Archive of Our Own

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If Today Was Your Last Day

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My best friend gave me the best advice
He said each day's a gift and not a given right
Leave no stone unturned, leave your fears behind
And try to take the path less traveled by
That first step you take is the longest stride
(What if, what if?)

. :*: .

Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak when he reached a stationary staircase.

‘Potter?’

The voice echoed in the empty corridor and Harry spun on his heel to find Draco Malfoy walking slowly closer with a different wand held limp at his side. Harry thought it looked a lot like Goyle's, or maybe it was Crabbe's, from a distance; short and chunky with dark wood, Malfoy must have borrowed it after he lost his mother's wand in the Fiendfyre.

‘Malfoy?’ Harry stared with his right hand poised over his back pocket, unsure of what he should be expecting, his Invisibility Cloak forgotten in his left hand.

‘Where are you going?’ there was a peculiar hitch to Malfoy's voice. He looked unnaturally pale, the greyish tinge was still present from last year, his once porcelain white complexion was but a vivid memory in Harry's mind, his cold grey eyes were dull and glassy as if he was in shock, and Harry felt a now-familiar stab of pity for Malfoy when he remembered the tears the other young man had shed after realising Crabbe would not make it out of the Room of Hidden Things.

Harry sighed. He really did not want to pause; neither did he want to think lest he lost his nerve. And he could not lose it. He could not lose.

‘Where do you think I'm going?’ said Harry a lot harsher than he had intended. He did not stop. ‘Do you want to take me yourself? To prove to Voldemort what a perfect little Death Eater you are?’

Malfoy's wince penetrated his watery sneer. Harry would have snorted but he was apprehensive about how vulnerable Malfoy appeared. He did not like that Malfoy had become a person in his eyes and was no longer a childhood villain in his black and white world. Instead, he saw all the self-inflicted torment Harry, himself had gone through, and was still going through, reflected in pale eyes. He resented Malfoy even more for it.

‘Don't be an idiot, Potter. You can't go out there by yourself, you'll be killed!’

When Harry just stared at him impassively, Malfoy's cheeks flushed with angry colour and he pressed his lips into a thin white line. 

’Gryffindors,’ he spat out like the word left a bad taste in his mouth, ‘Bloody stupid the lot of you! If you're not risking your necks then you're coming up with new and ridiculous ways to break them, honestly!’ Malfoy was shaking with fury, his flush blotting his long neck and the left side of his forehead not covered by his chin-length side fringe. ‘For once in your life, Potter, think before you put yourself out there. A lot of people will die once you're gone; the world doesn't stop if you die, it goes on without you!’

‘I know that!’ shouted Harry, frustrated Malfoy had the cheek to accuse him of anything. ‘You think I don't know people are dying? Look around, Malfoy!’ Harry swung his arms out wide gesturing wildly at the disarray all around them. ‘I understand perfectly well what's going on, but what about you, Malfoy?’ said Harry, his tone condemning. ‘Do you understand what a monster your master is? Do you know if he wins then he is going to kill you too? He doesn't feel, Malfoy! He can't love! He will kill you, just like all the Muggles and Muggle-borns you hate so much. You think you're helping yourself but you're not!’

‘I KNOW THAT!’ screamed Malfoy, his words ricocheting off the walls, over and over again, fading into the distance until the deafening silence enclosed around them again.

Harry gawked at him. Malfoy's pointed nose was scrunched up in disgust while his voice faded into nothing, but in the ensuing silence he sighed heavily, and it was a sigh Harry had felt many times before, when the weight of the whole world was pressing on his shoulders, pushing him down, and he had become utterly exhausted from carrying it around everywhere he went for so long.

‘I know what the Dark Lord is, Potter,’ said Malfoy grudgingly. ‘And I have no false pretences about what is to happen to me.’

‘Then why are you on his side?’ Harry demanded, unconvinced.

‘Because… it was expected of me, and I do so hate not living up to other people's expectations,’ his sarcasm was tangible through his weak sneer.

‘So, you chose to join Voldemort because we expected you to? That's ridiculous!’

‘Chose? Do you really think I had a choice?’ Malfoy screeched, his wand hand trembling at his side. ‘You're the one with the twit choices here, Potter! I had none! And here you are again, the great Harry Potter making another daft cock up! Before you condemn others, perhaps you should take a long look in the bloody mirror!’

‘I don't have a choice either!’ shouted Harry.

‘Yes you do, you mug!’ said Malfoy and his voice sounded strained.

‘NO, I DON'T!’ Harry's voice was too loud through the empty castle corridors. He stood shaking from head to toe from anger because of the constant rain of insults, or the fear of what was to come after; maybe both. ‘People are dying because of me! It's always because of me! I'm the only one who can end this and it has to end, Malfoy!’

Harry's eyes burned with unshed tears but he ignored them. Malfoy's grey skin appeared ghostly in the moonlight leaching in through the broken window and the crumbling stone wall, a cool Spring breeze raising the hair on Harry's exposed arms and neck beneath his wild, singed, shoulder-length hair.

‘This was how it was always supposed to end! I was never meant to survive! All my life I've been avoiding the inevitable, I'm supposed to die and this is it! But it doesn't mean I'm not going to take Voldemort down with me!’

Malfoy was shaking his head frantically at Harry with wide, disbelieving eyes.

‘No.’ he whispered. ‘No! That's a lie! You're just being the egotistical, reckless imbecile you always are! Get over yourself, Potter! The whole bleeding world doesn't revolve around you!’

Harry laughed hysterically.

‘Me?’ he said feeling his eyes stream. ‘That's rich coming from you! You've always had to be the centre of attention!’

‘And how would you know?’ Malfoy demanded heatedly. ‘It's not as if you ever paid any attention!’

Harry abruptly stopped laughing and looked at the fuming Slytherin and Death Eater in front of him like he had never seen him before. Maybe he never truly had.

‘You… you insufferable brat, how much bloody attention did you want? You had the whole of Slytherin at your beck and call! Was that not enough for you, your highness?’ Harry barely resisted the urge to imitate Snape in fifth year, and bow ironically as the Potions Professor had back in Umbridge's office.

Malfoy pursed his lips in irritation; the restraint he was trying his damned hardest not to show was obvious to Harry.

‘If I wasn't who I am then you wouldn't have given me the time of day,’ he said.

Harry frowned at the other man; it was a very odd thing to say.

‘Of course, I wouldn't have; you wouldn't be you if you weren't you!’ Malfoy raised a condescending eyebrow and Harry rolled his eyes. ‘You know what I mean. You're Draco Malfoy, and you wouldn't be who you are without the name, that hair, the snobbish clothes, and the evil personality.’

‘What's wrong with my hair?’ Malfoy narrowed his eyes critically, his left hand unconsciously reaching up to run through the soft-looking pale strands.

Harry's subdued half-smile was in amusement. That was what Draco Malfoy picked to argue with; his hair.

‘Nothing's wrong with it. It's just always slicked back. I don't think I've ever seen you with your hair down until now,’ said Harry, speculating.

Malfoy's cheeks flushed pink with something other than antagonism this time. It struck Harry as a very unusual reaction.

‘Malfoy?’ said Harry, feeling cautious all of a sudden. He was not sure if he wanted an answer. ‘Why do you care? I mean,’ he hesitated when Malfoy looked at him in alarm. ‘If you care, do you? I thought you would want me dead.’

‘No, I don't want you dead,’ said Malfoy evenly. His expression was guarded but Harry could just glimpse the sincerity in his eyes.

The echo of his memory shouted, ‘Don't kill him! DON'T KILL HIM!’ helped to convince him.

‘But then, you're Harry Potter and the only hope anyone has to win this war, I have to care.’

Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach; he hated when his name was said like that.

‘Harry Potter,’ said Harry experimentally. ‘I never liked the fame, you know? I know you think I'm some pig-headed celebrity but I never wanted any of it. I never wanted to be something special.’

