Life as Experienced Through Your Fingers

Gold-Snitcher

Chapter Eight: For Luck

He sits at the piano and, fingers flexing tentatively, delicately rests the pads of his fingertips against the cool keys.

He remembers how he used to play as a child, his tiny hands being lifted at the wrist, encircled in his mother's firm grip, her fingers pressing down over his own as he tapped the keys. That was how he learned. His first piano lesson. He had never been formally taught.

Slowly his fingers begin to move, a lump in his throat rising.

He misses the sounds, the warmth of her laughter, the way she guided his fingers over the keys. He hates the fact that the keys are cold. The didn't used to be. Draco would always play. He would sit right here at this piano and his fingers would move effortlessly across the instrument. Then the piano was always warm, even if the blond was not.

Harry hated the cold.

Tentatively at first, as if remembering a long forgotten talent, he begins the opening lines of his favourite Chopin piece, Raindrops. He imagines that it is raining outside. That he is that little boy again learning his first instrument. That he is sitting with Draco and listening to him play.

There is something soothing in the rainfall, note after note drifting by. He feels something building in him and realizes with a start that there are tears running down his cheeks. He's remembering, but he wishes he were not. Vaguely he feels hands running down his back, the harsh grip around his neck and he is doubly choked, once by emotion, and also by the memory. He knows that it is not real and plays all the more fervently to remind himself.

The feeling shifts.

The way Draco looked on the first day, when Harry had just realized that he was there. When he offered his slim pale hand, piano hands, and Harry was momentarily too stunned to recall what he was supposed to do.

The screech of tires. The cold caress of pavement. The heat of fire and his visioned blurred by blood.

A kiss.

Heated and mind-numbing and perfect perfect perfect.

Cinnamon and strawberries and the soft taste of Draco. The softness of the embrace sending him spinning into a different world. He didn't know anything like a kiss could feel so sweet. He didn't want it to end. He never wanted it to end.

He didn't know why he was crying, silent tears falling persistently. It seemed a bit ridiculous to him but he let it go.

Music was all about letting go.

He wanted to let Draco see everything that music could be. All the heart-wrenching, mind-numbing, passion filled agonizing chords and merry trills and aching crescendoes.

He gently brought the piece to a close and stared at his fingers, wondering how he could remember that piece after so many years.

"It's been so long since I've heard you play the piano."

He turns and tries to smile at his uncle, but he has forgotten about the tears and, self-consciously, wipes them away. "It's not my instrument. I always felt a bit awkward around it," he explains. It isn't the truth. When his mother would play there wasn't an instrument he loved more. When she had taught him, he had savoured every moment. But soon he had realized that it just wasn't him. There were restrictions in every instrument, the harp could never sounds brazen and the drums could never hum a lullaby, but that didn't make either of them any less beautiful in their own right. He had realized quite early that the piano could did not speak for him the same way his violin did. He had learned quite well how to coax the subtleties of the keys into expressing simple truths, but it never spoke to his wild nature.

With his violin, he had completion. As refined as it was he could make it sing as if it were on fire. When he was furious or engulfed in the piece, he could skip his fingers across the fingerboard and let his bow run wild, snapping hairs from it and playing furiously until the strings felt hot beneath his fingers, and the heat stayed long after the piece was finished. Reassuring, in a way. As if his emotions had seeped into the instrument and filled it.

And that was alright.

He needed that.

Sirius comes and sits beside him on the bench. "Your mother always loved the piano," Sirius says quietly, touching a key reverently, but not pressing it. Harry's mother was a pure pianist, just like Draco. Just as passionate as Harry and yet more refined. Where he needed to be let loose, where he needed, at times, to unleash his raw emotion and have proof that it existed in the splintered hairs, or the hot strings, Draco simply knew. There was a calmness in his passion, refinement in him, even as he scorched the keys.

"I remember," he whispers, because he does.

"Mother? Why did you marry father?" Draco asked, feeling suddenly like a young child. He thought perhaps he needed a large teddy bear clutched to his chest to complete the image.

Narcissa smiled softly, if sadly, and patted the seat beside her. Draco took it hesitantly. He had always thought his mother was rather cool and aloof, but lately he had been seeing a different part of her. "Things were different in the beginning, Draco," she said, simply, brushing a stray strand of his blond hair out of his face. "Your father used to be a completely different person. But your grandfather started pressuring him to be a proper Malfoy, whatever that means. He became more and more focussed on his work and before I knew what was happening, I barely saw him anymore." She seemed saddened, but there was something else that shone in her eyes that confused Draco. He didn't think he should ask about it. "Malfoys have a fine tradition of suffocating the spirit in their heirs," she said, after a moment.

