Fic: Ten for erisfics
Title: Ten
Author: janicechess
Giftee: erisfics
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,900
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Draco, also featuring a bit of Hermione, Ron, and Ginny
Warnings: Written in the present tense
Author's Notes: Thank you to my beta, who is wonderful and amazing and lovely.
Summary: Harry's journey is far from over. "I don't want to do this," he whispers, even though there is no one there to hear him. He is at the end of a long corridor, and at the end of it is an ordinary door -- but once he walks through it, everything will change.
--
1.
"Why do we have ten fingers?"
It's afternoon, and the oppressive summer heat has driven them to the relative coolness of the kitchen in the basement of Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry has spent the last twenty minutes studying his hands instead of Practical Defensive Spells for Impractical Situations.
"What, instead of having eight or something? That'd be weird," Ron says, scrunching up his nose and examining his own hands.
"Yeah, I guess. But why aren't there … I dunno … five on one hand and six on the other? Why are they the same?"
Hermione sighs and closes her book, sending a puff of dust into the air. "They're not the same. They're mirror images of one another. And each hand has the same number of fingers because … well, otherwise it would just be ridiculous. It only makes sense that way, can't you see?"
"Not really, no." Harry wiggles his thumbs simultaneously, then his index fingers, watching their reflected sameness.
Hermione shakes her head and returns to her reading, muttering something about how they should all be working hard, as the future of the world is at stake and this really isn't the time for nonsensical questions.
She's right, Harry knows, but it's so hot, and he has spent nearly the entire summer indoors ("sequestered at an undisclosed location for his own protection," the Daily Prophet had said). He is restless. He is tired of reading. He wants to do something.
He looks over at Ron, who shakes his head and silently mouths, "She doesn't know why."
Harry grins and decides he'll try to read -- for at least the hundredth time -- the chapter on Full-Body Shielding Charms. Soon, it will be time to act. Soon.
2.
It has been ten months since his seventeenth birthday. Harry has never been so tired in all of his life. He just wants to rest, to sit still. He wants to do nothing and to have nothing to do, to have no responsibilities or obligations. He wants to go home, wherever that is.
He had thought that finding all of the Horcruxes would be the most difficult part. He hadn't known that destroying them would be even harder.
He picks up his rucksack and slings a strap over one shoulder. Head bowed, he begins to walk, limping, down the deserted country road.
The long winter has finally ended, but his journey is far from over.
3.
"But it might be different, afterward. Really, who knows how you'll feel later on? You're under a lot of stress now, and--"
"No. That's not it. I'm sorry, Ginny. It's not going to happen, not ever again. I'm sorry. I've given it a lot of thought, and--"
"I don't care. I'll wait for you. A month, a year, ten years … it doesn't matter how long. I'll wait. You'll change your mind."
"Don't say that. That's not fair. You can't … no. Don't make me say it."
"… Say what, Harry?"
"I don't love you."
"Oh. I see."
4.
The room is tiny, and even though there are only ten people in it, it feels very crowded. Harry sits between Ron and Hermione, listening to Remus Lupin and Mad Eye Moody arguing about who will be going with Harry to face Voldemort. Kingsley Shacklebolt has long since stopped speaking to either of them and instead is writing furiously on a long roll of parchment. At least someone is working on the plan, Harry thinks.
Across the table, Tonks is making faces -- literally. She is alternately taking on the appearance of Lupin and Moody, perhaps thinking that her antics might make them stop arguing. So far it hasn't worked, but she keeps doing it anyway.
The three Unspeakables -- they didn't say their names -- have remained silent for the last hour. Harry wonders why they're here. Moody said they were crucial to the plan, although Harry can't imagine how. If Moody would only shut his mouth for a second, perhaps he would find out.
The one in the middle clears her throat, and the room falls silent.
When the ten people leave the room at just after two o'clock in the morning, they know exactly what, together, they must do.
5.
"I don't want to do this," Harry whispers, even though there is no one there to hear him. He is at the end of a long corridor, and at the end of it is a door. It looks like an ordinary door -- and really, it is an ordinary door -- but once he walks through it, everything will change.
Heart hammering in his chest, wand held steady in front of him, he advances down the corridor. The building is eerily silent, although he knows it is teeming with living creatures, most of whom would gleefully kill him on sight.
The door grows closer and closer. Ten more steps and it will begin.
6.
Nothing has gone as planned, but at least Harry is still alive. There is still hope; if the others succeeded where he failed, then he has a chance. He clings to that.
He is hiding behind an overturned table, trying to still the frantic pace of his thoughts long enough to be able to recall the spell he has to cast. How could he have forgotten the one thing he absolutely needs to remember? He closes his eyes and tries to visualize where it was written: the first page of chapter ten. He sees the illustration of pure white energy exploding from a wand tip, feels the texture of the brittle parchment, smells its dusty age. But the words on the page are a blur.
