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Trains	By : Seraphix Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4711 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Trains
- 1
AN: After publishing this the first time, a nagging voice kept telling me that I forgot something, and now I finally remember what I wanted to say. I don't mean to insult any religions with this piece, I just needed a structure for my story to be based on. So, apologies to anyone I've offended, please forgive this writer for letting her pen (yes, i actually wrote a good part of this using a notebook and a ballpoint pen. I was on vacation and that was before I got my PDA.) and her imagination run so far from her. Sorry.

AN 2: This is the final edit version. Sat down to revise it properly over the hols.

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to JK Rowling.

~~~

Trains

At the age of 11, Harry Potter boarded a proper train for the first time in his life, one that had a funnel, went over wooden bridges and gravelled tracks, to leave a place he could never call a home to one that he thought he could call one. On the same train ride, he met a boy named Ron Weasley whom he thought he could call a friend but later learnt that he wasn�t one.

At the age of 12, Harry Potter rode a train away from his home then to the place that he didn�t consider a home, having lived in it for more than a decade.

At the age of 13, Harry Potter took a train to school, this time, he was introduced to new magical creatures, like Dementors and werewolves, the former which went on to make his life living hell, while the latter turned out to be his godfather�s lover. In other words, he met his godmother.

At the age of 14, Harry Potter cursed his nemesis on a train. The very same boy later became his fellow Order mate, and they had set aside their differences to fight at the front line to a victory, but neither has seen each other since the victory took place.

At the age of 15, Harry Potter�s life went to bits in between train rides, and he hates Occlumency.

At the age of 16, Harry Potter took a train that never got him to school. Instead, he ended up at the OOTP�s headquarters. The same year, he shortened the Order�s acronym to OOPs, because that was usually the result of their missions. But even with the support of the OOPs, Harry Potter killed Lord Voldemort all the same.

At the age of 18, Harry Potter has now taken over 500 train rides, from city to city, country to country, and soon, continent to continent, in search of something that he had lost.

***

Another train, another city. Harry doesn�t even bother looking out of the windows these days. Travelling has become dull for him. He knows that there can be new buildings springing up in old places, farm animals, children playing, but to him, it all boils down to a passing blur. On the occasion that he did look out, all he saw, was concrete, brick, glass; brown grass and withered flowers; sun baked soil and frost bitten faces. It isn�t that Harry doesn�t want to see anything beautiful. He does. Hungers for it, thirsts for it, in fact. It�s just that everywhere he goes, the unhappiness stands out amongst the joy, the ugly emerges from beauty. Gentle things become brutal, and the country becomes harsh.

His harsh country.

Harry has spent the last two years travelling from place to place by train, looking for religions. Not to find solace, not for something to put his faith in, not to contribute to the greater good of mankind, but purely for selfish, personal reasons. Wizards have their magic, they don�t need a god. He�s been through almost all the major religions in Europe, Catholics, Protestants, Methodists, Baptists, Presbyterians, the whole lot. He usually aims for places where the religion stemmed from, hoping that any mystical forces at work would be stronger there. He�s walked through back alleyways and met strange men at dark corners; been �taken cared� of by Priests, Abbots, Fathers, Brothers, Mothers and Sisters, but nothing had changed. Sometimes Harry asks himself why he bothers to go to such lengths to find a solution to a situation which even the combined strength of Dumbledore and McGonagall can�t handle. Sometimes he thinks it is precisely because they can�t help him that he has turned to Muggle beliefs for help.

Harry�s desperate.

Magic had grown to be more than his life. It WAS his life. While other wizards and witches took for granted their talent and skill, Harry treasured each ounce of magical energy he possessed, and cherished the fact that all his short life, all he has done with his magic is to help the people around him, like killing Voldemort and saving the entire Wizarding world. Yet now, Harry is unable to do any of that. He now has to constantly fight the urge to harm random people around him, and it feels very weird. Harry often laughs at himself for how despondent and depressed he has allowed himself to get. Depressed, unhappy, broody, but never angry. Harry doesn�t get angry now, because he doesn�t allow himself to be. In the last battle, Voldemort took advantage of Harry�s anger, and sent a curse Harry�s way, which ironically, Harry used to kill off the old bastard. What the Dark Lord did was basically locked away any form of good magic, maybe even good intentions, that Harry had, and opened up the gates of Hell in Harry�s soul, releasing every bit of darkness that the boy had in him.

At least Harry hopes that the nice side of him is only locked away and not vanquished altogether.

Harry hadn�t known what happened after the jet of blue light hit him. Duck egg blue. All he remembers is suddenly having the strength to grip Voldemort�s wand which was pointed straight at him, and ram it viciously into the monster�s throat, right through his jugular. Carpe Jugulum, Harry often says to himself. After that he had blacked out, he was told, and only woke up a couple of hours later. The mediwizards assumed that it was the result of straining his body in the act of killing Voldemort so soon after being cursed, and that the black out was the body�s attempt to rest. But Harry does remember the events after the war. Hogwarts had lessons resumed soon after the war, and classes were held with smiles and laughter was heard all throughout the school. The rule against magic being used in corridors was eased to allow practical jokes to ease the school back into normality, as well as silly duels that resulted in pink hair or purple polka dotted school robes and such.

It didn�t last long for Harry.

When Harry had woken up after the final battle and joined in with the rescues, he attempted a simple healing spell on Severus Snape, but ended up severing the Professor�s right leg, and since Madam Pomfrey was down on her medical supplies, the man had bled to death.

When Harry levitated a glass of water at dinner to Neville, the water turned into acid and upended over the latter�s head, blinding him.

When Harry flew his broom in the first Quidditch match after the war, he successfully knocked Seamus, Dean and Luna off their brooms straight into the Whomping Willow and a month long coma, after which Seamus and Dean recovered, but Luna lost her memory and became even more spaced out than before.

When Theodore Nott from Slytherin had said he didn�t notice any difference in Luna, a punch from Harry had taken his arm off, and even though Madam Pomfrey managed to reattach the severed limb, Nott still can�t use three out of his five fingers, including his thumb, or bend his arm at the elbow, a situation which effectively leaves his right arm useless. Harry�s not sorry about Nott though. The Slytherin had somehow managed to shrug off any blame for his actions as a Death Eater during the war, destroying all evidence that pointed towards his guilt. He got what he deserved.

And so Harry broke his own wand and left the Wizarding world after his professors couldn�t do anything for him, and started on his search in the Muggle world for help. Exorcisms, blessings, purification rites. So far, nothing has worked, even though lately, Harry includes more dodgy religious practices in his journey. He searches the Internet for news on holy men and women who claim to be able to cleanse a person�s spirit, with hope that the curse can be lifted and his spirit cleared. It wasn�t all being sprayed with drops of water and eating biscuits, some of it was really quite� amusing, one might put it. There was this one time when he had been to the Greek Islands, where a priest from the Greek Orthodox Church suggested that he was re-baptised to start life anew. After being doused in olive oil and accidentally getting some into his left eye, which made his eye red, sore and itchy for two days, he now has two names, Harry James, as well as Eleutherios. The idea had appealed to him as he hoped the curse might have been activated with his name, and logically if it was so, changing his name would have allowed him to escape the curse.

It still didn�t work.

Harry sits back in his seat and sighs.

He has spent a good portion of his family fortune on his travels, as he usually travels by booking an entire train cabin to himself, just in case anyone who is currently in the cabin infuriates him. Things get ugly when Harry�s anger flares. His magic goes crazy together with his temper, and the next thing you know, �boom!� something explodes.

Harry thinks that it is very likely for him to derail a train if he gets properly pissed.

Another thing that Harry can�t do anymore, or rather, doesn�t do anymore, is fly. Not on a broom, not on a plane, not on a hang glider. He needed to be in complete control of himself in order for his magic not to flare, and that meant flying was out of the question. To be in complete control meant no sense of exhilaration, no excitement, just the quiet hope to get back to normal. It isn�t fair. You can�t ground a butterfly unless you put your foot over one which is resting on a blade of grass, and after you did that, it never flies again. It is an evil thing to do, and completely unjust to the butterfly in question. But that is just how Harry feels. It takes a lot less energy for Harry to stop the engine on the plane as compared to derailing a train, and so Harry has chosen to take trains from place to place.

Less danger there to himself, not others.

He has been through quite a large part of Europe by now, starting his journey from the London. Harry has had holy water thrown on him, rosettes handed out and prayers chanted. An American Mormon priest he met when he was in France suggested that to get rid of the evil inside him, Harry would have to take as many wives as possible, to get rid of the curse through expanding his sexual energy. To think about it, that suggestion was the only one up to date which Harry has not tried.

Harry�s train is just leaving the station in Hamburg, Germany for Tinglev, Denmark. The train ride takes two and a half hours, and he would be required to change a train at the Danish border. A little research on his handy personal laptop has told him that Denmark is a country with complete religious freedom and so he would be able to find quite a few holy people there, while a little more digging showed that there is a man in the north of Tinglev who claims to be able to remove any form of demon or curse on a person. Another silly Muggle of course. But Harry decides to give it a shot. He reasons with himself that it was because he is getting desperate to return to his old life, and not because he was strangely attracted to a country where majority of the people seen in its pictures have light blonde hair, blushing cheeks and well sculpted cheekbones.

But there was one little difference between today�s train ride and his usual travels.

Harry, as usual, had tried to get a cabin to himself, and though there was one for the trip to the Danish border, there wasn�t an unoccupied cabin in the train leaving the border for Tinglev. So Harry hands a passport with plenty of money hidden in it to the lady selling the train tickets, an act which enabled him to find out that while the rest of the cabins were fully taken up, there was a cabin which had been booked by another man who was apparently travelling alone as well. By passing more money through the little hole in the window and giving an exceedingly charming smile together plus shining some sadness through his big green eyes, the lady behind the window pretty much melts into a puddle and oozes out a ticket for him to share a cabin with the other lone traveller. He takes the ticket and turns his back, sniggering slightly under his breath. On his travels, he has learnt that a combination of money and charm left no woman, or man, standing, for everyone likes good looking people and there isn�t anyone who couldn�t do with a little extra cash. And standing at a good height of 5 feet 9 inches, with tanned good looks and a hefty inheritance behind him, Harry is used to getting what he wants.

