"You summoned me, My Lord—?"

But it was not the earl, and my words fell off.

Draco turned around, away from the birdcage where he'd been trying to soothe the frantic little creature on its perch. His face was the picture of anxiety, and when he saw me, he swallowed, rubbing his hands together.

It is a curious feeling, to be filled simultaneously with dread and hope. As when hot air meets cold wind, it creates a storm inside of you, furious and destructive. I had been living with the feeling for the past several weeks, every time we were in the same room, every time we saw one another and were crushed under the weight of the terrible-wonderful could-have-beens.

"I – Mr. Snape told me your father had summoned me into the drawing room," I said.

"I know," Draco replied, voice wan. "I asked him to lie to avoid suspicion."

"Oh," I said.

"He's asked me to join him in the sitting room," Draco said.

"He… who?"

"The duke," Draco hissed as though it were obvious. It was at that moment I noticed that the reason he was rubbing his hands together so feverishly was to hide the fact that they were trembling.

"Oh," I said again. I had a feeling I knew where this conversation was headed, and it was turning my veins to ice.

"He spoke with Father last night," Draco whispered, and he began to pace back and forth. The fevered movements seemed to upset the canary, who began to cry in distress again. "He said nothing of it, but I know what they must have spoken about. The duke was asking for my father's blessing to propose."

My limbs felt very heavy and my vision clouded.

I knew, I had always known that it would come to this. I knew that Draco would have to marry another, but still the news felt like hot knives twisting in my gut. I didn't know if I was more upset with the duke for proposing or myself for reacting as I was.

Somehow, perhaps, I had talked myself into thinking we had more time. He'd only been here a few days.

"I can't marry him," Draco said, and the tearful tone of his voice was not nearly so distracting as what he'd said.

"My Lord," I said, my body tense.

"I can't," Draco said. "I don't care that he's a duke. I don't care that he'll be king one day. I can't marry him. I don't love him; I can never love him."

I dared not speak. Draco stared at me, tears rolling freely down his cheeks, and God, was it awful of me to think he was beautiful when he cried? Was there ever a moment when he wasn't beautiful? I wanted to wipe away his tears, but I dared not take a step closer. I feared what I would do if I did.

"My heart belongs to another," Draco said, and his voice was so small that I almost didn't hear him. At once, I found myself also on the brink of tears.

"My Lord, please," I whispered, "please don't, I can't bear it."

"How can I swear before God to dedicate my life to one man, when there is another who is the center of my universe?"

"Stop," I hissed, my vision blurring with tears. "Stop, please."

"I am pulled to him inexorably," Draco said, moving toward me, "as the tide is pulled to shore, as the streams are pulled to the ocean. He is gentle and kind and I could never love anyone else and when I am with him I feel like I could fly—"

"Stop," I said, though the word came out like a sob. I held out one hand to keep him at arm's length and used the other to brace myself against the door. "Stop it, please, Draco, I can't bear this. We can't. You know we can't."

"We can," he whispered. "Fly with me."

Silence.

I stared at him uncomprehendingly as my grief-addled mind worked through what he'd just said. I understood the words, but within the context of a sentence, it felt like another language.

"Fly with me," he said again. "Let's go tonight. Let's go now and not look back."

Even the canary was silent. I felt a tremor in me, deep down, that rattled my bones.

"You would do that," I said. I was not sure if it was a question.

"Of course I would."

"You would give up everything – your family, your house, your station—?"

"I would give up all the years of my life if it meant I could spend a single day with you."

The tremor became shaking; my labored breathing became sobbing. I was undone with a slowly-spreading ecstatic joy. What in my life had I ever done to deserve this beautiful creature's devotion and love?

Draco threw himself into my arms and I embraced him as tightly as I could, if only to assure myself that he was real, that this was all real.

"I love you," I said, voice choked, into his hair.

"I love you," he answered, "and I want to leave tonight. Can you ready my horse?"

"Yes. Yes, I – I can be ready in a half-hour."

"I have some money. We can head west for London – the anonymity will hide us."

I pulled back just enough to kiss him, deeply and thoroughly, which he returned with such intensity and ardor that my skin came alive with fire. It was a toe-curling, nerve-electrifying head rush of a kiss that left me dizzy when we parted.

"Go," Draco whispered, and though the tears on his cheeks were still wet, he was smiling and his eyes were gleaming. "Go now. I'll meet you at the stables."

I kissed him again, just because I could, and then I ran.

I did my best to pretend as if my life hadn't just changed, as if I wasn't a man who'd just received everything he could have possibly wanted. My blood thundered in my veins and my chest felt as though it was about to burst open. I made my way into the servants' quarters, ducking quickly past the scattered maids and footmen moving through the halls.

