Soooo I would like to begin this chapter with a genuine apology for the wait. I know I promised a lot of you that this would be up a long time ago and I know that it really has been a long time and so I really am sorry. I recently lost someone extremely close to me and the grief has made it impossible for me to focus on any sort of fictive writing. Fortunately, this chapter was pretty much mostly already finished, sorry it wasn't up sooner. Also, sorry for bumming any of you out before the chapter has even started. My bad.

Coupla things real quick now…

This chapter comes with a very real and very serious Caelix Warning. Also, a Blaise Warning. Also, I should probably warn you about all the hurt feelings that this chapter is overflowing with. Whoops. Also, I'm adding an extra Caelix Warning. If you're not a fan of him, particularly of any Harry/Caelix interactions, I would like to apologize again and remind you that we're still friends and I still love you and it will all be okay I promise cross my heart please don't be mad at me!

Aaanyway, I hope that all you lovely anonymous faces out there enjoy the chapter, and I hope that no one is too upset about the wait or about the intense soap opera dramatic realness of it all! Sorry again. Love you again. Please leave me reviews :)

AMONG THOSE KILLED

Chapter 12—In Black Despair

In grayish doubt and black despair,
I drafted hymns to the earth and the air,
pretending to joy, although I lacked it.
The age had made lament redundant.

So here's the question - who can answer it -
Was he a brave man or a hypocrite?

"In Black Despair"—Czeslaw Milosz

oOo

The lights in the lift flickered overhead as several memos circled the air above Harry lazily, waiting much more calmly to reach their destination than Harry felt able to. Drumming a sporadic rhythm against the outside of his thigh with one hand, he shifted weight between feet as the lift slid smoothly onto another floor. They lurched to a halt and the doors slid open as the familiar voice announced their level and Harry hurried out of the confined space, squeezing between two large witches with a mumbled, "Excuse me." Once free of the claustrophobic lift, he took his time making his way down the corridor and through the entrance leading to Headquarters. As the door thudded shut behind him, he paused as he considered who to speak to first.

Deciding on Wescott first, he continued the casual pace as he made his way past closed doors and cubicles until finally, he arrived at Wescott's office. His secretary waved Harry inside, and Harry opened the door to find Wescott sitting at his desk, hunched over a quill and parchment.

The moment the door swung open, the man glanced up. "Potter," he greeted, turning his attention back to the parchment spread before him.

Sinking into the chair on the other side of the desk, Harry waited for him to finish with whatever it was he was focused on.

Less than two minutes later, the parchment was placed into a yellow folder and set aside. Wescott's serious gaze was directed onto Harry, who realized abruptly that he was not in his Auror robes. Fighting the urge to both flush and rake a hand through his hair, Harry instead settled for fidgeting uneasily in his seat.

"Is there a new development in the case?" Wescott asked, leaning back in his chair but never removing his stare from Harry's own.

"No, not exactly," Harry hesitated. "I was just…wondering if it would be possible to maybe get reassigned to another part of the investigation?"

Wescott fixed him with a sharp gaze. "Did something happen?"

"Er, no," Harry lied uncomfortably. "But I…well…" He took a deep breath and tried again. "There's just…a lot of history between us all. I thought the past had been put behind us, but now I'm not so sure." He didn't say who he was speaking about, but he knew that Wescott would understand. Who else would he be speaking about but Draco Malfoy? Between all of the articles that had been written over the years on the both of them, the entire wizarding world was well aware of the history between Harry and Malfoy. The hatred between them was well known; Harry had been an idiot if he had thought it was something they could just get past. They would always be Malfoy and Potter, always at odds with one another. They were oil and water, broomsticks and lightning, Slytherin and Gryffindor. They were everything that did not go together. They would always be opposites, always both be what could not be forced into harmony. Despite how easy Harry had found conversing with Malfoy to be over the past few days, it had obviously been something that could not last.

Draco was only as temporary as everyone else in Harry's life had ever been.

"Are you saying," Wescott's voice startled Harry from his thoughts, "that the two of you, even for the sake of his own life, are not able to put a schoolyard rivalry from years ago aside? Not even in the recent face of everything that has been happening over the past several months?"

Harry wanted to argue that that was not the case, but he could never tell Wescott the real reasons behind wanting to be removed from the Manor.

"Look, Potter," Wescott placed his forearms on his desk and leaned toward Harry. "I know that you and Weasley volunteered to stay with them, but even if you hadn't, it would have been the two of you, regardless." His stare, if anything, became even more stern. "I trust the two of you in the field and I trust your ability to handle yourselves."

Opening his mouth to speak, Harry couldn't decide if he wanted to argue the statement or express gratitude for the man's faith in him. Before he could say anything, however, Wescott was speaking. "So, unless something has actually happened, something that would definitely get you removed from the case, I'm afraid that you're stuck where you are."

For a moment, just the briefest second, Harry was tempted to confess everything to the man—maybe to get it off his chest, maybe to ensure himself removed from the case, maybe to prove Wescott a tiny bit wrong about his involvement with Draco, or maybe just in attempts to shock the other man, Harry didn't know. Wisely, however, he decided to keep it all to himself. With a shake of his head, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Wescott nodded sharply. "How is Greengrass doing?"

"Erm…" Harry shrugged, feeling awkward. "I'm not sure yet. I haven't seen her this morning." Harry had been thinking about himself that morning, of course. After all, he was Harry Potter, the self-absorbed-Boy-Who-Lived. No wonder Draco didn't want to get involved with him—how would the blond fit into the brunet's life with all the room Harry's narcissism took up?

With a start, he realized he was doing it again and wrenched himself back into the conversation as Wescott's deep voice asked him a question. "What do you make of how the packages were delivered?"

"Er…" Harry hesitated again. "Well, Caelix said that there was no trace of magic in the area surrounding the balcony they had been found on, so it couldn't have been magically delivered by means of a spell, leaving really only delivery by either owl or person. Draco said that it would be impossible to enter the manor's wards without permission, so it must have been an owl."

"And you trust Malfoy's word?"

Harry hesitated. Did he still trust Draco's word? Yesterday, the answer would have been an automatic yes. But now…

A throat cleared, reminding Harry that Wescott was still waiting for an answer.

"Yes, I do," said Harry quietly. "Caelix said he tested them as well, said they seemed solid enough."