***

Harry gets onto the second train at the Danish border with time to spare. He curls up in his seat, trying to read a book, �Essays on Religions and Souls�. It isn�t like he is looking for redemption, for Harry is sure he had achieved it when he killed the Dark Lord. It was just an extra bit of light reading, like Hermione used to do in school. After travelling alone for so long, Harry has discovered the joys of a good book, and though he has a tendency to read works of fictions, he enjoys non-fiction now and then as well. Though he isn�t really sure that the book he is now reading can be considered as a work of non-fiction. He sometimes writes with his laptop, but today�s not one of those times.

He hears footsteps pounding up the short staircase leading up to the cabin, then the slamming of the cabin door. These sounds are followed by the whistling of the train, signalling its move out of the train station. Harry turns around to look at his companion for the ride, and starts slightly when he sees the familiar white blonde hair and flushed cheeks, which had resulted from the other man�s racing for the train.

�Malfoy.�

The blonde looks up, and a series of emotions flash across his face, as though his features can�t decide what to do with themselves. Finally, he settles for the simplest words of the English language.

�Oh fuck.�

***

Draco Malfoy tries to turn and run off the train, but the vehicle has already started to move. He gives a dejected sigh and glares fiercely at Potter before heading for the seat in the cabin that was the furthest away from the Gryffindor. It has been two solid years since he last seen Potter, and another one and a half since he had seen any of his old schoolmates. One could think that besides the slight difference in the length of time they had travelled, Draco is now very much like Harry.

During the break at the end of his fifth year, Draco had returned to his room after practising at the Quidditch pitch in the grounds of Malfoy Manor to a sight that had nearly made him collapse, the key word here being �nearly�, as Draco would emphasize. He stood in shock and felt his knees go weak when he saw Pansy Parkinson lying on his bed, her dead eyes turned up to the ceiling. She was stark naked and had obviously been violated, her red blood staining the minimalist blue and silver sheets on his bed. Ugly and annoying as she might have been the short years that Draco had known her, she was still someone in his life. A classmate, a potions partner, a permanent fixture in his mundane school hours. There was a cream coloured card with gold edging, something which looked like an invitation to a party, perched neatly on her stomach. It said, �She didn�t want to take the mark.� In Lucius� handwriting.

She didn�t want to take the mark.

In the previous school term, Draco and his housemates had begun to reassess where their loyalties lay. After all, they were Slytherins, and survival was placed above all else and held in utmost importance. Taking into account that in the past four years, Potter had pretty much kicked old Voldie�s wrinkled butt annually, there wasn�t a point in staying on the losing side. Especially when the stakes here were lives. Still, all these were just thoughts, contemplations, and no one had actually bothered to make a move about the things that ran through the nooks and crannies of their minds. The scene on his bed hinted, or rather, told him that his father knew of these thoughts and contemplations, and decided to warn him with a nice, new decoration on his bed. What Lucius did not plan for, however, was that his actions would be the straw that broke the camel�s back. Draco instantly packed his bags, grabbed his broom and shrinking all these items with his wand, he reached for the pouch in his drawer.

The pouch.

It had come as an unexpected gift from Dumbledore. As Draco was lugging his heavy cases up from the dungeons on the last day of fifth year, the old Headmaster walked passed him and slipped the pouch into Draco�s pocket, gave him a conspirational wink, then walked off whistling Greensleeves under his breath. Thoroughly puzzled, Draco dropped his luggage and reached into his pocket. As soon as his fingers brushed against the soft velvet, Draco heard a soft voice in his head.

�Don�t look until you�re in your own room.�

What had followed was a long, uneventful journey to Malfoy Manor, with Draco being utterly restless about the weight in his pocket. Oddly, whatever it was, it didn�t set off any wards at the gate. The ward at the gate was a simple spell, which tapped from the magical knowledge of every Malfoy in existence, as well as those who had passed on. It was basically able to scan the objects that entered the house for anything which the Malfoys either felt was a threat to them, or something that they disapproved of. It had been an ugly scene when Goyle brought with him a magazine on bestiality when he attended Draco�s last birthday. So the Headmaster doesn�t wish me any harm. Either that, or he has found some brand new way to rid the world of Malfoys, thought Draco to himself. He made his way through the empty Manor (his parents were out to their daily grovelling session), and flopped down onto his bed to discover what was in the pouch.

His hand drew out a black velvet drawstring pouch with a note attached to it, which said, �Only to be used in extreme emergencies.� And so he burnt the note and stuck the pouch into the deep recesses of his underwear drawer, and had left it there to rot, thinking that the Headmaster had finally gone off his rocker. Well, Pansy dead on his bed definitely constituted as an emergency to Draco, so he opened the pouch and tipped whatever that was inside it onto the centre of his palm. The next thing he knew, he literally felt himself go to pieces. It was nothing like travelling via floo or portkeys, not like it hurt or anything, but it felt vaguely like one would imagine a badly packed snowball would feel as it disintegrates in mid throw. He was reassembled moments later, and even though he was terribly annoyed when he found out that he had just been the first ever test subject for Dumbledore and Granger�s little experiment on MagiTeleports, he was glad he was safe. Apparently it had been some kind of new kind of magic, thus the wards in his house were unable to detect it.

Draco never returned to Hogwarts after that. He had been transported to the OOTP headquarters, where he spent the rest of his holidays getting to know the other Order members. He spent most of his time hanging out with Fred and George Weasley, much to his surprise. After the initial customary insults, their mutual love for bantering and playing practical jokes drew them close together as friends. He was later joined by two thirds of the golden trio when the school year started, and he begun his sixth year education with them.

He had initially been surprised that the Weasel hadn�t been with them, and when he had spoken up about it in a typical Malfoy fashion with a sarcastic tone and cutting words, he received a knuckle sandwich from Potter and a face full of tears from Granger. The two then walked off to their rooms before he could retaliate. He later learned, in the same day, from the twins that Ron had decided that he had had enough of being in the shadows and being known as �Harry�s best friend� to the world, instead of his own person, and thus had gone off to take the Dark Mark, and hasn�t been seen ever since. Draco remembers shuddering horribly at the new found information, and thinking that the Weasel was even a more horrid person than he thought. If a person like Pansy could give her body and life to save her soul, while Draco gave up his name and an entire life that he knew, then the Weasel could be seen as an utter weakling to head in the direction of old Voldie. Draco never mentioned about the red head again, and sixth year proceeded without any big confrontations between the three students.

But Draco never judged Weasel, even in all his contempt for the red head simply because he isn�t the only one in their year who made such a choice. His hulking cronies and walked the same path, as with some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. In fact, amongst the Gryffindors whom he had scorned for not following the Dark Lord�s will in his earlier years at school, more than one took his advice in the end. But thankfully, he never had to take the lives of any of them, as given their age, they never even got near old Voldie�s inner circle.

Lessons were a lot more interesting and demanding at the headquarters. With the help of a finite improbability generator and a fresh cup of hot tea, the three of them managed to finish the entire school syllables of the sixth and seventh year within three months, and went on to train as full time Order members. Draco taught the other two spells from the Dark Arts, the extent of his knowledge being a great source of distress to Mad Eye Moody since he wasn�t allowed to lock Draco up and torture information out of him about how Draco might have assisted in Death Eater missions in his younger days. Harry shared his ability in duelling, speed and reflex with Draco and Hermione, while Hermione worked like a maniac with the Professors, as well as Draco once in a while, to develop new spells and potions to prepare for the upcoming war.

Then the day came.

As Harry took down old Voldie, Draco faced off his father. He survived, and now, he has been to too many countries to count, in search for help. Draco had emerged from the war a hero, a survivor, yet a victim as well. The thing was, while Harry is unable to do anything good, Draco is unable to do anything bad. He was absolutely unable to cause any harm or pain to any other living thing, which would not seem much of a problem if Draco lived in quiet times. But as the war had just ended, he lived in constant fear of attacks from any surviving Death Eaters. He was a traitor to his parents� side, a blood traitor, the worst of the lot, and being unable to cause any harm, he couldn�t fight back when he was cornered and hit. Dumbledore had attempted to lock him up in a safe house, for his own safety, but being a young man who needed to get out and about, he slipped into depression and even then, the Headmaster had stubbornly refused to let Draco out. Fred and George promptly decided that something had to be done, and so they picked the lock on the house, handed Draco his belongings and told him to keep safe. Since then, Draco has been globe trotting to find a cure to his ailment.

Lucius� curse.

Draco lost his wand in the duel after Lucius had shot a well aimed Expelliarmus at him. In response, Draco reached for the dagger he always kept with him, a gift from his grandmother, who had said to him as she pressed the cool metal into his hands, �This will keep you safe from your family.� He drove the dagger home into his father�s chest and staggered back, whereupon Lucius knelt over and bled to death soon after, but not before using his last breath to curse his son. Draco was knocked out by the curse, but it was not until three months later when he had a friendly duel with George that he realised he could not fire any spells at his friend, nor brawl with him. He could not even shield himself from physical attacks with his arms and legs. If there was one good thing about the curse, it was that it taught him to control his usually caustic behaviour, because he has discovered that the best way to prevent attacks was to not ask for them.

Another three months later, Draco started his travels in search for a cure.

***

Harry decides that as the saviour of the Wizarding world, it is within his responsibility to make the first move, whether it be a conversation, a relationship, or a break up. It isn�t completely untrue, but he will blush if you point out to him that being a saviour isn�t exactly linked to being polite.

