Flashes of Grey
Title: Flashes of Grey
Rating: NC 17
Word Count: 2,500
Summary: Harry has so much he wants to give him. He doesn't.
Warnings: Slash, Character Death.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe, or the characters in it. The following was written purely for fun, not profit.
The boy stands at the foyer of Grimmauld Place. Harry gazes at that pointed face, that sharp jaw, those steel eyes with ill concealed rage.
The last time he saw those eyes, they were dilated with sheer terror. With the knowledge that they would witness murder. The last time he had seen those hands, they were clenched around a wand- a wand pointed at Dumbledore. Harry's hand clenches around his own wand. He thinks he may need it.
The boy has noticed his reaction. His lips quirk in an almost smirk. Almost. For a second, Harry feels a flash of annoyance at the incomplete effort. The boy doesn't seem to care. Instead he stands there- eyes looking straight at Harry, head lifted proudly but with no trace of arrogance.
Why is there no arrogance? Why is there no fear? Why is he here?
His lips part and Harry's eyes narrow.
One word is uttered. "Truce"
Harry's fury breaks through. His wand is raised and Malfoy flies through a wall. There is an audible splinter as his shoulder cracks. He slumps to the ground, dazed and bleeding.
"Never," Harry snarls. Never.
"Potter, listen to me…" Malfoy tries, grimacing with the pain.
He doesn't.
****
It took Remus' convincing and Snape's open threat to eviscerate him, but Harry eventually came to terms with the newest member of the Order.
Malfoy doesn't say much. He bunks with Ron- who no longer protests, for fear of Molly's wrath. He helps Snape with potions and Hermione with defence spells. He's quiet and stays out of everyone's way. But he's there. Like a shadow. A pale, pointy, ferrety shadow, Harry fumes.
Malfoy looks at him as if he'd said it out loud. The almost smirk is back.
In a childish tantrum, Harry huffs and leaves the room
He can swear he hears Malfoy laughing at him. He wants to go back and hex him, shake him until his teeth rattle, scream at him that he doesn't belong here.
He doesn't.
****
"Faster, Potter!" Snape snarls at him, wand raised. Harry narrowly avoids the last, potentially lethal hex only to be hit in the ankle with a snapping curse. With a groan he feels his weight crack the ankle and collapses in a crumpled heap. Battle training is a harsh and unforgiving practice.
Snape swears as well, and heals him distractedly. "Your incompetence is surpassed only by your unwillingness to learn, Potter!" he snaps. In his dazed state, Harry can barely understand what the hell that means.
He feels himself being hoisted up. As he stumbles slightly, trying to get his bearing, he stares into grey eyes. Before he can say anything, Malfoy has turned to Snape. "He doesn't have space to manoeuvre. How do you expect him to dodge hexes in a cramped basement?" he drawls. Harry is torn between being stunned at the show of defence and between wanting to tell the git that he can fight his own battles.
Snape beats him to it.
"I'm sure I'm well equipped to teach Potter without your precious input, Mr Malfoy," he sneers
Malfoy inclines his head slightly. "Very well," he says "I'll just finish that batch of Blood Replenishing Potions then"
There is silence after he leaves. Harry looks at Snape. The man is observing him as if he were an unfamiliar potion ingredient. Then he speaks; his voice thin with irritation. "Let's take this outside, Potter"
Harry wonders if he should thank Malfoy.
He doesn't.
****
Harry curses Snape and all his kin as he limps back into the house. It's been pouring rain, and the potions master has been nothing short of relentless. They practice in an unknown location in the Forbidden Forest now, protected under the Fidelius Charm.
The sessions are better now. There is space to move, and cover to hide and fling curses. But it's taxing and his bones hurt.
He slumps on a couch, trying to ignore the crack in his back. The weight dips on the other side and he turns a weary head and groans. "Not you," he mumbles, too tired to argue
Malfoy merely grins. His grin is slightly crooked. Harry wonders why he didn't notice it before. The realization that Malfoy isn't perfect surprises him.
"Drink," he orders, offering him a vial
Harry's eyes narrow and Malfoy's half smirk appears again.
"If you think your hissy cat impression scares me, think again," he says dryly. "Drink."
Harry takes the offered vial, reminding himself that Malfoy- git though he is- has been living at Grimmauld Place for a year now. Still, he handles the potion cautiously. Old habits die hard.
