See chapter 1 for warnings

AMONG THOSE KILLED

Chapter 11—Devoid of Grace

A face devoid of love or grace,
A hateful, hard, successful face,
A face with which a stone
Would feel as thoroughly at ease
As were they old acquaintances—
First time together thrown.

"A Face Devoid of Love or Grace"—Emily Dickinson

oOo

With a groan, Harry sat up slowly. He could feel the promise of a headache beginning to build and knew that he shouldn't have drank the previous night, but it had only been a bit. He hadn't gotten drunk. Had he? His feet had only been slightly clumsy when he stumbled back to his room after leaving Draco's.

Draco.

At the thought of the blond, Harry groaned again. Had they really done what he remembered so vividly doing?

As the memory crept into his mind of them pressed together so intimately on the couch, clutching each other and gasping, he felt his body remembering as well. Had he even consciously realized before the previous day how attracted to Draco he was? Had this realization all been because of Caelix? Harry had never had reason to question his sexuality in the past; there had never really been any time or cause to think about it in his adolescence, and then he had been with Ginny.

Granted, he hadn't been with her in a while, but he hadn't felt anything for anyone in that time.

Had he?

The image of Caelix swam immediately to mind—the familiar smile, the piercings, the hair that Harry could spot anywhere, the everyday cheer that Caelix draped around himself like a robe. He could always make Harry smile, always leave him in a better mood just through his proximity alone. They were friends, definitely. But were they more than that? Did Cae really want more than that? Did Harry? He wasn't sure. Did he think of Caelix as anything other than a friend? The man was obviously attractive, Harry could see that. And Harry loved spending time with him. But he loved spending time with Ron, too.

What did that mean? What did any of it mean?

What would have happened yesterday if Ron had not walked onto the balcony when he had? What would Harry have done if Caelix had kissed him? He could picture it clearly, much more easily than he would have believed he would be able to. Caelix, his thin arms wrapped around Harry's neck, kissing him softly. What would it feel like to kiss him with the violet hoop? Harry had never kissed anyone with a lip piercing before, and he was sort of curious to find out what it would be like. Or was he more curious to find out what it would be like with Caelix?

But what about Draco?

At the thought of the blond, Harry's body flooded with heat. He could still feel Draco all over himself, pressed beneath him, moaning his name and panting for breath, legs locked securely around Harry as his hands slid over the bare skin beneath Harry's shirt, drifting lower to grip his hips and pull him even tighter against the warm body stretched out underneath him.

Harry's hand crept along his stomach, shoving his pants down enough to allow his cock to spring free of its cloth confines, already stiff just at the thought of Malfoy. As he wrapped one hand around it, Harry shut his eyes and imagined that it was Draco here with him, touching him, running his fingers along the length of Harry's shaft, moaning his name…

In no time at all, Harry was biting back a groan and shuddering.

With a grimace, he glanced down at himself, the expression deepening into one of disgust as he remembered what had happened after—when Draco had asked him to leave; when Draco had cried. It left Harry with a dusty, bitter taste in his mouth. Even though he had certainly not planned anything or even truly been aware of his feelings, he had pressured Malfoy. He had done exactly what he had asked Caelix not to do to him yesterday. And then, like an idiot, he had asked Draco for a goodnight kiss. What had he been thinking?

Other than the fact that Harry had wanted to kiss the man almost desperately, that is. There was just something about Draco Malfoy, something that intrigued Harry and drew his immediate attention, making him want to know everything about the man. Draco was not who Harry had thought he would be. He was so different from the person he had once been, and Harry was only just beginning to get to know this new version.

Would he still get the chance? Would Draco still want anything to do with him? The man had been so upset the previous night. Had he regretted everything the moment it was over? Did he regret it now in the cold light of a new day?

How did Harry want him to feel?

He truly hadn't planned on anything happening between them. He had gone to Draco's door to find out how the man was doing after everything that had happened the previous afternoon. Zabini had been locked away with Malfoy for hours and it had made Harry shift continuously from uneasy to angry to worried back to uneasy again. Until finally the ward he had set around Malfoy's door had silently informed him that Zabini had left. Harry had forced himself to wait for several minutes, wanting to give Draco a few moments to himself, but the Auror was too worried to allow too much time to pass.

And when he had seen the bottle of whisky on the table in front of the fireplace, he had been unable to resist joining in. He had just wanted to forget the entire day and knew that, short of Obliviating himself, alcohol was the best solution for that. He hadn't been expecting to make a drunken pass at Draco Malfoy.

But had he really been that drunk? And had he been the one to make the pass? Harry still wasn't sure who had kissed who, only that it had happened.

And now here he was the next morning, waking up alone and attempting to sort out what it all meant.

Deciding to put it from his mind for the moment, Harry climbed from the bed and headed for the bathroom. First, he would shower, after which he would dress before attempting to track down Draco. Or should he give Draco space? Space was what the blond had asked for, wasn't it? Harry wasn't sure what to do, wasn't sure how he felt. The investigation was turning out to be far more complicated than he had initially suspected it would be. He certainly had not expected to get involved with Draco Malfoy.

