Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author: Penguin

Title:

LIKE GLASS

Part 9

There was a knock on the door, and Neville Longbottom stood in the doorway. He looked pleased and awkward in a familiar Neville mix, and nearly stepped on his own toes trying to decide whether to come in or take a step back or stay where he was.

"Hello, Harry," he said uncertainly.

Harry rose from his chair, his mind suddenly blank, at a loss for what to say or do. He hadn't seen Neville since they had fought side by side on the battle field, surrounded by death and the stench of fear. A lifetime ago, and still the moment was constantly present. Neville held out a hand and smiled shyly when Harry took it.

"Lupin told me you were back. How are you? Are you feeling any better?"

"Yeah. Well. Yeah. At least they've cured me of the addiction to this Muggle crap. The mediwizard methods are much more effective than the Muggle ones." Harry shrugged. "But I guess you've already heard everything about it anyway."

Neville smiled again. "Everyone always hears everything about you, Harry. It's just like it's always been."

Harry made a face. "Enough about me, then. How are you? What are you doing these days?"

"Oh, I moved to Denmark two years ago."

"To Denmark? Why?"

Neville shrugged. "My family has a place there. At Skagen. It's beautiful – those long beaches, and the sound of the sea, and the light… the light really is fantastic. I suppose some people would say it's a lonely place, but it really isn't."

"What do you do there?"

"I have a plant nursery. I grow things." A flash of the shy smile again. "I've bought quite a bit of land, and I've built two big greenhouses – one that's visible to anyone, Muggles as well, and one that's Unplottable. I grow stuff like tomatoes and cucumbers and melons that I sell to Muggles, and in the Unplottable greenhouse I grow magical plants for mediwizard use. I'm doing quite well."

Harry didn't know what to say. He himself had stumbled around in the mist, attempting to create watertight compartments in his mind, to shut himself off from memories, realities, emotions. Neville looked cautiously happy, as if those tomatoes and mandrakes were good for his soul. Which was probably the truth.

Neville had always quietly gone his own way and was rarely admired or credited for it, but somewhere along the line his actions and choices had stopped inviting ridicule. Perhaps his choices weren't always the most magnificent or dignified ones, but they were honest and true to who he was – could anyone ever do more than that? Harry awkwardly patted Neville on the shoulder and asked him to sit down.

They talked for a while, both of them gingerly stepping around the subject that burned darkly at the back of their minds and had done so since they last saw each other. Harry wondered whether they would ever find the strength to talk about it. It was one thing to talk to a healer or tell the story to a friend – it could be done, even if it was painful. But discussing it with each other, reliving the worst moment of both their lives, conscious every second of the fact that they wouldn't be here now without having shared that moment of unimaginable horror… It made them too close, so close they needed to move away from one another.

Eventually, Neville rose to leave.

"Skagen really is a lovely place," he said, as if Harry had ever doubted it. "You must come and visit me."

"I will," said Harry and meant it, and knew that he never would.

x

Perhaps the visit had exorcised some of Neville's demons, but it brought some of Harry's back. He felt weak and sick all afternoon, and the healer threw one look at him and cursed herself for allowing the visit.

He spent the night curled up in bed, sleepless, trying to fend off a pain that was deep and sick and blurred and difficult to pinpoint as it wasn't really physical. He would have wanted drugs to numb it, but that escape route was no longer open to him. The need for drugs had ceased to be a physical craving and was more a futile, exhausted wish for oblivion. When he finally fell asleep towards morning, it was oddly with the indirect help of Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy had come to represent all the positive that had happened lately; the return to the wizarding world, the reunion with old friends, the gradual but encouraging process of mental and physical healing. Malfoy's almost daily visits were lanterns in the dark and a wonderful relief from pressure, relaxed moments where the most real interaction with another human being took place.

Harry closed his eyes and conjured up images of Draco Malfoy on the film screen in his head. It was comforting to see the pale, blond figure shimmer, shimmer like it had done through dull, aching darkness and grey mornings… Harry curled up and hugged himself to protect the image, holding it to his chest to keep it warm. It drifted through his dreams, shifting, moving, still radiating that strange, shimmering light.

X

Draco decided to walk from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts. It was a dark and blustery evening with brief, sudden rain showers, but the air was surprisingly warm and mild. The gusts of wind caressed his face like hands.

He was tired and slightly irritable, and he knew some of the irritation was due to the fact that he hadn't had time to visit Potter for several days. His visits had quickly developed into a habit that was difficult to break.

Draco walked up the winding drive to the castle and opened the brand new front door, made of solid oak and even heavier than the old one. He looked around the dimly lit Entrance Hall. Surely it wasn't too late for a visit, even if Potter was supposed to be resting? It was only half past nine.

