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Disclaimer: The story plot and the original characters are mine. You know what belongs to J.K., and so do I! The only thing intended with this story is for entertainment purposes.

Spoilers: I'll say the first 5 books, just to be on the safe side!

Somewhere Only We Know

Chapter Five

You Wish

Harry threw open one of the huge windows. A huge gust of warm, summery, sweet-smelling breeze rushed in through the window and back through his hair. He took it all in before he turned around, his arms outstretched on either side of him, about to suggest a plan of action. As soon as he opened his mouth, he was being shoved a broomstick against his chest, which he then clasped in his hands. His lips closed together, amused, as Draco brushed by him to examine the gardens and estate grounds below, "You been thinking about this for awhile, Malfoy?"

Draco glowered at him as he pulled himself up onto his butt, backwards, onto the windowsill, "Naturally, escape plans come with the territory."

Harry glanced back at the candles in the room, "Lumos Silencia."

The only light, now, to guide the way out of the estate tower window, was the moon.

Draco turned to Harry as he, too, managed to get himself up on the ledge, "Ready for this, Potter?"

Harry turned around until his body was facing the grounds. It was a beautiful sight. The flowers, in the distance, seemed to be singing along with the moon and the sound of the trees humming in the late-night wind. Even from where they were, however, set somewhat far away from the front of the estate, where they both knew reporters were lined up, the thunderous sound of camera clicks and gossiping witches and wizards began to interrupt the quiet serenity of the world around them. The flowers all seemed to silence themselves, sadly, and stopped reflecting the moonbeams quite so radiantly. For that one fleeting moment, they had had their chance to take deep breaths and get themselves prepared for sneaking away from the Malfoy Estate when their world was so obviously dangerous.

Harry pulled his eyes from the gardens, hesitantly, and set them on the equally-stony Malfoy, "I think the better question is, Malfoy: are you ready for this?"

"I'll take that as you thinking I can't pull my own weight, Savior."

Harry went to respond, but then felt himself flushing as Draco slipped onto his broom in mid-air. Regardless of how skilled in Quidditch Harry was, he had never slipped off of a four story ledge, in the middle of the night, to get onto his broomstick. For a second, Draco appeared to be having second thoughts about his straddling of the broom, but when he perfectly balanced himself out, there was a confident coolness that flushed over Harry, too. Good, Malfoy hadn't fallen to his death. If Malfoy could do it, Harry could do it.

Draco dropped a few feet in altitude to give Harry room. He moved over a little to the right and then rose up, again, when Harry had maneuvered himself onto Draco's old broom, though he was a little shaky in the process. "We're headed to Seventeen Gemini Avenue. Now," he cleared his throat, "do you have any idea where that is?"

Harry laughed.

Draco had started to rise up into the air with his broom.

Harry took the same route. He hadn't been on a broom in... months. He had been too busy with his studies and fighting in the war to play Quidditch. Most of the students, however, had had no idea where he'd been all year, most just chalking him up to be in his tower or dorm room. But he had hardly ever been at Hogwarts when he had free time. It was all spent else-where. Remembering this, as they slowly started to inch forward, neither having taken off yet, Harry squinted at the moon in the distance, high above the forest he was sure they would be taking cover by, "Malfoy, I think I have a bad feeling about this."

Draco glanced to his left, "There is something in the air, isn't there?"

Harry looked back at him, completely serious, "It seems like it. You feel it, too?"

Draco nodded, solemnly, before looking away into the night, "I definitely feel it."

There really did seem to be something brewing on the horizon that was spread out in front of them. A sense of foreboding was blowing along in the breeze, now. Draco shouldn't have been afraid, one because his father was Minister of Magic, and two because his father was Lucius Malfoy, right-hand man to Voldemort. Therefore, the only danger that he was logically in was that of some random man being startled, jumping out from behind a building and hexing him. But that seemed very unlikely, mostly because it was three in the morning and everyone was advised to stay in doors during the very troubling, hectic, frantic times in their world. But did they listen? No.

Harry sat up perfectly straight, once he was balanced, placing his hands behind his neck as he kneaded at a sore muscle, probably from when Malfoy had been shaking him, "Gemini is off Hollow-Creek road, I'm pretty sure."

Draco's left eyebrow hooked upward, "You don't sound very sure of yourself."

"Right, that's your department."

"Ha, ha, ha, that's so funny," Draco bit after him, sarcastically, as Harry started to pull away. He followed suit. While the speed increased, they kept their distances close, side by side. Neither was particularly motivated to speed away from the Manor and into the dark forest's swaying thick hooded tree-tops. When Harry stopped abruptly, Draco did a one-eighty until he was facing Harry, the tips of their broomsticks about a foot apart. Because of the lack of explanation, Draco scowled, but he did hate to admit that it was somewhat forced—you know, for old time's sake. "Yes?"

Harry kept his eyes down on the treetop they were hovering above, "Exactly how far is Hogsmeade from here?"

Draco circled him at a steady speed until he, once again, sat parallel to Harry, "Forty minutes, tops."

Harry just found the pale, almost translucent tone of skin to his right. It was obvious why they were sneaking out to go to Hogsmeade; they had no other way to go. Disapparating was dangerous to do inside of the house, and Harry had heard Narcissa discussing the big argument she had had with Lucius the night before on forbidding any sort of apparating in their home. Using Floo Powder wasn't going to work, being that it was three in the morning and most places in Hogsmeade closed at three in the afternoon in recent months. Everything was suffering. Their economy, their culture, their everything. Slowly, though it was easy to see, shifts in their world had been making their way through, and quite easily, at that. War was affecting everything in a very, very negative way.

"Say, you know, old pal, you're a bit intense when you stare at people without saying anything."

Harry blinked, "I was listening to me inner-voice. My apologies for trying to think this insane plan through; getting killed would probably put a kink in my other plans."

Draco circled him, again, looking him over with apprehension. Potter, thinking something through? "I'll let you try to work through this in that monstrous jungle of brains, but, honestly, what's the worst thing that—"

Harry pointed at him very suddenly, "Never, EVER, say that when you're in my company! Ever! Even impossible things become possible."

Draco stopped, surprised, "I'm amused," he stated, simply, and then started to fly down to the treetops.

