CHAPTERED FIC (21/21, PART ONE): Immortalitas Aestas - R - H/D
Chapter Twenty
Title: Immortalitas Aestas
Summary: There's been a heat spell cast on Hogwarts, and in between trying to counteract that, fight Voldemort and keep up in classes, Harry and Draco manage to find time to fall for each other.
Rating: R
NOTES FOR THIS CHAPTER: Once again, this file is too large, so I've split it into two parts. Links are available to make navigation easier.
Chapter One
Chapter Twenty-One
Harry woke with a start, fighting a sense of vertigo. His arms flailed out in surprise, seeking something to grasp onto in order to steady him. He felt someone sit down next to him and, just as he was convinced he was going to fall, a warm hand grasped his and held tight.
"Harry?"
Harry instinctively tightened his grip, willing the dizziness to disappear, when the voice penetrated the fog in his head. Could it really be…?
"Draco?" he said, voice cracking. He tried to force his eyes open but they weren't cooperating.
"Harry," said Draco, relief apparent in his voice. "Thank God," he murmured, bringing Harry's hand to his mouth and kissing his fingers. "I thought you were never going to wake up."
Harry finally managed to get his eyes open. The room was bright and he squinted against the glare. Blinking rapidly to bring his eyes into focus, he saw Draco silhouetted against the sunlight streaming through the windows, blond hair shining in the sun.
"It's really you?" Harry asked, almost afraid to hope that Draco was there in front of him. "I am awake, right?"
Draco gave a slight laugh and tightened his grip on Harry's hand. "It's me."
Relief flooded through Harry and he was surprised to feel tears fill his eyes. Blinking them back, he fought to free himself from the blankets that were pinning him to the bed. He had a sudden, overwhelming desire to touch Draco, to make sure he was really there. Finally getting loose enough to sit up, and noticing vaguely that the movement caused his head to ache, he reached for Draco, who immediately wrapped him in a tight hug.
"I heard you scream when you went down," Harry said, burying his face in Draco's shoulder. Draco smelled faintly medicinal, like one of the potions Madam Pomfrey was forever pouring down Harry's throat. "I started heading back to you after I - after I killed Voldemort…." He stopped, and looked up at Draco, eyes widening. "I really did kill him, didn't I? It's really over."
Draco smiled, bringing his hands up to cradle Harry's face. "It's really over, Harry." He leaned forward and kissed him gently, one thumb tracing over Harry's cheekbone. "You're finally free of it all."
Harry sat silently for a moment, soaking up Draco's touch. The pain in his head was a bit more insistent than it had been at first, and he was just getting ready to say something when Madam Pomfrey pushed aside the curtain that was keeping Harry separated from the rest of the hospital wing.
"Well, Mr. Potter, glad to see you're awake." She pointedly looked at Draco, who reluctantly released Harry and allowed him to sit back against the headboard. Harry reached beside him to the bedside table for his glasses, and slipped them on. "Mr. Malfoy was supposed to inform me as soon as you woke up, but I see he got slightly sidetracked."
Draco shrugged unrepentantly. "I figured you'd be in sooner or later."
Madam Pomfrey gave him a sharp look, and Draco amended his previous statement slightly, saying, "I would have called you if there had been something wrong."
"When you become a Healer, Mr. Malfoy, you may make decisions such as that without any interference from me. In the mean time, I believe I am the Healer here, and I will decide whether there is anything wrong or not."
Slightly abashed, Draco conceded, holding up his hands in surrender. Harry gave him a small grin, which disappeared as Madam Pomfrey began a barrage of diagnostic scans and tests. Just as Harry was convinced he'd never been poked and prodded so much before in his life - which was saying something, seeing as he made visiting the hospital wing quite the hobby - she stopped and said everything looked good.
"Is there anything in particular bothering you, Mr. Potter?" she asked.
Harry thought that might have been a good question to start with, but didn't say so. "My head hurts," he told her. "Kind of like it's been split open."
"That's because when you killed Voldemort, Harry, you severed the connection between the two of you," said Dumbledore, who had just come into the small curtained-off area surrounding Harry's bed. "It's perfectly normal, and I'm sure Professor Snape can give you a pain-relieving potion to help until the pain subsides completely."
Harry noticed that Snape had followed Dumbledore into the room, and was uncorking a vial filled with a bluish-colored liquid. He handed it to Harry without ceremony and said, "Drink," in a no-nonsense tone that Harry didn't argue with. He drank, and nearly sighed in relief as the potion took the pain in his head away completely.
"Thank you, sir," Harry said quietly, and Snape nodded once in acceptance.
"Now," Dumbledore said cheerily, "I suppose you have questions. And I would like to give you answers, if you're up to it."
"Answers to everything or only what you deem pertinent?" Harry asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. He realized that he was perhaps being a bit disrespectful, but surely now that everything was over he could finally have the full truth.
Dumbledore sighed, his cheer diminishing slightly. "I will answer any questions you have, Harry. I admit that my doing so is long overdue."
Madam Pomfrey took this as her cue to leave, warning Dumbledore not to unnecessarily overtax her patient, and bustled Snape out with her. There were some muttered complaints from Snape when Madam Pomfrey insisted he sit down so she could look him over - he'd been sporting a freshly-healed cut on his cheek and was limping quite spectacularly - but the sound of their voices disappeared as the curtain around Harry's bed was pushed back into place. Someone must have put a silencing charm around the area so Harry wouldn't be disturbed.
Draco gave Harry a questioning look, and then gestured half-heartedly toward the curtain, clearly wondering if he should leave as well. In response, Harry reached for Draco's hand, entwining their fingers. Draco gave him a small smile, and then turned his attention toward Dumbledore.
Harry looked at Dumbledore, too, then remembered that Dumbledore shouldn't have been there at all.
"Voldemort said you were dead," Harry said.
"Ah, yes. Well, let's just say that I played a bit of a trick on our old friend, Tom," Dumbledore replied, eyes twinkling merrily behind his half-moon spectacles. "He only saw what he wanted to see."
Harry knew he had a confused expression on his face, but none of this really made any sense to him. "If you weren't really dead," Harry began slowly, "then why didn't you take care of Voldemort yourself? Why did I have to kill him?" Why did I have to risk my life? was the unspoken question that was floating in the air, and it was this one that Harry most wanted answered.
"I am very sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said, and Harry noticed that the Headmaster suddenly looked very tired. "I am afraid that it had to be you."
Harry was tempted to tell Dumbledore that his response was another of those vague, half-answers that he didn't really appreciate, but refrained. Dumbledore took a moment to conjure up one of his flower-patterned armchairs, and seated himself on the cushion.
"Before we get down to business," Dumbledore said, "I think we could all use some tea. And perhaps some sandwiches for you and Mr. Malfoy."
Harry didn't feel all that hungry himself, but nodded his consent. Dumbledore took a moment to call for a house elf, who was gone momentarily and then back with a tray full of tea, biscuits, and small finger sandwiches. Dumbledore put some biscuits and sandwiches on a plate for Harry and Draco, and then poured each of them a cup of tea.
Harry nibbled slightly on a sandwich and waited for Dumbledore to get started. Draco, he noticed, was eating a bit more heartily; he polished off his entire plate in a matter of moments.
Harry observed that Dumbledore was also watching Draco, and couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face when Dumbledore asked, "Would you care for some more, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco looked up from his teacup, embarrassed. "No, sir. I'm okay." He noticed Harry looking at him and said, somewhat defensively, "I've been up a lot longer than you have, you know."
Harry grinned. "That's good to hear."
Draco polished off his tea and set his cup aside. Harry had only taken one sip of his, but his attention was focused much more on what Dumbledore was going to say than on his stomach. Unwilling to wait any longer, he said, "Can we please get started, sir?"
