Knives Out

Judging by the date on the Daily Prophet, Harry had been out for a couple of days. Upon awakening in the Mending Ward of St. Mungo's, he found that his arm was healed and obviously he was no longer spewing blood from his thigh. He was, for all intents and purposes, well again.

"Good morning, Mr Potter!" the Healer's voice chirped. "Good to see you awake. You should be all healed." She leaned in and looked into Harry's eyes, her wand moving from one to the other. "Just a bit groggy yet, yes?"

Harry nodded before croaking, "Yes."

"I expect that should clear up in the next couple of hours and you will be right as rain. Nasty piece of work, that Omichl Corporus hex is, but the mist appears not to have touched you. You're very lucky."

The mist. The attack. Draco.

Reaching out for the Healer's hand, Harry looked urgently into her wide-brown eyes. She was a large woman, with brown ringlets that curled down her back, and she looked quite surprised by how hard Harry was holding her arm.

"Draco?" asked Harry, his throat rather sore for words. "Is he dead?"

She conjured a glass of water with a straw on the stand next to him and picked it up to hand it to him. The pointed look on her face said that she would not speak until Harry started to drink.

"Your friend is still alive, Mr Potter, but only just."

Harry yanked his covers back and planted his feet on the floor. He made to stand, but his legs started to give.

The Healer pushed him back. "There is still time, Mr Potter. The mist is rather insidious in that it takes its time so that the victim might feel the full measure of the weight of death closing in on him. Many Death Eaters rigged themselves with the ability to cast it post-mortem as a means of vengeance on the witch or wizard that ended them. It is rare and occasionally reversible, but I'm afraid that given the complications with his disease... well, we can keep him from feeling the pain."

He knew about the spell that some Death Eaters cast and the painful effects of it. Voldemort had used it as a backlash and the pain had been excruciating. Harry had been young and healthy, however, and Draco was not. "Need to see him," he rasped.

"I'll get you a potion to rejuvenate you as quickly as possible, but stay right there. I'll see that you have something to wear as well. He is not awake, but he will wake soon."

Harry reached for his glasses, but came up empty.

"I'm afraid those were crushed. They're working on a new pair for you downstairs. I'll see how they're doing." The Healer leaned in and Harry resolved the name on her badge. Emma.

"Thank you, Emma," he said. "But I need to see him."

"There is time, Mr Potter. I promise." Emma gave him a hard look and then smiled. "Don't make me hex you."

Sighing, Harry flopped back against the bed. There was time, but he wasn't going to wait long.

"If you don't play nicely, I won't tell you where his room is. No point in wasting your time wandering the hospital, is there?"

--

Since he had behaved, Emma had returned with clothing and his room number. She'd warned him that he didn't look very good, his glamours were spent and that they'd had to cut his hair since some magical interactivity had caused it to catch fire.

Harry knew that Draco was going to hate that, and it made him surprisingly sad that he would die looking less than proud.

Death was like that.

Harry had rounded the corner and was consulting the numbers on the wood doors when he was confronted with a stern, sharp face he hadn't spared a single thought for since he'd awakened.

"Professor Snape."

"Potter."

Snape appeared drained and drawn and was wearing the peach St. Mungo's hospital robes. Whatever had hit him must've been severe that he was still checked in.

"It is good to see you." Much to Harry's surprise, he wasn't just saying that. After all, Snape had helped him, even if it was his mess in the first place.

"It is not altogether unpleasant to see you on this occasion." Snape's face remained lowered, for once not meeting Harry's eyes. It was the first time he'd ever seen Snape sheepish and he wasn't sure he liked it.

Harry decided to write off that unease to worry for Draco. It was more comfortable that way.

"How is he?" Harry asked, looking wistfully at the door.

Having turned his glance away, Snape found the courage to look at him directly. Out of consideration and in the hope of getting an honest answer, Harry kept his eyes averted.

