A/N: Hey guys, here's the new chapter! And a long awaited scene.

Thanks a bunch to our amazing betas, as always.

Chapter warnings for; explicit language, implied/referenced suicide and self harm, violence, war.

Next update on: 5th of February, Saturday.

Chapter Two: All This and Love Too

...

"Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.

These, our bodies, possessed by light.

Tell me we'll never get used to it."

― Richard Siken, Crush

...

Sometimes, he forgets how to breathe.

It's like his lungs, constricted and battered as they are, constantly looking for an instant where he's not paying attention, constantly waiting for him to waver so that they can quit.

And then Harry has to remind them, yet again, 'please don't stop, not yet.'

And then his lungs begrudgingly take up the mantle again, fueling the stream of loathing that surges through his veins.

His face stares back at him, an assortment of gaunt flesh and jutting bones, and eggplant-nestled eyes that beg for decades of sleep.

Harry reminds himself to breathe, forcing his eyes to travel down his naked body, taking in the bruises, the scrapes, the scratches. There are old ones, silver and faded, slightly raised above the skin.

Harry can recognise the ones from the belt buckle, and a few from Petunia's silver embedded hand fan.

He can also recognise the new ones. Mostly bruises, some from his recent fight with the intruders, and some from himself.

It seems as though his hands took the brunt of it.

Harry wipes the mindless tears off his cheeks with the same fingers, cringing at the dull sting. He can see the bite marks, dented in and bruised around the edges, his nails chapped and crusted with blood. Shaking. Shaking as if they intend to multiply before his eyes.

He stares at his own reflection. There is nothing there. There is nothing inside. Not even mortification at what he did. Not even the remnants of the conversation with Charlie.

It's all superficial. Years upon years of coping mechanisms, piled together to make sure he seems okay, when in reality he's breaking into pieces.

He knows how to smile, make it seem like he really means it, but still scream himself deaf on the inside.

There are no screams ringing in his ears. It's just an endless mantra of a name.

Draco.

He can fix this.

Draco can fix him. He has to fix him.

Harry needs to breathe.

"Should Harry be staying with Weasley?" Draco can't help but ask before his cousin leaves. They're still lingering in the kitchen, now alone, with Lupin firmly shepherding Weasley and Granger. Mister Weasley, to his knowledge, departed to comfort his upset wife. And Sirius, his cousin, second removed, aloof and seemingly nonchalant.

The table is empty now, except for the two of them. Black has spent the last several minutes staring at him, while Draco stares down at the empty plate. He is a hostage to the man's whims; helpless to find his way around the house, and hesitant to seek another's help.

Maybe Black needs them to be alone to rough him up. Maybe Black will go with the butter knife after all.

He knows the man is deliberately doing this to unnerve him. But Draco had spent his summer with Bellatrix and the Dark Lord. Sirius couldn't even hold a candle to Greyback. All in all, he doesn't really look as threatening as he wants to.

"Why shouldn't he?"

Draco narrows his eyes. Was he being obtuse? Or is he just that stupid. "Didn't Slughorn tell you?"

"He told us enough. He's under a regimen." Black sniffs haughtily.

"And he used magic." Draco raises an eyebrow. The audacity of these people to think that everything's okay now that they have Harry. The sheer naivety to believe in this false safety.

They'd been safe in Shell Cottage too.

"Slughorn didn't mention any complications—"

He shouldn't argue. He really shouldn't besmirch the murky waters between them, make the man irritable. But it's Harry. To hell with logic.

Draco sneers, "Well, Slughorn didn't have to look over him for two weeks." He shakes his head, and fixes the man with an intense stare, "I just think you or the… Lupin could watch over him for tonight."

Black opens his mouth, no doubt to say something scathing before what Draco said catches up with him, and he pauses.

It's terrifying and satisfying at once. To see that he made the man ponder, "Thank you for your concern, Draco." The use of his first name surprises him, but he doesn't show any outward sign of it, "I'll talk to Remus."

That was way easier than he thought it'd be. Draco blinks.

