H/D drabble
Author: wildegirl_05
Title: Ghost in the Attic
Genre: Drabble, Angst, Character death
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters belong to JK Rowling and all corporations associated with the franchise. This is a not-for-profit exercise for the author's imagination.
Author's notes: Dedicated to deliciantasy for the lovely drabble she wrote me a little while ago. My friend, this too is inspired by one of Sting's songs. Sorry about the angst,it crept in while I wasn't watching.
Harry trudged out of his small office closing the door behind him. He walked the forty-five steps that took him to the lift and waited patiently for the quiet ding. The soft hum of the machine cloaked his mind soothingly as he left the building in his usual daze. He barely noticed that it was getting darker earlier in the day. A short walk brought him to the steps of his row house and soon he was standing in the hallway, putting away his coat and gloves. A sparse dinner and a glass of fire whiskey later, he was seated in front of a roaring fire with his pensieve in hand. The same scene played over and over in his mind.
It was a dark and stormy night, which foretold many of the tragedies to come. Voldermort’s followers were engaged in a fierce battle with a team of Aurors and members of the Order. Red sparks flew into the night sky, accompanied by shrieks and wails. Harry darted around the camp, trying to help while quashing the feeling of dread slowly creeping up over him. A particularly loud wail caught his attention - a woman’s voice, on his right. He looked up to see a tall figure sink slowly to the ground. A second of stony silence shattered by Pansy’s voice (to this day he couldn’t remember how we recognized her voice) yelling “Draco”, before she too succumbed to Bill Weasley’s wand. It was all over in just a few moments. Bill ran to help another Auror in the distance. The cold night took command as Draco lay peacefully on the ground, Pansy a few feet away from him. Even in death, her fingers reaching toward his hand. Harry stood alone and unmoving - barely breathing, as the battle raged on around them.
Ron found him a few hours later, crouched behind a boulder, hugging himself tightly.
“Harry, there you are mate. We’ve been looking all over for you. Mum’s beside herself with worry”.
If Ron noticed Harry’s state he didn’t mention it. It was war and they were all soldiers. Caring for one’s own sanity was a full time occupation. Years later he would worry silently into many a long night; if things would have been different for all of them if he had only talked to Harry that day.
Many battles followed that one before the Boy Who Lived finally defeated the Dark Lord. The Wizarding world honoured him and other brave soldiers. Molly Weasley told everyone who would listen about the Orders of Merlin that Bill and Ron had received. The war trials resembled a carnival as laughter masked the stench of blood on everyone’s hands. Celebrations were held that evoked ancient rituals proclaiming the Sun’s triumph over wintry nights. But the icy trickle that had begun to chill Harry’s heart never left him. It wasn’t warmed by Ron and Hermione’s wedding and their first baby. Or his own wedding to Ginny a few years later. Accolades at work and rapid promotions at the Ministry could not erase his descent into the abyss of his own mind.
Slowly but surely, the iciness of that night took over all of Harry’s life. It started with him staring off into space for long periods of time even as he sat at the dinner table with friends and family. Or during important meetings at work. Once even during an interview with members of the Wizarding Press. Arthur finally took Harry aside to talk to him about it, after Ginny had come to the Burrow in tears the night before. Even her fiery love for Harry was tested when the eerie blank mask fell over him during sex. Harry’s only response to any questions was that he couldn’t remember what he thought about when he slipped into this state. It wasn’t really a lie if he wasn’t ready to face the truth.
Two winters later Ginny had moved back in with her parents. Ron and Hermione had moved away to be closer to her parents and Ron’s new job. The Ministry felt a debilitated Boy Who Lived was best put away. And so Harry came to work as a bookkeeper for a Muggle.
He was nice and polite and did his work well. Any strange behaviour on his part was attributed to the mind numbing number crunching he performed. His days were spent not thinking about Draco. Not remembering his shiny hair. Or his ever-present sneer. The light in his eyes when he raced for the Snitch. The passion with which he hated Mudbloods. And Potter. Accounting rules were used to push aside memories of spurts of blood in an abandoned bathroom, caused by a dangerous spell. And that ill-fated moment when despair, familial love and heavy burdens were co-mingled by the clever words of a wise professor. Inane conversations about television shows, harmless gossip and lukewarm take-out lunches could erase the memory of a long fall to the ground. Couldn’t they?
Harry’s nights were spent remembering all those things. As he clutched his pensieve, looking for clues to melt the ice that covered his heart. Hoping that the roaring fire would provide some warmth against the cold and fateful night that had stolen his Draco from him for all eternity.