Harry, who had given in to the adventure at hand, followed right behind him, at ease, until they were swooping above, around, and sometimes below, the dark treetops that were, they hoped, hiding them from being seen by anyone. They didn't want to be seen sneaking out in the middle of the night and have to answer questions the next day. This was something Draco needed to do, and he hadn't really given Harry the option of turning it down. Whatever had been in Cornwell's letter had made Draco Malfoy light up like a Christmas light, persistent and determined to get himself to Hogsmeade in the middle of the dead summer night, "Amused at what?"

Draco grinned as he stopped. When Harry caught up, they kept a steady side-by-side balance, "You," he answered, honestly. "When you say arrogant things, you come off so sincere. Drives me bloody insane." How Potter did it, Draco didn't think he would ever know. He threw his right palm out, flipped it upside down, as if to start in making a point. But, at the laughter in response to his feminine hand gestures, he fisted his fingers. "That's one of the reasons I hate you. You're more arrogant than I am—"

Harry's eyes were ballooned as he purposely, forcefully, bumped against Draco, "You THINK I'm arrogant."

"I know you're arrogant," Draco corrected, easily, unimpressed, as he regained composure on his broom. Inside, he was laughing. Potter had just knocked him? This was the first time they were EVER riding side-by-side when they weren't on opposing or challenging sides. "It'd be impossible for you not to have a big head of some fashion."

Harry chuckled, "Whatever you say, Malfoy, but next time you want to try and diagnose me—"

"I'm not trying to diagnose you, don't be so defensive."

Harry sped up in front of Draco, grinning at the conversation's change of tone. Their speed was fast, now, so fast that their black robes were swishing behind them, whipping like tiny branches in a furious storm, and their hair was blown all of the way back. Yet, even at their speed, the conversation was easy to keep. They both were naturals on brooms and had been training for years. Talking and riding at speeds upward of sixty or seventy miles per hour was not a challenge, "Next time you try to diagnose me," he started, again, as if Draco had never interrupted, "at least be somewhat familiar with who I actually am and not who you believe I am. From the outside, sure, I might have accomplished a lot, mostly by pure dumb-luck and a bit of instinct, but there's a lot you don't know that would deflate anyone's ego."

"That's utter bullshit if I ever heard utter bullshit, and, believe me, I have!" But, then, curious, he finally growled. "Okay, like what?"

"The fact that I'm avenging the deaths of my parents, who died for me to kill somebody else--that's kind of a buzzkill?"

"Stop this, Potter; I'm starting to enjoy your self-deprecating nature."

"Again, my apologies," Harry offered at Draco's genuine distress. "Every victory I've had has ended up costing someone something. In the beginning, it was me. As time went on, it was somebody else, and then two people, and then three, and then hundreds—and those were all the closest and most important people to me. I'm fighting a battle that I can't win, or haven't yet won, and every step I take forward, the cost of it, no matter how good the cause is, sends me ten steps back—death, as I said earlier, is the worst thing that can happen to a man or anyone, at that. It warps your mind, and when it happens to you, especially when you're young and at certain pivotal times in your life... you just start to think with an older mind--I'm sure you know."

"Compliments, too, involving death? Treating me as a tortured equal? Potter, stop it. You're turning me on severely."

Harry rolled his eyes and ignored him this time, "Certain careless things are wiped out from under you—how can you have a big head when you're the source of miserable losses for all kinds of families? Or the cause of the deaths of those you love and who loved you? One day, I'm going to be on my death bed, whether it's tonight, or in a year, or in fifty years, and wonder if it was all worth it—even if something evil goes away, replaced with another—will it be worth the deaths and sorrow I've caused? Will it be worth the sorrow that I'm constantly feeling? I have no time to have a big head, Malfoy. I'm too busy trying to ignore myself for that to even happen."

"Underneath all of that, though, this reasonable nonsense you're talking," and he tried not to smile when he heard the genuinely amused laughter, "you're arrogant."

Harry, giving up, reached his left hand out and smacked Draco's arm, fed-up, "You're impossible, what a prat."

Draco stayed behind as Harry sped up, keeping his eyes lowered in confusion. Even worse that thinking that Harry was arrogant was thinking that Harry was sincere about not being arrogant. Damn the bastard, he was always so damn sincere. Always on his big white horse, saving the world without any arrogant flaws, without any true-blue confidence. Why was he so sincere, anyway? Draco knew, deep down, that the Harry Potter he had grown up resenting was not the real Harry Potter. He was a fiction, a fiction seen from the outside. But, despite all of that, there was still something about Harry that Draco did not like. He had never been able to place it. But it was there. It had always been there.

About ten minutes later, after deafening silence between them but not from the trees, Harry skidded to a stop and turned around, "Why do you WANT me to be so arrogant? What's wrong with me just being me? You say my name like it's some sort of disease, like you're ashamed to spit it out. It has always been that way. It's like you WANT me to be someone you can hate."

"Oh, Christ, Potter," Draco drawled, stopping, too, beside him. He sighed. "Is this really the time?"

Harry's eyes just followed his every expression, trying to read through it, "I don't get it, Malfoy. Why did you even ask me along? You hate me."

"I don't hate you, stop being an insecure, poncy twit—you damn well know I don't hate you," Draco bit at him, this time, in a deeper voice than he had yet to use around Harry Potter. He was serious, now. Serious like he hadn't been before, about Potter, even though the events of the day had been MOST serious, indeed. The way Harry was speaking, he was clearly annoyed and frustrated with the way things were going. But Draco did not hate Harry, and he wasn't going to play it off like he did. "If I hated you, I wouldn't have asked you to come with me, you idiot."

Harry continued to frown, not moving, though Draco tried to get him to, "Well, then, maybe I hate you."

Draco's full lips, in surprised horror, opened up, wide, though he hadn't a word to say. Harry's still slightly unfamiliar eyes flashed, suddenly, and he started to pull away on his broom. Stunned to that very spot in the air, stuck there like a horn to a Pin-The-Horn-On-The-Dragon, the words shot through him. The epiphany on Potter's voice was the only reason that it cut so deep inside of him. He turned his broom, angrily, sharply, in about a second, and looked behind him to where Harry was already about sixty feet away on the track back to the Manor. Potter was a manipulative bastard. He leaned forward and sprang off in the same direction. When he caught up to Harry, he reached to his right and gave him a prompt shove, hand full of material. "You have no right to hate me!"