‘You are pig-headed, Potter,’ Malfoy countered but his expression had softened by the slightest fraction. ‘But not because you're a celebrity. And whether you or I like it or not, you are special.’

Harry gaped at the compliment; never in his life would he have believed Draco Malfoy ever knew how to compliment someone, let alone actually manage it and compliment him as well…

‘Don't look like that, it doesn't become you. I can be honest when I want to be, I was, if you care to remember, brought up in a high-class family before all this bollocks happened. I am perfectly capable of being charming when the situation calls for it,’ he said haughtily.

Harry swallowed the impulse to laugh again.

‘Do you still hate me?’

The question took Harry by as much surprise as it did Malfoy.

‘Yes,’ said Malfoy shortly.

Harry felt his stomach clench, in the last moments of his life, he suddenly realised how senseless their hatred had been.

‘What if I wasn't who I am?’ Harry tried. ‘What if you weren't who you are?’

‘I would still hate you,’ answered Malfoy immediately, and Harry caught his breath at the same moment he felt something very small inside him break away, leaving him feeling empty.

Perhaps, it had been hope?

‘I don't hate you because you are “Harry Potter”,’ Malfoy was confessing but Harry barely heard him through his life's blood rushing past his ears. ‘You probably won't remember this, but I tried to be nice to you before, and I still wanted to be your friend when I found out who you were. But you chose a Weasley over me.’

Harry scowled as he thought through what Malfoy had just said, all blood rapidly draining from his face.

Harry's green eyes bore into Malfoy.

‘You hate me because I wanted to be friends with Ron?’ said Harry outrageously. ‘You were horrible to his family, what was I supposed to think?’

Malfoy flushed again with renewed fervour.

‘For generations, his and my family have been at odds! I was told every Weasley was a blood traitor and a thief, what do you expect? Besides, he insulted me first!’

‘No, he didn't!’

‘Yes, he did! He laughed at my name!’ Malfoy sneered.

‘Well, it is unusual.’ said Harry defensively.

‘And what is wrong with my name?!’

‘Nothing! It's just different, that's all!’

Malfoy glowered at him and Harry sighed in exasperation. He had to get going; he did not know why he was still here anyway.

‘Look, Malfoy, the truce is going to be over soon, I need to go.’ Harry turned back towards the staircase.

‘Wait!’ Malfoy shouted behind him and Harry paused to look over his shoulder.

Malfoy was closer than he had been before and his expression was pleading, ‘Don't go,' he told him.

Harry sighed again, feeling hollow and entirely helpless.

‘I have to. I told you, this is how it was meant to be.’

Malfoy shook his head. And tears were creeping down his cheeks.

‘Stay,’ he said quietly.

Malfoy reached out and gripped Harry's sleeve, tugging gently. Harry swallowed heavily as a lump of unexpected emotion swelled in his chest.

‘I can't…’ Harry whispered wanting nothing more than to assure Malfoy, and himself, he was not going anywhere.

‘Please… Please, don't leave me…’

Harry looked into the eyes of his former rival, the man whom he had hated for seven long years of their lives and found it deeply ironic it was the first wizard he could remember meeting, who was not also a half-giant, someone his age, who would be the person he said his goodbye to.

It was almost poetic, in a sick and twisted way.

Harry remembered the skinny, pale, blond, snobbish boy he had met in Madame Malkin's on the morning of his eleventh birthday, and he reflected on how much things had changed since that first magical day.

Malfoy was still of average height and svelte but Harry found he only had to look at a slight upwards angle to meet Malfoy's eyes now. Those pale eyes which had glared at him across every classroom and mealtime in the Great Hall, those same eyes which had always been there to mock him whenever he had conveniently made a complete prat out of himself. Harry would have laughed if he had been told just an hour ago that Malfoy's eyes would at any moment be silently begging him not to go, to stay with him, to live. But right then, he had no desire to utter a syllable, unwilling to break the spell those eyes had cast over him. They were beautiful, Harry reflected. They had little grey-blue flecks around the pupils; he had never noticed before…

…It was then Harry felt an unrecognisable force pulling him forward… his cherished Invisibility Cloak slipping, unnoticed, between his slackened fingers... which is how he came to be with, not Hermione or Ron, not Ginny or even Cho, in his final hour... but with Draco Malfoy. Kissing him in a deserted corridor inside the building where their rivalry had manifested, while their friends mourned and Death Eaters prepared to ambush the castle at dawn; and it was perfect.

All those years of misguided hatred melted into a desperate passion as their lips locked, tongues duelled, and teeth clashed. It was intense. Their hands palmed flesh under clothing and fisted hair, and nails scratched at skin attempting to touch every inch of each other before reality could tear them apart.

Before Harry knew he was moving, he had walked Malfoy backwards until his back hit the wall. He trapped Malfoy between the corridor wall and his body, wanting nothing more than to bury himself in his soft, smooth skin and never leave. He tasted amazing; incredibly warm and fresh, and Harry just could not get enough. Perhaps, it was just because he knew this would be his last chance at intimacy but Harry had never been so hard so fast in all his young life.

When breathing became a problem, they had to come up for air. Malfoy was flushed rose-pink and panting; his eyes were huge and glassy, up close. Harry tried to slow his breathing and steadied himself on the wall behind Malfoy while refusing himself the notion of pressing his lips back against where he so wanted them to be.

Malfoy leaned into him again but Harry stepped out of reach.

At the hurt look in Malfoy's eyes, he instantly regretted it.

‘I have to go before I'm too late.’ Harry strived to explain, his lips burning with the heat of Malfoy's kiss.

Malfoy's flushed face instantly became livid.

‘So that's it; bye then? You make me sick.’

Malfoy pushed him violently away, and Harry stumbled further back.

‘So what was that?’ Malfoy demanded, ‘Sympathy? Some sick punishment? Or did you fancy some clichéd hero's “farewell kiss” bollocks and I'm just convenient?’

Harry rubbed at his eyes under his glasses; it had been an extremely long twenty-four hours.

‘I can't do this right now, I have to go.’ He turned to leave yet again, picking up his discarded Cloak without breaking his stride, determined.

‘Well, right now is all I've got, isn't it? You're walking off to your death for fuck's sake!’ Malfoy shouted after him.

Harry stopped in his tracks. It was true, and it was not fair.

Harry felt sick because he did not have enough time left.

‘Just tell me what it meant,’ Malfoy said in a small voice.

Harry looked back and saw Malfoy still leaning against the wall as if without it, he would crumble to the ground, and Harry's chest ached.

‘I don't know,’ answered Harry truthfully. Malfoy closed his eyes and turned his face away, his head pressed against the cool stone of the wall behind him. ‘I'm sorry, I just… I don't know. I'm sorry.’

Malfoy looked back at him and tears were relentlessly streaking down his face.

‘I hate you,’ he whispered and when Harry searched his storming grey eyes, they confirmed it.

All Harry could think of to do was nod and, finally, walk down the stationary staircase while his lips tingled distractively. His head was swimming with memories and thoughts about what had happened in the past, and what had happened only a moment ago. He was so confused. Never in his life would he have thought he was attracted to Draco Malfoy, but apparently, he might have been all along.

Flashes of past encounters with his Slytherin counterpart seemed different to him now as if someone had turned on a light inside his head and he could see everything which had been shadowed before, and he was realising how much he had always cared about what Malfoy was doing, where he was, and what he was thinking. Although Harry had reasoned, it was because he was certain Malfoy was evil and always up to something undoubtedly sinister, when in reality it could most likely have been Harry's way of wishing his paranoid suspicions were all a lie.

And, somehow, it had been.

Harry felt something close to hilarity bubbling up in his aching chest. Now would be the time for life-altering revelations, he thought bitterly; when he was only minutes away from death.