"Great," he says, and almost winces. That's a word with a lot of baggage. He pushes back his chair, about to get up, when Black speaks again.

"And I owe you a thank you." The man takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself, "You brought my kiddo back safely. I don't care what anyone else says. What you did was good."

Draco blinks at the man again. Out of all the people to thank him, he'd not counted Sirius Black as one of them. Lupin, maybe. Perhaps even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; Professor Dumbledore even, though now more unlikely, seeing as that man knows the whole, unvarnished truth.

He'd actually expected Black to act more in line with Ronald Weasley. All paternal wrath.

"Thank you," he says, after too long a pause, "And you're not as insane as people say."

Black laughs, his eyes narrowing, "Kid, I'm fucking nuts. You better stay away from me like you do from your aunt."

There's the threat. It is not cloaked in the slightest. It's a bit sloppy, but loud and clear.

Steer clear of Black.

"Alright."

Bella is insane, true, but Black… Well, though he has the crazy eyes, the one inherent in the family, Black could only ever hope to get to her level. And Draco wishes he never would, if only for Harry's sake.

The man sobers fairly quickly, "I would say condolences, but it wouldn't be sincere. Your mother was a good woman, not to me," he shrugs, "And your father was not a nice man at all. Nevertheless, it must feel a bit relieving, being out of their grasp," he looks at Draco expectantly, and Draco makes his face go blank.

And there goes any respect Black might have earned from Draco.

"I loved my parents," he says, and there's a tightness to his voice that he'd been trying to avoid.

"Oh," Black says, wincing, "Well I'm sorry then… I should leave," he clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably.

"Yeah, you should."

He'll ask Lupin about where he'd be staying after all.

"What are you doing?" Granger asks, almost startling Draco into pulling the drawer out of its hinges. He's disposing of the letter opener he's found in the room just now. She's leaning against the doorframe, and her arms are crossed.

The scowl on her face is screaming, 'Die, you fucking asshole. Just die right now.'

Draco is somewhat inclined to oblige that scowl. But his sheer hatred for Granger stumps his depression.

Even though he knows that, realistically, he would have met Harry's friends at some point, the recent interactions have felt anything but tolerable.

The Weasley parents steered clear away from his vicinity. Charlie Weasely, whom he figured was the middle son, also didn't extend his welcoming tone to anything beyond a sentence or two.

Bill Weasley, the eldest, Draco just avoided out of necessity.

But Granger and Weasley… God knows he abhors those two.

And it is that resentment that takes him by surprise. He's been so focused on getting Harry to his friends alive, that he never thought about what he'd do in hostile territories such as this one.

"I don't see how that's any of your business, Granger," he sneers. He hasn't done that in a long while. Sneering, in general, feels a bit odd now. He must not have done it in at least a week. And even then, it must have been barely a ghost of a sneer anyways.

Granger's eyebrow arch. "Seeing as that was not your knife you were stashing away, I'd say it's our business, alright."

This time the sneer comes to him easily. She knew nothing, that little pretentious mixed-blood twerp.

Draco reigns the expression on his face. Tolerating, that's what he has resigned himself to be. That's what he promised himself he'd do once he and Harry got together.

She's being ridiculous. It's not like he's stealing the fucking thing. It's just instinct, getting rid of sharp, pointy tools. He had, very stupidly, in his desperate attempts to forget the hellish dinner, begun the ritual of getting rid of dangerous shit, when she walked in on him.

Harry's friends mattered a lot to him. Draco knew that. He still does. And if he wants the slightest bit of chance at forgiveness, he's going to need to step up his game.

And hence, Draco has to try at least and not to be an asshole to them, especially with Harry in such close proximity.

He wasn't expecting it, earlier tonight, for Harry to quite literally shut everyone up-wandlessly, and he'll freak about that later-when he saw them harassing Draco.

But Harry did, and while that showed a smidgen of hope, barely a wisp of it where Harry is concerned, Draco isn't going to push it.

"Didn't count you as a thief," she continues, "maybe I should have."

Okay, now Draco has half a mind to really lay it on her. It's just so fucking obvious, what she wants from him.