He had brought some bottles of good wine with him from his flat in Hogsmeade – evenings at Hogwarts could be long and lonely, and although this mostly didn't bother him, he occasionally wanted alcohol to take the edge off the loneliness.

Equipped with two of the bottles, Draco went over to the hospital wing. As he raised his hand to knock on the familiar door, it occurred to him that alcohol might be a disrespectful, cruelly ironic gift to bring as Potter was being treated for his drug addiction.

Draco lowered his hand and went to talk to Matron, who assured him Potter could have some wine and, with a shrewd look at the bottles Draco half tried to hide behind his back, gave them permission to drink under her roof. "Just don't come to me for charms to relieve your hangovers in the morning."

Potter seemed glad to see him. Draco questioningly held up the bottles.

"Wine…?"

Potter's face split in a grin. "Where did you get those?" he said. "I'm sure you're breaking a hundred rules."

"Nope. Believe it or not, I cleared it with Matron."

Potter laughed. "Draco Malfoy, honest, straightforward and law-abiding. This is truly the age of miracle and wonder."

"Famous Harry Potter has spoken. Equally well-known for abiding by the rules at all times."

Glasses glittered invitingly in the candlelight and ruby red reflections danced over the scrubbed wood table.

"I haven't seen you in a while," Potter said, and Draco's heart made a skip at hearing his absence had been noticed. "What have you been doing with yourself?"

"I've had a busy couple of days," he said evasively. "Busy but boring, boring as fuck."

Potter made a face. "Don't talk to me about boring," he said. "Sitting here day in and day out is driving me mad. I know what it's for and that it's necessary and everything, but seriously, I'm clawing at the walls."

"I don't blame you," Draco said.

He knew Potter talked to the healer from St Mungo's practically every day, and that he was finally making progress after a very slow beginning. He looked much better and he was clearly feeling better, too, but so far there had been no improvement or development on the magical front. Draco could well see why Potter would be bored, sitting here day out and day in, not wanting to show himself in public, not having anywhere else to go. He had no idea how Potter filled his days. Being ill, even though getting better, and being alone here for hours or days on end with only Hedwig for company… and still managing to be nice and polite and rather cheerful when he had visitors… Draco had known Potter was strong, but strangely and perhaps ridiculously, he was more impressed by this than by Potter's confused, desperate courage in Diagon Alley.

They finished the first bottle quickly, both of them enjoying the warm, soft rush and slight dizziness of the first stage of intoxication. Potter's eyes began to sparkle and Draco knew his own face was rather pink. Halfway through the second bottle, they were laughing about old, old memories of the best use of various Zonko's products, at Potter's stories about awkward Muggles and their strange contraptions, and then at theories about what you would hear if you fed people Veritaserum and asked them about their sex life.

"Professor Flitwick!!! You remember his weakness for squeaky sugar mice?" Potter imitated Flitwick's equally squeaky voice: "I assure you, gentlemen – you will achieve the most interesting surprise effects if you slip them into the lady's corset."

"Corset!?" Draco choked on his wine. "Potter, where…"

"Flitwick doesn't date women whose fashion sense have got further than the turn of the last century."

Draco laughed himself into a coughing fit. "I'm pissed."

"So am I."

"Come on, let's get out of here."

"What…?"

"Just out. Get some air."

"It's raining!"

"So what? Are you made of sugar?"

Potter squeaked like one of Flitwick's mice, and they collapsed in renewed giggles.

"Right. Air."

"I'm not supposed to be seen."

"Who'd be out at this hour? – Oh, wait. I'll be back in a second."

Draco set off for his room, his path slightly meandering, causing palm to collide with stone wall several times before he was safely back in Potter's room in the hospital wing.

"Catch," he said.

He threw something at Potter and grinned at Potter's stunned face when he saw what it was.

"My Invisibility cloak…! Where did you get that?"

"Lupin kept it for you. Said it was far too valuable, financially and emotionally, to lose. And that you would want it back one day."

Potter took the cloak and let the fabric slide through his hands, cool and smooth like water. His head was bowed down to hide his face and he seemed lost in thought, or memory. After a few minutes he straightened up, looked at Draco and smiled.

"What are we waiting for? Let's go."

They raced each other down the stairs, shoving and bumping into each other, staggering and nearly falling; Draco making extra noise to disguise the fact that there were two sets of feet shuffling and thundering on the stone flags. The rain had stopped and the moon emerged among chalky blue rags of cloud, and the boys rushed through the dark grounds, stumbling and suppressing laughter. They paused, panting, in a clump of wet trees halfway between the castle and the lake.

