In Between

And things I want to say to you get lost before they come
The only thing that's worse than one is none
-Linkin Park, In Between

---
Year 2003, Five Years After

His face twisted horribly as he glowered at Harry from across the stone room. "Cruci-" he began to shout, and Harry panicked. Before the other boy could finish that hateful word, he spout out the first thing that came to his mind.

"Sectumsempra!" He shouted, and jerked the wand in his hand. Blood erupted from the blond's body as though he'd been gutted with a knife that couldn't be seen, and Harry realized belatedly that he'd done the wrong thing. Someone in the background was shouting, "Murder! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM!" But he couldn't hear it clearly, it was fading into background noise, there was nothing left except the boy on the floor and the blood pouring from his body.

"No," Harry whispered, reaching blindly for him. I didn't mean this. I didn't mean to do it! "I... I didn't..."

A frighteningly black figure burst in, filling the room with an ominous feeling of dread, and Harry jerked upright in his bed as he stared down at the dying eyes of Neirin Glyndwr. Gasping for breath, he watched Faydra bestow a dirty look in his direction for upsetting her sleep, just before jumping off the bed.

It was a nightmare. The knowledge did nothing to dispell the queasy feeling in his gut, or bring the fleeing air back into his lungs. It seemed that no matter how hard he pulled, he just wasn't getting enough oxygen, and for a moment he thought he was going to pass out before he suddenly choked and found his breath. As his breathing evened out, he considered the dream. He didn't know those words. Cruci and sectumsempra, they were strange words, but somehow familiar. Even as the exact details of the dream slipped away, he was left with a feeling about it, that it had been a particularly nasty dream, and he reached for his notepad, deciding to write the details down. The ominous black pressence, the sectumsempra that nearly gutted Neirin, and the stick - the wand - that he'd used to do it, they'd go into the third and final book. It wouldn't be the first time he'd woken up from a dream and written the details down to add into the book.

Now that he was awake, he figured he'd just stay up and write some more. His deadline was coming up, and while the book was about five, possibly six chapters from done, they were still five possibly six chapters left to write. Seating himself at his computer, he settled in, writing the sectumsempra into the story as flawlessly as if it were meant to be there.

-
Melisande snarled at them. Brandishing her mage's staff, she sneered the words that would end Seren's life. "Sectumsempra," she intoned clearly, making a swiping movement with the staff. Neirin jumped in front of the smaller girl, shielding her from the attack while at the same time taking the full brunt of it himself. Seren screamed as blood poured from the gashes that had opened up in her lover's body, and acted on pure instinct.

Drawing the small blade from her boot, she narrowed green eyes in Melisande's direction before letting it fly. The knife imbedded itself squarely into the blonde's comely chest, up to the hilt, and she laughed in confusion before tumbling backwards.

Turning her attention back to Neirin, she pressed her hands against his chest and tried to will her small magicks into his body. "Please live, Neirin," she whispered.

"Seren," he murmured, and she tried to shush him to no avail. "No, I've got to say this now. I'm sorry." Seren felt tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks, and she angrily wiped them away.

"Don't talk like that," she demanded. "You've got nothing to be sorry for." He smiled at her, his face pale, and took her hand in his to kiss.

"I am sorry, though. I'm so sorry that I never got a chance to tell you how I felt. I love you, Seren Wynne, and I've loved you from the moment I layed eyes on you."

The tears pooling in her eyes slipped out, and suddenly there were too many to simply wipe away. Pushing his hair off his face, she buried her nose against his neck. "I love you too, you great sodding idiot," she whispered.
-

The rest of the story flowed quite easily after that, and once he'd saved the file on the end of his third and final book, Harry felt a strange sense of loss. Still, it was an accomplishment, and he felt proud of himself. What had started on a whim had now become a fully realized dream.

*
(Five months later, the day of the book signing)

Borders bookstore was having it's grand opening in Salisbury, and had as a special guest Harry Evans, AKA Ellie Prowers. The staff were excited to have him there, and Harry was excited to be there, truth be told. Signing copies of their own books happened to other people, not Harry Evans, gardener extraordinaire.

Still, there he was, and there were already a few people interested in having him sign their copies of the book. Exhilerated, with Shawna sitting next to him, he signed them eagerly and smiled. "Thank you for reading," he said, unsure of the proper protocol for these sorts of things.

