Time of Dying

Harry hadn't seen the spell until it was too late. The flash of green wasn't aimed at him, yet he was as worried as if it were. As if in slow motion, he watched the deadly curse zoom across the battlefield, barely missing friends and foes alike. The target wasn't even aware of his imminent doom until the spell was on him, illuminating his platinum blonde hair and making his eyes sparkle almost as green as Harry's.

Harry watched as his boyfriend of four months fell to the earth, unmoving and lifeless.

"Draco!" Harry cried. He abandoned whichever Death Eater he'd been dueling to race toward the Slytherin. Harry crumpled to his knees beside Draco and cradled the blonde head in his lap.

He didn't realize he'd been sobbing until he hiccupped; only then did he notice the cool breeze stealing the warmth from his damp cheeks.

It took another few moments for him to realize the fighting had ceased; everyone was staring at the Boy Who Lived as he cried over his dead boyfriend. He didn't care, though. All that was going through his mind was that Draco was gone.

Another moment and another thought entered his mind: Lucius had been the one to cast the curse. The man had killed his own son all because they were on different sides of the war.

With one last kiss to Draco's forehead, Harry set his head back down on the earth and rose to his feet. No one moved as he stood nor did anyone make a sound. They just watched. Slowly, Harry turned and, almost as if he willed it, the crowd parted, leaving nothing and no one between him and Lucius Malfoy. Fury built in him as he stared at the older man and revenge stormed to the front of his mind. He wanted Lucius dead for what he did to Draco.

Without even thinking, he raced at Lucius, intent on killing him with his own hands – his wand was lying in the grass beside Draco. All he wished was to get his fists around that long throat and purge the life from him in the most excruciating method he had at hand. With only feet between them, he launched himself at Lucius, his arms stretched out and his fingers curled into claws.

He didn't make contact with his target; a green flash raced at him from his peripheral vision and he was gone before he could complete his revenge.

--

Eighteen years later

"I can't believe you drug me all the way to London to get a tattoo," Drake pouted, leaning against a wall but making sure he arse was well away from the offensive brick. He had opted to stand next to his dark-haired boyfriend, who was sitting on a convenient bench.

"Well, it was you who promised to go get a tattoo with me when I turned eighteen," the other boy said, smirking. His smirk grew all the wider as he watched Drake attempt to reposition himself without letting anything touch his derriere. "Besides, you didn't have to get yours where you did. You could've gotten it on your shoulder or something."

"I wasn't about to copy you, James," Drake declared as he ran a hand through his perfectly gelled platinum tresses.

James laughed. "Yeah, you copied me alright with your dragon."

"Hey, it's better than a pair of broomsticks," the blonde said. "One would think that it's a good thing you're gay, because of your obsession with such obvious phallic symbols."

James smiled sweetly up at Drake, making the boy's heart to flutter. "Of course it's a good thing, otherwise, who would love you?"

Drake huffed. "I could find someone." James gave him a dubious look. "Of course not someone as good as you, but someone nonetheless."

James rolled his green eyes. "Sure." He glanced as his watch. "Okay, it's about time. Did the guy at the ticket booth say Platform 9 or 10?"

It was Drake's turn to roll his eyes. "Do you remember anything? We board at Platform 9, dear."

"Hey, at least I'm not as bad at forgetting as that one guy," James said vaguely.

"You mean the one that's horrible at home ec?" Drake asked. James nodded. "Yeah, he never remembers anything, does he?" James shook his head. "Doesn't he always manage to make his soups blow-up?"

A warning bell cut through their conversation, telling them that their train would be leaving shortly, whether or not they were on it. Together, they turned to make their way toward Platform 9.

"You know, I can see it now," Drake mused as they walked. "You somehow get a collection of brooms in your house and some little kid stops by for reasons unbeknownst to all involved. When he sees your brooms, he'll get all wide-eyed – you know the way those children do. Then, with some sort of reverence, he'll say something stupid like, 'You're a wizard, James.'"

James laughed at this. "At least they won't think I'm an elf or a fairy. The way you look, all you need are ears, and I'm sure most kids are willing to overlook that fact."

James had to duck out of the way lest he wished to be smacked in the back of his head.

End.