But was he involved with Draco Malfoy? Harry had no idea.

It didn't take nearly as long as he thought it would to get showered and changed into an outfit of his that had been Ginny's favorite—a dark green button-up, sleeves rolled up to nearly his elbows, paired with ridiculously expensive jeans that Hermione and Ginny had both insisted—loudly and vehemently—that he buy, both items fitting much more snugly than he tended to normally wear. Was he overdoing it slightly? Would Draco look Harry's way and see through the ridiculous clothing to all the self-doubts and insecurities underneath? Would Draco laugh? Malfoy would have laughed, surely. But Harry wasn't so sure about Draco. He hadn't seemed angry at Harry personally the previous night, just a bit panicked at the situation in general.

With a sigh, Harry raked a hand through his hair and exited his suite. Glancing up and down the hall, he tried to decide where to go. Would Draco still be in his room? Would he have woken up already and headed to the dining room, perhaps? Or maybe the library?

Deciding to check the library first, Harry began heading down the long hallway, heart rate increasing with every step. Would Draco be there? Would he want to see Harry? Or should Harry continue to give him space? But he had said that he would see Draco in the morning, and the blond had agreed. And now it was morning.

Decision made and determination mounting, Harry quickened his stride, heart pounding faster as he approached the room. Unlike the previous time when they had been left open, the library doors were now shut, but Harry did not allow that to discourage him. He wanted to see Draco and he wanted to resolve whatever had gone wrong between them. He did not want Malfoy to remain upset, and he especially did not want the blond to be upset with him specifically.

He could be upset with Zabini, though, Harry allowed. If Draco was going to be upset with anyone, it should be Blaise Zabini.

The handle of the staircase beneath his palm was smooth and oiled, as were the stairs beneath his feet, which thankfully did not creak as Harry climbed them with careful steps. He did not want to give himself away too early and scare the other man off.

No, they were going to talk.

The moment he reached the top, he immediately noticed Draco. Blond hair was peeking out over the top of a brown leather armchair facing away from Harry.

The brunet had only taken two quiet steps forward before Draco's voice split the silence. "This really is becoming far too common a thing, you know." He spoke without glancing in Harry's direction.

With an unpleasant twinge, Harry quickened his pace to sink down into the armchair across from Draco.

"How did you know I was there?"

"Trying to sneak up on me in my own home?" Draco tsked, closing his book and laying it aside. "Hardly possible, Potter."

The sound of his surname sent another painful twinge through Harry, one he tried to ignore. "It's worked before," he pointed out, absently noting that Draco had been reading a collection of Victor Hugo poems. What did that mean for the sort of mood the blond was in? Harry had never read Victor Hugo and was unsure.

For once, Harry wanted to hex himself for not having taken Hermione's lectures on novels more seriously. Draco had read everything—he was intelligent and interesting and cultured and what could Harry possibly offer him? What did he have in common with Draco? Why would Draco ever be interested in anything more with the brunet?

Unaware of the path Harry's thoughts had taken, the corners of Draco's mouth turned up in a wry smile. "Yes, but this time I was expecting you."

"Right," Harry managed, suddenly unsure what to say. His throat felt dry and his hands felt strange and tingly, almost as if they weren't attached to the rest of his body. He had no idea what to do next, no idea of what words would be best to say—he still wasn't sure how he actually felt about anything. He always had been horrible at recognizing and getting in touch with his feelings, something Ginny had pointed out to him more than once.

But as he eyed Draco and felt a warmth spreading through his chest, Harry thought maybe he did recognize the feeling, after all. He recognized that he cared for Draco, at least. He recognized that he wanted to be near him, and he recognized that Draco was beautiful.

The man was dressed in deep wine-colored robes, clinging perfectly to a lean body that Harry had yet to see, but god, he wanted to. He wanted to take his time unbuttoning the tiny bronze buttons, peel the robes apart slowly to reveal the perfect pale beauty underneath. Malfoy would be perfect, Harry just knew it. He would be lovely and perfect and on display for Harry's eyes alone, Harry's touch alone.

Harry would start by running his fingers lightly along the man's chest, followed by his tongue. What would he taste like? Harry couldn't help but wonder. Would he taste sweet, like vanilla, which for some reason he reminded Harry of? Or would there be a bitter edge to the sweet, like the wine his robes were colored after?

It wasn't until he noticed there was a pink flush creeping along Draco's skin that he realized how openly he had been staring.

"How are you feeling?" Harry blurted suddenly, startling them both and blushing as he stared at his shoes in horror. Why was he so set on making a fool of himself in Draco's company?

"You mean after last night?" the blond drawled sarcastically.

"No, I mean after yesterday," Harry corrected softly. Did Draco really regret what had happened between them? Would it all be over before Harry got the chance to explore his newly-admitted feelings?

"Oh." Draco ducked his head. "Um, I feel…better, I suppose? I really have no idea; mostly I'm just trying not to think about it." He stared down at his lap, avoiding Harry's gaze.

