I hate my computer. I just do. But well, at least it has served me purpose and so here I am, with the last chapter in my hands. I suggest you read the few chapters before this though, because I havent posted a chapter in so long I'm afraid you readers have forgotten what this is all about. But it's up to you whether you'd like to read again or not. This ending is a one ending, love triangles always leaves one out. At least one is miserable, in the end. Oh well. Please correct me for any mistakes I have!
***
Harry fell.
Swiftly.
And what was peculiar was… His mind was not in a state of panic. He didn't feel fear, or surprise, he did not feel anything. Completely nothing. As if the danger of this unusual plunge didn't excite him at all. His mind was in question, though – How the hell did he fall, anyway?
Where was he? How did he fall!?
But try as he might, may it be the pressure of falling or otherwise, he couldn't remember. Just a blanket of darkness then the descend.
Harry could hear the harsh whispers of the wind as he speared through the air. His glasses rattled dangerously, but his hands seemed clipped in place that he could not hold it still. All he could see was a mere blur of colors, no… of monochromatic scenery, of black and white.
Then a flash of blonde.
He couldn't breath.
What the hell was going on?
Straining, Harry reached out with his right hand, above him. The wind howled into his ears, the fall not yet over. Is this a bottomless pit he is falling into?
A broom above screeched silently as it dove down to follow him. Then in a whoop, a hand caught Harry's, and brought him into a warm embrace.
A warm embrace. The memory stung.
Draco.
The fall. Long ago. In the field. He remembered – he could never forget. The time his enemy saved him. The time he had been saved from falling, only to fall in love… This predicament he was in was just like the one before.
He expected to find silvery blonde hair and sharp, grey eyes, just like the time in the Quidditch field, seemingly a long time ago… but surprisingly, didn't. Who was this? He had none of Draco's touch, Draco's warmth. It wasn't Draco. Instead his savior was a young, raven-haired boy with green eyes.
Tom Riddle?!
In panic, he started to struggle. Struggle out of his enemy's grasp, but Tom seemed too strong. He gave a sinister grin. Harry closed his eyes and thrashed his arms around to get away, and he sobbed… this was too much.
Then suddenly, the rough clutches of Tom seemed to melt away, and he felt a warm body press up against him, a gentle touch and a warm aura. He opened his eyes slowly. Deep grey eyes, a pale face, handsome like it had always been. Why was Draco crying? His tears were scarce, and they trickled down his cheek and splashed down to Harry's neck. They were cold.
Harry looked over Draco's shoulder, gazing around as his arms calmed down and set place on Draco's back. They weren't in the air anymore. They weren't on a broom either.
Roses and carnations seemed to flourish out of everywhere around them, the sunlight pouring from above almost blinding him. The beautiful scenery reminded Harry of the Garden of Eden, luscious and bright yet peaceful and comforting.
Draco's hair shimmered at the yellowish rays of sunlight, and Harry breathed in soulfully, leaning up to Draco. It all suddenly felt right.
He was safe in those embracing arms.
Draco suddenly tensed, then shoved Harry away. His warm, gentle demeanor of an expression changed into one of cold, mock disgust. Harry heard Draco's harsh words, echoing throughout the whole place.
"Fine, be that way."
***
Harry shot up from bed, sweat trickling down his forehead. He was panting heavily, eyes wide open in sheer terror. His first thought as he awoke —Draco.
Not Ron, not his best friend. Not the one who comforted him. Not the one who understood him better. Not the sweet, joyous redhead. Not the one who shared kisses with him, embracing each other. Not the one he supposedly loved.
But rather, his arch nemesis. The bitter and cruel rival. The mocking, harsh bastard who he had loathed almost all the time.
He wanted Draco back.
Fine, be that way…His words couldn't stop haunting him, even in day.
Fine, be that way…Couldn't rest at ease, couldn't be thrown to the grave that quickly.
Fine…It echoed.
Be that way…
Tears flowed down his cheek freely, and his calming gasps were left for no one to hear.
It was such a strange dream…—Just a dream he noted. It made no sense, it just happened to revolve around three things. Stupidness, Draco, and Draco.
He absent-mindedly reached out for his glasses, wore them and sighed. Harry felt weak. Like a vegetable, as he limped down to stand on the floor. His feet padded on the cold ground, he felt a chill through his socks. The cold was almost excruciating, and he was drenched in sweat.
He took out one of his belongings, noiseless and careful, hand dug deep into the anonymity of his trunk. Moonlight caught the object as it was displayed out of the shadows.
An old brown bound. A book.
He trudged his way back like a cat, and took his wand from the bedside table.
"Lumos."
A dim light enough for one to read or write. Just perfect for an occasion. Harry flipped over to his stomach and parted the notebook at a random page. With his wand, he mumbled, "Accio."
Sticking out of his bag, the quill rose up and floated over to him. Followed by a tiny ink bottle of dark purple. As soon as he had gotten hold of the quill with his right hand, he began to write. Another tactic to vent out troubled thoughts. He scribbled with his distinguishable bold handwriting.
Can one person totally affect you this much? Shatter your joys, cloud your tomorrows… how could I be so foolish to let him destroy me? The hurt is unbearable. I can't think of anything else. Just him… and him… and him… His piercing grey eyes wielding me into my sorrows. The way he looks at me, pure ice. Pure, cold ice. I can't stand looking at him for long, but I cant stop staring at him from afar. I know that he knows I am looking, sometimes catching me turn my head. But he doesn't say anything, except torture me with those hateful glances.
Do I even deserve this? Is it my fault?
Yes. It is my fault, it always is. I had to say the wrong words at the wrong time at the wrong place at the wrong everything. Everything I do is wrong. I am pathetic, he tells the truth. I am the imbecile, I am the one crawling.
It hurts when he's around me, his very presence searing my skin. It hurts when he's apart from me, tearing me up from inside. I'm going crazy. Everyday I'm crying, at night, at day, when no one's around. When no one sees… I cry.
I cried myself a river once—or twice. Maybe a river each time I cry. I wouldn't be too surprised if my tears were blood and my hurt was fire.
How can you hate someone and yet ache with love for him? How could I even think he would love me back now? He has no more feelings for me, he has none of all this. He threw it all when I threw him.
I am diminishing myself. Self destructing, I am driving into madness. Pure lunacy. It is all so confusing.
And yet it is so clear. I love him, he hates me. Somehow it is as clear as the infinite sky, as clear as crystal. I love and hate him with a passion. Is there a difference? Could those two twine themselves together? Or bind me like never before? Make me suffer in chains and bonds, weigh me down by my shoulders?
