Soul Seeker

I know this chapter is well overdue, considering I’ve already finished Indelible but I really didn’t want to do this chapter…

Who else hates the Horcruxes? I have nightmares about them, I swear. Goddamn long chapter.

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Words: 6,340
Chapter 2
One At A Time
August 3rd 1997.

June 28th 1993.

The Basilisk lunged again, and this time its aim was true. Harry threw his whole weight behind the sword and drove it to the hilt into the roof of the serpent’s mouth.

Harry felt drowsy. Everything around him seemed to be swimming.

“So ends the famous Harry Potter,” said Riddle’s distant voice.

If this is dying, Harry thought, it’s not so bad. Instead of going black, the Chamber seemed to be coming back into focus. A pearly patch of tears was shining all around the wound – except there was no wound.

“Phoenix tears,” said Riddle quietly, staring at Harry’s arm. “Healing powers… I forgot.”

Then, in a rush of wings, Fawkes soared back overhead and something fell into Harry’s lap – the diary. Harry seized the Basilisk fang on the floor next to him and plunged it straight into the heart of the book. There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing. 1

The journal had emitted a blinding white light as Tom screamed. The fragment of Voldemort’s soul had disappeared along with the light but when Harry woke up he could still see it. The blinding whiteness, the glare of the light that made him wince and have to close his eyes, and he remembered the screaming as well.

It was the sort of scream that made you want to cover up your ears and pray that you never had to feel pain like that in your life. But Harry didn’t pity Tom. At the time he had been too worried about Ginny. Poor, young Ginny who was lying only a few feet away at the time, slowly gaining consciousness with every second that Tom was screaming.

She had loved him, Harry remembered, but he had not loved her, not then.

But he did now. He knew he loved Ginny now. Everything he did was for her, and her family and his friends. He fought for the people he loved. So why was it, in the middle of his dream, just before he plunged the Basilisk fang into the diary, when he looked away from Tom he didn’t see Ginny? Instead, he saw Draco Malfoy lying on his stomach in her place. Draco was pale, his lips were blue and his wings had been hacked off.

The imaginary sight terrified him far more than the remembrance of Ginny, pale and unmoving, years ago in the real Chamber of Secrets.

Harry didn’t want to think about the ‘whys’ of his dreams because he knew that they were mostly nonsense. Though Hermione used to say that dreams were a persons inner most desires broadcast through the subconscious so that a person could realize what it is they truly wanted. Harry snorted.

It was too early for Harry to wake Hermione or Ron, so he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. As he was drifting off he suddenly thought about whether his dream meant he wanted Malfoy to have wings so he could hack them off or whether he just plain wanted Draco Malfoy.

XXX

August 4th 1997 – Just after Bill Weasley’s wedding.

He hadn’t found any of the Horcruxes yet. None that hadn’t already been destroyed at any rate. It was rather frustrating, Harry thought, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He had promised to stay around for the wedding, and he had. He stayed and attended the wedding and Death Eaters had crashed the wedding.

He, Hermione and Ron were hiding out at Grimmauld Place at present. Harry’s head was throbbing, a persistent pulsing behind his scar that was making his eyes water up. He tried to ignore it, but it was like resisting the urge to be sick. Eventually he had to excuse himself from the conversation. Hermione had protested of course but he had managed to escape the room, and lock the bathroom door after himself. He leant back against the wall.

His legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor, his hands clutching his forehead as rage that wasn’t his coursed through him. He was blinded by another’s hatred and anger and it was all Harry could do not to scream out or curse someone.

The blond Death Eater that had attacked them in the café earlier was on the floor, screaming and writhing as Voldemort smirked, standing above him. “More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini?” Voldemort hissed, his red eyes glaring down at the other man malevolently. “Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure.”

Harry’s eyes moved to fix on Draco, but they were red, and staring from out of Voldemort’s head. Draco flinched and hesitated. That only angered the Dark Lord more. “Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!”