"I…" Harry started, unsure of what to follow it with. "I'm sorry," he settled on finally.

"For what happened?" Draco asked coldly, glancing up to look Harry in the eye.

"No, for everything," Harry replied, then added in a hesitant voice, "And for what happened. I never—I didn't mean to pressure you or add any more stress or anything because I already know that you're dealing with a lot and I never wanted to add to that, so I'm sorry." He twisted his hands together nervously in his lap as he waited for a response, staring down at his fingers rather than at Draco. He wasn't sure what expression he would see on the other man's face and was not certain if he was ready to find out.

They sat in silence for entire centuries before Draco finally spoke. "So, you're only sorry because of my response last night? Not because of what actually happened?"

"Yes," Harry nodded, eyes flicking up to the man across from him for a moment before looking away. "Only…only because of how freaked you seemed after. I really am sorry, Draco."

"How freaked I seemed," Draco murmured, rubbing both temples. "An understatement. At least I didn't attempt to Crucio you this time."

"That's not funny," said Harry sharply, gaze snapping onto Draco's.

"It wasn't meant to be, Potter," Draco sighed, apparently oblivious to the way Harry's insides twisted at the detached tone of voice the man had spoken his surname in.

"Draco…"

"I appreciate that you came to find me this morning to check how I was doing," Draco spoke in a polite, distant voice, one that made Harry's stomach clench. "But I would really rather be alone right now if that's all right with you." His hand reached for the book lying on the table next to him, a clear dismissal.

But Harry couldn't leave yet. He hadn't said what he had come to say. He hadn't explained anything correctly. And now Draco was going to just go back to calling him Potter and dismissing him so easily? Dismissing what had happened between them so easily? Had it really meant nothing to the man? Had Harry meant nothing? The entire time they had been kissing, touching, Draco hadn't felt anything toward him?

"No, Draco, I'm not going anywhere, I don't—" Harry began, but never got the chance to complete the refusal.

"Just fucking leave already, Potter!" snapped Malfoy angrily—it was quite clearly Malfoy speaking; Draco had once again vanished—grip tightening around the book until his knuckles were white. "Nobody asked you to look for me, did they? Always playing the fucking hero, aren't you? Even when nobody wants it! I never asked you to be here, did I? Nobody invited you up here! Nobody invited you to my room last night! Nobody invited you back into my life!" His grey eyes were flashing furiously and Harry could see all the past resentment that the blond had once had for him swim to the surface of his glare. It made Harry's throat feel tight and his chest ache. Draco really hated him, didn't he? Had he hated him the entire time? Or had it only been when Harry had practically jumped the man?

And were his feelings really that surprising? Just the previous night, Harry's touch had sent Malfoy into a panic, sobbing and pleading with Harry to leave, to get out, give him space. Harry's touch could only make things worse. It had only ever made things worse.

After all, how many times had the Dursleys told him that just his mere existence had made their lives so much worse? How many times had he put the lives of the people he loved in danger just through his proximity alone? And how many of them were now dead because of him? Harry seemed to be a walking cancer, infecting everybody's lives around him negatively until they resented his very existence.

Harry felt hollow. He felt empty. He felt like the world's biggest idiot. Draco hated him and wanted nothing to do with him. What else should he have expected?

"No, nobody did," he answered numbly, lips feeling strangely rubbery and larger than normal. "I'm sorry, Draco. I'll just…you're right, I'll go. Sorry." He rose from the armchair and walked stiffly to the staircase, refusing to look back at the blond as Harry descended in a cold sort of daze. When he had first entered the library, he hadn't been sure what to expect, but he would be lying if he said that a large part of himself had not been hoping that Draco would have maybe kissed him. Or that he would have at least been pleased just to see him.

But Malfoy didn't want to see Harry at all anymore. Maybe Harry reminded him too much of the painful past, or maybe Malfoy wasn't ready for anything serious. Maybe it was all just happening too quickly, or maybe Draco was simply lashing out from stress. Or worst of all—maybe he realized that he still had feelings for Zabini and wanted to be with him instead of Harry. Harry had no idea and was not even sure if an answer would have made him feel better.

He hurried from the library, feeling suffocated by the smothering effect of being surrounded by walls and walls of books, enclosed in a tight cage of novels all seeming to glare down at him. It gave him the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped. How did anyone breathe in that room?

Once out in the hallway, Harry began the rather long trip back to the guest room he had come from. Maybe he could fall back asleep and when he woke up, things would be different. Maybe Malfoy would be able to stand the sight of him, and maybe Harry would have caught the killer already.

His delusions were interrupted by a low drawl from an open doorway to his right. "Potter."

"Zabini," Harry bit out, jaw clenched tightly as he slowed. What did the man possibly want? What else did he have to say to Harry? Malfoy had already informed Harry much too clearly that the blond wanted nothing to do with him. Was Zabini there to rub his face in that fact?

"And where are we coming from this morning then, hmm?"