Upon hearing that Caelix had both tested and approved of the wards, Wescott relaxed a fraction and nodded. "Interesting," the man mused. "But that opens up questions about whether the sender knew her location, or if the owl was the one able to find her. Do you know if that's something Malfoy's wards would prevent?"

"No." How would the sender have known where Daphne was? And how would they have found Malfoy Manor? As far as Harry knew, it was Unplottable.

"Well, find out when you return," said Wescott with another sharp nod, one returned by Harry.

Appearing satisfied, Wescott returned his attention to a large stack of parchments next to his left elbow. Fighting back a sigh, Harry rose from his seat and had one hand on the knob before Wescott spoke.

"And Potter?" Harry turned, surprised by the man's tone of voice, which was much less flinty than normal. He was fixing Harry with his regular serious stare, but there was something almost…gentle about it. "Stopping these murders and saving the remaining Slytherins are worth more than some childhood grudge, aren't they?"

Embarrassment and shame swept through Harry at the words. Wescott was right, of course. Harry should not be focused on his personal interest in Draco Malfoy. He needed to focus on the case, he needed to find answers and stop whoever was behind this. Solving the case was far more important than his own selfish personal life. There was no time to involve himself in trivial dramas with Draco fucking Malfoy, for his own sake as well as Malfoy's.

Ignoring the voice that whispered that anything involving Draco was hardly trivial, Harry nodded once more, much more firmly this time, before exiting the room. The door was pulled shut behind him before he began heading further along the corridor to Neville's office; he had a feeling that it would be a good idea to save Caelix for last. A sharp rap of knuckles against Neville's door was given permission to enter. The door was opened to reveal Neville in his chair, leafing through a folder with a frown.

"Harry," he greeted, glancing up. Setting the folder aside, he gestured for Harry to take a seat.

"Hey, Nev," Harry smiled tiredly, dropping into an empty chair and rubbing his eyes.

"Are you all right?" Neville's voice was drenched in worry and concern, leaving Harry with the sudden urge to laugh. Nothing about his life had ever once been all right and based off the pattern of horror and terror that had literally haunted his every step since infancy, it would continue to never be all right.

With difficulty, Harry swallowed the hysterical giggle threatening to spill up his throat and past his teeth. "I'm fine," he replied instead, raking a hand through his hair. "I was wondering if maybe you had found anything on Zabini yet?" Worried that the question made him sound rudely impatient, he continued speaking. "I mean, I know it's only been a day that I asked you to look into him and everything, so if you haven't found anything yet, that's fine. I know how busy you are and I shouldn't have just expected you to drop everything like that, so sorry," he finished lamely.

With a chuckle, Neville leaned back in his chair. "Its fine, Harry, really," he assured. "I was going to Floo you later, anyway."

The statement made Harry instantly perk up with interest. "What did you find?" he asked, leaning in close.

"Well, it's interesting," Neville answered vaguely. Harry leaned in even closer. Opening a drawer to his right, Neville pulled out an ivory dossier from within and opened it. "Ever since the war, he's been living in London, far as we can tell. He's been in the same flat for three years. Up until about five months ago, that is." Neville paused and Harry longed to tear the folder from his hands and scan it himself.

"What changed five months ago?" But Harry already knew what had changed—Zabini had finally been caught as the cheating, lying, unfaithful piece of shit he was by Draco, and the blond had thrown him from both his home and his life. But where had Zabini gone after that? Nobody seemed to know. "Where did he go?"

"We don't know," Neville confirmed, causing Harry to wilt in disappoint. "But all trace of him vanishes. I mean it, Harry. There is absolutely no record of him being anywhere for those five months. It's like he stopped existing. But with what his mother told Malfoy and the fact that we would have been aware of him leaving the country, I'm certain he's been here in Britain the entire time he's been missing."

"Neville," Harry said slowly. "That was less than a month before these attacks started. If there's been no trace of Zabini, and no clue as to our attacker…" His words trailed off. Was it possible? Could Zabini be the one responsible? Why would he just vanish like that without a trace? Where would he have gone? Nobody just disappeared like that without having first garnered some sort of suspicious background. Was it possible that his break-up with Draco had started some sort of psychotic snap, resulting in the wrathful killing of four of his housemates? Could that be the connection between them all? The motive behind the attacks? Maybe Zabini was making them all pay for his consequences. Perhaps that was the reason that Parkinson's death had been particularly brutal. Other than Malfoy, Zabini had been closest with her. They had all practically been living together, for Christ's sake.

Maybe the connection really was as personal as Harry had suspected.

But did Zabini really seem like the type? He seemed predatory and vicious, dishonest and arrogant, conceited, rude, and obnoxious. But was he a serial murderer? Was Harry jumping to accuse him only because of how much he disliked the man? Was it possible there was another explanation? Maybe Zabini and Malfoy's break-up really was coincidental timing. But Harry did not want to take chances with it, just in case his real suspicions were correct.

"Look, Neville," Harry began, not wanting to ask the man for another favor so soon after the last, but he felt he needed the help. And Neville had volunteered, at any rate. "Do you think I could maybe…take you up on that offer to help out, after all?" Neville could help him keep an eye on Zabini and the rest of them, and Harry selfishly wanted more people at the Manor to hopefully act as some sort of buffer for the awkwardness sure to follow between Draco and Harry.

"Sure, Harry," Neville agreed, causing Harry to sag with relief. If he was being honest with himself, he would admit that it would also be comforting to have another Auror around that he trusted after the incident with the bloody packages Daphne had been sent. He had fought beside Neville numerous times in the past and trusted the man in a conflict.

"Christ, Nev, thank you," he said gratefully. "I owe you about fifty pub visits for this."

"Don't let Luna hear you say that," Neville chuckled. "She'll hold you to it."

Grinning, Harry stood up to clap the other man on the shoulder. "I'll just go tell Wescott, shall I?" He wasn't really looking forward to making a second trip to the man's office, especially so soon, but Harry had been the one to ask the favor, after all.

"Don't bother," Neville waved carelessly. "I need to speak with him about something anyway; I can just talk to him about it then."

"Okay," Harry grinned wider. "Thanks, Nev, seriously. You're the best."

