The Rain Will Fall - "Rain" prompt
Title: The Rain Will Fall
Author: sesheta_66
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word Count: 3096
Rating: Adult
Challenge: "Rain" for hd_angst and 100quills
Warning: Character deaths (not Harry or Draco) and ANGST.
Summary: Harry hates the rain. He reflects on a few of the reasons why.
Disclaimer: HP world belongs to JK Rowling. No money made by me - I am only playing.
Harry looked out the kitchen window. He hates the rain. When he was a boy, he was never allowed to be outside in the rain. Rain meant that he had to be inside. And when he was inside, and everyone else was inside, that generally meant he was in his cupboard. He shuddered at that unwelcome memory.
It had rained the night Ron had been killed. It was one month after Dumbledore’s funeral. Harry had been right to break things off with Ginny. Voldemort knew the best way to get to Harry was through those he cared about. So, after Sirius and Dumbledore were gone, he went after Ron. Nobody was expecting that, especially Ron. Well, truthfully Harry had been expecting something, but it was more an abstract thought, though it shouldn’t have been.
An unfamiliar owl had greeted Harry, sopping wet and cold, at Privet Drive, where Harry was getting ready to leave for the Burrow. Harry had offered it a treat, but it had just nipped his fingers and stayed put. “You’re waiting for a reply then,” he muttered to the bird. “Alright then, but you might as well have a treat while you wait.” The bird just glared and nipped at his finger again.
The sound of the rain seemed to set a background rhythm, and taunted Harry as he read the letter.
Hello wee Potter, now what will you do?
We have your best friend, but we really want you.
Will you save young Weasley, or yourself instead?
Come to Knockturn Alley before night or he’s dead.
He puts up a fight, he thinks he’s so brave,
But before the night’s over, he’ll be in his grave.
Unless the Chosen One comes to his rescue.
You don’t want him to die, little Harry, now do you?
Who will be next If you don’t save him today?
Which one of your friends will we bring here to play?
So hurry you must, before we plan the next one.
Perhaps the mudblood girl will bring us some fun.
In Knockturn Alley, before dark you’ll arrive.
We’ll take you and return your friend still alive.
Bring no one else with you - the Dark Lord will know.
If anyone else comes, to their deaths they’ll all go.
Do you like my poetry, little Potty? The Dark Lord was amused. You know he wants you, don’t you? So come trade yourself for the Weasley boy, and we will let him go. The sooner you get here, the less he suffers. It’s all up to you … which one of you will get to say hello to my dear cousin tonight?
~ Hugs and Kisses, Bellatrix Lestrange
Harry had replied with two words: “Bring him,” before putting on his cloak and retrieving his wand from its hiding spot. He had long before stopped locking it up with his trunk, knowing that Voldemort was on the loose, but he couldn’t risk Dudley coming across it. He hadn’t known what would happen if a Muggle tried to use his wand, although he suspected that nothing would. However, knowing his cousin’s temper, he hadn’t wanted to risk it being broken into bits when he discovered that it wasn’t the source of Harry’s power.
As he had flung the front door open, his path had been blocked by none other than Mad-Eye Moody. Apparently Molly had notified the Order when Ron had not arrived home after leaving the twins’ shop in Diagon Alley. Mad-Eye, always practicing “constant vigilence” had guessed why Ron had been the one taken, and had made for Privet Drive as soon as he got the news.
“Out of my way!” roared Harry. “I’ve got to go get Ron back!”
Blunt and truthful as always, Mad-Eye had replied. “If he’s not gone already, he’s as good as dead and you know it.” It was true, but on the off chance … if there was anything he could do … he couldn’t just let Ron die. But the Order took that decision away from him. They would not allow Harry to sacrifice himself and go. He was too valuable to the cause, Mad-Eye had said. He had taken Harry to the closest safe point he could, and Apparated them to London, close to Grimmauld Place. When they had arrived at the house, before Harry had a chance to object, Mad-Eye had unceremoniously pulled a patch of his hair out. Kingsley had polyjuiced himself into Harry and, with a handful of other Order members, had gone to Knockturn Alley. Every one of them, along with Ron, died that night, their bodies left out in the rain in a field for Muggle passers-by to discover.
