FIC: Stay Close To Me (Harry/Draco)
Title: Stay Close to Me
Author/Artist: shadowofrazia
Prompt: Ten years after Dumbledore died, Harry goes back to the Astronomy Tower. He has been suppressing his emotions at Dumbledore's betrayal ("Dumbledore's betrayal was almost nothing. Of course there had been a bigger plan..." DH p. 692 US edition). It is misty/drizzling and Harry is either mumbling to himself or talking out loud and Draco is there, hidden somewhere nearby and hears him.
Prompt submitted by: oakstone730
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: G
Word Count: 3386
Warning(s): Angst.
Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thank you to my beta n!
Summary: A decade after the Final Battle, after years of memories and recovering, Harry and Draco return to Hogwarts. But the memories there are stronger than anywhere else, and Harry finds himself forced to come to terms with something he's denied for ten years.
"Are you ready, Harry?"
Harry turned to see Draco standing in the doorway, looking perfectly at ease in his dressrobes. By now, Harry knew how to look at Draco, knew how to find the emotions Draco had always been so good at hiding away. He was worried.
"If I say no, can we stay home?" Harry tried to keep his voice light, tried to smile as he struggled to stop his hands shaking enough to do up the buttons of his shirt.
"Here," said Draco calmly. "Let me."
His hands were steady as he slowly made his way down the column of buttons. Then, he reached up and did up Harry’s tie, careful not to tighten it too much. Harry hated when his ties were too tight.
"I should’ve known you’d be up here panicking," Draco said, fastening Harry’s cufflinks with ease.
"Who says I’m panicking?" Harry asked, lips finally quirking into a genuine smile.
"You always seem to forget magic exists when you’re nervous." Draco briefly lifted his gaze to meet Harry’s.
"I don’t forget," Harry mumbled as Draco straightened his robes. "I’m shit at those charms, anyway. You know that."
"Yes," Draco agreed. "And you know I’m always happy to help."
Harry made a frustrated sound and pushed away Draco’s fretting hands. "I’m not a child," he snapped.
"That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to ask for help." Draco handed Harry his cane, a beautifully crafted thing made of hawthorn with a curved handle made of holly. Harry took it, finding comfort in the way the smooth handle fit in his hand, and let Draco lead the way down to the fireplace.
"Ready?" he asked again as he took the jar of Floo powder off the mantle.
"As much as I’ll ever be," Harry responded and stepped into the flames.
*
Harry stumbled out of the fireplace and was only saved from falling over by Draco’s tight grip around his waist.
It was like he’d fallen ten years into the past. The portraits of the former Headmasters were still hanging, and Harry suspected the majority of them were simply pretending to be asleep. Unable to stop himself, Harry allowed his eyes to travel down the rows of portraits until he found the two he least wanted to see.
Dumbledore twinkled cheerfully at Harry from his frame, and beside him was Snape, scowling at Harry like he’d just blown up a cauldron in Potions class.
And then Harry felt like he was choking, and all he could see was the blood and Nagini striking again and again until-
"Harry."
Draco’s hand was gentle on Harry’s shoulder, and he leaned into the touch. "It’s okay. I’m right here."
Nodding tightly, Harry turned away from Snape’s glare.
"I’m fine," he said.
From the look on his face, Harry knew Draco didn’t believe his lie for a second. To Harry’s relief, Draco didn’t comment. From the set of his shoulders, Harry knew Draco didn’t want to be here anymore than he did.
Behind them, somebody quietly cleared their throat. Draco turned, moving to stand beside Harry as McGonagall walked slowly down the stairs and past her desk. Harry was struck by how old she looked-it’d been too long since he’d last seen her face.
After the whirlwind of funerals and ceremonies, Harry had hidden himself away as well as he could-he still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to run into Draco, of all people, but nobody could deny he and Draco had always gravitated towards each other.
"Professor McGonagall," Harry said in greeting, relaxing slightly when Draco rested his hand against his lower back.
"It’s wonderful of you both to come," said Professor McGonagall. "I can’t imagine it’s easy for you to be here." She squeezed Harry’s free hand between both of her own and then did the same with Draco, who looked genuinely surprised by the action.
"We wouldn’t dream of missing it," Harry said.
"I’m sure that’s unlikely, but I do thank you for your attempt at enthusiasm," McGonagall said dryly. She glanced at the clock and sighed. "We’d best head down. I feel our guests may become impatient if we wait too much longer."