Across the room, he hears a soft laugh that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Voldemort approaches and Harry still can't remember. He tightens his grip on his cloak and runs.
7.
Harry stops to lean on a cold stone wall long enough to catch his breath. He hears a moan between his gasps and wonders if it came from him. When he sees the small door, he goes to it and runs his fingers over the large, rusty padlock. On a whim, he whispers a series of unlocking spells, and it falls off into his hand.
The cell is slightly larger than his old cupboard. It is less than ten feet long and half as wide. It smells like death, but its occupant isn't dead. A thin figure sits curled in the corner, ankles chained together, white-blond hair streaked with something that could be blood. Harry feels a blaze of some unidentifiable emotion that starts in his groin and rockets up to his throat. His face is burning.
"Malfoy? What are you doing here?" He pulls off his cloak and lets it fall to the floor, watching the guarded fear on Draco's face turn to surprise and then, oddly, elation.
Draco coughs -- or maybe it's a laugh, it's hard to tell. "What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be out there?" He waves his hand weakly towards the door. "Killing the Dark Lord?"
"How do you know I haven't already?"
Draco holds out his arm, displaying the dark curve of snake and skull. "I know."
"I forgot the spell," Harry blurts out before he can think whether or not he should. "I studied it and studied it and practiced it over and over but then I forgot it."
When Harry describes the magic he needs, Draco's mouth curls into a tight grin. When he recites the incantation, Harry gapes. "Since when are you on our side?"
"I'm not. Voldemort is simply no longer on mine."
As Harry exits the small room, Draco calls out to him.
"Potter! Kill that murdering half-blood bastard."
8.
His head hurts, and his nose itches. Harry doesn't know how long he has been sleeping -- ten minutes? Ten years? He groans and opens his eyes, blinking against the bright sunlight streaming in from … somewhere. He tries to sit up but discovers that he can't.
Ron and Hermione rush over to him, crying and laughing and exclaiming. They are followed by a team of Healers with serious looks on their faces, and Harry understands where he is. He remembers, in flashes, Voldemort being struck, Voldemort falling, Voldemort dead. He remembers the pain. He closes his eyes again.
Before he drifts back into unconsciousness, he mutters, "Someone thank Malfoy for me."
9.
"Bilateral symmetry."
Harry looks up from his desk to see Hermione standing in the doorway of his office. "Excuse me?"
"The reason we have the same number of fingers on each hand. Humans and most other animals are bilaterally symmetrical, meaning we can be divided in half, with each side a mirror image of the other. It's a consequence of the way development happens -- I mean, the growth of an organism as an embryo. It's really quite fascinating."
Harry grins. "You went and looked that up, didn't you?"
"I couldn't help myself. It is a good question, even if you asked it at an odd time. Did you know that we find symmetry beautiful? The most beautiful people have nearly perfect symmetry. You see, any lack of bilateral symmetry can indicate a defect, caused by genetics or environmental factors, and so it's really just nature's way of ensuring we pick healthy mates."
As Hermione talks, Harry thinks of Draco Malfoy (something he has found himself doing more often than he probably should in the months since the war ended) and wonders about his symmetry. Not for the first time, he pictures him naked, but with a fine line running from head to toe, and sees that indeed, the two halves can be folded on themselves without any deviation. Ten fingers and ten toes becoming five and five.
He wonders if Draco is that perfect in real life.
10.
Harry strides up to the door of Malfoy Manor and knocks twice, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach. He isn't expecting Draco himself to answer, so when he does, the question he had planned to ask ("Is Mr Malfoy at home?") dies in the back of his throat. Harry hasn't seen him since the night Voldemort was defeated, more than a year ago, and is surprised to see that he does not look like he expected him to. He is taller than Harry, and his face has changed. It is older and less angular. His hair is long and sleek.
They stand there for a few moments, studying one another.
"Potter. What are you doing here?"
Harry smiles and wills his voice not to shake. "Hi, Malfoy. I was just, um, in the neighbourhood, and I wondered if you wanted to go out and maybe have a cup of coffee or something? You know, catch up?"
Draco says nothing. He looks like he is sorting through possible responses to find the one he wants to use. Harry fidgets and tries to peer around him at the inside of the house.
"I have coffee here. You could come in, if you like."
Harry nods in acceptance and steps towards the door, but Draco doesn't move. Their noses are inches apart. Harry waits, counting slowly in his head.
He starts at ten and counts backwards through the reasons he shouldn't be here. When he gets to one, he goes forward again, listing the reasons he wants to be here anyway. He knows them all by heart; he's gone over them a thousand times. Draco, for his part, stays still and silent, his cheeks flushing pink.
"Ten," Harry says out loud, then leans forward and kisses Draco on the lips.
Please be sure to leave your feedback for the author on their journal HERE.