It would never have worked out anyway; I'm not gay. I can't be. Harry told himself frankly. They were too different. Everything was against them and would still be even without Voldemort complicating things further. It is better this way. Harry deliberated gravely, and yet, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he felt deep down there was no one he had more chemistry with.

With Cho, it had never felt right. And even with Ginny – whom he was convinced he had been in love with until he had almost kissed Hermione because they were both so lonely – there had always been something holding him back, distracting him from making a full commitment... and in hindsight, that distraction might even have been Malfoy. However, on the brink of death, he could not help thinking that kiss had been phenomenal, and he felt remorse for the fact he would never have the chance to discover whatever had just transpired between them.

Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak over himself and descended through the floors, at last walking down the marble staircase into the Entrance Hall. Perhaps some tiny part of him hoped to be sensed, to be seen, to be stopped, for Malfoy to come running after him, determined to stop him but the Cloak was, as ever, impenetrable, perfect, and Malfoy would never be so rash as to expose himself to the Order. He was too Slytherin. It was just who he was, and Harry did not begrudge him for it.

Not anymore.

He reached the front doors easily.

. :*: .

If today was your last day
And tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday? (What if, what if?)
Would you live each moment like your last?
Leave old pictures in the past?
Donate every dime you have?
(What if, what if?)
If today was your last day
(What if, what if?)
(If today was your last day)

. : :* *: : .

Draco sat slumped against the corridor wall listening to the descent of Potter's footsteps on the staircases; his lips were puffy and moist from Potter's kiss. He did not know what had possessed him to try to stop Potter from his stupid, and predictable, plan to sacrifice himself so he would not have to watch more of his friends die.

He was a little distraught at the moment.

He supposed it could have been the trauma of knowing one of his best friends had killed himself. The foolish idiot. But then, it could also be the anguish of having to serve the Dark Lord finally catching up with him, and the memories which would haunt him throughout the rest of his days.

He did not want to move, he wanted to stay exactly where he was. Maybe, Potter would change his mind and come back to find him here? Draco immediately chastised himself; Potter would not change his mind, it was not in his nature.

He was not coming back.

Draco felt the hot tears streaming down his face, and they would not stop no matter how many times or how quickly he blinked them away.

He squeezed his eyes closed tight and let out a shaky breath.

It was not meant to hurt this much. Potter was nothing but a thorn in his side, so Draco had been telling himself for years. However, if it were true then why did he still have vivid dreams of the first time he ever saw the scrawny, and scruffy, dark-haired boy in Madam Malkin's almost eight years ago? Those almond-shaped and innocent, emerald green eyes had captivated Draco, peeking out from behind the most horrendous glasses he had ever seen. Somehow, the fact the boy had been dressed in ghastly muggle clothing, and was obviously poor, had not mattered. All of his father's teachings had flown out of the window that day, because Draco wanted to be friends with this boy, and he had tried everything he knew to impress him.

Nevertheless, Draco had not been good enough. The Malfoy name was not enough to make an impression on this strange, intriguing boy; everything his father had told him would get him everything he could ever want, could not gain him this boy’s friendship.

It was the insult from a Weasley, which had wounded his pride enough to make him lash out and had thrown him off his game so much, that when Potter had rejected him during his first journey on the Hogwarts Express, it had taken him completely by surprise.

It had hurt.

No other child had ever hurt Draco before; his father had made sure of it.

And Draco had never forgiven Potter for that day.

Hurried footsteps echoed around the corridor from out of the dim.

Draco swiped quickly at his face and came unsteadily to his feet, Crabbe's wand at his side. He did not want to leave, for whatever reason, but he did not want to be caught either. Making a hasty decision, he slipped behind a convenient tapestry and into a hidden alcove since Hogwarts had plenty of both to spare.

The footsteps slowed as the intruders entered the corridor and heavy breathing could be heard as Draco held his own.

‘HARRY!’ a recognisable voice called out frantically.

Draco grimaced as if he was in physical pain, repressing a loud, mortified groan. This was all he needed; a confrontation with Potter's annoying sidekicks.

‘Harry!’ And there predictably followed the unmistakable ghoulish grunt of Weaselbee.

‘Where is he?’ Granger sounded hysterical. ‘You don't think he went out to face Voldemort on his own, do you? Oh, no! He has, hasn't he? Ron, we have to do something!’

‘What? We're no match for You-Know-Who and you know it! Harry has a better chance of surviving than we do. You-Know-Who hasn't been able to kill him yet! What's to say now will be any different?’ was the Weasel's reply.

Draco unexpectedly felt white-hot rage boil inside of him. How dare that overgrown goblin call himself Harry Potter's best friend! This is the wizard Potter had picked over him?

Shocking himself, he abruptly stepped out from his hiding place with Crabbe's wand outstretched in front of him. Weasley and Granger saw him at the same moment and both went for their own wands.

The imbeciles had been running about the castle with their wands in their pockets.

Harry Potter's best friends, defenceless.

‘Incarcerous,’ hissed Draco, his wand slashing through the air.

Ropes rapidly snaked around Weasley's gangly limbs, squeezing tight.

‘Expelliarmus!’ Draco shouted over Granger's smart attempt at a counter curse. Her wand flew into the air before her spell was completed and Draco caught it with his marvellous Seeker reflexes, which were far more advanced than Potter's, by the way.

He trained Crabbe's wand on Granger's tense figure, which surprisingly now actually resembled a figure albeit curvier than his preference, whilst the stiff lump that was the Undesirable Ginger Git toppled unceremoniously to the floor at her feet.

‘LET ME GO, YOU LITTLE PRICK!’ Ginger demanded, pathetically struggling against his bonds.

‘What have you done with Harry?’ said Granger, and Draco barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Just barely. At least he was reassured that some things never changed.

‘Potter has left the building,’ said Draco as casually as he could manage.

He did not want to publicize any weaknesses after all, and he had learned long ago that Potter was definitely a weakness of his.

‘WHY, YOU! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!’

‘What do you mean? What have you done?’ The Brightest Witch of Her Age continued to accuse him, The Brightest Wizard of His Age.

‘I have done nothing!’ said Draco heatedly. Although, he tried to calm himself down with a deep breath since now was not the time for a Malfoy tantrum. ‘He left on his own. I just thought I'd let you know before you end up doing something equally as brainless.’

‘Why did he leave? How do you know he left?’

Draco noticed the tears in the Mudblood's (Muggle-born's?) eyes and his throat constricted unhelpfully.

‘I saw him leave,’ said Draco shortly. ‘He said something about him never meaning to survive, and it should have ended then, and something about it having to end now. None of it made any sense to me,’ he added the last in as off-handed a manner as he could illustrate.

‘LIAR! YOU IMPERIOUSED HIM, DIDN'T YOU? WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE YOU’RE DEAD, MALFOY!’ Weasley ranted, but his threats went ignored.

Draco could not even be bothered to think of more insults for him, he was that distraught.

Granger's watery brown eyes widened as though struck by sudden inspiration, but then she shook her fizzy brown head and cried even harder.

‘He's seen the memory...’ she sobbed quietly because, evidently, it should explain everything. ‘He saw Snape's memory.’

‘Professor Snape?’ Draco choked out.

He did not want to know. He did not want to hear it!

However, know-it-all Granger could, ironically, not read minds and so nodded to him gravely.

‘Voldemort killed Snape not long ago. We saw him,’ she said.

‘Why didn't you save him?’ Draco bemoaned as his eyes burned anew, but he already knew the answer was obvious.

‘If we had tried then we would all be dead,’ said Granger harshly.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand holding Ganger's wand and tried again to collect himself.

First, his best friend killed himself, then his long-standing crush willingly walked into a death trap, and now his godfather was murdered?

Who was next?

He coughed with the effort not to scream.

‘I want to see the memory,’ Draco decided.

