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Darkness Within The Light	By : crimson96 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8759 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Chapter 13: Someone I Can Trust

"Mother seems to understand," Draco said softly, tracing his finger over the delicate feathers on Orion's chest. The bird stood on his windowsill, keeping him company as he watched the grounds below. "No, she more than understands! She seems to think it's bloody romantic, as if Potter and I will be strolling down Diagon Alley together, holding hands and picking out china patterns. As if we'll serve tea in our flat and invite Mother and Father... That will never happen!"

He pounded his fist on the sill, startling Orion and eliciting a squawk of surprise.

"Father would kill me if he even suspected I had this secret, these... ideas. Of course, he's hiding things from Mother and me as well, so he's no better!" Draco sneered. "Even if it weren't for Father, though, I don't want all that, not with bloody Potter! I hate everything about him."

Orion tilted his head, blinked his dark, inscrutable eyes, opened his beak, and made a trilling noise that sounded skeptical to Draco.

Draco snorted and jerked his chin in grudging acknowledgment. "Alright- not everything. I don't hate that he saved my life. But that doesn't mean I care for him! I just want to have him. Then it'll be out of my system. I can stop thinking all these sick thoughts. I'll marry some proper pureblood witch, have kids, let Mother watch them grow up while she grows old. It's what she always wanted, before I told her the truth. And it's better than the idea of me with Potter."

He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to imagine himself as the perfect husband and father. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't put faces on the characters in his fantasy, and when he tried to imagine himself holding someone's hand, that someone always turned into Potter. The image made his stomach turn, of course- how could it not?- but it also put a hollow feeling in his chest, and that was worse.

He stroked the bird's feathered head. "Sometimes, Orion, I envy you. You're able to fly away from trouble. You have the ability to soar through the air and go wherever the wind takes you. There is a part of me that wants to just take him and disappear forever. It wouldn't be so bad then. He wouldn't be the Chosen One or a bloody Griffindor."

The eagle trilled and nudged Draco's finger, wanting more affection from the young Slytherin.

"If it were just him and me," Draco muttered, "if I didn't have to hear about how bloody important he is all the time, if he didn't have everyone else wanting things from him, then I think we could... I think I could... stand him."

In the grounds below the wrought-iron gates swung open with a loud creak, startling Draco. He let his hand fall away from Orion and leaned over the sill, watching as Lucius Malfoy hurriedly walked past the gates and up the path leading into Malfoy Manor. "Just brilliant," Draco said dejectedly, "let's see what rubbish news Father has to give to us now."

Moments later, Kraven appeared before Draco. "Master Draco," the house elf said, "Master Malfoy…"

"Yes, Kraven I know already! You don't have to tell me! Father wants me to come downstairs!"

"Yes, Master Draco, Master Malfoy says that it is most urgent," the house elf said before disappearing.

"Yeah, like everything with Father is urgent and important," Draco said bitterly. He rubbed at the knuckles of his left hand, remembering the sting of the silver cane. "Orion, you had better go back to the owlery. I have to go and see what Father wants."

Lucius Malfoy sat at the large table with the half-full bottle of firewhiskey in front of him. He thought back to one short year ago when he had sat at this same table, only then many other Death Eaters and the Dark Lord had been sitting at the table as well. He remembered Voldemort taking his wand, and how they had plotted to kill Potter while the boy was being transported from the Muggles' home.

"Potter!" Lucius scoffed. He had already drunk so much that his thoughts had become soft and slippery; speaking them aloud was the only way to solidify them in his mind. "That damned boy has ruined everything for me."

Lucius filled the glass with the liquor and gulped the liquid down with one swift motion. "All in due time, Mr. Potter. The delight of a hunt is not the kill, but the chase. My plans will succeed and then he will be dead, just like Voldemort."

Firewhiskey filled the glass again, and Lucius raised it to his lips before a low chuckle begin to emanate from him. The chuckle grew louder until it became a laugh. Lucius looked at the glass and downed the second helping of alcohol, being careful not to choke while still laughing to himself.

