As promised, here's the last chapter~ :)

And the Clock Keeps Ticking

Seven

Harry should have been used to the busy corridors of St Mungo's, especially to the ones on the fourth floor. The grim looking Healers and Mediwitches with their clip-clop shoes, all bustling about with new patients that kept on coming. Getting hit by hexes and jinxes was common when one was in Auror Training—even more so when one was an Auror. But now he wanted to blast them all, to tell them to be quiet, for Malfoy was in there, in the room across the hall, and Harry wanted nothing more than to demand for someone to tell him what in the hell was actually happening.

He had done everything in a daze from the moment he realised something was wrong. He shook Malfoy, called his name over and over again, but yielded no response. He tried to reassure himself that it was nothing, and he pretty much succeeded in doing so, at least until he had finished dressing Malfoy. But Malfoy was getting colder, sweat forming on his forehead and neck. Harry waited and waited, Firecalling Hermione when he knew he would lose control if this continued. The last thing he remembered was Hermione's ashen face as she hovered her wand over Malfoy's body, and before he knew it, he was already in St Mungo's.

They had brought Malfoy to Spell Damage, for fuck's sake. What could be a more direct way of saying that this was all Harry's fault?

"Harry." Someone tapped his shoulder gently, jolting Harry out of his stupor. He looked up from where he was sitting and found Luna's smile not as comforting as usual. She looked tired, her hair was tied up in a messy bun, some strands hanging loosely around her face and onto her Mediwitch robes. But she could still smile nonetheless—that frustrated Harry no end. "Blaise will be done questioning Hermione in a moment. He'll find out what's gone wrong."

"Nothing's wrong aside from me forcing Malfoy back into his body." Harry gritted his teeth. "Obviously the spell can't win out against Voldemort's curse."

"Nothing is sure until you know for sure," said Luna simply. Harry sighed, putting his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He really couldn't take Luna's roundabout way of talking now of all times.

"I caused this, Luna. I took away his chance to live."

Luna hummed. She sat beside him and said, "It's rather a touching story, the one that Hermione told us inside. It's even like a love story. Between you and Draco and Ian."

"And I bloody fucked it up, didn't I?" snapped Harry, looking up.

"I'm surprised you think so."

"Don't be. Because if Malfoy—if he—" Harry choked, unable to continue.

"I thought Draco was the one who decided to unite with his body. You're not to blame, Harry."

"Well, he wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for me. If I'd have just shut up and stopped forcing him . . ."

"Then you'd lose Draco's magic."

"It doesn't seem so different now."

Luna inclined her head to the side, pursing her lips for a moment. When she smiled again, she squeezed Harry's hand. "The difference is that Draco is still fighting now. Blaise is a good Healer, he won't let Draco die."

Sighing, Harry wanted nothing more than to turn back time. If only there was still a Time Turner . . . but there wasn't, and Harry could only loathe himself for being the biggest fool ever. He had wasted Mrs Malfoy's efforts, her life, only to satisfy his own desires. "I'm so fucking selfish. All this time Malfoy and Raines had been trying to get that through my head . . ."

"Harry James Potter," said Luna in a tone so stern that Harry winced despite himself. "Didn't you hear what I said? Draco is fighting. Haven't you got anything better to do than blame yourself? Nothing useful at all?"

Harry felt his face burning up, dropping his gaze to the floor. "I know, I shouldn't give up," he said finally. The squeeze on his hand told Harry that Luna agreed.

"I should get back to Blaise. He tends to let Wrackspurts befuddle his decision-making. We don't want him casting the wrong spell on Draco."

Harry gave her a half smile, not bothering to point out that her statement contradicted her own earlier attempt to calm him. He watched her leave and run his fingers through his hair in frustration. Luna was right, there was a difference between now and then. This time, Malfoy was alive. Harry shouldn't stop trying. But if he failed, if in the end Malfoy still lost to the curse. . .

Then that meant Harry had killed both Malfoy and Raines.

. .

. .

Dropping what must have been the nineteenth book, Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses. Nothing, even after reading all the books he copied, he still couldn't find anything remotely close to an answer. Where the hell did Voldemort get the curse from? Even Horcruxes were mentioned in a book—

"Oh God, how could I forget."

He hastened towards the Floo, skidding to a stop to grab the Floo powder and quickly threw it into the fireplace. He yelled Hermione and Ron's address before diving into the green flame. Fortunately, Hermione had the habit of doing her research in the living room, so it didn't take her long to answer.

"Oh Harry, I'm still trying to find something useful. Have you heard any news about Malfoy?" she asked. Her bushy hair was so alarming that Harry was sure she had raked her fingers through it countless times, and he could see the dark circles under her eyes. The last time she had looked like that was during the war—Harry struggled not to think that it was probably bad omen.

"I—I can't find anything either," he managed.

"I'll go over there once I'm done with the ones I have. Just in case," said Hermione. Harry didn't even have the energy to be offended by Hermione's lack of trust in his researching skills.