Title: Ghost in the Attic
Genre: Drabble, Angst, Character death
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters belong to JK Rowling and all corporations associated with the franchise. This is a not-for-profit exercise for the author's imagination.
Author's notes: Dedicated to deliciantasy for the lovely drabble she wrote me a little while ago. My friend, this too is inspired by one of Sting's songs. Sorry about the angst,it crept in while I wasn't watching.
Harry trudged out of his small office closing the door behind him. He walked the forty-five steps that took him to the lift and waited patiently for the quiet ding. The soft hum of the machine cloaked his mind soothingly as he left the building in his usual daze. He barely noticed that it was getting darker earlier in the day. A short walk brought him to the steps of his row house and soon he was standing in the hallway, putting away his coat and gloves. A sparse dinner and a glass of fire whiskey later, he was seated in front of a roaring fire with his pensieve in hand. The same scene played over and over in his mind.
It was a dark and stormy night, which foretold many of the tragedies to come. Voldermort’s followers were engaged in a fierce battle with a team of Aurors and members of the Order. Red sparks flew into the night sky, accompanied by shrieks and wails. Harry darted around the camp, trying to help while quashing the feeling of dread slowly creeping up over him. A particularly loud wail caught his attention - a woman’s voice, on his right. He looked up to see a tall figure sink slowly to the ground. A second of stony silence shattered by Pansy’s voice (to this day he couldn’t remember how we recognized her voice) yelling “Draco”, before she too succumbed to Bill Weasley’s wand. It was all over in just a few moments. Bill ran to help another Auror in the distance. The cold night took command as Draco lay peacefully on the ground, Pansy a few feet away from him. Even in death, her fingers reaching toward his hand. Harry stood alone and unmoving - barely breathing, as the battle raged on around them.
Ron found him a few hours later, crouched behind a boulder, hugging himself tightly.
“Harry, there you are mate. We’ve been looking all over for you. Mum’s beside herself with worry”.
If Ron noticed Harry’s state he didn’t mention it. It was war and they were all soldiers. Caring for one’s own sanity was a full time occupation. Years later he would worry silently into many a long night; if things would have been different for all of them if he had only talked to Harry that day.
Many battles followed that one before the Boy Who Lived finally defeated the Dark Lord. The Wizarding world honoured him and other brave soldiers. Molly Weasley told everyone who would listen about the Orders of Merlin that Bill and Ron had received. The war trials resembled a carnival as laughter masked the stench of blood on everyone’s hands. Celebrations were held that evoked ancient rituals proclaiming the Sun’s triumph over wintry nights. But the icy trickle that had begun to chill Harry’s heart never left him. It wasn’t warmed by Ron and Hermione’s wedding and their first baby. Or his own wedding to Ginny a few years later. Accolades at work and rapid promotions at the Ministry could not erase his descent into the abyss of his own mind.
Slowly but surely, the iciness of that night took over all of Harry’s life. It started with him staring off into space for long periods of time even as he sat at the dinner table with friends and family. Or during important meetings at work. Once even during an interview with members of the Wizarding Press. Arthur finally took Harry aside to talk to him about it, after Ginny had come to the Burrow in tears the night before. Even her fiery love for Harry was tested when the eerie blank mask fell over him during sex. Harry’s only response to any questions was that he couldn’t remember what he thought about when he slipped into this state. It wasn’t really a lie if he wasn’t ready to face the truth.
Two winters later Ginny had moved back in with her parents. Ron and Hermione had moved away to be closer to her parents and Ron’s new job. The Ministry felt a debilitated Boy Who Lived was best put away. And so Harry came to work as a bookkeeper for a Muggle.
He was nice and polite and did his work well. Any strange behaviour on his part was attributed to the mind numbing number crunching he performed. His days were spent not thinking about Draco. Not remembering his shiny hair. Or his ever-present sneer. The light in his eyes when he raced for the Snitch. The passion with which he hated Mudbloods. And Potter. Accounting rules were used to push aside memories of spurts of blood in an abandoned bathroom, caused by a dangerous spell. And that ill-fated moment when despair, familial love and heavy burdens were co-mingled by the clever words of a wise professor. Inane conversations about television shows, harmless gossip and lukewarm take-out lunches could erase the memory of a long fall to the ground. Couldn’t they?
Harry’s nights were spent remembering all those things. As he clutched his pensieve, looking for clues to melt the ice that covered his heart. Hoping that the roaring fire would provide some warmth against the cold and fateful night that had stolen his Draco from him for all eternity.