"Voldemort! That's what his name was. I can say it now without any repercussions." The laughter began to subside as Lucius set the glass down on the table and began to fill it for a third time. "Tom. Marvolo. Riddle," Lucius said as he filled the glass full. "Here's to you, Tom! The fear of the name is no more."

The shuffling of footsteps from the hallway brought Lucius' attention to the doorway leading into the room. Narcissa and Draco appeared moments later, just in time to watch Lucius empty the bottle of firewhiskey into the glass.

"Ah, Narcissa my beautiful wife, and Draco my handsome son, come in and sit with me. I am having a toast before settling down to business," Lucius said as he waved the glass in front of them. He watched them both walk into the room and sit down across the table from him.

"Lucius, how many drinks have you had tonight?" Narcissa asked, frowning and somehow managing to look down at him despite her short stature.

"Enough. I have had enough to satisfy me," Lucius said as he gulped down the last bit of firewhiskey in the glass. "Now," he began as he pushed the empty glass away from him, "I received a letter from the Minister asking to speak to me at once. His letter interrupted a very important conversation that Draco and I were having, isn't that correct, son?" Lucius raised his eyebrow as he eyed Draco, daring him to say more.

"Yes, Father." Draco replied, staring down at his own folded hands. His left hand twitched, contracting into a fist, and he quickly covered it with his right.

Lucius turned back to Narcissa and began once more. "There now, the boy speaks the truth. You see, my dear, Draco and I were having a gentlemanly discussion. It was...positively collegial, was it not, Draco?" Lucius searched around his chair and table. "Kraven, bring another bottle of firewhiskey!"

Draco glanced down at the bruise that had formed on his hand from Lucius' cane. His lip curled, and this time, he looked up from the table and met Lucius' eyes. Before Draco could speak, Lucius felt two soft hands forcefully take his own diverting his attention away from his son's insolent face. "Lucius look at me!" Narcissa pleaded. "I know Draco speaks the truth, now what did the Minister want?"

A second bottle of firewhiskey appeared along with a clean glass in front of Lucius. "Ah, yes, there it is," Lucius said as he snatched his hands away from Narcissa and began to pour another glass of the brew. He drank until the glass was empty, ignoring the protests from his stomach. Some remnants of his rational mind were still at work, listing all of the ways in which he and his family were thoroughly ruined. Silencing the voice of reason was worth drinking himself sick. "The Minister, my dear, is a sodding fool. He thinks that he can intimidate me, Lucius Malfoy! Well, I will show him just what kind of a person he is dealing with." A slight hiccup escaped from him as he finished his words.

"Lucius, for Merlin's sake, you are drunk!" Narcissa said angrily and got up from her chair. Lucius watched as she got to the doorway before he continued.

"Cissy! You'd better come and sit down, and you had better listen to my instructions, or else it's off to Azkaban with you!"

"What did you say? Explain youself, Lucius!"

Lucius could feel the laughter begin inside of him again as he tried to focus through the effects of the alcohol. "Apparently, the Ministry will not offer us protection as I once had thought. Now that they have what they need from me, they plan to throw me under the carriage. Shacklebolt is only concerned about the Ministry's public appearance." Lucius swallowed another half a glass of the firewhiskey before continuing. "Governments may change, but the lies they speak forever remain the same, Draco," Lucius added, pointing his index finger at his son while holding the empty glass, "it will do you a lot of good, son, to remember that adage."

He turned to see that Narcissa had covered her mouth in shock while Draco continued to look lifelessly at the table. He arched his eyebrow and poured another drink. "In a fortnight, the Wizengamot will force us to stand trial," Lucius said before taking another long drink. The firewhiskey was beginning to taste vile to him after so many glasses- sour and bitter all at once.

"Trial?"

Lucius turned, as he had expected Narcissa to say this, but instead it had come from Draco. "Yes, son, a trial. They plan to make an example out of us, a spectacle for the Wizarding World. Once that is over, will be sent to Azkaban because of our associations with Voldemort and because you tried to kill Albus Dumbledore."

Lucius heard his wife inhale sharply, and he turned to look at her. "Lucius, are you mad? You said his name!"