Dumbledore inquired if either of the boys wanted anything else to eat or drink, and after receiving negative responses, he vanished the dishes and nodded. "Ask away, Harry."
Harry was quiet for a moment. He had so many things he wanted answers to that he didn't even know where to start. Finally he asked, "What did you mean when you said you were afraid it had to be me? Why did I have to kill Voldemort?"
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "What do you know of prophecies, Harry?"
Harry tamped down on the annoyance that flared every time Dumbledore answered a question with another question, and replied, "I know Professor Trelawney made one the night Pettigrew escaped and Sirius was nearly given the Dementor's Kiss."
Dumbledore nodded. "That was not the first prophecy spoken by Professor Trelawney, Harry. The first prophecy was spoken before you were even born, and I am afraid that everything that has happened to you since it was uttered has been a direct result of her words."
"I don't understand," Harry said. "What do you mean? Are you saying the prophecy dictated my life?"
"It definitely dictated certain aspects of it," answered Dumbledore. "If you'd like, I can show you the prophecy. You may understand better after hearing it."
Before Harry could answer, Draco spoke. "But prophecies are recorded and kept in the Department of Mysteries, aren't they? Only Harry, or whomever else the prophecy was talking about, would be able to remove it."
Harry looked at Draco. Obviously he was better versed on the subject of prophecies, which wasn't surprising. Even after all these years, Harry knew he still had gaps in his magical knowledge.
"You are correct, Mr. Malfoy. Usually that would be the case. However, I happen to be the person Professor Trelawney spoke the prophecy to, and I assure you, my memory on the matter is quite sound." Harry noticed that Dumbledore's eyes were doing that twinkling thing again as he looked at Draco, who squirmed a bit under his gaze.
"Oh," was Draco's oh-so-eloquent reply.
"Indeed," Dumbledore said with a smile. He reached inside his robe and withdrew two lemon drops. As he proceeded to unstick them from each other, he focused again on Harry. "Would you like to hear the prophecy, Harry?" he asked again.
Harry glanced briefly at Draco, who shrugged slightly. Turning back to Dumbledore, he nodded. "Yes. I would."
Dumbledore popped one of the sweets into his mouth and withdrew his wand. He then reached down to the floor and brought up a Pensieve. With his wand he extracted a silvery strand of memory, and dropped it into the stone basin.
"Do you remember in your first year when you asked me why Voldemort had tried to kill you when you were a baby?" he asked, gazing steadily at Harry.
Feeling suddenly unsteady but not quite knowing why, Harry swallowed once, heavily, and nodded.
"You are about to get your answer, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "An answer I should have given you years ago."
Dumbledore had never used that tone with Harry before, and Harry suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to hear whatever this prophecy was. He felt like he was standing in the water on shifting sand, and was one wave away from being knocked over and drowned. Without conscious thought he reached a hand out to Draco, who immediately grasped it and held tight.
The Headmaster took his wand and prodded the silvery liquid in the Pensieve. As Harry watched, the figure of Professor Trelawney rose out of the basin, spinning slowly, and spoke in a voice that Harry had heard only once before:
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…."
Harry felt like he couldn't breathe, and absently noticed that he was squeezing Draco's hand tightly enough to break something. Dumbledore continued to watch him, eyes steady but sad. It was that sadness that made Harry finally manage to draw in breath - what right did Dumbledore have to be sad? - and in the next second he had released Draco's hand and was on his feet.
"How could you not have told me?" exploded Harry, hands balling into fists. "You let me go on facing him, and never once told me why you never intervened, or why he kept coming after me! I had a right to know!"
At this point, he stood towering over the seated Dumbledore, who hadn't moved even a fraction under the onslaught. Dumbledore lowered his head a bit in acquiescence and said, "You are right, Harry. I have no worthwhile excuses, except that I was trying in a very misguided way to protect you. I realized long ago that, in this case, I made a mistake."
"You made a mistake," Harry repeated flatly, voice tight. He realized that the potions vials on the bedside table were vibrating with his anger. He clenched his fists even tighter and continued, "Yes. I would say you definitely made a mistake."
Dumbledore sighed and raised a hand to his face, fingertips pressing into his forehead. "I am sorry, Harry."
"Sorry?!" Harry's voice rose in incredulity, and one of the vials that had been teetering on the tabletop exploded with a sharp pop. From the corner of his eye Harry saw Draco flinch slightly at the sound, and spun around to face him.
Draco, for his part, didn't react at all to the fury on Harry's face, simply looking at him. Harry noticed that Draco was clutching his right hand slightly; there were indents on his first and third fingers where his ring had dug into his skin when Harry had gripped Draco's hand during the prophecy. Seeing Draco quietly sitting there effectively calmed Harry enough to be sure he wouldn't break anything else, or lose his mind completely and attack Dumbledore. Dumbledore might have deserved his anger but Draco definitely did not.
Harry reached for Draco's injured hand. Draco placed it in Harry's grasp without hesitation, and Harry gently tugged it toward him, raising it to his lips and brushing a kiss over his knuckles. He didn't say anything but Draco understood the unspoken apology. His gaze softened and he stretched his index finger up to brush a caress along Harry's cheek.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry asked Dumbledore, eyes still trained on Draco's face.
He heard Dumbledore shift in his chair but didn't turn around. It was rude to keep his back to the man as he spoke, but it was either that or run the risk of losing his temper again.
"Like I said, Harry. I have no valid excuses. When you first asked me why Voldemort had tried to kill you, I told myself you were too young to know the truth, that the burden of the prophecy was too big. Then I kept telling myself it wasn't the right time, that you had other responsibilities to take care of. I even used the idea of forming the Adversarius as yet another reason to not tell you."
Harry's jaw clenched and he forced himself to keep the hand holding Draco's relaxed.
"Did Voldemort know the prophecy?"
"He did not know it in its entirety. He had a spy, who was following me, and he overheard the first part. He was removed before it was finished, however, so gave Voldemort the incomplete version."
"Who was the spy?" Harry asked.
There was a decided pause, like Dumbledore didn't want to answer. When he did, the response was slow. "The spy was Professor Snape."
Harry dropped Draco's hand as he felt white-hot anger instantly flare inside him at Dumbledore's words. He leaned forward, bracing himself against the mattress, and dropped his head, forcing himself to breathe deeply. His fingers clenched in the blankets as he struggled to control his emotions.
No doubt realizing that Harry was once again about to lose it, Draco leaned forward and hesitantly laid a hand on his shoulder. Harry's head jerked up at the contact and he met Draco's wide-eyed stare.
"Breathe, Harry," Draco murmured, hand tightening on his shoulder. "You don't want to break anything else."
Harry suddenly had the urge to laugh hysterically and tamped it down, knowing it would only come out sounding completely insane. He certainly didn't care about the décor of the hospital wing at this particular moment, although he understood what Draco was trying to do.
In his head he was seeing an entire lifetime of could-have-beens. What if Snape - someone he'd managed to have a semi-productive working relationship with when it came to the war but still couldn't honestly say he liked all that much - hadn't told Voldemort what he'd overheard? Then Voldemort wouldn't have wanted to get his hands on Harry, and there would have been no need for a Fidelius charm. Pettigrew wouldn't have been made Secret Keeper, and wouldn't have betrayed his parents. Sirius wouldn't have gone after him and spent twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit. And most of all, Harry would have grown up with loving parents - parents who wanted him - instead of the Dursleys, who hated the mere thought of him….
So much would have been different. Harry had always placed the blame for his parents' deaths squarely on Pettigrew and Voldemort. But while they had definitely played a role, none of it would have happened if not for Snape.
"Professor Snape blames himself for your parents' deaths," Dumbledore said quietly, with his irritating habit of knowing precisely what Harry was thinking, although, to be fair, in this case it wasn't exactly difficult.
