Chapter Four

Time and Time Again

Disclaimer: Not mine. Except some. Don't steal. Love me.

Harry awoke in Kyle's bed. He glanced at the clock--10:30.

Kyle came in from the next room. "Morning, Harry!" he grinned.

Harry scrubbed at his eyes. "Where are you going?" he mumbled.

Kyle buttoned his shirt. "I've got to go back to work, Harry. Christmas Holiday is over! There should be food in the fridge--"

"But I'll be bored stiff!" Harry frowned. "I need something to do."

Kyle thought. "Well, what did you do before you moved in with me?"

Harry sighed. "Skulked around the house, missing...Well..." Kyle turned a little pink as Harry's face fell. "I've got enough money to last me a lifetime! It's not like I have to work at all."

Kyle nodded. "I know what you mean. I've come into some money from my grandparents. I just go to the bar for something to do." A thought struck him. "Hey, maybe you can come work at Eddie's! Frank might let you go on as a waiter or something. Come with me and we'll see what he says.

They finished getting ready and headed downstairs to Kyle's lovely silver convertible. "Your grandparents must have been royalty," Harry muttered.

They headed up towards Eddie's.

Harry broke the long silence by turning on the radio.

"Kiss me

under the broken treehouse..."

Kyle giggled. "I love this song."

They pulled into the parking lot. Kyle stopped the car, and they both got out. Kyle opened the door to the restaurant for Harry, giggling. "After you, sir." Harry grinned.

Kyle led the way to the manager, an older man with a shining bald head and a bustling attitude, as if he always seemed in a hurry to do something else.

"Frank!" Kyle smiled at his boss. "Could you use a waiter?"

Frank checked his watch automatically. "Weekdays, eleven to three. Sound good?"

Harry nodded quickly.

Frank smiled hurriedly. "Frank Patterson."

Harry stuck out a hand. "Harry Potter."

Frank shook the hand. "Welcome to Eddies. Kyle, get him a uniform and pad."

Kyle nodded and Frank turned back to Harry. "Clock in. We'll get the paperwork filled out later. David will show you the ropes." He nodded to himself and headed away.

Harry took a deep breath. "What a character."

Kyle smiled. "Oh, you'll get used to him soon enough. He grows on you." He took Harry's arm. "We'd better get you dressed." He led him back to the wardrobe room. They stopped in the doorframe to the kitchen. Kyle pointed at the cook, working in the back to bake bread. "That's Piper Ridgeway in there." Passing the kitchen, they bumped into another waiter, which Harry recognized from his first visit. "Hiya, Kyle." He glanced at Harry, and did a double take. "I remember you. You work here now?" he asked with a smile.

Kyle put a protective arm around Harry's waist. "Back off, David," Kyle laughed. "He's all mine."

David snapped his fingers in mock sadness. "Pity. Well, good luck, you two. What's your name?"

Harry sighed, bracing for the worst. "Harry. Harry Potter."

David's eyes widened. "Not THE Harry Potter!"

Kyle grinned. "Yeah, David. THE Harry Potter."

David extended his hand. Reluctantly, Harry shook it. David grinned. "David Thomson. I went to Beauxbatons, myself, after the fiasco with Umbridge my parents decided I could stand to learn French and go away, but I heard a great deal about you from the Daily Prophet."

Harry bristled. "Don't believe everything you read."

David grinned. "Don't worry, I don't think you're mad. Pleasure to meet you."

Kyle pulled Harry away. "We've got to get him a uniform."

David smiled. "Welcome to Eddie's, Harry Potter."

Kyle and Harry continued to the wardrobe. "David seems nice."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "He fancies you."

Harry slipped an arm around his waist. "It's not the first time. It won't be the last."

Kyle frowned. "It's a good thing we don't wear hats."

Harry was puzzled. "What?"

"Otherwise, we wouldn't have one big enough for you."

Harry pushed him away. "You bastard!" he giggled.

Kyle grinned and pulled a black polo shirt and a black pair of pants, followed by a black apron. "Try these on," he said innocently.

Harry put the clothes on. Kyle drew the apron around his waist, tying it from behind. He put his arms around Harry's waist, kissing him on the neck. "Fits like a dream," he whispered.

A clock chimed. Kyle released Harry, blowing him a kiss as he left the room.