"Yes, I have found it comforting to be able to say a dead man's name. It's not forbidden anymore, Narcissa."

Lucius gently leaned his chair back, confident now, with the alcohol coursing through his blood and racing through his mind. "I will not let our name be smeared in vain. On my way home tonight I stopped by Knockturn Alley and visited with a few 'old friends'. I do have a plan in place for the Ministry and Shacklebolt's every move."

"Lucius, stop it!" Narcissa begged, her eyes wide. "It's because of your plans that we are in this position!"

"I do not feel like arguing with you tonight, Narcissa. Spend your energies composing your statements for the trial," Lucius said as he waved a drunken hand at his wife.

"I will do just that." Narcissa stood and crossed the room. In the doorway, she paused to look over her shoulder. "At the trial, I will tell the truth, Lucius. About everything."

She left the room as Lucius patted his wand, thinking satisfying thoughts about the pain he could inflict. Her departure was a perfect setting for what Lucius wanted to do next.

"Father?" Lucius looked back at his son, who met his eyes with an impressive, if surprising, aplomb.

"Draco. Do you have the answers that I am expecting from you regarding our little conversation?" Lucius asked as he leaned back in his chair.

Lucius could see the courage draining from Draco's face. "Father, I still…have no answers yet from Potter. He still has not replied to me."

Lucius banged his fist upon the table, completely frustrated by Draco's failure. "You ungrateful bastard of a son!" he said, as he threw the bottle of firewhiskey at Draco.

Draco ducked as the bottle whizzed by his head, narrowly missing him. "What the bloody hell do you want me to do, Father? Go to Potter's house and drag him back here so you can get whatever it is you want from him yourself?"

Lucius gritted his teeth, while his hands tightened on the edge of the table. "Enough! If you will not do the task that I need for you to do, then-"

"That's it, Father! I have had enough!" Draco shouted as he threw his hands up into the air. "I agree with Mother, you are nothing but a drunken old fool, and I am not going to play your games for you anymore. If you want to befriend Harry, fucking Potter…then go and do it yourself!"

Lucius watched as Draco walked around the table and stood looming over him. "Let me tell you something, Father! I will not allow them to send me or mother to Azkaban," Lucius could see the cold fire burning in Draco's eyes. "And I will not let you destroy our family name." Lucius felt Draco point his finger into Lucius's chest as he continued with his rant. "I will deal with Harry Potter, Father, but it will be in my own way, not yours. As for you, you can go to Azkaban and let the dementors suck out any soul that you may have left!"

The small, rational part of his mind that was still working was impressed by Draco's anger. However, at that moment Lucius knew that his son had crossed the line.

Lucius felt a smile spread across his face, as he gazed down at his chest, where Draco's finger had been a few moments ago. "Ah, I see that there is some Slythein within you after all. I also see you have not yet learned your lesson. Very well then; I will not be merciful this time."

Everything happened in slow motion for Lucius. He witnessed Draco point his wand at him and then a bright, blue light hit Lucius directly in his chest. The force of this propelled him backwards until his head viciously met something that was hard and solid.

Draco stood over Lucius, breathing heavily as Narcissa came running back into the room.

"Draco! What happened?"

Draco stared at the unconscious body that rested against the wall. "Father was going to curse me, so I stunned him."

Draco watched as Narcissa walked over to her husband and felt for his pulse. "Mother, please, I stunned him, I didn't kill him!" Draco said irritably as he watched Narcissa nurse Lucius.

"Still the same, Draco. I do not think it would be wise for you to be here when Lucius finally awakens from this and his hangover. You must go and stay elsewhere until the trial."

"Mother! Just where am I going to go and stay?"

"I think you know where you need to go." Narcissa gave him a level look.

"You can't mean…" Draco protested, feeling his face heat with shame, anger, and a host of other emotions he didn't want to define.

"I'll tell your father that you grudgingly went to do as he asked, to find Harry Potter and make him amenable to his plan. If he believes you are obeying his request, he will be quicker to forgive you. If we are fortunate, he will not remember what has just happened between the both of you."

"I am not going to go and sleep in at Potter's, Mother!" Draco growled. "He won't exactly welcome me! He has no reason to trust me-he bloody hates me!"

