Warning: Themes of angst, moderate slash, swearing, suicide (minor character)

Pairing: The only pairing I ever do, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. A few sub-pairings of Ron/Hermione, attempted Ginny/Harry (and by attempted, I mean only attempted)

Summary: Harry finds a spell that will allow him to have one day with no consequences because no one will remember it, including him. But things happen that he could never have predicted. Does he really want to forget after all is said and done? HPDM, 6th, no HBP

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc, etc. I do own the poetry featured here, though.

One Perfect Something

The Way I Stay Alive

October 22 . . .

Come Monday morning, the Slytherin Prince and the Gryffindor Golden Boy had so totally retreated behind their masks that anyone, even Albus Dumbledore, would have thought that this was their true personality. They had used Sunday to their advantage, working on their masks like a sword smith with a masterpiece sword, ironing out any kinks and hardening it into the hardest metal it could be. There were no cracks, no lines, and no seams. They were perfect.

And both boys cried out from behind their perfect masks, their emotions raw and wild. But because their eyes were blank and their lips curled into a smile/sneer, as depending on which boy it was, no one noticed. No one had any idea that they were dying a bit inside.

Hide behind that empty face

Outwardly, Draco embraced his role as the Slytherin Prince with a totality that left even the hardest Slytherin stunned. Before, once accomplishing his goal of humiliating someone, he would walk away. Now, he kept at his cruel words until that person was a hysteric puddle of tears. Twelve students had already been sent to Madame Pomfrey in hysterics, fearing for their sanity or their lives.

He did it to combat the emptiness inside of him that threatened to swallow him with each breath he took. For years, people had thought he was an evil bastard. Now, he decided to show them that they had been wrong. Before had merely been playing around. Now he meant business.

As usual, everyone expected Harry to object to Malfoy's insane rampage. They weren't disappointed. By lunch on Monday, there had been three fights between the Slytherin and Gryffindor. Malfoy had started all of them, so of course, no blame was placed on the Golden Boy. And golden Harry was; he smiled and joked around and made the school as brighter place.

He wanted to die with every forced smile he made to please them.

The fights were the only thing he looked forward to. As before that night in the rain, he relished every angry word they exchanged, every hex they hurled, every punch they threw. Behind his seamless mask, he grinned for real and felt actual pleasure and satisfaction curl through him.

He denied that he got any sexual satisfaction out of these fights because he adamantly refused to acknowledge that their mutual attraction was real. Desire glittered in the depths of each of their eyes, seen by only the two of them, but they denied that it existed even as it thrilled them.

Each knew they had to be perfect. Desire for one's enemy, no matter if they weren't truly enemies anymore, did not fit into that perfection. And thus, the desire, even as it raged through both of them, growing harder every time their paths crossed, was denied.

It's a perfect denial

Harry allowed only one thing to mar his perfect act as the Golden Boy, and that was in his dress. It was the one issue he wasn't willing to concede on. And luckily for him, this little rebellion was ignored. The other Gryffindors thought his style was a little odd, and the colors more suited to a Slytherin, but they allowed it. It was merely clothing, and since he was smiling and acting the perfect Gryffindor, they could let it go.

Malfoy's choice of clothing, however, which was similar to Harry's, was considered perfectly in character for the Slytherin Prince. His multitude of shirts with mocking phrases, all in dark colors, his many expensive jeans and black or gray trousers, and his skater shoes all fit in with the troublemaker image. (1)

The first class the two pretenders shared on Monday was Advanced Charms. It was a class they knew they could get away with another fight in. Professor Flitwick was a very nice man, and a very short, nice man at that. He often had problems keeping his students under control on a good day. On Slytherin/Gryffindor days? He basically told them the assignment and retreated to his desk in the corner of the room, taking away points only when things got so bad that he felt had had to do something

At this lovely time of day, for it was nice outside, Draco was breaking up inside for the fourth time that day. It may have been beautiful outside, but inside, it was raining with a fury that matched that night in the courtyard. When his silver eyes caught Potter's green, he saw that he wasn't alone in his torment. The strain of keeping their masks perfect was terrible, worse than it had ever been. They did not quite know why it was suddenly so much more painful to hide behind their masks, but they did know that it was now truly killing them inside.

