In The Days After ; HP/DM
Number Four: Do not forget to mourn those who are gone.
There is joy, of course, but then, there is the grief that attacks, merciless, rendering you unable to breathe. Harry stands with his hands in his pockets, eyes stinging with unshed tears as he listens to the high-pitched keen of the woman who was like his mother. Molly Weasley draped herself over the coffin of her son, tears rolling down her face with abandon.
Harry stares at his shoes, uncomfortable in such blatant display of grief. He cannot help but think that if not for him, Fred Weasley would still be alive. Next to him, Hermione’s fingers lock around his wrist, as though reading his mind. He glances at her and she gives him a shaky smile.
Ron stands in a line with the rest of his siblings, red-rimmed eyes standing out in stark contrast with a pale face. His right arm is stretched across George’s shaking shoulders.
Harry cannot tear his eyes away from the sorrow set into George’s face, an identical ghost of his twin’s. George calls out Fred’s name, and seems to wilt in Ron’s arms, eyes rolling into the back of his head, the shape of his brother’s name frozen on his lips. Harry knows George has not been sleeping, or eating- how can you? How can you resume everyday life when you’re missing half of yourself?
“Mrs Weasley,” Harry stops her when the funeral is over, and he wrenches the words from his throat, clogged with tears. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“They always say that,” Molly whispered, closing her eyes. “It’s as though I’ve lost him, as though he can be found. It’s as though all that has happened is that Fred loosened his grip on my hand and wandered off into the crowd. Lost things can be found, can’t they? But Fred is gone for good.”
“Mrs Weasley,” Harry tries again, and belatedly realises that there is nothing he can say that can lessen her grief.
“I’m proud of you, Harry,” Molly says abruptly, fiercely staring into Harry’s eyes as though she is afraid he might doubt that. “You’ve done all of us proud,” she declares, forcing a smile for Harry’s sake.
Harry turns to watch people walk to the coffin one by one, setting their offerings of flowers on the ground.
Every day in the Wizarding world, there is a different funeral.
Number Eleven: Remember to celebrate what you have left.
“To Harry!” Bill hollers, raising his Firewhiskey and grinning broadly. “If not for him, we might not be standing here-”
“Hear, hear!” Ron beams, nodding at Harry, who can’t help but break into a smile. “To Harry!”
“To Harry!” Everyone else echoes, then there’s the clash and clang of bottles colliding.
Harry drinks and relishes the familiar bubbly warmth that Butterbeer brings to one’s stomach. He feels oddly comforted by the presence of these people. He’s lucky they are still around.
Across the table, Ginny smiles at him, and once again, he finds himself drawn to the strength of her smile. This is what always attracted him to her- she always has had amazing strength and beauty. Her red hair glints in the light and she turns to talk to Luna. Harry looks away and immediately regrets it as he gets an eyeful of Ron plundering Hermione’s mouth, and Hermione’s hands suspiciously traveling down his back- quickly, Harry looks away, blushing.
Then Ginny is in front of him, scant inches away, a Butterbeer in hand. “Hello, Harry,” she says softly.
Harry finds himself overwhelmed with a sense of homecoming as she sets the bottle in her hand down, takes his Butterbeer and sets it down next to hers on the table, loops her arms around him and demands a dance.
Music is blaring from magical speakers and the upbeat voices of the Weird Sisters slowly seem to fade away in strangely fairytale manner. Ginny leans forward and God, Harry can smell her-
“Wait,” he murmurs and her lidded eyes snap open, surprised. “Ginny, I think I need some more time to-” Some more time to what? He asks himself- more time to be alone, more time to mourn, more time to think?
Her eyes soften. “I understand,” she says quietly, removes her arms from around him, gives him a tender peck on the cheek before joining Luna and Parvati in an engaging conversation.
He has always thought of love when he thinks of Ginny- they are one- Ginny makes him smile, and makes him feel loved, but then now, that thought is absent. He looks at her and thinks of all of the things he is lucky not to have lost, and he looks at her, and does not think of pulling her into his arms and capturing her lips in a passionate kiss.
I’m having a revelation- an epiphany, Harry thinks and this is when he understands that somehow, along the way, together with the end of the War, he has fallen out of love with Ginny Weasley.
Number Three: Visit the Malfoys and return the wand.
“I beg your pardon?” Harry asks, bewildered.
“The Malfoys don’t reside at Malfoy Manor anymore,” the man explains. “It’s where You-Know-Who last lived, and they have voluntarily turned the house over for Ministry investigations.”
“Oh,” Harry says dimly. “Do you know where they’ve gone then?”
The man smiles kindly at him- after all one is never impatient or rude to the Saviour of the Wizarding world. “If you like to know, I can find out.”
