Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7145645.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Draco_Malfoy, Arabella_Figg, Narcissa_Black_Malfoy, Lucius
      Malfoy, James_Potter, Lily_Evans_Potter
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Muggle, Alternate_Universe_-_World_War_II, Alternate
      Universe_-_Childhood_Friends, Friends_to_Lovers, Growing_Up_Together,
      Sharing_a_Bed, First_Kiss, First_Time, Angst, Light_Angst, Fluff_and
      Angst, Mild_Smut, Internalized_Homophobia, Frottage, Suicidal_Thoughts,
      Hurt/Comfort, Emotional_Hurt/Comfort, Mild_Hurt/Comfort, Consensual
      Underage_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-06-09 Completed: 2016-06-30 Chapters: 8/8 Words: 36031
****** Blackberry Jam ******
by JulietsEmoPhase
Summary
     ***WINNER of 'Best Drarry' in the Wattpad Harry Potter Fan Fiction
     Awards 2016 AND 2017!!!***
     10-year-old Harry and Draco are evacuated from London during the
     Blitz, and through a logistical error, end up sharing not only a home
     but a bed. Follow them as they grow up against the backdrop of the
     war, discovering who they really are and slowly falling in love.
     WWII Muggle AU. Mild smut, warnings for some thoughts of self harm/
     suicide.
Notes
     This is a birthday present for the absolutely WONDERFUL Maia (@oh-my-
     drarry/@oh-my-fancan). I was toying with the old favourite troupe of
     ‘Oh no! We have to share a bed!’ – and I came to the idea of WWII
     evacuees. It quickly got out of hand though lol, because I’ve
     completely fallen in love with this AU, so I’m breaking my own rule
     and posting this as a work in progress (as I obviously couldn’t wait
     to post the whole thing as then it would have been late for Maia’s
     birthday!)
     I promise to update as soon as possible though! There will be eight
     chapters in total, including an epilogue :) So I hope you enjoy! And
     once again, happy birthday Maia xxx
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter One *****
 
September 1st 1940
 
   Harry stepped off the train onto an unfamiliar platform thronging with
people.  He fiddled nervously with the cardboard tag attached to his coat
button, his only possessions stowed in the small suitcase that he clung to his
side as he attempted to prevent it being buffeted by the other children
anxiously climbing down from the engine.
   “This way, this way!” the billeting officer called, herding the children
towards the exit.  The train had been packed though, and there were only a few
adults that had travelled with them from London, so it was a challenge to move
everyone in an orderly fashion.  Seeing as he was one of the older evacuees,
Harry tried to help as best he could.  He had argued sternly with his mother
that he shouldn’t have to leave at all, that evacuation was for babies and as
had turned ten in July that meant he was no longer a baby.  But there had been
no swaying her, so in order to feel a little less ashamed for running away from
London, Harry took the hand of a little girl hair who was crying, the gas mask
swinging around her neck almost as large as her head.
   “There now,” he said in his jolliest voice, pushing up his glasses as they
threatened to slip down his nose.  “There’s no need for tears, we’re going on a
grand adventure.”
   He smiled and the little girl sniffled and wiped her eyes.  “I don’t want a
grand adventure though,” she whispered.  “I want my mummy.”
   Harry tried to swallow around the thick lump that sprung into his throat at
her words, but remained committed to his smile.  “I’m sure you shall see your
mother very soon.  Until then you have to be brave, and make her very proud.”
   The little girl nodded solemnly as they slowly filed past a sign on the
brick wall that announced this was ‘Little Whinging Station’.  Harry knew they
were somewhere in Surrey, but he only knew that was to the west of London, and
not much else.  He had been so adamant he wouldn’t be leaving, that when the
bombs had started dropping he hadn’t had a chance to check out a map from the
library before he’d had to say goodbye.
   He bit his lip and stuck out his chin, absolutely refusing to think of his
mother waving him off at the station, tears running down her face as she made
him promise to write the moment he got to his new home.  Harry was a big boy,
and he had to look after the littler children who were far more scared than he
was. 
   He refused, too, to think of the way the ground had rumbled, and how the sky
had lit up like a furnace where the bombings had taken place across the city. 
His mother had assured him that their street was perfectly safe, because with
fierce Miss McGonagall on the neighbourhood watch nobody would dare let their
blackout curtains slip, but when Harry had protested that meant heshould be
allowed to stay too if it was so safe, his mother had said ‘you never could be
too careful’. 
   Harry felt like a coward, leaving his mother behind when his father had
already gone to fight in France.  He flew Spitfires and when Harry was old
enough, he was going to join the air force too and do just the same.  But until
then, that meant Mother was all alone and Harry hated it frightfully. 
   He tightened his grip on the little girl’s hand, and she smiled back up at
him, but the hundred or more children were now arriving onto the road outside
the station, and were being directed in different directions based on what
schools they came from. 
   “Hogwarts!” one of the billeting officers called, waving and pointing over
to the right.  “Anyone from Hogwarts to this bus please!”
   Harry looked down at the girl.  “Are you from Hogwarts?” he asked, but she
shook her head.  So Harry refused to leave her until he had paired her up with
someone else from her own school, and as a result almost missed getting on the
bus. 
   “Hurry up boy!” a man with greasy black hair snapped as he clambered up the
steps, but the driver, a large man with a bushy beard tutted loudly. 
   “Oh leave him be,” he said with the same kind of thick country accent Harry
had heard once or twice down the market from the farmers.  “He’s had a long
enough day without you scaring the poor chap!”  Harry smiled gratefully at the
driver, and dropped into the first spare seat he could find, kicking his
suitcase under his legs and hugging his gas mask to his chest. 
   He may not like it, but there was no going back now.  (He’d checked, there
was no way to get back into London without a train ticket, and he didn’t have
that sort of money, only a shilling in his left shoe for safe keeping.)  So he
was going to have to stir his courage and face wherever he was going now with a
brave face. 
   He had talked with many of the other children on the journey from Victoria,
but now he and his companions were quieter, watching eagerly out of the windows
as the town of Little Whinging flew by.  There were no tall buildings here like
in London, and the houses were bigger, all with gardens outside that Harry
liked the look of very much with their colourful flowers.  It was late in the
afternoon and the weather was balmy, so there were many people walking by as
the bus passed, and quite often they would wave cheerfully to the children. 
Harry found his heart warmed a little by their welcoming faces, and hoped he
would be going to live with a nice family. 
   After ten minutes (judged by his father’s watch he wore proudly on his
wrist) Harry looked on as they pulled into the courtyard of the town’s school. 
One of the reasons his mother had been so keen for him to come to Little
Whinging was that they had a Secondary Modern, so he could continue with his
education.  This, in the end, had been what had won him over, because pilots
needed to be good at maths.  He looked up at the grand red-brick building and
took a deep breath to fortify himself.  This, he swore, was where he was going
to work his hardest, and make both Mother and Father proud. 
   There were now only about twenty children that disembarked from the bus, and
Harry was able to get a better look at them.  They all attended his school in
Victoria, but he only recognised one other boy from his year.  It was hard not
to notice him though, with his startlingly white blond hair.  Harry knew his
name was Draco Malfoy and that he was very rich, but they had never spoken. 
His friend Ron had once told him the only reason Draco wasn’t in boarding
school was because his mother had refused to send him away.  The bombs must
have changed Mrs Malfoy’s mind too though, otherwise why would he be there with
the rest of them?
   Harry wished Ron was here instead, but him, his sister and all his brothers
had moved to the country last year when the war had broken out.  Harry had
promised to write to him as soon as he had his new address as well, so they
could continue swapping letters, but it wouldn’t be the same as having a real
friend here with him.
   He edged closer to Draco as they all walked into the school hall and clumped
together in a group.  There were a couple of dozen adults there, mostly women;
the majority of them looked to be organising the children, but some were just
watching eagerly as they all were sorted roughly into a line by age.  He and
Draco were two of the oldest ones from their school, so they stood out at the
end of the line, Draco’s blond hair a sharp contrast against Harry’s pitch
black.  “Hi,” he said shyly. 
   Draco turned and looked at him in surprise.  His face was pinched and his
jaw tight, and thanks to a height difference of a couple of inches he was able
to look down on Harry with bright, silvery eyes.  “Hello?” he said.
   “We go to school together,” Harry said, rallying his courage. 
   But Draco just frowned.  “I know,” he said.  “We all do?”
   “I mean-”
   “Oh excellent,” a billeting officer interrupted.  “If you two are together,
I’ve got just the home for you.”  She bustled off, beckoning over her shoulder
for the boys to follow. 
   Several other men and women were already pairing children with new families,
from what Harry could see, mostly just glancing at the faces and name tags
before hastily ushering them towards waiting grown-ups.   
   “I believe she means us?” he said to Draco with a shrug, and started
following after her.
   The other boy trotted up beside him, tugging on the strap to his gas mask. 
“What did she mean ‘together’?” he demanded.  He didn’t look at Harry though,
he stared angrily at the woman’s back as she checked a list and scanned her
eyes over the busy crowd.  “Mother insisted I be place in a decent home, where
are we going?”
   Harry swallowed, trying his best not to let him rattle him.  “I think we’re
going to find out shortly,” he said, as the woman’s face went from tense to
happy, spying the person she was looking for.
   “This way boys,” she said, waving her hand eagerly, probably keen to get
back and tend to some of the smaller children.  “Mrs Figg?” she called, turning
back to the woman who had made her smile.  “It says you can take two, is that
correct?”
   An older lady with brown eyes and brown hair shuffled forward and
straightened her beige woollen coat.  She had lines around her eyes and mouth,
and clutched at a cracked leather handbag resting by her hip.  “Oh,” she said,
eyes widening at the sight of the boys.  “Oh no, I said I could take two
siblings.” 
   The billeting officer gave her chart a quick glance over.  “I’m afraid we
only have a few siblings Mrs Figg,” she said cheerily.  “And they’ve either
already been allocated or there’s more than two of them.  You chaps are friends
though aren’t you, you don’t mind living together do you?”
   Mrs Figg made to speak, and Draco looked mildly horrified, but Harry was
determined to make the best of this.  He’d promised to be brave and not cause
any fuss.  “It’s absolutely fine,” he said brightly with a quick nod.  “Draco
and I were in the same class in London, and we’ll be even better friends now in
the country, I’m certain of it.”
   “There’s a good boy,” the billeting officer said fondly, pinching his cheek
gently.  “I’m sure I’ll see you both at school soon enough, in the meantime
you’re free to pop off!  I bet you’re absolutely famished after such a long
journey.”
   And with that she spun away into the crowd, leaving Harry with the rather
awkward company of Draco Malfoy and Mrs Figg.  He turned looked between them. 
“I’m sorry we’re not siblings,” he said nervously.
   Mrs Figg laughed though and ruffled his hair.  “Don’t you mind now, young
man,” she said fondly.  “Harry is it?  And Draco?  Well how about you take
those tags off now and we’ll head home.  I’ve got a beef stew in the pot.”
   “That sounds wonderful,” Harry cried genuinely, tugging at the string around
his button until it came loose as they began to wander down the corridor and
out into the evening air.  “I had sandwiches packed, but we all ate them as
soon as we got on the train, and that was hoursago.” 
   Mrs Figg chuckled, but Draco was still quiet, staring at the ground as they
walked.  “Why did you want brothers?” he asked. 
   Harry hadn’t really thought about that, so he looked to Mrs Figg for an
answer.  She was too busy waving for a bus though that had just trundled up the
road, waving her handbag animatedly so it would stop.
   “It’s alright,” she panted as the doors swung open.  “I’ve got your fairs,
it’s only a few stops.  You’ll be able to walk it when you come to school, it’s
just a bit much on my old knees.”
   The bus driver tipped his hat at the three of them, and they found seats
near the back where Harry and Draco would have enough room to stash their
cases. 
   “Why did you want brothers?” Draco asked again, this time a little louder
and with a glance up at Mrs Figg’s face.  He quickly looked back down at his
hands though. 
   The old lady sighed.  “It’s not that much of a bother I suppose, seeing as
you two are friends, but there’s only the one bed you see.  I’ve only got a
small cottage, but there’s a nice little attic room I thought would be spot on
for a pair of siblings who were used to sharing.  I hope that’ll be okay for
you boys?”
   Harry felt his ears go pink.  He and Draco were going to have to sleep in
the same bed?That’s what mothers and father did, or brothers when there was too
many of them to fit in a house.  Ron’s family were always swapping beds and
sharing with each other, it was normal for them.  But Harry had always had his
own bed, and the thought of now sharing one with Draco was quite terrifying. 
How long were they going to have to stay there, surely one of them could move
to somewhere where they didn’t have to share!
   He looked up and immediately felt ashamed.  Mrs Figg’s face had fallen and
she looked upset.  Harry remembered his vow to solider on, no matter what
(there was a war on after all, he chastised himself) and cleared his throat. 
   “It’ll be jolly good fun!” he said, hoping to get a smile from both her and
Draco.  “We’ll just pretend we’re brothers, I’ve always wanted one after all.” 
   He really wanted Draco to agree and say he’d always fancied a brother too,
but he just nodded and said “Okay.”
   Mrs Figg seemed reassured by his declaration though.  “Good boy,” she said,
pleased with him.  “That’s the spirit.  In war, we all have to do what we
must.”
   Harry felt like telling Draco he was sure another family were sure to become
available soon, and maybe one of them could move out.  But that seemed rude to
Mrs Figg, so he said no such thing.  Instead he listened as she told him about
making their stew for most of the day, and about how she grew the carrots and
beans herself in her back garden. 
   “You grow them?” Harry asked, stunned.  “In the ground, in the dirt?”
   “Where else do you think they could come from?” she chuckled as the bus came
to a halt and they all hopped off. 
   Harry scoffed and looked to Draco for encouragement.  He was surprised to
see a hint of a smile on the other boy’s face, so he bullied on.  “Why in
London Mrs Figg, carrots come in tins.”
   That really made her laugh, and they ambled up the garden path to the sound
of her mirth.  Her cottage was indeed small, but it was lovely.  Harry liked
the many different flowers he could see growing all around the edge of her
front garden, and the grass was cut very neatly.  The front door was a deep red
that made him think of the telephone boxes back home, and he felt it was a good
omen, like they’d brought a little of Victoria with them. 
   “I’ll have to get you both keys cut,” she said as she unlocked the door. 
“But for now I’m sure we can share.  Now come in, come in.”
   She ushered the boys over the threshold and into her home.  There was no
hallway, they just entered into the living room, but Harry had to say it was
very pleasant, and reminded him of his own grandparents’ homes.  Everything was
very clean, even though the furniture didn’t match, and he thought there was
perhaps a lace, white doily underneath every possible ornament.
   As soon as they were inside, several different cats awoke from all manner of
corners, and meowed loudly as they bounded over to greet Mrs Figgs eagerly. 
“Alright, alright,” she bemoaned, shooing them away.  “I’ll feed you later, we
have guests to entertain first.”
   Harry and Draco had both jumped back at the sight of the creatures, and now
they were eyeing up the boys warily.  Harry couldn’t speak for Draco, but he
had never had a pet, and he was quite put out at being faced with so many of
them.  His godfather had a big black dog, but dogs were always happy to see
you.  Cats, in his experience, only ever seemed to want to scratch you.
   “Do they bite?” he yelped, hoping Draco wouldn’t laugh at him, but if
anything he seemed to be hiding behind Harry’s back in as just as much fear, if
not more.
   “Oh heavens no!” Mrs Figg said, toeing off her shoes and unbuttoning her
coat.  “Though watch out for Tufty, he’s a bit jealous that one.”
   A large, fluffy cat with narrow eyes hissed at them, and Harry decided to
keep as far away from him as possible. 
   “Come on now, make yourselves comfy.  Shoes live by the door, coats on the
rack – oh, let me,” she said as Draco struggled a bit to hang his jacket up,
even on tip toes, so Harry had no chance.  “There we go, alright, let’s have a
spot of supper, shall we?”
   Harry and Draco obediently left their cases and gas mask boxes near the
front door, next to a set of tight stairs that lead upstairs, presumably to
their attic room.  Harry eyed up where the steps curved around and out of
sight, but they were obviously going to see that later as Mrs Figg cajoled them
into the kitchen.  There were two more doors off of the living room that looked
to lead to Mrs Figg’s bedroom, and a bathroom.  It may have been small and a
little lopsided, but Harry had to admit the place had a nice charm about it. 
He took a long breath as he sat down to the table; so, this was to be his home
for however long he was here.  All things considered, it wasn’t that bad. 
   Mrs Figg did a lot of the talking during dinner, but Harry was quite good at
answering questions, for both him and Draco.  He was able to tell her all about
their school and the area they grew up in, about their teachers and the
football team he played for.  Draco wasn’t on the team, but Harry didn’t miss
the way he sat up with interest as soon as Harry started talking about the
games they played against other schools.  He talked about his mother, how she
worked in the factory, and his father and his planes, and how one day he wanted
to be a pilot too.
   Mrs Figg asked a funny question at that though.  “Does your father also wear
glasses?” she asked, as she warmed them some bread pudding.  Harry and his
mother had been rationing sensibly for months, so it had been a long time since
he had had anything other than condensed milk for afters, and he was extremely
excited by the prospect of proper pudding.
   “Um, no,” he said distractedly.  “He doesn’t.”  His glasses were his most
important possession.  They had cost a lot of money and he had to be extremely
careful with them, otherwise he couldn’t really see.  Mother had warned him
several times not to break them when he was away, as there might not be anyone
in the town to fix them.  “Mine are great, I can see everything with them!” he
prattled on, his stomach, although already full from the stew, rumbled as Mrs
Figg poured them custard too.  “Do you always have pudding like this?” he asked
excitably.
   Mrs Figg laughed and shook her head.  She liked laughing Harry had noticed,
and that made him happy.  He didn’t like people who were too serious and mean. 
“This is a special Welcome Home dinner,” she said, giving the boys generous
helpings.  “I’m afraid we’ll have to be a bit more sensible on normal days.”
   “That’s okay,” Harry said with a shrug, delving into his pudding.  “Mmmm!”
he moaned with his mouth full, the warm fruit bursting in his mouth in tangy,
delightful spurts.  Even Draco sighed happily at the hot pudding, and they both
finished every last lick of it. 
   Normally, Harry would stay up to at least eight o’clock, especially when it
was still almost summer and the sun was still nearly in the sky.  But after
their meal he and Draco couldn’t stop yawning, and Mrs Figg insisted they go
and brush their teeth for bed whilst she did the washing up.
   So the boys traipsed back out to fetch their cases.  “Um,” Harry said
shyly.  “You can go first.”  He pointed to the bathroom and, to make his point,
took a step back and sat on one of the armchairs.  He didn’t know why he wanted
Draco to like him so much – it wasn’t just because they were going to be living
together and sharing a room.  Harry felt drawn to him.  He liked his hair and
his eyes, and the way he always seemed to be thinking about something
important. 
   Draco bit his lip at Harry’s offer, then nodded.  “Thank you,” he said, then
disappeared behind the door.
   Harry though he might fall asleep if he stayed sat on the chair, so he left
his suitcase and went to go help Mrs Figg with the drying up.  “You’re an
industrious little fellow, aren’t you Harry,” she said fondly. 
   “I help my mother with the chores,” he said, and had to blink a couple of
times, missing her terribly.  He tried not to think of her all alone in their
house, or the bombs that could fall again tonight. 
   “As well you should,” Mrs Figg said proudly.  “My Bert always did his part,”
she added with a nod.
   “Is that Mr Figg?” Harry asked, carefully stacking another plate on the
counter. 
   Mrs Figg nodded.  “It was indeed.  He was a lovely man Harry, I think he
would have liked you.  But he had a dicky heart after the war – the last war –
and he was never quite the same since.  He passed a few years ago, but I’ve
always had my lovelies to keep me company.”  Harry looked down as one of the
cats wound its way around his leg, as if it knew it was being talked about. 
   “They seem nice,” he said, not really meaning it, but wanting to be polite. 
He was still scared of getting scratched. 
   “They are, but they don’t talk,” Mrs Figg said frankly.  “Good listeners,
but it’s nice to have another voice in the house.  And now I have two!”  She
playfully flicked some suds at Harry, and he giggled happily. 
   He decided he was going to talk for both he and Draco until Draco found his
voice again.  He was sure he had a lot to say, he was probably just saving it
up for the right time. 
   Speaking of which, the door to the bathroom opened.  “You go on,” Mrs Figg
insisted.  “I’ll finish this up, you boys look dead on your feet.”
   Harry thought he should maybe stay and help until the end, but she took the
pudding bowl and dish towel off him, and gave him a gentle push away.  “I’ll
see you two in the morning.”
   Harry brushed his teeth as fast as possible, then splashed water onto his
face.  His eyes felt gritty after so many hours travelling, and it was nice to
rub cold water into them.  He carefully took his clothes off and folded them
into his case, changing into his pyjamas after.  He wasn’t sure when he was
going to be able to get new clothes, and he’d only been able to fit two of
everything in his case, so he wanted to be extra careful with everything. 
   He expected Draco to already be upstairs when he re-emerged, but he was sat
waiting on the armchair, also in his pyjamas.  He didn’t smile or scowl, but
managed something in between, and Harry wasn’t sure what that meant.  Was he
angry, or just tired maybe?  “Shall we go up?” he asked.
   Draco sniffed and picked up his case.  “I thought it rude to go up alone,”
he said, as if this was obvious.
   “Goodnight boys!” Mrs Figg called from the kitchen.
   “Goodnight Mrs Figg,” they called back in chorus.
   Harry felt nerves in his tummy like butterflies flapping their wings.  What
would their room be like?  Would they both fit?
   He went first, climbing the stairs carefully as they were a little on the
narrow side, then pausing as he reached the door around the slight turn.  “I
suppose this is it?” he said, but Draco just huffed, so he pushed open the door
and stepped inside. 
   The ceiling was arched, but there was enough room for him to stand fully
upright in most of the room anyway, it was just the sides where it got too
low.  There wasn’t anything hanging from the walls, but that was okay, Harry
was just mostly relieved by the size of the bed.
   “Oh,” he breathed out.  “It’s a grown upbed,” he said happily.  “We’ll have
plenty of room.”  
   Draco pushed the door shut.  It wasn’t a slam, but it wasn’t gentle either. 
“Who cares, we still have to share,” he snapped, storming around to the further
side and dropping his case to the floor with a thump.  “This is ridiculous,
Mother said I was to have my own room with a good family, I shouldn’t be here.”
   “Well, we’re here now,” Harry said, trying to stay cheerful.  “It’s not that
bad.  It’s better than London.”
   “Nowhere is better than London,” Draco said hotly, ripping back the covers
and dropping onto the mattress.  “Certainly not the ghastly countryside.”
   He yanked the blankets back up and turned his back to Harry, who wasn’t
quite sure what to do for a moment.  His throat felt scratchy, and he wanted to
tell Draco the only reason he said it was better was because of the war, and
the bombs.  But he didn’t.  Instead, he placed his case carefully on the floor
and considered fetching out his teddy bear.  But Draco was cross with him, and
he didn’t want him  to make fun of his teddy and call him a baby, so he left it
where it was. 
   Trying not to dip the mattress too much, he got into the bed as well, took
off his glasses and turned off the lamp, leaving them in mostly darkness.  He
curled up as far away as he could from Draco, and began drifting off to sleep
immediately. 
   He was almost totally gone, his body weary to the bone, when suddenly he
felt a shake through the mattress.
   He froze, wondering if he had imagined it, or if his leg had twitched when
he’d almost fallen asleep.  But then it came again, along with the strangled
sound of a sob.
   Draco was crying, and he was desperately trying not to let Harry know it.
   Harry lay there for a minute or so, completely lost at what to do.  When
people cried, they liked to be left alone.  But he couldn’t leave Draco alone
though, because they only had one bed.  Draco just sounded so sad, and all
Harry could think was how sad he was too.  So in the end he did the only thing
he could think of, and rolled over.
   “Don’t cry,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around him the way he did when
Mother cried thinking about Father in France.  “Please don’t cry.”
   Draco cried harder though, and rather than pull away, turned suddenly and
flung himself into Harry’s arms.  “I want-”he stuttered.  “-to go – home!”
   Harry realised he was crying too, all the tears he had so carefully saved up
the whole day spilling down his cheeks as he gulped down air. 
   “Me to,” he whispered.  “Me too Draco.”
   They clung to each other until, sometime later, there were no more tears to
fall, and exhaustion crept through their bodies.  Harry quite liked being
cuddled up with Draco though, and Draco didn’t pull away to move to the other
side of the bed, so he must have found it comforting too, which made Harry
glad.
   “It’ll be okay,” he mumbled as they drifted off to sleep in the middle of
their bed, two lost boys starting a new life together.  “It’ll be okay Draco, I
promise.”
   “Okay,” he whispered, tightening his hand around his.  “Okay Harry.”
  
