Disclaimer: All features of the HP universe are the property of the official and licensed copyright holders, including but not limited to JK Rowling, Warner Bros. and Scholastic. This endeavour is one for fun not profit.

A/N: This story is SLASH (involving male/male relationships) and will be MPREG (male pregnancy) in later chapters. Thanks for the reviews, they helped a great deal and I appreciate them all. Hope you'll enjoy this chapter.

2.

They might not have gotten much rest or sleep the night before, but both Harry and Draco were in better spirits when they entered the Counsel room the next morning. Their former headmaster's eyes twinkled as he greeted them, and Harry wasn't sure, but he thought he'd heard the aged wizard whisper something like, "well done" into Draco's ear. Following a reading of the latest causalities list, and a moment of silence to honour those who'd given their lives in the defence of others in the battle against Voldemort's greed and evil, reports were given, targets and defences were assessed, and plans were made with orders sent out to waiting team leaders. And as they had from nearly the beginning, refugees from burnt out villages, made their way to the sanctuary that was Hogwarts.

With the Ministry of Magic disorganised and slow to act, the wizarding community began to turn to one of the places where they'd been made to feel safe, secure, and protected. Hogwarts became the mother welcoming her wayward and wearied children home. The wards on the castle and its grounds were strengthened to an incredible degree, and diligent patrols were constant. There would be no betrayal from within. Each witch and wizard was subjected to questioning with Veritaserum and had to consent to questioning by a Legilimens before gaining an escorted entrance.

There were those who objected to amassing a "defenceless" population on Hogwarts grounds, but those voices were silenced as the devastation grew, and more and more homes were destroyed with people and families displaced with no where to go.

The resistance may not have had cause to fear betrayal within the ranks of refugees, but there are always those who will take advantage of the distraction of war to attend to their own personal vendettas—loyalty to one's cause is not infrequently second to one's own ambition and desire. The Houses of Hogwarts united on the field, and within the Order of the Phoenix, but all character traits have the potential for harm. Bravery, not tempered by forethought, can lead to foolish risk-taking and danger; ambition can motivate one to success, or avarice; loyalty can be blind, or worse myopic; gentleness, and a desire for neutrality can become apathy and neglect. Though most brought the best of themselves, and the traits that had identified their House-families to the war effort, there were those whose were just waiting for their time to strike.

Three months after the near decimation of Amphiptere team, Harry was nearing the end of his endurance. His friends were desperately worried about the toll the war was taking on the young man. Part of what made Harry such a good leader was that he cared, he truly and deeply cared about the world, and right, and people. The slaughter of innocents was breaking his heart and his spirit. They'd been dealt a heavy blow in Corris Wood, a small village well known for the profusion of blue baneberry, a powerful medicinal herb used in many healing potions that grew in the area. The village had supplied the resistance with much of this needed herb, and when reports of fires in the fields surrounding Corris Wood reached the Order's leadership, help in the form of the Griffin team, lead by Harry, was sent right away. They were nearly too late to save many of the village structures, and were too late to save some of the residents.

Harry spied three young girls, separated from the bulk of the village population by Death Eaters, and with a wild yell charged into the fray, firing off hexes and curses with barely a breath between. Two of the Death Eaters went down and were subdued by Ministry Aurors fighting with the Order, while a third Apparated away, but not before carelessly tossing off the Cruciatus curse in the direction of the terrified children. No one could have blocked the curse nor known the girl hit suffered from a heart condition. Her screaming agony lasted only seconds, but the sounds torn from her little body wounded the souls of all within hearing distance. Desperately crying his grief, and screaming his rage, Harry held the girl's body for quite some time, and when his storm was spent, he petted her hair and rocked her gently humming a bit of lullaby he remembered hearing at some point or another. Those who'd fought were frightened. This was not a Harry Potter they knew; he was more primal, and wholly unapproachable. When even Ron and Hermione failed to get through to the stricken man, they sent for Draco.

"He won't let her go," Hermione whispered softly when the blond arrived. "Her mother needs to see her, hold her before the family says good-bye, but we can't get Harry to give her up."

