, sending him spiraling downwards, landing hard on his shoulder.

He let out a low hiss of pain, which was mixed with the high cackle of the, from the sound of the voice, woman above him.

"Hello Harry."

Harry froze.

"You recognize me, don't you Harry?" Of course he did.

Harry shut his eyes as he felt a cool wand tip dig into the side of his neck.

"POTTER," Malfoy's frantic voice called from somewhere nearby.

"If you beg for death, Harry, I might make it easier on you."

"Go to hell, Lestrange." Harry spat.

"That can be arranged," Harry heard Malfoy's slow drawl above him.

Lestrange's wand dug harder into his skin and she stiffened.

"Let him go, Lestrange. Let him go and I'll let you live."

Harry kept his eyes squeezed shut.

"Why?" Lestrange asked in an eerily calm voice.

"Let him go. Let him go and I'll let you live." Malfoy sounded like he was growling.

"Is it because you want to fuck him too? Fuck him like you like to fuck all those other little boys?"

"Let him go. Let him go and I'll let you live."

She made no movement to let go.

"CRUCIO!"

Lestrange curled up on herself, pressing her weight into Harry, but she made no noise.

Malfoy, at least Harry assumed it was Malfoy, pushed Lestrange off of Harry and off to the side.

Harry opened his eyes and looked into Malfoy's worried gaze. Lestrange was still twitching off to the side. Malfoy had not removed the curse and from the look on his face he was not planning to anytime soon.

"What did I tell you about paying attention?"

"I know, I know." Harry muttered, allowing Malfoy to put him on his feet.

"DIFFINDO!"

Harry fell to his knees. He sucked in his breath as he doubled over and held a hand to his left side. He removed his hand to see it completely coated in his own blood.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"Potter?" Malfoy asked frantically, shaking his shoulders.

Harry grunted.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Malfoy said above Harry. Was that a spell? Malfoy's arms wrapped around Harry. "Portus."

The world around Harry went black.

- - - -

"Potter? Potter? Goddamnit Potter – wake up!"

"Gertoffme."

"Potter?"

"Malfoy?" Harry asked, blinking his eyes open.

"Thank Merlin."

It had to be Malfoy. There was no way the blonde hair floating above him could belong to anyone else.

"What happened?" Harry asked before he started coughing violently.

Malfoy supported his neck as Harry rolled onto his uninjured side.

"I portkeyed us to Hogwarts."

Harry stopped coughing and stilled.

"How?" Harry asked.

"I know the new pass code. Moody told it to me incase we had to get out of there, which we did. The headmaster's office opened up as soon as we got here. I think the castle knows what's going on."

"I'm sure it does." Harry said, leaning.

"I tried to mend you up as best I could, but I don't know much healing magic."

Harry focused on Malfoy then. He was holding his stocking cap in his hands, twisting it back and forth, chewing on his bottom lip. He looked more like a boy in that moment than he had on the first day of school. It unnerved him.

"I feel all right."

"Good." Malfoy said, looking down at the cap in his hands. "I figure at this point we have to figure out how to alert headquarters that we're here."

"But doesn't Moody know?" Harry asked.

Malfoy shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm not so sure what the castle would do if anyone else tried to get on the grounds, to be honest. I think we should rest a bit more and try to find a house in Hogsmeade to put you up."

"What about you?" Harry asked.

"Potter, no one is going to put me up. Look at who my father is. Look at what everyone thinks I am."

"Oh, right." Harry said, feeling a bit daft for not clueing in sooner. "Then we just stay here."

"Don't be an idiot. We can't stay here. You're injured."

Harry did not have a real answer to that.

"But let's just wait it out here a bit more before we try and make it to Hogsmeade."

Malfoy nodded.

"Hey, Malfoy – thanks."

Malfoy looked up from his cap, his eyes questioning.

"For getting me out of there," clarified Harry.

"I wasn't about to let you become another one of the Dark Lord's trophies," Malfoy said, dropping his eyes back down to the cap that was once again twisting in between his fingers. "Besides, you would have done it for me."

"Yeah," Harry muttered with a breathy laugh that was only partly due to humor, "another fucking trophy."

"Go to sleep, Potter."

Harry did.