***** Chapter Two *****
June 5th 1941
 
   “Over here Harry!” Neville Longbottom, one of the local children, called as
Harry thwacked the football with his right foot, sending it flying to his
teammate.  He laughed, feeling the sweat running down his neck and soaking into
his shirt, crying out as Neville passed to Seamus Finnigan, narrowly getting by
Dean Thomas to score against the other team’s waiting goal keeper. 
   “WOOHOO!” Harry cheered, pumping his fist in the air.  It was only an
informal match they had thrown together after school had finished for the day,
but just because it wasn’t as serious as the matches he used to play with his
team back home (the Central London Lions) didn’t mean he wasn’t still keen on
winning.  “Good work chaps!”
   He looked around to see if Draco was watching, but he was still stubbornly
sitting on the grass at the edge of their makeshift pitch, focused firmly on
the book on his lap and the notepad by his knee.  Harry sighed.  He would never
have thought there would be a single soul who would volunteer for extra
schoolwork, however Draco had refused to let his Latin studies slip simply
because there was no teacher to be had in Little Whinging.  So his mother
posted him work to do from his old tutor, which Draco would complete and then
send back in the already stamped envelope his mother also provided. 
   It was positively barmy, however Harry couldn’t help but also think it was a
little wonderful.  Draco was different in so many ways, but Harry liked all the
strange things about him, every new detail he learned important to him for
reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of.
   He was soon distracted by the ball zipping about the grass again, but in the
back of his mind he continued to muse on his time with Draco over the past
several months. 
   In the beginning it had been odd, getting used to sharing not only a room
but a bed with another person.  But funnily enough, knowing Draco would always
be to his right, a solid presence beside him, meant Harry slept better than he
ever had in the last year or so in London.  If he dreamed of the bombs, all he
had to do was shift and feel the other weight on the mattress, and he would
know before he was even fully awake that he was no longer in any danger. 
   It was more than that though – Draco was not just proof he was out of London
and away from the Blitz, as such reasoning suggested anyone could take his
place.  Harry liked his new friend’s quiet contemplation, his interesting ideas
and the utterly brilliant games he concocted to play in Mrs Figg’s small garden
together, or out in the street with the other children.  He fathomed worlds of
dragons and worlds in the stars, and when the other boys would pat him on the
back and tell him how bloody marvellous he was, Harry would feel pride like
they were being kind directly to him. 
   In the dark, they would whisper little stories from their old lives,
sometimes secrets Harry had never told anyone, not even Ron, like the time his
horrid cousin had broken his glasses on purpose, so Harry had found some dog’s
mess to wrap in a box to leave for him on his door.  Draco had laughed until
he’d cried at that one, and even though Harry knew if his mum ever found out
he’d be in the worse trouble of his life, but he couldn’t help but feel it was
worth it as Draco hugged him and howled with mirth into his neck. 
   Harry liked talking with Draco more than anyone, but today he’d barely
strung two words together, not even in his favourite classes where he was
normally the first to answer all the teacher’s questions.  Harry looked over
again, and began to wonder if there was something actually wrong with his
chum.  Draco had begged off with belly-ache earlier, but perhaps that wasn’t
it? 
   Just as he decided to go and see if he had changed his mind and wanted to
play football (Draco neverplayed.  Harry thought he wanted to, but for some
reason always declined) Draco slapped his book shut, picked it and his papers
up, and stood to march off.  He would normally never leave without waiting for
Harry, or at least telling him, but Harry stopped running after the ball as he
watched Draco trudge off, shoulders tense and face down. 
   “I’ll see you later chaps,” he called, ignoring as they protested for him
not to go, but he was already scooping up his satchel and gas mask from the
side of the pitch, trotting determinedly after Draco.  “Wait!” he shouted. 
“Draco, wait!”
   Thankfully, Draco did indeed stop and turn, biting his lip as he allowed
Harry to catch up with him. 
   “Where are you off to?” Harry cried breathlessly as he came to a halt.  He
wafted his shirt away from his damp body, hoping he wasn’t too grim.  Draco
looked neat and tidy as always. 
   Draco shrugged, not really looking up from the ground.  “You were having
fun, I didn’t want to disturb you.”
   “Don’t be daft,” Harry said with a laugh.  “Why ever would you disturb me?” 
Draco shrugged again, and Harry got a worm of worry in his tummy.  “Draco,” he
said gently.  “Have I…I haven’t upset you in some way have I?”
   Draco’s eyes widened.  “Lord, no Harry!” he said, and finally a look of
something other than misery graced his features.  Surprise perhaps?  He
sighed.  “The truth is I’m having a bad day, but it isn’t anything you or
anyone else has done, I promise.”
   “Then what?” Harry asked, relieved that he had not been the cause of Draco’s
melancholy, but distressed nonetheless that he was indeed upset. 
   Draco let out a frustrated huff.  “It’s this bloody war,” he bemoaned, using
a word they weren’t supposed to say out loud, especially not in front of grown-
ups.  “I’m just missing home.  I-”  He fiddled with the books in his hands and
shifted his weight.  “It’s my birthday today, and Mother was unable to come and
visit like she hoped.”
   Harry’s insides dropped into his boots.  “Oh Draco,”he admonished, clouting
his arm for good measure.  “Why on Earth wouldn’t you tell me it’s your
birthday, now I feel beastly, I haven’t got you a single thing!”
   He was a little mollified to see a small smile creep onto the other boy’s
face.  “I didn’t want you to trouble with presents for anything, there’s not
much to go around after all.”
   Harry wasn’t going to be dissuaded though.  “But we’re friends, that’s a
special exception, I would have found somethingto get you-”  he broke off, his
face lighting up in a delighted smile.  “Actually,” he announced proudly.  “It
turns out I have something simply marvellous for you, and this present happens
to be totally free.”  He shot out his hand, wiggling his fingers in invitation
for Draco to take it.  “Come on!”
   Draco let out a breath, his body relaxing as he let go of his sadness, and
grabbed Harry’s hand firmly.  “Lead the way,” he urged cheerfully.
   They ran and jogged and skipped and spun all the way to the woods on the
edge of town.  Harry was chatting the whole time, explaining how he had been
exploring when Draco had insisted on doing his extra studies, and how he had
made the most extraordinary discovery a few days ago.  “I was waiting for the
best time to show you,” he gabbed, grinning ear to ear as he pushed his way
through several low hanging branches.  “And what better day than your
birthday?” 
   Draco was smiling back at him, though stayed quiet as he had most of the
short journey.  He looked like he was waiting to see just what Harry had to
show him, but luckily he didn’t have to wait much longer.  “Close your eyes!”
Harry told him just as they were almost at the right spot.  So Draco stopped
walking and did as he was told.  Harry took both his hands, and carefully
guided him around the last bend. 
   “If I trip and twist my ankle, it shall be the most rotten of presents
Potter,” Draco threatened, but both boys were giggling. 
   “Okay,” Harry announced, turning him and placing him in front of his
surprise.  “Open your eyes!”
   Draco did, blinking as his eyes adjusted again to the bright summer
sunlight, and then he gasped in delight.  “Blackberries!” he cried, lurching
forward to the bush heavy with fruit before them.
  Harry had been vaguely worried that the birds might have gotten to his prize
over the past few days, or someone else might have found the burgeoning supply
of fruit, but it was just as he remembered it as he and Draco threw themselves
to sit on the ground and began picking berries as fast as they could eat them. 
   “Good present?” Harry asked, licking his fingers.
   “Urgh,” Draco moaned, popping several more blackberries into his mouth, his
lips purple with juice.  “The best!” he mumbled around chews, then covered his
mouth with his hand and giggled at his bad manners. 
   When Harry’s belly began to hurt, he gave a satisfied grunt and flopped onto
his back, looking up at the clouds floating by in the sky above the tree tops. 
“We should collect as many any we can,” he said, feeling Draco slump down onto
his back beside him.  “Bring them to Mrs Figg so she can make jam.”
   “Do you think she could make blackberry tarts?” Draco asked dreamily, and
Harry turned to face him.
   “It doesn’t hurt to ask,” he said sincerely.  “It is your birthday after
all.”
   Draco turned so they were facing one another, with matching purple smiles. 
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he apologised, reaching over to brush a stray
bit of berry skin from Harry’s mouth.  “I thought I could pretend it wasn’t
really my birthday, and then it might hurt less?”
   Harry understood what he was saying, Draco was good at explaining things
like that.  “It’s okay,” he said.  “I’m just sorry you were sad all day.”
   “I’m not sad now, though,” Draco sighed happily, and they lay for a while
looking at the clouds again, trying to make out shapes. 
   Harry spied at least half a dozen he swore adamantly were just like
Spitfires, whilst Draco saw a variety of creatures and even one he suggested
looked like a broomstick.  “The kind you fly on,” he added laughing, as if that
were really a possibility. 
   After a while in comfortable silence, a question popped into Harry’s head,
and he didn’t pause to consider whether he should speak it aloud before he
did.  “Draco,” he began, wiping his mouth to make sure he’d gotten the last of
the berry juice off it.  “Do you think, if we weren’t…living together, we would
be friends now.”  He almost said ‘sharing a room’, but they never, ever talked
about that.  Harry figured that Draco, like him, knew that wasn’t really
something that was supposed to be shared with other people, it was their
special secret.  Even if he sometimes wanted to assure Draco he actually really
liked it, that he found it of great comfort, he never said the words out loud,
and neither did Draco.  Harry hoped he felt the same though, just as he hoped
the answer to his question would be, ‘Yes, of course!’
   But Draco contemplated his response.  “Honestly,” he said after a few
moments.  “I’m not sure if we would.”
   Harry felt like ice flooded his chest.  He couldn’t imagine Draco not being
his friend.  He was his special friend, different to his best friend Ron.
 Draco was like his brother or something.  They shared everything, and when
they were apart Harry felt like he was missing some part of himself.
   “Oh,” he said, then cleared his throat to try and dislodge the lump there. 
   “I mean,” Draco said carefully.  “You played on the football team, and ran
around in the muck.  I played piano and never ran anywhere.  I’m not sure we
would have talked much, if we hadn’t been placed in the same house.”
   “Yeah,” Harry said, chewing on his lip.  “I guess you’re right.”
   He was surprised by Draco taking his hand, their palms and fingers sticky
from all the berries they had devoured as they interlocked, and Harry turned to
look at Draco once more.  “I am extremely glad we are friends now though,” he
said, his grey eyes wide and shining.  “If anything good has come out of this
ghastly war, it is that at least we got the chance to become friends.”
   “Great friends,” Harry agreed enthusiastically, his chest swelling again
with happiness.
   “Best friends,” Draco insisted solemnly.  And Harry supposed that was true. 
It didn’t mean Ron was any less important to him, but he got to see Draco every
day, and where as Ron was fun and loud and great at football, Draco was like
Harry’s special secret.  They were two halves, two sides of the same bed.
   “Best friends,” Harry repeated, squeezing their hands together, as if making
a promise. 
***** Chapter Three *****
                                        
