Disclaimer: It is regrettable that the world and the characters of Harry Potter are not mine (ah, if only, if only).

Warning: Strong PG-13 for dark themes

A/N: Happy Hallowe'en! This is not a Hallowe'en fic per se, but anyhow.

Erehwon Beneath the Hunter's Moon

Hanging on the wall were butterfly specimen forever frozen in their glass coffins. Displayed on the wooden shelf behind the bar counter was an extensive collection of liquor bottles, the variety of which liken to a lady's collection of perfume bottles. The dark mahogany wall panellings and flooring, along with the subtle lighting that seemingly streamed out of nowhere, lent an aura of secrecy to this small bar, Erehwon, a haven tucked away in a dark recess of the metropolitan.

Like any other Monday nights, Harry Potter pulled open the heavy wooden door and entered the shady bar without the slightest hint of trepidation. Catlike green eyes scanned the smoky room casually, before they settled on the bartender standing behind the counter. The bartender was polishing a tall glass with a piece of cloth, but those sharp grey eyes of his were fixated upon Harry.

With a sombre look on his face, Harry perched on his usual seat -- the second to last stool at the far end of the bar counter. Wordlessly the bartender poured him a glass of whisky. But unlike his usual habit of tossing down the drink without any delay, Harry did not reach for the glass; he was staring hard at the bartender.

"There's been another case," Harry said while searching the bartender's face. "A wife poisoned her unfaithful husband's breakfast tea. The poison contains sanguis inferi, the same substance that was found in all the other poisoning cases."

"And?" The bartender obligingly indulged his patron. "What did the wife say?"

"Said she couldn't remember where she got the poison from." Harry absently rolled the glass around between his palms, his eyes continued to study the bartender's reaction. "Just like the others: can't remember, can't say, don't know anything."

"Interesting story," the bartender replied nonchalantly, his razor-sharp visage a perfect facade of polite indifference. "I'm sure it will be an entertaining story to tell over supper."

Tried though he had, Harry could not contain his temper anymore. "Don't screw with me!" His outburst caused several heads to turn, and taking a deep breath, Harry spoke more quietly, "How many cases do you think it's been already? And always, sanguis inferi. Sooner or later they will be able to trace the poison to this bar. How long do you think you can hide before they find out you are still alive?"

The bartender was smiling slightly, a smile that, to those who were not in the know, would appear to be a well-mannered, tolerant smile of a server dealing with a particularly difficult customer. Nevertheless, Harry, who had known the bartender for a long time, detected a hint of condescension.

"You've already caught the real culprits who committed the murders, isn't that right?" the bartender remarked softly, his voice lowered so that only Harry could hear him. "And I am confident no one will ever find out about the connection between the various poisons that were used in the murders and myself. After all," the smile on the bartender's face widened into a smirk, "I have you, don't I?"

For some moment Harry could not speak; his temper swiftly departed from him, and along with it was the colour on his face. He could never bring himself to betray the bartender, and the bartender knew it.

Lowering his voice, Harry hissed to the bartender, "If it's money you need, you can just ask me."

There was a flash of anger upon the bartender's face, shattering the mask of impassivity he always wore. Nevertheless, the bartender's voice lost none of its deceptive courteousness. "How kind of you, but I'm afraid I'll have to refuse your charity."

"It's not charity. Anyway, I won't mention it again." Harry quickly said, knowing he had unintentionally wounded the bartender's pride. "But you didn't have to let me know you are selling poison, did you? Why the signature? Why even bother?"

The corner of the bartender's mouth turned upwards ever so slightly. "Who knows?" the bartender replied casually. "Maybe I just want you to know it's me."

The flare that had died down not too long ago was ignited once more. Harry glared at the bartender, before gulping down the content in the glass. His grip on the empty glass was so hard that it was a wonder the glass had not shattered yet.

The other patrons had paid and left, leaving Harry alone with the bartender. Unable to restrain his fury any longer, Harry roughly grabbed the bartender by the collar. "Maybe I should've just left you to rot in Azkaban back then! It would've saved me a lot of trouble!"

"Yes, you should've done precisely that." In contrast to Harry's boiling temper, the bartender's voice was inhumanly cold. "Then everything would've ended a long time ago."

Gazing into Draco Malfoy's deadened silver orbs, Harry felt a lurking fear in his heart; it frightened him to see Draco looking as if he was a living corpse, neither dead nor alive. Unable to bear looking at Draco's accusing eyes anymore, Harry evaded Draco's gaze and stared at the lily white hand resting on the counter.

Was it wrong of him for loving someone he should never have, for protecting someone who would never repent? For many years he had asked himself, and he knew not what the answer was anymore.