"Thank you for writing it!" The young woman practically fell over herself when he grinned at her, and had to be lead away by her friends.

"Aren't fangirls wonderful?" Shawna sighed once they'd left.

Harry gave her an amused look, shaking his head. "What fangirls? What wonderful? Are you even here with me?"

*

This time around it was Draco who was standing in the doorway, practically vibrating with the need to get out of the house and go, and Narcissa who was lingering over her choice of clothes. She'd become more comfortable with muggle attire, and had an entire wardrobe devoted to it, and she knew from past experiences that she looked good in the casual muggle clothes, but she was going for shock value.

She'd discussed her dating other men with Draco, who'd encouraged her, coming out at the same time by jokingly insisting that she save some of them for him. As a result, she'd been wearing jeans and teeshirts comfortably for some time, although Draco had never seen her in them; probably didn't even know she wore things like jeans.

Much less flip flops. She was just as eager to go as he was, but she wanted to watch his eyes bug out as he realized what she was wearing. She'd caught a glimpse of him as he passed her door earlier, and knew he was wearing a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a loose pair of black jeans. He looked fantastic, and she'd taken her cue to dress from him, which was how she found herself wearing a form-fitting pair of jean capris, sandals with white straps, and a matching white tank top under a light blue shirt. Without the tank top, the blue top would have been cut indecently low, the swooping neckline revealing the white lace at the top of the tank, and it was youthful and trendy, and she honestly looked good. For added affect, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail, not bothering to brush it until after it was contained by the scrunchie. Slipping her sunglasses on, she pasted on a large smile and descended the stairs, waiting for Draco to catch sight of her.

Once he did, his jaw dropped and his eyes widened until the whites were fully visible around his irises. "Mum!!" He shouted, gaping at her as she swept passed him out the door. "What do you think you're wearing?"

Narcissa glanced coyly down at herself, her wand tucked discreetly under the belt. "What's wrong with the way I'm dressed?" she asked, feeling the ends of her ponytail brushing uncomfortably against her shoulder blades.

Finally, Draco pulled himself together, slipping his own sunglasses over his eyes. "Nothing," he said, almost pouting. He'd been outdone and he knew it. They climbed into the car, and were off towards the book store in Salisbury, the trip made in companionable silence.

*

Narcissa was the first to find the young author, though at first she didn't know it. Draco had wandered off to examine the book store, his curiousity about the muggle version overwhelming his desire to wait in the admittedly short line. Apprcoaching the young man behind the table, she offered him a smile, and her copy of the book.

"Hello, ma'am," he said pleasantly, smiling up at her. "And what might your name be?" He looked up her with a beaming grin, and for a moment she was struck by how handsome he was. The next thing she took in were his green eyes, that she'd had described to her at least five times a year by her son, and immediately shifted her gaze upwards to the scar on his forehead.

Feeling suddenly faint, only one thought occurred to her. Dear Merlin, it's Harry Potter.

"Ma'am? Do you need some water?" He was looking up at her nervously, and she shook her head recovering.

"No thank you. My name is Narcissa. Narcissa Malfoy," she added, stressing her last name. There was not even a flicker of recognition across his face.

"Narcissa, hm?" he asked, scrawling something into the inside of her book. "That's a pretty name." She watched him sign Harry Evans, and blinked curiously. "It suits you," he added, handing her book back to her with another boyish grin.

"Harry Evans, hm?" she asked, mimicking him gently. He nodded, and looked around her. There was no one behind her yet, and he offered her a drink.

"Would you like some pepsi?" Surprised, she accepted the can, eyeing him. There could be no mistaking the scar or the eyes, or the wild tangle of black hair, even after as many years as he'd been missing.

Well, if this was what the hero of the Wizarding World wanted to do with his life, she wasn't going to naysay him. His lack of reaction to her name puzzled her, however, and she scanned the book stacks for her son.

"Draco," she called, waving him over. "Would you like yours signed, too?" She gave him a pointed look, and then looked deliberately at Harry, who was oblivious. Draco nodded, hurrying over, and in an ungainly act completely unbecoming of a Malfoy, tripped over the hem of his trousers upon seeing who was seated behind the table. He landed face first on the thinly carpeted floor.