Focussed only on his lover and Harry's turmoil, Draco pushed aside his own grief at the devastation that surrounded them. He took a deep breath, and clasped Hermione's shoulder, "I'll handle it. What was her name?"

"Abigail."

He nodded, and with quietly, purposefully, stalked off toward the little alcove where his lover murmured and rocked a dead child's body. He could feel Harry's grief and guilt as he crossed the small village square. It was so thick the air nearly shimmered with it, and it left a deep sorrow in its wake. Ever graceful, Draco folded himself down beside his lover, carefully reaching to gently brush a loose lock from the little girl's face.

"She's cold Draco, she's so very cold and I can't warm her up. I tried all the charms I know. Can you warm her up?" Harry turned anguished eyes to his lover.

Draco quickly unfastened his cloak and pulled the thick fabric into his arms, "Give Abigail to me, Harry. I need to wrap her up in something warm."

Dazed, confusion evident, Harry nodded slowly and gently placed the dead girl's body in Draco's arms, "You're so smart, my Dragon. Why didn't I think of that? She's cold and I sat here doing nothing to help."

Deep worry flashed in Draco's silver eyes, but he said nothing, instead, surreptitiously signalling for Hermione to come and take Abigail's body to her family. He laid her in Hermione's arms, then pulled a pale and cold Harry close to him. "Abigail's family is going to tend to her now Harry okay?" He spoke softly, soothingly. Outwardly, he maintained his famed composure, but inside he was trembling.

I'm no good at all this emotional crap Harry. You're the one who's mastered the communing with our sensitive inner Hufflepuff. So pull it together so you can tell me what to do okay?

That Harry couldn't, or wouldn't, come back from his retreat into emotional shock and denial was inconceivable. This was Harry Potter. His Koma! Harry--fierce, unstoppable, resilient and--

Oh gods…

Draco pulled himself short, had he too been making the same mistake as all of the others? Forgetting the man? Loosing him in the mythos that surrounded him? How much could one man bear before it was too much? How many times could you wound a lion before even that most mighty of beasts lost its strength? Draco was tempted to sweep Harry into his arms and carry him to the camp the Griffin and Wyvern teams set up just outside the village, but to do so would send a message that his lover was weakened, and the last thing their fighters needed now was a another blow to their morale. So once more, painfully sacrificing Harry the man, to Harry Potter the myth, he took a fortifying breath, stood and pulled Harry standing.

"C'mon Potter. The least you can do is Apparate us back to camp, we have work to do" He said sternly, playful sarcasm heavy in his voice. Please. Please Harry. Snap out of it. Come back to me. Call me a prat and tell me to sod off...

Harry merely cocked his head and gave Draco another deeply confused look, "I don't know where the camp is Draco. Besides, shouldn't we stay to see if Abigail's okay?" Harry's voice was soft and his brows scrunched together like he was trying to solve a very intricate puzzle. Draco hadn't seen him like this since he'd been whacked in the head by a bludger in a pick-up Quidditch game their last year at Hogwarts.

Bloody Hell.

Draco pulled Harry tight into his arms and in the next moment they were in the tents set up for injured fighters. Rachel Olivine, a Hufflepuff from their year, was tending wounded witches and wizards, but stopped when Harry and Draco Apparated in. "Draco! Is Harry hurt?"

"It's fine Olivine. We're just stopping in for a minute." He pointed to Seamus Finnegan with whom he'd developed a very solid, if unlikely, friendship; the two men found they worked well together. So well in fact, Seamus was Wyvern's Second in Command. "Finnegan, I'm leaving the team to you. Tell Weasley he's got Griffin until Harry's back. If we're not back tonight we'll meet at Phoenix headquarters usual time."

Seamus nodded and Draco popped out of sight, sick with fear at his lover's almost comatose state. Back at 12 Grimmauld Place a nearly frantic Draco pulled the Order's resident healer, Paul Demetrius in to examine Harry.

