It was raining. There was blood all over the deserted field around him. Blood of the light, and blood of the dark. In the battlefield it mixed together. It soaked into the already moist grasses, staining them a dark burgundy. Beaten, battered, barely recognizable bodies lay dormant, scattered haphazardly on the ground before him. A young man, not much older than Harry himself, was staring unseeingly up at the grey sky. From the shape he was in, it was impossible to tell what side he had been on. Harry passed the boy, sealing his heart, willing himself not to feel, not to think.

Harry crouched, hidden from view by the tall grasses surrounding him. He muttered a few spells to heal the minor cuts and bruises he had acquired. Mud was caked onto his damp clothes; dirt felt like it was filling every crevice of his skin. He was dirty, sore, tired, and scared. But he was in place. This was where Draco was going to meet him, within the next few moments, to tell him Voldemort’s whereabouts. His anxiety was clearly visible as his shaky wand hand went up to wipe the rain water that kept dripping down into his face. Rain water. At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

Harry heard a strange splashing sound from behind him, and as he turned he realized that there was a small pond hidden there amid the grass. Wand raised, his mind was all ready with the incantation when he realized it was just a family of ducks. There were seven ducklings following the brown flecked mother duck around the perimeter of the water. He gazed at them for several moments, before regretfully shuffling back to the edge of the grass, where he could see without being seen.

Across the deserted field, Harry eventually saw a black hooded figure emerge from the wood. The Death Eater glanced around warily before beginning to walk quickly along the forest’s edge, heading in his direction. He tensed, almost hexing the figure, before he noticed the scarlet edging on the sleeves of the dark black cloak. He had charmed the edges of that cloak himself, so that he and the other members of the light would not harm him on accident. It was Draco, and as he came closer Harry could make out a stray lock of white-blond hair that was sticking out of the bottom of his hood.

Draco’s boots splattered the ground, making sticky noises every time they rose back up to take another step. It was because of the rain, Harry told himself. The rain, and the mud. The ground was messy and sloppy and hard to walk across because of the rain, no other reason. Dammit, not blood, not blood from the dozens of people he had killed in the passed three days, no, definitely not blood. Harry shivered and put his arms around his knees as he crouched there in the tall grass, waiting.

He realized he had lost sight of Draco, and for a moment wasn’t sure what had happened, until he heard something shifting in the grass to his left. Draco had left a few feet of space between them, but Harry could sense him there, just out of reach, crouching low to the ground, just like him. The other boy didn’t say anything as he reached up and pulled his hood off roughly, staring down at it in his hands, fingering it gingerly, disbelievingly.

Harry turned, and when he saw Draco he felt like he was looking at the sun. His blond head had amazingly stayed clean, and amid the misery all around him he was shining. His pale skin glowed in sharp contrast to the dark cloak, to the storm-cloudy day. The mud sticking to him didn’t seem to take away any of his natural radiance. Harry’s heart was pounding so hard that he thought it might kill him. And then, in the middle of the barren moor, with nothing surrounding him but death and guilt and horrid responsibility, and no real thoughts except depressing and frightening ones, Draco turned his silvery-blue gaze onto Harry.

Into Harry’s mind flooded something that he hadn’t felt in days - feeling. He didn’t feel overwhelming hope, but he didn’t feel completely afraid anymore. The sight of this boy made him think of home. Of Hogwarts. Of his parents. Of snowball fights. Of the chocolate cake Draco had baked him on his last birthday. It had sunk in the oven, and Draco had been upset, but Harry revered it above all other cakes he had ever received. This boy gave his heart a reason to believe, a meaning to this fight.

“You almost hexed me back there, didn’t you, Potter?” Draco asked with his drawl in place, taking in the emerald eyes staring back at him, full of raw emotion. He kidded harmlessly, hoping to bring a smile to the other boy’s face, but under the conditions he knew it was foolish to hope that. He couldn’t smile, either. He wasn’t sure he even remembered how. Harry did not answer him.