The charm they were to work on was some charm that worked much like Wingardium Leviosa, except it caused a conscious human to levitate. When Flitwick told his students to get into groups of two to safely practice the charm, Draco and Harry turned to catch each others' eye across the classroom. They discreetly nodded, and that agreement made their pain abate a tiny bit.

Cuz this is just a game

Draco suddenly opened his mouth and, his eyes glinting like steel, he sneered, "Hey Pot-head, want to bet that Longbottom manages to levitate Finnigan into the wall?" Neville and Seamus had just agreed to be partners, as Dean was in the infirmary after an incident with a trick step after lunch.

Harry pretended to become angry by this comment, and rose to defend his hapless friend. "Malfoy, shut up! Neville may be a little clumsy, but he'd never do something that stupid!"

The gathered Gryffindors gathered in affirmation, although inwardly, they thought Malfoy was right. Even Neville knew it was highly possible that he would do something wrong when he attempted to levitate his Irish friend.

"Oh really, Potter? Longbottom is a squib who's worse with magic than Filch."

Harry had to work hard to suppress the snort of laughter that arose at that comment. No one was worse than Filch, who was the worst squib of them all. "Malfoy, that's bullshit and you know it! How do I know you won't levitate your partner into a wall first?"

At that insult, Malfoy's eyes flared. Most thought it was anger, but it was actually satisfaction that Potter had spouted a good insult. But to keep with his painful charade, he flicked his wand and shouted, "Corpus Leviosa!"

Harry was suddenly rising into the air, and as his friends gasped in horror, began to rise at a goodly speed towards the ceiling. Harry's eyes narrowed and he pulled out his own wand. He quickly shouted the same spell towards an unsuspecting Malfoy. The blond-haired Slytherin soon began his own ascent towards the ceiling.

This was when Professor Flitwick attempted to interrupt, with, "While your wandwork is perfect, I must ask you to halt this nonsense!"

As usual, the tiny man was ignored. He retreated back to his desk, taking off five points from both Slytherin and Gryffindor.

Draco swished his wand and Harry went flying into the wall behind him, his back hitting the stone with a crack. The impact sounded worse than it actually was. In retaliation, he sent Malfoy into a quick spin that caused his backside to crash into the ceiling. The Slytherin's silver eyes narrowed and he made his rival go flying across the room into the opposite wall. Harry's hands, which had stopped the collision from being worse, were scraped up and bleeding. He scowled and took up his wand again. Draco was flung into the floor and then back up to the ceiling. He had a scrape on his forehead and his hands were bleeding, as well. He then lifted his wand just as Harry did, and they somehow ended up crashing into each other.

Their wands fell.

Draco's hands grasped Potter's open robe, ripping at the black fabric. Harry grabbed the neck of the blond's shirt and pulled, hard. The crimson shirt tore, causing a rip that spread down to almost the hem. Even as they fell to the unforgiving floor below, Draco furiously ripped Harry's own shirt, causing scratches from his nails to appear on the Gryffindor's chest. Then they hit the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.

"Potter, get off me!" Draco snarled, kicking at the raven-haired boy. His kicks were for real. The pretend fight had escalated into a real one, and he needed to hurt the other boy. He needed to make him feel pain, and feel pain in return. He needed to keep the emptiness at bay.

A quiet desperation's building higher

Harry gripped Malfoy's shoulders and slammed his head into the ground. "I'm trying! That fucking hurt!" His emerald eyes blazed with fury as he immersed himself in their fight. It had stopped being fake long ago and now all he wanted to do was hurt Malfoy and be hurt in return until they looked like how he felt inside; ripped up, bruised beyond recognition, and bleeding so red that the world was a dark crimson that spread and spread and spread . . .

"I meant it to! Now move!" He shoved at him, causing Harry to fly off and land against the wood legs of a desk. The legs broke and the desk toppled onto him. His shout of pain made the gathered students, conveniently frozen, wince. Groaning at the sudden, new pains in his body, Harry looked up and saw his wand lying not two feet away. Ignoring his body's protests at the abrupt movement, he lunged for the stick of polished wood. He flicked it and sent Malfoy flying into his own desk, which broke just like Harry's had.