"None of your fucking business," Harry ground out. He was tired of playing games with the man, tired of giving in to the type of sick mind games that all the Slytherins seemed to delight so much in playing.

He was tired of Slytherins taking pleasure in fucking with him.

"My, my," Zabini smirked, stepping closer. "We are a bit testy in the mornings, aren't we?"

Harry's knuckles tingled and he was struck with the swift urge to smash his fist into the other man's nose. Taking deep breaths and attempting to calm himself, he reached for his most detached tone of voice. "What do you want?"

Zabini's grin widened. "Quite a lot, I'll admit." He tilted his head and peered closely at Harry for nearly a full minute without speaking. Harry simply raised one eyebrow and waited. "How was Draco?" Zabini finally asked, shifting his weight closer. The man's face was now much too close and Harry couldn't help but notice that Zabini was extremely attractive. He was bloody gorgeous, for Merlin's sake, loath as Harry was to admit that to himself; with deep, chocolate-colored eyes; smooth, flawless brown skin; and full, dark lips. What chance did Harry ever have with Draco when someone who looked like Blaise Zabini wanted the man?

Harry's knuckles itched and he fought the urge to scratch them—as well as the urge to sink them into the flesh of the infuriating man so near him. "Why don't you go ask him yourself?" Harry suggested sarcastically. "Or are you afraid that he doesn't want to see you?"

The grin stretching Zabini's face twisted into an ugly grimace. "Trust me, Potter, after last night, he'll see me." Before Harry had time to wonder what those words meant, Zabini continued speaking. "Why so…protective of Draco, hmm? I mean, considering the way the two of you used to hate one another. And what do you think the Daily Prophet would make of your newfound friendship with Draco Malfoy?" His voice was low and dangerous, a tone that made Harry's hand automatically twitch toward his wand.

Deciding to drop any pretense, Harry straightened and took a step nearer to Zabini, so close that their shoes were nearly touching. "Is that a threat?" He spoke in a quiet voice, one he had used dozens of times in his job in the past to intimidate criminals, both in the field and in interrogations.

"Simply a reminder of the consequences," Zabini's eyes narrowed.

"Sure. Well, thanks for the concern," said Harry sardonically, attempting to adopt the same condescending drawl that every syllable of Zabini's words seemed to drip with. "But why don't you worry about your own consequences, yeah? And leave mine and Draco's up to us." And before Harry could do anything regrettably stupid, like slam his fist into Zabini's face, he turned and strode away. There was so only so much he could stand, and he had already reached his limit that day with Slytherins.

Maybe Harry's presence at the Manor was getting to be just too much—for Draco, for Zabini, for himself. What was he really doing there anyway? He hadn't protected anybody, hadn't saved anyone. All he had done was make a fool of himself and get rejected for it. And that was hardly something he wanted to stick around to continue doing.

Maybe he wasn't the right Auror for the case anymore. Maybe someone like Neville could do a better job. Maybe Harry should speak to Wescott about getting reassigned to another part of the investigation. Maybe that would be better for all of them.

Mind made up, Harry hurried down the stairs to the sitting room. Malfoy didn't want to see him anymore? Fine. He would remove himself from the man's life. A quick Patronus was sent to Ron explaining that he had gone to speak to Caelix before a handful of powder was tossed into the fireplace and Harry was calling out for the Ministry. He needed to speak to both Caelix and Wescott, and possibly Neville, and then he could do as Malfoy requested and disappear from the man's life once again.

His last thought as he spun away was that Draco really had looked beautiful that morning.

oOo

"No, nobody did," Potter said quietly, staring down at his lap. "I'm sorry, Draco. I'll just—you're right, I'll go. Sorry."

And before Draco could even blink, the man had crossed the room and was descending the staircase. An immediate flash of regret burned painfully in his chest. Why had he snapped at Potter like that? Why had he yelled at the man?

Christ, Harry had looked so stricken…

Draco flinched at the memory and sighed heavily. What else was he supposed to have done? What else had Potter been expecting? Surely he had not been expecting Draco to express interest? Why would he, when he knew how sober Potter now was? And why on earth would the man ever want Draco without the encouraging whisper of whisky thrumming through his veins? And even if somehow he miraculously did, it wouldn't last. It never had. Draco had only ever been a temporary fixture in people's lives.

And he knew without a doubt—he could fall hard for Harry; hard enough to never recover if Harry ever looked at him one day with dissatisfaction or resentment in his eyes. How could Harry Potter ever love him? It was incredible enough that the man had consented to stay in the Manor and befriend Draco—adding love on top of that was just too much to hope for.

Was it something Draco hoped for?

He still wasn't certain of his feelings in regards to very much. The dull light of dawn had not brought with it any sort of clarification or eye-opening epiphany. It had only brought yet another morning; only another day of confused pain to stumble his way through. It was still so early in the day, and already he had messed everything up. Draco couldn't wait to see how else he would manage to ruin his life as the morning progressed.