She wanted him to freak out at dinner, snap at her and Weasley, reveal some scandalous truth that will get him banned from touching Harry ever again. That didn't succeed. Of course, it didn't. Who does she think he is? Does she think she can outsmart a Slytherin like him? A brainless Gryffindor?

So obviously, now she's here, trying to simulate the same reaction, get a rise out of him, enough for him to either hit her, curse her, or inflict some sort of damage.

Merlin knows he wants to. Just give in to the urge, her so-called plan, trap. Just punch her like she'd done a few years ago, and be done with it. He almost does it too, before remembering once again that she's Harry's best friend and Draco doesn't want Harry to get antsy with him again. Especially after the Slughorn blunder.

His fingers shakily push down on his other wrist, hard enough to bruise.

'I am not here, and neither are you.'

Just tolerance.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't lay your stuff around then," he coolly replies and pushes the drawer shut with a small click. "Weasley's rubbing off on you in more ways than one, isn't he?"

They are shagging. It is so painfully obvious. And Draco knows where to push where it hurts. Just enough, just on this side of too much, just enough that Harry won't be able to get upset about it.

She doesn't take the bait, "Harry went to shower. There's more food downstairs if you'll be needing any."

Draco knows. He saw Granger checking up on Harry, knocking on the bathroom door, and gently slipping inside, and he wanted to kill her right then and there.

"I'm sure I can manage," he sneers.

"I'm sure you can," she snaps, "But we have a bone to pick and I want it to be over with before Harry gets out. He normally doesn't take long, so I won't beat around the bush."

Draco shrugs with crossed arms, "Do your worst," he says, eyes flicking over to the sharp edges of the bedside table. It'll be so easy to slam that into one's head. Maybe he should pad it or something.

Granger jeers, stepping closer, much closer than he's comfortable with anyone but Harry being.

He doesn't step back, but rather stares right into her eyes, "I don't know what you went through with him. I'm sure I won't even begin to understand even when Harry tells us about it," she starts.

Draco smirks, "You're right. You wouldn't."

He sees the way her eyelid twitches, "But I know Harry," she breathes venomously, "I know he gets attached easily, and I know you think you can fool him," the knife that was previously in his hand is now being pulled by its handle by Granger's nimble fingers. The sharp edge grazes against Draco's fingers, but he doesn't flinch. He stares at her because he knows this is a power play. A dick measuring contest, really, and Draco has much more to prove here.

"He's been hurt already, and I haven't been there for the half of it, but here I am now, and I'm never leaving again."

"Oh joy," he mutters mockingly, pouting.

She smiles. It's a cold, sharp grin, "No," she drags the knife out of his hand with a swift pull, "Joy is what I'll be feeling if you step out of line."

"Let me guess…" Draco glances down at the knife, "You'll lecture me to death?"

Granger turns the edge to him, downward and very precariously pointed at his groin and Draco has a hysterical flashback to a homeless bum doing the very same thing only a week ago, "I'll cut off your testicles with the same letter opener you smuggled," she says, maliciously, and Draco can see her eyes overflowing with what she obviously thinks of as righteous rage over Draco corrupting her Harry.

"...feed them to you raw and then bury you in this very same room."

The knife, the very tip of it anyways, grazes Draco's shirt, "Hurt a single hair on his body, and no one will ever find your ghost."

Draco waits a few seconds, just to make sure she's quite done with this award-worthy performance before he swiftly steps aside, "How delightful, Granger," he smiles, sardonically.

And then he feels a jolt of vitality, something from a distant past, the absolute thrill of excitement shooting through his veins every time he gets to antagonise Harry's useless friends.

His smile turns into a well-worn smirk, as he leans close to Granger, this time, he is the one who invades the girl's personal space, "Let me give you a warning of my own in return."

She sneers, and he continues, "You hurt a hair on my body," he chuckles, "and Harry will burn this whole god-damned continent to ashes. You even got a good sample of that tonight," he drags the knife out of her lax fingers and throws it in the bin behind the door. "Good night," he says pleasantly, and she seethes, flipping him off before slamming the door close behind her, rattling it in its hinges and Draco curls his toes in absolute delight.