“Please do,” Harry says and then as the man Disapparates, Harry sinks onto the marble steps of the house that Voldemort once lived, clutching Draco Malfoy’s wand in his hand. He has his own wand back now, and it is only appropriate that he returned this wand to its previous owner.
After a few minutes, the man Apparates into view once again, handing Harry a slip of parchment emblazoned with the Ministry logo at the top, with a hastily scrawled address on it. “This is where they’re living now- not Lucius Malfoy of course; he’s been detained at the Ministry like the rest of the Death Eaters… you know that, don’t you?” The man peers down at Harry, who starts to rise from his sitting position.
“It’s not him I’m looking for,” Harry answers and then Disapparates.
It appears that the Malfoys have more than one place of residence and this was one of the smaller and more subdued houses they had. It was nothing like the sprawling grounds of a Manor, but was well-kept and clean, complete with a neatly trimmed garden.
Hesitating, he raises his hand and raps on the door of the house. He is, not surprisingly, greeted by a house elf. “Er, hi,” Harry starts. “I’m looking for Draco Malfoy.”
A woman appears behind the elf. Harry looks up and recognizes Narcissa Malfoy, who looks stunned at his presence. “Oh- I-” she fumbles for a moment before smiling at him. “Mr Potter, please come in,” she holds the door wide for him and addresses the house elf. “We’ll want some tea and biscuits in the sitting room.”
Harry follows Narcissa into the spacious living room and sits down as she gestures for him to do so.
“I’m here to see Draco,” Harry explains.
“I see,” Narcissa nods in understanding. “I’ll go upstairs and get him, you make yourself at home,” she urges as the house elf appears with tea and biscuits. “Try the square biscuits,” she adds, smiling now. “They’re Draco’s favourite.”
Harry finds himself smiling back and as she turns to leave, he suddenly remembers the way Lucius and Narcissa tore through Hogwarts, not caring about the war that raged around them, screaming for their son. Lucius had begged to return to Hogwarts just so he could find Draco, and Narcissa had lied to Voldemort. It was heartening to see how much they loved their son, despite the people they might be.
Gingerly, Harry reaches for one of the square biscuits and bites carefully into them. They are sweet, but the filling in the centre is sour enough to produce a lovely effect that makes Harry’s mouth water pleasantly.
“Potter.”
Harry swallows the biscuit hastily, nearly choking, and stands as Draco Malfoy walks towards him, looking slightly surprised. “Mother says you’re here to see me.”
“Yes,” Harry nods. “I wanted to return you this,” he pulls the wand from his robes and holds it out.
Draco’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s- You- My wand,” he stutters, unable to keep the joy from his voice as he receives it from Harry. “Thank you,” he says, then studies Harry with interest. “You used it against the Dark Lord, didn’t you?”
“Yes, it was your wand that killed off Voldemort,” Harry says blithely and Draco winces slightly.
There is a moment of tense, awkward silence, and then Harry clears his throat. “I guess since you’ve got your wand back, I ought to get going- tell your mother that the biscuits are lovely and thanks-”
“Wait,” Draco says suddenly. “I just-” He breaks off and exhales shakily. “Thank you,” he says finally, looking as though it has cost him an arm or a leg. “Back there, you- you saved me- the fire in the Room-”
“It was the Gryffindor stupidity,” Harry says and then Draco stares at him for a moment, not knowing how to respond.
“If I wasn’t an idiot, I would have left you in there to burn, seeing as how you were there to stop me anyway,” Harry continues.
“At least this time the idiocy worked in my favour,” Draco says, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.
“I would say I’m sorry about your father, but really, I’m not,” Harry says.
“I’m not surprised,” Draco nods. “It’s alright.”
“I have something on, so I’ll just-” Harry makes a vague hand gesture.
“Oh, I’ll walk you out,” Draco springs into action, tucking his wand into his pocket and hurrying to open the front door for Harry.
It is very strange, to see your arch-nemesis in school hold the door open for you and nod politely as you step out.
“Malfoy- Draco-” Harry doesn’t know what spurs him to say this, but he does. “If there’s anything- in the future, you need help- you can write me.”
Draco looks thrown by the offer. “Thank you,” he says at last. “I don’t think I’ll need your help, but thank you for the offer.”
Harry nods once, then Disapparates with a strange feeling in his stomach.
Number Seven: Talk to Severus Snape.
“Professor,” Harry begins and then glances at Ron and Hermione who are solemnly carrying a bouquet of flowers each. “This is Harry,” he grimaces, but barrels on. “Ron and Hermione are here too. We just wanted to say- to say that we know you’ve done a lot of the Order, a lot for me, and all these years you spent letting everyone think- letting every think that there’s no good in you-” Harry halts.