Draco raised his wand, and Harry couldn’t bring himself to look away from the gaunt, pale face that now haunted his dreams. Draco’s hand shook as it held the wand towards Rowle. His voice quivered as he whispered the spell, and he winced as the Death Eater began to scream. Harry finally managed to close his eyes, his face turned away from the horrifying sight. When he was finally able to open his eyes again he was lying face down on the bathroom floor, spread eagle, and he felt sick to his stomach.

Hermione knocked on the door before he could compose himself fully. When she asked him if he wanted his toothbrush, Harry answered her, and his voice sounded as if he had been the one being tortured. It trembled and he had to clear his throat twice before he finally got out, “yeah, great, thanks,” but he made no move to stand up or open the door. Instead he lay back down, pressed his face to the cold bathroom floor tiles and tried not to think about how shitty Draco’s life must be, having to actually live with Voldemort.

XXX

August 23rd 1997.

“That’s pretty, Delores,” Hermione said as she pointed to a necklace half hidden by the woman’s blouse. At the moment, Hermione was pretending to be another witch by the name of Malfalda, Ron was polyjuiced as someone else and was busy stopping it from raining in Yaxley’s office, and Harry was hid under his invisibility cloak. And he was relatively sure he was a Death Eater. They had just successfully snuck into the Ministry of Magic.

“Oh, yes, an old family Heirloom,” Delores Umbridge simpered, “The ‘S’ stands for Selwyn. An old pureblood family.” She sneered down at the Muggleborn on trial and muttered something derogatory about the woman’s parents.

Harry’s blood boiled at the lie. The ‘s’ stood for Slytherin.

He raised his wand and cried, “Stupefy!” Umbridge crumpled in a flash of red light and Harry felt a sudden overwhelming smugness as she hit her head off the balustrade. “Stupefy,” he said again, his wand pointed at the Death Eater, Yaxley.

“Harry,” Hermione began, but Harry cut her off.

The Dementors had sensed something was wrong, and they had begun to close in on them. Mrs Cattermole was shivering in her chair, her hands pressed to her mouth as she continued to cry. Hermione shouted out a warning as Harry raised his wand again and said, “EXPECTO PATRONUM!” When the Dementors backed away, Harry looked to Hermione again. “Get the Horcrux.”

Hermione ran to Umbridge and began to riffle through the ruffles in her blouse trying to find the clasp of the locket. When the golden locket, with the chicken egg sized pendent on the end, was safely in her pocket, she said “Geminio!” A duplicate of the locket appeared around the unconscious woman’s neck and Hermione grinned, “There… that should fool her.”

She and Harry looked at each other as they tried to free Mrs. Cattermole. They had the Horcrux. Now all they had to do was find Ron and escape from the Ministry of Magic.

XXX

September 1997.

June 5th 1997.

The island was no larger than Dumbledore’s office: an expanse of flat dark stone on which stood nothing but the source of that greenish light, which looked much brighter when viewed close to. Harry squinted at it; at first he thought it was a lamp of some kind, but then he saw that the light was coming from a stone basin rather like the Pensieve, which was set on top of a pedestal.

“What is it?”

“I am not sure,” said Dumbledore.

“Sir, no, don’t touch-!” 2

The dream got a little fuzzy after Harry shouted out his warning. All of a sudden a dense black fog that Harry couldn’t remember ever being there in reality appeared. It covered both himself and Dumbledore from view. Harry thrashed about on his makeshift bed, his arms flailing as he kicked the blankets off of his legs. The fog was choking someone, Harry could hear them coughing and hacking but he couldn’t see who it was. The noises were getting quieter.

“Sir?” He cried out but no one answered him.

The fog started to dissipate. Slowly, Harry could make out his surroundings again. He was still in that horrible dank cave, but his dream seemed to have skipped ahead without him. Without warning, without conscious thought, his body moved closer to the edge of the island. A goblet suddenly appeared in his outstretched hand.

