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Fine Lines	By : squirrelchaser Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8056 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Potter
had been home for almost two weeks straight. When we weren�t shagging he spent
a good deal of time in his room, talking quietly to himself as he paged through
book after book, trying to solve a strange puzzle.

I
hadn�t seen him all day, and it was late in the afternoon when I trudged up the
stairs, pausing on the top step, listening.

There
was a soft sound, like a sob. Potter�s bedroom door was ajar, and I pushed it
open to find him slouched at the window, both hands braced on the window sill,
with his forehead pressed against the glass. There were pieces of parchment
scattered every where, some crumpled and lying forgotten on the floor, other
stacked and sorted neatly in piles. Hedwig�s cage sat on the floor next to the window,
and wardrobe was open and clothes and books were scattered everywhere.

Suddenly
I realized I�d never been in Potter�s room before, and I was surprised to see
that he was a bit of a slob.

�I
don�t know what I�m going to do, Draco. Dumbledore�s gone. No one else knows.� From
the sound of his voice, he was crying.

Picking
my way carefully through the mess I went and stood behind him, one hand on his
shoulder, watching his breath fog up the window. I knew exactly what it was
like to know that no one could help you, and that your life and other people�s
hung in the balance.

�I�m
so frustrated.�

I
nodded silently. He was scared, too.

�Professor
McGonagall is on her way over.�

�Alright.�

There
was a knock on the door just as the words were out of my mouth.

The
two spent hours at the kitchen table, late into the night, talking in low
voices and shuffling through stacks of papers and books.

Around
two in the morning I poked my head out of my room, hungry, when I heard
McGonagall say in a defeated voice,

�So
that�s that.�

�Guess
so,� said Potter, and he turned the corner and trudged up the stairs, laden
with books and papers. He didn�t look at me as I went down stairs and he went
into his room.

�Just
so you know, Draco, St. Mungo�s was sacked,�
McGonagall said, without pretense, as I poured myself a glass of milk and
started digging about for some biscuits. Her voice was husky, and she looked
worn down. �The whole place leveled, with the Dark Mark above it.�

Folding
my lips, I looked at the floor. Things were getting worse and worse. Only last
night Mr. Weasley had come to dinner, with news that
Death Eaters had raided the Ministry of Magic in broad daylight. Five people
were dead.

McGonagall
turned her head to the kitchen window, her glasses tinged green from the light
outside. �Draco,� she whispered. �Look,�

I
went to the window, where she was standing. The Dark Mark was illuminated high
against the evening sky, and there were screams coming from somewhere in the Muggle village.

�I�m
going to help,� Potter�s voice came from the top of the stairs, but McGonagall
said sharply,

�Harry, stay where you are.� McGonagall added as she pulled on her
cloak, �Voldemort�s getting closer and closer to
finding out where you are, and I�ll be damned if you�re going to come bursting
out of your house straight into his trap.�

�It
doesn�t really matter now does �� Potter began loudly.

�-He
wouldn�t destroy you for the sake of his immortality, Harry,� McGongall�s tone of voice dared Potter to argue with her. �He
wants at least one left, until he can make more. We don�t know quite what he
would do, but I doubt if it would be very pleasant. Stay where you are.� Suddenly McGonagall was gone.

Potter
had a look of utter defeat on his face, but I guess he knew she was right and he
disappeared into his room.

What
was that all about? I wondered, climbing the stairs slowly.

Potter
was sitting cross legged on his bed, reading over something on a bit of
parchment, lips moving slowly.

Stepping
over a pile of clothes, I leaned on his dresser, waiting for him to say
something.

�Draco?�

�Yeah?�

�Remember
how much you hated me?�

�Yes.�

Potter
swallowed hard, closing his eyes. �D�you�do you think
you could kill me, if you had to?�

I
took a step back, wincing as if his words had physically hit me. �I don�t-�

�Could
you do it if I asked you to? Begged you to?�

�Harry,�
I said quietly. �I think we both remember what happened
the last-�

�If
it meant killing Voldemort, could you do it?�

He�d
never talked to me about anything like this before, and now he wanted me to�?
Suddenly I was angry and scared, mostly scared. What was he talking about? Why
was he talking about this? Something in my stomach turned over and I felt sick.

