It was the last night before he had planned to do it, but he did not believe himself capable. He never would have suspected that he was going to be like this forever, but fate had played her hand, and she wasn't backing down now. As the gently falling snow fluttered down amongst the frozen pines, the sun set over the peaks of the granite towers, the last of the afternoon light disappearing behind the greenish-blue reflection of the lapping waves of the lakeside.

"Hey." A male voice muttered. "Are you going to say anything? I just told you I'm alright. We'll get through this together. I don't care what you were. I care what you are."

"I'm a coward." He finally spoke, breaking the almost palpable tension that had hung in the air the entire afternoon. The day had been one of celebration, of victory, if joy and love and families and happiness amongst all of the sadness and misery and death of the past year. So many kids at the beginning of life were gone, so many heroes had fallen, as he had left ashes in his wake. "I ran away and I didn't do ANYTHING! I couldn't do anything. There dead, man. They're dead and I was too afraid to stand up to someone who could have killed me. God I wish he had." The young man's white hair made him look like a fallen star, an angel who had lost grace, the lost light of Lucifer himself sparkling against a face of alabaster, with eyes like the storms of the Arctic seas, cold, yet far beneath their icy waters, alive with the fires of the hearts of the world, the flames inside every icy tear burning, yearning to erupt into the array of lights in the sky, green as the collared shirt he wore.

"Draco-" the other young man took off his black cloak and lowered himself to sit beside him on the stony jade-lined bench facing their alma-mater, where so many memories had been lost to the past, yet trapped forever in hearts hardened by the slow passing of time. The red and gold shirt underneath his otherwise normal outerwear indicated his bewitching identity, though his forehead was as clean as his companion's, no longer bearing the scar that once instantly identified him as the boy who lived. "Draco, I don't think you're a coward." He put his arm around the other man's shoulders, leaning against him as the snow began to collect over his round wire glasses, making his vision every second less precise, as his time to show fear had long time passed, and tears were welcomed instead of suppressed.

"Yes you do. They all do. Hell, even I do."

"You have to know that it wasn't all your fault. You were going to be killed if you didn't leave. He would have killed you!"

"He certainly was going to kill you!" The blonde spat back. "You seemed to not care at all! Brave and chivalrous and courageous and strong, Harry. That's who you are. I'm what? Cunning? Ambitious? Resourceful? Clever? Ha! That all sounds euphemistic for the bloody Devil. My father did everything for me. I'm as resourceful as a stone."

"And just as unyielding." The dark haired man laughed as a small fleck of water escaped his bright green eyes, like grass in the summer sun as it swayed in the winds, teaming with careless mirth and fraternal joy. He laughed lightly and looked up at the first stars peeking through the floor of the heavens like eager little children wanting to share in the blessings of another day lived on, of another day without death. "You're a stubborn little prat, you know that? Eh, Malfoy?" He squeezed his arm around his somber, pouting friend. "Let me see your hand."

"What for, Potter?"

"Just trust me."

"Fine. Don't call me Malfoy, okay? Draco is fine."

"Call me Harry, then."

"Alright, then, Harry." The faintest ghost of a smile crossed Draco's lips as he stuck out his hand, his arm long and slender, yet strong, yet his companion didn't take it. "What? Shake my hand!"

"No, man. Your other one."

"I don't like to-" Harry had taken the hand closest to him, the one he knew bore the mark Draco wouldn't let anyone ever see again, the one that had been redder recently than it was black, the one cross-crossed with scars.

"If you ever think to try to do anything that'd hurt yourself again- ANYTHING like what you did, I'll personally see to it that-"

"Don't bother I'm not going to end my own life. I'm too much of a coward to do that, too."

"Give me your hand, Draco."

He did. Despite all of his pent up hatred for himself, all the days he spent apologizing to gravestones, all the days he had gone to the house of his former enemies and tried to forgive himself by being with them, by seeing his father through it all and trying, trying to live anyway, to bear the scars of yesterday, to find the will to be happy again, he couldn't find the strength to forgive himself. As he reached out his arm, the other young man, who had also dealt with so much so young; he hadn't asked for it either, grabbed it in his, and interlocked his fingers in that of his companion, forcing himself closer to him, as the serpentine, macabre skeletal shape blurred and blackened, reddened and bruised disappeared into the torso of that of Harry Potter, as he kissed Draco Malfoy hard on the lips, neglecting to care about form, manners or proper decency apart from passionate affection. For a brief moment, as always, Draco momentarily lost his breath, the air sucked out of his lungs by a continual sense of disbelief that someone could truly love him this much. After a few seemingly eternal moments, he returned the action, leaning back against Harry with equal strength of will, before succumbing to the ever present insatiable desire of the young and beautiful. He believed Harry loved him, he just couldn't see why. Had he been so foolish just minutes ago to wish he was dead? To go through with a plan to take himself away from the world? He never wanted to leave this place, this moment, this feeling. This sense of wonder, of a loss of control that was replaced with a burning, passionate, encouraging light of the fire of a thousand stars behind his reclaimed wings as he flew toward the heart of God himself, of love, of Harry Potter. All his accusations, all his taunts to 'Saint Potter' seemed less melodramatic and more devotional, more based in absolution than not that night. He believed he'd been saved by love, by the forgiveness of an enemy. He felt a rush of cold against his lips as he breathed in the winter air, the smell of the forest, of the last dregs of autumn clinging to the snow filled his lungs. He inhaled and smelled the scents of pumpkins, cedar trees, evergreens, saltwater, chocolate, and the purity of frosted rose gardens, of marble floors and tapestries lit by firelight.