December 7th 1941
 
   Harry awoke rather suddenly around the time dawn was breaking, as the back
of a hand flopped onto his face with a slap.  “Ow-ah,” he grumbled sleepily,
but he wasn’t really annoyed.  He rolled onto his side and gave Draco a little
tickle in the ribs, which made him jerk awake too with a moan of protest.  “Get
off me you big lump,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.
   “I can hardly be expected to control myself when I’m asleep Harry,” Draco
yawned as he stretched.  “Whereas you made the entirely conscious decision to
tickle me, so…”  He lunged for Harry, digging his fingers through the soft
material of his pyjamas as he squealed and tried to wriggle away.
   “Mercy! Mercy!” he gasped, trying to get his own hands onto Draco for
another attack, but Draco was bigger than him and he was half blind without his
glasses on yet.
   Draco relinquished after another few tickles though, then collapsed back
into the mattress.  “Please tell me it’s still the weekend?” he begged.
   “It’s the weekend,” Harry affirmed between gasps as he tried to compose
himself again after laughing so hard.  “A Sunday if you’re being particular.”
   “When am I not?” he asked as he rolled over and got to his feet, and Harry
had to agree.  Draco always liked things just so, and Harry swayed between
making them ‘just so’ to please him, and completely derailing affairs to tease
him terribly. 
   They bound down the stairs to the bathroom and brushed their teeth side-by-
side, jostling for space in front of the mirror with elbows in each other’s
sides, seeing who could get the biggest foam frothing at the mouth before they
absolutely had to spit.  They could hear that Mrs Figg was already awake and
bustling around her in room behind the closed door, so they wasted no time in
jogging back upstairs and getting dressed, happy to be wearing some of their
own clothes rather than school uniform.
   Harry loved Sundays, especially in winter.  Sundays meant cups of tea by the
fire and board games.  Sometimes, if they were really lucky or the rations had
just come in, it also meant cake or biscuits, whatever Mrs Figg had felt like
making. But mostly he loved the comfy feeling of being in his own clothes,
rather than itchy school ones. 
   Draco had quite a lot of clothes to choose from, as his mother sent him
packages often.  Harry knew his mother couldn’t spare much from her wages at
the factory, but sent what she could with her letters, even if it was only a
few pennies.  He only therefore had one or two new items that he had procured
since moving to Little Whinging, but he didn’t mind.  Especially seeing as,
from time to time, Draco would announce he was bored of a jumper, or that a
pair of trousers had become too short, and he would then shyly offer the
garment to Harry to see if he might like it.  Harry thought maybe that made him
feel better when his mother was always sending him money for new shoes, or a
smart shirt for best, like it somehow evened out the scales. 
   But Harry didn’t see it as charity.  Draco’s clothes were excellent, and he
liked thinking that he was wearing something that had once belong to his best
friend.  It made them special in another way, like brothers who passed clothes
between them. 
   In that spirit, his favourite jumper of late was a thickly knitted one of
soft wool, green like his eyes with a silver chequered pattern on the cuffs. 
Draco had always claimed it was too tickly, but Harry felt it was like walking
around with a cuddle, and he often wore it on Sundays.  “Do you think it will
rain today?” he asked as he straightened his glasses and ran his fingers
through his hair, pulling a face in the mirror as he did.  His hair never
behaved the way he wished it would.
   Draco peered out the slanted window in the sloped ceiling, assessing the
winter’s day.  “I’d wager it’s frightfully cold,” he said, buttoning up his
shirt.  “But the sky is clear.  It’s more likely to snow than rain I’d say.”
   Harry contemplated going for a walk in that case; he could get a good one in
before lunch if he left promptly.  Draco would no doubt want to read more of
his adventure book, so would want the peace anyway. 
   That was one of the differences between them, Harry had observed.  Draco
preferred reading his adventures, whereas Harry preferred finding them
himself.  That wasn’t a bad thing though, because it then gave them something
new to talk about at the end of the day. 
   “If I go exploring,” he began as they thumped down the stairs once more. 
“May I borrow your hat?”  Draco’s navy blue cap was extremely smart, and Harry
liked to think himself a professional archaeologist or captain of a sea vessel
when he wore it out.  Plus it was nice and warm, so it meant Mrs Figg would let
him stay out longer if he was sporting it. 
   “Of course,” Draco said, a twinkle in his eye.  “But you’ll owe me two penny
sweets.”
   Harry rolled his eyes.  “Urgh,” he grunted.  “Fine.”
   They entered the kitchen and navigated their way around several different
cats, shooing them away as they all mewled for attention.  Even after a year
and a half in the house, Harry still didn’t quite trust most of them not to
scratch him, and ideally kept them as far away as possible. 
   That was, all except one of the new kittens called Treacle.  Harry and Draco
had got to name one of the latest litter each, and Harry had picked the
smallest, most delicate looking one and named him after his favourite pudding:
treacle tart.  Draco had picked a crafty looking one and called her Shelley
after one of his favourite scary book writers; she was a grey tabby with a long
body and a demanding meow, whereas Treacle was golden and liked to pounce on
things rather ineffectively. 
   Harry picked up his kitten and cradled him to his chest as he put the kettle
on to boil.  Draco tutted.  “That’s not very hygienic,” he scolded, but Harry
just poked out his tongue and rubbed the little creature’s head. 
   “Like this whole place isn’t covered with cat hair,” he commented cheekily.
   “I heard that,” a voice rumbled from the living room, and Harry’s ears went
pink with shame. 
   “Sorry Mrs Figg,” he said hastily as she came and joined them in the
kitchen, but thankfully she didn’t look angry, just the usual wince as she used
her new cane to walk over and see to the breakfast. 
   The cane had never been mentioned, it had just suddenly appeared one day,
like a third leg.  Mrs Figg had been having more and more trouble walking with
her dodgy hip, but she never liked to make a fuss.  So when the cane
materialised one day, and she was walking most places again, that was just
that.  Harry and Draco both knew better than to ever bring it up; they just
accepted it now as part of daily life. 
   “I was only joking,” Harry said in an attempt to soothe things over, but she
just waved her hand dismissively as Snowy the bright white cat wound her way
between her legs. 
   “No you weren’t but it’s fine – you can help be do some cleaning today and
get rid of it all.”
   She grinned wickedly as both boys groaned, but Harry remembered not to be
ungrateful after a moment’s irritation at his lost adventure time.  They were
here as her guests after all, no one had made her take in two teenage
evacuees.  She probably would have been much better off with one or two little
ones who ate less and kept grousing to a minimum. 
   “Okay,” he said as graciously as he could, but Mrs Figg chuckled at him. 
   “Don’t worry,” she said jovially.  “I was baking scones yesterday, a whole
tray full.  Perfect for bribing little boys into doing chores.”
   “I’m not little,” Draco said indignantly, but he was drowned out by Harry’s
triumphant cry of “Scones!”
   “That’s right,” Mrs Figg said as the kettle came to a boil and she fished
out some milk and cereal.  “I did them in secret whilst you two were running
around kicking a ball.” 
   Draco still looked guilty whenever anyone acknowledged he had played any
football, but Harry loved that he could now coax him into a game from time to
time.  But that wasn’t his concern right at that moment.
   “But do we have any jam left?” he asked in alarm.  There was no point in
having scones if there was no jam.  Draco ran to the cupboard and opened it to
search.
   “One jar,” he said triumphantly, removing it to show them.
   Mrs Figg tutted.  “As if I’d make scones without there being jam,” she said
scornfully.  “Honestly.  Now sit and eat your breakfast, so we can get a crack
on with the cleaning.”
   Mrs Figg didn’t believe in boy chores and girl chores.  Harry’s mum was much
the same, but Draco was a little shocked at first when he was expected to pick
up a duster.  Now though, they were both used to it, and understood the quicker
jobs got done, the quicker they could go back to playing.
   Harry was halfway through polishing the living room table an hour or so
later, when a thought popped into his head.  So he voiced it, as that’s what he
tended to do with sudden thoughts.  “Perhaps we should save the jam,” he said,
and Draco and Mrs Figg turned to look at him. 
   “What do you mean?” Mrs Figg asked.
   Harry twitched the cloth damp with polish in his hand.  “For a special
occasion?” he explained.  “Seeing as there’s only one jar left, it’ll be sad to
see it all gone.”
   “Life is for living, not for saving up,” Draco said firmly, and Harry
huffed.
   “You got that from a book,” he challenged.
   “So?” Draco replied.  “It’s true.”
   Mrs Figg sighed and hobbled over to pat Harry’s back gently.  “I think I
must agree with young Mr Malfoy on this,” she said sagely.  “Who knows what may
happen tomorrow?  You must enjoy today as much as you can.  Besides, if we save
the jam, we waste the scones, don’t we?”
   Harry thought about what she was saying.  “That’s true,” he admitted.  It
wasn’t that he didn’t want jam and scones, he very much did.  However he felt
guilty for eating it all up, as then they wouldn’t have any more until next
summer. 
   “Plus,” said Draco.  “It’s practically Christmas, you’re supposed to have
nice things at Christmas.”
   “Also true,” said Mrs Figg, raising her eyebrows to see if Harry agreed.  He
supposed he did, and the jam had to be eaten at somepoint. 
   “Okay,” he said with a smile.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a Scrooge.”
   Mrs Figg ruffle his hair.  “You were just being thrifty,” she amended. 
“Nothing wrong with that in times like these.” 
   There was a sudden knock at the door.  Three heads whipped around, not sure
who it could be.  “I’ll get it,” Harry cried, as he was the closet, and he
thought maybe it could be Neville or one of the other boys dropping round to
play.  If it was, Mrs Figg might let them out of their chores early (or recruit
whoever it was into helping, which would make the whole ordeal quicker too). 
   However, when he opened the door and let in a gust of freezing wind, he
didn’t recognise the person on the other side.  She was an extremely beautiful
woman, wrapped up in a huge fur coat, blonde hair peeking out from beneath a
matching fur hat.  She looked extremely cold, clutching her coat lapels tightly
to her body, the tip of her delicate nose a rosy pink.  She blinked at Harry.
   “Hello?” she said.
   “Hello?” said Harry back, unsure what else to do.  The woman seemed so
utterly out of place in their small, mismatched cottage, but Harry didn’t get
time to ponder any further before he was unceremoniously bowled out of the way.
   “Mother!” Draco shouted in absolute joy, flinging himself into the woman’s
arms.  Harry’s eyebrows shot up.  Of course this was Draco’s mum!  The
resemblance was uncanny, and he took a step back to watch as they embraced
tightly, bright smiles and happy tears on their faces. 
   “Oh my darling boy,” Mrs Malfoy laughed as she pressed the back of her
gloved hand to her cheek to mop up a pearly tear.  “How you’ve grown!”
   Mrs Figg limped over and placed her hand on Harry’s shoulder.  “Well isn’t
this a lovely surprise,” she commented.  “Mrs Malfoy I presume?”
   Mrs Malfoy turned to hug Draco to her side with one arm, then extended the
other towards Mrs Figg.  “And you must be the famous Mrs Figg I have heard so
much about,” she said graciously as they shook hands.
   “And this is Harry!” Draco added, untangling himself and rushing over to
push Harry in front of his mother, standing with his arm around his shoulders
proudly.  Harry beamed. 
   “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs Malfoy,” he said, remembering his manners
and offering up his hand for her to also shake.
   “Aren’t you just a darling Harry,” she said, taking his hand gently and
giving it a squeeze.  “Draco has told me so much about you, I feel I know you
already!”
   Another gust of wind tore in from outside, and Harry couldn’t help but
yelp.  “Come in, come in,” Mrs Figg urged, waving them indoors and out of the
elements.  “Otherwise we’ll all catch cold, and that will never do.”
   Several cats appeared once the door was closed, suspiciously inspecting the
new arrival into the house, and Draco was quick to scoop up Shelley.  “Look
Mother,” he said eagerly as Mrs Malfoy removed her hat and began undoing the
buttons on her coat.  “Mrs Figg let me have my very own kitten!”
   If Mrs Malfoy was unsettled by so many feline admirers, she did a much
better job than Harry or Draco would have done not showing it.  “How
marvellous,” she said sincerely, folding her coat over her arm.
   “I’ll take that,” Harry said, springing to action, hefting the enormous coat
to hang on the rack.
   “Please take a seat, won’t you Mrs Malfoy,” Mrs Figg said.  “You’ll stay for
tea of course?”
   Mrs Malfoy pressed both her hands either side of Mrs Figg’s one that wasn’t
holding the cane.  “Narcissa, Please,” she insisted.  “And that would be
wonderful dear, thank you.”
   Harry automatically followed Mrs Figg into the kitchen, but he could hear as
Draco and his mother both sat on the couch, the kitten hopping between them.
 Draco was chatting in such an animated manner that Harry had never seen him
use in front of other people before, just Harry, and mainly when he was talking
about one of his story books, or a particularly fascinating bit of history. 
His mother obviously brought out the best in him.  Harry grinned, loving how
overjoyed Draco was at the surprise visit, and only a little sad that he hadn’t
been able to see his own mum since the evacuation at all. 
   “Why don’t you pop the oven on?” Mrs Figg suggested at the kettle began to
boil.  She gave Harry a nudge and a wink, snapping him from his brief
melancholy.  “Let’s get those scones nice and warm, so they make the butter
soft.”
   Harry’s eyes widened in excitement, delighted they had one whole pot of jam
saved for this special occasion, just like he had wanted earlier.  He nodded
eagerly, and over the next several minutes the two of them focused on getting
the tea and scones arranged on Mrs Figg’s best crockery. 
   “And this is Harry’s kitten, isn’t it Harry?” Draco announced as they came
back into the room with a loaded tray each.  Draco had both their pets on his
lap, where they were pawing clumsily at each other.
   “His name is Treacle,” Harry told Mrs Malfoy proudly, happy to come back and
be included in the conversation. 
   “He is a delight,” Mrs Malfoy assured him, stroking the ginger fur
carefully.  “Now you and Mrs Figg-”
   “Arabella,” Mrs Figg interrupted, and Harry took a moment to realise she was
telling Mrs Malfoy her first name.  He frowned.  He wasn’t sure even hehad
known that.
   “Arabella,” Mrs Malfoy amended with a nod.  “You must both now sit, and I
shall serve.”  Mrs Figg looked like she might protest, but Mrs Malfoy held up a
finger.  “I shan’t tolerate any objections,” she said firmly.  “You allowed me
to catch up with Draco whilst you prepared us our lunch, now we are all
together and I have reclaimed some feeling in my fingers, I shall make myself
useful.”
   Mrs Figg looked liked she might still have more to say, but Harry dropped
down next to Draco so their legs were pressed together, and scooped up his
kitten.  “Thank you Mrs Malfoy,” he said, putting the matter to rest.
   Mrs Figg sighed, and finally sat down too, cane propped up by the side of
her armchair.  “So Draco,” she said.  “Did you have no idea your mother would
be popping down today?”
   “None!” he enthused.  “What a good surprise hey?”
   “Are you going to stay long?” Harry asked, trying to stop himself bouncing
up and down as Mrs Malfoy finished with the cups of tea, and began to prepare
the sliced up scones.  His mouth was positively watering as he watched the
golden butter melt. 
   She gave her son a knowing smile, but he just looked back, wide-eyed and
hopeful.  “I’m to stay a month,” she announced.  “All the way until the new
year.”
   Draco jolted so violently he almost dislodged Shelley.  “Are you serious!”
he cried, throwing his arms around her, making her laugh.
   “Yes sweetheart,” she said, patting his back.  “I’m staying at the bed and
breakfast, Father paid for it as my Christmas present.”
   Draco twisted violently and flung his arms around a rather surprised Harry. 
“I’ll have almost all my whole family here for Christmas!” he practically
shouted in his ear, and Harry laughed and hugged him back.
   A warm feeling flared through his insides.  Did that mean Draco thought of
him and Mrs Figg as family too?  The idea brought a lump to his throat it was
so nice.  “That’s brilliant,” he said enthusiastically. 
   “Not just me though,” Mrs Malfoy said to Draco.  “You’ll have your own room
too at the hotel, with your own bed!”  She pinched her son’s cheek fondly. 
“You’ve both been such troopers sharing like you have, you can both enjoy a
little extra space for a few weeks.”
   “I am sorry about that-” Mrs Figg began, but Mrs Malfoy was quick to
interrupt. 
   “Oh no my dear,” she said anxiously.  “I would never mean to slight the
arrangement you have here, if I’ve been reading Draco’s letters correctly I
feel both the boys see it as a marvellous bit of fun.”  Harry nodded
cautiously.  This was skirting dangerously close to their ‘not talking about
the bed’ rule.  “The selfish truth is that I’ve missed my son dreadfully – last
Christmas in particular was quite horrid, being all alone.  So I’d just like to
make up for a bit of lost time.”
   Mrs Figg picked up her cup of tea.  “That sounds perfectly reasonable to
me,” she said before taking a sip.  “And that way both boys can snore to their
hearts content and not wake the other up for a change.”
   “I don’t snore!” they both cried in chorus, but Mrs Figg grinned and winked
at them.
   “Anyway,” said Harry, deciding if Mrs Figg had gone for her tea, he could
help himself to a scone.  It was still warm in his hand, and he moaned a little
when he bit into it.  “We’ll still see each other at school every day,” he
mumbled around the crumbs.
   Mrs Figg scowled.  “Manners Mr Potter,” she grumbled, but by that point
Draco had already snatched up his own scone, dripping with butter and jam, and
both of them were fluttering their eyelids and groaning in contentment, so the
admonishment was quite lost on both of them.
   Draco didn’t have much to pack, so he only had the suitcase he had brought
with him from London to carry with him an hour or two later, and a pair of
shoes that he was going to transport separately as they didn’t quite fit. 
“You’ll meet me by the school gate?” he made Harry promise by the front door.
   “First thing tomorrow,” he agreed.  “And you can tell me all about the bed
and breakfast, and about your dinner out!”  Mrs Malfoy had made reservations at
a fancy restaurant in the bigger town over the way, but when Harry heard they
actually served snails he found he really wasn’t all that jealous. 
   He and Mrs Figg waved them off, waiting until they had walked all the way
down the lane before closing the door, despite the biting December air.  “So
now it’s just us two,” Mrs Figg sighed.
   “And about a hundred cats,” Harry joked, but inside he was feeling quite
hollow.  He was as used to Draco being by his side as he was his own shadow,
and now he wasn’t going to be living at home for a whole month.  Without
thinking, he bent down and scooped up Shelley the kitten, hugging her to his
chest.  “At least you and Treacle don’t want to scratch me,” he said, nuzzling
his nose into her fur. 
   “None of them want to scratch you,” Mrs Figg said with a tut, then shooed
Harry away.  “Go on with you, I think I’ve held you captive enough for one
day.  Go, have fun.”
   Harry though had lost his appetite for a walk.  Instead, he rummaged through
Draco’s books, picking out Treasure Island, and with a grey and golden kitten
entourage, retreated to the attic to lose himself in someone else’s adventures
for a while.  
   He told himself he would sleep better that night, like Mrs Figg had said. 
With no one to slap his face or roll into him, how could he not?  However he
found the reality to be that he was plagued with terrible nightmares, like the
kind he used to have back in London, and he woke crying and trembling with no
one to comfort him. 
   Over the next few days he tried to get used to his new routine, and smiled
widely whenever Draco talked about the exciting things he and his mother were
getting up to.  He was happy for him, he really was.  But with more and more
news coming through about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour, and the
Americans joining the war, Harry found his nerves to be even more on edge, and
his dreams to be persistently unsettling. 
   Mrs Figg was determined to be cheerful, despite Harry’s mood, and he forced
himself to try not to be such a stick-in-the-mud.  Draco’s absence was only
going to last a few weeks, and then things would be back to normal.  He didn’t
want to begrudge his best friend time away with his mother anyhow, that would
be very mean spirited indeed.  And even though Pearl Harbour was a terrible
tragedy, everyone was saying that it was a good thing that America was now
joining the war effort.  “Now we’ll send those Jerrys running,” Mrs Figg said
one morning whilst reading the paper.  Gradually, his dreams about more
bombings began to calm down again. 
   Harry got into the habit of letting both Treacle and Shelley sneak up to his
and Draco’s bedroom, even though he wasn’t supposed to, and having their extra
weight on the bed, no matter how nominal, helped him sleep a little better at
night.  The nightmares were still worse than when Draco was there, but it was
hard to lie in the dark crying when there were two mewling fluff balls there to
cuddle.
   The next weekend, he helped Mrs Figg put up her battered Christmas
decorations; they may have been older than he was, but they cheered Harry up
immensely with their bright colours and gay sparkle.  They went to the carol
service at the local church on the Saturday night, and Mrs Figg even let him
have half a cup of mulled wine, which made his head swim alarmingly but he
rather enjoyed it all the same.
   By the time Harry awoke on Christmas Day, his morale was suitably lifted
again.  He’d still had a nightmare of some description in the early hours of
the morning, but Treacle’s gentle purring had lulled him back to sleep without
too much bother.
   “Merry Christmas,” he told his and Draco’s cats as they climbed all over
him, meowing to be fed and to be let outside to do whatever it was cats do in
gardens.  “I hope you got me something good?”
   Treacle’s gold and orange face looked at him curiously, and he laughed and
rubbed his head.  “It’s okay,” he joked.  “I know cats can’t buy presents, I
don’t mind.  I still got you some special tuna fish with my own pocket money.”
   “Meow,” said Treacle, swishing his tail.
   Harry eagerly got washed and dressed, finally able to wear the splendid
jumper Ron’s mum had knitted and posted him last week.  It was a riot of
colour, and was covered in a pattern of presents boxes with big bows tied on
top.  “Spiffing,” he said in a silly voice to himself in the mirror, but
Shelley gave a loud meow of agreement, and that was good enough for Harry.
   “Merry Christmas Mrs Figg!” he hollered as he came charging down the stairs,
and Mrs Figg grabbed him for a big hug and a kiss. 
   “Merry Christmas my darling,” she said.  She was dressed in a rather jolly
green dress that clashed wonderfully with her pink and brown slippers, and had
the wireless on playing cheery Christmas jingles.  
   They started by cutting into the Christmas cake she had painstakingly saved
up to make back in October, collecting the necessary ingredients over the
period of a couple of ration books.  Harry made the tea as she sectioned off
two big slices for their breakfast.
   “I thought we might open presents,” Mrs Figg suggested.  “Then go for a
walk?” 
   Last year, both he and Draco had been a lot more reserved about the prospect
of their first Christmas away from home, and it had been hard for Mrs Figg to
get them to do much more than eat their lunch and open a few presents. This
year however, Harry was determined to be a much better sport, his glumness over
Draco’s absence included.  “Could we visit Mr Figg?” he asked, knowing Mrs Figg
would like that.  “I found some remarkable holly I thought he might like, it’s
extremely green.”
   “Just like your eyes, hey lad?” she agreed cheerfully.  “That sounds
lovely.  Then we could pop in to church and say a few prayers?”
   Harry nodded.  “Then home for lunch.”  Christmas dinner, even during
wartime, was still one of the best meals of the year to Harry’s mind.  They had
a small turkey to roast, and even a little bacon, as well as vegetables from
the garden and the last of the blackberry jam, which was a pretty clever
substitute for cranberry sauce. 
   It wasn’t the most extravagant day, but Harry was exceedingly happy with
their plan nonetheless. 
   Except a knock at the door came just as he was about to sink his teeth into
his rich fruitcake, and he paused to raise his eyebrows at Mrs Figg sat beside
him at the kitchen table.  “Probably a neighbour come to give us well-wishes,”
she said after a moment’s thought.  “Why don’t you run and answer, they’ll be
dazzled by your new jumper.”
   Harry grinned and ran through the living room, heaving the heavy wooden door
open to great their guests. 
   “Merry Christmas!”Draco and Narcissa Malfoy cried.
   Harry just stared for a moment, utterly stunned.  “You’re here?” he
squeaked.
   “Of course,” Mrs Malfoy laughed.  “Christmas time is for spending with
family after all.”
   Draco was tugging a large wheeled shopping bag behind him as he bustled into
the house.  “And look at all we’ve bought you!”
   “My goodness,” Mrs Figg remarked, coming in to see the Malfoys, several cats
trailing behind her.  “You do know how to make an entrance, don’t you?”
   “The surprise was Draco’s idea,” said Mrs Malfoy fondly, though Harry got
the impression that maybe she had wanted to warn them of their intended arrival
in advance.
   Draco though looked extremely pleased with himself.  “Just how Mother
surprised me,” he said.  “I said last year we stayed in the whole day, so we
shouldn’t be disrupting any plans.”
   “No plans that can’t be jigged about,” said Mrs Figg happily.  “Although,
I’m worried we won’t have enough to feed everyone?”
   Mrs Malfoy placed her hand on her chest.  “As if we would impose ourselves
on you without thinking to bring provisions?”  She smiled widely and prettily
as she and Draco opened the zipper to their shopping trolley, and Harry gasped
when he saw what was inside.  A whole hock of ham was neatly wrapped up, more
potatoes and cabbage to go with the carrots and peas from the garden, as well
as flour, eggs and milk. 
   “Mother would like to make us her Yorkshire puddings,” Draco said proudly as
they deposited the last of the food supplies on the table.  “They are simply
divine.” 
   “This is too much,” Mrs Figg thickly, but Mrs Malfoy shook her head. 
   “Arabella,” she said warmly as two very fancy bottles of red wine were
produced.  Harry was almost certain they had to have come from the black
market, but the look of joy on Mrs Figg’s face made him decide it was worth
it.  “You have housed my son for over a year, and look set to continue to do so
for the foreseeable future.  It is my absolute pleasure to be able to share
some of our harder-to-come-by items with you.”
   “We shall have a wonderful day,” Draco announced, and took Harry’s hand to
give it a good squeeze.
   Harry hadn’t really appreciated how much he had missed his friend until that
moment, when he suddenly felt quite overwhelmed, numerous thoughts tumbling
through his mind all at once.  He missed Draco by his side, the way they would
always reach out for the other’s hand, how they would sleep knowing the other
was just beside them, how they would tickle and push and hug each other.  And
now, with their hands connected once again, something in Harry broke just a
little, and he flung his arms around Draco, burying his face in his shoulder to
try and mask his unwanted tears. 
   He vaguely heard someone make a noise of pity, but he was mostly focused on
Draco hugging him tightly.  “Why are you sad?” he whispered.
   Harry shook his head.  “Not sad,” he said.  At least, he didn’t think he
was, it was hard to tell.  He missed his mother and father terribly, and
thinking about the war getting worse made his insides writhe, but that wasn’t
why he was crying.  “Happy,” he mumbled with a wet chuckle at his own
silliness. 
   “Oh my dear,” he heard Mrs Malfoy say, and felt her hand stroke the back of
his head.  “It’s alright.”
   After a minute more, Harry composed himself enough to let go of Draco and
step sheepishly back.  “Sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of
his jumper.
   “Nothing to be sorry about,” said Mrs Figg gruffly, her cheeks a little pink
herself.  “What’s say we get this meat in the slow cooker, and pop the rest in
the larder for later?”  
   “And then we can do presents!” Draco said, his hand still in Harry’s. 
“Mother, can I show Harry our special present now?”
   He looked fit to burst with excitement, and Harry felt a guilty spike of
interest.  He didn’t want to be greedy, but he hadn’t expected a present from
Draco’s parents. 
   “Go on then,” Mrs Malfoy said kindly, already helping to move the food into
the kitchen.
   So Draco tugged Harry to the front door, and Harry watched on in
bewilderment as they stepped outside .  He had definitely seen their wrapped up
presents in the lower half of the wheelie bag.  “Why are we going outside?” he
asked, confused and still a little shaken from his unexpected tears. 
   “That’s why!” Draco said.
   Harry stared in disbelief.  There were two bicycles propped up against the
side of the cottage wall.  “What on Earth-?” he uttered.
   “They’re from Father,” he gushed.  “I told him that’s how everyone gets
around in the country.  One for you and one for me!”
   Harry was too stunned to well up again, or even shiver in the terrible cold
wind.  “A bike?” he breathed.  “For me?”
   Draco nodded and pulled him over to inspect them closer.  They were
matching, except one was green, and the other was red.  “You can pick the one
you like the best,” he said quietly.
   But Harry shook his head.  “No, you pick yours first,” he said.  “It’s only
fair.”
   Draco bit his lip.  Harry worried he might insist on him picking which one
he wanted, and he really didn’t feel comfortable doing that.  He would be happy
with whichever one Draco didn’t want.  “Well,” he said slowly.  “I do rather
like the green,” he said hopefully.
   Harry’s face lit up.  “And I like the red,” he announced truthfully. 
“Perfect!”
   And indeed, it was perfect, the whole day was.
   They went back in to open all their other presents (including a can of tuna
for a couple of hungry little kittens) and Harry was delighted to receive a new
pair of shoes, a couple of books, lots of sweets, some socks, and last of all,
a set of replica toy spitfire planes from his parents.  “You must have one,” he
told Draco, holding one of the matching two out for him, extremely content that
he was able to share a present back, even if it was small.
   They left Mrs Figg and Mrs Malfoy with a glass of crimson wine each and a
feast to prepare, whilst they took their new bicycles out for a spin.  Harry
hadn’t ridden in a long time, and his new bike was quite different to the old
one his parents had had, but he soon got the hang of riding it again.  It was
like some sort of flying, and the boys shrieked as they hurtled down the muddy
paths, hot and sweaty despite the fresh flakes of snow falling quietly around
them.
   Dinner was one of the best Harry had ever eaten, and as such he ate until he
was sure he might be sick.  That didn’t stop him from having some of the
Christmas pudding though, because Mrs Figg lit it on fire, and you couldn’t
miss an opportunity to have a pudding that had genuinely been on fire.  It was
completely worth it too when he found the silver sixpence in his helping.  “I’m
rich!” he joked, holding up his prize.
   After another bike ride, a visit to the graveyard to pay respects to Mr
Figg, and a prayer in the local church, Harry and his adopted family made their
way wearily back to the cottage.  “I suppose we ought to be heading back to the
hotel,” Mrs Malfoy said after they’d had a restorative cup of tea.
   Draco bit his lip, glanced at Harry, then back to Mrs Malfoy.  “Mother,” he
said timidly.  “I was wondering…would you mind terribly if I stayed here
tonight, in my room?”
   Harry blinked in surprise, suddenly a great deal more awake.  Draco wanted
to stay at home?
   “Surely you want to make the most of having your own bed love?” Mrs Figg
asked, but Draco bit his lip again worriedly, and looked to Harry for support.
   Harry wasn’t sure what to say, he was so torn.  He knew they were never
supposed to say how nice it was sharing a bed, because that wasn’t something
friends really did, it was something families did.  But Draco was practically
family to him, and if he was honest he had missed having him next to him at
night quite terribly.  “Shelley would like that,” he said, blurting out the
most idiotic thing that came into his head.
   But Draco’s eyes lit up.  “Yes, I’d love to spend some time with Shelley,”
he said keenly, picking up the kitten sleeping by his feet as if to prove a
point. 
   Mrs Malfoy was already smiling though.  “Of course you can stay here,” she
said.  “It is your home after all, and we have another week to enjoy our little
holiday at the B and B.”
   Draco grinned at Harry in victory, and he grinned right back. 
   Shortly afterwards, they bid Mrs Malfoy a goodnight, and Mrs Figg didn’t
have too much trouble ushering two overtired boys into the bathroom to brush
their teeth and get into their pyjamas.  “These are a bit small on you now,”
she said, handing Draco his old pair, and his current one was at the hotel. 
“But they should still do.”
   When they crawled into bed, Harry knew he was going to sleep the best he had
all week, and was pleasantly surprised when Draco rolled over and pulled him
into a hug.  “Night night Harry,” he mumbled.
   In that moment, Harry knew Draco had missed sharing their bed as much as he
had, despite having a lovely time with his mother, and the realisation made his
heart swell.  “Night night Draco,” he said.
   From somewhere near the foot of the bed, one of their cats meowed in their
own little goodnight too.
   Out of all the gifts he had received that day, Harry fell asleep deciding
that this moment right then was the best Christmas present he had got of them
all. 
 