Something was on fire in Draco’s heart, and half of the time he thought it was his hatred and revulsion of Voldemort, of having to pretend and kill and sacrifice and lie. But the other half of the time, he knew that the fierce feelings of passion deep within him were all because of the completely filthy boy crouching beside him. And he knew he would do anything for him. He would do anything so that Harry could be happy. He hated what Harry had to do. He hated the prophecy and Dumbledore for dying, and he hated the fact that he had just arrived in this grassy plot after having killed Vincent Crabbe, his best childhood friend. He had killed him without a second thought. Sacrifice. There had to be sacrifice in this world for anything good to come of it. Had to be. God. But why?

“Are you doing all right?” Draco asked quietly, but no answer this time, either. Harry’s gaze, however, never wavered. Draco got onto his knees and made his way across the few feet that separated them, taking Harry’s hands in his.

“Harry?” Draco’s voice was unusually small and worried. At the sound of his name, Harry’s head drooped and he looked down at their interlocked fingers.

“I’m fine,” he whispered, and a tear rolled down his cheek. Rain still fell lightly around them, completely disproving the tear’s existence, but something in the tone of his voice spoke volumes to Draco.

On their knees in the mud, Draco carefully began to slip his arms around him, and was completely taken by surprise when Harry violently threw his arms around him first.

Harry had been upset for days but he hadn’t been able to conceive of crying until this moment. Draco held him, one arm pulling him tighter against him while the other hand held his head, stroking his hair, and Harry sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder. Draco wanted to tell him that everything would be okay, but he couldn’t be sure of that, and he wouldn’t lie to him. He wanted to tell him that this would all be over soon. That none of this mattered. The only thing that mattered was the two of them together. The rest was just a bad dream, some crazy joke.

A joke?

Harry became quiet, but he seemed quite adamant about holding on tightly to Draco. Draco, of course, had no qualms about this. Without losing their hold on one another, they managed to slide down to sit a bit more comfortably, even if they were still in the mud. The horror beyond their little haven of high grass and mud was a joke.

“What was that prank you all played on me last month, Harry? Jeez, has it only been a month since then?” Draco mumbled softly. Harry pulled away slightly, just enough to see his face clearly, but in all other ways remained clamped to Draco.

“It wasn’t my prank,” Harry told him in a voice so low it was almost a whisper.

Almost the whole of the Order had been living out of 12 Grimmauld Place in the months before the raging war had begun. Draco had a room there for when he wasn’t with Voldemort, spying. Ever since the day of Dumbledore’s death, Draco had known his path’s true direction. He was accepted there by most, but by Ronald Weasley the very least.

Ron and Draco had taken to pulling pranks on each other around the house. Ron set scorpions upon Draco’s breakfast cereal, and then Draco had set spiders upon Ron in his sleep. Ron had retaliated with one of Fred and George’s Wizarding Wheezes, one of the newest in their line of goods, the Bludger Bogey Taffy. Once Draco had reversed the effects and apologized to Kingsley Shacklebolt for hitting him in the eye with flying bogey, Harry had had to physically restrain Draco from attacking Ron on the staircase.

It was then that it had become apparent to Ron and Hermione standing below them, whose suspicions were now confirmed, that there was something going on between the two of them. Uneasiness had filled the hall, until Ron’s face soured and he shoved passed them and on to his room, angrily slamming the door. Hermione stood there awkwardly for a moment, but with a knowing half smile on her face as she took in her best friend and the one he had decided to love. She decided then that she had better go and check on Ron, leaving the two staring at each other in disbelief, and possibly even in relief of no longer being forced to keep things secret.

That night Ron had slipped a dream potion into Draco’s evening pumpkin juice. Nobody had known about his little scheme, least of all Harry. That night, the two were together in Draco’s room, asleep, until Draco began screaming, awake but still asleep, alive inside a living nightmare.

When he finally came to, with half the house roused as well, wondering what was going on, he refused to tell Harry anything about the dream. The only reason he knew that the dream had been induced by potion was because his own father had used the same method as a type of punishment. That was the only thing he told Harry. Fuming, Harry got up to find Ron and have a little talk with him.