“Sir,” Hermione says quietly. “The rest of the Wizarding world may not understand the courage in your actions-”
“Thank you,” Harry interrupts. “I know you loved my mother, and she- well, she loved you too, in a way- as a friend. You wanted to save her- you wanted- I have to thank you, Voldemort would have spared her, if she had insisted that he had mercy on me…”
Wordlessly, Ron leans down to set the flowers down, and Hermione follows suit.
“If my mother knew what you did for her- for me- I’m sure she’d be- very proud,” Harry tries. “She would have wanted- wanted me to say thank you.”
“I’m sure he understands, Harry,” Hermione says kindly.
Harry averts his gaze to the sky overhead and squints through the sheen of tears. “I’m sure he does,” Harry agrees.
Number Twelve: Talk to Ginny.
Sometimes, there are no words left to say, and so Harry just holds her until he realises that the feelings have just gone away.
Number Five: For once, tell the truth, and nothing but the truth.
Harry finds himself on the front steps of Draco Malfoy’s house a fortnight later, and then when Draco opens the door, Harry looks up and says, “I’m sorry and I forgive you.”
Afterwards, he only vaguely remembers how Draco presses him against the door frame, arches into him and starts to kiss him with an intensity Harry has never known.
Number Nine: Do something you’ve always wanted to do but never could.
In the wee hours of the morning, in between dawn and Harry’s return to alertness, he rakes his fingernails over the gentle arch of Draco’s neck, inhales deeply the sweet and spicy scent that is Draco Malfoy and Harry understands that, sooner or later, it would still come to this.
In hindsight, he should have seen this coming. His life and Draco’s life have been entwined right from the start- nothing they did could have avoided this. If Harry had taken Draco’s offer of friendship, they’d still come to this. If Harry didn’t- and he didn’t- well, they are still where they are.
The early rays of sunlight pours through Draco’s window and pools like warm milk over silk sheets and next to Harry, Draco stirs.
For the first time in a long, long while, Harry finds himself waking up, truly content. He stretches, careful not to disturb the sleeping blond and sits up, leaning against the headboard of Draco’s bed and watches the Slytherin shift and murmur in sleep.
The War is over; he realises, and joy attempts to strangle him. The War is over, and Voldemort is gone, and now, Harry is truly free, and he is allowed to do whatever he wants without worrying about putting his life and others in mortal peril. He is allowed to make choices, do things- make absurd choices and do ridiculous things.
Draco tosses in the bed and throws one arm up to shield his eyes from the light, frowning slightly and slowly but surely, Harry allows himself to fall.
Number Eight: Make sure Hogwarts gets to reopen, and we can all return.
“What is that?” Draco flicks his wand and the jar of chilled milk begins to pour its content over a bowl of cereal until Draco flicks his wand again, halting it.
Harry recognizes the Hogwarts seal and starts to grin. Wordlessly, he hands the envelope over, sitting and crossing his arms. “Well?” he asks, the beginnings of a smirk starting across his face.
Draco unfolds the letter and starts to read. Harry witnesses the medley of emotions that flit across Draco’s face- uncertainty, joy, elation, anxiety and then shock. “I’m- they- Seventh year?” He turns to Harry, accusing. “Did you have anything to do with this?”
“What do you mean?” Harry snorts.
“Don’t tell me- you used your name and pulled strings so I could go back, didn’t you?” Draco looks insulted, dropping the letter onto the table.
Harry hopes he looks irritated. “Draco Malfoy, you are not in Azkaban, nor are you detained in Ministry for investigations, you have a right to return to Hogwarts to complete your education. Prof. McGonagall wouldn’t refuse you a place just because you were on the wrong side of the War- besides your father has been completely cooperative with the Ministry, and you and your mother have been given a clean bill for your cooperation as well.”
“So you had nothing to do with it?” Draco raises an eyebrow and as Harry shakes his head, a smile twitches and startles its way across his face.
“I’m going back to Hogwarts,” Draco says, then repeats it, letting it sink in. Then, without any sort of warning, Draco shoves his bowl of cereal away from him, spilling the milk over the brim slightly, reaches across the table, grabs Harry by the neck of his shirt and proceeds to give Harry the snog of his life.
Number Two: Visit Teddy Lupin.
I am a Godfather, Harry thinks as Andromeda lifts the boy into Harry’s arms. Next to him, Draco fidgets, unsure of what to do with himself. “This is Teddy Lupin,” Harry introduces. “Teddy, this is Draco. He’s your mom’s cousin.”
