55Chapter 17: ASTTWT 6: I Will Do Anything to Get You
And so the Tables Were Turned …, part six: I Will Do Anything to Get You Back
Darkness. Silence. Cold. Inner cold. A soul-cold. His soul had an emotional cold caused by betrayal. He felt numb, sedated … yet he was wide awake. It was as if he was falling through an eternal spiral of pain, just falling, falling, falling … deeper into nothingness. Into despair—and longing.
He longed to feel Harry's arms around him once more, longed to hear his dark, sexy, semi-hoarse voice whisper obscene invitations in his ear, longed to be kissed, to be touched, to be loved …
He dreamt strange dreams at night, and even though they were no nightmares they still depressed and frightened him. He dreamt that he was home again, that Harry had apologised and that everything was fine again. They had their own bodies again, and they had their new baby—a beautiful little boy with thick, blond hair just like his father's. They were talking again—about everything, sharing everything—and they were making love again, sometimes tenderly and gently, and sometimes it was just plain hard-core sex. Sometimes it was rather kinky, even—but still nice.
All nice. They were nice dreams, yet he felt betrayed by them because they did not show the him truth; they showed him a reality he wanted and desired, it was not the true reality.
"I hate you," he said aloud to the empty room.
He was not sure whether it was directed at Harry or at himself—or at them both. All he knew was that he had a strong hatred inside of himself, and it was impossible to deny it.
"I hate you."
The silence became oppressive sometimes, but when it did, he would simply pull the quilt up over his head and pretend that he was somewhere else. Later, when the fear had subsided, he would pull the quilt back down and continue to stare up at the curved ceiling. Sometimes he forgot to eat, but he did not care much. For each day that passed, he hoped that Harry would come to get him, and for every day that he did not come, he hated him a little more.
"I hate you …" Tears came to his eyes, and his voice sounded whiny and silly. He snivelled and closed his eyes. Oh, he missed James. He missed his baby, his wonderful little baby …
He wanted his baby back.
He wanted his body back so Harry would love him again.
"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you … I love you …"
A tear fell down onto the pillow.
And as the sun set and the last light faded around the edges of the boarded-up window, Draco fell into a troubled sleep.
"I miss you …"
"Tell me already!" he yelled at her indifferent face. "Tell me, for fuck's sake! Where – is – he?!"
Her eyes were as cold and disliking as they had been for the past week. She stubbornly turned away. "I've already told you a hundred zillion times—I – don't – know."
He slammed his fists down into the table. "Liar! Tell me!"
"I don't know where he is! He just left without saying a word about where he was going, and how am I supposed to know how my deranged brother's mind works? You should find it easier to solve that puzzle because you're the one who made him go insane!"
"Dammit!" Harry walked over to the kitchen counter. He ran his fingers through his thick, blond hair. He knew what he was doing was fruitless, and he knew that yelling at Piper was wrong because she did not really have any fault in Draco's disappearance, but yelling meant hearing Draco's voice exactly the way he remembered it—angry, demanding, impatient—and Harry savoured it like a piece of the finest Swiss chocolate. He needed to hear his lover yell at something, because it kept his hope alive.
He turned to her anew. "Why didn't you track him or something? You can do that, right?"
"Yes, of course I can," Piper assured him and sucked on the straw that she had put into her glass of her homemade vanilla milkshake.
"So why didn't you? Why didn't you track him when he left?"
"Because this doesn't concern me—this is between you guys. I have absolutely no business interfering in this."
"But it's okay to interfere in everything else?!"
"Not everything, no. There are limits—rules."
"Oh, there are rules now, are there?"
"Yes, unwritten and unspoken rules about privacy. It's unconsciously understood by anyone smart enough to care about people."
"Oh, shut up, you're making me feel even worse … and I thought people couldn't feel this much pain without being dying … Piper, I think my soul is dying." He had to lean against the counter for support. "I need to find him. Please help me."