"As well he should," Harry bit out angrily. "None of this would have happened if he hadn't told Voldemort what he overheard!"
"Professor Snape has carefully cultivated your dislike of him," Dumbledore continued. "He knows that you have every right to be angry with him, and has behaved accordingly to make it easier for you to do so."
"Oh, no," Harry said, spinning around and facing the Headmaster. "No, no, no, you are not going to make me feel sorry for him! He hated my father and probably got a perverse joy out of being the cause of his death!"
"Your father, perhaps," Dumbledore said. "But not your mother. Never your mother."
"What are you saying?" Harry asked, voice sounding strangled.
"Professor Snape cared for your mother, Harry. He and Lily were childhood friends. He was devastated when he realized that what he'd overheard had led to her death. That is the reason he switched allegiances. That is why he agreed to spy."
Harry reeled backwards, legs collapsing underneath him. He fell to the bed, where his shoulder was immediately gripped by Draco and he was pulled back against Draco's chest.
"Snape was friends with my mum?" Harry asked faintly, hands finding purchase in the sleeves of Draco's jumper.
"He was," Dumbledore confirmed, for once leaving off the rejoinder to remember Snape's honorific.
"Then why did he join Voldemort in the first place?"
"That is a question for Professor Snape to answer," said Dumbledore, voice firm.
"Right, because we're so good at carrying on conversations," Harry replied sarcastically. He felt Draco laugh slightly.
"Nonetheless, it is one only he should answer. In this instance, I will say no more." Dumbledore's tone confirmed his words.
Harry scowled slightly, knowing there had to have been a catch to Dumbledore's "you can ask me anything". Seeing Harry's expression, Dumbledore quickly added, "Anything else, however, is open for discussion, if you want to ask."
That mollified Harry slightly, and he settled back into Draco's arms, trying to decide what to ask next.
"Why did Voldemort think you were dead?" he finally asked.
"Ah," Dumbledore replied, eyes once again twinkling behind his spectacles. "It was really a mere parlor trick and I am surprised Tom actually fell for it. There is a charm called Heart's Desire, which operates much like the mirror you found so long ago - it shows you only what you want to see. When Voldemort attempted to kill me, I used the charm to show him what he most desired in that instant: me, dead."
"I thought Tom Riddle was brilliant!" Harry said. "That sure seems like a really stupid mistake for him to make."
"Tom Riddle was brilliant, Harry. He was probably the most intelligent student I ever taught. But as Voldemort, he occasionally let his hatred override his common sense. He did that when he thought I was dead, and did the same upon hearing the prophecy."
"What do you mean?"
"There were actually two babies born at the end of July in 1980," Dumbledore said. "You, of course, and-"
"Neville," Harry breathed.
"Yes."
"Longbottom?" Draco asked, incredulous. "Surely not!"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore with a smile. He then focused back on Harry. "But Voldemort chose you, Harry, probably because you reminded him of himself, since you both were half-bloods with similar backgrounds. He saw you as the greater threat, although he most likely intended to go after both you and Mr. Longbottom. What he didn't realize was that he was working with an incomplete prophecy and, by going after you - once again failing to think things through to their entirety - he brought the words of the prophecy to fruition. If he hadn't tried to kill you, the connection between the two of you would never have been formed. And you would never have been his biggest threat."
Harry rather thought there was poetic justice in that, and murmured something along those lines, which earned him another smile from the Headmaster.
They were suddenly interrupted when the curtains around them were unceremoniously yanked open and Sirius' voice yelled out, "And I don't care what Albus said, I am going to see my godson!"
Sirius then appeared in the opening, the outrage on his face turning sheepish as he saw Dumbledore looking at him with amusement.
"Yes, do come in, Sirius," he said.
"Er," Sirius began, then shrugged. "Oh, to hell with it," he mumbled, stepping fully into the enclosure.
"Sirius," Harry said, relief apparent in his voice, "I'm so glad you're okay!" He reached out his arms to the man for a hug.
"'Course I'm okay," Sirius said with a grin. "You aren't going to get rid of me that easily!" He wrapped Harry into a hug and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. "It was you I was worried about!"
Harry pulled back and asked, "How long was I out?"
"Too long," Draco muttered from behind him, and Sirius made a sound of agreement.
"Sixteen hours, Harry," answered Dumbledore. "I told them all it was perfectly all right, but they remained unconvinced."
Ron and Hermione appeared in the opening, then, took one look at him sitting there, and immediately launched themselves at him. Harry had a face full of brown and red hair the next second, Sirius barely managing to step aside before they bowled him over.
There were many exclamations, then, as all three attempted to ascertain how the others were doing, and there may have been some tears on Hermione's part, although she tried to deny them later. But after much hugging and squeezing and shouting, Ron and Hermione were seated on the bed, Sirius was sitting in an armchair that Dumbledore had conjured up for him, and more tea had been procured from the house elves.
Harry took a good long look at Ron, who had a still-healing bruise on his face from Ernie's plant, but otherwise seemed in perfect health. Once he was sure about Ron, he turned to Hermione, who gave him a slightly watery smile over the rim of her cup.
"We really are fine, Harry," she said, and Harry nodded, unsure if his voice would work or not.
Draco shifted behind him, no doubt uncomfortable now that he was the only Slytherin in the room, and Harry turned to face him, concern flaring.
"You are okay too, right?" he asked, realizing he'd never actually asked Draco how he was doing.
"I'm fine, Harry," replied Draco with a slight smile. "My father wasn't pushing terribly hard with the dagger and I only really got cut when Padfoot knocked us over. Madam Pomfrey fixed me right up."
"And your mum?" Harry hesitantly asked. "I saw her go down…."
"Also fine," Sirius said. "She'd only been stunned. I think our sudden appearance threw Voldemort off his game."
"How did you all get through?" Harry asked, turning to face Dumbledore. "He had some kind of strange shield up."
"Professor Snape was able to dismantle it," Dumbledore answered, ignoring Sirius' grimace at the man's name. Harry wondered if Sirius knew that Snape had been the one to tell Voldemort about the prophecy, or if Sirius even knew about the prophecy, but decided pretty quickly that those were questions for another time. He didn't want to talk about Snape.
"Why did you use the sword, Harry?" Ron asked. "Not that it wasn't completely brilliant, but I was surprised you went for the more hands-on approach instead of using your wand."
Harry shifted slightly. He'd never told anyone except Draco about his inability to cast the Unforgivables, and wasn't sure he wanted to get into that right now.
"Voldemort disarmed him," Draco said, saving Harry from answering. Harry gave him a grateful look, and Draco nodded slightly.
"Oh," Ron said. "Of course. Sorry, wasn't thinking about that."
"No worries," Harry told him, then asked, "Speaking of, where is my wand?" He'd just realized that it wasn't on the bedside table, and was wondering if anyone had retrieved it from Voldemort's robes.
"I have it," Sirius said, reaching into his sleeve and withdrawing the wand. "I grabbed it right before we brought you up here." He handed the wand to Harry, who gently laid it beside himself on the bed.
"Thanks," he said.
As the conversation floated around him, Harry found himself back in Draco's arms, held against his chest. The voices of his loved ones washed over him, and he snuggled closer to Draco - whose arms obligingly tightened their grip - and fell asleep.
***
Draco braced his arms against one of the window frames of the Astronomy Tower, looking out over the battle-scarred landscape. The more overt remnants of the battle, like the bits of broken desks and scattered suits of armor, had been cleared away, but there were still deep cuts in the ground from the spells that had been thrown around, as well as the gouges left by the transfigured knights that had stomped through the muddy grass.
