Warning: Hmm... Not so secret pairing.

Notes: Title from Blind Guardian's song.

Chapter one, Welcome to dying

I still can't believe it. I still can't bloody believe it.

When she first told me, I thought I had had a heart attack. She had been so casual about it, she had been so natural, so herself about it. She had told me about it so unceremoniously like there was nothing wrong, nothing special about it. But there bloody was. I wasn't being childish about it, well, maybe a little. But hell, Hermione had bloody moved in with Draco Malfoy himself, the one and only.

Yes, of course, they were good friends now, of course, they got along well, of course, they had lots of things in common, of course, he was having...err...lets' say 'family and personal problems' and needed his friends, needed some company, of course, Ron was dating Lavender, of course, I was living with Sirius, of course, Ginny went to America, yes, of course, they were good friends now, of course, they got along well...

But why did she consider offering Draco Bloody Malfoy to share a flat ? Him of all people ?

For one of the first times, for one of the rare moments, I believed that Hermione had not think it through twice before she acted. Had she thought about it even once ? About how he was an utter bastard ? What went through her mind when she asked him to move in with her ? What went through her fucking mind ? After all that happened, she still went to him and asked him.

And on top of that, she had the bloody guts, well, you know what I mean, to ask me to come over at her, sorry, 'their' new flat for an entire evening. For that bloody Holiday to boot. But. As she said to me on the phone, because for one undisclosed reason, and Merlin forbids if I ever find out how she did it though I have a stinking suspicion, she convinced him to get a phone, he wouldn't be there for the whole evening.

And that about did the trick to persuade me. I would not be seeing him. I would not be seeing Draco Malfoy. I feared some part of me could not take it. I feared some part of me would lose it dearly. That and me owing 'Mione, being best friends since Hogwarts and all, oh, I'd say round ten years or so, that much as visiting her new apartment and putting my...err...reluctances aside.

At least, except from the fact that her, sorry, 'their', I'm really starting to think that I won't ever get used to using that possessive, studio will be overloading with his insufferable perfume, with his unbearable soap scent, with his colossal mess and piles of worn-only-once- yet-hellishly-expensive clothes, or just simply with his lingering presence. I had shivers just thinking about it.

I must have been bloody stoned or pissed to have agreed to such nonsense. Or perhaps Hermione had done a great job at pleading her case. Or perhaps I had felt guilty because we had not seen each other since she had moved in with him and that was about three weeks ago. Of course we had talked on the phone, we even had written to each other but our once Golden Trio was losing its colours.

For, as I said before, Ron was one hell of a oblivious mate. He had bloody went and bloody asked Lavender out. Not Hermione, oh, no, Lavender ! I still couldn't believe he could do such a thing. I thought he had everything figured out on fourth and fifth year with the Krum events but no, the bloody git, of course, it is said with fondness, had not. Instead, he had thought wicked of asking Lavender out for Merlin only knew why.

And I doubted Lavender would have acquiesced to having her boyfriend live with a girl she suspected of loving her possession. And, for what it's worth, Hermione did love Ron, for a long time. Too long of a time, she sometimes said. I can't do anything but smile sadly at her when she talks about it to me. Merlin knew I had my share of consuming love...

And for myself, shamefully, unfortunately I must say, I had not been there for her as much as I would have liked to or as much as I should had. You see, I had managed, by some obscure, unknown reason, to pass my NEWT level Potions. I suspected an old bastard to have something to do with it, after all, he owed me at least that. So, the Auror plans were looking bright.

But then, after I graduated from Hogwarts, just the day after our ceremony, I had already been propositioned to play with some professional Quidditch team. I had agreed even with the Auror plans. And yet, I had, once again, managed to mix studies, practices, matches, promotions, and studies again. And every second of rest I had, well, almost, I greedily took, mostly I slept. I was truly a mess.

Still, I had pulled off finding out time for that bit of romance in my life.

But my life slowed down a little, not much, just enough to ache though. Oh, I still played with the Canons, no trouble there. I even got a job at the Ministry not so long ago when i graduated from Auror Training, no trouble there either. There was just this bit of romance that had vanished from my life. This bit of romance had broken my heart. It had happened so suddenly for it had only brought me joy before.

Valentine's day. It just brought up these bad memories again. I bloody hated it. It reminded me of the five years I spent with that bit of romance. Five bloody years of my life nearly wasted. No, wait, I take that back. Even if it had ended in a worse fashion, which I wondered if there was any, it still would have been worth it. I had been happy there. Truly happy. I had found a place where I belonged. A place where I was loved. That kind of love.

I thought I had found peace, inner peace and harmony. All was well, my heart was overflowed with joy each and every day, every morning when I woke up, because I would be softly kissed awake, every night when I went to bed, because I would be made love to, wonderful love, so tenderly, so lovingly, words could not describe it, and I would be held all night long in strong, loving arms.

