A/N: Welcome to story #4!! As my faithful readers know I write only Draco/Harry fics (for the time being) so STOP NOW if you hate SLASH. About two months ago I posted the Prologue to this story but my computer had a virus and ate everything on my computer. I have been re-writing this off and on but since my three stories are complete I will have more time to devote to this story!
SUMMARY: Harry Potter married Draco Malfoy, but to the disgrace of his friends and family. Years later, Draco is murdered. Harry, knowing he has nowhere else to turn, goes to the aid of his long-lost friends. Now he must face the difficult challenges of not only coming to terms with his lover's death but with his oldest friends.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is a non-profit, independent fan fiction.
Coming To Terms originally known as Blue Roses & Black Dreams
The air was cold, bone-chilling cold. It crept and slithered beneath their skin, goose bumps rising. Even when he crossed his arms, holding onto his lovers hand, he still felt as if a blow would shatter him. He didn't know when the air would again warm for it was magic that ended the sun's beautiful rays. No one understood it, but they all knew something was not right.
For a moment, it seemed as if the silence would continue eternally. Stuff their blue ears with tissue until it reached their slow acting minds. Bring their other senses down to a low hum.
Then it happened, quicker than a bolt of lightning.
A red blast knocked the wooden door off its hinges, blasting the room full of friends off their feet. Noise like that none had heard, a high pitched screeching, earsplitting. Some clapped their hands over their ears and died on the spot. Those who did not die ran for the back door; pitiful little Muggles. Yet he and his other half stayed and fought like true warriors. This was not new to them, for they were wizards.
Instantly, the raven haired man's intuition pumped through his coursing veins. Pure adrenaline showered his senses as his body nimbly ducked a flying lamp. He smiled. Long forgotten in his mind he had loved this. It was second nature, the suckling a baby did moments after birth.
"Confringo!" the blonde man bellowed, a long and thin piece of wood clutched in his right hand. "Move!" Dodging a black spell that collided with the couch, he sprang into action, sending spells flying in every direction. The "men" that surrounded the front door and window became one with each other.
The two warriors dodged another assault of black spells and ducked behind the stairs. "What the hell was that?" Crouching the raven grabbed onto the smaller man for warmth, who shook his head against the visible cut on his arm.
"Must have been an augmenting spell, but nothing like I've ever seen. Finally, throwing spells worked to my advantage. Auror training," he cringingly remembered.
"Do we know why he is here?" He took in the room's interior: smashed windows, broken and lost furniture, cracks in the walls, and bodies. Too many bodies. In a matter of what was minutes the room had been turned into a war zone. That blood was never going to come out of the carpet, shame.
"No clue. Vengeance? Anyone you know?"
"Can't tell. His cloak covers too much of his face." Wincing the man flattened himself against the wall as more spells were sent their way. "You?"
The blonde shook his head as his blue grey eyes met never ending forests. "Let's finish, but we are having no more parties in this living room." Smiles flicked as the two readied themselves for the next onslaught.
When the two stepped from under their "hideout," they came face to cloak with the one man show. Before they could utter a syllable, a fist slammed into each wizards' head. Ringing and spots erupted, ensnaring their tuned senses. Luckily, the bigger boy recovered first, granting him time to collide his knee with the imposer's stomach. Quickly, he slashed out with his fists. Left, right, left. He jumped back and turned to gain the higher ground. Twisting his upper torso, the raven flicked his wand, yellow bands coiling up the enemy's limbs.
With a flutter of eyelashes, the rope mutated into a pair of red and yellow cobras, deadly, eyes the color of oozing puss. The cloaked figure's mouth opened, a waterfall flooded over the floor, again knocking the light wizards over.
Something caught the green eyed man's attention. Tucked inside the opponent's black velvet robes was a small knife with a carved handle. "Move back, Draco!" he frantically yelled. "He doesn't want-" A liquid gel plastered his moving mouth. Crawling, it began to slide up his face, coating his nostrils. Unable to breathe, he fell to his knees and forced his eyes shut, trying to calm his frenzied mind. Only then would he be able to breathe again.
Eventually he inhaled and looked up, only to find his soul mate pinned underneath a set of knees to the wet and damaged floor, the knife maliciously glinting above his body. Magically, something was controlling the blonde for he wasn't trying to wriggle free. Almost as if the same spell had been placed unto him, he stared in horror and simply watched.
In an eerily calm voice, the imposter spoke fluent English. "Here, what no man was able to accomplish, lies my offering. Take it, Oh Dark One, and grant me full pardon!" His voice crescendoed and in the end he plunged the knife tip deep into the soft pale skin. Startled, Harry began to fight the enchantment over him. It was useless. A dim light exited Draco's eyes as they glazed over. It entered the knife which was extracted and used to cut a thin sliver of skin down the cloaked figure's forearm.
A bead of sweat fell down the man's head. Swiping it away with his uninjured arm, his hood fell, askew. An ordinary man's face stared at the knife. Waiting. The light entered the wound and immediately was gone, along with the killer.
Suddenly, the raven was able to move. He ran to the blonde, fumbling with his wand. "Rennervate!" Nothing. "Episkey." The body was still. "No! Don't be dead! You can't be! What the hell?! This wasn't the plan! What happened to our goddamned, fucking plan?" An angry tear glided down his pale cheek as he hugged the dead body close to his own. The warmth in his limbs abated as he silently cried. "Please," he whispered, "I need you." Pain erupted within his heart, an explosion like a grenade had been thrown. His nostrils flared as he tried to fight it off, tried to compose himself. After several tries he let it all out; the pain, the loss, the grief he feared would never end.
In a rush of time and heartache unknown to many, Harry Potter, the raven haired man in the dream, jolted awake, soaked through with sweat and tears. His clock glowed 12:01 am, the same time it did every night he relived his worst nightmare, that which was his reality. Burned into his retinas and the back of his eyelids was the face of the man who had killed his lover, Draco Lucius Malfoy. Dark brown eyes, nearly black, and spiked ebony hair with a slim jaw line and crooked nose. Not a face you forgot when you saw it every night and every night let him get away, untouched and unscathed.
Part of reliving that day not only meant he watched Draco die time and again, but it also meant trying to figure out what went wrong and failing to atone for what he let happen. If he had moved, if he had thought, if he had known! For all the if's in the world, it changed nothing. There was a gaping hole within his soul. Why wouldn't there be? His soul mate had been brutally taken from him.
Sighing, Harry knew he would not get anymore sleep that night; he never did. Bags had formed from lack of sleep beneath his eyes, the color in them no longer that of forests, but the shallow and empty color of despair. Bones sharply stuck out of pale skin. Clothes hung on him like they had when he was a teen living with his aunt and uncle. His body was disagreeing with his life style, his newest habits, yet he cared none.
Six months had passed and he was still not able to breathe without fear of seeing that haunting face and letting him slip past his defenses again. Wondering if he would ever live happily ever after, Harry filled a small glass with tap water. Two blinks and it was gone, like the life he used to have.
Sometimes the quiet infiltrated his hazed mind. At times like that, like now, Harry talked to himself, or rather to Draco, as if he was alive and able to hear him. The if's, again. Harry wished not only that Draco was alive but that he had someone to speak with, even though he knew he would brush them off. They meant nothing to him, or wouldn't were they real.
As the hours slowly ticked away, he began to nod off. His last words before sleep overpowered his exhausted mind and body were, "Till death do us part." Then he remembered nothing until the morning rays touched his limp head.