The castle itself was unmarked; the spell to keep the students safe had worked, well, like a charm, as Pansy would say. There had been deaths - once Harry had woken up again he'd demanded to know everyone who had been injured or had lost their lives - and a mass funeral was planned for two days' time. Anyone who wanted to speak was going to get their chance, but Draco wasn't planning on saying any words. He was lucky; his mother had survived with only a couple of bruises, none of his housemates had received anything worse than the cutting curse that Daphne had been hit with (and she'd been patched up by Professor Snape as soon as he'd been able to take care of her), and Harry was currently safe and sound inside Gryffindor Tower, no doubt being coddled and smothered in affection by his housemates.
Draco refocused on the parchment in his hand. It was from his father, and had been delivered the morning after the battle. His father had somehow managed to escape in the aftermath; there had been a lot of shouting and gesturing, with Sirius yelling about Harry and Narcissa both, Madam Pomfrey's frantic healing of Draco's throat (he'd downplayed the seriousness of his injury to Harry, not wanting to add any more stress in that particular moment, but it really had been touch and go there for a while), and a last-minute attempt by a couple of Death Eaters to finish Voldemort's attempt on Harry's life. Neither of them had even gotten close, though, as Dumbledore - who had literally appeared out of nowhere - took care of them both with two quick flicks of his wand. Draco had gotten to witness this right before Madam Pomfrey knocked him out to speed his recovery, so anything that happened after that was unknown to him.
Draco had no idea where his father had gone, and honestly couldn't bring himself to care, at least not right now. The letter had been brief and to the point: Draco was now the head of the Malfoy family, Lucius had no plans to remain in England, and he was granting Narcissa's request for a divorce. There had been no mention of Harry or Draco's proclamation of love, and no apology for nearly ending Draco's life, although that was admittedly not entirely his father's fault. Maybe once Lucius was relocated and settled - no doubt under some false name to avoid being turned in to the Aurors and sent to Azkaban - Draco would hear more from him, but he highly doubted it. There had been something very final about the few words he'd written.
It was disconcerting to Draco that he just felt sort of blank about the whole thing. He'd already gone through the process of losing his father's approval - joining Dumbledore had effectively ensured that - but he'd still known his father was there in the manor, even if he had no intention of seeing him. He was feeling a whole mess of emotions too numerous to fully decipher, which is why he'd slipped away from everyone for a while. It was quiet and peaceful on the Astronomy Tower, and while he hadn't really sorted anything out, it had still allowed him to think without anyone hovering over him.
Draco turned at a slight sound behind him and saw Pansy. She was standing with one hand on the doorframe, the other holding a purple fleece blanket closed around her shoulders. Her eyes were red and puffy - she must have been crying - and Draco felt a pang of guilt that he'd forgotten about her.
"Hey," he said softly. He reached out a hand to her, which she stepped forward and took after a moment's hesitation.
"Sorry," she whispered. "I didn't know you were up here. I didn't mean to bother you." Draco noticed that her voice sounded clogged, like she had a stuffy nose.
"You didn't," he assured her. "I was just thinking." He stuffed the letter from his father into the pocket of his cloak, and pulled her forward against his chest.
Pansy settled herself with her back against Draco's front, wrapping both hands into the soft fabric of her blanket. "I just needed to get out of the dorms," she said, voice hitching slightly. "It's too somber down there, and I've already cried enough."
Draco made a noise of agreement. He'd only been down there for a very brief amount of time and it had been more than enough. Tears were certainly plentiful in the Slytherin dorms, although most of them were taking place behind closed doors and silencing charms. It was an unfortunate fact that many of Draco's housemates were children of Death Eaters. Not all of them, of course - the Greengrass family, and Blaise's mum, for example, were neutral - but Draco hadn't been the only one to come face-to-face with a family member on the battlefield. Pansy's father had been killed by one of the Aurors, and while her mother hadn't worn the cloak and mask, she'd fully agreed with Voldemort's ideals. As far as Draco knew, Pansy hadn't heard from her mother, and he was unsure if they would ever make amends.
"It shouldn't hurt so badly to lose someone that you already thought of as gone," whispered Pansy. Her voice broke and she hastily reached up to wipe away a tear.
Because Draco knew exactly what she meant - his father wasn't dead but was as good as - he simply said, "I know," and turned her in his arms and held her as the tears continued, pressing a kiss against her temple.
After several moments, Pansy stepped back, using the blanket to wipe her eyes. Draco reached into his pocket and handed her his handkerchief, which she took and blew her nose on. The blanket slipped to the ground and Draco picked it up, holding it until Pansy was partially cleaned up.
"Ugh, I'm so sick of crying!" Pansy said in disgust. "I thought I was done with this back when I first switched sides!" She clutched the now soggy handkerchief in one hand. "It's not like he even deserves to have me crying over him," she added bitterly.
Draco didn't reply, instead murmuring a quick cleaning charm on the handkerchief and wrapping Pansy back in her blanket.
"Tracey won't come out of the dorm," she said once she was once again covered up. Tracey's brother - an Auror - had been killed by Rodolphus Lestrange."Blaise has been sitting outside the door to the dorm all day, but can't get past the charm to go in. I was going to see if Professor Snape could undo it just this once, but I can't find him."
"He's in the hospital wing," Draco said. "Madam Pomfrey told him he can't leave until he lets her heal his leg."
"Maybe if we tell him what's going on in the dungeons he'll let her?"
Draco shrugged. "I think it was more the fact that he was trying to help heal the others. And I also don't think he believes his injury warrants all her fussing, although his limp is pretty awful."
Pansy sighed, and looked out over the grounds. "It's hard to believe it's really over," she murmured. "What is everyone going to do now that there's no war, and we have all these pieces to pick up?"
Draco's thoughts instantly travelled to Harry (who was never far from his thoughts anyway). Having listened to everything about the prophecy, Draco had come to realize just how much of Harry's very existence revolved around Voldemort. Nearly everything he'd ever done was as a direct result of the prophecy, even though he hadn't realized it at the time. Draco wondered what Harry was going to do with the rest of his life.
"How is Potter?" Pansy asked in the uncanny way she had of knowing what Draco was thinking. "I assume he's woken up, since you aren't in the hospital wing." The last bit was said with a glimmer of a grin.
Draco hadn't left Harry's bedside once in the sixteen hours he'd been unconscious. He felt slightly guilty that he hadn't gone down to the common room during that time to at least see how his friends were doing, but once he'd been healed and his mother had been revived, his full attention had been on Harry, who had been lying so still on the bed, skin so very pale. Draco's only consolation had been the steady rise and fall of Harry's chest as he breathed, and the strong beat of his heart when Draco would lay his hand over it. Until Harry had awoken, Draco had found it impossible to step away.
"He still has a headache, but is otherwise fine," Draco told her. "Madam Pomfrey released him into the care of Weasley and Granger, and they took him up to Gryffindor." What he didn't tell Pansy was that he'd threatened the both of them with dire harm if anything happened to him. It wasn't that he didn't trust them with Harry, but he just felt better when he could see him with his own eyes. That being said, he had been glad to get away for a while, needing a bit of space to think about his father and everything else that had happened during the past day.
Of course, Weasley and Hermione hadn't taken his threats seriously at all, Weasley even going so far as to laugh out loud. If he hadn't been so relieved that Harry was awake and moving around, he might have been perturbed for at least a good minute.
Harry, for his part, had allowed his two friends to fuss over him as they got him into clean clothes, shoving his trainers on his feet and bustling him out of the infirmary (with a call from Madam Pomfrey that she dearly hoped she wouldn't have to see him again for the rest of the year). Draco had hardly gotten to say two words to him alone, but as Hermione led him out he'd turned his head and given Draco a smile, mouthing the words, "I'll see you soon," over his shoulder. Draco hadn't been able to do anything but nod.
"I'm glad he's all right," Pansy said.
Draco gave her a half-smile and put an arm around her shoulders. "Me, too," he said needlessly. "Come on. Let's go find Professor Snape."
