Harry fought his growing feelings of futility by throwing himself into his classes, driving his students to learn more and more difficult spells until they grumbled threateningly at each task. Finally Minerva pulled him aside for a talk.
He sprawled on the sofa in his sitting room with a bottle of Firewhisky open next to him. A glass sat next to the bottle, but he hadn't bothered to pour any of it, although getting shitfaced had sounded like a fine option when he'd opened it.
"'They aren't Aurors, Harry,'" he mimicked, resting his head more comfortably on a sofa pillow and wishing it was Draco's lap. Draco sat cross-legged on the table behind the bottle, watching him with an amused smile hovering on his lips. They now had six vials of the potion bottled and ready for use, but they preferred to use it on Sundays when Harry had the most uninterrupted time to spend wrapped around his ghostly lover.
"And no Dark Lords for them to fight, either," Draco added in a sad tone.
Harry shot him a glare. "That doesn't mean they shouldn't be prepared. And some of them want to be Aurors. I'm only doing my job."
"They are still children. And you have been rather demented lately."
"I have not been demented!" Harry snapped.
Draco cocked a brow at him and Harry sat up, warming to the argument. Draco always seemed to know when he was spoiling for a fight and he hadn't yet backed down from providing one. The prior week Harry had spent nearly an hour shouting at him over the proper way to perform the Klein Manoeuvre—which was a variant of the Wronski Feint—until Harry's rage had propelled him out to the Quidditch pitch to demonstrate. After a bracing, exuberant flight, Draco had only laughed at him—the entire argument had been a ploy to get Harry outside to work off some pent-up emotion.
"They are not all children. The Seventh-years are adults and should be perfectly able to—" Harry's words broke off when the Floo flared to life and Hermione's face appeared in the flames.
"Can I come through, Harry?" she asked.
He glanced at Draco and lifted a hand that motioned him to stay while calling, "Sure!"
Hermione stepped out and looked from him to Draco in surprise, but she schooled her features. "Hello, Malfoy."
"Granger," Draco said without inflection.
Hermione looked nearly as bad as Ron. She seemed to have lost at least a stone and her clothing sat loosely upon her frame. Her hair was pulled back into a severe knot and she wore a too-large cardigan that Harry recognized as belonging to Ron.
"Has something happened?" Harry asked, feeling the now-familiar frisson of alarm each time he saw her. He hated that the sight of her had become synonymous with bad news.
She shook her head and he relaxed slightly. "No, I just… I just needed to get away. Ron is in a rage at the moment and I hate to fight with him, although part of him seems to need it. And I understand, of course I do, but…" She looked away and shrugged. "Is that Firewhisky?"
"Help yourself. The glass is clean."
She sat next to him and lifted the bottle to pour a healthy slug into the glass. Her eyes fixed on Draco. Harry waited for the inevitable question, but her attention was snared by the stack of books that sat on the table next to them. She cocked her head to read one of the titles.
"Harry, is that…?" She set the glass down without drinking it and reached for the book.
"Just research for class," Harry said quickly, although he shot a guilty glance at Draco.
"Research? This looks very dangerous. And quite possibly illegal." She flipped it open to a page that Harry had foolishly bookmarked. "'A Spelle of Subtility, to restrain thyself from matter.' What does that even mean?"
"It means to make oneself transparent," Draco replied. "Permeable. Like a ghost."
Hermione recoiled and then stared at Harry. "You aren't thinking about trying this on yourself, are you?"
Harry frowned. "Why would I do that?" It was only partly true, of course, since he had considered it a time or two, but only before the potion had become a viable option.
"Why is Malfoy here?" she countered, sounding suspicious.
"Because I like having him here," Harry said, knowing that any sort of dissembling would have Draco up and out of the room in a flash, probably angry, and possibly off sulking with the thestrals or somewhere that Harry wouldn't be able to find him until he wanted to be found. Besides, it was the truth.
Draco's eyes glowed with an inner fire that Harry figured only he could see, and it warmed him to know that he'd said the right thing, although possibly not from Hermione's point of view. "You two resolved your differences, then?" Her tone was dubious and her frown intensified.
"You'll be glad to know that we bonded over books. And Drac—Malfoy has been very helpful." He kept his eyes fixed on Hermione's, but did not miss the lift of Draco's eyebrows and the slight toss of his head that clearly said, Very helpful. Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
"These books?" she asked. "Where did you get these, anyway?"
"Here and there," Harry replied, amusement fleeing. "Are you seriously going to chastise me, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, for having books about Dark Magic?"