***** Chapter Four *****
                                        
September 8th 1943
 
   “Surrender you blaggards!”
   “Never! Daga daga daga!”
   “Is that supposed to sound like a gun?  Or an Italian accent?  Because it
sounds like neither.”
   Harry smirked to himself as he walked past the Creevey brothers playing with
half a dozen or so of their friends on the school playground.  “It does so,”
the youngest, Dennis, protested.  “That’s the noise a gun makes.”
   Colin, the elder, made a noise like a raspberry being blown through his
lips, and several of the other boys laughed alongside him.  “That’s the sound a
gun makes,” he insisted as Harry and Draco strolled on by. 
   “If any of those boys heard a real gun they would most likely faint,” Draco
said snootily, but Harry wasn’t going to be dissuaded from his good mood. 
   “Oh come off it Draco,” he said, bumping their shoulders together.  "A year
or two ago we would have been playing the very same game.”
   “Italy surrendering is not a game,” he said seriously looking ahead, but
Harry was still grinning at him from the side, determined.
   “No,” he said playfully.  “But it is bloody marvellous!”
   There had been word delivered to the school earlier that day that Italy had
officially laid down arms against Great Britain and the United States, bringing
them an enormous step closer to ending the war, and Harry was pleased to see
the smile creep over his best friend’s face.
   “We don’t know what will happen next,” he warned, but his grey eyes were
sparkling.  The early autumn sunlight was strong despite the leaves beginning
to fall from the trees and the air was still warm and balmy, clinging
resolutely to summer.  It was just over three years to the day that Harry and
Draco had arrived in Little Whinging, and while Harry would never have thought
they would have still been there, that the war could have gone on so long, he
couldn’t deny the taste of hope he felt in the air at that moment. 
   “No,” he agreed.  “But it’s still a good move, it’s a step in the right
direction.  Just think – at this rate the whole affair could be over by
Christmas!”
   Draco grinned widely at that.  “Always such an optimist,” he said, and Harry
pinched him in his side, earning him a delightful squeal as he hopped out of
Harry’s reach. 
   “Get off me you beast,” he cried.
   “Imagine it though,” Harry said, not willing to be distracted long.  “Back
in London, with our mothers and fathers, wouldn’t that be something!”
   Draco slipped his hands into his pockets as they turned down one of the
lanes, cutting through the woods.  “It would be remarkable,” he said, breathing
out sombrely.  “It wouldn’t be like it was before though.”
   “Well no,” said Harry, because that was obvious to him.  “It’ll be better. 
Because now we’re friends.”
   Draco nodded.  “Perhaps mother could persuade the school to let us be in the
same lessons still?”
   “Absolutely,” Harry said with enthusiasm, darting over an old puddle and
making his gasmask box bounce on the back of his thigh.  “I’ll even start
taking Latin with you.”
   Draco laughed loudly.  “You’re hopeless at Latin,” he teased.  “You can’t
string two words together!”
   “That’s because I haven’t tried properly,” Harry boasted, walking backwards
so he was facing Draco walking behind him.  “You’ll just have to tutor me.”
   “There’s only room for so many miracles at a time Potter,” he drawled,
looking at him through his eyelashes.  “I think the surrender of Italy will
have to suffice for this year.”
   Harry growled and lunged to tackle him, but Draco used his extra height and
dashed away as he barked out a laugh.   “Come back here you devil!”
   “You’ll have to catch me first!”
   Harry sprinted after him, cackling with glee as they crashed through the
trees into the cooler shadows of the forest.  “It’s cheating when you have the
legs of a giraffe at your disposal,” Harry bellowed after him, shoving his
glasses back up his nose where they slipped.  “But you’re no match for me!”
   “Big words Potter, coming from such a little man!” Draco flashed a smile
over his shoulder and darted down their well trodden path that lead up to the
blackberry bushes.  It was highly unlikely there would still be any left after
they and the wildlife had picked the shrubs clean over the summer, but it was
where they often found themselves headed whenever they came into the forest out
of habit.  It was their secret space, where they would sit and talk for hours,
fruit to eat or not. 
   Eventually Harry did catch up with Draco, but he merely slung his arms
around his waist and spun him around.  “I told you I’d win,” he chuckled as
they both stumbled free, and Harry let his hair be ruffled affectionately for a
second before he batted Draco away.  He liked doing that to remind Harry of the
couple of inches he had over him, and Harry liked to pretend it annoyed him. 
Secretly though, he always thought it was nice to feel Draco’s fingers through
his hair, even though that was probably a strange reaction to have. 
   “You should join my football team,” Harry said as they began to stroll along
the make-shift path, catching their breath. 
   Draco sighed.  “We’ve been through this,” he said, and they had, after a
year or two of Harry patiently probing and encouraging Draco to play.  “Father
doesn’t like it, he thinks it’s for commoners.”
   Harry tutted.  “Football is for everyone,” he said defiantly, although from
what he’d gleaned of Mr Malfoy, he might be overestimating his bravery were he
to ever meet him in person.  “Besides, when he sees you in midfield, he’ll soon
change his mind, you’re a menace on the pitch!”
   Draco smiled shyly at him.  “We’ll see,” he said.
   They walked a little further in silence, almost at their blackberry patch. 
“I suppose,” Harry piped up, striving to keep his voice level.  “It will be
strange not living together anymore.” 
   It was the only (rather selfish) thought that put a dampener on his elation
at the prospect of the end of the conflict.  He had grown so accustomed to
Draco always being there, by his side, that he wasn’t sure who he was any more
without him there to turn to.  As much as he longed to go back home and be with
his parents, it would be a little empty without Draco there whenever he wanted
to talk to him.
   Draco thought on that a moment.  “You’re right,” he said.  “But, I’m sure I
could persuade Mother to have a room set up for you, so you could stay whenever
you wanted.  There are so many, we never fill them all with guests, not even at
dinner parties.  You can have your own all the time, for whenever you want it,
we’ll even decorate it how you want!”
   Harry looked over to him as they flopped to the forest floor, the grass in
front of the sparse blackberry bush bathed in a pleasant pool of afternoon
sunshine.  “Would you really do that?” he asked, a strange little hope in his
chest.  It wouldn’t be like sharing their bed, but it would be lovely to know
he had a permanent place at Draco’s home.  It warmed his skin as much as the
sunlight.   
   “Of course,” said Draco, leaning back on his hands.  “I’ve grown so used to
tormenting you, Mother would most likely sling me out into the street if I
suddenly turned my talents on her, I’d need to keep you by my side to stop me
from harassing her!”
   Harry shoved him, and Draco shoved him back, laughter bubbling at the back
of their throats.  Harry left his shoulder resting against Draco’s, and
mimicked him by leaning on his hands too.  “Seriously though, you think your
parents wouldn’t mind?”
   “Not at all,” Draco said seriously.  “Mother adores you, and Father adores
Mother, so will do whatever she says.  Once he’s back from the war, you’ll be
able to meet him and I’m sure you’ll both get on splendidly.”
   “Even though I’m…”  Poor.  He wanted to say poor.  He lived in a small
terraced house, and Draco lived in a five story mansion.  “Not like your other
friends,” he finished instead.
   Draco looked over at him, sincerity in his eyes.  “You have courage and
selflessness in your heart Harry,” he said quietly.  “My father will respect
that, I assure you.”
   Harry held his gaze a little while.  It should have been uncomfortable, but
it wasn’t.  “You think I’m brave?” he asked, touched. 
   “And unselfish,” Draco said with a nod.  “A little pigheaded sometimes-” 
Harry slapped him lightly on the arm, but they were both laughing.  “But yes,
you’re a good sort Harry Potter, you’ll be a good man, anyone can see that.”
   Harry bit his lip, and warmth spreading through his chest.  Draco had never
said such openly kind things about him like that.  “Well,” he said, a little
nervous.  “You’re a good sort too.  You’re clever and trust-worthy, and loyal. 
I’m sure my parents will like you very much when you meet them too.” 
   Draco pulled at the grass, tearing several blades off.  “I’m not good with
people,” he said quietly.  “I don’t present a good first impression like you
do.”  He raised his eyes to search Harry’s.  “I would hate for your family to
think I was cold, merely because I was unsure of what to say?”
   Harry thought back to their first few weeks together in Little Whining, the
first day in particular when Draco had been so standoffish it had been
borderline rudeness, only to collapse into desperate tears once they were
behind closed doors.  How Harry had had to stay by his side at school and
introduce the both of them to their fellow students, how he’d gradually eased
Draco into their games and conversations with the little snippets of
information he’d learned about his life, speaking on his behalf until Draco
reclaimed his own voice. 
   But it had been a long time since Harry had had to act as Draco’s protector
or his guide.  Draco was friends with all Harry’s friends in the village, and
had even made one or two of his own from when his mother had visited and she
had introduced him to some acquaintances that Harry had yet to meet.  (Not that
he minded, much.  It was understandable that Draco would meet other boys from
well off families that Harry wouldn’t have anything particularly in common
with.  He told himself that was alright.) 
   “You’re different now though,” Harry said warmly.  “You’ve made lots of
friends here, so even if you’ve a bit worried meeting new people in London at
first, you’ll soon come out of your shell like you did here too.”
   “You think?” Draco asked.
   Harry shrugged.  “You’ve always got something interesting to say,” he told
him genuinely.  “I don’t think you’ll struggle to make a good impression.”
   Draco rolled his eyes.  “That’s just because you seem to find all my useless
nonsense fascinating,” he teased.  “Normal people don’t care how many years the
Great Wall of China took to build, or how gravity works, they find it terribly
dull.”
   Harry stuck his chin out.  “That just makes normal people terribly dull
then,” he said.  “And who wants to be friends with them anyway?”
   Draco barked out a laugh, and Harry followed, both of them collapsing to the
ground in mirth.  “You’re right,” Draco chuckled, giving Harry a tickle that
made him yelp.  “Normal is rubbish.”
   “Let’s promise to never be normal,” Harry announced, flinging his hands up
to the sky, making his vow to the whole universe.  Then he turned and stuck out
his hand out for Draco to shake.  “Swear?” he said, his heart suddenly
fluttering.  “That we’ll never be normal or boring?”
   Draco looked at the proffered hand a moment, then took it firmly.  “I
promise,” he said sombrely.  “That you, Harry Potter, and I, Draco Malfoy,
shall never be normal or boring.”
   They were lying on their sides now, hands still clasped and resting on the
grass, looking at one another naturally.  Harry shifted his fingers so they
were laced together with Draco’s, his skin cool as always against Harry’s.  He
had an urge to say something more, but he got the feeling he was saying quite a
lot in that moment without needing to open his mouth, so decided not to spoil
it.  He hoped though that Draco knew how lucky he felt to have met him, how
important he was to him, how he always wanted to be friends and to have him in
his life. 
   His feelings were overwhelming him, and he couldn’t help but pull Draco into
a hug, the way they did at night sometimes.  Draco allowed it without any
resistance, sliding his other arm around Harry’s back to pull him close.  The
squeeze he gave with his hand seemed to convey all the same emotions Harry had
been experiencing, and he felt such a surge of fierce love he trembled. 
   “What’s wrong?” Draco murmured.
   Harry shook his head.  “Nothing,” he said, pulling his head back so he was
face to face with Draco, their noses only an inch or so apart.  His pale skin
was like milk, his lashes and brows golden in the autumnal sunlight.  Harry had
never really noticed the pale rose colour of his lips before, or the sort of
heart shape they made, but now he was captivated by them. 
   He didn’t want to lose this, this special closeness they had.  He felt a
swell of panic in him at the thought of no longer sharing a room, let alone
their bed, of not being able to turn in the night and find comfort in his best
friend beside him.  He didn’t want this to end, the best thing to have come out
of their evacuation, and he felt a lump rise in his throat.  If the war really
was coming to a close, he should be happy, but in that moment the only thing he
could see was Draco, and how he would surely lose him. 
   His mind was not right, he was consumed by selfish and unreasonable
emotions.  That was the only reason he could fathom afterwards, to explain why
without thinking, he leaned over, and pressed his lips to Draco’s. 
   For a second or two, the entire world stopped, and he was lost in the
perfect connection they shared.  But then reality came crashing back down, and
both boys pulled apart in shock.
   “I’m sorry!” Harry cried, scrabbling away, sickened by the horror and
confusion he was witnessing on Draco’s face as they both hastily sat back up,
several feet away from each other.  He covered his mouth with his hands, as if
he could undo what had just been done.  “I’m so sorry Draco!  That was
unnatural, I don’t know what came over me!”
   Draco was staring at him breathing shallowly, and Harry could feel fresh
tears pricking at his eyes, but for different reasons than before.  Draco was
disgusted with him.  “Boys don’t kiss other boys,” he said quietly, his gaze
never leaving Harry’s.  “Boys kiss girls, mothers kiss fathers.”
   “I know,” Harry said miserably, covering his glasses with his hands and
squeezing his eyes shut in shame.  “I honestly don’t know what came over me,
please,” he begged.  “Please Draco, don’t be angry, please forgive me.”
   He couldn’t seem to stop the tears from escaping and running down his
cheeks, humiliation flaring across his body like he’d been lit on fire. 
Because the truth was, he had very much wanted to kiss Draco, it had seemed
entirely natural in that split-second.  What was wrong with him, how could he
have let his mind become so confused?
   He choked back a sob, his whole body shaking, and his eyes still firmly
shut.  Half of him wanted Draco to just go, to leave him to his disgrace, but
the other half couldn’t bear to think what would happen next between them if he
did.  He needed to know Draco understood, that he accepted his apology. 
   Which is why, when he felt the hand gently touch his knee, he snatched his
hands down and looked at his best friend immediately.
   He had crawled over to sit in front of him, worry and concern clear on his
face.  “Harry,” he said, his grey eyes wide.  “It’s okay.  The war sometimes
makes people do funny things, I read about it.  Sometimes it makes people cry
or be scared when they shouldn’t really.  It was probably just something like
that.”
   Harry hiccupped, and tried to process what Draco was saying.  He had been
terribly troubled in that moment about how their lives might change when they
moved back to London.  His thoughts had probably got confused, and Draco was
saying that was okay if it had.
   “You forgive me?” he asked.  “Truly?”
   Draco smiled.  “You certainly gave me a bit of a fright,” he said with a
nervous laugh.  “But we can forget all about it, alright?  We can never mention
it again, pretend it never happened.”
   Harry knew that was exactly what he should want Draco to say, but for some
inexplicable reason he didn’t want Draco to just forget it.  He always liked
how they touched, it was so casual, so natural, the way they hugged and leaned
back to back, and how they sometimes held hands when there was thunderstorms at
night.  The kiss had just seemed like another kind of touching, and he had felt
peaceful doing it, even if only for a second. 
   But the truth was it wasn’t natural, Harry knew that.  Boys kissed girls,
not other boys.  So he took a deep, shuddery breath, and managed to force a
smile of relief and open his heart up to accept that Draco’s forgiveness and
understanding was exactly what he should be hoping for.
   “You’re the best friend anyone could ask for,” he said, rubbing his wet
cheeks on his sleeves.  “We shan’t mention it again, everything will be fine.”
   Draco sighed happily, and threw his arms a little awkwardly around Harry. 
“Everything will be fine,” he repeated firmly.
   Inside though, Harry wasn’t so sure.  He couldn’t shake the feeling that
things between them had changed, and it wasn’t just at the prospect of moving
back home to their own families again.  He felt something dark lurking in the
pit of his stomach which prophesised that he, in a reckless act of only a
second, had ruined their friendship forever. 
 
***** Chapter Five *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter contains warnings for internalised homophobia and
     thoughts alluding to self-harm/suicide.
     For readers outside the UK, ‘R.A.F.’ stands for the British ‘Royal
     Air Force’.
 