With a smile, Neville waved him out the door and the moment it shut, Harry's thoughts turned to apprehension. The grin slid from Harry's face as he stared at the wood from the other side of the closed office door, his heart pounding furiously. Caelix was next on his list to visit. What would happen when they saw each other? What would happen when they were alone together? What would Harry feel? What would Caelix expect? With every nearing footstep that rang out along the hard floor of the corridor, Harry's heart rate increased, until the muscle was hammering a painful dent into the inside of his chest. Was he ready to see Cae? Was he ready to talk about whatever it was that might possibly exist between them? Would they even talk, or would they continue to put it off, avoid it with the excuse of the case? And what exactly did Harry want to happen?

All too soon, he found himself standing outside the lab doors, trying to steel himself enough to knock. With a deep breath, he reached out one hand and rapped lightly against the wood with one knuckle.

"Just come the fuck in!" a familiar voice called, and Harry pushed the door open with one slightly sweaty hand. Glancing around, he noted that the room was the same as it always was—bright lights, white walls covered in various posters depicting what Harry assumed to all be Muggle bands, a single long table slicing the square room in half and always covered in strange artifacts, as well as Caelix's familiar platinum hair and colored piercings always present. He was staring at Harry in surprise, who took another deep breath and stepped inside, allowing the door to swing shut behind him.

With the click of the door, the lab was plunged into a thick silence, one that Harry could almost feel as its own sticky presence clinging to his skin. He had no idea how to break it, what to say, what to discuss with the other man. He still didn't know how he felt.

"Harry," Caelix finally spoke, stepping close to the table to lean back against it. "And what brings you all the way out here to my evil lair, hmm?"

"Evil lair?" Harry snorted, glancing around at the posters on the walls with obvious amusement. "This is possibly the least evil lair I think I've ever been in. Your lair sucks at being evil, Cae."

"Well, you would know all about evil lairs," said Cae, grinning at Harry. "Considering where you're staying and all."

The words automatically raised Harry's hackles and made him want to defend Draco, but he wasn't sure exactly why. Caelix had commented on the house, not on the blond. And in all fairness, Cae did have a point. But those days were dead and gone and besides, Harry did not want to discuss Draco with Caelix.

"What did you find from the packages?" Harry asked instead, hoping to get the conversation focused on work rather than Malfoy or the manor.

At the change of subject, Caelix's expression twisted into frustration. "Nothing as of yet, I'm afraid, P. I mean, there's something, but it's the same goddamn fucking something that we've been dealing with this entire fucking case. I've dissected the magic again and again and carved it up and stitched it together every way I know how, and I still can't get it to match up, it just refuses to fit together. I've exsected every strain of magic we've collected down to the smallest strand of spellwork and attempted to piece it back together, but..." he paused to turn his head and glare at the long table he was leaning against, "it all refuses to stop being a little bitch long enough to cooperate.

"We have, however," Caelix continued, picking up a burgundy folder atop the table near his hip, "identified exactly which body parts of the victims are still currently missing." He handed the folder to Harry, who accepted it with a pained grimace before vanishing it to his room at Malfoy Manor. "It's a disgustingly long list," the man warned him.

"I'll look at it later," Harry promised, not quite ready to be faced with that particular list yet.

The same viscous silence from earlier began to creep back into the room at the close of Harry's words. Was that all there was to say about the case? Would they be forced to discuss the whatever it was between them now, or else go mad from the quiet? Already Harry felt half-crazed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Caelix preparing to speak, and he knew, he just knew it would be about what had happened between them the previous day.

Hastening to beat him, Harry opened his mouth and allowed the first thought that sprang to mind to tumble free from his throat. "Why was it that you never went to Hogwarts?" He blinked in surprise at his own question. It was something he had wondered for quite a while but had not been expecting to ask now, of all times, to discuss Cae's past. But how much did Harry really know about him? How well did he want to know him?

An attractive smile stretched Cae's face as he hopped up onto the table to survey Harry with interest. "Curious about my past now, are you?"

Blushing, Harry shrugged and waited for an answer.

"Not too much of a story in it, really." Caelix copied Harry's shrug. "My mother had attended Beauxbatons and was rather biased against Hogwarts, and my father had undertaken private education his entire schooling. I had private tutors since the age of two, and when I turned twelve, I became interested in dissecting magic and attempting to piece it back together, following the strands and learning about signatures and how to trace them. That led to several different apprenticeships with several different instructors—most of whom I look back fondly on—all focusing on different areas of magic, until at the age of sixteen I landed an apprenticeship beneath one of the Tracers in charge of the same evil lair we are currently standing in, and the rest, as I'm sure you know they say, is fucking history." The words were spoken so casually, as though the accomplishments he was describing were of an everyday sort of occurrence.

"Dissecting magic at the age of twelve," Harry muttered, feeling awed by the man. "I still had bars on my window at that age."

"What?" Caelix asked, staring at him with sharp eyes.

"Er, nothing," Harry shrugged awkwardly, dragging a hand through his hair.

"Harry—"

"Did you find out about that signature you were telling me about yesterday?" Harry blurted, interrupting Cae before he could press the subject. The other man stared at him as if he was aware of exactly what Harry was doing but answered the question without too much hesitation.

"Not yet. I got rather distracted, what with all the excitement."

"Right," Harry nodded, unsure of what else to say. "Well, I s'pose, you know, if you do find out, you know where to find me." As he spoke, he took a step backward and cursed himself for his stumbling words and awkward retreat.

"Harry," Caelix called softly, jumping down from the table to walk forward, gliding closer and closer to Harry until the man was only inches away. "Can we talk?"

"Talk?" Harry echoed, feeling nearly dizzy from how hard his heart was pumping blood through his body. Cae was standing so close—close enough that Harry could feel the warmth of his body, could smell the familiar leathery-scent of his cologne, raw and dirty and arousing.

He was staring down at Harry with an odd expression on his face. "Yeah, I don't really want to either," Caelix murmured, and in the next second, his mouth was covering Harry's and Harry was finding out exactly what it was like to kiss someone with a lip piercing. An odd sensation at first, but he sort of liked it. The metal felt cool and solid against the warm pliable flesh of Cae's mouth, molded softly around Harry's own.