Tentatively he enveloped Draco's white hand in his, and gently caressed the flesh that had been so soft and smooth in the past, but had become calloused over the years. When Harry looked up once more, he saw a hint of ruefulness on Draco's face; it sent an unspeakable pang to his chest. Wanting to console Draco, Harry leant forward and brushed his lips lightly against Draco's.

As he was about to pull away, Draco grabbed the back of Harry's neck and caught him in a tantalising kiss. Obediently Harry closed his eyes and reached out to caress Draco's cheek as he had always done. His fingers had memorised every curve and angle; he doubted he could ever make himself forget.

As Harry moved closer to Draco, the empty wine glass was knocked over the counter and shattered into pieces on the ground.

The October full moon was half veiled by formless dark clouds, and with it came a person whom Draco had long anticipated to approach the doorstep of Erehwon.

The distantly familiar figure slid onto the second to last stool at the far end of the counter, yet it was not the usual raven black and bottle green that greeted him; it was copper red and aquamarine blue.

Intently Ginny Weasley, now Ginny Potter, stared at him, as though meaning to find out what she had missed all those years ago when they were still in their adolescence, untried and ignorant. She still retained some of her vibrant charm from her youth, yet what remained was nothing more than a shadow. Frail and grey she seemed, like a wraith who was barely holding onto its form.

Draco knew a little about the mental disorder that had manifested in Ginny ever since the deaths in her family; Harry had told him everything when he asked for Draco's permission to marry her.

"What can I do for you?" Draco asked calmly while musing whether or not Ginny knew the seat she had chosen was her husband's usual seat.

Jaded blue eyes gazed at him for several heartbeats. "There have been rumours that you'd left the country. I never thought you were still in England, let alone working in this bar of all places."

"It's a matter of earning a living, that's all," Draco replied pointedly to her second remark, while ignoring her first. Taking two bottles from the shelf behind him, he began the familiar process of concocting a drink. He had found that, before he decided to open a bar, cocktail-mixing was not much different from potion-making.

"Hmm," Ginny hummed vaguely, in all appearance looking as though she was not interested in Draco's affair. "I guess Harry helped you get away, and then helped you hide in the Muggle world?" And at that, she threw a glance at Draco's left wrist.

Even if Draco were to roll up his sleeve for inspection, she would find the pale forearm unmarked except for a faint scar that was barely visible to the naked eye. Therefore, Draco continued his task without a word.

"He's been coming to see you all these years, hasn't he?" Ginny said softly, so soft was her voice that it was as though she was murmuring to herself. "How long have you two been..."

"Does it matter?" Draco interjected as he studied Ginny, who looked as intangible as the smoke permeating the air within Erehwon.

"I just want to know, that's all," Ginny replied in quiet melancholy, her eyes downcast. "Were you two already together even before we were married? Between the three of us, am I the third party?"

This Ginny before him was different from the picture painted by the various hints he had gathered from the unsuspecting Harry. Although Harry had mentioned very little about his marriage or his wife, Draco could tell a lot from the minor cuts and scratches on Harry.

Putting down the glass filled with water-like liquid before her, Draco remarked plainly, "To play the role of a long-suffering victim does not suit you. I advise you drop the pitiful act."

A gleam sharp as a blade was emitted from those blue irises that, only moments ago, seemed so plaintive and compliant. And like a cloak being discarded, the mask Ginny had been hiding behind melted away without a trace.

With a slightly twisted quirk about her lips, she picked up the glass offered by Draco and mockingly raised the glass at him. "Has Harry been saying anything to you?"

"Not really, you know he's not the type to do that." Draco returned the favour with a wry smirk of his own. "Are you here to kill me?"

"I'm tempted to, I must admit," Ginny responded airily, before taking a sip of the cocktail without a second thought. "But if I kill you now, you will remain in his memory forever as you are right now: a pretty face who will never grow old, a tragic figure who died before his time. No, I wouldn't want that."

Draco raised his eyebrow curiously; there could only be two other reasons why she would come to Erehwon, one more unlikely than the other. "And I assume you didn't come here to persuade me to leave your husband."

A peal of chuckle escaped Ginny's delicate throat. "You guessed correctly. I know you won't agree to it anyway." There was a pause, before she began anew. "It's funny, isn't it? You have him for one night of the week, while I have him for the others. But I feel like I'm married to a ghost. Even though his body is here, his mind is always elsewhere. And now I know where his heart really lies."

The cocktail appeared to uncork her mouth, for she was pouring out all the things she had never told another soul before, to the one person she was supposed to hate. "Do you know that Ron entrusted me to Harry before he died? That's why Harry married me. Harry didn't do this because he loved me; he did this to fulfil his best friend's wish. He sees me as a duty, someone to feel pity for, like a stray cat. Do you know how it feels to know that every time he looks at you, he's looking right through you at something else? Do you?"