It had rained the day of the final battle too. As expected, Harry had won, but at what cost? So many had died, on both sides of the war. Charlie, Dean, Tonks, Remus, and Arthur had been amongst them. Hermione and Neville had been badly injured, but had survived after putting up a good fight. Neville had finally recovered, but Hermione still wasn’t the same. Harry often wondered if she ever would be, or if she had perhaps lost the will to live after Ron had died. Harry had stood in the battlefield that day, letting the rain wash over him, after he had watched the figure that had been Voldemort crumple into a heap before him.
As Harry watched the rain now, he remembered everything from that day. He could still hear the sounds of hexes cast, screams echoing over the fields, tortured cries as wizards and witches lay dying. He could still feel the pain of his injuries, and the surge of magic flowing through him with such rage that he was finally able to cast the killing curse. He could still smell the rain, the dirt, the magic, and most of all the death around him. He could still see the carnage, the dead bodies, the lifeless eyes, and most clearly the look of shock on Voldemort’s face as realization hit him - he was going to die.
Now, today, Harry had another reason to hate the rain. During the war, Snape had brought Malfoy to Grimmauld Place for their protection. He had worked tirelessly with Hermione of all people, to figure out what and where the horcruxes were. In fact, he had been of great help, producing at least one of them from Malfoy Manor itself. It had been very awkward at first, but over time they had all come to accept Malfoy as being on their side. Even Harry. And in time, most especially Harry. Both young men had eventually realized that the chemistry between them was more than anger or hatred. What was that saying? There’s a fine line between love and hate. How true that was.
One particularly uneventful day, Hermione and Neville had decided to go to Diagon Alley and visit the Three Broomsticks, while the rest of the Order was out and about, busy with their lives. That had left Malfoy and Harry at Grimmauld Place on their own. It was the first time Harry had been alone with Malfoy since he had arrived, literally, on his doorstep. “Why?” was all Harry had asked. He didn’t need to say any more than that, because they both knew what he had meant.
“What choice did I have?” Malfoy had responded. “What would you have done in my place?” He had let that question hang in the air for a moment. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. Of course, you would have found some way to save your mother and Dumbledore, warn everyone at Hogwarts, and kill the Dark Lord in the process.”
“Voldemort,” Harry had said. “Call him Voldemort. You don’t follow him any more, so don’t call him the Dark Lord.”
“That’s it?!?” Malfoy had looked at him incredulously. “You waited how long to ask me why, and all you can say is ‘call him Voldemort’? What’s your problem?” He had come closer to Harry as he was talking, and emphasized that last question with a shove to his chest.
“You are. You are my problem.” He pushed Malfoy back. “Why are you here?” Another push. “Why are you helping us now?” Push. “How is this any different than before?” Malfoy had been backed up against a wall. “Why aren’t you serving Voldemort now? Aren’t you afraid he’ll kill your mother now?” Harry looked into grey eyes, and knew that he had gone too far.
“Yes!” Malfoy had exploded, screaming into Harry’s face. But Harry didn’t relent. He stood his ground, looking into Malfoy’s face. As Harry recalled that day, he was transported back in time, as if he were there now.
Draco’s face was flushed with anger, and his eyes bored into Harry’s. Harry saw anger there, but something else too. Pain. He was in pain, and Harry had caused that. Without thinking, Harry placed his hands either side of Malfoy, on the wall behind him, leaned in and kissed him. Draco didn’t respond at first. Harry wasn’t sure if it was shock, anger or disgust that caused the non-reaction. But, when Harry teased his lips apart with his tongue, Draco responded. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s back, roughly pulling his body closer to his own. Their tongues began to explore each other’s mouths with very little grace.
The passion they had always expressed through anger and hatred was now being channelled in an entirely new way. Harry had acted without thinking, and now the sensations he was feeling overpowered any and all rational thought. Their tongues, once they had stopped fighting for dominance, found a rhythm that worked. They tasted each other, breathed in each other’s scents, and explored each other’s bodies with their hands. When Draco’s hand grazed over the front of his pants, something clicked in Harry's head. He broke the kiss, and pulled back to look into Draco’s face. “What are we doing here?” he asked.
“What I suspect we should have done a long time ago, Potter.”