"Yes, I do!" Harry shook him off. Really, he was just trying to prove a point. Draco seemed to understand when people did that. "I never liked you. I never wanted to be your friend, did I? I have REASONS to hate you, and I—"

Draco shoved him, once more, even harder, but Harry didn't falter or wobble, "You said you—"

"No, you said you never had reasons to hate me, Malfoy! I still don't like you; I'm not here by choice."

Draco halted his broom, his jaw clenched and his cheek bones feeling prominent even to himself. Harry stopped, too, but he wasn't apologetic. He was very serious. His face, or the face of Judas Cliffdale, was daunting and intense. Though, his broom was slowly inching backward. He was waiting for Draco to say something to him, for some reason, which Draco did happen to appreciate. But he pulled his own eyes away from the unfamiliar, dark, lusty brown ones and fixed them down onto his hands, "Fine, then just fucking go. In fact, why don't you find another family and pull the shades down over their eyes?"

"I would, gladly, if that were possible."

Draco kept his eyes down on the treetops, "I used to be a real jerk, Potter." There, so what if he slurred it out? It was a start, God-damnit!

"You still are a real jerk," Harry immediately snapped back at him, without wasting a second.

Draco coughed a laugh, disheartened, "Take your own advice. Know me before you judge me, Potter."

"You've been the source of too many of my frustrations in the past to just overlook... everything."

"Yeah, in the past," Draco repeated, over Harry's voice, interrupting him from continuing. "Things have changed. Surely we can agree on that."

"Judging by the last five minutes, things haven't changed. You still make me want to kill myself."

Draco looked up at him, suddenly laughing. Harry glared, so he stopped. "Likewise, jackass."

Harry slowly inched backwards again, "Good luck, Malfoy; don't get yourself killed."

"Ah, you git, can't you just come with me?" Draco was disappointed. It was true; Draco hated Harry for no reason. Harry hated him rightfully. "I don't want to go alone, and if you don't come with me, well... well, then fuck you, Potter, hard! Hard and ungently!"

Harry couldn't help but laugh while Malfoy flushed. He'd really had no intention of leaving Malfoy to do this by himself. He had, after all, pretty willingly come along in the first place. He watched Malfoy's disappointment overcome him before he chided aloud and teased him, "Fuck you! Fuck you! That's all you ever say. Fuck you, I'm Draco Malfoy. Fuck you, I'll do it, 'cause I'm Draco Malfoy. Fuck me, girls, I'm Draco Malfoy! Fuck me, boys, I'm Draco Malfoy! Fuck me, Professor Snape, I'm Draco Malfoy! Fuck yourself, Draco; you're Draco Malfoy! Fuck the world, they all want me, because I'm Draco Malfoy! Oh, fuck me, fuck me," Harry suddenly taunted, completely out of nowhere, imitating Draco's voice and incorporating mannerisms that Draco Malfoy was famous for, down to the graceful hand movement and the sudden middle finger popping up out of no where. He put his hands on his sides, quickly, and squeezed them, tightly pressing his lips together as Draco stopped, about five feet away, his back turned to Harry. He was completely immobile. "Fuck me, I'm a gigantic slut! Fuck you, Malfoy! You've put me through so much shit for absolutely no fucking reason. You could be the bigger person, here, and want to put the past in the past, but I'm not that forgiving. You don't have a reason to despise me, or even DISLIKE me, but I have every reason in the damned book to feel that way about you." When Harry got into emotional distress, he wasn't afraid to pull out the "fuck" he usually kept contained.

Still, Draco didn't turn around.

Awkwardly, Harry stared at his back, and, at last, twitched.

"Go on, then." Draco slowly moved forward, and then turned around to Harry, blankly, "Leave. Go on, Potter. Leave."

Harry shifted his body, awkwardly, "You leave." Weak, Potter, weak.

Without a word, Draco turned back around, his face sharply angled in fury, and took off.

Harry clutched his head between his palms, perfectly stabilized, as Draco disappeared into the dark forest below. BLOODY... that hadn't been the way things should have gone. Oh, they were definitely going. Going, going, nearly gone. Harry reaffirmed the knowledge, mentally, that he basically, essentially, had to pretend to be Judas Cliffdale, completely, and not Harry Potter. That meant treating Draco like a friend and letting their rough past slide onto the back-burner. He was only a day or two in and failing miserably. He needed time to adjust, and so did Malfoy.

By the time Draco was spewing all of the his furious anger of resentment and hurt into the quiet air around him, some thirty minutes later, Hogsmeade, surprisingly still lit with windows, was beautifully approaching. He swooped down, having silenced himself, to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He swung his right leg over the broom, once his left foot had touched the ground, and hopped off. He grabbed the broom and took off, running, with his robe pulled over his head, for the edge of a building. In the distance, he could hear, there was some fighting going on, outside of a small pub, and Ministry officials were patrolling the place with their wands tightly clutched at their sides or in front of them. They were there, Draco knew, because they were needed. Even Hogsmeade, always the source of wholesome family fun, was now dangerous for even adult wizards.

Fifteen feet away, he heard a snap of twigs, so he looked over, nervously.

Out of the forest stormed a figure. Draco was being pelted with a broomstick seconds later, rather passionately, at that.

Harry withdrew the stick, silently, and stood beside Draco, annoyed.

Draco turned around, fully, pulling his back from the wall. He stood right in front of the young man opposite of him. He had had no idea that Potter had followed him, and, considering the short time that Harry had landed after him, there was an excellent chance that he'd heard every foul word that Draco had muttered about him. But Draco didn't regret his words. He was mad. He wasn't even going to TRY to work with Potter now. He'd go along with it, because Potter was obviously on an important mission, but he didn't want Potter to be part of his life. He didn't even want to acknowledge the kid, anymore. He threw his hand in Harry's face, his index fingertip pointed strongly right between his eyes, tense, "I thought I asked you to leave?"

"Don't be dense. I wasn't going to let you come here alone, jackass."

Draco blinked, "I'm a big boy, Potter, I can do this on my own."

Harry clasped his hand over Draco's mouth, "Would you stop calling me Potter?" He hissed, angrily, looking around with a rightful paranoia. "It's Cliffdale!"

Draco slapped his hand away, "Don't touch me. I'm a giant slut, after all; I might have to fuck you if you touch me."

Harry rolled his eyes, "Bet you'd like that." Malfoy stared at him. "It'd be a bit of glory for you, wouldn't it? Fucking me and all, since I'm so powerful."

