Cold night air rushed past, tossing Harry's hair into his eyes and plastering his wet clothes to his body. His breath came like puffs of smoke in front of his face.

He was panting hard, wand clutched tightly between frozen fingers. He registered the feeling of being strangely numb, as if his blood had all but stopped running, leaving his body and empty unmoving shell, but nothing else. Not the blood that was not his own but soaking his clothes and making a puddle by his feet, nor the mound of scattered corpses.

It all felt so surreal. No one should have to see a sight like this. Friends and people close enough to him to be considered his family lay bleeding, half dead at his feet.

Standing there, all he could do was tremble. All the talk about being the chosen one and being able to bear the title so well – the brave mantra he often recited, that he would defeat Voldemort and save the world –were nothing but words now. Empty words s spoken by a boy who knew nothing of the world and death – real death –and despair.

Words spoken by someone who was always under the protective wing of people with greater strength capable of protecting him even when ensuring him of his own power.

There was no one now, he was utterly alone beneath a blood stained red sky. His heart was pounding in what he could only assume was raw, unfiltered fear as each wave of Voldemort's evil aura crashed into him. Was this the one he was supposed to defeat? With his laughable magical power? What made him feel so invincible up until then?

Whatever it was, it was draining away as he stood facing his arch enemy. Or maybe it never was.

No unimaginably powerful spell that he could utter came to mind. Come to think of it, Dumbledore had never taught him any. Why? Wouldn't that have been the most practical thing to do? All the 'whys' and 'what ifs' lessened the pain that he felt when Voldemort raised his wand, the killing curse at the tip of his lips.

Should he scream? Run? Defend himself. Fight?

His body was unresponsive.

He would die tonight, he realized, and hopeless tears sprung to his eyes. The past six years would all have been for nothing and he would die without ever accomplishing anything or exacting revenge for those he loved that had fallen.

He closed his eyes and waited for the pain...

The last thing he saw would be a cold sneer.

Would it hurt?

"Harry! What are you doing? Harry! Fight!"

"Avada kadavra!"

The unexpected voice made Harry open his eyes in time to see someone grab onto his shoulders and shake him, their eyes wide and shining with tears.

He watched, sort of detached, the movement of their mouth, frantically talking or screaming. But he couldn't hear anymore.

And just then the lips stopped moving, frozen in an expression of shock and wide grey eyes locked to his. The body fell limply into his arms making him stagger from its weight.

Harry's lips trembled.

"…M-Malfoy?"

***

Harry woke up from the recurring nightmare exhausted and dizzy from sitting up too quickly. He expected it to be the dead of night or early morning as that was the time he usually awoke in a cold sweat, but when his fumbling fingers finally located his glasses, his bedroom was illuminated in a pale shade of grey. It was raining outside his curtain-less window.

The time on his clock said ten forty five. Watching the drops race each other to pool at the bottom for a minute or so calmed him somewhat, and he regained a normal breathing pace.

It had only been a couple of month so he didn't really expect life to be roses and sunshine. He had just fought the most important battle of his young life and the wizarding world. It was normal that he'd have bad dreams, but this particular one left him feeling guilty more so than others.

Sluggishly, he threw off the heavy comforter smothering him and went to the kitchen to fix himself his favorite on rainy days. Hot chocolate. It would take some getting used to – the making his own food thing. At Hogwarts the food was always there, at the Weasley's the food was always there, but here in his house, it was – strange as it may seem – never there until he got up and tried a half-hearted concoction.

He lived relatively close to the Weasley's, but far enough to maintain his privacy without being rude. He just wanted his solitude right now. Everyone understood and respected this. Ginny, would have none of it. She argued that as his girlfriend, she should be able to see him whenever she wished. And so she did.

Harry didn't mind this much. He did need to keep some contact.

They thought London would have been the logical choice for him, or even Grimmauld place as it was his now, but he enjoyed the quiet of a country life. Trees, flowers, birds. It almost felt like those summers he spent at the burrow when he was still in school. Almost.

Owning his own home gave him a sense of pride and made him feel a little more mature and grown- up. Because saving the world apparently didn't do much.

He hadn't looked into a job yet or any future prospects. He just wasn't ready.

