Author's notes:

I started this fic sometime after HBP and have been writing at it (more or less) since then. In my fictional world, it took Harry seven years to destroy all hocruxes, and Voldemort about the same time to gather his forces. Still I tried to fit in some facts from the seventh book.

This is pre-war, so Voldemort is defeated. Definitely. There are enough other things to deal with.

Thanks go, as always to my lovely Numair, who reads this even if she hates slash. *hugs*

Disclaimer: as always: not mine, but JKR's and her various publishers.

Chapter 1

It was late a day in the middle of August and it seemed that Britain's summer wanted to show its best side. The sun enlightened the Hogwarts grounds and clearly marked out the shadow of a lonesome figure that was wandering towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

The man's black hair was touched with some grey and his face already showed some lines. For the 23 years Harry Potter actually was, he looked much too old. There was a second scar on his face now, apart from the one that had made him famous as a child. It was about a thumb wide and run from his left temple down the side of his face to the middle of the cheek. It was still angry red against his skin. His green eyes, which were as always hidden behind round glasses, bore a tiredness and sadness that one could only get by fighting in a war. And fought they had. And now it was over.

The war was over and Harry Potter was no longer known as the "Boy-Who-Lived" but the "Man-Who-Defeated-You-Know-Who". He kicked the grass in frustration. You should think that they could now dare to say his name aloud. But they didn't.

Instead, just like the last time people were having parties so that the ministry – or what was left of it – had problems to cover all the magic from of the muggles. There were magical fireworks over London, trees glittering in all colours of the rainbow up in York, and many more owls than the (non-magical) world had ever seen before – and that for five weeks now.

The people thought that now no dark force would ever disturb their lives again.

You should think, that they had learned from last time.

His feet had carried him to the edge of the forbidden forest and with a sight Harry let himself drop to the ground, his back against a tree trunk and his head facing the Hogwarts-building. From his point of view he could easily make out the Gryffindor tower and even the window of the dormitory he had spent six years of his life in. And now he would spend more time in Hogwarts, perhaps even the rest of his damned life as they had asked him to be the next Defence Against the Dark Arts-Teacher. And he had said yes.

What else could you have done? They expected you to do the job. – That's why I should have said no. – But you didn't. – No, I didn't. And in less than a month the school would be opened again and he would start teaching.

He sighted again, his hand raising to his breast-pocket in an unconscious gesture and pulling out a sheet of paper. He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the lines without really seeing them. It didn't matter anyway. He had read it about a million times and could have read it with closed eyes.

Having stared at it for some time he carefully folded it again and put it back to its usual place while his mind wandered into the past, remembering all the desperation and fear of the past seven years when he was hunting hocruxes until the very end when he thought he'd die.

From the outside nobody would have guessed his dark thoughts, as he kept his face blank. Only a small line between his eyebrows might have given some clue, but this wrinkle was constantly seen on his face these days.

Of course, for most of the time Harry was grateful for being alive. Other times he wasn't. He thought of his friends and the line grew deeper. Quickly he forced his mind away from the abyss that was following these thoughts.

Perhaps this was another reason why he had accepted the position as DADA-teacher. He was safe there from any sight which might remind him how much the war had destroyed.

As the sun began to sink below the trees, Harry got up again.

Still he didn't feel like going into the empty halls of the school. So instead he strode further along the Forbidden Forest and soon found himself at the Gates of Hogwarts. Those, too, bore signs of the war. The metal was deformed and when Harry reached out with his magic, he could feel the tiny lines and holes that one of the biggest attacks of the war had left there. Still the wards had held and Hogwarts had once again proven that it was one of the safest places in the whole wizarding world. And afterwards they had opened the gates once again as a sign of peace.

Having stared at the metal bars for quite some time, Harry turned to finally go back into the castle when the sharp crack of an apparation made him swirl around his wand drawn out in an instant. Reflexes don't wash away that easily.

Draco Malfoy had appeared directly in front of him. The Deatheater's clothes looked ragged and dirty, his hair was ruffled and there were leaves in it. In his whole life Harry had never seen the other man so out of shape.

Hell, even after Quidditch his hair had never been unruly.

The other man didn't seem to notice that he was standing directly in front of Harry Potter, even though he was practically looking at his feet. Unsure of what to say the black haired man shuffled slightly.

