Silence:
Part One
Dedication: This fanfiction is dedicated to Patrick Conry, a fellow HP fanatic. 3
Summary: Harry and Draco fall into a love so deep and pure that nothing can stand in their way. Not even death. War is over but Harry is left a haunted man, as Seventh Years begins who is going to be there with him in the Silence? And when had Draco Malfoy become so quiet?
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and unfortunately my name is not J.. Though for the duration of this fan-fiction, we can pretend it is. ^_^
Warning: This is a Dark!fic, and also a Slash. There will be heavy boyXboy beginning at the end of part are themes of death and darkness, morbidity and depression. Don't worry, there's also lots of love!
A/N: Hey there, this is Mysty Vander signing into my new fan-fiction! I hope you enjoy this one, which will be written in four parts (not chapters). Please read, review and enjoy!
P.S this is based on the song 'O, Valencia!' by The Decemberists.
And a HUGE MASSIVE HUG-FILLED THANKS to my lovely, amazing Beta, PeruvianDarkness! With love.
You belong to the gang
And you say you can't break away
But I'm here with my hands on my heart.
Our families can't agree
I'm your brother's sworn enemy
But I'll shout out my love to the stars.
So wait for the stone on your window, your window
Wait by the car and we'll go, we'll go.
A light fog bristled across the streets of London; very few people were trotting around the streets- most were stumbling home from a long night at the bar.
It was another dewey, early Sunday morning as a barely seventeen year-old boy made his way slowly across a cobblestone street. His feet dragged, and his shoulders were hunched as his deep emerald eyes concentrated on the muggy sky above him, watching the sun slowly rising over the clouds and streaming across the rooftops.
Harry James Potter pulled his small, deep brown leather jacket close around his toned body. His unruly raven coloured-hair had grown so that the fringe fully covered his faded lightning-bolt scar. It now fell down in a messy shag around his hard jaw line. He wore fitted, torn jeans and a plain black t-shirt. His rounded glasses were replaced by contacts, making his astonishingly emerald eyes more noticeable.
As he walked, his head felt clear of most thought. His worries had drifted away with the wind which was brushing against his tan skin. It had been another late night with Marcus, the twenty-one year old bartender he had met at one of the local Muggle pubs earlier that summer. It had begun as simple, meaningless conversation about the weather or Muggle politics, but then it progressed as he and Harry began meeting outside of the pub for dinner, late night movies, and then, suddenly, Harry began spending his whole nights with Marcus.
It was the first week of August now, and things seemed to be running steadily for the young man. He had become accustomed to living on his own; he had become to thoroughly enjoy it. He was finally able to choose what to do with his time and, along with that, he was able to slowly discover who he really was.
There wasn't much he'd learned in those months. Other than the fact that he had become very withdrawn, accustomed to a deep Irish malt, more independent, open to both sexes as bedding partners, and that he rather enjoyed his silence, Harry did not feel as though there was anything more to him than just that. He had learned that he loved his silence above all things.
For in silence, one could clear their own thoughts and queries- they could be whom they were without a mask, without any pretences. The past didn't exist in silence; not to Harry. The future was something of a facade, the punch line at the end of a comedic act.
He came upon a long, narrow, one-way street that was setback a few blocks away from the business district of London. He had bought a flat in this area because it wasn't too far from the Ministry, but it was back enough that he wouldn't be running into Wizard or Witches he knew. At least not everyday. There was the few oddly dressed man or woman whom passed him in the streets and got a glance at his scar, gawking as he continued on without a second glance. Harry had grown far too weary of the Wizarding public, so he decided it best to keep his contact with them to a minimal. If he wasn't around any Wizarding folk, he wasn't brutally reminded of what happened only eight months ago.
Harry shuddered to think of it. It was the only memory that really brought much emotion to him anymore, the only one that jolted some kind of real reaction from him…
It had been last December when it happened, during Christmas break of his Sixth Year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was being prepared for Final Battle over the accumulating months beforehand with wandless magic lessons taught by Albus Dumbledore, Occulmency and Legilmancy lessons with Severus Snape, and, of course, more practical duelling lessons with Remus Lupin. Some other Order members pitched in occasionally, too, each with their own lessons and advice. It had been gruelling- all of the training ontop of dealing with his link to Voldemort, which was constantly burning into his skull. He had paid barely any attention to his school work that first term, but none of the Professor's ever mentioned a thing and the other students all shyed away. All except the few annoying ones that could not take the hint.