Was Harry really kissing Caelix? And was he actually enjoying it? The kiss was pleasant; it felt nice and Harry could feel himself possibly wanting to deepen it, possibly wanting more. But what about Draco? When Draco had kissed him, it had been electric. It had been consuming, burning, filling Harry's veins with fire and making him feel as if he didn't touch Malfoy, he would have gone mad. Caelix's kisses were somehow different, somehow muted. There was a slow warmth spreading through Harry's body, but it was much milder, much more gradual.

Wanting to test it, Harry hesitantly brought one hand up to rest against one of Cae's collarbones at the same time he awkwardly curled the other hand around the man's shoulder. The kiss deepened and Caelix sighed into it as he tangled one hand in Harry's hair, the other resting on his chest. Harry's heart was pounding as he fought the urge to step back and break the embrace, unsure what an appropriate length of time for a first kiss should be. Eventually, Harry had to pull back to breathe, but Caelix refused to detach his mouth, planting kisses in a path along Harry's neck. His throat felt hot and Cae's breath was warm, but the tiny metal hoop was somehow cool and felt strangely erotic sliding over his bare skin.

"Cae…" Harry whispered in a scratchy voice, feeling pleasure tugging at him temptingly, and yet at the same time, he was drowning in guilt. How could he do this with Caelix after what had happened between him and Draco? But Malfoy didn't want him; he had made that much clearer than Harry would have ever preferred. And was Harry supposed to just allow the rejection to be thrown at him and then pine after the man forever? Would it really be fair to himself to just dismiss Cae's feelings for him? Maybe he owed it to himself to find out if he felt the same way. But how could he get involved with anyone else while he was still staying at the Manor with Draco? The situation was making Harry's head spin—that on top of the kisses still being pressed into his throat.

"Cae, wait," Harry managed. The warmth against the front of his body vanished as Caelix leaned back, but it returned half a second later as he wrapped both arms around Harry's neck.

"I'm sorry," the other man apologized quietly. "I know that I said I would give you time and that I wouldn't add to all the pressure being piled on you, but I like you, Harry," he said, turquoise eyes piercing into Harry's own. "I've liked you for a long time."

"I—look, Cae…" Harry began, unsure of what else to say. He needed to be honest with the man. He needed to explain everything, confess to what had happened between him and Draco, both the previous night and that morning. He needed to be completely upfront with Caelix, and maybe then they could both figure out what to do. Harry did not want to hurt Cae, but he also did not want to lead him on. It was clear that Harry was attracted to him, he could recognize that. It was also possible that he might have real feelings for the man, but how could he start anything when he obviously had feelings for Draco as well? Not to mention the fact that Harry was currently in the middle of the bloodiest case he had ever been involved in. He needed his focus on solving the murders and stopping a lunatic, not on his dating life. Would Cae be willing to wait, maybe? Take it slow? If he liked Harry as much as he said he did, then the answer would, of course, be yes, right?

But before Harry could open his mouth to find out, they were interrupted by a white Jack Russell Terrier bounding through the closed door and over to Harry. "Harry," it said in Ron's voice, "We got something new. I think you should come back. Now." And with no further explanations, the Patronus dissolved, leaving a worried silence in its wake.

"Fuck. Shit," Harry swore. What was it this time? An entire fucking head in a box? "I have to go, Cae, I'm sorry."

"You're kidding me, right?" Caelix asked him incredulously, making Harry pause in disbelief. Was he seriously expecting the brunet to just ignore Ron's words and the entire case and stay there to discuss whatever it was that had been happening between them? But then he continued speaking and Harry felt guilty for thinking that of the man. "I'm coming with you, of course."

"Of course?" Harry repeated in confusion. "Why of course?"

"What if it's something worse than yesterday?" Caelix demanded, eyes glittering. "Who knows what the hell that sick bastard will send next? For Christ's sake, he sent that girl a fucking eye, Harry! And of course you'll do something unnecessarily fucking rash, like touch some cursed fucking object and then probably fucking die, and I'm not risking your life, P, so suck it the fuck up and let's go."

"Has anyone ever told you that you swear quite a lot?" Harry asked him in amusement.

Snorting, Caelix made no comment, simply gesturing for Harry to lead the way.

Exiting the lab, they walked side-by-side in complete silence as they hurried to the Apparition point in a separate part of Headquarters reserved solely for Auror use. Once there, Harry turned and reached out for Caelix, who stepped into his touch with a smile. Closing his eyes on the sight of the intense turquoise stare flooding his own gaze, Harry concentrated on getting the two of them to Malfoy Manor.

Seconds later, he opened his eyes to the sight of the monstrously large Manor, standing impressively tall and gazing coolly out at its surroundings. They passed easily through the gate, metal turning to smoke as they strolled through. Caelix had not removed his grip from Harry's arm, who gently slid his limb free from the other man's grasp.

Caelix released his hold the instant he realized what Harry was trying to do. "We're going to talk about this, right?" he asked suddenly, voice unsure in a way Harry had never heard from the man, and Harry wished more than anything that he could assure him of his feelings right there.

But he just couldn't.

"Of course," he promised, pausing to press a kiss to Cae's cheek, a gesture that surprised the both of them. "But…you know…" he waved toward the large house and Caelix nodded.

"It's fine, P, I understand. Solving crime and fighting evil first, shagging second."

At the word shagging, Harry stumbled but was able to quickly regain his balance. A smirk crossed Cae's face, but he made no comment. They made their way up to the house in silence, Harry's apprehension building with every step. What were they going to find? And how would Malfoy react to the sight of him? Surely he would not be angry at Harry for not having been allowed release from guard duty, would he? Harry had tried, after all. It wasn't his fault, and so even if it was not wanted, Malfoy was just going to have to deal with his presence.

And Harry was just going to have to deal with wanting Draco and being unable to have him. It wasn't like nobody wanted him. Caelix had made it more than clear that he wanted Harry, that he found Harry attractive and desirable.

Even if Draco Malfoy never would.

Gripping his wand tightly, Harry sent Caelix what he hoped was a reassuring smile before opening the door to the Manor and stepping into the unknown.

oOo

Pibby had told him, warned him, was never wrong, and yet when Draco descended the staircase to find Gregory waiting for him at the bottom, he was surprised. And as Greg strode forward to wrap Draco in a bruising embrace, one so tight he thought it might crack a rib or snap his spine clean in half, he was downright shocked.