She flushed and snapped the book closed before replacing it on the table. "Sorry. You're right, Harry. You know how I am." She reached for the glass again and took a large gulp of Firewhisky. A moment later she set the tumbler down and began to cough, continuing until Harry patted her gently on the back and tried to remember some anti-choking spells. Minerva had given him a refresher course on emergency first aid prior to school starting, but already he was beginning to forget them. She waved him aside when he drew his wand.
"I'm fine," she said through a gasp and another bout of coughing. "Merlin! How can you drink that?"
"Well, I hadn't actually had any," Harry admitted.
She shuddered and set the glass aside. "I don't recommend it. Apparently, I'll never be a drinker."
"It's an acquired taste, I suppose."
She sighed. "I should get home. I left Ron at his flat and threatened never to see him again. I'll go apologize tomorrow."
"Maybe you shouldn't," Draco suggested.
Two sets of eyes settled on him and he shrugged.
"It's possible part of his anger is due to the fact that you are all treating him like he's made of glass." Hermione drew a breath to retort, but Draco held up a hand. "Yes, yes, he is dying. If you were in his shoes, would you want everyone around you acting like you were going to drop dead at any moment and coddling you like an infant?"
Hermione's jaw worked and her eyes flashed angrily. Harry thought she might lash out at Draco to alleviate some of her own tension, but then she visibly deflated. "No," she said in a small voice. "No, I would hate that."
Draco only nodded. Harry gnawed on his lip. He knew it would be easier said than done, especially for Hermione, whose impulse to take care of everyone around her had always been strong.
"I'll go see him tomorrow and apologize. I know I've been overprotective and maybe a little overwhelming. I just…" She turned away and Harry could see her stare fixedly at the opposite wall in an obvious attempt not to cry. When she regained control she got to her feet. "Thank you, Draco. Harry, can I speak with you for a moment?"
She moved away to the fireplace and reached up to take a handful of Floo powder. Harry got up and joined her. She glanced at Draco and then leaned close to him. Her brown eyes were wide and intense when she said in a low voice, "Please, be careful."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
"You admitted to me once that you found Malfoy attractive, Harry. Do not take refuge in something that appears real."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said, but he pretended to straighten a candleholder on the mantle, unable to meet her eyes and lie.
She sighed. "Just think about it, all right? There is a whole world full of living, breathing people. Don't lock yourself away in this old castle and tie yourself to what might have been."
He flushed at her words and a retort bubbled up in his throat, fuelled partly by anger and partly by guilt. The urge to tell her that she didn't know everything was strong, but he forced it back, unwilling to have a row with her when she was still stinging from a fight with Ron. And part of him knew she was right.
"Yeah, okay," he said casually, forcing it out through a false smile that tweaked the muscles in his jaw unpleasantly.
Her lips thinned, but she only tossed the powder with a flick of her wrist. "Goodnight, Harry," she said and stepped into the flames.
"Goodnight, Hermione."
O….O
Harry stepped out of the fireplace at Malfoy Manor. The place looked surprisingly barren. Harry had half-expected it to be hugely decorated for the holidays, but there was not a sprig of evergreen or holly to be found. Draco already waited for him; his fingers fidgeted with the lapels of his robe, a gesture Harry had seldom seen.
"Nervous?" Harry asked.
Draco snorted. "Of course not. She's my mother." He squared his shoulders and cocked an eyebrow at Harry expectantly.
Harry fished in his pocket and pulled out a potion vial. He uncorked it and then stepped close to pour it into Draco's open mouth. After a moment, a hand reached up to touch his cheek.
"I'll see you tonight," Harry said, heart already aching for the next several lonely hours that loomed ahead. He turned away, planning to step back into the fireplace, but Draco caught him before he could, and planted a solid kiss on his lips. Harry kissed back, despite his near-terror that Narcissa Malfoy could walk in and catch them at any moment.
"Thank you," Draco said.
Harry shrugged. "She's your mum. And without her, we wouldn't have the potion at all, so go on. Spend some time with her."
Draco nodded and stepped back. Harry Flooed home to Hogwarts.
O….O
Slightly more than fourteen hours later, Draco returned. Harry was propped in bed, reading, when Draco phased through the closed door to his room.
"How did it go?" Harry asked.
Draco floated over and sat cross-legged on the bed. "Both easier and harder than expected," he said. "She cried, of course. And held my face like she did when I was five. That was disturbing. But it got easier after a bit and we walked in the garden. It was nice to touch the flowers again—I helped her prune the roses and decorate one of the Christmas trees. Other than the lack of eggnog, it was almost like old times. And then I went to my room and boxed up some things to send here. They should arrive by owl post tomorrow."