As a hormonal teenager, Harry has had his share of relationships over the years. It didn�t begin with that stint with Cho Chang. That hadn�t been a relationship. It had been a nothing. During his training with the Order, he had initiated a relationship with Tonks, with whom he went the whole way with. The relationship was strangely happy and blissful, with Harry feeling awfully at home with being an older woman. All was well until Malfoy had so �kindly� pointed out that Harry had only asked Tonks out after seeing her one day with red hair and green eyes, in other words, as it is often said, boys often have the tendency to go after women who reminded them of their mothers. Reality had always been disgusting for Harry, and in the few split seconds after Malfoy finished his words, he realised that the blonde was utterly and completely right about his dysfunctional relationship with the older woman. Still, that didn�t stop Harry from hexing Malfoy into unconsciousness. He was heavily reprimanded for that, as Malfoy did not have his wand with him. In fact, Malfoy didn�t have anything with him, save for the towel around his waist as he had just stepped out from the bath.

Now, why do I remember that?

He broke up with Tonks soon after that, and her easy acceptance of the split made him suspect she only stuck in the relationship because he wanted to. Or maybe because he was The Boy Who Lived, and it didn�t help for the press to have a field day with The Boy Who Got Dumped. After Tonks, he went on to initiate relationships with three out of the five older Weasley boys, and even a one night stand with Ginny when she came to visit, but every time he woke up with one of them in the morning with his face buried in thick red hair, Malfoy�s words would ring out in his head, and he�d initiate a break up. He never understood why he was so easily affected by anything the blonde said, but he just was. In fact, he can�t even understand, right now, why he wants to start a conversation with the blonde so badly.

Still, he manages to convince himself that he should be the one to initiate a conversation with Malfoy, as the valiant Gryffindor.

�Malfoy?�

�Yes Potter?� comes the surprisingly civil reply.

�Let�s talk.�

***

Draco goes from fuming to being highly amused. True enough, the two of them had pretty much set aside their differences during the war and had a truce, but that was about all. The older members of the Order actually encouraged the bickering between the two, because it gave some sense of normality into the lives of two teenage boys, having an arch nemesis and an opponent. The rivalry also helped the two of them improve quickly in duelling, trying to best each other at every bout, and they had quickly surpass the skills of even the aurors in the Order. But the war is over now, and even though they had both grown up way too quickly for Draco�s taste, he knows that they are both youngsters deep down, and childish behaviour is easy to fall back to, so Harry doesn�t have to civil to him. Still, Draco did miss company, even when it came from goons like Crabbe and Goyle. He would rather be killed than admit, in his eighteen years, the person whom he liked to hang out with the most was Hermione Granger. He had discovered that during his training with the Order that after he saw past the Mudblood exterior, he found an acquaintance, maybe even a friend, who was a match with him in wit, sarcasm and intelligence. It was refreshing to have someone like her around.

Like Harry, Draco travels alone, but over the years, he has taken almost every vehicle that he came across, from trains to planes, helicopters to llamas. Yet, Draco always returns to trains in the end. He loves trains, and takes down the names of all the different train lines, as well as the different engine models. Trains remind Draco of a time when hexing, punching and brawling was daily bread, life was simple, and he was happy. The rattles and bumps were soothing to him. He dislikes having to walk through back alleyways alone to look for specific houses, and hates having to run at the slightest sign of harm.

While Harry travels to look for ways to purify his soul from the evil inside him, Draco journeys to find a way to inject some evil into his soul. He knows that the nature of magic is in the intention of the wizard, and his father�s curse separated his intentions from his actions. Draco has heard about Harry�s quest, and after discovering his own condition, he reasoned that if one could take evil from a soul, it is possible to put it in as well. And since magic wasn�t doing him any good, he�d have to take a leaf out of boy wonder�s book and search the Muggle world. Hanging out with Granger had changed his perspective of Muggles drastically, and one might even manage to make him grudgingly admit that Muggles are not inferior, and at the moment, with his desperation, Draco is willing to try anything, even if it meant risking his hard shell of a reputation. To date, he�s walked through fire, drank snake venom (resulting in him ending up in the intensive care unit for a full fortnight) as well as done many other absurd and possibly life threatening things.

But back to his present company�

***

�Not too good Potter. Haven�t seen you in two years. Where have you been to?�

�Here and there. I�m sure you know about my condition.�

�Yeah. I mean, after finding the fragments of a wood in the middle of the doorway the morning after you left together with a phoenix feather that was identical to Fawkes, they couldn�t do much but tell me the truth.�

�They?�

�McGonagall and Dumbledore.�

Harry lapses into silence. He had left the headquarters without a word to anyone except a short note for Hermione, which included his email address. He bought his laptop immediately after the war, sort of as a congratulations present to himself for surviving. Even though he had spent a large part of his time in the Wizarding world by then, the Muggle world still held a strong fascination and attraction for him in the form of nifty Muggle electronic gadgets. In addition to a laptop, he has a PDA, an MP3 player and a PMC, but for some odd reason, he always ends up reading. He communicated with Hermione for the first couple of months after he left, but soon lost interest in her emails, which generally consisted of her trying to get him to tell her where he was, and so he stopped writing to her altogether.

�Earth to Potter!� Green eyes blink rapidly as fingers snap incessantly in front of his face.

�What?!�

�Woah boy. Just trying to get you out of the stupor you sunk into. You should really have written to Herm more you know. She�s been worrying herself sick, the last I heard.�

�I didn�t want them to find me and take me back��

Draco frowns his disapproval at this statement.

�Well, she is your friend��

With that, their conversation turns to a soft lull, with each of the boys sinking into their own thoughts. Silence reigns in the cabin again, but the ice that frosted the air had been thawed.

A little while later, the soft snores from opposite ends of the train replaces the silence.

***

A loud, piercing whistle that the train emits announces its entrance into the Tinglev station, and the two boys are rudely shocked awaked. Wake up calls by sharp noises are still unappreciated, regardless of how much time they spend on trains. Harry yawns and stretches his arms above his head, while Draco rubs at his squinting grey eyes blearily. They ignore each other�s presence subconsciously, going about their �end of train ride� routines separately.

Harry begins his by slipping on his sneakers, which he took off before curling up in his seat at the start of this train ride. Then he reaches up to the luggage compartment and pulls down his shoulder bag and sets it on the seat which he has just vacated, then moves to pull on the jacket that he had thrown haphazardly on the seat opposite his. Draco, on the other hand, hasn�t taken his shoes off. Instead, he takes his backpack down, starts to rummage through on of the smaller compartments on it, and pulls out a hairbrush. Looking at his reflection in the window pane, he runs it through his hair. He doesn�t use gel anymore. Styling was a time consuming activity in time of war, and now, he just hates to carry extra luggage, so he has learnt to make do.

The train comes to a complete halt, and Draco who is nearer to the exit finally acknowledges Harry�s presence.

�Well Potter, here we are. Been nice talking to you.�

Draco slings his backpack over his shoulder and starts to make his way down the same staircase Harry first heard his thumping footsteps on. Suddenly, Harry feels confused. He doesn�t want his only company in years to leave. For some odd reason, he hasn�t felt the discomfort that he had felt for the past two years since he was put under the curse. He gives a start at the realisation that speeds through his mind. He has found the reason to why his life has been so mind-numbingly dull in the past two years, and it was because he didn�t have Malfoy with him. Malfoy had always been a constant in his life, even during the war. Hermione was always around, sure, but she was also always buried in a book, so she didn�t exactly count. And to top it off, Malfoy had given him mental and physical work outs with all their fights, and he had certainly added colour to his grey life. Losing this constant�well, it would suffice to say that he�s had eight years to forget the Dursleys, and he has, but two years�

Two years is not long enough to forget anything.

A heavy hand lands gently on Draco�s shoulder, and who doesn�t bother to turn around or speak, but simply stops in his tracks. He waits patiently for Harry to speak, and true enough, the stuttering words come out slowly.

�Do you� do you always� travel by train� and alone, I mean, in an empty cabin too?�

�No to the transport question, but yes, I�m always alone.�

�Then I was wondering��

Harry broke off, mentally berating himself for his stupidity. Malfoy wouldn�t want to travel with him. It was pointless to ask. He didn�t need a reason to why. He just knew it.

�Forget about��

�If we could travel together?�

Harry lets out a nervous giggle.

�It does get lonely on the road��

A thoughtful look crosses Draco�s face. He doesn�t bother acknowledging Potter�s last statement, then without answering Potter�s question, he resumes his walk out of the station. On the audience�s part, it�s easy to point out that Draco has always been one for dramatic flourishes. Harry, on his part, doesn�t bother to chase after him as he finally can�t find a reason to justify that action, but stands at the bottom of the stairs, looking utterly dismayed. He stares disappointedly after Malfoy�s retreating back, and sees Malfoy drop something onto the floor. A piece of paper or something similar.

Malfoy dropped something.

He needs to return it to Malfoy.

Harry moves as quickly as he can through the crowd on the platform, keeping his eyes on the blonde head as he goes. Then he bends over to pick up the sheet of paper, which turns out to be an empty envelope. When he looks up again, Malfoy�s gone.

Gone.

He sighs softly, and turns the envelope over in his hands, preparing to throw away the piece of junk, and then the neat handwriting on the envelope catches his eye.

To Lord Malfoy: Train tickets from Tinglev to Kristiansand for the 30th of October, 2340hrs

Harry grins madly into space.

Maybe it�s the hysteria of the grin, maybe it�s because Harry is quite evil now, but above him, rats on the rafters take one look at the demented grin and start to make their way out of the station in search of a new home.

***

Harry strolls out of the darkened house, flinching slightly as the open door behind him slams to a close. The sound makes him feel that there�s sort of a finale to his search each time he hears it. Sliding doors, doors with creaking hinges, doors without creaking hinges.

It�s all the same to him.