"Listen, where do you think Voldemort found the curse? Where did Voldemort read about Horcruxes? Do you think Magick Moste Evile has any information?"

Hermione shook her head, looking sad. "Do you think I haven't checked that book? It was the first one I read when we discovered about the curse. I think Voldemort invented it himself, or perhaps he took it from another source."

Harry swore, rubbing a hand over his face. "God, still no leads."

"Harry, have you seen Malfoy?"

He stiffened. "I—I can't see him before I find the counter curse."

"Harry—"

"I caused this, Hermione!"

"No, Voldemort caused this," said Hermione, her eyes narrowing. "Malfoy did this to himself."

"We both know that Malfoy is in St Mungo's because the spell clashed with the curse. I asked you to cast that spell."

"And I was the one who cast it, and the team in the Ministry invented it. Do you want to list every single person connected to this case?"

Harry looked away, and he heard Hermione sigh in exasperation.

"This isn't like you. Stop blaming yourself, you're just being stubborn right now. Go and see him, if you're lucky he might be awake when you get there."

Harry waited for the burning in his eyes to subside before he blinked. A tear still escaped despite his efforts, though. He rubbed his cheek with the heel of his palm. "Will you continue the research?" he asked.

"Yes, Harry. I'll gather my books and go over there. You can go to St Mungo's now."

Nodding, he mumbled his thanks to Hermione and pulled away from the Floo. He sat on his heels for a moment longer, trying to reassure himself that everything would be fine, that he should stop being a prat like what Hermione and Luna told him. It was difficult when you knew that everything happened because of you, though. It was Sirius all over again, and Harry tried to block out all the voices in his head, the ones that screamed at him and cursed him for being an idiot.

Taking a deep breath, Harry stood up and grabbed another handful of Floo powder. "St Mungo's," he said before stepping into the flame.

St Mungo's didn't look the same. The reception area was surrounded by Aurors, and vaguely Harry could hear people shouting at the front door. Reporters. The fact that the last ex-Death Eater had been admitted to St Mungo's had spread, there could be no other reason. Only Malfoy could cause this many Aurors to come, even if none of them could give a rat's arse about Malfoy himself.

Ignoring the curious gazes from his workmates, Harry walked past them, raising his chin in defiance. He saw Neville watching him from the corner of his eye. Harry nodded a little, before he headed to the fourth floor. As expected, there were three Aurors guarding Malfoy's room. Harry resisted the urge to massage his temples.

"Potter, what are you doing?" asked Proudfoot. "You're under suspension, aren't you?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I can't come here," snapped Harry. "Move."

Proudfoot seemed to be at a loss. "Wha—no, you can't, this is Draco Malfoy's room, no one can enter!"

"I can and I will," said Harry. He started towards the door, but was immediately yanked back.

"Potter, you're not on this case any longer. You can't do this," said Dawlish urgently in his ear. "Don't give Robards any more reasons to sack you!"

"He's right, mate. What do you want to do inside anyway?" asked Savage, his palm sweaty against the skin of Harry's arm. It was only then that Harry realised he hadn't remembered to wear his coat or even robes over his t-shirt.

"I brought him here. I have the right to visit him because I was the one who brought him here," said Harry.

"You did?" Proudfoot gasped. "Why didn't you file a report?"

"Because he's ill," hissed Harry. "Can't you see he's ill?"

"The Healer and Mediwitch in charge have been very tight-lipped, said something about patient confidentiality. I didn't even understand what that Mediwitch was talking about, actually, she seemed to be from another world." Dawlish sighed. "Can you fill us in, then?"

"Not right now, I can't be bothered with Auror work, I'm suspended, remember?"

"Potter, you know that we could—"

Someone opened the door from inside Malfoy's room all of a sudden, cutting off Proudfoot mid-sentence. "Ah, I was wondering who was making a ruckus out here," said the man in Healer robes, before Harry remembered it was Blaise Zabini. "Potter, come on in, I've been waiting for you to show up."

"Wait a minute, Healer Zabini, we need information on Draco Malfoy," protested Savage.

"Patient's health comes first." Zabini waved him off, his tone was sweet but there was something in it that clearly belied a threat. "This is what I hate about Aurors, they can't think of anything aside from their own cases. You lot do realise that there's something more important like, I don't know, someone's life?"

Savage opened his mouth but no word came forth. His face grew red from anger. Harry had seen it countless times in the field, so he knew Savage would be tongue-tied for a while now. Dawlish stepped in, though. "We're just trying to help, his safety is our priority, too."

"Then let me do my job," Zabini said simply. "Potter, follow me." He turned on his heels and Harry briskly did as he was told, eager to get away. Upon closing the door behind him, he could hear Proudfoot and Dawlish talking heatedly outside.

"I thought you'd never come," said Zabini when Harry didn't move from behind the door. Zabini waved his hand towards the bed. "Malfoy woke up this morning, he asked about you."

"He did?" Harry asked, surprised. He slowly made his way towards the bed, holding his breath at the sight of Malfoy sleeping in his white hospital gown, his skin so pale Harry thought he was back to being a ghost again. Aside from that, however, he didn't look so different from the last time Harry saw him laugh. He wasn't sweating or panting, but Harry knew it didn't mean he was all right. "How—how is he?"