"Don't be a fool, Draco, it is the safest place from your Father. Harry saved your life once. He will be doing so again. He is someone you can trust."

"But, Mother, I-"

"Do not argue with me about this Draco, just pack some clothes and go! You have some time to think about what you will say to Potter, as Lucius will not be awake anytime soon."

Arthur Weasley's workshop was a small, garage-like building on the exterior, but inside the shop, magical enhancements made it a large, spacious area that easily housed all of his Muggle devices and the Ford Anglia. He even had a long workbench, which at this moment was occupied by a boxy device with a smooth, shiny front panel. If working correctly, the panel would display moving pictures. Now, the only image Arthur could see on it was his own face, frowning back at him in concentration. He studied the Muggle device- a television set, its owner had called it- very carefully, trying to reason through the problem in his mind.

"Hmm. I wonder if that could be it," he said as he scratched the back of his head with the Muggle screwdriver and turned the device around. Before he could answer his own question, a knock came from the front door of the workshop.

"I'm back here. Come on in," Arthur said as he continued to study the back of the television set.

Arthur turned his attention away from the television set and saw Ron walking around the Ford Anglia in the back room of the workshop.

"Wow, Dad you managed to find the car!" Ron said as he walked around the table to where his father was working.

"Yes, it took me a while to find it and to retame it, but with a bit of magic it's as good as new again," Arthur said, beaming at the car. "Just don't tell your mother about it. She would scream if she knew I still have the thing."

Ron laughed a bit. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. So you wanted to see me?"

"Yes, I thought you might want to see this Muggle television set work. I've been working on it for quite a while now. I think I've almost got it fixed!" With a twist of the screwdriver, Arthur succeeded in refastening the cover onto the back panel.

Ron grinned at his father. "Dad, why don't you just use magic? You could save yourself a lot of time."

Arthur looked up from his work and smiled at Ron. "Ronald, what could I possibly hope to learn if I did it that way? Besides, what fun would it be?" Arthur stood up and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "Besides, the Muggle lady that gave this to me said that it hadn't worked in years, not since her husband had passed."

Arthur walked around the front of the table and turned the "power" knob to the set. "Yes, poor old lady," Arthur continued as he walked back around to the back of the television set. "Apparently some wizards still get a laugh from playing pranks on helpless Muggles. She had been sold a cuckoo clock that was broken. Well, not entirely broken. You see every hour it would chime correctly, as it should. The 'cuckoo bird' was a miniature Hungarian horntail dragon that would expel fire on every chime."

Ron snorted with laughter, and Arthur looked up from his work to admonish his son. "It's not a laughing matter, Ronald Billius. That poor woman could have been killed."

"Yeah, but Dad, you have to admit that was a good idea. I mean replacing a cuckoo bird with a miniature horntail…. It's the kind of thing Fred and George would have thought up."

"That it is," Arthur agreed. For a moment, he paused in his work and studied Ron's face. The silence ceased being reverent and started to become awkward. Arthur shook his head sadly before continuing on with his thoughts about the Muggle lady, and the dragon clock. "As I said, the poor woman could have been killed, so don't let this idea go to your brain as a new invention for the joke shop," Arthur said as he waved the screwdriver at Ron. "As a token of her gratitude toward my team, after we had secured the dragon, she gave me this small television set. She said it was her late husband's, but she had no use for it anymore." Arthur put the cover on the back of the television set. "There now, it should work."

Arthur turned the knob once again, and this time the old television set came to life with static and crackling before finally receiving the signal.

The screen was still fuzzy, but a voice came through the set. The voice was rapidly reading off a list of names, and saying such words and phrases as "goals," "penalty kick," "off-sides," and "Manchester United."

"I know how to fix this," Arthur said. He slammed his hand against the side of the set. The reception cleared, and both wizards stood before the television, set watching a game of Muggle soccer.

Ron leaned forward, watching the small screen with great interest.

"Bloody hell, Dad! It looks like Quidditch, in a way."