Tonight�s exorcism had been interesting, so to say. The crackpot priest whom he had read about on the internet decided that Harry�s condition could be cured with a little blood letting. His exact words were �The blood has to be let out to remove the demons in you-oooOOOOOO!!�. It was at that moment when Harry knew that the man was off his rocker, but he went along with it. Anything sounded better than being told to sex his curse away. Now, Harry�s forearms are littered with a series of stars, crosses as well as random slashes. Less matured teenage boys might think that scars gave them a manly, rugged look, but Harry knows better. In fact, Harry knows best. The first one he ever got brought him an evil overlord with a maniacal desire to kill him.

Rubbing at the gauze covering the fresh cuts on his forearms in an absent minded manner, the only thought on Harry�s mind is if a row of tattoos will suffice in concealing the scars. Celtic knots all the way down to the wrist? A little on the clich�d side. Perhaps a dragon. Maybe even a Hungarian Horntail. Or something lesser seen in these parts of the world, a Chinese dragon. As Harry�s long fingers trace down the gauze, which now has blood seeping through it, he comes into contact with the cool metal of his watch, a nice change from the warmth of the dressing brought about by his blood.

Watch.

Time!

Harry squints at his watch in the dim light of the alley, and realises in horror that it�s already eleven thirty at night. Cursing under his breath, he clutches his shoulder bag close to his side as he breaks into a run for the station. He hasn�t apparated at all in the past two years, for fear of his magic going haywire, so much so that it�s not instinctive for him to do so even at a time like this. Thankfully, the station isn�t that far away from where he was, and so it isn�t long before Harry is through the gates of the station and running up the stairs to the platform, and finally, the dark haired boy is standing on the platform, bent over double, wheezing for air.

And watching the train leave the station before his eyes.

He kneels down on the platform and tries to catch his breath, staring dejectedly at the masses of blonde hair and pale skins all around him.

***

On the train, Draco shakes his head sadly as he watches Harry grow smaller and smaller on the platform, and finally disappears from sight.

***

It was another three months before Harry gets to meet Draco again. Once more, it is a meeting of chance and coincidence, directed by the fates or orchestrated by the muses of life. The meeting is on a train once again, this time from St Petersburg to Moscow. Harry visited St Petersburg for a church named the Christian Scientist, and if anyone were to ask him, he would give you sheepish grin and tell you it�s because he finds the name an oxymoron. In Harry�s overly simplistic mind, as Draco would say, thought Harry to himself, religion is to science as magic is to science, meaning that they can exist in harmony, but a religious mind would contradict a scientific one, while a body used to magic would not be able to comprehend electricity. Electric shock therapy on wizards has been known to have very odd result. Think a permanent shiny metallic blue sheen on skin and the ability to attract no metal, but wooden materials.

As we have observed, Harry�s mind is indeed, simplistic.

But nevertheless, it is usable as it can easily convince itself to do the strangest things.

But Harry chose Russia primarily for another reason. While the Russian Orthodox Church was its main religion, it was chock full of little cults, sects and other religions. Harry has had a whale of a time exploring the different groups for the last couple of months, dropping in different parts of the large country. He saved St Petersburg for last, because he had surfed the net and found the place utterly adorable. It is winter, and it looks precisely like what it did in his favourite cartoon, Anastasia. Harry knows that people would find his love for the movie a tad trite, because his own life story is so much like hers. Growing up without parents, being sought after for many years by many different people, having his life threatened by an evil sorcerer, and finally, running off and disappearing.

Except he doesn�t have his love with him.

Harry slugs himself mentally. It�s Christmas eve, the sun is shining on the glittering snow, and he really shouldn�t be getting sentimental. Though the hangover that he is currently having really isn�t helping. Reminiscing and wallowing in sorrow just makes the loneliness seem more dominant on his train ride, the silence drowning out any possible form of festive cheer that finds its way into the carriage. He also wants to hit himself for the annoying voice in his head telling him over and over again, that if he hadn�t been late for the train three months ago, he might have been spending Christmas Eve, and Christmas day with a certain blonde someone.

Harry doesn�t know what the hell that voice is talking about.

It isn�t like he didn�t try. He got on to the next train that headed for Kristiansand, not even caring that it didn�t have an empty cabin. But when he got to the station at Kristiansand, Harry realises how stupid he had been. Kristiansand wasn�t exactly a large place, but where would he start looking for the blonde? And to top it off, he didn�t even know if it was an actual stop for the blonde or just a place for a transit. It was hopeless. Still, he never gave up. Each time he bought a train ticket to go somewhere, he would ask if there was anyone else who booked an entire cabin, and if there was, he would attempt to bribe his way into getting a seat in the same cabin.

Mind you, he didn�t always succeed, but he did so occasionally.

But that was only to be disappointed.

That meeting with Draco not only changed the way Harry buys his train tickets, but also another significant part in his life. Curiosity killed the cat, but Harry�s got the better of him. For the first time in over two years, Harry picked up the phone to call Hermione, with the sole intent of finding out Malfoy�s story. He endured her hysterical sobbing over the receiver, then the cooing and interrogation on his well being and whereabouts. He patiently entertains her, then finally springs the question. When Hermione hesitates to speak, Harry starts his farewell speech, upon which Hermione tells him Malfoy�s story in a bid to keep him on the phone for a longer a period of time. A day by day, blow by blow account, in fact. Harry listens quietly, paying her words the kind of attention he never gave Binns back in school. And when she finally ends the story, Harry mumbles something about having to catch his camel to cross the desert to deliver watermelons to next oasis and swiftly hangs up the phone, ignoring the furious buzzing sound that came from the earpiece.

***

Harry has a theory.

It involves Draco (yes, it sounds a whole lot better than Malfoy to Harry now, after knowing his story), him, their respective curses, as well as an explanation for his attraction to the blonde, and it goes like this.

With the curse, Draco is inherently pure, good, the epitome of a saint; Harry, on the other hand, has an evil core, and is the perfect example of a man who lost the angel sitting on one shoulder, and what he has left is the devil which is usually sitting on his other shoulder. It has its tail wrapped tightly around his neck, hoofs anchored in the sensitive part of his collarbone and lips brushing against his ears, whispering and whispering, making the man do its every bidding. And so just like opposite poles of a magnet, they attract. Their past doesn�t matter, it is only what they are at present which matters. Cursed men. It is an impulse, a compulsion, an involuntary reflex, even a completion. The presence of each other leads to neutralisation of their curses, and that�s why he feels a need to be with Draco, as it makes him feel almost, just almost, normal. Magic has always been unpredictable, and given Harry and Draco�s magical condition at the moment, anything could happen.

Like orang utans replacing Madame Pince or manticores constructing roller coasters.

Perhaps they could be friends, as Harry often mused in the past few months. But Harry is still reserved about the idea. Draco might have changed sides during the war, but from experience, he could still lose him composure and turn back into the same sarcastic bastard that he always was. But it sure didn�t hurt to have some company now and then. He even has a speech he rehearses daily to tell Draco about his theory and ask him to travel with him a second time.

But Harry fails to see the loopholes in his theory.

He doesn�t know if Draco is as attracted to him as he is to Draco.

Oh, and there�s another tiny problem.

Finding Draco.

***

The train seat is annoyingly hard. Whoever thought that eight hours on a cold, hard metal plank in winter time could be considered ethical human treatment deserves to be shot and sliced to pieces.

The bloody idiot.

Harry decides that if he can�t find a comfortable position, he may as well just get up and go for a walk. To top it off, there is the large amount of vodka which he consumed the previous night to be taken care of. His throat feels parched, his head dizzy, while his bladder�s threatening to burst. And so Harry heads for the toilet, asking himself why the train he has chosen to take feels so much like a boat in a raging storm today. He sincerely hopes that the toilet seat with its holey centre turns out to be more merciful to his frozen bum. Just as Harry reaches the toilet, the door of the small cubicle swings open to reveal a slender figure, roughly the same height as Harry himself. He�s dressed in straight cut black jeans, and a plain white buttoned down shirt, and his right hand wiping itself off on his hip, while his left held the door open. A soft voice is heard from the young man, cursing about the state of train toilets.

�Draco!�

Draco looks up, and Harry feels oddly disturbed by the appearance of his former schoolmate, who looks much more haggard than the last time when they had met. His long blonde hair, though clean, had obviously not been cut for quite sometime, hangs straight down the nape of his neck and frames his face, making it thinner than it really was. Dark circles encircle grey eyes that now had a new sort of sadness in them, and Draco�s lower lip looks like it has been bitten so many times that it has teeth mark etched it.

The entire package looks like the present Lord Malfoy had been through hell and back.

�Hello, Harry.�

Harry squirms uncomfortably where he stands.

�I really, really, really need to go in, but cabin eight, please?!�

Then without even waiting for an answer, Harry moves as fast as his wobbling body can take into the toilet and proceeds to spend the next fifteen minutes emptying his bladder, as well as with his head in the toilet bowl. Draco, on the other hand, stands outside of the toilet for a moment wearing a highly amused look on his face, before turning on his heel and heading to grab his luggage from his own cabin and then off to cabin eight.

***

Draco is tired.

As he sits on the seat opposite of where Harry has stowed his shoulder bag, he thinks about his life. He doesn�t know why, but being with Harry seems to have that effect on him. The last time they were in the same cabin, he pretty much thought through his life in a few moments. This time, he�s thinking about his future, about what if he doesn�t find a cure, what if the pain doesn�t go away, what if he doesn�t get to have any companionship for the rest of his life. He finds a little comfort in the fact that Harry wants his companionship. Maybe more comfort than he would admit, in fact.

Harry. Harry. Since he found fit to call Draco by his first name, he shall reward Harry the same gift.

Draco doesn�t think fast today, that�s why he only gets to Harry�s name when Harry comes stumbling back to the cabin, and plonks himself down in the seat across Draco, even though the entire cabin is empty except for the two of them. He�s amazed by the brunette, who looks utterly revolted by the recent interactions between his body and the toilet, but completely happy in seeing Draco again.

Not like Draco isn�t happy to see Harry. Oh no, it is just that this Lord Malfoy is a firm believer in composure and calm, icy coolness.

