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

aka Blue Roses & Black Dreams

Chapter Seven: Re-Construction

A weary week passed, nothing strange or new happening, nothing at all to account for. Harry kept to himself at the dismay of Hermione who thought she'd broken through the barriers. Locking himself in his shack was, only allowing Mrs. Weasley to bring him food, gave him time to think, ponder over his feelings and wants. In truth, he acted like a prisoner in his jail-like room, brooding, ranting, crying and throwing things, all in the name of sanity, or finding it. What he realized at the end of that week was that he was ready to face up to it all and start over. On the surface he may have run back because he had no where else to go and in truth had lost the house, he'd come for a very real reason: to live a better life than what he'd been living, to try and continue on, put an end to the horrors in his mind. Now he was strong enough to do those things. It started with his column.

His column seemed frivolous compared to the catastrophe of his life but it was as impersonal as it got, not to mention his first deadline was a few days away. If he missed it, he'd be jobless as well.

Sitting at the scarred table with only one good chair, and a fresh piece of parchment and his faithful peacock feather before him, was like a fresh sense of deja-vu. Harry could remember long nights sitting before a muted television screen while Draco helped him with his diction, his own personal dictionary. Those were the nights, but this was today, and he pushed away the memory before another bout of tears could ruin his attempt.

The quill flowed over the thin parchment before Harry, the words black as his hardened heart, black as his still morbid thoughts.

'Every year millions of people, both Muggle and Wizard alike, lose someone close to them, whether by death, miscommunication, distance, or termination of a relationship. That loss never fades away to black and often haunts us till the day we die. For each individual, the aspects of the loss are different, as are the consequences, both good and bad. Wading through and moving on is especially hard. Do we trust someone as deeply or keep them at arms length? Should we sacrifice for the relationship? Tell them to? End all or rather endure through it? Life by no means is easy and although it is our choice to live, it is better to come out on top. Often times after a significant loss it is easy to drown in depression, a Muggle term for a constant feeling of sadness unable to be overthrown without the use of medical help, but there are ways to stop the decent; some people need to come to terms with the loss, and some need to push it away. Many people become angry, even more stay that way. Others bury their lives in work, books, other relationships even. For me, it was…'

Within fifteen minutes the column sat before him, one full parchment length still glistening as the ink dried. Long forgotten was the feeling, the rush, of writing, letting loose like no other reliever. Harry loved magic, loved everything about it, but it was the mundane and simple Muggle tasks that kept his hand steady and his mind busy. He loved that too which was one giant reason for moving into a Muggle neighborhood, to lead semi-normal lives. The freedom of writing, rudely thrown aside for feeling, would have helped the healing process, he realized too late. Maybe now it could finish it though, he construed.

A light knocking closed his mind, bringing him back to the room and Hermione at his door. Slowly he ambled to the windowed door, intentionally opening it wide enough for her to squeeze in.

"Figure I'd see how you were doing," she started, "Hoped I didn't scare you away."

Harry shook his head. He gently placed his hand over her crossed arms. "Needed time to think, that's all."

"What did you-," she hesitated, "-find?"

"A lot actually."

"Will you tell me?" She looked sad and lost, Harry decided, but couldn't tell if it was because of him or her tumor.

He motioned for her to sit on the bed, the most comfortable object in the room while he took the floor across from her, his knees against his chest. They sat for a couple minutes before Harry could speak clearly. "There's a lot going on in my head but one thing I want, no need, to do is make it right between you and me. I don't know how to do that or even where to start. Kinda hoping you'll help me, give me a little leeway."

Her face softened. A smile played there. "You know I want to help you all I can."

"I know."

"All you had to do was ask."

"That needs work too."

"You've always asked, it was timing that was different."


"What about them?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley deserve a lot more than I've given and that's one of my goals. I can't ever give Ginny what she needs."

"A friend?"

"And if that's not what she needs?"

"Harry, Ginny loves you, I think she always has, but leaving made her realize she can't ever have you that way. I think she'd rather take friendship over nothing at all."

"Then I can give her that."

"Unless you're bi," she smirked, the old spark in her eyes.

"Hmm…I think not," he smirked back.

"Ron?" The smile faded.

Silently he shrugged, not looking into her eyes. Through all the thinking he'd danced around that one subject. There was blame, a lot of it. He didn't want to be the first to cave.

"He really does care about you still."

Snorting, he rolled his eyes. "Shows."

"He's angry, Harry, can't you see that and look past it?"