He has missed this.

"Hey there, boys," Remus smiles, "Sorry to interrupt."

"We were just going to sleep," Ron replies, squinting at him as he struggles to cram his long limbs through his pyjamas.

"Oh, I won't take long, Ron. Harry is just going to spend the night with Sirius and I. This," he says. He's had a talk with Sirius, and Draco had a point. It would probably be for the best if they kept watch over Harry.

For his own nerves, more than anything else. He might not show it in front of Sirius in fears of agitating the man further, but he was actually freaking the fuck out the entire time during their briefing.

Not now, he thinks. He can't untangle that mess tonight. The only thing he's doing now is getting Harry to bed. Safely.

"Why?" Ron narrows his eyes at him, a protective turn to his stance.

"Nothing too pressing," he placates, at least that's what he hopes he's doing. This night has been so chaotic this far that Remus has no energy or effort left to put into sounding decent anymore.

He glances at Harry's hands, discreetly, the wrapped nails, the slight tremble and then wants to hold the boy and just run away.

Of course, he knows that would not sit well with Harry. So Remus comforts himself with words. Whatever the blasted curse, it is gone now, Slughorn is an excellent Potions Master, "I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind having a sleepover. Just for tonight, Ron."

Harry doesn't meet his eyes and just straightens down the jumper he's borrowed from Ron.

"I can keep an eye-" Ron starts, making Remus wince.

"I know," he says quietly. He knows. But they're just kids.

"Can I be included in this conversation?" Harry grumbles.

"Sorry, cub." Remus turns to Harry, taking in his tired countenance, the dark circles under his eyes. He looks truly awful, worse than Remus himself does after a bad moon.

He tries to give a reassuring smile, but knows it probably falls flat, "You used magic, and we're just being a bit paranoid. I also have your potions, so-"

"It's fine, whatever," Harry says, standing up.

"Come on, Sirius and I aren't that bad. He doesn't even snore," Remus tries. It doesn't seem to have any effect. Harry turns to Ron.

"Goodnight Ron." Harry mutters as Ron hugs him.

"I'll see you." Ron says, releasing the boy, his eyes darting over him, as if waiting for Harry to do something. Remus sighs.

"Come on, Harry." he says, looking back once to make sure Harry's following him before pushing open the door to Sirius' room.

Padfoot is already asleep on the bed, a curled up ball of shaggy black fur. When Remus looks carefully, he realises that he isn't actually asleep. His breaths are too even. Remus shakes his head slightly, turning back to Harry and gesturing towards the empty space beside Padfoot.

It's all too familiar.

"You can take the bed. It's alright."

The last time they did this, Harry used to sleep in a crib. It was cherry wood, and Sirius had charmed a rotating baby mobile for him. Quidditch themed.

Remus remembers it vividly to this day.

"Where will you sleep?" Harry looks between Remus and the bed.

Remus smiles, "I won't. I found this delightful book in the library just now that I'm going to read." he holds said book up, its spine broken and pages yellowed. He isn't lying, the book is quite delightful, but they both know that's not the reason he'd be staying up.

They didn't sleep that night either. Too afraid maybe. James and Lily were out on a mission. Against his vehement protests.

They knew of a spy amongst them. Remus knows that he was the prime suspect at the time.

Remus knows that is why they sent Sirius along with him that night. They didn't trust Harry with Remus. And Remus didn't trust Harry with Sirius.

"Remus-"

"Hush. It's okay. You can rest." Remus says gently, his head still lost in the memories.

Sirius was on the rocking chair that night. Remus sat by the crib. Neither could sleep or talk. They were keeping an eye on each other more than they were on Harry.

Harry hesitates for a moment before nodding now. Gingerly, he climbs onto the bed, careful not to jostle Sirius too much.

Remus pulls the chair up beside him, turns down all the lights except one bedside lamp. Harry's lying down sideways, facing Remus.

He was facing Remus that night too. His tiny face was barely big enough to fit in the palm of Remus' hand.