If for nothing else, if all was now lost, he needed to know why Potter would feel like he had to do this, and maybe discover what had caused The Boy Who Lived turned The Man Who Died Cowardly to kiss him.

He did not know, nor did he even care why he had to see it, he just knew he needed to see the memory before the entire Wizarding world craved in on itself.

Granger looked at him curiously.

‘NO! DON'T LET HIM, HERMIONE! HE'S JUST GOING TO USE IT AGAINST US!’ Weasley warned loudly from his place at their feet.

‘I don't think it matters anymore,’ said Granger, surprising Draco enough for it to show on his face.

Weasley spluttered on the floor in outrage.

‘I want to see it too. Besides, if Harry does…’ Granger struggled to find her breath. ‘If he does… fail…’

Draco felt his stomach clench painfully.

‘…then we need to know what Harry knows so we can help everyone left behind.’

‘But Hermione!’ Weasley, it seemed, was determined to protest any and all cooperation. ‘He can't find out! It would be like showing You-Know-Who the memory!’

Granger was looking at Draco sternly.

‘If he does tell then it would be too late anyway. It's not as if he could make much of a difference now,’ she proclaimed with confidence Draco did not think she was faking. Weasley, however, did not seem so sure.

Draco nodded stiffly, not knowing how else to respond.

‘The Pensieve is in Dumbledore's office,’ Granger said.

Draco appeared to be the only one who noticed Granger's slip; McGonagall was the Headmistress now but somehow it was still natural to refer to it as Professor Dumbledore's office.

Natural to everyone but Draco, since he could only shiver with self-revulsion every time he heard the loony codger's dead name.

Draco nodded as if he had not noticed. He was aware, as was everyone else who had attended Hogwarts during the past seven years, that Potter and his miscreants had been close to the late Headmaster, because the old fool had frankly let them get away with anything and everything while he was alive, and even awarded them house points for it too. But then, Professor McGonagall was just the same.

Potter and his pals were always let off far too easily. And the hypocrites accused Professor Snape of favouritism! Snape merely balanced the playing field, marginally, and now he was gone, along with any hope of Slytherin House coming through this War on the right side.

Granger turned slowly and began to walk towards the crumbled gargoyle lying across the Headmistress' Office entrance.

Draco resentfully cast a levitation spell on the silent Weasel after an extended moment contemplating the definite pros in leaving the gangly vermin behind, but finally decided against it with a long-suffering sigh; he was relieved he would not have to listen to his ghoulish mumbles, at least.

When Draco caught up with Granger, Weasley floating precariously in tow, she was stepping cautiously over the miserable-looking gargoyle between pitiful apologies.

Draco rolled his eyes as he stepped on the gargoyle, not uttering a word of sentiment while the beastly thing shouted obscenities at his heels.

The door was closed when they reached the top of the moving staircase. Granger looked suspiciously at the ornately carved door before gently turning the golden handle.

The room was the same as it had ever looked, Draco remembered from last year when Professor Dumbledore had summoned him to this Office to ask veiled questions about his ‘extracurricular activities’. Of course, now when Draco looked back on it, he felt disgusted with how blindly he had convinced himself the Headmaster was oblivious of what he had been up to in his spare time. How he had deluded himself so completely into believing he could fool the one and only Wizard the Dark Lord had ever feared.

The night on the Astronomy Tower had proved it.

It was as if the battle had completely missed this small sanctuary. Draco felt a comforting sense of safety in this room, same as he had done before, as he looked around at all the empty portraits of the past Headmasters until a flicker of flamboyant colour drew his attention sharply to the largest portrait, hanging directly behind the Headmaster's desk.

Granger gasped beside him as she, too, realised they were not alone in the room.

The previous Headmaster was very much there with them.

Weasley was, predictably, the last to notice and his choked gurgle was the only sound to announce the intake of this new slice of information.

Draco was too shocked to even roll his eyes. The last time he had seen the wizard's wrinkly old face was when Draco had pointed his Hawthorn wand at him intending to kill him.

Draco had been having nightmares about reprisals from both Dumbledore's ghost and Potter, but he had never expected to actually come face to face with the deceased Headmaster again…

. : :* *: : .

Against the grain should be a way of life
What's worth the prize is always worth the fight
Every second counts 'cause there's no second try
So live like you'll never live it twice
Don't take the free ride in your own life
(What if, what if?)

. :*: .

…Voldemort tilted his head a little to the side, considering the boy standing before him, and a singularly mirthless smile curled the lipless mouth.

‘Harry Potter,’ he said, very softly. His voice might have been part of the spitting fire. ‘The boy who lived.’

None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting; everything was waiting. Hagrid was struggling, and Bellatrix was panting, and Harry tried to think of Ginny in what he knew to be his last seconds on Earth, but storming grey eyes with pale flashes of lightning invaded his mind, and the continued feel of his tingling lips suddenly burned with the recent memory of his and Malfoy's intensely passionate first kiss-

He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone.

. :*: .

If today was your last day
And tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday? (What if, what if?)
Would you live each moment like your last?
Leave old pictures in the past?
Donate every dime you have? (What if, what if?)
And would you call old friends you never see?
Reminisce old memories?
Would you forgive your enemies? (What if, what if?)

. : :**: : .

‘P-Professor?’ Granger's voice shook with an emotion Draco did not recognise.

‘Yes, my dear, it is me,’ the Portrait spoke softly. The piecing forget-me-not blue eyes smiled sadly down at them as Draco, Granger, and Weasley stared up in astonishment. ‘Do not be frightened. I am merely a memory of my former self, as are all wizarding portraits. I was not supposed to make my presence known until later, but you have caught me a bit off guard.’

‘Professor, we-we're so sorry–’ Granger began, but the phantom memory raised his painted palm to stop her proceeding.

‘Do not apologise, my dear. It is I who should be doing so. For persons so young, you three have exceeded so many of my expectations. I am very proud of what you have accomplished.’

Draco frowned at the ex-Headmaster's assertions.

‘Excuse me, Professor, but did you say, the three of us?’ Draco asked, so bewildered he momentarily forgot his overwhelming need to shrink into the shadows where he would be more welcome.

‘That I did, my boy.’ The daft, wizened man smiled sadly at Draco, causing a chill to race down the lone Slytherin's spine. ‘I am very proud of Harry, Miss Granger, and young Mister Weasley, of course, but do not think I have not thought about the challenges you have faced throughout it all. You, Mister Malfoy, have had a difficult battle too; an internal battle between what is right, and what is easy. But, of course, these decisions are not so easy when family is involved. Harry, himself has had to make the same choice, and he chose wisely. As have you, isn't that right?’

Draco's pale cheeks flushed bright pink, hearing what was surely an implication that Professor Dumbledore, somehow, knew about the kiss Draco and Potter had shared in the corridor beyond this room. And he could see Granger at the corner of his eye, watching him peculiarly, as if he would ever, even unintentionally, give away the answer to her silent bombard of questions. At least Weasley was still gaping trollishly, hovering in the air on his side behind Draco.

Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with mischief.

‘I-I don't know what you mean,’ Draco stammered, trying to regain his composure when a heavy feeling of foreboding had fallen upon his shoulders.

‘Oh, I think you do, Draco. Do not be ashamed of who you are. Some wizards were simply not meant for the dark,’ Professor Dumbledore pressed good-naturedly.

‘I- Of course, I'm made for the dark! My whole family is made for the dark. Why shouldn't I be?’ Draco said defensively.

It struck Draco straight in his chest when the late Headmaster pierced him with a patiently disbelieving look.

‘And I was so sure your mother wasn't either. She never did get branded with the Dark Mark, isn't that correct? And she wished for you not to wear it also, but Lord Voldemort is a powerful man to disagree with, wouldn't you say?’

‘Yes… Professor,’ said Draco, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He did not want to return to the Dark Lord's services anyway, not after the things he had seen, now he knew, so why bother trying to defend the tatters of his pride? ‘I don't think I want to fight for the dark, anymore.’

