Well, I haven't written in ages. I have a ton of excuses from going houseshopping to being sick to my sister's birthday, but I'm sure no one wants to hear that, of course. I read all your comments, there were some I wanted to respond to but I haven't gotten the time, I apologize.

This part takes up right were the last chapter left off, so they'll be no date switches for a long time.

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Harry and Draco had left the lunch unnaturally early. Actually, Harry had decided they should leave. Draco was becoming positively vicious, he was coy, peppering his sentences with double meanings about homosexuality and wizardry, he chained smoked the entire time and barely ate Fred's girlfriend's dinner. And when she had risen to check on dissert, Draco had kissed Harry to annoy Ron, who was also present.

"You were acting like a spoilt child," Harry said, frowning, as they walked home from the apartment.

"I was bored," Draco said, taking out a cigarette and twirling it maddeningly in front of Harry's face. "She was boring. Ron is boring. I simply can not stand to have my intellect insulted by trite conversationalists for longer than twenty minutes."

Harry bit down what he was going to say next. He knew why Draco disliked Ron so much. He had been the one to reveal their relationship in their last year at Hogwarts by posting pictures everywhere. And in his anger, Ron had his room changed, and had spread several vicious rumors. It was only years after Hogwarts, when Ron and Hermione had ended their disastrous relationship, that Harry had repaired those friendships.

Draco lit the cigarette and looked at Harry. "Thoughtful, today, aren't we?" He put his arm companionably across Harry's shoulders. "You aren't mad, are you, really?"

That was Draco's way, to be entirely impulsive, insulting and rude, and then smile sunnily and expect all to be forgiven. He was really very handsome, and he used his looks to his advantage all the time, even now he was pouting becomingly at Harry.

"No," Harry said, melting unwillingly. "I'm not." He took the lit cigarette from Draco's hand. "You really ought to stop, Malfoy, the fags are going to kill you."

"Aw," Draco said, putting his hand to his heart. "Are you worried about me dying?" But as soon as he said it, Draco wished it unsaid.

Harry's face darkened by degrees, so all the light and amusement that had filtered his features and brought them to light were now the same ones shadowing his soul. Immediately, as if in protection of his emotions, Harry's entire body tensed, and he looked by turns exhausted and depressed. They stopped by the bridge, looking out at the river; the cool night air was hitting their faces reminding that life surrounded them.

"I'm an arsehole sometimes," Draco said finally, when the silence was no longer companionable, but a burden. "I'll really stop this time, if it means that much to you." When no answer came, Draco became worried. "Potter?"

Harry was looking down at the water, watching its silent, illuminated beauty. He didn't want to think anymore, he never asked for things to happen, but they always did, one on top of the other, stacked like symmetrical blocks of misery. Usually he was chipper, happy, laid back Harry, but it was times like this that he remembered his mother's voice, the sound of Voldemort in his head . . .

"Hallo, Potter," Draco said tenderly, pulling Harry to him. "It was just an idiotic comment, eh? No reason to go off on a dark tangent."

"I'm fucking tired, Draco," Harry said into the padded shoulder of Draco's gray peacoat, "I'm tired of all of this, I'm tired of the fact that we can't have a silly little argument before it turns into a reminder of all of that. I want to forget it, and I can't and I hate that I want to forget her, I hate it."

Draco Malfoy said nothing. There was nothing to say, no magic words to make things better, to change the world. If Harry was tired, he was tired too. He was tired of waking up at night to Harry's screams, to the slight, paranoid things Harry would have to do to ensure they were all right, to the way that everything they did was a story for the papers, a children's chant and received the air of a game.

He narrowed his eyes suddenly. Draco hadn't looked that Slytherin in years.

"I believed in many things growing up, Potter," he said simply. "Pureblood superiority, wealth, ambition," he lowered his voice so it almost silent, "Voldemort. But I never believed in you, Potter. I hated you, and now I love you, but I never believed in you. I never thought you were the savior of the wizarding race. You've got a horrible streak of being both very lucky and very unlucky. That's all. I'm not looking for something to believe in. I'll believe in myself, thank you, and you've really got to stop the tortured hero bit, it's getting quite old."

"As for the cigs," he ran his hand across Harry's head softly as it buried itself deeper into the edge of his coat's collar. "Well, I survived the second coming, Auror training and the last battle, I suppose I can handle some Muggle concoction wrapped in paper."

A moment passed and Harry laughed hollowly, a half-sob into Draco's jacket. "If you stopped smoking you would just smell like coffee?"

"Pardon?" Draco said, confused.

"You smell like cigs and espresso. What would you smell like if you stopped smoking then?"

"I have no fucking idea," Draco laughed. "Harry, you are being absurd."

"I like being absurd," Harry said, opening his arms out and embracing Draco tightly. "I like the way you smell." He kissed Draco's wide red mouth. "And I do worry about you dying, because I love you," Harry said seriously. "It's a very selfish thing, love. I know if I give you up you'd be safe."

"Safe and miserable," Draco said, sprinkling ashes onto the ground. "Fucking miserable. Harry, we should go to Paris."
"Paris?" Harry said, looking up from Draco's neck. He had been very intently nibbling the white flesh there. "Why are we going to Paris?"

"Because we're young and I'm a bloody orphaned galleonaire so we can," Draco said, putting his arms about Harry's neck. "And because you've got money yourself so if we run through mine we won't be skint. And because you've never been there. And because it's away from here and you need to get away from England for a while."

"Before I go mad, is that what you're saying," Harry laughed. They were nearly in front of their home.

"No, Harry," he responded. "Before you drive me mad."

Harry laughed. It felt brilliant to be laughing, to be with Draco, happy, at ease. Draco was brilliant at making disagreeable things disappear. The scene at the Thames felt like an old memory he was soon going to forget, or pretend never happened. Draco removed his arm from Harry's waist and put the key in their front door. Before they could enter Harry pushed Draco against the corridor's wall.

"Let's go," he said, copying Draco's impulsivity for once. "Let's go to Paris, then. It will be nice and we can get married there, since you love it so much."

"Oh, Potter," Draco said, biting down the urge to laugh out of pure glee. "Are you asking me to elope with you? What about the precious Alliance?"

"Bugger the Alliance," Harry mumbled, struggling to keep Draco pinioned to the wall while removing his jacket and biting his tilted head. "Say yes, Draco."

"Yes. But not to the Alliance, that's not my style, Harry," Draco sniffed. "There are some girls in it. Now, Mr. Potter, let's see what going on about you," Draco was very skillfully removing Harry from his pants and underwear when his foot hit something. And then there was feeling of crushing glass moved under his feet.

"Harry," Draco said, annoyed. What was broken?

"Shut it," he said softly, and the urge to complain was quickly fading. Harry turned his face to his own, and Draco noticed the sudden look of wanting and needing. "Oh, Potter don't be a sweetheart," he said, feeling slightly overcome. The kisses were becoming entirely too much to handle, and Harry was moving his hands downward-- Draco's hand shot out to reach for the corner table for support but his hand hit air.

Nothing. And the crushed something under his feet. Draco tensed, something was very wrong with the entire scene.

"Hmm, Draco darling," Harry said, covering Draco's unresponsive mouth with his own. He reached down and noticed that the man was no longer paying any attention to his carefully applied kisses and stroking. He sighed, his voice on edge. "What's wrong, now, Malfoy?"

Draco turned on the light and both men screamed.