"Draco," Goyle greeted gruffly, squeezing tighter and crushing the blond to his vast chest, and for a moment Draco felt warmed at the rare gesture. But as the hug continued, oxygen was quickly becoming an issue. With a tap on Greg's shoulder, the man got the hint and dropped his arms.

"Fuck, it's good to see you, Draco," he rumbled in the same deep voice that Draco remembered from years ago. It had been so long since he had last seen his friend.

"You too, Gregory," he said sincerely. Goyle smiled at him, but Draco could see something hooded and unnamable, something possibly akin to fear lurking beneath the expression.

What had brought the man back to Draco's house, in a country he no longer resided in? Had he heard about what had happened all the way out in Germany? He couldn't have. Draco had not heard a thing about it until Potter had dropped onto his doorstep out of nowhere, and the blond still lived in the country it was happening in, for Merlin's sake.

His lack of information, however, was hardly surprising. It had been quite a while, ever since his father's sentencing, really, that he and his mother had been kept informed of any of the happenings between the old families.

So much had changed since his childhood.

But as Greg grinned widely at him, Draco found himself smiling back and decided that maybe some things had stayed the same, after all.

That theory was somewhat shattered, however, as Harry Potter strode in from the main entrance, and Draco felt a sudden pang at the sight of the man appearing apprehensive and alert for any signs of danger. What had Weasley said in the Patronus he had sent? What had Potter been expecting?

The pang in Draco's chest intensified as he looked the dark-haired man over. He looked just as good as he had that morning—all lovely golden skin wrapped snugly in a not-tight-enough shirt and jeans that fit the man deliciously. The color of his shirt set off the perfect green of his eyes, flashing intensely beneath that famous thatch of untamable ebony hair—hair that Draco knew the exact texture of.

Was it too late to apologize to Harry? The man was a genuine Gryffindor, a hero, right? Surely forgiveness would come easily to such a paragon of good and virtue, yes? Surely if Draco told him how sorry he was, how he hadn't meant any of it, then everything would be fine again, wouldn't it? Harry would look at him again—something the man still had yet to do.

Instead, he was staring at Greg, who had turned a fraction to see what Draco was looking at.

"Goyle," Potter said, masking the surprise that Draco was certain he felt.

Gregory did not even attempt to hide the surprise he felt at seeing the now-grown Potter. Deciding not to answer him, he turned to Draco instead. "Draco?"

"Maybe we should sit down," Draco suggested, nodding fractionally to Goyle, who relaxed and gestured for Draco to lead the way.

But he had only taken two steps forward when something suddenly forced him to a stop. The same man from the previous day with the same atrocious hair had slipped through the doorway and was standing directly behind Harry, one hand on the Auror's shoulder as he leaned in close to speak directly into his ear. Draco could not hear what he was saying, and he had to fight the overwhelming urge to stride over and shove the strange man away from Harry—an urge that was becoming more and more persistent the longer the man's hand remained on Potter's shoulder. Draco ground his teeth.

Before he could give in to any urges to either hex or hit the strange pierced man, Weasley's voice sounded behind him. "Oh good, Harry," he called, footsteps echoing loudly as he jogged down the stairs. "You got my Patronus. And brought Cae," he added as he noticed the man, who grinned at the redhead.

"You shan't have any fucking hope of solving this without my help, Ronald," Caelix smirked.

Draco wanted to shout that nobody needed him, not even Weasley, and least of all Potter. For the sake of his pride, however, Draco managed to keep quiet.

"Cae was just checking the wards," Harry explained to Weasley, still not glancing in Draco's direction. Had Draco destroyed everything? Did Harry hate him now? Was he now with this Caelix? How could he be? The man had bleached hair, for Merlin's sake! And the parts that weren't bleached were pink. He had bits of metal stuck through his face!

As Weasley began speaking, Draco suddenly registered Potter's words.

"Why would you bother checking them?" he interrupted, not caring that Weasley had been in the middle of a sentence. "I've told you, the wards are solid."

"Nothing wrong with double checking," Harry responded coolly, eyes finally flicking to Draco for a fraction of a second before looking away.

"Draco," Goyle whispered, stepping close and nudging the blond. "What's going on?"

All four men turned to stare at him. "Right, Greg, sorry," Draco broke the silence. "Come along and I'll explain. Potter," he sneered, "can continue with whatever other asinine procedures he has constructed to waste time." And not caring who was following him, Draco set a quick stride down the long corridor. Within seconds Gregory had caught up but turned to stare in surprise when Draco marched past the large doors that the other man had paused at, continuing the steady pace forward instead.

"Are we not going to the drawing room?" Greg asked in confusion, gesturing behind him to the door that had already been magically sealed by Pibby.

Unable to help himself and knowing that Goyle's loud voice had carried to the three behind them, Draco turned his head to glance at Harry, only to find the man already staring at him. As their eyes locked, Harry flushed and looked away, leaving Draco wondering what that meant. What emotions were lurking beneath that blush? What was Harry attempting to keep hidden?

Deciding to drop it for the moment, Draco turned forward once more and shook his head at Greg as he continued to lead them down the corridor. Finally, they stopped outside of a wide set of chestnut-colored doors, light brown wood inlaid with circular panes of colored glass fitted in scattered bunches across the surface. Like the entrance to the dining room, these doors had no handles. As the group neared the room, the doors swung open to reveal the conservatory, the one that Draco was quite certain nobody in their group but Greg had ever seen. It was large and spacious, offering an open, airy feeling. The ceiling and nearly all of the walls were glass, most of them looking out across the gardens, along with one single wall charmed to show a springtime sunrise gently creeping across a perfectly still lake. Draco was not sure if that lake was a real place or if it had been imagined for the charm. Every time he looked at it, he hoped it was real.

The urge to glance over his shoulder was overwhelming, and Draco gave in to it to watch the three men behind him staring around in awe. Yellow sunlight filtered down through the glass ceiling high above their heads, throwing spotlights on the hanging ivy and sweeping ferns spilling around the room. Sections of the ceiling were fitted with colored glass, casting a multicolored glow over many of the plants. And just like the rest of the grounds, the flowers here were always in bloom, always beautiful and perfect. They would never be seen as they really were, without all the magic keeping them frozen in time. In the very center of the room was a glassy pond mirroring the versicolored ceiling in kaleidoscopic ripples of light, the reflections casting the water into even more prisms of color. Several silver fish drifted lazily through the pool, their glittering scales reflecting yet more hues until the entire pond was alight with rainbows. A large set of charmed wind chimes was tinkling gently in a nonexistent breeze somewhere, playing softly over the musical trickle of water flowing into the prismatic pond, both sounds giving the room a peaceful, comforting feeling. It had been quite a while since Draco had journeyed to the conservatory, and he had nearly forgotten just how beautiful the room truly was.

