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Heraclitean Fire	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4220 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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Chapter Two�Bubonic�s Front Door

�� Is he serious, mate?�

�� Harry shook
his head and stared at the newly-arrived letter, which had come to him as he
was sitting with Ron at breakfast, nursing a headache with the help of a
Hangover Potion and toast. It was a strange letter. It was from Draco Malfoy,
someone he hadn�t heard from for three years, and it sounded exactly the way
Harry would have expected a letter from Malfoy to sound: uncaring and
pretentious.

�� But he was
making a proposal, and he seemed to expect a serious answer to the proposal, if
not the rest of it, since his owl had waited and was currently preening its
gleaming black feathers on a perch in the corner of the room.

�� Dear Potter,

�� So sorry to hear
that you�re dying.

�� You may or may not be aware that my
father, Lucius Malfoy, died last week. He left me a house called Bubonic, which
apparently has secrets tucked inside it. What they are, no one exactly knows,
though my mother believes that my father died in part from his investigation of
the house. I could use some help in clearing out the ghosts, or spirits, or
whatever they are, who live there, and you were the first person I thought of
on seeing the article in the Prophet this
morning.

�� I admit that part of this comes from
the fact that you�re dying, and have less to fear from what lurks in Bubonic
than most people. But I could use an Auror-trained wizard to recognize and ward
off the Dark magic, and I wouldn�t like to go exploring by myself, in case I
died and there was no one to carry the news back to my mother. I could use your
company.

�� As a further inducement, I can offer to make
a donation to any charity you�ll like. I�m certainly rich enough to do that.
You said that you wanted to do something helpful with your last days, and this
would fulfill that criterion while also allowing you to risk your life. I know
how much you love to do that.

�� Cordially,

�� Draco Malfoy.

�� No matter
how much he read it, the letter didn�t get any more straightforward or make any
more sense. Harry pushed it away from him, frowning, and then took another sip
of the Hangover Potion. He might have drunk a little less last night.

�� He was
going to die in thirteen days. He tried to remind himself of that, but the fact
slid away from him like a cat on glass.

�� What
should I do?� he asked Ron. He would have asked Hermione, but she had spent
most of the night at the library and then got up before them this morning, to
go back to the books and try to find a cure for the Withering Curse.

�� What do
you mean, what should you do?� Ron
sent a few crumbs flying from his mouth when he spoke. His stare was frankly
incredulous, and Harry began to feel a bit stupid for asking the question. �You
refuse, of course! You�re going to spend your last days with us. As if we would
let you do anything else,� he scoffed, and reached out for his own glass full
of potion to take a healthy gulp.

�� Harry
frowned and toyed with his plate. He hoped that Ron wouldn�t notice the
silence, but Ron did and stared at him. �Mate? You
can�t mean that you�re thinking about this?�

�� He did
promise a donation,� Harry muttered, but he knew it was ridiculous. He had
accepted that he was going to die, hadn�t he? And he would spend time with his
friends before then. It was the normal, the natural, thing to do. He would be
stupid if he went off and risked his life for the sake of enriching Malfoy.
That was what this had to be about; the small scraps of news Harry had picked
up about Malfoy since the war implied that he only cared for Galleons and men,
maybe not in that order. Harry couldn�t see what this scheme about Bubonic had
to do with acquiring boyfriends for Malfoy, though.

�� But�

�� The simple
truth was that he didn�t want to
spend his last two weeks comforting his friends every time they cried about his
impending death. He�d comforted Ron last night, and Ginny had broken down in
his arms the day before, and Hermione had sobbed for a short time before
pulling herself together and going to do research. Harry would visit the
Weasleys shortly, and he expected to be overwhelmed by their grief.

�� They had
every right to feel it. But Harry was the one who would go through the pain,
the one who knew exactly how long he had to live right now and exactly what he
would die of. He wanted to do something else, something more, than wallowing in the emotions of his friends and trying
frantically to find a cure that didn�t exist, which was Hermione�s method of
coping. When she found out that that wouldn�t work, Harry expected to have
someone else on his hands who he would have to talk to
and hold and soothe.

�� It was what
he did. It had always been what he did. He and Ginny had tried to be with each
other for a while, but they didn�t know how
to be. Ginny wanted to share emotions with him, and Harry wasn�t reluctant
to talk about his, but somehow the right words never came to him. It was so
much easier to listen to her stories, like her memories of Hogwarts in the year
the Carrows were there, and sympathize, and then it would have got too late or
Ginny would want comfort sex and they didn�t have to talk about his.

�� He�d wanted
to. Somehow time got away from him.

�� And now
there would be no more time.

�� But he
wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, Harry thought, flattening the letter down
with the palm of his hand. Malfoy was right about that. He had made the offer
to help people because he hoped that would get him away from grief and nothing
but grief for a while, and he�d received plenty of letters. But none of the
projects were suitable. They didn�t want his help,
they wanted his name, or his
Galleons. Harry wanted something to do. He wasn�t going to helplessly waste
away until he utterly had to.

�� Malfoy�s
project sounded horrid and cynical, but it also sounded interesting. Not much
else did to Harry right now.

�� Not that he
was going to accept it, of course. It would turn out to be a trick, Harry was
certain, because Malfoy hated Harry as much as everyone else desperately loved
him, and he was writing just to taunt. Harry had to shake his head over how
intricate the deception was, though. Perhaps Malfoy had nothing better to do.

�� When you can learn to lie better, he
scrawled on the single sheet of parchment that was all that he would allow
himself, then I might listen to you.

�� He didn�t
bother signing it, since he was sure Malfoy would remember the last person he
had sent his owl to, and instead just held it out to Malfoy�s bird. The owl eyed
him sternly, while Harry continued to hold it out, until the bird seemed
resigned to the fact that it wouldn�t get a proper envelope or a proper
anything else. It stooped forwards, grabbed the letter with a nip to Harry�s
fingers, and took off.

�� What did
you say?� Ron asked. He�d watched the byplay with interest, enough that he�d
finished his toast and only now took another piece from the plate in the center
of the table.