Piper studied him intently. Then a frown searched its way onto her forehead. Stunned, she opened her mouth and the straw fell down onto the table, leaving a sticky trace of vanilla milkshake as it rolled off the table and onto the floor. "Harry … you're shimmering!"
He knitted his brows. "What?" Looked down at himself.
He was not wearing Draco's clothes anymore—that was his jumper! But how …? "What the Hell?"
Piper rose from the table. "You're doing the exact same thing Draco did when he was … when he was crying …"
It was over in a few seconds. Draco's light green silk shirt was back, as if it had never disappeared in the first place. Harry stared down at himself in astonishment. "What just happened?"
"I don't know, I've never seen anything like it before. It's as if your inner self broke through for a second or something."
"Maybe it did. What do you mean the same thing happened to Draco when he was … crying?" He had to swallow hard to be able to say that word out loud.
Piper tried to think back. "He was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, shaking, and he was trying to hide his tears in his hands … but he couldn't hide them, they were too many. I guess he was ashamed of crying … he's always been so proud … but his sobbing gave him away. He couldn't stop sobbing, and he was almost screaming straight out from all the pain he was in … it was awful.
"And then suddenly it was as if he flashed or something … and he looked like himself. But it lasted only a fraction of a second so I wasn't even sure I'd actually seen it, you know. But now I'm sure. He flashed back for a moment. But not physically, because you were obviously still him, but for a moment his psychic energy was so strong that his soul took over his body, if you know what I mean."
Harry nodded. "I actually think I do." He was silent for a while. Then, he said, "So, you really don't know where he is?"
"No, I've already told you like a thousand times—and that's just today's count!"
"I'm sorry, Piper. It's just that … I'm worried about him. Right now, I should be taking care of him, but I can't because he's disappeared. You've got to help me find him."
She stood her ground.
"Please, Piper! It's a matter of life and death here—literally! It's not safe for him out there!"
She snorted. "My brother knows how to take care of himself, there's no need for you to worry about that."
"Yes, there is!" Harry was getting angry again. "You don't understand! He has no-one out there! No-one! He doesn't have any friends besides the ones he shares with me, and he wouldn't go to any of my friends for support because I would find him there immediately. He's got no-one, Piper. He's all alone out there. Please, you've got to help me find him before it's too late."
She gazed at him with uncertainty. "Are you sure you're clear with what you have to do to win him back?"
"Yes! Yes, I'm sure!"
Another annoying silence followed.
Eventually, she nodded, and sighed deeply. "I might know where you can find him …"
"His energy is getting weaker."
She is watching him, he knows that she is watching him, but he cannot see it himself since he is standing with his back to her. But he can imagine her long, dark hair falling into her face, successfully hiding her feline eyes to protect herself from everyone's prying stares. Not even he is allowed to look into her enigmatic eyes.
There are moments when she chooses to show him what she is thinking in her innermost by letting him gaze into her eyes, but those moments are rare, and he treasures them dearly. Today will not bring any such moments, though. But he is content just to be in her service.
She is his everything for now. And she will be until he finds The Other.
His search for The Other has been long and arduous, but he knows that he will get rewarded for his selflessness one day.
And then he will become whole.
"In what way is it weakening?" she asks him with that hollow, sorrowful voice, so low but yet so strong and intriguing; she has him completely in her control.
He does not mind being used. She is a user, and he is the used. She is the dominator, and he is the submissive. That has been their reality ever since the war started.
He gazes out at the gardens behind the big house. "He is giving in to the pain, and it makes him physically weaker," he informed her solemnly. "I am worried about him. He is nothing like we know him now. He has changed."
She is silent for a while. He loves her silences, savours them.
"Do you mean that he has changed now, in our time, or that his change was in that past time that you so often visit? Is this change something that is new to that time? Have your interactions and interferences somehow changed the time continuum?"
