It was the shadowed dark known in the days of the war that ate at the citizens of Wizarding England and it's neighbors. These were unforgettable times. Death and destruction could not be avoided and happiness was hard to come by. No person was immune to the tension hanging heavy and steady in the air. Not even the students of Hogwarts, which had been the single most protected place (besides the Ministry) while also being the one place Voldemort was itching to attack; not with their only weapons being a complicated set of wards (well crafted, but all too breakable), and a young boy of only seventeen.

-

"It's too dark in here!" a voice whispered harshly in the unknowing darkness. "Why'd you have to pick the darkest, dirtiest, most disgusting storage cupboard in the whole damned school, Potter?"

The other chuckled and replied, "I was having a bout of homesickness. That's all, Malfoy. I was sure you'd understand."

"Har, har, Scarhead. Really, why'd you choose th- oomph!" Draco was cut off promptly as Harry pressed against him.

"Shhh, dragon," Harry whispered, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't think, just feel." Harry pressed his body close to the other's, the heat of their bodies intermixing.

"As you wish," Draco replied with a cocky smirk. Their lips brushed against each other with hesitancy. "Just say the magic words."

Harry's breath was coming in heavy gasps and whimpers from being so close to the other boy, "I want you. I want you now."

"Your wish is my command."

Their lips, cold yet fevered all at once, had not met the other's when a deafening crash shook the school with maddening force. Urgent, anxious screams rang loud and clear in the hall and Harry could see the light under the door flicker from the hundred pairs of feet running by. Harry cursed while Draco heaved a sigh of dissatisfaction and grabbed his wand with one hand, grabbing Harry's hand in the other. A somber look found a place on the Slytherin's pale face. "Looks like it's time," Harry said gravely, a frown settled neatly on his brow.

"That it does," Draco replied. The pair stood, fingers entwined, for several long moments, not wanting to let go, not wanting to face the inevitable doom just beyond the cupboard door.

"Let's go," Harry whispered with absolute confidence and Draco whipped open the door.

The scene before them was unnerving. Ranks of battle-ready students had been formed, seventh and sixth years in the front, fourth and fifth years in the back. There was no sight of first through third years as they had been sent to the safety of the dungeons.

"Harry!" a voice shook him from his shock. "Hey Harry! They're waiting! You're front line!" It was Neville Longbottom. He had a dangerous and determined look on his face; the total opposite of the boy Harry had met on the Hogwarts Express so many years ago.

"I'm coming!" Harry yelled back then turned to Draco. "Come with me. Fight beside me. Be my second." Draco gave him a long, even look, as if a battle weren't being waged on the castle grounds but in his own head. "Please?"

"I will."

"Thank you," Harry nodded in gratitude.

"Potter! Malfoy! If you don't mind joining us-" The familiar sneer of Severus Snape reached them.

"Yes sir," they chimed in unison. Their places were taken in solemn form. Ranks of serious, frightened students faced ranks of black-cloaked, vicious Death Eaters, each with their appointed leaders guiding them. Harry met the blazing red eyes of Voldemort with a mix of raging fury and anxiousness. Voldemort smirked, the epitome of calm and collection, confident about what was to come.

"Draco, if anyth-"

"I know, Harry. I love you, too."

"We'll find each other-"

"-no matter what."

There was a silence cast over the area. No one spoke. No one breathed. Draco turned to Harry and Harry to Draco. "Scared, Potter?" Draco smirked.

"You wish."

This was war.