�� That he
should get stuffed,� Harry responded around his own mouthful.

�� It made Ron
laugh, and that lightened the grief for a moment, and that was precious.

*

�� Draco
arched an eyebrow. He had expected to have to persuade a reluctant Potter by
detailing the terms he was prepared to offer; he hadn�t thought Potter would
accuse him of deception and think no more about it. He tapped his finger for a
moment as he stood in front of the Owlery.
The bird he had sent to Potter, Dignus, was still
incredibly ruffled and currently dozing with his head under his wing.

�� Draco
looked along the line of owls, trying to settle on the one that would convey
the appropriate response to Potter and get him to open Draco�s next letter. But
then Draco shook his head and stepped back, shutting the door of the Owlery.

�� No. He had
gone about this the wrong way. He had written to Potter like the Hogwarts
schoolboy that Potter remembered, and it was small wonder if Potter reacted to
that badly. Draco would have to go in person, apologize for the mocking tone of
the last letter, and explain the situation in more detail. Potter might be
impressed enough by that to listen.

�� If he
wasn�t, then Draco would think of something else.

�� He cast a
glance at his latest acquisition as he came through the door. It crouched in
the middle of his drawing room, draped with chains and a warding circle, but
managed to radiate a cold malevolence even through that. Draco rolled his eyes.

�� I haven�t
given up on you just because I haven�t worked on you for a few days,� he told
the artifact, which resembled a great steel sculpture of a turtle with a fifth
leg instead of a head. �I�ll change your nature yet.�

�� Magic
coiled around the wards, snapped half-visible jaws at him, and then dissipated.
Draco chuckled and went to his fireplace. Speaking to a few people in the
Ministry should tell him where Potter was likely to be at this hour.

*

�� There must
be something, Harry. I know there�s something.�

�� Harry
smiled�he hoped it wasn�t too sad, or he was liable to get another scolding�and
patted Hermione�s hand. �You think what you need to think, Hermione,� he murmured, �and do what you need to do.�

�� Hermione
sniffed at him and plunged back into the pile of research in front of her.
Harry leaned back and looked around. This library was the largest room in the
house that Ron and Hermione owned, and it literally bulged with books. Harry
didn�t want to know what would happen when Hermione recovered from this latest
project and noticed all the books that were stacked in boxes instead of packed
neatly away on the shelves, as she thought they should be.

�� Then he
reminded himself forcibly that he wouldn�t be around to see that happen, since
he would be either in St. Mungo�s or dead by then.

�� Harry shut
his eyes. With the sunlight falling on his skin and Hermione mumbling and
murmuring away next to him as if she were working on a new mystery about
Nicholas Flamel, it seemed impossible that he would
die in a few weeks.

�� But he
would. The kinder thing, Harry was convinced, was to make himself
face it. He still wouldn�t be ready at the end, of course; he would still want
to disbelieve it and to run away from the doom his own body carried. But
thinking about it every day, spending some time in death�s company, would make
him less likely to panic.

�� He hoped,
anyway.

�� Someone is
here to be seeing Master Harry Potter!� Winky
appeared in front of them and bowed anxiously to Hermione first, as mistress of
the house, and then to Harry. She wore a fairly sturdy handkerchief around her
belly, which Harry was glad for. Among the sights of his last weeks, he didn�t
need house-elf genitals. �Someone�important!�

�� Hermione
only nodded absently, but Harry raised an eyebrow. Hermione lived under several
delusions regarding Winky, one of which was that she
paid her�instead, Ron collected the Galleon back from Winky
at the end of the week�and another that she had given up referring to people
the way house-elves usually did. Harry knew that �important� to a house-elf
usually meant someone from a pure-blood family.

�� Who?� he asked.

�� Winky gave a look at Hermione that Harry understood
perfectly. This was someone Hermione would get upset about. Harry stood up and
followed Winky out of the library, then bent down
towards her. �You can tell me, Winky,� he said
coaxingly.

�� Winky still stood on tiptoes to get close to his ear so she
could whisper. �It is being Master Draco Malfoy, Master Harry Potter Savior, sir.�

�� Harry
slapped a hand over his face. Of course Malfoy
would be pushing and shoving his way in where he didn�t belong, acting as
though he could take whatever he wanted and it would be fine. Harry wanted to
shake his head. No, better, he wanted to grab Malfoy and shake him. The git
couldn�t even leave Harry alone to die in peace.

�� Neither can your friends.

�� Harry
winced. His thoughts from that morning seemed selfish and far away. He knew
that he shouldn�t want to spend his last days doing something that might get
him killed. And of course he appreciated that his friends� lives would be
changed by what had happened to him. He wouldn�t want to miss a moment of that.

�� But still�

�� Is Master
Harry Potter Savior sir having something wrong?�

�� Winky�s anxious voice called Harry back to himself. He was
in the middle of a corridor with a house-elf who looked as if she would die of
angst if he waited too long. He forced himself to lower his hand and speak in a
calm voice.

�� No, Winky. You can show Malfoy
into a room, and I�ll come down in a minute.�

�� I is showing him into a room already, sir!� Winky began bouncing and beaming at him. �Important visitors is not to be waiting on the doorstep!�

�� Harry
grimaced. He was glad that Ron had left for the moment, so that Harry wouldn�t
have to have an argument with him over having Malfoy in the house. �I see,� he
muttered. �Then take me to him, please.�

�� This way, Master Harry Potter Chosen One sir!� Winky led Harry through the door with her chest so
puffed-up that Harry kept expecting to see her toes leave the floor. He shook
his head when he realized that Winky had put Malfoy
in Hermione�s favorite room. Hermione would probably want to scrub the chairs
if he had actually sat in them, the books if he had touched them.

�� Harry
hesitated before he opened the door. Did he want to go have an argument instead
of simply sitting quietly with Hermione and trying to absorb the sights around
him, to fill his senses with as much as possible, before he never had the
chance to do something like that again?

