Chapter 6: Let's Spend the Night

Harry walked slowly and deliberately towards the hospital wing, guilt over Alex's ordeal weighing heavily on his mind. Although Harry was the magical world's failed hero, he still knew that the real fight in this war was between Voldemort and himself. Every time an innocent was harmed, Harry blamed his own cowardice.

All too soon he was standing in the doorway to the hospital wing, softly calling for Madam Pomfrey. She was in the far corner of the room, diligently ignoring him. Harry' guilt turned to frustration as he stepped into the room, ignoring the glares he received for entering her domain. He walked over to the only occupied bed and, with trembling fingers, pulled aside the curtain. He was pained by the sight of small Alex, surrounded by sweets and get-well cards, curled up like a small child. He was as pale as the sheets that he slept on and had dark smudges under his eyes, evidence of terrifying nightmares, but his face held the peaceful look of pleasant dreams.

Harry sat on a well-worn chair next to the bed, content to watch Alex sleep. However, Alex soon opened his eyes, as if on cue. When they focused on Harry, Alex smiled.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered gently.

Alex's wide brown eyes pinned Harry's gaze. "Why? You didn't do this to me."

"I should've stopped it."

"How could you have known?"

Harry mulled over this. Of course, he knew that he wasn't responsible for Voldemort's actions, but every death and injury was a message to him, Voldemort's constant reminder. Alex wasn't the first hurt, nor would he be the last in Voldemort's relentless fury at The Boy Who Just Wouldn't Die. Alex's soft voice brought Harry out of his deep thoughts.

"Can I tell you what happened? Dumbledore and McGonagall are waiting for me to open up, but I want to talk to you because you, well," Alex stumbled, "you understand."

Yes, Harry understood. He understood what it was like to be thrown into a situation that you had no control over, and which you were too young to deal with. He understood the fear of facing evil and wondering, for the first time in your short life, whether you would die. He understood what it was like to try to explain the combination of panic and desperation, and only receiving utter incomprehension.

"Tell me," Harry encouraged gently.

The story came out slowly, between shock at haunting memories and the sobs that Alex tried desperately to hide. He told of the terror of being suddenly separated from his schoolmates and dragged into a terrifying jungle of darkness. He described the overwhelming fear as he recognised his captor's Death Eater garb, and the crude, bloody threats he whispered. Alex told of the horror of being tied to a tree like a pagan sacrifice, knowing that the Death Eater would lead his would-be rescuers to him, like lambs to the slaughter. In true Gryffindor spirit, he made an attempt to cry out, as his fear for those searching for him overtook that of his own safety. Retribution was swift with a fiery pain that burned hotter than the fires of hell itself for agonising minutes before he gratefully passed into the realm of nothingness.

"What scares me most is that I was supposed to be safe here – it's Hogwarts! But even here, with you and Dumbledore, They were able to get me. I don't feel safe anywhere anymore.

Physically I'm okay. Two days rest and I'm out of here. There won't even be a scar. But he left deeper scars. I'm scared. Scared of being outside, scared of being alone, scared of my own shadow. This was the one place that was safe, and still he got in. I want to be brave, be a Gryffindor, but I'm only 11. I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder and jumping at strange noises. I want to play Quidditch and win the Cup. I want to play practical jokes on Snape and get the Slytherins busted for it. I want to be a writer when I grow up. But because my family supports Muggleborns, I'm probably not going to live past my eighteenth birthday, and that's if I'm lucky. What gives him the right to play God, Harry?"

Harry sat peacefully on the battlements of the South Tower as he watched the sky faded to shades of pink and gold, and finally to the darkest shade of blue. Harry searched the sky carefully, turning around, unheeding the danger.

A soft breeze began to play with Harry's thick robe, but Harry ignored it. He suddenly stopped and smiled. He stared out upon the black emptiness below him as he softly quoted:

"Star light, star bright

First star I see tonight

I wish I may, I wish I might

Have the wish I wish tonight."

Harry laughed softly at the childish rhyme. The words reminded him of something though, something someone had said. Of course! Firenze had made a comment about the stars. What was it again? Oh yes, "Let the stars guide you, for they never lie."

Harry laughed harshly. Thrusting his head heavenward, Harry yelled out defiantly into the silent night, "Fine! Guide me. Come on stars, show me the fucking way!"