                                        
July 31st 1944
 
   The sun was blazing down, and there was sweat running down Harry’s back as
he worked.  He rubbed the droplets beading on his forehead irritably with the
sleeve of his t-shirt, trying his best not to get any flecks of paint on his
face. 
   The project was going well, he had to admit, and just because it was his
birthday he hadn’t wanted to let a good day’s weather go to waste.  But maybe
he was starting to think this wasn’t his best idea as Draco huffed again,
making long sweeps with his paintbrush along the freshly scrubbed outside of
the cottage.
   Mrs Figg was still pretty agile for a lady of her age, managing rather well
with preparing their meals and keeping on top of the housework, especially when
both Harry and Draco were perfectly fine pitching in as much as they could. 
But over the four years they had spent in Little Whining, the cottage had
fallen into disrepair in many areas.  Harry had decided over the last six
months, since spring had sprung and the weather had made outdoor work more
palatable, that they owed it to their guardian to try and fix what they could. 
   Besides, it wasn’t like he had much else to distract himself with since last
September.
   He had hoped that cleaning the gutters and weeding the garden would allow
him and Draco some space from each other.  Draco, after all, preferred a good
book over anything else, and Harry had intended to do the chores by himself to
give them both the room to breathe they evidently needed.  But Draco, damn him,
insisted on joining in at every turn.  Perhaps he felt guilty letting Harry do
the work, but that was the point, and it frustrated Harry that he couldn’t even
do this right for their relationship. 
   He blamed himself entirely.  If he hadn’t lost his faculties completely,
their friendship would not now be holding on by a thread.  He had wanted to
accept that Draco had forgiven him for his inappropriate behaviour, but that
was hard to do when he couldn’t even forgive himself. 
  It hadn’t been hard to see the shift.  The way Draco stayed up reading late
so Harry could go to bed first, the way he walked just a little bit further
away when they came back from school, the hesitancy he had to always sit beside
Harry in lessons, finding excuses to pair off with other boys if he could.
   It was Harry’s fault, completely.  He had given in to a moment of madness,
and now it was only right that Draco should be skittish of him.  So why? he
thought savagely as he dragged his paint brush up and down as high as it could
go on the wall.   Why would he not just let it be!  Why was he painting the
house too!  Harry had offered him the opportunity to spend less time with him,
and yet here he was, still by his side, reminding him that things had changed
and would probably never go back to the way they were. 
   It was insult to injury.  That, and the fact that Draco had a new friend now
that Harry had to do his level best not to get jealous of, because he wantedhe
and Draco to spend less time together, so they could have space to move on from
the kiss in the woods.  But every time Theodore bloody Nott’s name came up,
Harry had to work very hard not to break anything. 
   Theo was one of the friends Draco knew through his mother’s acquaintances,
and he lived a couple of towns over so Draco had to take a bus to go see him. 
Harry had assumed in the beginning that would mean they only got together once
in a blue moon, but it seemed recently that they were seeing each other every
other day, and Harry would have been lying if he didn’t admit that broke his
heart.
   He tried, extremely hard, not to be bitter and resentful, because Draco
should have a friend that had presumably never harboured any perverted thoughts
towards him.  But that was how Harry had gotten into this whole mess; he
couldn’t help the way he felt. 
   Draco was the other half of himself, and he had forgotten what life had been
like without him always by his side.  But the developments over the past
several months had reminded him quite keenly what life was like without him,
and Harry had never felt more empty. 
   Draco obviously did not feel the same, and had naturally drifted away from
his odd friend, who had willed a war to continue just so he could stay with his
best friend a little longer. 
   Well, he had gotten his wish.  The war was still very much in action, and he
and Draco were still sharing a bed.  The difference now was, he went to sleep
most nights feeling sick and awkward, unable to fix the terrible rift that had
grown between them. 
   Your fault, your fault, your fault, his thoughts sang as his brush glided up
and down, white paint drops running down towards the lush green grass, forcing
him to keep alert so they wouldn’t cause a mess.  He had ruined everything.  He
would have been happy to have just carried on with their silly play-fights,
their sharing of food, their unacknowledged cuddles in the night when either
one was sad or scared.  Harry keenly missed the way Draco used to chat to him
about any old idea that popped into his head, or how he would recount whatever
interesting fact he had read in one of his books that day.  Gradually, inch by
inch, Harry had suffered what he had feared most would happen anyway,
regardless of the war.  He had lost his connection with the person he cared for
the most in the whole world after his mother and father. 
   As Draco spent more and more time with Theo, Harry had penned letters to Ron
daily.  He often took his bike to call on Neville, Dean and Seamus, even Justin
Finch-Fletchley when he grew desperate enough, as Justin was rather a bore. 
But at least he wasn’t repulsed by Harry’s company.  On the contrary, he was
rather flattered by it.  He and Draco still held a sort of celebrity status as
‘Londoners’, despite having been in the countryside many years now.  But as
much as Harry liked his friends, not one of them held Draco’s sly wit, his
calculated observations, his wild imagination. 
   And then there were his eyes. 
   Harry knew it wasn’t right to think on another boy’s eyes the way he did
with Draco, and had tried valiantly to afford the same attention to some of the
local girls, like Lavender Brown or Hannah Abbot.  But the terrible bother was,
not many people had truly grey eyes, certainly not ones that practically
sparkled silver in the sunlight.  So nobody else could measure up, and so Harry
was doomed.
  Why him!  What had he done wrong?  He had kept himself awake during already
stressful nights with these thoughts.  What had he done to deserve these
unnatural thoughts?  Was this, like Draco had said, due to stress because of
the war?  How weak was he?  Why couldn’t he control it?
   Harry had wondered, from time to time, if Draco now pitied him.  He had
never been unkind after all, just increasingly distant.  Was this his way of
trying to let Harry go kindly?
   He screwed up his eyes and tried to focus on the birds twittering in the
tress all around them.  The sunlight permeated through his lids though, a
stabbing awareness that wouldn’t let him escape reality, even for a moment. 
   There was something wrong with him.
   “Are you just going to keep going over that same bit over and over again?”
Draco drawled.  A few months ago, Harry would have called the tone playful, but
now it was like nails on a chalkboard. 
   He opened his eyes, and realised he had indeed been painting over the same
section many times, and his shoulders tensed.  “I got lost in thought,” he said
defensively, edging over to his next section, which unfortunately brought him
closer to Draco.  “Besides, at least I’m going all the way to the bottom,
you’re missing spots.”
   Draco frowned and looked down.  To be fair, there were only a few patches
where he hadn’t quite got the white paint all the way down to the cottage’s
foundation, but Harry didn’t like him criticising him, even in jest.  He knew
he was a mess, why did Draco have to rub it in? 
   “Sorry,” Draco mumbled, crouching down with a freshly loaded brush.  “I’ll
pay more attention.”
   Harry balled his free fist in frustration.  Why was he now the villain? 
“You don’t have to do this at all you know,” he griped.
   “Well you’re the one who volunteered to chores on his birthday,” Draco shot
back, not looking up. 
   Harry felt the hot prick of tears at the back of his eyes, but resolutely
forced them back.  “It’s not like my birthday was ever going to be anything
special anyway,” he said, his voice furiously calm. 
   He felt more than saw Draco look up at him.  “Why would you say that?” he
asked, and Harry shrugged, unable to quell his own misery within himself for
much longer. 
   “It’s a Monday,” he all but growled.  And it was, they had suffered through
a morning’s lessons, and then come out in the afternoon sunshine to start the
paint job.  “Monday birthdays are useless.  Besides,” he said, getting to his
real bugbear.  “You often see Theo on Mondays.”
   There was a slightly pregnant pause, in which time the only sound was
Harry’s paint brush slapping angrily against the wall.  “So?” Draco asked
slowly.  “What does Theo have to do with this?”
   “I figured you would be seeing him,” Harry snapped.   Slap, slide, slide. 
Slap, slide, slide. 
   “On your birthday?” Draco said. 
   It was the fact his voice was sad, that was what Harry thought maybe broke
him.  That he was hurt.  “I thought I’d be doing you a favour,” he snarled,
blinking back the tears that threatened again and plunging his brush so far
into the paint tin he almost coated his fingers too.  “I thought I’d do some
work, and you could run off on the bus, and everyone would be happier.”
   Draco had stood up now, and rested his brush on top of the pot.  “You
thought I would ignore your birthday?” he asked, a steely tone to his voice
that Harry didn’t like. 
   “Draco, I’m done,” he said.  “I don’t want you pretending to be my friend
when it’s clearly…not what you want.”  He bit his words out, blurry vision
focused on the bricks in front of him.  “It’s insulting.”
   “Insulting?”
   There was no mistaking the anger there, but that just made Harry even more
distraught.  “Yes, insulting!” he barked, finally turning to face his former
best friend.  “I did something…terrible…unforgivable, but I told you I was
sorry, and I though you believed me!”  He threw his brush down, not caring that
it splattered the grass.  Grass would grow, could be replaced.  Other things
were not so fortunate.  “But you’ve just drifted away slowly instead, why
couldn’t you just be honest with me!”
   “Honest?  Honest!”  Draco cried.  “What’s this sudden obsession with
honesty!”
   “Because Iwas honest, I said I didn’t know whyI did what I did, that it
sickened me, that I had no control, and yet you won’t stop judging me for it!” 
He gasped for air, still furiously blinking back tears but they seemed
determined to fall anyway.  “Theo’s like you, he’s rich and he’s normal, so why
in God’s name are you here painting this stupid house with me?”
   “Because we’re friends,” Draco shouted.  “And although you’ve been an
insufferable berk for months, I thought maybe that would change today, that you
might throw off this awful grump you’ve been wallowing in.”
   “I’m not in a grump!” Harry cried, incredulous.
   Draco folded his arms.  “If we’re being honest.  Yes.  You are.  And I’m
tired of it.”
   “You’re…” Harry spluttered.  “You’re tired of it!”  He jammed his hands into
his hair, vibrating with rage.  “Of course, if you’re tired of something, you
can leave, move on to the next thing, that’s just what it’s like for you people
isn’t it?”
   “What people!” Draco demanded.  “Harry, this is ridiculous – you wanted to
paint the bloody house, rather than behaving like a normal person and
celebrating, so I painted the house with you.  And now, what?  You think I’m
doing this to punish you or something?”
   “I don’t know WHY you’re doing this!” Harry bellowed, hurt slicing through
him like a knife.  “But we both know there’s something definitely NOT normal
about me, so why don’t you just admit it, and BUGGER OFF!” 
   “Fucking hell Harry,” he swore, and even Harry sucked in a shocked gasp at
that.  That wasn’t a word they ever used.  “We live together, why are you
making this so awkward?”
   “Just be honest, and admit what I did was unforgivable,” Harry gnashed
through his teeth. 
   “I don’t careabout what happened in the bloody forest,” Draco shot back.  “I
care that you’ve been an utter arse for weeks, months!  I’m sick and tired of
treating you like a baby, so I thought if I gave you some space and saw Theo
more, you’d snap out of it!”
   Harry seethed.  “Don’t,” he snarled.  “Don’t put this on me, have some
respect, if only a little, you owe me that.”
   “What else am I supposed to do!” Draco yelled, and a few birds hopped from
branch to branch in agitation above their heads.  “Someone has to talk some
sense into you!”
   “Oh,” Harry said, his mocking tone clear.  “You want common sense, you want
honesty?”  He gave Draco a savage smile.  “You’re a pretty rich boy that
wouldn’t have lasted five minutes without me in this town.  I’m sorry I ever
thought you were important at all.”
   “And you’re a self-involved,” Draco snarled.  “Jumped up, half-blind idiot
who will never be a pilot!”
   Harry froze as if he had had a bucket of ice water poured all over him. 
“What?” he uttered.
   Draco thrust a finger at him.  “Everyone has been too scared to tell you,
but since you’re so devoted to honestyright now, you should know what no one
has been brave enough to tell you for years.  You can’t be a pilot!”
   “What are you talking about!” Harry bellowed at him, despite the fact he was
only a foot or two away.  “What does that have to do with anything!”
   Draco suddenly took a step back, and inhaled several times.  “Your glasses,”
he said in a much quieter voice.  “You have terrible eyesight.”
   “So?”  Harry challenged.  “So, so what?  I see perfectly with them on?”
   Draco looked smaller, like he’d drawn in on himself.  “And what if they fell
off?”
   Harry opened and shut is mouth.  “I – they wouldn’t.  I tie them around my
head if I have to.”  He’d had to do it for football before, it wasn’t a
problem.  But Draco was now looking at him as if he was going to cry. 
   “Harry,” he said, taking a step towards him, but Harry took a step back. 
Draco hugged himself.  “Harry.” He screwed his eyes closed.  “You have to take
an eye test to join the air force.  They don’t let you in if you can’t pass
that.”  He opened his eyes, and looked directly at him.  “Without your
glasses.”
   “No,” Harry said, feeling like the world was tilting. 
   Draco just stared at him.  “God,” he said.  “I didn’t want it to come to
this.  Harry let me back in, let me talk to you.”
   “Me!” Harry shrieked, finding his anger again.  “It’s you, you hate me, and
I don’t know how to change who I am!  I’m sorry, okay, Draco, I’m sorry!”  He
gulped down air, trying to stay upright.  “I’m sorry I made a mistake, I’m
sorry there’s something wrong with me!  But you don’t have to be nasty!  Just
go to Theo, go be with other people like you.  You don’t have to make up lies
just to hurt me!”
   “I’m not lying,” said Draco flatly, and Harry flung his hands out in
aggravation.
   “You’re expecting me to believe that no one bothered to mention that the
fact I wear glasses will stop me getting into the R.A.F.?  You’re just being
cruel because I disgust you!”
   “I’m being honest with you because you’re my friend,” Draco said, rubbing
his own arms as he continued to hug himself.  “I swear on my life I am telling
the truth.  You can’t…you’ll never fly a plane.”
   Harry broke.  He felt it, like a physical sensation, as if his body
shattered into a thousand pieces.  It was all lies, it was vindictive spite! 
But a small part of him admitted that maybe, just maybe, Draco was talking
sense.
   He let out a terrible cry and spun on his heels, stumbling away.  He was
defective and a weakling coward.  He was nothing like his father.  Draco hated
him and he was NOTHING.
   He ran around to the front of his house, vaguely aware of Draco’s calls
behind him.  But his hands were already on his red handlebars, his leg swinging
over the frame of his bike.  He had to get away, he had to get faraway. 
   He shoved his feet into the dirt of the pathway, kicking up dust, and within
a second he was flying through the air, the way you only could on a bicycle. 
He didn’t note where he was going, he just pushed one foot over the other, the
peddles and the chain flying around and around as the wheels spun into frantic
motion. 
   No no no no no! his thoughts screamed.  All he had ever wanted, for as long
as he could remember, was to be a pilot, just like his father.  To fly planes
and soar through the sky and save people and be free!  He screamed out loud to
the trees and fields either side of him, ripping his glasses from his face and
hurling them away.  But the motion unbalanced him; the front wheel jack-knifed
and before he could registered what was happening he was hurtling over the
handlebars and landing in a crumpled heap in a ditch just off the path. 
   Harry felt like he was hurt, that he was bleeding and had probably done even
more serious damage, but just then his mind couldn’t process anything beyond
the visceral pain in his heart.  He howled, like an animal, and curled in on
himself. 
   He was nothing.  He’d lost Draco, he’d lost his dream, he was a hundred
miles from home and the world was probably ending so he might as well just let
it get on with it and leave now. 
   He cried.  He cried and cried and cried.  He cried for pushing Draco away,
he cried for the miserable wretch of a human being he was.  He cried knowing he
would never leave the Earth on a set of aluminium wings, because of courseDraco
was right.  He had known it for so long, just lurking at the back of his mind
where he refused to touch it, knowing somehow, deep down, it would shatter his
dreams. 
   He was not good enough to be a hero.
   “Harry?”
   He jolted, but didn’t make any attempt to get himself out of the ditch.  Who
knew where his bicycle or glasses had landed?  So he glanced up to see a tall,
blond figure approach, but that’s all his tear-stained, crooked eyes could make
out.
   “Go away,” he shouted thickly, his voice not even sounding like his own. 
   But Draco did not go away; of course he didn’t.  Bastard.  “Harry,” he said
softly, his arms gently wrapping around Harry’s shoulders and pulling him into
him.  Harry wanted to fight, to thrash and kick him away, but just like the
pathetic sod he was, he folded instead, giving in to the familiar feeling of
Draco’s body against his.
   “Let me be!” he whimpered.  “Why are you here?  Leave me alone!”
   Even he had to admit though, the way he clung to Draco’s sticky shirt
protested otherwise. 
   “Harry,” came his voice, always so calm, and Harry buckled again as he began
to tenderly thread his fingers through his coarse, black hair.  “Harry I’m so
sorry.  That was…utterly contemptible of me.  I should never have said such a
thing in temper.” 
   “But it’s true?” Harry demanded.  “It’s true, isn’t it?”
   He felt Draco sigh against his face plastered to his chest.  “Yes,” he
said.  “It’s distressed me for years that no one would say anything to you, not
even Mrs Figg.”  He cleared his throat and stroked Harry’s hair again.  “I fear
they felt they were doing you a kindness, whereas my opinion has long been the
opposite.”
   “Draco,” he keened, his body shuddering in grief.  “It can’t be, it just
can’t.  It’s all I ever wanted!”
   “I know,” Draco said, rocking them back and forth.  “I know Harry, I’m
sorry.”
   Harry let himself be held a while, his thoughts whizzing at a thousand miles
an hour.  “I don’t want to fight with you anymore,” he uttered after a time. 
“I don’t even know if we’ve been fighting.  I just know it’s been abhorrent and
I want it to stop.”
   “I’ve missed you,” Draco admitted, and they clung tighter together.  “I
thought giving you space would help, I thought you wouldn’t want to be around
me.  But I’m a coward and I couldn’t do it, I needed to be near you Harry, I’m
so sorry, I tried to do what was best and I think I made things worse.” 
   Harry surprised himself by laughing.  “I think,” he rasped.  “Perhaps we
both made it worse.”
   Draco laughed too.  It was a wet, remorseful sound.  “What a pair of
pillocks,” he said, and Harry laughed again, half in grief, half at his own
stupidity. 
   “Can you ever forgive me?” he whispered.
   Draco leaned back so they could look at one another.  “There’s nothing to
forgive,” he said, silver eyes shining with his own unshed tears.  “Aside from
perhaps some beastly things we said just now, but they can be forgotten, can’t
they?”
   Harry nodded and buried his face against his neck again.  “I don’t care that
you’re rich,” he said, his skin burning with shame.  “You’ve always been so
generous to me, you and your family.  I…”  He hiccupped, but refused to let
himself back out now.  “I only said it because I know it worries you.  I wanted
to hurt you.  Because you’d been hurting me.”  He was crying again, but these
were silent tears now, falling steadily down his cheeks, dripping from his chin
and soaking into Draco’s shirt already damp with sweat.  “I’m ghastly.”
   “You’re human,” Draco said, and Harry felt maybe the tears had now teetered
from his eyes too.  “I should have found a kind moment to tell you the truth
about the R.A.F., not used it as a weapon.”
   Harry nodded.  “It’s okay,” he said.  “Well,” he laughed reproachfully. 
“It’s not really, because I can’t be a pilot.”  And that cut him through again,
saying it out loud.  But he sat up properly so Draco could see he wasn’t cross
with him.  They were close enough that Harry could make out almost all his
features, despite not wearing his glasses, and for the first time in as many
months, he and Draco looked at one another with affection.  “All I care about
is being friends again.”
   Draco smiled, his tear tracks already drying on his face in the summer heat,
and took Harry’s hand.  “We never stopped being friends,” he said heavily.  “We
just got a bit rubbish at it for a while.”  That made them both chuckle, and he
rubbed the back of Harry’s knuckles with his thumb.  He sighed and bit his
lip.  “Can I tell you truthfully what I’ve been thinking?”
   Harry nodded.  “You can tell me anything,” he said, and he meant it. He
would rather struggle through some unpleasant revelations than carry on like
they had been. 
   Draco took another breath.  “After what happened…”  He didn’t need to call
it a kiss, it was awkward enough, so Harry just nodded in encouragement for him
to continue.  “I was confused.  Boys, men, aren’t supposed to do that, it’s
against the law.”
   Harry could feel himself going red again, and he looked down in shame.  It
was an act of perversion, it was unnatural.  “I know,” he mumbled. 
   “But,” Draco carried on.  “It didn’t ‘disgust’ me, like you said.”
   Harry looked back up.  “Huh?” he said, too surprised to formulate anything
more coherent. 
   Draco smiled, and tightened his grip on Harry’s hands.  “It didn’t, I
promise,” he said.  “It surprised me, and you seemed so upset I just wanted to
try and assure you it was okay, but as time went on that didn’t seem to be
helping, so I thought I’d try a different approach and give you some space.” He
shrugged his shoulders.  “That didn’t work either, so now I’m doing what I
think we should have done in the first place, and just talk about it.”
   Harry laughed and shifted so he was in a slightly more comfortable
position.  He was covered in scrapes on his arms and legs, probably on his face
too, all shining red with fresh blood.  But none looked so bad that he was
actually going to need stitches or anything, which was a relief.  “I remember
being confused with so many thoughts about the war, and how we wouldn’t be
living together anymore, and I just wanted to be close to you.  I guess I did
it in the wrong way.”
   Draco edged nearer, his smile broadening.  “But we’re still living together
now,” he said.  “And we can be close in other ways still, ways that are okay.”
   “Like this?” Harry said, lifting up their entwined hands.
   “Yes!” Draco cried, giving them a squeeze.  “And like this.”  He let go with
one hand to run his fingers through Harry’s hair again, making him giggle. 
   “That feels nice,” he admitted.
   Draco looked at him shyly.  “You can do it to me, if you want?”
   Harry bit his lip.  “Okay,” he said, smiling too.  His cheeks felt tight
from the drying tears, but he was so happy he didn’t care.  He lifted his hand
and let his fingers drift through Draco’s fine, blond hair. “Yours is so much
softer than mine,” he marvelled.
   “I like how thick yours is,” Draco said, and Harry beamed.  “Harry,” he
said, a little more seriously.  “I want you to know, really know, that there’s
no one else like you, no one else I want to be close with like this.  It’s…it’s
important to me that you know that.  Know that you’re special.”
   Harry could feel tears threatening at the corner of his eyes again, but this
time they were happy ones.  He was such a hopeless case, and he chuckled a
little at himself.  “You’re special too,” he admitted.  “There’s no one like
you.  I’m so happy we got picked to live together.”
   “Me too,” Draco agreed. 
   They sat for a bit, hand in hand, and Harry felt the world slowly righting
itself once more around him.  He would be quite happy to forget all about the
last few months.
   “Come on,” Draco said after a time, getting to his feet and pulling Harry
along with him.  “Let’s find your glasses.”
   “Oh bloody hell,” he groaned.  “What an idiot, I do hope they’re not
damaged, that would be dreadful.”
   Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Draco to locate the missing spectacles,
and aside from being dusty they were miraculously intact.  “There you go,” he
laughed, handing them back, and the world became clear again as Harry put them
back on his face.  He felt like he was seeing it afresh, with new eyes.  “Your
first birthday present.”
   Harry sighed contentedly.  “Happy birthday to me,” he said.
   “Now,” Draco announced cheerfully, picking up his bicycle where it had
dropped next to Harry’s.  Unlike his glasses, he could see that there were a
few parts bent along the frame and front wheel that would need bending back
into place, but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t do themselves.  “How about we
head home and you can have the rest of your presents?”
   Harry blushed, again, and picked up his own battered bike.  “After my
appalling behaviour,” he said.  “I doubt I deserve any presents.”
   “Nonsense,” Draco chided with a grandiose air.  “It’s your birthday sir, one
can be as brattish as one likes on one’s birthday!”
   Harry laughed and gave him a shove. “Shut up,” he said, but privately he was
extremely pleased Draco was making a joke about it all. 
   As they walked their bikes back to the cottage, Harry vowed to himself never
to be so selfish again in his entire life, and if he and Draco ever had a
misunderstanding again, he promised himself they would talk it through.  It was
only alright to forgive himself if he learned from his mistakes. 
   “Did Mrs Figg make a birthday cake?” he asked tentatively as the half
painted cottage came into view around the corner. 
   “Imade a cake,” Draco said proudly, as if it was his greatest ever
accomplishment.
   Harry laughed, delighted.  “Does it have blackberries on it?” he asked.
   Draco turned to face him, and the warmth in his eyes made Harry feel very
loved indeed. 
   “Of course,” he said simply. 
 
***** Chapter Six *****
Chapter Summary
     This chapter contains a small amount of underage intimacy. It is
     perfectly consensual, but I felt it worth warning just in case anyone
     wanted to skip over those few paragraphs for personal reasons.
     There will be one more chapter after this, then an epilogue. I’m
     sorry this update took a few days, I’m hoping the next two will
     happen faster. Thank you to everyone who has been commenting
     enthusiastically so far, it’s been a privilege to read all your
     wonderful messages!
     Juliet xxx
 