Author: janicechess
Giftee: erisfics
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,900
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Draco, also featuring a bit of Hermione, Ron, and Ginny
Warnings: Written in the present tense
Author's Notes: Thank you to my beta, who is wonderful and amazing and lovely.
Summary: Harry's journey is far from over. "I don't want to do this," he whispers, even though there is no one there to hear him. He is at the end of a long corridor, and at the end of it is an ordinary door -- but once he walks through it, everything will change.
--
1.
"Why do we have ten fingers?"
It's afternoon, and the oppressive summer heat has driven them to the relative coolness of the kitchen in the basement of Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry has spent the last twenty minutes studying his hands instead of Practical Defensive Spells for Impractical Situations.
"What, instead of having eight or something? That'd be weird," Ron says, scrunching up his nose and examining his own hands.
"Yeah, I guess. But why aren't there … I dunno … five on one hand and six on the other? Why are they the same?"
Hermione sighs and closes her book, sending a puff of dust into the air. "They're not the same. They're mirror images of one another. And each hand has the same number of fingers because … well, otherwise it would just be ridiculous. It only makes sense that way, can't you see?"
"Not really, no." Harry wiggles his thumbs simultaneously, then his index fingers, watching their reflected sameness.
Hermione shakes her head and returns to her reading, muttering something about how they should all be working hard, as the future of the world is at stake and this really isn't the time for nonsensical questions.
She's right, Harry knows, but it's so hot, and he has spent nearly the entire summer indoors ("sequestered at an undisclosed location for his own protection," the Daily Prophet had said). He is restless. He is tired of reading. He wants to do something.
He looks over at Ron, who shakes his head and silently mouths, "She doesn't know why."
Harry grins and decides he'll try to read -- for at least the hundredth time -- the chapter on Full-Body Shielding Charms. Soon, it will be time to act. Soon.
2.
It has been ten months since his seventeenth birthday. Harry has never been so tired in all of his life. He just wants to rest, to sit still. He wants to do nothing and to have nothing to do, to have no responsibilities or obligations. He wants to go home, wherever that is.
He had thought that finding all of the Horcruxes would be the most difficult part. He hadn't known that destroying them would be even harder.
He picks up his rucksack and slings a strap over one shoulder. Head bowed, he begins to walk, limping, down the deserted country road.
The long winter has finally ended, but his journey is far from over.
3.
"But it might be different, afterward. Really, who knows how you'll feel later on? You're under a lot of stress now, and--"
"No. That's not it. I'm sorry, Ginny. It's not going to happen, not ever again. I'm sorry. I've given it a lot of thought, and--"
"I don't care. I'll wait for you. A month, a year, ten years … it doesn't matter how long. I'll wait. You'll change your mind."
"Don't say that. That's not fair. You can't … no. Don't make me say it."
"… Say what, Harry?"
"I don't love you."
"Oh. I see."
4.
The room is tiny, and even though there are only ten people in it, it feels very crowded. Harry sits between Ron and Hermione, listening to Remus Lupin and Mad Eye Moody arguing about who will be going with Harry to face Voldemort. Kingsley Shacklebolt has long since stopped speaking to either of them and instead is writing furiously on a long roll of parchment. At least someone is working on the plan, Harry thinks.
Across the table, Tonks is making faces -- literally. She is alternately taking on the appearance of Lupin and Moody, perhaps thinking that her antics might make them stop arguing. So far it hasn't worked, but she keeps doing it anyway.
The three Unspeakables -- they didn't say their names -- have remained silent for the last hour. Harry wonders why they're here. Moody said they were crucial to the plan, although Harry can't imagine how. If Moody would only shut his mouth for a second, perhaps he would find out.
The one in the middle clears her throat, and the room falls silent.
When the ten people leave the room at just after two o'clock in the morning, they know exactly what, together, they must do.
5.
"I don't want to do this," Harry whispers, even though there is no one there to hear him. He is at the end of a long corridor, and at the end of it is a door. It looks like an ordinary door -- and really, it is an ordinary door -- but once he walks through it, everything will change.
Heart hammering in his chest, wand held steady in front of him, he advances down the corridor. The building is eerily silent, although he knows it is teeming with living creatures, most of whom would gleefully kill him on sight.
The door grows closer and closer. Ten more steps and it will begin.
6.
Nothing has gone as planned, but at least Harry is still alive. There is still hope; if the others succeeded where he failed, then he has a chance. He clings to that.
He is hiding behind an overturned table, trying to still the frantic pace of his thoughts long enough to be able to recall the spell he has to cast. How could he have forgotten the one thing he absolutely needs to remember? He closes his eyes and tries to visualize where it was written: the first page of chapter ten. He sees the illustration of pure white energy exploding from a wand tip, feels the texture of the brittle parchment, smells its dusty age. But the words on the page are a blur.