***
(next part)
Title: Immortalitas Aestas
Summary: There's been a heat spell cast on Hogwarts, and in between trying to counteract that, fight Voldemort and keep up in classes, Harry and Draco manage to find time to fall for each other.
Rating: R
NOTES FOR THIS CHAPTER: Once again, this file is too large, so I've split it into two parts. Links are available to make navigation easier.
Chapter One
Chapter Twenty-One
Harry woke with a start, fighting a sense of vertigo. His arms flailed out in surprise, seeking something to grasp onto in order to steady him. He felt someone sit down next to him and, just as he was convinced he was going to fall, a warm hand grasped his and held tight.
"Harry?"
Harry instinctively tightened his grip, willing the dizziness to disappear, when the voice penetrated the fog in his head. Could it really be…?
"Draco?" he said, voice cracking. He tried to force his eyes open but they weren't cooperating.
"Harry," said Draco, relief apparent in his voice. "Thank God," he murmured, bringing Harry's hand to his mouth and kissing his fingers. "I thought you were never going to wake up."
Harry finally managed to get his eyes open. The room was bright and he squinted against the glare. Blinking rapidly to bring his eyes into focus, he saw Draco silhouetted against the sunlight streaming through the windows, blond hair shining in the sun.
"It's really you?" Harry asked, almost afraid to hope that Draco was there in front of him. "I am awake, right?"
Draco gave a slight laugh and tightened his grip on Harry's hand. "It's me."
Relief flooded through Harry and he was surprised to feel tears fill his eyes. Blinking them back, he fought to free himself from the blankets that were pinning him to the bed. He had a sudden, overwhelming desire to touch Draco, to make sure he was really there. Finally getting loose enough to sit up, and noticing vaguely that the movement caused his head to ache, he reached for Draco, who immediately wrapped him in a tight hug.
"I heard you scream when you went down," Harry said, burying his face in Draco's shoulder. Draco smelled faintly medicinal, like one of the potions Madam Pomfrey was forever pouring down Harry's throat. "I started heading back to you after I - after I killed Voldemort…." He stopped, and looked up at Draco, eyes widening. "I really did kill him, didn't I? It's really over."
Draco smiled, bringing his hands up to cradle Harry's face. "It's really over, Harry." He leaned forward and kissed him gently, one thumb tracing over Harry's cheekbone. "You're finally free of it all."
Harry sat silently for a moment, soaking up Draco's touch. The pain in his head was a bit more insistent than it had been at first, and he was just getting ready to say something when Madam Pomfrey pushed aside the curtain that was keeping Harry separated from the rest of the hospital wing.
"Well, Mr. Potter, glad to see you're awake." She pointedly looked at Draco, who reluctantly released Harry and allowed him to sit back against the headboard. Harry reached beside him to the bedside table for his glasses, and slipped them on. "Mr. Malfoy was supposed to inform me as soon as you woke up, but I see he got slightly sidetracked."
Draco shrugged unrepentantly. "I figured you'd be in sooner or later."
Madam Pomfrey gave him a sharp look, and Draco amended his previous statement slightly, saying, "I would have called you if there had been something wrong."
"When you become a Healer, Mr. Malfoy, you may make decisions such as that without any interference from me. In the mean time, I believe I am the Healer here, and I will decide whether there is anything wrong or not."
Slightly abashed, Draco conceded, holding up his hands in surrender. Harry gave him a small grin, which disappeared as Madam Pomfrey began a barrage of diagnostic scans and tests. Just as Harry was convinced he'd never been poked and prodded so much before in his life - which was saying something, seeing as he made visiting the hospital wing quite the hobby - she stopped and said everything looked good.
"Is there anything in particular bothering you, Mr. Potter?" she asked.
Harry thought that might have been a good question to start with, but didn't say so. "My head hurts," he told her. "Kind of like it's been split open."
"That's because when you killed Voldemort, Harry, you severed the connection between the two of you," said Dumbledore, who had just come into the small curtained-off area surrounding Harry's bed. "It's perfectly normal, and I'm sure Professor Snape can give you a pain-relieving potion to help until the pain subsides completely."
Harry noticed that Snape had followed Dumbledore into the room, and was uncorking a vial filled with a bluish-colored liquid. He handed it to Harry without ceremony and said, "Drink," in a no-nonsense tone that Harry didn't argue with. He drank, and nearly sighed in relief as the potion took the pain in his head away completely.
"Thank you, sir," Harry said quietly, and Snape nodded once in acceptance.
"Now," Dumbledore said cheerily, "I suppose you have questions. And I would like to give you answers, if you're up to it."
"Answers to everything or only what you deem pertinent?" Harry asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. He realized that he was perhaps being a bit disrespectful, but surely now that everything was over he could finally have the full truth.
Dumbledore sighed, his cheer diminishing slightly. "I will answer any questions you have, Harry. I admit that my doing so is long overdue."
Madam Pomfrey took this as her cue to leave, warning Dumbledore not to unnecessarily overtax her patient, and bustled Snape out with her. There were some muttered complaints from Snape when Madam Pomfrey insisted he sit down so she could look him over - he'd been sporting a freshly-healed cut on his cheek and was limping quite spectacularly - but the sound of their voices disappeared as the curtain around Harry's bed was pushed back into place. Someone must have put a silencing charm around the area so Harry wouldn't be disturbed.
Draco gave Harry a questioning look, and then gestured half-heartedly toward the curtain, clearly wondering if he should leave as well. In response, Harry reached for Draco's hand, entwining their fingers. Draco gave him a small smile, and then turned his attention toward Dumbledore.
Harry looked at Dumbledore, too, then remembered that Dumbledore shouldn't have been there at all.
"Voldemort said you were dead," Harry said.
"Ah, yes. Well, let's just say that I played a bit of a trick on our old friend, Tom," Dumbledore replied, eyes twinkling merrily behind his half-moon spectacles. "He only saw what he wanted to see."
Harry knew he had a confused expression on his face, but none of this really made any sense to him. "If you weren't really dead," Harry began slowly, "then why didn't you take care of Voldemort yourself? Why did I have to kill him?" Why did I have to risk my life? was the unspoken question that was floating in the air, and it was this one that Harry most wanted answered.
"I am very sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said, and Harry noticed that the Headmaster suddenly looked very tired. "I am afraid that it had to be you."
Harry was tempted to tell Dumbledore that his response was another of those vague, half-answers that he didn't really appreciate, but refrained. Dumbledore took a moment to conjure up one of his flower-patterned armchairs, and seated himself on the cushion.
"Before we get down to business," Dumbledore said, "I think we could all use some tea. And perhaps some sandwiches for you and Mr. Malfoy."
Harry didn't feel all that hungry himself, but nodded his consent. Dumbledore took a moment to call for a house elf, who was gone momentarily and then back with a tray full of tea, biscuits, and small finger sandwiches. Dumbledore put some biscuits and sandwiches on a plate for Harry and Draco, and then poured each of them a cup of tea.
Harry nibbled slightly on a sandwich and waited for Dumbledore to get started. Draco, he noticed, was eating a bit more heartily; he polished off his entire plate in a matter of moments.
Harry observed that Dumbledore was also watching Draco, and couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face when Dumbledore asked, "Would you care for some more, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco looked up from his teacup, embarrassed. "No, sir. I'm okay." He noticed Harry looking at him and said, somewhat defensively, "I've been up a lot longer than you have, you know."
Harry grinned. "That's good to hear."
Draco polished off his tea and set his cup aside. Harry had only taken one sip of his, but his attention was focused much more on what Dumbledore was going to say than on his stomach. Unwilling to wait any longer, he said, "Can we please get started, sir?"