Suddenly Harry froze. A single cluster of stars held him captivated, the constellation Leo. Leo, Latin for Lion, both his star sign and the symbol of his House. Hermione had once said it was very fitting that he had been born a Leo. "Leo's are intense and passionate leaders with a natural love of life and adventure. They can be terribly stubborn and bossy, but those who get close to Leo's will soon realise that they have vast depths and that their aloofness is part of their other-worldly nature. Professor Alba believes this trait leads to them feeling suffocated by the restrictions of life, always yearning for an unattainable freedom," she had read aloud from some book.

Harry was lost deep in his thoughts for a long time, his gaze never moving from the stars. Maybe Death was not the monster he feared. In a way both his Muggle and magical background had bred the fear of death in him, illustrating it as a cruel entity that takes indiscriminately. He had always hated death for stealing his parents from him, forcing him to live with his horrid relatives, and as a redemption for his cowardice. But for the first time, in the silence of the starlit night, he began to contemplate Death as an emancipation from the suffering of this world. He realised that he did have a choice after all, that was what Firenze had been trying to tell him. The decision between heroism and life. Harry wasn't sure he was ready to leave this life yet.

Harry thought of all his friends: Neville, Seamus, Dean, Justin, Ginny, Hagrid and, of course, Ron and Hermione, his closest and oldest friends. And he thought of Draco, suffering alone through abuse and hatred. Beautiful Draco, whose eyes held the intensity of thunderstorm in both anger and passion, whose pale alabaster skin was pure and clear, in sharp contrast to his own scarred skin, and whose voice could give Harry a reason to breathe, and could take it away in an instant. Draco, who had broken his heart…

Draco was wandering aimlessly through the castle, pretending to be doing his Prefect duties, but well and truly lost in his thoughts.

McGonagall's revelations had shocked Draco, but not surprised him. He had always known that he would die young. He did not acknowledge this emotionlessly – he was young, there were still many things he wanted to do.

He had always dreamed of playing Quidditch professionally, of being famous for something more than his cursed heritage. He had dreamed of a quiet future, with a house and a family of his own. It was hard to let go of those dreams, but even harder to accept Harry's death. Harry was the hero, the good guy, how could he die? For years Harry had frustrated Voldemort by surviving, and now he had to give his own life to kill him. It just wasn't fair.

Draco had been tempted to ask McGonagall if only one of them needed to be sacrificed – Draco would gladly do it. Anything to spare Harry any further hurt. Draco had already caused him enough pain, and he had no idea of how to mend that rift.

Draco's tired legs guided him up the winding staircase leading up to the South Tower. It was usually empty, but had been the focus of several suicide attempts since Voldemort's return. Of course, the school's magical wards prevented anyone falling more than a few feet, but Draco had no intention of further ruining his night with the piles of paperwork he was required to fill out in such situations.

Wearily, Draco opened the tower door, and was surprised by the sight of Harry perched atop the rough stone battlements, his tanned skin bleached silver by the moonlight, staring up into the beautiful night sky. Fatigue fled Draco's body as he watched Harry, content simply to be in his presence, but careful not to draw attention to that fact.

He watched as Harry seemed to waken from his reverie, and brought is arm out before him. He began slowly pulling back his long robe sleeves, exposing the dark marks that completely covered his arm, visible even from Draco's position. He could not restrain his instinctive gasp at the sight, and Harry turned expectantly. Draco emerged from the shadows of the doorway and Harry stiffened, letting his sleeve drop back to cover his wounds.

"Why are you here," Harry demanded softly.

"I was patrolling," Draco explained, suddenly feeling awkward. "I didn't know you were here."

"Then leave," Harry commanded, dismissing him.

Draco didn't move and the silence hung heavy between them.

"Why do you do it? Why do you hurt yourself?"

There was no reply, and Draco moved to walk off.

"Why do you want to know?" came the sudden question.

"Seeing those wounds was like being kicked in the stomach. I can't bear to think of you in pain, and to think of you so hurt that you had to inflict pain on yourself … I would give anything in the world to prevent you feeling so bad."

Draco knew he was most likely one of the reasons for Harry cutting himself, and that knowledge weighed heavy on his heart.

"When it hurts so much that I can't stand it, and I fear I'm going to shatter like glass, it makes it … better. It doesn't get rid of it, but just gets rid of enough pain for me to be able to survive the rest."

Draco had no idea of what to say in reply to that, so he gave in to his instincts and wrapped his arms around Harry, whispering "I'm sorry" in his ear, and praying that Harry could forgive him. He felt Harry stiffen beneath his hold and tears spilled downs his cheeks. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I was trying to protect you."

"From what," Harry questioned Draco.