"Draco is still asleep, I'm afraid. He was awake long enough to explain the majority of what happened in clear enough detail to save me some suffering, but he became overwhelmed by the potions as they sought to treat him. There is hope that he will awaken in the next couple of days, but only to say his last goodbyes." As if he had just heard the news, Snape slumped against the door frame and his gaze dropped to the floor again.

"What of the rest of the Holies?" asked Harry, deciding to keep his mind off of Draco for the moment.

"The Ministry stormed the church and arrested the remaining Holies. The names of the Inferi were kept along with their addresses and records of how to maintain the illusion."

"Maintain the illusion?" Harry pulled at his t-shirt. It was obviously St. Mungo's issue-- thin, white and plain, but he hadn't felt cold until now.

"The illusion that those people are still alive. They'll... continue to use the so-called sacraments to keep them alive, parceling out a few of the dead at the time so as not to alarm the Muggle world with a mass murder."

That took Harry a couple of minutes to digest. The Ministry was going to keep these Muggles in stasis, continuing to limp along in their lives as Inferi. The families wouldn't know until they'd set up a believable means for them to die. "Isn't that a bit...?" Harry couldn't find a word for what that was.

Snape nodded slowly, finally looking at Harry's face. "It is a bit...." Snape agreed as he gestured with his hand as if he could conjure the word from the air. "Is it not how we, as Magical Folk, always do things? It is vile when you think about how much and how often we must adjust Muggle memories, but it is for the good of who we are and who they are to continue to maintain the illusion that magic does not exist. Would those families be any happier knowing what led their family members to die? How ill-used they've been?"

"Don't those families have a right to know?" asked Harry, but he knew that Snape was right. If the families knew of what had happened, they'd need to know why. Once they knew why, the magical world would be thrust upon them and there would likely be fear and panic. Harry didn't need to think any further than the Dursleys to know that some of the Muggle world wouldn't be able to cope with magic in general. Introducing the Wizarding world to Muggles via mass murder? That would not end well for anyone.

"Right and wrong don't always apply, Potter. I should have thought that war would have apprised you of that." Snape stood fully up again, pushing against the door frame to right himself. He began to brush past Harry. "I am very tired."

"But wait, I have... more questions." Harry whirled around, which was a huge mistake as given the potions still in his system, the action made him feel ill.

"I am tired, Potter." Snape's voice held a warning tone, but Harry was not afraid.

"Does the Ministry know of your complicity? It must not if you're not in Azkaban," said Harry.

Snape paused, but did not turn back around. "If you wish to implicate me, that is your prerogative. I deserve it, I am certain. I only ask you not tell Draco. I could not bear him knowing, and it would only hurt him. He has so little time left."

While Harry didn't believe that Draco would have been terribly upset on Snape's behalf, he likely would feel horrid that Snape had created the system of Inferi in order to test out potions to make him well. On that level, Harry was willing to keep it from him. "I am prepared to let Draco go on believing that the whole affair was Bellatrix's idea, but do you not think it will cross his mind that she was not so good with potions that she could not have created them?"

"I think that when he awakes, he will have other things on his mind." Snape paused then, his shoulders hunched and his posture looked suddenly humbled. Harry thought that it was the least of what he deserved.

"I intend to see you punished for your crimes, but I will wait until Draco has passed on. Should you try to leave, I will hunt you down." Harry turned his back on Snape and reached for the doorknob.

"Fair enough."

Harry didn't hear the tell-tale shuffling of Snape's feet, so he assumed he must still be there. Perhaps he was waiting to be dismissed. So long as he was there, Harry decided to press on with something that was nagging at him that he didn't care to ask Draco about. "Did you provide him the Polyjuice potion?"

Snape gasped quietly and Harry heard him shift his weight, obviously trying to stall for time. "Do you mean for his disguise as a priest?"

"No, I mean for his disguise as Theodore Nott." Harry studied the grain on the door, following the thin, swirling lines-- markers for a dead tree's past existence.