The walk to the Great Hall was slow and silent, save for the quiet tapping of Harry’s cane. Though they weren’t touching, Draco was close enough that Harry could smell his cologne, something sweet and strong and grounding all at once. It wasn’t until they were at the top of the staircase leading into the entry hall that Draco grasped Harry’s hand, adjusting his hold to surreptitiously help Harry down the stairs.
After the Final Battle, he’d slept nearly three days straight, eaten something, and then slept for a few more days. When he’d finally awoken, his chest burned, every step felt like a thousand, and his hands wouldn’t stop trembling. At the time, he’d chalked it up to exhaustion. A month later, he wasn’t so sure.
Apparently, months on the run followed by a Killing Curse to the chest wasn’t without its consequences.
Of course, St. Mungo’s didn’t have a treatment for difficulties associated with surviving the Killing Curse. All the Healers could do was apologetically tell Harry there was nothing they could do, aside from helping him adjust.
The reporters waiting in the entry hall went silent as Draco, Harry, and McGonagall approached. Harry flushed, feeling his anxiety spike and the trembling of his hands to increase. They gazed up at him, star-struck and a little bit teary; Harry wondered if they even realised he was human.
He could always tell when people noticed Draco, blond, poised, and unmistakably Malfoy, standing beside him. Their expressions darkened, like the sky darkening just before an unexpected storm. Even after all these years, they didn’t trust him. And Draco knew it. Everyone did.
Nevertheless, Harry and Draco found themselves corralled through the crowd of reporters, forced to pose before camera after camera. Harry could tell the photographers were irritated by how close Draco and Harry stood; the proximity made it impossible for the photographers to get a shot of Harry without Draco. But until Harry asked, Draco would not move. Unfortunately for the photographers, Harry would never ask.
As much as he despised the ordeal, Harry was thankful. The longer he and Draco were kept in the entry hall, the less time he had to spend in the Great Hall, surrounded by the memories of broken bodies and broken mothers.
He saw it all, then: the rubble, the injuries, the heavy, pressing feeling that came with knowing one wrong move could easily be your last.
Harry was slipping, even as he felt Draco’s grip tighten around his hand.
"Harry." Draco’s voice was soft, but clear enough that it brought Harry back. He blinked and did his best to focus his gaze on Draco’s grey eyes.
"I’m okay," Harry murmured, forcing a smile. "I’m fine."
Draco’s eyes flitted over Harry’s face, his gaze too intense and too personal for such a public setting. Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. Draco knew Harry-he was probably the only one who really did anymore--and if there was anything Harry wanted people to see, it was that.
Finally, Draco seemed to find what he was looking for. He relaxed, a brief smile gracing his lips and, for a moment, everything felt a little bit easier.
That didn’t mean it was easy.
The next hour of Harry’s life was full of heartfelt thanks for things he hadn’t done and uncomfortable encounters with people who just wanted to say they’d met him. Uncomfortable, Harry could handle.
What he couldn’t handle was Dennis Creevey, a strange image of his older brother, had his brother lived past sixteen; Lavender Brown, beautiful, scarred, and broken; and George Weasley, looking happy, if just a little bit off without his twin beside him.
That evening, Teddy’s hair was a bright pink that made Harry’s heart ache.
All of these people had lost so much more than Harry had, yet here he was, being lauded as brave and selfless, when in reality he had been none of those things.
You have permitted your friends to die for you, rather than face me yourself…
Harry closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe, but all he could see was Remus and Tonks. Fred. Collin. Snape.
If he’d just-
"Harry?"
Harry opened his eyes and tried to focus on Draco, on his grey eyes and his slightly pointed nose, but the memories pushed forth, images flashing through Harry’s mind.
Remus. Tonks. Fred. Collin. Snape. RemusTonksFredCollinSnape.
And so many more.
Harry’s cane clattered to the floor and he felt several pairs of eyes turn to look at him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as everything came rushing back. He could smell the smoke that had hung thick in the air as the fires burned, could feel the sting of the curses that had just barely missed him, could see the worn faces of the people who were too young, too old, too good to have to experience anything like what they had experienced.
Harry felt the cool wood of his cane being pressed against his palm. Draco was speaking quickly, Harry could tell by the way his lips moved, but it was as though Harry were watching through a thick pane of glass: he couldn’t hear anything. Panicked, Harry shook his head, and before he knew it, he was being led quickly from the hall.