With a large mug of barely hot chocolate- he hated waiting so long- in hand, he sunk into his favorite green arm chair by the window and melted into its softness. The tea went on the coffee table and his head on his knees.

The dream wouldn't fade away. It was distracting. With it raining outside there was nothing for him to do so his mind ran through it over and over. The same scene his brain kept replaying and his dreams repeated in verbatim. It happened so many times he should have been used to it by now.

However this time was different. It was weighing him down, a heavy pressure on his heart. The steam rose from the cup, coiling up and disappearing – blurry-- he discarded his glasses.

Harry knew what he needed to do and yet he couldn't bring his feet to move.

There was no more steam, the froth had evaporated and he still hadn't found the inclination to stir.

But it had to be done.

It needed to be done!

With a heavy sigh, he pulled himself up, took a hot shower, gulped down his cold tea and dug up some warm clothes to suit the frigid weather. Half an hour later after a mental tug-of-war between going and running back under his sheets, he apparated with a loud crack.

The cemetery wasn't very far from where he lived. They had all unanimously decided to bury all who had been lost in the war together. So that they might rest in peace among each other and not alone.

I must me mental coming out in this weather he thought.

His shoes slid on the muddy path and his umbrella was useless against the harsh torrent of rain intensified by the wind, but he trudged on. Harry took out his wand and casted a charm on his glasses to allow him to see through droplets running down the lenses.

Passing head stones with halos of mist, he kept his jaw set and his eyes forward. Grief was a all-consuming process of regrets and maybe things would have been different if I'd only...

He was now learning all there was to know. How it felt when he saw someone's life being taken away and not having an ounce of strength to save them.

Refusing to look down at the gravestones, he weaved his way through them silently, knowing that if he looked down he would see what he did not want to.

Here lies Remus J Lupin, friend, husband, and father.

Next to that would be Sirius Black. Empty, but Harry pushed for it, something to show that Sirius had not been forgotten.

What hurt him the most though, was that he never got the chance to say goodbye. It was a thought he never really wanted to consider, that he might have to one day, and so he never did. That's why he wasn't prepared for it when it happened. Their untimely partings; Remus, Dumbledore, Sirius even Snape. And then those he never had the chance to meet, like his parents.

He moved up another muddy hill until he was greeted by a statue of a large, marble angel, hands clasped in prayer at the entrance to a large mausoleum. The name etched into the smooth surface outside was Malfoy. It was easily the flashiest thing in that graveyard but he'd expect nothing less from a family like the Malfoys.

He closed down his umbrella, trying to wipe off some of the mud on his shoes in a patch of grass before entering. Thanks to a very clever magic, he left no foot prints. Inside was to be clean at all times.

His stomach gave a nervous jolt, the guilt he was suppressing for months bubbling over. He had not been here. He would be lying if he denied distancing himself and making excuses not to come.

He rested his umbrella in a corner and walked in slowly, his eyes scanning all around. Through a small archway to the very back was a plaque on the wall that when he tilted his head it shimmered gold and revealed rows of words in a language he didn't recognize.

Harry stepped a little closer to it, wiping away some water that was rolling down his cheek.

He was finally here.

What should I say?

"Er…" He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously.

He supposed he should talk normal as if Malfoy was there. Honestly he had no experience with these things. He didn't prepare a speech or anything of the sort. I guess this is one of those times when you speak from the heart.

He took a deep breath, feeling completely stupid talking to an empty room despite the somberness of the situation. He brushed aside his hair out of his eyes.

"Uh… so, I guess I'm finally here. I'm sorry I took s-so long to visit you, Malfoy." That wasn't so bad, Harry thought.

"Took you long enough, Potter."

Harry spun around, a chill creeping up his spine. Did he just hear a voice?

Despite being a wizard, his muggle senses took over and he panicked. Swallowing, he scanned the entire area of the room but saw no one.

I must be hearing things. Right, the rain was pelting, he was in a place that practically represented fear and he didn't eat breakfast. Yeah. Hunger delusions. He exhaled loudly, laughing uneasily at his silliness. Really.

"I must be losing my mind," he mumbled.

"No offence, Potter, but you've always been a little idiotic."

There it was again. This time Harry took his wand out, cursing himself for fumbling and nearly dropping his only means of protection.

"Who's there?"