And he dreamt about Malfoys, Dark Lords and shiny golden trophies that gleamed when the sun hit them just right.

When he woke again Malfoy was asleep.

Harry tried to slip back into slumber, but no matter how tight he pressed his eyelids together he stayed wide awake, strewn out on the dusty carpet of the Headmaster's old office with the nagging idea of trophies pressing at the back of his mind.

And then it clicked.

"Malfoy," Harry rasped, hitting the floor with his hand. The dull thump echoed across the room but Malfoy slept on. "Fucking hell, Malfoy!" Harry slapped the floor again. "Come on," he whimpered, "I can't yell any louder, come on."

The slender piece of wood resting gently in the palm of Malfoy's hand reminded Harry of his spare wand. It took some painful twisting and turning, but Harry was eventually able to retrieve it.

With a flick of Harry's wrist water came crashing down onto Malfoy's head.

Malfoy shrieked. Harry yelled.

"POTTER!" Malfoy bellowed, clutching a fist to his chest and panting heavily.

"Trophies, Malfoy, trophies." Harry wheezed, letting his wand roll out of his hand.

"Oh Merlin, have you gone into shock?"

"No."

"Well, you must have gone mad then," Malfoy muttered under his breath, rolling onto all fours and crawling slowly towards Harry, laying a hand on his forehead, "bloody dousing me to tell me trophies."

"Malfoy, what you said about trophies – "

"Potter, you don't have a temperature," Malfoy said, moving his hand off of Harry's forehead, "go back to sleep."

"It's a Horcrux."

"What?" Malfoy snapped.

"Riddle's trophy. It's a Horcrux."

"What?" Malfoy repeated, quieter this time.

"His award. Special services to the school." Harry stopped to cough. "Dumbledore told me about it," he ignored Malfoy's wince, "when they thought he had ended the Chamber of Secrets – they gave him a trophy. Dumbledore said Riddle collected trophies – there's one right here in the school. Draco, it's right here."

Malfoy stared at him for a very long time. "You called me Draco."

"I'll call you a lot of other things if you don't help me get to the third floor right now."

"No."

"What d'you mean, no?"

"Good lord, is your intelligence so limited that you don't understand the semantics of a two letter word?"

"Malfoy."

"Sorry, just dealing with the shock of it all." Malfoy said with a quiet sneer.

"Help me."

"You're not going from the towers to the third floor in your condition. That's at least four flights of stairs if they decide to stay put. More if you consider that it's a Friday and that half of the staircases switch locations on a Friday."

"Bollocks. We have to get it."

"You're right, we do. If you're – this is the last Horcrux, Merlin. It could all be over." Malfoy whispered, chewing on his bottom lip. "But you still cannot move." Malfoy said suddenly, his voice strong. "You're inured. I'll go down and get it myself. You just stay here."

Harry was about to protest but Malfoy silenced him with a look that could have frozen ice and clearly said, 'if you argue with me I will vivisect you.'

Neither Malfoy nor Harry said anything else. Malfoy stood, cast a quick drying charm and slipped through the mahogany doors and down the spiral staircase.

Harry stayed strewn across the carpet, twisted around the ends of a throw rug coughing and wheezing, hoping against all hope that he was right and cursing the Diffindo that had severed his side.

Malfoy was taking his sweet time, Harry inwardly fumed. How long did the twit need to walk halfway across the school and recover a cursed magical artifact? Certainly not as much time as he was taking, that was for sure.

Finally, finally Malfoy stumbled back through the door with a cobweb in his hair and a plague with a golden faceplate mounted on dark, expensive wood clutched in his hands.

He stared at Harry, stared at him long and hard and then he did something completely unexpected. Malfoy's face broke into a smile, a dazzling, genuine for real smile and he laughed. Laughed like Harry had never seen him laugh before and probably never would again. He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes sparkling madly and kept on laughing even when Harry flopped his arm onto the carpet and glared, clearly indicating that he wanted to hold the plague.

"This is amazing. I'm positive you were right. I picked it up and I just felt – I felt power, Harry. Raw, unbridled power. I – here." Malfoy stumbled forward, bent down and held the trophy out to Harry.

Harry grasped the cold weight in his hand and felt nothing.