Well, why not let the hero start the ball rolling again, and so Draco raises an eyebrow at Harry expectantly.

***

Harry looks at the expression on Draco�s face, and tastes the sourness of the acid from his stomach in his mouth. He suddenly feels a lot more uncomfortable than he did when he was standing outside the toilet and trying to keep himself from wetting his pants in front of Draco. He knows that look. He�s seen it before so many times, like when the OOPs were looking at him for a strategy, or when Hermione stared at him through tears the day they learnt that Ron had left.

It�s the look when someone wants something from you, but doesn�t know if you have it.

Well, Harry takes a deep breath. He does this time. It�s been a long time since he did, but he does. He�s done his homework this time, for a Slytherin nonetheless, and he has the answers that Draco wants. He can sense it, he knows that the blonde has been through a lot, and while all he looks like is waiting for Harry to start the conversation, he is also waiting for the answers to his life to come from Harry. Harry knows, because he tends to have that effect on people. They do double takes and turn heads, simply because he is Harry fucking Potter.

But the problem now is, he doesn�t know where to start.

�I know what happened to you after the war,� blurts the dark haired boy.

Draco nods, and keeps quiet, waiting for more to come.

�And the last time� I presume you dropped the envelope as an answer to my question?�

The blonde allows a small smile to quirk up the corners of his lush lips.

Harry feels his knees go week.

�And I thought� you know my story too,� and the speech that Harry had prepared comes pouring out.

�Draco, we�re looking for opposites, that�s why I�m asking you to travel with me. Be my companion. I know you�re lonely too, don�t try to deny it,� Harry adds when he sees the protesting words bubbling up in Draco�s mouth. �Listen to me. For every Christ there�s an anti-Christ, every God a Devil, every good deed a sin. I have a theory, and I think we can cancel out each other. At each city, I will search for my Christ, and you your anti-Christ. We might not find a cure, seeing that we haven�t, but we would have companionship,� he finishes in a rush.

Draco smiles.

�Yeah, why not?�

Harry sighs a big sigh of relief. His head is getting to him now, and his eyelids feel exceedingly heavy, drooping over his green irises. Draco too, is nodding off, feeling placated for the first time in a long while, not to mention safe, starts feeling drowsy as well. There�s a contented look on his face, as it he knows that he isn�t alone anymore.

When the trolley lady comes along, she finds a dark haired youth resting his head on the back of the chair across a blonde, whose own head was nodding gently in time to the jerks and bumps of the train, both fast asleep.

***

When they wake up, there�s only an hour left to the journey, and they commence a discussion about how they should be expanding their search to Asia, and their conclusion was what better place to start than the largest country in Asia? China it is, then. Harry knows that there is a train running between Moscow and Beijing, the capital of China, and so they decide that that, will be the next train they�re going on. It�s a six day long trip, and they�ll plan from then on. When their train reaches Moscow, they learn that the particular train which they want to take only makes the trip twice a week, and for them, it would be the next morning, so Draco drags Harry to a small restaurant near the train station and treats him to a dinner equivalent to the annual income of Mr Weasley.

Dinner is a silent affair, as is their walk back to the train station. Oddly, the two boys felt comfortable enough to talk in the confines of a train cabin, where there�s no one else but them, but feel trapped by the sheer number of people hurrying along the streets, eating in the restaurant around them, and finally, waiting for their trains when they are finally back at the train station. So when they are at the station, they choose to find a secluded corner, where Harry reads his book (currently Mr God, This is Anna) while Draco explores Harry�s laptop.

On the cold floor of the station, two boys lean their backs together for warmth, and fall asleep soon after.

***

Day 1

The silence from the previous night continues as Harry and Draco make their way onto the train. It�s five in the morning, and neither of them is really awake. They move soundlessly from the days of their war training, piling their luggage on the lower bunk beds at the end opposite to the window, because that�s where the table is. Their sleeping quarters are simple and cosy, with four bunk beds and a reading light for each bunk. When they have settled in, Draco reaches for the tacky plastic rose in the glass vase on the table, steps on the pedal of the rubbish bin and disposes of it.

Harry laughs, the first sound that they�ve heard for the day.

They both then clamber into their beds on the upper bunks and catch up on their sleep.

A three hour nap later, Draco wakes up and goes to the toilet to brush his teeth while Harry sleeps on. He returns to the little compartment and comes to the following conclusion.

Draco is bored.

Grinning dementedly to himself, he takes his wand and points it at Harry�s face.

�Frigus aqua pluo,� he whispers.

Harry jerks awake at the shower of freezing cold water and the sound of Draco laughing so hard that tears are running down his cheeks. His face feels slightly sore, because Draco has failed to take into account that he is casting the spell in winter, and some of the water droplets have turned to ice. He glares at the blonde, who quickly collects himself and grins at Harry, looking every bit like the cat that got the cream.

�Happy Christmas! May I borrow your laptop again?�

�What laptop?�

�You know. Rectangular, flat, box-ish thing that opens up to a flat panel and a load of bits to press on?�

Harry grits his teeth in frustration. Oh this was so very, very trying on his temper.

�I know what a laptop is! I though you had it with you. Weren�t you the one playing with it last night?�

Draco goes paler, something which Harry does not think is possible.

�Hang on, didn�t I return it to you? I must have fallen asleep with it on my lap��

�AND SOMEONE LIFTED IT OFF YOU! Gah. Idiot idiot idiot! Ouch!!�

In his ranting fit, Harry sits up abruptly in his bunk bed and slams his head on the ceiling of the cabin, and letting out an injured cry. Draco takes one look at the scene in front of him and starts to laugh again, earning himself yet another glare from the dark haired boy. This time, he has the decency to look ashamed of himself and slightly guilty.

�Erm�oops? I�ll get you a new one when we reach our destination.�

Harry looks incredulously at Draco. That�s all? No apologies? No big sorry? No�oh wait. Malfoys don�t apologise. Stupid, stupid, good looking compartment mate. Harry stares at Draco for a little longer before giving a loud groan and flopping back on his bed. He doesn�t realise that even though he just lost his temper, the train isn�t derailed, or remotely rocking.

�I think I�m gonna have a huge ugly bruise on my temple. No more charming my way into getting train tickets for an empty cabin, and no more laptop. And happy Christmas to you too, bloody git. Damn you Malfoy! Damn you!�

Harry flings his arm dramatically over his forehead, wincing when he hits where the bump is forming. Silence reigns in the compartment, and for once, Harry wonders if he has displayed his talent in theatre at the wrong time.

�I really wish you could damn me, you know.�

***

Day 2

Harry and Draco sit on the lower bunks on opposite sides of the table, with Harry trying to learn how to use the chopsticks provided to eat his instant noodles.

�Mmm� I love this stuff. It�s one of the best things in travelling. Eating junk, reading and just basically doing nothing.�

�What? Lord Malfoy enjoys roughing it out like the rest of us peasants?�

�Aah� shut it Harry. I�m learning to appreciate the simpler pleasures of life. Anyway, I can�t believe a Muggle-born like you has never tried cup noodles before. It�s like, the most intelligent and enjoyable thing this bloody race ever came up with.�

Harry laughs. It�s a tense sounding one, but a laugh nevertheless. He knows that Draco is deliberately leaving out his words from yesterday�s conversation, but being the Gryffindor, he feels compelled to apologise.

�Draco?�

�Yes Harry?�

�I�m sorry about�I�m sorry I said�I�m sorry about what I said yesterday,� he stammers.

�S�okay. You didn�t mean it,� Draco says before his face disappears behind the bowl as he lifts up the Styrofoam utensil to slurp down the last of his soup. �Besides, I lost your laptop. We�re even. I�ll still get you another one though.�

�Thanks.�

Harry mutters under his breath as another noodle slips through the grasp of the wooden sticks in his hands. It was impossible. He doesn�t understand how the Chinese wizards have the advanced level of magic that they do, neither does he understand how Chinese Muggles are able to have a bloody history of five thousand years while feeding off simplistic instruments like these. Perhaps it is because these instruments are that simplistic that the Chinese manage to survive for this long. That would explain why he has survived to eighteen years in fact. Harry doesn�t know why he doesn�t give up trying to eat with the sticks and just ask Draco to transfigure him a fork either. There�s a voice at the back of his head telling him that it�s because he likes the smile that appears on Draco�s face whenever he lets the frustration of not being able to finish his meal properly show on his face.

Harry ignores the voice.

***

Day 3

�Draco, can we talk today? I mean, if we�re going to be traveling together for long, I�d like to get to know you.�

Draco starts to snigger. He raises his eyes from the book he�s reading, The Crucible, and points vigorously at Harry.

�I know you, John. I know you!�

�Draco? Draco? Are you alright?�

Draco laughs.

�Yes Potter. I�m alright. Have you read this book?�

�As a matter of a fact, yes. And when Mary says that to John�OH.�

Harry feels a flush rising up from beneath the color of his turtleneck. He certainly doesn�t want to get to know Draco that way.

Or does he?

Harry shakes his head, as if trying to clear his head of all dirty thoughts trespassing into the confines of his brain.

�Quit shaking, Harry. You�re making me dizzy. Why not we do it like this. You�ll ask a question and I�ll answer, then we�ll repeat things the other way round.�

�Okay. Let�s start afresh. Hello, my name is Harry James Potter, and you are��

Draco rolls his eyes, then decides to play along, �Hello Harry. I�m Draco Gabriel Malfoy.�

�Gabriel? Like, archangel dude?�

�Yes Harry,� he drawls arrogantly even as he tries to hide the smile blooming on his lips. �What brings you on this train, Harry�dude?�

�Good companionship and a need to find the right religion,� Harry says while keeping a straight face and staring unwaveringly into Draco�s eyes, as if daring him to contradict his words.

