Staring at Granger in the middle of the prefect's bathroom, Draco didn't know what to say. He closed his gaping mouth with a snap and swallowed reflexively to give himself time to figure out how to fill the echoing silence between them.
Granger didn't look like she knew what he should say either, her watery eyes flicking around the room.
"I…," Draco stuttered unintentionally, "I don't know what to say," he said softly; what could he say? "Sorry doesn't seem to quite cut it,"
Granger's eyes flicked briefly to him. She sniffed wetly and nodded, stepping away from the door to perch on one of the benches around the room. Draco sat on the one opposite her. It took her a few attempts to be able to speak, opening her mouth and swallowing, then trying again.
"Ron and Ginny have gone home early. I… I…," she smiled sadly, making no attempt to stop the escaping tears, "I don't know what to say either,"
"What happened?" Draco asked in a whisper that echoed against the tiled walls.
Granger's hands clenched anxiously, and she pulled her cardigan sleeves over her hands before she pressed them between her knees, "There was an attack in Diagon Alley this afternoon," she said softly, her eyes fixed on the enormous empty bathtub, "A big one. They… they're saying anywhere between fifty to a hundred and fifty of Voldemort's followers - the number keeps changing though. No one seems to be quite sure. Either way it sounds like it was chaos. No one know's exactly what happened yet. But… but either way, we do know," she took a deep shuddering breath, "that Arthur, Ron's dad, he's dead," she sniffed, "A-and Fred and Bill and Charlie have all been taken," her knee trembled, "Apparently George a-and Lee Jordan were busy d-defending the shop, and the others rushed off to help further down the alley. So, they weren't all together. George must be devastated… oh God they must all be so heartbroken! Do you…," she looked to him suddenly, "Do you think that they'll have been taken to the manor? To Malfoy Manor I mean,"
"I…," he hesitated to try and limit the feeling of guilt that was pressing down on him; it was his home they had almost certainly been imprisoned in after all, "I don't know. Maybe? Probably,"
"Do you think you could get to them?" She asked anxiously, her words hushed as if she were worried the Dark Lord might somehow overhear them, "Speak to them? If…," fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, but she ignored them, "If they're still alive," her voice broke on the word and she swallowed and tried again, "If they're still alive when you go home,"
"I- I'm not… if they're there, then they'll be in the cellars. I'm not allowed down there. I'd be caught," Draco muttered nervously, part of him desperate to help, but the rest of him knowing that there was nothing to be done - not by him at least, "If they are there, then Harry will know more about it then me. I'll speak to him when I'm home, I promise, and I'll find out everything that I can,"
She nodded. She looked suddenly small and withdrawn - nothing like the larger-than-life Granger that he was so used to.
"Have you heard anything from Harry?" She asked.
"No… not really," he admitted, though the confession made his heart twist in his chest, "Not since Halloween. He's sent me the odd letter but… but nothing… and they're all so…,"
"So what?"
He met her eyes reluctantly, "They're all so sad. So pained. I… something's happened. I know it,"
"What?"
He shrugged weakly, "I don't know. He won't tell me. But… but it must be bad, for him to not feel like he can talk to me about it. It must be bad," he repeated in a whisper, the dread he had been suppressing for months now swallowing him up for a moment until he felt as if he couldn't breathe.
They sat together in silence, their shared worries and fears reverberating endlessly against the ceramic tiled walls until they were nearly deaf with it. Until they were drowned by their own impotence. They'd both made promises and vows, both to each other and to Harry in his absence. But what could they really do? When they were trapped here at Hogwarts.
Nothing. That was what they could do, and he was sure she hated it as much as he did.
"Where are you going for Christmas?" He asked to fill the silence.
Hermione gave a great weary sigh, "To be with Ron," she said simply, only to laugh wetly, her expression crumbling as she stuttered out, "Y-you know, when… when he told me what had happened, and when he left me here, I… all I could think about was how we were all on our own now. Harry and Ron and me. I could never have imagined how things would change two years ago," she wiped her eyes, her lips quivering, "I just feel so sorry for us all. That we're having to live through all of this. And Harry… poor Harry is on his own. At least Ron and I have each other,"
"He's not alone," Draco corrected her firmly, "He's not alone,"
She tried for a smile, "I suppose he's not, is he? Not during the holidays at least. I never thought that I'd be glad for you, Draco Malfoy, but I am. You… you take care of him, don't you? When you're together. You look after him?"