At this little sound Malfoy's head snapped up and he looked around hectically his eyes wide open in search of the sound's source.

What's the meaning of this?

The curiousness overwhelmed even the anger, Harry normally felt near the former Slytherin. No longer able to hold back, he called out.

"Malfoy?"

The blond's head snapped in Harry's direction, and though he now looked directly at Harry's face his eyes were still unseeing.

"Potter?!" Draco Malfoy asked, his voice almost breaking.

He couldn't exactly tell why he knew who was in front of him as everything was still completely black, but that one word had been enough to make him sure that it was his former archenemy who had found him in this helpless state. He groaned. Great! As if he hadn't had enough bad luck for one day!

But then his knees gave in and he was sinking to the ground in slow motion without any chance to prevent it on his own.

Immediately he felt two strong arms hold him and clawed into them knowing quite well that he would fall flat onto his face if he did not.

A whispered "Help me!" was everything he could say before he got unconscious.

Harry didn't know why he held him, perhaps it was another of these damn reflexes, but he did so and caught the other man when he stumbled.

Just as he thought about it again and was about to let go, Malfoy looked up to him, his eyes looking somewhere near his chin and spoke the two words Harry had never ever expected to come from a Malfoy's mouth. The voice was raw. Surely Malfoy wouldn't have asked anybody, let alone Harry Potter, for help when he wasn't completely desperate.

Damn.

Harry heaved the unconscious body of the other man on his shoulders and began to walk towards the castle, his steps heavy under his burden. After four meters he stopped though and laid Draco Malfoy carefully to the ground to take out his wand and levitate the other man further, swearing under his breath for not thinking of the spell earlier.

He reached the hospital wing soon enough and carefully placed his burden onto the nearest bed.

It was only then that he realized that Mme Pomfrey wasn't there and wouldn't be there any time soon. With so many insured from the last battle and having nothing to do while summer-holidays, the medi-witch had taken it as her duty to help her colleagues at 's hospital. In fact, at the moment, Harry was the only human being on the grounds of Hogwarts, well at least the only conscious one.

Malfoy groaned in his sleep and began to toss around on the bed. Still he didn't look like waking up. Frantically Harry searched the little he knew about magic healing for help, but as he stood in front of the drawer with dozens of flasks blinking at him, he was too scared to grab the wrong.

He couldn't stand to be responsible for another death, even if it was his former archenemy he was talking about. So he closed the drawer again, and went to the nearest fireplace.

On his way, he stopped at Malfoy's bed and reached out but didn't quite touch the slightly shivering form. Quietly and probably more to sooth himself, he said: "Don't worry, I'm going to fetch help!"

When he firecalled 's a young receptionist immediately recognized him.

"Mr. Potter! What can I do for you? Do you want to speak to your friend? Should I go and fetch her for you? She is still with Mr. W..."

"No, thank you." Harry quickly interrupted her. "But if you would be so kind and ask Madam Pomfrey to come over?"

"Of course, Mr. Potter." The receptionist chirruped and was gone before Harry could add "Only if she has time, that is."

He only had to stay waiting for few minutes, before the sound of running feet announced the arrival of Hogwarts' current medi-witch. The young receptionist arrived out of breath a little later.

"Mr. Potter!" The nurse's energical voice brought back the memories of his school time and the dozens of times he had spent at the hospital wing.

"What did you do this time? Do you bleed? Any bones broken or vanished?" Madam Pomfrey was about to reach in the flames to check his eyes, when the heat and Harry stopped her.

"No, Madam Pomfrey. It's not me. Someone else got hurt."

She looked as if asking, who the hell he found in an empty school, to duel with, so he added a little louder.

"Please, Madam. Can't you just come over and tell what I can do to help him?"

At his pleading look the witch's eyes became soft.

"All right Mr. Potter, step aside, I'm coming over to have a look." Then she turned to the receptionist who had followed the conversation silently, "Cassy, please tell Mr. Felincus that I'll be back soon."

The answer, if there was any, Harry didn't hear, because he had taken his head out of the fire. He stood up and brushed the ash out of his black hair, then he once again neared the bed in which Malfoy was lying, only that now he lay entirely still. Hadn't it been for the shallow up and down of the thorax, he would have feared that he was too late.

The fire roared once and with a swoosh Madam Pomfrey arrived at the hospital wing. Scourifying her clothes, she came over to where Harry stood and nearly let her wand drop, when she saw, who was lying on the bed.