Though it didn't matter anymore, for it was part of the past. A place Harry didn't have to deal with, shouldn't go back to. But for some reason, he could never keep that one memory out of his head for long.
As he was training one evening just before dinner at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place ,a few days after Christmas, he heard a blood-curdling scream emitting from the fireplace in the drawing room. Harry and Remus both shared a quick glance of panic before bolting down the narrow, steep staircase past Mrs Black's boisterous portrait, screaming after them.
"YOU UNGRATEFUL HALF-BLOODS! YOU MUGGLE-LOVING SCOUNDRELS, IN THE NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK! HOW DARE YOU?"
When Remus and Harry had arrived, everybody turned expectantly towards the Sixteen year-old boy, sweat beading down the side of his face underneath his rounded glasses from duelling practice. On the floor was Molly Weasley, holding the battered, bleeding corpse of her husband, Arthur, in her arms. Nymphadora Tonks had her arms around Molly's back, calming her by speaking soothingly into her ear. Remus was staring shock-shelled at the man on the ground as Ron stood still as stone with his hand on his Mother's shoulder. Hermione was on the couch, bringing a handkerchief to her sobbing eyes.
Harry looked at the broken woman, weeping over her husband. He stared down at Arthur, who was somewhat of a father figure to him, like Remus was. He didn't just look dead, but he looked like the last few minutes of his life definitely weren't full of joy. A small storm started inside of Harry when he saw that, his bottled-up emotions brimming at the lid. The faces of many who died before him flashed in his mind, but he shook them out quickly as the anger and rage continued to rise.
Years of suppression were at work here, and his strong inherited magical core worked in succession, the energy in the room changed over to the boy. It was as if somebody had opened a window when a cool, haunting breeze swept through the room- his emerald eyes were slitted with pure, iron hatred. A deep primal growl erupted in the base of his throat- he clenched his fist around his wand.
"Where?" he growled deeply, everybody slack-jawed at how threatening he sounded. How could so much be coming from somebody so young? They had all underestimated the power of the Prophesied boy.
"What do you expect us to do; just waltz right in there?" Remus screamed over to Harry heatedly- he knew the boy had a rash head just like his Father. Harry turned towards the second last living Marauder and glared daggers, his breaths coming in short heaves.
"Where was Arthur's patrol tonight?" he spat venomously.
"I'm not telling you, Harry! We need to contact Albus immediately and-"
Harry had had enough of this talk. The clock was ticking. He raised his wand to Remus' throat and glared deeply at the man. He had grown a lot in the past few months, so he wasn't much shorter than his elder. Remus swallowed heavily as energy emanated from The-Boy-Who-Lived.
"Do not test me, Lupin," he growled. Slowly, Molly raised her head from her husband and over to the heated scene. With tears glistening on her face, she spoke in a strained whisper.
"In Mostrove, three miles South of Hogsmeade" Harry snapped his attention towards her and smiled as kindly as he could, even with all that rage still bubbling over himself.
"Where Kingsley and I patrolled before?" he quipped, for he knew that if he'd been there previously, it would make things much quicker.
"Yes, but Harry, you mustn't go!" Tonks pleaded, but would not remove her arms from around Molly's back, "It's not safe- we need to get a Defence Team together and all coordinate to the scene!"
"There isn't enough time for that! Now, you can come with me, or you can stay. Either way, I'm leaving," Harry snapped and without further ado, he apparated with a loud crack from the drawing room at Grimmauld Place.
Hermione, Ron, Remus and a reluctant Tonks weren't far behind him.
They arrived in absolute chaos. This was a War. The air was cold and brisk, a light snowfall an inch above the ground. But the snow wasn't pure and white like you'd want it to be that time of year; it was tainted with mud and blood, scattered with whole and incomplete bodies. Immediately, as if second nature now, Harry mentally threw up a Protego shield around the entire group of them without so much as waving his wand.
It was Mostrove alright. Harry recalled walking up and down those streets only last night when he was patrolling with Kingsley Shacklebolt. He didn't have to do patrols, especially on his holidays, but Harry liked to be kept informed as best as possible and this was one of the ways he liked to be involved in.