He loathes me. There is no mistaking it. He seethes from my touch, as if I am something venomous, something awful, something dreadful. And oh how my heart breaks apart when I see we're like that. And how it crumples when he thinks I just hate him as much.
He doesn't know I love him. Just hate and apathy from me. Nothing more. Shall I keep it that way?
Yes.
Until I can't keep up anymore.
And… How about Ron? I feel more emotion for Draco then he? Maybe it is right, maybe it is better for me and Ron to stay as friends. Not as lovers. When I compare the feelings I have for the two I am torn. But I know I feel something deeper for—
Draco.
I'm sorry, Ron…I don't love you. I love the one I can't have. The one I shook off. The one I supposedly hate. The one I wanted to hate. The one who hates me. I love Draco Malfoy.
It was the first time he actually understood his heart. He wanted Ron, but in another way. Like having a family, the closest brother in the world. Like a twin. It was different from what he wanted from Draco. From Draco, he wanted the love of a lover, the passion and the fire… but it was too late. Draco hated him now, and there was no use changing that fact.
Harry reached out a white handkerchief from the bedside table, squeezing the tip of the quill to drain the excess ink. Then he closed the ink bottle carefully, not wanting any marks to get to the bed. He gave a yawn as he placed the materials on the floor. Then he took the notebook.
Harry blinked back and read his passage again. A shake of his head,—how plain and awful it sounded. A sigh. Tearing out the page from it's binding and crumpling it brutally, he noticed that the shadows started to cloud his vision. Sleep finally arrived. His eyes closed lazily, body relaxing at the touch of tiredness and the crumpled piece of paper rolled out of his hand.
Blue eyes watched the paper drop onto the floor and Harry draw down to bed. The light from the Golden Boy's wand faded, and dawn slowly crept in through gaps of the curtains.
***
Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, didn't sleep at all. He stayed there, at the balcony he had once discovered, looking out into the sunrise. The only thing in his mind was the boy he seethed to touch. How he wanted to touch the other boy again, to hold him and watch him without hurt or tension or hate.
He smiled a wry smile, the sun slowly peeping into view through the morning mist.
Harry doesn't want me.
/Don't rub it in, dearest./
all he sees is that redhead.
/We know that already./
And we are left in the dark.
/Like many times before, left alone in the dark.../
How am I to survive this?"…Harry…" Barely a whisper, the name rode the winds to places unknown.
***
Many days passed, rolling away like clouds on a stormy evening. Harry grew weary. He had lost the sudden energy he always had for conversations, forcing Ron to understand him and keep distance. Harry hardly ever talked anymore.
He was sullen. Although he tried his best to look confident and nonchalant, his eyes gave him away. His jaded eyes. Harry could only think of Draco and the dream. The dream haunted him. The images still vibrant in his detached mind.
Ron was hurt. Deeply. Harry seemed to have ignored him, almost all the time. Was it because of Draco? Did Harry really love that Slytherin? Was it so that those two loved each other in the same passion as they despise? Those two are just tearing down themselves as they continue to hate.
Harry had as well given up on his grades and on his work. He didn't care anymore. Anything he tried to study seemed like a foreign language to him, alien concepts that kept irritating him. Why should he learn all this shit anyway?
Soon even Quidditch lost its healthy glow in his life. It all seemed meaningless. All so pointless. Why do you have to catch the snitch? Why do you have to play, when it is even a danger to you? Why waste your time and energy playing? He had lost the strive to be the best wizard athlete. There was no energy anymore, no energy pulsing his heart faster.
Harry felt so down that sometimes he wouldn't eat. He felt lonely and misunderstood like another entity and not a human being. There was this invisible wall that grew to separate him and every other aspect in his life. Sometimes, he felt so down that he thought of strange things…
Maybe I could die. His eyes flickered in hope for a brief moment. Yes, maybe I can escape this world. I could kill myself easily, because, I do have control and authority of doing anything with my body. Can I be in the soft arms of death, embracing darkness, numbness, peace and rest…?
It wounded Ron so much, watching Harry angst and suffer like that. Oh Ron wasn't that clueless, or naive, he could tell that Harry was in deep despair, even Neville had noticed. But he could not do anything because Harry always rejected all the help he could give him. Ron felt useless, wasn't he suppose to be the one giving Harry smiles?
And lastly, Ron knew, deep in his broken and weeping heart, that Harry didn't love him as much as he loved… Malfoy. It was obvious. The stares he makes, the nights he sobs his name. Draco's name. That name. Not his.
And oh, how it hurt.
It hurt.
But he couldn't lie to himself because he knew that it was true.
***
One cloudy Monday morning, typical students flooded out of the great hall to their first class. Harry had wanted to stay as far away as possible from the door, so that he would waste fleeting time. Why, you ask?
One simple word. Potions.
Oh yes, the most dreaded subject in all eternity. The one subject in which the great, courageous, 'Boy-who-lived' legend, Triwizard champion feared the most. But he knew he couldn't hide from it forever, (maybe because Hermione was with them) and alas, that fateful time came.
"We'll be late if we don't hurry up." Hermione warned, both hands on her hips. Ron rolled his eyes, and drummed his fingers on a table, "Exactly why we're taking our time."
"Ron!"
"So-rry," Ron said, holding up both hands, "Do you think I should kneel and hail and plead for mercy now that I insulted that blasted prick of a subject?"
The way Ron had said it made Harry smile. Ron made it sound lame in a spicy lingo. The redhead's cynical act was always amusing, but for Harry, (even though it was funny) it seemed like it came from far away. That was his feeling now, that everyone who saw him, his friends who talked to him, Geez, even the bed he slept on felt like it was from another dimension. Like a blurry memory and he was far from it.
Hermione glared, highly pissed, and huffed her way across the great hall to leave through the majestic doors into the darkness. Ron widened his eyes as the thought came to him - Hermione would really leave them for Potions. He grabbed Harry's wrist, quite softly really, and just before they darted off to follow their female friend, a voice boomed and echoed throughout the room.
"Ah, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter. What a delightful day it is today, isn't it?"
That cheerful, delightful male voice could only belong to one, Albus Dumbledore. Harry turned around, and Ron followed, his hand falling limply from Harry's wrist to his side.
An old, jolly-faced man stood in front of them, dressed in billowing green robes and a long, pointed hat with sparkling star decorations. The tip folded down neatly and at the tip hung a silver sun. His white beard covered most of his wrinkled face, and bright blue eyes were framed upon a pair of moon-shaped spectacles.
He looked at Ron, and his hands clapped together once, "May I ask Fred to go on ahead to the next class? I need a word with Harry."
Ron stated out blandly, "Uhm, I'm Ron."
A little shift of uneasiness.