Continuing his pace, Draco led them further into the room until they reached a set of stiff ivory-colored furniture. Sinking down onto a settee, he was immediately joined by Greg, who was glancing toward the two Gryffindors uneasily, and Draco could hardly blame the man. What would he himself be thinking, if he were in Greg's place?

The bench across from Draco was taken by Harry, as well as—to Draco's extreme annoyance—Caelix, who sat far too close to the brunet for Draco's comfort.

"Goyle," Potter's quiet voice drew everybody's immediate attention. "What are you doing here? We thought you were living in Germany now." He kept his gaze fixed firmly on Greg, refusing to allow his eyes to flick even momentarily in Draco's direction, and the blond felt a sharp pang shoot through him. The only one to glance at him was Goyle, who looked automatically to Draco as though seeking permission to answer the question, remaining silent until Draco nodded.

"I was," Greg rumbled, turning to address Harry. "But I got a letter a few days ago and it…" Clearly unsure of what words to follow that up with, his sentence trailed off into silence.

"Can I see the letter?" Harry asked politely, but Greg had already turned away from him to stare at Draco.

"Draco?" he said nervously. The same odd undertone that had been present earlier in Greg's voice had returned. "What's going on? What are they doing here?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak but Draco silenced him with a pointed look. Deciding to skip politeness and pretense, Draco cast a silencing charm around Gregory and himself. He did not want an audience listening in as he explained the recent horrors that had befallen all their old classmates. The more he told Greg, the more horrified the expression on the man's face became, until his eyes were impossibly round and his mouth was hanging open in disbelief.

"No," he said finally, long after Draco had fallen silent. "No, Draco, I don't…it-it can't…I don't understand, it can't…" he seemed to be struggling for words to describe what it could not be.

"It's true, Greg," Draco said grimly. Goyle's head dropped to stare down at his lap, causing a swell of pity to rise up in Draco and he reached out one hand to pat the man comfortingly on his large upper arm.

"So that's why Potter and Weasley are here," he spoke as he continued to pat Greg's arm. "The Ministry has deemed them to be an adequate enough shield to stand between us and certain, savage death."

"And do you agree?" Greg asked curiously, glancing up and tilting his head. "I think you do at least a little bit since you're letting them stay here. You think they can stop whoever's doing this?"

Draco glanced at Potter and was startled when he found the man already staring directly at him with frustration etched across his handsome face. What was he thinking? When he looked at Draco, what sorts of thoughts crossed his mind?

For the thousandth time, Draco wondered if it was too late to apologize. Maybe he could get Potter alone and perhaps he would be brave enough to confess everything, every single confusing feeling he felt towards the entire situation. Maybe Harry would understand and maybe he would even forgive him.

"Draco?"

Goyle's voice startled Draco into blinking as he realized that he and Harry had been staring intensely at one another in absolute silence and that Gregory was not the only one who had noticed.

Cheeks flushed crimson, Draco turned back to face the man next to him. "I do," he said simply in answer to Goyle's earlier question. Of course Harry Potter would stop whoever was doing this—he was Harry bloody Potter, for Merlin's sake. The man was the most heroic sodding person to ever walk the blasted earth, after all. He was the Slayer of All Things Evil and Bad and the Vanquisher of Immortal Dark Lords, battling for the forces of good and righting daily injustices and constantly saving puppies and newborn babies every other minute of the day. Right?

Harry Potter had never failed before.

"What are you doing here, Greg?" Draco asked, steering the subject away from Harry Potter. The man spent more than enough time in Draco's thoughts, he did not need to also be talking about him every single second as well.

"I got a letter," Goyle glanced around uneasily. "It was…weird. I thought maybe I should come back. And then when I got here, Mum said that you'd spoken to her not too long ago asking about me. So I decided I'd better come here to see you." He glanced around the conservatory as if speaking specifically about that particular room.

"Do you have the letter with you?"

Nodding, Greg reached into his pocket and extracted a heavy-looking envelope. He held it out to Draco, who accepted it with nervous hands. What would it say? Would it be something along the lines of the message that Daphne had received?

Fingers trembling slightly, Draco pulled a thick square of parchment from the envelope and unfolded it. In big, blocky letters was written:

GREGORY GOYLE,

YOU CAN'T RUN FROM YOUR PAST
YOU CAN'T ESCAPE YOUR CRIMES
YOUR SINS HAVE A WAY OF CATCHING UP TO YOU

I'LL BE SEEING YOU SOON

"Does that mean I'm next, Draco?"

The question was spoken in a quiet, subdued voice, and Draco unfroze as he looked up from the parchment to stare Greg in his fearful brown eyes. Was Gregory next? God, Draco hoped not; he had known Greg his entire life and could not let anything happen to him. The man was the only friend he now had in the entire world.

"No, it doesn't," he assured Goyle, folding the letter up and sliding it back into the envelope. After the presents Daphne had received the previous day, Draco felt fairly certain that Greg was not the next Slytherin on the list. Sending the other man what he hoped was a reassuring smile, he cancelled the silencing charm around them, just in time to hear Weasley's voice speaking loudly.

"But why would you do that, Harry?"

Instantly, Draco's heart began to pound a fierce beat, certain that Potter had confessed what had happened between them and Weasley was now going to throw a disgusted fit. But as Harry began to speak, Draco forced himself to calm down enough to listen. Perhaps it was not what he thought.

"I dunno, Ron, I just…" the brunet raked a hand through his hair. "Maybe I just thought I would be more useful if I was assigned to a different part of the case, that's all."

At the words, Draco felt his stomach drop. Potter was being reassigned? Was that why he had gone into the Ministry that morning? He no longer wanted to be there at the Manor? He no longer wanted to be around Draco?

"Yeah, but, Harry," Weasley said, frustration evident in his voice. "Why would you just go to Wescott like that without even talking to me about it first?"