"More books?" Harry asked with a grin.
"A few," Draco said, and then he looked straight at Harry. "I missed you."
Harry's smile faltered. He had never expected such a straightforward statement from Draco Malfoy. "I missed you, too." He leaned towards Draco, who did the same until their lips met… sort of.
"I hate this," Draco said. "How much potion do we have left?"
"Three vials," Harry replied, licking his lip to warm the chill left from Draco's not-kiss. "And tomorrow is Sunday."
"Do you have other plans for today?"
"My plan is to stay here in bed with you," Harry replied.
"Good plan."
Harry scrambled out of bed to fetch another potion.
O….O
Ron took a drink of his lukewarm tea, grimaced, and then turned and hurled the teacup at the far wall. It pulverized with a satisfying smash and the resultant tea that sprayed the wall before trickling down in a pseudo-artistic fashion was merely icing on the cake.
His vindictive sense of satisfaction was short-lived.
"Fuck," he muttered and debated cleaning up the mess of ceramic and tea. He decided he simply didn't care enough to bother and stamped into the living room to throw himself onto his uncomfortable sofa. He hated his bloody sofa, too. It had been a hand-me-down from Bill and no amount of Cushioning Charms could make it comfortable. The fabric was also a bizarre orange shade and left an unpleasant grid pattern on bare skin. Ron thought he might cast Confringo on it one day. He might even be sitting on it at the time. Right now, the thought of going up in a pillar of flame was grimly pleasing. His tight smile disappeared when he remembered the Fiendfyre. It hadn't been a pleasant way for Crabbe to go.
He glared at the ceiling, annoyed at his maudlin thoughts, but unable to stop them. It had been a crap day. A complete crap day. He considered Flooing to Hermione's, but he was not in the mood for sympathy and coddling. He wanted to break more things.
With that in mind, he shoved himself to his feet and went to see Harry.
O….O
Harry lay on the couch with Draco atop him. They had been in the same position for an hour—Draco's head resting on Harry's chest and Harry's hands carding through Draco's soft hair. Ghosts didn't sleep, Draco said, but he was doing a fine imitation of it, except for an occasional stroke of his fingers over Harry's shoulder, where one hand rested. Harry was on the edge of sleep himself, feeling perfectly lethargic after a mostly sleepless night. He didn't want to drop off, though. Not until the potion wore off in something less than an hour.
"Hungry?" Draco mumbled. His fingers twitched in a caress and he made a contended sound when Harry's hand brushed over the back of his neck and then tucked into his hair again.
"No," Harry said. He hadn't eaten, but that could also wait. His time with Draco was precious. They only had two potions remaining and were missing two ingredients for another batch.
"Thirsty?"
Harry grinned and pushed his head forward to press a kiss into Draco's hair. "No." He let his head fall back against the pillows and contemplated the cobweb on the ceiling rafters. The Hogwarts spiders were quick. The house-elves would have that one down by morning. It was a wonder the spiders had time to catch any insects. Harry closed his eyes only to snap them open again. He mustn't fall asleep. Not yet.
The fireplace flared and Harry jerked his head up to see Ron Weasley step away from the flames. Ron froze for only a moment and then tore out his wand.
"What the hell are you doing to him, Malfoy?" Ron demanded. "Get away from him!"
Harry sat up, dislodging Draco's cool weight and holding out a restraining hand. "Hold on, Ron! He's not doing anything!"
"Not anymore, I'm not," Draco muttered with a glare. He pushed away and got to his feet. Harry reached out to catch his arm, but it was only solid for a moment before his fingers slipped through Draco and away. The ghost stalked past Ron and said, "Weasley," in a derisive tone before making his way to the bedroom. Harry half-expected the door to slam, but Draco left it open, probably for eavesdropping purposes.
"Hey, Ron," Harry said in a more casual tone. He sat up and arranged the sofa pillows more comfortably, watching as Ron limped to the couch and sat down. They watched each other for a moment, both obviously unsure what to say. Harry had no intention of bringing up his relationship with Draco, so that was not a topic of discussion. He wasn't sure if he should bring Ron's appearance—his friend looked like an old man, moving carefully and with evident pain, wincing as he sat down.
Ron finally looked away. "I've been suspended from the Aurors."
Harry swallowed hard and his fingers convulsed. It was almost as much a blow as learning about Ron's illness; his job meant everything to him and he'd only been a full Auror for a few weeks.