"Yes," Draco said, his voice turning hoarse with emotion, "I try to, at least,"
She nodded, catching a tear on her lip with her tongue, "I meant to ask - that day you asked to meet with us, the day in the library, why were you crying?"
Draco shook his head, "I can't tell you,"
She frowned, confused, "What?"
"I won't tell you, rather," Draco clarified, his voice a little strangled by emotion, "It's not mine to tell. I won't tell you. Please don't ask me again,"
She stared at him in silence for a long, tense moment. Then she nodded, and said softly, "Okay. I won't,"
Draco couldn't help the relieved sigh that escaped him; something occurred to him suddenly, "Why did you want to meet? Originally, I mean, when you sent the message,"
"Oh," she jolted a bit with surprise, "Oh, I'd totally forgotten. It was… we think that there's a book that might help us figure out… out this whole business with soul containers, but there isn't a copy at the school - not that we can find at least, and I don't think that asking Madam Pince about it is a good idea. I was wondering if the manor had a library, and if it does, could you see if you have it. It's very dark magic,"
"What's the book called?"
Her smile was weak and humourless, "I don't know," she admitted, "In 'Magick Moste Evile' it has a whole chapter all about Herpo the Foul and about the dark magic he accomplished. It said that his works were studied in the Middle Ages by someone called Owle Bullock. We don't even know if he wrote his findings down, it's all a bit of a wild goose chase to be honest. But… but something has to be better than nothing. Will you check?" She asked anxiously.
"Yes. Of course I will," he promised, though he imagined any such dark book in his family's possession was stored well out of his reach. His father might have had an inclination towards the dark arts, but he also had a healthy amount of fear for them, and never let Draco near anything he thought might harm him.
"And," she continued quickly, "will you tell Harry that we love him?" Her lips trembled, and he could practically see the sob she was holding back hovering in the corners of her mouth, "and that we miss him still,"
"I will," he vowed softly.
"That we haven't given up, and that neither should he,"
"I will,"
She nodded and mopped away the tears that dripped from the end of her chin.
When they left, they didn't say goodbye.
The Manor felt different.
He hadn't even taken a step inside yet, stood frozen as he was at the end of the drive, but still, he could feel it deep in his bones. Something had changed. Something was wrong. There was a kind of manic jubilation at its edges. Something mad and wild that had him hesitating, grinding the gravel beneath his heels as he stared up at the house.
He readjusted the bag he had brought home with him over his shoulder and considered the side path that led towards the East wing. His feet longed to head in that direction. Towards his true home. Towards safety, and towards Harry.
But memories of the conversation he had shared with Hermione drove him down the centre of the drive towards the house's main entrance hall, and to the drawing room and the cellars beneath the floors. He wouldn't set foot in the cellars - he wasn't sure he was brave enough to make himself contravene the command of his father, and by association the Dark Lord, so blatantly. There was a reason he hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor. But perhaps, by just hovering above them, it would be enough to know who, if anyone, dwelt in the cells beneath his feet.
It was a fantasy he knew, but still the idea propelled him onwards - even his father, with his overarching control and awareness of the manor's wards, couldn't use them to detect who was inside the house. It would be a power he would inherit one day. Still, he tried, reaching tentatively, experimentally outwards to the wards bound to the manor's very foundations, as if there would be some echoing memory contained within them that might tell him who had crossed them recently.
He could feel them like strings under his skin, taut and strong and bordering the property well beyond the lake that he and Harry had spent the summer in. He brushed carefully against them, and they hummed pleasantly in response, the magic welcoming and malleable to the Malfoy blood in his veins in a way that they would never be to any outsider. Even the Dark Lord himself would struggle to make wards as old as these bend to his will.
Draco made no effort to alter them. Any attempt would be clumsy at best, he imagined, and would draw the attention of his father at worst, and then how would he explain the new interest he had in the invisible prison bars that surrounded their home?
The entrance hall was empty, though Draco could see around him the remnants of activity - a whisky bottle on its side in the corner of the room, the butt of a cigarette ground into the rug. They couldn't have been there long, the Malfoy house-elves were too good for that. Was someone standing guard perhaps? Though he imagined not, or they'd be there now. He doubted any prisoners needed a guard.