Grey eyes flare in anger as Harry hesitates. "Fine!" Malfoy yells at him before storming out of the room "Check it for poison then!"
He doesn't.
****
"Why did you join us?" Harry demands. He knows it's bordering on ridiculous to ask after all this time, but he needs to know.
Malfoy looks up from the ginger he is chopping, his eyes wide with surprise. He looks innocent and Harry wonders where the hell that thought came from. "It's been two years," Malfoy answers hesitantly. "Why ask now?"
"I want to know now," Harry answers.
Malfoy grins his crooked grin. "What you mean is you're ready to believe me now," he says with just a hint of smug superiority.
Harry shrugs. "Answer," he orders. A muscle twitches in Malfoy's cheek. Harry stares until he answers.
"They killed my mother," Malfoy says. If there is any emotion behind the statement, he doesn't show it. Harry feels his stomach tighten.
"Actually, allow me to rephrase," Malfoy goes on. His voice turns bitter and shaky, despite the effort at nonchalance. "They cast an Imperius on me and forced me to kill my mother" He looks up at Harry and Harry wants nothing more than to avoid that mercurial glare.
"Still worried about my loyalties?" Malfoy asks quietly. "Still worried I'm going to run back to my Death eater of a father? That I'm going to answer to the Mark?"
Harry watches as the slender shoulders shake and raises a hand to offer comfort. Grey eyes flash.
"Don't" A warning is issued.
Malfoy turns to leave and Harry wants to stop him, to beg him to stay.
He doesn't.
****
Harry wakes up in the middle of the night. There is some kind of commotion downstairs. He's sure he heard Hermione scream. Fearing the worst, he makes his way down the stairs. As he enters the living room, he can hear Ron's voice. "It's okay, mate. It's okay. Everything's going to be fine, you prat. Just keep breathing…"
Harry blanches. Remus? Fred? Geroge?
As he runs in, the sight that meets his eyes nearly brings him to his knees. Malfoy is on the couch, his right arm hanging by a sliver of muscle.
He is almost completely covered in blood- his blood. His face is chalk white and his eyes screwed shut in what Harry knows is sheer agony.
Abruptly, almost inappropriately Harry remembers the fuss the Slytherin had made when he had been attacked by Buckbeak so many years ago. Now his lips are pressed tightly as he tries not to cry out. A whimper escapes every now and then despite his best efforts. Harry wants to be sick.
Remus is trying to stem the bleeding and Snape, paler than usual is trying to find the right potions. Harry wants to scream at him to hurry the hell up. Molly is wringing her hands and clutching his shoulder. He doesn't even register her painful grip.
"What happened?" he asks Ron. It's a dream, a nightmare…it has to be.
"There was an attack during our rounds. Four of 'em- we were blindsided," Ron explains. He looks tired and ill. "He tried to take Lucius on his own, the idiot," he mutters, casting a worried look at Mal-Draco. Harry corrects himself at once. It's Draco. If he gets better- if he makes it- he'll always be Draco, never Malfoy. Harry knows its stupid, but he promises it to himself anyway. He promises it to Draco.
Draco makes a strangled noise and Harry is next to him at once. "You'll be fine," he says, trying to ignore the fact that his hands are shaking and his voice is breaking "You'll be fine, Draco. You can hear me, can't you? I know you can. Just…just keep listening to me, kay? You'll be fine. I swear"
"Get out of my way, Potter!" Snape pushes him aside and starts administering the potions to Draco. Harry watches dazed, as he treats the bleeding boy. He sits there, ignoring everyone and everything around him. Everyone except Draco.
"He wasn't such a prat once you got to know him," Ron says suddenly. He's talking about Draco as if he's already gone. Harry wants to strangle him. "No, he is not a prat," he informs him stubbornly. Ron looks at him strangely and nods. He doesn't ask when Harry insists on staying back with Draco.
Twelve hours and fourteen potions later, the blonde's eyes flicker. His pale lashes flutter against his cheeks. Harry notices and stumbles forward to touch that cheek. "Harry...don't leave me," Draco mumbles before falling asleep again
He doesn't.
****
One night, he dreams of Lily. He dreams of her screams and her pleas and her tears. He dreams of her falling as a ray of green fire lashes around her. He dreams of her dying gasps and her fading heartbeat.