'Did you warm up his bottle?'

The rocking chair creaked in the corner. The sound was calming and annoying in the same breath.

'He usually sleeps for an hour or two before needing it.'

Remus remembers how he had sneered.

'It's just a fucking warming spell. I'm not going to kidnap him in less than the second it takes for you to get the bottle.'

'That's not the reason why I won't.'

Harry's eyes bear into his now, wide and green and exhausted. Remus wants to run his hand through his hair so it would speed up the process. He used to do that a lot back in the day when babysitting. Harry adored it; it could get him to sleep in minutes.

"Am I like mom?" he asks suddenly.

Remus blinks, a little thrown. Then says, "Physically?"

He needs to stop thinking about it. Them. The past. Before he bursts into tears. He has Sirius now, and Harry still has them both. Except that doesn't really make up for James and Lily. And Harry… he never got to know them.

He still sees them, sometimes. In Harry.

No, the boy isn't a carbon copy of either of them. But he's still their son and sometimes so much so that it takes his breath away. Sometimes Harry would bite at his fingers just like James used to in his classes, and for a moment Remus would be thrown back in time. And then he'd notice the difference, Harry's too short, too thin, and the goddamn scar.

And it'd be like slamming onto the floor after falling from a great height.

"No." Harry frowns, "I don't know."

Remus stares for a moment, then sighs, "You are in some ways. But I won't get into that now, cub."

Harry's not wearing his glasses, giving him a clear, unobscured view of his green eyes. Lily's eyes. And he's glad, so glad, that Harry inherited something from her. And he feels a little terrible, to soothe that longing in him with Harry, who doesn't even remember them.

'You know that it is.'

'I'm not the one disappearing for days. I'm not in the habit of abandoning people.'

Remus' head had turned, his eyes narrowed and his heart pounding in his chest. Breaking in there too. But it had been breaking for a while now, little thin cracks at every gesture, every doubt, every suspicion. Unable to really handle the strain of war.

"You need to sleep." he clenches his fingers around the book, a futile attempt to stay in the present.

"I don't want to." Harry murmurs, shifting a little.

'I didn't abandon you. You threw me out.'

Sirius stopped the rocking chair, his face twisted in a jeer, 'Don't you dare bring up old shit into this. I didn't throw you out, you left-'

'Because you couldn't bear having sex when I was clothed,' Remus had thrown back.

Sirius huffed, running a hand through his hair, 'I knew you weren't marked. Just stop this.'

'I'm not here to fight.'

"I'll be here," Remus soothes, "And Sirius is here-"

Sirius is always there. Whether wanted or not.

'Not to fight. But you do the thing you do, that passive-aggressive shit, you make me feel guilty for asking valid questions-'

'Keep it down,' he'd snarled, 'Harry's asleep.'

Harry squirms under the covers. He looks so lonely and Remus feels so torn. He wonders, now more than ever… whether it all went wrong because of that night. A twisted recantation of the butterfly effect, except it hadn't been as small as a butterfly fluttering its wings. It had been his whole world, shattering. It had been destruction. It had been a hurricane.

"It's not that. I just… I don't know. I don't feel right." Harry says, and pulls the covers up to his chin, hands fisted at the top.

Remus' heart clenches.

'I can't do this anymore.' he had whispered, his face plastered against the bars of the crib, the burning in his eyes prominent, his blurry vision on the baby's sleeping face.

He'd never felt so betrayed.

'Do what?'

He never wanted to lose him. Lose them. He couldn't do it. It happened anyway. And it nearly happened here. Again. History repeating itself, over and over and over.

Harry nearly died. It's his fault somehow that it happened. Always Remus' fault.

He hears Sirius huff a little. Remus turns away from the black mass shifting on the bed, and looks back at Harry, "I suppose it all feels a bit rushed. Too much at once. I saw how green you looked at dinner." after starving for weeks. It's a familiar feeling. Eating too much too soon after barely anything. He'd hoped… he'd hoped Harry wouldn't have to feel that. But he did, and it didn't feel like it was a new experience for him either.