"His magic fluctuated rapidly when he was awake that his body couldn't stand it, so we had to sedate him. But yes, he asked about you, and the only thing I wanted to do was smack some sense into his head."

Harry lifted a finger to stroke Malfoy's cheek, but he couldn't bear it if it turned out the skin was cold. He paused and clutched the lime green sheet instead. "What did—what did he say?"

"'How is Potter?' as if he knew that you must be wallowing in self pity right now."

"I don't wallow," said Harry, embarrassed. He frowned once he noticed Zabini smirking at him. "What?"

"Nothing. It's been ages since I saw Malfoy, never thought he'd be one of my patients. Never thought you'd be so close to him."

Harry looked away. "Yeah, well, he couldn't meet anyone even if he wanted to before this."

"Indeed. But Potter, don't get me wrong," began Zabini, forcing Harry to regard him again, "I still think of him as a friend. So you know, I'm really cross with you right now."

Harry swallowed. "I know. I'll do my best to help him."

"Oh, no, you won't," Zabini sneered. "Helping him is my job, your job is to stay out of trouble because Malfoy wouldn't like that."

Harry held back the impulse to lash out at Zabini, because really, he needed Zabini to save Malfoy. So he clenched his fists and turned towards Malfoy, studying the messy way his hair framed his face.

"Well then, I need to check on my other patients for a bit. When you're done staring at him, you might want to leave using that back door." Zabini pointed in the direction of a narrow door, which was half hidden behind a shelf of potions. "And it's safer to use the Floo on the third floor. Not many people use that one. Unless you like to be the centre of attention, O Chosen One."

Harry gritted his teeth, though he still could mutter, "Thank you," as Zabini trudged towards the back door. If Zabini had heard it, he chose to ignore Harry and went out of the room in a swirl of green robes flapping behind him.

Harry sighed.

"I wonder if you'll ever forgive me for fucking up everything," he whispered, focusing on the sleeping Malfoy again. Now that Zabini had gone, Harry could hear the faint beep, beep sounds from the medical tracking spell echoing in the room. Everything felt a whole lot worse, because it made him aware that Malfoy was not okay. "Looks like I'm the master of creating disasters. I bet you'll laugh your arse off."

His eyes strayed towards Malfoy's left arm, the Dark Mark partially visible under his sleeve. The hatred was back in full force, and if he could kill Voldemort again, he would happily do so—again and again and again, until he couldn't feel anything. But even back then Harry didn't really kill him, and now he was as helpeless as before, relying only on blind hope that the curse wouldn't activate any time soon.

"You're my responsibility," said Harry, now watching the way Malfoy's lips parted slightly. He traced them, revelling at how Malfoy's breaths softly caressed his fingers. They were warm, to Harry's relief. "I'll save you even if . . ."

He shook his head. Clutching the edge of the bed, Harry leaned in and pressed his lips against Malfoy's. He half-expected the lips under his to move, to smile into the kiss and prove that it was all only a bad dream, but of course that wouldn't happen. So Harry straightened his body, before taking one last look at Malfoy's face and leaving.

There was something he could do to pay for his mistake.

. .

. .

It was surprisingly pretty easy to prepare everything. The potion supplier in Knockturn Alley, where he bought his headache potions months ago, helped him brew the potion he needed without asking any question. Harry suspected it was because she was used to having customers like Harry, asking for quasi-legal potions. The only thing he needed to do now was memorise the incantation, then sneak into Malfoy's ward.

Avoiding Hermione, who had been constantly watching him lately, was more difficult. She tended to follow him around, even if she had to bring her books everywhere. Often, Harry caught her looking like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. It nearly drove him nuts. Sometimes she would ask Ron to accompany Harry, and that was the moment Harry had been waiting for. It was much easier to escape from Ron.

On the third day after he had the potion ready, Harry got the chance to go to St Mungo's unnoticed. He used his Invisibility Cloak and emerged from the third floor's Floo. Just as Zabini told him, no one really used this Floo, hence Harry breathed in relief. He shuffled along the corridors and up the stairs, carefully dodging the people guarding Malfoy's room.

This time he didn't see Dawlish and Proudfoot—only Savage and two Trainee Aurors were there. Harry tried to ignore the tone the two Trainees used when they talked about Malfoy, reminding himself that there were more important things to do than hex gossiping women. Sneaking a glance towards them and Savage, Harry spelled the back door to Malfoy's room so it wouldn't creak, and slipped inside. He smiled triumphantly once he got the door closed again behind his back.

Allowing his Invisibility Cloak to slither down his shoulders, Harry strode towards the bed. Malfoy was sleeping, the steady rhythm of the tracking medical spell in tune with the fall and rise of his chest. Harry observed him further, taking in the fact that Malfoy really did seem to sleep peacefully. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Harry scooped out the potion vial from his robe pocket and uncorked it.