Arthur clapped his hand around Ron's broad shoulder. "Ron, didn't you learn anything from your Muggle Studies class? This is what the Muggles call football. Another term for the sport is soccer. Yes, it is a tiny bit similar to Quidditch."

"There is only one goal to defend, and where is the Snitch? No bludgers? Bloody hell, they're not even on broomsticks! They're running around kicking this black and white ball. Where's the fun in that?" Ron complained. "They copied us, or at least tried to copy Quidditch."

Arthur laughed as he turned off the television set. "Yes, Ron, they did try to copy Quidditch, unsuccessfully, I might add, but, you have to admire Muggles, they did try."

Arthur motioned for Ron to sit down at the small table as he sat down beside him. "Now, Ron, this device wasn't the only reason why I asked to speak to you. It's about Harry." Arthur clasped his hands together and met Ron's eyes across the table. "I don't want to pry into Harry's business, but I fear that we may be losing him. His isolation seems to be tearing him away from us." Arthur stopped for a moment as Ron stared keenly at him.

"Yeah, Dad, I have thought the same since he and Ginny had their row," Ron said. "I just didn't know what to do about it."

"I'm not sure that I do either," Arthur admitted. "Your mother and I love Harry like a son, and we had hoped..." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter now. Ginny says she would rather kiss a crup than reconcile with Harry."

Ron nodded, looking down at the table and fidgeting. "Dad, can I tell you something?"

Arthur's eyebrows rose slightly at this question. "Of course, son."

He saw Ron stare at his own hands, the concentration etched across his face. "Dad, I never was happy with Harry dating Ginny. I managed to accept it, but there were so many times when I wanted to hex Harry for snogging my little sister. It's almost like I knew how it would end."

Arthur studied Ron, whose face had now gone to a deep red as his anger toward Harry was more evident. "I know, Ronald, it was at first difficult for your mother and I, too. However, we talked at great lengths about it and decided to allow the two of them to find their own way with one another. We knew the possibility of them breaking up was there, but also we also hoped he might become a part of the family."

"Yeah," Ron muttered half-heartedly. "That's not going to happen now, though. From what Ginny said, she gave Harry a right, good smack for what he said to her. In a way, Dad, I am glad she did it so I wouldn't have to."

"As difficult as that was for her, Ronald, we cannot allow Harry to just wander off, and be led astray. He could fall in with the wrong people and fail to reach his potential. Dumbledore would not have wanted that, and in spite of what happened with Ginny, we don't want anything bad to happen to Harry either."

Ron shuffled his feet and kicked up a small plume of dust. "I suppose you are right, Dad, even if I feel he is a slimy git at times for it all. Don't get me wrong, he is still my best friend, but you saw how he was when he visited. He's changed, Dad. He's changed a lot."

"Growing older and going through experiences will do that to you, Ron. Look at yourself. Do you think that just a few years ago that you and I would be having this type of a conversation?"

Arthur saw Ron look bewildered as he tried to answer but all he could reply with was a shrug. Arthur chuckled to himself and smiled at his youngest son. "Ron, I would like for you to go and see Harry, today while your sister and mother are gone. Explain to him that we still care for him very much. Even with everything that has happened between him and Ginny, we still want to be a part of his life. He does not have to stay there alone at Grimmauld Place; he can come and stay here. Personally, I think it would do us all a lot of good to sit down and get everything off our chests and then move on from there."

"But, Dad, I…I'm no good at this rubbish! Why can't I send Hermione? She loves telling people what to do and how to feel!"

Arthur grimaced. "No, Ronald. I want you to go now, and do as I asked."

"Yes, sir," Ron mumbled, sighing and letting his shoulders slump.

Arthur watched as Ron left the workshop. He could only hope that Ron could somehow find a way through to Harry, in order to help him see through this darkness that had seemed to envelop them all.

"Molly, I hope your idea works, dear," Arthur said as he turned the television set back on and continued to watch the football game.

Green flames erupted from the fireplace inside #12 Grimmauld Place as Ron Weasley stepped out of the hearth. Coughing, he brushed the ash from his traveling cloak as he looked around the kitchen.

"Master Harry has a visitor," Kreacher's voice came from beside the fireplace. "Oh, it is the Weasley boy."