"Uhmm….Well you're Fred now," Dumbledore replied, his grin widening.
Ron made a funny face before glancing at Harry. Harry would have sniggered, but in his downcast state he gave a sheepish smile, eyes still weary and dejected. The headmaster continued, "Very well then, move along!"
Harry wondered why in the world Dumbledore wanted to talk to him, and he watched Ron hesitate. Harry looked into those blue eyes, and a mild tingling sensation came from his heart. Ron smiled. Then, with no more but a sigh, his friend turning around and gaited off to follow Hermione's earlier footsteps.
He turned to face Dumbledore, and another feeling enveloped inside him. It wasn't fear, oh no— of course it wasn't. Was it anxiety? Anticipation?
Dumbledore looked to his side, spotting the mist just outside the windows. He took in a long, raspy-like breath before he started, "There was a rose."
So there was a rose.
"This rose was loved, it was given good soil to grow on, good space, good sunlight, good air, good water, good care. –Ooh, that rhymes. Oh well anyways, do you know what happened to the rose?" Dumbledore turned back to Harry.
What was this old man getting at? Harry just played along.
In a deteriorated tone, Harry asked, "It grew?"
"It died. It withered." Dumbledore sighed again, his right hand twiddling his wand. "It died because it refused anything, --Mr. Sunshine, Mr. Air, Mr. Water… It withered away because the rose was… depressed."
Harry understood it quickly, and wholesomely. Dumbledore was talking about him, talking about his little hysteria about Draco. That led to depression. But the incident with Draco was long gone, he noted it strongly, that he hardly felt anything for the boy anymore. There is no more pain! There is no depression!
What a lie.
Every time he ever thought about Draco his heart would jump. A little jerk of numbness. It was strange. True, Draco was easier to forget a bit now that time flew, and that it had been some time to cool down and think rationally, but the hurt was still there, it did not fade and it wouldn't. Was that the reason of his recent no-care, tired facade?
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to the headmaster, and Albus said, "And there was once a crow," the grip on Harry's shoulder was released , "Who loved a dove. But they were sworn enemies because of their kind. They weren't able to talk to each other or be lovers. They had quarrels with their families. In the end, the crow killed itself by plunging down into the ocean, the dove following closely behind. And they lived happily ever after in bird Heaven."
This was getting stranger by the minute.
"Do you know why I told you this?"
Harry thought for a while, then a small, wry smile crept onto his face. "Because you're telling me how important love is and that it does not matter who you are, or what you are, as long as you love one another you are meant for each other?"
A short silence.
"No. I was just checking on how gullible you are. O Ho ho ho!" Dumbledore wheezed, then stood in silence once more, grinning at the dumbfounded Harry,
"Very well then. Off you go to class. All I'm saying is –Depression can lead you to your own downfall, Harry. Maybe it already has. But do try your best to stand up again, because you have other things to look forward to… Besides, it's affecting your grades and your friends!" A quick pause as Dumbledore recalled the second story, "And you should always remember that some stories aren't worth listening to."
It hit something in Harry. A realization. A small one, nonetheless, but one that could show him something important.
He can't have Draco be the center of his life. There *are* other things that could make him live.
***
Harry ran down the corridor to potions class, with a smile on his face. A tired smile, yes, but a genuine grin nonetheless. He hadn't felt this lively in weeks! How long had he gone before actually enjoying the feeling of juvenile strength as the wind blew his hair back? How long has his legs not have the stress of running? What spell did Dumbledore use on him!?
But the smile faded once he saw the cruel, sinister smirk of Professor Snape. What was this man up to? Aside from making his life a hellish pool of un-rational, unfortunate events? There was definitely something bad going on. He could even smell the thick scent of negative, traumatic events that were coming his way…
Not good at all.
"Potter, late again…" Harry oh-so-hated that widening leer, "third time this week!"
"Sir, I was talking to—"
"*70* points from Gryffindor."
A small sound of an empty, crystal flask rolling down from a desk and dropping onto the stone floor with a clank. All the Gryffindors gasped, mouth hanging open.
Harry's eyes widened and his face paled. 70 points… Unbelievable. He knew Snape was cruel, but it never occurred to him that he could be this devilish… 70 points… He was unthankfully reminded of the times he had been caught making trouble in the first few years. But 70 points!?
Snape, the monster, rubbed his palms together as his black eyes narrowed down to the boy he despised most, his loathing never fully explained, " Now, Potter… Mr. Malfoy has been waiting for your arrival. Both of you will be partners. Now move your poor excuse for a arse or I'll get another 20 points off you!"
Not wanting to give Snape another excuse to hack 20 points from his Gryffindor family, Harry brisked away to sit down next to the blonde Slytherin. But, to keep his eyes away from the boy, Harry looked over at the hour glass across the room.
He was actually around five minutes early. Snape is so vindictive.
"We are making the Siren's Draught, also known as Ephebus." Came the dark, low voice of Professor Snape, "First made by Mellia, —an immortal siren—, for her mortal half-brother Rellian. This potion absorbs a mortal's youth and the drinker recieves it. They took Vikings as their victims, and Horgo, a Viking wizard killed Mellia and Rellian. But the other sirens had gotten hold of the recipe and it had been passed down since then. This potion needs an atmosphere and climate of cold air. This is why the Scandinavian population of the muggle world or those in cold places age faster then those near the equator."
A little pause, the only sounds made were of the boiling of some potions, fire cackling from the stone fireplace, and scribbling on parchment. Snape's eyes darted around, and unfortunately, had spotted no Gryffindor doing any violation in the class.
"All partners on the left will get the ingredients while those on the right will prepare the utensils. Any harm, injury or disruption of the class, will result to losing house points and detention. Start."
With that the thin, sharp teacher turned around, and walked out the door. Where off to? Who knew.
Harry and Draco worked in silence. They seemed to have cooperation, but in truth it wasn't cooperation but self control. Their hands were pushing each other's, sometimes Draco would shove Harry aside. The aura between them was different. But neither wanted to speak, in fear of the other. Harry noted that the numbness pierce in his heart grew and grew as the seconds ran. He never knew Draco was handling something quite like that in his heart as well.
Crushed salmon eyes, thought Harry quietly, as he scanned for the bottle, hand moving towards where a bubbling brew lay. This was the special ingredient, mermaid's blood, boiling with kinkerweed grass. He did not touch the brew, but his hand hovered for a moment as he tried to think of where he had placed the salmon eyes, when suddenly—
—BOOM—
The bubbling brew exploded, and splashed onto Harry's hand, searing it to the core in a matter of seconds. It felt like flame was engulfing his own hand, and he yelped out in pain. Instinctively his other hand held his wrist, and as the pain heightened, his vision blurred.