He doesn't have the strength to ask.

"It's not that I don't love you all, it's just-"

"Having your boyfriend at the same table felt a bit awkward?" Remus quirks a knowing smile. Padfoot huffs more loudly, and this time Harry turns to look at him. Sirius is an excellent actor.

Remus rolls his eyes.

"How did you-" Harry asks, looking slightly alarmed.

"Please," Remus chuckles, "Give me some credit."

Harry bites his lips, looks at Remus, and then relaxes, shrugging slightly. He grins back, a tired little thing, but genuine. "I've really missed you guys."

"We would do anything for you."

Sirius' eyes bore daggers into his, 'Do what? Lie to me? Break my heart?'

Remus had turned to him, 'Watch you fall out of love with me.'

He sets the book aside, leans down and kisses Harry on the head, feeling the slight dampness. "And we've missed you. So much. You are such a wonderful person, Harry. Our world felt really dim without you in it."

His eyes travel to Sirius, and they linger.

'Maybe we shouldn't be in love for a while,' Sirius had retorted back, though Remus could swear he saw the flicker of regret pass through his eyes.

'Maybe we shouldn't.' he said instead of saying what he truly meant. He meant to say sorry. He meant to beg for it. But never did.

He couldn't be in love with a spy.

"I'm sorry." Harry closes his eyes.

"Don't be." Remus whispers, though he doesn't know whether he means Harry or himself, "Now go to sleep. Or I'll have to resort to force," Remus says, leaning forward slightly to rest a hand on Harry's clammy forehead.

"What force?" Harry asks, peeking open one eye.

Remus grins, darting a look at Padfoot, "Sirius is a serious cuddler."

'I'll find a new apartment.'

'I don't care what you do anymore.' the rocking chair stopped once more.

Harry snorts, "Good night, Remus."

"Goodnight, Harry. We love you." he says gently, removing his hand and opening the book. His eyes though. They remain on the bed.

Harry can't sleep. Even with Padfoot's comforting weight beside him, even with the warmth of the covers and the room, even with Remus' gentle breathing from where he sits, slumped over on the chair. Even with the pin drop silence of the room. Harry can't sleep.

He wants to blame it on the curse, or the cure and its side effects. He wants to blame it on unfamiliar surroundings. But he'd be fooling himself. He knows very well why he can't sleep.

He looks back over to Remus, whose book is on the floor now. God, the man looks exhausted. The full moon must be near. Or maybe it recently passed. He's not sure. He hasn't been paying attention.

The man's visage, slumped and clearly uncomfortable, makes something churn in his stomach. Harry feels guilty for dragging them all into this. He doesn't think the guilt will ever really leave him.

It was all his fault, every single thing that happened. Right from the beginning. He rubs at his hands, resisting the urge to pull at his already bruised and damaged fingers, grimacing. Slowly, carefully, he pushes down the thick duvet, and sits up. He pauses and breathes for a moment, making sure either Remus or Sirius haven't woken up.

The wooden floor is cold beneath his feet, and he relishes in the feeling. He presses his soles firmly against it, and then stands up, willing nothing to creak. He pads towards the door, and slowly pushes it open, very very slowly. He doesn't remember if it had creaked or not, coming in. He isn't taking any chances.

It doesn't.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he walks out. He's not hundred percent sure what room Draco's staying in, but he knows it's on the same floor as him.

It's not the room Ron's in, obviously, so he ignores that door. A floorboard outside it creaks loudly as he steps on it, and Harry freezes, silently cursing in his head.

He stays frozen for a full minute, waiting to see if anyone heard, and then relaxes.

He passes the room Ginny and Hermione used to stay in, and comes to another door. He takes a deep breath and places his hand on the knob, wondering if he should knock. Then he decides against it, and pushes the door open. This time, it creaks.

The light from the hallway floods into the dark room, illuminating the bed with a sliver of yellow light. There's movement, and then Draco sits up, staring at Harry with a startled expression on his face. Harry makes his way over to him, gently shutting the door behind him as Draco quickly conjures a bit of light.