So beautiful, so beautiful

Seeing Malfoy lying there, amidst the wreckage of the desk he broke, his clothes torn and dirty, his skin bruised and bloodied, made Harry want to crawl over there and take him furiously, passionately.

Instead, he got to his feet, slowly, and limped out of the classroom. His hands were trembling, from pain, the others thought, but Harry knew it was from suppressing the desire that suddenly ravaged his senses. He had liked seeing Malfoy like that, liked it a bit too much. It wasn't the state he was in, Harry knew, but the fact that he had done it and that Malfoy had done the same to him. They had made each other hurt. They had made each other alive.

They had made each other alive.

I've got to remember this is just a game

And he wanted to cry because he knew this feeling of being alive wouldn't last. Once Madame Pomfrey fixed him up, he would be sent back to the real world. He didn't want to go back. He didn't know where this desperation came from, but he suddenly realized he did not want to go back. He needed to not go back.

He changed his course from where he had been heading towards the infirmary, to go to the library. He ignored the shocked looks he received at his battered state, instead walking purposefully towards the back corner where Braden Conlan's portrait hung.

For the first time in weeks, Braden was occupying his portrait, and Harry grimly went to stand in front of it. He saw the way Braden's eyes widened at seeing him so torn up, both inside and outside. And he liked the way Braden's eyes dimmed at seeing him this way.

The portrait immediately murmured, "You were in a fight."

"Thank you for stating the obvious. It was Malfoy," Harry sneered, crossing his arms. His mask came crashing down and he let his true personality out. He couldn't help it. Besides, it didn't matter if Braden saw it. He already knew that the Golden Boy wasn't real.

Braden nodded, sighing. He had figured as much. Only they had the ability to make the other feel something besides the emptiness that roared within them.

Harry looked at Braden and suddenly he remembered speaking the words to page 54. But where and when, he didn't know. All he knew was that he had cast the spell and that something important had happened. But what? What could have happened that made this tiny thread of peace coil through him?

He suddenly felt pain worse than he had been feeling since that night in the rain course through him. Something had happened, something that had made him feel happy for the first time since Sirius' death, and he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember the happiness . . . he couldn't remember being happy.

But he had been happy.

And he wanted to die, because he couldn't remember it. He sunk to his knees, he head cradled in his hands. What had he done? He had forgotten the only happiness he'd felt in so long, and willingly. Why? Why had he cast that stupid spell? Why had he forgotten?

A sound from behind him knocked him out of his thoughts and he turned to see Malfoy standing there. He hadn't gone to the infirmary either. The blond was staring at him, his fists clenched. "I saw you that day."

And Harry knew he had heard him say that before. A shard of pain shot through him, because he did not remember where or why he had said it the first time.

He didn't respond, but instead turned to Braden. "I forgot."

Braden's eyes were world-weary, and Draco felt his heart still. As enigmatic as Potter's words were, they struck a chord inside of him. He had forgotten, too. He didn't know what, but he knew that he had forgotten. And it hurt like hell.

The portrait took in both of their expressions and sighed, sadly. "Of course you did. No matter what happens during that twenty-four hours, it will be forgotten. It is the power of the spell."

Harry took a sudden step towards the portrait, his first raised. "Well, I don't want it to be forgotten! Something happened that day that I need to remember! And I can't, and it's killing me! I need to remember!"

Braden's eyes slid away from his to look out into the distance. "The spell of forgetting can only be enacted by a great desire, and it is thus with its opposite. If the desire is great enough, anything forgotten can be remembered."

"And my desire is great enough, but I still can't remember!" Harry replied to his words.

"Then your desire is not great enough. I can see it well. You still fear to be without those masks you treasure beyond anything else. And as long as you hold that fear, you cannot remember what it like to be free. You cannot fear happiness or else you'll never feel happiness."

Draco scoffed at Conlan's pretty speech. "Pretty words, but you're wrong. My mask is the only way I stay alive."

"Then why are you dying?" the portrait asked, his eyes cool. He sympathized with the two boys, but their stubbornness was trying. Why could they not see the truth?