Across from them, Narcissa gives a watery smile. “Perhaps I ought to go and-”
“Cissy,” Andromeda turns and gives Narcissa a quelling look. “Stay.”
Harry and Draco stand there, frozen as the two women fly at each other, clutching at each other, saying each other’s names with vehemence.
Slowly, Draco beckons Harry and the three of them- little Teddy cooing softly in Harry’s arms- quietly make their way out of the room.
Number Six: Make sure that Ron and Hermione do none of the tiptoeing around each other nonsense again- they are meant to be.
Draco flashes Harry an absolutely wicked grin. “Trust me, they don’t need any help.”
“What do you mean?” Harry hates Draco’s subtlety sometimes- he wishes the other boy could just get straight to the point. Harry has always disliked guessing games.
“It means,” Draco says, exasperated. “That the two of them are a few seconds away from shagging each other through the carpet- no need to worry.”
“How do you know, Mr Malfoy?” Harry snorts. “You didn’t see the way they pussyfooted around each other before-”
“Come on, everything is different now, I’m sure they realised their feelings for each other after it was all over,” Draco drawls.
“Well, does that mean I can cross it off my list?” Harry thinks aloud.
“What list?” Draco asks, eyes narrowing.
Harry flushes. “It’s sort of like a to-do list,” he admits grudgingly. “Twelve things I have to do once the War is over.”
“What’s Number One?” Draco enquires, curious.
Harry hesitates, smiles and then shakes his head. “Secret,” he says and has a private laugh at the way Draco scowls and crosses his arms like a child denied of candy. Number one, he thinks and reaches over to lace his fingers through Draco's.
Number Ten: Do something outrageous.
“Everyone, this is Draco Malfoy,” Harry declares. Beside him, Draco’s jaw drops open in mortification. “Draco, this is everyone.”
“Harry Potter, where have you brought me to?” Draco asks slowly, turning around in horror.
Harry ignores him and addresses the group of people who have stuck through him throughout the War- Neville, Luna, Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, his friends, the Order- and rests a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “This is Draco, and he’s what I’ve been looking for,” he says quietly, and Draco makes a strangled noise.
“I am not insane,” Harry adds. “I hope all of you will accept him as one of us,” he continues, and notices Draco is slowly turning the colour of Ron’s hair. He starts to grin at his partner’s apparent discomfort. “Despite the fact that he appears to be distressed at this announcement, I assure all of you he loves me as much I love him.”
“Harry James Potter!” Draco exclaims. “I detest you, you loathsome creature- and I don’t give a damn that you’re the Saviour of the Wizarding world or the fact that you saved my life- you are horrible and I hate you!” He throws Harry a dirty look, and at that, the group begins to laugh.
Unapologetic, Harry grabs Draco by the back of his head and kisses him deeply, until all the struggle goes out of him, and there is nothing left but hope, and the future, and happiness, all rolled into one as Draco sighs, content, into the kiss.
Number One: Find love. Note to self: it has been said that love is found in the least likely of places.
“I’m not sorry.” Draco murmurs, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I don’t regret.”
Harry’s eyes are fastened to the ceiling in Draco’s room. “What’re you talking about?”
“Us,” Draco says, sounding offended that Harry hasn’t been listening. His hands go still on Harry’s buttons. “What have you been doing?”
“Thinking,” Harry says.
“About what?” Draco slaps Harry’s hands away as they attempt to rest on his back.
“You,” Harry says and Draco looks satisfied.
“Good,” he declares.
Harry sits up, propping himself on his elbows and stares at Draco solemnly. “Draco,” he says.
“What?” Draco says warily.
“I do love you, you know,” Harry says.
Draco clears his throat. “Right, let’s- er- just- we can-” his hands flutter nervously across Harry’s stomach.
“It’s alright,” Harry smiles. “I understand.”
“Understand what?” Draco peers down at him.
“We find love in the most unlikely places,” Harry says.
“When did you get all philosophical?” Draco murmurs. Harry grabs his arms and reverses their positions, so Draco is pressed beneath him.
“In the days after, I will spend my days loving you,” Harry says, determined to irritate the hell out of Draco, who merely gapes at him, and then recovers with remarkable speed.
“Mr Potter, you never cease to surprise me,” he says, eyebrows raised. “It can be said that you might be the one that Draco Malfoy will never get tired of, because he has been famous for getting easily sick of-”
“Draco,” Harry interrupts, grinning. “I love you too.”