He wakes with a gasp. He is alone. Alone. And he cries. He cries and he curses and he swears. And he doesn't realize that he forgot to place a Silencing Charm on his room. He is so caught up in his anguish that he doesn't notice a tentative figure sit next to him. He doesn't notice until a pale hand stretches out and touches his shoulder.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, not even having to look up. He can tell who it is by the trace of those fingers. Nobody else has such long, slender fingers.
"I heard you," Draco replied. Harry expects something more. Something along the lines of "Can't you put up a simple silencing spell, Scarhead? Or 'is the great Saviour afraid of the dark?' Or something. Malfoy says nothing. So finally Harry speaks up.
"Bad dream," he mumbles
"That much is obvious," Draco replies. Harry shoots him an irritated glance and he has the grace to look abashed. Harry talks. There's nothing else to do.
"Do you dream about..."
"Yes," Draco replies, not letting him finish that sentence. There's silence again. "Every night," he adds, looking up at Harry. Grey eyes glint in the dim light. Someone understands.
Harry watches him for a while in silence. He stares back. His face is softened by the moonlight, his features mellow. His brow is still creased with worry for Harry. Harry feels touched. In a split second he makes a decision and leans forward. Draco doesn't lean back.
Their lips brush tentatively and Harry's hand reaches for the back of his head. He pulls Draco forward deepening the kiss. Their tongues trace each other and Harry feels the urge to plunge forward. But he's out of breath and pulls back. Draco sighs slightly and licks his lips. And then he gets up.
"Stay with me," Harry says, suddenly afraid that he wouldn't.
"Please" he adds, when Draco looks like he might refuse.
Draco looks at him a second more, before getting up. He takes off his shirt and Harry tries not to swallow as his eyes follow the ripples of his smooth, white chest.
"I didn't mean…" he begins
"Liar," Draco cuts in, with his crooked smile. He slips out of his pyjamas and Harry feels his groin respond. He is, in fact a liar.
"I can't give you more than this" Harry whispers, his eyes still on the smooth, narrow waist.
"Harry," the name is said almost reverently. Draco stands before him, a tall, pale figure in the cold night promising warmth and a moment's peace. He climbs into bed and smiles reassuringly. The words warm Harry's skin as they are whispered in the darkness. "You don't have to say anything"
He doesn't.
****
Harry sees him fall for the last time. It's all over. Voldemort lies in a crumpled heap of black ashes and Harry's life is his again.
He is vaguely aware of cheering crowds, of Ron's hollering, of Hermione sobbing on his shoulder, of Remus calling out for him, telling him he did it. His eye flickers and he knows he will cry. Just not now. Not until he can feel again.
It's over. It's really over…
And then he sees him. Out of the corner of his eye, but it's definitely him. Harry can almost sense him. A pale, lanky figure stretched across the floor, limp and still. The Dark Mark still scars his arm, fading with every second. Just like his pulse. Harry feels his heart crash inside his chest and realization sinks in. Devastating realization.
'No," he screams, breaking free of Hermione. He stumbles, runs -he doesn't know which- and reaches his broken target. Draco stares at him from the floor. His grey eyes are lifeless and don't light up with warmth as Harry approaches. His fingers are cold and they don't squeeze Harry's hand back. His mouth is still- no smirks, no crooked grins, no witty replies.
Harry feels his world shatter. "Draco…" he thinks he can hear his own heart break. His fingers trace that slender neck. He had kissed that neck, listened to Draco's breathy moans and sighs of desire. Draco is silent now and Harry can only hear his own, pathetic pleas. "Draco, move. Please move…"
He doesn't.
And Harry cries.
****
The funeral was simple and elegant. Draco would have called it 'tasteful, if a tad understated'. Harry holds back his grief, as he remembers the man- his lover, his rock, his friend. He watches as those who knew him remember him as well.
Remus says he was brave.
Moody says he would have made a fine Auror.
Hermione says she would miss his wit.
Ron says he was a fine friend and the best partner he could have hoped for.
Snape says nothing. Neither does Harry.
They sit together in silence near the lonely grave as night descends. Harry's shoulders don't shake anymore. Cold doesn't matter as much as it did. Not now. Not when he knows Draco can't keep him warm anymore.
He can feel Snape's stare on him. The man's eyes are cold and dark, his grief hidden in their shadows. His back is ramrod straight, as if he is afraid to hunch. To move. As if to move would be to break.
Nevertheless, he looks Harry straight in the eye and says those words. He thinks it's important that the boy hears them.
"You must know that…he loved you too."