Dumbledore inquired if either of the boys wanted anything else to eat or drink, and after receiving negative responses, he vanished the dishes and nodded. "Ask away, Harry."
Harry was quiet for a moment. He had so many things he wanted answers to that he didn't even know where to start. Finally he asked, "What did you mean when you said you were afraid it had to be me? Why did I have to kill Voldemort?"
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "What do you know of prophecies, Harry?"
Harry tamped down on the annoyance that flared every time Dumbledore answered a question with another question, and replied, "I know Professor Trelawney made one the night Pettigrew escaped and Sirius was nearly given the Dementor's Kiss."
Dumbledore nodded. "That was not the first prophecy spoken by Professor Trelawney, Harry. The first prophecy was spoken before you were even born, and I am afraid that everything that has happened to you since it was uttered has been a direct result of her words."
"I don't understand," Harry said. "What do you mean? Are you saying the prophecy dictated my life?"
"It definitely dictated certain aspects of it," answered Dumbledore. "If you'd like, I can show you the prophecy. You may understand better after hearing it."
Before Harry could answer, Draco spoke. "But prophecies are recorded and kept in the Department of Mysteries, aren't they? Only Harry, or whomever else the prophecy was talking about, would be able to remove it."
Harry looked at Draco. Obviously he was better versed on the subject of prophecies, which wasn't surprising. Even after all these years, Harry knew he still had gaps in his magical knowledge.
"You are correct, Mr. Malfoy. Usually that would be the case. However, I happen to be the person Professor Trelawney spoke the prophecy to, and I assure you, my memory on the matter is quite sound." Harry noticed that Dumbledore's eyes were doing that twinkling thing again as he looked at Draco, who squirmed a bit under his gaze.
"Oh," was Draco's oh-so-eloquent reply.
"Indeed," Dumbledore said with a smile. He reached inside his robe and withdrew two lemon drops. As he proceeded to unstick them from each other, he focused again on Harry. "Would you like to hear the prophecy, Harry?" he asked again.
Harry glanced briefly at Draco, who shrugged slightly. Turning back to Dumbledore, he nodded. "Yes. I would."
Dumbledore popped one of the sweets into his mouth and withdrew his wand. He then reached down to the floor and brought up a Pensieve. With his wand he extracted a silvery strand of memory, and dropped it into the stone basin.
"Do you remember in your first year when you asked me why Voldemort had tried to kill you when you were a baby?" he asked, gazing steadily at Harry.
Feeling suddenly unsteady but not quite knowing why, Harry swallowed once, heavily, and nodded.
"You are about to get your answer, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "An answer I should have given you years ago."
Dumbledore had never used that tone with Harry before, and Harry suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to hear whatever this prophecy was. He felt like he was standing in the water on shifting sand, and was one wave away from being knocked over and drowned. Without conscious thought he reached a hand out to Draco, who immediately grasped it and held tight.
The Headmaster took his wand and prodded the silvery liquid in the Pensieve. As Harry watched, the figure of Professor Trelawney rose out of the basin, spinning slowly, and spoke in a voice that Harry had heard only once before:
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…."
Harry felt like he couldn't breathe, and absently noticed that he was squeezing Draco's hand tightly enough to break something. Dumbledore continued to watch him, eyes steady but sad. It was that sadness that made Harry finally manage to draw in breath - what right did Dumbledore have to be sad? - and in the next second he had released Draco's hand and was on his feet.
"How could you not have told me?" exploded Harry, hands balling into fists. "You let me go on facing him, and never once told me why you never intervened, or why he kept coming after me! I had a right to know!"
At this point, he stood towering over the seated Dumbledore, who hadn't moved even a fraction under the onslaught. Dumbledore lowered his head a bit in acquiescence and said, "You are right, Harry. I have no worthwhile excuses, except that I was trying in a very misguided way to protect you. I realized long ago that, in this case, I made a mistake."
"You made a mistake," Harry repeated flatly, voice tight. He realized that the potions vials on the bedside table were vibrating with his anger. He clenched his fists even tighter and continued, "Yes. I would say you definitely made a mistake."
Dumbledore sighed and raised a hand to his face, fingertips pressing into his forehead. "I am sorry, Harry."
"Sorry?!" Harry's voice rose in incredulity, and one of the vials that had been teetering on the tabletop exploded with a sharp pop. From the corner of his eye Harry saw Draco flinch slightly at the sound, and spun around to face him.
Draco, for his part, didn't react at all to the fury on Harry's face, simply looking at him. Harry noticed that Draco was clutching his right hand slightly; there were indents on his first and third fingers where his ring had dug into his skin when Harry had gripped Draco's hand during the prophecy. Seeing Draco quietly sitting there effectively calmed Harry enough to be sure he wouldn't break anything else, or lose his mind completely and attack Dumbledore. Dumbledore might have deserved his anger but Draco definitely did not.
Harry reached for Draco's injured hand. Draco placed it in Harry's grasp without hesitation, and Harry gently tugged it toward him, raising it to his lips and brushing a kiss over his knuckles. He didn't say anything but Draco understood the unspoken apology. His gaze softened and he stretched his index finger up to brush a caress along Harry's cheek.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry asked Dumbledore, eyes still trained on Draco's face.
He heard Dumbledore shift in his chair but didn't turn around. It was rude to keep his back to the man as he spoke, but it was either that or run the risk of losing his temper again.
"Like I said, Harry. I have no valid excuses. When you first asked me why Voldemort had tried to kill you, I told myself you were too young to know the truth, that the burden of the prophecy was too big. Then I kept telling myself it wasn't the right time, that you had other responsibilities to take care of. I even used the idea of forming the Adversarius as yet another reason to not tell you."
Harry's jaw clenched and he forced himself to keep the hand holding Draco's relaxed.
"Did Voldemort know the prophecy?"
"He did not know it in its entirety. He had a spy, who was following me, and he overheard the first part. He was removed before it was finished, however, so gave Voldemort the incomplete version."
"Who was the spy?" Harry asked.
There was a decided pause, like Dumbledore didn't want to answer. When he did, the response was slow. "The spy was Professor Snape."
Harry dropped Draco's hand as he felt white-hot anger instantly flare inside him at Dumbledore's words. He leaned forward, bracing himself against the mattress, and dropped his head, forcing himself to breathe deeply. His fingers clenched in the blankets as he struggled to control his emotions.
No doubt realizing that Harry was once again about to lose it, Draco leaned forward and hesitantly laid a hand on his shoulder. Harry's head jerked up at the contact and he met Draco's wide-eyed stare.
"Breathe, Harry," Draco murmured, hand tightening on his shoulder. "You don't want to break anything else."
Harry suddenly had the urge to laugh hysterically and tamped it down, knowing it would only come out sounding completely insane. He certainly didn't care about the décor of the hospital wing at this particular moment, although he understood what Draco was trying to do.
In his head he was seeing an entire lifetime of could-have-beens. What if Snape - someone he'd managed to have a semi-productive working relationship with when it came to the war but still couldn't honestly say he liked all that much - hadn't told Voldemort what he'd overheard? Then Voldemort wouldn't have wanted to get his hands on Harry, and there would have been no need for a Fidelius charm. Pettigrew wouldn't have been made Secret Keeper, and wouldn't have betrayed his parents. Sirius wouldn't have gone after him and spent twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit. And most of all, Harry would have grown up with loving parents - parents who wanted him - instead of the Dursleys, who hated the mere thought of him….
So much would have been different. Harry had always placed the blame for his parents' deaths squarely on Pettigrew and Voldemort. But while they had definitely played a role, none of it would have happened if not for Snape.
"Professor Snape blames himself for your parents' deaths," Dumbledore said quietly, with his irritating habit of knowing precisely what Harry was thinking, although, to be fair, in this case it wasn't exactly difficult.
