Okay, to clear up one point:
Did I ever say that Draco kills Weston? Or that he's the one that was in NYC? No, I said Malfoy. We never actually know the first name of the person in the two situations. But you will very soon, I promise.
Hogwarts, Fall 2000
Hermione Granger was used to being two places at once. She had been traveling between classes again, near the end of her time at Hogwarts, to make sure she completed all the classes she wanted to study. Though it was a struggle, she had managed to do well and keep the secret Dumbledore had entrusted to her. Often, though, it was hard to find a place to take out the small hourglass and disappear, though lately she had taken to sneaking into a dark closet in the main hall and quickly going back in time.
It was her third time using her supposed secret hiding place when she heard the sounds. Scratching sounds, and an animal cry. Nervous, though she had faced much more during her years at Hogwarts, she took out her wand instinctively.
"Do you give up?" It was a low, drawling voice. Draco Malfoy's. Hermione saw red. What was the git doing know? Who was he bothering?
"Come on, Draco," A low, hoarse voice. A familiar one. "I want you, you know I do."
"When it's convenient for you, right?" Malfoy voice sounded hurt, annoyed. Hermione almost had the urge to leave. She felt as though she was intruding on something that was raw and private. Still, she felt glued to the spot.
"It isn't like that, and you know it. We'd be risking a lot, both of us. I don't want you to get hurt. It'd be worse for you."
"And your friends?" Draco's voice was insistent. "What about them?"
"If you want me to tell them, I'll tell them, Malfoy. All right? Now, let's continue," there was a mumbling sound, and the scratching began again.
Both Hermione's parents were dentists, and often received little trinkets from insurance companies. Her father had given her one of them; a little keychain with a light attached, and she had taken it, never minding the fact that her wand produced its own light. It was a nice gesture and she hadn't wanted to seem ungrateful. But now the pale little light seemed useful.
She turned it on and nearly screamed before her other hand clasped itself against her mouth and she backed away out of the room. What she saw was unbelievable, and she ran down the hall, forgetting all about the Potions class she would miss. Hermione went to the sink and turned the tap on, splashing cool water against her face compulsively, as if the shock of the water would erase the vision.
Of course it wouldn't. Hermione had seen, Draco, kneeling on the stone floor, his mouth against Harry's waist, his head moving as Harry jerked. Draco had put Harry's -- she couldn't even put it into words in her own mind-- in his mouth. She shivered against the vision, yet it came back to her. The way Harry ran his finger's through Draco's hair, the way Harry looked content, at peace for once.
Years later, even after Draco and Harry had brought a house together in Muggle London and a cottage in Hogsmeade, Hermione kept her small secret to herself. She felt, it, like the time-turner, was a privileged knowledge.
London, 2007
None of them said anything about the apartment. About what they had seen. When they had first entered they had followed the sounds of moaning, worried that someone was in pain. And they saw. They saw everything. Then they saw the breakfast scene when they went to hide in the adjoining living room. There was no room for doubt about any of it.
"Harry and Draco?" Ron finally said, in a high pitched voice. "Harry and Draco?"
"Ron," Hermione hissed, but Harry looked at Draco curiously. Whatever animosity he felt know would be translated into the love of his life. He watched Draco's stony eyes lighten, and he gave the shadow of a smile.
Harry found himself smiling back. There was a glimpse of the future. Ron coughed loudly breaking up the moment.
"Right." Harry said, looking sheepish. "So Dumbledore sent us here for a reason. Why?"
"There must be something here we need to find," Draco said. "Other than what we saw. Something important, maybe."
Hermione nodded. "Malfoy's right. Let's start with the downstairs."
They went downstairs. There was a large living room, with Louis XVI furniture which had been spray painted gold and reupholstered with a red velvet design. A coffee table in the middle of the room looked like a giant chest and was covered with magazines and books, Pride, the gay wizard's magazine, Potions to Heal and Help by Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape were on the table, alongside old newspapers and two clear blue glasses.
Hermione gestured to the a paper. "It's a map, a wizard's map." She held it out; it was glowing faintly in one area. Gently, she tapped it with her wand.
"Hello, Hermione Granger," the map said impersonally. "You are currently in the home of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. You are currently in sector 4A, sector 4A is defined by the Ministry as being populated by both Muggle and wizarding races. Wizards in 4A are prohibited from using all spells categorized as "unnecessary." They include . . ."
"All right!" Harry said irritably and the map turned itself off with a faint huff.
"Hallo," said Draco, amused, "What is that?"
Against the wall was a huge hanging collage, with hundreds of different Muggle pictures, all of Draco and Harry. Yet, when the person looked closely, the pictures were almost translucent; the wall could be seen behind it.
"What is that?" Ron said, looking at the pictures. "It's weird."
"Ron's right," Hermione said. "It is a little weird. I mean, it covers the entire wall, nearly."
"It's hiding something." Draco responded, getting up from the coffee table where he had been reading his own book with interest. "In big Manor houses wizards would often cut a wall away and induce a spell to hide things they didn't want found. It was probably my idea."
Draco climbed onto the sofa and tapped the collage with his wand. Instantly it slid to the side, revealing a compartment. And inside the compartment was a medium sized box, with a lock attached. Only the lock had no key hole. Draco settled it on the sofa and looked at the box miserably.
"It's passworded." He said.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
"I mean," Draco continued. "It's a vocal password. We made up some password for it. That's what undoes the lock. They're probably two: one for me and one for you. Have any idea?"
