Warning! : This story contains SAME SEX relationship of rather graphic nature. If this offends your sensibilities, please go elsewhere. NOW!

Note from Zed: Note that Chapter numbering has no bearing whatsoever in the timeline *G* — look at the header to see when the event happens. Special thanks to Rhysenn and Starkiller for the immaculate beta.

Disclaimer: This story has not been authorised by JKR or the publishers of HP books. HP is a registered trademark of Warner Bros. The plot is mine.

I saw him the moment I walked onto the terrace. The kitchen was bathed in a warm glow, the diffused lights reflecting off the polished wooden countertop along the wall and the sandstone tiles of the floor. I stopped in my tracks, watching him from the shadows. The crisp, cool autumn air brought a chill to my skin, and the general stillness was broken by the sound of nighttime insects chirping softly in the background.

I couldn't keep my eyes off him even if I tried.

Sometimes, I think he was happiest when he was working with his hands; mixing potions, cooking, even getting them soiled in dirt, tending to his lush herbal garden. Such mundane daily activities allowed him to momentarily forget the horrors and emotional scars that haunted him still, in his nightmares.

Nightmares that would leave him shuddering violently, drenched in cold sweat, and occasionally in heart breaking sobs. I had made a promise long ago to love him, take care of him and protect him as long as I live; and now, years later, I feel the overwhelming protectiveness and possessiveness wash over me as I stood watching, unseen by him in the shadows of our shared home.

Both he and I had gone through so many trials together in our lives. As children we fought out our petty, undirected animosity towards each other; my hapless frustration with him, because he wasn't what I wanted him to be, and because I wasn't like him. And all the while he was hurting deep inside because I did not like him for what he was then. Looking back, perhaps we have always had these feelings for each other, but were too young to know what it had meant.

But all that changed, as we grew older. The return of the Dark Lord and the horrors that came with it shocked us out of our false sense of security. Monstrosities were committed in the fight for freedom and justice; images of murder, torture; flashed before us so hot it burnt our faces.

We were forced to grow up much faster than we would have liked, but that was the harsh reality of war. Choices had to be made as the tranquillity and peace were ripped asunder by the ruthless wave of the Dark Lord's march in his search for Immortality. Families, friends and foes alike were forced to choose sides; children grew up scarred, both emotionally and mentally as they witnessed the horrors inflicted on those too weak to fight or to choose the right side.

But in war, there was no right or wrong side. In war there's only those who were left after the embers had finally turns to ash.

We had put aside our animosity, warily at first, in our primitive instinct for survival. It took months of guarded comradeship before either of us were emotionally secure to drop our shields; to be able to turn our backs to each other without fearing the proverbial knife being stuck in the back. Fate had seen it fit to throw us together; as our animosity diminished, the feelings were replaced by friendship and a closeness that took us both by surprise.

Many a night I had lain with him tucked beside me, wondering what his choices would be, when the time came for choices to be made. A part of me was unwilling to let him go, scared that one day he might walk away and never come back, or that one day I might be forced to kill him if we stood on opposing sides of the war. Would I be able to do that? Kill him, when there was no other choice? The answer was yes, but I did not have the slightest interest in saying so.

Then, one winter day I had actually let him go. That was years ago - and he came back to me, shattered, on his knees, the tears running down his cheeks, humbled and confounded. I had taken him into my arms then, and vowed to protect him, and to love him until my dying breath. And now, a decade later our love had strengthened even more.

I pulled out of my reverie and came back to the present.

I ran my eyes over the familiar and much beloved contours of his face, from the soft almost feminine jaw line to the angular cheekbones; my eyes caressing the bridge of his nose, lingering over the eyelids and the dark blond of his lashes as they brushed against his cheeks. I smiled as a warm glow started in the pit of my belly, spreading slowly though my entire being.

He crossed the room in an unhurried pace, his feet bare on the warm sandstone tile. He pulled open a cabinet and rummaged about for a while, his back turned towards me. Even after all these years he still maintained the light wiry built he had since adolescent. I could not see his expression just then, but I could imagine the look of rapt concentration as he moved about his task.

I leaned against the window frame, half hidden in the shadows as I continued to watch him move. He was totally unaware of my presence, not because of his lack of sensing ability, but because I still had my wards on - wards that ensured my continued survival as one of the elite operatives for the Department of Mysteries. Ironic wasn't it?

He made his way out of the kitchen, a tumbler of colourless liquid in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The light reflected softly off his hair as he kicked the door closed with his feet. I followed him, moving along the terrace, brushing aside the vibrant foliage as I passed until I caught sight of him in the living room. I hid once more in the shadows, my shoulder against the brick wall, the light from within throwing dark and light relief in alternating patterns through the French windows. The air was sweet and fragrant with orange blossom, mint and freshly mown grass.