‘No, I thought not. Not to worry, my boy. All will be well soon enough,’ the likeness assured.

‘Professor?’ said Granger keenly, with a clear question on the tip of her tongue.

‘Yes, my dear?’

‘We think Harry went out to face Voldemort, on his own–’

‘Ah, yes. That is correct,’ the Professor confirmed gravely. ‘It was the right decision, and Voldemort will be mortal once more.’

‘You mean he can be killed?’ Granger probed with enthusiasm Draco did not understand.

‘What about Potter?’ Draco said before he could stop himself.

Granger looked at him even more curious as Draco held his breath.

‘Yes, Miss Granger, he can be killed. And Harry has fulfilled the prophecy,’ Dumbledore answered with an all-knowing smile, and Draco's teeth began to grind.

‘So, he'll be all right?’ Weasley spoke, at last, no longer impersonating an incompetent wizard who had been stupefied.

‘Why don't you see for yourselves?’ The likeness of Dumbledore avoided the question unexpectedly.

‘What do you mean, Professor?’ Granger inquired in anticipation when all Draco wanted to do was scream.

‘I mean, Miss Granger, that sunrise is on the horizon. It is time to face the morning.’

Draco gritted his teeth to silence the scrapping and looked passed the window to see the sky lightening in the distance.

The truce was over.

Granger and Weasley looked at one another, the fright shining in their wide eyes.

The moment of truth had arrived.

Granger saw Draco watching them and gave him a heavy look full of confusion.

Not ever wanting to deal with her inquisitiveness, Draco turned back to the previous Headmaster's portrait only to see an empty frame.

He was gone.

And so must they go, to join the others and wait for whatever the morning will bring.

. :*: .

Would you find that one you're dreamin' of?
Swear up and down to God above
That you finally fall in love? (That you finally fall in love)
If today was your last day

. :*: .

Draco, Granger, and Weasley ran through the corridors, heading towards the Great Hall. Granger had rightly said they were needed amongst the wounded before the Dark Lord's army attacked again.

Everybody had to be warned that Potter had fulfilled the prophecy.

Nevertheless, Draco had only one thing on his mind since he had left the Headmistress' office, and he carried on running past the Great Hall and on through the Entrance Hall.

‘Malfoy!’ Granger called after him. And Draco begrudgingly paused, huffing. ‘Where are you going? We agreed to stay in the Great Hall!’

‘I'm going out there,’ Draco gasped out, his mind already outside and racing away from here.

‘What? You planning on facing You-Know-Who yourself, are you?’ Weasley scoffed at him sceptically.

‘I have to see whether Potter's d- dead. They don't know I've switched sides, they won't suspect me,’ said Draco in a flutter of anxiety.

‘Don't be ridiculous, you can't predict what the Death Eaters will do now. You can't take a risk like that, we have to stay together!’ said Granger with determination.

Draco felt a shiver of respect for the Mudblood – er, Muggle-born – She had backbone, which was a bloody good thing because she was going to need it being in a long-term commitment with the Weasel who sure as hell did not have any spine.

It had been so obvious they would get together, everyone knew it; it was sickening to watch.

‘I can't go in there, I'll be cursed on the spot,’ Draco protested. ‘I just have to see for myself whether Potter is alive or not.’

‘Why do you even care? I don't get it,’ said Weasley, finally voicing his inner grumblings. ‘You're suddenly on our side? Since when?’

Draco sighed heavily. He did not have the time nor the patience to explain anything to a Weasley.

‘I don't- Just… trust Dumbledore,’ said Draco tiredly. It was bad enough that the kook of a Headmaster seemed to know about his weak moment with Potter, he was not about to tell Potter's friends.

Suddenly a high, cold voice spoke so close, that it sounded as if he was standing right behind him. Draco jumped and spun around with Crabbe's wand raised frightfully, where only air greeted him.

The Dark Lord had magically magnified his voice so it swelled through the grounds, reverberated from the walls and floor, to crash upon their eardrums.

‘Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.’

Draco, all of a sudden, felt a piercing pain in his chest as his knees buckled under him. He began to panic when he could not draw breath and he crumpled onto the stone floor. He hurt all over.

God, it hurt so much. 

‘The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle, now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live, and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.’

Draco felt sick to his stomach.

Granger's face was as bloodless as ash, and Weasley looked shattered. The whole of the castle was deadly silent, petrified by the news of Harry Potter. No one wanted to believe it, no one wanted to find out if it was true.

‘No. No, no, no…’ whispered Draco, squeezing his eyes closed tight.

It was not real.

He did not believe it.

‘Come,’ the Dark Lord taunted him.

Slowly, Draco began to hear footsteps from inside the Great Hall, and they were coming closer.

Draco was weeping pitifully, clutching at his chest as if he was attempting to rip out his own heart. It would make no difference if he had, Draco reflected absent from his internal torment; nothing could feel worse than this.

Nothing.

Draco barely acknowledged the hands underneath his unresisting arms as he was being dragged somewhere by someone, he barely heard the hysterical voices or the harsh whispers near him.

There was nothing.

Nothing... but the pain.

The grief.

The loss.

‘Malfoy? Stay here, okay? Can you hear me?’

Someone was talking to him, whispering soothingly and rubbing at his arms as if they were trying to stave off a chill.

However, Draco was not cold.

He was not anything.

He was completely unfeeling; numb.

Draco never recognised that he was left on his own.

He did not mind.

He wanted to be alone.

It was dark where he was, but it was okay.

He did not want to see.

It was deadly quiet wherever he had been led, but it was just fine.

He did not want to hear.

And somewhere, in some withdrawn part of his senses, he knew it was cold where he sat, rigid and motionless.

However, that did not matter to him either.

He could not feel.

. : :* *: : .

If today was your last day
Would you make your mark by mending a broken heart?
You know it's never too late to shoot for the stars
Regardless of who you are

. : :* *: : .

‘Draco?!’ the distant echo of a woman's voice called out his name repeatedly.

‘…Draco!’

Draco stared unseeingly at the stone floor at his feet. His vision was blurred and distorted, possibly through the tears he could feel burning behind his eyelids every time he blinked.

646, he had counted thus far.

The number of times he had blinked since he had broken.

‘Draco?!’

The woman's voice insisted on calling to him over and over again, he thought it was coming closer, but he could not be sure. He could not be sure of anything, not anymore.

654… it felt comforting to count; it was productive, distracting… 658…

‘My darling? Where are you?’

The woman's voice was familiar, and it sparked an emotion deep inside him. A longing… longing for a mother's touch, the type of touch that could soothe any pain.

‘My dragon, there you are,’ his mother said with astounded relief.

She wrapped her arms around her motionless son and held him close, breathing in his scent to assure herself that she had him again, that he was safe and he was real.

‘Oh, my darling, don't ever leave my side again,’ she whispered into his feather-soft hair, placing a kiss on the crown of his head.

Draco remained stiff in his mother's arms, his tears coming faster and harsher when he realised the pain was still there, that even his mother's touch could not stave off his grief.

‘Draco, what's wrong?’ said Narcissa worriedly.

She pulled back to look her anguished son over, frantically looking for injuries.

‘Oh, mother,’ Draco sobbed.

He could not help himself from falling back into her embrace. He clung to her as if she was his only lifeline.

‘It hurts so much… I can't stand it…’

‘What, darling? What hurts, where?’ said Narcissa fretfully.

‘He's gone,’ whispered Draco harshly, his body shaking violently. ‘He's dead, and I never told him when I had the chance…’

‘Who?’ Narcissa pressed quietly, aware of how distressed her son was.

‘I love him.’

Draco wanted to scream it at her, to try and make her understand his pain, but he could not. He felt abused and lifeless, and it was reflected in his voice.