"Do you still love him?" he asked, somewhat hesitantly.

Narcissa looked closely at her son, examining him, her calm eyes reading deep into him. With a frown, she looked away. "I don't think I've ever stopped," she said after a moment. "But sometimes, it isn't about love."

"I'll carry it up," Harry said, quickly snatching the other box from his uncle's arms. The table had already been fixed and now they were bringing up the coffee maker and kettle that had broken.

"Fine, fine. So possessive," Sirius said, waving his arms in a shooing motion.

"Sirius, I just don't think you'd want to be replacing two coffee makers and kettles and such in one holiday. It's not bloody Noah's Ark." Sirius feigned hurt and Harry rolled his eyes, adjusting the boxes in his arms and turning towards the stairs.

It was always strange to be at the school, particularly the residence rooms, during vacations. And yet, as odd as it felt, there was still the overpowering sense that it was home for him.

Fumbling with the keys, he kicked the door open and shuffled over to the table, depositing the boxes before closing the door and flicking on the lights. There was a window open and Harry frowned darkly. He'd been up with Sirius the day before to fix the table and the window had been closed. No one else came in here.

Still frowning, he stepped over and slammed it shut, shivering with a vague thought of a nightmare that may have returned to him, but he pushed it away. He didn't think he would ever feel safe anywhere anymore. "Harry?"

Startled, Harry spun around and then, recognition falling on him, he gasped for breath and grinned. "Blaise you utter arse! You gave be a heart attack! What are you doing here?" Not realizing what he was doing he stepped forward and hugged Blaise. He didn't notice the surprised look that melted into a soft smile as Blaise returned the hug. Harry was too caught up in relief that it was Blaise and not some strong-willed belligerent. Quickly, he cut off those thoughts.

"It's good to see you, too," Blaise said with a smirking smile that made Harry blush as he realized that he had hugged his friend. There was a moment when he felt nervous and embarrassed and then he brushed it off. It was just Blaise, after all. And it could have been anyone, really, sneaking in to the room, so Harry had been relieved.

"But what are you doing back?" Harry asked as they settled onto the armchairs.

"My parents settled their divorce over the break. They wouldn't even give me Christmas, they spent the entire time with their lawyers fighting over who got me for Christmas day. I got sick of it and finally insisted that I come back early. I mean, I would be here in three days anyway, for the party." Harry cast a sympathetic look at his friend. Blaise hadn't told anyone, just Harry and Neville because they were in a position to understand and also because they were close.

"I'm really sorry, Blaise. It must have been really hard."

Blaise shrugged and sighed. "I knew they were going to do it, I just hoped that they wouldn't. Anyway, enough about my barmy old parents. How is your love life?"

With one more concerned look Harry allowed himself to be side-tracked, understanding Blaise's need to forget as much as he understood his need to talk about it all at times. "Draco's wonderful. We've been writing. He can't come to the party and besides the fact that his father's a complete git I think I can say we've been doing well."

Blaise grinned. "I have news," he said with a mischievous grin after a moment.

Because he knew Blaise, Harry grinned back, the same devilish glint in his green eyes. "News?" he asked with a bit of a drawl.

"I told you about Pansy Parkinson?"

"Yes," Harry said, his grin a bit wider.

"Well, we've been keeping in touch. I ran into her at the mall when I was escaping a particularly nasty row. After that, well, I spent most of the time with her. She's really something, Harry. I've convinced her to join the improv group. You have to meet her."

"You're together now?" Harry asked with a happy smile. Blaise deserved someone and if his friend was happy then he couldn't wait to meet Pansy.

"Yeah, well ... I haven't made it _official_ official," he amended sheepishly.

"Blaise, you've got to. Otherwise she might just think you're a friend and that it's."

"Trust me, Harry, we're more than friends," Blaise insinuated with a mischievous smirk returning.

"Have you ... you haven't," Harry said, slowly turning red.

"Of course not!" Blaise said, he knew when to draw the line with Harry. The hug had been a wonderful surprise but the dark haired boy just refused to joke about some things. "I wouldn't do that until it was definitely official." He paused and watched Harry shift in his seat. There was something adorable in his friend's innocence, probably because Harry managed a complete innocence despite obvious passion. It was a strange balance and Blaise was fairly certain few people could pull it off like Harry did, but that was just one of those things. That was just Harry.

