Title: One More Kiss
Author: Rosgrana
Chapter: 4/4
Disclaimer: Everything recognisable is stolen, mostly from J.K. Rowling.
Spoilers: None
Feedback: Oh please! Praise will be gratefully welcomed; criticism will be carefully considered; flames will be ignored or mocked, depending on the recipient's mood at the time.
Archive: I'd be flattered, just let me know.
Author's Note: Thanks again to all reviewers; and particularly to Laur, for pointing out that I'd got Ron completely wrong in this chapter, and helping me see how to improve him. (I hope - if he's still lousy, it's my fault.)
Afterwards, Harry never remembered much about that afternoon. He Apparated safely but inaccurately back to London, finding himself in a muggle house - mercifully empty - some miles from the Ministry. He let himself out, cast a quick spell to give his robes the appearance of a coat, and began to walk. Blind luck wasn't something to rely on, and he didn't want to splinch himself. His feet moved automatically, as his mind hurtled around an endless loop of simple, nightmare truth. //I love him. I always did. Whatever he is, whatever he's done, won't change that. And I'll never see him again.//
It was the fading light that brought him to the realisation that he had been walking for hours. It had begun to rain at some point, and he was soaked. He looked around him, and found that he wasn't far from Ron and Hermione's flat.
Hermione answered the door, at first pleased to see Harry, then, looking closer, her expression became concerned. "Harry! What's up?"
He didn't answer. He found he couldn't. His voice just wouldn't form the words.
"*Ron!*" bellowed Hermione over her shoulder. And then: "You'd better come in. Whatever it is, we can't fix it on the doorstep." She pulled Harry into the flat, and steered him, unresisting, to a chair.
Ron appeared out of the kitchen, looked briefly at Harry and shot back in, to reappear a moment later with a steaming mug, which he pushed into his friend's grateful hands - Harry was slowly waking up to the fact that he was freezing cold - while giving Harry's shoulder an awkward squeeze. "Want to tell us?" he asked.
So Harry did. The whole story, from Hogwarts to the final meeting that day. It took him the rest of the evening, what with questions from Hermione, outraged or incredulous mutters from Ron, and several more hot butterbeers for all of them, but he felt a little better for it; a little less alone.
From that point, Harry's friends took over. He would never have made it through the next few weeks without them.
Hermione made herself quite unpleasant to his department and sorted out a leave of absence - he didn't know exactly what she told them. Then she announced that he was staying with them until *she* thought he was fit to go home. Harry nearly smiled then. He hated the thought of being on his own, but would have been uncomfortable accepting an invitation in his present state, feeling that he was such awful company he'd be better alone. Orders were different; there was no point arguing with Hermione when she spoke in that tone.
Ron took as much time off work as he could get away with, and spent it with Harry; sometimes talking about nothing in particular; sometimes listening to Harry go over and over the same story, trying to make sense of the situation; generally waiting until he thought Harry couldn't hear to mutter: "Bloody *Malfoy* of all bloody people...!" but mostly just... being Ron.
Having Ron there, knowing that, whatever happened, Ron would accept him, care about him, and offer to beat the crap out of anyone who hurt him, meant the world to Harry. Ron didn't say much, he never did, but he didn't need to. They understood each other.
Hermione said little either. Harry assumed she was deliberately not telling him what she knew about Draco from work, and was glad - he knew what was going to happen, and didn't want to have to know exactly when or how - until he overheard Ron asking her, and her reply, "I honestly *don't* know! They aren't releasing *anything*! There hasn't been a word since they announced that he'd been captured, and was being interrogated. It's driving us all mad!"
Gradually, Harry recovered. He soon decided that inactivity was only making him worse, and, two weeks after his visit to Azkaban, when he was quite sure that "It" must be over, he went back to work, and to his own home.
Other than a few brief "You better?" enquiries, nothing was said about his absence, which was a relief, and so was burying himself in the work which had piled up on his desk. Routine tasks shut his mind off from thoughts of Draco, and he began to feel as if life might go on after all, so the letter came as a shock.
It arrived nearly a week after he went back to work, and the official seal on the parchment told him that it was from Azkaban. He came very close to throwing it away unopened, but instead waited until dinnertime, when the office was empty, and he could read it unobserved. The writing was shockingly familiar, and Harry read the letter with a sense of unreality.