Draco maintained his silence; and it appeared Ginny did not expect a reply from him. When she set down the half-empty glass, she chuckled softly once more, even though there was nothing worth laughing about. "I know you sell poison here."

Draco wondered if she had learnt of the reputation of Erehwon from her husband, or from someone else. "And?" he prompted as he gazed directly at her, although he already knew what she was about to say, just as how he always knew which customer was looking for something much stronger than what was offered in a wine glass.

"Sell me a bottle," she said with remarkable light-heartedness, as though she was merely asking for a cup of tea.

There was only one rule in Erehwon: no questions asked. Draco was not about to break a rule set by himself -- not that he needed to ask, for he could already discern at her purpose. He could refuse her; he could even stop her; but in the end, he did neither. After all, they were bound by the same silver chain, to the same despicable person. "Are you sure?" was the only thing he said.

And she smiled at him for the very first time, a mysterious smile that was almost like a secretive smirk, but a smile nonetheless. "I have never been more sure in my life."

The night of Samhain brought along the cold, autumn drizzle and the brisk, chilly breeze. Erehwon was devoid of customers; few people ever come to Erehwon on the night of Samhain, not when they had other places to go to.

The heavy oak door was pulled open; a flurry of rain and wind followed Harry into the bar. The first thing Draco took note of was the dishevelled attire, and then those bloodshot eyes; anguish was painted all over Harry's haggard face.

When Harry cast his eyes upon Draco, his face contorted in rage. "Why did you sell poison to her?" His voice sounded almost like a growl.

"She asked for it," Draco replied impassively, looking completely unfazed. "I'm not about to turn down a client."

"You know she's ill. Why did you still sell it to her?" Harry stormed towards Draco and slammed his fists on the mahogany counter top. His face was mere inches away from Draco's, but there was no tenderness in his demeanour; Draco could only see hatred in those darkened green eyes. "Are you happy now? She's dead, killed herself with the poison you made."

"She has the right to choose whatever she thinks is the best," Draco said calmly while pouring a glass of whisky for Harry, just like what he had always done every Monday night.

"I'm her husband. I know what's best for her." Harry looked as though he was about to rip open Draco's throat; but certainly this was what Ginny had envisioned all along when she made her decision. Truly, women could be such spiteful creatures.

"What's best for her," Draco repeated while setting down the glass with his usual delicate touch. A part of him felt oddly detached as he took in Harry's wrath; another part of him merely felt bitter at Harry's proclamation. "I've already told you back then. If you were to marry her, you shouldn't come to me anymore. If you'd made a choice between me and her, none of this would have happened."

Then again, Draco could have simply thrust the choice upon Harry by departing for some other land. A million things he could have done to disrupt the flow of this stream called Fate; and yet, he had done nothing in the end.

Harry recoiled as though he was slapped in the face. Heavily he sat on the stool, as though all his energy had been drained out of him by Draco's remark. And Draco, gazing briefly at the man whom he could never get away from, whispered softly to him, "It's difficult not to hate you."

The expression on Harry's face softened visibly, and with but a moment of hesitation, he called out to him, "Draco, I'm sor..."

"Don't," Draco briskly cut him off. "Just don't. I don't want to hear it."

Although Harry wanted nothing more than to reach out to Draco, he did not do so in the end, for fear of plunging the phantom knife further into the wound that could never heal. Instead, he reached for the glass in front of him and tossed down the liquor; the whisky burnt his throat like liquid fire.

With an unreadable expression on his face, Draco refilled the glass. Words flowed out of Draco's mouth as the brown liquid was poured into the empty glass. "Do you know what Erehwon means?"

Not anticipating the abrupt change of subject, Harry paused for a moment. "Yeah. I've always thought it's a depressing name for a bar."

Staring at the black butterfly specimen hanging on the wall, Draco spoke quietly, "Yes, I suppose so."

Unexpectedly Draco leant over the bar counter and captured Harry's lips with his own, a kiss that was as incorporeal as the wind. Bewildered by Draco's sudden action, Harry looked at him, only to find a small, wistful smile lingering on Draco's lips.

"Do you remember that day on the wooden bridge at Hogwarts?" Draco said placidly, his eyes an undisturbed lake of liquid silver.

"Yeah, it was raining too, just like today." Harry found himself smiling as well, though he could not tell why. "God, it feels like it's from another lifetime." Harry paused, allowing himself to be drawn into Draco's stormy pupils. "How did things turn out this way?"

And Draco had no reply for him, except for a simple, "I don't know."

Harry wanted to say something, but suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his stomach, as though thousands of needles were assaulting him. It was when Draco pulled away from him that he realised what was happening.