"When's Ron coming back?" Blaise asked, when the blush had tempered itself.

"He's not. Hermione invited him up to her place for New Year's and ... well, there was no way he would turn that down."

"Small group this year," Blaise said to himself. Neville never came back for New Year's since his grandmother was quite clingy. Seamus was visiting family in Ireland. That left Blaise, Harry and Dean.

"You should come back to the Manor for a bit," Harry suggested with a small smile.

Blaise grinned. "See, Harry? I knew there was a use for you yet."

Draco sat at the piano in the living room and practised. He had been practising for over an hour already but he was afraid to stop. His father had come in twenty minutes before and was reviewing files on the small table.

"Keep practising, Draco," Lucius said without looking up from his papers. Draco quickly turned to a new piece and began to play. He felt stupid, like a performing monkey. If his father had commented on his playing, or asked him if he minded playing while he worked or something, anything else, Draco might not have felt so awkward, but Lucius Malfoy had simply commanded his son to practice.

Draco smiled wistfully as he realized he had unconsciously turned to play Clair de Lune and remembered how Harry had looked at him that night when they had talked about their likes and dislikes.

Harry.

How the boy would perch on a piano bench and listen for a moment before pointing-out something that Draco was having trouble with or commenting on his playing.

How he tasted.

"Play something else. That piece is far too sentimental." Draco stopped and stared down at his fingers. Yes, perhaps it was sentimental. Perhaps there was something about the honest flush of emotion that spilled out of him whenever he thought of Harry and that somehow managed to splash the keys with warm sounds. That was part of the reason why Draco loved the Romantics, they didn't shield themselves in pomp and circumstance, they spoke to something deeper that somehow always made him think of chocolate and flooded his senses with a pure, deep emerald green that was so intense in its healing that he felt dazed.

"Play a Bach," Lucius ordered, and Draco fumbled for the music.

He started to play but didn't make it half-way through before he sat back and glared at the music. "I'm not doing this anymore."

"What was that?" Lucius' voice was edged with danger, as if he were offering his son a chance to take it back.

"I said I'm not doing this anymore," Draco announced more clearly.

"And what might that be?"

"This!" Draco said, as he rose from his bench. "Sitting here, clacking away at the keys like - like some performing monkey."

"You will not speak to me like that in my own home," Lucius snarled.

"And you won't screw around with me anymore! I don't understand you, father. I really don't. I've tried. Lord knows I've tried. Seventeen years of bloody trying, almost eighteen, and still! You used to play. I remember. I saw you. But it was like a guilty secret. Well, music isn't my guilty secret, it's my passion! And I'm sick of trying to hold it back and keep it 'decent' in order to make you proud because no matter what I do, father, it's never enough! And it's never going to be!"

"You will stop this nonsense this instant!" Lucius roared, rising from his seat and crossing the room in a flourish. "I will not tolerate this behaviour from you, Draco. I taught you better than this! It is completely uncalled for!"

"Uncalled for? Uncalled for! This is what's been building-up for seventeen bloody years! This is what you made me! This is what you brought me to! This is _exactly_ what is called for and I'm sorry to say that it's taken me this long to realize it!"

*smack*

Draco blinked, momentarily stunned.

His father had smacked him hard across the face. And now the man was glaring at him in fury.

"That," Draco said calmly when he had recovered from the shock. "Is why I don't have a father."

Lucius was about to say something when a calm voice interrupted him. "Draco, go to the kitchen and tell Shannon to get some ice for you cheek." Draco turned, stunned, to see his mother standing in the doorway. She looked completely controlled, her face expressionless, everything about her showing the refined, delicate and proper woman she was. He nodded dumbly and headed towards the kitchen, noticing that his mother slid the door to the living room shut after he had left.

When he reached the kitchen he tumbled gracelessly into a seat and, while Shannon went to fetch the ice, he tried to process what had happened.

He had yelled at his father.

He.

Had yelled.

At his father.

A chuckle escaped his throat which turned into a laugh. It had felt bloody brilliant. He felt a surge of power running through him, a result of the adrenaline coursing in his veins. He tried to ignore his watering eyes.

