I had convinced myself that I would always be alone. Convinced myself that with all the things I had been forced to do on account of my father--or his lord--no one could ever love me. I had also convinced myself that I was all right with that. So I went out to wander the halls alone that night, as I would soon wander through life. It was, after all, my last year at this school.

You were out too that night, looking for—Harry, as we've both come to call him. You were always out. So was he. You told us later, laughing, that you were always so upset when you could never find him. But you did that night.

That night was important in all our lives.

I don't remember who you found first, just that you did find both of us and that we ended up in your office.

I don't remember who broke down first, just that we did; that we cried on each other and you were at a loss and eventually we both ended up in your arms.

I don't remember who kissed who first, just that it happened and we ended up on your bed, calling each other by first names.

I don't remember anything after that, only that it felt good and made me forget, and Harry and I woke up opposite each other, one on each side of you.

I had your left side. I remember, I could hear your heartbeat.

He was happier after that. He smiled more, laughed more; even you said so. You told me you were glad for him, even if he didn't come back to you.

But he did come back to you.

He came to me first, bruise forming on his face and glasses broken. He'd finally broken down and told Weasley not to insult you--or me--anymore. Weasley asked why, so he answered.

He never told me what he said to make Weasley hit him and Granger pale, I don't suppose he ever will, but whatever it was they haven't made up, to this day.

So he came to me first and he said 'Draco, please' and I knew what he meant, and when we came back to you, it was together.

I remember you welcomed us, though not with open arms. He latched onto you and cried, wouldn't even let you heal the bruise or the cuts around his eyes, just buried his face in your robes.

Eventually you relented and held him, and so did I, and I remember it felt so right to hold him between us.

Nights were spent with you after that, for both of us.

I don't believe he ever went back to Gryffindor tower, save once to get his things.

I remember I thought it was hysterical that no one knew but the three of us, not even Dumbledore. And Harry's smile was something secret, something he only shared with us. Like his laugh. I remember it was so easy to forget, when we were together, that the world was going on and what it was like.

Then one night you didn't come back. He called you and you didn't come back.

I remember how hard losing you was on Harry. He never stopped crying and when he did kill the Dark Lord, it was for you-- in your name. For a long time he said 'Voldemort's one mistake was killing Severus.'

But in killing the Dark Lord he was rash and foolhardy and was killed for it. He always was stupid like that, the Gryffindor.

Because one can expect to be killed when one has charged into a room full of Death Eaters, proclaimed 'this is for Severus you snake-faced bastard' and killed their leader.

So he died for you, too.

His grave is right next to yours. And mine will be on his other side; I've made sure of that. He'll be between us again.

His stone doesn't say 'the boy who lived' or 'the man who defeated Voldemort' on any of those titles he hated. No, it simply says 'Here lays the body of Harry Potter: beloved, loving, and all that lies between.'

I made sure of that, too.

And so now I'm alone again.

I don't know who will take care of my funeral, or my burial, when I die. I betrayed my father and mother won't. Or she's dead, I don't know. I lost contact with them. But I know I'll die soon, because I've been sitting here between your stone and his for a week and I can't possible live much longer. It's getting cold out.

At least they'll know where to bury me—there's a grave here with my name on it.