�� If I want to fill my senses as much as I
possibly can, then only relying on what I can see from Hermione and Ron�s windows
isn�t the way to do it.

�� Harry
sighed, got rid of the useless debate, and pushed the door open.

*

�� Granger had
better taste than Draco would have expected from a Muggleborn and Muggle-lover.
She had several volumes of novels and books of poetry that Draco would have
read with pleasure on a rainy afternoon. He had just taken down Catherine
Welsh�s book A Mist in the Lightborns when Potter stepped through the door and
confronted him.

�� Draco took
his time about sliding the book back into place. He was a guest in this house,
or at least he should be, and that meant he couldn�t be accused of stealing his
host�s property without more proof than Potter currently possessed. He leaned
back against the shelf, and they looked at each other.

�� Potter was
pale, no surprise, and still wore bedraggled Auror robes, as though he had been
wearing them since the moment the Withering Curse hit him. Draco wouldn�t have
been surprised to learn that was the case. He only knew from his perusal of the
shelves that one of the Grand Trio of war heroes, as the papers often called
them, had taste, not that all of them had changed into sane and responsible
adults.

�� In fact, Potter�s willingness to die
learning about what he can do for others suggests that he�ll never have the
chance to grow up.

�� Malfoy.� Potter�s tone could have been called polite in the
same way that the summer weather outside the windows was icy. �What did you
want?�

�� I came to
apologize.� Draco was glad that he had practiced his speech before he entered
the house. It kept him from embarrassing grimaces and simply stopping in the
middle of a sentence before he could continue. He watched Potter�s face, and
absorbed the sight of his sagging jaw and widening eyes with some satisfaction.
The only thing that would have been better was if Weasley and Granger were in
the room to hear it, too. Then again, they would interrupt the private
consultation he wanted to have with Potter, so it was a good thing they
weren�t. Draco continued, studying Potter for, he realized, some sign that the
Withering Curse had begun its work already. �I shouldn�t have approached you in
such an insensitive way. You�ve just learned devastating news, and the least I
could have done was show you a bit of sympathy. I know you don�t have a reason
to believe me, but I hoped that coming myself would show you how sincerely
sorry I am.� He ended with a slight bow of his head and an extension of his
arms, to show that he was even more sincere and truthful than Potter might
think at the moment.

�� Potter
stood there with his eyes half-shut, as if contemplating some spectacle behind
his eyelids more worth staring at than an apologetic Draco. Draco straightened
up, frowning. He hoped that his show had worked and Potter would now be in a more
reasonable mood. If not, he had wasted a good speech and half the morning.

�� Yes, fine,
right,� Potter said, and Draco wondered whether it was worth having Potter with
him in Bubonic if he would babble like that all the time. Then Potter shook his
head and leaned forwards to squint at Draco. �But you have to want something
more than that, or you would�ve just written a letter.�

�� Draco
allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips. He had been convinced that he knew
Potter. It seemed that Potter had the right to claim a
certain knowledge of him back.

�� Good of
you to notice,� he murmured. �You could say that. I meant what I said in the
letter. I want your help in exploring this house I�ve inherited. You can�t deny
that it makes a better adventure than sitting around waiting for the Withering
Curse to claim you.�

�� Potter
shook his head in what looked like bemusement. �But I don�t want to go
adventuring for the sake of your profit,� he said. �Why? It�s not as though you
would do anything for me if you found what you were looking for.�

�� I promised
a donation to any charity you wish to ask for,� Draco reminded him. �Including that insufferable house-elf thing of Granger�s.�

�� I should
make you donate to that one, just since you mentioned it,� Potter muttered.

�� I�m
prepared,� Draco said. �But in the meantime, you�d be honor-bound to come with
me if I did it.�

�� Potter
squinted at him. �From the kind of person you�ve become in the last few years,
Malfoy, I wouldn�t have said that you put any stock in honor.�

�� In
Gryffindor honor, I do,� Draco said equably. He was beginning to relax. He had
been half-afraid that their antagonistic relationship would resume the moment
he saw Potter, and he wouldn�t be able to keep himself from responding with
insults. If that had happened, then he couldn�t have survived a trip into
Bubonic with Potter, and it would have been better to abandon his half-formed
plans at once. But this Potter was more restrained and more civil than Draco
had expected him to be.

�� He could do
this, and so could Potter.

�� I don�t
understand why it has to be me,� Potter said. �There are places where you can
hire someone to risk their lives for a few hundred Galleons�less than the
amount of the donation I would demand from you, anyway. And some of them would
be so willing to die, just for the thrill of the adventure or the need of the
money, that it would replicate the conditions of the Withering Curse. It�s not
as though you absolutely need me.�

�� I do.�
Draco didn�t like admitting this, but he had come too far to turn back now at a
slight difficulty. �I need someone who�s trained,
not simply someone who�s willing to risk his life. And it�s not so easy to hire
Aurors.�

�� I�m still
an Auror,� Potter said, turning the word over in his mouth as if it had been
years since he heard it. �That�s right. I�m not allowed to work for a private
individual who opposes the interests of the Ministry.�

�� Draco
smiled slightly. �Who said that I would do that? They must be as interested as
I am in having a source of Dark magic vanish from the face of the earth. And
that�s what would happen if we investigated Bubonic and tamed it.�

�� Potter
sighed. He acted as though Draco was the one who didn�t understand him, Draco
thought, watching him, when Draco was convinced that he understood Potter
perfectly. Potter�s principles were the things getting in the way. If he could
speak to Potter without his conscience or his friends interfering, Draco
believed, then they might have agreed and been on their way to Gringotts for
the Galleons they would need already.

�� Look,�
Potter said. �I can�t go with you. The whole idea�s insane. First of all, we
don�t trust each other, and that�s kind of essential in a life-and-death
situation. Second, of course I can�t spend my last weeks
gallivanting around some Dark house with you. I have to spend it with my
friends.�

�� Mourning,�
Draco said. �Crying. Listening to them mourn and cry.�
Potter�s left eyelid twitched, and Draco knew he had struck diamonds. �Is that
really what you want?�

*

�� Harry
ripped his head to the side and began to pace around the room, picking up books
and then dropping them again when he felt them, as if their covers burned his
palms. He knew that Hermione would be angry about the way he was messing up her
room, but at the moment, he couldn�t care about that.

