Chapter Eleven: My Fault

Disclaimer: It is testament to the fact that I own nothing of Harry Potter that we never got to see Tom Felton and Daniel Radcliff snog. I know, I'm disappointed, too.

Warnings: Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. Language and light slash.

A/N: There will only be a few chapters left. This fic was never meant to be long; in fact I didn't expect it to go beyond ten chapters originally. Now I think around fifteen or so. Depends on how much the characters and story want to develop as I write. I'm so sorry this chapter is late - I have horrible writer's block and just can't seem to get rid of it. I have no Beta, and don't really edit my stories at all so it shouldn't take me so long to get them out. I write them, read them once and make corrections as I go along, and all in all I'm ashamed of myself for not being able to do it faster. But writer's block is a nasty b*tch and she doesn't like me. :(

Special thanks to Daddy's crazy little bitch, mightymouse29, harrytwifan, Rufescent, Water0Blossom, Gingerchild, Crystal Bruner, and Lissah for their reviews! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favourited! You guys inspire me to keep trying when I'm struggling to write!

Is it my fault, is it my fault?
We've been missing each other
We've been missing each other
My fault, is it my fault?
We've been missing each other
We've been missing each other

My Fault - Imagine Dragons

"What's wrong, Harry?"

Hermione looked patiently at her best friend where he was sitting on her couch, quiet and contemplative. He'd been pale and withdrawn all through supper, and she had a feeling it had to do with the Legilimency session he'd had right before coming over. She wondered if it had to do with Ron's betrayal, still fresh in her mind. Then she decided it couldn't have been, since Harry had not seemed to have a problem with Ron in particular. He'd simply been depressed and rather antisocial.

"Who says there's something wrong?" Harry evaded.

She shot him a look. He moved to get up.

"I should get Lily and get going," he murmured.

Hermione pushed him back down onto the couch, he fell back with a startled, "Oomph!" and looked at her through wide eyes.

"Harry James Potter," she glared at him. "Sit your ass back down now and listen to me." He obeyed meekly. Hermione didn't often use words like "ass" and when she did it was time to listen to her and do exactly as you were told. "Lily is playing with Hugo and Ron's keeping an eye on them. She's fine and will continue to be fine until we're done talking, and you're not going to spoil her playtime with her cousin just so you can escape from talking about what's wrong. And don't even think about trying to tell me nothing's wrong," she added as he opened his mouth to object. "I've known you too well for too long to be fooled by that load of tripe. Now talk."

Harry fidgeted. He'd talked to the mind healer following his Legilimency session and that had only served to leave him more conflicted. But Hermione had always been a source of strength and a fount of wisdom for him over the years; he wondered if he should trust her with what was currently his deepest secret. He let out a deep sigh and motioned for her to sit next to him. She did, and he raked a nervous hand through his hair.

"You know the dreams I told you I've been having? The reason I wanted to go to the Legilimency lessons in the first place?"

Hermione nodded.

"They've been about Malfoy."

Hermione sucked in a breath. "Oh," she said in a small voice. Apparently this had to do with the reason behind Ron's betrayal after all. Just not necessarily the fact that Ron had betrayed him. She wondered what to say, what to do. It was Ron's place to confess, not hers.

"I thought they were all fabrications, that the memories I'd uncover with Legilimency would prove that and make them stop." He drew in a ragged breath and continued. "Today I recovered a memory that proved that at least some of what I've been dreaming about really happened."

"What kind of things?" Hermione was stalling.

"Malfoy and I... had a romantic relationship in eighth year."

Hermione hesitated. "Are you sure?" The trepidation on her face was misunderstood as shock and reservations about the reality of Harry's claim.

"I don't know how serious it was. If it was just a fling, or what. But I'm pretty sure that it was more than a fling, for my part at least."

"Oh, Harry..."

He shrugged. "I just don't know what to do, what to think. I have so many unanswered questions. Why he didn't try to stay with me when I lost my memories. Why he would have just walked away and pretended that nothing ever happened between us."