He felt a ripping of clothing from somewhere amidst the shrieks and shouts, and a piece of cloth being pressed up on his hurt hand. His eyes were closed and he was thrashing around helplessly. The pain was excruciating, and it felt like it was throughout his whole body rather than the hand. Suddenly, a warm, gentle body embraced him from behind, and he was forced to calm down. The pain died slowly. He opened his eyes.
Black, emptiness, a void. Was he blind? He closed his eyes again, it started to hurt. What the hell happened?
PAK!
Someone had slapped him. There was a slight sting on his cheek and he lifted his unscathed hand to touch it. Gradually the sounds he was vaguely hearing became sharper, more distinguishable, more understandable. He tried opening his eyes again.
He looked up at his teacher. Snape was in front, his eyes were still black and intense, looking over him still with spite. His hand was reached out, he was who had slapped Harry.
The arms around him lowered and loosened, and Harry turned to who it had been. It was Ron, he looked shocked, and flushed, panting heavily. He looked around, all the Slytherins and Gryffindors were looking at him in the usual, astounded way, and he could do no better but to smile. He also noted that he was on the floor.
"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione asked. She was right beside Harry and Ron, her mouth had been covering her face for quite some time. Harry gulped and nodded, though a tingling feeling still ghosted his hand. He tried moving it a bit. It tingled worse. There was now a black piece of cloth draped around it. He wondered how his hand looked like from under there.
"What happened?" asked Seamus Finnegan.
"That is what I'D like to know." Snape folded his hands in front of him, looking at Harry disdainfully, "Potter? Explain."
"Sir, give him time to recover!" Ron exclaimed, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. He was sitting on the floor next to the raven-haired celebrity, most probably went out of balance and fell with Harry. Snape's eyes shifted towards Harry's best friend almost too quickly, "Keep your gap shut, Weasley, or I'll take more points from your house. Heaven knows you can't afford that to happen, could you?"
"Yeah, he probably can't afford anything!" said one of the Slytherins. There was a roaring laughter, Ron grit his teeth. Harry's eyes darted to whoever said the last remark. It was Goyle.
"Why don't YOU shut your gap?" Harry snapped.
Goyle suddenly frowned from his gay laughter, "I know what happened. I saw Harry putting some shit into the mermaid blood thing. Then it went kaboom! What an idiot, He thought it needed pepper!"
More laughter. Then, suddenly,
"that's not true!"
It was Pansy. Harry tried to stand up, having support from Ron and Hermione. Pansy was looking a bit angry, "Harry wasn't putting anything in the bowl!"
There were a few gasps from the crowd. Was Pansy taking Harry's side?
"But I saw it with my own eyes!" yelled Goyle back. His bulgy hands were fisted by this time. Snape held out his hands, "Quiet down. Potter, detention."
"WHAT!?!"
"No way!"
"Hah!"
Snape shifted his eyes to Potter again, saying, "Goyle may be stupid but he is not blind."
"But I—"
"No, Ms. Parkinson, you didn't. 20 points from Gryffindor again. Potter, detention. From all this commotion, we wasted a lot of time. Everyone clean. After that, you are dismissed. We will continue tomorrow. Potter, in my office."
"No, Professor Snape, he didn't."
That was from a seemingly calm student, a cool blonde, his eyes were pale and it looked dangerously enraged.
" I was right beside him," said Draco, "and he was just looking for the next ingredient, which was Crushed salmon eyes, and then it exploded. He did nothing."
There were a LOT of startled faces.
"Rubbish!" exclaimed Snape, "I believe that Potter did all this like he always had!"
The sour man (Snape) reached out to grab Harry but another pale hand caught his wrist.
Draco Malfoy threw his teacher's wrist to his side. He glared challengingly up at the tall man. Snape looked doubly enraged.
"How dare you!! Both of you! Detention! NOW! And everyone else, I want this room spotless when I return! Potter! Malfoy! To my office!"
***
The door slammed shut. Harry recognized the scent of saltwater right away. Snape's gruesome office seemed darker than before, and he walked over to a moldy seat. This was horrible. He gave off an exasperated sigh, the stupid biased teacher had just left him here, with the one person he didn't want to be locked with.
Draco Malfoy. They hadn't talked since that fight in the Quidditch field. Since then they would constantly avoid each other, simply not talk to each other at all. It hurt Harry like anything, but he had to get use to it.
Harry was tempted, of course, to ask how Draco was doing. If Draco really didn't care about him anymore, why had he risked his own neck for him with Snape? A bit of hope inched into his heart. What if, Draco did love him? He wanted so much to just go up to his nemesis and put his arms around him, feel his warm presence, taste his soft touch. But there was still doubt, trying to push his hope away.
After a while, the silence seemed too much.
"Why'd you do it?" Harry finally asked. Only silence answered his question. He lifted his head to look at the blonde, and found him leaning at the edge of the windowsill, looking out at the foggy view through the giant window. His arms were crossed in front of him and his lips were shut tight. His eyes showed him no emotion, as usual, instead feeding on the blurry landscape outside. Pale sunlight landed on him and Harry felt like this was some kind of angel. How the light played on his face, and his hair, and his body… Harry shifted his view uneasily, down to the floor. His heart was beating faster again. Then his mouth opened slowly, as he attempted to say something,
"…Thanks."
There was a grunt and a response, the voice cold and stoic, "Did you say thanks to lover boy who calmed you down with a little 'cuddle'?"
Harry looked up, to find that Draco did not waver his staring out the window. He got a bit annoyed, "What do you have against Ron?!"
"Everything."
Harry's patience shortened even more, "All I was saying was thanks, you just had to pinpoint everything that you think is wrong with me, is that it? Ron's my friend for heaven's sake!"
"And he's your lover."
Harry stood up, facing the treacherous Slytherin, "so what if he is?! So he is my lover, you can't change that! I'm not yours!"
A smirk played on Draco's lips. Then he answered, "That was only a question. I wasn't implying anything. You're damn right beside yourself, you conceited piece of shit." After the last word Draco turned to him, a few bangs dusting his forehead, and Harry almost gasped in surprise. He looked different than before, so incredibly gorgeous. – Stunning, striking, elegant, hot.
Maybe it was just Harry, or maybe it was just the light, but Harry just almost groaned. He felt himself getting warm. Oh and he could *just* imagine the blush he was producing. But was it his fault that Draco looked so wonderful? Shit, is this an illusion!?
Harry stammered as he tried to make a comeback, "Y-you didn't have to point out that he's my lover, or that hugged me!"
"Why, are YOU against that?"
"And what are you getting at?"
