It's just you and me

And there's no one around

Feels like I'm hanging by a thread

It's a long way down

I've been trying to breathe

But I'm fighting for air

I'm at an all time low with no place to go

But you're always there

-Ashley Tisdale

A wave of warmth flooded across Harry's body as he entered the kitchen, accompanied by the strong aroma of mint and cinnamon. He inhaled deeply, trying to allow the warm glow of the room settle his fluttering nerves. The kitchen was a much brighter place than it had been just a week ago. Harry had spent a great deal of time in the kitchen since he'd moved in, mostly because the small, cramped coziness of the room was unusually comforting to him, and cleaning was one of the only habits from his days before Hogwarts that still clung to him.

The room was stumpy, rectangular, and the décor looked like it could have dated centuries back, but at least it was no longer layered in filth like it had been a few years back. The wooden floor and cabinets shone like new, and the stone around the furnace and stove had been dusted and polished back to its original brilliance. A small wooden table and a couple beaten chairs were the only pieces of furniture in the room, but they were now unburdened by the piles of papers and partially eaten food that normally consumed their surfaces. Harry's eyes locked on Draco, who was currently hunched over the table, stirring a mug of some dark, steaming liquid.

Harry stared at Draco for a long while, admiring how the soft glow of the candlelight lit his hair, and the way his neck dipped into the sharp angle of his shoulder. Harry tore his eyes away as he felt his knees go weak. He wished that it didn't feel so real—that he didn't perfectly understand the feeling that was coursing through his veins.

"Oh, Master Malfoy!" An excited Kreacher squealed, rounding the corner with unprecedented enthusiasm. He had a small jar clutched in his knobby hands, which he placed upon the table next to Malfoy as if it were a precious gem. "Your mint leaves, sir," he said with a ridiculously low bow.

"Are they fresh?" Draco asked, sounding his old annoyed self. "I have half a mind to roll your fingers if they aren't."

"Fresh as can be, sir!" Kreacher squeaked in obvious delight. "Oh, Master Malfoy sir, you are just like my old Mistress you are! None of this nonsense with 'you're welcomes' and 'thank you's'—"

Draco rubbed his temples and winced. "Just get the hell out of here will you?"

"Right away, sir!" Kreacher bowed lowly once more before turning to Harry. "Anything for you, Master Potter?"

Draco jumped, spilling some of his drink onto the table. He turned suddenly, looking as if he were a young boy who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar—save for the fact that he had a black eye, a split lip, hardly looked anything like a child, and the kitchen was markedly without a cookie jar. "Potter," he straightened, and it didn't pass Harry's notice how his face creased with pain as he did so. "I didn't realize you were there."

It was worse now that Draco was facing him; worse now that there was nobody else there to distract him. "I'm fine, Kreacher. Thanks," he answered softly, pressing himself back against the door. His entire body felt taut, like a bow string pulled too tight. It felt as if the air had turned to liquid, and he was drowning in it. Harry stared at the line of Draco's jaw and felt his mouth go dry at the thought of running his tongue along the skin there.

"I…" Draco looked somewhat uncomfortable, which was strange in itself, "I brought back your wand."

Draco fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the old, wooden wand. He placed it gingerly on the table, his fingers lingering over it before he dropped his hand back to his side. "It's funny…until I held it, I didn't realize how strange it was that you still used your first wand."

"Is it?" Harry asked weakly, trying not to look at Draco's lips as he spoke.

A strained silence ensued, during which the Slytherin halfheartedly crushed the mint into his drink while Harry stood and suffered as the strings of his heart vibrated with painful ferocity in his chest.

"Would you like some cider?" Draco offered up his mug. "I added some mint."

Harry gave a hollow laugh. Mint and spice. So that's where the taste came from. Harry's mouth watered at the thought, remembering the feeling of Draco's tongue sliding against his own. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, unwilling to maintain the strength that had kept him on his feet.

"Potter!" Draco started forward.

"Stay where you are!" Harry said with as much force as he could muster.

Draco froze where he stood, but kept his balance pitched forward and ready to move. "Potter don't be ridiculous! You look pale as death. Let me help you."

"How can you," Harry replied sadistically, "when you can't even touch me?"

Draco recoiled, his expression like a ripple of pain. "I didn't mean that I would—"

"What are you here for, Malfoy?" Harry cut him off. It was too much. He just wanted it to all go away. He didn't want his mind to be clouded by this feeling anymore.

"To bring you back your fucking wand!" Draco returned, growing heated. "To see you! Why the hell do you think? If you even knew half of what I went through to get here—"

"Do you even know half of what I'm going through right now?" Harry exclaimed, his eyes welling up with the only release he had. "Ron's gone! Hermione's gone! Ginny's gone! Everyone's gone! And it's all because of you!"