Curling his feet up underneath him, he rested his chin on his knees and tried not to think about the previous night. He tried desperately not to think about the way Harry had felt pressing into him—soft yet firm; warm; safe—the way he had tasted and smelled, the sounds he had made…Draco thumped his head miserably against the back of the armchair. Those were exactly the sorts of thoughts best left unexplored. He couldn't be with Harry, and he wasn't sure how he felt about Blaise.

When Blaise had kissed him it had been…unexpected. But it had been nice. It had been Blaise. It hadn't even been a proper kiss, but Draco had felt something of whatever it was that they had had between them stir weakly inside him. It had been there, on Blaise's lips, hidden in his touch, buried in his words. Was he really in love with Draco? How could Draco ever be sure? How could he ever trust him again?

Blaise had been his first—his first relationship, his first lover, his first time feeling truly cared about. Only he hadn't been.

But maybe it would be different this time. Perhaps Blaise had changed. Or maybe Draco could learn how to alter the aspects of his personality that had originally torn them apart. But had it been entirely Draco's fault?

Part of him knew it had been, and that, above all else, was the reason he could not start anything with Harry Potter. Draco had driven everybody he had ever cared about away and, despite what the papers said, Potter was only mortal. Draco would surely drive Harry away as well, and then where would that leave him?

Alone. Forever alone.

He had been forced to accept long ago that that was what fate had in store for him. Maybe if Blaise explained to him exactly what Draco had done wrong, maybe then he could start working to fix it, maybe it wasn't too late to change himself. And maybe then the people in his life would actually stick around. Hopefully, it was not too late to fix himself enough for somebody to love him.

With a pang, he remembered the hurt look in Harry's eyes when Draco had lashed out at him, and knew that he did not actually deserve such love. Maybe this was a case of the universe granting only what was owed. Draco did not deserve Harry Potter, and he would not allow himself to have Harry now only to one day watch the man tear himself from Draco's embrace with a snarl of disgust. After everything Draco had gone through—all the misery and the pain, the tears shed in secret, crying into the heavy dark protection of his drawn curtains in the Slytherin dorms; the numerous nights of his teenage years spent staring at himself hollow-eyed in a mirror, gazing down at his pale wrists and wondering if a Severing Charm would be more preferable to the absolute hell his life had somehow twisted into, on top of all the fresh agony now polluting Draco's waking hours in billowing clouds of terror and sleepless nights—he knew that if Harry Potter ever broke him, it would be something he would never heal from.

What if Harry looked down at his arm, saw the Dark Mark staining it, and remembered who Draco had been? What if he pulled away in revulsion?

He could never be allowed to see it.

He could never be Draco's.

With that miserable thought firmly established in Draco's mind, he sank more fully into the armchair and shut his eyes.

Time passed and he was unsure how long he remained curled up in that position, only noticing how numb parts of him were starting to grow when Blaise's obnoxious seductive drawl startled him.

"Hiding amongst your precious books, are we, darling?"

Draco said nothing, hoping that the man would grow bored and leave. He had done it so well in the past, after all.

That hope was shattered, however, as Blaise dropped into the same armchair that Harry had occupied so recently.

"No ignoring me now, Draco," Blaise tsked, dragging the armchair closer and resting one palm over Draco's ankle. "We need to talk."

"Who the fuck says it's you I want to talk to?" Draco snapped, anger flaring within him with alarming intensity. Hadn't Blaise promised just the previous night that he would give Draco space? Draco had asked for time to think through everything and the man had promised to grant that, hadn't he?

Or had that been just another fucking lie?

"Well, aren't you in a mood this morning," Blaise's eyes flashed as he removed his hand and sat back in his chair. "Both you and the Chosen Auror." That got Draco's attention. His gaze flicked back to meet Blaise's, to find the man appraising him coolly. "Your foul moods wouldn't have anything to do with one another, I wonder, would they, love?"

His suspicious tone only served to make Draco more furious. Who did Blaise Zabini think he was? How dare he think that he had any sort of right to corner Draco and hurl implications at him, after everything he had done?

"You don't get to just fucking show up out of nowhere and accuse me of anything, you bastard," Draco spat, standing so swiftly he nearly knocked over the armchair he had been seated in. Striding quickly, he made it almost halfway down the staircase before Blaise caught him. His arm was grasped tightly from behind and Draco was forced to turn to face the other man on the narrow stairs. They stood together on the same step, Draco squeezed tightly between the body of his ex-lover and the wood of the banister.

"Draco, I'm sorry," Blaise apologized, hand still locked around Draco's upper arm. "I didn't mean to make it sound like you owe me anything, because lord knows you don't. But…" he hesitated, an uncharacteristic moment of doubt for the usually confident man. "But I love you and I'm terrified, so absolutely terrified that I've lost you."

With his free hand, he reached up to trace light patterns across Draco's cheekbones, and Draco could feel warm breath across the skin of his jaw. He could feel Blaise's body practically molded against him, standing close enough to make him feel dizzy. Draco could recall perfectly what that body looked like, without all of the clingy fabric in the way covering his lean brown limbs. Blaise's hand was so warm on his skin and Draco wanted nothing more than to be able to take comfort in the man's touch.