Draco shoved him. Harry's back hit against the brick wall, hard and silent, "I swear to God."

Harry shoved him back, really hard, charging forward with easily-accessible aggression that needed release.

Draco tumbled down onto the grass and did a half somersault, backward. When the tumble ended, and he was sitting on his butt, his jaw clenched, his body aching, and extremely horrified, he stared at Harry with dark eyes. After all of their duels, it was like their wands didn't matter anymore. It wasn't about wands. It wasn't about fair dueling. They had been shoving each other since the very moment Harry had admitted who he was. It was physical, now. There were hormone issues that dueling wasn't going to solve. And, if Harry fucking Potter wanted to have a right-punching bag for his anger, he had another thing coming.

Draco stood up as Harry approached him. He seemed like an entirely different person. Though his face was Judas's Cliffdales, Draco had been seeing Harry Potter the whole entire night. But, now, it didn't seem like it was Harry Potter lying underneath the facade. It was someone else. It was someone hard. Someone ready to have it out. Vibes of pure aggression were just bouncing off of him, and Draco suddenly didn't want to be a part of where the situation was going. He backed away, not at all ashamed, "Take another step closer, and I'll—"

"You'll what? What will the great Draco Malfoy do? Hex me? Punch me?" Harry asked, testing his boundaries.

Draco pocketed his wand, "No," he simply replied, as Harry stopped, "I'll kiss you." Potter froze. "Ah, works like a charm."

"You are repelling," Harry suddenly laughed. It was a real laugh. What! How in the world did Malfoy have the ability to have him so completely angry one second, and then laughing with honest surprise and intrigue the next? It was a splendid gift. A little scary, and somewhat disconcerting, but definitely useful. It was just the way Malfoy was, somehow. It had to do with his charm. He had just put his wand away, patted his pocket, coolly, and looked at back at Harry without any sort of apprehension of hesitance with what was going on. If there was one thing Harry had ever truly known about Draco Malfoy, was that he was excellent with covering his true emotions. "Anyway, fuck off. Yeah! Yeah, fuck off! Yeah. Do that. Fuck off, Malfoy!"

Draco, overcome with extreme amazement, laughed simply, "What?" He cocked an eyebrow, then squinted. "That was weak. Quite frankly, I'm a little disappointed in you."

Harry ignored him, mostly because he was right, "Gemini is about five minutes on broom, I think. Fifteen by foot."

Draco stared at him, "Go home, Potter, would you?"

"I don't really have one of those right now." He paused. "Not that you care that I shared that with you, but that's how it is."

Draco, frustrated, clasped his hands over the back of his head. His hair was still perfectly smoothed back with Spell-O-Gel for the sleek-headed-professional. The box insisted that Draco was a sleek-headed-individual, so it was only natural that Draco had to pick up the product and continue to use it—and not sparingly. He dropped his arms down, helpless, silently waiting for something to happen or for when of them to speak up. But Potter didn't even seem to be thinking about saying something, so Draco did, "Ten minutes ago, you were expressing extreme hate for my entire existence. You're the last person I want to be around, especially right now. Leave."

"I can't leave you," Harry hissed back at him, walking out from behind the building they were sheltered by. "And I don't hate you."

Draco's body boiled with confusion, "Do you hate me or don't you? Tell me, now, and let's get it over with; this is too much for me to deal with."

Harry turned to him, in the empty street, now. He was serious, but even with the serious tone, the conversation was so completely calm that he desperately wanted to laugh again, "I don't hate you, Malfoy." He held his hand over his chest in earnest, even. "I've never hated you, all right? I was just giving you what you wanted."

Draco, convinced, due to the honesty of the situation, smirked, "You read me well, I suppose, but swear on that kiss? Of your hatred, of course."

"I swear, Malfoy, on your flamboyant tendencies and confusingly flirtatious ways of distracting people, I never hated you."

Ten minutes later, Draco randomly stopped, in the middle of a deserted, dirt road. He had been leading the way towards Gemini Avenue, which they could see in the distance. It was the only little lane that they had yet to descend upon in their direction. The only sound of the night had been that of their footsteps on the dark beaten dirt road, "You make me want to touch men, Potter."

Harry stopped abruptly. What just happened? He looked around, with a wrinkled forehead, "I think I just missed something."

Draco shook his head from side to side as Harry rubbed his eyes, worriedly, "No, I was just blurting out my feelings."

Harry watched him, his eyes squinted in hard laughter, though he kept quiet. Great? He made Draco Malfoy want to touch men? How did Malfoy come up with this stuff? When the platinum head was seen gaining distance a few seconds later, his own train of thought sped right out of his head. Malfoy was blatantly admitting he was attracted to Harry—no, Judas? No, Harry? No, Judas? No! What the!... really, he hadn't admitted anything. What the hell? Harry stepped up his own pace to keep on track. Boys didn't just go blurting that kind of thing out to each other, especially not those with pasts like his with Malfoy, "What's the deal with you, anyway?"

Draco smirked to himself, "Oh, yes, the question inquiring minds of Hogwarts boys want to know. Are the rumors true? You tell me, Potter; put your detective skills to work and let me have a laugh until we get there."

Harry frowned, catching up to Draco, once more, truly intrigued with this new topic, "Well, you do flirt with more males than females, I think." His hands became the balances on a scale. "Then again, you could just be more comfortable around men than women, due to your breeding." His other hand raised. "But you did just tell me that I make you want to touch men. I'm not sure how to justify that one." It wasn't something that Harry had necessarily thought about in the past. But there had been rumors about Draco, mostly ones that he and Ron had chuckled at.

Draco was just very... pretty? Yes, pretty. And, charming. He was a magnetic person, attractive. And he had the habit of openly flirting and using his charm with boys rather than girls, didn't he? He didn't do it in an obnoxious way, either. It was just natural for him. It was hard to look at Draco Malfoy and see him as anything but a woman-loving man-whore, as he was quite the man-whore at Hogwarts, but... though he always had had girlfriends, everyone could see how easily he chatted up boys, often playing coy and seductive in an open arena for on-looking eyes.

"You're either straight and extremely confident with your sexuality enough to tease about it, flamboyantly bisexual, or shyly gay."