"M-Mr. Potter! That...that is..." But then her medi-instincts kicked in and she pierced him with a look. "What did you do to him this time, prey, tell me!"

"I didn't do anything!" Harry said defensively. "I was at the gates, when he suddenly appareted directly in front of me. He fell unconscious and I levitated him here. Oh, and I think he couldn't see me, because though he was looking at me his eyes didn't focus."

"You didn't wear that cloak of yours, did you?"

"No!"

"Only asking. Well now let's see..."

She then turned her focus entirely on her patient, murmuring spells and ignoring Harry completely, who stood next to her looking the most helpful he could.

When she had finished her examination she turned to Harry, and her expression was serious.

"It seems that Mr. Malfoy was hit by some sort of spell. I could trace some remains of it on his face. Apparently this spell cut all nerves for sight. Mr. Malfoy is now blind. All other symptoms are those of pure exhaustion. This will be cured with sleep. But I can't help him with his eyes. I never felt a spell like this, I haven't even heard of a spell like that. Maybe one of my colleagues has, but I don't put my hopes on it."

She looked at Harry sternly as if waiting for him to mock Malfoy. But he didn't. He even felt a little relieved, that the other wizard wasn't going to die here and now. And he felt something close to pity. He wanted to do something for Malfoy, he wanted to...

"How can I help?"

The witch's expression softened and she almost smiled at Harry.

"There isn't much you can do, Mr. Potter. He needs rest now. You could stay near and look that he doesn't hurt himself when he wakes up. I'll give him a little dose of Dreamless-Sleep Potion, so you can get your rest as well."

She looked at him for a moment, then asked quietly "Still have nightmares?"

He averted her eyes and instead looked out of the window above Malfoy's bed. "Not every night." Then after a pause he said hesitant "Can I have a look at this spell as well?... I mean...I have time – and the whole library of Hogwarts...maybe I find something..."

He looked at the medi-witch again, before his gaze wandered over to Malfoy's silent form, and then back at her.

"Yes, Harry, you can." Madam Pomfrey smiled. She knew very well, how much Harry's magic had grown in the past years and that now he had a feel for magic that was almost as sensitive as Dumbledore's had been.

Hesitating again, Harry took a step towards Malfoy's head. He carefully reached out and then closed his eyes to better concentrate on the feeling. His fingers hovered over Malfoy's skin, sometimes few centimetres, sometimes mere millimetres away. Though already fading, the spell was of an angry red behind his eyelids, lightly at most of the face but fiery around the eyes. The caster's pattern seemed somewhat familiar, but no name was offered him by his memory. Slowly Harry opened his eyes again and looked directly in the warm ones of the medi-witch.

"It must have hurt."

Madam Pomfrey only nodded. Then, to lighten the sullen mood, she gave him a real smile.

"I'm going now. There are other patients waiting for me. If you need me, you know where to find me. The Dreamless-Sleep Potion is the violet one on the right side of the cupboard. That one. Exactly." She added, as Harry held up a pear-shaped flask.

"Remember, only a small dose. It gets easily addictive if taken too much or too often."

And with that she left, and Harry knew quite well that her last comment wasn't only directed at how much to give Malfoy.

He turned towards the cupboard once more, this time in search of a glass for the blond and soon found one.

When he was standing at Malfoy's side again, he first didn't know how to get the potion down the former Slytherin's throat. Couldn't people not swallow when unconscious?

"Stupefy would definitely be easier" he grumbled.

But then he remembered something he'd seen on TV at the Dursley's. You only had to hold their noses close – or was that something different?

Well, he decided, I'll just try it, and if it doesn't work, I just shake him until either he wakes up and swallows, or the stuff is out again.

Luckily for him and all others, Malfoy did swallow the potion without problems and soon was breathing the even breath of someone deeply asleep.

Feeling quite tired himself, Harry chose the bed on the opposite wall directly across from Malfoy. He didn't have any sleeping utensils with him, but was far too lazy to fetch them from his room at the other end of the castle. So he just lay down in the clothes he was wearing. Because there was no way he'd stay in one room with Malfoy without decent clothing.

From that on his thought drifted on and on, until they were caught up in the land of sleep and it seemed that for once he was too tired to even have a nightmare.

~~tbc~~