Harry went out to find David, who was to show him the 'ropes.'

He found him at the front counter. "David!" he hissed. "How do I--"

The front door opened and Harry froze. An older woman entered, followed by an older gentleman.

"Welcome to Eddie's Louisiana Bar and Grill," David said automatically. "Table for two?"

The man nodded. David jotted something down on a notepad. "Certainly. Harry will be your waiter this afternoon, if you'll follow me." David led the couple away, and Harry dashed to the bar. "Kyle! What do I do?"

Kyle laughed softly and set down the glass he had been cleaning. "You've got to get out there and take care of them, darling."

Harry sighed. "I don't know what to say!"

Kyle giggled. "Just welcome them, tell them your name, and get a drink order."

Harry took a deep breath and casually strolled (or tried to stroll) up to the customers' table. "Hi, and welcome to Eddie's. Erm, my name is Harry. Do you want a drink?"

Elizabeth was around her second trimester, maybe. Drake really couldn't be sure. Her belly was growing larger, and she was waited on hand and foot by the best Drake's money could buy. She really was the mother type, it seemed. She had transformed from a shy, awkward youth to the epitome of maternal beauty, grace, and poise.

Every time Drake thought about it, he got butterflies. He was going to be a father! He couldn't wait to see what the baby looked like.

He promised himself he wouldn't treat his baby the way his father had treated him. His baby would be loved.

"I'm going to pick up some dinner, Harry. What do you want?" Kyle grabbed the keys and pulled on a fleece jacket.

Harry's eyes were glued to the telly. "Surprise me," he mumbled.

Kyle's smile drooped. "You're not going to watch that while we eat, mark my words."

Harry nodded. "Yes, dear."

Kyle waved. "Love you, darling."

Harry nodded. "Love you too."

Kyle left and headed down to the car.

Harry's vision remained focused on the telly. A rerun was on the BBC-2, about a superhero who married an English woman and had no idea what 'polite society' was.

A gunshot went off in the breezeway. Harry flew out of his seat. He dashed out to the end of the hall and found Kyle crumpled on the floor, clutching at his chest.

Harry rolled him over, gently. Kyle was still alive, barely. He saw Harry and smiled. "You were right...about the people you..."

Harry's eyes welled with tears. "No, Kyle, you're not going to die. You'll be fine," he said shakily.

Kyle looked at his hand, bloody from clutching at the gunshot wound. "No, I don't think so..."

Harry held Kyle in his arms. "We can beat this, Kyle." Tears were running down his cheeks.

Kyle's eyes focused on a different point, behind Harry. "I love you..."

And then he was gone. After months of love and devotion, he was dead. Harry had no idea who would have done it to Kyle, of all people. He didn't have time to think about it. Pulling out his mobile, he dialed the police. "Hello?..." he paused."There's been a shooting..."

Drake sighed and put his hands in his head. The baby was late, and he didn't know what to do.

Harold would know--No. HARRY would know what to do. He shook his head. It was almost like Harry had faded to a distant memory, still on his mind, but somehow less important.

No, Drake couldn't let Harry recede too far into his memory. If he did, his whole reason for this life he was living--this life without Harry or Harold--was a waste.

It was a gracious funeral, as funerals go. Tears left trails down the cheeks of all, except Harry. He still didn't manage to understand that Kyle was dead. It didn't connect in his head, like something had shorted out in his mind. He had prepared a lovely speech, at the request of Mrs. O'Hanlon, who he had met a week or two before the funeral.

She had visited Harry at Kyle's apartment. She was an older woman, with fading red hair and a smile that looked identical to Kyle's. "Would you like to say a few words at the funeral, dear? I know how Kyle felt about ye," she had said in her thick Irish accent.

Harry had nodded dazedly. Mrs. O'Hanlon dabbed at her eyes automatically. "He loved ye, Harry. Ye must know that he did."

Harry had nodded, still distracted by the weight on his heart. "Thanks, Mrs. O'Hanlon. I wish I'd have met before all this. Kyle talked about you all the time."

Mrs. O'Hanlon dried her eyes again. "Many thanks to ye, Harry. The priest should call ye tomorrow." She had taken one last look around the flat, nodded, and turned to leave.

And Harry had found himself alone again; as always, the one person he was close to was gone.