Draco looked at him, in disbelief; had he had water in his mouth, it'd have been everywhere, now, but in his mouth, "Potter, are you kidding me? Are you asking about my sexual orientation? Now, here?"

Harry laughed, genuinely, at the response, "No, seriously. Educate me on the ways of Draco Malfoy."

"Straight, to appease you," Draco answered, in spite of himself, under his breath. "I would snog a boy, though, given the right planetary alignment and whatnot."

Harry nodded along, trying not to laugh, "Right, right, snog a boy. Drunk, perhaps?"

"Why, Potter?" He smirked as he came to a halt. "Are you planning something?"

Harry, flushed, turned around, starting to feel appalled. Though, he suddenly became amused, "Again, Malfoy: you wish."

Draco looked him over. Wait a second, "Potter, what's your deal? You've never had a steady gal-fuck; inquiring minds are inquiring."

"Gal-fuck? That's classy, Malfoy, really," Harry retorted, coolly. "Straight, though. I don't have a lot of free time for dating, if you haven't noticed."

Draco nodded his head along, humoring the answer, "What about Judas Cliffdale? Straight, gay, bisexual? Can you tell?"

"Straight," Harry laughed, thinking this over. "Actually, I don't know."

"I know," Draco responded, honestly. "Well, no, I don't, but I've heard things from my mother's friends and my aunt in France."

Harry, sensing the tone of silent delight, stopped, once more, and quickly squinted. Uh oh; if Cliffdale was questionable in the orientation department, would Harry be affected? Would his body react to men? He had no idea, so he asked, almost desperately, "Well?"

Draco shrugged, then, too coolly, before sharing a sly grin with a wall, "Rumor has it he was snogging Draco Malfoy when they were five."

"You almost had me," Harry responded, moodily, and turned away. "I should have known you'd turn that around for your own pleasure."

Draco, surprised, watched him walk away, again, laughing madly, "But, seriously, it was on the down-low. There is talk that you and your "best friend" from back home, JC something, are actually more than friends. Not that surprising, really. They're both gorgeous." Brown eyes were laughing right back into his own. Draco immediately caught himself. "Well, you are. Not YOU, Potter, but... well, yes, you. You, as in Judas."

"Nice save, but I happen to know neither one of "me" was hard to look at."

Draco didn't respond, only grinning silently to himself and intently, happily, watching the familiar swagger of Harry Potter. He had to hand it to Potter, he was doing an excellent job of avoiding asking the question about Draco wanting to touch men over Harry Potter. Draco had just blurted it out, but Harry hadn't acknowledged it which was probably in the best-interest for both of them, "Speaking of best friends, you and the Weasel ever fuck?"

"No, you pervert," Harry answered, absolutely appalled by the insinuation. Just... no! He blocked out the mental images. "He's like my brother. Gross."

"Interesting; you denied the partner, but not the charge."

"Malfoy," Harry sighed, and turned to him, "why are we even talking about this? What does it matter? I'm not gay. Or bisexual. I'm straight, all right? There is no proof otherwise."

Draco laughed, "That's what every man thinks until I get him drunk and confuse his dick senseless, Detective."

"You're more sadistic than I had ever imagined you to be, Malfoy," Harry exclaimed, laughing emptily into the beautiful air. "Sadly, by now, I've seen your power of persuasion on Zabini and most of the Ravenclaw males, so I'm forced to believe you." It was true; Draco Malfoy was a sexually-energizing magnet. Straight or not, Harry couldn't deny that Draco was probably the best-looking male he had ever seen in his entire life. He was aesthetically pleasing. His features were stunning and sharp, but not overly sharp. His face was thin but so perfectly angled and structured, and he had cheekbones that could rival anything, and win, just by existing. It would almost be a crime for anyone to put a dent or mark on Draco Malfoy's face. It was flawless in every possible way. "I always wondered why Snape got flustered in the middle of class. Did you two often get drunk together, or was it just a rare, occasional thing where you both needed some bony and evil Slytherin sex?"

"Okay, that's a boundary," Draco replied immediately. "Snape was like an uncle to me. That's just... wrong."

Harry started to walk backwards, facing Draco, now, and grinning smugly, "Like you haven't thought about it."

Draco pushed him, lightly, out of instinct, "I don't even want to go there."

Harry laughed, quietly, nodding his head as he turned around. They fell into step together, "Okay, so that's a boundary. I'll keep away from that, as to not offend you anymore than necessary."

Draco's eyes fixed, softly, onto Harry, trying not to make it obvious, and he grinned, "You sure you're not a little?"

Harry rolled his eyes, "I like breasts."

Draco covered his mouth.

Harry turned to him, completely taken aback by the amount of hysterical laughter now present, by Malfoy's completely lit face; he looked nearly totally different. His cheekbones disappeared into big round red cheeks and his teeth gleamed from the moonlight, "What?"

Draco clasped his hand over Harry's shoulder, "Mate, Harry Potter just said breasts. Merlin!"

Harry shoved him, jerked himself away, and continued walking, "That's what they're called, arse. You're real mature."

Draco continued to laugh, following with happy tears in his eyes, "No, don't be offended, Potter! You're so ridiculously and naively adorable!" Potter scoffed even more angrily. Draco was having a hard time finding Potter anything but highly entertaining. "It's just funny hearing you say it... breasts," he imitated, and then laughed even louder at the sound of himself saying the word just as Harry had said it. The way he spoke, and then how he said the word, it just brought a fit of laughter into Draco's entire night. He hurried along the dirt road until he was beside Harry again. He draped his arm around Harry's shoulders, heavily. Their eyes immediately locked, for different reasons. A hard-core smirk shot onto Draco's lips, warming up his mouth with determination. Look at that face; Judas Cliffdale had nothing on Harry Potter, though. Potter had been a good-looking fellow, looked even better with a little color and a flush of embarrassment on his face. "Oh calm down, Potter." He looked back around. What exactly did determination upon his lips mean, anyway, in proximity to Potter's? Looking around, quickly, for a memory-erasing spell, he discovered a raggedy sign in the near distance. "Look, Gemini Avenue; this is it."

Harry followed Draco up a tiny little dirt road. Little tiny houses, almost shacks, lined the road. It was quaint, pretty, and there were lots of little gardens and plants.

Draco stopped, finally seeming to notice this, "This is where he lives?"

Harry gave his back a small push to move along, "Don't be a snob, Malfoy. Not everyone can live in a Manor."