He does.
END
Rating: NC 17
Word Count: 2,500
Summary: Harry has so much he wants to give him. He doesn't.
Warnings: Slash, Character Death.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe, or the characters in it. The following was written purely for fun, not profit.
The boy stands at the foyer of Grimmauld Place. Harry gazes at that pointed face, that sharp jaw, those steel eyes with ill concealed rage.
The last time he saw those eyes, they were dilated with sheer terror. With the knowledge that they would witness murder. The last time he had seen those hands, they were clenched around a wand- a wand pointed at Dumbledore. Harry's hand clenches around his own wand. He thinks he may need it.
The boy has noticed his reaction. His lips quirk in an almost smirk. Almost. For a second, Harry feels a flash of annoyance at the incomplete effort. The boy doesn't seem to care. Instead he stands there- eyes looking straight at Harry, head lifted proudly but with no trace of arrogance.
Why is there no arrogance? Why is there no fear? Why is he here?
His lips part and Harry's eyes narrow.
One word is uttered. "Truce"
Harry's fury breaks through. His wand is raised and Malfoy flies through a wall. There is an audible splinter as his shoulder cracks. He slumps to the ground, dazed and bleeding.
"Never," Harry snarls. Never.
"Potter, listen to me…" Malfoy tries, grimacing with the pain.
He doesn't.
****
It took Remus' convincing and Snape's open threat to eviscerate him, but Harry eventually came to terms with the newest member of the Order.
Malfoy doesn't say much. He bunks with Ron- who no longer protests, for fear of Molly's wrath. He helps Snape with potions and Hermione with defence spells. He's quiet and stays out of everyone's way. But he's there. Like a shadow. A pale, pointy, ferrety shadow, Harry fumes.
Malfoy looks at him as if he'd said it out loud. The almost smirk is back.
In a childish tantrum, Harry huffs and leaves the room
He can swear he hears Malfoy laughing at him. He wants to go back and hex him, shake him until his teeth rattle, scream at him that he doesn't belong here.
He doesn't.
****
"Faster, Potter!" Snape snarls at him, wand raised. Harry narrowly avoids the last, potentially lethal hex only to be hit in the ankle with a snapping curse. With a groan he feels his weight crack the ankle and collapses in a crumpled heap. Battle training is a harsh and unforgiving practice.
Snape swears as well, and heals him distractedly. "Your incompetence is surpassed only by your unwillingness to learn, Potter!" he snaps. In his dazed state, Harry can barely understand what the hell that means.
He feels himself being hoisted up. As he stumbles slightly, trying to get his bearing, he stares into grey eyes. Before he can say anything, Malfoy has turned to Snape. "He doesn't have space to manoeuvre. How do you expect him to dodge hexes in a cramped basement?" he drawls. Harry is torn between being stunned at the show of defence and between wanting to tell the git that he can fight his own battles.
Snape beats him to it.
"I'm sure I'm well equipped to teach Potter without your precious input, Mr Malfoy," he sneers
Malfoy inclines his head slightly. "Very well," he says "I'll just finish that batch of Blood Replenishing Potions then"
There is silence after he leaves. Harry looks at Snape. The man is observing him as if he were an unfamiliar potion ingredient. Then he speaks; his voice thin with irritation. "Let's take this outside, Potter"
Harry wonders if he should thank Malfoy.
He doesn't.
****
Harry curses Snape and all his kin as he limps back into the house. It's been pouring rain, and the potions master has been nothing short of relentless. They practice in an unknown location in the Forbidden Forest now, protected under the Fidelius Charm.
The sessions are better now. There is space to move, and cover to hide and fling curses. But it's taxing and his bones hurt.
He slumps on a couch, trying to ignore the crack in his back. The weight dips on the other side and he turns a weary head and groans. "Not you," he mumbles, too tired to argue
Malfoy merely grins. His grin is slightly crooked. Harry wonders why he didn't notice it before. The realization that Malfoy isn't perfect surprises him.
"Drink," he orders, offering him a vial
Harry's eyes narrow and Malfoy's half smirk appears again.
"If you think your hissy cat impression scares me, think again," he says dryly. "Drink."
Harry takes the offered vial, reminding himself that Malfoy- git though he is- has been living at Grimmauld Place for a year now. Still, he handles the potion cautiously. Old habits die hard.