With that Draco snapped, dashing up to him and clasping the front of Harry's shirt, "Answer my fucking question!"
"…No, of course I'm not against that. I love him, why should I not like that?"
Harry thought he saw a line of emotions crossing through Draco's face, but he shelved that thought aside. It was simply his heart playing mind tricks again. Draco let him go abruptly, then turned around to his former position. Harry noticed Draco's cloak. There was a large tear at the end. He glanced at his covered hand, and clutched the fabric enveloping it tightly, as Draco sauntered away.
Just before Harry could reach out and check his injured wound, Snape came promenading into the room. He snappily turned to Harry, "Potter, go to the infirmary right now. You will be treated. Get out. Mr. Malfoy, I need to further discuss your irrational behavior."
Not wanting to cause any more trouble, Harry walked over to the door. He turned slightly to have one last glance at Draco (Though he tried his best not to), and found Draco still leaning against the wall like a while ago, looking out the window. Harry's heart plummet lower. The little hope he had inside died out. There was no hope for Draco to love him back.
***
"Where do you think Harry is!?"
Hermione asked loudly, her voice echoed down the hall. Ron closed Snape's door behind him. He looked at Hermione strangely, "Snape said he let him go to the infirmary a long time ago, but we checked that place already!"
Hermione blinked, and walked closer to Ron, "Something fishy's going on here, I'm getting worried."
Ron's eyebrows were ruffled together, "Me too…"
***
Harry awoke, feeling like a spear went through his head. It was undeniably painful, and he reached out his hand to touch the throbbing spot. There was something oily and wet there, and he put his fingers in front of his eyes. Green eyes widened.
Blood.
He tried sitting up from his uncomfortable, sprawled position and created one hell of a migraine. He groaned, it echoed. Not moving his head too roughly, he looked around.
It was dark. It was damp and gloomy. Where was he?
He squinted, trying to recall what happened.
+-+-+-+-+-**Flashback**-+-+-+-+-+
Footsteps were loud against the stone flooring. Light shown brightly, only the pillars next to Harry offered him shade. But he didn't need shade, the sunlight was warm and friendly, he did not mind it at all.
Then, there was a grab on his injured hand.
"AHH—oof!"
He was slammed against a pillar, blood splattered against the marble post, and he slid down, stunned. A shady man stood towering over him, and Harry tied to reach his wand beneath his black robes. No such luck, the man had gotten hold of it first. Harry did not know where he threw it, his vision was hazy.
He vaguely felt like he was being carried by this man, but he was struggling mightily in silence. Whoever that was had placed a silence spell on him, so all he could do was try to get out of the enemy's grasp.
Get out of the enemy's grasp. Just like in the dream. The dream of Tom Riddle.
Was this Voldemort's plan!?
He felt the back of his foot hit something hard, like rock, and the man pushed him. He fell backwards, there was nothing to catch his fall. He dove in head first. From his eyesight he could see a circular wall of stone surrounding him, passing quickly from behind. He was falling into a well. He thought this was another dream.
But there was pain. agonizing pain, and a sickening crack. His head had hit the floor, eyes wide, staring, almost lifeless, as he crumpled unto the ground. His spine went rigid, as his whole body did, and then all went limp. Darkness embraced his world…
As the searing pain deepened.
+-+-+-+-**End Flashback**-+-+-+-+-+
Fingertips touched the ground. Something was wet there, too. And he lolled his head down slowly. More pools of blood. It all had come from him. He looked at his hands more closely, both hands were free of sickening wrinkles (as one had been before his visited the infirmary. ) But this time they were pale, he was losing blood. Lots and lots of blood. He tried to yell out for help, but all that came out was a raspy croak. This was not good at all.
A sudden flash of grey.
Voldemort's face. Horrid and cruel to say the best, but words are not enough to describe his horrendous self. He was laughing, madly, and in his hand, bright and shining, lay a silver sword. Voldemort was looking straight at him.
This was a dream, was it not? By the mere fogginess, it was simply a dream.
—No, it was a nightmare.
Someone came up from behind the Dark lord.
Malfoy!
He was running, charging up to Voldemort, but Voldemort's yellow eyes were quick. He turned and almost instantly slashed out with his knife.
"NO!!!!!"
Harry tried to scream, to yell, to struggle, to do anything but watch. His head rubbed against the well's wall, inflicting more injury to his already cracked head.
The silver knife sliced through Draco's throat, and a fountain of blood consumed the boy. Harry heard Voldemort's high-pitched laugh, and he tried to shout out. Nothing, not a sound. Draco fell down to the floor, and, maybe coincidental, his face went up to look straight at Harry. Blood pooled around his pale, pretty face as his silver eyes seemed to scan the whole of his face and memorize it. Then Draco, eyes almost dimmed, mouthed out,
"I love you."
His eyes closed. A silent whisper.
"Goodbye…"
No. It can't be. It just can't. This was impossible, but it looked so true. What if this was the future? What if this was yet to come? Why? What is happening to him?!
Harry shook his head violently, not minding the terrible pain in his head as crimson liquid rolled down his neck, and he whispered hoarsely, "No…no…stop it… stop…Draco…"
The haunting nightmares continued their songs.
***
"Harry's still missing, "said Neville Longbottom, as Hermione and Ron came to the Gryffindor table to sit down.
"Maybe he's still humiliated from losing 90 points in one go," said Fred, one of the Weasley twins. Ron suddenly stood up.
"Geez! That's just a joke!" exclaimed George. Hermione pushed Ron back to his seat. Seamus sighed, "We all know Harry's gonna pull some new stunt so we'll have the lead again. But still, he's been gone the whole afternoon!"
"I know, he's never—"
Lee Jordan was interrupted when the food bloomed out of the plates. Clanks of kitchenware were heard throughout the room right away, and Lee Jordan tried to continue, "As I was saying, Harry's ne—"
A loud, glass-shattering shriek. A lone ghost came swooping down from above. It was Peeves the Poltergeist. But there was something wrong about him. He was unusually terrified.
" Dumbledore! Dumbledore! Professor D-dumbledore sirr!!! Harry Potter!! The great—"
"Calm down," advised Ms. McGonagall, but Peeves was on the edge of hysterics, "No, no time, Ms. Mcdonalds, no time no time! Harry Potter was kidnapped! Kidnapped! A short, bald man! A short bald man with glasses and a missing finger, dressed in black! Sir, I saw the Dark Mark! Then these weird gargoyle goons came after me, it took me a long time to look for Baron! He got them sir, but still!"
At this Hermione and Ron looked at each other in alarm, "Peter's back."
Professor Dumbledore's sparkling blue eyes clouded in seriousness. He stood up and raised his hands for silence. The great hall, after booming in squeals and nervous shouts, calmed down. Slightly.