"How do you know it wasn't Theodore Nott?" Snape had turned around, Harry could practically feel Snape's eyes boring into him, willing him to turn around and make eye contact so that he could suss it for himself.

Closing his eyes, Harry answered, "I know he's not alive. I did not kill him, but I know it isn't possible. I also know that it was Draco posing as him to get the information about the church. What I don't know is how he managed it."

They stood in silence for what felt like hours. Snape's breathing was ragged, either by illness or fear. Harry imagined that Snape was probably trying to figure out if answering would put him in any deeper with the Ministry. Evidently deciding that it would not, Snape answered.

"They were lovers when they were younger. He said he possessed an old brush that Nott never bothered cleaning. He seemed to believe that Nott was dead as well."

Going over the memories again, Harry thought about the extra cracks. Not twigs, not a car backfiring. Draco must have seen them getting rid of the body. God help him, he must have seen it and known, but never uttered a word. Part of Harry wanted to know why, but this... wasn't the time for it. Maybe there never would be a time to ask about it.

Snape was right. By now Harry should have known how quickly things fell into those shades of grey. Harry lowered his head and twisted the knob.

"I will not report you to the Ministry on the condition that you retire from Hogwarts and I never see you again."

Instead of a verbal acquiescence, Harry heard Snape shuffling away. Taking a deep breath, Harry entered Draco's room and took a seat next to his bed.

--

Draco awoke in a clinical room that smelled of herbs and healing potions. St. Mungo's. Turning his head was painful; the throbbing ache in his forehead was nearly unbearable. Squinting at The Daily Prophet in Harry's recognizable thick hands, he saw the headline, "Malfoy Thwarts Evil Plot." He eyed the picture and huffed. "I didn't even get a cool nickname."

"Actually, they coined you the Gay Crusader," said Harry, giving a wry grin that told Draco that there was more to his troubles than a crap epithet.

"That's nearly as bad as The Chosen One." Draco sneered and then let his head fall back against the pillow. He would've brought his hands up to his head, but they just felt too heavy to move. "But I guess not having a prophecy or any clue what was going on, they had to improvise. I expect they'll be wanting me to show up in tights?"

Harry paled and carded his fingers through his hair. Definitely not good news. "There was a prophecy. It's just that no one was paying attention to it since most everyone thought you were-- well, selfish and er... otherwise... you. They thought it was for Ursius. 'The fair son of ill faith shall war against the holy of his blood.'"

"Pfft. Now they tell me. Good thing I didn't know about that prophecy. Although it would've made tracking down who was behind it all easier. Only so many of my blood." Draco felt his chest tightening and his skin felt raw and sore. He finally looked down to his arms and winced at the show of dark red splotches. Something inside of him definitely didn't feel right; it felt strained and pulled inside, like a bad cramp.

Taking Draco's hand, Harry appeared desperate to say something, but instead he just asked, "Why is it good you didn't know about the prophecy?"

Draco looked at their conjoined hands and perked a brow. He didn't have any illusions that he was going to ever leave this bed. In fact, he was shocked he was alive at all after the curse Bellatrix had used. He knew his body to be systematically shutting down. Even if it weren't such a virulent hex, he was hardly in good health to fight it. "I would've run. It's one thing to choose a war, quite another to have it chosen for you."

"Knowing your fate isn't so bad. You would've risen to it either way. I did." Harry leaned in and kissed Draco's forehead and slid his fingers through his hair, frowning that the battle had left his hair so in knots that rather than deal with it, the Healers had opted to trim it. Now Draco's hair was left short and spiky.

"You always were a big Gryffindork about things like that. Wait..." His visage reflected his alarm that Harry's hand didn't go through longer hair and was petting a shorter crop. "My hair? They cut my hair?" he whined.