In the days after, they celebrate, they mourn, they rejoice and no matter how much they try, they just cannot forget. In the days after, they spend their days fixing the broken. In the days after, they find love and joy and life and uncover the answers to all the secrets in the world in the eyes of their beloved. In the days, months and years after, they understand that some things, are just, meant to be.
finis
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There is joy, of course, but then, there is the grief that attacks, merciless, rendering you unable to breathe. Harry stands with his hands in his pockets, eyes stinging with unshed tears as he listens to the high-pitched keen of the woman who was like his mother. Molly Weasley draped herself over the coffin of her son, tears rolling down her face with abandon.
Harry stares at his shoes, uncomfortable in such blatant display of grief. He cannot help but think that if not for him, Fred Weasley would still be alive. Next to him, Hermione’s fingers lock around his wrist, as though reading his mind. He glances at her and she gives him a shaky smile.
Ron stands in a line with the rest of his siblings, red-rimmed eyes standing out in stark contrast with a pale face. His right arm is stretched across George’s shaking shoulders.
Harry cannot tear his eyes away from the sorrow set into George’s face, an identical ghost of his twin’s. George calls out Fred’s name, and seems to wilt in Ron’s arms, eyes rolling into the back of his head, the shape of his brother’s name frozen on his lips. Harry knows George has not been sleeping, or eating- how can you? How can you resume everyday life when you’re missing half of yourself?
“Mrs Weasley,” Harry stops her when the funeral is over, and he wrenches the words from his throat, clogged with tears. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“They always say that,” Molly whispered, closing her eyes. “It’s as though I’ve lost him, as though he can be found. It’s as though all that has happened is that Fred loosened his grip on my hand and wandered off into the crowd. Lost things can be found, can’t they? But Fred is gone for good.”
“Mrs Weasley,” Harry tries again, and belatedly realises that there is nothing he can say that can lessen her grief.
“I’m proud of you, Harry,” Molly says abruptly, fiercely staring into Harry’s eyes as though she is afraid he might doubt that. “You’ve done all of us proud,” she declares, forcing a smile for Harry’s sake.
Harry turns to watch people walk to the coffin one by one, setting their offerings of flowers on the ground.
Every day in the Wizarding world, there is a different funeral.
Number Eleven: Remember to celebrate what you have left.
“To Harry!” Bill hollers, raising his Firewhiskey and grinning broadly. “If not for him, we might not be standing here-”
“Hear, hear!” Ron beams, nodding at Harry, who can’t help but break into a smile. “To Harry!”
“To Harry!” Everyone else echoes, then there’s the clash and clang of bottles colliding.
Harry drinks and relishes the familiar bubbly warmth that Butterbeer brings to one’s stomach. He feels oddly comforted by the presence of these people. He’s lucky they are still around.
Across the table, Ginny smiles at him, and once again, he finds himself drawn to the strength of her smile. This is what always attracted him to her- she always has had amazing strength and beauty. Her red hair glints in the light and she turns to talk to Luna. Harry looks away and immediately regrets it as he gets an eyeful of Ron plundering Hermione’s mouth, and Hermione’s hands suspiciously traveling down his back- quickly, Harry looks away, blushing.
Then Ginny is in front of him, scant inches away, a Butterbeer in hand. “Hello, Harry,” she says softly.
Harry finds himself overwhelmed with a sense of homecoming as she sets the bottle in her hand down, takes his Butterbeer and sets it down next to hers on the table, loops her arms around him and demands a dance.
Music is blaring from magical speakers and the upbeat voices of the Weird Sisters slowly seem to fade away in strangely fairytale manner. Ginny leans forward and God, Harry can smell her-
“Wait,” he murmurs and her lidded eyes snap open, surprised. “Ginny, I think I need some more time to-” Some more time to what? He asks himself- more time to be alone, more time to mourn, more time to think?
Her eyes soften. “I understand,” she says quietly, removes her arms from around him, gives him a tender peck on the cheek before joining Luna and Parvati in an engaging conversation.
He has always thought of love when he thinks of Ginny- they are one- Ginny makes him smile, and makes him feel loved, but then now, that thought is absent. He looks at her and thinks of all of the things he is lucky not to have lost, and he looks at her, and does not think of pulling her into his arms and capturing her lips in a passionate kiss.
I’m having a revelation- an epiphany, Harry thinks and this is when he understands that somehow, along the way, together with the end of the War, he has fallen out of love with Ginny Weasley.
Number Three: Visit the Malfoys and return the wand.
“I beg your pardon?” Harry asks, bewildered.
“The Malfoys don’t reside at Malfoy Manor anymore,” the man explains. “It’s where You-Know-Who last lived, and they have voluntarily turned the house over for Ministry investigations.”
“Oh,” Harry says dimly. “Do you know where they’ve gone then?”
The man smiles kindly at him- after all one is never impatient or rude to the Saviour of the Wizarding world. “If you like to know, I can find out.”