Yes, Potter, why? Draco demanded internally, not wanting to speak aloud and alert them to the fact that the silencing charm that had been shrouding them was no longer in effect.

"I just—it was just a…spur of the moment sort of thing, you know?" Harry sighed, sounding weary.

To Draco's growing rage, Caelix reached out a hand to rub across Harry's back comfortingly. Potter turned to the man and offered him a tiny smile, causing Draco to grit his teeth together so hard it hurt. So, Potter really was involved with Caelix. Had they been involved the entire time, even before the man had shown up at Draco's bedroom door and kissed the blond in a way that had made his insides feel like they were melting?

A murderous glare was cementing itself onto Draco's face, one he was unable to fight. How dare Harry Potter make him feel so amazing, so on fire one night, only to shove into Draco's face the sight of him cuddling up to his bloody lover the bloody fucking very next day. His fingers twitched and he had to fight the urge to whip out his wand or overturn furniture.

As Draco attempted to calm himself, Potter glanced over at him and their gazes locked. The man looked surprised and slightly alarmed by the sheer fury that Draco could feel emanating from his entire body, but the shock quickly faded away to be replaced by a defiant expression, as though daring Draco to throw the tantrum he longed to.

Gritting his teeth, Draco forced himself to look away. He turned to find Greg staring at him curiously, most likely wondering why Draco was suddenly so furious.

"Well, I'm glad Wescott turned down your request," Weasley continued, not noticing the glares being exchanged between Harry and Draco. Caelix had not removed his hand from Potter's back and was staring between Draco and the brunet with a strange expression.

"I spoke to Neville today as well. He's going to come help out," Potter blurted suddenly, as though he was aware of the suspicious gaze being directed at him by Caelix and wanted to avoid it by changing the subject. "He should be by later today, or tomorrow, maybe."

"Longbottom?" Draco asked flatly, the single word snapping all attention onto himself. "Longbottom will be staying here as well? How many fucking Gryffindors do you expect me to house?"

"However many it will take to save your ungrateful life," Potter shot back in annoyance, green eyes narrowed into a glare. Weasley stared between the two men in confusion.

At the man's words, Draco could feel his own features reflecting shock, and, for just the briefest of seconds, a hurt so deep he could feel it all the way down in his very bones. Taking a deep breath and schooling his expression as best he could into a blank mask while trying to fight the burning in his eyes, Draco stood and flung his arm out sharply to offer the envelope still clenched in one fist to Weasley, who took it with another puzzled look.

"Tell them everything that happened, Greg," Draco said to the large man sitting in silent bewilderment. "Perform whatever spells you want on the letter. I'm going to find Blaise and check on Daphne." He was not at all certain that he did want to find Blaise, but noted with satisfaction the way Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously when he mentioned the man.

Turning from the others, he had barely started to cross the room when the door they had entered through swung open and Blaise and Daphne strolled into the room as though summoned, glancing toward the group with obvious interest. Daphne drifted daintily toward the three men still seated, sinking down onto the section of the bench so recently vacated by Draco.

But instead of following her to where the others sat, Blaise sauntered directly over to Draco, standing far closer than was necessary and leaning in even closer as he spoke. "And why weren't Daphne and I invited to your little meeting?"

Sighing, Draco gestured toward the settee that the other two remaining Slytherins were seated on. "Greg just arrived. They're filling him in on everything."

"Ah," Blaise said, leaning around Draco to nod a greeting to Goyle.

"He was just on his way to find you," the man offered, and Draco sighed heavily again at the delighted smile that spread across Blaise's handsome face in response.

"Is that true, Draco?" Blaise asked in a soft voice, head bowed shyly as he peered up at Draco from beneath long lashes. "Were you coming to find me?"

Against his better judgement, even while knowing that the man's bashful act was simply that—an act—Draco found himself nodding.

"Well, here I am," Blaise said coyly, shifting his weight closer. "We could go somewhere more…private, love, if you wish to talk."

Before he was aware of it, Draco nodded, then caught himself and quickly shook his head.

"Mm, is that a yes or a no?" Blaise murmured, raising a hand to stroke Draco's cheek.

Unable to stop himself, Draco flinched away from the contact, a small movement that he was not sure if anybody but Blaise noticed. The dark hand dropped immediately.

"So, you wanted to find me, but not talk," said Blaise flatly, crossing his arms but not moving any farther away.

Shrugging helplessly, Draco fought the overwhelming urge to glance back at Potter. What was the man thinking? Was he watching their exchange? Or was he too busy focusing on Caelix to even remember that Draco was in the room?

"Please, Draco," Blaise pleaded quietly, ignoring the warning in Draco's eyes as he raised the same hand as before to lightly caress one alabaster cheekbone. His fingers were warm, his touch so achingly familiar, and Draco could not help but lean into the gentle contact. Blaise's eyes seemed to burn right through Draco, piercing straight through his pale skin and defenseless bones and flooding his body with a stabbing heat that he was not sure was shame, embarrassment, or arousal—but he could not look away. He could not step away. His body felt disconnected from his mind and no matter how much his brain was screaming at him to shake off the bastard's lying, unfaithful touch, his legs seemed either unable or unwilling to respond.

A throat cleared loudly from somewhere behind Draco, snapping him from his daze as his head automatically whipped around toward the noise. Harry was glaring vicious daggers at the both of them and Draco felt himself instantly turn red as he took a stiff step backward, out of the reach of Blaise's dangerous touch.

To the blond's surprise, Blaise turned his own seething glare onto Potter, who did not look away. The two men stayed like that, glowering at one another for long seconds before Weasley awkwardly broke the tense silence with a question.

"Erm, did you want to look at the letter, Harry?"

Every gaze in the room snapped onto the redhead, who ignored them all as he held out the envelope for Harry to take. Accepting it warily, Potter scanned the message before passing it to Caelix, who immediately began casting a rather complicated-looking spell across its surface, weaving his wand in a complex pattern in the air above the letter.

In contrast to his negative feelings toward the man, Draco watched in fascination as the parchment glowed bright blue and began to curl in on itself before smoothing slowly out and gradually fading back to the color of cream. Caelix waved his wand again and the letter vanished, disappearing off to what Draco assumed would be the man's lab for further tests. Despite the pettiness of his own reaction, Draco found himself childishly wishing that the object really was cursed and that Caelix would catch the brunt of it, but then shook his head internally and took it all back as he remembered that he too had handled the letter.