He flung himself over the edge of the rock and plunged the goblet into the lake, bringing it up full to the brim of icy water that did not vanish.

“Sir – here!” Harry yelled.

A slimy white hand had gripped his wrist, and the creature to whom it belonged was pulling him, slowly, backwards across the rock. The surface of the lake was no longer mirror-smooth; it was churning, and everywhere Harry looked, white heads and hands were emerging from the dark water, men and women and children with sunken, sightless eyes were moving towards the rock: an army of the dead rising from the black water.

Harry yelled, “SECTUMSEMPRA!” 2

As he shouted the word, all of the Inferi suddenly shifted, their bodies seeming to curl inward, before straightening up. They all turned to face Harry simultaneously, and each one of them had a large diagonal cut across their chests. The cuts were gushing blood, even though Inferi could not bleed, and each one of them looked identical to Draco Malfoy.

Dumbledore scooped the locket from the bottom of the stone basin and stowed it inside his robes.

“It’s going to be alright, sir,” Harry said over and over again. “Don’t worry…”

“I am not worried, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “I am with you.” 2

Harry shot up in his bed, his pillow flying to one side as his arms flailed again. Dumbledore’s words rang in his ears, stronger than anything else the man had ever said to him. Harry thought them over, his eyebrows furrowed.

I am not worried, Harry, I am with you.

Harry gave a soft snort and climbed to his feet. It wasn’t as if he had actually done Dumbledore any good. The man still died, and Harry had been powerless to save him. Just like there was nothing for Harry to do to help as Dumbledore drank that potion. And for what? He put himself through such torture for a fake Horcrux!

I am not worried, Harry. He heard the voice again.

Harry thought of Draco’s pale face after the Sectumsempra Curse hit him, and then he thought about how Dumbledore’s body arched as Snape blasted him out of the Astronomy Tower window. He gave a soft snort and left the tent.

Maybe he should have worried more. Maybe then he’d still be alive.

XXX

December 19th 1997.

It was snowing outside. Draco found that a rather comforting fact. There was snow, which meant it was winter, and soon it would be spring. Harry Potter hadn’t been caught yet, and the Dark Lord couldn’t remain undefeated forever. If it was already winter then Draco could only hope that by the time it was summer again he’d be free, he and his family.

It was snowing in his dream as well.

Everything was soft and white, and so silent. He hadn’t heard anything as quiet as this, not since before the Death Eaters took over his Manor. Now he was hard pressed to find an empty room, let alone a room that was relatively quite. He had even been evicted from his bedroom. He had to share with his parents, all three of them had to sleep in the one magically expanded bed, because his father was not in favour with the Dark Lord and apparently that meant they couldn’t have their own room in their own house.

Draco tried not to think about it. Instead he closed his eyes and smiled, thinking about the blessed silence. There was no noise save the wind rushing through the branches and the snow. Flakes fell, all perfectly shaped like six point stars, and they covered his hair and his wings. Draco grinned, and allowing himself a momentary respite from reality he spun around and around in a circle, laughing as he held his hand out to catch the snowflakes.

He stopped spinning when he heard voices. He grinned again, waiting for his mate to come into view, as it always happened with his dreams of late. But it wasn’t his mate he saw.

Harry Potter looked around at the snow and the trees and he asked, “Where are we?”

“The Forest of Dean,” Hermione Granger answered. “I came camping here with my parents once.”

“Potter, Granger?” Draco called out softly and moved cautiously towards them. It wasn’t possible that they were here. He knew that he had been in bed before he woke up in the forest, so logically, he was dreaming. Why on earth would he dream about Granger?

Neither of them answered him. A bright silver light appeared ahead of Harry, and Draco watched with his heart suddenly lodged in his throat as Harry chased the light into the trees. Hermione ran with him, and Draco felt that he had no choice but to follow their lead.