�You
know what your problem is?� I said, voice rising and torn between sarcasm and
tears. I backed away from him to stand in the doorway. �You�re still the same
big headed prick you always were, ready to be the martyr orphan. Saint Potter,
patron of scars-�

With
a sharp intake of breath he jumped off the bed, fists clenched and eyes full of
tears, his mouth twisted in fury. �Shut up, just shut up,� he hissed. �I�m
sorry I said it at all. You don�t know, Malfoy, you
just don�t know-�

�Damn
right I don�t know, Potter! You won�t tell me or anyone else anything and I
respected that, but how else do you want me to react when you ask if I�d kill
you? Oh, sure, �Malfoy, would you pass me the salt
please, and while you�re at it, here�s my wand. Knock me off, here�s the words
in case your father didn�t teach them!�� I said bitterly, blinking and letting
hot tears fall down my cheeks. My hands were shaking.

I
was mad that he was mad, mad that he was doing this, but the realization that,
if he died, I�d be all alone made something in my chest fall apart. �Harry,� I
said, crying openly now and gulping air, trying desperately to calm down. �I
don�t know why you�re asking me this.�

Potter
stared for a long time before swiping the back of his hand across his eyes and
steadying himself with a deep, trembling breath. He crossed the room to me and
we sat in the tiny space at the top of the stairs, in between our two bedrooms.

He
sat with his back against a wall and I sat next to him, slouched against his
shoulder, both hands holding the others and tangled between us.

�Draco,
have you ever heard of Horcruxes?�

�Yeah. Father talked about them a couple times.�

For
a moment Potter was silent, but he then continued, �Then you know that Voldemort has used them? You know how many he has?�

I
shook my head.

�He
has seven,� Potter said. �Or had. You know when you
said how Death Eaters seem to fear death the most?�

I
nodded.

�Well,
Voldemort was so afraid of death he made it so he had
six Horcruxes to make himself immortal. The only way
to kill him would be to find all six and destroy them, before finding him.�

Raising
my head from his shoulder I looked at him with wide eyes and a feeling of
despair. �But that�d be impossible,� I said. �There�s no way-�

But
Potter was smiling, sadly.

My
mouth fell open in awe. �You�you�?�

�Remember
Tom Riddle�s diary?�

�The
one Father had?�

He
nodded. �That was one. Dumbledore found and destroyed another, Marvolo�s old ring. Number two,� he ticked off on his
fingers. �Number three: Slytherin�s locket. Some one
got to it before Dumbledore and me and destroyed it. Helga Hufflepuff�s cup; that was four. I tracked down and
destroyed that one at the end of July. Voldemort�s
snake, Nagini: number five.� He leaned against me, as
if remembering made him tired. �She was the hardest. I saved her for last,
because I thought that it�d tip Voldemort off. And it
did.�

�Last?�
I said. �But that�s only five. Where�s the sixth?�

Potter
was quiet for a long time before he said, �Dumbledore told me that the night my
parents were murdered Voldemort had only created four
Horcruxes; Nagini was from
more recent times, and I just found the sixth. Actually, it�d been in front of
me this whole time. It was in front of Dumbledore this whole time.�

For
a moment I sat and thought, then realization punched
me in the stomach so hard I reeled. �No, Harry, it can�t be. You can�t be!� I
grabbed his arm and asked in a shrill, stupid voice, �What would that mean?�

�It
has to. It makes sense. He was able to come back to his body with my blood. I
could see inside his mind, feel his emotions. Draco, it makes sense. It has to
be.� He was so calm as he said this, and suddenly I
realized: he was not afraid of death.

�What
about the Prophecy?�

Potter
sighed heavily. �It�s just words; Dumbledore said so. Voldemort
heard it and let it form his own destiny�and mine. It really doesn�t mean a whole
lot. I couldn�t kill him; that was what I found out the last time I was gone. He
can�t be killed until the last Horcrux is destroyed.�

�What
if you�re wrong?�

�McGonagall
and I thought it over, long and hard. We reviewed everything: the memories, the
books, the objects. She doesn�t think I�m wrong either.�

�What
does she know?� I said dryly.