He closes his eyes and imagines the garden in summertime, blossoming with millions of colourful flowers. He can even smell the fresh breeze and taste the pollen in the air. "Both."
It will never be summer again, not like it was before. And to think that it could change that much in only a couple of decades …
"He is swiftly losing his physical strength … but his mental and emotional energy is building up to a disastrous climax. I wonder if I should interfere with it … prevent it from exploding."
Yet again, she is silent, his mistress.
Then, she asks: "Are you talking about Harry or Draco?"
It is his turn to be silent.
He watches the leaves swirl in the wind outside the French windows. "He shouldn't have had to die, you know."
She sighs behind him. "Is that why you insist on assisting them? Are you trying to save his life?"
"If my actions and clues can help save his life, then I would be most grateful. That would mean that I have accomplished something. Without him, the world is dark. You want to make the world a nice place to love again, and it will be if he stays alive. I know it in my heart, and I feel it in the flow of time. The night he died was the night time stopped. Not just for us, but for many people. His continued existence will ensure many changes for the good."
"Tom will stay James?"
"I cannot assure that, it is all very uncertain at this stage."
"Nothing you do will bring them back. You might as well give up and let time have its way."
He firmly shakes his head. "No. I cannot stop—not ever. I need to make up for my past mistakes. But now I had better go get the boy."
He reluctantly leaves her to her quiet pondering.
The trees were closing in on him, tall and black and naked, and he felt cramped, as if the entire world was closing in on him, capturing him in an eternal prison of primeval forest. He knew there were other people there, but he could not see anyone, and for some reason he knew that Harry was right there beside him; he could feel his lover's presence. He tried to grasp the situation, but when he finally understood that it was a trap, it was too late; he felt the bullet penetrate his chest.
Draco woke with a start. He was panting, his heart pounding, and he was damp with sweat. That dream again. It was getting more intense, more vivid … more genuine.
His vision was blurry, so he turned on the only light in the room, which happened to be a bedside lamp on a small nightstand. But his vision was still blurry, and he was starting to panic. Oh, my God, I'm going blind! he thought hysterically before he realised that his vision was supposed to be blurry because Harry was near-sighted.
He exhaled in a sigh of utmost relief. He put on the glasses, the only item that he had taken with him when he left the Manor—probably because he had already been wearing them. He would not bother with the contact lenses since they were so tiny and complicated to get in place.
With the glasses on, he saw that it was 5 pm. Boy, he had really been sleeping soundly! 14 bloody hours uninterruptedly! It was the most he had slept since Harry and he—
The pain made itself reminded again, and when he recalled that this was the seventh day that Harry had not come for him, the pain turned into anger, and anger turned into wrath.
Slightly past five, he went berserk.
Snape. Who would have thought that Draco would seek refuge with Snape? Harry found it hard to imagine that man being anything other than a pain in the arse, let alone comforting someone or offering his support to someone in pain and misery. But that was Piper's guess, and Piper's guess was as good as any other.
She still knew things about Draco that he did not, like for example the fact that Severus Snape had been one of Lucius Malfoy's closest and most loyal friends during the days they had both been amongst Voldemort's devout. Draco had known Snape well before he went to Hogwarts and faced him as a teacher.
The professor was visually surprised to see him there, but instantly let him in. Harry had had no idea that Snape actually owned a house; he had thought that the old snake lived in his office at Hogwarts permanently, like some sort of eccentric eremite.
"Funny to see you here, Mr. Potter," was the first thing Snape said when he had closed the door behind them and offered Harry to take a seat in his living room, which he had declined.
"Believe me, I'm as surprised as you," Harry said. "Is Draco here?"
He already knew that the answer must be 'yes,' because how else would Snape had known that he was Harry and not Draco?
But to his utter annoyance, the teacher shook his head. "No, haven't seen him since the day you survived Pywercaseley's death curse," he drawled unpleasantly.
"Is that so?" Harry said. "Then how come you know I'm not Draco? There is no other way for you to know we've switched bodies than if he told you."