‘I love him so much…’

‘Oh, Draco…’ Narcissa sighed, bringing her son closer to herself, letting him cry against her shoulder.

It was no surprise to her; she had suspected her son would have an affinity for other boys from a very young age, back when he was more interested in her make-up than playing outside. However, same-sex relationships were a taboo subject in their world. Oh, purebloods knew it happened but only behind closed doors, outwardly wizards married witches and vice versa because it was their duty to continue the bloodlines.

Of course, Lucius was none the wiser. Both she and Draco had feared his response should he ever discover the truth as it was likely to lead to another part of her family being disowned. And this time, her own child.

But with all her precious boy had been through the past three years since the Dark Lord's return, she had hoped he could find comfort in a companion, at the very least, but it seemed Draco could not even be permitted that much.

‘Shhhh now,’ she whispered soothingly, stroking his fine hair like she used to when he had been small; before the Dark Lord had isolated him from her and Lucius, before his childhood innocence had been stripped from him through torture, and forced committing of crimes under the threat of death. ‘It will all be over soon. The Light, they have the advantage now, and once the Potter boy has dealt with the Dark Lord–’

Draco went rigid in her arms, his ragged breathing the only sound in the small broom cupboard.

Narcissa watched with growing concern as Draco lifted his head slowly and peered at her through red-rimmed eyes.

He stared at her impassively.

‘W-what?’ he whispered, his breathing unsteady.

Narcissa frowned at her son and reached out to stroke his wet cheek, but his hand shot up to stop her, holding her delicate hand in a vice-like grip that told of his urgency.

Narcissa's blue eyes went wide in astonishment.

‘W-what d-id you say?’ he repeated more forcefully this time, his breaths coming faster.

‘I- I think the Light will win, Draco,’ said Narcissa carefully. ‘Potter is battling the Dark Lord as we speak and even though he is only a half-blood boy–’

‘No,’ said Draco quickly. ‘Potter's dead. I heard the Dark Lord–’

‘He did not know…’ she trailed off, understanding suddenly dawning on her, and she looked at her son as a sharp pang of guilt pierced her heart. ‘The Dark Lord had me check Potter's pulse when the Killing Curse backfired. Potter faked his death, so he could strike when the Dark Lord no longer considered him a threat. Oh, my dragon… I'm so sorry you thought–’

‘Potter's alive?’ whispered Draco in disbelief.

He did not see his mother affirm with a short nod, his heart was thundering in his throat and his ears were buzzing loudly.

‘Potter's alive…’ he repeated even quieter than before.

He closed his eyes and felt fresh tears wet his lashes, only these were not tears of painful loss... but of joyous relief.

‘I'm going to kill him,’ said Draco with a hoarse laugh.

Narcissa watched as her son came back to himself, a love so pure shining in his beautiful eyes, burning through, and there was no doubt in her mind it could even warm a heart made of stone. She had never seen him look so happy.

‘I'm going to kill him,’ Draco repeated louder this time, anger making its way sluggishly into his pin-prickling system. ‘Where is he?’ he demanded of his mother, who was smirking at him.

‘Well, the Dark Lord was in the Great Hall last I saw, so I would think...’

Before she could even finish her sentence, Draco had barged his way out of the cramped broom closet, that he now realised he had been dumped in, and was storming towards the Entrance Hall.

Narcissa smiled indulgently before following her love-struck child.

Draco stalked to the Great Hall entrance; the huge oak doors were open wide permitting anyone who passed admittance inside. Wizards, witches, and magical creatures alike had fallen back on the sidelines, and Draco and Narcissa joined them without notice. Every eye was trained on the two dangerous, and powerful, wizards circling each other in the centre of the Hall.

Draco's breath caught in his throat.

Potter was there, alive and looking stronger than ever.

Now Draco had realised his true feelings towards the Gryffindor hero, he recognised the familiar tightening in his chest he had been accustomed to for a long time and, finally, acknowledged what it was.

‘…I removed it from its last master's wishes! Its power is mine!’ the Dark Lord's voice shook with malicious pleasure.

A vicious shiver crawled down Draco's spine.

‘You still don't get it, Riddle, do you?’ Potter's voice was firm, aggressive even, and Draco's stomach fluttered with sudden excitement and nervousness. ’Possessing the wand isn't enough! Holding it, using it, doesn't make it really yours. Didn't you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard… the Elder Wand recognised a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realising exactly what he had done, or that the world's most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance…’

Voldemort's chest rose and fell rapidly, and Draco watched with bated breath as Potter continued to circle with the Dark Lord. His posture was tense with anticipation but his face was completely void of emotion, his gaze impenetrable.

‘The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy.’

Draco felt his heart skip a beat, barely able to believe the devastating statement.

He had not known that; how could he not know that?

Blank shock showed in the Dark Lord's face for a moment, but then it was gone.

‘But what does it matter?’ he said softly. ‘Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: we duel on skill alone… and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy…’

Draco took an involuntary step backwards, his eyes wide and terrified. He felt his mother encircle her arms protectively around his waist from behind, but it did little to keep the icy fist of fear from enveloping him.

‘But you're too late,’ said Potter. ‘You've missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took this wand from him.’ And Potter twitched Draco's beloved hawthorn wand and Draco stared at the length of dark wood in his rival's grasp, his fear melting away as a new emotion gripped him.

Somehow, the fact Potter possessed his wand sent a thrill from the roots of his hair all the way down to the tips of his toes. It felt right that his wand belonged to the reckless Gryffindor, just like Draco belonged solely, and irrevocably, to him.

‘So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?’ whispered Potter. ‘Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand.’

Draco felt his stomach clench and his heart soar.

. :*: .

So do whatever it takes (Takes)
'Cause you can't rewind a moment in this life
Let nothin' stand in your way (Way)
'Cause the hands of time are never on your side

. :*: .

Draco stood at the edge of the Great Hall, not having moved from where he had witnessed the man he loved defeat the most powerful Dark Lord in history.

He watched with glowing pride and a heavy heart as hundreds of wizards, witches, and an assortment of various other magical creatures, surrounded his heart's desire, and with a stab of resolve, he realised this was the way things were always going to be.

He could never reach him.

It should have come as no surprise to him, but somehow, it did.

Potter was made for this; he had more than proved it. He was a hero through and through, and he would always be surrounded by those who admired him, who would do anything for him… who would love him…

Draco was not needed, not by Harry Potter. It hurt; of course it did, but at least this way he would know Potter was okay. He was alive, and he was happy; that was all Draco truly needed.

Draco felt his mother's hand on his shoulder, stroking soothing circles, her warmth seeping through his rumpled school shirt. Draco looked down at his black trousers and scuffed shoes, and suddenly had the violent urge to tear the School uniform from his body and burn it, but he reframed. Instead, he looked down into the concerned face of his mother and braved a watery smile.

‘Let's go,’ said Draco decisively.

Narcissa frowned at him and then glowered over toward the huge crowd in the centre of the Hall, no doubt in search of one, Harry Potter.

‘It's not his fault, mother,’ Draco insisted. ‘This is the way it was supposed to be.’

‘You deserve better than this, Draco,’ said Narcissa defiantly.

Draco was touched by her sentiment.

‘I just want to rest,’ whispered Draco with the utmost honesty.

Narcissa stared into the exhausted eyes of her son and nodded with a worn sigh of her own.

‘Draco!’ a shout suddenly caught their attention.

Narcissa and her son looked to the beseeching man's voice to see Lucius Malfoy walking swiftly towards his estranged family. Draco watched his father in astonishment when the strong arms of the Death Eater promptly encircled him.

Lucius had not held his son since he was the young age of seven.

‘Forgive me,’ Lucius whispered into the crown of his son's white-blond hair that so resembled his own.

Draco's eyes widened over his father's broad shoulder.

‘Forgive me. I have failed to protect you for so long, I was a coward, and I do not deserve your love. Please, forgive me, my son.’

