Author Notes: Eh…here's my first fic at FF.net. It's quite dark, I think. If you don't like a boy caring for a boy, and maybe something more, flee. It's not my fault if you choose to read on. All characters mentioned belong to J.K Rowling and all those people/companies/corporate evils. Lyrics are from the Phantom of the Opera. I hope you like reading it. Reviews, good or bad, would be nice. Flames will be used to burn things. Mwah.

Blessed Release

("Masquerade!

Paper faces on parade,

Masquerade,

Hide your face so the world will never find you!"

-The opening of Act 2, The Phantom of the Opera)

"Malfoy…" The boy sneered, perhaps even excelling a sneer that the accused could do, his nose so close to the other boy's. "I could never, ever think of you like that. You're cold, you're dead inside, you live on sarcasm, hate and fear. You don't have blood, Malfoy. You have ice, darkness. You're just a lost little boy trying to be grown up. You're in my flesh and blood, my mind and soul, but for a very different reason. I've never hated anyone more."

Draconius Malfoy fell to his knees inside the Prefect's bathroom, his face blank and his eyes dull, pale lips slightly parted. His head was tilted to one side slightly, his uncombed hair falling in front of his eyes. He wasn't supposed to be here, but he didn't give a damn. He was on the floor, on his knees, and not even looking at the ceiling anymore - his eyes were clouded, they no longer saw the outside world. They only see that face. It was the things he strived to be all his life, what he needed to hide under his mask.

("You can fool any friend who ever knew you!")

For what, you ask?

To please his classmates, to please his housemates. To please the whole fucking school, but not Dumbledore.

The old headmaster had been studying him lately with sad baby blue eyes, his eyes shimmering with unneeded, unshed tears.

Why didn't he need to please his father? Because his Father, after suffering a…a "stroke" the Muggles called it, he reverted back to the Lucius Malfoy that Draco knew as a very small child, when he could barely walk and talk. A man who was deep down, kind, yet rash and sarcastic, who knew what to be cared and how to care was, even if he didn't show it. Before the days of Voldemort, of death and destruction. Before the tearing apart the Malfoy family suffered, at the hands of the head of its own family - Lucius Malfoy.

---

("Faces! Take a turn, take a ride, on the merry-go-round, in an inhuman race!")

Then, Lucius was always away, Narcissa always crying in her room, Draco a distant memory, now even staying at school during summer break, drowning himself in schoolwork.

His poor mother, Narcissa, was delighted at Lucius' current state. She could know care for the man she thought she loved, and he wouldn't argue, or hit her, or throw her away. Draco was holding on to these few memories of a loving Father. He knew these things didn't last long. He had almost cried when his Father told him…

"Draco, I must tell you something, for I feel that I am dying." The man looked up at him with slate eyes. "I…" He choked out. "I…" He tried again, looking down to the carpeted floor.

"Yes, Father?"

The man, so out of character, hugged his son tightly, and Draco stood petrified, in his Father's arms.

"I love you so much, Draco. You and your mother. You two are my world." He whispered into Draco's ear.

Draco gasped with joy, and clutched at his father, hugging him back. Never, ever, had he heard these words escape from his father's lips. He could feel tears brimming, wanting to be poured out. He squeezed his eyes tight, and sniffed. He could feel the gap filling, where, at school, all the other children had unconditional love. Even Potter. He could feel that gap being filled. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world, in the Universe. Draco Malfoy was finally, no longer deprived of love, though he knew and felt that the gap had not been completely filled.

When the two men let go, his Father sat down on the couch, and soon fell into an easy and content sleep.

As he left the room, he found his Mother in the doorway, her slim hands over her mouth, tears running down her face from her now soft icy blue eyes, her pale face flushed. Her face showed something she hadn't felt ever since she married sleeping man.

She kissed Draco on the forehead, and whispered;

"This is the best thing that has ever happened to me."

Hope.

("Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you.")

Voldemort hadn't spoken/communicated with the Malfoys since the stroke. Draco hoped he never did. He might bring back the old Lucius. And Draco hated him.

---

"Potter, do you know what Voldemort means?" He had asked one day, off topic, in Potions. As per usual, they were paired together.

"Uh…no, Malfoy, I don't." Harry knew that was the wrong thing to say, and braced himself for a snide remark. Draco just turned to him, and half-smiled, still chopping the mushrooms.

"It means flight of death. My mother's friend is French, I learned a little from her. A fitting name, don't you think?" He turned back to the mushrooms.

Harry gaped at the other boy. Malfoy had acted civil. Towards him, too. Praise the Lord, it was a miracle.

Flight of death? Yes, that described Voldemort perfectly.

"Yeah, it is. He always escapes true death. Poor Tom…"

"Huh?"

Oh, right. Draco didn't know.

"Tom. That was his name, before he was…transformed. Tom Marvolo Riddle. It's an anagram. 'I am Lord Voldemort'." Why was he telling Draco these things?

"Ah. Come on, Potter, don't be so worthless, help me skin these Prickleprunes. They're nasty." The voice dripping with sarcasm, a smirk was plain on his face, holding one delicately in front of the green-eyed boy, his eyes sparkling, daring him.