"I love you, Draco Malfoy."

"I love you, too Harry. I really do." Draco was at a loss for words, he usually could find something witty to say, though he cared less about impressing people recently. "I love you so much and it scares me."

"Does it, though?" Harry had asked the question Draco had hoped he wouldn't. He didn't want to think more about it, though it was like Harry could tell he'd changed, though Draco couldn't see it, others had. Harry had, and so had his friends. Even Hermione Granger truly believed in Draco's turnaround, in his desire underneath it all to be good, to what was right. He thought for what seemed like ages and he started to feel better, braver, stronger.

"Sometimes yes." He replied. "Other times,  no." He wasn't crying anymore and he certainly wasn't feeling afraid or madly depressed any longer either. "Most of the time, when I'm with you, recently, I feel like I could take on the world. I feel like I could face anything." He lowered his head and his expression fell back into one of despair. "But I can't do that alone. I'm not brave by myself."

"You don't have to be." Harry replied. "I always had people to help me. Let me help you, Draco. Trust in me, give way to something that makes you feel free. Don't torment yourself over things that are dead and gone. You can always choose to be whatever you want to be. It's never too late to choose love."

"God, if anyone we used to go to school with could hear us right now they'd think we were under some awful love tonic or something. Or maybe some odd fangirl had put us under the Imperius Curse!"

"You will sleep with me." Harry raised his wand from the folds of his shirt and waved it airily and melodramatically in the air as little white flecks of snow affixed themselves to it. "It will be very romantic and pleasurable." He laughed.

"You will end up married with three children and a bunch of money that you don't really need as you grow old with me and eventually die because you did something stupid like try to fly a broomstick through a barn in Galway upsidedown at eighty." Draco laughed and did the same.

"You'll never be afraid again, and you'll wear that awful sweater that Ron's mom made you with pea green yarn because she didn't have any that looked like the house colors for Slytherin." Harry laughed as Draco laughed with him.

"You will always love me and I'll always love you." Draco replied.

"That one didn't seem funny." Harry stopped laughing.

"Was it meant to be?" Draco replied, knotting his eyebrows together as he raised them.

"I don't think it was." Harry smiled warmly. "But I'll tell you what, I'd bet my life it's true."

For the first time in his life, Draco felt what he'd heard so often talked about but never fully experienced. He nearly knocked Harry off the bench on which they were sitting as he kissed him with a newfound strength he never thought himself capable of wielding. His heart felt alight with some form of gold Midas himself couldn't bear at his fingertips, as he wrapped his arms around Harry's neck, he felt love. He really truly, fully felt love, and it was like no magic he'd ever done before. Harry's reaction was equally eager, as he reciprocated the feeling, the darkness of the evening concealed their presence as they for the first time, both fully existed together in a moment of passion and grace, beside the former prison of memories which so burdened both of them.

The light of the newly shining moon reflected the new blanket of snow on the light early winter grass beside the darker midnight waters of the lake. Small blossoms still on the higher branches of the fruit-bearing trees near the Greenhouse reflected the pale light against the slow chirping of nocturnal life. A few bats fluttered around the willow that destroyed the Weasley's Ford Angila and hid the recently fallen Marauder when he needed a place to unravel into what people would call a monster. As the two young men in love looked up into the sky, it was like the spirits of the loved ones each of them had lost were looking back down at them through the footpaths of stars that now shined in the brightest silver light. A shooting star cascaded across the expanse of the Milky Way, as they truly felt for the first time in a long time, a sense of peace, of strength, of bravery and of love. They knew then they were going to be alright.

"Draco," Harry began. "Do you really think I'd die flying a broomstick?"

"What?" Draco replied, somewhat confused. "Oh!" He laughed, recalling what he had said before. "I was largely joking, though it's certainly possible." He smirked, and tanked whoever was watching over them that the darkness concealed his blush as he recalled what Harry had said. "Do you really think we'd-" he swallowed "well that we'd um, well, you know, sleep togeth-"

"Way ahead of you there, Draco." Harry replied. "I'm not an idiot." Harry also smirked. "Do you want to?"

"As long as you do."

"Where?"

"Don't you have a manor house?"

"Not my own."

"Yes, but your father is hardly ever there."

"He's not now. He's gone for the winter to our summer home in the islands."

"How much money does your family have, Malfoy? God."

"Does it matter?"

"Not really but, man, I'd like a beach house."

"Are you stalling?" Draco smiled even bigger.

"No, what would make me want to do that?"

"Scared, Potter?" Draco laughed again.

"You wish." Harry grabbed his hand again and pulled Draco toward the exit of the school grounds, the snow no longer falling, leaving behind a coat of shining white perfection, the school empty for the winter holiday, not a soul present, only the ghosts of memories past, but never forgotten.