“You sure about this?”
“Definitely.”
Harry smiled wickedly. “Then call me Harry,” he whispered just before reclaiming Draco’s mouth and Apparating them to his bedroom. Draco tasted wonderful. He smelled wonderful. And, oh God, he felt even better than that. Their first time was frantic, both of them coming while still clothed, as they continued to kiss, hands roaming, bodies pressed together, cocks rubbing against each other.
The second time was slower. They took the time to slowly undress each other, and enjoy the discovery of the other's body. Harry had pinned Draco under him, gently planting kisses on his mouth, his throat, and slowly making his way down his chest. He stopped as he reached a scar on Draco's chest, and pulled back to look at it more carefully. He ran his index finger along its length, feeling a wave of guilt as he thought back to that fateful day. "Sorry." He kissed the top of the scar, and licked his way down its length, all the while whispering, "sorry ... so sorry ... so sorry."
"I know," Draco whispered as he pulled Harry up to look into his eyes. "I forgive you," he said with a smile, and he kissed Harry. It was a long, deep kiss that spoke volumes. Harry felt warmth flood through him that had nothing to do with his current state of arousal. With a renewed sense of purpose, Harry resumed his discovery of Draco's body, tasting his salty skin, soaking up his intoxicating scent, a mixture of soap and musk and Draco. God, he smelled perfect. Everything about him was perfect. Harry was overwhelmed with emotion, and spent the rest of the day pleasing Draco in any way he could. Draco reciprocated in ways Harry hadn't ever imagined.
Since that day, they had been together. Nobody could keep them apart. Things were not perfect - nothing ever was. But it was all they had. Now, however, one year after the war had ended, Harry was looking out at the rain, thinking about what Draco had said to him yesterday.
Harry had come home to find him packing, a note on the desk. “What’s this?” he had asked. “Going on a trip?”
“Of sorts,” came the guarded response. Harry felt a wave of panic wash over him.
“What do you mean, ‘of sorts’? Either you’re going on a trip, or you’re leaving me. Which is it?” Harry had asked that last question, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“Both.”
“Why?” was all he could say. His head was reeling. What had he done? Sure, they argued, but then everything was okay afterwards. Wasn’t it? What the hell?
“Because I need to do this, Harry.” Well, at least he wasn’t calling him Potter. He knew that whenever Draco was really mad, he reverted to calling him by his surname. So what was it, then?
“What does that mean? What exactly do you need to do?”
“I need to be me. No wait,” he said as Harry was about to interrupt. “Let me say this all at once, or else I might not be able to. I’ve written you a letter too, because I just know I won’t be able to say everything that I’m feeling right now, but I’ll do my best.
"Here’s the thing,” he said as he guided Harry to sit down on the bed beside him. “I have never been just me. I don’t even know WHO I am, if I’m completely honest with myself. My entire life I grew up trying to emulate my father. I tried to win his love by being just like him. Then at school, I followed his instructions, and found myself as a leader of sorts in Slytherin. Not that that’s saying much, since no doubt my father had told his cronies to make sure their kids listened to me. Money may not buy friends, but it certainly can purchase a few well-chosen minions.
“I’d rather not talk about sixth year, " he continued. "But you know what led me to my actions then. After that, I followed Snape, and eventually he brought me here. Then I did what I had to do to win everyone’s trust in the Order. It was like being a child again, trying to win over my father, only for a different cause. And now there’s you. I have fallen for you, Harry. More than you know. I’ve never said the words before, and I’m sure not going to say them now, as I’m about to leave...”
Harry felt a tightening in his chest. He loves me. God, he loves me and, “Draco, I lo --”
“Don’t say it, Harry. Please. Don’t. I don’t think I could take it. Just let me finish, please. I feel like I am one half of a whole, being with you. That’s a good thing, by the way. But it’s not enough. Not any more. We fell together during a terrible time in both our lives, but neither of us really had a chance to live before that. I need to know who I am first, before I can be part of something else, something bigger than just me. I think you do, too. Do you understand?”
Despite knowing what his answer meant, Harry found himself nodding in response. He did understand. Too well he understood. But it didn’t make this any easier. “So what now?” he finally asked, unable to look into Draco‘s eyes.