I had been happy. I had been too happy. I should have noticed something was going on. Harry Potter, Golden Boy and only, was happy. Yet, happiness was not something usually, notice the understatement here, allowed to said Gryffindor. Death, loss, pain, there were more like it but not happiness, not joy and certainly not love. Yet I had it in the palm of my hand. Or so I thought.

Once again, I had abruptly been brought back to reality. One moment my heart was overly joyous and the other, I had found it crushed on the ground under cold, impassive shoes. I had not tried to pick it up and I had not cried for cries were meant for those who cared but there was no one in that room that cared. I had stared back through those eyes, expressionless, motionless.

I wanted to cry, to collapse, to shout, to punch, to hex, anything to get rid of the pain, the deceit, the sorrows. But I had been strong. I had not said a word, I had not blinked, I had not trembled. Years seemed to have passed before I heard footsteps leaving the room, not hurried one, not unsure ones, calm, composed ones. But what could I have expected ? It was how it was meant to be. It had always been like this.

Why would it had changed ? Because I wanted it to ? Riiight.

I still did not cry when I found myself alone. I still did not collapse. I still didn't break nor shout. I picked up my cloak and also left the room. I left my heart on the floor, almost literally. I left it there to rot and I had not gone there again. From this moment on, my heart went missing, my ability to love was lost, my feelings were put on hold. And no one had pressed that 'play' button ever again.

I hated that bloody day that was Valentine's Day. It brought up just too much, all this pain, this misery, these thoughts I once had. Yes, I once thought of ending my misery by putting a term to my life. I wanted to commit suicide. I had even tried a couple of times. But Hermione was there, even when she learned about Ron and Lavender, even when all was dark for her.

I owed her a lot, and still, I don't think I've come to repay her properly. But I'll make it up to her one day. I'll be there for her. And I buried myself in work, practice and tours and promotions. I did not see the days pass, the weeks, the months. I worked non-stop, I had to. It kept me from thinking. Thinking was bad for me. Thinking just brought that again.

And I lost sight of Hermione. But I wound up trapped in the monstrous, never-ending cycle of work and travel, life I had once wanted and created. I lost her. She was alone and I wasn't there for her just as I had promised her. And yet, she had not blamed me, she had not held a grudge against me. We were still best friends, we were family. Because we had not other family.

And finally, when I thought about it, diner with her would be wonderful. We'll drown our sorrows, our pain, we'll even laugh of it, we'll recall old times, good times, old pranks and tricks, we'll have a great time, won't we ? We would not be alone, left alone to ponder on the meaning of life, of staying alive. Yes, both of us.

Because even if she never did confess to me about those dark thoughts, I knew she had some sometimes. Even if she said she didn't. I knew she thought about death, about her death. I also knew she did not wish to burden me further and talk about it, so little ago had I been saved from this vicious whirlwind. Saved from myself, saved from the world.

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Whistling, not suspecting anything, I had Apparated on the front porch not long before seven o'clock. I had knocked three times and waited. And waited. And still, I waited. But I had not been answered. I found that strange but perhaps she didn't hear me ? Perhaps she had told me to come in and I had not heard her ?

I then tried the door and it wasn't locked. I entered and it was dark, I didn't see a bloody thing. I rummaged along the walls to find a switch when I remembered this wasn't a Muggle flat. Groaning, I grunted out 'lumos' but the lights didn't go on. Sighing, I fumbled through my jeans' pockets for my wand and mumbled the same incantation.

I made it through the living room. No signs of 'Mione and it was still dark as Hell. I called her name a few times but all I got was a big, fat nothing. I was starting to get annoyed. I mean, c'mon, 'Mione, stop fooling around and turn on the goddamn lights. Alriiight, breathe, Potter, breathe, you're getting all riled up for nothing. Breathe.

You very well know that that temper has to get under control. You learned to keep it under restraint and you've done great these past years so you can't just lose it because of the lights that aren't bloody opening and of Hermione wanting to play hide and seek in the dark with you. You have to learn to discipline yourself. Even if your nerves are frantic and your heart is hysterical. Breathe, Potter, breathe.

I went in the kitchen, still nothing and still dark. Dammit. I skimmed through the room, drawing my lit wand near the walls and several papers pinned on them. I bumped into a sodding chair and swore loudly, rubbing my knee. I felt the table just before me and looked through for some, any, hints of what Hermione was up to. No such luck. Oh, my bad, it was not supposed to be that easy. It never was.

I was just about to cross to the passageway but something on the table caught my eye, something shiny. I had a bad feeling about it though I took it in my hand anyway and approached my hand. Twice dammit. It was something I knew too well what it was, something I did not want to remember, least that day, something I did not wish to see again, let alone touch.