Harry winced and nodded. "But Draco, you're... there's nothing they can do. There is a counter curse to the spell Bellatrix used, but intermingled with your disease..."

"Yes, yes, I know, I'm going to die. I'm surprised I lasted this long. But was it really necessary to chop my hair off?" Pulling a sluggish arm from under the covers, he brought his hand to his head and made a quiet whimper about his hair. "At least they fixed my face."

"Sod your stupid hair, Draco. You're dying. You're going to die! You've only got a few days left! Didn't you hear me?" Harry's voice was hoarse and strained, his eyes prickling with tears as he leaned closer to Draco. He wondered if he wasn't in shock.

"So it looks bad?" Draco rubbed at his head and grimaced.

"Yes, just a few days, I'm afraid," whispered Harry. He kissed over the hand he was still clutching. "I'm sorry."

"Fuck, Harry, would you pay attention? How does my hair look?" Draco's eyes were narrowed and furious. "How am I supposed to die with dignity with my hair chopped off? It probably looks worse than yours."

Harry stood up, glaring incredulously at Draco's mottled face, which glowered back in defiance. "Would you take this seriously? Stop it with your hair!"

"Get out." Draco's voice was low and frustratingly calm.

"No."

"Healer, show this man out of my room," snapped Draco, as if there were someone around to throw Harry out.

Dropping Draco's hand, Harry stared at his lover and shook his head. "Fuck you, Malfoy. Fuck YOU."

"I would, but I'm slightly disabled right now. Come back next life?"

Pointing at the obvious tent in Draco's sheets, Harry said, "It would seem you are not so disabled as you think."

Draco looked down at his erection and, apart from appearing embarrassed, looked a bit sad. "It's funny how close to the end I am and still can't seem to be satisfied."

"I could..." Harry stepped forward, perhaps a bit too eagerly, which made Draco roll his eyes.

Draco slid his hand over it and smirked up at Harry, who was already sizing up the bed to climb on top of him. Draco pulled the railing, dislodging it from its upright position so that it fell flat.

Harry charmed the door shut and shucked off his trousers. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

Biting his bottom lip as he pulled up his gown and pushed the covers down, Draco said, "I can't either."

It took a moment for Harry to remember the proper charms for lubrication and protection. Through all of the trauma of the past few days, a lot of things were slipping his mind, and perhaps a few thoughts that weren't quite so wise were starting to overtake his good sense. But really, this could be the end for them, the end of... seeing Draco at all. Before he had a chance to second- or third-guess himself, Harry sunk down on Draco's prick, exhaling slowly as it filled him for the last time-- a bittersweet ache that quickly dulled.

"Don't move a muscle," said Harry, as if that would mitigate the stress he was going to put Draco's ailing body through.

"At least one muscle's going to have to move or this won't work."

"You know what I mean."

Draco's eyes closed and his face took on an ethereal bliss. Even with his hair cut and poking out awkwardly, he was still so beautiful.

"What will happen if I do move?" asked Draco.

Harry ground Draco into him by propping himself up by his hands against the raised mattress on either side of Draco's shoulder. "I'll kill you," Harry answered.

"Oh no, death," said Draco flatly.

Maybe it was a deathbed faux pax to offer to kill a dying man, or maybe the situation was staring to catch up with Harry. Either way, he blushed. "I'll erm... stop moving."

Draco was pushing against him feebly, but Harry tried not to encourage it, or recognize it. "Stop moving and I'll kill you," Draco wheezed. Gripping Harry's hips, Draco stared up at Harry as if he were holy. While this wasn't exactly God's work, it did feel pretty good.

Harry gripped his cock, pulling and twisting it as he looked down at Draco, lips hinting at his amusement. "There's a lot of death in the air."

"Hospitals," Draco drawled drolly.

"Indeed." Harry rode Draco hard, watching his face carefully for any sign of actual stress beyond the natural reddening and puffing that came with sex.