May 2nd 1945
 
   After several weeks of unrelenting April showers, May had emerged clean and
bright for Little Whinging; glorious sunshine taking the place of grey storm
clouds, much to Harry’s delight.  After a couple of days respite from the rain,
the puddles had started to dry up, just in time for the end of his and Draco’s
exams, as luck would have it. 
   “Have you ever felt so free!” Draco cried as their bikes tore down the lane
away from the school on the path that lead them out of the town.  He threw both
his hands up in the air, balancing on his bicycle the way Harry had taught him
last summer, and Harry mimicked the gesture.
   “The world is ours!” he bellowed, cycling with just his legs, splaying his
fingers apart to feel the wind rush through them.
   Draco laughed and took hold of his handlebars again, dropping back slightly
so he and Harry could ride side by side.  “How did you find the maths then?”
   “A damned sight easier than yesterday’s English,” Harry replied, pulling a
face and holding the bike with his hands once more to steer around a pot hole. 
“I have no head for Shakespeare.”
   Draco laughed in sympathy.  Draco, or course, had a head for everything, but
he particularly loved the study of a good book or sonnet.  “I’m certain you did
just fine,” he assured Harry, a gesture he appreciated, though might not have
entirely believed.  “And in any case, it’s all in the hands of God now, we must
simply sit and wait for our results next week.”
   Harry arched an eyebrow.  “I do not intend to spend a single moment sitting
around, I have sat in enough lessons now surely to warrant a solid year’s worth
of running around!”  He deftly leaned over and slapped Draco’s shoulder
playfully as they made their way down another lane.  “Come on now, we should
have an adventure!”
   “An adventure, is that right?” Draco asked slyly, grinning like the Cheshire
Cat.  “Well it turns out I’ve been saving a rather splendid surprise for you,
for a very special occasion – do you think this qualifies?”
   “Yes!” Harry cried.  “You tease!  What surprise, since when?”
   “Since last summer actually,” Draco said, then swerved his bike as Harry
tried to wallop him.  “You brute!” he chortled.
   “You beast!” Harry countered.  “Keeping a perfectly good secret from me for
almost a year.  It had better be an exceptional one!”
   “It is,” Draco assured him, still grinning, and checked his watch.  They had
been let out of school early, and weren’t to be expected back home by Mrs Figg
for another three or four hours.  “It’s a bit of a ride, are you up to it?”
   Harry scoffed.  “Do be quiet and lead the way.  And mind you be quick about
it!”
   Draco flashed him a smile, and Harry felt like he was truly flying as he and
Draco sped up along the lane. 
   After their dreadful falling out last year, Harry had made very sure never
to let anything come between them again.  So when he asked Draco how he found
this surprise, and he casually replied, “Theo and I found it,” he was extremely
pleased with himself at how he kept his flare of jealousy to a minimum. 
   Theo and Draco were still friends, but they only tended to see each other
once every month or two now.  And even if they did get together more, Harry was
secure enough in his and Draco’s friendship again that he really didn’t mind. 
He knew, no matter what, Draco would be there at the end of the day to swap
stories and fall asleep by his side, and that was what was important. 
   It had been years since Harry had had a proper nightmare, until the stress
of exams had gotten the better of him a few weeks ago.  He had expected Draco
to get irritable with him, but instead he had taken Harry’s hand on several
occasions to calm him down and sooth him back to sleep.  He wasn’t sure what he
would have done without Draco to steer him through the past few weeks. 
   But now exams were over, the sun was shining and they had more or less a
summer’s worth of freedom to look forward to.  Harry was planning on seeing if
he could get an apprenticeship at one of the local garages, and Draco had
already agreed with Mrs Pince down at the library that he could work there a
few mornings a week.  That gave them plenty of time for football, bike riding,
and even perhaps a few more projects around the cottage – Harry was sure there
were a few roof tiles that could be a little more secure than they already
were.
   All in all, the summer months were looked a great deal cheerier than the
spring ones had been.  The most incredible lift to their moods though, he
thought as they sped down a narrow, twisty path through the woods, were the
rumours that had been growing for weeks, even months:
   War was coming to an end.  Peace was on the horizon.
   Before, with the surrender of Italy, Harry had been fearful to think what
would happen to him and Draco once they no longer had to live in the
countryside together.  But that had been almost two years ago, and now they
were older and wiser, Harry trusted that he wouldn’t lose Draco over a mere
matter of location.  Besides, he was beside himself with the idea of seeing his
mother and father again after so many years apart, and knew that the end of the
war would bring so much happiness to so many others who would be reunited too. 
   They had spent almost five years of their lives in Surrey under Mrs Figg’s
care, where they had arrived as boys, and now Harry felt they were finally
becoming men.  Not old enough to have served their country, but after his
crushing disappointment at realising he would never be able to enlist in the
RAF, Harry hadn’t wanted to serve in any other division in any case. 
   He was starting to feel his heart lay in engineering, and he was eager to
investigate over the summer if that really was the case.  If he couldn’t fly
planes, perhaps he would one day be able to build them?  That had seemed like a
reasonable compromise to him once his anger and disillusionment had eased, so
this summer he would try his luck on cars, to see if he had a knack for
understanding the way machines worked. 
   Right now though, all he had to do was let the worry of his exam revision
melt away under the bright blue sky, and follow Draco as they soared through
the countryside, barely a car or another bicycle in sight.  “Where are we
going?” he called jovially across to Draco up ahead.  Harry was an accomplished
bike rider, and could go for miles, but with Draco’s long legs the other boy
would always be the faster of the two. 
   He shot a mischievous look over his shoulder.  “You do understand the
meaning of the word ‘surprise’, don’t you?”
   “Spoil sport!” Harry shot back, but he didn’t really mind.  He was just
curious, having never taken this route before.  But he trusted wherever Draco
was taking them would be okay.  He would never put Harry in any danger, or take
them so far they couldn’t be back before supper. 
   Not long after, they peeled off the main path and delved into dense
woodland, dark shadows giving them cool relief from the spring sunshine beating
down over their heads.  There was still a good path to follow, which Draco kept
them on for several more minutes, until he slowed, and turned them down a trail
that look far less used than the others they had been on for the last half
hour.
   “It might be easiest to walk the last bit,” Draco said, squeezing his breaks
and hopping off.  Harry followed suit, wincing slightly at his sore muscles
aching from where they hadn’t been used properly during the past several
weeks. 
   “How on Earth did you find this place?” Harry asked as he followed his
friend down the winding pathway, walking their bikes by their sides. 
   Draco wiped his damp forehead with his hand.  “It’s on the edge of Theo’s
family’s land,” he explained.  “He brought me here once, but he didn’t seem to
think it was all that special.”  He turned and winked at Harry.  “I knew you
would see its brilliance though.” 
   Harry tried not to beam too obviously with pride.  He loved to think Draco
knew him well enough like that, and if it was something Draco thought was
rather good and that he would like too, when Theo didn’t, that was even
better. 
   “Are we trespassing though?” he couldn’t help but ask.
   Draco shook his head.  “Theo’s parents said I can come and play around here
whenever, and you’re with me, so that’s fine.”  They pushed through some thick
shrubbery, and Harry had to make sure the spokes of his bike didn’t get tangled
with any branches.  “Besides, their land stretches so far the chances of anyone
finding us here are extremely remote.”
   Harry supposed that was a good enough answer.  “Alright then,” he said
confidently, with a nod. 
   Draco lead them on for another five minutes, until they rounded the corner
and found themselves confronted with a most delightful sight. 
   It was a small lake, or a large pond, depending on how you looked at it.  It
was a sort of kidney bean shape, surrounded by trees, and with a small rowboat
tethered to a short dock on the side closest to them.  On the opposite bank,
beyond the few trees by the water’s edge, was an open field, its grass lush and
green from all the recent rainfall.  The lake itself looked full and fresh too,
and the small, shallow streams to the left and right that permitted continuous
flow were running hurriedly.  Harry guessed it was several feet wide, from the
dock to the field, and then there was probably thirty or more feet between the
streams feeding into and out of the lake. 
   “Draco,” he breathed in awe.  “It’s…it’s simply marvellous, I’ve never seen
anything so beautiful.”
   He turned to see Draco appraising his reaction most favourably.  “I knew
you’d like it,” he said happily.  “Isn’t it a brilliant little secret?”
   “Shall we take the boat out then?” Harry said eagerly by way of a response. 
But Draco looked affronted, and Harry might have thought he’d really wounded
him if it hadn’t been for the crinkle of mirth around his eyes.
   “On a day like this?” he scoffed.  “After weeks of being cooped up in a
classroom looking at the rain, after a sticky bike ride like that?  Are you
mad, man!”
   And then he did something that almost made Harry’s heart stop.  He lowered
his bicycle to the ground, dropped his school bag, and began tugging at his
shirt.  “What are you doing?” Harry asked uncertainly.
   Draco though wasn’t perturbed, and just grinned as button after button
yielded to his long, nimble fingers, gradually exposing his chest.  “Going
swimming of course,” he cried. 
   It wasn’t as if Harry hadn’t seen more of his best friend than was strictly
polite over the years – they did share a bathroom after all.  But there was
something about what was happening, out in the middle of nowhere, that made his
skin tingle in an anticipation that he wasn’t entirely sure was from wonder or
fear. 
   “Come on!” Draco crowed, and Harry seemed powerless to disobey.
   He was still, to a small extent, haunted by his actions two years ago when
he had almost ruined their friendship beyond repair and kissed Draco on the
lips, lost in a moment of lunacy.  It had taken several months for them to
recover from his reckless actions, however Draco had not only forgiven him, but
promised faithfully that Harry had not disgusted him.  They had fallen back
into a pattern of careful familiarity entailing a strict list of what kind of
touches were acceptable, and when and where they were allowed to be close; this
felt like they were crossing a line Harry hadn’t even known had existed.
   But Draco was so happy.  He just wants to go swimming, Harry chided himself,
trying to relax.  They would horse around for a little while to let off steam,
then head home.  Nothing inappropriate had to happen.
   So he worked his shirt off with more enthusiasm, wanting Draco to know he
was excited about the amazing surprise he had orchestrated.  “Is the water
deep?” he asked.
   Draco shrugged, slipping his belt off.  “Theo never wanted to swim,” he
said.  “And I felt like a pillock doing it by myself, so we’ll have to find
out!”
   He undid his trousers (like he did every day before going to bed, Harry
reminded himself fiercely) and pushed them to the ground, leaving him only in
his white skivvies.  Harry was wearing the same, as Mrs Figg bought them the
same brand of boxer shorts, but Draco’s skin was so pale there was hardly a
difference between that and the colour of the underwear.  For a second he
couldn’t tear his eyes away from his lean chest, no longer skinny like a boy’s
but toned like a man’s, until he realised that was definitelycrossing a line,
and hastily looked down to take off his own shoes and trousers.
   His heart was thumping so loudly against his chest he feared Draco must have
undoubtedly heard it.  But his friend was too preoccupied rushing over to the
little dock to sit and swing his legs over the side.  “Brr!” he cried
dramatically as his feet splashed into the water.  “It’s a bit chilly!”
   Harry kicked off the rest of his clothes, leaving them both only in boxers. 
He took a deep breath and reminded himself this would be what they would wear
if they were at the beach, it was no different, and darted over to sit by
Draco’s side.  “It can’t be that cold,” he said with false bravado, then
inhaled sharply as his feet and calves dropped into the waters with a splash. 
“Bloody hell!” he yelped, and Draco laughed loudly at him. 
  “Such a baby,” he said with a grin.
   “Am not!”
   “Are too!”
   Harry resorted to his usual trick when Draco was getting too mouthy, and
tickled him instead.  Draco jerked and tried to twist away, and before they
knew what was happening they were tumbling into the little lake with a shout.
   “ARGH!” Harry yelled, thrashing his way back up to the surface, hands
grabbing at his face where his glasses were only just hanging on by the crook
of one arm.  The cold was shocking, but his fright at almost losing his glasses
was stronger.  “Hang on, hang on,” he gasped.  The bottom of the lake wasn’t
that deep, and he was able to place his feet on the mud whilst he carefully
removed them altogether from his face.  The world became a great deal blurrier,
and he fumbled to move back to the edge of the dock to place them up somewhere
safe.
   “Here,” he heard Draco say, and then he was turning with one of Draco’s
hands on his shoulder, the other gently taking his glasses away.  Harry
blinked, and was able to make out him placing them on the wooden boards to dry
off and stay safe.
   “Thanks,” he said bashfully. 
   Draco bobbed back in front him and took his hands, gliding them both into
the middle of the pond.  “Can you swim by yourself?” he asked.
   Harry had been taken to the lido in Hyde Park several times as a boy, and
once to the seaside before the war had broken out, so he felt he could traverse
these calm waters easily enough.  He nodded and let Draco’s hands go.  “Yes,”
he said, managing to treat water. 
   Draco was hopping up and down, his head almost disappearing between each
move.  “The bottom is only a foot or so down anyway,” he said, and Harry ducked
down to touch the cold mud with his feet, and realised this was indeed true. 
   He broke the surface of the water again, and Draco splashed him devilishly. 
“Race you to the other end!” he cried.
   They spent the next half an hour or so by Harry’s estimation racing up and
down the length of the lake, more concerned with who could dunk the other the
most rather than who was actually the fastest, whooping and laughing and
splashing and cheering.  The water seemed warm in no time, and Harry had gotten
used to the shape of the lake’s base and edges without his glasses to clearly
see, becoming bolder.  Bold enough to tackle Draco under the water and drag him
down for a second or two, before realising him to splutter back about the
surface. 
   “Got you!” he crowed triumphantly. 
   “Dirty cheat,” Draco shot back, but he was grinning too widely to actually
be angry.  They calmed after that, lying on the backs and looking up at the
blue sky between the tree branches. 
   Harry felt rejuvenated in a way he’d not really known before, with the water
sluicing through his hair and his body bobbing along in the gentle current. 
“Do you think Theo will let us come back here?” he asked wistfully.
   “We don’t have to leave yet,” Draco chuckled as he drifted past.
   “I know,” Harry said.  “I suppose, I’d like to know we can come back some
day, if we want?”
   Draco flicked some water to catch his attention, but his face was warm with
kindness when Harry turned his head.  “We can come back whenever you want,” he
said.  “We can spend all summer swimming if you like.  And if it’s too cold, we
can sit on the boat.”
   They were drifting on their backs, bellies and toes bare to the sun glinting
through the canopy, and Harry smiled back at his best friend as their fingers
cautiously intertwined.  “I’d like that,” he said. 
   The sound of a dog barking snapped them violently from their reverie, and
they both jerked upright again, heads snapping around for the source of the
disturbance.
   “Quick,” Draco giggled, grabbing Harry’s hand again and leading him over to
the bank by the field.  Harry was going to ask what he was up to, to protest
they weren’t doing anything wrong (he was surethey weren’t) so it didn’t matter
if they were seen by a dog walker, when he realised that Draco was pulling him
through the long, trailing branches of a weeping willow.
   Even with his diminished eyesight, Harry could see the branches provided
them with a curtain so if anyone did look over to the lake, they wouldn’t see
anyone trespassing, in their skivvies.  Draco giggled again, which set Harry
off, but then Draco gave him a hypocritical whispered “Shh!”
   Harry nodded, and they clung together, willing the passerby to move along,
and not spot their discarded bicycles and clothes, and wonder where their
owners were.
   Draco kept Harry steady, standing on the lake’s bottom with a firm hold on
Harry’s shoulders.  He was so close Harry could see his eyelashes almost
perfectly, despite abandoning his glasses on the dock.  He groaned quietly, and
prayed the dog wouldn’t get to curious and come sniffing around their clothes,
because he really didn’t want anyone stealing his glasses, let alone a dog
potentially eating them.
   “What?” Draco mouthed.
   Harry made circles with his index fingers and thumbs, and held them in front
of his eyes.   Draco bit his lip as a fresh wave of giggles encompassed him, so
Harry poked his chest.  “Not funny!” he mouthed, but Draco grabbed his finger
to stop its prodding, and nodded that he thought it was very funny indeed.
   They froze as they heard a woman’s voice calling the dog (named ‘Biscuit’
apparently), but thankfully it seemed they were in the field and away from the
boys’ belongings.  Harry just hoped that Biscuit didn’t fancy a swim as well.
   He and Draco were smiling at each other as the dog and its owner trundled
on, away from their secret hiding place, apparently completely unaware.  Harry
felt his heart should have slowed down as the danger passed, but the thing was
Draco was still holding him, and they were awfully close together. 
   He felt his heart speeding up again for an entirely different reason. 
   He expected Draco to let him go, to swim away so they could continue with
their games, but instead he let his hands drop under the water.  Now he was
holding Harry by his waist, and Harry’s hands were resting gently at the top of
Draco’s chest, by his collarbones.  They bobbed in the water, and Harry
realised they were only a few inches apart.
   He wanted to say something, to laugh and break the tension, but Draco was
looking at him like his face held the answers to the universe.  Involuntarily,
Harry’s thumb swept over Draco’s clavicle, feeling the hollow there and then
his hand moved slightly  upwards to hold the side of Draco’s neck.
   Draco’s thumbs were rubbing against Harry’s ticklish sides, but he didn’t
flinch away.  Instead, he felt himself be pulled a little closer, and the hands
slipped across the small of his back.
   What are we doing? he panicked.  This isn’t right, we shouldn’t be touching
like this! 
   But how was this different to when they held hands, or embraced in the
night?  How was it any worse than Draco’s new found love of running his fingers
through Harry’s hair, a habit that Harry felt equally as strongly about when it
came to stroking Draco’s own baby-soft locks.  How was that touching okay, and
this wrong?
   It didn’t feel wrong, it felt electric as slowly, very slowly, the boys let
their hands drift carefully over the other’s body that they had become so
accustomed to through pyjamas over the past five years.
   But Harry knew, he knew how badly their friendship had suffered the last
time he had become confused and crossed a line.  “Draco?” he murmured, his eyes
half closed and unable to focus on anything but his pale pink lips.  He
remembered how it had felt to touch their mouths together, to feel like the
whole world had been exquisitely banished, if only for a moment, to find peace
and tranquillity like nothing else in his life. 
   “Harry,” Draco whispered back.  “Shh.”
   It felt as inevitable as the dawn as Draco leaned in, and carefully pressed
his lips against Harry’s. 
   There was a moment of panic, a realisation of what was happening that was
quicker than before, but Harry did not give in to it.  Draco had kissed him,
and he was suddenly convinced it was the most glorious thing that had ever
happened in the entire history of the British Empire. 
   He surged forwards, pressing their chests together and running his hands up
into Draco’s wet hair, moving his mouth to deepen the kiss instinctively. 
Draco’s arms tightened around his back, their bodies slick together, and he
stepped them backwards so Draco’s back was lying on the gentle muddy incline of
the bank. 
   That meant Harry was now flat on top of him, and he could feel every inchof
him, most importantly, the arousal between his legs.
   Harry made a choking sound, unable to believe this was really happening. 
   “What are we doing?” he rasped, but Draco’s hands were in his sopping hair,
tugging him back into their kiss. 
   “Don’t,” he uttered, urgently.  “Don’t stop.”
   Harry lost all connection to any logic in his brain as his mouth gave up on
talking and dedicated itself to exploring Draco’s with fervour.  As their lips
moved, tongues slipped through and met, and Harry couldn’t help but moan as he
hugged Draco tighter to him. 
   Over the past several months he had become aware of many changes in his
body; his voice had dropped, hair had crept over his chest, and strange dreams
had meant he’d woken many a morning with a stiffness between his legs that he’d
tried his best to hide from Draco until the urges had subsided.  But now the
stiffness was almost unbearable, made all the more heightened by the fact it
was pressed directly against Draco’s own erection, heat emanating from them
both through the cool waters and the material of their underwear.  Harry gave
an experimental roll of his hips, rubbing the hard shafts together.
   Both boys cried out in a manner that made him extremely glad the dog walker
was long gone.  Harry wasn’t sure what they were doing, but he knew if felt
incredible. 
   Draco’s hips gave a responding roll, and Harry jerked in gratification. 
“Draco,” he whined, his fingers tightening in his hair.  He was snatching
breaths between kisses, his lips throbbing intensely, his skin feeling like it
was on fire.  Their shoulders were mostly out in the air, but the angle Draco
was lying against the bank meant most of them was still submerged, and the
water’s coolness was a relief as it lapped and splashed around their bodies. 
   They fumbled until they found a sort of rhythm, undulating together as their
groins rubbed back and forth, and soon kissing became impossible as they gasped
for air, their breaths ragged.  “Don’t stop,” Draco stuttered.  “Don’t stop,
don’t stop.”
   Harry had no intention of stopping, pressure building inside him like he was
going to combust or something.  He gnashed his teeth, and suddenly Draco was
shaking beneath him, his face screwed up in a way Harry had never seen before. 
He groaned, digging his fingers into Harry’s skin, and with a final thrust
Harry felt himself explode in a dazzling array of stars in front of his eyes,
his whole body shuddering as he seized Draco to him, holding him so tightly it
was as if he was afraid to ever let him go. 
   They panted together for a while as Harry felt his wits slowly come back to
him.  Alongside his wits gradually crept the dawning realisation of what had
just transpired, and then his fears began to form.  “Are you alright?” he
mumbled into Draco’s neck where his face was pressed thanks to their possessive
embrace.
   At his words though, Draco loosened his grip and did his best to lean back. 
He was lying against the bank however, so Harry moved apart too, meaning they
could look at one another. 
   “I’m great,” Draco breathed, his eyes searching Harry’s as he brushed his
hair back.  “Are you though?”
   Harry bit his lip.  “I, um,” he said evasively.  “I liked that.”
   Draco’s face lit up with a gentle smile, and Harry felt his trembling body
sag a little in relief.  “Me too,” he agreed.  “But, are you alright?”
   Unsure how to answer properly, Harry pulled Draco back into a hug.  “I think
so,” he said, but the truth was his mind was reeling with so many conflicting
thoughts.
   Draco stroked his hair tenderly.  “Tell me what’s on your mind?” he asked.
   Harry squeezed his eyes shut, unsure why tears were now threatening to
fall.  At least they were already wet, so he hoped they wouldn’t necessarily be
obvious.  “We’re not…” he started, trying to find the right words.  “We
shouldn’t…I mean, that seems like something maybe, um, boys don’t do together?”
   He risked moving a fraction so he could see Draco’s face again, and it was
filled with nothing but compassion.  “Why not?” he enquired gently, still
stroking the back of Harry’s head.
   “Isn’t it, I mean the kissing and everything…” He cleared his throat,
feeling heat rise into his cheeks.  “Isn’t it homosexual?”
   Draco bit his lip.  “I guess so,” he agreed. 
   “And that’s illegal,” Harry carried on.  “It’s perverted and wrong.”
   His voice caught on the last word, and he tried his best to hold back the
tears, but he had a feeling he was losing.  “Did it feel wrong?” Draco asked,
and he was almost relieved to hear his voice quivering. 
   Harry quickly shook his head, because he wasn’t going to lie, not to Draco,
not about this.  “It was quite possibly one of the best moments of my life,” he
blurted out in a rush, and he was immensely relieved to see Draco’s face
blossom into a look of pure delight.
   “Mine too,” he said, reaching up, and placing a chaste kiss on Harry’s
lips.  “So I argue it wasn’t wrong, laws be damned.”
   Harry studied him for a moment.  “That’s not what you said before?” he
challenged, referencing their brief kiss by the blackberry bush two years ago
even though he didn’t really want to.  Draco didn’t stop stroking his hair
though.
   “I had a lot of time to think about that,” he said, his silver eyes wide and
earnest.  “I knew what I’d been told, but I also knew how I felt.  It was nice,
Harry,” he said, sorrow creeping onto his features.  “But I was scared, and you
were angry, and I didn’t know what to think.”
   “Me neither,” Harry admitted.  The water around them had been well churned
by their activities, and there were muddy streaks of water running through
Draco’s blond hair as Harry mimicked his actions and ran his wet hand through
it.  He stirred his courage, unwilling to be dishonest with Draco, even if it
meant risking changing their friendship forever.  “But I think I know what I
want now,” he said with as much sincerity as he could muster.
   “And what’s that?” Draco whispered.
   “You,” Harry whispered back, forcing the words from his throat.  “Like
this…this close, togetherness.  The way our bodies exploded like Chinese
fireworks, I want that.  You make me so happy Draco, when we talk and do things
together.  I want to share everything with you.”
   Draco smiled, and Harry was mildly alarmed to see a pearly tear slip down
the side of his face.  “For someone who claims to be bad with words,” Draco
chuckled, another tear escaping.  “That was pretty good.”
   Harry smiled, and leaned down to place a sweet, simple kiss on his lips. 
“You make me better,” he confessed.  “At everything.”
   “You make me better too,” Draco replied.
   They kissed slowly and leisurely for some time, protected by the shelter of
the willow tree, but eventually they could no longer ignore the coldness of the
water seeping into their bones. 
   “Perhaps we should lie in the sunshine for a bit?” Harry suggested with a
chuckle, and Draco nodded, a shy smile on his plump, reddened lips.  Harry
would have to learn to be a little gentler with him he reasoned as they swam
back into the middle of the lake and washed away the mud that had clung to
them.
   The sun had shifted and the afternoon air was gloriously warm for early
May.  The two young men shook themselves off like dogs, still giddy from their
revelation and the endorphins rushing around in their blood from the kissing
(and everything else).  Harry blushed to think what they had done, but he
refused to be ashamed.  He and Draco had wanted to do it, and it had felt
amazing.  A part of him was already wondering when they could do it again…
   For now though, they flopped on their backs, the grass helping to dry them
as they looked up at the clouds drifting through the sky, and talked about the
future.
   “Do you think the war is really ending?” Harry asked as he slipped his
glasses back on and the world came back into focus.  He was cautious of being
optimistic after he’d raised his hopes two years ago, but he couldn’t help but
trust peace was really coming.
   “I hope so,” Draco murmured.
   Harry didn’t ask this time what he and Draco would do, what would happen if
(or when) they moved back to London.  He just knew it would be alright, however
things turned out.
   After some time he checked his father’s watch from where he had dropped it
by his clothes, and sighed.  “We should probably be heading off soon,” he said,
slipping his hand into Draco’s.  He didn’t really want this magical afternoon
to end, but he didn’t want Mrs Figg worrying about them either.
   They got dressed feeling only slightly damp still and hefted their bicycles
up to walk them back down the path.  “Promise we’ll come back soon?” Harry
asked.
   “Promise,” Draco replied.
   The ride back seemed even more wonderful than before, and Harry found
himself noticing the evening birdsong, the beautiful colours in the trees and
in the sky.  Even the old dirt tracks seemed whimsical to him as they sped
along. 
   He allowed himself to dare hope, that the war was coming to an end and he
and Draco could move onto the next stage in their lives, together.  His head
was filled with images of them perhaps going to the same university – if he got
in of course, Draco was sure to but Harry wasn’t so certain.  But for now, he
imagined them on the same campus, perhaps sharing halls together, then both
getting the jobs they wanted.  It all so seemed so possible.
   He was so lost in his daydream, it took him a moment to realise as they
turned the last corner into their lane, that Mrs Figg was sitting on the front
step.  The way her head snapped up made Harry guiltily think she’d been waiting
for them, but then he became aware of her hands, and he knew in an instant she
had not been fretting about dinnertime. 
   Between two gnarled fingers, resting absently next to where her walking cane
was perched, was a cigarette.  It was burned halfway down, but then several
other stubs were extinguished in a small clay tray next to the cane.  Mrs Figg
never, ever smoked.  Harry had only seen her sneak on or two when she’d been
drunk at Christmas over the years.  For her to have got through almost a whole
pack of ten made his insides drop immediately. 
   But as he and Draco swung their bikes in and opened the gate, Harry also
spotted what was in her other hand, and he felt like his heart stopped
altogether. 
   It was a telegram.
   Or at least, he thought it must be, because the post had arrived at the
regular hour this morning.  Telegrams cost money by the word, and were only
sent in emergencies. 
   Please don’t be for me! he prayed silently, but then he realised that would
mean it was for Draco, and he didn’t want that either.  They dismounted from
their bicycles, and ran them down the path.
   “Mrs Figg?” he cried as she kept her eyes on them and stood shakily to her
feet.  “What’s wrong, what’s happened?”
   She had stubbed out her cigarette even though it was only half smoked, and
was trembling with the effort of keeping herself held up with just one hand on
the cane, the other still occupied with clutching the scrap of paper to her
chest, her eyes wide with tears. 
   Harry dropped his bike unceremoniously on the lawn as Draco did the same, an
imploring look on his face that Harry was sure matched his own as they stopped
in front of her.   “What?” he rasped again.  “Please tell us?”
   Mrs Figg’s chest gave a shudder, and she thrust the letter out.
   At Harry.
   “I’m so sorry love,” she whispered.
   Harry tore the message open, his blood pulsing so loudly in his ears he felt
like it was roaring.  He skimmed the few, neatly typed words, and stumbled as
his vision blacked briefly out. He howled, a sound he didn’t even recognise
from himself, and pitched forwards.  His hands grasped at the door frame,
tumbling through the open door and into the cool, shadowy inside of the
cottage.  His legs seemed to work automatically as they fumbled up the stairs
to the attic, sobs racking through his chest as he tried to catch a breath. 
   He couldn’t see for tears though, and he tripped on the last step, sprawling
on hands and knees into his and Draco’s bedroom.  The shock jolted something
awake in him, and he screamed, a keening noise that ripped through his nerves.
   He felt hands on his shoulders, felt himself being helped up and steered
towards the bed where he could collapse.  He then felt the crumpled telegram
being eased from his fist, and the mattress shifting as Draco laid down beside
him, dragging him into a fierce protective hug.
   There was nothing he could do now though to save him, it had already been
done.  Ten words that had changed his life forever.  Ten words that Draco read,
then started crying too, rocking Harry back and forth, the telegram angrily
balled up and clutched between them. 
   Ten words.  How could ten words destroy so much?
   “I’m so sorry Harry,” Draco stuttered.
   Harry couldn’t form anything to say in return, so he just clung to Draco
tighter, feeling like he was the only thing still anchoring him to the world,
preventing him from being swallowed whole into oblivion.
   Ten words. 
   Mother’s factory bombed.  No trace of her.  I’m sorry.  Petunia. 
 