"Me," he stated simply, his head bowed, refusing to met Harry's eyes. Suddenly he felt Harry's arms wrap around him, and his soft laughter in his ear.

"Silly boy. The only way you can hurt me is when you make me believe you don't love me."

Draco snuggled tighter around Harry. "And you call me silly. Of course I love you."

"I love you too."

When Harry woke up he had no idea where he was. Then the previous day slowly came back to him – Draco's rejection, McGonagall's bombshell, he and Draco's make up on the South Tower, and then collapsing, physically and emotionally exhausted, after long discussions in the south tower room. Harry checked his watch – they still had time to sneak back to their respective dormitories before they were discovered missing. Although this was not unusual for Harry, he would gladly avoid having to sit through one of Hermione's lectures about wandering around after curfew, despite his Prefect status.

Harry roughly shook Draco awake, who was not pleased with his sleep being interrupted. As they both had a free period first, they agreed to talk to Dumbledore and McGonagall straight after breakfast. With a quick kiss they departed, dodging Filch as the sun began to rise in golden splendour.

Harry snuck back into his dormitory without discovery thanks to years of practice. Ten minutes later various alarms and spells went off, loud enough to wake the dead. Harry faked a just-woken yawn and stretch, before claiming the bathroom first. After a hot shower, Harry spent an inordinate amount of time trying to tame his hair, but gave up after a while, and joined Hermione, Ron and Neville as they went to breakfast. He attacked the breakfast with an unusually voracious appetite. His friends did not quite know what to do with this change, but decided not to question it. As he ate, he scanned the hall, ignoring the glares he received, looking for his lover.

He finally entered, looking as polished as ever, leading the Slytherin leaders to their assigned seats. Harry forced himself not to smile at the sight, forming his face into a hateful glare as he watched Draco ordering about his housemates. Draco finally met is eyes, returning the glare, his eyes full of love. Suddenly his eyes became unfocused, and Harry felt his own eyes lose focus. Chaos began to break out in the hall, as people began yelling and fighting.

"What's going on?" Harry asked Ron.

"Huh? Sorry, I was staring at Neville's dreamy eyes."

Ron suddenly clapped his hand to his mouth in horror. Before he could tease Ron, Dumbledore began to call for calm. The hall began to quieten down, until Dumbledore had everyone's complete attention.

"Do not be afraid, what you are experiencing are the effects of Veritaserum. Now, who opened a hole in the school's barrier?"

"Me."

The quiet admission came from a mousy-looking Ravenclaw whom Harry recognised as one of Terry Boots' mob of fans. Dumbledore stupefied her, before the other teachers left with her, the girl's body levitating between them. After the door closed behind them, an eerie silence hung heavy in the air as people feared what they would say.

As the students began to walk off to their various classes, the effects of the Veritaserum began to fade. Harry promised Hermione he was going to study and made his way to Dumbledore's office. Draco was already waiting in the corridor outside.

"You sure you want to do this?" Draco asked. "Once you make a decision there is no turning back."

"I know. I'm game if you are," he replied with a slight smile.

The password for the gargoyles hadn't changed, and soon they were tentatively knocking on Dumbledore's door. It was open and the walked in, suddenly nervous. Dumbledore smiled kindly at them, urging them to sit and offered them tea. Draco, however, was eager to cut to the chase.

"I am willing to fulfil my role in the prophecy."

Dumbledore nodded silently and turned to Harry.

"I am also willing to sacrifice my life if it will kill Voldemort. He has caused so much pain, I couldn't live with myself if I refused my chance to destroy him, and someone else suffered because of it."

Dumbledore nodded, but seemed wearied by the knowledge of their upcoming deaths. "You two boys are very brave. Don't forget that." Then Dumbledore smiled suddenly, "I have excused you two boys from class for today. I hope you make the most of it."

They thanked him and turned to leave. As he was about to walk through the door, Harry suddenly remembered something. "Professor, how did you know that Draco and I were in love?"

"Amethyst. Draco was right in being suspicious of telepathic creatures."

They agreed to meet up in the afternoon. Harry had walked off with a mysterious smile, promising to organise something special for the night. Draco grabbed his cloak and wandered off to Hogsmeade, planning a surprise of his own.

He walked into the elegant jewellery store. Jeffery, the owner, greeted him personally – his father was a big spender here, buying gifts for his mother after each argument.

"Is there anything in particular that you are looking for Master Malfoy?" Jeffery asked.

"No. I just want something for a special someone."

Rows and rows of glittering jewels, rings, necklaces, earrings and bracelets were brought out for his presentation. None of them seemed to suit Draco's purpose, and he was ready to give up when something caught his eye. After close examination and much discussion, Draco placed his order, walking back to the castle in a much happier mood.