But how could he?

Clearing his throat, he willed his voice to sound calm. "If you have lost me, Blaise," he said quietly, "it was entirely of your own doing."

Failing to mention all of Draco's own character flaws that had contributed to Blaise's many infidelities, the blond escaped Blaise's touch and all but ran from the library. He felt lightheaded and disoriented, sick from the confusion and mistrust and hurt and pain all swirling together until he was reeling from the force of it.

He could not be with Harry and he was not sure if he could ever again trust Blaise. He had never felt more alone or confused in his entire life, and would have given anything, anything, to have had Pansy there to help him through it. She would know exactly how to solve it, exactly which decision to make. Most likely she would say something along the lines of telling Draco to ditch Blaise, who had already had his chance, and take Harry out for a test ride. But he had already done that, hadn't he? And regardless, hadn't she hated Harry?

Yes, considering she had tended to look negatively on almost everyone. But would she have objected to Draco being with him? Most likely not, if she had seen what the man looked like now. Pansy was one of those that could forgive a pretty face of anything, and Potter definitely had a pretty enough face.

Maybe Draco was overthinking everything and making everything much more complicated than it needed to be. But how could he be sure? How could he be certain if he had actually yet thought something through to its extent, or if he really was overthinking it? But maybe he hadn't thought the situation through enough. He didn't think he would ever be certain—of anything ever again, most likely.

Maybe he should find Harry and apologize. Maybe he should find Blaise and apologize. Maybe he should fetch that bottle of whisky from the previous night and attempt to drown himself in it.

And maybe not, he decided as his stomach gave an unpleasant lurch at the thought.

But he needed something to focus on. There were far too many confusing thoughts and painful memories clamoring within him, screaming to be heard, and he knew that he would drive himself absolutely mental before too long if left on his own.

Casting his mind about for something menial to distract himself from his painful and depressing thoughts, his brain settled on an image of Ronald Weasley and he managed a half-grin at the thought. Weasley was certainly droll enough to distract him.

Marching to the charcoal-colored door guarding the redhead's chambers, Draco knocked impatiently. "Weasley!" he called loudly, pounding on the wood.

The door flew open to reveal a barefoot Weasley, wearing a pale blue jumper and Muggle jeans. "Is everything all right, Malfoy?" he asked sharply, glancing around, and Draco nearly wanted to laugh—a noticeably odd reaction, considering the company.

"No, it's not," he answered, watching in amusement as the grip on Weasley's wand tightened. "You're about to get your arse kicked in chess."

The fist clenched around the wand relaxed automatically as Weasley grinned. "Is that what's about to happen?"

Draco nodded and Weasley gestured for him to come inside. As he entered, he noticed with embarrassment the bushy-haired head of Granger floating in the fireplace. Why had the man invited him in if he was in the middle of a Floo call with his fiancée?

"I was just saying bye to Hermione," Weasley answered as if Draco had been speaking his thoughts aloud, something he fervently hoped he had not been doing.

"Hello, Draco," Granger greeted politely from the fireplace, startling him into place. Was she speaking to him cordially? As if their past did not exist? Had the Gryffindors always been this easily forgiving, or had the war changed them? Draco supposed he would never know.

"Hello, Granger," he replied cautiously.

She smiled at him and shook her head. "I know that we have yet to see each other in person since school ended,"—a rather nice way of phrasing the war and the following repercussions—"but you can call me Hermione, you know. It is my name, after all."

"Hermione," Draco echoed, unsure of what it meant that he was now on a first name basis with two of the Gryffindor Golden Trio.

"So did you get that folder from my office for me?" Weasley asked, his voice cutting through the shroud of awkward air that had been cementing around them with the utterance of Draco's single repeated word.

"Took me a while to find it," Granger—Hermione—answered, handing the redhead a thick folder through the flames.

"Was Harry not in there when you went in?" Weasley's question captured Draco's immediate attention. Potter was at the Ministry? He was no longer inside the Manor? He had just left?

"No, he wasn't," Granger answered, tossing a mass of fluffy curls behind one shoulder. "Is he here right now?"

Yes, is he there right now? Draco demanded silently.

"Yeah," Weasley answered. "He went in to speak to Wescott about something, and he said he wanted to stop and see Cae." At the name, a smirk crossed Weasley's face. "They have a lot to talk about, I would imagine."

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Draco wanted to shout, but he somehow was able to remain quiet.

"What do you mean?" Granger—Draco could kiss her for her inquisitiveness—asked, in a much more mild tone of voice than Draco would have been able to manage.

"Let's just say that Cae might finally be getting through Harry's obliviousness to the smitten idiot underneath," Weasley grinned widely.

But what did that mean? Were Harry and this Caelix not actually involved yet? Had Draco misread that situation and possibly driven Harry into the other man's arms with his rejection of the brunet?

"Well, it's about time," said Granger, and Draco took back every nice thought he had about kissing her. "I mean, honestly."