"No," Harry said, staring at it. "None at all."
"What should we do then?" Draco said, becoming annoyed. Then he saw the box of treats on the counter. "Ahh! Chocolate Frogs!"
"Hello, Draco Malfoy," the box said in a mechanic voice as it sprung open. Inside there were papers, scrolls. Stacks and stacks of yellowed scrolls with nothing written on them, like the ones Dumbledore had shown them, but larger. Curiously, Draco opened the first one.
A rush of light appeared and then a picture of himself, slightly aged, came into view. "Is it on, do you think?" He asked someone.
"Yeah," Harry said, coming into focus over his shoulder. "I suppose we should start then. Hallo, everyone. This is the Last Will and Testament of Harry James Potter and Draco Malfoy. Um, I suppose we'll get started then."
"Well," Harry said uncomfortably, "If I die, then I well, everything I own goes to Draco, of course." Draco appeared over Harry's shoulder again. "And vice versa, you know." He added, before Harry pushed him away with a laugh.
"And if we both-- um, die," Harry said, "We leave the flat in Belgravia to Hermione--" Draco felt a hand close the scroll. Harry was standing behind him, looking a little ashen.
"I don't think we should see that one, Draco," he whispered. "It's not right."
"I don't want to see it either," he nodded, tying the scroll back up and pushing it under a bunch of others.
"Hey, maybe it's this one," Ron said, picking up one labeled: Private.
Before either boy could say no, Ron had opened the scroll.
Music, punkish and rocky, came into hearing before Draco's face. He was wearing heavy blue eyeliner and his hair was spiked and dyed completely white. His lips were outlined in red and he looked amazingly beautiful, otherworldly. The music started up and Draco started singing, and rather badly.
Harry's head came into view, and then his arm, holding a bottle, and the scroll panned out. It was Harry and Ron's bedroom at Hogwarts, and Harry was completely changed. His dark hair was streaked with a bright electric blue and his glasses were gone, and his eyes were lined too, with black stars drawn on the corners. He was laughing into the camera, and he kissed Draco's cheek, laughing.
"When the roommate's away," Draco whispered to the scroll, "Well, you can guess the rest, can't you?" Harry was laughing drunkenly and he put an arm about Draco's shoulder. "We should shag on Ron's bed," Draco said maliciously, "For all his rumor spreading about us."
"Draco don't," Harry laughed as Draco took the bottle of booze and started jumping on Ron's bed, the liquor spilling everywhere. "Fuck, we're going to get into so much trouble."
Harry jumped onto the bed and took Draco's arm and they began to dance silly, ridiculously on Ron's bed, an inebriated ballroom dance. Suddenly Harry pulled up Draco's expensive shirt and began kissing his chest, tasting his nipples and the two of them fell into a passionate, drunken heap onto the bed, tugging each other's clothes off crazily and quickly.
Ron closed the scroll, his face red. "Merlin!" He said, turning furiously to look at Draco and Harry, who were both white.
Hermione had gone through several scrolls in the meantime, all of which were similar to the one Ron, Harry and Draco had watched. It seemed Harry and Draco were fond of scrolling their-- escapades. The scrolls were simply hidden because of that reason. At the bottom of the scrolls were several wizard pictures.
One was of Harry and Draco, holding champagne glasses and wearing suits under dress robes. They moved in and kissed each other chastely before an unknown face mouthed: "Happy Birthday Draco!" And they all laughed. Another was of Hermione and Draco, standing outside in a pretty park, Draco's arm about Hermione's waist and they were beaming. And the last was of Harry's parents.
A picture he had never seen before. They were standing on the steps of a church somewhere. Lily was holding a small white bundle which was shaped like a baby, undoubtedly Harry, and James was smiling down at Harry and laughing, before they both smiled clearly to the photographer. Curiously, Harry turned over the picture; there was a paper, like a post-it note attached.
What to get the Boy Who Lived? I looked everywhere and found this, was written on the note. Happy 20th Birthday Harry. I looked nowhere and I found you. I love you, D.M.
Harry held the picture, watching the movement of his parents, turning it over to read the note. Then he heard the noise. A banging on the roof. And talking. Harry, Ron, Draco and Hermione froze in place.
"Someone's coming," Draco said, standing by the door. "Bollocks! Take that box with you!" He whispered harshly to Ron, who gathered up the scrolls and the box and hid behind the large Chinese screen in the corner of the room. Huddled together, they watched as three Death Eaters destroyed the front door.
"Are they here?" One of the hooded figures said to another.
"No," a drawling voice said. "Of course not. Clear the apartment. Find out where they are. Now!"
The two minions teared the apartment nearly to bits, knocking down artistic chairs, paintings, photographs and all the other little knick-knacks and personal belongings that people gathered up in their homes. Harry found himself wincing as glass crashed and furniture fell.
"Ugh, this was on the Muggle box," one of the hooded figures said dumbly.
The leader snatched the paper from his hands. "Lunch with Fred, twelve-forty five. Let's go."
Without a second glance at their destruction, the three Death Eaters Apparated.
"Did you see who they were?" Ron asked Harry, who was standing closest to the edge of the screen.
"No. Draco?" Harry was looking at Malfoy, he was ashen.
"Those were Crabbe and Goyle," he said and then shook a little. "And the man-- the man was my father." He looked at Harry clearly and unblinkingly.
"It's my father."