I went to see further in the flat, I passed a corridor with a series of doors. I opened the first one on my left. Her bedroom. It was also dark as Hell and as I raised my wand, I noticed that her bed was neatly made. There was no note whatsoever, no nothing. I went back down the hall, a dim light lit up. The door was partially closed and I had no idea what the room was used for. It just called to me. Oh, Hell. I grasped the doorknob and slowly turned it.

Fucking hell.

I knew I should've stayed home in bed and never come here. I knew it was a bad idea. I should've trusted my guts. Next time I'll know better, won't I ? If there was a next time. I wasn't sure how well this was going to go. I wasn't sure I wanted to find out. No, make that, absolutely sure. I was completely certain I did not want to be here. On this bloody day to boot. I knew I should not even be here.

Staring back in cerulean eyes.

In blue, and if I didn't know any better, I would've said caring, perhaps even loving and perhaps even remorseful, eyes. But, no, it couldn't. I knew better after all, I knew all about them. I knew their tricks, their lies, their pretensions. I also knew well the person to whom they belonged. And I knew care, love and remorse were not right in them. Not right at all. This whole thing was complete and utter shit.

There was only one thing on my mind. I wanted to get the hell out of there. I wanted to go back home. I wanted to go to bed, perhaps to smother myself in my sheets. I wanted to hide beneath them. I wanted to forget this day. I wanted to sleep and wake up February the 15th and take a cup of coffee, read the newspaper, spend a lazy Sunday afternoon. I just wanted to forget those eyes.

Or at least pretend. But something in my mind told me it would not be so easy. Still, I took a chance and swiftly turned on my heels. I clutched the knob again and just when I started to make the first and last step, something stopped my every move. I even held my breath. My heart was frantic, my whole body was trembling. But my lips were tightly pursed. My face was hard, closed like I last saw the one before me.

I my breath hitched a bit. I tried to not smile or soften my gaze. I tried to keep my heart from fluttering foolishly. I tried to keep my eyes from watering unnecessarily. How long had it been ? Over a year. Had it been this long ? I didn't know anymore. I had lost any notion of time. I had just kept living, moved on, tried to get my life back together. I tried.

My heart leaped up as I failed to keep it under control. He did not seem to notice though. His eyes were wide with surprise and shock. It looked too genuine for me to think it had been one of his cunning plans. And yet, some part of me thought it was again some sick scheme. Guess old habits are difficult to break. As it is hard to regain one's trust after it is broken.

Still, I couldn't keep my eyes from scanning his beautiful traits, his pale, gleaming body, his long, damp, golden hair, his glowing eyes. He had stilled his every movement. He had a single towel wrapped around his waist that rode low on his hips. He blushed a little and tried to lift the sheet up. I gave in there. I hated myself for it. I smirked at that, an amused smirk but not a harsh one.

He was still as gorgeous as I remembered him to be, and even more. I couldn't help but think it was a wonder he had chosen me of all people. And then, I remembered he broke me, he shattered me. I smiled again sadly. He seemed to be well with his life now. There were no dark circles nor wrinkles on his face. There were no shadows over him. Only a bit of concern and worry. But he seemed well. Too well.

And it pained me for I had secretly wanted him to suffer just as much as I did. But I should have known better, he was after all the one to end this relationship. Yet, one can't be reproached for hoping, even for a fool's hope, even for a vengeance, can one ? Yes, I had begrudged him a long while, I even thought I hated him. But I should've known that I could never hate him.

Seeing him again only brought up old memories, old feelings, old love. Love that never really left my heart and soul, love that would never die. I guess it just had a nice nap and had awaken again. And I couldn't stop this heart-warming feeling from coming up. I couldn't prevent my lips from twitching a bit. But fortunately, I soon reverted to my cold, composed attitude.

I thought I had seen his face light up then fall. Must you be imagining things, Potter?

A veil of presumed pain ghosted over his blue, shimmering eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something. I tried to sense his feelings or anything else coming from him. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I felt him struggle with his words in his mind, I felt him consider what attitude to use, I felt his heart tighten with emotions.

And then, it happened.

Only one word was uttered. Spoken in a soft, calm tone. A warm tone. Not the one I expected. Not the one I last heard. But the one that melted my heart the first time. The one those three words had once been voiced with, over and over again. The one I fell in love with, the one that told me those feelings were reciprocated, the one I thought I'd never hear again.

And yet, there it was. And it had spoken only one word. But it was already filled with warmth, with care, with love, with fondness, with remorse also, and with apologies. I hated that tone when I used to love it, loathed that tone when I used to cherish it. And yet, there it was. And it had spoken only one word.

Harry, it said. Harry. My name. Me. Harry.