They met up at the South Tower, as agreed. Harry was late and ran, panting, towards Draco. Draco looked on in amusement as his lover skidded to a halt in front of him, grinning sheepishly and running his hand through his hair in a way that Draco found irresistible.

"Follow me. There's something I want to show you," Harry commanded.

Draco was guided up a winding staircase to the stone battlements. Harry noted in amusement Draco's puzzled glance, before resting his hand on the edge of the tower roof, and hauling himself up. Draco followed, clambering over the aging red tiles, thankful that they supported his weight. Harry finally sat down near the top of the roof, urging Draco to sit beside him.

"What did you want to show me?" Draco asked curiously.

Harry said nothing, simply pointing out toward the sky. Draco watched in awe as the sky turned from resplendid gold and pink, to the calm, familiar dark velvety blue. They were silent, fearing that words would ruin this moment of shared wonder. Eventually, though, darkness descended, and Draco turned to Harry, who had planned the entire evening.

"What now, my love?"

Harry smiled over the endearment. "Follow me and you'll find out."

Intrigued, Draco obeyed, clambering over the roof tiles and down the stairs, watching Harry in awe. Harry seemed oblivious to the danger, confident in his easy grace. Harry directed them through a maze of corridors and secret passages to a large, unoccupied room.

"This is the old Head Boy room. It hasn't been used for years, and not even Filch patrols it. Just give me a minute to check that everything's ready."

Draco heard a knock on the door, and slipped inside. He looked around the room, noting the roaring fire, sumptuous bed and candles strewn throughout the room. Harry was standing in front of the fireplace, poking at a blazing log with a fire iron. He glanced at Draco with a half-smile, the golden-red light playing over his black hair and tanned face. "How do you feel?"

"A little hungry," Draco replied. His stomach grumbled, and he added self-consciously, "very hungry."

Smiling, Harry brushed a kiss on the tip of his nose. "I can do something about that." He turned Draco to face a table laden with trays and silver-domed platters. "The house-elves outdid themselves for us."

"Wow. This is incredible Harry. Nobody has ever done anything like this for me before. I don't know what to say."

Harry pulled out a chair for him, "Why don't you sit and eat? I chose the meals myself." Harry fiddled nervously with his sleeve at Draco's stunned silence, "I hope you like them."

"You chose the meals? How did you know what to ask for? I thought your relatives starved you."

Harry smiled wryly. "Close but not quite. When I lived with my relatives, from the age of ten, I was designated cook, so I became quite adept in the kitchen, and even developed a passion for cooking. Choosing the food for tonight was a lot of fun actually."

With that, Harry lifted the lids of the dishes, the delicious aromas sharpened Draco's voracious appetite. He began heaping servings of each delicacy on his plate, but noticed Harry was making no move to fill his own plate.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked as he spooned a serving of risotto onto his plate.

"No. You go ahead and eat. I'm quite content to watch you."

Draco's hands stilled. "You never eat Harry."

"I do," Harry replied indignantly. "But only when I'm hungry."

"You haven't had anything since breakfast. You need to eat."

"No I don't!" he yelled in reply, his volume escalating.

Instead of being intimidated by this show of anger, Draco leant calmly back in his chair. "Why don't you eat Harry?"

Such a simple question, and yet so difficult to answer. How could he explain the need to suffer, the obsession so strong that it controls his mind. And the emotions at the centre of it all, how could he explain them?

"Please Harry."

There was a long silence. "After the events of our fifth year, I felt so guilty. People I knew had suffered because of me, and I had been too weak to stop them. My godfather praised me for not risking my life heedlessly, but … I was alive, and uninjured, but I should have been dead. I should have been the one tortured. I was the one they were after, I was the reason they all suffered. But I was alive. I used to try to kill myself, to make amends, but I could never cut deep enough. After a while I decided that I wasn't worthy of death. It would be so peaceful, and I would see my parents again. I didn't deserve that. I deserved to suffer. Everyone, apart from my closest friends, shunned me, but that had so little effect, and did not begin to balance the suffering I'd caused. So I decided to deny myself everything that I could without killing myself. For the past year I've been depriving myself of food and sleep. I even wanted to quit the Quidditch team, but my team threatened to give my timetable to Colin Creevy." …. " I denied myself all the parties and games of my friends, instead studying obsessively so that one day I might be of use to the wizarding community. When I was with my relatives it was the best, they didn't like my new attitude, and tried to beat it out of me. They seemed so surprised that I didn't fight back, but I deserved the pain, I welcomed it. I don't deserve to eat such beautiful food. I don't want it," he protested as Draco spooned potato soufflé onto his plate.