Harry pushed himself back to his feet, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. He stormed towards Draco, tore the mug from his hands, and hurled it aside where it shattered and spilled to the ground. Draco simply stared, shocked, while Harry's mind and body raged as he tried to hold on to his anger, because it was the only thing left that felt clear anymore. "If it weren't for you they would still be here right now! What do you think that's like for me? Defending you to them? Trying to justify it to myself! Standing here with you and feeling—Merlin, I don't even know!" Harry flailed his arms hopelessly. His breathing was raspy and raked with dry sobs, and he was shaking so hard his vision was blurred.

Draco's brow furrowed, as if he was confused by seeing Harry so close to tears…as if it didn't make sense to him. He stood perfectly still, and for once it seemed, Draco was at a loss for words.

Harry stepped back. "Just leave," he said in a choked whisper.

"No." Draco found his voice and stepped forward defiantly. Harry's breath caught as he felt his body respond to the other boy's nearness. It was anguish. Like being burned and then plunged into ice water. "We can go to the library. I can get books from my house." Draco looked as if he wanted to grab Harry by the shoulders and shake him. "We can figure this out!"

Harry's muscles ached as he struggled to hold himself back. "I don't know if I can stand being near you for that long." Harry dropped his gaze, embarrassed and torn. The thought of being next to Draco for hours on end was like the thought of free falling and not being sure whether or not the parachute would open.

Draco stilled, inclining his head. "I could sit away from you if you'd like."

"You don't understand," Harry replied softly. "It's bad no matter where you are. Every moment I'm away from you my head pounds, and my entire body feels like it's being put through a bloody meat grinder. And when you're here—Merlin—I can barely breathe. I'm swept up in this feeling that just builds and builds and never goes away. And I don't know how to handle it. After you ki—" Harry broke off, grimacing. "After yesterday morning, I just…" his words faded.

The grey storm in Draco's eyes darkened. "Does it," he bit his lip, reopening the cut there, "…does it hurt now? Am I hurting you now?"

Harry lifted his eyes up to meet Draco's. "More than you know."

With a look of utter torment, Draco lifted his hands. Harry inhaled sharply as he felt the ghost of Draco's skin over his face. Their eyes locked, and Harry didn't need Draco's words to know what was going through his mind. He wanted to help. With only a touch, Harry knew the pain would be gone, and Draco seemed to know it too. The hands hovering over his cheeks began to tremble, torn between the wants, the needs, and the promise. And then they were gone, like a wave of cold, and Draco was retreating. With each step, Harry felt his strength wane.

Draco's back hit the table, bringing him to a halt, but their gazes remained unbroken. His face was hard now: resolute. "I'm sorry. I promised I wouldn't."

The room started to spin. "I know."

"It would just make things worse right?"

"Yeah." Harry staggered.

"Potter? You're shaking again."

"Hm?" Harry brought his hand to his head, feeling that his fingers were strangely cold. "I think I need to sit down." And then he was falling.

"Harry!" Draco sprung forward with the instinct only a seeker could have, and caught Harry just before he crumpled to the hard floor.

Harry took a sharp breath and all at once his pain became bliss. Everything around him sharpened suddenly, and color became so vibrant that the world before might as well have been black and white. The blood in his veins sang euphoria as a pleasant heat prickled under his skin. "Draco," he breathed, allowing his eyelids to fall as his body melted into the other boy's arms.

"Potter!" Draco shook him, and Harry frowned, wanting only to concentrate on the feeling of Draco's arms encircling him. "Potter, don't you dare faint on me again! I think there's a rule about fainting twice in front of the same person! Myth has it that goblins will come and bite off your toes while you sleep—or something ridiculously horrific like that. You like your toes don't you, Potter?" Draco shook him once more. "Potter! Are you listening to me?"

"I like my toes," Harry mumbled, sounding like a child and not caring.

"Good. Now get up will you? You're actually hurting me. I think my wrist is sprained."

Harry curled into Draco's chest, effectively taking most of the weight off of his arms. Harry buried his face into the cloth, liking the way the warm fabric felt against his skin. Draco hissed with pain as he moved, and for the first time that evening, Harry was able to fully grasp what he'd heard in the foyer.

Harry sat up slowly, his fingers curling into the fabric of Draco's robes. "Did your father," Harry swallowed hard, just now realizing how horrible Draco's face looked, "really do this to you?"

Draco grimaced. "Potter, I promised that I wouldn't touch you."

"Did he?"

"This probably isn't helping—"

"Well you're not touching me, I'm touching you! Now will you answer the damn question?"

The Slytherin lowered his gaze. "Are you really going to make me say it?" He looked away, blonde fringe falling across his forehead and into his eyes.