He sat on the edge of the chaise longue, stirring his drink distractedly as he stared wistfully into the fire. He took a drag on the cigarette and exhaled slowly. The smoke curled, and he blinked rapidly, wiping his fingers across his eyes. Was he crying, I wondered. He extinguished the stub and emptied the tumbler hurriedly, before placing it on the side table.

Then he stretched luxuriously, the white skin of his belly peeking from underneath his jumper. He dimmed the lights and settled back on the chaise longue, lying on his left side, head resting on his arm, knees bent and feet curled under a pile of cushions. His fringe fell softly on his forehead, hiding the grey eyes beneath, eyes that shimmered with cunning and intelligence. His right hand curled over a tasselled bolster, the fingers playing idly with the tassel, pulling and teasing. He buried his face into the bolster, and I detected a slight shaking of his shoulder. He looked so vulnerable just then, like a lost little boy - belying the fact that he was a gifted strategist in our war against Voldemort, and a powerful wizard in his own right.

I thought about him a great deal, especially when I was away on one of my secret assignments for the Ministry. I worried constantly regarding his safety, because I knew that the insurgents would target him for his role in keeping us one step ahead of the opposition in the long drawn out war between Darkness and Light, and his open association with me.

Especially for his association with me.

But now, as I watched him safe and sound, surrounded by normalcy the irrational fear dissipated a little. And I so missed him, it was unsettling. I rested back against the wall; let my eyes range over the gardens, checking that the wards are securely in place.

Cautiously I leant on the smooth panel of the French window and intoned an unlocking charm. Not the standard charm, but charm which only worked for the caster. The bolts slid back with a silken sound and I pushed the window aside, the gauzy curtain obscuring me from view.

He was directly before me now, with a look beyond innocence. For one moment we stood rooted to our spots, studying each other in silence. And then he was swiftly by my side, clasping both his hands over my right hand, and gently pressing his lips on my fingers. I reached out and pulled him into my embrace, my fingers digging softly into his shoulder. I felt his warmth seep through the heavy material of my cloak and was glad to be alive. I breathed deeply, taking in the scent of his sweet muskiness. It comforted me greatly, coming home to him, to have him in my arms once again.

I placed a chaste kiss on his cheek and pulled him closer. He sighed quietly and dropped his head on my shoulder, hands releasing mine, before curving gently around my waist. I closed my eyes, savouring the peaceful intimacy, as I ran a hand up and down his spine. His hands curved tighter around my waist, and he lifted his face, eyes watching me intently.

"How many?" he asked, his eyes carefully watching my face. I felt unnerved by the intense gaze; it has been too long since anyone had looked at me quite that searchingly. I shook my head gently, wishing he would drop the subject. But he held on doggedly, his eyes piercing me with questions that begged to be answered.

I said nothing, my eyes focused on a point beyond his shoulder.

"How many?" he repeated softly, as I felt his hand move to caress my jaw, turning my head slightly so that I was forced to look into the glittering grey depths of his eyes. How many, he would ask, when the real question would never be voiced.

I caught my breath and tried to turn away, but he kept his hold on my face, the fingers pressing urgently into my skin, and I sighed, closing my eyes.

"Seven," I murmured dully, not wanting to relive the deaths at my hands. I heard the sharp hiss of his breath, and the hand clutched tighter around my waist. I cautiously opened my eyes, staring fixedly at his chest, unable and unwilling to meet his eyes. His fingers dug in involuntarily into my skin. "Seven," I repeated, finally tearing my eyes away and fixing it onto his. My hands dropped to my sides, my shoulders slouched in resignation.

Seven.

He had come up with the strategy and as always I had volunteered for the task and had gone to execute the acolytes from the Dark Lord's inner circle without much rancour. It was just a job, I keep repeating to myself, nothing personal. But did that make me a better man?

"It doesn't matter," he said slowly. "It doesn't matter. Harry, look at me. I still love you no matter what." His grip on my waist tightened, and he pulled me closer. I summoned the last of my courage to obey him and to look into the beloved face. I sighed quietly, dropping my head onto his shoulder, my face against his neck, my breath stirring his hair softly.

"Your father is safe," I whispered, trembling slightly. I felt his body stiffen against mine and for the first time I became aware of the pounding heartbeat in his chest. Then I felt him relaxed, the tension dissipating, as he held me close, a hand gently holding my nape, the fingers buried deep in my hair.

"Harry," he said softly, and I looked up, my vision suddenly filled with the darkened greyness of his eyes, eyes that seemed all pupil. "Thank you for telling. I…god, Harry, I'm so relieved you are safe." His voice faltered, suddenly lost for words.