"I expected it. I mean, look at me!" Ron held out an arm and Harry forced himself not to wince as Ron jerked back a sleeve to show off a once-muscular forearm turned bony and thin. Even the colour seemed slightly wrong; pale with a yellowish tint. "But they sent me a fucking owl; can you believe it? An owl." Ron pulled his sleeve back and dropped his arm to the sofa as if exhausted by the gesture. "'Dear Auror Weasley, in light of the recent incident involving the Netting Case, and after consultation with several persons of interest, we have suspended you from active duty pending a more thorough investigation. Please do not report to the Ministry tomorrow. We will contact you with additional information.'" He snorted. "Yeah, I have it memorized. Consultation with persons of interest—they mean the bloody Healers at St Mungo's. Nothing like patient confidentiality, yeah?"
"What incident?" Harry asked carefully. Ron has possessed a hair-trigger lately and even an innocent question could provoke rage.
Ron sighed and dropped his head against the back of the couch, scanning the rafters and possibly picking out the same cobweb Harry had been analyzing.
"I passed out on Friday during an investigation. Fucking dizziness came out of nowhere. Of course I was walking up a flight of stairs at the time. Fell down and nearly took out Chambers. He Apparated me to St Mungo's. Broke my fucking arm. The fall, not Chambers. It was a clean break and they fixed it up easy." Ron raised his right arm and twisted it to and fro to demonstrate its soundness. "I hate the bloody dizzy spells and being tired all the time. Some days I think I should just stay in bed and wait to die."
Panic fluttered through Harry's mind. How the hell could he reply to such a statement? Don't do that sounded like stupid, obvious advice. Please don't made it seem like a foregone conclusion. And some days we all feel like that would be insensitive and demeaning. The D-word settled over them like a dark cloud; Ron had been using it more frequently lately, maybe trying to assimilate the reality, but Harry was not yet ready to accept it. Hermione would come through; she always did.
Harry's glance fell on one of the books that sat on the table next to Ron's propped-up boot. Harry had put the more dangerous ones away, not wanting to face more Hermione-like questions from drop-in visitors. The book that remained was a relatively innocuous magical theory tome. Now he wondered if there were Dark Magic spells that might help Ron prolong his life, if not heal him completely. He would ask Draco when Ron left, and possibly get help from Narcissa. Harry felt suddenly selfish, using the books to books to strengthen his relationship with Draco and not once thinking of Ron.
"So, what's up with you and Malfoy?" Ron asked when the silence stretched out between them. The question seemed casual enough, even though Harry knew it was not.
Harry glanced toward the bedroom where he knew Draco had his ghost-hearing attuned to every word. Harry shrugged.
"Are you listening, Malfoy?" Ron shouted suddenly.
"Fuck off, Weasley." Draco's voice was so reminiscent of the way he had sounded as a petulant teen that Harry nearly laughed aloud.
Ron's gaze swung to him and he choked off his amusement. "You do know he's a ghost, right?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, Ron, I am aware of that, thank you."
"Just checking. How are you able to touch him, then? Or was I imagining your hands all over each other? Please tell me I was imagining that. I'd really appreciate it."
"You were imagining that?" Harry offered insincerely.
"Oh, bloody hell, never mind. I don't want to know. What I don't know, Hermione can't intimidate out of me."
"Are you guys okay?" Harry asked, leaping on the possible subject change.
"Yeah. I've been an unbearable prick and she's been tiptoeing round me and worrying worse than Mum… All right, yeah, no one worries worse than Mum, she's practically moved into my flat. I finally told her I can't sleep with her fussing so much in my place and the mediwizards told me I need rest. Now she only comes at mealtimes." He pulled out his wand and cast a Tempus Charm before putting it away with a sigh. "Oh good, I have some time yet before she comes to bring my lunch. Want to go say hey to Hagrid with me?"
Harry looked at the bedroom again and felt resentment well up inside of him for a moment, until it was crushed by guilt. So he would miss spending the last few minutes of the potion's effect with Draco. Soon he would be unable to see Ron at all, unless they found a miraculous cure. He got to his feet.
"Sure, let me grab my cloak. It's not warm out there." He hurried into the bedroom and was dragged into an embrace. Draco greedily devoured his lips and ran his hands over every part of Harry he could reach.
"You're not leaving without one last kiss," Draco mumbled against his lips and kissed him again.
Harry held him as long as possible and then pulled away reluctantly. "Found it!" he called for Ron's benefit and snatched up his winter cloak from a nearby chair.
He hoped he didn't look too mussed and aroused as he slung on his cloak and went to join Ron. If his friend noticed anything amiss, he thankfully said nothing.