His head was spinning, his cheek was burning, and he was probably going to be brutally torn apart by his father in a few minutes but, for this one moment, he felt stronger and lighter and bolder than ever. It felt fucking fabulous.

He sat there, stunned, holding the ice to his cheek and running over the argument. Oh yes, he was in deep deep trouble, but he felt incredibly satisfied.

"Draco, go to your room and pack your things," Narcissa ordered calmly from the kitchen doorway where she had just appeared.

"Yes, mother," he answered, and rose swiftly, still clutching the ice to his cheek.

As he went to pass her she stopped him with a hand on his arm. "How is your cheek?" she asked and, in answer, he removed the ice and tilted his bruising cheek at her. He felt her fingers gently curl around his chin so that she could inspect it. "Keep the ice on it for a while. It will be bruised for a few days but it should be fine." He nodded and continued on his way upstairs. As he passed the living room he saw his father sitting at the table, calmly continuing with his paperwork.

Draco said nothing and continued on his way up the stairs to his room.

"Do you ever feel lonely, Siri?" Harry asked as they sat in the art room. Blaise had been roped into going over the costumes for the play because they had not been put away properly. Since Harry was only responsible for lighting he had be shooed away.

"How could I feel lonely?" Sirius replied, with a little grin. "I've got you, Guppy." He ruffled Harry's hair, and Harry snarled, frantically attempting to smooth it down before he frowned again.

"No, I mean. Of course you have me but ... don't you ever want ... someone else?"

Sirius frowned at his nephew and then he smiled. "Harry, before you met Draco, did you ever feel lonely?"

Harry bit his lip. "No ... well, not really. But there was always this sense that something was missing."

Sirius smiled faintly. "But you never felt alone or unwanted?"

"Not really," Harry replied. He bit his lips a few more times and then glanced up at his uncle. "So you're saying, you do, but not really? That because of me and your friends, you can wait a little more?"

Sirius nodded and then flung an arm around Harry's shoulders. He started to sing, "There's always tomorrow, for dreams to come true ..."

"SIRIUS!" Harry cried, as Sirius continued to sing the song from Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. "Christmas is over!"

"Not until epiphany! I still have plenty of time to sing songs from holiday classics!"

"For crying out loud. Next you'll be serenading me with We're a Couple of Misfits!" he muttered. A look crossed his uncle's face. "Oh no," Harry said. "Oh, please no," Harry tried again as Sirius advanced on him. "Sirius? Sirius I said no. I won't do it," he tried. "Sirius, I'm not an eight year old anymore." The arm was thrown over his shoulder again.

"We're a couple of misfits..." Sirius began as Harry still protested. Sirius continued on and sang his part as Kerby the elf who wanted to be a dentist. With a long-suffering sigh Harry took a deep breath and joined in.

"Why am I such a misfit? I am not just a nitwit ..." Harry sang, sulking much in the way Rudolph did in the movie. When they finished, Harry felt surprisingly happy, and he rolled his eyes as Sirius began setting up things in the art room, singing We Are Santa's Elves as he went. With a grin, Harry started helping his uncle, singing along as they worked.

"Draco?" Narcissa called softly. Draco looked up from where he was unpacking his bag. They had spent the night in the hotel and Draco still wasn't sure of what he was feeling. He was angry that he didn't know what was going on, but also he felt as if he were betraying his father. Despite the fact that the man was oppressive, he still had done many things with Draco and even if Draco had denied it earlier, Lucius was his father. And yet, conflicting with all of that was a sense of gratitude and respect and love for his mother. Draco was incredibly confused. "Draco? Come here, I think we should talk."

Taking a deep breath, Draco closed the closet and followed his mother's voice into the living room of the large suite. "Yes, mother?" he asked, trying tp remain calm. He desperately wanted to know what was happening, and yet, at the same time, he was fairly certain he had it all figured out and didn't know what to think about it.

Narcissa motioned towards the sofa and watched as her son took a seat there. He looked nervous and she tried to smile warmly at him. "Draco, I'm sure you want to know what's happening, and I don't know the best way to explain it to you. You deserve to know and make your own decisions, you've grown-up so much. Such a mature young man," she said, smiling a little more authentically. "I'm going to be completely honest with you. Your father and I are getting a divorce." She paused to let this settle. Draco did not look in the least surprised.

"Why?" Draco asked, Narcissa thought she the voice sounded constricted but she wasn't sure.