"I don't feel power."

"Oh, well, I suppose it's probably because it's a one off deal." Malfoy answered distractedly, running his right hand down his left arm and biting down on his lower lip to stop from smiling.

Harry turned the plague over in his hand. On the back, engraved into the wood, was a small picture of a snake. Harry felt a smile grow on his lips.

"What?"

"Oh, this is definitely it. Look."

Malfoy took the plague delicately out of Harry's hold. When he looked at the back he started laughing again. Harry joined him until the pain in his side flared up forcing him to stop, but despite the sharp ache, Harry kept on smiling.

How could he not?

"You do realize that this means we have to get back to camp as soon as possible, don't you?" Malfoy asked, handing the plague back to Harry.

"Yeah."

"I figure we have about three hours to get you to Hogsmeade – "

"No."

"Potter, don't be ridiculous."

"Malfoy, I am not about to put a bunch of helpless townspeople at risk just because I have a cut!"

"That's rich."

"I'm serious."

"I know you are," Malfoy sighed, "and that's what scares me. Har – Potter, we cannot take you across the countryside and into Germany. We just cannot. Your injury is too severe. We have to take you into Hogsmeade."

"How did you find camp the first time?"

Malfoy settled himself all the way on the floor and blinked at Harry three times before closing his eyes. "The Dark Lord's reports revealed that he suspected the Order to be in Germany, but no matter how hard he looked he could never find headquarters. When I escaped the ranks Germany was the first place I went. I searched high and low for any sign of the Order. I stumbled on magical folks now and again and would track them, but for months I kept getting led to small villages and the sort. Eventually I stumbled upon my cousin." Malfoy opened his eyes and pinned Harry with his gaze. "I wouldn't have known it was Tonks if it hadn't been for her voice. She had changed her appearance at this restaurant, but I heard her voice and I remembered her from somewhere and I approached her and I showed her the papers I had and she believed my story. The next thing I knew I was at headquarters."

"Do you remember the way there?" Harry asked.

"Yes. For the most part." Malfoy said.

"Then you go there and you tell them to come back for me. I'll wait here with the trophy."

"That's ridiculous. You'll be left here with absolutely no supplies. And what if something happens to me on the way? No one will know you're here and you could very well die."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take." Harry said, sounding braver than he felt.

"You're positive you won't go into Hogsmeade?"

"Yes."

"Not even for my peace of mind?"

"Malfoy, when has your mind ever been peaceful."

"Fair point. You won't give in, will you?"

"No."

"This is really the only option we have, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I'll leave in the morning." Malfoy said, standing up and brushing off his trousers. "But I will not bloody well like it."

Harry laughed a little and let his eyelids droop halfway closed. He watched as Malfoy moved through Dumbledore's old chambers, poking through cabinets and drawers, occasionally tossing something onto the ground. Malfoy went through a door that Harry had never been through before and came back into the main office a few moments later clutching onto an armload of blankets and cushions.

Malfoy tossed his pile onto the floor in front of the fireplace only to turn around and bring back another pile from what Harry assumed was Dumbledore's sleeping quarters. Malfoy carried on the same way for at least half an hour, moving from room to room, dumping cloths and books and jars full of things Harry did not recognize onto the floor. Harry eventually surmised that Malfoy was building a nest of sorts. He had stacked a pile of books in front of the fireplace, lined jars and boxes next to what looked like a foe glass and had even found firewood somewhere that he stacked next to his pile of pillows.

"You shouldn't do that." Harry mumbled sleepily as Malfoy began building a fire in the grate. "People might see."

"I obscured the windows." Malfoy responded absentmindedly, ripping pages out of one of the books he had grabbed, stuffing them in between the cracks in the stack of wood.

"Makes sense," Harry said with a big yawn accompanying his statement.

Malfoy hummed gently to himself as he set a weak Incendio at the wood. The dark room filled up with a warm orange glow and Harry finally let himself drift off.

When he awoke again he was surrounded by cushions. Harry cracked an eye open to find that he had been settled in the middle of Malfoy's nest, the fire was still blaring and the sun was out.

He clenched a fist and felt paper crumple between his fingers. Harry unfolded his hand and brought the paper to his face.

