Author's Note: This is a story that has been in development for quite sometime. It has been a labor of love for me. So hopefully it is something that you will find worth following.

Warnings: This story focuses on the relationship of two men ( Draco and Harry, among others...). So if this bothers you in any way I hope you can see past it to the plot beneath. There are some violent moments as well as sexual situations, mind you, nothing terribly graphic. There are influences in the plotline from X-men: The Last Stand. Though they are pertinent to the main plot, they do not completely make up the story as there are several main plots that will happen throughout the story, besides the one that is based on the movie.

Disclaimer: I do not lay claim to owning the Harry Potter franchise. It belongs strictly to J.K. Rowling and I give her such credit. This is a work of fandom, not profit.

I hope you enjoy!

Jocey

--

--

--

It's been almost six months since he died, since he saved them all from the Dark Lord's terror—at least for a time. Dumbledore had assembled a final front to take on Voldemort and finish him once and for all. That night… Harry and he knew that it might be their last night. As it turned out, it would be the last time Draco would see those determined emerald eyes return his gaze, reassuring him.

Draco shifted at his desk, knowing that he needed to get this letter off to Weasley today. Dumbledore had asked them to meet with him for a lunch within the next week. He said he had something to discuss with the two of them.

Draco sighed. Just thinking of that codger was a burden. Whatever news he wanted to share, whether it horrid or wonderful, it would most likely be a shock, and Draco didn't like change all that much, especially now. The love of his life dying was change enough for a life time. Even so, he brought the quill down to parchment.

Weasley,

Dumbledore has requested that we meet with him for a luncheon in three days' time. He apparently has propositions for us that are too good to refuse…

Draco paused for a moment, considering his words.

…Hope things are well,

Draco

He leaned back in his chair wondering if he should write more.

Weasley was taking the death even worse than Draco was. While Draco was clearly mourning, he was able to compartmentalize his thoughts and emotions, something he was always good at doing since early childhood. Living with his father required such a talent. However, such methods usually resulted in him being jolted awake by a nightmare so vivid that he ended up silently sobbing himself back to sleep.

Weasley, however, had no control whatsoever. He was clearly emotionally gone. Draco didn't know how Granger was handling it. The man barely associated with anyone anymore, accept, Draco supposed, with his wife in the privacy of their own home. However, last time Draco had seen Granger she looked exhausted. She was very likely pouring all of her efforts into caring for her husband and their child while getting very little in return. Draco swallowed the dull pain in his throat and gazed upon the letter he had yet to put in an envelope.

The ink was green… green like a curse…

Brilliant yet terrifying green light encompasses the entire forest, or what remains of it. Dumbledore and Draco stand side by side in front of the eight hundred or so rebels, wondering if they will die this night. To Draco's front stands a raven haired man holding back the power of three thousand killing curses intended for the Resistance by Lord Voldemort's army.

Harry… he is both beautiful and almighty.

Having abandoned his wand long ago, he manipulates all the elements of the earth and the magic it holds at a molecular level.

It is breathtaking.

Draco tears his eyes from the cosmic scene, looking beyond to a man that suddenly seems very small. The Dark Lord's eyes are both infuriated and terrified--he clearly had no knowledge of Harry's potential.

Before he can feel pride for the scene he's witnessing, a warm and gentle wave consumes his mind…

"I know what I'm doing…" The voice is so calm--it's resolve terrifying him. Panic takes hold of his lungs. Harry plans on leaving him in this world forever! Yet, he is calm…

Draco knew that Dumbledore could hear the same words. His eyes are downcast, twinkling with grief and not mischief.

"Harry… please," He begs helplessly.

Why won't Harry let him help!? Why couldn't HE be the sacrifice!

Harry turns with a small smile, hearing his grief. Hope and courage flood his mind, giving him a means to witness what he can't possibly. In that single, fleeting glance, he tries to convey how utterly in love with Harry he is… and how grief tears relentlessly at his soul.

Harry's eyes shift to the old man's, which shine with an inexpressible apology. Draco sees the guilt in his eyes, in making Harry a weapon in this war. It had to be done. They both knew it. The entity before them turns his back to them, facing death once more.

The voice is stronger, filling his mind with resonance.

"Get out of here! I can't hold this forever!"

The last thing he can see before the rebellion disapparates is the sight of the man he loves, consumed by a wall of green light.

Draco came to with a choked gasp.

Oh God! He was dead! He was gone!

He lowered his head between his knees, repeatedly gasping, tears streaming down his face.

It wasn't working! He couldn't breathe!

He wretched painfully into the trash can by the foot of his desk. Slowly, his shoulders slumped, his heart slowed to a less erratic pump.

'Damn it. It always happens like this.'

He leaned back in his chair, his head swimming, pain in his neck and temples. He could still recall the article the day after in the Daily Prophet. The front page was nothing but a picture of a half-mile wide crater--nothing but rock and ash. He flicked his wand at the mess, watching it crack into nothing.

Harry had clearly been incinerated, or was so far deep in rubble that there was little chance of recovering the body intact. The scene was still exactly as it was. The aurors wanted to keep it so for investigative purposes.

Draco walked into the kitchen, his limbs heavy. He looked through his bare fridge, finally settling on a bottle of water. He walked to the window over the sink, washing the tang out of his mouth.