Draco led him up and away from the reporters and the guests still watching their every move. They walked quickly, so quickly that it made Harry’s leg ache. He focused on it, on the pain and the burning in his lungs, used it to get away from the reminders of all the ways he’d failed.
"We’re nearly there," Draco said, giving Harry’s hand a tight squeeze. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t being followed and unlocked a nearby door. He pushed Harry through it and closed the door behind them.
"Alright?" he asked. Harry shook his head.
"Can’t...breathe…" he gasped. Draco nodded and began helping Harry up the stairs.
Another door was pushed open and Harry felt a cool mist on his face. He fell back against the door and breathed in the smell of rain. Slowly, his breathing calmed and he opened his eyes to see Draco standing before him, hair falling into his face.
"I’m okay," Harry said.
"You’re lying."
It was then that the tears began, Draco’s image blurring before Harry’s eyes. He wiped them away with shaking hands and pushed past Draco so he wouldn’t see.
He could still hear Neville’s promise that they would all keep fighting, could still see Ginny hugging that young girl to her chest and promising her it would all be okay soon.
You’ve been so brave…
The words turned Harry’s grief into white hot rage, because that’s what nobody understood. It wasn’t bravery. It was manipulation, betrayal in the highest sense of the word. Harry had looked up to Dumbledore, had trusted him to keep him safe the way nobody else in his life had ever bothered to do. Year after year, Harry had fought, wondering if he’d live to see the next day, let alone the next year, and when he’d finally allowed himself to hope…
And Dumbledore had known from the beginning.
No, Dumbledore had guessed from the beginning. He’d sent Harry to his death on a guess, and he’d had the audacity to laugh about it as if sending a seventeen year old to die was as simple a decision as throwing an extra ingredient into a recipe. Dumbledore hadn’t cared about Harry any more than he’d cared about Snape. They were tools, pieces on a chessboard only Dumbledore could see.
There was a crowd downstairs celebrating Dumbledore as if he’d been a good man and Harry as if he’d been a brave one, while all Harry wanted to do was forget everything that had ever happened.
"I hate this place," Draco said suddenly, moving to stand beside Harry. Harry looked over at him, but Draco kept his gaze forward. Harry looked away.
"I never wanted to leave. I dreamt of staying here over the summer instead of going back to the Dursleys’, but Dumbledore always insisted I’d be safer in Surrey." Harry laughed, but there was little humour to the sound. "At least until I turned seventeen."
"I remember that night," said Draco. "V-the Dark Lord planned the whole thing at our dining room table. He thought you’d be moved on your birthday, but Severus came in and said that was a lie." Licking his lips, Draco went on. "Everyone had their doubts about him, but I was surprised he gave you up so easily. I shouldn’t have been, not after he-"
Harry reached over and took Draco’s hand, threading their fingers together. Draco knew Harry had been present that night atop the Astronomy Tower. It’d been one of Harry’s nightmares that had tipped him off-Harry tended to mutter in his sleep. After a frightening week of explosive arguments, they’d finally managed to sit down and listen to each other.
"You’re allowed to be angry with him, Harry," Draco said suddenly.
"I’m not-he only did what he thought was best." Harry tried to pull away from Draco, but Draco’s grip stayed firm. "It was for-"
"What was it for, Harry?" asked Draco angrily. "Was it for the greater good?"
"I wasn’t going to say that!"
"Then what were you going to say? What was so important that you being raised as a sacrifice was okay?"
At last, Harry was able to wrench his arm free, and he stumbled backwards slightly. Draco reached out as if to steady him, but the look on Harry’s face stopped him.
"The people I loved were dying! That’s what was so important! If my death was going to stop others from dying, then I was okay with finding out I’d been betrayed by one of the few people I’d trusted in my life. I just wanted everyone to stop dying because of me!"
Harry’s voice cracked on the last word, and he realised then that he’d been shouting. Draco looked stricken, like he hadn’t actually expected Harry to respond to his provocations and wasn’t sure what to do next.
"You don’t believe that, do you?" Draco asked softly. He looked angry, but Harry knew better than to think that anger was meant for him.
"I don’t know," Harry said.
He averted his gaze, staring out over the grounds once more. He shivered. He’d completely forgotten the rain. It didn’t feel like rain.
"Harry," Draco said. Then, more firmly: "Harry, look at me."