“Now I go. I don’t know where, and I don’t know for how long. I don’t even know if I’ll ever come back. All I know is that I need to get away. Away from England, away from my past, and away from you.” His voice broke on those last few words, and it was clear to Harry that he was fighting back tears, as was Harry. But he respected Draco’s honesty, and couldn’t bring himself to beg him to stay. He knew Draco was right, and perhaps Harry needed this for himself too. “Don’t wait for me, Harry. Get on with your life. No, don’t do that. Go find a life. And live it. Please. Do that for me.” Those were the last words he had said before taking his things, kissing Harry one last time, and leaving Grimmauld Place.
Harry had sat in their room - his room now - for hours, just staring at the note Draco had left behind, too afraid to open it. Eventually he did, and the tears finally flowed as he read the words on the page.
Dear Harry,
I want to thank you for saving me. Well, of course, you saved the entire wizarding world, didn’t you? But you saved me most of all, because you saved me in every way a person can be saved. You saved my life, but also my soul. You gave me a chance when very few would. And then you gave me your heart, which means more to me than I can say. Did I deserve that? Do I deserve that? Probably not, but I took it anyway.
Neither one of us had a childhood, except maybe for a few fleeting moments on the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts. Funny that those moments were often spent together, even if on opposing sides. Story of our lives, that, isn't it? Opposite sides of everything. Until ... well, you know. We were great together, Harry. I was finally alive when I was with you. I’m a better person for having known you. You gave me permission to feel. To really feel. You made me want more than just existence.
I need to know who I am, and what I can be. There's a whole world out there, and I mean to discover quite a lot of it along the way.
I said I want more than existence for myself. I want more than that for you, too. Please don't wait for me. Don't cling to the past. Don't just exist. Live. You deserve it. More than anyone I know, you deserve to live. Go out and do it. If you don't do it for yourself, then do it for me.
I love you, Harry, and I always will.
Draco
Draco had left behind no promises. No commitments. He hadn't even let Harry tell him that he loved him too. Harry didn’t know if he would ever return. All he knew was that right here, right now, he was alone. Completely alone. Looking for something, for someone, but seeing only the rain.
Later that evening ...
Author: sesheta_66
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word Count: 3096
Rating: Adult
Challenge: "Rain" for hd_angst and 100quills
Warning: Character deaths (not Harry or Draco) and ANGST.
Summary: Harry hates the rain. He reflects on a few of the reasons why.
Disclaimer: HP world belongs to JK Rowling. No money made by me - I am only playing.
Harry looked out the kitchen window. He hates the rain. When he was a boy, he was never allowed to be outside in the rain. Rain meant that he had to be inside. And when he was inside, and everyone else was inside, that generally meant he was in his cupboard. He shuddered at that unwelcome memory.
It had rained the night Ron had been killed. It was one month after Dumbledore’s funeral. Harry had been right to break things off with Ginny. Voldemort knew the best way to get to Harry was through those he cared about. So, after Sirius and Dumbledore were gone, he went after Ron. Nobody was expecting that, especially Ron. Well, truthfully Harry had been expecting something, but it was more an abstract thought, though it shouldn’t have been.
An unfamiliar owl had greeted Harry, sopping wet and cold, at Privet Drive, where Harry was getting ready to leave for the Burrow. Harry had offered it a treat, but it had just nipped his fingers and stayed put. “You’re waiting for a reply then,” he muttered to the bird. “Alright then, but you might as well have a treat while you wait.” The bird just glared and nipped at his finger again.
The sound of the rain seemed to set a background rhythm, and taunted Harry as he read the letter.
Hello wee Potter, now what will you do?
We have your best friend, but we really want you.
Will you save young Weasley, or yourself instead?
Come to Knockturn Alley before night or he’s dead.
He puts up a fight, he thinks he’s so brave,
But before the night’s over, he’ll be in his grave.
Unless the Chosen One comes to his rescue.
You don’t want him to die, little Harry, now do you?
Who will be next If you don’t save him today?
Which one of your friends will we bring here to play?
So hurry you must, before we plan the next one.
Perhaps the mudblood girl will bring us some fun.
In Knockturn Alley, before dark you’ll arrive.
We’ll take you and return your friend still alive.