Snape's lips curled into a smug smile. "You forget that I'm quite skilled in Legilimency, Potter. I can read your mind."
"I don't believe you. I know he's here, so just tell me where and we'll be off your property in no time."
"I don't think he wishes to see you, Potter. No offense."
Harry jerked. He was surprised that the professor had released his guard that easily. "So, he is here?" He glanced at the staircase at the other end of the living room. "Is he upstairs?"
Snape did not need to answer that question, because the very next second a voice that was unmistakably his own—but now belonging to Draco, of course—began to shout at the top of its lungs. The words were not very flattering …
"I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, you fucking bastard! Why did you have to go and do that, you silly-prissy-wannabe-tender-sonofabitch?! I hate you! I hate you for never telling me where you go and I hate you for always assuming that I'm too fragile to handle simple wizard business! I hate you for always telling me off when I'm trying to be pleasing! I hate you for being so fucking condescending and I hate you for always patronising me and for treating me like some sort of porcelain doll that breaks into a million smithereens by the gust of a wind! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!
"I hate you for always being so sweet to me, and I hate you for being such a bloody damned good kisser! I hate you for making me look like a fool in your friends' company and I hate you for making fun of me when I'm being overprotective and overreacting! I hate you, you sonofabitch—hate you, hate you, hate you, hate you, hate you! I wish you were here so I could smash this bloody lamp into your bloody perfect face, you bastard!"
There was a short pause followed by a loud thump. When Draco spoke again, there was a new fragility in his voice, a tremor that indicated that he was crying again. "Why aren't you coming here, you bastard? Why aren't you coming for me …"
Harry's heart was breaking. He had had no idea that Draco felt that way, and it slowly started to dawn on him that it was all his own fault.
"I hate you for not talking to me about your problems and I hate you for not letting me help you solve them! I hate you for treating me like some sort of sex machine that you can use whenever you feel like it, and I hate you for sweet-talking me in the morning! I hate you for telling me I'm pretty when I sleep! I hate you for being so goddamn beautiful, I hate you for that lovely smile, I hate you for making me drown in your eyes, I hate you for knowing exactly how to make me laugh, I hate you for being the only one who can tickle me, I hate you for giving me that look when I've done something stupid, I hate you for always saying the right things, I hate you for complementing my cooking, I hate you for your cheesy come-on lines, and I hate you for being so bloody perfect all the time! I hate you for being shorter than me, and I hate the fact that you look better in my clothes than I do! I hate you, you bastard—why aren't you coming back for me?! I hate you for making me wait … I hate you for never coming … why aren't you coming, you bastard!?"
Another short silence followed.
Draco appeared to be throwing things around him upstairs.
"I hate you … why aren't you coming for me? Don't you see that I love you? I hate you because I love you so much, Harry … Harry, please come back for me … I don't want to hate you …"
Harry felt crushed under his lover's immense pain and did not know what to do.
He did something he thought he would never do: he turned to Snape for support. "Er … has he been doing this a lot since he came here?" he asked, because he could not come up with anything better to say.
"Every day," Snape said honestly, apparently just to make Harry feel bad, "several times a day. I have to replace all my belongings in that room with a few simple cleaning and repairing spells at least five times a day. He's very fond of trashing things when he's upset, your boyfriend."
Harry could not take anymore; he had to see Draco now. He ran up the stairs, calling, "Draco!"
From inside the room directly to the right, he heard his lover say, "No … don't mock me like this, don't you dare fool me like this! How dare you impersonate Harry impersonating me?!"
Harry pulled open the door and crossed the threshold. Draco was sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by debris, his face red and swollen and wet with fresh tears. His black hair was tousled, worse than ever. When he saw Harry in the doorway, he stiffened. In his soul, Harry was hoping that Draco would light up like he always did when he saw him and come running into his arms, because that was what he had been wishing for mere minutes ago; wishing to be saved, to be carried away by his own knight in shining armour.