"I'm not being a snob. It's just... a shack."

Harry have him a one-handed clap on the lower back, "It's a rather nice shack, though, isn't it? It's small, but nice."

Draco's eyes lowered and then slowly rose back to Harry, curiously. All right, point taken. He turned his eyes away from Harry and set them back onto the vision of the road they had just turned onto. There weren't too many of them, but Seventeen seemed far away. Not physically, just mentally. Excited, though he knew he probably wasn't even going to see anything worth the trip, he started jogging. When he looked over his shoulder, the seventeen year old former-best friend and current-enemy of his was at his heels, pulling his hood on over the back of his head. Draco followed suit.

At long last, Draco Malfoy was standing in front of a window, squeezed behind a rose-bush.

Through the window, he could see a man laying on his back across a couch. A small boy was laying on top of his chest, sound asleep, with a thumb in his mouth.

Harry stayed behind Draco about two feet, silently. All it took was one glance at the little boy to get an answer about why they were there. Draco's nose was pressed up to the window, and his hands were gently sprawled on either side of his face against the glass panes. There were only a couple of candles still lit inside of the house, but it was enough light to see that Draco Malfoy had an identical little half-brother. His little face was turned in the direction of the window. He snuck up closer to Draco until the front of his left shoulder was pressing against Draco's back. He leaned in closer, too, to examine the face, "Wow."

Draco was in complete awe, speechless, gaping soundlessly at the little boy. He was beautiful beyond words. Draco had always been stubborn to admit a child could ever be more beautiful than he had been, due to his own vanity, but this child, this beautiful, small little toddler had a face... that was just so heavenly, so precious, so adorable. His features were round and sweet. His skin tone was glowing. His little eyelashes seemed dark, however, though his hair was as white as snow. Was this even possible? To have a brother? To have his father disappear into thin air, to know that their world was in pure panic at that moment, to have Harry Potter die and them come back as one of his oldest friends, the Cliffdales being murdered, and Cornwell coming back in his life? Was it real? Such a day, he never could have even dreamed up.

The pad of Draco's fingertip softly rubbed over the tiny little nose, in the distance, against the cold window-glass.

"Malfoy, he looks just like you," Harry breathed so quietly.

Draco's nail-tip was now tracing the tiny, sweet nose, "He's perfect," he murmured. "Absolutely perfect."

Across the room, there was movement. Draco pressed his nose even closer so he could see better. The little boy's eyes had opened. Whereas Draco's eyes were light like his mother's, the little boy shared the same intense, dark eyes as Cornwell. Even from the distance that separated them, Draco could see the intense features. On such a little boy? Dear lord, he was precious. The eyes blinked to a close, again, and the little boy's thumb was in his mouth, and he turned his head away from them, probably not having noticed or thought anything of two dark figures peaking in through the windows.

Harry kept looking around behind them. Finally, he grumbled with anxiety, "Come on, we should get out of here."

Draco turned around, "We can go."

Harry stepped backward, "Good, then let's go."

Draco glanced back in the window, but then jumped. He and Harry collided.

The little blonde boy was standing in front of the window, his head titled. He giggled at the jump.

Draco immediately approached the window, and he smiled before he could stop himself, "Hi!"

"Er, he can't hear you, Malfoy."

Draco ignored him.

The little boy waved at Draco with sparkling, beautiful eyes that were shooting sprockets of information to him. Towering over the small frame, in the window, was the tall Cornwell. He had his arms wrapped over his chest, and his dark eyes were narrowed in fury, leaving Draco gaping at him in confusion. However, he disappeared from the window, leaving only the little boy present. Draco pressed his hands back onto the window and watched, in awe, as the little boy put his tiny, sweet little palm against his. Sure, the window separated their palms from touching, but it felt like they were! He smiled against the glass of the window. He couldn't help it! He had to know everything! First, of course, his brother's name! Then his birthday! Then his favorite ice-cream treat! Then his favorite game! Then his favorite mannerisms! Then his favorite baby food! Then his favorite lullaby. Then... everything! He had to know!

Cornwell emerged from the corner of the house, hissing at them, "What do you think you're doing out here in the middle of the night?"

Draco's cheeks felt warm at the strict, strained tone of the voice, "I was only just—"

"You were only just trying to get yourself killed!" Cornwell grabbed him by the front of his robe, and then Harry, and pushed them both to walk ahead of him. They did, and quickly, looking at each other. Harry was grinning, because he knew exactly what was going to happen, and Draco seemed to have no idea what was going on. Somehow, only a few seconds later, they hurried up a couple of dark wooden steps and the enclosed themselves in the house.

Cornwell locked the door before he turned around, "It is FOUR in the morning. Are you OUT of your mind, Draco? Coming here in the middle of night when there is a WAR going on? And you, Judas? You know better, better than anyone." Alert stung Harry again. Again, he chalked it off as paranoia. "Are you purposely trying to give me a heart-attack? Jesus Christ, where are your heads?" He asked, his voice booming over the entire room, but not meanly. He was pacing in a small circle, staring at Draco for an answer without so much as blinking or having his eyelashes falter a bit closer together. He stopped, crossed his arms over his chest, and clenched his jaw, hard, to the left. But, at Draco's silent, speechless expression, his face relaxed. "Thick-headed, you are."

Draco looked at Harry, his face pale. He felt horrible and ashamed, so he lowered his eyes, "Am not."

A little being threw itself onto Draco's feet which immediately cut through the current tension.

Draco blinked as strong, carefree laughter filled the room. It was Cornwell and Harry. Both of them. But Draco's eyes were entranced onto the little creature below him. He was small with the sweetest face that had ever existed in the world. He leaned down, not hesitant about doing so, until he was squatting with his elbows bent on his legs. His right hand pulled the hood from over the top of his head as he stared at the little boy. He hadn't appeared to be shy, at first, what, with throwing himself at Draco's feet. But, now, he was on his own little feet, with huge sweet brown eyes. They were so large that it was almost uncharacteristically human. They were so sweet. Perfect. Just... perfect. He was so innocent. So filled with love and preciousness. Still taken of all words, Draco gently touched the tip of his index finger to the small, glowing cheek.

The little boy smiled, shyly, and looked back at Cornwell.

Then, he looked back at Draco, and touched his cheek, too, in return. His eyes locked on Draco's hair.