"Hey," Harry mutters, "I thought you were asleep." he settles down beside Draco, pulling his legs up on the bed.

The relief is immeasurable. It's like a drug hit, though Harry has no idea how it would feel. This is the closest thing to it.

Draco.

Liar. Manipulating. Asshole.

Caring Draco.

There's this urge in him, just telling him to plaster every surface of his body to Draco's and drink him in.

Liar.

"I couldn't fall asleep without you… Harry I-" Draco swallows visibly, and Harry puts a finger on Draco's lips. Draco shuts up immediately.

Harry nods, and then lays down on his side, facing Draco. After a moment, Draco lays down too. Their faces are inches apart, bodies so close Harry can feel the heat radiating off of Draco.

Draco opens his mouth, but Harry hushes him again, "Don't speak. Not a single word, okay?"

Draco mutely nods.

They stare at each other in silence, Harry contemplative, and Draco wide eyes, uncertain.

No. Harry needs it. His voice, crooning in his ear, telling him nice things. Telling him, he's not an idiot for trying to forgive him.

But Harry doesn't want to hear those words.

He sighs, "Okay, I changed my mind. I really miss your voice. Talk French to me." he says.

Draco looks a little pained, "Harry-"

"I don't want to understand you," Harry says, a little sharply, and then gentles his voice, "I just want to hear you."

Draco stares at him for a moment, and then starts speaking, a soft, lilting whisper, "Je t'aime et je suis vraiment désolé pour ce que j'ai fait."

It's so soft, all curving sounds, and soothing whispers, one word tumbling into another. Harry doesn't understand a word of it, except 'aime'. He knows that word. Love. He shuffles closer, just a little, to hear better.

Draco kind of looks like he's babbling a little, and warmth spreads through Harry's chest. The sound of his voice will always be comforting, despite the lies and the betrayal.

If his voice was a home, it was one Harry wanted to belong in.

Because it was his voice, the tenor, the accent and the warm way he said 'Je t'aime' that made Harry's heart slow down, cease battering itself against his ribs. It was his voice, that was his safest sound. One he could burrow himself in and live forever.

Draco continues, "J'espère que tu me pardonneras. Tu es tout pour moi." There's a hitch in Draco's voice, and Harry looks up from where he'd been staring at the boy's lips. Draco's eyes are bright, like he's just about to cry. He keeps speaking, "Je ne peux pas vivre avec moi-même sachant que tu ne pourrais pas me pardonner-"

He cuts off Draco's rambling, "You can't do this to me again. You can't hide things like that from me, especially when they're about me."

Like shards of a mirror, he remembers the motel, the barn, the bus. But does he really?

They feel like the memories of some other entity. Like something he's supposed to see on the telly.

Draco's frozen, looking at him with vulnerable eyes.

"I'm sorry-" he whispers, a lot softer than his words in french. Maybe one day, Harry would ask him what he'd said. Not right now, though.

"No," Harry cuts him off, "I don't want you to grovel right now. The things I'm about to say… These are facts. I've thought about these words while I was hurling out my guts."

Draco takes a deep breath, "Okay."

He looks like Harry is going to run him over with a truck.

Harry nods, and shifts even closer to Draco, hearing his breath hitch. "You can't lie to me," he says with a calm he doesn't really feel. The storm's still there, inside him. It just doesn't hurt as much anymore.

"Because if you lied to me about something that big, you could lie to me about something small, and you can wake up one day and not love me anymore, and it will be a little lie, but it will be true nonetheless, and I can't take that."

Draco's face had been getting progressively paler as Harry spoke, "I would never-"

Harry cuts him off with a hand to his mouth, pressing firmly but gently, as much as he can manage with his hand rattling like a rattlesnake. He leans in closer, pressing his forehead to Draco's, "Let me finish. I've been lied to my whole life. I'm still being lied to by people who pretend to care about me. I'm not dumb. I know when people lie to me. I didn't know when you did, not because you're good at it, but because I didn't want to."

But he'd known, hadn't he? Sirius wasn't stupid. Sirius was him. And he'd known Draco was hiding something.