But nothing like that happened; not even a faint smile was granted him. The moment Draco understood that he was no illusion, that he was the real deal, his features became cold and stern, and his eyes narrowed into slits. "How dare you come here?" he hissed in a low, hostile voice. "Get out! Get out before I curse you!"
Harry jerked. He did not understand what he had done wrong, did not understand why Draco was rejecting him. "What? But you wanted me to come; you were screaming for me to come get you, you were crying out to me, calling to me … Why are you showing me the door now? I came as soon as I could, and you—"
"You – know – nothing," Draco said harshly. "You had better leave before I do anything I will regret. I am saying this as a friend, Harry; leave. I can't be held responsible for what I might do to you if you stay. Please, leave, and don't ever come back."
Harry was shaken. "Leave? But, Dracums, I don't understand … First you cry for me to come, and then you're just going to kick me out of your life entirely? How does that add up? Listen, I didn't come here just to give up and admit myself defeated—I came here to prove to you that I love you. You know that I love you, Draco, I love you more than anything else in the world—I love you more than my own life, for crying out loud! I will not leave without you. I won't."
"Put a sock in it, Malfoy."
The words bounced off Harry with the power of a sledgehammer. That was when he understood that it was all meaningless; he had already lost.
Draco bit his lower lip. "What do you see when you look at me, Harry?"
Yet again, he was taken aback. "When I look at you?"
"Yes, what do you see?"
"Well, I see … me. Now, what kind of question is—"
Draco laughed bitterly, slowly shaking his head. "You really think you have it figured out, don't you? But you know nothing. Nothing. I told Piper to keep you away until you'd grasped the situation, but you just had to come prematurely, didn't you? You're always so self-assured, so bloody self-righteous … But tell me, Harry … when you look at me, can you see the intolerable pain that you have forced upon me? Can you feel the rage that is slowly wearing me down, tearing me apart? Can you hear the agonised crying of my soul?"
Harry stumbled backwards. "Wha-what are you talking about? I don't understand, Draco … you're scaring me …"
"When I look at you, it's not my face I see—it's yours. And you know why? Because I can see your soul, Harry. I see you because I care about you. So, tell me: Can you see my soul?"
Finally, he understood where the blonde was going.
Draco was studying him with agitated impatience, and the strange glow in his eyes was eerie and intimidating—almost primitive. He expected a certain answer, and there was no telling what he might do if that particular answer was not given to him.
Harry found himself trembling. His lover's psychological warfare was swiftly and effectively breaking him down as he realised what must be happening, what it all must mean. "I … I … I can't … I'm sorry …"
He had spent so many hours trying to figure out what Draco wanted from him—what it would take for him to get his boyfriend back—and he had thought that he knew what that was. But he had been wrong. Not until now did he finally understand what Draco was seeking. All that talk about seeing his soul or not … It was all a test. He was testing Harry's love. And the ultimate test was to see if Harry could look beyond his own face and still be intimate with him, even though he was in Harry's body.
As it dawned on him, he knew what to do; the only thing he could do to save this relationship. And he was going to do it, screw the twistedness of touching himself! He would do whatever it took to convince Draco to return home with him.
Drawing a deep breath, he steeled himself in case Draco would lash out at him as he approached him, and then he walked over to his lover and placed a gentle, affectionate kiss on the right corner of his lover's mouth. He was careful to linger on Draco's skin for several seconds to prove to him that it did not repulse him anymore. Because it did not. He was surprised to find that it felt natural, and that it did not feel strange or perverted at all; he was just kissing his Dracums.
And when he broke the kiss, the blonde was staring up at him with huge, inquiring eyes. Boy, did it feel weird to actually be taller than Draco! Nothing of the previous rage seemed to be left in the blonde now; it had been replaced by wonder, bafflement, and bewilderment. "You … you kissed me … but I thought you didn't want to come anywhere near me 'cos I'm you … Harry, what …?"