The light was actually a silver-white doe, a patroni, Draco realized. He recognized the Patronus, but he couldn’t quite remember whom it belonged to, just like he recognized his mate’s green eyes but not the face the eyes were set in. The doe led the trio to the edge of a frozen lake and Harry dropped to his knees beside the icy pool, and aimed the light from his wand downwards so he could see better. At the bottom of the lake, Draco caught a flash of red and the two Gryffindors gasped.

It was Gryffindors sword, lying at the bottom of the forest pool.

Harry had dived into the lake, and Draco had screamed at him to stop but no one heard or listened. When Harry didn’t come up five minutes later Draco contemplated going in after him, but a red blur suddenly shot past him and dragged Harry and the sword to the surface.

“Are you mental?” There stood Ron, dripping wet, with one hand on the sword and the other holding the locket dangling off its broken chain.

They spoke, but Draco couldn’t actually hear what they were saying. Everything suddenly got blurry, and his head started to throb right above his left eyebrow. He whimpered lightly and clutched at his head. His eyes were squeezed closed, and when he opened them he was sitting on the snow-covered ground and his trousers were wet. In front of him he could see Harry and Ron and there was a voice that sounded like Voldemort.

He knew the voice was talking to the others, he knew it, but it didn’t stop him from listening to it. But when he listened, the voice seemed to be saying something else. It wasn’t speaking to Ron Weasley, who was holding the sword up above the locket. It was speaking to him now. “I know you Draco Malfoy,” it hissed and Draco wrapped his arms around his torso. “I know who your mate is, I have seen your heart and it is mine.”

The voice suddenly stopped, as if it had gone back to taunting the red head instead. The momentary respite did nothing to calm Draco’s heart rate. His heart pounded inside of his chest, the noise almost loud enough to hear, and his eyes were watering up. Voldemort was lying, he was a liar; that was what Voldemort did: lie. But Draco couldn’t help but listen. Everything Voldemort hissed at him was just an echo of the fears that his own mind whispered to him at night, before he was allowed to dream.

“He will never be yours, he will never love you.” It spoke again. “He belongs to me!”

“NO!” Draco screamed, trying to ignore the voice and instead bolted up in his bed. His heart pounded frantically and his mother leant over him. Her hair was loose and it fell around her pale, tired face. Her eyes were glossy and she frowned as she pulled him into a hug. Lucius laid a hand on Draco’s shoulder and squeezed lightly.

“He’ll come, Dragon,” Narcissa whispered, “have faith.”

XXX

March 18th 1998.

Harry struggled to remain on his feet as Fenrir Greyback dragged him forward. He was tied, back-to-back, to Hermione and Ron, and at the moment Hermione was facing forward. Greyback had a hand fisted into Harry’s shoulder-length hair, and Harry was being pulled sideways through the Malfoy’s fancy front gate and down a long narrow walkway lined with flowers and trees. He stumbled twice. Fenrir yanked on his hair, painfully, as punishment.

The front door opened and light spilled outside onto them. “What is this?” A woman called, her voice cold.

“We’re here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” Greyback rasped out, his fingers tightening into Harry’s hair again. Hermione had hexed him before they were captured, so no one could immediately tell it was him. Though Greyback was convinced he had captured Harry Potter.

Fenrir dragged Harry around so that he was in the front, directly under the light source. Narcissa Malfoy scrutinized Harry’s swollen face, and he noticed her eyes widen fractionally as she stared at his forehead. But instead of agreeing with the Snatchers immediately, she frowned and said, “my son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know.”

The study was painted dark purple and every pair of eyes in the portraits that lined the wall turned to Harry as he was pushed through the door into the room. The other two stumbled in after him, a Snatcher on either side of them. Lucius Malfoy rose from his chair before the fireplace. “What is this?” He asked, eyes narrowed.

Draco remained seated. In fact he seemed to slouch lower into his seat as to not be seen at all. He avoided Greyback’s eyes especially.

“They say they’ve got Potter.” Narcissa said. Harry squinted. His face was swollen and it made it particularly hard to see, even though he had his glasses on. He thought he saw the pale woman throw her husband a concerned look before turning back to look at Harry. “Draco, come here.” At his name, Draco slowly stood up and shuffled his way towards his mother.