�Me too,� comes the unexpected reply together with a gaze that doesn�t break their eye contact.

�What�s your favorite Quidditch team, Draco?�

�It used to be the Montrose Magpies, but I lost interest in watching the league after I started training with my house team. Watching it just doesn�t seem as fun as playing it. Now Harry, do tell me, what was that thing that enabled you to sneak around school without being discovered?�

�Hey! That isn�t fair. Fresh start, remember? You�re not supposed to know anything about me.�

�Na-ah. These expectations� they�re really more guidelines than rules aren�t they?�

Harry pouts with a huff.

Draco feels the temperature in the cabin rise.

�Fine. An invisibility coat. It was from my dad. What about you? You seemed to be able to just appear out of no where as well.�

�Well Harry, since I couldn�t get my hands on something like your treasure, I just learnt my spells really well. A Chameleon Charm did the trick.�

�And why weren�t you detected?�

�Simple. Wandless magic. You of all people should know about it.�

Harry looks thoughtful for a moment. Yes, he does remember it. When they were training under the OOPs, all three of them, meaning Draco, him and Hermione, were tested for their aptitude in performing magic without their wands, or with other instruments. Hermione couldn�t do anything without her wand, just like she wasn�t able to fly a broom any much faster than a hurrying snail. Draco, on the other hand, showed amazing talent in wandless magic, and was even able to cast spells as advanced as the Unforgivables without his wand. Harry, who was only able to do wandless magic only at a beginner�s level, found his other instrument to be an octarine staff, with a blue sapphire as its activator. When the three of them learnt how to duel, Hermione was swiftly left far behind in classes. In one particular lesson, when they were only supposed to use their wands, Draco had cheated and fired an exploding hex from his wand which Harry deflected successfully, leaving him completely open to the slashing hex that Draco sent his way from his left hand. That incident earned Draco kitchen duties for a month.

Yes, Harry does remember Draco�s wandless magic.

He also remembers Draco with an apron swaying his hips to the tune of Dancing Queen by Abba.

Draco realizes that he said the wrong thing when Harry goes quiet. He knows he just reminded Harry of the war and so he feels apologetic. It�s a strange feeling. Like a tugging on your gut that you should say something to soothe the other person�s furrowed brow, cuddle away the pain or something.

Cuddle? Where the heck did that come from?

The blonde is almost on the verge of saying sorry when Harry�s face brightens up.

�Favorite ice cream flavor?�

***

Day4

It�s almost 1a.m.in the morning, the start of their fourth day on the train and the scenery outside the window consists of different shades of black, dark, and emptiness. The two boys were playing Go Fish when Draco dozes off. Harry feels slightly miffed at the actions of the blonde, as though it is an indication of his inability to provide any form of challenge to Draco�s ability in the game. Still, he lets him sleep, while he entertains himself with a book. It�s nice to see that tired face resting, knowing that each time the grey eyes open, they look a little more alive than they did the day before.

Harry knows, deep inside of him, that the subtle changes are because of his presence.

About an hour later, Harry is pulled from the book by a soft whimper, which gradually builds up into a moan. Harry smirks to himself, thinking that Draco is having a wet dream, and decides to peak over at his compartment mate to see how sexy he looks when he is aroused. It�s nothing like Harry expects. Draco�s right hand appears to be pushing at the air above him, fingers curled and scratching at the invisible attacker; while his left appears to be desperately shielding himself. Another moan leaves Draco�s ravaged lips which have just begun to heal, and this time Harry realizes that it�s a moan of pain, not pleasure. Tears start to leak out of the corners of Draco�s tightly shut eyes, while the noises coming out of his mouth escalates up to a scream. Harry scrambles off his bunk, stumbles and stubs his toe painfully on the foot of the table and swears.

Gripping Draco firmly by the shoulders, an action that causes Draco to start howling, Harry shakes Draco awake.

�Draco! It�s a dream. Wake up, please!�

Draco gives one last painful yell, then wakes up, bawling like a baby. Harry pulls himself up to the bunk and hugs Draco, who whimpers in his ear and weakly tries to push him away. At least the action is there, but Harry feels no pressure of any sort on his chest.

�It�s okay Draco, it was just a dream.�

The soothing voice calms the hysterical blonde to some extent, and a while later, exhausted from his crying, Draco falls asleep. Harry returns to his own bed and tries to do the same, but he can�t help hearing what Draco kept saying when he was in his arms.

�It isn�t just a dream. It�s real, it�s real��

***

Harry sits on his bunk, staring at the pale face of the sleeping boy opposite him. He didn�t sleep a wink the entire night, but that doesn�t keep him from being wide awake now. It�s almost noon, but Draco has had a hard night. Even after the first nightmare, he had continued to toss and turn fitfully, until it was about six in the morning, when he woke up screaming again. For the second time that night, Harry moved over to Draco�s bed, soothing his sweat drenched hair and comforting him. But even with Harry�s careful ministrations, it took almost an hour before Draco slipped back into slumber.

He�s worried. He wants to know what happened in the past few months that gives Draco nightmares that make him wake up screaming, sleep fitfully, and cry like there�s no tomorrow.

Maybe he does think that there is no tomorrow for him.

But Harry is pulled from his thoughts as the blonde before his eyes begins to stir in his sleep. Even with all the exhaustion showing in his face, Draco is still unbelievably pretty. Wait, did I just say pretty? Oh sod it. If the exhaustion did anything to his face, it only made the beauty in it more haunting, and those grey eyes which were now staring at him�

�Draco! You�re finally awake.�

�Yes Harry. Good morning to you too. Last night�� Draco trails off with a questioning look on his face.

�Just nightmares, Draco. Nightmares.�

Pale eyes bored into green.

�No they weren�t. You haven�t slept the whole night, have you? Well, I guess that means I owe you an explanation. Hang on. I�ll go brush my teeth first.�

With that, Draco slips his tired body out of the bunk and lands softly on the floor, reaches for his toothbrush, and heads for the toilet.

***

Draco leans over the sink. He looks like crap, and he�ll agree with anyone who tells him that. It�s been three wonderful, nightmare-free nights, and he should have known it was too good to last. Sleeping with Harry�no, sleeping in the same cabin as Harry, has made him feel safe though he�s unable to explain why. He looks at the lean, muscular arms, the sculptured torso which is revealed when Harry�s shirt rides up as he stretches in the morning, and he knows that he is protected.

At least he thinks he is.

And now, after been cared for by Harry for an entire night, he feels an obligation to tell Harry about his nightmares. It felt wonderful, being woken up from his nightmares and the first thing that meets is eyes are beautiful, concerned, bright green eyes. He feels that he can trust the dark haired boy with his story, and that if there was a chance, he might just get his troubles kissed right away.

***

�Harry. What I�m going to tell you stays within this compartment, and�I haven�t told anyone about it, but Hermione�s noticed that I�ve been acting strange for about two months now.�

�What does she know about you?�

�Nothing. It�s just that I promised to call her once a week to let her know that I�m still alive. She keeps telling me that if I don�t tell her, I�d have to talk to someone sooner or later or I�ll break. And I�m starting to think that she�s right. Last night�s nightmare was the worst in weeks. Maybe it�s because of your presence, being evil and all that,� Draco attempts a smirk, but it simply contrasts too sharply with the fear and sadness in his eyes.

�Talk, Draco. I�ll listen and I won�t interrupt.�

Harry puts on his most earnest face, and Draco inhales deeply and starts to speak�

Flashback

�Bloody quack. What a load of Muggle superstition. I mean, sure, there�s some truth in the numbers according to Arithmacy, but it sure as hell doesn�t work. As if performing a silly fire dancing ritual would have special effects by carrying it out at thirteen o�clock and for sixty-six minutes and six seconds.�

Draco curses and swears, annoyed with himself for spending money on such a waste of time. And to top it off, it is nearly two in the morning, so the streets are empty. There isn�t a taxi to be seen in sight, nor a bus. He sighs inwardly, resigned to the cruel hand that fate has dealt him with. A low rumbling rises from his stomach, and Draco grimaces slightly before pressing a hand to his belly. His train had only arrived at the station at around twelve, and he had rushed straight to the location where the ritual was to be held. It didn�t help that the trolley lady had somehow missed the train, so he was basically left with a stomach empty from two missing meals. A simple gastric problem could totally compare with the Cruciatus curse.

He is headed for the train station where his next train ride is supposed to leave in an hour�s time, hopefully, the train lady will remember to get onto the train on time. He wants his cup noodles. Draco turns a corner, and bumps into a hard, lean body.

�Watch where you�re going you bastard!�

�Malfoy,� comes the cold reply.

Draco looks up, and sees the familiar features. Under normal circumstances he wouldn�t have been affected much by the presence of this person, not even startled from their meeting as he has had experience in dueling with more than five Death Eaters at the same time. But tonight, Draco is exhausted, and his gastric pains were making him shake to such an extent that he can�t wield his wand straight. He stumbles back, as the person pushes him into the alley that he had just walked out from.

�Well well well� What do we have here? A Malfoy at my mercy. You were such a traitor to the Cause. And to think you were so vocal about your views when we were young. And your father. Oh good lord. He thought he WAS the lord. Always crowing about how he was in the inner circle and I wasn�t. Well, none of that matters now. He�s dead. And here you are. Whatever shall I do with you?�

�No. Please. Not you��

Draco lets out a soft whimper, partly from the pain in his abdomen, and partly from the fear he feels bubbling up inside him. He knows that he won�t be able to perform any decent magic tonight, and his best chance was to run, seeing that he could not fight physically either. He tries to push his way past the Death Eater, but gets shoved back instead.

�Nox.�

The alley falls dark, and is devoid from the slightest glimmer of light. The solitary light bulb hanging from one of the doorways dims into oblivion without a sound, and Draco gropes blindly in the dark, hoping to find a way out of this mess. His hand brushes across the chest of the man in front of him, and Draco is rudely pushed to the ground. He hears the rustle of cloth as the Death Eater lowers himself and straddles Draco�s slender hip. A hand places itself on his crotch and grips tightly, causing Draco to yell in pain.