“Why would you say that? It wasn’t my prank. I would never do something like that to you, Draco…”

“I know you wouldn’t. I know. It was only a dream. Just like this, Harry. This place is just one big stupid nightmare, but we’re both stuck inside it together.”

“Together?”

“I’d never let you go anywhere without me, you prat. Of course together.”

“Draco?”

“What is it?”

They were sitting Indian-style in the mud, knees touching, faces close together, hands reaching out to grasp the other’s.

“Tell me about something that’s not a dream, Draco. Please. Tell me something.”

“Well,” Draco thought. “I love you, Harry Potter, and that’s certainly not a dream.”

Harry looked up quickly, the very faintest of a smile upon his face before the expression moved upwards on his features and only his eyes showed any visible sign of happiness.
Draco’s heart skipped a beat at the gesture, and suddenly he knew exactly what to say.

“I love you too, you. What else?” Harry asked, letting go of Draco’s hands and placing them up on Draco’s shoulders. Draco followed suit and put his hands around Harry’s waist.

“That night. What was it – three, four nights ago now?” A slight, mischievous smile began to form on Draco’s face.

“Mm, what night?” Harry asked.

“The night we… well… you know.” Draco actually blushed, and Harry offered a knowing look, but nothing more.

It was the night before they left to fight. Their last night together that was guaranteed. After this, who could say? Nobody knew what the outcome of the war would be. This haunted everyone in the household of 12 Grimmauld Place, but none more painfully than Harry and Draco. Such a short time ago they had fallen in love. Such a short, bittersweet amount of time they had had together. They needed to make this night last forever, they needed to make these memories so that they could have hope.

They lay together, sprawled out on Draco’s bed.

“What’s something that you’ve always dreamed of doing? With someone else, I mean. A fantasy, I guess.” Harry blushed, and Draco smiled, pinching his cheeks playfully.

“My biggest fantasy, Harry, has ironically already been fulfilled.” Harry sat up on his elbows, rubbing his cheeks and giving the blond haired boy a very suspicious look.

“Hey, now…”

“Harry! Just wait until I finish. I said ironically because my biggest fantasy… has always been to just be your friend.”

“That’s not really what I meant.”

“Aren’t you glad I’m your friend?” Draco asked inquiringly.

“I’m glad you’re more than my friend,” Harry said matter-of-factly, and Draco smiled at him.

“Well. I’m glad too.”

“Good.”

“Yes, good.”

“How about that fantasy of yours?”

That’s how they ended up in the large, claw-footed bath-tub together. It was old, probably as old as the house itself, but in very good condition. It was large enough to fit them both comfortably, yet snugly. The tub was full of steaming water and filled to the brim with lavender scented bubbles. Draco had insisted on lighting some candles, and when he transfigured some red rose petals to scatter across the floor, Harry just stared.

“Hey, you asked, and it’s my fantasy, remember?”

“Okay - sure.”

When they stepped in, some water spilled onto the floor, and Harry’s Muggle-upbringing really showed when he tried to clean up the mess by hand. Harry had one foot in the tub and one out and was just leaning over to grab the towels when Draco, who was already seated and luxuriating, leaned and picked up his wand, magicking the water away.

Harry stared at him exasperatingly, but with a hint of a smile on his face before he took off his glasses, reaching to place them on the sink. “Thanks for that.”

“Anytime.” Draco stared at his lover’s body, taking in every detail, trying to memorize him. Every time he saw Harry naked, he was left in awe. He was completely gorgeous. Quidditch had given him the most amazing build. Broad shoulders, tan skin, and the most amazing stomach. Harry still seemed so self conscious, standing there, looking down at him, blushing. Didn’t he know that he was beautiful? Didn’t he know that more than anything else in the entire world, Draco wanted him? That under these bubbles, he was hard for him?

“God, Harry - get in here.” Harry obliged, and immediately Draco regretted making his request, because now his body was no longer fully visible.

“No - over here,” Draco motioned for Harry to scoot over to his side of the tub. If he couldn’t see him, he wanted to feel him. Harry raised his eyebrows and smiled knowingly, but said nothing, creeping forward until he was on his knees facing Draco, in between his legs.