Grey eyes flare in anger as Harry hesitates. "Fine!" Malfoy yells at him before storming out of the room "Check it for poison then!"
He doesn't.
****
"Why did you join us?" Harry demands. He knows it's bordering on ridiculous to ask after all this time, but he needs to know.
Malfoy looks up from the ginger he is chopping, his eyes wide with surprise. He looks innocent and Harry wonders where the hell that thought came from. "It's been two years," Malfoy answers hesitantly. "Why ask now?"
"I want to know now," Harry answers.
Malfoy grins his crooked grin. "What you mean is you're ready to believe me now," he says with just a hint of smug superiority.
Harry shrugs. "Answer," he orders. A muscle twitches in Malfoy's cheek. Harry stares until he answers.
"They killed my mother," Malfoy says. If there is any emotion behind the statement, he doesn't show it. Harry feels his stomach tighten.
"Actually, allow me to rephrase," Malfoy goes on. His voice turns bitter and shaky, despite the effort at nonchalance. "They cast an Imperius on me and forced me to kill my mother" He looks up at Harry and Harry wants nothing more than to avoid that mercurial glare.
"Still worried about my loyalties?" Malfoy asks quietly. "Still worried I'm going to run back to my Death eater of a father? That I'm going to answer to the Mark?"
Harry watches as the slender shoulders shake and raises a hand to offer comfort. Grey eyes flash.
"Don't" A warning is issued.
Malfoy turns to leave and Harry wants to stop him, to beg him to stay.
He doesn't.
****
Harry wakes up in the middle of the night. There is some kind of commotion downstairs. He's sure he heard Hermione scream. Fearing the worst, he makes his way down the stairs. As he enters the living room, he can hear Ron's voice. "It's okay, mate. It's okay. Everything's going to be fine, you prat. Just keep breathing…"
Harry blanches. Remus? Fred? Geroge?
As he runs in, the sight that meets his eyes nearly brings him to his knees. Malfoy is on the couch, his right arm hanging by a sliver of muscle.
He is almost completely covered in blood- his blood. His face is chalk white and his eyes screwed shut in what Harry knows is sheer agony.
Abruptly, almost inappropriately Harry remembers the fuss the Slytherin had made when he had been attacked by Buckbeak so many years ago. Now his lips are pressed tightly as he tries not to cry out. A whimper escapes every now and then despite his best efforts. Harry wants to be sick.
Remus is trying to stem the bleeding and Snape, paler than usual is trying to find the right potions. Harry wants to scream at him to hurry the hell up. Molly is wringing her hands and clutching his shoulder. He doesn't even register her painful grip.
"What happened?" he asks Ron. It's a dream, a nightmare…it has to be.
"There was an attack during our rounds. Four of 'em- we were blindsided," Ron explains. He looks tired and ill. "He tried to take Lucius on his own, the idiot," he mutters, casting a worried look at Mal-Draco. Harry corrects himself at once. It's Draco. If he gets better- if he makes it- he'll always be Draco, never Malfoy. Harry knows its stupid, but he promises it to himself anyway. He promises it to Draco.
Draco makes a strangled noise and Harry is next to him at once. "You'll be fine," he says, trying to ignore the fact that his hands are shaking and his voice is breaking "You'll be fine, Draco. You can hear me, can't you? I know you can. Just…just keep listening to me, kay? You'll be fine. I swear"
"Get out of my way, Potter!" Snape pushes him aside and starts administering the potions to Draco. Harry watches dazed, as he treats the bleeding boy. He sits there, ignoring everyone and everything around him. Everyone except Draco.
"He wasn't such a prat once you got to know him," Ron says suddenly. He's talking about Draco as if he's already gone. Harry wants to strangle him. "No, he is not a prat," he informs him stubbornly. Ron looks at him strangely and nods. He doesn't ask when Harry insists on staying back with Draco.
Twelve hours and fourteen potions later, the blonde's eyes flicker. His pale lashes flutter against his cheeks. Harry notices and stumbles forward to touch that cheek. "Harry...don't leave me," Draco mumbles before falling asleep again
He doesn't.
****
One night, he dreams of Lily. He dreams of her screams and her pleas and her tears. He dreams of her falling as a ray of green fire lashes around her. He dreams of her dying gasps and her fading heartbeat.