"I see Voldemort's minions are in campus. Prefects, bring your respective students to their dorms. Everyone go calmly in two lines, no separation and no noise please. I, and the teachers will see to this."
They weren't so organized. There was a collision between Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors and Slytherins as they went to go to their dorms. Ron took his chance and hauled Draco apart from the rest.
"We need to talk."
"You got pretty lousy timing, redhead."
"We've got to save Harry!" Ron exclaimed, a bit softer so that no one would overhear. Draco paused for a while, before his cold eyes returned some spite, "Leave it to the teachers, asshole."
Hermione, from behind Ron, gave a frustrated growl and grabbed both on one arm, and darted off with them around the corner and into an empty classroom. Hermione shut the door behind them. Ron turned to her, "Boy's talk here, 'Mione."
She glared at him, then rolled her eyes but obeyed. Slipping outside easily, she whispered, "Just hurry up."
Ron turned back to Draco, who sat down on the chair like it was another dull, boring day.
"So what do you want, Weasley?" Came a harsh voice.
"You dead. "
"You came to kill me?"
"Harry needs you."
Mock laughter, "Don't humor me, Weasley."
"Malfoy," A sigh, "You have to help him."
"You do it, after all, he's your lover, not mine."
Ron resisted the urge pouncing on Draco, laid back on a chair. Instead he answered, "Malfoy. Please. Save Harry, I cant do it…"
The biting truth of those words on his heart.
Draco stood up violently, whamming the chair onto the floor. With harsh anger, he shouted, "Why me?!"
"He loves you more than me, he may be hurt and injured badly right now! I know that! I know the truth! He loves you! Not me!"
His voice was cracking. Draco's reply stunned him.
"So let him DIE!"
Ron stared daggers at Draco. The silence grew louder, throbbing at their ears.
Ron moved closer,
"I wont let him die you fucking id-git. Do YOU really want him hurting like that?"
A haughty grunt, and a chin held up high, "Oh don't worry," the voice was like acid, "He's done more damage on me anyway. Leave and don't waste your breath on me either, Weasel. I don't care about *him*."
BANG!
The force was rigid, Draco slammed into the nearby wall, blood trickling down his chin instantly. His left cheek stung worse, a bruising hit no doubt. Ron rubbed the face of his fist.
"FINE, Malfoy!" Said Ron, shouting in a very raged manner, "I'll help Harry, I'll save him because not like someone else here, I care about him and even though he doesn't love me, I love him! It's all that matters! God knows what a bastard prick you are! How can you want him dead?! How can you not care?!"
Silence answered.
Ron persisted, "I always knew Malfoys had stone hearts, but you… YOU… You don't have a damn heart at all!"
The biting truth of those words. (Yet again.)
He turned around and took a few heated steps to the door, but halted, and in a softer voice, gripping the door's handle tightly, "He loves, you, you know that, right?"
"Then why does he hurt me so much?"
Ron sighed, and took something out of his pocket. He tossed it over his shoulder, and it rolled down and stopped in front of Draco's shoes. A crumpled piece of paper.
"You know that if Harry, Hermione and I don't come back alive, it will be all your fault. I have a feeling only you can save him."
Ron walked out of the room, the door slammed shut.
It will be my fault.
And a boy's heart collapsed into heaps of silent tears.
***
"What do you mean, he's not coming!?" Hermione asked ,outraged, "You know that he is one of the best wizard students in Hogwarts, and he loves Harry, he can pull this off!"
They were running down the corridor, the Marauder's map in Ron's hands. It was a good thing they had thought of looking for Harry beforehand and bringing down the map before dinner. Ron replied, panting slightly, "He doesn't want to come. You're the best, Hermione, not that prick."
"But-"
Ron swerved to the right. Hermione had to turn clumsily. She changed the topic, "Where are we now?!"
Her redhead companion glanced at the map. "Almost there," he said.
They stopped into the room. It was a dead end. Ron ruffled his brows and looked at the yellow map again. Funny, it said that there was a door somewhere there that would lead to where Harry was.
Hermione picked up cleverly, and she began tapping the walls for any clues of doors. Then there was a click. A large stone brick fell down. Hermione and Ron glanced at each other momentarily then hastily climbed through. This is where Harry is. Ron swished out his wand and so did Hermione. This was it. They were going to fight Voldemort's minions right here.
Hermione gasped.
***
Harry moaned in terror, his cheeks wet with tears. His eyes were steel green, pale and wanton, he was having more devilish nightmares. He was drenched in blood, tears and sweat.
This time, it was Ron and Hermione. Voldemort had burned Hermione mercilessly and had hacked Ron lifeless to the ground. They were there, looking up at him, lifeless creatures, lifeless leaves falling from an autumn tree.
"Harry," said Hermione, before she died, "Harry please smile for me…At least once Harry, be happy."
***
Hermione gasped.
They were in on a beautiful balcony, the mist wafting through the landscape below. The stars were bright and twinkling, and it was a chilly night.
There was no Harry. No evil dark lord. No evil minions, just empty space in the balcony, and gargoyles looking at them menacingly from each side. The setting was still, and Hermione moved a few steps further in.
"This is absurd!" Hermione cried out, grabbing the marauder's map from Ron, "It says that Harry is right HERE!"
Ron looked around. His eyes fell upon the one gargoyle on the left. It was of a jackal with horns crowning it's head, and it looked frightening. Stone carved, these looked like they were used in gothic muggle movies, but historically, Ron knew that they were used to scare evil spirits away. Truth was, it seemed like the gargoyle itself was the evil spirit, with the eyes budging out wide and a terrorizing mouth that seemed to be screaming. Ron felt like shuddering. Though it was a stone, it looked... so virtually real. Ron blinked.
It twitched.
And leaped towards them.
"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, both of them jumping out of the charging jackal's way. The redhead looked frantically at the jackal, and was even more intimidated, when he saw that behind the stone jackal, the gargoyle bull, started stepping down it's platform, licking it's teeth as it eyed them. The two wings around the bull spread out then back, exercising it from the long sleep.
"This is dark magic!" Hermione supposed, pointing her wand at the charging bull and mumbling some incoherent words. A flash at the tip of her wand. The bull tumbled back. Then it groaned, furious, getting up to its feet. It shook its head then lifted it, and its whole body amazingly… grew?
"Uhm, Hermione…" Ron whined, looking over at the growing bull. "I think—"
"Shut up, Ron…" Warned Hermione, inching back.
The bull leaped strong, towards them, and Hermione had no time in thinking of what to do.