Bring no one else with you - the Dark Lord will know.
If anyone else comes, to their deaths they’ll all go.
Do you like my poetry, little Potty? The Dark Lord was amused. You know he wants you, don’t you? So come trade yourself for the Weasley boy, and we will let him go. The sooner you get here, the less he suffers. It’s all up to you … which one of you will get to say hello to my dear cousin tonight?
~ Hugs and Kisses, Bellatrix Lestrange
Harry had replied with two words: “Bring him,” before putting on his cloak and retrieving his wand from its hiding spot. He had long before stopped locking it up with his trunk, knowing that Voldemort was on the loose, but he couldn’t risk Dudley coming across it. He hadn’t known what would happen if a Muggle tried to use his wand, although he suspected that nothing would. However, knowing his cousin’s temper, he hadn’t wanted to risk it being broken into bits when he discovered that it wasn’t the source of Harry’s power.
As he had flung the front door open, his path had been blocked by none other than Mad-Eye Moody. Apparently Molly had notified the Order when Ron had not arrived home after leaving the twins’ shop in Diagon Alley. Mad-Eye, always practicing “constant vigilence” had guessed why Ron had been the one taken, and had made for Privet Drive as soon as he got the news.
“Out of my way!” roared Harry. “I’ve got to go get Ron back!”
Blunt and truthful as always, Mad-Eye had replied. “If he’s not gone already, he’s as good as dead and you know it.” It was true, but on the off chance … if there was anything he could do … he couldn’t just let Ron die. But the Order took that decision away from him. They would not allow Harry to sacrifice himself and go. He was too valuable to the cause, Mad-Eye had said. He had taken Harry to the closest safe point he could, and Apparated them to London, close to Grimmauld Place. When they had arrived at the house, before Harry had a chance to object, Mad-Eye had unceremoniously pulled a patch of his hair out. Kingsley had polyjuiced himself into Harry and, with a handful of other Order members, had gone to Knockturn Alley. Every one of them, along with Ron, died that night, their bodies left out in the rain in a field for Muggle passers-by to discover.
It had rained the day of the final battle too. As expected, Harry had won, but at what cost? So many had died, on both sides of the war. Charlie, Dean, Tonks, Remus, and Arthur had been amongst them. Hermione and Neville had been badly injured, but had survived after putting up a good fight. Neville had finally recovered, but Hermione still wasn’t the same. Harry often wondered if she ever would be, or if she had perhaps lost the will to live after Ron had died. Harry had stood in the battlefield that day, letting the rain wash over him, after he had watched the figure that had been Voldemort crumple into a heap before him.
As Harry watched the rain now, he remembered everything from that day. He could still hear the sounds of hexes cast, screams echoing over the fields, tortured cries as wizards and witches lay dying. He could still feel the pain of his injuries, and the surge of magic flowing through him with such rage that he was finally able to cast the killing curse. He could still smell the rain, the dirt, the magic, and most of all the death around him. He could still see the carnage, the dead bodies, the lifeless eyes, and most clearly the look of shock on Voldemort’s face as realization hit him - he was going to die.
Now, today, Harry had another reason to hate the rain. During the war, Snape had brought Malfoy to Grimmauld Place for their protection. He had worked tirelessly with Hermione of all people, to figure out what and where the horcruxes were. In fact, he had been of great help, producing at least one of them from Malfoy Manor itself. It had been very awkward at first, but over time they had all come to accept Malfoy as being on their side. Even Harry. And in time, most especially Harry. Both young men had eventually realized that the chemistry between them was more than anger or hatred. What was that saying? There’s a fine line between love and hate. How true that was.
One particularly uneventful day, Hermione and Neville had decided to go to Diagon Alley and visit the Three Broomsticks, while the rest of the Order was out and about, busy with their lives. That had left Malfoy and Harry at Grimmauld Place on their own. It was the first time Harry had been alone with Malfoy since he had arrived, literally, on his doorstep. “Why?” was all Harry had asked. He didn’t need to say any more than that, because they both knew what he had meant.
“What choice did I have?” Malfoy had responded. “What would you have done in my place?” He had let that question hang in the air for a moment. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. Of course, you would have found some way to save your mother and Dumbledore, warn everyone at Hogwarts, and kill the Dark Lord in the process.”