"This is going to be the last time," he said so softly he almost didn't hear it himself. Holding the vial so tightly his fingers started to shake, Harry took a deep breath and brought the vial to his lips. He tipped it back, tasting the bitter concoction as he held it in his mouth. Looking down, he touched Malfoy's cheeks, his fingers giving just the right amount of pressure so Malfoy's lips parted slightly. He bent down and claimed those lips with his.

Letting the potion pour into Malfoy's mouth, Harry's heart fluttered against his chest. He didn't know, however, if it was because he was scared, or if it was because he was kissing Malfoy. He kept moving his lips even after he had transferred all the liquid, just so he could savour the taste of Malfoy. It didn't matter that the bitter waft of various potions seemed to surround Malfoy—he still had that lingering scent that was so him, and Harry breathed in deeply. He wished time could just stop.

When he forced himself to let go and open his eyes, he found Malfoy watching him.

"Mal . . . "

"Potter."

"You're awake . . ."

"What did you feed me?" asked Malfoy, his expression turning grimmer by the second. "What did you give me, Potter?"

"Nothing," Harry quickly said. "Trust me."

"I remember the taste. I remember when I last drank that potion."

"Malfoy—"

"Why?" Malfoy looked ashen and his lips trembled. "I thought—I told you that this was what worried me, what you'd do if something happened. I trusted you and so I did what I did. But why—Harry, you'll betray my trust if you carry on with this."

"I'm not betraying anyone," said Harry. He stood up, taking a few steps back and waiting, waiting until the potions kicked in. He hadn't betrayed anyone and he would never betray Malfoy. But if he didn't do this, he would betray Narcissa Malfoy's love, her death for her beloved son's life. But the way Malfoy looked at him, his eyebrows scrunched and lips pinched—it was as though his whole body was screaming at Harry's betrayal. Harry shook his head. "Trust me, I'll save you."

Malfoy didn't say anything, he just kept staring and staring and it was only then that Harry realised the potion had taken effect. Just a split second before Malfoy closed his eyes, the lines on his face smoothed and relaxed, Harry saw a tear sliding down Malfoy's cheek.

"I'll save you," he repeated, more to himself. Gripping his wand, Harry closed his eyes and tried to remember all the steps he had memorised. Malfoy's betrayed expression made it harder, but Harry was familiar with this feeling. It was as if he was back to that time, when he had to leave Ron, Hermione and Ginny, walking alone into the Forbidden Forest with only one thing in his mind. He had been ready to die—and he was now, too.

The incantation was long and difficult to pronounce, despite having practised it countless times before. Yet it seemed to be working well as Harry drew a pattern in the air, his lips continuing to murmur the incantation. Yellow lines tangled with each other, enveloping Malfoy from the tips of his hair to his toes under the duvet. They glittered like spider webs, the lights reflected on Malfoy's skin.

The second incantation was much shorter, but Harry had to repeat it again and again while forming a never ending pattern with his wand. The loops would have to be continuous, and that the slightest hesitation in Harry's movement or his voice could ruin the whole process. Harry's heart hammered so loudly, sweat trickled its way down his temple, and Harry resisted the urge to wipe it. When finally a red glow joined the yellow webs over Malfoy's body, Harry breathed in relief, his legs staggering a little from nervousness. The third step was now complete—two more to go.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," he whispered, pointing his wand to Malfoy's temple. He was about to continue the words he had learnt by rote from the torn page of Mrs Malfoy's diary, but paused. In the end he changed them to, "You will keep your memories as a wizard and you will lose your magic in exchange for . . ." He took a deep breath, studying the calm expression Malfoy was wearing, his hair, his pointy nose, his high cheekbones, and feeling his chest burst with emotions. ". . . in exchange for Harry James Potter's life."

A bright green light shot out from the tip of Harry's wand and cocooned Malfoy completely. The room was covered in green, even the yellow lines and red glow from the earlier spells were gone. Harry blinked his tears away, taking a step back. This was the time.

Raising his wand, he levelled it towards his own chest and closed his eyes. Malfoy would remember, but he would understand why Harry had done this. This way Malfoy wouldn't have to be a stranger, he could live as Draco Malfoy, despite having no magic. Hermione would help him, and maybe Ron, too. He wouldn't have to hide, the Aurors wouldn't have to track him down if he no longer suffered the curse. Everything would be all right. Everything would be fine even if Harry wouldn't be there. But Malfoy would understand—Hermione, Ron, Ginny . . . they all would. So Harry pressed the tip of his wand against his chest further, bracing himself to say the spell he never thought he would cast.

"Avada Keda—"

"Expelliarmus!"

Snapping his eyes open, the only thing he saw was his wand whipping away into the air, the bright green light in the room fading so quickly as though his wand had absorbed it all. The next moment, he saw Hermione standing near the back door, her wand pointed at Harry. Behind her were Ron, Zabini and Luna, all looking at him in alarm. The clatter of his wand on the floor seemed to be the thing that jerked them all into action.