A great black fire spread out in front of them, and blew right into the gargoyles. The gargoyles retreated back, momentarily stunned. Hermione and Ron looked to where it had come from.
"Malfoy!"
Draco stood there, at the entrance, his wand erect and smoking. His eyes were challenging, glinting with a new aspect and a new realization. Was it determination?
"Where's Harry?!" was the blonde's first question, as he glanced at the two. Ron shouted back, as Hermione casted another spell on the two spawns of evil, "He's suppose to be right here, but he's not!"
Draco made a very confused face. "What the FUCK?!"
"Ron, run!" came Hermione's high and tense voice, as she dashed closer to Draco.
Ron followed closely behind her. He could hear the thumping of the stone creatures behind him. They stumbled next to the blonde, Ron asked, "How the hell did you find us?!"
"You guys aren't that hard to follow. –ack!" With that Draco ducked, the gargoyle soaring right where his head should have been. Hermione blasted the gargoyle with a flippendo spell, then she turned to Draco, solving the setback easily, "Malfoy, look over the balcony. Harry MUST be under this balcony. You save him, we'll deal with these things."
Ron looked over his shoulder. The gargoyles were four times bigger then how they started, and he gulped. This wasn't going to be easy.
Hermione continued, "You know how to shimmy, I'm sure. Right after we deal with these cement fags, we'll call Dumbledore."
Draco looked at Hermione, and, for once in his life, he thought Hermione was actually pretty cool. Of course he'd never admit it face to face. She's clever, and smart. He noted. Then he glanced over at Ron.
Not like that guy.
Without another word Draco dashed out, avoiding the gargoyles swiftly like those magical south-eastern ninjas he read about before, as Hermione and Ron helped him out with some spells. He bounded on the balcony railing, and lowered down, making himself hold the handrails as he swung dangerously above a bottomless pit. He had better pray that the mudblood was right.
From there he shimmied towards the center, and started swinging from front to back. He let go of the railing and swung right under the balcony. There was a landing there and he thumped down to it. He took a few steps forward quickly, for the edge did not have any railing. He would plunge into darkness and the mist if he had misbalanced.
He looked inside. It was like a cave. There were vines scrawled throughout the place, and it was dull and shadowy and bare. It was deserted. He glimpsed at what was in the middle. An old, worn-out well? Stone bricks forming it, the small mouth of the well seemed dirty and untouched.
He scanned the area for anything moving and automatically whooshed out his wand. Just then he heard moaning from the grey, soiled well and carefully, he took a few steps closer and peered in.
It was a messy sight. A shiver ran down his spine. There was a body, drenched in red liquid, sprawled down on the ground, not moving an inch. The most terrible part was that he recognized it—It was Harry.
"Harry!" Draco shouted, the echo shooting down the well. Slowly, the raven-haired looked up.
"M..m-malfoy…?"
"Who the FUCK did this!?!?"
"I believe that would be my servant, Wormtail." came a slithery, high pitched voice from behind him. Draco whirled around, and his eyebrows ruffled and he glared.
"Ah, yes… Lucius Malfoy's son I see. What was your name? Dargo? Darco?"
"Your humor's worse than Lockhart's humility," came the bitter reply. How dare he be in such superior pridefulness. Draco held his wand tighter. Voldemort laughed. Then suddenly, the dark lord shot out his wand, and a blasting light came from it.
Draco was quick. But not swift enough. He managed to jump out of the way, but the sudden shot grazed by his shoulder, inflicting a very painful scorch before hitting the edge of the well. Little stones rolled down to the well's stomach and a few hit Harry. Harry bit his lip and looked down.
Another attack. A few more sears on his skin. A rip of clothing. More slashes of light. More magic. A restraining whimper.
It only proved that Voldemort was playing around with Draco. A few moments' notice that Draco was no match with this legendary man. Draco even knew that, before he challenged this evil creature. But he did so anyway, just to filter out the newly discovered anger he had for Harry's nemesis. For his father's master. For the world's disaster. He was angry, and he needed to fight him. Even if it was in vain… It was also for Harry.
Draco had sears on his skin, where Voldemort's attacks had skinned through. He was panting heavily, even though Voldemort seemed to be enjoying it. It had only been a few minutes before finally, Voldemort had Draco exactly where he wanted him.
Voldemort smirked, "Well now, are you tired, leaning up there at the edge of the well? Do you want a push?"
Voldemort lifted his wand, and in a long, mocking voice, "Avadra –"
"NO!!!"
There was a blinding white light, Draco staggered backwards. It came from the mouth of the well, and he had heard Harry's voice. He heard a loud rustling of the winds, and a rumble, like an earthquake or a thunder. When the light faded, he strained to see what was happening. He stumbled back some more, in surprise.
Was that Harry? Or his imagination? What was he doing standing there in midair? He was floating, bathed in radiating red light. His eyes were fierce neon green, wide and terrifying. And his scar… His scar was…
Bright and lighting. Illuminating furiously, as if energy was just spurring out in overload. Voldemort looked aghast, and when Harry lifted his white, semi-pale, glowing hand, greyish-black smoke seeped out of Voldemort. With an anguished cry, the tall, hideous man reeled back, and he hissed audibly. Draco heard a sizzle, and in another howl, Voldemort twisted around and leaped off the cliff, which was a few steps away, disappearing in the wafts of mist.
An echoing whisper, a disembodied phrase, "I'll be back, Potter."
Harry collapsed into Draco's waiting arms, hot and exhausted. The glowing light radiating from him faded, and Draco almost gasped for the body temperature was beyond abnormality. So warm, so hot. (It even gave him a bit of a hard-on.)
Draco's hands were wet when Harry's blood trickled down and it took Draco a few moments before he recited a spell for physical recovery. The wound on his head vanished, but Draco knew that the internal pain, the nervous system, would still generate hurt as if the wound hasn't been removed.
Harry's lightning scar, and his whole body returned to its normal state. Draco tried getting comfortable on the floor with Harry in his arms. His heartbeat thumped faster, and he felt ashamed. He should not be feeling this way when Harry was in so much danger. The irregular temperature of Harry returned to normal, and his eyes opened slowly.
"Malfoy."
Draco concealed his smile, "Potter."
"…How?"
Malfoy stood in silence. He lifted his head to see the edge of the cliff he was at, watching the mists swirl and swirl to no end.
"You tell me, Potter. You suddenly glowed, and you were floating… You lifted your hand out, and even without a wand Voldemort retreated with his skin sizzling. You weren't your stupid self, either. You looked like… a monster."
"I know you do."