Narcissa's eyes filled with unshed tears at the sight of her husband's open affection, and the sound of his melodic voice full of compassion like she had so missed: since before the Dark Lord had returned, Lucius had turned cold toward those who loved him, never trusting, never allowing his unyielding guard to be torn down. He had not been the Lucius Malfoy she had fallen in love with.

‘Oh father,’ Draco half-sobbed, half-sighed into the collar of his father's Death Eater robe. ‘Of course, I forgive you. I've missed you.’

There were tears in Lucius' usually steel-grey eyes, but now they were warm and full of light, like a mild thunderstorm sweeping steadily across the otherwise clear grey sky.

‘I've missed you too, my boy,’ Lucius breathed through his joyous tears. He looked uncertainly at his wife, feeling guilty for his neglect of their once harmonious marriage, but she only smiled adoringly back.

All was forgiven.

‘I love you, father,’ said Draco, feeling content within his father's embrace.

‘I love you too, Draco,’ Lucius whispered in return.

With a smile of encouragement, Narcissa took hold of her husband's hand amongst the celebratory chaos, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin seeping into her own. The jubilation of the crowded Hall was deafening but people were finally coming back to themselves, grouping together, and becoming organised. A tall wizard had called control over the masses, and the suffocating mass of fans flocking Potter were slowly dispersing, and the House tables reappeared.

Lucius took his eyes off of the loving sight of his reunited family to peer around them more cautiously. No one seemed to be paying them any attention, even as Magical Law Enforcement subdued and captured all the remaining opposition, although it was obvious most of the survivors had already gotten away. He was confused, however grateful when nobody swooped down on them to separate him from his son and wife once more. And as others settled down at the wooden furniture offered to them, Lucius coaxed his weary family out of the way of the milling and intimidating crowd, between the nearest tables, backs against the wall, willing his wife and son to rest while they still could.

Draco huddled between his parents, watching as the Dark Lord's body was levitated and dumped through the closest door into the rarely used chamber beyond.

Draco did not know how he felt right now. Relieved would be a reasonable assumption but really, Draco thought he felt nothing much at all. Maybe, he was still numb from his earlier scare?

Seeing Potter, completely surrounded, by all walks of magical life, compelled to talk to them, witness their tears, receive their thanks, and be touched by their hands. And Draco was still so far away, unable to talk to him, unable to give his thanks, unable to touch.

Potter's disappearance went unnoticed by them all.

Draco felt the fine hairs on his nape stand up, the feeling of those familiar eyes upon him. However, when Draco's eyes scanned the Hall and could no longer find one, Harry Potter, he knew in his heart it was time to give in to his exhaustion, finally.

. :*: .

If today was your last day
And tomorrow was too late
Could you say goodbye to yesterday?
Would you live each moment like your last?
Leave old pictures in the past?
Donate every dime you have?

(What if, what if?)

And would you call old friends you never see?
Reminisce old memories?
Would you forgive your enemies? (What if, what if?)

. :*: .

Telling Ron and Hermione that he was not heading back to the Gryffindor dormitory with them just as they were climbing through the portrait hole was not a difficult decision, especially when his best friends were eyeing each other as if they were already alone.

Harry hurried along the third-floor corridor, making his way steadily towards his destination. He had been to see Dumbledore's Portrait with Hermione and Ron, and he felt utterly drained after the day's mourning and celebration.

The familiar warmth of his phoenix feather wand, newly repaired, was soaking through the pocket of his jeans into his much-abused skin, soothing all his aches.

Absently, Harry wondered how many scars he had now, he had counted three so far but it was likely there were many more. When he had showered earlier, before the celebrations had really gotten started, he had not taken the time to fully inspect his injuries which Madam Pomfrey would definitely scold him for later, considering he had been avoiding her all day for a reason.

After everything he had been through, he supposed his body could tell a story all on its own, but he was too exhausted to care.

There was only one thing he wanted to do before collapsing onto a wide, soft mattress.

Clambering down the stone stairs off the side of the Entrance Hall and wondering deeper under the castle, Harry was relieved he remembered where the Slytherin common room was hidden since his first and only visit in his second year.

Harry was surprised to find the concealed stone wall entrance left open, admitting anyone inside.

Cautiously, Harry ventured in…

‘Erm… Hello?’ he called uncertainly.

The eerie green-tinged light leaching from the Black Lake beyond the tall arched windows illuminated the empty common room; it looked smaller than Harry remembered, darker too with the black and green sofas, as well as the other dark wood furniture.

He stepped inside and walked across the cold stone floor, his footsteps echoing in the hollow dungeon. There were haphazardly discarded books, parchment, quills, and various magical games paused in progress, and there was already a thin line of dust building since the Slytherins had left the battle through the Room of Requirement.

The ones who had returned to the battle, led by Professor Slughorn seemed not to have returned to the dungeons for whatever reason… Maybe they were celebrating with the rest of the victors? Or maybe they had all left the post-battle grounds for their homes, not waiting for their comrades’ judgement?

Last night.

So much had happened in such a short amount of time. Only nine hours had passed since Harry had been convinced he was going to die.

Fourteen hours since he had shared an impulsive, desperately passionate kiss with one, Draco Malfoy. And now, in mid-evening, Harry was about to confront the blond Slytherin, and he did not know quite what he was going to say to him. He did not even know what had happened between them.

‘Hello?!’ said Harry, louder this time.

He slowly made his way across the room towards the staircase, he assumed, led to the dormitories.

He had been awake for what felt like, and had likely been, days and he was feeling the strain as he tripped down the stone staircase, his calf muscles complaining with every step he conquered. And the muffled sound of the gentle waves, swishing against each window Harry passed as he descended steadily deeper below the waterline, was like a siren to his shattered body, and a banshee to his remaining resistance against the overwhelming need for rest when he peeked out into the calm, slumberous lake.

‘Draco?!’ Harry called, a little desperately.

He was not sure if he had the right to call Draco by his first name; the last thing the man had said to him was that he hated him, and Harry was not entirely sure what his reaction would be to Harry's surprise presence.

Harry turned a sharp corner on his left, that he hoped was the way to the boys' dormitory, and he was not about to run into a barrier charm; his assumption was immediately confirmed by the figure suddenly blocking his path.

‘What do you want, Potter?’ Draco sneered.

He was standing with his arms folded defensively across his chest, drawing Harry’s gaze to the tight roundness of his biceps, his stance deliberately casual but subconsciously guarded. Harry stared at him, taking in the long white nightshirt which fell to his knees, revealing pale, seemingly hairless and well-muscled calves, and he was uncharacteristically mussed, the thin, white-blond tresses falling into his sleep-bright eyes.

He had never seen Draco look so… dishevelled. Harry tilted his head to one side thoughtfully and decided he liked this look on his rival.

‘Potter,’ said Draco sharply after Harry had failed to answer his question. His pale grey eyes were narrowed suspiciously when he caught Harry's attention. ‘Why are you here?’ he demanded.

Harry shook his head quickly, clearing it and dislodging the thick, black strands from around his shoulders, then dug around in his jean pockets, searching and pulling out a Hawthorn wand.

Draco's old wand.

‘I came to give you this,’ said Harry, offering the wand to Draco gracelessly. ‘I have mine back now,’ he explained, feeling rather nervous all of a sudden. ‘I thought you might like yours back as well.’

Harry was surprised when an intense sadness flashed through Draco's eyes before he slowly took his wand from Harry's lax grasp.

Harry had thought Draco would be pleased, had not this been why Draco had followed Harry into the Room Of Hidden Things just the other night? But, although Draco gasped once the familiar, friendly heat of his true wand flushed up his arm, his expression remained grim and full of… remorse?

‘Don't you want it back?’ asked Harry in confusion.

