Summary: Harry tried to forget Draco, because silence was easier. Draco might have other plans.

Notes: This takes place in Harry's point of view and ten years on from the last chapter.

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Ten Years Later

I hate the anniversaries. I hate the memories, I hate the feelings, I hate the way they make me act. I hate that ten years to the day since you married somebody else, I am curled up on the cold stone windowsill of my room and office at Hogwarts, staring at the sun rising over the lake and hardly able to see it.

Ten years ago today, I left the church and went back to the one place I ever belonged – Hogwarts. McGonagall became Headmistress after Dumbledore died, to no-one's surprise, and remained in charge after Voldemort was defeated. I went back to find out if the offer of a job she had made me, the day after I had killed the Dark Lord (with you at my side, although I try not to think about that), was still open. It was, and I've taught Defence Against the Dark Arts here ever since.

I'm happy now – I have been for a while. I adore teaching, and Hogwarts has always been my home. There's still that hollow emptiness when I'm tired or alone, that grasping tide that threatens to overwhelm me, but I'll be fine; I'm one of the lucky ones.

I try not to think about you. Three years after you... left, I married Ginny - I didn't love her and I think maybe she knew it, but she wanted kids and so did I. We had three - James, Albus and Lily - and then she started talking about me moving in with her full time, giving up my job, 'being a proper father'... She's a great woman, and a great friend, but I couldn't bear it. We got divorced pretty quietly, and I still see the kids often. The Weasley's tell me I'm still their son, and I spend as much time with them as I can bear, and Ginny is dating Neville Longbottom. James is six, Lily is three. Albus is five. The other two are very much like Ginny, but Albus has my hair and probably my personality as well. I'm not meant to have favourites, or so Ginny tells me, but he'd be mine if I did.

I don't know where you are, or how you are, although I could find out. I don't know if you have kids or a job, or even if you're still alive. I've forced myself not to check. It's like the silence – somehow easier to lose you completely.

Now, today, it is seven in the morning and I need to go and teach in a couple of hours. I don't think I'll go to breakfast; I don't eat much these days. Besides, I let myself dwell on you, on... us... only once a year, so I ought to make the most of it. Then comes a sharp rap on the door behind me and someone enters without an invitation.

"Harry?" Oh, sweet Merlin. It's you.

I freeze; my heart pounding, my throat dry. I won't turn around. If you want to talk to me, talk. Besides, I think maybe if I turned round and saw you I would never look back, never be able to forget you. Then I remember us, the way we were, just for a moment and I turn my head. "Draco." One word, spoken with all the coldness and pain and fury that only true heartbreak can produce.

You look fantastic. Older, of course, but still distinctly yourself – hair a little longer and skin a little paler, dressed in smooth dark robes and smiling slightly. Your eyes take my breath away – they are exactly the same. Then I catch a glimpse of gold on your finger and I feel suddenly panicked. I stand up too fast, facing you, but I won't ask what you're doing here. Silence isn't a skill I've lost.

It seems it's one you have, though, because you start talking almost at once. "I wanted to see you again, I mean, today especially, because I wanted to tell you that I'm so, so sorry and I was wrong, and I miss you and..." You trail off, biting your lip, as I glare at you.

"Sorry." You whisper. What are you really doing here? I won't give you the satisfaction of asking, but you answer anyway. "I've broken up with my wife, as you know, and I'm sure you saw it in the paper, but I'm Hogwarts' new Potions Master. I know you know I'll be living here from now on, but I just wanted to say hello and..." You're babbling because you're nervous. Some things never change. I guess you've worked out from the stunned look on my face that I didn't know you were coming.

Suddenly, though, that doesn't matter, and my vision blurs with anger. "And," I supply softly, furious, "You wanted to see if I would jump back into your arms and we can play happy families?" You look crestfallen, so I suppose that's an affirmative. "Grow up, Professor Malfoy." I snap, standing taller and walking over to my desk calmly, turned slightly away so I don't have to face you, leaning on the wood just lightly as though I don't feel like collapsing. When you don't move, I glance pointedly at the door. Then I see the expression on your face and brace myself.

"How dare you?" You scream, right on cue, "Did I never mean anything to you? Why are you being so cold to me, what did I do? Don't you even tell me it's because I got married, because I know all about Ginny bloody Weasley, and besides now when I'm here and I'm yours if you want me you're quite clearly not interested, so don't even try that! You've changed so much, what is wrong with you?"

Again, you ask far too many questions for me to ever answer. I wonder if this is a habit now. "I'm not sure." I mutter, staring at the desk, wondering why it starts swaying as my head swims. I'm not sure which question I'm answering.

The next thing I know, I am standing in the same position but you are behind me, slipping your arms around my waist, and for a moment, I relax. I remember three years of endless lonely nights and missing you so much it ached, and five years of holding Ginny and wishing she was you and two more years of being so desperately alone that I forgot what being loved felt like. I feel sudden tears well in my eyes for the first time since the church as you hold me close and fight the intense, burning sensation in my chest of missing you and needing you, wanting you and loving you, that somehow dissolves in the next instant into fury.

I shove your arms away from me so hard that both of us stumble and whirl to face you. "What?" You say gently, "Don't you love me?"

I lose it.

"How dare you?" I yell, my voice screaming and scratching, "How dare you walk back in here and ask me if I love you when you broke my heart so badly that I've spent the last decade looking for the pieces?" You look crestfallen, but I'm too hurt and too heart-broken and ten years of denying it too far gone to stop now. "Get out." I hiss, my voice low and dangerous again as tears teeter precariously close to the surface, "Get out of my office and never, ever come back."

Without another word, you leave, slamming the door behind you. I lock it and crumple to the floor against it, crying like my heart is breaking. Which, I suppose it shouldn't hurt to admit this long after the fact, it is.

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