Short silence followed. Then Draco said in a wry smile, "You do realize that we're talking to each other…"
Harry tried sitting up on his own, but Draco helped him. Before Harry said anything, Draco forced his lips on his in a passionate kiss. Dominating, as always, Draco forced Harry's mouth open, tasting the sweetness of the other boy's lips as he feverishly ran a (perverted) hand up Harry's body. Harry suppressed a groan.
Draco wanted him bad. For long weeks he was not able to talk to the only one who could make him feel this way, who could make him so fucking aroused in such a short time's moment… Oh he wanted to take him now, right then and there, with no mercy and nothing but fierce, dominating passion. He could even rape the boy!
The raven head was lowered to the ground, Draco straddling him with both hands on either side, Harry's slim hips between Draco's legs. The blonde ground his hips on Harry's, producing a small whimper from the other boy. The kiss, which was still not ending, grew hotter and steamier, until Draco finally pulled away.
"What is Ron going to say now, Potter?"
Harry suddenly pulled away, wincing when the hurt on his head damaged his senses.
"Why are you playing with me?!"
A bit of silence. Harry tried pushing Draco off him, but Draco wouldn't let him. Harry felt anger rising in him, how could Draco trick him like that? How could he enjoy torturing him, with these kisses then musing it over with Ron? Why was Draco playing with him? Why was he such a blasted prick, and why did his love not falter?
"… I… I'm sorry, Harry…I… didn't mean it."
At that Harry's heart jumped. Draco had just apologized. It made his heart hurt so much, it was desperately full of admiration for this blonde boy that it could hardly contain itself.
Draco pushed himself off Harry. He was disappointed, and felt suddenly cold. But shelving his own, selfish thoughts aside, he cleared his throat, picked up his wand which he had dropped when he was "busy" doing Harry, and said, "Weasley showed me this… He was the one who got me here to save you."
From a pocket in his robe, Draco pulled out a tattered piece of parchment, giving it over to Harry gently. Harry's eyes widened at the first line he read.
Can one person totally affect you this much?
It was the little thing he wrote that night, right after the dream. He thought he had crumpled it and threw it, but as he thought deeply he realized that he had been asleep without properly disposing of it. And… Ron had gotten it.
"Ron knows?"
"He was the one who gave it to me."
Harry glanced around. The place was getting misted by fog.
"Where are they?" Harry asked.
Draco looked at him truthfully, "They were battling Voldemort's other minions for me, so I got here earlier."
The Slytherin made a wry smile to himself as he observed how the name through his lips did not spur fear.
Harry looked down. He felt bad. Ron knew, and yet… he still had helped Draco in finding Harry to save his life. Ron still loved him… And, Harry didn't feel grateful for Ron's sacrifices. For Ron's friendship. For Ron's love. For Ron's devotion. He was too preoccupied with what he was feeling for Draco.
But now he felt grateful. He felt loved. And he would make it a point, that he would show Ron how much he meant to him, in a brotherly manner. Harry would hope his best friend would understand, through his clouds of passion and temperamental personality.
Draco's gentle hand tilted his chin, and Harry breathed in as he saw Draco's lips so close to his. Draco whispered, "He's strong. I'm sure he'll get over it."
Harry smiled. Was Draco actually commenting Ron?
Breathlessly, Draco asked, "So are you mine?"
A soulful reply.
"All yours."
***
"Well, I see they won't be needing us anymore," said Professor Flitwick, peering over the flying boat. Dumbledore chuckled, "Let's just leave both of them alo—… Oh come now, Severus, love isn't that bad."
Snape grunted, his face distorted with disgust, and turned away.
All the teachers, plus Hermione and Ron, were all seated on a fairly large rowboat, with no oars, floating above the mists. They were overlooking over to where Harry and Draco were, sprawled out next to each other in an intimate position, chatting softly and kissing lovingly.
The two students were at the back of the rowboat, and hardly any teachers bothered to look at them. They were discussing things far from them. They didn't feel ignored, in fact they felt honored to have helped. So now, two of Harry's best friends watched the two lovers before the rowboat could drift too far away.
Ron looked over to where Harry and Draco were, eyes pale blue and slightly watery. He warned himself of what was sure to come, warned himself many times of what would happen, but it still hurt. Love bites. The agony of a shattered heart. It was crying, hoarsely, as Draco took Harry into his arms.
And yet, Ron's heart was appalled in awe and in joy, too, for knowing that truly, Harry would be happy. Happy in the Slytherin's arms. That he would not have to worry, because he knew Draco loved Harry deeply and would care for him.
But the thought still stung.
Hermione put a hand over to Ron's shoulder, and sisterly hugged him. She knew he was taking it quite badly.
"…You know what, Herm?"
"Hmm?"
"I promised Harry to teach him more things in chess today. I thought I'd be alone with him… That I could actually be with him, and that we would be happy together…" He sobbed inaudibly, "I was waiting for that time to come. Maybe I would have kissed him or something… And I didn't know… that this could wreck everything… I just -had- to tell Draco to save Harry…"
Hermione had no reply to that. She just kept on soothing her best friend by patting his head lightly with one hand, and make soothing strokes on his back with the other.
"…And you know what else, Herm?"
"…what…?"
"I'm also glad I did."
***
"Minerva?" Called out the elderly man. The woman walked in with a stern frown, "Yes, headmaster?"
The thought of being in a clothes shop did not affect Ms. McGonagall, she did not care less of witches' fashion and modern boots. She just did not –care-.
"You think buying these would be good?" Dumbledore held up a pair of black plaited flower boxers.
*******************
/Hey!!! I got such a small part, and in the ending !!!!/
me – Oops… Too bad. Maybe I'll make a story all about Draco's conscience one time.
/Really?/
me – No, not really.
Well! Time for credits! I firstly, I credit you guys who reviewed my fic, (Yes, Pythia, you're a reviewer in this dastardly, cynically, Pythia sort of way) and I credit J.K. Rowling who actually made these wonderful playable characters of Harry Potter. I also credit Emma for changing my mind on the many ending thingies. I credit all my friends who have supported me, I credit the flamers who fueled me in making an R-rated scene to freak them out. Hehehehe. And, saving best for last, the Great Entity up there in Heaven who made all good things for this work possible. I'm sorry for the evilness of this fic! Ho ho ho!
Now for Pythia's part (as requested) –
I credit her for being my beta reader. (Even though she doesn't read my fics, rather make ME read it over the phone. I hate you, Pythia.)
I credit her for being the persuader for me to continue my fic (Yeah right! More like threatener)
I credit her for insulting my fics. (What the heck!)
I credit her for being my frienemy. Not like Xandra, who is wholeheartedly my *loyal* friend.
I credit Pythia for being a ram with a horn up everyone's ass. (she's an Aries. Everyone be
afraid.)
I love you all!