"I can't answer that, Harry."

"I was in love, Hermione. How could I have kept everyone in the dark? I would have thought that you, at least, would have figured it out. But nobody knew except him. So nobody told me, and I lost someone else I loved, after I've already lost so many." There were tears in his eyes, and a touch of bitterness in his flinched.

That was the core of it. The twin despairing thoughts that someone he had loved so much - for whom he was now reliving those feeling quite intensely thanks to the dreams, the recovered memory, and Malfoy's friendship over the past few months - had walked away from him without a backward glance, and that that had cost him someone he had loved, when he'd already lost more loved ones to the war than he could bear. Not that Draco had died, but that he had left Harry's life as if he'd never been in it - not the real Draco Malfoy, that is, just the front Harry had known for most of his Hogwarts years before getting to know the real Draco Malfoy. Every good memory Harry had of him had been obliterated, and he had not bothered to make any more to leave Harry with.

Harry wanted an explanation.

Harry never wanted to see Malfoy again.

Harry missed the blond so much his whole body ached with it.

Harry was equally afraid that if he saw Malfoy again he'd end up grabbing him and snogging him senseless, thereby losing his friendship, or that he'd end up yelling his head off at the blond and verbally castrating him for something that he'd done nearly twenty years prior.

Did Malfoy even remember their affair?

Had it meant anything to him at all?

How could he so calmly be Harry's friend now knowing what there had once been between them and knowing that Harry didn't know?

"I know it probably doesn't make you feel any better to hear this, Harry," Hermione cut into his thoughts. "But I was very distracted then; I'd only just found my parents and was juggling school with trying to reintroduce myself into their lives. They couldn't remember me, and while I could convince them using magic that my story was true, it didn't change that they couldn't remember raising me or loving me before we got to know each other after I found them again when I was eighteen. I lifted the charm, but their memories are permanently blurry, like dreams rather than memories. It wasn't the same between us and it took years of work on my part to regain my closeness to them. But my point is; I didn't notice. I'm sorry, Harry - Merlin knows I wish I had. But I had no idea. I was too caught up in my own drama to see anyone else's."

"I know, Mione. I know." Harry sighed, feeling defeated.

"You should talk to Ron about this," Hermione said, softly. She wouldn't be the one to tell Harry about Ron's betrayal - that was his confession to make - but she wanted them to have the conversation before Harry remembered that the redhead knew about his affair.

"Ron would have kittens," Harry chuckled mirthlessly.

"He's your best mate. I think it would be good for you two to talk about it," Hermione pressed.

"Maybe." Harry shrugged.

"Are you going to talk to him about it?"

"I said maybe, Mione."

"I meant Malfoy."

"Oh."

Silence.

"I don't know." Muffled, Harry having buried his face in his hands.

"I think you should, Harry." Hermione hesitated, then continued. "I don't remember much about eighth year; it was such a hard time for me and it all seemed to go by in a blur, but I do believe Malfoy tried to regain your friendship and you spurned him. None of us cared at the time; we'd thought you were crazy to be friends with him in the first place, and we had no idea just how much he meant to you before or we would have tried to convince you to give him a chance, for your own sake. But I remember him staring at you almost constantly whenever we had class together, in the hallways, or across the Great Hall. I felt a little bit bad for him but you hated him so much I figured there was no point saying anything. I'm so sorry, Harry."

A flicker of hope flared in Harry's heart, but he quickly quashed it. There was no point getting wound up over maybes. Especially since Malfoy hadn't cared enough to keep trying, even if what Hermione said was true. Enough to try once, maybe; but not enough to convince Harry to try to see past his irrational hatred. Harry believed with his whole heart that had their positions been reversed, he would have stopped at nothing to ensure that the blond remembered him, or at least rekindled their though he knew it was entirely possible Malfoy's pride had been what kept him from going to whatever lengths were necessary to woo and win Harry back, he resented Malfoy for placing his pride above their love.