The Slytherin Prince looked away, a flush on his cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't. You hide behind that mask so deeply that you can't see anything."

Braden's eyes caught Harry's while he said this, making the Gryffindor know that he was talking about him, as well. Harry narrowed his eyes. "You're wrong."

The portrait's eyes flared. "Oh, am I? Then why are you standing here with the results of your fight showing prominently? You had that fight to try and feel alive, but it's not working."

"Stop it! You're just a portrait! You don't know anything!" Draco shouted, hating that he was right. His thrill from the fight had faded within minutes of Potter leaving the Charms classroom.

"And this is why you can't remember," Braden continued, his violet eyes solemn.

Harry was the one to yell, this time. "Stop it! Just stop it! You're wrong!"

But Braden had left his portrait; the frame was empty, as if it had never been inhabited. This incensed Harry, and he kicked the nearest chair as hard as he could. Then, like a few days ago, he sank into the offended chair. This time, though, Malfoy wasn't stalking away. Instead, he slumped into the chair next to his, his face curiously blank.

"Potter, I can't do this. I thought I could, made myself believe it was necessary, but I can't. He's right. It's killing me."

Harry looked into his rival's silver eyes and saw the defeat lurking there. "Then don't. But I have to, even if it kills me."

"Why? Why sacrifice yourself for them?"

Harry stood and gazed down at him. "Because being their savior is who I am. It's all I have left."

"No, it isn't!" Draco rose to his feet, as well. Anger pulsed in him and his eyes glittered intensely.

"Yes, it is, and don't think you can convince me of otherwise. I'm dead! There is no way to change that! I can't be fixed!"

He turned to walk away, but Malfoy's hand was suddenly gripping his arm and he couldn't move. "Well, maybe I like you broken," the blond-haired boy whispered.

Harry froze at Draco's words. They slammed into his heart like a freight train and he suddenly couldn't breathe. "Don't."

"Don't what? Tell you the truth? I always tell you the truth, no matter how much you hate it."

The Gryffindor ripped his arm away, shouting, "Don't! Just don't!"

Draco lunged at him, knocking him to the library floor. He straddled his hips and pinned his arms above his head, gazing intently at him. "Why? What are you so afraid of?"

"You're the one that told me displays of emotion are weak!" Harry blurted out in his panicked anger.

A frown caused Draco's brows to furrow. "I never told you that."

"Yes, you did! You . . ." and suddenly Harry couldn't remember what else Draco had told him. With a start, he realized that he had remembered something from that day.

"I what?" Draco asked, puzzled.

"I can't remember," Harry whispered, shutting his eyes. Although he couldn't remember that day, he knew for a fact that their argument today had their roles reversed. He knew instinctually that on the day they couldn't remember, it had been he who was trying to convince Draco that emotions were okay. But why would he do that? And why was it now Draco that was trying to convince him of it?

Draco didn't know what was going through Potter's head, but was suddenly uncomfortable from his position on top of him. A thread had desire had been building within him for a while, and now it was a raging fire. He shifted, attempting to keep Potter from noticing that he was now hard. It wasn't appropriate for their conversation.

Unfortunately, the other boy did notice. His eyes flew open and he gasped as he felt Draco's erection pressing against his stomach. Feeling that hardness made his own desire rise to the surface, unbidden. He abruptly had the feeling that they had been in a similar position before, and the previous time had ended very pleasurably for both of them. Attempting to erase that thought, he struggled against Malfoy's hold on his wrists. His hips shifted as he did, and his newly risen erection ended up pressing against Malfoy's buttocks. They both shuddered at the contact, and suddenly, Malfoy's head was lowering towards Harry. His lips were inches away, and Harry stared at them, mesmerized. His brain told him that he should really be moving away, but his thought processes were swiftly halted as those petal-soft lips touched his.

Both boys moaning softly at that gentle touch, and all of a sudden, their mouths were working furiously against each other's. Any hesitation was wiped away as Draco's entire body lowered until they were pressed against each other, their chests, bare because of the tattered state of their shirts, touching. Heat raced through them, and both were instantly aware that they had done this before. They had kissed, and they had pressed together, and they had done so much more.