“Lay down,” Draco whispered softly, both hands reaching out to Harry.

“How?”

“Like this…” Draco took Harry’s hands and pulled him forward, draping Harry’s arms around his neck. “Now sink. Stretch out your legs.”

As soon as Harry’s body sunk close enough to touch Draco’s, their cocks met and an electrical current flowed through both boys. Standing there with Draco’s eyes upon him had half-hardened Harry, but the mixture of warm water, romantic atmosphere, and the desire in Draco’s eyes had worked wonders. Both boys rocked towards each other, cocks grinding. Harry held on to his lover’s neck and wrapped one leg around Draco’s to keep their bodies close, their erections closer, pushing them together, stomachs as a baseboard.

Harry leaned in and kissed him, taking Draco by surprise. Draco’s hands rubbed up and down Harry’s body, gripping his arse, scratching his back, pulling him towards him, making their dicks collide again and again. Harry nibbled playfully at Draco’s ear and a moan elicited. Harry’s hands began to roam, finding their way under Draco’s arms and wrapping hid own arms around him there, licking his neck and chest, planting soft kisses here and there along his jaw line.

“Harry…” a strangled whisper

“What do you want, Draco? Anything you want, it’s yours,” Harry whispered into his ear. He brought his hands up to cup Draco’s face, leaning forward to kiss him, when –

“Hold on.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Harry asked, sitting back, completely confused.

“Your hands, I can feel it on my face, they’re all pruney already! How can that be, you’ve only been in for five minutes!”

“Are you kidding?” Harry asked. “That’s the big deal?”

“Of course it is! That’s so unappealing…”

Harry smirked, something he had picked up from Draco, and put his hands in front of Draco’s face, taunting him.

“Ugh, come on! Potter!”

“This is still your fantasy, Malfoy.” Harry gave Draco a cheeky look, raising one eyebrow, before plunging both hands below the water.

“Wait! And just to clear things up, I want nothing to do with your wrinkly bits. Never mind the fantasy!”

But when Harry’s hands had grabbed hold of his cock, he sucked in his breath and leaned into his touch, giving an entirely different meaning to the word unappealing. Harry, using both hands, stroked him up and down, slow and light at first. Draco’s hands gripped the sides of the tub and he stared into Harry’s eyes as he performed his ministrations. He had never been so locked onto an image before, the emerald eyes holding him prisoner. Harry’s speed and pressure increased and one hand left to pull at his balls and Draco moaned.

“Draco… I need you… inside me. I need it,” Harry said huskily.

“No… don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me. Please.”

Draco didn’t need to be prompted a third time. Draco grabbed Harry’s hips as Harry almost regretfully let go of his cock, wrapping his legs around Draco’s waist instead. They looked into each other’s eyes and neither made any movements for a moment.

“I really do love you. That’s why this is okay,” Harry whispered, because he saw Draco’s eyes and he could read his boyfriend like a book, and he knew that he was worried for some silly reason like maybe regretting it later.

“Are you sure? God, the last thing I want is to hurt you…”

“I said that you won’t hurt me… I’ve been getting ready for this.” Harry blushed. Draco smiled.

“That’s good, but that wasn’t what I meant.”

Harry bit his lip. “Oh.”

“Harry, I know that I am in love with you. And there’s nothing that I want more than to be with you like this. Is this what you want? Are you sure that you love me enough for this?”

“I already told you…” Harry said, giddy, almost laughing, as he wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck. “You’re so worried, Draco. For nothing. Because I love you. I fucking love you. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. Is that enough love for you?”

Draco answered the question by wrapping his arms around Harry and kissing those velvety lips. Their tongues met as one of Draco’s hands lowered, positioning himself beneath his lover’s hole. Harry felt the slight pressure there and wiggled almost precariously on top of it, the water making such movement entirely possible.