He stepped closer to the doors of the drawing room and splayed his hand across a panel. He could feel the magic in them sealing them shut. His father's magic, tied to the wards. If they resided within, there was no way that the Weasleys were getting out without help - help from someone with Malfoy blood, or the Dark Lord himself perhaps, and Draco wasn't about to sacrifice his position at Harry's side for anyone.
Draco stepped back and away from the door and sent a silent apology to the Weasleys.
He glanced from the West wing to the East. The house was still and quiet and cold, and Draco's breath came as great plumes of mist from his lips. He could almost imagine the house was empty, but he knew better. The silence meant nothing.
His eyes found the empty whisky bottle again. He could imagine it there one week prior, when the Death Eaters had returned triumphant from Diagon Alley. A party perhaps. Some jubilant celebration of the Dark Lord's first strike against the wizarding world. Had Harry been there? In Diagon Alley the day that Arthur Weasley had died, and his sons had been taken? Had he been at the party afterwards?
Thoughts of Harry had him turning from the doors that might or might not have contained the three Weasley brothers, and towards the East wing, and the physical manifestation of his heart there on earth. By the time he was stood at the door of the Aethonan suite, his bag still slung over his shoulder, he had almost forgotten the Weasley brothers entirely as anticipation consumed him. He almost felt as he had the first time he had stood at this door nearly a year ago: unsure and nervous but trying his best to hide it.
He opened the door carefully, and sighed as he felt the warmth of the rooms beyond wash over him. A fire burnt fiercely in the hearth and burnt away the despairing chill of the rest of the manor, so that for the time being, Draco could pretend that their's was a love story, and not the tragedy he could feel building around them.
He took a moment to appreciate the warmth, and then his eyes found the top of Harry's head. He was curled up on the sofa, a book in his arms. Harry's neck snapped around at the sound of Draco entering. He made a noise high in his throat - urgent and surprised - and Draco had only a split second to think, 'He's different,' before Harry was across the room and in his arms.
His embrace was desperate, his arms holding Draco fiercely to him, his hands pulling at the winter robes and cape that Draco was wearing. He panted Draco's name once, and then his hands were on Draco's cheeks, pulling his face down and pressing their lips together in a kiss so passionate that Draco nearly forgot how to breathe.
He dropped his bag mindlessly to the ground as he reached back to Harry, his hands flexing about his waist and feeling him under his palms. He felt different - how could he feel so different in so little time? His waist was firmer and his shoulders broader. He felt solid and strong and powerful in ways he hadn't before.
"I missed you," Harry panted against him, kissing him again and again, "I missed you so much, you don't understand,"
"I missed you too," Draco said into his mouth, separating them only enough to speak before pressing against him again, "God - it's like I've been half a person without you," he reached up to thread his fingers through Harry's hair and to rub the short strands between his fingers.
He was momentarily distracted by the feeling of something thick and warm winding its way around his leg. He looked down to find that the Moirai had curled around his calf, and three heads were staring up at him. She looked… sad. How could a snake look sad? Or did he simply know this particular snake too well?
"They missed you too," Harry murmured to him, encouraging his face back around so that they could kiss again, "Not as much as I did though. God… you smell so good. I can't believe I forgot how good you smell," Harry's other hand ran up his arm to his shoulder, briefly catching on the glass tear drop beneath Draco's sleeve, but he paid it no mind in his need to touch Draco everywhere he could, "Come with me," he said urgently, a hand on the back of Draco's head keeping them together as Harry took a stumbling step backwards away from the door and towards his bedroom, "Come with me,"
Draco followed after him blindly, nosing constantly at Harry's skin in his desperate need to feel the other beneath his lips. The snake around his leg released him reluctantly, and he didn't look to see if she followed them. Harry finally turned, grabbing his hand to pull him along, and Draco nearly fell into him, arousal and need making him clumsy.
"Is this okay?" He muttered distractedly, mouthing at Harry's neck and pawing at Harry's sides, "Is this okay?" He should slow down - what if this was too much?
"Yes," Harry gasped, pausing briefly to rest back against him before dragging him determinedly onwards, "Yes, please," and that was all Draco needed.
They moved as one across the room - it would have been faster to let one another go. To walk side by side. But the idea of letting Harry go, for them to part even an inch, was simply intolerable.
Four months.
Four months they had been apart. And they only had three weeks together before they were parted once more. Draco wasn't prepared to separate any earlier for even a second.