“Please do,” Harry says and then as the man Disapparates, Harry sinks onto the marble steps of the house that Voldemort once lived, clutching Draco Malfoy’s wand in his hand. He has his own wand back now, and it is only appropriate that he returned this wand to its previous owner.
After a few minutes, the man Apparates into view once again, handing Harry a slip of parchment emblazoned with the Ministry logo at the top, with a hastily scrawled address on it. “This is where they’re living now- not Lucius Malfoy of course; he’s been detained at the Ministry like the rest of the Death Eaters… you know that, don’t you?” The man peers down at Harry, who starts to rise from his sitting position.
“It’s not him I’m looking for,” Harry answers and then Disapparates.
It appears that the Malfoys have more than one place of residence and this was one of the smaller and more subdued houses they had. It was nothing like the sprawling grounds of a Manor, but was well-kept and clean, complete with a neatly trimmed garden.
Hesitating, he raises his hand and raps on the door of the house. He is, not surprisingly, greeted by a house elf. “Er, hi,” Harry starts. “I’m looking for Draco Malfoy.”
A woman appears behind the elf. Harry looks up and recognizes Narcissa Malfoy, who looks stunned at his presence. “Oh- I-” she fumbles for a moment before smiling at him. “Mr Potter, please come in,” she holds the door wide for him and addresses the house elf. “We’ll want some tea and biscuits in the sitting room.”
Harry follows Narcissa into the spacious living room and sits down as she gestures for him to do so.
“I’m here to see Draco,” Harry explains.
“I see,” Narcissa nods in understanding. “I’ll go upstairs and get him, you make yourself at home,” she urges as the house elf appears with tea and biscuits. “Try the square biscuits,” she adds, smiling now. “They’re Draco’s favourite.”
Harry finds himself smiling back and as she turns to leave, he suddenly remembers the way Lucius and Narcissa tore through Hogwarts, not caring about the war that raged around them, screaming for their son. Lucius had begged to return to Hogwarts just so he could find Draco, and Narcissa had lied to Voldemort. It was heartening to see how much they loved their son, despite the people they might be.
Gingerly, Harry reaches for one of the square biscuits and bites carefully into them. They are sweet, but the filling in the centre is sour enough to produce a lovely effect that makes Harry’s mouth water pleasantly.
“Potter.”
Harry swallows the biscuit hastily, nearly choking, and stands as Draco Malfoy walks towards him, looking slightly surprised. “Mother says you’re here to see me.”
“Yes,” Harry nods. “I wanted to return you this,” he pulls the wand from his robes and holds it out.
Draco’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s- You- My wand,” he stutters, unable to keep the joy from his voice as he receives it from Harry. “Thank you,” he says, then studies Harry with interest. “You used it against the Dark Lord, didn’t you?”
“Yes, it was your wand that killed off Voldemort,” Harry says blithely and Draco winces slightly.
There is a moment of tense, awkward silence, and then Harry clears his throat. “I guess since you’ve got your wand back, I ought to get going- tell your mother that the biscuits are lovely and thanks-”
“Wait,” Draco says suddenly. “I just-” He breaks off and exhales shakily. “Thank you,” he says finally, looking as though it has cost him an arm or a leg. “Back there, you- you saved me- the fire in the Room-”
“It was the Gryffindor stupidity,” Harry says and then Draco stares at him for a moment, not knowing how to respond.
“If I wasn’t an idiot, I would have left you in there to burn, seeing as how you were there to stop me anyway,” Harry continues.
“At least this time the idiocy worked in my favour,” Draco says, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.
“I would say I’m sorry about your father, but really, I’m not,” Harry says.
“I’m not surprised,” Draco nods. “It’s alright.”
“I have something on, so I’ll just-” Harry makes a vague hand gesture.
“Oh, I’ll walk you out,” Draco springs into action, tucking his wand into his pocket and hurrying to open the front door for Harry.
It is very strange, to see your arch-nemesis in school hold the door open for you and nod politely as you step out.
“Malfoy- Draco-” Harry doesn’t know what spurs him to say this, but he does. “If there’s anything- in the future, you need help- you can write me.”
Draco looks thrown by the offer. “Thank you,” he says at last. “I don’t think I’ll need your help, but thank you for the offer.”
Harry nods once, then Disapparates with a strange feeling in his stomach.
Number Seven: Talk to Severus Snape.
“Professor,” Harry begins and then glances at Ron and Hermione who are solemnly carrying a bouquet of flowers each. “This is Harry,” he grimaces, but barrels on. “Ron and Hermione are here too. We just wanted to say- to say that we know you’ve done a lot of the Order, a lot for me, and all these years you spent letting everyone think- letting every think that there’s no good in you-” Harry halts.