Narcissa gathered her scattered wits. "Harry, may I present my son, Draco."

Harry had stood and come around the table when he'd fallen, and extended a hand to help him up. "Hello, Draco," he said. "Are you alright down there?"

Draco hauled himself up, ignoring the offered hand, and immediately set about staring him down. Harry allowed him to conduct his inspection in silence. "May I help you?" He asked, after the staring had gone on for an extended period of time.

"Potter," Draco said finally, and was surprised when a blonde girl attached herself to his side.

"Har! I found you! Why didn't you tell me where you were going, you dolt? I had to look all over the bloody store for you, and it wasn't until someone told me you were out front signing that I even thought to come up here and check."

"Shawn, guests!" Harry said, turning an apologetic smile on the dumbfounded pair of Malfoys. She turned too, tucking a highlighted chunk of hair behind her ears.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" She said. "I see you've met our resident celebrity."

Mother and son exchanged a bewildered look, twin expressions of confusement on their faces. "Harry Evans," Shawna went on, ignoring their silence. "Of course, if you're a fan of the Terre books, you probably know him as Ellie, eh? Oh, Har, look who else showed up."

She held her hand out, and a black bird settled on it, cawing. Draco flinched back, until he remembered that the author had stated they lived with a crow, a snake, and a cat. Harry took the bird from her, cuddling it, and turned another smile on the two. "Thank you for coming, Ms. Malfoy, Draco." He returned to his seat, and Shawna sat on the table next to him until he swatted at her to get into the seat they'd set up for her.

"Do you know them?" Narcissa heard her ask, and Harry shook his head.

"Never seen them before in my life. What I can remember of it, anyway. At any rate, he said all my friends died in the crash."

She steered Draco away from the table. "We'll come back in a minute to get your book signed."

"Forget it, I don't want it anymore." He sounded petulant and childish, and Narcissa resisted the urge to smack the back of his head.

"You're going to stop reading the books just because Potter wrote them?" she asked. "Never find out what happened to Seren and Neirin, because if you don't read it I'm not telling you -" She was cut off by Draco's exclamation.

"Sweet Merlin," he breathed. "Potter wrote those stories! He wrote himself into Seren and... oh ... ugh."

Narcissa couldn't help the laugh that burst out, and she covered her mouth and doubled over with the humour in the thought of Potter writing what was essentially love stories about himself and Draco. Draco gave her a dirty look in response, knowing exactly why she was laughing. Still, it occurred to her that Potter wouldn't have reacted that way to seeing Draco after all those years. Not if their previous 'relationship' was anything to go by, not if he'd been writing novels about him. He should have been shocked, embarrassed, angry, anything but sweet and polite.

"Didn't you think there was something a little bit off about him?" Draco asked suddenly, echoing her thoughts.

"There was," she replied. 'Never seen them before. Not that I can remember. Harry's words repeated themselves to her, and her methodical mind began putting together the clues. Obliviated, and disappeared. Suddenly appearing five years later with no apparent memory.

"Shit," Draco said suddenly. "Mum, where is Godric's Hollow?" She glanced at him, taking in the stricken face and white skin.

"About fifteen minutes west of here," she replied, watching his face turn even whiter. "Why?"

"I've got to tell you something."

*

An attractive man appeared shortly after the Malfoy's had gone on. Harry guessed that he was in his late thirties, or perhaps his early fourties, and wished that Shawna was with him to help him judge. She'd gone home to check on Faydra and Kushiel, however, and take Imriel back to the house, and Harry was on his own.

"I'm a big fan of your books," he said, his voice gruff. "And the way you write brings your characters to life."

"Thank you," Harry said, offering him a smile. "What's your name?"

"Rodolphus," he said, peering down at Harry as he signed the book.

A few metres away, Narcissa pulled away from her son, horrified. "You what?!" It was more of a shriek than anything. Draco had confided of having taken Potter to the town after he'd obliviated himself. In the chaos and confusion that followed Voldemort's destruction, it had slipped his mind, and on top of everything else, he'd never thought to go back.

"I'm sorry, mum, but I - Uncle Rodolphus?"

Narcissa turned, frowning, and gasped as she saw her brother-in-law bent over the table, glowering at a confused Potter. Evans, she corrected herself automatically, wondering where his new name had come from if he'd obliviated himself.