Entering Harry's bedroom was like walking into a wall of Harry - his scent was everywhere, comforting and familiar. He felt the tenseness in his shoulders begin to unwind and the anxiety in his stomach begin to fade as, finally, he felt as if he were home. He should just stay here. Forever and ever wrapped in Harry's arms and his scent where he could keep Harry safe. He wasn't sure how he would manage to leave it all behind again when he headed back to Hogwarts in the new year.
He pushed the thoughts from his mind, and smothered what he couldn't quite shake with thoughts of Harry.
Harry, who had just stopped him in his tracks with a palm in the centre of his chest. Draco couldn't help himself though, tipping onto his toes as if some invisible tether connected them as Harry backed towards the bed. Harry's golden eye flashed at him in the dark, and his green sparked faintly, as if there were stars in his eyes.
He had a moment to wonder faintly about when Harry had taken his glasses off, before Harry was pulling his shirt up over his head, and Draco was thoroughly distracted by the new expanse of skin that was made available to him to touch and kiss and admire. Harry was pale again without the summer sun to turn him golden brown, but Draco didn't care. He wanted him however he came.
He reached out for Harry before he could think better of it, pinning Harry between his chest and the bed as he stroked his fingers along the crescent scars on his shoulder. Harry's breath hitched as Draco ducked his head down to kiss them gently, and then he let out a shuddering gasp. Even Draco wasn't quite sure what he was trying to communicate. That the scars didn't matter? That Draco loved him with or without them? Or perhaps it was a silent promise to help Harry destroy the men who had created them.
He didn't know precisely how Harry interpreted the action, but enough of Draco's intended meaning bridged the space between them he thought, when Harry whispered urgently into his ear, "Take your clothes off. I want to see you - I want to feelyou,"
With their clothes off and on the ground, Draco couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, part amusement part sheer joy when Harry had to almost jump backwards to get himself up and on the tall bed behind him. He expected Harry to scowl playfully and maybe roll his eyes, but he didn't. He simply pushed himself backwards to the headboard, reaching out for Draco, something desperate in his expression.
When Harry finally touched him again, drawing Draco into his arms and then down on top of him and in between his thighs so that their groins were pressed flushed together, Draco felt an urgency in the action that he didn't quite understand. An anxious yearning, as if this were the last time they would ever see one another.
Draco might not have understood it, but still he tried to sooth whatever terror it was that had Harry holding onto him for dear life. He swept his hands up and down his sides, murmuring gentle words against his lips and then pressing the cold tip of his nose against Harry's throat. He could feel Harry calming beneath his touch, but he never truly relaxed. There was something at the heart of him, something that Draco couldn't feel beneath his fingers but could sense in the air around them. Something that felt like mourning.
He was on the verge of pulling away to ask out loud what was wrong, when he felt Harry's fingers searching down, down between their bodies. He choked on his breath at the feeling of Harry holding them in his hand and stroking them together. Harry made a small, frustrated noise against Draco's cheek as he struggled work his hand up and down between them.
Draco carefully pulled his arm free.
"What are you -?" Harry's words were cut off by his choked, surprised moan as Draco pressed their groins firmly together, and rocked forwards against him so that their cocks slid against one another.
"You're so gorgeous," Draco panted in his ear, thrusting against him, "Every day apart from you has been like a tiny death. I don't know how I lasted. But now… now…," he let out a huffing breath and groaned at the building pleasure, "I feel as if I've been reborn. God… God I… I missed you. I wanted to be with you so badly - every single day,"
"It's been torture here without you," Harry confessed in a choked, near moaned sob, "It's been awful - s-so fucking awful. You don't understand,"
"Shh," Draco whispered, his hands cradling Harry's face as his hips worked against him. "I'm here now. It's okay. I'll always be here," he pulled back slightly; he found his eyes stuck on Harry's, and he had never meant to say it like this - he'd meant to make it some calm, romantic declaration, but he couldn't help himself, "I love you," four months of forced separation had the words bursting out of him in an anguished declaration, "I love you somuch,"
He expected maybe some shock, or hesitation or reluctance, but instead he was faced with Harry's unabashed reciprocation, "I love you too," Harry panted, his voice full of emotion, "So, so much. You're all that I can think about. You're all that I want. You're everything - I love you; I love you,"
Draco felt a sudden flush of something - a burst of euphoric passion in his chest that he could barely breathe through and had him panting against Harry's lips, "I love you, I love you," he was gripped by a sudden impulse, "I want to make you feel good - can I make you feel good?"