"I really could... die this way... you know." Draco's voice was broken, punctuated by exhausted thrusts and gasps for air.

Harry truly hoped he got him off. He leaned down and kissed him deeply, tasting the remnants of potions on his tongue which all but concealed Draco's taste. "You could." He pulled himself faster and harder when he realized that Draco was watching the way his fingers thrummed over himself and the bobbing slickness of the head of his cock rolling through his fist.

"It would be... a good... death," Draco gasped. His body stiffened after a few wild thrusts and the tip of his tongue pressed to his right canine, his mouth open to reveal these mechanical details of the expression of his pleasure.

Harry felt the humid slickness and heard the unmistakable squelch of fluid; the warm feeling that Draco had gotten off inside of him thrilled him. At least they'd have this memory, at least they had one last time and Bellatrix couldn't steal this last happy memory. Harry watched Draco's face as the blood drained from it, leaving him pale and drowsy, but eyes still clear and focused on Harry's swift hand. It didn't take long for Harry to come, performing for Draco as he still felt his lover deep inside of him.

By the time Harry had wiped his hand off with tissues next to the bed, Draco had drifted to sleep again. Harry leaned over him and rested his head on his chest to listen to his flagging heartbeat.

--

The next day, Harry was still in Draco's room, continuing his vigil. By Draco's request, Millicent brought Ursius in to say his last goodbye. The decision had been hard for Draco to come to; Harry had encouraged him that his son deserved a last chance to see him, to at least have some final memory to cling to. If it was one thing that Harry knew well, it was how important a parent could be to a child-- even when they'd departed.

"Daddy!" Chubby arms outstretched, he was a nearly unstoppable force to the bed. He was immediately squirming on top of Draco, who just whimpered and looked down at him.

"Ursius," he whispered, smiling weakly at his son. Then Draco was asleep again.

"Daddy, wake up... up now! Hold me!" Ursius appeared as petulant as Harry ever imagined Draco would be at that age.

It took a moment's goading for Draco to awaken again and then he looked a bit confused at Ursius. "I am." Draco's arms lay at his side and he looked down at them in surprise.

"Daddy, don't be funny, hold me!" The child leaned forward and left a sloppy kiss on Draco's cheek. Draco looked helplessly at Harry. Standing, Harry started to pull Ursius away. "No," Draco shook his head. "I want to hold him.

Though Harry could tell that the movement was causing Draco great pain, he could see the neediness in his eyes to do this and so he lifted one arm as Millicent pulled the other and wrapped them around Ursius. "Daddy, why are they moving your arms?"

It was a question Draco couldn't answer, as he was out again. "Your father's just weak right now, but he wants to hold you," Harry said. He kissed Ursius's head and Ursius grinned up at him. "Daddy loves me."

"Very much," added Draco, who looked lazily up at Ursius. "And no matter what happens, you know that, right?"

"You always say that!" Ursius kissed Draco's nose. Draco wrinkled it in distaste before his face went expressionless again.

Millicent sniffled and then reached for Ursius. "Your daddy needs his sleep."

"No, I miss him!" Ursius grabbed tighter to Draco, making the man gasp and his eyes open. "No!"

Harry looked up at Millicent and down to Draco. "Ursius, come with me and we can get some Chocolate Frogs, hm? I think they sell them down the hall, hmm?"

"Oooh, Froggies!" He kissed Draco again and then stretched out his arms to Harry. Draco didn't stir, but remained asleep as Harry pulled Ursius up and off of him and took him for some candy.

Maybe it wasn't ideal because Ursius didn't understand it, but at least Draco had said some sort of goodbye.

--

Draco lay in his cot, the springs making odd whirring noises as they massaged Draco's body. His head nodded lightly with the vibrations. Though his eyes were opened, they were a bit glassy. It took him a moment to realize that Harry was standing there. "Hey... oh... Hey!" he said, giving half a smile before it faded as his head turned and then rested against the mattress. "Hey," he slurred and reached out for Harry.