"Please Harry, you need to eat. You already know that you're sacrificing yourself for the world. You've done your penance. You don't need to suffer anymore. You never needed to suffer in the first place."

"The wizarding community…"

"… are a collective bunch of fools," Draco interrupted. "Come on Harry, they're led by Fudge. Incompetence is their defining feature. They blame you because they're scared and they had hoped you could vanish Voldemort as easily as a Boggart. They forgot that you're a boy, not a superhero. Stop trying to measure yourself by impossible standards. You managed to stop the most evil wizard in the world when you were only a child. And you're ready to sacrifice everything now. Give yourself a break Harry."

"I'm not hungry," Harry declared stubbornly.

Draco sized Harry up with a glance and smirked. "Fine then, I won't eat."

Draco's knife and fork cluttered loudly against his plate as the let them drop and simply stared at Harry. Harry was torn. To give himself such a decadent indulgence, even as a last meal, completely went against the strict lifestyle he had forced himself to lead. And yet … this was Draco' final evening alive. Didn't he deserve spoiling? Wasn't that why Harry went to the effort of organising all of this? And was he really asking so much? It was just a couple of bites after all. And he would be dead tomorrow anyway.

Harry silently picked up his cutlery and began eating, Draco following suit. Harry was aware, however, of Draco's eyes measuring every mouthful he ate. He couldn't fool him like he did Ron and Hermione.

They consumed the supper at a leisurely pace, and the fire on the grate burned to hot red coals. Draco added more logs to the fire and returned to the table, pulling Harry onto his lap as he sat down. Harry curled against his hard chest and darted his tongue out, quickly licking the whipped cream and chocolate that Draco proffered. Harry thought he heard Draco's throat working, but his voice was perfectly smooth when he asked seriously, "You know that I love you, don't you? This isn't a schoolboy crush to me. This is true, eternal love."

Harry tilted his head so that he was facing Draco. "Of course I know. I feel the same."

Draco pulled a small box from his pocket. He opened it and Harry was amazed by the sight of two platinum cladagh rings. "For as long as there is breath in my body, For eternity and back, You are the other half of my soul. I offer you my heart for your keeping, even into the realm of death. I am forever yours."

Harry recognised the words from his Wizarding Culture lessons as the strongest of wizarding marriage vows. They were rarely used as they bound the souls of the two participants, and Harry realised the significance of Draco's choice. "I accept your heart and offer mine in return for your keeping, even into the realm of death. You are the other half of my soul, and not even Death can part us. I am forever yours."

They each placed a ring on each other's finger, and kissed to seal the ritual. They could both feel the magic crackling around them as their souls joined. Golden sparks lit the air surrounding them as a crimson light enveloped them. It overwhelmed them for a moment, but then they noticed how their senses were heightened – every colour brighter, every whisper was as clear as a shout. Harry could hear another heartbeat echoing his own, felt the awe and wonder that was his but also Draco's. He felt completed.

"That was amazing," Draco breathed into his ear. The feeling of Draco's breath sent tingles down Harry's spine. Draco lightly stroked the side of his face and the warmth of it caused Harry to close his eyes.

"Harry, are you okay?"

Harry opened his eyes and smiled. Holding Draco's face in his hands, he brushed his lips against Draco's own. Harry suddenly felt breathless, and deepened the kiss, desire welling up inside of him. Finally they pulled apart, breathing heavily.

"Why did you stop?" Draco asked

"I'm going to make love to you by candlelight, and spend the night showing you how much I love you. And I wanted to give you the chance to say no before I lose control."

Draco smiled wickedly. "The Gryffindor Golden Boy lose control? I'm hard just thinking about it."

Harry desperately kissed Draco while unbuttoning his shirt. Draco, it seemed, was not so patient and simply ripped Harry's shirt open. The were forced to stop kissing to remove their shirts and pants, but were then able to press their naked bodies against each other as they kissed. Harry pushed Draco down onto the bed and crawled on top of him, sucking eagerly at Draco's neck as he moaned appreciatively.

"Honey all over," he breathed into Draco's ear. "That's what you taste like."

"All over? Are you sure?"

Harry grinned wickedly. "I'm willing to find out." And he proceeded to do just that.

It's the last time that we'll have together


It's the only thing left in our lives


But as long as we still have each other


Let's spend the night