�You like it don�t you, you fucking queer!�

�Stop. Please stop.�

�Begging, Malfoy?�

Draco winces at the tone on which his last name is pronounced. There was nothing else he could do. He couldn�t push the man off; he couldn�t swing a fist at him. The next thing he knows, a hand rips at his collar and pulls it apart, tearing the buttons off and bruising his neck simultaneously. The same hand repeats the procedure with his pants, and his boxers are pushed below his knees with his pants.

�No more� no more� stop��

�Shut the fuck up Malfoy!�

Draco gives a shout when he feels a rough hand fisting him. It hurts, god, mommy, it hurts. He can feel the tears starting to well up in his eyes. Then it hits him.

I�m going to get raped.

The man bends his head close to Draco�s face, and whispers in his ear. So close that Draco can feel the warm air brushing across his ear. So close that if Draco raises his arm and exerts some strength, he would be able to push the man off and save himself.

But he can�t. The curse doesn�t allow him to exert strength on another person as it might cause the person pain.

�Kiss me blondie. I might go easy on you.�

Draco knows that all is over. But he has something to keep, and even if that�s all that he has left, it is his.

His pride.

And so Draco shakes his head stubbornly, and each times the face above him drops to meet his lips, he turns his head, avoiding the brutal assault. By the noises of frustration above him, he can tell that his attacker is getting angry. Good. Then the ordeal will be over soon. Draco feels his thin body being flipped over, and the cheeks of his buttocks being parted.

Then the pain came.

Draco screams. He does, for the first time in his life, with every fiber of his soul. It�s a hoarse, heart wrenching sound, but in this neighborhood, such sounds are heard all too often. It is just another feature of the night, together with the meows in cat fights, the barking of dogs at burglars, and the gunshots that bring bloodshed.

The blood.

With every thrust, Draco feels himself tear a little more. There is not pleasure in the act, only viciousness. But as it proceeds, Draco ceases to fight, almost to a point where he is simply lying under the man, motionless. It�s all quiet in his mind now. He refuses to give the man any form of pleasure, and bites his own lip harshly to stop himself from screaming, and tenses his face into a stony expression carved out of marble. It�s strange, really, how the pain is gradually going away. His own blood is lubricating the penetration, and in the rapidly cooling autumn night air, the warm red liquid was keeping him warm.

Finally, the man finds release, and lifts his weight off Draco. There is more rustling sound, and Draco, through the roaring silence in his ears, hears the man�s last words faintly.

�Bloody hell. Fucking you is like fucking a bloody corpse.�

End of Flashback

�I blacked out after that, and when I finally woke up, it was morning and I had already missed my train. But I couldn�t stay in that god forsaken place a moment longer. I just jumped onto the first train that came into the station and took off out of the country.�

Harry sits in shock, not knowing what to say. His mouth is hanging wide open, but no sounds come out.

�Shut your mouth, Harry, or you could probably get a lunch of flies,� comes the weak attempt at humor. Draco tries to fake a smile, but it�s so plastic that it would put a Ken doll to shame.

�Draco� I� I��

�There�s nothing to say, Harry. I should thank you for listening. I do feel a whole lot better now.�

Another weak smile comes his way.

�I want to go explore the train a little. Do you want cup noodles too?�

Harry nods numbly.

�Well, I�ll be back soon.�

Draco leaves the compartment and walks the entire length of the train.

When he comes back, the rest of the day is spent in silence.

***

Day 5

Harry sits cross legged on the little table, facing the window and watches the scenery rush by before his eyes. He�s amazed by what he is seeing, because firstly, he hasn�t looked out of a train window for a long time; and secondly, with Draco around, the flora and fauna looks a lot more docile and gentle to his tired eyes. He slept the night before, but it hadn�t been a restful sleep. The night was spent dreaming about what Draco told him, in Technicolor, in black and white, in soundless, in surround sound. Sometimes he�s a prostitute watching from the window above in the alley the act took place in, sometimes he�s the beggar who ducked behind the trashcan to avoid being caught in the confrontation, and sometimes he�s Draco.

But what he remembers most vividly, is the one in which he was the attacker.

He can still feel the adrenaline rush as he�no, the Death Eater assaulted Draco. Harry blames it on the curse, but he can�t help thinking what would it be like if he does it with Draco. The dirty act, the tainting act, the one which leaves one in shivers and brings on the nightmares. He twists his body around and arches his neck to look at the sleeping figure, which was sleeping much more peacefully than he had been anytime the night before. Let him sleep, Harry thought. He�s been through so much. Harry, regardless of how the Death Eaters had tortured him while he was in captive, or how the Dursleys had mistreated him in their care, was never made to go through such humiliation.

Yes, let him sleep.

***

Draco sits on his bed, leaning against his pillow and reading the book that Harry had lent him. Lovely Bones. He hasn�t stopped tearing since he started the book, as the lead simply reminds him too much of himself. At least he has something to be thankful, that he is alive, and possibly, on the way to find a cure for his condition. They would be reaching Beijing the next morning, and who knows? A new country, new hopes, new beliefs might mean that he was finally going to be free of the last of his father�s clutches.

Across him, also on the upper bunk, was Harry staring into space. He seems to be doing that a lot lately, out into space, at Draco�s face, and at the moment, at the reading light next to Draco. The bright white glow seems to fascinate Harry. He is drawn to how such a small instrument can light up the entire length of Draco�s bed, provide him sufficient light to read but at the same time, not be strong enough to hurt Harry�s eyes while he stares straight into the light source.

But most of all, Harry is impressed by how the light is able to bring out Draco�s features.

The shadows cast make the blonde�s face appear gaunter than it really is, but at the same time, it lends a delicate nature to the sharp features, making the blonde seem almost girlish. They made the torn lips look whole and luscious, while the brow wrinkled in concentration seems almost erotic. And the eyes, the eyes which had tears welling up in them every few minutes, it made Harry want to tear them out and keep them, for he feels like he never wants to share such beauty with anyone else.

No, no. Harry doesn�t mean that. He doesn�t want to hurt him. All he wants is to kiss the tears away, and find relief for the boy.

But he needs release from himself too.

***

�Goodnight, Harry.�

�Draco, may I ask you something?�

�That depends.�

�When you were� what you told me� was that your first time?�

Draco turns his back to Harry and keeps silent for a moment.

�I�m sorry. That was tactless. I shouldn�t have��

�Yes Harry. It was my first.�

Harry closes his eyes and settles his head on the pillow. It was going to be another hard night.

***

Hands roving�

A scream from the body under him�

The warm, wet feeling around his manhood�

The metallic smell of blood�

Harry springs upright, knocking his head onto the ceiling again. He feels strange, weird, because he has had this dream before. Yet, he feels like some memory of his is eluding him. It is almost like the phrase, he isn�t himself today. He turns his head to face Draco, and sees the blonde sleeping peacefully, with the book splayed open on his chest and the reading light still on. He feels himself losing control like he has never before, and he knows the results are going to be worse than anything he has ever done before. But the most absurd of it all, is that he can�t seem to control his body, or his mind. He feels like he is an observer in his own body, watching the curse illuminate his bloodstream and tense up his muscles.

With an inhuman roar, Harry somehow manages to climb over to Draco�s bed, where he reaches for Draco�s silk pajamas collar and rips the shirt apart. Draco�s eyes fly open and stare at Harry, and the moment he sees the animalistic glow in the green eyes, he knows that he would have to live through everything again. In that split second, Draco regrets ever agreeing to be a traveling companion to Harry. He regrets telling Harry his story, regrets trusting Harry. He feels his silk pants being ripped off, and the cold air in the cabin assaulting his pale skin.

Yet through it all, Draco feels numb.

Harry fumbles with his pants, lowering them just enough to pull his hard self out. He wastes no time in pulling Draco�s legs up and putting them onto the ledge above the door, and slams himself painfully into Draco�s tender hole. He slams his eyes shut at the tightness of the sensation, and gasps loudly. Draco, like before, refuses to let his pain be known and clamps down hard on his lower lip. He would not break, not under the Death Eaters, not under Harry Potter.

Harry opens his eyes, and sees the pink nipples on Draco�s chest standing out ever so enticingly, that he feels the need to touch them, give them his full attention. He withdraws himself from Draco and slides up between Draco�s legs and using his tongue, starts to lick at the pink flesh. This draws a loud moan from Draco who loses control of himself momentarily, whereupon Harry, unhappy with himself that he is actually giving his prey some form of pleasure, bites down hard, earning himself a scream from the blonde. Under him, Draco hits himself hard mentally for making the sounds.

The black haired boy decides to return to his earlier activity, and thrusts himself hard into Draco again. This time the entry is smoother, lubricated by the blood from the first time. He moves fast, slamming his hips forward and withdrawing them quickly, repeating the action with renewed viciousness over and over again. When he feels ready to come, Harry suddenly, and inexplicably, decides that he wants Draco to come with him as well. Maybe it�s the part of him that is watching and yelling at him to stop hurting Draco; or perhaps he wants to humiliate the blonde in the worst possible way he can think of. With a surprisingly gentle touch, he covers his hand with the blood coming out of Draco to moisten it, and strokes his hand down Draco�s limp length, causing Draco to buck his hips involuntarily. Gripping the metal bar beside him to give him better leverage, he angles his thrusts into the warm body, looking for the pleasure point. When he does, there is the sound of a sharp intake of breath and the incoherent muttering begins, as Harry hits the sweet spot over and over again, while his hand moves up and down in time with the movement of his hips.