“Well boy?” Greyback snarled, grabbing Harry by the arm and pulling him further into the room, directly under the chandelier.

Draco tried to remember how to breathe correctly. His heart was lodged in his throat and he frantically tried not to look at Harry. Harry was equally as hesitant to meet the other boy’s eyes.

“Well, Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?” Lucius asked, sounding avid. Narcissa threw him an annoyed glance but turned her face away as Greyback looked up at them and away from Harry.

She was suspicious about the identity of her son’s mate, and she had shared her suspicions with her husband, but he seemed not to agree with her. To Lucius it just wasn’t possible that Harry Potter could be the dominant mate of their son. It was unlikely. After all, in Lucius’ opinion, Harry wouldn’t live through the war. The Fates would never have granted such an unfortunate mate on Draco. Narcissa knew there was little proof in her favour. But she was convinced.

All Draco ever talked about since meeting Harry was the dark haired boy himself. Whether to complain, or rage, or, earlier on, whether it was hopeful fantasies of them being friends, Harry was number one on Draco’s list of things to talk about, to think about. Draco seemed to never find anything at all interesting unless Harry had something to do with it. Though he liked watching Quidditch well enough Draco only decided he wanted to play when Harry joined the House team.

Lucius had agreed to think it over, to keep an open mind, but right then he seemed more concerned with winning back favour with their Lord than saving Draco’s potential mate.

“I can’t-” Draco stuttered, looking down at the ground. “I can’t be sure.” He said at last.

His chest hurt. His back was itching again, that strange tingling feeling spreading up and down his spine. Every time he tried to raise his eyes, every time they almost landed on Harry, he felt a horrid lurching in his stomach that made him think he might be violently ill soon.

“Come closer!” Lucius ordered, but Draco didn’t move towards Harry. Instead he walked over to his mother and leant against the fireplace. Narcissa gave his hand a gentle squeeze, behind his back, where no one else could see it. She hadn’t told Draco that she thought Harry was his mate yet. She smiled softly to herself. When Draco thought no one was watching him, he raised his eyes and stared at Harry’s swollen face, the corners of his lips rising slightly.

Lucius was in front of Harry now, peering at his forehead intently. Narcissa cleared her throat casually and Lucius leant back. “We had better be certain, Lucius.” Narcissa cautioned. He looked at her and almost sighed at the hint of anger in her expression. To anyone else she looked as calm as she had when they first entered the study, but Lucius knew his mate better than anyone, and she was definitely angry at him and at the situation.

His eyes met hers and silently he asked, ‘you really think it’s him?’ She gave a barely perceptible nod in return and he exhaled sharply. He backed away from Harry.

She allowed a triumphant smile to curl her lips before a frown reappeared as she looked at Draco. He was leaning back against the fireplace and his eyes were closed. But there was a tortured expression on his face, and she wondered what he was thinking about that could hurt him so.

Draco sighed to himself as he tried to drown out the sound of his father asking him whether the boy before them was his Harry. Even if it was his Harry, which Draco was sure it was, he wasn’t going to agree! He could never do that, not to Harry. For some strange reason, every time Draco thought about fighting with Harry or hurting Harry, or thinking about Harry dead, he was overwhelmed by the sense that his mate would be sad or angry with him. His mate would want him to protect Harry, and that was what Draco tried to do.

As he closed his eyes he gave a soft smile as the blurry form of his mate sauntered into view behind his closed eyelids. “Hello, my Veela,” the other boy greeted. His glasses, black hair and bright green eyes were all that were distinguishable.

“My mate,” Draco greeted holding a hand out.

Harry took the outstretched hand before collapsing to the ground. His eyes were wide open. Draco gave a startled cry and dropped to his knees, gathering his mate into his arms. He felt for his mate’s pulse but it wasn’t there, and he had to screw his face up to stop tears from falling. Those green eyes were still staring at him, glassy and dull, and Draco suddenly realized where he had seen them before.