"As well he should," Harry bit out angrily. "None of this would have happened if he hadn't told Voldemort what he overheard!"
"Professor Snape has carefully cultivated your dislike of him," Dumbledore continued. "He knows that you have every right to be angry with him, and has behaved accordingly to make it easier for you to do so."
"Oh, no," Harry said, spinning around and facing the Headmaster. "No, no, no, you are not going to make me feel sorry for him! He hated my father and probably got a perverse joy out of being the cause of his death!"
"Your father, perhaps," Dumbledore said. "But not your mother. Never your mother."
"What are you saying?" Harry asked, voice sounding strangled.
"Professor Snape cared for your mother, Harry. He and Lily were childhood friends. He was devastated when he realized that what he'd overheard had led to her death. That is the reason he switched allegiances. That is why he agreed to spy."
Harry reeled backwards, legs collapsing underneath him. He fell to the bed, where his shoulder was immediately gripped by Draco and he was pulled back against Draco's chest.
"Snape was friends with my mum?" Harry asked faintly, hands finding purchase in the sleeves of Draco's jumper.
"He was," Dumbledore confirmed, for once leaving off the rejoinder to remember Snape's honorific.
"Then why did he join Voldemort in the first place?"
"That is a question for Professor Snape to answer," said Dumbledore, voice firm.
"Right, because we're so good at carrying on conversations," Harry replied sarcastically. He felt Draco laugh slightly.
"Nonetheless, it is one only he should answer. In this instance, I will say no more." Dumbledore's tone confirmed his words.
Harry scowled slightly, knowing there had to have been a catch to Dumbledore's "you can ask me anything". Seeing Harry's expression, Dumbledore quickly added, "Anything else, however, is open for discussion, if you want to ask."
That mollified Harry slightly, and he settled back into Draco's arms, trying to decide what to ask next.
"Why did Voldemort think you were dead?" he finally asked.
"Ah," Dumbledore replied, eyes once again twinkling behind his spectacles. "It was really a mere parlor trick and I am surprised Tom actually fell for it. There is a charm called Heart's Desire, which operates much like the mirror you found so long ago - it shows you only what you want to see. When Voldemort attempted to kill me, I used the charm to show him what he most desired in that instant: me, dead."
"I thought Tom Riddle was brilliant!" Harry said. "That sure seems like a really stupid mistake for him to make."
"Tom Riddle was brilliant, Harry. He was probably the most intelligent student I ever taught. But as Voldemort, he occasionally let his hatred override his common sense. He did that when he thought I was dead, and did the same upon hearing the prophecy."
"What do you mean?"
"There were actually two babies born at the end of July in 1980," Dumbledore said. "You, of course, and-"
"Neville," Harry breathed.
"Yes."
"Longbottom?" Draco asked, incredulous. "Surely not!"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore with a smile. He then focused back on Harry. "But Voldemort chose you, Harry, probably because you reminded him of himself, since you both were half-bloods with similar backgrounds. He saw you as the greater threat, although he most likely intended to go after both you and Mr. Longbottom. What he didn't realize was that he was working with an incomplete prophecy and, by going after you - once again failing to think things through to their entirety - he brought the words of the prophecy to fruition. If he hadn't tried to kill you, the connection between the two of you would never have been formed. And you would never have been his biggest threat."
Harry rather thought there was poetic justice in that, and murmured something along those lines, which earned him another smile from the Headmaster.
They were suddenly interrupted when the curtains around them were unceremoniously yanked open and Sirius' voice yelled out, "And I don't care what Albus said, I am going to see my godson!"
Sirius then appeared in the opening, the outrage on his face turning sheepish as he saw Dumbledore looking at him with amusement.
"Yes, do come in, Sirius," he said.
"Er," Sirius began, then shrugged. "Oh, to hell with it," he mumbled, stepping fully into the enclosure.
"Sirius," Harry said, relief apparent in his voice, "I'm so glad you're okay!" He reached out his arms to the man for a hug.
"'Course I'm okay," Sirius said with a grin. "You aren't going to get rid of me that easily!" He wrapped Harry into a hug and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. "It was you I was worried about!"
Harry pulled back and asked, "How long was I out?"
"Too long," Draco muttered from behind him, and Sirius made a sound of agreement.
"Sixteen hours, Harry," answered Dumbledore. "I told them all it was perfectly all right, but they remained unconvinced."
Ron and Hermione appeared in the opening, then, took one look at him sitting there, and immediately launched themselves at him. Harry had a face full of brown and red hair the next second, Sirius barely managing to step aside before they bowled him over.
There were many exclamations, then, as all three attempted to ascertain how the others were doing, and there may have been some tears on Hermione's part, although she tried to deny them later. But after much hugging and squeezing and shouting, Ron and Hermione were seated on the bed, Sirius was sitting in an armchair that Dumbledore had conjured up for him, and more tea had been procured from the house elves.
Harry took a good long look at Ron, who had a still-healing bruise on his face from Ernie's plant, but otherwise seemed in perfect health. Once he was sure about Ron, he turned to Hermione, who gave him a slightly watery smile over the rim of her cup.
"We really are fine, Harry," she said, and Harry nodded, unsure if his voice would work or not.
Draco shifted behind him, no doubt uncomfortable now that he was the only Slytherin in the room, and Harry turned to face him, concern flaring.
"You are okay too, right?" he asked, realizing he'd never actually asked Draco how he was doing.
"I'm fine, Harry," replied Draco with a slight smile. "My father wasn't pushing terribly hard with the dagger and I only really got cut when Padfoot knocked us over. Madam Pomfrey fixed me right up."
"And your mum?" Harry hesitantly asked. "I saw her go down…."
"Also fine," Sirius said. "She'd only been stunned. I think our sudden appearance threw Voldemort off his game."
"How did you all get through?" Harry asked, turning to face Dumbledore. "He had some kind of strange shield up."
"Professor Snape was able to dismantle it," Dumbledore answered, ignoring Sirius' grimace at the man's name. Harry wondered if Sirius knew that Snape had been the one to tell Voldemort about the prophecy, or if Sirius even knew about the prophecy, but decided pretty quickly that those were questions for another time. He didn't want to talk about Snape.
"Why did you use the sword, Harry?" Ron asked. "Not that it wasn't completely brilliant, but I was surprised you went for the more hands-on approach instead of using your wand."
Harry shifted slightly. He'd never told anyone except Draco about his inability to cast the Unforgivables, and wasn't sure he wanted to get into that right now.
"Voldemort disarmed him," Draco said, saving Harry from answering. Harry gave him a grateful look, and Draco nodded slightly.
"Oh," Ron said. "Of course. Sorry, wasn't thinking about that."
"No worries," Harry told him, then asked, "Speaking of, where is my wand?" He'd just realized that it wasn't on the bedside table, and was wondering if anyone had retrieved it from Voldemort's robes.
"I have it," Sirius said, reaching into his sleeve and withdrawing the wand. "I grabbed it right before we brought you up here." He handed the wand to Harry, who gently laid it beside himself on the bed.
"Thanks," he said.
As the conversation floated around him, Harry found himself back in Draco's arms, held against his chest. The voices of his loved ones washed over him, and he snuggled closer to Draco - whose arms obligingly tightened their grip - and fell asleep.
***
Draco braced his arms against one of the window frames of the Astronomy Tower, looking out over the battle-scarred landscape. The more overt remnants of the battle, like the bits of broken desks and scattered suits of armor, had been cleared away, but there were still deep cuts in the ground from the spells that had been thrown around, as well as the gouges left by the transfigured knights that had stomped through the muddy grass.