"Your father has changed a great deal, Draco. He's not the man I married. I've been thinking about it for a while but was never certain. I wanted what was best for you, and you seemed to dote on him so. But now, I think it's best. His behaviour has been restricting you as much as it has been me. I am, of course, requesting custody, but if you still wish to live with him, that is fine."

Draco didn't seem to hear her. "Do you love him?" he asked, he sounded almost desperate.

"Yes, Draco. I do love him. But sometimes it isn't about love. This is what is best, for everyone. Your father and I agreed on this point."

"I want to stay with you."

She smiled and rose from her seat. "I'm glad to hear that, Draco," she whispered and bent down to kiss his cheek gently before walking into the bedroom and closing the door. Suddenly she felt as if she might cry.

Ron shuffled his feet nervously and smiled. "Hello, Mrs. Granger," he said, after a moment. Did his voice sound a little higher than usual? He hoped not. "Hello, Mr. Granger." His offered hand was taken in a firm grip and wrenched up and down a few times. "Hey, Hermione," he said, a smile lighting his face for the first time.

She smiled broadly at him, smoothing her blue dress down. "Hey, Ron. Can I show him to his room, Mum?" she asked.

Mrs. Granger smiled softly at her daughter. "Yes, honey, but don't take too long. Dinner's almost ready. Have you eater, Mr. Weasley?"

"Please, call me Ron. And no. I took a plane here," he said, and then wiped the grin off his face because really, that wasn't much of an achievement. "So," he hastily tacked on. "I didn't get a chance to eat." Mrs. Granger smiled at him and Hermione shook her head, gesturing for him to follow her.

They climbed the stairs and Hermione gave him a mini tour. "This is so exciting! This is the first time I've had New Years with any else besides my parents. I mean, well, once Draco's parents invited us to a party, but I got really sick and ended up not celebrating at all. I'm so happy your parents let you come," she babbled.

"I was surprised," Ron said, with just as much enthusiasm. "It's Weasley tradition to always be together on New Years. With this whole reunion thing at home, I thought I'd be stuck there. It's a relief, really," Ron added as an after-thought. "Last time Fred and George spiked my orange juice with Vodka and I had a hell of a hangover. This will b a surprisingly safe and refreshing way to ring in the new year."

"Did you bring your cello?" Hermione asked, as she pushed open the door to the guest room.

"No, it was too much to cart around for a few days and besides, I need a break. Practising is all well and good, but sometimes not practising is just as effective." She rolled her eyes at his logic, and he grinned. "Besides," he added. "It's your turn, isn't it? You said you would play for me."

"That's right, I did, didn't I? Alright, let me get my flute." She hurried out of the room and returned moments later with her case. Hastily she assembled it and then sighed. "I'm going to take a major risk and play something that I wrote myself," she said, and he grinned. Wiggling her fingers a few times and licking her lips, Hermione prepared to play.

The song was a very soft piece that seemed both soothing and eery at the same time. Ron decided he really liked the unique sound of the flute, and especially the way Hermione played it. She frowned as she played and her fingers moved precisely on her instrument. It was clear she was concentrating, but each note was hit perfectly and the song made him shivered.

When she was finished she lowered the flute to her lap and raised an eyebrow at him, her expression nervous but questioning. "I thought it was bloody brilliant," Ron said, and meant it.

"Thank-you. I personally find the song-writing more interesting than the playing. Making music, it involves so much, figuring out the intervals and appropriate chords. It's a bit like mathematics, sometimes. But playing always clears my head."

"You played it very very well," Ron said, blushing a little, wondering if he didn't sound just a bit like a dunderhead.

Hermione grinned. "Well," she said, flippantly. "I had good inspiration," she said. Ron was about to ask her to elaborate before he remembered the day that he said that to her, just after the concert. He wondered if perhaps he was as red as he felt. He really hated how prone he was to fits of blushing.

It was two days before New Years and Draco was sitting, stunned in the living room, once again speaking to his mother. "I'm so sorry, Draco," she whispered. She truly looked sorry but he didn't think he could accept it.

"Are you - are you certain?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"I need to work, Draco. Until this is finalized I need a source of income and ... And I can't ..." she trailed off and he tried to remember how to breathe.

"So, it is certain," he answered.

"Yes, Draco. You'll return for a few weeks. A month at most, but when tuition is due again at the end of the month -- I'm sorry."