Lemon drops in the jar. Fire charmed. Wand under the pillows. You know what in the bedroom. –M

Despite the heat in the room Harry shivered. God his side hurt. He tried to wiggle his torso, but only earned himself a wince of pain and the uncomfortable feeling of the shirt that had dried to his body trying to rip away from his skin.

There was nothing to do. He reached for one of the books Malfoy had stacked up,

But found that it was, much to his dismay, about Goblin rebellions. There had been enough of that in Binn's classes. He chucked the book into the fire and tightened his stomach muscles, trying to get his stomach to stop growling. He thought about sucking on a lemon drop, but decided against it. The reminder of Dumbledore was much too strong.

He poked around a few more of the boxes that Malfoy had left in his reach. Cotton swabs. More lemon drops. Marbles. Matches – how did Malfoy know what those were? A knife.

Giving in to his boredom, Harry hit a few marbles together, lit matches and let them burn out and flipped through a few more, in his humble opinion, useless books. Nothing alleviated the tense silence.

Harry finally settled on watching the sun drift beyond the horizon, painting the sky blues and purples and grays.

He fell asleep and woke every few hours. Every time he woke he tried to maneuver his torso, but every time he failed miserably. He figured he was messing his side up a little more every time he tried, but he simply did not have the patience to lay still and heal.

How long did it take to get to Germany from Hogwarts? That was the one question that bounced through Harry's head as he sat watching new sun after new sun after new sun. A few days? A week? Two weeks? A month?

Malfoy had been gone for four days when it happened.

Harry stared out the window listlessly, tapping his fingers on the carpeted floor humming a tune he had heard on Mrs. Weasley's wireless one Christmas at the Burrow.

Harry's humming was drowned out by the floo - the floo that was activating right in front of him.

Before Harry could lunge for his wand he felt one pressed against the side of his neck.

"Who are you?" A gruff voice demanded.

Did he dare answer?

He grunted non-commitally.

"By order of the Minister of Magic I hereby demand you to reveal your identity."

The wand tip pressed further into Harry's neck. Harry winced. This time there was no Malfoy to save him.

The floo sounded again.

It was not Voldemort, but was the Ministry worse?

"This school is closed. Who are you? How did you get in?"

The pressure of the wand brought tears to Harry's eyes.

"Harry Potter." Harry answered softly.

"Harry Potter?" A voice to the far right sounded incredulous.

"It is." The voice that was holding the wand to his neck relieved his pressure. "I see the scar. Percy, he's injured. Set up an emergency portkey."

"Right, sir."

Harry thought about fighting against the Aurors. He did. He really did. When it came down to it, though, he was too worn out to do more than shift out of the immediate reach of the man standing guard over him.

The watchman was ugly, Harry decided. He had a spongy nose and fleshy lips. No one would want to kiss those. At least someone would want to kiss Harry if he made it out of his current debacle. He took solace in that small triumph.

"Should we move him in that condition?" Once it had been identified Harry had no trouble recognizing the fallen Weasley.

"No. Drug him."

Harry felt a pinch at the back of his neck. Didn't people get tired of poking him back there?

The world went hazy after that.

When Harry woke it was with the feeling that he had been asleep for a very long time. He had no trouble remembering anything that had happened. He was assuredly at the Ministry, lying on a cot in one of their holding rooms. Brilliant.

He was practically in the Minister's living room.

His side felt better, though. Thank Merlin for small miracles.

The room was stark, but not in a white sort of way. In more of a taupe sort of way. Stark taupe. What would Malfoy say?

Harry heard a door opened, but paid no attention to it. Stark taupe? Funny.

"You were pretty delirious when we brought you in, Mr. Potter."

Oh, they were having a woman interrogate him. A very sexy woman.

Long tan legs. Sunkissed blonde hair. Small nose. Tight lips. Black skirt. Low cut white blouse.

Harry could deal with that.

"Was I?" Harry asked.

She was so not getting the upper hand.

"We drugged you quite thoroughly to alleviate the pain. You may still be feeling some of the effects." Her voice was silky.

Harry liked silky.

"Are you still feeling the effects, Mr. Potter?"

Was he?

"No."

"Excellent, then we can proceed. I'm here to ask you a few basic questions. It's standard procedure for those we feel are at a high risk."