�� Fuck
Malfoy, how did he know that? Harry had been so careful not to show his impatience and his desperation.
He knew that the thoughts about escaping from his friends and family were wrong
even as he had them, and he knew there was no cure for the Withering
Curse�well, not one that he could take�so he had suppressed the thoughts
because it wasn�t as though he could do anything else.

�� And Malfoy
had walked in and put his finger on the wound in Harry�s conscience as surely
as though he had inflicted it.

�� Harry
turned towards Malfoy. �I won�t listen to any more of this,� he said. �Get
out.�

�� Malfoy
remained still, gazing at Harry as though he didn�t feel the magic that rattled
the chairs and made the walls hum with an undertone like plucked wires. His
eyes were wide, but Harry was smarter than to think it was with innocence.
Malfoy wouldn�t know innocence if it bit him on the arse; that was all too
plain.

�� I can give
you what you want,� Malfoy breathed. �What you need. Not a cure to the
Withering Curse, of course. But the next best thing. I
can ensure that your death matters, that you die like an Auror instead of an
Auror trainee.�

�� Harry had
to turn his back, because otherwise he would punch Malfoy out of sheer
irritation, sheer fear.

�� How in the world had Malfoy known that he wanted that, that Harry wanted to die like that if he had to die at
all? The shudders crawled up Harry�s spine and earthed themselves in his
shoulders and his neck. It was as if Malfoy had used Legilimency on him, but
Harry thought he would have recognized the feel of that.

�� No, this
was worse. It was as though Malfoy had walked into the house, taken one look at
him, and seen through the pleasant mask that Harry had fastened across his face
for the benefit of everyone else.

�� Harry shook
his head. He couldn�t�he couldn�t think about this. He couldn�t be tempted by
the demon that was Malfoy.

�� And he was
being ridiculous, with melodramatic and paranoid thoughts, he decided, closing
his eyes and resting his hand on his cheek for a moment. The coolness against
his burning skin made it possible to think. He could do only one thing, and it
depended not at all on his own needs and desires. He
had to send Malfoy away.

�� He turned
around and gave Malfoy a meaningless smile. If Malfoy really could see straight
to the bottom of Harry�s heart, then he would know it meant nothing, and why. �Thanks
for coming, and thanks for the offer. But I�m not interested.�

�� You�re too
much interested, then,� Malfoy said, with a pleased little nod, as though
Harry�s deception was a show intended for him alone. �I thought so. Well, no
need to hold back and act the martyr with me, Potter. I give you permission to
give in and go along. Who knows what we�ll find in Bubonic? My mother thinks a
spirit of disease lives there. I�m not sure what to think, myself, but I do
want to experience it.�

�� Harry shook
his head. �You need to listen to what I said instead of what you want to hear.
I�m not going. Thanks for the offer, but no thanks. Leave.� He concentrated and
pulled a bit of his magic to the surface. A book jumped off the shelf beside
Malfoy and levitated to the table on the other side of him. Harry couldn�t
actually drop it to the floor, knowing what Hermione would do to him if a book
was damaged, but he wanted to impress Malfoy with both his power and the state of his temper.

�� Malfoy
stood still, as though the book had been nothing more than a fly. He studied
Harry. He grunted at last, and Harry relaxed, thinking he had come to an
understanding of what to be done.

�� I thought
so,� Malfoy said. �You have the worst case of self-sacrifice I�ve ever seen.
You�re not content to die from a painful and horrible curse that no one can
protect you from. You�re not content to try and soothe your friends and
convince them that they�ll go on without you�which they will, you know. They�ll
live their lives, the life you no longer have, and in a few years they�ll be
able to smile over the memories. You won�t be there to see them.�

�� Harry
tensed and stared at him. He didn�t know what Malfoy�s newest tactic was,
whether he was trying to avenge himself on Harry for his disappointment or
still convince Harry to come along, but either way, he distrusted the light,
chatty tone the git had taken.

�� Malfoy
smiled at him. �You probably tried to reason that you would always die young,
right? That you weren�t destined for the good things of this world after having
done the great? You closed your eyes after the first
confirmation about the curse and decided that, well, an Auror has to die
sometime, and there are advantages to it being this way?�

�� Shut your
mouth, Malfoy.� Harry barely recognized the ugly, dangerous crackle of his own
voice.

�� No.�
Malfoy looked at him with an expression that had a tinge of cold amusement
burning in it, though he had lost his smile. �I don�t think I will. You�re
doing exactly as you�ve always done, Potter, marching to your death with your
head held high. When you thought you would die to defeat the Dark Lord, I could
even honor you for it. But you never thought of marching anywhere else. And now
it can�t benefit anyone to have you die. It doesn�t please you. You can�t
reconcile yourself to it. But you go on trying. It�s the stupidest waste of a
life and gifts I�ve ever seen,� he concluded.

�� Harry was
breathing fast enough that he thought he would pass out. His hands were
clenched to the point that they hurt. His eyes kept wanting
to shut, but if he did that, Malfoy would think that he was trying to hold back
tears, and that would make the git
think he had won. Harry refused to allow him that privilege.

�� What do
you mean, prat?� he did say, when his breath returned to him enough to form
words. �You can�t offer me a cure to the Withering Curse. Exactly what do you
mean when you claim that I�m �wasting� my life? I already know I�m going to
die.�

�� Later,
looking back, he could identify that as the moment that Malfoy had won.

*

�� Draco
smiled, though only inwardly. Potter had always been so easy to rile, and
although he was an adult, he hadn�t lost that quality. Draco could see the
formidable blaze gathering in his eyes and hear the creaking of the bones and
tendons he was putting under pressure. He wouldn�t have been surprised to see Potter
sprout wings of fire.