After that kiss, Harry lost all the strength that was left in him and fell down onto his knees. He could not even lift his gaze to meet Draco's eyes; it was too painful. This had been his last chance, and it had turned into a goodbye. A bitter, reluctant, sad goodbye.
Draco knelt before him. His face expressed great concern. "Harry … you're shaking …"
Yes, he could see Draco's pain. Yes, he could feel his rage—and it was destroying him. With tears clouding his vision and his voice trembling with emotion, he said, "I'm losing you, aren't I?"
The blonde jerked as if he had been slapped in the face.
"I can't make up for my mistake, can I? I've already lost you …"
Green eyes reflecting so much pain, so much regret, so much anxiety. He reached out one hand and briefly touched Harry's chin with his fingertips. "You couldn't be more wrong, Harry. I'm not going to leave you. I'm yours—I belong with you. I don't have anyone else, and there is no-one else I would rather spend my life with. But you hurt me, and I need to heal my wounds. That's why I left. I needed some time alone to think things through, because I didn't want to make things worse between us with my self-destructive mood. I never intended to leave you, I simply needed a break. Some space."
"You're leaving me," Harry persisted.
"No, I'm not leaving you."
Now Harry was crying for real; salty tears streamed down his cheeks and chin, and loud sobs escaped him. "But you said you hated me … you said it so many times … you hate everything about me, so how could you possibly want to stay with me? I would only make you unhappy. I've already made you unhappy, I've made you mad, I've hurt you … I don't deserve you. You hate me …"
Draco was silent for a long while, and the sadness in his soul was apparent as he sighed and sat down in the debris on the floor. "I can't deny that. You really hurt me, Harry, and you've been doing it for several months now, I just couldn't take any more. You calling me Malfoy was just the last straw, because you made me feel as if I didn't mean any more to you now than I did during all those years at school when we were enemies. I hate you for that, I really do. But you must understand something, Harry. The only reason that I can hate you this much, this purely, is because I love you so bloody much. If I didn't love you, then how could I hate you for hurting me? Huh?"
Harry snivelled and looked up at him. "You really mean that?" he asked warily.
"Yes. But that doesn't mean the hatred goes away just 'cos I've said it. You'll have to work real hard to make me trust you again."
"I understand that, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes."
"So, that kiss … was that just because you had to? Or was it because you really wanted to kiss me?"
"It was because I wanted to kiss you. I want to prove to you that I'm not afraid anymore. Of the fact that you're me, I mean … Hell, I guess I never was, it's just … I hate myself."
The blonde's eyes widened with bafflement. "Eh? What d'you mean?"
Harry sighed. He felt bitter and worthless again. "Exactly what I'm saying. I hate myself, that's why I can't stand touching you when you're in my body. I've hated myself ever since … ever since I couldn't save Sirius … Or maybe even longer than that; I think I already did after the Triwizard Tournament, after what happened to Cedric … I couldn't save him, either. Hell, I've hated myself ever since that night when Wormtails escaped and returned to Voldemort. I promised Sirius I'd clear his name, but I … I didn't succeed until he was already dead. There's a lot of people I couldn't save, and I should've been able to save them, but I didn't …"
Realisation and understanding were reflected in his lover's eyes as he finally began to grasp the severity of Harry's condition. Of what had been eating away at him for so many years. "Harry, I never knew. If you'd just told me …"
"I know, but I've never felt strong enough to tell anyone—especially not you, Draco. I was afraid that you'd … I mean, you can't love somebody else before you learn to love yourself, right? I was afraid that you'd think …"
His voice failed him.
"I see. But, Harry … Do you hate-hate yourself, or do you just plain hate yourself?"
Harry stared at him with knitted eyebrows. "What? What kind of logic is that, Dracums? Oh … now I see what you mean. I'm afraid I have to tell you that I HATE-hate-hate myself."