Draco's eyes snapped up from where he had been gazing at his wand to meet Harry's questing gaze, his expression immediately wiped of all emotion, and he looked back coldly. It was so alike to how Draco had always looked at him when they had been sworn enemies and had fought for so many years, that it sent an unnerving chill through Harry's body.

He had always really hated that look.

‘Of course, I want it back,’ Draco bit out. He raised his pointy chin arrogantly, looking down his narrow nose at Harry. ‘I'm just surprised to get it back, what with all the trouble to went through to steal it.’

‘I didn't steal it,’ said Harry through gritted teeth, quickly losing his temper. He did not come here to fight but he was too tired to have any rein on his emotions. ‘I disarmed you. I was trying to protect myself and my friends. It's not my fault you got in the way.’

‘No,’ said Draco unpleasantly. ‘But it worked out quite well for you, didn't it?’ he scorned bitterly. ‘What with you being the Master of the most powerful wand in history. Convenient, wouldn't you say?’

‘What's that supposed to mean?’ said Harry angrily.

‘It means, Potter,’ Draco spat. ‘I wouldn't be surprised if it was your plan all along. Get captured and brought to my home and disarm me, while leaving me and my family to deal with the consequences. Meanwhile, you're counting down the days until you can gloat to all your little supporters, not to mention to the Dark Lord himself, about how you defeated me so easily. It was just a bonus for you to trick me into letting my guard down. You and the Weasel must have had a right laugh about our little kissing session before you died. Oh, no wait. That's right, you didn't!’

Harry gaped at him, gobsmacked.

‘You think I tricked you into kissing me?!’ asked Harry incredulously.

Draco opened his mouth to either agree or argue, but Harry did not give him the chance to find out.

‘I didn't know I was going to survive! I thought I was done! And I didn't plan to be captured and taken to your house, how stupid do you think I am?! I lost a friend that night! Not that you would think a house-elf could be considered a friend, but he was to me! And, for the record I was not gloating, I was just buying myself more time before Voldemort was about to try and kill me again! I wasn't even sure the Elder wand would work for me! It was all by chance I survived, again, this morning! I didn't know what was going to happen but I took a chance, just like I took a chance on kissing you.’ Harry was breathing heavily by the time he had concluded his little rant, he was shaking with adrenaline and exhaustion, and he did not know which one would win out.

Draco was shaking as well, but his eyes reflected something different, something new.

Before Harry could determine what that might be, Draco had moved so fast that Harry was helpless to stop him. Harry's gasp was swallowed by Draco's needy mouth as his lips crushed against Harry's. Draco's arms wrapped around his shoulders and long fingers threaded through his thick and wild black hair. And Harry was too tired to attempt to fight him, if he had even wanted to, pitifully giving in within seconds.

Harry sighed as his mouth opened for Draco's exploration, his arms winding around Draco's too thin torso. They spent long minutes just tasting and touching each other, filling each other's senses with the other. Harry felt blissfully at peace now he had Draco back within the circle of his arms, and this time, knowing he was not going to be abruptly torn away again.

Harry backed Draco into the opposite wall, pressing his weight into him. He was so fatigued, but his mouth and hands kept moving, not ever wanting to stop again.

He eventually rested his forehead against Draco's while they both broke apart for air, albeit reluctantly, panting and clinging to each other. Harry kept his eyes closed; his lids too heavy and Harry too exhausted to pry them open, leaning further into the warm body in front of him.

‘So,’ he breathed unevenly. ‘Am I forgiven?’

There was a breathy chuckle in response and then he felt moistened, swollen lips brush teasingly along his own.

‘No,’ whispered Draco, and Harry's heart jumped in his chest even though he could hear the smirk in his low, drawling voice. ‘But I'll allow this… for now.’

‘Okay,’ Harry sighed.

He knew they still had a lot to talk about, and even more history to work through, but he was content for now.

They would deal with all of it tomorrow…

…Because they had tomorrow.

Which brought the question; ‘Can I stay with you?’

‘…you want that?’ asked Draco cautiously. Maybe, it was wishful thinking but Harry could have sworn he heard a hint of hope in his voice.

‘Yeah... if that's all right with you?’

Hands pushed at Harry's shoulders and he opened his eyes reluctantly to see pale eyes, up close, and staring back at him. Draco searched his face, and Harry smiled encouragingly, which earned a small smile in return.

‘It's all right with me,’ whispered Draco.

Harry leaned in and gave him a gentle, chaste kiss before, grudgingly, pulling away from the comfortable warmth, and looking to the door Draco must have come through.

‘Is that your dorm?’ asked Harry, gesturing to the nearest door, the first of many inside the long, cold stone tunnel Harry now realised they had been snogging in.

Draco nodded and took Harry's left hand to lead him into the seventh year boys' dormitory.

‘My mother and father are sleeping in the dorm down the hall,’ said Draco conversationally while Harry looked around at the four-poster beds with silk hangings in Slytherin green. The five beds appeared ancient with their ornate carvings in the head-and-tailboards, and the expensive-looking bedding and pillows were embroidered with a glinting silver thread.

Besides being overtly pretentious, Harry thought they seemed awfully inviting.

‘Which one's yours?’ said Harry, not listening in the slightest; his mind was fully focused on sleep now.

He did not catch Draco's knowing smirk.

‘That one.’ said Draco, pointing to the bed furthest into the room, the only one with the covers turned down.

Oh, how had Harry missed it? Bugger it, he was much too tired to be playing spot-the-difference with Draco right now. Speaking of which...

Harry grabbed Draco's wrist and made a beeline for the bed, shedding his crinkled t-shirt that had spent too many long months inside Hermione's bottomless purse, as he lengthened his stride with purpose. He kicked off his trainers, which were beyond magical repair at this point, and shimmied out of his distressed jeans (that were not a fashion choice) with Draco watching his every fumbling move with amusement, until he was just in his still halfway decent boxers, with his well-muscled and tanned chest, arms, and legs exposed to Draco's appraising eyes.

With a lopsided, vaguely cocky grin, Harry slid under the covers, moaning in relief and pulling them up to his chin. The mattress was soft and the silk-lined sheets felt bloody amazing as they glided over his tender skin.

He did not even mind that he was being drowned in Slytherin green. It was comfortably warm from before Harry had impulsively invaded Slytherin House and dragged Draco away from thawing the cold sheets with his body heat. And above everything else, Draco's flowery, earthy scent clouded his mind further.

However, Harry thought he knew what would make this moment, this feeling even better.

He boldly opened his arms, and with a darn well charming smile, he coaxed Draco to join him in his bed. Draco smirked, although he was blushing slightly – the faint pink colour blending with Draco's pale complexion was very pretty in Harry's drowsy opinion – and eagerly climbed in after Harry, visibly withholding himself from snuggling in close.

Harry did not mind Draco's hesitance, it was still too new to know what this was between them. However, despite the underwhelming fear of not knowing what lay before them, he could not help the sigh of deep contentment that breezed past his lacked lips.

‘Potter?’ Draco whispered against a sensitive tendon along Harry's neck. His hot breath tickled him and caused Harry to smile.

‘Hmmm?’ Harry hummed; his throat and chest vibrating with the low, soothing sound.

Draco took a deep breath and entwined himself more firmly around Harry, breathing in his wood and spice scent, and feeling utterly at peace with himself for the first time in years.

‘I'm glad you came back.’

It was such a strange way to say it, and so typical of Draco to say more with his careful choice of words than most anyone else can with more said, but Harry felt himself smile in understanding.

They would deal with that in the morning. Though, for now, Harry was extremely cosy with the steady, lapping of the lake water against the dormitory windows lulling him into a deep sleep, the heat of the body on top of him allaying his soul, and he had taken the first positive step towards a promising future.

All of which would still be there tomorrow.

. :*: .

Would you find that one you're dreamin' of?
Swear up and down to God above
That you finally fall in love? (What if, what if?)
If Today Was Your Last Day

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THE END

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