�� But he
wasn�t afraid. If he couldn�t match Potter in natural magic, he still had power
as strong. He carried his own collection of small artifacts, ones he had
altered but didn�t intend to sell, about him, around his neck and in his
pockets and embedded in his wand. They would protect him if Potter did
something as stupid as a direct assault.

�� For now, he
truly doubted that he would need them. He had the advantage in words and ideas,
and Potter was watching him with the same fascinated curiosity that Draco had
seen people use when he first introduced them to the idea of buying a converted
Dark artifact. They could walk away at any time. He didn�t bind their limbs.
They could disregard what he was saying at any time. He didn�t chain their
minds.

�� They were
so busy congratulating themselves on their assumed freedoms, most of the time,
that they didn�t take account of the actual ones.

�� I can
offer you significance,� Draco answered, watching Potter�s eyes as they darted
about and his feet as they fidgeted. He had seen it all before, and was
prompted to smile tolerantly at it, but Potter would probably take that
expression the wrong way, because he was capable of taking anything the wrong way. Draco therefore maintained his neutral
expression and his flat tone. �No, it�s not the same as continuing life. But
it�s a continuing reputation.�

�� So you�re
going to publicize what we find in the house?� Potter shook his head. �I don�t
think so. Either you�ll want to keep it for yourself, or it�ll concern Dark
magic and you won�t make it known for legal reasons.�

�� Draco
half-closed his eyes and drew in a thick breath of air that smelled sweet.
Potter had spoken as though their investigating the house together was a real
possibility, just when Draco had begun to think that he wouldn�t do any such
thing.

�� I mean
that you�ll have a continuing reputation with me,� he said. �And I�m good at
careful editing. I could make sure that those who matter to you know the
dangers you fought. Or I could give you leave to tell the story yourself,
before you died, as long as you left out anything that could implicate me too
much. You could have the adventure and the
knowledge that they knew.�

�� Potter�s
eyes fluttered shut for a moment. He stood there in contemplation so open that
Draco didn�t fear smiling, this time. Potter would be a pleasure to have
around. Most of the people Draco knew and bargained with didn�t let their
emotions show on their faces. They thought of it as too much vulnerability.
Draco knew why, and often felt the same himself, but as long as he could do it
without danger, he preferred to feast on open feelings. Potter was an aesthetic
masterpiece in that way.

�� In that one way, Draco thought, letting
his eyes wander over Potter�s ragged clothes and even more ragged hair. Though the green eyes were a nice touch.

�� Potter�s
eyes flared open, but Draco had seen that coming and wiped his face clean of
anything that could be taken as mockery once more. �I�m tempted,� Potter said, his honesty like a slap in the face from a brisk sea
breeze. �But I�m not convinced that I�m the best companion you could have with
you. Someone who�s actually experienced in Dark magic might serve you better.�

�� Draco
ducked his head to hide the laughter. He would have to watch that, he thought.
Usually he had better self-control than this, but Potter affected him, tickled him, to the point where it was
hard to keep his face calm and stern the way that he liked to.

�� You�re
actually worrying about my safety, when I sought you out?� he asked, looking
up.

�� Potter
shrugged. �We don�t know what�s in there. My life is going anyway, but yours
isn�t. What if I went in there and survived, but you didn�t? I would feel bad.�

�� Draco had
to consider that from a new angle, because he had taken it for granted that
Potter would feel no compunctions about the death of an ancient rival. It was
entirely possible that Draco had underestimated him.

�� He may be a pleasure to have around in other
ways as well.

�� I can take
care of myself,� he said. �Whatever we find in Bubonic, I am
probably better-prepared to survive it than you are.�

�� Potter gave
him a bleak smile. �I would say so. I know who�s going to be living a long time
here, and it isn�t me.�

�� Draco
raised his eyebrows. Potter would not be
a pleasant companion if he was constantly moaning about his fate. But Draco was
going to trust that he had chosen rightly and that Potter would not do such an
asinine thing. Draco held out his hand and allowed a faint spark into his eyes.
�Are we agreed?�

�� Potter
stared at his outstretched hand the way he would probably stare at a snake
dancing up to him. No, with more chagrin than that, Draco thought, remembering
that Potter could speak Parseltongue. �I must be insane,� he muttered.

�� Draco
didn�t let his eyes or his hand waver. He had made the choice, and turning his
back on it now would be tantamount to doubting himself. He never did that, as a
matter of principle.

�� Potter
clasped his hand and shook it. Draco discovered another aesthetic pleasure as
he did: Potter�s fingers were long and slender, and despite the chewed state of
the nails, didn�t look less elegant for all that.

*

�� Harry?
Where did you go?�

�� Hermione
was just starting to call for him when Harry wandered back into her upstairs
library, more than a bit dazed. He and Malfoy had agreed on the details,
including the time they would meet at Bubonic and the equipment and provisions
they would bring with them. It had been an extremely business-like discussion,
which Harry sensed Malfoy was good at.

�� And if he
hadn�t just agreed to spend part of his last few weeks gallivanting around a
horridly enchanted house probably filled with Dark artifacts, Harry might even
have thought it made sense.

�� What have I done?

�� Harry took
a deep breath and shook his head, though. He wasn�t that lost, that incapable
of being in control of his actions. He wouldn�t have made the agreement with
Malfoy if he hadn�t wanted to. That meant he had to come up with justifications
for his friends and family rather than think of backing out of it.

�� I went to
speak with Malfoy,� he said, sitting down in the chair he had occupied
previously.