�Come with me��

When they come together, one of Harry�s hands grips Draco�s thigh hard and scrapes his fingernails down its sides, so hard that he draws blood, and he snaps his head back, hitting hard against the ceiling. Below him, tears had started to flow unstoppably from grey eyes as the blonde comes, but through the haze of pain, sex and betrayal, Draco manages to twist his mouth into an elegant smirk as he watches Harry�s head hit the ceiling.

When Harry finally returns from his high and draws himself out, he feels normal again, and is almost tempted to ask where he was. All he knows is that he feels like he�s floating on fluffy clouds, and that he�s at home, completely at one with the core of the person that was underneath him. He hears the heartbeat in the chest that he is lying on, and it is not until when he opens his eyes and looks up at the frightened grey pair before him that he realizes what he had done. On his part, Draco notices that the horror in Harry�s eyes, and there�s a little bit of him that understands it is the curse that made Harry commit the act, but he is still in pain, and there is no forgiveness for that.

Green eyes turn to where the long scratches were on pale white flesh, and Harry feels the guilt overwhelming him. He runs a finger down the tender marks, wincing as he watches Draco�s face lose all emotion in front of him. He hurt the blonde, he hurt someone he cared about again, someone who trusted him, and right now, all he wanted to do was to heal him, but he didn�t dare to, for fear that he might hurt him even more. He wishes that a prayer would help relieve the pain, and in his heart, he repeats the level one healing spell he learnt years ago, longing to say it out loud so he can heal the pain that he has caused.

Medicor medicor medicor oh god I�m so sorry Draco so sorry so sorry medicor�

And suddenly, the wounds glow bright, and disappear. Draco feels the pain on his thighs fade, and watches the marks go at the same time. He looks up and stares in amazement at Harry, who looks at his own hands in shock. Without stopping to think twice, Harry reaches his hand to Draco�s torn hole and repeats the spell again, but out loud this time, and Draco almost starts crying again when he feels the skin and flesh knit together.

�Draco� I�m so sorry� but� but��

Draco looks up at Harry with his eyes wide, accusing and questioning at the same time.

�It appears that my curse is gone. I�m just sorry that I lost control, sorry that you had to go through this for me to get rid of the curse��

Draco lies motionless, staring at the ceiling. He stays so still that Harry starts to get worried.

�Draco? Please, talk to me. Don�t go silent. Please.�

Then, without a word, Draco lifts his hand and points at the wall just behind Harry.

�Avada kedavra.�

Harry spins around in shock, and watches a medium sized spider drops off the wall, dead. He turns back to Draco who is looking thoughtful, and even in the position that they�re in; he can�t help flashing a smile at the Slytherin.

�You�re okay too,� then Harry, realizing what he has just said, starts to apologize furiously. He does so for quite sometime, before the blonde beneath him opens his mouth.

�I�m not okay,� he snaps. Then, in a calmer tone, �But I would be a lot better if you returned to your own bunk.�

Harry returns to his bunk, thinking that it will be another sleepless night ahead, haunted by his guilt. What he doesn�t expect is that his body is so exhausted by its last act of evil that it chooses to slip into quiet sleep without telling him. And so it�s almost like a dream when he hears Draco�s slightly mocking voice for the last time that night.

�Only Granger left��

***

Day 6

Harry stares at the bloody patch on the sheets of Draco�s narrow bed. The other had woken up, dressed and gone off to the toilet to brush his teeth and clean up without saying a word, even though he knows that Harry has been staring at him intently since the very moment he woke up. Harry didn�t know what to say when he saw the other boy wince when he moved to climb off his bed, because he knows that even with the healing spell, Draco is probably still feeling sore, and without the help of the stronger and more effective healing potions, the brutal treatment from the previous night couldn�t be cancelled out completely.

And there are the mental scars.

While Harry traveled alone to prevent himself from derailing trains and hurting himself, Draco did so for fear of people hurting him. By agreeing to share a train with Harry, the blonde had placed his trust in Harry, the trust that Harry might protect him, that Harry would not hurt him. But the trust had been horribly misplaced, as Harry couldn�t protect Draco from himself.

With a deep sigh, Harry reaches for Draco�s wand which is on the small table and points it at the stain on the table.

�Abstergo.�

He�s not sure why he feels compelled to see the blood gone from the sheets. Maybe it�s the guilty conscience, and that he doesn�t want to be caught for the act. It�s a little like the detective novels he read in the past, ridding the scene of crime of any possible evidence that might incriminate him, but this idea makes him feel like he�s Nott erasing traces of a Death Eater past. Or maybe he�s trying to wipe the marks of the act off his soul, like Lady Macbeth trying to wash the blood off her hands. Either way, Harry knows that there is no justification of his treatment towards the other boy.

***

Draco comes back from the toilet a little while later and starts to pack his things. The train they are on would be pulling into the station shortly, and he moves quietly through the cabin, picking up the clothes torn from last night which were all over the floor. He hadn�t bothered with dressing the previous night, as his body was simply too battered to do anything but lie in bed. He spent most of the night wondering what he had been through, laughing at the irony of the act, that he had to be raped to be okay. It doesn�t make sense, and it sure as hell isn�t fair that he has to go through such torture not once, but twice. In a small way, he is glad that the curse is off, but he can�t help but wonder if there is any other way, out in the big, wide world, that might have gotten rid of the curse with less pain and humiliation.

It felt horrid to have and irritating voice at the back of his head telling him that magic, being its unpredictable self, probably required two people cursed with these two particular curses to commit such an act in order for both people to be free of their curses.

But even worse was waking up in the morning with the same voice saying, Harry never even tried to kiss you last night.

Realizations suck.

Draco doesn�t know why, but the thought of hurting the black haired boy hasn�t even crossed his mind the whole time. Somewhere inside him, Draco knows that he will never hurt Harry now, but he still can�t bring himself to forgive him. Then, he finally looks at Harry for the first time that morning. He knows that the other boy has fixed his eyes on him for the entire morning, but he had refused to acknowledge it � until now. What he sees in Harry�s eyes almost blows him away. When he made his decision to meet Harry�s eyes, he almost expected to see arrogance in them, gloating at his broken soul. But what he sees, is a deep sense of regret and guilt. The two of them gaze into each others eyes for almost a full minute in silence, until Harry breaks the ice between them.

�Draco. I�m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry. I wish� I only wish��

�That you hadn�t done it? I have a good idea of how sorry you are, Harry, because you�re a bloody Gryffindor. But maybe I should thank you for it,� and at this point, Draco tries to laugh to lighten the mood, but what comes out is a slightly hysterical sound, which makes Harry cringe. He doesn�t want to give Draco more nightmares, but it looks like he just did. It is at this moment that he realizes he wants to always be the one to comfort Draco when he has nightmares, to be the one to coax him back to sleep, to wipe the tears from the grey eyes when they come streaming down the high cheekbones. �The curse is off me too, so I should thank you�thank you�� and Draco laughs again, the same high pitched, disturbing noise. This time, the laugh is accompanied by tears welling up in grey eyes, and squeezing them shut to prevent any from falling out.

�Draco, don�t do this to yourself, please stop. Please. Let me help. I�m so sorry. I really am��

Harry�s words are drowned by the whistle of the train, and Draco picks up his bag , walks out of the compartment and moves to the exit of the cabin as the train slows to a halt. Harry follows soon after, but is careful to keep a distance between them. The train door opens, and Draco speaks without turning back.

�Well Harry, thank you�I think. Looks like neither of us have the need to travel any more, since we�ve both found what we�re looking for. Good bye.�

Harry darts forward and lays a hand on Draco�s shoulder just as the blonde takes his first step down the stairs. There is a sense of d�j� vu, but this time, Harry turns Draco around to face him and bends over to kiss the pink lips gently. Curse or no curse, he admits that he is attracted to Draco Malfoy, and wants to make up for what he did. He moves his lips, trying to coax a response from the other boy, but there was no response, except a gentle push on his chest. Nothing that hurt, just a light pressure, but it separated them effectively enough.

�No Harry��

With that, Draco walks off the train onto the crowded platform, and Harry feels the hot burning behind his eyes as he watches the blonde walk away from him. It is then when he remembers the words he heard from the blonde the previous night, and he runs after Draco, dodging the people blocking his way and even pushing some aside, then grabbing the blonde�s shoulders and leaning forward to speak into the blonde�s ear.

�Who was the Death Eater?�

Draco has been waiting for this question ever since he told Harry his story. He saw it coming, as he had left the name out of his narrative on purpose. A thoughtful look crosses his face, one which Harry cannot see as he is behind him, gripping the thin shoulders tightly, almost painfully.

�Weasley. It was Ron Weasley,� he finally says.

Harry drops his arms from where they were in shock, staring into the head of blonde hair. The instant that Draco feels the pressure leave his shoulders, he starts walking again, never turning back.

And for the second time that in his life, Harry falls to his knees on a train platform.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reviews please! If the tenses don't make sense, it's cause I'm trying out something new, basically attempting to swing back and forth in time with language tools instead of saying it out explicitly. Hope it was understandable. =)

faithmisplaced: This is just a quick note to say that I'm very certain about my tenses, cause I taught English for a while and having read through my own writing about three times, I honestly doubt that there's anything wrong with the grammar. Also, it might seem strange to you, but it's just a different way of writing. Try exploring novelists like Toby Litt or John Steinback, they use this technique as well. And no, I won't be sticking to one tense in future mainly cause after this long shot, I'm quite comfortable in writing in both formats, and at the same time, confident that I won't go wrong with language. By the way, it's not about not being able to accept constructive criticism. I'm looking to revise another one of my fics because someone pointed out an ambiguity in the content. I'm perfectly fine with crits, as long as they are valid. Still, thanks for reading the story and taking the time to review. Cheers.

To everyone else: Thanks for the reviews, and it's wonderful to hear that my story is enjoyed. I'm proud of this one, and I'm especially glad that there are people who can stick it out through a one shot that is this long, and more often than not, in the thoughts of the characters. =) I do have a brief outline for a sequel, but I doubt it would be out anytime soon as school has just started. Sorry!
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