Draco nearly died as the little thing giggled at him, but he didn't pull his eyes away, "What's his name?"

The little boy cutely started to play with Draco's bright hair, almost as if entranced by it.

"Dickinson," Cornwell answered quietly.

Draco smiled as the little thing looked right up into his own eyes, "Dickinson, huh? I'm Draco."

The little eyes lit up, "Draco!" He looked back at Cornwell, with a shriek of pure excitement, and then immediately turned back to Draco's startled self with the same look. He jumped right into Draco's arms, onto his chest. By default, as he had been wanting to hug the small thing close, as if to make sure he was real, Draco's arms were already tightly wrapped right back around the little boy. Dickinson had repeated his name so flawlessly, like he'd heard it a million times. Sure, there was a little baby-lisp, but he seemed to know exactly that "Draco" was Draco. To his delight, the little thing just stayed against him, gazing up at Draco like Draco was gazing at him, in awe.

Draco had a brother, and a startlingly, almost uncanny, resemblance to prove it.

"Does your mother know you're here?"

Harry turned to Cornwell, as Draco wasn't even mentally in the room with them, anymore. Draco had stood up, now, with Dickinson sitting on his left hip, holding him. They were examining each other. He looked between them, oddly, and then looked away and back to Cornwell. He was, too, watching between the two platinum-headed... brothers. Remembering this, and that this was the first time Draco was meeting a brother he never knew he had, he took a couple of steps backward, into the dark of the room, leaving them in the light to discuss and examine each other. This had to be a big moment for all of them.

Harry wished he were invisible.

Draco touched the side of the small face below his, once more, "I think you look more like a Dickie."

Dickinson rested his cheek against Draco's shoulder.

It was only fifteen seconds later of awkward silence between Cornwell and Draco, when they realized "Dickie" had fallen right to sleep against Draco. He mewed a small little moan of content as Draco started to walk him back over towards the couch, unaware of what to do. It was too much to process in one visit or one day. But was it that hard to accept? No. He had a brother. A real brother. And, his father, his birth father, was freaking out, though silently, only feet away. It was like he had just regained his father back, after a long absence, and then discovered, out of the blue, that he, always having hated being an only child, was... not an only child. He placed the little bundle of white shorts and a white T-shirt down onto the couch, carefully, but he didn't pull himself right back up.

Smiling, he pressed a small kiss against the warm, rosy cheek. It was just natural. There was a connection there already. A little blonde-headed, familiar-faced baby had already bonded right to Draco's hard-to-penetrate little bubble of heart. It was a small place inside of him, actually, and there was a series of obstacles and a personal bubble that had to be dealt with, first. But, Dickie skipped right through that as soon as his eyes had blinked open only the few minutes earlier, "You're cuter than I was, you know."

Dickie, sound asleep, didn't answer.

But Draco could've sworn that he saw a baby-smirk. Delighted, he snapped himself back up, "Dickie."

"Dickinson, if you ask his mother."

Draco turned his eyes to Cornwell, unable to stop his rarely genuine smile, "Dickinson when he runs for Minister. Dickinson to his father. Dickinson on his Hogwarts Finality papers. Dickie to his older brother, thank-you very much," he easily whispered, gliding back towards the taller, darker man. He stopped, abruptly, remembering where he was. He was just so excited to have even seen Dickie that the rest of the early morning was going to, undoubtedly, be spent in absolute, blithering happiness. He turned to Harry, with a grin. "See him, Pot... head?"

Harry's eyes erupted into furious fires, "What's this, Draco? Replacing myself for Harry Potter, again, or accusing me of being a pot head? That hurts."

Draco forced an at-ease smile, and then smirked a little too hard at the sarcastic tone, "You wish."

Harry walked closer toward the two men, "Do I? I thought you hated Harry Potter."

Cornwell chuckled, "If by hated you mean obsessively loved for two years, at least that I remember, yes."

Draco had had his mouth open to respond to Harry, but it never closed. Words had escaped him.

Harry blinked, dropping his arms from his chest by accident. He laughed... and LOUDLY, "Wait, what?"

Draco didn't answer, just looked at Cornwell, flabbergasted. He turned away, furious. God-damn.

Harry, in complete and utter shock and awe, followed the figure with his eyes, "What, were you a little gay, too?"

Draco turned around to him, without saying a word, and he crossed his arms over his chest. What was this here? Draco MALFOY being the one to turn away from a verbal confrontation like a little coward? Didn't he have some witty comeback to slap Harry with? Where was the defensive denial? Where was the cool, drawling, dragging sarcastic tone? Where was the infamous Malfoy and/or Black smirk, and what was this thing going on with his face that resembled that of honest human anger? It was a serious look—it was a look that Harry had never even imagined could EXIST on the always complacent face of Draco Malfoy. He was obviously quite angry, but Harry was too enthralled to let it go.

"Wow, that's quite a twist from the tabloid reports." Unbelievable!

"Oh, shut your mouth before I do it for you, Cliffdale. I bet you feel so ridiculously smug right now, you asshole. Just stop smiling. Now."

Harry snorted, finding confidence. He started over towards Draco, slowly but surely, "Why would I feel smug?"

"It's such a turn-off, you and smug. Hey, back off."

Harry chuckled, more amused than he had been in the last three weeks. Malfoy was playing keep away with himself! Every time Harry took a step closer, Draco stepped two steps backwards, "What, are you scared of boys suddenly?"

Draco looked at Cornwell, apologetically, "I've been trying to convince Judas that I hated Potter."

Harry turned to Cornwell, too, as Draco put a couch between them, stepping behind it, "Details on this obsession with Harry Potter, do you have any? Draco hates talking about Potter. He gets choked up so... easily. Bless your heart, Draco," he sighed, dramatically, his hands held behind his back. Malfoy had NEVER been skittish, not ever, since Harry had met him. He knew, at that moment, as he watched Draco start to fiddle with his hands, that he was going to be seeing a whole new side to Draco Malfoy. He was going to be seeing the human. "Bless your poor destroyed little heart. The bloke died and you never got to confess your love. How sad for you."

Draco laughed, loudly, nervously, as he stepped behind Cornwell, behind the couch. Potter was being... kind of sexy. What? NO! He took his frustration out on Cornwell with a tiny kick, angry at him for having opened his mouth.

Cornwell gasped, quietly, out of no where, and gave Draco a small, playful shove.