"I'm an idiot!" Potter shouted, and eased the Invisibility cloak off his head so his face seemed to float eerily in the air.

"I heartily agree!" Draco shouted back. "I'm glad you're beginning to realise it."

He ducked for Potter's invisible swing, still laughing, exhilarated at knowing where Potter was even when he couldn't see him and at drunkenly taking this for granted.

"I forgot where we are," Potter said, "I mean, we could just have muted my steps with a spell!" He caught himself. "Or – you could have."

Draco grinned at him, determined not to let anything dampen this glorious feeling. "It's like being twelve again, running around the corridors at night without permission! Come on, Potter, let's go night swimming."

"Swimming!? Are you fucking mad? It must be freezing!"

But Draco wasn't listening. It was true that he was mad; he was seized by a warm, intoxicating madness that made his blood rush through his veins. The lake was dark and still and not very inviting, but Draco wanted to run out on the bridge of silvery moonlight and dance on it. The way he felt, he was sure he could, and the bridge would span to wherever he wanted to go. He undressed in a second, flinging his clothes in a heap on a rock, and dived into the moon-glittery water that swallowed him up in silky darkness.

x

Wrapped in his Invisibility cloak and in a darkness that smelled of earth and rain, Harry watched Malfoy undress. He felt disproportionately sobered by the cool night air and the earlier, momentary assumption that he could still do magic, but the whole situation seemed floating and unreal, or even surreal. He couldn't see his own body, wrapped in the cloak as it was, but Malfoy was visible. It was as if Harry could see him with more than his eyes – his mind felt him, his body certainly did. Malfoy had shimmered when he had entered that bar, and continued to shimmer in Harry's dreams long after. Now here he was, naked in the moonlight, his skin an unreal, milky white.

When he vanished into the black water, his body describing first a white arc through the dark and then for a split second a dark one against the moon-glitter, Harry gasped and ran down to the water line. He was hit by fear so strong it made him nauseous; it rushed through him in a scorching wave that blotted out every other emotion. Malfoy was gone; there was only ripples on the water and a pile of clothes to tell he had ever been there…

The blond head surfaced a bit further out. Gasping and grinning, Malfoy tossed wet hair out of his eyes and shouted: "Go on, Potter! Jump in! It's brilliant!"

And there was air in Harry's lungs again, relief flooded him and made him warm enough to brave the black lake. He began to pull his clothes off, rejoicing in the cool air against his suddenly burning hot skin. Malfoy was laughing across the water:

"Don't throw the cloak on top of your clothes; you'll never find them again."

Harry dived. The cold water was a shock against his skin, it cleared his brain and made him more awake and alive than he had been for a very long time. He surfaced, spluttering, and filled his lungs with night air, and suddenly Malfoy was there right beside him and threw an arm around his shoulders, too loosely to want to wrestle.

Harry turned his head sharply and his nose nearly collided with Malfoy's. The other boy's eyes were dark smudges and reflections of moonlight on the water danced over his face. He looked unearthly, unreal… everything was unreal.

"Malfoy…"

His teeth were chattering, and it wasn't only because of the water.

"Yes?"

Malfoy still had an arm around his shoulders; it was cold and hard and gentle. He was so aware of that arm; the arm and Malfoy's eyes…

"I'm only asking you this because I'm… intoxicated."

"I'm impressed. You didn't even slur saying that."

"In-toxi-cated."

"Bloody hell, Potter."

"Malfoy, will you stay with me tonight?"

It wasn't the alcohol that made the world spin. It was the closeness, the dark, the blue light; it was Malfoy's arm, his naked body half an inch away from Harry's own, a film of water the only thing separating them.

"I know it's pathetic," he said. "I'd never ask you if… but you know in London? You got into bed with me. You held me. You stayed. Please. Stay."

x

Draco winced at the words and removed his arm from Potter's shoulders. His face was on fire. Potter's eyes were enormous but he couldn't see their expression.

"Look," he said quickly, "I'm sorry I did that – I…"

"No. No." Potter was shaking his head. "Please don't say you're sorry. Don't be sorry. I'm not. It's one of the… one of the best things anyone's ever done for me."

Potter was so close Draco could feel his breath against his cheek, feel the deep, dark notes of wine on it. The chill of the water had turned into small flames of white-hot fire on his skin and he was shaking.

"Please?"

Harry Potter, pleading. Once upon a time, this would have made Draco triumphant. Now, it made him frightened, but mostly of himself.

"Yes," he whispered.

For a split second he almost wished Potter hadn't heard him, but voices carry over water. And when Potter slid an arm around his shoulders and kissed him, lips cold and soft against his own, everything was simple. Black water, dancing moonlight, and a kiss that had waited a long time to happen.

TBC