�� That
brought Hermione out of her search for information on the Withering Curse as
nothing else could have. She leaned forwards and stared at him. �What?� she
breathed. �Harry, you did what?�

�� I talked
with him,� Harry repeated. He focused his gaze on the window and pretended that
he had to absorb the sight of all the sunlight he could, since it would be lost
to him forever in a little while. �He sent me a letter earlier today that said
he heard about my condition and thought I might want to join him in an
adventure.� Common sense dictated that he not tell Hermione what the
�adventure� was like until he had won her around to the general idea. �I
refused. But he came here and apologized for some of the language he used in
the letter and made his case, and�and I agreed to go with him.�

�� Well, then
we�re all going with him, of course.�
Hermione�s brow furrowed. �I don�t know how we�ll persuade Ron and Ginny,
though. They still hate Malfoy as much as ever, and they�ll probably focus on
what he�s doing rather than on what the adventure is supposed to be doing.� She
gave Harry a fleeting smile. �It will be like being back in Hogwarts. I reckon
there�s that to be said for it.�

�� Harry
smiled at her. He couldn�t help it. The thought of them tramping into Bubonic
together was ridiculous, but he was grateful that Hermione didn�t immediately
consider it so. �I don�t think Malfoy would like it much if we all went with
him,� he said carefully. �He came because he thought I would enjoy the
adventure and because he knows that I have Auror training. But you don�t, and Ginny
doesn�t.�

�� Hermione
stared at him. Then she said, �Harry James Potter. You�re proposing to go off
alone with Draco Malfoy for your last days on earth?�

�� Harry
shrugged. �I don�t think it�ll be all my
last days on earth. Just a few. And what motive would
Malfoy have for killing or hurting me now? He has to know that I�m suffering
from a curse more violent than any he could get away with casting on me, and
I�ll die soon enough to satisfy him if he hates me.�

�� Thinking
back on the way that Malfoy had spoken to him during the interview in the
library, Harry thought that it was highly likely Malfoy no longer hated him.
The way he had spoken said that he was more concerned with business, and his
strange knowledge of Harry, than anything else. Harry would have liked to know how Malfoy had come to know so much
about him, of course. But it didn�t matter. It mattered that he had introduced
a challenge that sizzled along Harry�s nerves and made him feel ready and
competent, the way that simply sitting around the house didn�t.

�� I�m looking forward to rowing with him,
even. Harry shook his head when he thought about it. Malfoy might think it
was only natural that Harry would want to die like an Auror and not like an
Auror trainee, but it had its unnatural side.

�� Harry.�

�� It was
unfair, but he had forgotten about Hermione�s presence for a few minutes. When
Harry returned to the present, he found Hermione standing in front of him, her
fists clenched. Once she gestured as if she would like to take his hands, but
she couldn�t unfold her own.

�� You can�t
do this,� she said. �We need you here to take care of and say farewell to, and
if I find something, I�ll have to have you immediately available so that I can
run any tests I need to run or cast any spells I need to cast. How can you go
off with Malfoy on this�adventure, quest, whatever it is?�

�� Harry took
a deep breath. �Because I feel like I�m wasting my time,� he said quietly. �How
many times can I say goodbye? How many times can I endure the fact that I�m
leaving you, and dry someone else�s tears? I want to help you, Hermione. I want
to leave you with as many cheerful words as I can. But I also want to do
something before I die. That�s why I put that offer in the paper to help with
charities, if someone could come up with a suitable one. Because it would make
me feel like I wasn�t dying in vain.�

�� Hermione
stared at him. Her eyes were open very wide, but Harry couldn�t see any tears
behind them. They just trembled, now and then, lashes and eyes
both, as if the tears would fall.

�� Then she
ducked her head and murmured, �Living with us, being with us,
isn�t enough to make you feel that way?�

�� Harry shook
his head.

�� Oh.�
Hermione didn�t break out crying the way Harry had thought she would, or shouting
the way Ron probably would have. She wilted back into the seat she�d risen from
and stared down at her books. Harry waited, staring at the sunlight, for what
she would say next.

�� I never
knew that,� Hermione whispered. �I never knew that about you.�

�� Harry
shrugged. �I never really knew it about myself, either. But that�s the way it
is. I�m sorry, Hermione. I hope that you can help me explain it to the others,�
he added. He wasn�t enthusiastic about the task that he had set himself, making
Malfoy�s proposal sound sensible to Ron and Ginny and then convincing them to
stand back while he went off with Malfoy.

�� Why did I want to do this, again?

�� But he only
knew that he wanted to, and he wasn�t about to quarrel with his desires,
strange as they might seem, on the eve of his death.

�� Even if I want to think melodramatic
thoughts phrased like �on the eve of my death,� Harry decided a minute
later.

�� He shook
his head and sighed. Malfoy had revealed one thing to him, at least, one thing Harry
had to be grateful for: since he was going to die anyway, what mattered more
than the fact of his death was how he met it. And he would meet it with his
head held high and his wand blazing. He thought it best.

�� If I say
that I don�t want to?� Hermione whispered.

�� It took
Harry a moment to remember where he�d left the conversation and come back to
realize what she was asking. He shook his head. �Then you don�t,� he said. �But
I�ll go on to Bubonic with Malfoy just the same.�

�� Bubonic?�
Hermione shuddered all over, but her color was coming back and she looked
interested, the way she always did when she thought some situation was more
complex than she�d realized. �I think you�d better tell me everything.�

�� Harry did,
glad that he was making the announcement to her first. Hermione had always
hated Malfoy with a more impartial hatred than Ron or Ginny had, since she
didn�t have a blood feud and tradition of loathing between families to
influence her. It was strange, Harry thought, but personal insults mattered
less to most wizards than doing things in the name of having always done them
that way.

�� He didn�t
think he was like most wizards in that. He would do things just because they
were new and different.

�� Like this thing with Malfoy.

�� Harry dismissed
the thought impatiently from his mind. Wrong decision or not, it was made.

*

�� Draco
opened his father�s diary for the relevant year and ran one finger down the
spine, nodding approvingly. As thick as the book was, the leather hadn�t yet
started to crack. Lucius had tended to enchant more pages into the diary when
he needed them, rather than starting a new one. He religiously began a new
diary with the start of a year, and never before that, no matter how much the
book creaked with content.

�� This had
been the year that he got out of Azkaban, and, apparently, the year he went to
Bubonic. He�d had a lot to put down.

�� Draco cast
a spell that would find the curve of many capital letter
B�s in a row and then leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting half-shut. The
spell would take some time to search the book. Draco could use the time to
search his memory, in turn, and add anything to the list that he had made for
himself and Potter.