"Fucking hell, though," Weasley agreed. "You're not the one that has to see them dance around each other every single day."

"Is Potter even gay?" Draco interrupted, startled by his own question.

The two Gryffindors both turned to look at him in surprise, almost as if they had forgotten he was there. It seemed to be a pattern in his life.

"No," Weasley shrugged. "I mean, he dated my sister and they lived together for a bit and everything. But I'm pretty sure he likes blokes, too, and I'm damn certain he's interested in Cae."

The casual tone surprised Draco. Was Weasley really not that bothered by Potter's sexuality, then? Did he want Harry and Caelix to be together?

"That doesn't bother you?" Draco asked before he could tell himself not to.

"Course not," Weasley shrugged again. "Why would it? My brother Charlie's gay. Bit of a slag, too, mind you."

Immediately, Draco's mind flashed with a million questions he wanted to ask the redhead, such as, what had his parents done when they had found out? How did Charlie feel about it all? Were his parents still holding him to traditional pureblood family standards?

But the last question was ridiculous. If the Weasley's were anything, it was anything other than traditional purebloods. Of course they would not have reacted to Charlie's sexuality in the same old-fashioned pureblood way that his father would have if he had ever known. But Draco had never met another pureblood who was out and comfortable with it. Blaise hardly counted, since his mother had always been much more concerned with money as opposed to blood-status. Was everyone in Weasley's family as accepting of and comfortable around Charlie as the redhead before him appeared to be? Surely Charlie's parents would not have demanded that he continue on the family line before seeing to any of his depraved, perverse urges, as would have been expected of Draco if the issue of his sexuality had ever been brought to light.

"Not what you were expecting?" Weasley's voice once again captured his attention and brought him out of his daze. "Pureblood wizards being so comfortable with their gay family members?" His voice was both teasing and understanding, and so kind that Draco almost didn't recognize it.

How was he supposed to be expected to continue telling himself that everybody hated him when Weasley, who had more reason to hate him than most, was talking to him in such a kind voice and attempting to understand Draco? Almost as if they were friends. Was that something that was even possible? Friendship with Gryffindors?

He and Harry had been friends, for a short time, anyway, before Draco did what he does best and destroyed it. And it was true that he did not mind Weasley's company nearly as much as he once would have. They had gotten along extremely well so far, considering their history.

But most likely, all three Gryffindors were nauseatingly polite to everybody they crossed paths with. It was nothing special, nothing personal. Draco was only on the same temporary path as the other three and would part ways with them soon enough. It would do him well to remember who he was, after all, and not get swept away in possible friendships with Gryffindors that would never actually amount to anything. They were all heroes and had morals and standards that Draco never would. He would never be described as ethical, or heroic, and he certainly would never be described as brave. The idea of anyone applying those terms to him was laughable.

"Malfoy?" Weasley's tone was nudging and Draco realized that he had never answered his question.

"Erm, no," he said uncomfortably, wanting to duck his head but refusing to do so in the present company. "No, that isn't exactly the normal response to that sort of thing amongst pureblood families."

"It's not as uncommon as you think," Weasley shrugged. "Luna's bi and her father's fine with it." The man traded a look with Granger before cracking a smile. "Maybe that's another bad example, though," he relented, "considering her family's open-mindedness to pretty much everything."

"Luna Lovegood is bisexual?" Draco sounded as surprised as he felt.

"Yeah, she came out pretty soon after the war. She and Neville have been together for a couple of years now."

Draco was shocked. He had never really heard much about what had happened with the girl he used to sneak food down to when she had been imprisoned in his cellar. She was with Longbottom now? She was out and her father was fine with it?

Well, considering who her father was and that the entire family had a biased disposition in favor of anything out of the ordinary, that hardly surprised Draco. But still, it was nice to hear about other queer purebloods finding acceptance from their own family, something that Draco had long ago given up hope of ever having.

He had given up hope of ever having any of the things he really wanted.

Perhaps because Draco had led such a privileged childhood—much more privileged than most, he could admit that—the universe had had to adjust things, balance scales out, and the sacrifice for that balance was Draco's family life and adult happiness. Maybe he had already received all he was going to, achieved as much happiness as he was ever capable of attaining.

Clearly, his life had begun its decline.

And this was all merely payback for having been such an exceedingly spoiled child, and a massive brat on top of it. He could not make the mistake of falling for any of it, no matter how appealing or tempting it may appear.

"I had no idea," Draco murmured, mostly to himself.

For some reason, he hoped Lovegood and Longbottom worked out. Someone deserved to be happy, and Draco had seen both Lovegood and Longbottom suffer enough to wish genuine happiness on them both, something his teenage self would have mocked him mercilessly for. His father would have seen it as a weakness. His mother would have seen it as a loving trait. Potter and the rest of the Gryffindors most likely saw it as common sense. But he was not sure which of them he agreed with. Draco was not sure how he felt in regards to his own feelings about anything, as he had demonstrated so many times only just that morning.