"That could be bad," Draco murmured, and edged closer.

"You killed my wife!" Rodolphus growled. "You filthy muggle-lover, you'll pay!"

He drew his wand, and Harry paled. He shouldn't have known what that was, not if he'd obliviated himself to the point of living like a muggle, and Draco couldn't move fast enough. "Potter!" he called, and was surprised when Harry turned to him. He made some sort of vague gesture - he wasn't sure if he was telling Harry to move towards him or to back away from Lestrange, but Harry lunged for him, dodging Lestrange who gave an outraged bellow.

They were drawing attention from the nearby muggles, and Draco drew his wand. "What the hell are you people?!" Harry demanded, as Draco knocked Rodolphus off his feet and out cold. He and Narcissa began obliviating the people who'd seen and heard, and Harry stood by him, trembling.

"I've dreamt of you," he said quietly. "I dreamt you waved that at me and said something, and I said something nasty in return. It's in my book, actually." He was nervous, and babbling because of it. "I've seen you before, too. I was in my garden one day, and I imagined you. Why are you real? Are you real? Am I dreaming?"

"You're babbling," Narcissa said smoothly sitting him back at his table. "It'll be alright." She pointed her wand at his head, and he looked up at her, miserable.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked, and she shook her head, wondering how Harry Potter could have been reduced to this.

"Obliviate," she said quietly, and Harry's eyes went blank as she rearranged his memories of the past half hour. When he blinked up at her, she smiled, tucking her wand back into her belt. "Thank you for signing my book," she said. "Maybe you'd best get home, though."

"Yes, thank you," Harry said automatically. "Please enjoy the third novel." He stood mechanically, and gathered his things.

As he climbed awkwardly into his car, Narcissa cast a lightweight tracking charm on it. Vehicles were much easier to keep track of than humans, at any rate. "Draco, follow him for me, and find out where he's been all these years. You may get something good out of this yet."

Draco looked put out at having to follow them, but agreed, charming a muggle into it.

*

Draco watched Harry pull into a nice house, closing the garage behind him, and got out of the car after nearly causing an accident to get the driver to stop. Wondering what sort of plot his mum had up her sleeve this time, he walked up to Harry's house, taking in the surroundings.

The garden was well tended, the flowers everywhere but not in the way or overbearing. There was a large willow tree in the corner nearest the street, and the privacy hedges kept it all inside, his own private garden. The house itself was large, one story tall, and looked well kept. He knocked on the door, thinking about what he'd ask from his mother for this errand she'd sent him on. Harry answered, and looked puzzled for a moment.

"Oh, hello!" he said, finally placing Draco's face. "You're Draco Malfoy, aren't you? Come in, would you like some tea?"

It was Harry Potter's face, and Harry Potter's voice, but it was obvious that his obliviation had done it's dirty work. Draco acted accordingly, pretending as if the first time they'd met was earlier that afternoon. "Yes, thank you," he said, deciding to snoop. Pulling his wand, he whispered "Stupefy," and caught Harry as he fell, laying him out on the floor. His house was immaculately clean, almost to the point that Draco was afraid to touch anything. The bedroom was the only room that looked lived in, although it too was neat to the point of obsession. There was a small snake curled around a black cat on the middle of the bed, and he went curiously into the closet. Normal clothes sat tidily organized by colour, except at the very back. Draco pushed the other things out of his way, and was gratified to see Hogwarts robes, and at least two Gryffindor ties. There was a stack of post-it notes stuck together on a long box that Draco would have recognized if he were three hundred and obliviated; a wand. He picked up the notes first, and flipped through them. They were old looking, and frail, and had inane things like 'the cat's name is Faydra' and 'this is your bedroom.' written on them.

As he glanced through the notes, he realized all of a sudden that Potter had planned it in advance. He'd gone through his home, leaving notes for himself to remind him of the things he'd forget when he obliviated himself, and then gone and fought Voldemort, done the deed, and had some unsuspecting good samaritan - in this case, Draco himself - bring him back to the small town.

He picked up the wand box, and ignored the note. This wasn't the wand that had killed Voldemort, but it was the one that had nearly killed him once. He put it back, and returned to Harry's side, affecting a worried look once Harry opened his eyes.

