Auld Lang Syne:

He ran, the breath sobbing from his lungs in great, aching gasps, muscles burning in his straining legs and still he ran.

He'd seen him. He knew he had. No amount of wine or whisky at their paltry celebrations could cause a hallucination so vivid or unexpected.

He hadn't paused to tell anyone, his first major mistake, the second being that he seemed to think that running drunk through the streets of muggle Brighton in pursuit of someone sworn to obey orders to kill him on sight was in any sense a good idea.

Wheezing, stomach twisting and spasming in violent objection to the excess of alcohol frothing from his mad dash, he burst round the corner, eyes tearing up as the bitter December wind tore through his thin shirt and trousers, whipping his skin into painfully chilled Goosebumps and fighting the urge to collapse as he found himself running uphill.

He had seen him.

Draco Malfoy.

Stood, just outside the door, looking in on the hideously misplaced celebrations and beautifully perfect nuptials of his two greatest friends, amidst the war and horrors of an adulthood no less terrifying than his adolescence, Harry had seen him, Draco Malfoy, stood outside, looking in. And weeping.

And then he was gone.

Where are you going? They'd asked, from nearly all sides as he'd burst from the crowd, only Ron & Hermione still too lost in their moment to realise his abrupt departure. It's nearly midnight, Harry. You have to be here at midnight!

Midnight. It hadn't struck yet so it seemed he had a few minutes left, a last few precious moments to do one thing, one last deed that might go against the murders and the captures and the tortures and the general loss and anguish of a world gone so badly wrong that only this, his seeming madness might make it right.

How did Draco Malfoy know where to find them? Was it an accident? Had some bizarre chance, some random twist of fate brought the junior death-eater to the exact location, muggle no less, in the midst of New Year's festivities, of his best friend's wedding and only official grouping of the Order since the assassinations had begun so many months before?

Unlikely. Even through the haze of forced joyfulness and booze, Harry knew the security measures as though they had been carved across his heart. If Draco Malfoy knew their location he had to be stopped. Possibly killed.

But he had to catch him first.

He'd seen the viciously blond locks disappear into the winding, bustling alleys and passages of the old town Lanes, bolting after him before his good sense could make an appearance, now racing upwards through the ominously empty winter streets in the direction he'd last seen the Slytherin take.

And then… there.

Hands thrust deep into pockets, head down, shuffling instead of running now and seeming to shake so hard with every step that it was a wonder he didn't topple right over.

"Malfoy." He hadn't meant to call out, hadn't meant to let the word peal, clean and crisp in the night air, echoing off the columns and wide open doorways of the dormant, dark library upon whose steps the blond man currently stood frozen.

He turned, slowly, Harry walking now, swiftly before the DeathEater could bolt, their eyes somehow already trained on the others before Harry had even made it within 10 feet of the shaken Slytherin.

"Potter…" The word was agonised, as though Harry was the very last person in the entire galaxy that Malfoy had wanted to see.

"What… are you… doing here?" Harry demanded as forcefully as he could whilst swaying and gasping for breath.

"Nothing," Draco snarled, teeth a sudden slash of white in an already too pale face, "Go back to your celebrations Potter, they'll be missing the soul of the party!"

"The… 'Soul'… of the party," Harry wheezed as venomously as he felt able, "Would be the …bride and groom, you moron. …Having bound themselves to one another… on the night when a promise made is a promise kept, I rather think… they ought to be allowed… just... one fucking night… of bliss… before we go back to fighting your fucking murderous Master!"

The blond flinched at this, interest crossing Harry's face at the reappearance of the desperation he'd witnessed briefly beyond the open doors of the party.

"Why are you here?" He said softly, persuasively, an odd jump to his pulse that had nothing to do with racing up the steep and icy cobbled street.

"What do you care?" Draco's fingers flexed at his sides and vaguely Harry wondered if the blond had been careless enough to leave his wand behind.

"I care, Malfoy, because you are a Death Eater, the son of Lucius Malfoy, nephew of my God-Fathers murderer and, oh yes, the last time I saw you, you were trying to summon the courage to kill Albus Dumbledore!" He cocked his head at the Slytherin's wide eyes, expression contemptuous as he recalled all the reasons why he should have simply hexed him on sight. "I was behind the door, stunned stiff." He supplied unhelpfully. "I know you couldn't do it… you'd already be dead, if you had."

Draco nodded, once, his head remaining low. "I know it." He spat harshly and trembled anew.