They were Harry’s eyes.

Draco opened his eyes just as his mother looked away from him. Together, both Malfoys turned their attention back to Harry. Draco looked just as distraught and Narcissa was about to claim that it wasn’t Harry Potter in her house. She was just about to insist that the boy be taken to the dungeon until the Dark Lord returned to decide for himself, while secretly planning to help Harry escape, but then Bellatrix Lestrange walked into the room.

XXX

March 20th 1998.

It was two days after Harry and his friends had safely escaped from Malfoy Manor, that the Dark Lord returned. By that time the trio of Gryffindors had already broken into Gringotts and destroyed the Hufflepuff Cup, another of Voldemort’s Horcruxes.

Originally, the Malfoys had decided to hide Harry’s capture from Voldemort, as he would be more enrage to find out the boy escaped than to know they hadn’t caught him yet. But, Bellatrix couldn’t control her temper.

“It’s all his fault!” She screamed, pointing her wand at Draco. “He must have let them out!”

“He most certainly did not,” Narcissa hissed standing protectively in front of her son. Draco was trembling slightly at the accusation. He almost snorted. He hadn’t been brave enough to help them escape; they had done that on their own. Despite his terror, he was oddly proud of his Harry.

“He must have left the cell open then!” Bellatrix insisted.

“Enough of this,” Voldemort interrupted, his voice had a horrid hissing quality to it, that made Draco cringe. “What happened?”

And so Bellatrix told him, in precise detail, all about Harry’s capture and escape as well as the torture of Hermione and the loss of her wand and Draco’s. By the end of it, Voldemort was enraged; his wand had appeared in his hand part way through the re-telling but now it was pointed at Draco’s pale, pointed face. The blond lowered his eyes submissively but that didn’t stop Voldemort from screaming, “CRUCIO!” at him.

He dropped to the floor, a scream bubbling past his lips as his hands flew to his forehead, which suddenly, insanely, hurt more than the curse did. When the curse stopped, he pulled his hands away and they were bloody. Narcissa stared at his forehead in horror but Voldemort didn’t notice. He had turned his anger on Bellatrix now.

Hurriedly, Narcissa and Lucius pulled their son to his feet and nearly dragged him from the room. Lucius wiped at Draco’s forehead with a handkerchief. “We’ll get a potion for that,” the elder Wizard said, his voice trembling slightly, “it will be like it never happened.”

As they passed the gilded mirror in the hallway Draco saw what his parents were fussing about. There, on his forehead, underneath the dried blood his father had tried to wipe away, was a faint pink scar. In the shape of a lightening bolt.

XXX

March 24th 1998.

Harry threw open the door and ran into the Room of Requirements. Three curious faces turned towards him, and it was the woman Harry recognized as Neville’s grandmother who spoke first. “Potter. You can tell us what’s going on?”

“Is everyone ok?” Ginny and Tonks asked simultaneously. Hermione and Ron were pacing the room; Hermione was holding a fang from the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets.

“I think so,” Harry said quickly. “Is anyone in the passage from Hogs Head?”

“I was the last to come through,” Augusta Longbottom said. She left soon after to help Neville fight off the Death Eaters that were attacking the castle. Tonks ran from the room hoping to find her husband, Remus. When it was just Ginny left, Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“I’m sorry but we need you to leave too.” She looked ecstatic at the idea of being allowed to join the fighting. “But then you can come back.” She looked crestfallen suddenly and Harry felt a tiny bit guilty, before he decided he’d rather feel guilty than worried.

Looking at her now he didn’t feel the same rush of desire, passion, or tenderness as he did this time last year. Maybe he had been fooling himself? Maybe he didn’t really love Ginny? He still felt a slight flutter in his chest when he thought of Cho, and he didn’t love her. Maybe this was just the same thing? He didn’t have time to dwell on it of course; there was a war going on just outside the castle walls.