“Voldemort,” Harry had said. “Call him Voldemort. You don’t follow him any more, so don’t call him the Dark Lord.”
“That’s it?!?” Malfoy had looked at him incredulously. “You waited how long to ask me why, and all you can say is ‘call him Voldemort’? What’s your problem?” He had come closer to Harry as he was talking, and emphasized that last question with a shove to his chest.
“You are. You are my problem.” He pushed Malfoy back. “Why are you here?” Another push. “Why are you helping us now?” Push. “How is this any different than before?” Malfoy had been backed up against a wall. “Why aren’t you serving Voldemort now? Aren’t you afraid he’ll kill your mother now?” Harry looked into grey eyes, and knew that he had gone too far.
“Yes!” Malfoy had exploded, screaming into Harry’s face. But Harry didn’t relent. He stood his ground, looking into Malfoy’s face. As Harry recalled that day, he was transported back in time, as if he were there now.
Draco’s face was flushed with anger, and his eyes bored into Harry’s. Harry saw anger there, but something else too. Pain. He was in pain, and Harry had caused that. Without thinking, Harry placed his hands either side of Malfoy, on the wall behind him, leaned in and kissed him. Draco didn’t respond at first. Harry wasn’t sure if it was shock, anger or disgust that caused the non-reaction. But, when Harry teased his lips apart with his tongue, Draco responded. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s back, roughly pulling his body closer to his own. Their tongues began to explore each other’s mouths with very little grace.
The passion they had always expressed through anger and hatred was now being channelled in an entirely new way. Harry had acted without thinking, and now the sensations he was feeling overpowered any and all rational thought. Their tongues, once they had stopped fighting for dominance, found a rhythm that worked. They tasted each other, breathed in each other’s scents, and explored each other’s bodies with their hands. When Draco’s hand grazed over the front of his pants, something clicked in Harry's head. He broke the kiss, and pulled back to look into Draco’s face. “What are we doing here?” he asked.
“What I suspect we should have done a long time ago, Potter.”
“You sure about this?”
“Definitely.”
Harry smiled wickedly. “Then call me Harry,” he whispered just before reclaiming Draco’s mouth and Apparating them to his bedroom. Draco tasted wonderful. He smelled wonderful. And, oh God, he felt even better than that. Their first time was frantic, both of them coming while still clothed, as they continued to kiss, hands roaming, bodies pressed together, cocks rubbing against each other.
The second time was slower. They took the time to slowly undress each other, and enjoy the discovery of the other's body. Harry had pinned Draco under him, gently planting kisses on his mouth, his throat, and slowly making his way down his chest. He stopped as he reached a scar on Draco's chest, and pulled back to look at it more carefully. He ran his index finger along its length, feeling a wave of guilt as he thought back to that fateful day. "Sorry." He kissed the top of the scar, and licked his way down its length, all the while whispering, "sorry ... so sorry ... so sorry."
"I know," Draco whispered as he pulled Harry up to look into his eyes. "I forgive you," he said with a smile, and he kissed Harry. It was a long, deep kiss that spoke volumes. Harry felt warmth flood through him that had nothing to do with his current state of arousal. With a renewed sense of purpose, Harry resumed his discovery of Draco's body, tasting his salty skin, soaking up his intoxicating scent, a mixture of soap and musk and Draco. God, he smelled perfect. Everything about him was perfect. Harry was overwhelmed with emotion, and spent the rest of the day pleasing Draco in any way he could. Draco reciprocated in ways Harry hadn't ever imagined.
Since that day, they had been together. Nobody could keep them apart. Things were not perfect - nothing ever was. But it was all they had. Now, however, one year after the war had ended, Harry was looking out at the rain, thinking about what Draco had said to him yesterday.
Harry had come home to find him packing, a note on the desk. “What’s this?” he had asked. “Going on a trip?”
“Of sorts,” came the guarded response. Harry felt a wave of panic wash over him.
“What do you mean, ‘of sorts’? Either you’re going on a trip, or you’re leaving me. Which is it?” Harry had asked that last question, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“Both.”
“Why?” was all he could say. His head was reeling. What had he done? Sure, they argued, but then everything was okay afterwards. Wasn’t it? What the hell?