"It's - it's ... I'm sorry, mother. I just ..." he wanted to laugh at the cruel irony of it all. Just when it seemed he would be given the world. When his father's restricting presence had finally been removed, when he was going to a school he loved, when he had found someone who he truly felt he could possibly spend the rest of his life with ... it all came crumbling down. He couldn't return to his school because his mother could not afford it. She had to be thinking about the future now. "Mother, I have a favour to ask ..."

Harry jogged up the stairs to his residence room, fumbling with his keys as he went. Blaise and Sirius were decorating, along with the rest of the faculty for the New Year's party that night. Blaise was moving back into his res room because Dean was returning for the party. Harry had been sent to open the windows and prepare the rooms again.

Stumbling through the door Harry struggled to remove his key from the lock. He wanted to return to the decorating party. It was easier to keep his mind off Draco if he was with people. He had learned to appreciate distraction. As he freed his keys Harry became aware of the heady first strains of Claire de Lune echoing in the dark common room. He felt oddly giddy and clamped down on the hope that lurched within him.

Hesitantly he stepped further into the room, noticing the small black radio that was the source of the music. And then his eyes fell on the figure. He was sitting on the window ledge, clothes in blue jeans and a white jumper and he was giving a sort of half smile. Harry felt breathless and dizzy and couldn't keep the shocked and dazed expression from crossing his face. "You said you wouldn't be able to make it," he breathed, by way of greeting.

The half-smiling spread into a real smile, and Draco slid off the window sill, approaching him slowly. "I know," Draco said, just as softly.

"I didn't know you were here," Harry tried to explain, still feeling dazed.

"I know," Draco answered again, stopping right in front of Harry. Now that he was back, looking into emerald eyes and hearing Harry and just _being_ with Harry, nothing else seemed to matter.

"I missed you," Harry said, after a moment.

Draco's smile grew. "I know." He paused, both of them simply staring at each other. Draco licked his lips, wondering if, perhaps he were pushing too far with his next request but somehow not caring. "I'm going to kiss you," Draco whispered, by way of warning.

Harry suddenly grinned. "I know," he answered and Draco grinned back before he leaned forward and captured Harry's lips. It was soft and gentle but there was an undercurrent of desperation to it. To Draco it felt like coming home. Carefully he wrapped an arm around the smaller boy's waist, pulling him closer. His other hand found its way into soft black hair and Draco shivered when this elicited a groan from Harry.

When they broke apart for air, Harry grinned again. "Hi," he murmured. Draco had never seen him look so adorable. Eyes bright, cheeks flushed and lips red and kiss swollen, his hair sticking up where Draco had grasped it.

"Hi," Draco answered, rolling his eyes.

"Did Blaise and Sirius know?" Harry asked after a moment.

"Yes. I got here this morning, I asked them to find a way to send you up."

Harry grinned. "I thought it seemed a bit odd that I was sent up here to open up the windows by myself when I'm not even staying here. And they seemed so set on it ... How was your break?" Harry asked, not moving out of Draco's embrace.

"I have to talk to you about that, but later on. Right now, I don't particularly feel like moving."

"Hm," Harry answered. "Me neither."

"HA HA!" Sirius crowed as Harry and Draco came into the Great Hall later that night. The party had started already, but Draco and Harry had been so happy to be reunited that they had spent most of the day just talking, and then Draco had explained to his boyfriend that he would be leaving some times in January. Harry had been upset, but Draco had marvelled at how the younger boy was able to put on a brave face. He had simply said that they would make it work. They had spent another hour cuddling in an attempt to make up for the days they had missed before Harry had pointed out that, at this rate, they would be celebrating New Years alone in the common room.

"You could have told me," Harry said with a mock-pout.

Sirius only ruffled his nephew's hair and grinned. "It would have wrecked the surprise!" Blaise nodded in agreement, looking in a self-satisfied way.

"Draco! I didn't think you would make it for the party," Dean cried as he joined them. "Merry Christmas you two. And Happy New Years!" He raised a glass of champagne.

"You're allowed to drink?" Draco asked, somewhat surprised as Sirius snatched two more glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Harry and one to Draco.

"'Course," Blaise said with a grin. "What the hell else do you propose we toast with?"

"You don't need to get sarcastic, I was simply surprised, is all," Draco said, though he, too, was grinning.

Sirius stepped over to his nephew as the other bantered. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

Harry frowned and glanced at him. He licked his lips nervously and shook his head. "Nothing, I'll talk to you later. Let's just have fun," Harry said, trying a small grin.