"Harry,
it will probably surprise you, perhaps even pleasantly, to learn that I'm still alive, and likely to stay that way. You may know that there's a method of rendering a person partially immune to Veritaserum - although they can't lie, they can keep silent - and that means that the Ministry must negotiate with me for the information they want. It seems that my loving Family made a mistake in abandoning me so completely, as I know a great deal more about the activities of the Death Eaters than they are aware, and the Ministry is *very* eager to hear all that I can tell them.
I'm probably going to spend the next five years or so here, perhaps even less, as I have a fairly shrewd idea of where the Dark Lord and his cohorts Apparated to on the breaking of the wards - I suspect people will be quite keen to know that!
Compared to execution, I can quite look forward to mere imprisonment. Five years spent being told what to do, surrounded by people who hate, fear or despise me - it will be rather like Hogwarts, except without you to redeem it. Mind you, you could always visit; I am of course completely converted to the Cause of Virtue, if only because its victory is my only chance of staying alive now that I've betrayed the Death Eaters.
Don't worry, I'm not asking you to wait for me, or anything, but it does seem a pity to waste it, if there's still time for one more kiss...?
Draco."
Scribbled out above the signature was a word that *might* have been "love".
Harry was dumbstruck. //He *knew*! He knew when I saw him that this was going to happen. And he let me think... *Bastard*!// He was furious, and breathless with relief.
He read the letter again; just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. 'Don't worry, I'm not asking you to wait for me...' //You know I'm going to though, don't you, you manipulative little shit.// He leaned back in his chair, grinning like an idiot.
"I can't believe they've done it!" Eilunedd crashed into the room, looking furious. "They've actually done some kind of deal with *Draco Malfoy*! Can you *believe* that?"
"Only just." Harry was still grinning.
Eilunedd actually looked at him then, "I hope that's work you're smirking over, Potter." An evil thought occurred to Harry.
"Actually, no," he said sweetly, "It's a letter from my boyfriend. I'll tell you about him sometime. Right now, though, I've just got enough of my lunch hour left to reply, so if you'll excuse me..?" He grabbed a roll of parchment, and began to write:
"Draco,
there will always be time for one more kiss...
The End
Author: Rosgrana
Chapter: 4/4
Disclaimer: Everything recognisable is stolen, mostly from J.K. Rowling.
Spoilers: None
Feedback: Oh please! Praise will be gratefully welcomed; criticism will be carefully considered; flames will be ignored or mocked, depending on the recipient's mood at the time.
Archive: I'd be flattered, just let me know.
Author's Note: Thanks again to all reviewers; and particularly to Laur, for pointing out that I'd got Ron completely wrong in this chapter, and helping me see how to improve him. (I hope - if he's still lousy, it's my fault.)
Afterwards, Harry never remembered much about that afternoon. He Apparated safely but inaccurately back to London, finding himself in a muggle house - mercifully empty - some miles from the Ministry. He let himself out, cast a quick spell to give his robes the appearance of a coat, and began to walk. Blind luck wasn't something to rely on, and he didn't want to splinch himself. His feet moved automatically, as his mind hurtled around an endless loop of simple, nightmare truth. //I love him. I always did. Whatever he is, whatever he's done, won't change that. And I'll never see him again.//
It was the fading light that brought him to the realisation that he had been walking for hours. It had begun to rain at some point, and he was soaked. He looked around him, and found that he wasn't far from Ron and Hermione's flat.
Hermione answered the door, at first pleased to see Harry, then, looking closer, her expression became concerned. "Harry! What's up?"
He didn't answer. He found he couldn't. His voice just wouldn't form the words.
"*Ron!*" bellowed Hermione over her shoulder. And then: "You'd better come in. Whatever it is, we can't fix it on the doorstep." She pulled Harry into the flat, and steered him, unresisting, to a chair.
Ron appeared out of the kitchen, looked briefly at Harry and shot back in, to reappear a moment later with a steaming mug, which he pushed into his friend's grateful hands - Harry was slowly waking up to the fact that he was freezing cold - while giving Harry's shoulder an awkward squeeze. "Want to tell us?" he asked.
So Harry did. The whole story, from Hogwarts to the final meeting that day. It took him the rest of the evening, what with questions from Hermione, outraged or incredulous mutters from Ron, and several more hot butterbeers for all of them, but he felt a little better for it; a little less alone.
