A Letter from Sirius.

Dear Harry,

This letter should arrive at the same time as Draco Malfoy. I know Hermione sent you a letter to arrive just before him. She worries that this may be a shock for you. I agree, but I also agree that this is your chance to build the love you've always wanted. I know that sometimes it is hard and lonely for you - that your best friends are also lovers. It was so for James, before he loved Lily, when Remus and I were lovers. But, because of the loneliness and pain that he had experienced, he was able to build something strong and rich with Lily. I believe it can be so for you too.

I have here a photograph that Hermione took the other day. Remus stopped in unexpectedly to see me, and waited in our office. Hermione, the witch that she is, got her camera ready, and has captured forever the look of delight on my face at seeing Remus. Delight followed by joy, followed by love, followed by a kiss. Such a simple act to sum up the meeting of two souls.

For twelve years I suffered in Azkaban, never daring to remember the joy that Remus and I had shared, but remembering all to well the pain and silence of the time we suspected one another. The memories of love were too precious, too fragile, to expose to the lust of the dementors. Some I managed to keep intact, and they are among my most treasured memories today. The memory of our first kiss, under the stars after the yule ball. The first time we made love, the thousand times we made love, each rare and beautiful. Now, we can be together again, and, though our love must hide in the shadows of the resistance, it is a hidden flame that burns us both. His very presence fills me with peace like nothing else. To win a smile, I would walk through hell. To keep him safe, in the hope of creating a world in which we can love at peace, I walk a path strewn with corpses, lies, deceit and blood. To watch him lying in my arms with passion spent, to feel him whisper his love and desire for me into my skin, for these moments of joy I would do anything. If the trial of rebuilding Draco Malfoy seems too hard, for he is shattered, remember that love can wipe out twelve years of suspicion and betrayal. Love can make anything imaginable. Love can wash the blood of Death Eaters from my hands. Love can do anything.

Be patient and truthful. I have seen with my own eyes what I never would have suspected - that Draco Malfoy is worthy of the love you have to give. Sometimes, it will try even you, the pain of rebuilding. Remember that we are here, that we watch you. That we love you. That we support you. Draco Malfoy is your desire, your fear, the reason you, without hope, go in search of death. You have a chance now to make him your life, your heart, the reason you, with hope, go in search of life.

Hermione is just preparing the transportation. Soon I will consign this letter to the hands of the gods, and may they be merciful. When I took Hermione on as my apprentice, I never expected that we would become so close. That we could come to read each other's minds. But we have. So, when she sends you Draco Malfoy, to make of what you will, I join her.

I love you Harry.

Your godfather, Sirius


Harry and Draco.

Draco had been silent for over a month. Since Hermione and Sirius had delivered him into Harry's hands he had not spoken. He did not try to escape - better that the Death Eaters assume him dead at the hands of the Resistance assasins than they discover him alive, having spilled every secret he possessed.

Harry watched him with concern. Draco could feel the gaze on him, and tried to shrink further back into the couch he was sprawled on. Draco was frightened of what Harry might be able to read in his eyes. He was frightened by the tenderness and compassion that Harry showed him, emotions that Draco could not begin to imagine the sources of. Did not want to imagine. Draco was frightened of feeling. But Harry's eyes stayed on Draco.

Harry sighed as he looked at the crumpled form. Every day, he asked himself: 'Why? Why did they give him to me?' He knew the answer, of course. Several times a day he asked himself 'Why? Why do I keep caring for him?' He knew the answer to that, too, and it also was not pleasant. He watched his chance to speak to Draco, to get some response. Today, his patience seemed to have worn very thin. He was desperate to breach the dike of Draco's emotions, to get a response, any response, to prove to himself that Draco was still alive. He moved over to sit on the floor next to Draco, ignoring the way he cringed further back into the cushions. Without thought, he let his hand run over Draco's shoulders, absently rubbing the tense muscles. When was the last time he had touched Draco like this?

Obviously he must have spoken aloud, because he felt Draco stiffen under his hand. Well, that was a response. Harry brought his other hand up and repeated the question.

"When was the last time I touched you like this? As I remember it, we were still at school."

Harry watched Draco's face twist with emotion, savagely supressed, the first he had seen since he arrived. Draco tried to wrench away, but Harry's hands moved to pin him to the couch.

"You've been betrayed, Draco. Do you think I haven't been? Do you think I don't know pain? Do you think I have never loved hopelessly?" Harry drew in a deep breath, still ruthlessly pinning Draco down.

"I have loved hopelessly. Just as you have. Do you know what a gift Hermione gave you? She gave you me. Me to help you rebuild, but I'm sinking here. You want to drown in your betrayal. Have you never betrayed anyone? Have you never betrayed me? You used me, betrayed me, killed my friends and family, and... I'm still here. Still holding you, still giving you comfort... Still trying to save you." Harry's eyes locked with Draco's, and he spoke again, more calmly.

"I remember the last time I touched you like this. In our last year at school. I found you crying and incoherent on the floor in our dormitory. I pulled you onto my bed and took you in my arms. To comfort you. You kissed me. Do you remember that? Your lips were soft and shaking, and salty with tears, and I kissed you back. I murmured comfort into your ear, but you weren't interested in gentleness. You tore your clothes off, and mine. I wanted to be gentle, but you were frantic. Your hands were everywhere, so hot and trembling. You begged me, without words, and I was helpless to resist you. I knew then that it was inevitable, that I would give you whatever you needed. There you were, in my bed, in my arms, and you wanted me. I fucked you there and then, and still you cried. Afterward, you fell asleep in my arms. I wrapped them around you so tightly, held you so close that I might warm you as you slept. Then I, too, slept, but woke alone.

"You acted as though nothing had changed, until I found you crying in my bed a few weeks later. So I comforted you again, and then again, and then again, damn you! I knew you didn't want me, had no idea who you did want; all I knew was your pain and my ability to ease it. So I did. Again and again I gave you everything I had to give, knowing that I wasn't who you wanted. Now do you think I have never felt the pain you feel? Do you think it didn't stab me to the heart that you never even spoke to me? Well, it did. You never even said my name, you bastard. Just one simple fucking word, a crumb for me as I gave everything I had for comfort. It tore me apart, and I was sick with jealousy, wondering who it was that you did want. I know now, and it is such sweet irony. Irony as heavy as your body resting on mine in the aftermath of passion. Irony as sweet as watching you sleep.

"And now, I'm still here, trying to comfort you. Still waiting for you to say my name. I've waited my whole life to hear it, but I cannot wait forever. I survived your leaving once, and, if you go now, I don't know that I will survive it again, but I still want you. After every humiliation, after every stark realisation that you could not, would not, want me, I still want you. Now, when you're broken and lost, I still want you. I still love you. Could you, would you, ever want me, Draco Malfoy?"

Harry stared into the depths of Draco's eyes, ice about to shatter. Harry's own eyes were burning, but slowly the fire died. He turned from Draco, and buried his face in his hands for a moment, then struggled unsteadily to his feet. A soft word stopped him inches before the door to oblivion.

"Harry." He hardly dared believe his ears, but the whisper came again. "Harry." He turned.

Draco was crying, as in all memories, but his arms were outstretched and he was saying Harry's name. Harry jerked him into his arms and buried his face in Draco's hair, suddenly crying himself. Their tears mingled on their skin. Draco shook convulsively, and Harry's hands relearned their familiar patterns of comfort. Draco drew away slightly.

"I don't know who I am." he said. "But I want to live. Help me to live, Harry, please help me to live."