"Harry!" Hermione rushed towards him. "I can't believe you're doing this!" She threw herself at him, crushing him into a tight hug. "Thank God we could still stop you!"

Still having difficulties catching up, Harry wobbled backwards. Ron caught his shoulders. "You almost gave us a heart attack! Seriously, mate, what were you thinking?" he asked, the grip on Harry's shoulders hurting so much it might bruise. "Hermione almost killed me when she found out you were missing!" From over Hermione's shoulder, Harry saw Zabini and Luna frantically moving their wands all over Malfoy, all the green, yellow and red lights having vanished entirely.

"Mal . . ." Harry tried to speak, but there was a lump in his throat and suddenly his chest felt so heavy he could hardly breathe.

He failed—he hadn't saved Malfoy.

"You listen to me, Harry Potter." Hermione cupped his jaw and forced him to look at her. "You're not doing this again. Never. You understand?"

"Hermi—no, I need to—"

"No, you don't. You don't even know what the real problem is with Malfoy's magic!"

Harry worked his jaw, trying to counter her, but upon catching Zabini's eyes, he paused. "The real problem?"

"Gryffindor foolishness never fails to amaze me," said Zabini, shaking his head. Upon Harry's lack of answer, he rolled his eyes. "There was a reason why Ms Lovegood and I had to keep Malfoy on close watch. His magic reaction was so extraordinary, it was as if it had its own mind. Therefore with Ms Granger's help, finally we got the results." He brandished his wand and wrote in the air. Orange lines emerged, forming a string of letters.

"See, it appears that there are four things that are affecting Malfoy's condition," he explained. "First, his own magic, which is still unstable, thanks to having been free so long. It's been attempting to escape from the confinement of a body. Second, Malfoy's body, which isn't used to magic yet, is trying to dispel the foreign object—which is, of course, the magic. Third, the curse—though it is still in hibernation, its existence is strong enough to add to the problem. Fourth, Granger's spell, which is struggling to stabilise the three factors above, but not strong enough. Those four are clashing with each other, and that's why Malfoy is so weak."

Harry tried to process the whole thing. "So it's not because the curse is killing him?"

"Not yet," said Zabini, erasing the orange lines. "Right now we need to focus on stabilising his magic and get his body used to magic again."

Harry shook his head in distress. "But what if the curse activates? If I'd succeeded with the ritual, every problem would be solved, wouldn't it?"

"It would indeed. But that's where Granger comes in," said Zabini. "It turns out, she might be able to solve all those problems without having you dead in the process."

Harry jerked his face towards Hermione in shock. "What?"

She cleared her throat, her cheeks growing pink. "Harry, the spell, it's trying to stabilise the curse, but that's not the only thing it's doing. It's also tying up the curse, putting it into quarantine so it won't spread to the other parts of the body, or be triggered by other factors to activate. Basically, the spell works the same way as the Muggles' antivirus. For their computers."

Harry stared, not quite understanding what she was saying.

"The curse is a form of magic. So is the spell. And Mrs Malfoy's ritual made me think . . . what if we only remove a part of the magic from Malfoy's body? The part that the spell confines, in other words, the curse, so it won't affect Malfoy's own magic? I'd been researching, using Mrs Malfoy's ritual and the spell as the base, but of course, I'm against using a human sacrifice," she said, pointedly. When Harry only frowned in response, she sighed. "So Harry, I talked with Zabini. He's an expert in modifying spells and charms—"

"Healing spells and charms, actually," said Zabini.

"—and he helped me to modify the ritual, because fortunately, the ritual was invented to save. Some of the spells used were taken from old healing spells," finished Hermione.

"You're telling me we really can cure Malfoy?"

"Yes, Harry."

Harry suddenly felt his legs would give way in relief, and it was only because Ron was holding him that Harry could still stand. "Why—why didn't you tell me anything?"

"Because I wasn't sure it'd work! I was just worried you'd do stupid things like this the whole time!"

"Clearly I wouldn't if you'd told me that," retorted Harry.

"Maybe you should start by telling us what's on your mind, too, mate," said Ron.

"How could I? When I knew you'd object?"

"O—kay, this is a hospital, you barbarian Gryffindors," said Zabini loudly. "We have a patient here."

Hermione looked sheepish, while Ron scowled, letting Harry go to stand beside her. But Harry froze when he saw Malfoy staring at him. Luna was by Malfoy's side, smiling gently and helping him get to a sitting position. Harry felt his mouth dry up the moment Malfoy sneered, "So, not dead then, Potter?"

"Malfoy—"

"I heard the whole thing. The potion didn't make me fully unconscious—looks like the brewer wasn't up to my mother's standard."

Harry winced. "Malfoy, I—"

"Lovegood, give me your wand," said Malfoy, extending his hand. Luna, looking happy and dreamy, gave him her wand without protest.

"Malfoy, wait, can we talk—"

A Stinging Hex burned on Harry's arm, causing him to hiss and nearly bite his tongue. Several more hexes tore at various parts of his body, until Harry had to drop to his knees. "Fuck, Malfoy!"

"Fuck you, Potter. I told you not to do that."