From that point, Harry's friends took over. He would never have made it through the next few weeks without them.
Hermione made herself quite unpleasant to his department and sorted out a leave of absence - he didn't know exactly what she told them. Then she announced that he was staying with them until *she* thought he was fit to go home. Harry nearly smiled then. He hated the thought of being on his own, but would have been uncomfortable accepting an invitation in his present state, feeling that he was such awful company he'd be better alone. Orders were different; there was no point arguing with Hermione when she spoke in that tone.
Ron took as much time off work as he could get away with, and spent it with Harry; sometimes talking about nothing in particular; sometimes listening to Harry go over and over the same story, trying to make sense of the situation; generally waiting until he thought Harry couldn't hear to mutter: "Bloody *Malfoy* of all bloody people...!" but mostly just... being Ron.
Having Ron there, knowing that, whatever happened, Ron would accept him, care about him, and offer to beat the crap out of anyone who hurt him, meant the world to Harry. Ron didn't say much, he never did, but he didn't need to. They understood each other.
Hermione said little either. Harry assumed she was deliberately not telling him what she knew about Draco from work, and was glad - he knew what was going to happen, and didn't want to have to know exactly when or how - until he overheard Ron asking her, and her reply, "I honestly *don't* know! They aren't releasing *anything*! There hasn't been a word since they announced that he'd been captured, and was being interrogated. It's driving us all mad!"
Gradually, Harry recovered. He soon decided that inactivity was only making him worse, and, two weeks after his visit to Azkaban, when he was quite sure that "It" must be over, he went back to work, and to his own home.
Other than a few brief "You better?" enquiries, nothing was said about his absence, which was a relief, and so was burying himself in the work which had piled up on his desk. Routine tasks shut his mind off from thoughts of Draco, and he began to feel as if life might go on after all, so the letter came as a shock.
It arrived nearly a week after he went back to work, and the official seal on the parchment told him that it was from Azkaban. He came very close to throwing it away unopened, but instead waited until dinnertime, when the office was empty, and he could read it unobserved. The writing was shockingly familiar, and Harry read the letter with a sense of unreality.
"Harry,
it will probably surprise you, perhaps even pleasantly, to learn that I'm still alive, and likely to stay that way. You may know that there's a method of rendering a person partially immune to Veritaserum - although they can't lie, they can keep silent - and that means that the Ministry must negotiate with me for the information they want. It seems that my loving Family made a mistake in abandoning me so completely, as I know a great deal more about the activities of the Death Eaters than they are aware, and the Ministry is *very* eager to hear all that I can tell them.
I'm probably going to spend the next five years or so here, perhaps even less, as I have a fairly shrewd idea of where the Dark Lord and his cohorts Apparated to on the breaking of the wards - I suspect people will be quite keen to know that!
Compared to execution, I can quite look forward to mere imprisonment. Five years spent being told what to do, surrounded by people who hate, fear or despise me - it will be rather like Hogwarts, except without you to redeem it. Mind you, you could always visit; I am of course completely converted to the Cause of Virtue, if only because its victory is my only chance of staying alive now that I've betrayed the Death Eaters.
Don't worry, I'm not asking you to wait for me, or anything, but it does seem a pity to waste it, if there's still time for one more kiss...?
Draco."
Scribbled out above the signature was a word that *might* have been "love".
Harry was dumbstruck. //He *knew*! He knew when I saw him that this was going to happen. And he let me think... *Bastard*!// He was furious, and breathless with relief.
He read the letter again; just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. 'Don't worry, I'm not asking you to wait for me...' //You know I'm going to though, don't you, you manipulative little shit.// He leaned back in his chair, grinning like an idiot.
"I can't believe they've done it!" Eilunedd crashed into the room, looking furious. "They've actually done some kind of deal with *Draco Malfoy*! Can you *believe* that?"
"Only just." Harry was still grinning.
Eilunedd actually looked at him then, "I hope that's work you're smirking over, Potter." An evil thought occurred to Harry.
"Actually, no," he said sweetly, "It's a letter from my boyfriend. I'll tell you about him sometime. Right now, though, I've just got enough of my lunch hour left to reply, so if you'll excuse me..?" He grabbed a roll of parchment, and began to write:
"Draco,
there will always be time for one more kiss...
The End