Harry looked down at him and smiled wanly, promising himself not to cry. He knew Draco hated when he cried. He knew Draco hated when people seemed upset about his condition. Worst of all, he knew this was the end. "Hey," he said, finding conversation nearly impossible. What could he say to him, really? They couldn't talk about the weather, or what new programmes were coming up. This was the end. Though he'd lost many people over the course of the war, their deaths were either sudden or they were in comas until they faded. This was the first time he was confronted with someone alive who wouldn't be in a matter of hours. He took Draco's outstretched hand and kissed the back of it.

The movement seemed to rouse Draco again. "So they told you?" he asked, his eyes were unfocused, he'd been warned that with Draco's organs failing he was on many potions to ease the pain of passing. Draco was not quite himself. His eyes fluttered closed and then open again as he fought against the drowsiness that kept claiming him.

Harry scooted the chair closer; it made a horrid scratch against the laminate making him wince. "That this... yes... they told me." He longed to think of something brilliant to say. Something witty. Something that could encapsulate their time together and would make Draco know how much he loved him, how much he loved that he'd gotten to know him, and that he wished he'd known him sooner. But words didn't come. Not even tears came. He just stared dumbly at him.

"So, that's it." Draco droned his words, looking at Harry for a moment and then he looked away. He swallowed and then squeezed Harry's hand back. "Not much to say about it." His eyes moved back to Harry, unfocused for a moment and then he squinted at him. "You got new glasses."

"I did. They're... well, the old ones broke and it really seemed silly to replace them with the same ones I had. No more scar, different glasses, I'm practically a new man." He frowned, realizing he was babbling. He chided himself on renewing himself now knowing that Draco wouldn't have that chance. That Draco wouldn't get to mock his glasses. He was sure Draco would have something smart to say about them.

"They look nice." Draco's grip loosened and his body slumped against the mattress. His face went slack.

Harry began to panic and held Draco's hand harder; pressing his cheek against it, wishing he'd said something different. Here they were at the end and he was talking about his glasses? It was almost comical aside from how it was tearing his heart out. He wanted to cry. Fuck, he wanted to cry so much, but the tears weren't coming. He just felt shocked, empty, and perhaps even angry that he was here, so young seeing someone he loved lying there, unable to fight, just fading away.

"Don't rip my arm off." Snapping his head up, Harry looked at Draco, who was grinning lazily at him. He let out a half laugh before his expression fell again and he just gazed at Harry. "Not that I think I'll be having an open casket. I just think that in spite of the pain medication... losing a limb would hurt."

"I thought you were being cremated." Harry frowned; it was such morbid talk. Should he be talking about cremation, burial, caskets? But what else was there to talk about? The past was already in their heads. The present was miserable and for Draco, the future wasn't going to exist.

"Well, at least I know something penetrated...." The words hung as Draco's head lolled against the pillow and he closed his eyes at the ceiling. A few minutes passed before Draco continued on as if nothing had happened. "Your thick skull."

"I'll make sure you get what you wanted. I won't let... you'll get what you want, Draco. I swear it." Harry wrapped his arms around Draco a much as he could. He hugged him until Draco patted his shoulder to get him to move back.

"The papers are a contractual obligation to be fulfilled. But I'm glad you'll be watching over them." Draco's voice was weary, still vacant. "But really, it's Milly's job."

"I just want to...." Harry stared at Malfoy's face, peaceful again. He'd dozed off. He'd never felt quite so helpless. He was the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the man who'd saved the Wizarding world from certain peril and yet, he was helpless here. So helpless. It was frustrating. He couldn't master death now any more than he ever could. But he wanted to. He wanted to do something, anything. Why wasn't there a spell or a potion that could fix this? Why was he just sitting there, helplessly watching the man he loved fade away before him? If there were only someone to duel or someone to fight, someone whose arse needed kicking. But there was nothing: just kidneys failing, a dead liver and no elixir to fix it. "I want to do something."