"But why?" Harry's fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles went white. "Why would he hurt you?"

"There are reasons."

"But…" A thought came upon Harry, and he felt his face heat with it. "It wasn't because…you know…because of this morning or anything, right?"

Draco almost smiled. "I only wish it were something simple like that."

"Tell me."

Draco remained silent.

"Draco?"

Harry saw something flicker in the other boy's eyes before he shut them. "I don't want to talk about it. You…wouldn't understand."

Harry's hand glided up Draco's chest, over the milky skin of his neck, up across his face, his fingers tracing along the bruised skin of Draco's eye. Draco didn't move; he simply sat, eyes closed, breathing deeply, allowing Harry to indulge in his pain. When Draco did speak, his voice was barely above a whisper. "Does this help you at least?"

"Does what help me?" Harry said distractedly, his hand moving to the softness of Draco's cream-colored cheek.

"Doing what you're doing now."

"What?" Harry's voice was a haze.

Draco chuckled at Harry's obvious distraction. "Touching me you dolt."

Harry's hand recoiled sharply. "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's alright." Draco's eyes opened, and the corners of his mouth lifted. "You don't have to be sorry…if it helps."

Harry allowed himself to relax into a smile. "Yeah. It does. It's like…well, I don't really know how to describe it exactly."

"Like you're having a sexual identity crisis?"

Harry made a face at him, but didn't bother to disagree.

Draco's smile dropped. "But what about after you let go? What happens then?"

"I don't know." Harry leaned in closer, fearing Draco might push him away and this exhilarating feeling would be lost. He didn't want to let the pain take him again—he didn't want to feel that deep ache in his bones.

"Let go, Harry."

Panic gripped at Harry's chest. "What? Why?"

"To see what happens." Draco ran a slender hand through his pale hair. "And, because you're going to have to sooner or later."

Harry's hand loosened and quivered. Draco didn't move to quicken Harry's release; he merely watched, his expression flickering as if he could feel Harry's pain as his own. The cloth slowly slipped from Harry's fingers, and with it the vibrant shades, and the soft humming in his heart. The dull throbbing returned, seating itself deep in the back of Harry's head, but…it wasn't quite as bad as before.

"Well?"

"It's…bearable." And the pain was, but everything else…the instinct urging him to pull Draco to him once more, was just as strong.

The Slytherin sighed and shut his eyes in thought. "I—well I sort of have an idea," he said, half in contemplation. "I really think it will work but…I don't think you'll like it."

"I think I'm about ready to try anything," Harry said, his fingers aching to reattach themselves to the warm comfort of Draco's robes.

Draco stood slowly and walked back over to the table, and his long pale hand trailed across the wooden surface. "Why do you use this wand instead of the Elder Wand?"

Harry stopped breathing.

"I mean, you're it's master, right?" Draco wasn't looking at Harry. He was looking down at the table, watching his own hand move rhythmically back and forth. He picked up Harry's wand, rolling it between his fingers. "That wand is capable of magic that most wizards can only dream of. I was thinking…maybe it could fix this."

Silence was Harry's only response.

Draco turned back towards him, a frown pulling at the edges of his mouth. "Why don't you use that wand?"

"Malfoy…that wand…" Harry shook his head, trying to find a clear thought in the fog of his mind. "It's dangerous. Hermione, Ron, and I agreed that it needed to be destroyed."

All of the blood drained from Draco's face. He stepped forward, his hand tightening around Harry's wand. "You destroyed it?"

"No. We tried, but we weren't able physically break it. So we're destroying it a different way."

Draco took several deep breaths. "How?"

"The wand must always have a master," Harry said softly.

The gears of Draco's mind turned behind and Harry saw the realization spark in his eyes. "I see. You're banking on never being defeated. You think that if you die while you're still the master of th—"

"Malfoy…" Harry looked up at him desperately. "I'm really not supposed to talk about it."

"Why not?"

"Think about what Voldemort did to Ollivander. He'd barely heard rumors about the wand and Voldemort had him tortured—"

"I'm aware of what the Dark Lord did to him." A frosty cold settled over Draco's features. Glancing back down at Harry's wand, he took a few steps forward and kneeled in front of Harry once more. "But the Dark Lord is dead now."

Harry bit his lip, taking in a deep breath that was distinctly filled with the smell of Draco's cologne. "There are always others."

"Who?"

"Malfoy…"

"That wand could help you. It could break this spell."

"I don't care if it could help me," Harry argued. "If that's what it takes to break this spell then I can't do it. I promised."

Red rushed into Draco's cheeks as he huffed. He kept looking at Harry's mouth as if he wanted to punch it. "You're an idiot."

"Perhaps," Harry said, and was pleased when the tightness in Draco's brow eased.