"I’m not a child! Stop scolding me!" Harry flinched at the feeling of Draco’s hand on his shoulder, but finally found the courage to look him in the eye.
"You are allowed to be angry, just like you were allowed to be afraid that night."
Harry rolled his eyes at that, and then winced when Draco squeezed his shoulder and shook him slightly.
"You were a child who was forced to face situations nobody should have to endure," he said.
"We were all children, Draco." Harry knocked Draco’s hand from his shoulder and took another step away, tightly gripping the wet handle of his cane to keep himself balanced.
"And we were all afraid."
The rain fell quickly in small droplets that coated Harry’s glasses and face. He could see the rain clinging to Draco’s hair, too fine a mist to truly soak the strands that had come loose during their escape from the dining hall.
He could feel his resolve breaking.
"I never said I wasn’t afraid," Harry said earnestly. "I thought that walk through the forest was going to be the last walk I ever took. I thought the last thing I was ever going to see was Voldemort and his Death Eaters and that green light. That was the scariest thing I ever had to do, but the idea of losing one more person I loved was so much worse than death.
"And I am angry at Dumbledore. I’m angry at every person who made it my job to end that war. I’m angry at myself for following blindly and trusting everyone who showed me the even slightest bit of caring."
"Harry-"
"No, Draco!" Harry snapped. "You wanted me to be angry, so now you get to hear me be angry!"
And it was true. The rage he’d felt earlier was back and it was growing with every passing second. Draco’s jaw clenched, and he nodded stiffly, but Harry was already speaking.
"You know what the worst part of it all is? I wasn’t even surprised when I found out Dumbledore had planned it all from the very beginning. I wasn’t surprised that I was stupid enough not to notice it. Nobody else had, after all."
"That doesn’t make you stupid, Harry," Draco said, calmly leaning against the rampart, arms and legs crossed. "It just makes Dumbledore clever in all the wrong ways."
"Everyone keeps calling me brave, like walking into the forest was some great adventure, like I was anything more than Dumbledore’s puppet!" Harry slumped against the stone behind him, thoroughly exhausted. "I almost didn’t come back," he murmured.
"What do you mean?" Draco asked.
Harry didn’t look at him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to handle the shame he knew he would see. "For a moment, I saw a way out. I could finally rest--it would all be over. I was so...relieved for that one moment," Harry whispered. "But I knew I had to finish it, because that’s what Dumbledore had said so many times. I was the Chosen One. Getting on a train would be cowardly, and other people--people I loved--would be the ones to pay the price."
"Harry, being afraid doesn’t make you a coward," Draco said, grasping Harry’s shoulders and forcing him to pay attention. "Wanting bad things to end does not make you a coward. We all lost things in that war, and we all gave things, but I doubt there were many who would have willingly walked to their death."
"Draco, stop--we should get back--"
Draco pulled Harry back by the arm. "What Dumbledore did to you was horrible and unfair and disgustingly manipulative, but that is not your fault," Draco said forcefully. "People aren’t calling you brave because Dumbledore told them to. They’re calling you brave because of what you did for us--"
"People died because of me!"Harry said. "They died because I couldn’t just--I couldn’t--"
"People died because the Dark Lord was a raving lunatic! They died because of his hatred and his need for power. They died because he was so afraid of death that he would do anything to prevent it, and exactly none of that is your fault!"
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. He let Draco pull him into his arms and rested his head on Draco’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of Draco’s cologne and the drizzle that had managed to soak them both.
"I’m sorry," he mumbled against Draco’s shoulder.
"Harry, if you apologise again, I will burn every single one of those horrible argyle socks you keep buying."
Harry’s laughter took him by surprise. "They’re not horrible!" he protested. "They’re warm."
"They’re garish!" Draco said seriously, though Harry could tell he was fighting a smile.
Harry sighed. "I don’t want to go back down."
"It’s just a few more hours, and then we can leave," Draco said, sounding like he was trying to reassure himself just as much as he was Harry.
"This place brings back so many memories," Harry murmured, but he straightened his robes the best he could and ran a hand through his wet hair. Draco cast drying charms over the both of them and then pulled open the door.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Are you?"
Draco grimaced, but nodded, offering Harry his arm.
"Wait," said Harry. He pulled Draco closer and kissed him. "Thank you," he said.
With a small smile, Draco kissed the corner of Harry’s mouth. "Just stay close to me and everything will be alright," he said, leading them out of the rain and down the stairs.
