Author: Silver Harmony

Genre: Romance. And angst, slightly.

Pairing: Harry Potter & Blaise Zabini (Of course it's Boy!Blaise. We believe in HIM… He Is Male! And even canon has now proven it!)

Warnings: Contains slash, a.k.a. male love. Don't like? Don't read. It's that simple. Oh, also, this is the first slash I've ever written for the HP fandom – just something you might like to know before you read.

Disclaimer: I am JKR, and these are my characters. PH34R M3H. (Just kidding, of course)

Added Notes: Only that I value any feedback. If you would take the time to review the story, it would be greatly appreciated. Thanks, and enjoy.

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Of Dusk And Dawn

At this moment, he is standing beside me.

I became almost blind to all of my surroundings. Black shapes are massing upon the dark water, pouring beasts out onto the earth that was almost gleaming from the wetness in the pale chill of the moon. In the air glided horrid creatures of fear, hooded and cloaked, and against the dark sky they could only be felt and not seen. So icy was their presence, closing in to surround us. But I hardly cared for them.

Young men and women stand all around me, pressured into the most painful grasp of duty. Everything seems almost quiet; Aurors, waiting. Teachers, dreading. Students, fearing. It is inevitable that so many lives will be lost today. And, as selfish as it may seem, all I can think about is my own life, and how I will die.

The tower of light not so far away from where I stand begins to flicker. The torches of flame within it are dying. Dementors cast a shadow upon it, and suddenly it seemed at that moment that the lone window was emanating a ray of darkness, rather than light.

I forced myself to avoid the fell view and averted my gaze to the boy beside me. So young… and so quiet. My composure almost shattered just to look at him; he was one who looked so charming when he smiled, but fear was now upon his brow – fear which he usually never showed. His stony exterior in the battlefield had melted, and so intense was the dread etched upon his face that a drop of sweat trickled from his temple, thick and red as blood. He is barely eighteen.

Like a daydream, the faint lights mingle, wax and wane. It seems so surreal that beyond these horrid creatures ranks of hooded men are marching, drawing nearer, faceless and dark as the foul Dementors around them. The night conceals them with a shadowy veil; their footsteps are heard but they cannot be seen.

The boy, like all of us, waits with breathless anticipation not untouched by fear. A pain seared through my heart as the wand that he held dropped from his hand, and only after pausing for a short moment did he bend down to pick it up. And in that small pause was revealed, very barely a second in length, the most troubled expression stemmed from immense burden and weariness… but I had seen it. Yet how handsome he still looked, a few strands of his dark hair over his sad eyes. God! He is so beautiful, he doesn't deserve this… none of us do. He could hardly hold the wand in his hand, let alone use it to kill another living being.

Although Merlin knows any of us would want to kill the being currently lurking in the shadows. I felt an instinctive desire to protect the boy, to take him away from the battlefield, away from the hurt and the gloom. We'd spent so little time in each other's company – a few months may seem like a long time, but it was hardly enough at all; we'd just barely begun to enter each other's lives in profound acceptance. In an age of war, everyone, including the two of us, lives on borrowed time. I cannot name anyone who has not dreaded the coming of this moment: the moment of our death, a moment that all of us as soldiers would experience before the rest of the world, should we fail.

I felt an immeasurable cold chilling my bones, and I knew, right then, that it was almost time. The moon was almost completely hidden by the dark clouds and the murky creatures drifting in the air; a brief anxiety flooded through me. I looked at the young one beside me once more, fearing that this would be the last time I could ever gaze at him again alive. He had come into my life because of this war, because of both our need for human contact, and I had not expected to come to love him. It may have been a last minute discovery out of despair and admiration. But if at this sudden moment I was questioned that I may have fallen for him, I would not deny it.

I was afraid, the few months ago when I realized this… such opposites we are, children of the dark and light, of cold and warmth, of dusk and dawn. I was driven mad with fear and shame, telling myself that the war must come before love of such a kind. But remembering now what little time we've spent together, the compromises, the acknowledgement, the acceptance, the casual conversations, the wit exchanged, the jests, the promises, I suddenly knew that I was wrong. And it would only be proper that if I were to feel this way, I should tell him before it was too late. The footsteps are marching ever closer. Yes, perhaps it is too late now. But I still had a few seconds to spare.

'Harry, I—'

'Don't despair, Blaise. I know,' he interrupted, and I was shocked. Beyond my wildest expectations, he turned his eyes to me, and they shone with the glimmer of fondness and understanding. A small glint of desire also flickered for one fleeting moment, and I laughed for the first time in many, many weeks. Suddenly it seemed that all fear and shame dissolved from me, the fear and shame of whom I wished to love.

The dark legion had emerged from the trees, drawing in swiftly upon us. But Harry and I smiled at each other and no longer feared. For no matter what was to come, each our hearts knew now of the other's.

Acknowledging this, I turned my gaze away from my comely young soldier and lifted my wand.

Let them come.

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