The worst part, in Harry's opinion, was that Kyle had died without purpose. He hadn't been held hostage, he hadn't even been robbed, although that was how it seemed at first. As best as the police could tell, it was simply a crazed gunman, shooting at whatever moved. The hopelessness and uselessness of his death made Harry want to scream. Kyle had been the nicest person anyone could meet. How could anyone have wanted to take such a brilliant, happy individual away from the world?

The idea made Harry nauseous. He would need to leave Kyle's apartment and return to the house he had shared with Draco. He had nowhere else to live. The thought filled him with dread. He was sure the housekeeper still cleaned; at least, he still paid her, and his mobile would have rung if anything had come up.

He gathered up his own belongings and locked the flat's door on his way out. He paused, leaning on the doorframe, trying to draw strength from the building, clinging desperately to the frame as he closed another chapter of his life.

"Lord Morning!" The door to Drake's study flew open. An agitated servant stumbled inside, tripping on the stone floor. "The baby is coming!"

Drake jumped from his seat in front of his desk. "Don't just stand there, you fool! Take me to her!" he dashed for the door, heading straight for his wife's chambers.

She was already pushing the baby out! The midwife was laying a wet towel over Elizabeth's forehead.

The baby's head was beginning to show, and the midwife motioned to Drake. He crossed over and stood by his wife's side, taking her hand and letting her squeeze it as she pushed the baby out.

It felt like days stretched in the time it took the baby to be born. Finally the sounds of a baby's cry filled the room and Elizabeth smiled as she panted heavily. The midwife wiped the baby off and set him--for it was indeed, just as Drake had hoped, a 'him'--on her chest. Elizabeth laughed breathlessly, touching her baby's head with an almost childlike curiosity and wonder.

His cries ceased as he turned to see his father. It was uncanny; his large round eyes were wide open. He stared into his father's eyes curiously. Drake smiled at his son. It was most definitely his, for he had the pale skin and the extremely pale wisps of hair on top of his head. The baby was also much like Elizabeth especially around the eyes.

Harry had not adjusted well to life back in the house. The dreams of Draco returned with such a fervor that Harry began to dread sleeping again. There was so much mail from the months he had been gone. Other than that, things were almost exactly as he had left them, from the dirty laundry in Draco's hamper to the half-empty bottle of Scotch on the kitchen counter.

The futility of life had resumed its course. He'd quit his job at Eddie's and returned to a meaningless existence for a few months. He still thought about Kyle every day. It was all his fault! He should never have gotten to know him; the people he got close to were all dead.

He had no reason to live anymore.

Harry stood up from the sofa, heading for the bathroom, opening the cabinet. He dug through Draco's toiletries and pulled out Draco's beautiful razor blade. Draco had always preferred a naked blade to modern safety razors; Harry just hoped the blade was still sharp.

He drew a hot bath, clenching the blade's ivory handle in his fist. The tub filled up and Harry prepared himself.

The doorbell rang. Harry ignored it, drawing a deep breath.

The doorbell rang again. Harry swore violently and threw the razor to the ground. He stomped off toward the front door. Pulling the door open, he looked at his uninvited visitor.

Harry caught his breath. It was the boy from his dreams! His eyes burned into Harry's with a fire behind the golden irises.

"Are you Harry Potter?" his voice was rich and smooth.

Harry nodded dazedly. "Who are you?"

The boy bowed his head. "I'm Alex. Alex Morning."

Harry blinked. "Alexander?"

The boy nodded. "I'm supposed to give this to you." He handed an ancient wooden box to Harry. "Sorry, but you're something of a legend in my family. This box has been waiting for you since 1136."

So that's where Draco went! he thought. He felt his pulse rising as he broke the ancient wax seal pressed with a flourishing 'D. M.' He lifted the lid.

There was a small piece of parchment inside. Harry lifted it out gently as Alex watched, curious to know what the family was guarding for so many centuries.

Harry unfolded the parchment carefully, reading the words with his heart in his throat.

My Dearest Harry,

I hope with all my heart that this message reaches you...

( e n d s t o r y )

A/N: Well, this is it. The fourth—and final—chapter of Time and Time Again. Thanks for sticking through with it; it's been a pleasure to write this.

There's not much else to say, really. Thanks to everyone who helped me: Sezza, my darling beta, Ken Follett, for writing the book that inspired me, and Jane, my best friend.