"Kreacher, where is Harry?" Ron asked.

"The Weasley boy speaks to Kreacher. The Weasley boy is not Kreacher's master. Kreacher will not answer." The house elf folded his little arms and turned his back to Ron.

"Look, you bloody elf, I am not in the mood for your little games!" Ron grabbed the tattered shirt that loosely covered Kreacher's body and twisted it tightly around the house elf's neck, partially strangling him. "One more time, where is Harry?"

"Ron!"

Startled by the sound of his name, Ron turned around to see Harry pointing his wand directly at him. "Put him down, Ron, now."

"Blimey, Harry, I wasn't going to kill him! I was just asking him where you were!" Ron started as he loosened the grip around Kreacher's neck. The house elf yanked himself free from Ron's fading grip, and started shouting a long list of obscenities.

"Kreacher, that's enough!" Harry shouted. "Just go to your room, alright?" With one last dirty look at Ron, the house elf obeyed Harry and left the two Gryffindors standing alone in the room. Harry lowered his wand and shook his head at Ron.

"I knew you never cared for Kreacher much, but I never thought you would go and choke him. Just think what Hermione would say to you if she ever found out that you treated a house elf like that."

Ron scratched at the back of his neck, ashamed. He could practically hear Hermione going on about house elf rights. "Look, Harry, I am sorry about that. I don't know what came over me. I just wanted to know where you were."

"Well, I am here, and very much surprised that you are standing here as well," Harry stated as he showed Ron to the table. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Yeah, that would be great, especially after flooing here. My throat could use something to wash that ash down."

"Kreacher, tea for two, please," Harry called.

Kreacher came out of his room grumbling under his breath. "Master always wanting Kreacher to do something. Kreacher should poison the Weasleys boy's tea after what he's done to Kreacher. Traitorous, mud-blood lover he is."

"Kreacher, that's enough of that!" Harry scolded the house elf. "Now, please, the tea."

Harry turned back to face Ron across the table. In the dim light, he looked even paler than he had when he had visited the Burrow. The shadows under his eyes and the hollows beneath his cheek bones had deepened, and his hair had grown so that it covered his scar and hung over his eyebrows. He wore one of Mrs. Weasley's beastly, ill-fitting sweaters and a pair of strange Muggle pants. Hermione would probably have lectured him about taking care of himself, but something in Harry's eyes told Ron he had better not say anything regarding Harry's appearance. He stayed silent, smiling in what he hoped was an encouraging fashion and leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

"Well, I can't say that I am shocked that someone from the Burrow is here," Harry said. "I just never thought it would be you. I assumed it might be Mrs. Weasley perhaps, or Mr. Weasley, possibly even Hermione, but not you."

"You might say I got talked into it, Harry. I'll leave if you don't want me here. After your row with Ginny, I can imagine you might not-"

"Ron, please stop going on, alright? I had a fight with Ginny, not you. You don't have to leave."

Kreacher came out with the tea and placed it upon the table in front of Harry. "Thank you, Kreacher. That will be all. You can go and sulk in your own room, now."

The house elf bowed to Harry and quickly walked to his small room across the kitchen.

After pushing back the cuffs of his sweater, Harry poured each of them a cup of tea and sat back in his chair, his fingers curled around a mug. He looked in Ron's general direction, but seemed to see through him, and he gave no indication that he planned to speak.

Ron took a sip of tea and placed the cup down on the saucer. "Dad asked me to come here."

Harry only nodded acknowledgment.

"He's worried about you," Ron continued. "You're scaring him, to be honest. You're scaring all of us with this hermit rubbish. Harry, look, you're my best friend, and I don't want any secrets between us. Bloody hell, mate, look at what all of this is causing! You can't honestly say that you have been yourself lately."

Harry took a drink of his own tea and stared across the table at Ron. "No, Ron, I haven't. I suppose part of that is because of what happened back at Hogwarts. Killing someone that has been trying to kill you for eighteen years does take its toll on you." He took another drink of tea before continuing. "Look, I am sorry if I have not been the same. I thought being away from you all would help me get myself back together."