I came to my small, plain bedroom – thank God I had it to myself, as an alpha – and shut the door. I began to pack, throwing open my drawers and armoire, my head spinning as I tried to think of what else I could take that we might need. Would the chef notice if I took some food for the road? What about wine or juice or something to drink? Could I get away with taking a few extra changes of clothing from the sewing room?

My valise was half-full and getting fuller when I heard the click of my doorway and spun on my heel, a sudden assault of fear nearly knocking me flat.

"Mr. Pettigrew?"

There he was, his face dark and shadowed, his shoulders shaking as though he was out of breath.

"Nowhere to run," Mr. Pettigrew said, in a voice so low and terrible that I was thrown.

"What – what do you mean? What are you talking about? This – this isn't what it looks like—"

"It's exactly what it looks like," Mr. Pettigrew said. He shut the door behind him. "Found out about our plan, did you? Nipped into His Grace's bedroom and saw the research?"

"What are you talking about? What research—?"

My sentence fell off when Mr. Pettigrew suddenly withdrew a large, glinting hunting knife. At once, every muscle in my body was tense, whipcord-tough, and there came a loud rush of endorphins putting my body into a state ready for fight-or-flight.

"What are you doing?" I hissed.

"We had plans to make it look like an accident," Mr. Pettigrew said, "but since you've discovered us, I suppose the plan has been accelerated."

"Mr. Pettigrew—" I began, but suddenly he had launched himself at me. With a startled cry, I dove to the side, and my shoulder knocked painfully into the armoire, sending it toppling over to one side and crashing against the wall.

Mr. Pettigrew snarled and lunged again and again – for a man so small and so round, he was devilishly fast, and that knife did not look friendly.

I held him off for as long as I could. From outside, I could hear a clamor – doubtlessly, someone had heard the sound of my furniture falling over and had called an alarm. If I could just hold him off until some of the other servants arrived, perhaps—

—I lost my footing for a single moment, stumbled, and then there came a strange coldness in my abdomen that stilled me.

The pain did not come for several moments later, and when it did, it was with the force of a typhoon.

I could see the handle of Mr. Pettigrew's knife pressed against my side. The blade, I realized with sobering detachment, was inside of me.

I released a breath and blood fountained from my mouth, splattering along the bed.

The door was thrown open. Mr. Pettigrew wrenched around, taking the knife with him, and pain, God, so much blinding, deafening pain ripped through me.

"Mr. Pettigrew!"

"God, what have you done to Mr. Potter—?"

"Someone get him!"

There was a scuffle, a shout, a clatter – my world was being swallowed by an inky, numbing darkness, and I became suddenly aware that this is what dying was.

Draco, my mind said. Draco, Draco, Draco. I chanted his name in my head. I had to get to him. I couldn't die like this. Draco, Draco, Draco. I had to see him.

The clamor was uproarious now, and servants were thick in the hallways. I pushed my way past them, even as they grabbed at me, asked me questions, tried to stop me. Draco, Draco, Draco. I had moments left on this earth, I was sure, and I would fight away the pain and the swallowing darkness to see my Draco, Draco, Draco.

Up and out of the servants' quarters, my head lightening with each step, my own lifeblood flowing past the fingers that grabbed uselessly at the wound in my side. Into the hallway, Draco, Draco, Draco. Into the foyer, Draco, Draco, Draco.

Draco.

Coming down the stairs with a valise.

Draco.

Reaching the bottom landing, turning, seeing me—

"Draco—"

He dropped his valise and screamed.

I fell onto my side.

"Harry! Oh, God, someone call a doctor! Help! Help!"

He came scrambling over to my side and bent over me. I could see him through my half-lidded eyes, through the swallowing darkness that was consuming me whole, and I stared up at my poor, beautiful angel as tears came streaming down his face.

"Harry, oh, my God, what happened – Harry, your side – no, please no, please no—"

He touched my face and with what was left of my strength I grabbed his hand. Draco, my angel, my love, the center of my world, my sun, my moon, there was so much I wanted to say to him, so much I wanted to experience with him, but with the situation as it was, I could take some small comfort knowing that he would be the last thing I saw before I died.

"Harry, no. Stay awake. Stay awake. You can't die. You can't."

As I fell deeper into the swallowing darkness, I found myself wishing that I could apologize, but all my throat could produce was blood.

"You can't die, you have to stay awake, I can't lose you, not now, not now, we were supposed to run away – Harry, Harry, we were supposed to fly—"

"Fly," I managed, though the word was more blood than air.

"Yes," Draco choked, gripping me tightly. "We were supposed to fly, Harry. We were going to fly away together. You can't, you can't."

There was shouting nearby that grew closer at the same time as it grew fainter. The darkness was closing in and my angel was weeping.

"Please," my angel begged me, "please, please, please."

And as I drifted into the swallowing dark, it was to the sound of his voice and the heat of his arms, and it was almost as though he was lulling me to sleep.