"Are you alright? You suddenly fainted." Draco said, lying through his teeth. Harry nodded.

"I'm... fine, I think. I'm sorry." He looked embarrased, and Draco hated this new and too polite Harry. He wanted the old firey Potter back, and sighed.

"Would you come out with me for lunch?" he asked suddenly, remembering that there was a cafe nearby. Harry looked pleased, nodding.

"Alright, if you're not worried that I'll topple over again," he joked, and Draco felt his lips tighten into a thin line, thinking again of this new Potter and how much he didn't like him already.

"You'll be fine," Draco said tersely, and Harry lead him out of the house and down the road. Draco, lost in his thoughts, stepped off the sidewalk at an intersection, and kept going. He turned to see the car too late, and froze.

Luckily, Harry didn't, and threw up both his hands. The car stopped centimetres from Draco's body, and all three look stunned. The wheels continued to turn, burning against the asphalt road, but the car had stopped dead. Draco hurried back to Harry's side, and he released the car, jerking backwards as the driver lost control momentarily and swerved.

"Merlin's great beard, Potter! Do you have any idea what you've just done?" Draco was terrified, his heart pounding and his mind racing with the knowledge that he had been seconds from death - or at least a very messy end to his day.

"Saved you?" Harry suggested, looking somewhat wan. Draco checked the street thoroughly for any more cars, and ushered Harry into the cafe.
"Yes. Saved me. Thank you. No, you dolt you just used more wandless and voiceless magic in five seconds than I've ever seen in my entire life!" Draco was hysterical, and he knew it, but Harry's spectacular display of power was overwhelming - not to mention the events that had brought about said display.

Draco decided then and there that he hated muggles, and their machines. Harry was giving him a look that said that he was behaving like a raving loony again, and if he wanted to keep whatever shred of digninty he had left he'd better shut his mouth. He did so.

Harry peered at him curiously. "I know it's not telekinesis," he said, and Draco watched in amazement as a few of the sugar packets rose out of their glass box and began to dance around the table. He blinked as they suddenly changed into sweet 'n low packets. "Because I can change things." They incinerated themselves, and the ashes blew away under the force of the fans above. "And burn them. Wandless and voiceless... Magic? Really? You know how I can do this?"

Harry was asking him to open up the Wizarding world to him again, fling open the door that he'd already begun to unblock on his own. He had a moment of hesitation...

"Yes. You're a wizard, Harry. You spent seven years of your life going to a school for witchcraft and wizardry, and after which you killed the most evil man known to our society. You still have your wand in your closet."

Harry looked a bit shell shocked, but seemed to absorb this readily. "Why is it so extraordinary, what I did?" He asked finally.

Draco mentally sighed. Of the thousands of things he could have chosen to ask, why did it have to be that? "Most people use their wands to -" he paused, pulled his wand out, and cast muffliato. "Most people use their wands to focus their magic and direct it out of their bodies, and into whatever they want it to do. Most magic requires words, or spells. Charms, hexes, incantations and the like."

"What was that you just did?" Harry asked, motioning to his wand.

"I cast a spell to muffle our conversation. It's not something we wizards want out with the non magical people. Muggles, we call them." Harry looked pensive.

"That man called me a filthy muggle lover," he said. "Does he mean that I sympathize with these non-magic folk?"

Draco blinked at him, feeling like he was dealing with a child. "Yes," he said. "Harry, you live like a muggle, dress, act, and think like one, and to people like him, that's the worst thing a wizard can do." He didn't add that he used to be one of those people like Lestrange, and he didn't wonder why he'd thought of that in the past tense.

He watched as a light came on in those wide green eyes, and braced himself for the next question. "I dreamt of you," he said, repeating his words from the book signing. "You were pointing your... wand... at me, and you said something." Harry scrunched up his face, trying to think of it, and then nodded. "You said, 'cruci' at me," he said, and Draco's face drained of all colour. "Do you have your copy of Star Magic with you?" Harry asked, and Draco handed the book over silently. Harry flipped through to near the end of the book. "I wrote this after I dreamt of you," he said, and pointed out the passage with the sectumsempra spell. "I thought it was just a dream, but... was it really real?"