Author/Artist: shadowofrazia
Prompt: Ten years after Dumbledore died, Harry goes back to the Astronomy Tower. He has been suppressing his emotions at Dumbledore's betrayal ("Dumbledore's betrayal was almost nothing. Of course there had been a bigger plan..." DH p. 692 US edition). It is misty/drizzling and Harry is either mumbling to himself or talking out loud and Draco is there, hidden somewhere nearby and hears him.
Prompt submitted by: oakstone730
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: G
Word Count: 3386
Warning(s): Angst.
Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thank you to my beta n!
Summary: A decade after the Final Battle, after years of memories and recovering, Harry and Draco return to Hogwarts. But the memories there are stronger than anywhere else, and Harry finds himself forced to come to terms with something he's denied for ten years.
"Are you ready, Harry?"
Harry turned to see Draco standing in the doorway, looking perfectly at ease in his dressrobes. By now, Harry knew how to look at Draco, knew how to find the emotions Draco had always been so good at hiding away. He was worried.
"If I say no, can we stay home?" Harry tried to keep his voice light, tried to smile as he struggled to stop his hands shaking enough to do up the buttons of his shirt.
"Here," said Draco calmly. "Let me."
His hands were steady as he slowly made his way down the column of buttons. Then, he reached up and did up Harry’s tie, careful not to tighten it too much. Harry hated when his ties were too tight.
"I should’ve known you’d be up here panicking," Draco said, fastening Harry’s cufflinks with ease.
"Who says I’m panicking?" Harry asked, lips finally quirking into a genuine smile.
"You always seem to forget magic exists when you’re nervous." Draco briefly lifted his gaze to meet Harry’s.
"I don’t forget," Harry mumbled as Draco straightened his robes. "I’m shit at those charms, anyway. You know that."
"Yes," Draco agreed. "And you know I’m always happy to help."
Harry made a frustrated sound and pushed away Draco’s fretting hands. "I’m not a child," he snapped.
"That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to ask for help." Draco handed Harry his cane, a beautifully crafted thing made of hawthorn with a curved handle made of holly. Harry took it, finding comfort in the way the smooth handle fit in his hand, and let Draco lead the way down to the fireplace.
"Ready?" he asked again as he took the jar of Floo powder off the mantle.
"As much as I’ll ever be," Harry responded and stepped into the flames.
*
Harry stumbled out of the fireplace and was only saved from falling over by Draco’s tight grip around his waist.
It was like he’d fallen ten years into the past. The portraits of the former Headmasters were still hanging, and Harry suspected the majority of them were simply pretending to be asleep. Unable to stop himself, Harry allowed his eyes to travel down the rows of portraits until he found the two he least wanted to see.
Dumbledore twinkled cheerfully at Harry from his frame, and beside him was Snape, scowling at Harry like he’d just blown up a cauldron in Potions class.
And then Harry felt like he was choking, and all he could see was the blood and Nagini striking again and again until-
"Harry."
Draco’s hand was gentle on Harry’s shoulder, and he leaned into the touch. "It’s okay. I’m right here."
Nodding tightly, Harry turned away from Snape’s glare.
"I’m fine," he said.
From the look on his face, Harry knew Draco didn’t believe his lie for a second. To Harry’s relief, Draco didn’t comment. From the set of his shoulders, Harry knew Draco didn’t want to be here anymore than he did.
Behind them, somebody quietly cleared their throat. Draco turned, moving to stand beside Harry as McGonagall walked slowly down the stairs and past her desk. Harry was struck by how old she looked-it’d been too long since he’d last seen her face.
After the whirlwind of funerals and ceremonies, Harry had hidden himself away as well as he could-he still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to run into Draco, of all people, but nobody could deny he and Draco had always gravitated towards each other.
"Professor McGonagall," Harry said in greeting, relaxing slightly when Draco rested his hand against his lower back.
"It’s wonderful of you both to come," said Professor McGonagall. "I can’t imagine it’s easy for you to be here." She squeezed Harry’s free hand between both of her own and then did the same with Draco, who looked genuinely surprised by the action.
"We wouldn’t dream of missing it," Harry said.
"I’m sure that’s unlikely, but I do thank you for your attempt at enthusiasm," McGonagall said dryly. She glanced at the clock and sighed. "We’d best head down. I feel our guests may become impatient if we wait too much longer."