Their love.

He was getting ahead of himself. For all he knew his love had been unrequited.

He shook his head to clear it. "Thanks, Mione," he managed.

"What did the mind healer have to say about this?'

"She had a field day with it. I swear I've never seen someone so disappointed as when our hour was up and she couldn't keep hounding me," Harry said with a laugh. Hermione brightened; he shot her the first real smile he'd worn all night. It made her feel marginally better, but she was still apprehensive about his impending conversation with Ron.

"I think Ron would have some unique input to give you about this," Hermione forged ahead. "I say talk to him about it. I'm pretty sure he'll surprise you." Just not in a good way, she thought morosely.

"I can already imagine Ron's reaction, Mione," Harry grimaced. "It was bad enough when he learned that Malfoy and I are friends now. I don't want to think what he'll say if he learns the truth."

"The truth about what?" Ron stood in the doorway, looking from his best mate to wife in confusion.

"Err," said Harry.

"I'll leave you two to talk," said Hermione, with false brightness. She tried to get up but Harry snagged her elbow and held her fast.

"Don't you dare," he warned.

"What's this about?" Ron looked nervous.

Hermione and Harry were both doing their own impressions of a deer caught in headlights. Or a flier on a broom facing a fighter jet.

"Seriously, you guys are starting to scare me," Ron offered. He was looking more nervous by the minute.

Harry sighed, resigned. He leaned forward in his seat, loosening his grip for a moment and Hermione pulled away, murmuring about checking on the children. She all but fled the room.

"For someone who thought I should talk to you she's being remarkably unsupportive," Harry sulked.

"For the love of Merlin, Harry, what's going on?"

"I used to date Malfoy," Harry blurted. He sat back suddenly, looking abashed and slightly frightened. He shot his friend a worried look. Ron stood as if petrified. Harry hesitated, encouraged by the lack of hexing and red-faced screaming. "I found that out in today's session. I used to love him, Ron. I think I might still love him."

Ron looked positively green. "You... still love him? But Harry, you didn't even know about dating him this morning."

"I've been dreaming about him for months," Harry said softly. "I thought my feelings and the dreams would go away once I got my memories back and proved to myself that nothing had ever happened between us. Then today I find out the reason it feels like we belong together is because we did at one point. What I felt for him was beyond anything I've ever imagined feeling for anyone."

Ron made a strangled sounding noise in the back of his throat. "Do you... regret Ginny?" he choked out.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. He decided to be brutally honest and get it over with. "I cared about Ginny, you know that, Ron." His voice was low. "But what I felt for Draco was something I ached for my entire marriage and never had with her. I know she's your sister and all, but she didn't find it in me, either, and I think you know it." He glanced at the redhead, pleading with his eyes for him to understand. "You know Gin talked about divorcing me. It wasn't just me. If that was all there was to it, I couldn't help regretting it, and it's not fair for you to be angry with me about that." Ignoring the fact that Ron had yet to display any sign of anger, of anything but feeling sick. "But... Merlin knows my children are the best things that have ever happened to me, the best thing I've ever done in my life was have a hand in their creation; I'd even swear it tops killing Voldemort. So for that alone I can't really say I regret it. But it hurts, Ron. It hurts so fucking bad." Tears filled his eyes and he bowed his head, waiting for Ron to lose it.

Instead, Ron wept.

Harry's head jerked up at the sound as he stared at his friend in shock. Ron was crying. Not yelling, not screaming; crying. He wasn't reacting in a typical Ron way at all. Harry was frightened.

"I'm sorry," Ron choked out. "Harry, I... I'm so sorry."

"What for?" Harry was floored. He felt confused and concerned. This was not the reaction he expected at all.

"I meddled in your life. But I swear I thought it was the right thing to do!" Ron's eyes were on him, desperate, willing him to believe. Only Harry wasn't sure what he was supposed to be believing.

He stared blankly. Ron stared at the floor in misery.