"I told you I don't follow orders!"

More Stinging Hexes flared on Harry's skin, even as he tried to dodge them. Harry wondered where Malfoy had learnt to fire hexes that fast, or if it was only because he was furious at Harry.

"Stop now, Malfoy. Healer's order, your magic is not ready to be used that way, and you will do as you're told." Zabini stepped in, easily capturing Malfoy's wrist.

"Fuck you, too, Zabini, release me."

"I'll have none of that. You're still too weak anyway." Zabini twisted Malfoy's wrist a bit, and the wand dropped onto the duvet. "There, there. Potter has received his punishment. Not even his friends stopped your hexes."

Harry eyed Ron and Hermione, who only shrugged lightly. "You deserve it, as much as I hate the ferret, mate," said Ron.

Sighing, Harry stood up resignedly. He walked over to the bed, trying not to flinch under Malfoy's glare. "I'm sorry."

"How many times must I deal with your selfishness, Potter?"

"I'm really sorry. I just don't want you to . . . well, you know the only thing that I want."

"Yes, all of your selfishness these past months revolved solely around me and my death, I know that already."

"I'm sorry . . ."

"Whatever, what's done is done," snapped Malfoy. He looked around the room and narrowed his eyes. "I'd prefer if you all could leave us alone."

There was a collective sigh from Zabini, Ron and Hermione. Only Luna smiled in agreement after taking back her wand. "What a romantic love story," she said as she left, humming under her breath. Seemingly used to Luna's antics, Zabini ignored her. He swished his wand over Malfoy and watched the numbers forming in the air with a bored expression.

"Five minutes. Your magic's level is too high right now."

"Fine, just don't eavesdrop," said Malfoy.

"Even if I wanted to, Granger's charm is too strong for me to dissolve," said Zabini, flashing a grin, which instantly faded at Harry's look. "Why do you think the Aurors didn't barge in, hearing all the noise? A beauty of a Silencing Charm, that."

"Seriously, go away, Zabini," said Malfoy, sounding tired.

"Five minutes then." Zabini nodded, guiding Hermione and Ron towards the back door. Once they were all out of the room, Malfoy was back to glaring at Harry.

"Malfoy—"

"Don't you dare doing anything like that again, Potter," said Malfoy tightly.

"Why? I only wanted to save you!"

"Then how do you think I'd feel, hearing those words coming out of your mouth, and imagining the same words must have come out of my mother's mouth?"

Harry felt as if his heart had just dropped into his stomach. "Oh, God. I didn't realise . . ."

"Yes, you never realise anything! How do you think I'd feel, knowing both you and my mother did that for me? How useless I am for having to be saved, for having to kill you in order to live?"

Harry couldn't say anything. He could only watch Malfoy blinking his eyes repeatedly, clearly trying to hold back angry tears. His hands clutched the duvet tightly, shaking and pale.

"Promise me," said Malfoy, his voice broken yet insistent. "Promise me not to throw away your life for me again."

Harry wanted to hug him, wanted to calm him, but how could he, when he was the cause of Malfoy's anguish?

"Potter!"

"I—I don't regret doing it. But I promise, I'll respect your feelings next time."

"Pot—"

"You saved me in the old building, you almost disappeared."

"It was only my ma—"

"You refused to identify me in the Manor."

"It doesn't mean I was ready to die for you!"

"It's the same, Malfoy," said Harry, touching Malfoy's cheek. "But I promise. Promise."

Surely by now Malfoy must have known that Harry didn't really keep all of his promises. Yet Malfoy still nodded after a long silence. Inside, Harry knew that it was because Malfoy wouldn't keep his promise either, if it was about saving Harry.

So they stayed silent, pretending for now it was enough.

. .

. .

It was dark in Grimmauld Place. Harry hadn't bothered to light the lamps or torches, and Kreacher seemed to understand his mood—or he just didn't bother to do the thing Harry was too lazy to do. Harry sat on the floor, leaning against the kitchen wall. The light from the street lamps outside permeated through the window, creating lines of gloomy yellow on the floor. He absently fiddled with Narcissa Malfoy's romance novel, shuffling the pages back and forth, back and forth.

He didn't know when exactly, but at some point past midnight, Hermione sauntered into the kitchen and sat beside him. Not so long after, Ron followed. They squished Harry, sitting together in the dark with Hermione's head on Harry's shoulder and Ron's back on Harry's other shoulder. It reminded him of those times before they all became busy with life sans Voldemort.

"What's the book about?" asked Hermione sometime before sunrise. She traced a finger over the cover when Harry had given up fiddling with it.

"Romance. Love story. Something stupid but sweet," Harry answered.

Ron snorted but didn't say anything.

"Have you read it?" asked Hermione again.

"Mm. I thought I could find a way to save Malfoy in this book, but . . . no. It's unlike her, though. To put something like this together with the other clues in the box."

"But you don't really know her, mate," said Ron, nudging Harry's waist with his elbow. "What's the story? I like making fun of bodice-rippers."