Draco gasped and gently put his hands around Harry's face and forced him to look at him. "You HATE-hate-hate yourself?! HATE-hate-hate? Oh, baby … you've hated yourself for so many years? For over seven years? Seven bloody years you've HATE-hate-hated yourself?!"
"Yeah."
"Man … HATE-hate-hate … that's awful, baby, just awful. I wish I could do something to ease your pain, to make you accept yourself and come to terms with what you've done."
Harry glowered at him. "Shut up or you'll make me H-A-T-E-HATE-hate-hate myself," he muttered.
Draco blushed. "I'm sorry." Then he shot up from the floor. "Hey! What am I apologising to you for?! You haven't even apologised to me yet!"
Harry, too, got up from the floor and stood facing Draco. "I know, and I'm sorry for that. Draco, that night at Ron's I never meant to say those things—everything just came out wrong because I was so angry with myself. I was angry with myself for not handling the pregnancy as well as you've always handled it, and I felt inadequate because I couldn't figure out how to do it. I was embarrassed to tell you because you were always doing everything so perfectly, you never complained about it, so I didn't want to complain either …
"I just wanted to be as strong as you, and when I failed I became furious with myself. I already hated myself as much as one can hate oneself, I had no room for more hatred, and I … I just lost control of myself. When you came into the room screaming at me like that, throwing all those accusations into my face … I knew you were right, and I hated myself even more 'cos I couldn't be there for you, 'cos I couldn't do all those things you wanted me to do, and I … I guess I just lost it.
"I had come to hate myself so much that I didn't know what I was doing or saying—not until it was already too late. I'm aware that I made it sound as if I was disgusted with your body—with you—but the truth is, I was disgusted with myself for being unable to touch you or even go near you. And that had nothing to do with you—it had everything to do with me.
"As for calling you Malfoy … I think I was deliberately trying to hurt you with that one, and that scares me. That's what the psychologists call the last stage of self-hatred, right? The stage in which you're not just self-destructive anymore, but in which you start destroying your loved ones as well. It scares the shit out of me, because I don't want to hurt you, and I don't want to be that person. I am truly and honestly sorry that I said all those things to you like that; I should've been more careful and said it right the first time. I just need help, Draco. I need help to get over everything that's happened in the past, all the people I lost, and I need help to understand that it wasn't my fault. I need help to accept my past and love myself again. Please, Draco, help me. I need your help."
The blonde gently touched his face again, still very wary to touch him too much and give him the wrong idea. But he touched him, and that meant that he was willing to try; he was willing to work to make their relationship good again.
Harry felt somewhat soothed by that knowledge, but at the same time he felt sadder than he had been before he came there, because Draco was still so far away; he still had such a long way to go before he had won his lover back entirely. And he also had a long way to go before he himself had been brought back entirely. And there was so much pain in Draco's eyes … so much sorrow … and that's when he realised that he was looking into Draco's eyes again.
"Dracums!" he said, and grabbed the blonde's arm as a reflex. "Your eyes are grey! And your hair … I can see you! I can see you now, baby! I see you …"
Draco jerked free of his hand. "Don't touch me," he said, "I'm not ready for you to touch me yet. But I'm glad that you can see me now, Harry. I really am." He leaned forward somewhat to be able to gaze more directly into Harry's eyes. "I'll come back with you. I'll help you with your problems. I'll help you love yourself again, Harry. I'll make you see what a wonderful bloke you are—and I'll make you see it through my eyes."
Harry's lower lip trembled briefly. "You mean you're … you're really coming back to me?" he whispered.
The blonde took a few steps back. "Harry … you don't understand. There still is a part of me that hates you—a huge part of me. I'm not ready to have everything return to normal yet, there'll have to be changes made when we get home. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
Harry nodded numbly. "Ye-yes. I understand."
"I won't sleep with you."
"I wasn't expecting you to sleep with me right away, Draco, I know it's too soon for that."