Harry sighed, admittedly confused. True he was several sheets to the wind too many and that was his fault for letting himself believe that he could ignore his burden for even one night but now here he stood, opposite a guaranteed foe and all he seemed able to focus on were the shudders racing through the slim form.

"Malfoy." He said again. "Why are you here?"

"To kill you… you… you'd best kill me now, before I, before I do it."

Harry blinked. Malfoy's head had not lifted from his chest and the words were as shaky and thready as a frightened child's, Harry's breath catching in his throat as abruptly the pale head lifted, haunted and empty eyes darting to his. "Go on," he said dully. "Do it."

"Kill you?"

"Yesssss…" Draco's eyes closed and his body seemed to shrink further into itself as a cold wind stung them each in turn.

"No." The word again surprised the Gryffindor, the sensation fading rapidly as hatred abruptly burst forth in pale fire from the Slytherin's reopened eyes.

"Coward." He hissed.

"Because I won't kill you?" Harry almost laughed, but could not for the dreadful ice now seemingly crushing his chest, the remaining blood draining from his face. "Malfoy… did… did you come here hoping I'd kill you?"

The blond head drooped toward his chest again. "No…" he muttered harshly, "…and Yes."

The ice was in Harry's throat now and he swallowed painfully, aware suddenly of the stupidity in not having donned his jacket before chasing down the Slytherin. "Why?" He managed to stammer, eventually.

A tear, thin and warm, streaked over the frozen pallor of Malfoy's face, ignored as it ended in the folds of the threadbare scarf at his throat. "I… must go…" he whispered, and turned away.

"Wait!" Harry's hands were on him, turning him even before the word had spanned the distance between them, near shrill and deafening in its urgency. "Why?" He demanded loudly, then giving in to the impulse to roughly shake the other wizard. "Why? Why do you have to go back to him? What fucking loyalty do you owe him that doesn't stem from fear, desperation to just stay alive, protect your family?"

Draco's head bobbed and jerked as Harry's hands gripped and shook the oddly fragile, listless form, remaining silent, eyes closed as though he could simply wait out the Gryffindor's fury but this only served to enrage the brunet yet further.

"Your mothers DEAD Malfoy, I found her body myself and your fathers in fucking Azkaban, mind slowly rotting away, so who's left? Who's left to protect? No-one, no-one but you and that's why you're here because there's NOTHING and you'd rather be dead, right?"

He released him abruptly, gasping as the words bounced off the surrounding buildings, cruel and blunt in the too clear air, his stomach twisting as the blond nodded slowly.

"I'd rather be dead…" he agreed dully. And then, "I must go."

"Back to Him?"

Another nod. "He… he might not have realised I've gone… yet."

"And if he has?"

A weak shrug.

"He'll kill you." Harry ground out, closing his eyes in quiet fury when Draco nodded once more.

"You could do it instead."

"FUCK YOU!" Draco flinched at Harry's roar, the Gryffindor surprising himself as he pushed right into the Slytherin's personal space, stood nearly nose to nose with the shocked blond. "Kill you? Kill you so HE won't? Fuck that… FUCK that!"

He seized him by the shoulders again and shook hard, once. "Do you remember? Do you remember first meeting me? We were fucking CHILDREN, Malfoy, children already set on a path to war and death and betrayal and destruction and I just can't, no, I fucking won't kill you… I won't…"

Draco's eyes were focused far away. "You hated me… even then."

"Yes." Harry spat, eyes filled with rage and something so close to hurt it stung the back of his throat and choked his words out of him. "I fucking hated you, you were a shit, a nasty little bastard who wanted nothing more than to see me suffer but it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter you stupid fuck, we were children, we could have just as easily been friends if you'd not been a shit or if I'd not met Ron and known only you…" He shook, fingers digging into Malfoy's bony arms. "You were the first boy, the first wizard I ever really met… we could have so easily been friends… where would we be now, eh? You think we'd be here, you trying to convince me to kill you, just to escape him?" Harry shook his head, stepping away.

"No." He said dully. "Just… no."

Draco turned and walked away once more.

Harry stood, eyes cast to the street, watching the ice forming as he remained there, dappling the cobbles, waiting just to see if anything else pounded in his brain as desperately as the urge currently residing there. He waited a beat longer and then burst into motion again.