"Ronald, that's so tactless of you. Romance is a form of art," Hermione scolded him.

"Yeah, for girls," said Ron simply. Harry couldn't help but grin a little.

"It's like the Muggles' Romeo and Juliet. Only in the end both characters survive. The girl stopped the boy before he killed himself, and they lived happily ever after."

"Oh," said Hermione when Ron asked who Romeo and Juliet were. She didn't say anything for a long time, until Harry thought perhaps she had fallen asleep, just like Ron who had given up waiting for her answer. But finally she spoke again, her hand squeezing Harry's gently. "Do you think . . . the fact that Malfoy's magic wasn't completely gone was deliberate?"

Harry took a moment to mull it over. Mrs Malfoy might have made a mistake when she marked the map, but he didn't think she would make another mistake in performing the ritual. Even Harry almost succeeded. "Perhaps . . . she still hoped someone would be able to help her son. Perhaps it was all planned out."

"Perhaps she still believed in miracles," Hermione agreed. "Perhaps hopes are the ones we should never lose."

Harry looked down at the book under Hermione's fingers, the early morning sun making it easy to read the title, Achille and Edmée. Perhaps love was indeed the greatest force—just like Harry's own mother. Just like Snape. Just like . . .

"Harry?"

"I . . . I should have understood more than anyone, how it feels to have your own mother killed in order to save you. But I didn't think I'd make him remember. He . . . he was much closer to his mother."

"Oh, Harry . . ."

"I didn't think . . ."

Hermione squeezed his hand again, firmer this time. "You were only trying, Harry. That's all."

Harry didn't have anything to say to that. He gazed at the window, feeling the warmth of the morning sun starting to shower his face, his body. Hermione was right, he was trying. Malfoy was trying. To save and to care for someone. It was different from that time in the Forbidden Forest. He didn't feel the helplessness—didn't feel as though he didn't have any choice but to die with the Horcrux inside him. For the first time, Harry understood why Snape had sacrificed everything for the love that couldn't give him anything in return.

Glancing back at the romance novel on the floor, Harry knew he owed more than his life to Narcissa Malfoy.

. .

. .

"Honestly, Potter, if you're that slow I'll just go by myself!"

Putting down the Daily Prophet, Harry rolled his eyes. There was the familiar crack of an Apparition, and he grumbled under his breath. Of course Malfoy wouldn't wait for him, that git. But . . . he sipped his coffee, trying to contain the happy grin that threatened to form on his lips. He shifted his attention to the Daily Prophet again.

The front page showed Hermione shaking hands with Kingsley, Zabini and Luna at her side. The article specified that Hermione and Zabini's achievement in nullifying Voldemort's curse had given them the opportunity to advance another similar branch of medical research. And of course Luna would help them. Harry tried to think about what that meant, and suddenly had a bad premonition.

Maybe . . . maybe that meant Hermione would leave her post at the Ministry to pursue a career that could help more people. Harry could still hear her voice, when she told him that she only managed to succeed because the two month span of the spell's effectiveness hadn't run out. Hence, there were still a lot of holes she needed to cover, and she would do everything in her power to prevent the same thing from happening in future. Harry grimaced, knowing that he was going to be listening to a lot more of Ron's sulks. Surely her research would take almost all of her time now. Bad premonition indeed.

Sighing, Harry eyed the two letters he had put beside his empty plate. The first one was an official letter from Robards—he had finally released Harry from suspension. Harry didn't know if he really was suitable as an Auror, and he didn't know what to feel, reading Robards' letter. But again, it was too soon to give up—he had his second chance, perhaps he shouldn't waste it. As for the other letter . . . well, maybe it was indeed time to fulfil his promise and tell Ginny everything. Harry should have known that she wouldn't be satisfied just knowing the simplified story from newspapers and Ron.

Shaking his head a little to collect himself, Harry stood up and took his coat from the hanger. Vaguely he wondered if Malfoy had remembered to change his robes into a Muggle coat, but he dismissed the thought. It would be Malfoy's own fault for being so impatient if the Muggles gave him funny looks. So Harry slipped on his coat and Apparated to Callington with a smile.

Snow had started to pile up on the street. Harry grinned when he saw a pair of footprints starting from the point he materialised, towards the orphanage. He followed the footprints, stepping on them one by one just like a kid. At the orphanage gate, he spotted Malfoy standing, his hands inside his grey coat pockets. Turned out he remembered to change clothes after all.

"Why not go inside?" Harry asked as he arrived at Malfoy's side.

"I don't know what to say," admitted Malfoy, staring at the closed front door and looking forlorn. Harry choked a laugh.

"Just go and say thanks. Tell them you got your memory back and that you're going to be all right in London." He reached up to Malfoy's hair and messed it up. Malfoy yelped and jerked backward.

"What are you doing?"

"Raines wouldn't look this immaculate. Just—let some loose, will you? Just so they'll know it's you." Harry teased.