Across the room, he hears a soft laugh that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Voldemort approaches and Harry still can't remember. He tightens his grip on his cloak and runs.
7.
Harry stops to lean on a cold stone wall long enough to catch his breath. He hears a moan between his gasps and wonders if it came from him. When he sees the small door, he goes to it and runs his fingers over the large, rusty padlock. On a whim, he whispers a series of unlocking spells, and it falls off into his hand.
The cell is slightly larger than his old cupboard. It is less than ten feet long and half as wide. It smells like death, but its occupant isn't dead. A thin figure sits curled in the corner, ankles chained together, white-blond hair streaked with something that could be blood. Harry feels a blaze of some unidentifiable emotion that starts in his groin and rockets up to his throat. His face is burning.
"Malfoy? What are you doing here?" He pulls off his cloak and lets it fall to the floor, watching the guarded fear on Draco's face turn to surprise and then, oddly, elation.
Draco coughs -- or maybe it's a laugh, it's hard to tell. "What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be out there?" He waves his hand weakly towards the door. "Killing the Dark Lord?"
"How do you know I haven't already?"
Draco holds out his arm, displaying the dark curve of snake and skull. "I know."
"I forgot the spell," Harry blurts out before he can think whether or not he should. "I studied it and studied it and practiced it over and over but then I forgot it."
When Harry describes the magic he needs, Draco's mouth curls into a tight grin. When he recites the incantation, Harry gapes. "Since when are you on our side?"
"I'm not. Voldemort is simply no longer on mine."
As Harry exits the small room, Draco calls out to him.
"Potter! Kill that murdering half-blood bastard."
8.
His head hurts, and his nose itches. Harry doesn't know how long he has been sleeping -- ten minutes? Ten years? He groans and opens his eyes, blinking against the bright sunlight streaming in from … somewhere. He tries to sit up but discovers that he can't.
Ron and Hermione rush over to him, crying and laughing and exclaiming. They are followed by a team of Healers with serious looks on their faces, and Harry understands where he is. He remembers, in flashes, Voldemort being struck, Voldemort falling, Voldemort dead. He remembers the pain. He closes his eyes again.
Before he drifts back into unconsciousness, he mutters, "Someone thank Malfoy for me."
9.
"Bilateral symmetry."
Harry looks up from his desk to see Hermione standing in the doorway of his office. "Excuse me?"
"The reason we have the same number of fingers on each hand. Humans and most other animals are bilaterally symmetrical, meaning we can be divided in half, with each side a mirror image of the other. It's a consequence of the way development happens -- I mean, the growth of an organism as an embryo. It's really quite fascinating."
Harry grins. "You went and looked that up, didn't you?"
"I couldn't help myself. It is a good question, even if you asked it at an odd time. Did you know that we find symmetry beautiful? The most beautiful people have nearly perfect symmetry. You see, any lack of bilateral symmetry can indicate a defect, caused by genetics or environmental factors, and so it's really just nature's way of ensuring we pick healthy mates."
As Hermione talks, Harry thinks of Draco Malfoy (something he has found himself doing more often than he probably should in the months since the war ended) and wonders about his symmetry. Not for the first time, he pictures him naked, but with a fine line running from head to toe, and sees that indeed, the two halves can be folded on themselves without any deviation. Ten fingers and ten toes becoming five and five.
He wonders if Draco is that perfect in real life.
10.
Harry strides up to the door of Malfoy Manor and knocks twice, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach. He isn't expecting Draco himself to answer, so when he does, the question he had planned to ask ("Is Mr Malfoy at home?") dies in the back of his throat. Harry hasn't seen him since the night Voldemort was defeated, more than a year ago, and is surprised to see that he does not look like he expected him to. He is taller than Harry, and his face has changed. It is older and less angular. His hair is long and sleek.
They stand there for a few moments, studying one another.
"Potter. What are you doing here?"
Harry smiles and wills his voice not to shake. "Hi, Malfoy. I was just, um, in the neighbourhood, and I wondered if you wanted to go out and maybe have a cup of coffee or something? You know, catch up?"
Draco says nothing. He looks like he is sorting through possible responses to find the one he wants to use. Harry fidgets and tries to peer around him at the inside of the house.
"I have coffee here. You could come in, if you like."
Harry nods in acceptance and steps towards the door, but Draco doesn't move. Their noses are inches apart. Harry waits, counting slowly in his head.
He starts at ten and counts backwards through the reasons he shouldn't be here. When he gets to one, he goes forward again, listing the reasons he wants to be here anyway. He knows them all by heart; he's gone over them a thousand times. Draco, for his part, stays still and silent, his cheeks flushing pink.
"Ten," Harry says out loud, then leans forward and kisses Draco on the lips.
Please be sure to leave your feedback for the author on their journal HERE.