He felt more than saw Harry nod, "Yes…please… please - I l-love you,"
Draco knew what to expect the second time that he took Harry into his mouth, but the thrill of excitement was still nearly overwhelming. He could hear Harry above him - moaning out not only his appreciation, but words of adoration as his fingers worked their way through Draco's hair, not quite pulling but just holding onto him.
"Feels so good," Harry murmured sounding almost drunk, "So, so good. God… God, I love you. I didn't know I could love someone like this. You… you're everything, oh God, I love you!"
The scent of Harry in his nose and the taste of him on his tongue, and the words in his ears had Draco reaching down for himself - it didn't take him long. He had barely taken himself in hand and he was coming, a wave of pleasure catching his breath in his throat. Harry didn't last much longer, his thigh straining beneath Draco's free hand as he fought not to thrust up into Draco's mouth.
For a moment, stretched out on his front with his head resting on Harry's stomach, Draco felt caught up in the euphoria of it all, the arousal and emotion keeping him pinned up in the sky and flying high. And then he began the slow, gradual decent back down to earth. The experience was a gentle, peaceful glide though, rather than a terrifying sudden plummet.
He crawled his way back up Harry's body, reaching out for him, feeling him beneath his hands and then pulling Harry into him. Harry was pliant and boneless, his eyes flickering lazily as he allowed Draco to move him to exactly where he wanted him, until their arms were wrapped around one another, their heads sharing a pillow, the tips of their noses nearly touching.
Draco couldn't stop looking at him. At his face, his eyes, his hair. He was beautiful, and Draco couldn't help but to tell him so.
"You're beautiful," the words came out with more reverence than he had intended but he didn't take them back. He meant them and he had more words just sitting in his larynx waiting to spill out.
Harry blinked at him, still dazed. Draco didn't bother to question the tears he could see building in his eyes, his own emotions threatening to strangle him at any moment too.
"I love you," Harry said thickly, "I love you so, so much. More than anything,"
"I love you too," Draco whispered back, catching the single tear that trailed out of Harry's green eye with his thumb before it could drip down onto the pillow, "I love you too. More than anything," he could get lost in Harry's eyes, the golden and the green. The new and the old, he loved them both.
He paused as he stroked his fingers through Harry's hair. There was something glittering in Harry's green eye - something silver. Was it just the trick of the light reflecting in the tears swimming in Harry's eye? He didn't have time to question it though - Harry burrowed closer and tucked his face into Draco's neck as if he was trying to hide himself away within Draco's arms.
"What's this?" The question was near slurred against his neck, and Draco looked down to find that Harry was playing with the glass tear drop that he always wore bound around his bicep.
"Don't you recognise it?" He said lightly, "It's one of yours,"
Harry took a moment to process his words, then he said slowly, "I… the token that I sent you. Do you always wear it like this?"
"Yeah,"
Harry went quiet again, his fingers turning the tear drop round and round.
"So much has changed since then," he said softly, "It all feels like a lifetime ago," Harry resisted when Draco tried to tip his chin up, but he finally gave in, his watery eyes meeting Draco's.
"Tell me," Draco whispered, "Tell me what's changed,"
Harry shook his head, "Everything. Me,"
Draco's smile trembled, "Ah. Have you? Then you'll have to tell me how, so that I can learn how best to love this new Harry Potter. I wouldn't want him to think that I loved him any less than the Harry Potter who came before,"
Harry's expression crumpled, and then he was crying and stuttering out a story about a cottage in the rain, and Nymphadora Tonks being turned to bloody snow at the end of his wand.
Draco listened, his heart twisting as he tried to offer as much comfort as he could without saying a word. He held his tongue and tried to communicate by his proximity alone that he cared in all the ways that mattered, but that at the same time, he didn't care at all. He didn't care that Nymphadora Tonks, and her father were dead, and he didn't care about the role Harry played in bringing about those deaths. He only cared because Harry was crying over it.
"It was an accident, Harry," Draco murmured, pressing kisses against his brow, "You didn't mean to. And even if you did - even if you killed her in cold blood, I wouldn't care. I only care because you care. If this experience meant nothing to you, then it would mean nothing to me as well. I love you - all of you. Even the bits that you hate,"
Harry sniffed miserably, "That- that's not all,"
Harry stuttered through the tale of the Dark Lord's assault on Diagon Alley. About his duel with Ollivander and the three Weasley brothers who were dragged beneath the house and kept as prisoners there. There was something about the story that felt… lacking though.