Reading the disbelief in those forest green eyes, Draco gave Harry a strange smile and said in his usual mellow voice, "That's right. I've poisoned the whisky."

Harry could no longer remain seated on the stool, and heavily he collapsed onto the floor. Words would not form in his mouth, and his limbs would not obey his command. There was little he could do but to watch Draco coming towards him while he was attacked by unbearable agony.

Kneeling beside the fallen figure, Draco ran a finger over Harry's lips, before bringing his fingertip to his lips. "We've always tried to fit into each other's world, but we have reached the breaking point, haven't we? We cannot change who we are. I am what I am, and you are what you are. We will keep on hating and resenting each other, until one of us finally breaks. Even if Weasley hadn't killed herself, the ending will still be the same for us."

Draco lowered his eyes, and gazed into Harry's pained green, before an unexpectedly wry smile appeared on Draco's lips. "So I suppose now is as good a time as any to end this."

Dark oblivion was gradually pulling Harry under, until his entire self was submerged. Even as his mind desperately clung onto the image of those dark grey eyes, it slipped away from him like quicksand in the vast, empty desert. He willed himself to call out Draco's name, to reach out for Draco, but his paralysed body would not let him.

As he faded into the deep sea of unconsciousness, he heard Draco saying to him, "I'm going to miss you."

It had been a rainy afternoon when they ran into each other on the bridge that connected the Hogwarts castle to the outside world. Mountains of green were veiled by a mist of rain; and the weeping sky was shrouded by layers of grey fog. Thousands of raindrops fell onto the roof, creating a clear sound liken to that of marbles clashing with one another in a glass jar.

He could not remember who took the initiative; all he could remember was how those supple, warm lips tasted so much like rain.

With some effort, he pulled himself out of the depth of peaceful darkness, and swam to the surface of reality. Slowly he opened his eyes to the world of wakefulness, and then sat up from where he had been lying on the ground.

For some moments, memories eluded him; yet when he saw a familiar figure lying on the hard-wood floor a little away from him, images and sound flashed in his mind like a vision. Not bothering to wonder why he was still alive, Harry hurried over to Draco and held him up. Draco's eyes were closed, and his face unusually pale. Harry shook the unconscious figure lightly, but there was not a hint of responsiveness from Draco.

A crystalline sound caught Harry's attention, prompting him to look at the floor. A small glass bottle had rolled out of Draco's hand and onto the dark wood flooring, with several drops of some unknown silver liquid still remained inside. At the sight of the empty bottle, Harry felt himself frozen dead, as though he had been stabbed through the heart by an invisible blade.

As fear threatened to crush him under its immense weight, he began to vigorously shook the limp body in his arms, willing for those sardonic grey eyes to open once more. "What the hell are you doing? This isn't funny. Come on, wake up! It isn't like you to do something like this at all! Wake up!"

As though he had heard Harry calling out to him, Draco's eyelids fluttered open tentatively, revealing a pair of dull grey eyes. A great sense of relief washed over Harry, but soon he began to notice something was amiss when Draco stared blankly at him as though he was staring at a stranger.

"Who... are you?" Draco asked as he gingerly sat up, his voice full of confusion and his face filled with incomprehension. "Do I know you?"

Drawing slightly apart from Draco, apprehension began to grow in Harry's mind like parasite. "What are you talking about? Don't you recognize me?"

Those clear grey eyes were narrowing in concentration, as though trying to recall Harry's face in his memory, yet unable to come up with an answer. "No, I don't think we've met before."

It was then that the truth struck Harry at last; and shakily he gripped Draco's shoulders, hoping beyond hope that it was nothing more than a trick Draco was playing. "You... you don't remember me, Draco?"

"Draco?" Tilting his head slightly to the side, Draco frowned at him, seemingly bewildered by Harry's demeanour. "Who are you talking about?"

Harry could not stop shivering as he stared at Draco, wishing it was nothing more than a bad dream conjured by a troubled mind. And yet, there was not a hint of recognition in Draco's lucid grey eyes. He was forsaken, in this bar called nowhere. And Draco, selfish and cruel as always, would not even grant him a chance to say the words he had meant to say.

No longer could Harry keep himself afloat; and clutching desperately onto Draco, Harry buried his face in Draco's neck, never wanting to let go, never able to let go.

And Draco, astonished by the peculiar action of this strange man before him, did nothing but stared at the man's quivering back. "Why are you crying?"

Finis.

A/N: Erehwon is nowhere spell backwards; the idea comes from a book called Erewhon by Samuel Butler. Draco didn't exactly say all that he had wanted to say at the end, but I think to leave Harry forever wondering about it is more like his style. Anyway, I'll leave the interpretation to you. Thanks for reading and reviewing!