The walk to the Great Hall was slow and silent, save for the quiet tapping of Harry’s cane. Though they weren’t touching, Draco was close enough that Harry could smell his cologne, something sweet and strong and grounding all at once. It wasn’t until they were at the top of the staircase leading into the entry hall that Draco grasped Harry’s hand, adjusting his hold to surreptitiously help Harry down the stairs.
After the Final Battle, he’d slept nearly three days straight, eaten something, and then slept for a few more days. When he’d finally awoken, his chest burned, every step felt like a thousand, and his hands wouldn’t stop trembling. At the time, he’d chalked it up to exhaustion. A month later, he wasn’t so sure.
Apparently, months on the run followed by a Killing Curse to the chest wasn’t without its consequences.
Of course, St. Mungo’s didn’t have a treatment for difficulties associated with surviving the Killing Curse. All the Healers could do was apologetically tell Harry there was nothing they could do, aside from helping him adjust.
The reporters waiting in the entry hall went silent as Draco, Harry, and McGonagall approached. Harry flushed, feeling his anxiety spike and the trembling of his hands to increase. They gazed up at him, star-struck and a little bit teary; Harry wondered if they even realised he was human.
He could always tell when people noticed Draco, blond, poised, and unmistakably Malfoy, standing beside him. Their expressions darkened, like the sky darkening just before an unexpected storm. Even after all these years, they didn’t trust him. And Draco knew it. Everyone did.
Nevertheless, Harry and Draco found themselves corralled through the crowd of reporters, forced to pose before camera after camera. Harry could tell the photographers were irritated by how close Draco and Harry stood; the proximity made it impossible for the photographers to get a shot of Harry without Draco. But until Harry asked, Draco would not move. Unfortunately for the photographers, Harry would never ask.
As much as he despised the ordeal, Harry was thankful. The longer he and Draco were kept in the entry hall, the less time he had to spend in the Great Hall, surrounded by the memories of broken bodies and broken mothers.
He saw it all, then: the rubble, the injuries, the heavy, pressing feeling that came with knowing one wrong move could easily be your last.
Harry was slipping, even as he felt Draco’s grip tighten around his hand.
"Harry." Draco’s voice was soft, but clear enough that it brought Harry back. He blinked and did his best to focus his gaze on Draco’s grey eyes.
"I’m okay," Harry murmured, forcing a smile. "I’m fine."
Draco’s eyes flitted over Harry’s face, his gaze too intense and too personal for such a public setting. Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. Draco knew Harry-he was probably the only one who really did anymore--and if there was anything Harry wanted people to see, it was that.
Finally, Draco seemed to find what he was looking for. He relaxed, a brief smile gracing his lips and, for a moment, everything felt a little bit easier.
That didn’t mean it was easy.
The next hour of Harry’s life was full of heartfelt thanks for things he hadn’t done and uncomfortable encounters with people who just wanted to say they’d met him. Uncomfortable, Harry could handle.
What he couldn’t handle was Dennis Creevey, a strange image of his older brother, had his brother lived past sixteen; Lavender Brown, beautiful, scarred, and broken; and George Weasley, looking happy, if just a little bit off without his twin beside him.
That evening, Teddy’s hair was a bright pink that made Harry’s heart ache.
All of these people had lost so much more than Harry had, yet here he was, being lauded as brave and selfless, when in reality he had been none of those things.
You have permitted your friends to die for you, rather than face me yourself…
Harry closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe, but all he could see was Remus and Tonks. Fred. Collin. Snape.
If he’d just-
"Harry?"
Harry opened his eyes and tried to focus on Draco, on his grey eyes and his slightly pointed nose, but the memories pushed forth, images flashing through Harry’s mind.
Remus. Tonks. Fred. Collin. Snape. RemusTonksFredCollinSnape.
And so many more.
Harry’s cane clattered to the floor and he felt several pairs of eyes turn to look at him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as everything came rushing back. He could smell the smoke that had hung thick in the air as the fires burned, could feel the sting of the curses that had just barely missed him, could see the worn faces of the people who were too young, too old, too good to have to experience anything like what they had experienced.
Harry felt the cool wood of his cane being pressed against his palm. Draco was speaking quickly, Harry could tell by the way his lips moved, but it was as though Harry were watching through a thick pane of glass: he couldn’t hear anything. Panicked, Harry shook his head, and before he knew it, he was being led quickly from the hall.
