Author notes: This is another sort of short chapter (aren't they all?) but this was about as much as I could handle writing in one part. Why would I do this to myself? Oh man. Why do I kill everybody? What's wrong with me? Please don't answer that, Maddy, this is all your fault anyway. Just read it, dammit.
Harry did not sleep that night. When the dawn shone through the window on whose sill he had sat last night, he moved closer to Draco. His fingers moved over Draco's bare torso, tracing small circles on the skin, smoothing the fine platinum hair on his arms and chest and stomach. He whispered Draco's name into his neck over and over. And he would have been content like this forever, but Draco woke up.
He stared at Harry, transfixed, touching his own skin lightly where Harry's hands had been. Then he threw his arms around Harry's neck, kissing him hard. He whispered into Harry's mouth, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please let me stay, please, I'm sorry."
Harry knew that Draco must have returned some to reality in the night, and with that return had come the realization of why the Death Eaters had tortured him and why Harry had brought him here, away from the cave that had been their home for an eternal few days, away from the magical place where they had first kissed each other, first touched each other, first lain panting on the stone.
"Don't worry. No, please don't apologize. Stop, Draco, don't worry. It'll be OK, I promise. We'll keep moving. We'll sort it out. Draco, it wasn't your fault…"
But Draco was crying now. "I heard you talking last night. Harry, I had no idea about Hermione, but it was them, they did it, and if I'd known it wouldn't—and Ron—"
"You're not making any sense, Draco, you couldn't have stopped it. You're not like them, Draco, you're not a killer—"
He and Draco froze, suddenly, horribly hearing Dumbledore speak those words—Come over to the right side, Draco…you are not a killer… up on the tower that horrible night five years ago. Draco watched Harry apprehensively, breathing fast.
Harry said nothing. Because he was suddenly back on that tower, helpless, invisible in the corner, watching Dumbledore sink lower on the stones, watching Draco's wand arm quivering, watching him lower it a fraction of an inch. Hearing Snape's footsteps on the stairs, hearing Dumbledore's last whispers, his last pleas for help. Hearing Snape let the curse fly from his lips like an arrow, seeing Dumbledore fall. Knowing that his freedom to move again meant that the caster of the binding spell was dead, knowing that Dumbledore was dead and gone and never coming back. And now he was back in the present, and Draco was here before him, and it was Draco's fault, all Draco's fault—
"Oh, Harry…I…oh, god, oh, Harry, I…" Draco stammered, but he had nothing to say. Harry's eyes went hard and cold and he stood, letting Draco fall from his arms back onto the bed. Draco whimpered quietly. Harry was breathing hard. He took his wand from the bedside table without thinking and whirled around to face Draco.
"You—you—" And there was nothing of the loving and compassionate and sweet, caring, fearful Harry that Draco knew and loved.
"Harry, I—please, Harry, oh god, I never meant—I never—he said he'd kill them and now—and now it doesn't even m-matter, because they're d-dead anyway, Harry, they're dead and he sh-shouldn't have died and it's my fault and I'm so, so s-sorry, Harry, I h-hate m-myself for what I d-did that night, and I l-love you and all I need is for you to love me back, Harry, that's all I, you're all I need, and you made me s-see that I could be good, I c-could be strong and brave and I could fight!" And Draco's terror at the cold fury in Harry's eyes—it was beyond fury, it was rage, it was loathing, it was terrible, terrifying, total hatred—was beginning to wane, and his voice was growing stronger. "And without you I couldn't have gone on after they were dead, Harry, I couldn't have lived, but you gave me a reason to keep on living, and I need you here with me, and maybe someday you can forgive me, even if I can't forgive me, and…and…" but Draco had no more words. His voice was hoarse and he was breathing quickly, staring desperately at Harry.
And now it was Harry whose wand arm was shaking, Harry who was dropping it to his side, Harry who was collapsing beside Draco, sobbing into his leg. Draco shook his head, murmuring into Harry's neck, "Harry…Harry, Harry, don't, please don't cry, Harry, I never meant to hurt you, I love you, I love you, I love you…" He whispered this over and over again, bent double over Harry's shaking body, stroking his hair and back, whispering through the lump in his own throat until Harry quieted.
"I love you, too," whispered Harry.
"Yeah," said Draco.
And they understood each other, and they understood that they could work through it and that in the end they could forgive, although perhaps not forget, and that they loved each other more than life itself.
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They might have stayed together like that for all eternity, but sadly, it was not meant to be.
Draco sat curled around Harry, stroking his hair and whispering sweet nothings to him with his lips pressed against the listening ear. Both were emotionally, mentally and physically drained, and they were just beginning to fall asleep like that when there was a dull thud from upstairs.
Harry sat bolt upright, stiff and alert, all thoughts of the last hour gone from his mind.
Draco looked around at the other boy in alarm. "Harry, is—"
But Harry was already sprinting up the stairs three at a time. He flung himself around the corner at the top—
And saw Ron, pale and bloody, lying on his bedroom floor.
Harry's heart dropped out of his chest.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god, Ron, Ron, no no no no no Ron, no, wake up, Ron, wake up, Ron, no, oh god wake up, please god no, no, no—"
Harry was breathing hard, kneeling by Ron's side, touching his grey face, speaking desperately to him.
"H…Ha…Harry?" Ron's voice was so faint, so far away, and Harry couldn't get to it.
"Ron…oh, Ron…I…what have you done?" whispered Harry, tears streaming down his face as he pulled his best friend's nearly lifeless body into his lap.
"Harry…I…I'm going to see Hermione, Harry. I…it was time to…to go and see her."
"Ron…" Harry shook his head, robes soaked with his own tears and Ron's blood, seeping very slowly from his wrists onto Harry. He was only vaguely aware of Draco standing horrified in the doorway behind him.
"I'll…I…oh, Harry…I'm sorry, Ha—Harry…" murmured Ron. And now his eyes were misting, and Harry was losing him and he couldn't, not Ron, oh please not Ron.
"I'll tell her you send your love," breathed Ron.
And then he was gone, and somewhere, Hermione was welcoming him.
Harry sobbed uncontrollably, shaking. His hand trembled so badly that he could barely pass it over Ron's eyes to close them for the last time. And the pain rushed over Harry again and again, and he wailed desperately and held Ron's limp body to him, just crying and crying.
Draco's gentle hands were around Harry's shoulders, and he was guiding him and helping him lay Ron gently on the bed. Harry's knees gave way.
"Draco—no, no," he sobbed, pressing his face into Draco's knees. "No, no, bring him back, I want Ron, bring him back!"
"Shhh…shhh…" Draco was there, holding Harry and rocking him gently. Harry nestled into Draco's embrace, needing its warmth and comfort and security as he cried himself dry. Draco's own eyes burned with tears, but he did not break. He stayed strong, he was brave and strong and he was there for Harry as Harry mourned the loss of his dearest friend. And inside, Draco mourned too, because Harry's pain was his, Harry's loss was his, Harry's tears shone in his eyes.
Finally, as the sun was setting that evening, Draco let go of Harry very, very gently.
"Time to go, love."
"OK."
Author notes: Like is said, this is kind of short, but I certainly couldn't deal with writing any more on here. I'd kill myself. Although, by the time this is over I'll probably be doing that anyway, so never fear. Reviews please!…this was a toughie for me and le betas.