High risk for what?

She sat down not in one of the chairs at the small table, but at the foot of Harry's bed, crossing her ankles together and tucking her hair behind her ear.

Was asking a prisoner questions like that even legal?

"Name?"

"Harry James Potter."

"Age?"

"19."

"Occupation?"

"None."

"Surely you have to have an occupation?" She asked kindly.

"No, not really." Harry answered.

"Well, then what were you doing at Hogwarts if you weren't there for work?"

"Visiting."

"Visiting?" Her tone took on a sharp edge.

"I miss Dumbledore an awful lot, you know. He was my mentor." Harry pulled out the puppy eyes.

"But why were you injured?"

"I'm clumsy." Harry answered.

"Clumsy?" Her voice became strained.

"Horribly clumsy. Affected me terribly as a child."

"I'll accept that for now," she said, setting down the notepad she had been holding and folded her hands, "whatever it was it must have been traumatic."

Harry nodded.

"One last question, Mr. Potter?"

"Shoot."

"What was in the bedroom?" She asked. Her eyes looked hungry.

Hadn't she eaten?

"A bed." Harry answered simply.

"What else besides the bed?"

"Blankets and pillows." Harry said with a shrug. "I don't know. I never went in there."

"But someone did?" She probed.

"Sure. Dumbledore did."

"What about M? Did someone named M go into the bedroom?"

"Of course not. People don't have letters for names." Harry said with what he hoped was a heartwarming smile.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. I can tell you're trying to be difficult this afternoon. I'll come back tomorrow. Hopefully the effects from the medicine will wear off by then." She said curtly, demurely tucking her skirt beneath her and standing.

Her heels tapped noisily as she walked across the stark, taupe linoleum. Did she have no tact? Harry had a headache.

Harry later learned her name was Diane.

Diane came to visit him every day and every time she did she asked him the same few questions.

What had he been doing at Hogwarts? Why had he been injured? What was in the bedroom? Who was M?

Harry played dumb every single time she asked.

Diane stopped being nice around day five.

It was quiet the rest of the time, but it was not the sort of unbearable quiet that had plagued Harry during his wait at Hogwarts. Now there were too many unanswered questions and hypothetical scenarios playing themselves out in his mind to be bored.

Had Malfoy made it back to headquarters? Had the Order gone to Hogwarts yet? Had the Ministry stationed Aurors at Hogwarts? Was Malfoy in Ministry custody? Where was the Horcrux?

War was entirely too complicated.

Harry lost count of how long he had been at the Ministry when the answer to his questions were answered.

Alarm bells sounded and people ran. They left Harry locked in his tiny cell.

He felt that was entirely irresponsible.

"POTTER!"

The door flew off of it's hinges, Harry ducked and covered his head.

"Potter?"

"Malfoy?" Harry coughed on the dust particles in the room as he bent back into a standing position.

Malfoy took a few halting steps forward, extending his arm as if he wanted to touch Harry.

"We thought you were dead." Malfoy said quietly. His eyes were bright.

"No." Harry said, reaching a hand up to tousle his hair, rocking on the balls of his feet. "Not dead yet."

"Good. Because the Dark Lord is here."

"What?" Harry spluttered.

"You might want to go kill him now seeing as how all the Horcruxes are gone." Malfoy said with a smile. "Just a suggestion."

"Does he know?"

"No." Malfoy answered simply. "He's outside on the hill."

"Right. I'll go deal with that. Thanks."

Harry left Malfoy standing in the stark, taupe cell and made his way up to the main lobby of the Ministry. The centaur in the statue bowed to him. Harry tipped his head.

It was a cold day outside. The sort of day where it's sunny, but that makes no difference. It was cloudy. People were screaming and running around him. Every once and a while someone would stop to point and him and gape. Harry Potter was here! They would all be saved. Right?

Harry hoped so.

In hindsight Harry found the final battle, if one could call it that, laughable.

Harry stalked his way through hazes upon hazes of fog and dismembered bodies to the top of the hill where the Dark Lord stood in his entire splendor.

Tom yelled at his minions. Tom yelled at his victims. Tom yelled at nothing.