"Well, yeah, Harry, I would guess killing the darkest wizard that we ever knew would do that to you, but doesn't it also give you a bit of peace knowing that it is all over? What about being a hero? Doesn't that mean anything to you? Bloody hell, Harry, you saved everyone!"

Harry's free hand clenched into a fist, and the hand holding the teacup shook, spilling some of the dark liquid onto the table. "Yeah, I saved everyone. That's why I don't want to be around anyone. I don't want a hero's worship, I just want to be able to get on with a normal life."

"Sorry." Ron fumbled with his spoon and placed the tea down on the table.

"So, why did you come here today? You mentioned that you were talked into it," Harry asked as he eyed Ron over the rim of his cup.

"Dad suggested that I come here and tell you that we don't hold anything against you, not even what happened between you and Ginny. We want you to come visit us instead of staying here all of the time."

Harry grinned a little bit at the mention of Ginny. His hand traced his jawbone where Ginny had hit him. "Yeah, I was lucky, wasn't I? She could have hit me with her Bat-Bogey Hex." Harry began to laugh, and Ron joined him. A few moments passed as their laughter echoed throughout the room. Slowly the laughs subsided and Ron hesitated before asking his next question.

"Harry?"

"Yeah, Ron?"

"Mate, I'm really sorry about Hermione's howler. I tried to tell her not to send it. You know Hermione; once she gets an idea into her head, she is stuck on it. I hope you aren't mad at her for sending it."

"No, it's ok. Yeah, it was a bit surprising, but it's no big deal, Ron," Harry said as he waved the thought by. "Actually, Ginny did me a favor that day."

"Oh, what's that, Harry?"

Harry looked across the table at Ron and sighed. "It's complicated, Ron, and you wouldn't understand."

"Oh, yeah? Hermione says that to me all the time. Try me, Harry. You might just be surprised."

Harry stared into his teacup for a moment, scowling. When he looked up at Ron, he shrugged and flashed an unhealthy little half-smile. "All right, but don't say that I didn't warn you."

He took a deep breath before he continued. Ron sat straight in his chair, anxious to hear Harry's revelation.

"You might want to cover your ears," Harry warned.

"Bloody hell Harry, just say it. It can't be that bad, can it?"

"Alright. Well, when I broke it off with Ginny, it was because I do have feelings for someone else. As it turns out, she preferred to hit me instead of waiting to find out who it was."

Ron nodded slowly, digesting the news. "Is it Cho, then?" he asked.

Harry shook his head, put his cup down and looked directly at Ron. "It's Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Ron repeated, confused. "What did he do now? And what does it have to do with you and Ginny?"

"It's Draco Malfoy," Harry repeated, speaking slowly as if to an imbecile.

"Yeah, you said that already but...Oh." Ron put down his teacup, not trusting himself with any fragile objects. His head spun and began to fill with images he wanted to dislodge as soon as he imagined them. "You... You're... You and... Bloody hell, Harry! You, and Draco Malfoy? How long has this been going on?"

"It hasn't been," Harry whispered, looking suddenly miserable. "He doesn't know. You're the first I've told, Ron."

"I knew it!" Ron blurted. "Well, not exactly, but I always knew there was something off about you and Ginny. You and Cho, too, come to think of it. It makes sense now."

Harry visibly relaxed, and a relieved smile spread across his face. "What? You mean you aren't angry or going to say how ridiculous it is for me to like another bloke?"

Ron shrugged. "I'd rather you be an uphill gardener than have you snogging my little sister. I will admit, Harry, that it is sick and twisted in one way, but on the other hand I sort of expected it."

Harry began to question how, but Ron stopped him from asking his question. "I mean the way you would look over at him in class, even though you two hate each other. Maybe that's why I was surprised when you started dating Ginny. "

"So you are alright with me being gay?" Harry asked.

Ron laughed as he got up from the table and walked around to Harry. He clapped a large hand onto Harry's shoulder. "Harry, mate did you ever pay attention to anything?"

"What?"

"Don't you remember Dumbledore? Grindelwald? What Aberforth told us about the two of them? Yeah, alright he didn't say that they both snogged one another, but still, connect the dots and you get the picture. They were more than just friends, Harry."