Draco led him up and away from the reporters and the guests still watching their every move. They walked quickly, so quickly that it made Harry’s leg ache. He focused on it, on the pain and the burning in his lungs, used it to get away from the reminders of all the ways he’d failed.
"We’re nearly there," Draco said, giving Harry’s hand a tight squeeze. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t being followed and unlocked a nearby door. He pushed Harry through it and closed the door behind them.
"Alright?" he asked. Harry shook his head.
"Can’t...breathe…" he gasped. Draco nodded and began helping Harry up the stairs.
Another door was pushed open and Harry felt a cool mist on his face. He fell back against the door and breathed in the smell of rain. Slowly, his breathing calmed and he opened his eyes to see Draco standing before him, hair falling into his face.
"I’m okay," Harry said.
"You’re lying."
It was then that the tears began, Draco’s image blurring before Harry’s eyes. He wiped them away with shaking hands and pushed past Draco so he wouldn’t see.
He could still hear Neville’s promise that they would all keep fighting, could still see Ginny hugging that young girl to her chest and promising her it would all be okay soon.
You’ve been so brave…
The words turned Harry’s grief into white hot rage, because that’s what nobody understood. It wasn’t bravery. It was manipulation, betrayal in the highest sense of the word. Harry had looked up to Dumbledore, had trusted him to keep him safe the way nobody else in his life had ever bothered to do. Year after year, Harry had fought, wondering if he’d live to see the next day, let alone the next year, and when he’d finally allowed himself to hope…
And Dumbledore had known from the beginning.
No, Dumbledore had guessed from the beginning. He’d sent Harry to his death on a guess, and he’d had the audacity to laugh about it as if sending a seventeen year old to die was as simple a decision as throwing an extra ingredient into a recipe. Dumbledore hadn’t cared about Harry any more than he’d cared about Snape. They were tools, pieces on a chessboard only Dumbledore could see.
There was a crowd downstairs celebrating Dumbledore as if he’d been a good man and Harry as if he’d been a brave one, while all Harry wanted to do was forget everything that had ever happened.
"I hate this place," Draco said suddenly, moving to stand beside Harry. Harry looked over at him, but Draco kept his gaze forward. Harry looked away.
"I never wanted to leave. I dreamt of staying here over the summer instead of going back to the Dursleys’, but Dumbledore always insisted I’d be safer in Surrey." Harry laughed, but there was little humour to the sound. "At least until I turned seventeen."
"I remember that night," said Draco. "V-the Dark Lord planned the whole thing at our dining room table. He thought you’d be moved on your birthday, but Severus came in and said that was a lie." Licking his lips, Draco went on. "Everyone had their doubts about him, but I was surprised he gave you up so easily. I shouldn’t have been, not after he-"
Harry reached over and took Draco’s hand, threading their fingers together. Draco knew Harry had been present that night atop the Astronomy Tower. It’d been one of Harry’s nightmares that had tipped him off-Harry tended to mutter in his sleep. After a frightening week of explosive arguments, they’d finally managed to sit down and listen to each other.
"You’re allowed to be angry with him, Harry," Draco said suddenly.
"I’m not-he only did what he thought was best." Harry tried to pull away from Draco, but Draco’s grip stayed firm. "It was for-"
"What was it for, Harry?" asked Draco angrily. "Was it for the greater good?"
"I wasn’t going to say that!"
"Then what were you going to say? What was so important that you being raised as a sacrifice was okay?"
At last, Harry was able to wrench his arm free, and he stumbled backwards slightly. Draco reached out as if to steady him, but the look on Harry’s face stopped him.
"The people I loved were dying! That’s what was so important! If my death was going to stop others from dying, then I was okay with finding out I’d been betrayed by one of the few people I’d trusted in my life. I just wanted everyone to stop dying because of me!"
Harry’s voice cracked on the last word, and he realised then that he’d been shouting. Draco looked stricken, like he hadn’t actually expected Harry to respond to his provocations and wasn’t sure what to do next.
"You don’t believe that, do you?" Draco asked softly. He looked angry, but Harry knew better than to think that anger was meant for him.
"I don’t know," Harry said.
He averted his gaze, staring out over the grounds once more. He shivered. He’d completely forgotten the rain. It didn’t feel like rain.
"Harry," Draco said. Then, more firmly: "Harry, look at me."