What was there to investigate? The forces of good came upon the forces of evil, and evil had clearly won. And now Draco was standing alone in his God-forsaken apartment.

He looked at the scene on the street below. He lived in Muggle London, which was a comfort for him. Voldemort didn't think to look for him there, and the place didn't remind him of everything he lost; his mother, his father…

Harry.

He liked that there were people still happy, still full of joy in the streets below, sitting outside of little cafes, ranting about the happenings of the day to their best friends.

Draco turned from the sink and entered his bedroom to gather the few things he now owned. He waved his wand at his suitcase and clothing, prompting them to organize themselves efficiently.

'Dumbledore couldn't possibly need me for that long.'

His eyes shifted to the desk, wondering if he dare think what he inevitably would if he opened the drawer. Against his better judgment, he tentatively opened the bottom left drawer and pulled out the pendant--a gold coin covered in rust with a family crest on it. It was tied to a simple brown string, long enough to tie around a neck.

"Honestly Draco, you already gave me a blasted birthday present! Must you give me one every day of the week?" Harry was gleeful despite himself. He was practically bouncing on the couch in the common room, hugging a pillow to himself.

"This is different, Harry…… timeless."

Harry sobered at his reverence, wondering what could possibly make Draco speak without a hint of sarcasm. It was a simple brown box tied with a black ribbon.

Harry carefully opened the box, fearing that at his slightest mishap he would break the precious object within.

He didn't know what to make of it.

The coin didn't seem like anything Draco would approve of. It didn't glitter, it didn't scream mystique. It was a simple gold pendant that was turned almost olive by rust and age. Harry finally gave up, looking to Draco imploringly for an explanation.

"That once belonged to your father, or at least I think it did at one point. It is a family's crest--yours, that is." He couldn't read Harry; his face was slowly morphing from curiosity to… blankness? He looked like he might break.

Oh no… was this a mistake? He swallowed audibly and quickly broke the silence.

"Now I know you pride yourself foolishly on being a half-blood, all thanks to your mother..." he stuttered a bit, noticing that his attempt at playfulness wasn't cutting across to the man next to him.

"… However, the Potter family line traces back pure-blood for hundreds of generations. Since I'm lazy and wasn't willing to trace it back any further, we'll just assume that was the case for the other three hundred generations I didn't look up." Harry continued to look down at the pendant, devoid of emotion--devoid except for the tightness of his lips, the tremor of his hand, and the tautness of the chords in his neck.

'Oh God… I'm a fool.'

"Anyways, this once belonged to your father, and your grandfather, and great grandfather and so on and so on," he finished--feeling truly defeated.

After a moment.

"I just thought--I don't know, it was a piece of history you could keep with you, another piece of your family, and--Harry?" Harry was looking at the pendant fixedly, flipping it in his fingers a few times. He finally looked up into Draco's silver eyes, his emerald ones glistening.

Finally, a smile, if a rather weepy one.

"Thank you, I love it Draco, really… and I love you." He leaned up to kiss Draco's neck. Looking up into his face, he swiped back a stray hair that had fallen into Draco's eye.

Draco sighed. It had been a relative success.

Harry settled back down into Draco's side, again, staring fixedly at the pendant in his palm.

"You know…"

Draco looked down again at the head whose hair he kept stroking back in a hypnotic lullaby.

"What's wrong Harry?"

"I just--I just hate that I'm not over it like I thought I was." He sat up a little, placing the pendant on the table, as if to observe from a distance.

"There was a time when I was able to not think about them. I was able to convince myself that I was ready to move on--I mean, how can I start a life when I dwell on the past so much? It's not healthy!" He sat back against Draco, eyes not focusing on anything in particular.

"Harry! Don't try to diminish all you've been through!" He didn't mean to sound outraged, but it was finally a chance to voice what had been on his mind for quite some time.

"It's just--I feel like if I don't change soon… I never will." His eyes finally focused on Draco, determined, yet inexplicably fearful, "I feel as if something terrible is about to happen, Draco--something that will effect everyone."

"If you're talking about the war, Dumbledore is—-

—It's not just the war, Draco," He sighed, suddenly seeming tired, "Something more dangerous… something that isn't poisoned and dying at the hands of black magic and hate, like Voldemort." Harry gazed at the fire, his eyes suddenly alight with a life that Draco wasn't so sure he recognized.

"What is it?" he asked lightly, grinning despite the troubling words he just heard.

"Nothing…" Harry came back to himself, smiling slightly.

"C'mon."

Harry finally tore his eyes from the fire, sighing. He took a moment to find his words, wanting them to be right.

"There are very few people in my life where I feel like Harry around them and not a savior of any kind………there's Ron and Hermione but…" He reached for the pendant, studying it once more.

"It must be tough."

"…yeah, it is." Harry readjusted himself, and then reached for Draco's hand and kissed it.

"You're my savior anyway," Draco said, not knowing what else to say. Harry smiled, gazing again at the fire which gave them warmth, "Thank you for the wonderful birthday."

Draco looked up with a start from the luggage he had fixed with a glassy stare.

"Honestly, I'm getting ridiculous."

His heart hurt, but he wouldn't let himself spend anymore time remembering what he no longer possessed. He swiped the wetness from his eye. He found his wand on his bed, and with a loud crack, he disappeared.