A heavy, strained quiet fell over the conservatory, somehow managing to mute even the calming sounds of water trickling into the pond and the charmed wind chimes still tinkling metallically somewhere. Staring away from the two sets of eyes he could feel burning into him—one pair brown, one pair green—Draco gazed off into the distance of the lengthy room, focusing his attentions on a large Kashmir cypress stretched toward the glass ceiling in the corner farthest from him. It was the only one of its kind in the entire conservatory and Draco had always found it to be rather out of place for some reason, yet also somehow seeming to look and fit in beautifully surrounded by masses of purple bell vines. The vines crept along and covered the glass walls encircling the cypress, several leafy tendrils crossing over the tree to drape delicately atop the sweeping branches. The limbs of the tall Kashmir drooped low, reaching down toward the floor and shielding the brown of the trunk completely with its pendulous blue-green needles. The thin finger-like leaves brushed against the ground in a mournful, forlorn-looking way. It made the proud cypress look bent and hunched, appearing sad and defeated in the dazzling sunshine haloing it.

Or maybe Draco was simply projecting his emotions onto a fucking tree.

Either way, he wished he could be hidden as easily from the world as the brown bark he was unable to see, no matter how much his gaze attempted to pierce the heavy foliage screening it. He could still feel the two sets of eyes piercing into him, raking over him with an uncomfortable ferocity, burning into his flesh, attempting to scorch his skin with the intensity of their stares. He itched to shout at the both of them, maybe throw something heavy through the glass wall nearest him, or else just simply storm from the room. His legs twitched restlessly, his body clearly in favor of fleeing, but fortunately for him, he was saved from deciding between the unappealing options by the arrival of Pibby. The sudden crack of the elf appearing made everyone jump, and their heads whipped as one to focus on the tiny creature now standing before Draco.

"Master Draco, sir! You is getting an owl, sir," the elf squeaked as he handed Draco a blank envelope before bowing and vanishing with another loud crack.

As he slit the seal and shook the letter loose, Draco could feel every set of eyes fixed on him. Was it from the killer? Was it now Draco's turn to receive a horrible threatening message? His pale fingers trembled as he unfolded the thin parchment, and it was with an audible sigh of relief that he recognized Wisp's slanted handwriting.

Tomorrow, same as our first
Don't be late
W

Still ignoring the stares, Draco touched the tip of his wand to the parchment and watched in satisfaction as a single greedy flame devoured the dry paper. "It's nothing to worry about," he said mildly, eyes following the grey smoke as it drifted in delicate spirals through the air above his head.

"Who was that from, Malfoy?" Potter's voice demanded, causing the blond to slowly lower his gaze until he was staring the brunet in the eye.

"Nobody to worry about," he insisted in a tone of voice that he hoped would prevent the Auror from attempting to press the question with so large an audience nearby.

But as Potter rose from his seat and began to stalk closer, Draco wondered if maybe he should start practicing his threatening tones more often. They were clearly not having the desired effect.

"Damn it, Malfoy," Harry all but growled, "who was that from?" His hands were clenching and relaxing, as though he was longing to wrap them around Draco's arms and shake the answer free from him, something that Draco found himself sort of wishing would happen, if not for any other reason than the pleasure of the man's touch. But the words and the commanding tone they were spoken in made his eyes narrow.

"Why do you even care, Potter?" His voice was tight and angry. How dare the man think Draco owe him answers about everything or anything, even if he was there to save the blond's life? Potter did not get to care what happened to him, not if he was involved with someone else. "Concerned about my ungrateful life now, are you?" He sneered the words and watched in satisfaction as Harry's face twisted with rage. The man turned red and took a step closer, and Draco was suddenly worried that he was about to be punched in the face by a furious Harry Potter, something that he was not at all unfamiliar with.

Blaise seemed to be thinking the same thing because he was suddenly at Draco's side and Draco could see the wand that the man clutched tightly in a tense brown fist hanging near his thigh. Draco blinked at him in surprise, not having expected his ex to come to his rescue. Not that he needed rescuing, of course, especially by Blaise, and especially if he was there to save him from Harry Potter.

Potter swung his glare onto Blaise, but took a step back and seemed to be attempting to calm himself. "You're right, Malfoy," he said in a clipped, frosty voice, folding his arms as he gazed bitterly at Draco, the man's eyes like two tiny blocks of ice embedded within a hostile expression. "Why the hell would I ever care what happened to you?"

Unable to stop himself, Draco flinched and took an automatic step back. He did not want to admit to himself how much that had hurt, but he could feel a prickling beginning behind his eyes and knew that he had to get out of there before the first teardrop fell. He could never show weakness to Harry Potter, never show just how deeply those icy words had cut.

"Good," he spat viciously before turning on his heel and striding away as quickly as he dared. As he hurried away, he prayed that Blaise would have the good sense not to chase after him. If the man tried to force another confrontation at that moment, Draco would not be held responsible for his actions.

Unable to face the thought of so many stairs in his anger, he entered the first room he came to and cast several furious locking and silencing spells on the door before turning and beginning to fling hex after hex at the objects in the room, reducing them to nothing but rubble and ash spread amongst wide puddles of shattered glass.

Finally, there was nothing left to destroy and a heavy exhaustion swept through Draco, forcing him to drop to his knees in defeat. In his weary state, he was unable to fight the damned tears sliding down his cheeks, and he curled into a lonely ball to gently sob into the haunted silence of his own aching misery.

oOo

Aaaand The End. For Now. TBC and all that. Sorry if this chapter was just a little bit depressing! But also probably don't expect it to cheer up anytime soon. Also, I apologize now if there ends up being another long stretch of time between chapters. It really was like pulling fucking teeth just to get this one finished. I promise, however, that I will try my most sincerely and will hopefully be updating again soon.

Buuuuut anyway Internet, what do the anonymous think of the story at this point, huh? Too much drama? Not enough murder? Too many misunderstandings? Not enough Blaise? What did everyone think of the Harry/Caelix kiss? What are the opinions on Goyle so far? How does everyone feel about Neville joining the slumber party? Who does everyone think is going to be the first to die? I want to hear from every single one of you! Kind reviews are medicine for my shattered focus. Please, help heal me.