There was an odd tone to Harry's voice, something deeper that wasn't there before, and Draco caught it but didn't register it until it was too late. "Yes, it was real. It happened at the school we attended - Harry?"

Harry's face had become a pasty white, and he swayed in his seat. "Harry?" Draco tried again, reaching for him. Harry's expression turned horrified.

"I nearly killed you?" he whispered, staring at Draco's chest as though he expected blood to come pouring out of it at any moment.

"Hey," Draco said, pushing at Harry's hands. "I'm alright, see? You nearly killed me, but didn't quite finish the deed. Do you want to know more about magic?"

This was a suitable distraction for the moment, though Draco had the feeling that the conversation was far from over.

Harry listened with stunned amazement at the tales Draco wove of Hogwarts and learning to use magic, and playing the game called quidditch.

"I was there by accident," Draco said, his voice lowering. Harry leaned in to hear him better. Neither had noticed the day growing later, but the street lamp flickering to life startled them both. "I don't even know why, now. But I saw you kill him. Voldemort. He was a very bad man, Harry. He wanted to rule the world. But you, you should have been happy. He was dead and you were free, and a hero, you could have had anything, but instead I saw you crying."

As Draco spoke, the words faded into the background, and an image coalesced in his mind. Sitting down near the remains of something large and nasty, a strange pen and paper in his hand. He was writing the letter to himself, tucking the plastic cards into it and sealing it with his wand. He spoke the words...

"Obliviate," Harry and Draco said at the same time. Draco looked up at him, startled.

"You remember?" Harry shook his head.

"No," he whispered. "I don't think. I can see myself. I'm sitting near a body, and I'm writing the letter I found. Then I pointed the wand at my head, and then there's nothing. It's exactly how you said it was." Except that he knew why he was crying. "I was crying... because Ron. Herm...y? And the weezles. They're dead. They're killed by... d...d...?"

"Death Eaters?" Draco supplied, and Harry blinked up at him.

"I remember," he whispered. "They were all killed by men in robes and white masks. I was so afraid."

Draco was reaching out for Harry - whether to comfort him or smack some sense into him, he didn't know - when the wall collapsed inwards, and a furious Rodolphus stood in the hole he'd created.

"I knew I'd find you here, Potter!" He bellowed, and Harry threw himself out of his seat, bolting.

"Draco, what's he doing here?!" He asked, trembling.

"He's a Death Eater," Draco supplied. "He's one of the only ones left." Lestrange pushed through the throng of muggles, ignoring them all. His eyes focused solely on Potter. "I think he wants revenge for his wife." Draco added, perfectly capable of stopping Lestrange on his own but wondering what Harry would do. Would he run like the terrified muggles, or would he use that incredible power of his to stop him?

Lestrange ran up against what might have been a solid brick wall - had it been visible. Harry's hands were outstreched and there was sweat running down his face as he strugged to think and hold the wall at the same time. Draco made the decision for him, not liking the look on Lestrange's face.

Grabbing Harry by his jacket, he hauled him up. Lestrange bellowed a curse, and Draco felt himself falling as Harry pushed him out of the way of it. The next thing Draco was aware of was Harry's screaming, and the fact that Lestrange had just cast the cruciatus curse on him. Grabbing him again, Draco ran until the spell stopped, at which point he needed to stop as well. Harry trembled against him, spasms jerking his muscles in the aftermath of the curse.

"What was that? What did he do?" Harry whimpered. Draco turned in the direction of Harry's home, watching the muggle authorities trying to contain the enraged Lestrange out of the corner of his eye.

"There are three spells that are unforgiveable." Draco explained wearily, aware that Harry had taken the spell for him. "They're called, unoriginally, the unforgiveables. The Cruciatus curse is one of them. It causes pain. I'm sure you've noticed. The Imperius curse is another. It gives the caster complete control over the actions of another person. The final one is the killing curse." He didn't need to explain that one, and Harry didn't ask for further details. He simply leaned heavily on Draco, trusting him to take him home.

Draco wondered when he'd become worthy of that trust, and decided to think about it later.

---
TBC

Gah. The last few chapters were short, and I wanted this one to be uber long, because I'm leaving soon for a few days, and won't be able to update, so I wanted to give you guys something for it. Unfortunately, I've got to be up early in the morning, and can't write any more.

Please review!