Draco laughed, warmly.

The room paused for a second. Harry had never heard Draco laugh like that, ever. But he did stop very quickly. He squinted his eyes between them, not at all surprised. Side be side, Draco and Cornwell were quite a sight. How had anyone, in the inner society, looked at Cornwell, and then Draco, and not SEEN, flat-out, who they were to each other? They were so alike. It was obvious, now, that Draco had kicked his father to keep silent, "Interesting."

Draco watched him, intently, right back, "What I did or did not have with Potter is in the past, isn't it?"

Harry turned his body and focused on a random painting on the wall, "Of course, the latter is my best bet."

Draco smiled, "I obviously never told you about the near-snog I had with him in sixth year?"

Cornwell sighed.

Harry pulled his eyes away from the painting. They narrowed, "Oh, this should be even more interesting. Entertain me with your lies; curious minds are curious."

Draco gave him credit by tilting his head, then crossed his arms over his chest, "Gay as the day-light, really. He had this little hand move he did with his wand, like this."

Harry watched, silently, as Draco pulled his wand out and imitated a very feminine wrist flick.

Cornwell was chuckling and interrupted before Harry could reply, "Gay or not, the man is dead. Let him be."

Draco twisted, "Why is it that Harry Potter is called a man, yet the rest of us are still boys?"

Cornwell sighed once more, "He was a man, Draco; he had the weight off our entire world on his shoulders."

"Yes, that, and being in the closet was probably hard, too."

Harry's lips were squished together very uncomfortably, tight, to keep from peeping a word.

Draco and Harry didn't look away from each other.

"Of course, you'll know all about that, Judas. Cornwell, did you know Judas is about to come out?"

Harry closed his eyes, "Would you STOP wishing that I was gay? I know you want to shag me and—"

"Oh, please, in your dreams, Cliffdale."

"Yeah, okay, maybe. We'll see what happens tonight," Harry quickly out-witted him.

Draco went to respond, but then fell silent, "You wish."

Harry dropped his arms from his chest, overwhelmingly proud of himself over something so trivial and pointless, "No, I think you're the one whose been wishing out of your league. I think we should head back before dawn. It'll be much more dangerous when people wake up in the morning and find out what happened."

Cornwell was just looking between them with half-moon squinted eyes, "Careful, Judas. Please be careful."

"OUT MY LEAGUE?" Draco was exasperated.

Harry walked right by him, coolly, "First Potter? Now me? You're nice-looking, but think realistically."

Draco watched Harry shake hands with Cornwell before starting for the door. He was a little evil.

Harry opened the front door and walked out, leaving Draco and Cornwell to share a private moment.

Five minutes later, they were back out on the street, again, silent.

When they were back at the Manor, Draco turned to Harry, "You're not out of my league, you know."

Harry handed Draco the broomstick, but Draco just placed it down on the floor, "I know I'm not."

Surprised, Draco looked him over, as he turned away, "Not even a little?"

Harry, finally giving into Draco, with a laugh, sat on the edge of his bed, and asked, almost very kindly, "Malfoy, are you gay?"

Draco shrugged at the gentle prodding, "No, of course not," he replied confidently. They were both very soft-spoken, now, and tired. "I'm... slightly...?"

Harry squinted, "Okay, I'll bite. Slightly what, Malfoy?" Why did he care? Well, obviously, Malfoy wanted to talk about this. He kept bringing it up, so Harry would oblige him in a genuine way.

"I'm sort of Harry-centric, like most of Hogwarts was. I did have an unnatural obsession with you--him, I mean--for the first couple of years at Hogwarts."

Harry just stared at him, too tired to take the comment to heart or even start to analyze it, "You amaze me, Malfoy," he said, very frankly, bewildered. "You were practically in love with the guy." How was it possible to be getting along with Draco? This was MALFOY, his sworn nemesis. This was... Draco. They were never supposed to be having this light of a conversation. Merlin, he was not supposed to be having this talk about his sexual preference with... with...! Draco was not supposed to be this way. It seemed almost too-funny-and-unrealistic to be true—to have Draco Malfoy be Harry-centric—Harry gay? What in the bloody hell was that! Harry, remembering the events of the weeks passed, and the reason he was even there, looked down and away from Draco, because it suddenly hurt too much.

Draco laughed, carelessly, as he opened the bedroom door, "Hardly, I just admired him."

Harry fell onto his back, in the covers, distancing himself, "I'll accept that. Goodnight, Malfoy. Lock my door."

Draco's eyes looked him over, intently. An uneasy feeling crept into his stomach, "Very funny. Goodnight, and, by the way, you wish."

Harry half-smiled, rubbing his hands down his face, "I will wish, if you want me to."

Draco laughed, gruffly, "A little bit?"

"Not even "Draco-centric," Malfoy. Face it. You loved him, but he didn't return it. At all. Not even a smidgen."

"Did not love him--never knew him--admired him—in a completely platonic, straight way."

Harry sat up on his elbows and just smiled, awkwardly, "You're playing to my ego, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged, "I'm trying to get into your pants, aren't I? I have to play something."

"Play get your arse out of my room before I hex your balls off, you... Harry-Potter obsessed freak."

Draco laughed all of the way back to his own bedroom.

When he fell into bed, he was still chuckling with sincere, pure laughter.

Harry Potter was staying down the hall from him, in the Malfoy Manor. It was almost unfathomable.

However hard he laughed that night, on his way into a land of calm serenity, he knew it was going to be the last genuine laughter he was going to feel for at least the next week. Things were not going to be easy. Their world was already in such a panic. So many things had happened to put extreme craters in their society, and even the muggle world. Muggles were being murdered, too, now. The death tolls were horrendous. Prisoners had escaped from all of the prisons. People hardly went out, and when they did, it wasn't uncommon to see a death of an innocent bystander trying to get somewhere to get his kid a Butterbeer. Now, with Lucius gone, and the masses of wizards who would go into panic mode over that, plus the supposed death of Harry Potter (who was supposed to be the last man standing so Voldemort wouldn't come out on top), and the murders of the Cliffdales, there were a lot of questions to be answered, and someone was going to have to come in and take the reigns to control what was left of the common consensus of scatter-brained, worried, anxious minds and souls.

The next day, both Draco and Harry would have to start playing parts both of them had been preparing their entire lives for.