"I should get back to work," Granger's voice seemed to sound out of nowhere, startling the blond. He had all but forgotten about her, lost in his own woolgathering.

"Course you should," Weasley grinned. "Wouldn't want to allow yourself to take too much of the fifteen minutes you set aside for a break each day, would you?"

"Hardly," Granger scoffed, lips twitching. "Sometimes I feel lazy and allow myself almost twenty."

Chuckling, Weasley smiled at her in an adoring manner, one that made Draco uncomfortable to watch. Should he turn around? Leave the room for a moment? Cover his eyes and hum loudly? But the next second they had both said a last goodbye and Granger's head had vanished from the flames.

"Do the two of you Floo each other every day when you're apart?" Draco asked incredulously, earning another chuckle from Weasley.

"Not every single day, but almost," he answered. "We've mostly seen each other every day since we were eleven, you know? And Hermione wants to make sure we always set aside enough time in the day for each other."

The words caused an interesting reaction in Draco—he wanted to mock the redhead relentlessly for confessing such a thing, as well as ask him a million questions on how exactly he had been able to hold onto his relationship for so long and even progress it to near-married status. Was it something Draco could learn to do as well? Not with Granger, of course, but…someone, maybe.

Harry flashed instantly to mind, but the thought was quickly banished. Even if that had been an option for the blond that morning, it certainly wasn't anymore. Draco had seen to that.

Just as difficult to banish was the hot churn of guilt that curled through his stomach at the memory of Harry's expression when Draco had yelled those things…those horrible things that weren't even true. He needed to apologize to Harry. He needed to know if their friendship was still salvageable.

But he was terrified. What if he couldn't help himself and he fell in love with Potter? What would he do when the man left his home and his life forever once the case was solved? Surely the best course of action was to stay far away from Harry Potter. Was that the better option? Was it the safer option?

Draco could do that. He could stay away from the man, for both their sakes.

"So, you foolishly want to verse me in chess, then?" Weasley interrupted his thoughts suddenly with a smirk, sparing Draco from attempting to come up with a response to whatever it was that the other man had last said.

"Oh, fuck off, Weasley, you're not that good," Draco retorted with a sneer, but it wasn't heartfelt and judging by Weasley's grin, the man was well aware. Draco now found it impossible to dredge up the old feelings of animosity that had once burned within him in regards to all three of the Gryffindors he had already conversed with just that morning. His life had changed so drastically in the past few weeks it nearly made his head spin. He was now trading good-natured insults with a ginger-haired Weasley, of all people, challenging them to chess games in the guest rooms of Draco's own home and greeting their bushy-haired Muggle-born fiancées by their first names in his own fireplace. Fate seemed to have a rather dry sense of humor when it came to cosmological jokes.

"Just get the fucking board set up, Weasel," Draco drawled, determined to beat the man in the opening game.

"You'll regret those words, Ferret." Weasley waved his wand and a chessboard flew toward them from somewhere unseen. It settled onto the table in front of the fireplace and Draco dropped into an armchair before it.

"I get white," Draco said smugly.

"Not gonna make a difference, mate."

The blond glared as he made his first move.

Several long minutes later, his determination at both defeating Weasley and placing Potter from his mind seemed to be succeeding. He was closing in on Weasley's king, just a few more moves and he would have him cornered.

A loud crack split the concentrated silence, startling Draco's eyes from the board just as his knight captured one of Weasley's bishops. Pibby stood nearby, eyes bright and excited. At the sight, Draco frowned and straightened in his seat.

"Oh, Master Draco, sir!" the elf squeaked, clapping his hands together.

One eyebrow raised, Draco turned to exchange a glance with Weasley, who was staring at the elf in amusement.

"Yes, Pibby?" Draco prodded. What had happened to make the elf so delighted?

"He is here, sirs, he is back again to see Master Draco! Pibby is wondering for so long where he is vanishing to, but now, sirs, he is back!" The elf beamed.

A heavy stone dropped into Draco's stomach. Who was there? It couldn't be his father, his father was in Azkaban. It couldn't be Cyril Crabbe, there to exact revenge on him. The wards would keep him out, and even if he had somehow made it inside, he would hardly go around announcing his arrival to the house-elf. The man clearly had more sense than that.

Who else was left alive that Draco knew?

But the next second Pibby was speaking again and everything suddenly made sense.

"Master Gregory has returned!"

oOo

Poor Harry and Draco, so confused and insecure! If anyone was hoping this story would be resolved quickly with lots of smiles and happy words, I apologize. But for anyone hoping for even more drama and hurt feelings, just wait, because Caelix will be in the next chapter. With Harry. Alone in a room together. See where this might be going? Also, Goyle has arrived! The slumber party is almost complete! Just missing one more person and then the fun can really start!

I'm going to try to be better about updating. The wait between chapters has been described to me as torturous, and I would like to apologize for any pain inflicted. I'm not a sadist and I take no delight in tormenting anyone, so in the future, I will try to be quicker. Cross my heart and whatnot.

Lemme know your thoughts, opinions, suspicions, all of that :) I'm so curious!