"I never knew," Harry muttered. "Another one of the things he kept hidden from me, I suppose. Do you think he was ashamed of it?"

"Yeah, maybe," Ron replied a moment before deciding that he had given the wrong answer. "Not that he had any reason to be!" Ron continued quickly. Just about every wizarding family has had a witch or a wizard that has been gay, mate. It's pretty common, even though it isn't mentioned much. You just have to know where to look and what to look for. Even a number of pureblood families have their share of 'secret romances'." When Harry failed to look convinced, he sighed. "Look, I don't care, Harry, anymore than I care about Hermione being Muggle-born."

"Thanks for that," Harry mumbled.

Ron made his way over to the fireplace, and reached out for a handful of floo powder. "Let me go home and smooth everything over with Mum and Dad. They will understand even more now, that is if you will let me tell them. If not, then I will say that you didn't want to talk."

"Alright, Ron. I trust you to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley about this, but let me tell it to Hermione and Ginny, ok?"

"Fair enough, Harry," Ron agreed. He palmed a handful of floo powder but stopped himself before tossing it into the fireplace. "One more thing I have to know, or it will bloody drive me crazy! Why Malfoy, for the love of Merlin? Why not Seamus, or Neville or, well, anyone but Malfoy?"

"I don't know." Harry frowned, and that odd unfocused look came over him again. "I suppose it's because he's never looked at me and seen the Chosen One or the Boy Who Lived. He's someone I can trust not to call me a hero."

"That's because he's a bloody git, Harry!" Ron growled, shaking his head in puzzlement. He wondered what Hermione would make of Harry's confession when she finally heard it. She would probably have a lot of big words to say about it, but in the end it would all boil down to Draco being a git and Harry being mad for thinking otherwise.

Suddenly, something occurred to Ron that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. "Harry, you don't think you're cursed, do you? Like, with a love spell? Maybe Malfoy cast something on you."

Harry laughed. "I wish he had! That would at least mean he's interested in me."

Resigned to his lack of understanding, Ron sighed, tossed the floo powder, and spun out of sight.

Harry walked upstairs to his bedroom and laid down on the bed, contemplating his decision about telling Ron his secret. His mind quickly went back to the thought of Dumbledore. Harry had never thought of Dumbledore in that manner. Could that have been why Dumbledore always seemed to take a special interest in Harry, other than because of his connection to Voldemort? Had Dumbledore sensed that Harry was gay? It would have been good to talk to him, to ask him what it had been like when he was Harry's age and how he had approached Grindelwald.

What would happen next? How would things be now that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would know that he fancied Draco Malfoy? He wondered if they would react the same way as Ron had, if they would take him to Saint Mungo's to have him checked for whatever potion, charm, or curse was causing him to obsess on Draco.

"Ron was right, in a way," Harry muttered. "Love is a curse."

A soft knock at the door distracted Harry from his thoughts as Kreacher came into the room. "Master Harry has a visitor."

"What, Kreacher? Ron just left."

"Kreacher knows the Weasley boy just left, but Master Harry has another visitor waiting for him." The house-elf practically sang the words, and he bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. Whoever had come to the door, it must be someone Kreacher thought worthy to visit Harry.

"Who is it, Kreacher?"

"It is a most noble pureblood wizard," Kreacher intoned, thrusting out his little chest. "Kreacher will be proud to serve Master Harry's high-born guest. Does Master Harry wish for Kreacher to cook? Kreacher will prepare a feast! Which room should Kreacher make ready for the honored wizard? Kreacher must know where to put the noble wizard's suitcase!"

Harry found himself sympathizing with Ron's attempt to strangle the house-elf, but instead he forced himself to take a deep, slow breath. "Kreacher! Before I can answer any of that, I need to know who it is."

Kreacher's grin broadened at the mere prospect of saying the unknown wizard's name, and he clasped his gnarled hands in front of his chest as if about to mutter a prayer. "Master Harry, our guest is the august Slytherin- Draco Malfoy."
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Darkness Within The Light