If he survived this, he vowed he was going to sit down and sort through all of his seriously messed up feelings.

They left the room as well, and shut the door. He walked back and forth in front of the wall, thinking I need the place where everything is hidden. The door materialized when he finished his third run past the wall.

“Accio diadem,” Hermione called the moment they were inside the room but nothing happened. “I guess we’re doing this the old fashioned way,” she murmured to herself and began to search.

Harry wandered away from the others. He looked desperately left and right for the blistered old cupboard he had hidden Snape’s potion book in, and there it was. Just as he remembered it, with the dusty stone warlock sitting on top, wearing a wig and an old discoloured tiara.

“Hold it, Potter,” a voice called as he reached out for the tiara.

“That’s my wand you’re holding,” Draco said, his knuckles white as he clenched the wand he borrowed from his mother. He didn’t say Harry’s name because he felt horrid calling his mate ‘Potter’ and he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to call him ‘Harry’.

Draco had spent the past six days since Harry had escaped from Malfoy Manor thinking about why his mate would have the same eyes as Harry. It was only when he asked, that Narcissa shared her suspicions with her son. Draco had agreed that it was a possibility. The figure in his dream looked like Harry, sounded like Harry, and when he thought about Harry he got a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, just like when he dreamt of his mate. And Harry’s presence made his back tingle where his wings would sprout.

He had hung behind to see if he could help Harry in anyway, but Crabbe and Goyle and noticed him. Neither of them wanted for Draco to get back into the Dark Lord’s good graces, so they followed him, hoping to kill Harry themselves and get all of the credit.

While Draco had been thinking about his mate, Crabbe had already tried to Crucio Harry, and used the Killing Curse on Hermione, who had come back around the corner to see who Harry was talking to. With a frown, Draco broke from his thoughts in time for Harry to tackle him sideways. The room was swelteringly hot. Draco panted as he stood up; the heat of the room made his face flush pink and his forehead was beaded lightly with sweat. Harry looked much the same, except he had started to run for the door.

Harry hadn’t managed to grab the diadem before Crabbe had cast the ‘Feindfyre’ curse, and it lay, discarded, on the floor by Draco’s feet. He recognized it as the thing Harry had been after and slipped it over his hand so it dangled around his wrist. Then he leant down, grabbed hold of Goyle who was stunned and tried to drag him to the door.

Moments later, they were perched on a stack of charred desks and he was sure they were going to die. He’d never be able to know why exactly it was that Harry’s soul didn’t call to his own. Draco was able to see Harry’s dreams, and experiences, and feel his emotions if they were strong enough but he couldn’t feel the usual tugging at his soul that urged him to go to his mate, to touch his mate, not like he should have. And now he’d never know why.

“IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I’LL KILL YOU, HARRY!” Ron screamed as he swooped down after his dark haired friend. Harry leant down off of his broom and grabbed hold of Draco’s hand, heaving the blond onto the back of the broom. Ron and Hermione pulled Goyle onto their broom and together they flew towards the door. Behind them, the Feindfyre took personified form, coming to life in the shape of dragons, Chimeras and serpents and they chased the teenagers with their fiery mouths wide open, hoping for a kill.

“The door,” Draco heard himself screaming, “Get to the door!” His arms were wrapped tight around his mate’s waist, and he pressed his face against Harry’s back breathing in the scent of the other boy. He didn’t want to die; he had a mate to live for now. “The door!” He cried again.

Hermione, Ron and Goyle disappeared through the door and seconds later Harry and Draco followed. Harry wasn’t able to stop the broom and with a crash the door slammed shut behind them, and they flew straight into the opposite wall and slumped to the ground with twin groans. Draco rolled over, coughing and spluttering and retching and Harry gave a grin at his friends, thankful to have survived that.

“Crabbe?” Draco asked rolling back over and sitting up. His eyes never left Harry’s face.