15 minutes later Demetrius left their bedroom and grabbed hold of the pacing silver-eyed man who was even more pale than usual.

"What's wrong with him?" Draco snarled, the disdain of his aristocratic responses coming to the fore.

Demetrius shook his head, despite the improvements in Draco's personality since he and Harry had gotten together, when the younger man was stressed, angry, confused, or hurting, he tended to fall back on his condescending and demanding behaviours, reverting to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy's arrogant snobbish bigoted brat instead of the reserved, but caring and dedicated man they'd all come to better understand, admire, and even sometimes love.

"He made it through this skirmish without any major injuries. He had some bruising, a couple of minor cuts, and a few abrasions I've attended to, but mostly he's underweight, his physical energy reserves are low, and he's borderline anaemic. His body is crashing Malfoy. He needs rest and some solid meals. He can't keep pushing himself the way he's been and expect his body to hold out."

The healer sighed," The bigger and more pressing issue at the moment is that he's in severe shock. His emotional reserves are pretty much shot and that little girl's death tonight just pushed him over the edge. He needs to talk about it, and purge himself of the guilt and grief he's been carrying around. I've left a pensieve on the dresser that may be a good place to start. He needs to let some of this go, otherwise," he fixed the younger man with a hard look, "we'll either lose him to mania before the final battle can even take place, or the dark lord will destroy what's left of his mind in seconds, leaving an empty shell behind."

Draco paled at the thought of his beloved suffering either fate described by the healer.

How did it get this bad and where in Merlin's name was I when it was happening?

"How can I help?"

Demetrius nodded, "At least three days of complete bedrest. I'll determine if he's well enough for light patrol duties after that. Get him to eat, at least 3 times a day. 5 small meals would be best, but these days getting Harry to stop for a meal is hard enough as it is. I'm not expecting you to work miracles. 2 cups of hot chocolate a day, and most important, get him to talk, it'll help with some of the emotional baggage he's carrying. A journal might help," the healer scratched his head thoughtfully.

"No. No journals!" Draco said quickly. They'd been together a few months when Harry confided in him about Tom Riddle's journal. He couldn't see his lover ever taking comfort in something that had so many painful associations for him. "I'll--we'll start with the pensieve and see how that goes first. Is there anything else?"

The healer shook his head, "just take care of him. He needs that right now. He's so busy trying to be who everyone else wants him to be, and to take care of...well to take care of the whole world that he's forgetting he's just one young man, he's not in this fight alone."

Draco nodded, "I'll take care of him."

"I know you will," he patted Draco's shoulder as he headed toward the door of their suite. "I'll have some hot chocolate sent up. Looks like you could use a cup about now too. And a nice relaxing bath would help you both with sore muscles and any residual discomfort from the bruising."

After Demetrius left, Draco popped his head into their bedroom to find Harry lying on their bed still as death, and staring blankly at the ceiling. He walked over and sat gingerly on the bed, careful not to jostle his lover too much, then rested his hand in the inky mess. As much as he might complain about the sorry state of Harry's hair, he wouldn't trade a single follicle of the deceptively soft and luxuriously thick tresses. Resting back against the headboard, he just stroked through Harry's hair, rubbing his scalp and soothing him. It was calming for them both. So much so that he barely noted when the suite door opened. The hot chocolate delivery, he rightly figured. After a few more moments he got up and brought the tray sitting on their sofa table into the bedroom. He sat, then arranged Harry to rest against him, and handed him his mug.

"Drink up, Koma. Healer's orders." He cradled his lover's head against his shoulder and once again started to play with the mess. "Would you believe," he began quite conversationally, as though his lover's silence wasn't scaring him near to death, "that a child as spoiled, and pampered, and generally arrogant as myself, never had a temper tantrum?"

He looked down at his lover who softly snorted into his hot chocolate at the non sequitur. "Yes, yes. I know you find that rather had to swallow but it's true. Well mostly true. I had a temper tantrum once. I was 4 and my parents were entertaining for the evening. For the most part, the guests were high-ranking, pureblood families, and probably a few token Ministry officials. Just the usual suspects, I assume, but there was also an ambassador from Italy, in attendance that night and he'd brought his wife, of course.