"I knew."

Harry waited.

"I knew about Malfoy. And you. I've known since just before your accident."

The room seemed to spin around Harry. He drew a deep, shuddering breath as he gazed into the eyes of his so-called best mate. He thought of his best friend and her words to him earlier and another wave of pain rolled through him.

"And Hermione?" His voice broke.

"She had no idea. I told her last week, and she told me to talk to you as soon as possible." Ron's voice was earnest. They sat in silence for a moment, then Ron spoke in a whisper.

"Ginny knew, too."

For a moment Harry's vision went black and there seemed to be a dull roaring in his ears. He couldn't think; couldn't breathe. Ron had to be lying. He had to be. Harry and Ginny had their differences, things hadn't been perfect between them, but she wouldn't have done that to him. She couldn't. If she had... maybe he'd never really known her after all.

Harry stood abruptly. "I need to go," he murmured, distantly.

"Harry -"

"Don't!" His voice was laced with pain. "Don't talk to me right now, Ron. I don't want to hear it."

He stalked out of the room.

He found Hermione putting away laundry upstairs, while Hugo and Lily played happily in his room. He didn't bother with preamble.

"Can Lily spend the night here?"

"Harry!" Hermione turned at the sound of his voice. Concern shone in her brown eyes. "Are you alright?"

"No," he answered bluntly. "I need to be alone, to think. Please, can you watch Lily for the night?"

She nodded. "I'm so sorry, Harry," she said, softly. "I wish none of this had happened."

"I can't think. I can't... I need to be alone, Mione."

"Alright, Harry," she said. Her eyes followed him as he headed back downstairs.

In the sitting room Ron was still sitting where Harry had left him, head bowed. His head jerked up when Harry came back into the room, but Harry ignored him. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder off the mantle and tossed it into the flames, yelling, "Number 12, Grimmauld Place!"

Back at home, Harry stumbled out of the fireplace alone. He fell to his knees, and finally let himself cry.

Secrets shared; confidences given and taken and kept.

Endless discussions about the past, the present, the future - about the meaning of life.

Endearments exchanged in low, hurried whispers.

Proclamations of love nuzzled into ears and kissed into flesh.

Stolen kisses; some chaste and tender, some a frenzy of passionate need.

Long, slender fingers that grip his skin, nails cutting into him.

A blond head thrown back, long pale neck exposed and inviting.

That back arching, his name a strangled cry from that kissable mouth; a fervent prayer wrenched from deep within that elegant throat.

Pale flesh that writhes beneath him as he moves.

Smelling of vanilla and spices, with an undercurrent of that unique, individual scent that makes his toes curl.

Tasting of sweat-saltiness and something distinctly male; distinctly his lover's.

Mercurial silver eyes glazed with lust; stormy grey ones crinkling in the corners as laughter bubbles out from behind soft pink lips.

Laughter, now full-bodied and all-consuming; now breathless, quiet, and restrained.

Voice a gentle tenor with an almost musical lilt; raised in song it rivals an angel, in speech it can be soft and seductive or sharp and shrewd.

Snarky razor wit, sometimes a tool for amusement, delightful and funny; occasionally a weapon, cutting and cruel; always clever, ever-ready on that sharpest and most luscious of tongues.

Malfoy.

Draco.

Mine.

Harry woke twisted up in his sheets, a mess of need and longing. He let loose a frustrated, strangled cry and buried his head in his hands. Images and whispers and smells and tastes and sensations assaulted his senses and left him tormented and bereft of comfort. He was devastated and beyond torn up about how Malfoy could have just allowed things between them to end.

He wanted to see him. Ached for it.

He never wanted to see him again.

He didn't know what he wanted.

Ron. Ginny. The memory of their betrayal rang fresh in his mind.

Is it my fault? he asked himself. Is it something I did, or said that made everyone I loved betray me like this?

Malfoy, Ron, Ginny... all three of them had hurt him. Was it his fault?