***** Chapter Seven *****
Chapter Notes
     Apologies for the delayed upload. Life…manly Brexit…happened (sobs
     into my sleeve). Anyway, it’s fine, these boys literally kept me
     going when the world was going to shit. I hope you enjoy, you’ve all
     been utterly remarkable readers so far, I’m so chuffed you’ve
     followed this story and I’ve loved responding to all your reviews –
     keep them coming!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
May 8th 1945
 
   Harry looked out over the throng of people celebrating before him, and tried
his very best to muster up a spark of happiness.  He didn’t want to ruin the
party, not when there was so much to be merry for, so he blinked his eyes
several times and tweaked his mouth into the most convincing smile he could.
   Neville Longbottom and his slightly ferocious grandmother waved at him, and
Dean and his best friend Seamus raised their glasses of squash in a toast.  But
no one came near him.
   Only Draco, who refused to leave his side.
   “You should…go…” Harry said vaguely, waving his hand out towards the long
line of tables standing in the middle of Little Whinging’s main street,
groaning under the weight of all the most impressive food and drink the town
could muster together at the announcement of Victory in Europe.  A rag-tag
group of musicians were playing all the best hits from the wireless they could
cobble together, and several dozen people were dancing wildly in couples at the
far end of the tables. 
   Draco shrugged, a little maddeningly, and popped another bite of sausage
roll into his mouth.  “I’m fine,” he said.
   Harry swallowed around the painful lump in his throat and gritted his
teeth.  “You should be celebrating,” he said determinedly. 
   Draco sighed.  “What would you like me to do?” he said kindly, his grey eyes
fixing on Harry’s.  “Pretend everything is okay, that you’re perfectly fine? 
Wander off for some ginger beer and cupcakes?”
   He reached under the table where they were sitting, and gave Harry’s hand a
fast, firm squeeze. 
   “I don’t want to make you miserable?” Harry protested weakly, immensely
grateful in truth for Draco’s steadfast support.  It had only been a week, and
he could still not yet get his head fully around the utterly abysmal concept
that his mother was dead.  That he was never, ever going to see her again.
   Just the thought of it made his eyes well up, and he fiercely tried to blink
back any tears before they could fall.  He didn’t want anyone else to know,
because he absolutely couldn’t bear to talk about it if they asked, and Draco
took his hand again, a little bolder this time, for a little longer. 
   “I am only sad because you’re sad,” he rasped.  “What kind of beast would I
be if I left you and amused myself?”  He raised his eyebrows and Harry was
forced to give him a small, weak smile which he hoped conveyed his deep
thankfulness.  “I am perfectly happy by your side, offering whatever small,
pitiful comfort I can.  Do you understand?”
   Harry risked reaching over and squeezing just above Draco’s knee.  It was
lightning fast, but it seemed important to Harry to chance such a bold move. 
“I understand,” he whispered, mindful of everyone around them.  “And I think
it’s wonderful.  You’rewonderful.” 
   The afternoon was bright and breezy as people laughed and chatted and danced
and hugged one another.  Harry watched on, envious.  He couldn’t help it.
   Mum would have loved this, he thought, unable to stop himself.  His mother
had always been a ray of sunshine, the perky voice telling him all would be
well.  “Chin up little chap!” she used to tell him, and tap his chin to really
make him do it. 
   He had been warned he might not see her whilst the war was still going on,
but seeing Draco’s mum on almost half a dozen occasions had made him hopeful. 
To have the prospect of peace, of returning to London dangled in front of his
hungry eyes, only to have it snatched cruelly away was little more than he
could bear.  It wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t fair!
   He took a deep breath and forced himself to think of all the other loved
ones that would be reunited.  Mothers and fathers and sons and daughters and
everyone in between.  Of Draco, who would surely be reunited with his father
soon, as well as his lovely mother.  He had to be happy for them, he couldn’t
let this darkness eat him alive.
   “Boys, boys,” Mrs Figg groused, ambling over with her cane in one hand and a
plate in the other.  “They were almost all gone – Draco, I would have expected
you to at least have safeguarded some for us!” 
    She sat in the seat next to Harry and plonked down the plate between the
three of them, where three blackberry tartlets rattled before settling in front
of them.
   “Oh,” said Harry, his heart warming at their special treat.  Of course,
there weren’t fresh blackberries as they were out of season, but Mrs Figg had
improvised with some saved up jam, and they looked just as delicious as
always. 
   He hadn’t managed to eat much at all in the past week.  Every time food had
been placed in front of him, he thought about how his mother would never eat
that again.  It was melancholy and selfish and he simply hadto snap out of it. 
   So he forced another little smile for Mrs Figg, then reached forward to take
the biggest of the three tarts. 
   Draco immediately took one for himself, and held it patiently whilst Mrs
Figg lifted one herself.  She seemed so much frailer than when they had first
come to Surrey, but her spirit was undefeatable.  “Today’s a celebration boys,”
she croaked, wrinkled forehead becoming even more lined as she raised her
eyebrows in affirmation.  “It hasn’t been the best of times, and right now,
Harry, it’s probably the worst of times.”
   Harry bit his tongue to stop him dissolving into tears like a baby.  He must
be strong, he had always promised himself he would be strong, ever since he had
first left London. 
   “But right now, here,” Mrs Figg continued, waving her tart at what felt like
the whole town gathered around them.  “This is good.  This is what it felt like
last time, when we knew, we knew,that the worst of the horrors were over.”
   She watched the two of them, so they both nodded obediently. 
   “Things will be better now,” Harry said hollowly, repeating what he’d been
telling himself all day, purely because that’s what other people had been
telling him all day too. 
   Mrs Figg took his hand with the one that wasn’t holding one of her homemade
pastries.  “They will,” she said, shaking it for emphasis.  “They will Harry
lad.”
   He nodded, and for want of a distraction, sunk his teeth into the tart.  The
sugar made him dizzy, but he chewed and swallowed with gusto.  “Thank you,” he
said.  “For everything.” 
   He didn’t know how to say thank you for five years of care.  It wasn’t just
a roof over their heads, or food on their plates, clothes on their backs.  It
was the kind of love and understanding that would make any mother proud.  It
was the fact that only now, when faced with the prospect of going ‘home’, he
realised he was already there. 
   Mrs Figg seemed to know what he was thinking though, and gave his shoulders
a quick squeeze of solidarity.  “Isn’t anything to be thanking me for,” she
said matter-of-factly.  “But I appreciate the thought.”
   They ate their tarts in contemplative silence.  Harry felt a little ill from
his one, not having eaten properly in the past several days, but to his mind
finishing it became the best way he could show his true gratitude towards his
guardian, so he made sure to devour every last bite. 
   “So, what’s the plan?” Mrs Figg asked after a time.  They had been watching
some impromptu Morris dancing going on, and it took Harry a moment to realise
she’d spoken. 
   “The plan?” he repeated. 
   “For going back to London,” she elaborated.  Harry felt a sinking sensation
in his belly, but Draco spoke before he could articulate any of his dread. 
   “Mother wrote to me,” he said, brushing crumbs from his hands.  “She wants
me to head back as soon as I’m ready.”
   “I didn’t know that,” Harry said, feeling a little hurt, but Draco’s eyes
softened.
   “It didn’t seem right to bring it up unannounced,” he said. 
   Harry nodded, but his awkwardness just increased.  “I, um,” he said,
tripping over his words.  “I’ve not heard from my father.”  I don’t even know
if he’s still alive, he added to himself.  “And my aunt hasn’t written anything
since…”  He cleared his throat, unwilling to mention the telegram.  “So I don’t
know…I mean…”  He wanted to ask if he could just stay, if he could try and
ignore the whole blasted business, but he knew in his heart he had imposed on
Mrs Figg long enough.  “I’m not sure what there is for me to go back to,” he
finished honestly though.  He didn’t even know if his house was still
standing. 
   Draco looked confused, which Harry found rather puzzling.  He was cleverer
than Harry, he was always two steps ahead, surely he must have guessed this
would be his predicament?  “But,” he said, blinking a couple of times.  “You’ll
come home with me to start with, until we can work out the logistics?”
   It was Harry’s turn to blink against the warm spring sunlight.  “I will?” he
asked, bewildered.
   “Of course,” Draco spluttered.  “Did you honestly think I was going to trot
off and leave you behind?”
   Harry didn’t know what to say, his throat felt too tight, so he just managed
a twitch of a smile and a jerk of his head.  But then he remembered Mrs Figg
next to him, and felt guilty.  “We don’t have to go right away,” he blurted
out.
   She sighed and shook her head.  “Boys,” she said fondly.  “This isn’t about
me, this is about you going back to your homes, carrying on with your lives. 
Don’t you be worrying about hurting the feelings of an old bird like me.”
   That got a soft chuckle from Draco and even a small smile from Harry.  “I
don’t want to seem ungrateful though?” he said tentatively.  As much as he
wanted to stay, his heart also ached to go back to London and to get answers to
the many desperate questions he had.  What exactly had happened to his mother? 
Had there been a funeral yet, was she buried somewhere he could visit?  He
cringed inwardly at that thought, because truthfully he didn’t know if there
had been any of her body recovered to bury. 
   And what of his father?  Had he returned?  Was he alive?  Even if he faced
more bad news, he knew he had to find the answers. 
   “Me neither,” Draco said, but Mrs Figg shook her head again. 
   “It’s right,” she insisted.  “It’s time.  Let’s try and enjoy ourselves a
bit today, then tomorrow we can start getting you packed.”
 
                                      xxx
 
   It took several days to slowly organise the boys’ return to London.  Mrs
Malfoy very kindly posted the money they needed to book their train tickets,
and Mrs Longbottom leant them a special carry case so they could wrangle up
Treacle and Shelley to make the trip back with them. 
   Mrs Figg insisted they take all their possessions that they had accumulated
over the years, even though Harry felt deeply uncomfortable doing so knowing
how many of them she had bought herself, but she would hear nothing of leaving
them behind.  That resulted in a number of trunks and suitcases being donated
by a number of different families, and Mr Lockhart made a great show of lending
them his car to get them from the cottage to the station.  Even though Harry
suspected he wanted to show off the fact he owned a car more than actually
help, he couldn’t help but be appreciative anyway.  It was a bit of a squeeze,
but they manages to get all the bags into the boot, and the two bicycles tied
securely onto the roof. 
   Draco assured him that his mother would meet them at Victoria station with
the family driver, so the last leg of their journey would not be made difficult
by so much luggage, and Harry began to feel rather intimidated about staying at
Malfoy Manor.  The fact it was even called ‘Malfoy Manor’ was daunting enough
as it was, but the fact that Draco’s family owned a car and employed someone
specifically to drive it was quite overwhelming. 
   Harry didn’t have all that long to dwell on his many worries though before
it was the last night, and they were trying to sleep in their bed for the final
time.  Try as he might, he couldn’t stop the tears from falling, thinking about
how the life he had grown so used to was ending, and he how he was willingly
heading into the unknown.  Draco held him tight though and kissed the top of
his head softly, whispering promises of how it was all going to be okay. 
   Harry wasn’t sure he believed him, but he took comfort in the words anyway. 
   The next day, it felt like half the school gathered at Little Whinging
station to wave the two boys back to London, along with several other children
who weren’t half as little as they had been when they had arrived so many years
ago.  Harry looked at Draco as they hung out of the window to give last minute
hugs goodbye – at his tall frame getting stronger every year – and realised
they weren’t even really children anymore.  They were almost men. 
   He still felt like that small boy though as he tried his hardest not to cry
in front of everybody, but his resolved failed when Mrs Figg pressed one last
gift into his and Draco’s hands as the train chugged to life and began to crawl
out of the platform.  He looked down to see two, small, homemade jars of
blackberry jam, and the tears began to fall.
   “You take care of each other now,” Mrs Figg called out sternly.  “And you
write to me, every week!”
   “We promise!” shouted Harry as she became smaller and smaller.  “We
promise!”
   They waved until the train rounded the bend, and the town vanished behind
them and melted into the countryside. 
   The boys found an empty compartment once they had stowed their luggage
safely, where they were able to pull the curtains and at least have a modicum
of privacy.  They let their cats roam free, leaving the worry of how they were
going to force the indignant creatures back into their carry case for when they
were approaching London.  For a short while, they risked holding hands, their
heads bent together as they sat in quiet contemplation, each thinking on their
time away from the city whilst the war changed the world around them.  But
after a time, Harry knew it was risky to continue to push their luck, and
instead they satisfied themselves with just letting their knees touch through
their trousers.  Their conversation gradually came back to them, and Draco
talked with cheerful determination about how Harry would be welcomed by both
his mother and his father, Mr Malfoy having returned from France several weeks
ago.  He refused to let Harry give up hope that his own father would be waiting
for him, for which Harry was extremely thankful.
   The roof of Victoria Station was made entirely of browning glass, criss-
crossed with hundreds of steel girders that caused the sunlight that filtered
through to lattice across the platform floor.  A guard kindly helped the boys
get their many suitcases off of the train and onto a trolley, but Harry
insisted on pushing it himself into the main concourse whilst Draco trundled
the two bicycles.  The Malfoys were already doing so much for Harry, he didn’t
want to greet them looking like a freeloader. 
   Mrs Malfoy met them beside an ancient looking man in a driver’s livery who
Draco informed Harry was named Mr Dobby.  Mrs Malfoy did not cry exactly, but
her eyes were extremely bright as she came forward and seized Draco in an eager
embrace.  “Oh my dear boy,” she murmured.  Harry noted that Draco was almost as
tall as his mother now as he tried not to watch their embrace with too much
envy.  Mrs Malfoy though soon turned to him and enveloped him in her arms too,
stroking his hair tenderly.  “I am so sorry Harry to hear what happened to your
mother,” she told him, then looked him in the eye.  “You are welcome to stay
with us as long as you like.”
   “Thank you,” Harry managed around the lump in his throat. 
   Malfoy Manor was every bit as grand as its name.  It stood tall and white in
a row of adjoining town houses, towering four stories high.  Harry saw much
destruction from the car window as they drove, evidence of the horror the bombs
had caused, but Wiltshire Drive was mostly untouched.  He worried again if his
own home was even still standing, or merely reduced to a pile of bricks like
his mother’s factory.
   If only he knew for certain what had happened to her, but he had nothing to
go on except those ten simple words from his Aunt Petunia.  He had never gotten
along with his mother’s sister or her family, and he couldn’t help but feel she
was withholding information from him out of spite. The thought that she would
be so petty even in the face of tragedy made Harry very sad indeed, but
unfortunately he could well believe it. 
   The Malfoys had staff to help unload the car, and Harry was not allowed to
assist in carrying the luggage as he wanted to.  Instead Draco steered him into
the house and began excitedly showing him around.  “I want you to feel at
home,” he said anxiously as he ran his hand through his hair and looked around
the drawing room.  “Though I must say, I’ve somewhat forgotten myself what it
feels like to think of this as home.”
   “It’s so big,” Harry confided, and Draco nodded mutely. 
   The tour concluded on the top floor where Draco’s childhood bedroom was
located.  Harry was extremely keen to get a look at the place where Draco had
spent his boyhood until they had moved to Little Whinging, and he was
unsurprised to find it absolutely filled with books.  Draco watched him with
interest as he took stock of the stuffed toys and framed photos that also
decorated the surfaces, and as he ran his fingertips over the beloved books’
spines.  “This is where you used to sleep?” Harry asked, although it wasn’t
really a question.  Draco nodded in response anyway. 
   There was only one other room on this floor, which Mrs Malfoy had already
organised to been set up ready for Harry’s arrival.  “We’re still in the
attic,” Harry noted, looking out of the window at the impressive view. 
   “Almost,” Draco agreed with a reserved little chuckle. 
   Dinner was a quiet affair.  Mr Malfoy may have come back from his tour of
duty relatively unharmed, but his eyes held a haunted look and he jumped
whenever the cutlery clattered too loudly.  He kept looking over at Draco
though every now and again, and when he did he would smile and nod at him. 
Harry felt, in his own silent way, he was extremely glad to be home, and to
have his family by his side again.
   Harry could think of very little to say, so the conversation was carried
mostly by Draco and Mrs Malfoy.  Draco’s mother was keen to let them know of
all the developments in the area, but sadly that mostly entailed a list of what
had and had not been destroyed.  Their old school was half demolished, but
mention of that lead Draco to announce both his and Harry’s results from their
summer exams, and he and his mother began excitedly talking about which schools
they could perhaps attend instead, and then which university.  Harry had to say
the prospect cheered his spirits a little, as he was included in all of Draco’s
plans without question, but he could not seriously consider anything of the
sort until he had discovered in detail the fate of both his parents. 
   Harry ate as much as he could to be polite, but his heart was far from in
it.  He passed several scraps to Treacle and Shelley as they wound around his
and the chair’s legs, aware that the Malfoys’ staff had reacted with wide eyes
and pursed lips at the arrival of the two cats, but not managing enough energy
to really care. 
   Thankfully, both boys were undeniably exhausted from their travels, and were
therefore not made to stay up late.  After numerous poorly hidden yawns at the
dinner table, they were sent up to get washed for bed, feline companions in
tow.  They brushed their teeth side by side as usual in the bathroom on the
third floor, then paused uncertainly in the middle of the hallway between their
two rooms.
   “Goodnight,” Harry said, mindful of the elder Malfoys downstairs, and after
a glance at the stairway to make sure they were alone, risked a very quick peck
on the cheek.  Draco though, emboldened in his own home, pulled Harry into a
hug and tenderly kissed him on the mouth. 
   “Goodnight,” he murmured.
   They left their doors open ajar, so that the cats could move freely if they
wished, not wanting to separate them like their owners were forced to do. 
Harry felt a little better knowing he was not entirely cut off from Draco, but
his new bed still felt awfully cold and empty without him.  He willed himself
to sleep though, and he was so exhausted after all the past week’s turmoil, it
wasn’t long before he was drifting off.
   He was sadly not surprised when the nightmares came. 
   He was running through smoke and flames.  He could hear his mother’s voice
but he couldn’t find her.  “Mum!” he screamed and coughed.  “Mum I’m coming,
where are you!”
   “Shh,” he heard, and half awake, felt himself being pulled into familiar
arms.
   “Mum?” he whimpered.
   “It’s Draco,” the inevitable reply came, and Harry let himself be hugged. 
“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
   After that, he slept.
 