"NO." He shouted, running, catching up to the man slowly trudging his way back to death, stopping a few feet behind him as Draco halted again, turning with a weary sigh and the old familiar glint of irritation that had a wave of almost homesickness sweep through Harry like lava.

"Potter, go back to your party, drink a toast to your friends… we're done here."

"No."

Draco closed his eyes. "Go back," he whispered wearily, "Go away and leave me be. You can't help me… you just said you won't, so go now, go back and forget you ever saw me, I guarantee it won't be long before it will never have happened."

"Stay."

The grey eyes slowly opened, years of perfect hearing not preventing his carefully neutral tone and the firm quashing of anything like hope in his soul. "What?"

"Stay with me." Harry's hands hung at his sides, palms out in silent entreaty. "Don't go back to his side… you owe him nothing. Stay."

"I don't owe you anything." He muttered harshly, forgetting that for one brief, shining moment before in the doorway, looking in at the warmth and camaraderie within, he'd dreamt that he could sink into that happiness and stay forever.

"No. You owe it to yourself."

Draco's lip curled, an odd feeling of satisfaction, long forgotten, following the motion. "Stirring, Potter, really. You give that speech to the troops?"

"Fuck you." Harry spoke conversationally. "Stay."

"You hate me."

"Not enough to see you dead."

"I'm a Death Eater." Draco's eyes closed as he said it, the familiar wave of misery engulfing him as he heard the truth spoken.

"So was Snape… join us."

"He killed Dumbledore."

"He had to… you couldn't... Stay"

Draco swayed, tears choking him, thick at the back of his tongue. "I… I don't think… I don't think I can fight anymore, Potter… I'm of no use to you…"

"Ok."

Draco opened his eyes, tears spilling over in surprise and defence against the blistering wind. "Ok?"

Harry held out a hand, red with cold and obviously shaking, palm upturned and fingers reaching out towards the blond wizard. "Yeah," he said, "Stay anyway."

A sob burst from somewhere deep in the Slytherin's belly, pain forming knots there that had begun months, years before and he pressed both hands over his mouth, sobbing incoherently and muttering. "I can't… I can't…"

The nearby bells began their peals and all around them yells of excitement and the blissfully ignorant happiness of those unaware of the battle that raged around them grew to a crescendo as the clock tower gave the fanfare signalling the coming birth of a new year.

"Yes," Harry said, stepping forward, "You can. You hear that, Malfoy? It's the New Year, time to make decisions, choices that have to last us at least the whole year through."

The first chime struck and a squeal of excitement shook the city.

Harry's hand was so close, outstretched and appealing, waiting. "A new start, a new chance." He murmured, eyes on the Slytherin's face and he slumped ever so gently as he realised how young he looked, how young they both were and felt the gap between them shrivel and die.

The second chime and Draco tried to turn away, the sobs stilling even though his blood pounded louder than the bells through his skull.

"Draco," Harry's voice was shaking now, voice urgent and a tear slipped from behind a cloudy lens, Dumbledore's kind words to the frightened Slytherin echoing in his head, his hand aching and raw in the wind. Third chime, then the fourth and Draco Malfoy hadn't yet turned fully away from him.

"You offered me your hand once," Harry croaked, "Take it now and we'll leave the past behind us. Begin anew…"

Fifth then sixth.

He couldn't. How could he? He'd worked years in the futile attempt to rid his Masters world of this boy, this nuisance, the fucking Saviour of All.

Draco took a step away.

Seventh, eighth, ninth…

"Draco…"

He couldn't help but turn back.

"Take my hand… stay with me."

With a hoarse cry, Draco stumbled forwards, icy palm slapping down into Harry's as the tenth strike pealed and he found himself yanked forwards, sobbing into Potter's cold embrace.

"I'm so tired… so cold…" he wept, unable to stem the tide. "So afraid, all the time, I'm so frightened all the time, Potter…. I'm just so tired…"

The eleventh bell struck and Harry's fingers closed tightly over Draco's, tears prickling at his eyes. "I, I know…" he whispered hoarsely and turned his face into Draco's matted and frozen, white gold locks, "But it'll be alright somehow…I promise."

And as the year fell away and was reborn in the sound of a single chime, Draco believed him and held on. Tight.

Fin.

And there's a hand my trusty fiere,

And gie's a hand o thine

And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,

For auld lang sine

(Translation-

And there is a hand my trust friend

And give me a hand of yours

And we will take of a good drink/toast

For old long ago)

- Auld Lang Syne by Robert Burns.