Disclaimer: I don't remotely own Harry Potter, nor do I own this story idea. It's based on a ghost story I saw on television a few months ago. I am such a burglar, I am a ham-burglar. Robble-robble.
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TO WEATHER A STORM
They were dancing now. Dancing forever in gentle moonlight, in the abandoned classroom.
They'd met before, when they were children, but the first time they really saw each other was the night of the ball.
The war had been over for a year, and on this, the anniversary of the Wizarding World's release from under the heavy boot of the Dark Lord, a ball had been thrown for the victors, the survivors.
Held in Hogwarts naturally, not the site of the final battle, but the place where the tide had turned, where war became more reality than just a misty possibility and the most famous and tragic martyring had taken place. On the night Dumbledore had been killed, and Death Eaters had raided this spot, long considered a sanctuary, war had come to Wizardkind.
Draco hadn't wanted to come. Reluctantly acquitted by testimony and penseive memories, he still spent the duration of the war in circumstances only slightly better than they would have been had he actually been guilty of the Headmasters death. Living in squalor and brewing the potions he was ordered to as the Order trooped back and forth through Grimmaud Place, he'd actually contributed greatly to the victory of the light, but now all he wanted to do was rest in the shadows.
The Ministry had appropriated most of the Malfoy holdings, but they had allowed him a reasonable monthly subsidy, and bolstered by more potions work he was able to live quite comfortably in a small, quiet flat. In the ballroom, bright and merry, full of people that scorned him even as they owed their lives to him, there was no doubt he wished to be back there, alone.
"Why so sad, Ferret? Missing your Master?"
"Yes, Weasel. I'm all torn up inside over that mass-murdering bastard. In fact, if you don't mind moving, I have to go weep over his grave."
No matter that they had fought on the same side in the end, Draco and Weasley had become no closer, no friendlier. And that was fine with Draco. He pushed past the red head and headed for the doors.
It was raining lightly outside, and the cool mist felt good against his over-heated skin. He wanted to blame the abundance of candles inside, but maybe it was the weight of the stares he'd been under. Though he was a light warrior, he was still Dark-born and a blood traitor.
"You shouldn't be out here, Draco, it's only going to get worse."
The rain had gotten harder, but the blond boy was enjoying the stinging pressure on his skin. Even the voice of his lover wasn't enough to distract him.
"Come on. You don't want to get sick."
There was that cajoling tone in Harry's voice that Draco had gotten so used to. The same voice that persuaded him to speak of what had happened with Voldemort when he first landed on the door step of Grimmaud Place. That same tone had convinced the boy into good behavior, into friendship, into bed with the green-eyed boy.
"If I go in, will you dance with me? In the middle of the floor, surrounded by all of your friends, your fans? Will you dance with me?"
Draco closed his eyes against the rain now, waiting for Harry's answer. Their romance had been a secret from the beginning. First to protect both of them from Voldemort and his Death Eaters who would take advantage of any vulnerabilities. Then, their love was too new to be exposed, finally it was just easier not to say anything. The two men lived separately, moved in different circles.
The Golden Boy wasn't supposed to touch the Dark Prince.
"Will you dance with me, Harry?"
Eyes closed against the rain and he felt his lover's warm arms wrap around his middle. The gusty sigh against his ear provided all the answer he was really expecting, but he listened to Harry anyway.
"I can't Draco. I wish I could-- wish we lived in a world where I could be with you, boy or not, Slytherin or not, Death Eater or not. But I don't. We don't."
"So I'm to be your secret?" Draco kept his voice as steady as he could, but the rain had soaked his robes and the cold was reaching in.
"It's for your own good, Draco. People are hard enough on you already. What would happen if they knew about us? They would think you had bespelled me, or blackmailed me, or something like that, and they would never leave us- you alone."
Shivering now, though Harry's arms tightened, almost painfully, around him, "I don't care, Harry. It's just public opinion. If you can weather the storm, so can I."
"Love, you can barely stand in this rain, and if you can't make it through a regular storm, how can we get through what they'll do with us when they find out?"
Draco pulled free of Harry's arms, clawing tight hands from his stomach. Adjusting his sodden robes around himself, he said, "I can weather this storm Harry. I can make it through anything."
A burst of light and noise as Weasel's head popped out through the doors, "Harry? Are you out here? Come back in, we're playing cards."
Harry turned to Draco, sweeping water from his glasses, "I have to go in, but remember, I love you. Even if we can't… You know."
With that the boy turned and went back towards the party. Behind him, Draco called out, "I can weather the storm, Harry! Can you?"
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There was a small hidden classroom in the Astronomy Tower. The first time he saw it Harry had brought him there, saying something about a map. The restoration of Hogwarts was going on then and the halls were full of wizards and charms and spells to strengthen the old walls and wards. This had been the first time the two boys had a chance to get away from the crowd.
At first Draco had fought against their destination, going so far as to drag his heels against the floors, protesting the entire cliché nature of it. But Harry insisted that he knew a room no one else would be able to find, even in the Tower, site of many a student tryst and possessed of no undiscovered niches. It would become their favorite spot to be together, arranging meetings sometimes weeks in advance, following hidden trails to the small room, avoiding all eyes.
The room was tiny, maybe it wasn't a classroom, but some professor's quarters, back in the days when there had been more students, and more teachers needed for them. Tattered couches rested against the walls, and a small balcony opened out into the sky.
They had made love on that balcony, exposed to the sun, but hidden from all prying eyes, and Draco could still remember feeling the breeze across his skin, as he retraced the steps first taken so many months ago.
Outside the storm was raging. The gentle mist he had felt had grown into howling winds and sharp streaks of lightning across the roiling sky.
I will weather the storm. I will be that strong. I love him and I am not afraid.
Standing at the open doors of that balcony, Draco removed his robes, folding them carefully and setting them on the floor, out of the way. He had something to prove.
Naked and pale, soaked and shivering, Draco made his way onto the narrow balcony to wait out the storm.
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Note: Okay, now, this ghost story has a sad ending from this part on, as most do, but I like a happy ending, so I'm going to do both. If you want the original ending, hit 'next,' but if you feel you need a little happy, skip on to Chapter 3.