"Oh, shut it, Potter. They'll know it's me." Malfoy tried to comb his hair back with his gloved fingers, but in the end he let some strands loosely fall around his face. He remained motionless and silent, before finally letting out a long sigh. "Let's cancel this."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's Raines' place—I don't think I should throw myself into his . . . whatever it is for him."

"Are you sure?"

"I want to keep him alive in my mind, he's a person. He was—I don't know, he was really strong, considering what he went through," said Malfoy quietly. "His memories made me see things differently."

Harry studied him. Malfoy looked anxious, nervous. The tip of his nose was red from cold, and Harry knew that meant Malfoy was feeling really, really insecure. Malfoy never forgot to cast the Warming Charm unless he was distracted.

"Okay," said Harry. "Why don't we go to Raines' flat and . . . take that photograph? It'd be a nice memory for you."

Malfoy nodded. "Yeah. And I'll just send a letter to Old Man William. And Leah. Just so they know I'm not dead from starvation somewhere."

"That's a good plan."

Malfoy stared some more at the orphanage, as though he wanted to burn every little detail into his mind. Harry wanted to suggest filing the memories for use in the Pensieve, but he held his tongue. Perhaps Malfoy just wanted to savour everything from his Muggle point of view. Or perhaps he simply wanted to be Raines right now. Harry didn't know, but sometimes he wasn't certain whether he was talking to Malfoy or Raines. Then again, now Harry thought it didn't matter. He got this Malfoy, the one who was both the anguished boy from the war and the apathetic Muggle without a past. The one who shot him Stinging Hexes and asked him to make promises. So that was enough.

"Let's go," Malfoy said at last. He turned around, pushing the small of Harry's back. "We'll go to the flat and get back to—" He paused, his shoulders stiffened. Harry turned back to see what had made Malfoy freeze.

"Monica," said Harry, seeing the way Monica clung onto the back of Malfoy's thigh. "Hey, where did you come from? We didn't see you."

She didn't answer him, instead focusing her attention on Malfoy, who was now slowly turning to acknowledge her presence.

"Monica," said Malfoy so softly. He sat back on his heels, taking her tiny hands in his own. "It's cold, where are your gloves?"

Monica shook her head. "Gone," she said. Harry had to strain his ears, but it was worth it, for it was the first time he ever heard her speak.

"Where's Leah? And the others? Why are you alone?" asked Malfoy again. He started blowing Monica's hands, rubbing the fingers for warmth.

Monica only shook her head again in response. She struggled to free her hands and flung her arms around Malfoy's neck. The expression on Malfoy's face as he didn't know whether he should hug her back or not, was such that Harry couldn't contain his laughter.

"You lost," said Harry. "Let's get her back inside. And maybe we can come again for a visit on Christmas. And the one after that, and the one after that one, too."

Malfoy stared with confusion writ large upon his features. Harry waited for a beat and another, until Malfoy sighed and a small smile formed at the corner of his mouth. "I lost, indeed," he drawled, deciding to hug Monica back after all. He settled her on his hip before standing up. "Come on, then. It's your nap time if I remember correctly."

Harry followed him striding past the gate and along the garden path, smiling all the while. As they arrived in front of the door, they paused. Malfoy glanced at Harry and Monica mirrored him. Harry raised his eyebrows in askance.

"Potter—Harry," began Malfoy, "it's—um . . ."

Harry smiled wider, patting Malfoy's shoulder. "It's fine. I won't lose control again even if you act like Raines."

Malfoy seemed to visibly relax. He put Monica down and told her to call Leah and the others. "We'll be in the living room shortly," he said. Monica nodded, turning the doorknob and running inside. Before Harry could follow her, though, Malfoy yanked his arm and kept the door half-closed.

"Just for this I'll give you a reward," Malfoy said.

"A reward? Like the one I got for moaning that time?"

"I'll think about it." Malfoy pulled at Harry's lapels and kissed him. "Mm, yes, I think that's a rather nice idea. Tonight?"

Harry laughed. "You could have just said thanks, you know. Not that I'm complaining."

"You'd better not be," said Malfoy before kissing Harry again, this time deeper and making Harry's trousers feel tight in all the right ways. When Malfoy pulled back, he gave Harry a knowing smirk.

"Shut up, you git. You caused it," said Harry.

"Prat," said Malfoy.

"Tosser."

"Wanker."

"Hate you."

"Hate you, too."

Malfoy tugged Harry inside with a silly grin plastered on his face. Harry followed him, feeling his chest warm with affection. And when he found Monica peeking from behind a wall and heard Malfoy scold her, Harry couldn't help but laugh.

Harry had learnt so many things in life, and even more things in the last year. So later that night, while Malfoy tried hard to prove that Malfoys didn't make obscene noises, Harry secretly concluded . . . that love and hope really could win against time.

For once he enjoyed the sound of the ticking clock in his bedroom.

. .

Fin

. .

Yay, it's finished! Thank you so much for reading this story until the end, and for the reviews and alert/favourites. I'd love to hear what you think about the whole story, and if you wish to talk in private, please feel free to PM me. Also, I'll post more Harry/Draco stories, please give them a chance, too. See you again soon! :D