And they knew it had been heaven.

They pulled apart to stare at each other, their cheeks flushed and their eyes glittering with desire. Harry groaned, "I shouldn't be doing this." Draco licked his lips and rolled his hips just enough to make the Gryffindor gasp in pleasure. "I know. But you're not going to stop."

Harry shook his head. Why would he want to stop? He knew he shouldn't be doing it, but he couldn't exactly remember why he shouldn't be doing it, so there was no way in hell he was going to stop. He pushed Malfoy off him and got to his feet, grabbing the other boy's arm as he did. Single-mindedly, he dragged the not-unwilling Slytherin with him out of the library and through the corridors of the school until they reached the Room of Requirement.

Hazy memories drifted through both their minds as they imagined what kind of room they wanted, and when they opened the door, a spacious bedroom appeared. A few torches dimly lit the room draped in gleaming black silk, and a large pool of crystal clear, steaming water graced the corner. The bed in the center of the room was king-sized, covered with dark green, silk sheets. The carpet was plush silver, and their feet sank into the soft threads as they made their way to the bed.

Harry's robe was the first to fall, the remnants of his shirt with it. Porcelain white hands, covered in scratches that should have been stinging the owner, caressed the muscled chest that was revealed. Holding back a moan, Harry's own banged up hands removed Draco's robe and shirt and began touching the smooth, muscled skin reverently.

Draco pushed Harry onto the bed and once again straddled the Gryffindor's hips. This time, though, he sat a little lower, and their erections brushed through the fabric of their trousers and boxers. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to Harry's, their moans of pleasure mingling as their tongues twined.

Their pants did not stay on long, and neither did their shoes, socks, or boxers. Soon, they were as nude as the day they were born, and they were moving against each other in an age-old rhythm. They hadn't made the decision as to who was going to enter the other, yet, but they were getting there. With every movement of their hips, their hard lengths brushed and soon, their skin was glistening with the sheen of sweat.

Harry's lips left Draco's, and he went to work nibbling at his graceful neck. Alternately licking, biting, and sucking, he forced sounds from Draco's throat that made him grow even harder. He was surprised when one of Draco's hands gripped his erection, causing him to bite down, hard, on his neck. Draco cried out, arching his back. It wasn't a cry of pain, but one of pleasure. And he knew he'd heard him cry out just like that before.

He rolled them over so that he was on top. Then he proceeded to turn the silver-eyed boy onto his stomach. Draco immediately protested, "I'm not being bot – "

His words trailed off as he felt something hard and long thrust into him. At first, it was painful, and then suddenly he was feeling more pleasure than he had every felt. Almost instantly, he forgot that he hadn't wanted to be the one on bottom and began moving with every thrust that Harry was making. A hazy memory rose to the surface of his mind, and he suddenly remembered being topped by Harry before. He grunted in surprise as the pleasure of the memory, and the reality, overwhelmed his senses. Oh, dear Merlin . . .

Influences: The Scorpion King Soundtrack, Bon Jovi, and 30 Seconds To Mars (yes, a very eclectic mix this time)

Oh my, I did not mean to go that far into slash territory. Oops. Well, what's done is done, and it works beautifully.

This chapter took almost 5 hours to write. I had a lot of trouble with trying to find the proper direction for the story to go in, and it was hard to write the interaction between Harry, Draco, and Braden. Luckily, it didn't turn out too bad. And I now know that Chapter Eight will be the final chapter, so only one more to go!

(1) No, this is not my personal opinion. Skater/punk clothes does not equal troublemakers, but I do know that many people think this way. From my experience, I've seen that people will more often than not lay the blame of any mischief on a "skater kid" than someone wearing Abercrombie and Fitch clothes. I think it's stupid to assume that someone who prefers band t-shirts, baggy jeans and skater shoes is obviously a troublemaker. I dress like that and I don't get into any trouble. So yeah, don't be offended by that comment!

Yet again, I thank everyone who has reviewed my story! I try to reply to a few people every chapter, but don't get offended if I don't. I don't have enough time to thank everyone personally. So here's a general thanks! Thanks! grin

Have a great day!

Roslyn.