"So we're going to try the library then?"

Harry leaned forward, his hands aching to lift and slide against Draco's neck. He could see Draco's pulse fluttering against the base of his jawline. It looked like a tiny hummingbird was trapped just beneath his skin.

"Potter?"

"Yeah?" Harry let out a breath, tilting his head slightly. Their faces fit together almost perfectly like this, almost like their lips were made to meet.

"Would you please stop giving me that look? I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you."

Harry blinked. "What look?"

Draco smirked, and a small stream of blood spilled over his bottom lip as one of his cuts reopened. "If you have to ask I'm not sure I should tell you."

It was very difficult for Harry not to tongue the droplet of crimson that was making its way down Draco's chin, but by some miracle he managed it. "That's hardly fair," he said, proud that his voice came out even and unaffected.

"Life's rarely fair. You can take one look at yourself in the mirror and know that much."

"Is bringing my looks into this really necessary?"

Draco lifted his hand and wiped the blood on his chin away. He pressed his thumb against the split skin on his lip, bringing it back to stare at the blood he had drawn before sticking the digit into his mouth. Harry had to choke down a groan. "Are you insecure about your looks?" Draco asked around his thumb.

Harry focused on not staring at Malfoy's mouth, and even harder on not imagining that same mouth wrapped around other things. "Only around you," he replied tightly. "But then again I know you get a certain enjoyment out of making me…uncomfortable."

"Certainly," Draco jeered. "I am but a slave to my masters Misery and Chaos. They've taken a keen liking to you by the way. If you're lucky I'll bet they'll even invite you to our Halloween Ball."

"Are all Slytherins as nutty as you are?"

"Always trying to turn things into a house quarrel, Potter. Chaos would not approve."

"You're such a—" Harry's reached out and pulled at Draco's robes. He felt a rush of surprised air against his nose as Draco's face was suddenly very close, his skin gold and purple in the candlelight, and his eyes shining like twin pools lit by moonlight.

Harry's body was red and alive with embarrassment. The butterflies that had been fluttering in his stomach suddenly became giant thestrals, flapping their massive leathery wings to the beat of his fiercely pounding of his heart. There was the briefest moment of suspended silence, during which Harry's eyes flickered helplessly down to Draco's slightly parted lips and back up again. A soft force like the wind was at his back, urging him forward. Harry stiffened against it in an act of desperate resistance.

"I'm such a what?" Was it just him or was Draco's voice suddenly an octave lower than before? The heaviness of Draco's breath pooled heat on Harry's face, and the room around them darkened. "I'm such a what, Potter?"

But Harry couldn't form a response. His brain was hardly processing words at this point. There was only Draco, and the way the other boy felt so completely perfect against him. Harry's head dipped as he leaned forward, no longer able to keep his hold against this urge, and wanting more than anything to experience the soft velvet of Draco's mouth. But just as skin touched skin, just as his eyes fluttered shut in heated anticipation…just as Harry felt the first glimmer of the kiss, Draco pulled away.

Their hands separated, and Draco recoiled into a sitting position, his breathing quicker than it should have been. "I'm sorry." His words were weighted with an unprovoked hardness. "I shouldn't have—I forgot. I shouldn't have let you touch me like that." His good eye looked misted, as if he wasn't quite aware of what was happening around him.

Harry's chest caved as he fell back onto his heels. He didn't know what to say. Especially when all he could think about was how much he wanted to do it again. Harry cursed inaudibly. What a load of bollocks.

"Do you want to go now?" Draco asked, his brows creased.

"Go where?" Harry said wearily. His lips were still buzzing with longing.

Draco began to rise to his feet, his eyes darting about nervously. He seemed almost shaken. "To the library," he ran a hand through his already perfectly prim hair. "We should go now, don't you think?"

Harry gave a hopeless shrug. "Yeah, I suppose so." He rose to his feet as well, took his wand from Draco's hand, and turned towards the door. His hand rose to wrap around the doorknob, and it was hard not to notice how badly he was shaking.

"Potter?"

Harry stopped and turned back.

Unguarded grey swept across his vision. Draco looked straight at him, his expression poised and unfaltering. "When you," Draco's cheeks burned a sudden pink, "…when you kiss me, who is it that you're kissing?"

Harry's breath hitched. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." Draco replied, his tone dark and strangely hollow. "Who do you think about?"

Harry faltered, still unable to grasp the meaning behind the question. "Why would I think about anyone other than you?" he answered honestly.

Draco stilled to the point that even his breathing was imperceptible. "But I thought you said that you weren't…"

Harry narrowed his eyes searchingly. "Malfoy?"

"Nothing." Draco shook himself, and swept past Harry towards the door, leaving notable distance between them. "Nothing. Never mind. Forget I said anything."