“Sir,” Hermione says quietly. “The rest of the Wizarding world may not understand the courage in your actions-”
“Thank you,” Harry interrupts. “I know you loved my mother, and she- well, she loved you too, in a way- as a friend. You wanted to save her- you wanted- I have to thank you, Voldemort would have spared her, if she had insisted that he had mercy on me…”
Wordlessly, Ron leans down to set the flowers down, and Hermione follows suit.
“If my mother knew what you did for her- for me- I’m sure she’d be- very proud,” Harry tries. “She would have wanted- wanted me to say thank you.”
“I’m sure he understands, Harry,” Hermione says kindly.
Harry averts his gaze to the sky overhead and squints through the sheen of tears. “I’m sure he does,” Harry agrees.
Number Twelve: Talk to Ginny.
Sometimes, there are no words left to say, and so Harry just holds her until he realises that the feelings have just gone away.
Number Five: For once, tell the truth, and nothing but the truth.
Harry finds himself on the front steps of Draco Malfoy’s house a fortnight later, and then when Draco opens the door, Harry looks up and says, “I’m sorry and I forgive you.”
Afterwards, he only vaguely remembers how Draco presses him against the door frame, arches into him and starts to kiss him with an intensity Harry has never known.
Number Nine: Do something you’ve always wanted to do but never could.
In the wee hours of the morning, in between dawn and Harry’s return to alertness, he rakes his fingernails over the gentle arch of Draco’s neck, inhales deeply the sweet and spicy scent that is Draco Malfoy and Harry understands that, sooner or later, it would still come to this.
In hindsight, he should have seen this coming. His life and Draco’s life have been entwined right from the start- nothing they did could have avoided this. If Harry had taken Draco’s offer of friendship, they’d still come to this. If Harry didn’t- and he didn’t- well, they are still where they are.
The early rays of sunlight pours through Draco’s window and pools like warm milk over silk sheets and next to Harry, Draco stirs.
For the first time in a long, long while, Harry finds himself waking up, truly content. He stretches, careful not to disturb the sleeping blond and sits up, leaning against the headboard of Draco’s bed and watches the Slytherin shift and murmur in sleep.
The War is over; he realises, and joy attempts to strangle him. The War is over, and Voldemort is gone, and now, Harry is truly free, and he is allowed to do whatever he wants without worrying about putting his life and others in mortal peril. He is allowed to make choices, do things- make absurd choices and do ridiculous things.
Draco tosses in the bed and throws one arm up to shield his eyes from the light, frowning slightly and slowly but surely, Harry allows himself to fall.
Number Eight: Make sure Hogwarts gets to reopen, and we can all return.
“What is that?” Draco flicks his wand and the jar of chilled milk begins to pour its content over a bowl of cereal until Draco flicks his wand again, halting it.
Harry recognizes the Hogwarts seal and starts to grin. Wordlessly, he hands the envelope over, sitting and crossing his arms. “Well?” he asks, the beginnings of a smirk starting across his face.
Draco unfolds the letter and starts to read. Harry witnesses the medley of emotions that flit across Draco’s face- uncertainty, joy, elation, anxiety and then shock. “I’m- they- Seventh year?” He turns to Harry, accusing. “Did you have anything to do with this?”
“What do you mean?” Harry snorts.
“Don’t tell me- you used your name and pulled strings so I could go back, didn’t you?” Draco looks insulted, dropping the letter onto the table.
Harry hopes he looks irritated. “Draco Malfoy, you are not in Azkaban, nor are you detained in Ministry for investigations, you have a right to return to Hogwarts to complete your education. Prof. McGonagall wouldn’t refuse you a place just because you were on the wrong side of the War- besides your father has been completely cooperative with the Ministry, and you and your mother have been given a clean bill for your cooperation as well.”
“So you had nothing to do with it?” Draco raises an eyebrow and as Harry shakes his head, a smile twitches and startles its way across his face.
“I’m going back to Hogwarts,” Draco says, then repeats it, letting it sink in. Then, without any sort of warning, Draco shoves his bowl of cereal away from him, spilling the milk over the brim slightly, reaches across the table, grabs Harry by the neck of his shirt and proceeds to give Harry the snog of his life.
Number Two: Visit Teddy Lupin.
I am a Godfather, Harry thinks as Andromeda lifts the boy into Harry’s arms. Next to him, Draco fidgets, unsure of what to do with himself. “This is Teddy Lupin,” Harry introduces. “Teddy, this is Draco. He’s your mom’s cousin.”