He was informed that the Death Eaters had disbanded and that the ones who had eluded capture would most likely flee the country. He hadn't had a single encounter for months.

There was no sound. Harry faced the door, the only entrance and place where someone could have entered. But who would come here other than Malfoy's parents or an acquaintance. And why would they hide themselves?

Harry pushed away a particularly pesky thought that kept analyzing the voice and telling him that he knew it. He tensed; something behind him caught his eye briefly.

Turning around slowly, Harry nearly cried out in shock when he saw Draco Malfoy standing behind him, smiling serenely.

"M-Malfoy?" Harry asked tentatively, his mind working hard to process as many things as it could at once.

Draco Malfoy was clearly standing in front of him. The same Draco Malfoy he watched fall from life months ago.

What did this mean? Did he somehow survive?

No. He definitely saw him die right before his eyes and caught him in his arms. He was there when Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy were mourning over his body. He was there when they buried him.

Did he somehow come back to life? Impossible. Was this an imposter?

"Malfoy, is that really you?"

"What are you babbling about now, Potter. Of course it is." he drawled in that Malfoy way, tilting his head to give Harry a puzzled look.

"Wha –where –how …"

Right now Harry's brain was beginning its slow thinking process which had been knocked out by the initial shock. The first thing that struck him was the paleness of Draco's skin. He was always a sallow boy but exactly how much sun was he avoiding?

Harry didn't lower his wand but he moved closer, so genuinely curious that he was willing to fall into a probable trap.

"Are you feeling all right?" Harry asked.

Malfoy dug his hands into the pockets of his slacks and turned away from Harry. "Not sure, I've been waiting for you for a long time."

"F-For me? In here?"

Okay maybe Malfoy was the one going barmy.

"Yeah…" Malfoy replied softly.

Harry removed his glasses completely and rubbed his eyes when it looked like Draco appeared to be floating and not standing.

"Maybe you could break the spell. When I woke up I was here and I couldn't leave. Something was just telling I had to wait for you."

"What, you woke up here?" Harry had seen many ghosts at Hogwarts so it didn't take long for him to figure out what was going on, but Malfoy didn't seem to know. He pocketed his wand and stepped a little closer to him.

"Yeah so can you break the spell that's keeping me here. All I've had to look at was this thing." He ran transparent fingers over the plaque.

"Can't you see the name?"

"No, I can't read it."

Harry couldn't either but at the top of it, in big, engraved letters said 'Here rests Draco Malfoy'. Why couldn't he see it?

"Er, Malfoy don't you remember anything before you uh… woke up here?"

It wouldn't hurt to be cautious in dealing with this. Harry was taking it as well as he could given the precarious situation.

Draco scratched his chin thoughtfully. "…No…"

Harry was praying he wouldn't say no. How does one go about telling someone that they're a ghost?

"Malfoy-" Harry began uncertainly, casting around for the right words. "I don't know how to tell you this…" he trailed off. Malfoy looked uncharacteristically confused with his brows scrunched up like that and his shoulders slouched, like a lost child or someone awaiting news about a sick relative.

If someone had told Harry months ago that he'd be standing here in the near future explaining to an old enemy that he was a ghost, he would have charmed their mouth shut for saying such unimaginably impossible things.

Of course he and Malfoy were no longer enemies after what had happened. Malfoy had helped them, risking his life to give them information on Voldemort and then that incident.
Harry could let old grudges go; they both said their share of mean things in the past –though Malfoy more so than him, Harry would insist.

He could admit he felt a little sorry for the boy, it couldn't be easy.

"Potter, what is it?"Malfoy asked when it seemed Harry wasn't going to explain immediately.

Harry inhaled, rooting himself to the spot like an anchor. "Malfoy, the thing is… you're kinda… dead."

There was a moment's pause in which nothing was said and Harry was sure he was turning purple from holding his breath so long.

Malfoy snickered. "What did you say?"

Bewildered, Harry could only narrow his eyes. Did he not believe him? "Malfoy, you're dead. You died at the battle of Hogwarts. Voldemort killed you. Don't you remember?"

Malfoy's snicker turned into an undignified howl of laughter. It was such a rare sight to Harry that it was almost scary.

"What?!"

"Don't be stupid Potter, I'm not dead, I'm right here!"

"Yeah, that's cause you're a ghost."