Harry’s eyes burned into Draco’s, full of passion and desire, and Draco could no longer hold back. Slowly, he entered Harry, filling him up slowly but surely. Harry squeezed his eyes tight, as if expecting great pain, but he received none, so he opened them again and began to make out with his lover for affirmation as soon as he was balls deep. Draco rocked back and forth gently, not wanting to be so forceful right away, but not knowing how much longer he could hold out. It felt like heaven on Earth inside of his lover. Harry’s body was so close to him, he could cradle him in his arms and protect him from the world this way.

Draco began to move faster, and Harry began to move with him. One of Harry’s hands was in between them, stroking his own dick there. Draco brought his hand around to help, the both of them rubbing up and down together, at the same time moving their bodies in perfect synch. Their eyes never looked away. They could feel it. The perfectness of this moment. There was absolutely nothing that could hold them back now, absolutely nothing that was more beautiful or more meaningful than this. Draco’s insecurity about being really loved was falling away before his eyes, and Harry was discovering that there was going to really and truly be someone waiting for him to come back home. This was more than either of them had ever known in their lives, this perfect and true love. Both of them came at the same time, shuddering and crying out, holding each other until their bodies had calmed.

"So. You wanted nothing to do with my wrinkly bits, hmm?"

“It felt like a dream,” Harry whispered now, mud soaking through his pants, though the rain seemed to be coming to a stop. His arms were up on Draco’s shoulders, and Draco’s arms were on Harry’s waist.

“It felt like one, but that’s only because it was a dream come true. A good dream, Harry. Not this kind of nightmare.”

“When this is all over, we’re going to get a place together, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are,” Draco reassured, though he felt tears forming in his eyes at the idea of something coming in the way of that.

“We’re gonna get the nicest place. And we can go shopping for furniture! And paint. We’ll hire a decorator, and we’ll get everything in shades of red and gold and green and silver, because that’s us… that’s you and me, Draco.”

Draco would not let Harry see him cry. There would be no rain now to hide behind, and anyway, he was sure Harry would know, just as he had known. He grabbed the other boy and pulled him into his arms, letting his silent tears fall on Harry’s shoulder, unseen. They stayed that way for a long time, just breathing in the scent of each other, feeling each other’s closeness, whispering I love you, and please don’t cry.

All too soon, Draco pulled away slowly, reaching into his cloak. He pulled out a folded piece of parchment, handing it to Harry. Harry opened it, read for several moments before furrowing his brow in thought. Then he nodded solemnly. He knew what he had to do. He had to do it right now. Today. It was the moment he had been waiting for since he was one year old. It was now, or never. He folded the parchment and handed it back.

“That’s all you need?” Draco asked before replacing it.

Harry nodded. “That’s it.”

“Harry.”

“Hmm?”

“Will you be by yourself?” Draco asked, face creased in fear.

“I have to do it myself. You know that.”

“I know.” Draco hated that fact more than anything in the world. “I know, I just…”

“You’ve given me everything. And I just hope that after this is all over, I can give you… everything.”

Draco swallowed. “Let me be there. Oh, don’t get that flustered look, no one will even know I’m there, I’ll hide, I’ll just wait there, to take care of you, after it’s over, God, please let me just be there somehow, Harry…” The look in Draco’s eye was pained, pleading and determined, and Harry knew that he wouldn’t be able to change his mind. Even if he refused, he knew that the idea was now in his sneaky Slytherin’s head and that he would be there, hiding, anyway.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes. I want you there, okay? You’ll take care of me. You’ll pick me up and bring me to our nice new place after this is all over, Draco. You will do that, okay?”

“I’ll do anything you want.” Draco kissed him. It was a swift, passionate kiss, and the emotion and fear running through each of their veins heightened the sensitivity. One more fleeting kiss, and the two helped each other to their feet.

They did their best to ignore the carnage and brutality displayed in the field before them. They used the woods to travel by so they didn’t have to be completely surrounded by the death. Whatever fate lay in store for the dark haired boy, he knew that he had lived what life he had to the very fullest. He hoped, prayed, that tomorrow, he would still be there, alive, able to hold Draco’s hand like this. Dumbledore always told him that his greatest power was merely the power to love. If that was truth, then there was absolutely no way Harry would lose.

fin.