“Because I need to do this, Harry.” Well, at least he wasn’t calling him Potter. He knew that whenever Draco was really mad, he reverted to calling him by his surname. So what was it, then?
“What does that mean? What exactly do you need to do?”
“I need to be me. No wait,” he said as Harry was about to interrupt. “Let me say this all at once, or else I might not be able to. I’ve written you a letter too, because I just know I won’t be able to say everything that I’m feeling right now, but I’ll do my best.
"Here’s the thing,” he said as he guided Harry to sit down on the bed beside him. “I have never been just me. I don’t even know WHO I am, if I’m completely honest with myself. My entire life I grew up trying to emulate my father. I tried to win his love by being just like him. Then at school, I followed his instructions, and found myself as a leader of sorts in Slytherin. Not that that’s saying much, since no doubt my father had told his cronies to make sure their kids listened to me. Money may not buy friends, but it certainly can purchase a few well-chosen minions.
“I’d rather not talk about sixth year, " he continued. "But you know what led me to my actions then. After that, I followed Snape, and eventually he brought me here. Then I did what I had to do to win everyone’s trust in the Order. It was like being a child again, trying to win over my father, only for a different cause. And now there’s you. I have fallen for you, Harry. More than you know. I’ve never said the words before, and I’m sure not going to say them now, as I’m about to leave...”
Harry felt a tightening in his chest. He loves me. God, he loves me and, “Draco, I lo --”
“Don’t say it, Harry. Please. Don’t. I don’t think I could take it. Just let me finish, please. I feel like I am one half of a whole, being with you. That’s a good thing, by the way. But it’s not enough. Not any more. We fell together during a terrible time in both our lives, but neither of us really had a chance to live before that. I need to know who I am first, before I can be part of something else, something bigger than just me. I think you do, too. Do you understand?”
Despite knowing what his answer meant, Harry found himself nodding in response. He did understand. Too well he understood. But it didn’t make this any easier. “So what now?” he finally asked, unable to look into Draco‘s eyes.
“Now I go. I don’t know where, and I don’t know for how long. I don’t even know if I’ll ever come back. All I know is that I need to get away. Away from England, away from my past, and away from you.” His voice broke on those last few words, and it was clear to Harry that he was fighting back tears, as was Harry. But he respected Draco’s honesty, and couldn’t bring himself to beg him to stay. He knew Draco was right, and perhaps Harry needed this for himself too. “Don’t wait for me, Harry. Get on with your life. No, don’t do that. Go find a life. And live it. Please. Do that for me.” Those were the last words he had said before taking his things, kissing Harry one last time, and leaving Grimmauld Place.
Harry had sat in their room - his room now - for hours, just staring at the note Draco had left behind, too afraid to open it. Eventually he did, and the tears finally flowed as he read the words on the page.
Dear Harry,
I want to thank you for saving me. Well, of course, you saved the entire wizarding world, didn’t you? But you saved me most of all, because you saved me in every way a person can be saved. You saved my life, but also my soul. You gave me a chance when very few would. And then you gave me your heart, which means more to me than I can say. Did I deserve that? Do I deserve that? Probably not, but I took it anyway.
Neither one of us had a childhood, except maybe for a few fleeting moments on the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts. Funny that those moments were often spent together, even if on opposing sides. Story of our lives, that, isn't it? Opposite sides of everything. Until ... well, you know. We were great together, Harry. I was finally alive when I was with you. I’m a better person for having known you. You gave me permission to feel. To really feel. You made me want more than just existence.
I need to know who I am, and what I can be. There's a whole world out there, and I mean to discover quite a lot of it along the way.
I said I want more than existence for myself. I want more than that for you, too. Please don't wait for me. Don't cling to the past. Don't just exist. Live. You deserve it. More than anyone I know, you deserve to live. Go out and do it. If you don't do it for yourself, then do it for me.
I love you, Harry, and I always will.
Draco
Draco had left behind no promises. No commitments. He hadn't even let Harry tell him that he loved him too. Harry didn’t know if he would ever return. All he knew was that right here, right now, he was alone. Completely alone. Looking for something, for someone, but seeing only the rain.
Later that evening ...