“Dead.” The brunette said quietly, and Draco bit the inside of his cheek as his eyes drifted shut. They hadn’t been good friends but he had known them since he was a child. He might not be sad Crabbe was dead; as he had tried to kill Harry, but Draco was upset that someone he knew had died.

“Shit,” Harry said as he moved towards the wall where the door should have been. “We need to get back inside.”

“Are you mental?” Ron asked again, this time with his hands on his hips. “You want to go back inside to that?”

“We need to get the Horcrux.”

“That was Feindfyre, Harry. Cursed fire. It’ll destroy the Horcrux.” Hermione said placing a hand on his shoulder.

“We need to be sure.” Harry ran a hand down the wall but he knew there was no chance of getting back inside tonight. “We have to be sure.”

“Are you looking for this?” Draco asked quietly. He held up the diadem and smiled shyly at his mate.

To be honest, the others had forgotten that he was there, but when Harry saw the diadem he gave a loud shout and jumped at Draco. The blond winced, expecting to be hit, but instead Harry pulled him into a tight hug. “So glad I saved your arse, now.”

Draco gave a silly grin at Harry’s words, and handed the diadem over. As Harry touched it, it began to heat up. Then it fell to the floor and split open with a clanging noise. A black substance, with the consistency of blood, began to ooze from the crack in the diadem and there was a distant scream of pain before the substance dissolved completely, and he was left staring at two pieces of what used to be Ravenclaw’s diadem.

Ron gave Hermione a high five. “We did it!” He said with a grin.

“Yes we did.” Hermione said, before pulling the red head in for a kiss. Harry watched them fondly before turning to offer Draco a cautious smile. The blond’s eyes widened and he grinned back unreservedly, his grey eyes sparkling.

“Did I help?” He asked quietly, wanting only Harry to hear him.

“Yeah,” the brunette smiled again, “yeah, you did. Thank you.” Hesitantly, Draco leant forward, and brushed his lips against Harry’s cheek before backing away and lowering his eyes to the ground. Harry frowned at him, but said nothing. Neither of the others saw, and no one spoke about the kiss, but as the other two Gryffindor’s began to talk about Nagini, Harry thought about the kiss.

Just a brief flutter of lips against the skin of his cheek was enough to send his heart racing, and Ginny’s lips against his own were nothing in comparison. Harry sighed slightly; he really needed to sort his feelings out. It wasn’t normal that he spent every night dreaming about Draco, and now, thinking about the kiss – which was barely a kiss at that – rather than the last Horcrux.

“One more,” he said out loud as it suddenly dawned on him. Draco watched him warily, but Harry didn’t say anything else.

“Just one more,” Hermione said in agreement, a huge smile splitting her face.

Harry watched as Ron wrapped an arm around Hermione’s waist and he fought down the urge to do the same to Draco. Instead he looked out of the window, where he could see Death Eaters and werewolves and giants fighting against the few last remaining members of the Wizarding World that were prepared to stand up against Voldemort. They just had to destroy one more Horcrux, and Harry was no longer doing it for the people he loved.

He found, now that he had come so far, he was doing this because it was what he needed to do. He needed to make a difference. It was what he was chosen for. If he could kill Nagini and survive through the encounter with Voldemort then he’d have the life he always dreamed of having, with someone he could love and be loved by.

Once again, he didn’t think it would be Ginny. But, he thought as he looked at Draco’s pale face, he couldn’t be sure. Not yet.

XXX

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Some of this chapter was taken from 1Book 2 and 2Book 6 and 3Book 7; you’ll know which is which. Mainly because there are only so many ways to destroy the same goddamned Horcruxes again and again… Ignore my laziness, it means I’ll post a decent, worthwhile chapter that much sooner.

Also, the dates are as accurate as I could get them. I had to skim read the whole book over the last two days trying to figure out where everything fits. JK was like “In mid August, next day, next morning,” then suddenly “It was snowing”… so it’s not August any more then?

Oh and The Lambs was updated the other day as well. Thanks. Reviews are like candy – some are sucky but most make you high!