Draco nodded. "Oh good. I've been waiting for you to ask. Could you just zap this pesky death thing away?" He turned his head to look at Harry. Again, that empty laugh for as long as he could sustain it. Squirming on the bed, he hissed through his teeth.

"Pain?" Harry half stood, ready to get the nurse. He had no response to Draco's words; of course, he knew he was being mocked. If there were something that could be done, someone would have by now.

"Just my back. Don't... bother, it's fine." He stretched and wriggled to his side and watched Harry.

"I almost expected there to be porn running in the background." Sitting back down, looking uncertain, he tried to lighten the mood.

Draco again gave his small titter. "They don't get any of the really dirty stuff I like. I don't want to die with lame soft porn going on. That's torture." He squeezed Harry's hand again.

Harry opened his mouth, ready to offer to get him whatever he wanted, but Draco cut him off. "I love that you're here."

"Thanks for letting me come in. They weren't going to let me since I wasn't family." Harry reached out and slid his fingers through Draco's silken hair. It was still short and choppy and not as silken as it had been.

"I was bored. No porn." He faded out again, going limp against the mattress.

Harry sighed and kissed each knuckle of his hand desperately and then leaned in to kiss his lips. "I love you."

Eyes fluttering open, Draco looked over Harry's face in such close proximity. "Me too."

Though his eyes were glassy, Harry thought he could see it, that spark. Something inside of Draco that wanted forgiveness for his frailty, for his inability to say what he knew he should. But the look gave way to snarky defiance. He wasn't going to say it; and somehow, that was perfect. Harry pressed kisses over his face until Millicent came in alone this time, no Ursius.

Draco's eyes closed, he didn't open them again.

--

Harry watched Ursius fussing with the sleeve of his robe and look at himself critically in the mirror. He looked so much like Draco at that age that it brought back a flood of memories of him and Draco being measured by Madam Malkin for the first time-- Draco prattling on stupidly about blood purity while Harry seethed. How ironic that tainted blood was what killed him.

It was painful to look at Ursius, even now. Harry had promised himself that he would be there for all of those things that Draco couldn't be. Millicent let him move into the Manor, although he suspected that was mostly to do with the free babysitting.

When Ursius started calling Harry "dad" no one objected.

He'd walked the halls of the Manor, chatting politely with the portraits along the way until he got to the end of that certain corridor where all of the Malfoys stood, side-by-side, each painted with their significant others except for Draco, who sat alone, youthful and proud, in a blood-red wingback chair. He wore all black and though his eyes were melancholy, he bore no signs of the illness that took him, nor was his hair cut short. What he was, was Draco as he wanted to be, as he was meant to be, pale, pointed and proud.

Unlike in his final years, his eyes both followed Harry in synch as he walked before him, ignoring the jeers of the Malfoy ancestors he offended with his presence.

"Still here, Potty?

"You know how Gryffindors are. Besides, I made you a promise." Harry stood close to Draco's portrait, reaching out to stroke the fine lines of paint and the coarseness of the canvas. Still, Draco was animate. Whatever magic took Malfoys had placed him here. "Keeping the seat warm for me?"

Draco sighed and reached out in his own way, flat. Two-dimensional, unable to quite reach. "Does this mean you've found a way around the charm? You know I really will love you forever if I'm not stuck with Millicent here."

"I may have, but the Ministry won't let me test it. They believe that families, including portraits, should be as the initial charms intended." Draco looked down the row at Great-Great-Great grandfather Edwin Malfoy, pictured alone and somber. Later in life, he had divorced his wife and taken a male lover that had not been recognised as being his. As such, he remained eternally alone forever in his portrait. "You'll find a way, Potty, it's what you do."

"I haven't given up hope yet." Harry smiled and caressed the canvas again and then settled into the seat before it to talk about his day.