"Draco," I said quietly, as I gazed into his eyes. "There are other things I must tell you." I paused momentarily, searching for the right words. "I can't promise to keep him safe all the time, other operatives may take my place and…" my words faltered, and I closed my eyes once again, I could not bear to look into his face.

He hugged me tighter, his lips pressing against the front of my ear. "It doesn't matter, Harry…it doesn't matter." His hands caressed me gently, his warm breath stirring the hair by my ear. "He made his choices long ago, and I have made mine. I wanted to be here, with you."

I exhaled, as the burden lifted from my shoulders. I let out a sigh, which caught in my throat, half-sob, half relief.

I wanted to kiss him, and suddenly I put out my hand to softly caress his face, and when he turned to kiss my palm, I felt a happiness that I hadn't experienced in the weeks that I was away from him. I lean in to touch my lips to his, and he trembled violently, breathing sharply against my mouth before slowly relaxing under the pressure of my kiss. His hands tightened brusquely against my shoulders, his lips opening to the press of my tongue.

For several long seconds we remained locked together, and I was overcome with yearning for him. After a moment I pulled away, trying to steady my breath, as he looked at me, a rosy flush spreading over his normally pale cheeks. I uttered a spell, and the French windows slid shut behind me, the bolts locking into place.

And I kissed him again. It wasn't chaste.

I felt his lips curl into a smile against mine, and when I pulled back he was smiling, one of the most magnificent smiles that I'd ever seen. I ran my fingers lightly through his hair, brushing back the silver blond fringe to reveal the grey eyes beneath. He reached down to grab my hand, and took a step back, then another - leading me to the chaise longue.

We sat side by side, my left leg curled underneath me, my arm curving loosely across his hips, and my head resting on his shoulders. He wrapped his right arm across my back; the hand caressing my neck gently and I felt his lips brushing softly on my temple. It felt good sometimes to just sit quietly, holding onto each other, just the two of us. My mind blanked out the events from the past few weeks; the images of people whom I killed while they went about their daily routine, and others while they slept. I was the avenging Angel of Death that came to claim their souls when they least expected it, and he was the one who plotted the whole game.

What a pair we made.

I closed my eyes and tried to make peace with myself, unwilling to let him see the mental scars that these incursions left me with. It would never do for him to see me undone, so I steeled my resolve and buried the mental scars deep inside.

He gently covered my right hand with his, the light reflecting softly off the burnished gold ring on his fourth finger. I flipped his hand palm upwards and linked my fingers through his and brought it to my lips, kissing the warm skin and pressing it against my cheek. I had never seen him without the ring on, ever since I gave it to him all those years ago. I snuggled closer, turning my face to his neck, placing tender kisses on his throat. He tightened his grip on my shoulder, his left hand shaking free from mine, only to return momentarily to undo the clasp of my cloak. I pulled back and sat on my heels, as I shrugged the garment off, and let it fall to the floor. He looked at me for long moments, his eyes searching - for what I did not know, nor was I inclined to care.

Then he pulled me into his arms, crushing me in his strong embrace. I was startled, and I struggled to get free, but he held on tightly, unwilling to let me go. I looked into his face, and I saw the emotions conflicting within his eyes. He dipped his head to capture my lips, but I dodged him shyly for a while, before surrendering to the intimate pressure. He gripped me tighter, and deepened the kiss. I linked my arms around his neck, and he was there, warm and strong in my arms. I sighed contentedly as I felt his hand lightly stroke my back.

"Forgive me," he whispered in my ear, his warm breath was like a caress to my weary bones. "Forgive me for sending you out there…I'm so sorry you're hurt inside." He turned his face hurriedly so that I could not see the tears pricking in his eyes. I stared at him in shock.

My hands slid from his neck to grip on his arms tightly.

Words had never been my forte, and now they failed me utterly. I could only call out his name softly. He turned to face me, his eyes staring fixedly on the ground, and he was chewing his lower lip, as he was wont to do when nervous.

"I die inside each time you go away…you know that. And I feel responsible for putting you in so much danger," he said, his tone low and serious. He leaned his forehead against mine, and all I could see were his eyes, the unshed tears casting a glassy sheen, making it seemed over bright. I shook my head firmly.

"Don't you ever think that again, Draco." I said solemnly, quelling further arguments. "We both have to do what have to be done." He started to say something, but I cut him off by placing my finger on his lips.

He nodded silently, gathering me once again in his arms, and I felt the hot, silent tears track down his cheeks as he gave full vent to his relief. And I didn't know, I didn't care, as I felt my own tears mingled with his as we held onto each other, clinging to the last shreds of sanity in a rapidly disintegrating world.

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© Zed Adams 09-October 2002