"Not even if that's what it takes for him to finally understand and stop being so angry?"

"Did he tell you that?"

"Doesn't have to anymore."

Sadly he remembered, "I used to know Draco like that."

Hermione leaned forward over the bed. "What was he like? The Draco you knew?"

Grinning, Harry closed his eyes. "Very much like you knew him: stubborn, pig headed, pugnacious, irritable, but there was so much more under the mask. Love, joy, sweetness. He really cared about people. Poking fun was his way of acknowledging someone. He had my back even when I was in the wrong. After I let him in and he fully trusted me, he shared everything with me. It took a lot to get there."

"He sounds wonderful." She stood from her seat and sat on the floor next to him, putting her arms around his shoulders. "I'm sorry you lost him."

"I didn't loose him." He angrily swiped at his eyes. "He was taken."

Puzzled, Hermione drew back to look clearly at him. "Mrs. Weasley said he died. We figured-"

"It was natural? No, Draco, was killed, murdered, in our living room while I watched."

"That must have been horrifying. Was it magical?"

He nodded. "Never caught the man. Ireland's minister had all the Aurors looking into it."

"Why didn't we hear about this?"

"Polyjuice Potion. No one knew it was me. They sent word to Draco's family. I'm assuming they told a few wizards. They too hated the idea of Draco and I. They had different, more eccentric, plans for his future."

"Including dying?"

"As a Death Eater, yes."

"Did he ever think about that life?"

"When he was younger, before Hogwarts."

"Because that was all he knew," she affirmed.

He nodded again. "Are you and Ron ever going to get married?"

"We've talked it over but since I don't have much time left, why bother?"

"If it makes you happy-"

"He makes me happy. I don't need anything more."

"Except time," he added. The silence stretched between them as each thought about the near and too soon future.

Immediately she brightened and said, "Tell me about yours."

Knowing she meant his wedding, he recalled everything he could. "We both wore black, traditional tuxes. My tie was emerald green and my pocket kerchief was maroon. Draco's was opposite."


"We really just couldn't agree," he grinned. "We took a flight, first class, to Winsor, Massachusets in the states because his mother's family was originally from that area before she married Lucius and took his last name. Draco hated his father, thought he was only interested in himself and the future of the Malfoy line; which is exactly true. But he loved his mother even if she didn't accept me or what he wanted. Two months after we left, I took him for a walk around the city I wanted to buy a house in. I proposed. The date was a month later, in the fall when the leaves were gently falling. Our photographer was Colin."

"Creevey. I thought he pestered you?"

"Yes. Yet he was the only person I knew who took pictures and could keep our secret, mostly because Draco paid him a hefty amount of money. He did the same with our Minister. Everything took maybe a half an hour, even with the pictures, but it was the most perfect half hour."

"Do you still have you ring?"

"Both." He pulled out a long silver chain from underneath his shirt where two intricate rings jingled at the bottom. "Close to my heart." Both rings were silver with a gold, flowing pattern around each one. Only a small inscription on the inside of one discerned them.

"Is that was it reads?"

"In Gaelic, yes. Draco was fluent. Last minute he had mine inscribed."

"They're both beautiful."

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry I never understood. Pushed you away."

Harry sighed, staring at the rings before him. He never took them off their chain, never took them off his neck. It was his way of staying true to his heart even when his heart wanted to crack from the longing. There would come a day when he would lose his memory, but he would never lose the rings. Sometimes he slid his own in his left index finger, wondering how something so small could mean so much. "You knew that day," he recalled, still staring. "How?"

"You snuck off a lot during the night. I could hear you underneath the cloak as if you were visible. Must have been from all the times Ron and I were with you."

"Sorry I didn't tell you."

"You did, again, timing." She smiled and curled her hand in his.

"Things will never be the same, will they?" Harry leaned his head on hers, her brown bushy hair cushioning his like a pillow.

"No, but that isn't a bad thing."

"You should be mad at me, not sitting here. I don't really deserve it."

"Does it really matter now? Is it not better we are here?"

Harry sat and mulled it over while he listened to her peaceful breathing, glad they were beginning to make amends.

A/N: Sorry for such a long wait my faithful readers, I had an extremely long bout of writer's block, and it sucked. I probably wrote out these last two chapters four or five times trying to write something that didn't suck ass. I'm working on Ch 8 as we speak so you can expect it within the next week. To give you guys a treat, I posted two chapters instead of one. It's been a while. Thanks again and review!!!