Across from them, Narcissa gives a watery smile. “Perhaps I ought to go and-”
“Cissy,” Andromeda turns and gives Narcissa a quelling look. “Stay.”
Harry and Draco stand there, frozen as the two women fly at each other, clutching at each other, saying each other’s names with vehemence.
Slowly, Draco beckons Harry and the three of them- little Teddy cooing softly in Harry’s arms- quietly make their way out of the room.
Number Six: Make sure that Ron and Hermione do none of the tiptoeing around each other nonsense again- they are meant to be.
Draco flashes Harry an absolutely wicked grin. “Trust me, they don’t need any help.”
“What do you mean?” Harry hates Draco’s subtlety sometimes- he wishes the other boy could just get straight to the point. Harry has always disliked guessing games.
“It means,” Draco says, exasperated. “That the two of them are a few seconds away from shagging each other through the carpet- no need to worry.”
“How do you know, Mr Malfoy?” Harry snorts. “You didn’t see the way they pussyfooted around each other before-”
“Come on, everything is different now, I’m sure they realised their feelings for each other after it was all over,” Draco drawls.
“Well, does that mean I can cross it off my list?” Harry thinks aloud.
“What list?” Draco asks, eyes narrowing.
Harry flushes. “It’s sort of like a to-do list,” he admits grudgingly. “Twelve things I have to do once the War is over.”
“What’s Number One?” Draco enquires, curious.
Harry hesitates, smiles and then shakes his head. “Secret,” he says and has a private laugh at the way Draco scowls and crosses his arms like a child denied of candy. Number one, he thinks and reaches over to lace his fingers through Draco's.
Number Ten: Do something outrageous.
“Everyone, this is Draco Malfoy,” Harry declares. Beside him, Draco’s jaw drops open in mortification. “Draco, this is everyone.”
“Harry Potter, where have you brought me to?” Draco asks slowly, turning around in horror.
Harry ignores him and addresses the group of people who have stuck through him throughout the War- Neville, Luna, Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, his friends, the Order- and rests a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “This is Draco, and he’s what I’ve been looking for,” he says quietly, and Draco makes a strangled noise.
“I am not insane,” Harry adds. “I hope all of you will accept him as one of us,” he continues, and notices Draco is slowly turning the colour of Ron’s hair. He starts to grin at his partner’s apparent discomfort. “Despite the fact that he appears to be distressed at this announcement, I assure all of you he loves me as much I love him.”
“Harry James Potter!” Draco exclaims. “I detest you, you loathsome creature- and I don’t give a damn that you’re the Saviour of the Wizarding world or the fact that you saved my life- you are horrible and I hate you!” He throws Harry a dirty look, and at that, the group begins to laugh.
Unapologetic, Harry grabs Draco by the back of his head and kisses him deeply, until all the struggle goes out of him, and there is nothing left but hope, and the future, and happiness, all rolled into one as Draco sighs, content, into the kiss.
Number One: Find love. Note to self: it has been said that love is found in the least likely of places.
“I’m not sorry.” Draco murmurs, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I don’t regret.”
Harry’s eyes are fastened to the ceiling in Draco’s room. “What’re you talking about?”
“Us,” Draco says, sounding offended that Harry hasn’t been listening. His hands go still on Harry’s buttons. “What have you been doing?”
“Thinking,” Harry says.
“About what?” Draco slaps Harry’s hands away as they attempt to rest on his back.
“You,” Harry says and Draco looks satisfied.
“Good,” he declares.
Harry sits up, propping himself on his elbows and stares at Draco solemnly. “Draco,” he says.
“What?” Draco says warily.
“I do love you, you know,” Harry says.
Draco clears his throat. “Right, let’s- er- just- we can-” his hands flutter nervously across Harry’s stomach.
“It’s alright,” Harry smiles. “I understand.”
“Understand what?” Draco peers down at him.
“We find love in the most unlikely places,” Harry says.
“When did you get all philosophical?” Draco murmurs. Harry grabs his arms and reverses their positions, so Draco is pressed beneath him.
“In the days after, I will spend my days loving you,” Harry says, determined to irritate the hell out of Draco, who merely gapes at him, and then recovers with remarkable speed.
“Mr Potter, you never cease to surprise me,” he says, eyebrows raised. “It can be said that you might be the one that Draco Malfoy will never get tired of, because he has been famous for getting easily sick of-”
“Draco,” Harry interrupts, grinning. “I love you too.”
In the days after, they celebrate, they mourn, they rejoice and no matter how much they try, they just cannot forget. In the days after, they spend their days fixing the broken. In the days after, they find love and joy and life and uncover the answers to all the secrets in the world in the eyes of their beloved. In the days, months and years after, they understand that some things, are just, meant to be.
finis
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