�A great deal.�

It
felt like everything was falling apart before my very eyes, and as much as I
scrabbled and grabbed for it I knew I could never get it back. I felt my face
crumple as I leaned into his shoulder, heart breaking. �You can�t. We�ll hide.�

�Forever?�

�Yeah.�

�I
think you could do it, Draco.�

�I
couldn�t kill you, Potter. Sorry, I kind of like you. It�s just that after
you�ve stuck your-�

�I
think you could kill Voldemort. You have it in you.�

�No
I don-�

�Yes,�
he interrupted me, cupping my cheek with a warm hand. �You have something he
doesn�t, something that makes you more powerful than he will ever be. You�ve got
love.�

�That�s
the stupidest thing I ever heard,� I snuffed at his sentimentality.

Potter
gave a soft laugh, in spite of himself. �Dumbledore said love was what made us
more powerful than anything He will ever be.�

�That
was so sweet I think I just threw up a little in the back of my mouth.�

�For
awhile I thought �So what?� too.� Sounding flustered
he said, �I really wish I could explain it the way Dumbledore did. Eh, alright,
listen. How do you feel about Voldemort?�

�I
hate him,� I spat bitterly.

�Why?�

�He
killed my Mother. He set a horrible task upon Father to torture him. He tried
to kill you and he wants to kill me.�

�And
this makes you angry because�?�

�I
love my parents,� I said. Then, softly, shyly, I added, �And because I love
you. But a lot of people have lost ones they love to Death Eaters.�

�You�ve
dueled. You�ve got skill and power. Anyone like you could kill Voldemort, after the Horcruxes
are gone, that is. You have the heart. He only thinks I�m the one that can kill
him because he�s relying too much on the Prophecy. If I were gone, if I were dead and he knew it, what do you think Voldemort would do?�

�He
would come into power, of course; he�d think he�d won,� I said, and shuddered.

�But
he wouldn�t have won, would he? It�d give you an element of surprise.�

�Could
I?� I shook my head, feeling as if I were going to be sick; it was too much to
take in. �I don�t want to lose you,� I said, feeling childish as I started to
cry again.

He
smiled into my hair; he was crying too. �We can wait until you�re ready.�

�Never.�

The
members of the Order stood at the door to wish me good luck.

Professor
McGonagall�s voice was thick, as if she had a cold. �Remember all you�ve been
taught, Draco.�

�I
will,� I promised, squaring my shoulders.

For
a moment McGonagall hesitated, then leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.

Mrs.
Weasley was misty eyed as she kissed the top of my
head good-bye and hugged me tight. Ron Weasley and
Granger were standing side by side. Weasley opened
the door for me, and Granger said in a funny voice,

�Good
luck Draco.�

�Bye,�
Weasley said without a trace of resentfulness, looking
more solemn and intelligent that I�d ever seen him before.

The
early winter wind was cold and I pulled my cloak a little tighter around me,
watching the dead autumn leaves swirling in and out of my path as I strode
through the village to the grave yard. The route to the three white headstones
was already very familiar. I went to the third, the newest, with the least worn
edges, and pressed two fingers to my lips and traced them across the name carved
in the cold, hard, marble.

Harry
Potter

July 29, 1979***
� November 1, 1997

�The
Boy Who Lived�

Every
time I saw that I wanted to laugh with disgust and fury at whoever put �The Boy
Who Lived� on a sodding gravestone.

Word
had spread far and wide that Harry Potter, The Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived,
was not living anymore. Death Eaters, it was told, had finally tracked him down
the day after Halloween and now Voldemort was
summoning them all to see if it was true.

The
Mark was burning black. He was summoning me.

Finally. This was for me. This was for Mother, for
what he�d made Father do. This was for Dumbledore, Sirius, even for Longbottom and his parents. But mostly, this was for
Potter.

�I�m
going to kill him,� I breathed, hissing through my teeth and feeling my blood
surge. �I can do it. That�s a promise, Potter.�

TBC
- 9
- 10
- 11
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