�� But no
matter how many times he went over it, everything seemed in place. They would
take food, of course, and warm clothing, and blankets, and a parchment that
inked itself into a map as one walked, and their wands,
and some of Draco�s changed artifacts that had a protective purpose. Draco
reckoned he might offer Potter a trunk and extra blankets, but that was the
only thing he could conceive of their needing or wanting. He expected Bubonic
to be a harsh and wild place, like a foreign country, but not impossible to
survive. His father had come out, after all.

�� If changed, and sick.

�� Draco
didn�t intend to allow that to happen to him, which was one reason he was going
to read everything in his father�s diary that pertained to Bubonic.

�� A soft
chime sounded; the spell had finished searching the book. Draco sat up, opened
his eyes, and flipped to the first page, marked with a soft velvety snake�s
tail sticking out of it.

�� June 19^th, 2001. I must search
out the secret of Bubonic. Pride went from me, sitting on the cold floor of
that filthy cell. Conquering Bubonic would bring it back to me again.

�� Draco
paused, tilting his head. He had never known that his father had suffered such
a blow to his pride. Hatred against his captors and the biased system that had
sent him to Azkaban he could see, but this?

�� Pondering,
Draco read on, past the information about Bubonic that he already knew; Lucius
had seemingly included it simply to remind himself of the dangers of venturing
into the house. Then his own name leaped out of the page to startle him.

�� I must consider the fortune I am leaving
behind, whether to Draco or someone else. The �someone else� is the difficult
part. My wife could inherit the fortune, but if she had another child, it would
not be of Malfoy blood. My son is the one who should
inherit it, by birth and talents, but he has involved himself in work that I
cannot approve of, and there is a wildness in his soul that does not promise
well to make a Malfoy of him.

�� Draco
snorted and rolled his eyes. �Yes, Father, I was always a bit too uncontrolled for
you, wasn�t I?� He did have to wonder, though, if Lucius had disapproved of him
sleeping with many men instead of
with men in general. The tone of this comment made him think so. If Draco had
settled down and acted the picture of wedded monogamy with someone, perhaps
they could have been reconciled.

�� But Draco
couldn�t regret the lost chance for long. For one thing, if this was so
important to Lucius, then he had never seen fit to communicate to Draco. For
another, that wasn�t Draco. He roamed
from one lover to another because his desire would die down after a time and
need rekindling. That was all.

�� He had had
enough of changing himself to suit the requirements of other people, most
notably the Dark Lord. He saw no reason to go on doing so now.

�� There are distant cousins that I could seek
out, the descendents of younger sons and daughters who could not inherit the
Malfoy fortune in their time, but it is bad enough that my son would not be a
worthy custodian of the money; I would rather not see someone who has never
felt the touch of silk next to his skin spend it.

�� Draco
rolled his eyes again and read patiently on, searching for details about the
house. He wanted to find the page where his father had recorded the decision to
enter it, or at least the details of what had happened while he was inside.

�� But there
was neither of that. The diary went straight from Lucius�s musings about what
he should do with the Malfoy fortune and properties to a stretch of blank
pages. Draco frowned as he flipped them. The spells his father used on the
books meant that there were never blank pages left; Lucius used all there were
and then added more, or, on the one occasion Draco could remember when he
hadn�t filled a book in a year, he had vanished the blank ones. What did these
mean?

�� The next
date was July 5^th, and Lucius�s hand was shaky. Draco had to bend
close to the page and focus his eyes carefully to make it out.

�� I have been through the darkness, and have
reemerged into the light. While the Dark Lord and other figures in our history
have acted as though Light and Dark are only convenient symbols for different
kinds of magic and different states of mind, I can say now that that is not
true. I have been through the darkness, and have reemerged into the light. I
will jump at shadows for the rest of my life.

�� And then
there were two other blank pages. When Draco turned them over, he found that
the next date was the seventh of July and that Lucius was pondering what he
should wear to dinner that night.

�� No matter
how much further Draco looked through the book, he found nothing interesting or
relevant. It seemed likely that Lucius had been in Bubonic through the last
week of June and the first days of July, and also likely that he had not wanted
to record what he found there.

�� Draco
smiled. The challenge burned through his veins and made him salute the wall
with his drink. Yes, he had a core of wildness in his soul, as his father had
accused him. He would look forward to facing something that had frightened his
father enough to induce such a strange alteration in his habits.

*

�� You can�t
go with him, mate.�

�� Harry shut
the trunk and shrank it, then tucked it into his pocket. Ron had been saying
the same thing for an hour now, and Harry didn�t see why he should listen until
and unless Ron could come up with a coherent argument.

�� Mate, are
you listening?� Ron�s rough hand was on his shoulder, and Harry allowed himself
to absorb the sensation for a moment. That was another thing, like the sunlight,
that he would lose soon enough.

�� Then he
told himself that he was wallowing in self-pity and turned around. Ron�s face
was so pale that Harry was afraid he might faint. He reached out and clasped
Ron�s shoulders, giving him a slight shake. �Ron. I�m going to be fine. Why
would Malfoy choose this way to
murder me, instead of just watching me die in agony from the Withering Curse?
No, I think that I�ll have more to fear from the curse than from him.�

�� He might
have wanted the pleasure of killing you himself,� Ron said stubbornly. His
heartbeat was so fast that Harry could feel it shaking his body from the grip
he had on Ron�s shoulders. �I think he�s furious that someone got there before
he did.�

�� Harry
paused to think about that. Remembering the way that Malfoy had sometimes acted
when they were in school together, he could see that, but�

�� No. He
shook his head again. In the end, he couldn�t believe it of Malfoy. Malfoy had changed, Harry had seen that for himself the other day. He
valued other things now. He knew that Malfoy might want to kill him, but he
wouldn�t want his life ruined by the accusations and imprisonment that would
follow. Harry really did think that Malfoy thought more of himself
than Harry, and that meant his obsession had to be less powerful than his
self-interest.