He wakes with a gasp. He is alone. Alone. And he cries. He cries and he curses and he swears. And he doesn't realize that he forgot to place a Silencing Charm on his room. He is so caught up in his anguish that he doesn't notice a tentative figure sit next to him. He doesn't notice until a pale hand stretches out and touches his shoulder.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, not even having to look up. He can tell who it is by the trace of those fingers. Nobody else has such long, slender fingers.
"I heard you," Draco replied. Harry expects something more. Something along the lines of "Can't you put up a simple silencing spell, Scarhead? Or 'is the great Saviour afraid of the dark?' Or something. Malfoy says nothing. So finally Harry speaks up.
"Bad dream," he mumbles
"That much is obvious," Draco replies. Harry shoots him an irritated glance and he has the grace to look abashed. Harry talks. There's nothing else to do.
"Do you dream about..."
"Yes," Draco replies, not letting him finish that sentence. There's silence again. "Every night," he adds, looking up at Harry. Grey eyes glint in the dim light. Someone understands.
Harry watches him for a while in silence. He stares back. His face is softened by the moonlight, his features mellow. His brow is still creased with worry for Harry. Harry feels touched. In a split second he makes a decision and leans forward. Draco doesn't lean back.
Their lips brush tentatively and Harry's hand reaches for the back of his head. He pulls Draco forward deepening the kiss. Their tongues trace each other and Harry feels the urge to plunge forward. But he's out of breath and pulls back. Draco sighs slightly and licks his lips. And then he gets up.
"Stay with me," Harry says, suddenly afraid that he wouldn't.
"Please" he adds, when Draco looks like he might refuse.
Draco looks at him a second more, before getting up. He takes off his shirt and Harry tries not to swallow as his eyes follow the ripples of his smooth, white chest.
"I didn't mean…" he begins
"Liar," Draco cuts in, with his crooked smile. He slips out of his pyjamas and Harry feels his groin respond. He is, in fact a liar.
"I can't give you more than this" Harry whispers, his eyes still on the smooth, narrow waist.
"Harry," the name is said almost reverently. Draco stands before him, a tall, pale figure in the cold night promising warmth and a moment's peace. He climbs into bed and smiles reassuringly. The words warm Harry's skin as they are whispered in the darkness. "You don't have to say anything"
He doesn't.
****
Harry sees him fall for the last time. It's all over. Voldemort lies in a crumpled heap of black ashes and Harry's life is his again.
He is vaguely aware of cheering crowds, of Ron's hollering, of Hermione sobbing on his shoulder, of Remus calling out for him, telling him he did it. His eye flickers and he knows he will cry. Just not now. Not until he can feel again.
It's over. It's really over…
And then he sees him. Out of the corner of his eye, but it's definitely him. Harry can almost sense him. A pale, lanky figure stretched across the floor, limp and still. The Dark Mark still scars his arm, fading with every second. Just like his pulse. Harry feels his heart crash inside his chest and realization sinks in. Devastating realization.
'No," he screams, breaking free of Hermione. He stumbles, runs -he doesn't know which- and reaches his broken target. Draco stares at him from the floor. His grey eyes are lifeless and don't light up with warmth as Harry approaches. His fingers are cold and they don't squeeze Harry's hand back. His mouth is still- no smirks, no crooked grins, no witty replies.
Harry feels his world shatter. "Draco…" he thinks he can hear his own heart break. His fingers trace that slender neck. He had kissed that neck, listened to Draco's breathy moans and sighs of desire. Draco is silent now and Harry can only hear his own, pathetic pleas. "Draco, move. Please move…"
He doesn't.
And Harry cries.
****
The funeral was simple and elegant. Draco would have called it 'tasteful, if a tad understated'. Harry holds back his grief, as he remembers the man- his lover, his rock, his friend. He watches as those who knew him remember him as well.
Remus says he was brave.
Moody says he would have made a fine Auror.
Hermione says she would miss his wit.
Ron says he was a fine friend and the best partner he could have hoped for.
Snape says nothing. Neither does Harry.
They sit together in silence near the lonely grave as night descends. Harry's shoulders don't shake anymore. Cold doesn't matter as much as it did. Not now. Not when he knows Draco can't keep him warm anymore.
He can feel Snape's stare on him. The man's eyes are cold and dark, his grief hidden in their shadows. His back is ramrod straight, as if he is afraid to hunch. To move. As if to move would be to break.
Nevertheless, he looks Harry straight in the eye and says those words. He thinks it's important that the boy hears them.
"You must know that…he loved you too."
He does.
END