Harry closes his eyes, "I love you. And I do not take those words lightly. And not lying to me is the least you could do to respect the part of me that is endangering my heart for you. I love you, Draco Malfoy. Maybe against my better judgement, but you signify every part of me that is able to be loved, and transformed into something better." slowly, Harry removes his hand.

There are no thoughts regarding his confession. There actually is too much of nothing. Harry relishes in it. Because at least he knows they're true—every word.

Draco's quiet for a second before he drops his gaze, whispering, "I'm glad."

Oh, Harry is too. Harry is so so glad that his heart speeds up the palpitations and his eyes sting, and his chest rises.

Is he an idiot? Or is this real?

"Don't be." Harry presses closer, "This is a transaction of sorts. My love for you, and yours for me. My trust in you, and your trust in me. But you have to tell me now,"

He pauses. There are many things he wants Draco to tell him. Many indescribable feelings. But mostly, it all shines through two vignettes. First, the dinner he so meticulously had prepared, fidgeting and nervous, looking into Harry's eyes as though Harry was even remotely desirable.

Because Harry was never perceived as desirable, Cedric was desirable, so was Cho.

"I'm really sorry, Harry. You're just not a common type." she'd told him.

And he believed her, still does. Because what does a gangly, bruised up boy like him have to offer to anyone? Especially now; damaged, mangled. Ugly.

But then that night in the motel, Draco's eyes raked over him like he saw that something. Like Harry was worth the effort.

Harry has to know if that was real.

His voice drops to a barely audible whisper, "Please tell me… Was it real? That night, when you...when we…" Harry clears his throat, flushing. He still can't think about that night without the accompanying heat. And the slightest sting of betrayal.

It was real. Was it real? It felt real. Harry doesn't care. But he does. He cares so much.

"Of course, it was," Draco says immediately.

It's like a fucking weight has been lifted off his chest. He's telling the truth. Harry knows it.

Harry swallows, and looks away, "No one has ever touched me like that. I didn't know I was capable of feeling and receiving that… You… no one ever thinks I'm good enough to... Make a move. Not even because of my name," Harry gives a wobbly smile. What a pathetic thing to be sad over. When the entire wizarding world is in danger. When he is the Boy Who Lived.

But it takes a lot from someone like Draco, to look at someone like Harry and feel anything resembling arousal or interest or even polite acquiescence.

"I'm glad they don't." Draco says promptly, then winces and hurries over, "That they don't see it, because then that means I don't have to compete for-I mean I would… But fuck them. You are the hottest, most amazing guy I've seen in a long while, Harry Potter." Draco grins at him, and the uncertain edge is receding a little.

"So," Harry snakes out a hand to Draco's, holding it in his own and squeezing, "So, it was real? Did you… feel satisfied?"

Harry was so out of it that night, he can't really remember how it went. He knows how he felt, but Draco? Everything was so engulfed by Draco that Harry forgot even thinking about it.

"Harry, of course. You don't even-"

"We're not going to be doing it for a while. But I needed to make sure. To see if you told me the truth."

"It's true. I swear on my own life." Draco squeezes back harder, his face serious and earnest.

Harry nods, and relaxes further. "We are going to sleep. And you're going to hug me. You will also sleep, no more sneaky guarding or whatever."

"Are you sure that's a good idea-"

"There are a dozen people here, and Remus will wake up at some point. You and I are going to sleep." Harry says firmly and closes whatever distance was between their bodies, pressing himself flush against Draco.

Finally, he wants more, though. Closer. So close that it hurts.

"Okay," Draco whispers, wrapping an arm around Harry and burying his face in his neck.

"If you break my heart," Harry whispers, his own face buried in Draco's hair, "Even though I can't break yours, I will cut all your hair off in your sleep, and you will never see me again. Never again."

Draco mouths a little at Harry's neck and whispers, "I will never jeopardise that."

Harry tightens his arms around Draco, urging him to do the same. "Hug me tighter, make it hurt a little bit."

He wants to feel it. He wants never to be let go.

Draco doesn't have to be asked twice.