"Then Rodolphus made me go upstairs," Harry muttered, his eyes closed against his own story, "They're still down there,"
Draco was quiet for a moment, expecting Harry to keep talking. When he didn't, Draco asked quietly, "Is the Dark Lord going to kill them? I only… I only ask so that I can tell Weasley. I don't particularly like him, but he deserves to know. He was pulled out of class last week because… because of his brothers and his father,"
Harry sniffed and nodded, "I… I'm not sure if the Dark Lord is going to kill his brothers," his voice was choked, no doubt strangled by pain at the knowledge of the Weasley brother's imminent deaths.
Draco kissed his forehead and drew him closer into the circle of his arms, "I'm sorry," he whispered against him, "I'm sorry that all of this happened, and that I wasn't with you for it. It won't always be like this - my mother said that the Dark Lord wants me to take the mark after school. I'll always be with you then. We won't ever have to be apart," and Draco didn't know why, but the statement only made Harry cry harder. Not knowing what to do, he just held Harry tightly and stroked his hair and kissed his cheeks and murmured in his ears how much he loved him.
Finally, once Harry had cried himself out and was lying limp in Draco's arms, Draco reluctantly checked his watch. It was nearly midnight - fuck. He had meant to go and see his mother before bed, but it was far too late for that now. Oh well. Harry was far more important, and he had no doubt he'd see her at breakfast tomorrow.
"I need to go to my bedroom, Harry," Draco said gently, carding his fingers through his short hair.
"You could stay," Harry said quickly.
Draco gave a confused half shake of his head, "But… my mother will catch us,"
Harry's lips twisted into a pained smile, "She already knows. I'm pretty sure that everyone knows, or thinks that they know at least, which is close enough. The Dark Lord certainly does," he added bitterly.
"Has something happened?" Draco said sharply.
Harry shook his head, "No. Please stay. I… there's no secret to keep, Draco. People think we're together regardless of what we actually do. Why deprive ourselves? Please stay,"
Draco nodded reluctantly, still not convinced it was a good idea but unable to refuse Harry anything, "Okay… okay. Come on. We should brush our teeth and maybe let the Moirai in," he added, attempting a smile, "She'll be jealous if you keep me all to yourself," he sat up and peered about them, "Where are your glasses?"
Next to him, Harry was silent.
"Harry - I said, where are your glasses?" Draco repeated himself distractedly, lifting up pillows incase they had disappeared beneath one.
Harry sat up next to him, but still he said nothing. Draco turned to him, and his gaze caught on the sparkling silver flecks in Harry's green eye. A memory sparked. A memory from months ago, and Draco's hunt for Harry's glasses turned more desperate as he tried to remember if Harry had even been wearing them when he arrived.
"Where are your glasses, Harry?" He asked again, this time almost franctic.
Harry stilled him with a hand on his wrist, "I have something else to tell you," Harry whispered to him.
Draco listened, and for the first time he felt true despair threatening to drown him.
He hated to admit it, but Harry's other stories of the events that had transpired in his absence - of Tonks snowing down on him and him besting Ollivander in Diagon Alley - they had inspired a nugget of hope in him. The hope that the Dark Lord was beginning to trust Harry. That one day he might trust him enough to allow him to leave the Manor without the oversight of a caretaker, so that Draco might smuggle Harry beyond his grasp.
But how was he meant to snatch Harry away now, when all it would take was a whispered word from the Dark Lord and Harry would fight to kill to get back to him? How could they possibly over come this?
When he spoke, he spoke in a desperate attempt to comfort them both, "It's okay," he whispered, crowding into Harry's space to cradle his cheeks in his hands, "It's going to be okay. It… it's just going to take us a bit longer to escape, okay? This isn't the end," Harry said nothing, he just looked at Draco and blinked silently, "Snape said it might take a few years to take them out, right? Well, we always knew that freeing you was a marathon, not a race. It'll be okay. I'll be with you the entire time - you won't be alone. We'll be together. It's okay. This isn't the end. We just… we just might need to focus more on destroying the Dark Lord than we originally wanted to. It… it's going to be okay in the end, you'll see. I promise. We'll be together, and you'll be free, I promise,"
Harry didn't say anything, he just listened, and then allowed Draco to tip them back onto the bed. They fell asleep wrapped in one another's arms.