Harry laughed, and took the Prickleprune just as delicately, and dropped in the cauldron, drops of the currently harmless potion tainting Draco's pale skin a gold and black color, molding a mask on Draco's face, his icy eyes blinking underneath. He looked at his reflection in the potion.

The boys' laughs rang out in the classroom, somehow missing the usual hateful tone it held.

---

("Masquerade! Run and hide - but a face will still pursue you!")

"Malfoy, what are you-! Malfoy!?" The boy raced over to the other, picking him up, and tilted his head towards him. His face was tainted by blood, as were his hands, as it ran down. Harry figured he had been clawing at wall. Harry looked down at the boy with sadness, and mixed feeling.

He leant down and felt Draco's forehead, but he had no temperature, but there were cuts and slices all over his body. Draco's eyes fluttered open, and he stared at Harry, and couldn't find words.

"Let's get you to Madame Pomfrey." He told the boy, helping him to his feet. Draco looked at him with strange eyes, just before stumbling. "What?" The raven haired boy asked, feeling uneasy.

"You never said those things, did you?" He asked, his head tilted again. "Those ones about me being made of nothing but hate. It's not true, is it, Harry?" His voice jumped a few notes higher, and he looked at Harry with pleading eyes. Harry looked down, his hair covering his face.

"No. I said those things. I said them to you every day, Malfoy. To myself. And why can't I lie to anyone? Yeah. I say those things, because I thought they were true. I always knew they weren't, I think. I don't know anymore." He told the boy, and Draco was stunned by his openness, even if he felt his stomach drop because the other boy had thought those things. Harry gave him a sad smile.

---

"Madame Pomfrey, I found him like this. Can you fix it?" Harry asked, slight desperation in his voice. The nurse nodded a few times, and hurried across the room, muttering something about slicing spells. She stopped, and thought of something.

"Harry, dear. Come here." She whispered something to the boy, and he shrugged, and after some more conversation, nodded. He walked up to Draco, and took his hand in his.

"I won't lie to you, because I can't. This will hurt." He whispered to the boy's ear.

Draco Malfoy no longer minds pain. For he feels it every day of his life, for he is without the one thing he needs the most.

("Masquerade! Seething shadows, breathing lies!")

"Aegri Somnia." Harry whispers, pointing the wand right at Draco's heart. The pain shoots through his body, a searing fire, followed by deadly cold, a tidal wave of lost and buried emotions, but he doesn't move. He doesn't yell or scream. His slightly parted lips don't make a sound, though his breathing is jagged. His eyes are suddenly out of his control, a gray and blue storm, and the fantasies he dreamed up to hide himself in are washed away. His pretend life runs away out of reach, and he wants to cry out for it, but he can't. He knows secretly he doesn't want to. All he wants is love.

("What a blessed release! What a Masquerade!")

He sees Madame Pomfrey next to him with sad eyes. She's seen this spell before. It takes away all you thought was real. It leaves you with nothing but the animal instinct to survive, and a few, precious real memories. That is what this young man will survive on. Memories, and Harry Potter.

Draco Malfoy was surviving on dreams, he lived a made up reality. This spell was crumbling that to pieces, pieces that could never be put back together again. Like a puzzle that's missing the final piece.

"Why are you taking Origin of Magic, Potter, and without Weasel and Mudblood? I could of sworn it was a sin to be without them."

"Because it sound interesting, Malfoy. Besides, it would be cool to learn where are the spells come from. Besides, Hermione knows all of that already. Ron and her probably making out somewhere, though. Where are your minions, Malfoy?"

"If you haven't checked the calendar, Potter, it's Evil Minion Day. That means most of my house gets the day off. Vincent and Gregory are a bit too thick for this, anyway. They struggle with English, Latin is a no-no."

"Sure, Malfoy. Can I sit next to you?"

"…Of course, Potter. It's a dream come true."

"Same here, Malfoy. Same here."

Neither knew that both were telling the truth.

Draco wakes from a deep sleep, Harry Potter sitting in the chair next to him. His eyes are watching him with intense, humorous eyes, and yet they are also sad eyes. He looks like a young Dumbledore.

That's what finally breaks down the last ice and stone wall.

The tears finally spill from his lifeless eyes, a silent, sparkling stream that washes away all of his regrets, guilt and pain. Harry stands up, and takes the frail boy into his arms, rocking him gently, softly, sadly. He buries his face in the boy's gold and silver hair, and Harry sings a song he knew was from days when life was much more simple.

"Masquerade, paper faces on parade…

Masquerade,

Hide your face so the world will never find you..."

This lullaby seems so right for Draco. It's how he once lived. Now, Harry decides, he will help this young man start to live. Really. They'll do all the things you're supposed to do as a child, that they were both deprived of. Pillow fights, picnics, sleepovers, pumpking picking, going to the beach, going to amusement parks, birthday parties, laughing "just because". That's how they're the same. They'll make memories that Draco and Harry can look on fondly, and laugh about in the years to come.

("Drink it in, drink it up, 'till you drown in the light, in the sound!")

Draco needs more precious memories. He needs Harry now, just like Harry needs him. He needs the unconditional love, the truthfulness of Harry. Harry needs the snide remarks, someone to tell him how it is. Both need someone to make sure they don't loose themselves in a fantasy.

("Watching us and watching them, and all our fears are in the past!")

-Le Fin-