Had he somehow said or done something so horrible that Malfoy had chosen to walk away from him?

Had he truly deserved Ron and Ginny's deception?

He curled into a ball under the covers, willing the world to go away.

An insistent tapping at his window brought him slowly out of his reverie. He got up and opened the window to let in the owl. It was one of Hogwarts' owls. He took the letter from it and gave it a treat, absently. He read the letter and sighed. Things kept getting better and better.

Dear Mr. Potter,

I regret to inform you that your son, Albus, was involved in a serious act of vandalism on the school. This goes beyond petty pranking and needs to be addressed as such. I will be adjusting the wards and opening the Floo in my office this morning at eleven, to allow you and the other parent involved to come through to discuss your children's behaviour and the appropriate punishments. You may then take the Hogwarts Express back with your children and the others, as it is the last day of school.

If you are unable to make it, please send a reply with this owl. We can arrange an alternate meeting time then.

Sincerely yours,

Professor Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Harry cast a quick Tempus and saw that it was nine. He'd slept in due to being up so late tossing and turning with all the newfound knowledge running through his head. He sighed again, and moved to dress himself.

Much as he was disappointed in his son for getting into such trouble, he was grateful for the distraction. He couldn't wait for eleven.

Draco and Narcissa were enjoying a rather silent breakfast. Rather, Narcissa was attempting to enjoy it, but was being thwarted by her son's obvious reluctance to actually eat anything. He looked downcast, eyes hollow, and face gaunt.

Narcissa was worried. As she had been all month. She racked her brain for a way to discuss things with Draco that might make him open up to her. Damn Lucius and the pride he'd instilled in his son, she thought, viciously for a moment, cursing that he was too proud to confide in her.

Lucius. There was another worry. His hearing was in another month and if things went well – and last she'd heard Harry Potter was willing to testify on their behalf, so that was good – Lucius would be released on parole. After twenty years. Finally, Narcissa would see her husband again. Her heart beat just a little bit faster at the thought.

Lucius was a proud, cold man; arrogant and self-important. He also valued his family above all else, and once he'd let you in his heart he would protect and love you with everything he had. His pureblood traditions and habits dictated that he not demonstrate it openly or emotionally, but it was there and he would do his best to convey what he felt without words.

She loved him.

She missed him.

They were eminently suited for one another. She missed their banter; the way they danced around one another with their words. She missed the pureblooded flirtations, high class and subtle, but conveying desire and affection nonetheless.

She wanted him back.

Narcissa was distracted by the arrival of an owl. It hovered by Draco's head, and he took the letter from it. He read for a moment and let out a groan. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.
"Bad news?" Narcissa couldn't entirely mask her concern.

"Scorpius is in trouble at school. I need to Floo over for eleven."

"Oh dear, I hope it's nothing serious."

"Serious enough to warrant a visit in person on the last day of school." Draco quirked a brow at her.

"True." Now she was worried about what Scorpius had gotten up to.

She sighed, her attention once again drawn to her son. Potter had a lot to answer for, she decided, reflecting on Draco's worn and drawn appearance. And answer he would.

She summoned some parchment and set about writing a letter to one Harry Potter requesting an audience.

"Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall's voice held the merest hint of warmth. Coming from her that was akin to an affectionate greeting.

"Professor McGonagall," he nodded, smiling at her. "It's good to see you again, though I wish it were under different circumstances."

"So do I, Mr. Potter. So do I." She gestured towards the front of her office. "Come, sit down. You're both here now, so I'll get right to it."

Harry started to move towards the front of the office, then froze. He stared at the other individual sitting in front of McGonagall's desk. Draco Malfoy stared back at him, looking just as stricken.

A/N: What do you like to see in Drarry stories? Are you more fond of Fluff, or of Hurt/Comfort, Humour, or Angst?

I love fluff. I love humour, but I can't write it well. I like some Angst or Hurt/Comfort so long as it has a happy ending. :) I like my OTP intact, thankyouverymuch.