"I’m not a child! Stop scolding me!" Harry flinched at the feeling of Draco’s hand on his shoulder, but finally found the courage to look him in the eye.
"You are allowed to be angry, just like you were allowed to be afraid that night."
Harry rolled his eyes at that, and then winced when Draco squeezed his shoulder and shook him slightly.
"You were a child who was forced to face situations nobody should have to endure," he said.
"We were all children, Draco." Harry knocked Draco’s hand from his shoulder and took another step away, tightly gripping the wet handle of his cane to keep himself balanced.
"And we were all afraid."
The rain fell quickly in small droplets that coated Harry’s glasses and face. He could see the rain clinging to Draco’s hair, too fine a mist to truly soak the strands that had come loose during their escape from the dining hall.
He could feel his resolve breaking.
"I never said I wasn’t afraid," Harry said earnestly. "I thought that walk through the forest was going to be the last walk I ever took. I thought the last thing I was ever going to see was Voldemort and his Death Eaters and that green light. That was the scariest thing I ever had to do, but the idea of losing one more person I loved was so much worse than death.
"And I am angry at Dumbledore. I’m angry at every person who made it my job to end that war. I’m angry at myself for following blindly and trusting everyone who showed me the even slightest bit of caring."
"Harry-"
"No, Draco!" Harry snapped. "You wanted me to be angry, so now you get to hear me be angry!"
And it was true. The rage he’d felt earlier was back and it was growing with every passing second. Draco’s jaw clenched, and he nodded stiffly, but Harry was already speaking.
"You know what the worst part of it all is? I wasn’t even surprised when I found out Dumbledore had planned it all from the very beginning. I wasn’t surprised that I was stupid enough not to notice it. Nobody else had, after all."
"That doesn’t make you stupid, Harry," Draco said, calmly leaning against the rampart, arms and legs crossed. "It just makes Dumbledore clever in all the wrong ways."
"Everyone keeps calling me brave, like walking into the forest was some great adventure, like I was anything more than Dumbledore’s puppet!" Harry slumped against the stone behind him, thoroughly exhausted. "I almost didn’t come back," he murmured.
"What do you mean?" Draco asked.
Harry didn’t look at him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to handle the shame he knew he would see. "For a moment, I saw a way out. I could finally rest--it would all be over. I was so...relieved for that one moment," Harry whispered. "But I knew I had to finish it, because that’s what Dumbledore had said so many times. I was the Chosen One. Getting on a train would be cowardly, and other people--people I loved--would be the ones to pay the price."
"Harry, being afraid doesn’t make you a coward," Draco said, grasping Harry’s shoulders and forcing him to pay attention. "Wanting bad things to end does not make you a coward. We all lost things in that war, and we all gave things, but I doubt there were many who would have willingly walked to their death."
"Draco, stop--we should get back--"
Draco pulled Harry back by the arm. "What Dumbledore did to you was horrible and unfair and disgustingly manipulative, but that is not your fault," Draco said forcefully. "People aren’t calling you brave because Dumbledore told them to. They’re calling you brave because of what you did for us--"
"People died because of me!"Harry said. "They died because I couldn’t just--I couldn’t--"
"People died because the Dark Lord was a raving lunatic! They died because of his hatred and his need for power. They died because he was so afraid of death that he would do anything to prevent it, and exactly none of that is your fault!"
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. He let Draco pull him into his arms and rested his head on Draco’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of Draco’s cologne and the drizzle that had managed to soak them both.
"I’m sorry," he mumbled against Draco’s shoulder.
"Harry, if you apologise again, I will burn every single one of those horrible argyle socks you keep buying."
Harry’s laughter took him by surprise. "They’re not horrible!" he protested. "They’re warm."
"They’re garish!" Draco said seriously, though Harry could tell he was fighting a smile.
Harry sighed. "I don’t want to go back down."
"It’s just a few more hours, and then we can leave," Draco said, sounding like he was trying to reassure himself just as much as he was Harry.
"This place brings back so many memories," Harry murmured, but he straightened his robes the best he could and ran a hand through his wet hair. Draco cast drying charms over the both of them and then pulled open the door.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Are you?"
Draco grimaced, but nodded, offering Harry his arm.
"Wait," said Harry. He pulled Draco closer and kissed him. "Thank you," he said.
With a small smile, Draco kissed the corner of Harry’s mouth. "Just stay close to me and everything will be alright," he said, leading them out of the rain and down the stairs.