drabble: Talking To Ghosts [HP, Harry/Draco]
Title: Talking To Ghosts
Fandom;Pairing: Harry Potter; Harry/Draco
Warnings: Angst. But that's a given with me, yo.
Summary: Post-DH EWE (that means Epilogue? What Epilogue? lol). Harry struggles with the aftermath of the War. Draco tries to be there for him.
A/N: Also for chanteur_dombre because she is awesome.
Talking to Ghosts
Come rain or shine, every evening as the sun starts its slow descent from the sky, Harry leaves the house to hold his silent vigil. Not that he’s particularly loquacious these days, but Draco is left concerned by his continual act of separation. In that daily pulling away, Draco fears that Harry will remember all the unforgivable deeds he’s done and come to his senses. He doesn’t want that. Losing Harry to his ghosts would be something Draco could not handle. For a moment, he studies Harry through the window, watches the way his dark hair moves with the wind. Besides that, he doesn’t move. He stands as a statue gazing at an invisible gravesite of too many lives lost. Sometimes Draco feels guilty for being one of the few left standing, but then on the good days, when Harry is all smiles and sex, he quickly forgets his remorse.
Two hours later, Draco puts his book down on the table and takes a final sip of his firewhisky. The sun is long gone. Rising to the window, Draco is surprised to see a light cover of snow on the ground and falling gently onto Harry’s hair and shoulders. A sigh escapes him, but he resists the urge to roll his eyes. He grabs a blanket off the leather sofa and goes to him.
He stands beside him. It is an icy, biting cold that he wasn’t quite prepared for.
“Come inside,” he says barely above a whisper, “You must be freezing.”
Harry says nothing, but inclines his head and looks at Draco with grief in his eyes. It still comes as a surprise seeing Harry’s eyes without the glass and wire rim after all their years at school. Draco finds them more disarming now and easier to read, but then again now that things were different, they both could read each other without speaking much at all. He doesn’t say more, wanting to respect his silence, instead he wraps the blanket around him, giving his shoulders a reassuring squeeze.
“I can’t.” It’s all he says, his voice rough with disuse.
“You can. And you will. You standing here won’t bring them back.” Draco forced his frustration back with a swallow, reaching out to gently turn Harry’s face to his. “You can’t be the hero anymore, no matter how much you want to.”
The look of resignation in his eyes breaks Draco’s heart. It is a look he has grown accustomed to, but it never stops hurting him. Some days are better than others, and Draco tries to be the thing that keeps Harry from drowning. It is not the life he dreamt of, not even close, but with Harry sleeping soundly against his chest, it is all he could ever have asked for.
Fandom;Pairing: Harry Potter; Harry/Draco
Warnings: Angst. But that's a given with me, yo.
Summary: Post-DH EWE (that means Epilogue? What Epilogue? lol). Harry struggles with the aftermath of the War. Draco tries to be there for him.
A/N: Also for chanteur_dombre because she is awesome.
Talking to Ghosts
Come rain or shine, every evening as the sun starts its slow descent from the sky, Harry leaves the house to hold his silent vigil. Not that he’s particularly loquacious these days, but Draco is left concerned by his continual act of separation. In that daily pulling away, Draco fears that Harry will remember all the unforgivable deeds he’s done and come to his senses. He doesn’t want that. Losing Harry to his ghosts would be something Draco could not handle. For a moment, he studies Harry through the window, watches the way his dark hair moves with the wind. Besides that, he doesn’t move. He stands as a statue gazing at an invisible gravesite of too many lives lost. Sometimes Draco feels guilty for being one of the few left standing, but then on the good days, when Harry is all smiles and sex, he quickly forgets his remorse.
Two hours later, Draco puts his book down on the table and takes a final sip of his firewhisky. The sun is long gone. Rising to the window, Draco is surprised to see a light cover of snow on the ground and falling gently onto Harry’s hair and shoulders. A sigh escapes him, but he resists the urge to roll his eyes. He grabs a blanket off the leather sofa and goes to him.
He stands beside him. It is an icy, biting cold that he wasn’t quite prepared for.
“Come inside,” he says barely above a whisper, “You must be freezing.”
Harry says nothing, but inclines his head and looks at Draco with grief in his eyes. It still comes as a surprise seeing Harry’s eyes without the glass and wire rim after all their years at school. Draco finds them more disarming now and easier to read, but then again now that things were different, they both could read each other without speaking much at all. He doesn’t say more, wanting to respect his silence, instead he wraps the blanket around him, giving his shoulders a reassuring squeeze.
“I can’t.” It’s all he says, his voice rough with disuse.
“You can. And you will. You standing here won’t bring them back.” Draco forced his frustration back with a swallow, reaching out to gently turn Harry’s face to his. “You can’t be the hero anymore, no matter how much you want to.”
The look of resignation in his eyes breaks Draco’s heart. It is a look he has grown accustomed to, but it never stops hurting him. Some days are better than others, and Draco tries to be the thing that keeps Harry from drowning. It is not the life he dreamt of, not even close, but with Harry sleeping soundly against his chest, it is all he could ever have asked for.