Malfoy's smile faltered as he looked down at his lower body. "No I'm not," he said slowly. Harry could detect the uncertainty creeping in his voice and something struck him as odd. Couldn't Malfoy see his own body?

Harry opened his mouth but Malfoy cut him off. "I'm not a ghost, Potter. I told you, I woke up here and I was waiting for you. Look-"

Without warning, Malfoy shot forward to touch Harry's shoulders, reminding him of his very last moments. As expected his hands passed right through. "-see, I am… a ghost…"

Harry cringed at the uncomfortable feeling. Malfoy retracted his hands, staring at them as if they were foreign objects.

I tried to tell you," Harry continued to a wide-eyed Malfoy, who, even though semi- transparent, was visibly shaking.

"I'm dead?"

Harry nodded.

"Really?"

Harry wasn't sure where this conversation was going but he went along with it anyway. "Yeah, really."

Malfoy was shocked but to his credit, he was taking it better than most.

"Hmm."

Hmm? Harry blinked. "Hmm? Hmm what?" No one that he knew had ever said 'hmm' after being told they were a ghost. But then again, how many people did he have to say that too?

"Nothing, just…"

Malfoy looked down at his feet –or what had been his feet when he was alive- not that weren't feet now that he was a ghost because they were, but he couldn't walk on them so technically… Harry let out a frustrated grunt thinking about such confusing things.

Harry's eyes caught sight of his watch while he was rubbing away the lines crinkling in his forehead. "Oh, no. Ginny! I promised I would meet her for lunch."

"Wait, Potter! Where are you going?" Malfoy shouted to reach Harry who was nearing the door and picking up his umbrella.

"I have to go. I'm meeting Ginny."

Malfoy's mouth hanged open in the most comical of ways. "You're leaving."

"Yeah," Harry replied nonchalantly. He didn't get it. Was he not supposed to leave?

"Who meets a ghost for the first time and then just leaves!?"

"So you admit you're a ghost then?" Harry said smiling but immediately stopped when he remembered the situation. "Uh, look, I know this can't be easy for you but I have to go. You don't expect me to stay here do you?"

"Looks like I'd be out of luck if I did." Malfoy was glaring at him and he' couldn't deny that it was sending eerie chills up his spine.

"I'll visit you tomorrow," Harry called over his shoulder, already outside and braving the rain down the muddy slope again. Ginny would kill him if he was late again. They hadn't seen each other in days, mostly owing to her busy schedule and sometimes Harry's refusal.

When Harry finally reached the bottom, a voice from behind startled him. "So that's it then?" he asked angrily, floating a few feet above the ground.

"Malfoy! I thought you couldn't leave."

"Said who?"

"You did! Before you said you couldn't leave." Harry sputtered out raindrops that were falling into his mouth when he talked.

Malfoy's pale lips formed an 'o' before he narrowed his eyes, glaring at Harry. "I don't think you'll come," he accused.

"That's n-not true."

His look was unnerving Harry who just wanted to go back his warm home.

"I'll come," he said finally before apparating.

*!*!**!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!

Back at his house, Harry welcomed the heat that accumulated inside. Throwing aside his umbrella, wet sneakers, he shed his clothes, leaving a trail straight to the bedroom where he went to get a change of clothing. He popped into the bathroom to do something with his hair after drying it with a quick spell.

He noticed a small note on the mirror with Ginny's handwriting and read it out loud. "If nowhere else, I knew this would be the one place you would have a chance at finding this. I'll be busy again today so maybe dinner? I'm sorry. Gin"

Was Ginny trying to say he was obsessed with his hair? Because he wasn't. At least, he wouldn't be if it would just stay down and not stick up like he just rolled out of bed twenty-four hours a day!

He looked at his frazzled reflection. He'd have to hunt for food in his dreaded kitchen again today.

Sighing, he tossed the parchment away and launched himself onto his bed, closing his eyes and smothering himself with his pillows. Strange that he saw the ghost of Draco Malfoy and it didn't disturb him in the least. It wasn't even on his mind. He thought about actually going tomorrow to see him when he considered how lonely he might be. Something tickled Harry's ear and he moved to swat it. A chill crept up his arm.

"Do you think you could move over a bit, Potter? You're hand's currently lying in my stomach."

Harry's eyes flew open.