"No, what I meant is I won't sleep with you—sleep. I won't share your bed at all. I want separate bedrooms."
Harry jerked. "Oh. Sure, naturally you'll have your own room. No biggy. We'll just start off from the beginning again, yeah?"
"I think we'll have to start off a little bit further back than that."
"Oh? How far back exactly?"
The blonde made a pause. "We need to get to know each other again in order to trust each other. We'll start by talking—just talking. From now on, you need to tell me everything about your feelings, your problems, whatever, if you want me to be close to you again. Are we clear on that?"
"Yeah, perfectly clear."
"Great. Then we'll slowly go on from there. Let everything come naturally."
"Yeah, we … don't wanna rush things."
Draco nodded. "All right. Let's go home, then."
They said nothing more to each other when they borrowed some Floo powder from Snape and used his fireplace to return to the Manor. Piper came to meet him, probably expecting him to return alone, and when she saw Draco she gave a shriek of excitement and ran over to him. Her arms opened wide, she said, "Dracoooo!"
"Don't touch me," the blonde warned with a mad glint in his eyes.
She instantly withdrew her arms. "Glad to have you back, bro," she said happily.
"Glad to be back. Sort of. Now scram."
She gave Harry a huge smile and a kiss on the cheek before she took off. "Thank you for bringing him back just the way he was before you drove him away."
Harry blinked. Huh?
Draco had gone straight into the den, and Harry intended to follow him when he heard voices in there. "Hey! You're that boy! You're …"
Harry hurried into the den.
Joseph was standing by the windows, and he was holding James in his arms. The two brothers looked so cute together …
"James!" Draco exclaimed and went over to the boys to retrieve his son. "Oh, I've missed you, little guy! How are you?"
"Teef," James said proudly.
"Oh, what about your teeth, honey?"
"Moole!" the little boy said, and pointed to his mouth.
"You're having more teeth? That's so great, Jimmy." He looked up at the blond boy, who was watching him with that sad, dead look. "Thank you for bringing him back, and thank you for finally letting me see you."
The boy nodded in a way that almost made it look as if he was bowing to them. "No need to thank me. I found him in 16th century France about to witness a series of decapitations, so I thought I should take him away from there before he saw anything inappropriate for a child his age."
Harry frowned. "16th century France? What was he doing in Medieval France?"
The blond boy looked at him. "I cannot answer that—only James can."
"Thank you, Joseph," Draco said.
The boy knitted his brows in suspicion. "Why are you calling me that?"
Draco seemed taken aback by the question. "Well, because that's the name we've given you."
"You never gave me that name," the boy objected.
"Yeah, we did," Harry said. "The baby we're expecting—that's you, right? We named you Joseph, after my grandfather."
The blond boy was silent for a while. Then, to their surprise, a small smile formed on his lips. "So, that is where the name came from?" he stated. "I am sorry, but I have to leave. She is calling me."
He vanished before they had time to ask him more questions about his origin.
She patiently waits for him to give her his report. But instead, with the memories of the time he has just left behind, he says, "They have given me a name."
She frowns; he cannot see the frown on her perfect, pale forehead because of the thick black hair protecting it, but he knows it is there. "What do you mean, Timothy? They should not be aware of your heritage yet."
He kneels before her, gently taking hold of her feminine, ethereal hand. "No, they think I am you," he confesses.
"Me? Explain yourself."
"They think I am the baby growing inside Draco's body. They call me Joseph without knowing that the baby is in fact you, my dear sister."
She contemplates this for a while. "Really? 'Joseph,' you say?"
"Yes, that was Harry's grandfather, the father of James Potter, I presume. I am guessing they changed the name slightly when they discovered you were female."
"Joz …," she says, slowly trying her own name in her mouth, letting it roll off her tongue like a half-melted sweet. "This is interesting, Timothy. Interesting indeed."
"So it is, my mistress."