He spotted Harry and cackled, raised his wand and fired a spell that Harry ducked.

Harry killed him with one well placed Avada Kedavra.

There had been no talk between them. There had been no final words of malice. There had been no secret tricks to defeating the most feared wizard of the age.

Anyone could have done it, Harry thought.

They went back to the camp after that. Squads were sent out to wrangle in the remaining Death Eaters every day. The rest of the time was spent on reconstruction strategy.

Harry input as much as he could. Did he think the Ministry needed changes? Yes, of course he did.

Harry even started talking to Draco Malfoy. They discussed everything from the politics of the war, Death Eater strategy, cooking, literature, bloodlines, and even once, with blazing intensity, the final moments of Albus Dumbledore.

Harry wrote about their conversations. About learning to forgive and forget. Telling the story of cold roots, colder hearts, and how sometimes when you freeze you are actually quite warm. He titled it with the words i Swinging for an Inch /i , signed his name with swirling cursive letters, and added the second work to the first, under the cot.

That was how it went until the end. Mindless chatter, ferocious battles, sleepless nights and ink stained fingers. Until one day, when it all just stopped.

The final Death Eater had been rounded up in the fiercest battle since the end of the war.

It was all done.

Reports came in later that the camp Harry had been living in for what seemed to be a lifetime had been destroyed. Not wanting to face another charred home, Harry did not return, but rather sat with a grieving Molly Weasley under an old oak tree at the Burrow for a month before heading abroad.

He traveled everywhere from the shores of the Bahamas to the temples in India, the entire way jotting notes.

Harry's favorite city, by far, was Barcelona. He wrote letters to various people back home, providing them with ornate descriptions of cobbled streets and a city bright with culture handed down from generation to generation.

It was on a sweltering day that Harry stumbled into a hole-in-the-wall café tucked behind a cart of citrus fruits and street vendors. He indulged himself, feasting on grape leaves, olives, pitas, sardines, chickpeas, saffron, hummus and a fine red wine. The day grew lethargic not only in pace, but also in awareness, and Harry wandered the streets aimlessly, finally happening upon i Las Ramblas /i – a street lined with artists and performers perfecting their crafts in front of appreciative onlookers. Joining the throngs, Harry meandered by a few painters, a sculptor, a man dressed in warm fabrics juggling wine skins in the air.

When he first approached the man with startling dark eyes and bronze hair, Harry had stilled. Something about the man's gaze on him made him feel hot and clammy. He swallowed hard, taking steps forward, drawn in by those eyes that never seemed to end.

"What are you making?" Harry asked.

"Your Spanish is good."

Harry nodded. His translation spells had always been above average.

The man beckoned Harry forward, turning the easel a little forward, and a little to the right, revealing a raw sketch of – Harry.

"I saw you over by the sculptor." He brought up dark hands stained with smudges of graphite to trail over the thick paper. "You caught my attention."

"Did I?" Harry asked, feigning calm.

A whisper. "Yes."

Harry slept with Sergio that night.

And he loved it. He loved the way that he knew Sergio's body, even though he had never seen it before. He loved the way Sergio pushed painful, hard and slow. He loved the heat. The passion. The raw sensuality he had never found with anyone else.

Afterwards Sergio pulled out sticky and wet, curled next to Harry and fell into a deep slumber. A slumber Harry envied. A man, he slept with a man. Wasn't that something for Binn's history books? At some point Sergio rolled so his body was half covering Harry's. Harry sunk into the warmth, nuzzled the dark hair that crowned the man's head and ran a hand down his arm. He was really quite gorgeous. Could a man be gorgeous? Or was he handsome?

Harry swallowed hard. There were so many things he did not know. Did he stay until the morning? Did he leave before Sergio woke up?

Harry hesitantly touched Sergio's face with a single finger. Okay, he was real. Not a dream. Definitely not a dream. A laugh bubbled in his chest, but he did not let it escape.

It was a bit like a dream, he decided. It was a dream that he had found passion with a simple stranger when he could not find it in those he loved most in the world. What was even more of a dream was that he had found someone willing to match his passion touch for touch, kiss for kiss, thrust for thrust. Why ruin that dream?

Harry slipped out from under Sergio, dressed and headed out into the night.