                                      xxx
 
   Harry’s initial reaction upon waking the next morning was that of
contentment.  He was wrapped in the arms of Draco as he had become accustomed
to, but within seconds reality came crashing down and his eyes flew open in
panic.
   “Draco!” he hissed, spinning around to his still sleeping friend.  The
morning light was spilling around the edges around the curtains, and Harry
could clearly see his blond hair and pale face, peaceful with slumber.  But
they couldn’t stay like this, it wasn’t right.  “Draco, you must wake up.”
   Draco however merely screwed up his forehead and pulled Harry closer to
him.  “Nightmares,” he mumbled.
   Harry bit his lip.  “I know,” he said.  “I know, I think I was shouting, but
I’m fine now, you have to go back to your room.”
   Draco blinked sleepily and shook his head, burying his face against Harry’s
neck.  “Not yours,” he muttered.  “Mine.  My nightmares.  Couldn’t sleep
without you.”
   Harry had heard people describe the sensation of their hearts ‘melting’
before, but until that moment he hadn’t realised it was something you really
could feel within your own chest.  He sighed and stroked Draco’s soft hair, and
gave him a kiss by his ear.  “What if your parents find you here, they’ll kick
me out.”
   “They’ll do no such thing,” Draco grumbled.  “Mother adores you, and she’s
spoilt me horribly my whole life.  We’ll explain about the nightmares and that
will be that.”
   Harry kissed him again, along his jaw a little closer to his mouth.  “Fine
then, if not your mother, then what about all your staff?”
   “Bribery,” said Draco.  He had his eyes closed but his mouth wore a devilish
grin.  “Works like a charm.”
   “You are incorrigible,” Harry said throwing the covers over their heads so
he could sneak a proper kiss, the way the French did it.
   When their day finally began, after baths and breakfast, Harry felt himself
armed with a grim determination.  They had no plans set for the day yet other
than further unpacking, which Harry felt all things considered could wait. 
   “I’m going to go visit my house,” he told Draco as they left the dining
room.
   “Your house?” Draco repeated neutrally. 
   Harry nodded.  “I want to see if it’s there, if my keys still work.”  He
could feel Draco watching him as they climbed the stairs, so he turned to stop
and look back at him, ignoring the lump in his throat.  “If you like,” he
added, shy suddenly for some strange reason.  “You could come with me?”
   Draco’s shoulders dropped in something that looked like relief.  “Of
course,” he said sincerely.  “When do you want to leave?”
   Harry chewed his bottom lip.  “Now?” he suggested tentatively.
   Draco smiled.  “Now it is then.” 
   Knowing where they were in London, Harry was aware that they could get the
Number 4 bus, but the weather was as bright and breezy as it had been the past
few weeks, so therefore Harry suggested they take their bikes instead.  Their
two streets were probably as far away as they could get from one another whilst
still falling within their old school’s catchment zone, but if they were to
ride he figured it would only take fifteen minutes or so.
   As they travelled along the roads Harry got an even better look at the
carnage caused by the Blitz.  He took in silently whole streets that were now
reduced to piles of rubble, only the odd chimney pot or front door poking out
from the piles of bricks to indicate these were ever anyone’s homes. 
   It was all a matter of luck, he began to think.  One road would be
demolished, and then the next would be untouched.  He felt a pang of pity for
all the people who had had to stay here all those years, and then another of
guilt.  His time in Little Whinging hadn’t been entirely carefree, but it had
not involved air raid sirens or fleeing to bunkers in the middle of the night
either. 
   The uneasiness in his stomach increased the closer they got to Godric’s
Hollow Way.  Would his home be one of the lucky ones, or was he about to face
another thoroughfare of destruction?
   He rounded the corner and was overcome with such relief his bike swerved
violently and he had to strain to get control of the wheel.  “Harry!” Draco
called in alarm.  “Are you alright?”
   “It’s there,” he managed to croak, pointing a finger as he steadied the bike
enough to steer with one hand.  “It’s still there, my house.”
   And it was.  There was some damage at the end of the road, and Harry hoped
the Diggorys had not been home when half their roof had collapsed all the way
into their living room, but the Potters home was still very much intact. 
   Harry hadn’t realised how badly he had been convinced he would have nothing
to come back to until the bike veered sharply again, and he gave up and just
hopped off the blasted thing, sucking down large gulps of air to stop his head
spinning.  Draco came to a more dignified halt, and propped both the bicycles
against old Mrs McGonagall’s wall. 
   “Are you alright?” Draco asked again, concern clear in his words, and Harry
nodded earnestly, his hands on his knees for support as he steadied his
breathing and calmed himself. 
   “I really thought it would be gone,” he admitted, looking again at the small
terraced house.  It was nothing compared to Malfoy Manor, but to him it was a
palace.  “I thought I would have nothing left.”
   Draco came over and put his arm over his back, squeezing his shoulder. 
There were a few people walking down the street he noticed, but it wasn’t
enough of an intimate move that Harry cared they would notice anything
unusual.   “I’m glad it’s still here,” he said warmly.
   Harry thought about seeing Draco’s home, and his bedroom in particular.  He
hadn’t appreciated that maybe he’d been jealous, that it had made him even more
anxious about returning to his own street where he’d grown up.  He’d played
football up and down here with Cedric Diggory more times than he could count,
and yet without realising, in his mind he had already condemned it to
obliteration. 
   His breathing levelled out and he stood up.  “Sorry,” he said with an
ashamed little laugh, but Draco rolled his eyes. 
   “Will you put a sock in that,” he said, crossing his arms and raising an
eyebrow.  “You don’t have to apologise to me.  Ever.”
   “Even when I’ve been a prat?” Harry asked playfully, but inside he was
quietly very grateful to hear Draco support him out loud.
   He gave him one of his signature smirks.  “No,” he teased.  “If you’ve been
a prat, then you definitely have to apologise.”
   Harry smiled at him.  Sometimes, making jokes made him feel better than kind
words, and he loved that Draco knew that. 
   “Thanks,” he said.
   “Not a problem,” Draco assured him, a breeze picking up and ruffling his
blond hair. 
   “Harry?”
   They had been so busy talking that Harry had taken his eyes off the house,
and his head snapped around in shock as he realised the front door had opened.
   And there stood James Potter, dark haired, blue eyed, in his old slacks,
shirt and suspenders that he always favoured; Harry’s long absent father. 
   His vision blurred again but that didn’t stop him stumbling into a mad dash
across the street.  “Dad!”he yelled, throwing himself into his arms
   “Harry!” his father cried in response, embracing him so tightly he thought
his ribs might crack.  “Harry I can’t believe that’s really you!  Where’s my
little chap gone!”
   Harry gave a laugh that was half hiccup, half sob.  “I didn’t think I’d ever
see you again,” he mumbled, hastily drying his eyes.  Boys really weren’t
supposed to cry as much as he did. 
   “Didn’t you get my letter?” his father asked, mildly confused, and Harry
pulled back to look at him, aware that Draco had left their bikes and come to
stand on the pavement by them and the front door. 
   Harry also became confused.  “No,” he said.  “No letter, Draco and I
returned from Little Whinging yesterday, I didn’t even know our house would
still be here, let alone that you would be inside?”  He felt his resolve
threaten to crumble again, but he rallied his courage.  “I only received the
telegram from Aunt Petunia last week.  About…about mother.”
   His father’s eyes widened.  “Are you telling me you don’t know?” he
stuttered, and began pulling Harry inside the house.
   “What?” Harry stammered, bewilderment making his feet slow and clumsy. 
“Don’t know what?”
   “Harry?”
   He froze, and his father’s face broke into the most wonderful grin.
   “Harry?  Is that you?”
   Everything became something of a blur as Harry’s feet took on a life of
their own, and he pitched forward, bouncing off the wall and into the living
room to their left.
   And there, cut and bruised, leg in a cast and small frame wrapped in several
blankets on the couch, lay Lily Potter, her face alight with disbelief.  
   It was nothing compared to Harry’s though.
   “MUM!” he screamed, stumbling forwards, dropping his knees against the floor
to thrust his arms around her. 
   “Ouch,” she chuckled, patting his back, but he was completely oblivious as
he sobbed into her chest.  “Careful there sweetheart.”
   “You were dead!” he accused through his tears.  “You were dead, Aunt Petunia
said so!”
   He felt his father crouch beside him and gently pull him a little away, and
only then did he see how dreadful she truly looked.  Her skin was so pale it
was practically translucent, and the shadows under her eyes were purple and
puffy.  Her usually vibrant red hair was lank and scraped into a bun behind her
head, and up close he realised several of the cuts still had stitches in them. 
Her lips were chapped and her nails were peeling but he didn’t care because she
was alive!
   “Not dead,” said his father thickly.  “Missing.  Your old mum was in a coma
after the factory got hit, and only just woke up last week to tell the hospital
who she was.”
   “Oi,” she chided, her eyes half closed and her words lazy with exhaustion. 
“Less of the ‘old’.”
   “I still don’t-” Harry babbled.  “I don’t understand, Petunia said-”
   “The hospital didn’t have a telephone number for me until I got home,” his
father continued, rubbing Harry’s back as he held onto his mother’s nightgown,
afraid of hurting her if he hugged her again.  “And your mum was adamant they
were to call me first, she didn’t want Petty Pots muddling what was true and
what was gossip.  Luckily Mrs McGonagall left a note through the letter box, so
it was the first thing I saw when I stepped through the door three days ago,
and I raced straight to the Royal Chelsea.”
   “Still in his RAF blues,” his mother said with a dreamy voice that suggested
extremely strong pain killers.  “All the nurses swooned.” 
   “But,” Harry said, feeling like his brain was moving pitifully slowly. 
“What happened?  How did you survive?”
   His mother lifted a hand that looked weaker than Treacle when he’d been no
more than a bundle of fluff, and cupped his face.  “You’re not a boy anymore,”
she mused, tears in her green eyes as her cracked lips parted in a smile filled
with such love.  “Not my baby boy, my strong man, come home.”
   “They found her under a slab of concrete,” his father supplied, his voice
catching as he squeezed Harry’s shoulder.  “The fire crew reckoned she’d been
there hours, and the ambulance drivers weren’t sure she would make it through
the night.”
   “James,” his mother admonish with a scowl.
   “But you did,” his father laughed, and Harry didn’t need to turn to see the
tears that had edged over his eyelashes.  “Your mother has always been the
stubborn sort Harry.  She’ll never let me outlive her.”
   He gave a small sob at the last word, and took his wife’s hand. 
   Harry felt them both.  His father’s shuddering chest at his back, and his
mother’s clavicles under his clasped fists, where his hands were still
clutching to her nightie like an anchor.  His family, his family.  How, how
could he be so lucky as to have them both here beside him, when a mere ten
minutes ago he was convinced the only way he would be close to them again would
be to visit their graves above empty coffins.  He trembled, and took a deep
breath.  They were here, it was okay, it was okay. 
   “And who is this handsome fellow?” his mother rasped, breaking him from his
reverie. 
   Harry’s eyebrows shot up, and he spun on his knees to see Draco standing by
the doorway, arms wrapped around his chest, eyes and face bright with a
beautiful, unabashed smile.
   Without thinking Harry leapt to his feet to shoot across the room and into
Draco’s arms, the two boys hugging and laughing and crying right there in
Harry’s living room, without a care in the world. 
   “I love you,” Harry whispered, so overcome with emotion he wasn’t sure he
could have stopped himself saying the words if he tried.  Because of course
Draco would be there, firmly by his side, at the moment his life had seemingly
fallen apart, and then again at the moment it had miraculously put itself back
together. 
   “I love you too,” Draco mumbled into the side of his neck as his hands
tightened around his shirt. 
   And in that instant, Harry knew that whatever the future held, they would be
okay.  Because they had their families, and they had each other, and in a world
that had only just scraped through the worst war it had ever seen, Harry felt
truly in his bones, that you simply couldn’t ask for any more than that. 
Chapter End Notes
     I’m sorry? I’m not sorry? Who knows lol. I hope you don’t feel it was
     a cop-out to have Lily be alive after all that – you guys were so
     gutted after the last chapter, WIP are so HARD!
     That’s NOT why she lived though; although I respect you guys, I would
     never change my intent just because I made you cry. (A lot – DID I
     MENTION I’M SORRY?!)
     When I was penning the first chapter, the plan was to have Lily die
     like this and James die in a blaze of glory over Normandy, because
     Harry’s an orphan, right? Right!?!
     I couldn’t do it. I just…the boys have been through so much, will go
     through so much, I had to balance out the fluff. So I really hope you
     don’t hate me for going for the happy ending. I WOULD just
     say…there’s an epilogue yet still so come, so don’t put those hankies
     away yet.
     Anyway, this is the first fic I’ve ever written on-the-road-style
     (I’ve posted stories that are already finished, although enforced
     with a gap between chapters, because that builds tension, mwahaha)
     but BLOODY HELL. This was a whole new experience. Like I said, the
     story isn’t over yet, but you guys have put me through the ringer and
     as stressful as it has been, it has been AMAZING! I love every single
     one of you who has been on the edge of their seat, literally
     screaming at me as each chapter has gone up.
     Through this fic, I have gained a new appreciation of my readers, and
     made a load of new friends (and I am NOT crying again, I am not!!)
     You guys rock like the fucking balls of Satan. Thank you.
     Juliet xxx
     (PS – In case I wasn’t clear, there’s totally an epilogue, don’t you
     dare flake on me after this!!)
***** Epilogue *****
Chapter Notes
     I’m just going to say a quick but heartfelt thank you for all your
     support, especially with the last two chapters. You guys are amazing.
     I hope you like the end, more notes to follow afterwards xJx
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
October 31st 1951
 
   They stood, side by side, collars turned up against the freezing wind that
bit into their skin.  The cottage was exactly as he remembered it, although the
walls they had painted white several years ago were now weathered cream around
the edges.  Harry rather liked that though, he felt it made the place seem
loved.
   The set of keys were cold in his hand, even through the woollen gloves he
wore.  He rolled them in his fingers, making them clink.
   “Should we go inside?” Draco suggested quietly.  He also clutched a number
of keys in his hand, held together on a sturdy silver ring, although his
collection were to locks of many sorts.
   One was for the ignition of the car that stood in the driveway behind them,
gleaming black in the fading wintery sunlight.  Another was to its boot that
was packed to the brim with a mismatching assortment of suitcases, no doubt
becoming chilled now the engine had cooled after their long drive down from
London.  A small silver key was currently responsible for the captivity of two
aging, grousing cats mewling on the back seat, unaware as they were that they
had in fact returned home. 
   There was a brass key for Number 7 Godric’s Hollow Way, and a pair of gold
ones for the front and back of Malfoy Manor on Wiltshire Drive.  There was an
extra key that had been added recently, one that enabled the top floor of the
Manor to be locked from the inside when necessary.  The Malfoys often had
guests, and they did not need to know why this floor had only one bedroom, a
living room and a bathroom, almost as if there were a couple living there. 
   Harry had his own set of keys that matched Draco’s exactly, but they were
currently hidden away at the bottom of one of the bags, unnecessary whilst they
travelled together.  He looked down at the much simpler set in his own hand; a
front door and a back door key only.  They would need to get copies made of
these too. 
   “It looks the same,” he said in lieu of an actual response to Draco’s
question.
   He caught his partner's smile out of the corner of his eye.  “Really?” he
said.  “I think it looks smaller.”
   By silent agreement they made their way down the path.  The garden was bare,
autumn already having taken its toll on the flowerbeds and shrubbery, but Harry
preferred to see it like that.  When they had last visited at the end of
summer, they had done what they could to maintain its upkeep, but he felt he
would rather see it barren than neglected as it inevitably would be. 
   The key turned with no fuss, and in a single moment Harry felt like a small
boy again, stepping through the front door for the first time with a sense of
trepidation in his heart.
   The house was dark and cold, but as Harry’s eyes grew accustomed to the
gloom he saw everything was as he remembered.  The once plump sofa and chairs
with the worn-down arm rests, the china ornaments sitting atop of the doilies,
and the oblong and rectangular photo frames standing along the mantle.  This
time though, Harry recognised several of himself amongst the black and white
images, and smiled.
   He had not felt Draco leave his side, but he felt him return as he deposited
the cat basket on the floor by his feet, and unlocked the little door that had
kept their two pets confined.  “There you go,” Draco said softly to them as
they bound free.
   “Shall we light a fire?” Harry suggested.
   “Let’s,” Draco agreed.
   With light and warmth one more filling the cottage, Harry began to feel the
knot in his chest unwinding slowly.  It had been a long day, and a tiring one,
and he was relieved to finally feel some calm.
   Before he removed his winter coat, he traipsed back out to the car, Draco’s
keys in hand in order to start ferrying in the many suitcases they had squeezed
into such a small space out of the car and into the house.  He smiled at the
accomplishment, thinking of both Mrs Malfoy and Mrs Potter’s doubtful faces as
their sons had loaded the car that morning by the side of the road.
   “You’ll never make it all the way there with all that,” Harry’s mother had
fretted.  “The axle will fall off before you reach Woking.” 
   “As a now fully qualified engineer,” Harry had teased her back before
kissing her cheek.  “I can assure you it will not.”
   “What are you smiling about?” Draco asked back in the present, coming out to
lend a hand with the last of the bags.
   “Mother,” Harry said simply, and Draco smiled too.
   “Come on,” he said, once the front door was firmly shut.  “I’ve got
something to show you.”
   They kicked their shoes off and hung their coats and black jackets from
their suits carefully on the rack, before Draco took Harry’s hand and lead him
into the kitchen.  A single letter sat on the table, in an envelope addressed
to “Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy” written in a familiar, though somewhat shaking
handwriting.  Holding it in place in case of any wayward breeze was an equally
familiar pot of Mrs Figg’s finest blackberry jam. 
   Draco freed the letter and held it out to Harry.  “Do you want to open it?”
he asked, so Harry did, shaking the single sheaf of paper flat so they could
both read the words written in spiky black ink.
   “Dear Harry and Draco,” it began, and Harry felt the lump rise in his throat
that he had been fighting all day. 
   “My darling boys.  Please do not be sad.  I know this is a day for tears,
but know with absolute certainty that in my final days I was as happy as I’d
ever been, surrounded by friends.”
  Harry let a shuddery sigh escape, and his eyes burned.  “We should have been
there,” he said, not for the first time.
   Draco slipped his arm around his waist and rested the side of his head
against the top of Harry’s.  “Nurse Pomfrey said in the end, it was very fast,”
Draco murmured, rubbing his thumb along Harry’s hip.  “Even if they had phoned
and we had dropped everything to come, we still wouldn’t have made it in time.”
   Harry knew this, but it still didn’t make him feel much better.  He wanted
to believe if they had been told sooner of Mrs Figg’s fading health, they could
have made it to her side to tell her one final time that they had loved her,
told her thank you for all she had done for them. 
   It wasn’t to be though, and Harry had tried to believe Draco over the past
few days when he assured him over and over that she knew that, that she would
never have thought otherwise.  Still, he would liked to have said the words out
loud just one more time. 
   He rubbed his face, and carried on reading. 
   “You will by now have no doubt spoken to my lawyers, and hopefully they have
explained my will and last wishes in full.  This house is yours, it has been
since the moment you set foot in it, and it gives me great comfort to make this
official on my passing.  
   “I know you have your homes in London too, ready for you now your time
studying has come to an end, so it up to you whether or not you chose to live
here.  It makes me smile to think you will though, even if it is only to
holiday whenever the city becomes too much for you.”
   Harry wiped a tear away at that.  No matter how hard he tried, London had
never quite felt like home to him again after the war, whereas Little Whinging
always did, no matter how long they had been away.
   “I have very few regrets in my life.  Losing my Bert too soon was one of
them, and being unable to have children was another.  But then life took a
turn, and suddenly I had two remarkable boys that for a time, I was able to
call my own. 
   “I am unsure I can ever properly express the joy you brought to my heart, so
I beg of you now as we say goodbye, try your hardest not to be sad.  We were
gifted a remarkable time together, one that I cherished deeply.
   “So I leave you now, darling Harry and darling Draco.  Please take care of
one another, as I know you always have.  I offer my home to become your home,
somewhere you can have the privacy you deserve to create many more happy
memories in the years to come.
   “With all the love in the world,
   “Arabella Figg xxx”
   “Do you think she knew?” Harry asked, wiping his eyes.  Draco took the
letter and placed it carefully on the table, before turning him and enveloping
him in a hug.
   “Of course she knew,” he said admiringly.  “Nothing got by that old dear.”
   Harry chuckled wetly and ran his hand up and down Draco’s back.
   It was strange.  Men like them should have felt safer in a big city like
London where there were others like them, where there were more places to melt
into the fringes of society.  But Harry had come to understand that just wasn’t
the case.  He thought he would start to feel that way after they had completed
their studies at Cambridge, but even having their own secluded space at the
Manor had not given him the security he always felt whenever they returned to
Mrs Figg’s cottage.
   The attic bedroom had never stopped being theirs, and despite their
increasing years, their old guardian had never once suggested they no longer
share a bed when they came to visit.  She had always waved a hand and told them
to get on with it, grumpy they even had the grace to appear awkward.
   And now here they stood, having being greeted warmly by the town at that
afternoon’s service.  Everyone they had ever known in Little Whinging had
turned out to bid Mrs Figg farewell, and had treated Harry and Draco as her
kin.
   If any of them suspected why they always came as a pair, none of them ever
mentioned anything.  The two of them had become well schooled at concealing
their affections, and the townsfolk seemed disinclined to press further if they
had any suspicions as to what might happen behind closed doors. 
   Treacle wound his way around Harry and Draco’s legs, purring as if to thank
them for returning him and his sister to their old home.  The rest of Mrs
Figg’s many cats had been lovingly gifted to the local children, but this house
simply wouldn’t have felt right if it didn’t have at least one feline present. 
   “What do you think then?” Harry asked as they swayed gently on the spot, to
music only they could feel in their hearts.  “Is this home now?  Shall we
stay?”
   Draco looked down at him fondly, before pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. 
   Harry was so filled with warmth and love.  Here they could build a life.  He
already had work lined up with a renowned aeronautics company a short drive
away in a nearby town, and Draco could write his storybooks wherever he
pleased.  Here, they had their friends, their memories of how their love began,
their space to be together like their souls desired. 
   “Shall we stay?”
   Draco held him close and breathed deeply, running his fingers through
Harry’s hair like he had done since they were boys.  The tragedy of war had
brought them together, but through that they had discovered true happiness. 
Life, much like blackberry jam, was flavoured with a bittersweet tang, and even
as his heart ached for the loss of Mrs Figg, Harry knew he wouldn’t change that
for anything. 
   “Shall we stay?”
   Draco withdrew and took Harry in carefully, their cats sat at their feet,
the blessing of their parents in their hearts, and the memory of their
surrogate mother all around them.  Their family. 
   He threaded his fingers through Harry’s and brought the joint hands up
between them, rubbing just above the knuckle on his left hand, where, in
another life, a ring might have sat.
   “Shall we stay?”
   “Forever?” Draco asked, the weight of the word clear even in its
simplicity. 
   “Forever,” Harry affirmed. 
   There was nowhere else in the world he would rather be, than stood beside
the man he loved, the man he would always love.
   Forever. 
 
 
                                    The_End
 
Chapter End Notes
     Wow. Writing this story has been incredible. I have loved creating
     this world, but not half as much as I have enjoyed sharing it with
     you wonderful readers. Your support and enthusiasm has been unreal,
     and I’d like to say a massive thank you for everything you have done.
     Whilst writing this fic, two particularly devastating events took
     place; the shooting at Pulse gay club in Orlando, Florida, and the
     vote here in the UK to exit the EU, one of the many immediate
     consequences of which was an unprecedented increase in reported hate
     crime by 60% and rising. These events devastated me personally, as
     they have many people, and it was hard at times to think there was
     absolutely nothing I could do to help. But by pouring my heart into
     this story, into these boys, it gave me a sense of purpose, and the
     joy I saw in my readers from it was hard to ignore. So I’m very
     grateful that during these tough weeks in particular, I happened to
     be working on a fic filled with so much hope.
     I often have soundtracks to longer fics, and songs that inspire me to
     fully delve into the world I am creating. For ‘Blackberry Jam’, the
     two anthems have to be ‘Secret Love Song Part II’ by Little Mix, and
     ‘Wings’ by Birdy. I implore you to please listen to them both, and
     enjoy the overload of feels.
     I’ll leave by saying thank you once more for every single hit, fave,
     follow and comment. Writing an ongoing WIP was rather stressful at
     times, but your enthusiasm also made the experience absolutely
     brilliant. You are awesome, and I’m so lucky to have you.
     Lots of love and hugs,
     Juliet xxx
End Notes
     Thank you for reading, please review! To discover more of my writing,
     visit www.helenjuliet.com
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