Draco leaned over and brushed an unruly lock from his lover's forehead. "I thought she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. This was, of course, long before I met you, and learned what true beauty means." He kissed Harry's temple, ignoring the wet glistening in his love's eyes. "So there I was, 4 years old, enraptured by this Italian beauty, and determined to spend as much time with her as I could."

"Let me guess, you refused to go to bed," Harry finally spoke his voice hoarse and scratchy, but music to Draco's ears.

"5 points to Gryffindor Mr. Potter for your deductive skills," Draco teased, affecting the demeanour of an instructor. "Yes, I refused to go to bed. I clung to her robes and cried and wailed, and generally made an arse of myself, as children throwing tantrums at that age are wont to do. My father came and stood before me ordered me to release the lady and go to my room." For a moment Draco was lost in memory, then the familiar pull of calloused fingers in his hand brought him back.

He cleared his throat, but his voice was softer than it'd been before, "Even then I knew that you didn't stand before the sort of power my father wielded, and that fear was key to survival."

Draco blinked, breaking the spell of introspection, and resumed in a normal tone of voice, "The next morning, my father lectured me on the importance of maintaining the dignity of our family image, 'perception is power' he said. No one could ever look at me and see weakness. It was my duty, he said, to present the perfect image of strength and finesse. Neither weakness nor unseemly behaviour would be tolerated. And with that he called me over to his chair and broke all the fingers in my right hand." Harry gasped but Draco didn't react, merely continued his story, "When the first bone snapped I cried. It hurt, and I was afraid. By the time he'd reached my smallest finger I understood, and I have not cried since." Draco looked down and brushed away the tear slowly coursing down his lover's cheek.

"What I'm trying to tell you Koma, is that I know now that my father was wrong. That playing to an image, acting in the way you think people expect you to be isn't true strength. It is the worst kind of weakness. The kind that steals you from yourself. You taught me that. With your love, and your patience, and your bloody Gryffindor rashness and courage.

I fell in love with Harry Potter, not 'The Boy Who Lived' and they," he motioned, broadly sweeping his hand toward the window, "are all fools for being satisfied with the image of you they're created; the man they think they know because they made him up, and read about him in The Daily Prophet. I am the lucky one, well me and a few other people, though I think I'd prefer having you all to myself, of course Molly Weasley would definitely have something to say about that notion, and I love her applesauce cake so there goes that idea."

Harry snorted, then chuckled, then gulped down the rest of his now lukewarm chocolate, and snuggled closer into Draco's side. And Draco sighed with relief, smiling slightly. His Harry was in there alright, just hurting and tired, and somewhat worn 'round the edges, and in need of a bit of a reminder. "Yes well. As I was saying, they are fools because they'll never know the depth of you. My lover is a nutter, you know, Harry. He runs headlong into danger without any idea how to keep his fat from the fire, but he's no fool to loose himself in other people's expectations."

Draco took Harry's empty mug and placed it next to his own on the beside table then leaned over slowly bussing Harry's mouth with his lips. He kissed him gently once, then breathed into the minute space between them, "You stink Potter I'm going to run you a bath."

Harry blinked, smiled, then started laughing. He laughed until the tears ran, and he nearly fell off the bed. "Draco you are an arse!" He chuckled, lightly punching his lover's arm.

"Ah, that may be Potter, but I'm your arse."

Chuckling and leaning on one another, they made their way to the bathroom which, while no where near as extravagant as the Prefects bathroom at Hogwarts, was still, being a part of the restored Black ancestral home, pretty damn luxurious. Draco made his way down his lover's body, kissing and licking every bit of skin before lovingly washing away all of Harry's aches and pains. It wasn't often they could indulge in this kind of time together, and it was good to be able to be playful with each other as well as sensual, and of course eventually sexual as Draco rode his lover to exhausted completion before wrapping him in fluffy towels and carrying him to bed.

Tbc…