The castle itself was unmarked; the spell to keep the students safe had worked, well, like a charm, as Pansy would say. There had been deaths - once Harry had woken up again he'd demanded to know everyone who had been injured or had lost their lives - and a mass funeral was planned for two days' time. Anyone who wanted to speak was going to get their chance, but Draco wasn't planning on saying any words. He was lucky; his mother had survived with only a couple of bruises, none of his housemates had received anything worse than the cutting curse that Daphne had been hit with (and she'd been patched up by Professor Snape as soon as he'd been able to take care of her), and Harry was currently safe and sound inside Gryffindor Tower, no doubt being coddled and smothered in affection by his housemates.
Draco refocused on the parchment in his hand. It was from his father, and had been delivered the morning after the battle. His father had somehow managed to escape in the aftermath; there had been a lot of shouting and gesturing, with Sirius yelling about Harry and Narcissa both, Madam Pomfrey's frantic healing of Draco's throat (he'd downplayed the seriousness of his injury to Harry, not wanting to add any more stress in that particular moment, but it really had been touch and go there for a while), and a last-minute attempt by a couple of Death Eaters to finish Voldemort's attempt on Harry's life. Neither of them had even gotten close, though, as Dumbledore - who had literally appeared out of nowhere - took care of them both with two quick flicks of his wand. Draco had gotten to witness this right before Madam Pomfrey knocked him out to speed his recovery, so anything that happened after that was unknown to him.
Draco had no idea where his father had gone, and honestly couldn't bring himself to care, at least not right now. The letter had been brief and to the point: Draco was now the head of the Malfoy family, Lucius had no plans to remain in England, and he was granting Narcissa's request for a divorce. There had been no mention of Harry or Draco's proclamation of love, and no apology for nearly ending Draco's life, although that was admittedly not entirely his father's fault. Maybe once Lucius was relocated and settled - no doubt under some false name to avoid being turned in to the Aurors and sent to Azkaban - Draco would hear more from him, but he highly doubted it. There had been something very final about the few words he'd written.
It was disconcerting to Draco that he just felt sort of blank about the whole thing. He'd already gone through the process of losing his father's approval - joining Dumbledore had effectively ensured that - but he'd still known his father was there in the manor, even if he had no intention of seeing him. He was feeling a whole mess of emotions too numerous to fully decipher, which is why he'd slipped away from everyone for a while. It was quiet and peaceful on the Astronomy Tower, and while he hadn't really sorted anything out, it had still allowed him to think without anyone hovering over him.
Draco turned at a slight sound behind him and saw Pansy. She was standing with one hand on the doorframe, the other holding a purple fleece blanket closed around her shoulders. Her eyes were red and puffy - she must have been crying - and Draco felt a pang of guilt that he'd forgotten about her.
"Hey," he said softly. He reached out a hand to her, which she stepped forward and took after a moment's hesitation.
"Sorry," she whispered. "I didn't know you were up here. I didn't mean to bother you." Draco noticed that her voice sounded clogged, like she had a stuffy nose.
"You didn't," he assured her. "I was just thinking." He stuffed the letter from his father into the pocket of his cloak, and pulled her forward against his chest.
Pansy settled herself with her back against Draco's front, wrapping both hands into the soft fabric of her blanket. "I just needed to get out of the dorms," she said, voice hitching slightly. "It's too somber down there, and I've already cried enough."
Draco made a noise of agreement. He'd only been down there for a very brief amount of time and it had been more than enough. Tears were certainly plentiful in the Slytherin dorms, although most of them were taking place behind closed doors and silencing charms. It was an unfortunate fact that many of Draco's housemates were children of Death Eaters. Not all of them, of course - the Greengrass family, and Blaise's mum, for example, were neutral - but Draco hadn't been the only one to come face-to-face with a family member on the battlefield. Pansy's father had been killed by one of the Aurors, and while her mother hadn't worn the cloak and mask, she'd fully agreed with Voldemort's ideals. As far as Draco knew, Pansy hadn't heard from her mother, and he was unsure if they would ever make amends.
"It shouldn't hurt so badly to lose someone that you already thought of as gone," whispered Pansy. Her voice broke and she hastily reached up to wipe away a tear.
Because Draco knew exactly what she meant - his father wasn't dead but was as good as - he simply said, "I know," and turned her in his arms and held her as the tears continued, pressing a kiss against her temple.
After several moments, Pansy stepped back, using the blanket to wipe her eyes. Draco reached into his pocket and handed her his handkerchief, which she took and blew her nose on. The blanket slipped to the ground and Draco picked it up, holding it until Pansy was partially cleaned up.
"Ugh, I'm so sick of crying!" Pansy said in disgust. "I thought I was done with this back when I first switched sides!" She clutched the now soggy handkerchief in one hand. "It's not like he even deserves to have me crying over him," she added bitterly.
Draco didn't reply, instead murmuring a quick cleaning charm on the handkerchief and wrapping Pansy back in her blanket.
"Tracey won't come out of the dorm," she said once she was once again covered up. Tracey's brother - an Auror - had been killed by Rodolphus Lestrange."Blaise has been sitting outside the door to the dorm all day, but can't get past the charm to go in. I was going to see if Professor Snape could undo it just this once, but I can't find him."
"He's in the hospital wing," Draco said. "Madam Pomfrey told him he can't leave until he lets her heal his leg."
"Maybe if we tell him what's going on in the dungeons he'll let her?"
Draco shrugged. "I think it was more the fact that he was trying to help heal the others. And I also don't think he believes his injury warrants all her fussing, although his limp is pretty awful."
Pansy sighed, and looked out over the grounds. "It's hard to believe it's really over," she murmured. "What is everyone going to do now that there's no war, and we have all these pieces to pick up?"
Draco's thoughts instantly travelled to Harry (who was never far from his thoughts anyway). Having listened to everything about the prophecy, Draco had come to realize just how much of Harry's very existence revolved around Voldemort. Nearly everything he'd ever done was as a direct result of the prophecy, even though he hadn't realized it at the time. Draco wondered what Harry was going to do with the rest of his life.
"How is Potter?" Pansy asked in the uncanny way she had of knowing what Draco was thinking. "I assume he's woken up, since you aren't in the hospital wing." The last bit was said with a glimmer of a grin.
Draco hadn't left Harry's bedside once in the sixteen hours he'd been unconscious. He felt slightly guilty that he hadn't gone down to the common room during that time to at least see how his friends were doing, but once he'd been healed and his mother had been revived, his full attention had been on Harry, who had been lying so still on the bed, skin so very pale. Draco's only consolation had been the steady rise and fall of Harry's chest as he breathed, and the strong beat of his heart when Draco would lay his hand over it. Until Harry had awoken, Draco had found it impossible to step away.
"He still has a headache, but is otherwise fine," Draco told her. "Madam Pomfrey released him into the care of Weasley and Granger, and they took him up to Gryffindor." What he didn't tell Pansy was that he'd threatened the both of them with dire harm if anything happened to him. It wasn't that he didn't trust them with Harry, but he just felt better when he could see him with his own eyes. That being said, he had been glad to get away for a while, needing a bit of space to think about his father and everything else that had happened during the past day.
Of course, Weasley and Hermione hadn't taken his threats seriously at all, Weasley even going so far as to laugh out loud. If he hadn't been so relieved that Harry was awake and moving around, he might have been perturbed for at least a good minute.
Harry, for his part, had allowed his two friends to fuss over him as they got him into clean clothes, shoving his trainers on his feet and bustling him out of the infirmary (with a call from Madam Pomfrey that she dearly hoped she wouldn't have to see him again for the rest of the year). Draco had hardly gotten to say two words to him alone, but as Hermione led him out he'd turned his head and given Draco a smile, mouthing the words, "I'll see you soon," over his shoulder. Draco hadn't been able to do anything but nod.
"I'm glad he's all right," Pansy said.
Draco gave her a half-smile and put an arm around her shoulders. "Me, too," he said needlessly. "Come on. Let's go find Professor Snape."
***
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