Sirius nodded. "I'm holding you to that, Guppy," he said.

"Guppy?" Draco asked as Sirius walked off and Dean and Blaise were swept up in conversation.

"Stupid nickname. He insists on using it, even though I've grown up."

Draco chuckled. "It's kind cute, actually," Draco said, thoughtfully.

"Alright, then I'll call YOU that," Harry answered, sipping at his champagne.

"No, thank-you. It isn't as cute in reference to me," Draco said, and Harry rolled his eyes. "It's better than Munchkin and Chickpea," Draco said flippantly.

"Chickpea?" Harry said, obviously amused.

"Shut up. I'm never talking to you again," Draco said, pretending to be offended. Inside, he was happy that he had been able to distract Harry from his worries about their imminent separation.

"Aw, don't be like that ... Munchkin...."

"I'll never be able to confide in you, will I?" Draco asked.

"Of course you will, Munchkin," Harry answered, tapping Draco on the nose.

Draco wrinkled his nose and scowled. "Alright, Guppy, if you want to play that game ..." Draco never finished because at that point a shout echoed through the Great Hall. The countdown was starting. Draco wrapped an arm around Harry's waist and Harry turned to look at him, smiling but seeming curious.

10 ...

"You know," Draco started.

9 ...

"They say that whoever you kiss at the last stroke of midnight on New Year's is the person you'll spend the rest of the year with."

8 ...

Harry grinned at him and rested his head on his shoulder.

7 ...

"Shall we, then?" Harry asked, after a moment, not removing his head from Draco's shoulder.

6 ...

Draco smiled to himself and tightened his grip on his boyfriend's waist.

5 ...

"I think so, if you don't mind it," Draco whispered.

4 ...

Harry removed his head from Draco's shoulder and Draco saw that the green eyes were watering slightly.

3 ...

"No, I don't mind," Harry answered.

2 ...

"After all," Harry said, swallowing and glancing away shyly before looking back, a smile now in place. "It's for luck."

1 ...

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!!" The bell began to ring and Draco and Harry leaned forward, pressing their lips together. The heady taste of champagne on both of their tongues. Draco was surprised at how much Harry had changed over the break. Before, the smaller boy would have never kissed in public, even if everyone was far too distracted to notice.

Not noticing the press of the crowd as everyone toasted and cheered. Not hearing the whoops of encouragement from Sirius and Blaise, or the sharp reprimands from Dean. Not noticing the bright flash as Sirius snapped a photo of them. Harry and Draco kissed, for luck. Because they were certainly going to need it.

TBC

YAY SAP!! NO FLAMES!!!

Thanks so much for all the reviews. I hope you all liked this chapter. I tried to hurry. I have exams so I don't know when the next will be posted. Bear with me! I promise things will get better, it's hard to write when all Draco and Harry want to do is go all gooey on each other. Sorry, guys! I hope you still enjoyed! Things will return to 'normal' soon. ^_^

IMPORTANT: I have decided to write a sequel to this fic. Obviously it's a ways off, but I still have to think about it. As such, are there any characters or relationships you want to see developed? (Can be romantic relationships or friendships)This is besides the DM/HP which it will obviously be, and there will be Sirius/Remus as well. Please let me know, through email preferably, gold-snitcher@yahoo.com. I make no guarantees, but I'm trying to sort out my thoughts.

For those of you who are awaiting, with bated breath, THAT scene to which I hinted in the last chapter well ... keep waiting ^_^ I know I'm evil, but you've got to believe that it's harder for me than it is for you because I KNOW what's going to happen and I want it to but it has to make SENSE so I can't write it yet. grrr. Anyway, I don't want to build it up lest it not meet your approval.

Sailor Grape, you really have to stop that! (Blushes insanely) that was the greatest review of all time and the LENGTH! Man! That rocked.

This chapter dedicated to:

Fenaily - for the beautiful review of chapter six. I'm glad my fic is breaking new ground. I got a bit tired of Harry or Draco finding an old piano at Hogwarts. I can't imagine why this hasn't been done before. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

and

Driven to Insanity - Wow. That's all I can say. Thank you so much for that review.

AND

Belle, for the sap-approval rating and protecting me from evil flamers, not that I had any at all, but still. Thanks for the compliments on the letters, I was actually quite worried about those, and it was good to hear they went over well! Thanks bunches, your review made my day.

TEASER:

*evil grin*