�� I�ll be
fine,� he repeated, and stepped away from Ron, giving him a quick smile before
he picked up his wand.

�� But you
should have stayed with us,� Ron said, trailing Harry downstairs. �Gin�s going
to be heartbroken.�

�� Harry
hesitated. He hadn�t told Ron and Hermione about this yet, partially because
he�d thought they had enough to worry them, but he wondered if it was a bad
thing to go to his death with this kind of secret between them. Probably, he decided, and turned around.

�� I�d mostly
decided to call it quits with Ginny already,� he said. �She and I�we weren�t
working together. And you must have noticed that we weren�t spending much time
together in the last few months.�

�� Ron
blinked. �But you and her�you were going to get married,� he muttered, in the
tones of a child who�d lost a sweet.

�� Harry shook
his head. �She�s a great girl, Ron, but we can�t�be. It doesn�t work, the way
it works with you and Hermione.�

�� Ron took a
swift step backwards and lifted his hand. �I don�t need to hear details of my
sister�s sex life, thanks, mate,� he said hastily.

�� Harry
smiled in spite of himself. Yes, that was Ron all over. �I mean in other ways
than the sex,� he said. �You and Hermione can row and talk and laugh together.
Ginny and I couldn�t do that. We did try. It was more my fault than hers. But
it didn�t work out.�

�� Ron looked
at him doubtfully. Harry tried to look as sincere and as troubled as he could
be. It really wasn�t that hard to look troubled, when he thought about it. He did
wish that things had worked out with Ginny. She was someone familiar and
comfortable, and maybe they could have found a way to be together with more
practice.

�� But they
wouldn�t have that time, now.

�� Ron sighed
like a hissing kettle and shook his head. �All right, mate. You have the right
to decide for yourself what you want to do. I know that. It just�if you�re sure
that you want to go with Malfoy, I can�t stop you.�

�� Harry
clapped Ron on the shoulder. In the end, what made his friends friends was that they stood by each other. He had supported
Ron when he confessed that he wasn�t sure he wanted to marry Hermione yet in
their first year of Auror training, and Hermione when she had left Ron for a
short time to live on her own and work on her own and see if she liked that
better. In the end, she had wanted to live with Ron but work in separate rooms,
and Harry had helped donate the money and the magic so they could build those
rooms.

�� I shouldn�t have feared telling them so
much, he thought as he followed Ron down the stairs. In the end, they�re still beside me, and I never receive the sense that
they really want to be anywhere else.

�� For now, at least.

*

�� Malfoy.�

�� Potter�s
face was flat and closed. He turned around and stared up at the Manor as though
he was remembering all the things he had suffered there. Draco restored his
attention to where it should be�on him�by touching Potter�s arm.

�� You would think that someone had shocked
him, Draco thought in amusement, as he watched Potter leap into the air
like a cat and then land, turning with his eyes so big that he seemed about to
lose them. Draco sighed delicately and shook his head. �I don�t live in the
Manor anymore, Potter,� he said. �I only suggested it as a convenient place to
meet. You don�t need to look as though the gates are going to swallow you.�

�� I don�t
look that way,� Potter denied automatically, but Draco didn�t see how he could
be sure, since he couldn�t see his own face. Before they could get into a
stimulating row, though, he resumed the flat look again. �Where is Bubonic?
Were you going to tell me the Apparition coordinates? I expected you�d owl them
to me.�

�� Draco
sighed. �And reveal the location of the house when you might have chosen not to
come? Of course not, Potter.� He did hope that Potter�s magical power was
enough to make up for his loss of intelligence. He had seemed more complex when
they met in Weasley and Granger�s house.

�� Potter
blinked at him. �Isn�t that a bit paranoid, Malfoy?�

�� Draco
rolled his eyes, but he felt a bit reassured. So it wasn�t that Potter was
stupid, only that he didn�t understand pure-blood norms. Well, Draco could
accept that in someone like him, who had grown up with Muggles and who wasn�t
pure-blood even by the standards of lax people. �No,� he said. �If you knew
where the house was and wanted to betray me, then you could do a bit of damage
to my profit and my standing. Particularly once you know the route inside the
house.�

�� Potter gave
him a long, steady look, but it wasn�t until he spoke that Draco understood it.
�No, I can�t, Malfoy. I�m dying, remember?�

�� Draco gave
a little toss of his head. Somehow he had forgotten that, and he disliked both
the fact of his forgetting, something careless that should not be permitted,
and the thought of Potter dying. �Well. There is such a thing as writing and
hidden letters left for anyone who wants to read them.�

�� Potter
sighed patiently and extended his arm. �Just get us out of here, then, and to
the house.�

�� Draco found
himself trying to evaluate whether the arm he took was actually thinner than it
had been yesterday, when he met Potter to speak to him. Then he shook his head.
Of course it wasn�t. The Withering Curse acted more slowly than that.

�� But it was
going to be a different world, without Potter in it. It was as if a smaller,
second sun would be removed and snuffed out.

�� A lesser world.

�� Draco told
himself not to jump to conclusions, and closed his eyes, fixing the Apparition
coordinates in his mind. One breath, then another, and he leaped with Potter to
Bubonic.

*

�� Harry
stared at the house. It was smaller than he had expected, built of dark wood,
and it hunched on the ground. The area around it seemed tangled and wild, dead
trees intermingling with small live ones and scrubby, withered grass.

�� Then he
moved to the side and realized that the house had fooled him. It wasn�t small;
it sprawled out on the ground so far that Harry couldn�t tell where it ended
and the small, shady forest behind it began. Because it wasn�t more than one
floor, he had demoted it in his mind, but yes, it was large.

�� And he
could feel the Dark magic that prickled along his skin from it down here.

�� Malfoy gave
him a faint, superior smile. He looked like the house, in some ways, Harry
thought, arrogant with power and more beneath the surface than he appeared at
first glance.

�� Shall we?�
he asked, sweeping one hand towards the house.

�� Harry
nodded shortly and followed him. He had come too far, and argued too much with
his friends, to turn back now, at the first hurdle.

*

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