There were many Death Eaters, raiding the homes of Muggle and families and Wizards in hiding. The magical families were being rounded up as best as possible on the street with not so much as a fight. There wasn't anything anybody could do, for it looked like Voldemort had his entire fleet in the small village that night.
"Split up and help who you can, however you can. Try to Side-Along Apparate as many as you can to safety, use any fireplace hooked up to a Floo network if possible. Wizard and Muggle alike, get as many out of here. And stop as many of his lot as you can- stun them, disable them, kill them, I don't care." Harry finished barking his orders darkly, glad that there was too much chaos for anybody to have noticed the five of them shielded off to the side.
"Harry! You cannot possibly think you can just stroll in here without a Death Eater informing Voldemort of your presence?" Hermione hissed hurriedly, grabbing onto her friend's arm above the elbow to stop him from moving. He had cocked his head towards her and glared icily before bringing his own fist up on top of his head, disillusioning himself silently.
"Go. Now!" he had ordered again, this time more harshly. In pairs, they ran off into the darkness and Harry didn't waste a second longer. He knew what was happening that night…he had felt it coming for weeks. His scar had been acting up, he hadn't had a decent nights sleep in days, he had lost his appetite over the anticipation for this moment and he had trained with every last second of the days that had gone past. He wanted vengeance. He wanted to see that… creature that called himself a man, let alone a Lord, writhe in pain and agony. Suffering for all that suffering he did unto others.
Harry had no idea what to think of his growing vile hatred towards what once was Tom Riddle, all he had known was that it was the purest emotion he had inside of him. He also knew that this was the night he was going to allowed to finally act upon it, to revenge those whom he cared so deeply about that had fallen because of the War.
The stalky, muscled boy quickly thudded his way through the town. He followed his instincts and connections until he reached the outer gates, thankful for not having been noticed the entire journey there as the brutality continued around him. His scar was beginning to burn, searing pain jolted through his body that he threw off with a familiar hiss.
"Harry Potter, trying to run away now, are we? Abandoning your little friends so soon?" a twisted cackle sounded from behind. It was that ice cold voice Harry had heard at the Ministry at the end of Fifth Year, the same shrill speech he had been introduced to time-and-again over the past few months.
Turning on his heel, Harry came face-to-face with Voldemort himself. Though, he was not alone. Six Death Eaters flanked his sides, all still wearing their hoods and masks. Harry thought the snow looked ironic against their black robes.
"I was merely looking for you, Tom," Harry spat deeply, his eyes building with fierce passion.
"My, my. Quite the temperment for such a coward, don't you think Potter?" Voldemort snarled in response, inching ever so closely to Harry's face as he drew his wand.
"Expeliarmus," Harry whispered, his eyes never leaving those red slits before him. He relished in the Death Eater's shock when Voldemort's wand flew from his slithery fingers into Harry's. The boy looked up at the Dark Wizard's astonished face being quickly recovered with a bemused smirk.
"Looks like somebody has been training," he drawled icily, "But who says I need my wand to kill you, Harry?" Voldemort quickly reached up and grabbed a tight hold around Harry's neck as all the Death Eaters stood with their wands raised. Pain erupted through Harry at various points; his scar felt as though it were tearing his pounding head in half from the closeness he shared with Voldemort, and the grip on his neck felt as if it were crunching all of his bones together. He was wheezing momentarily, getting ahold of himself and pushing the pain away.
Harry very calmly brought the wand up close to their faces and a snap could be heard, echoing in the air around them. Harry's eyes filled with mirth as Voldemort became enraged, his broken wand falling down onto the dirtied snow. The ebony-haired boy was beginning to feel light-headed from the hands gripping tightly around his neck, so he closed his eyes and lolled his head backwards to concentrate. He had trained for this. It was now or never. Now or never. He needed to do this.
Cedric Diggory, James and Lily Potter, Sirius Black, countless Muggles, the Creevey's, Minister Cornelius Fudge, Rubeus Hagrid, Arthur Weasley...their faces kept playing through Harry's mind, fueling the power that was resonating and building in his core.
As he snapped open his eyes, they weren't emerald anymore. They were a crimson red. The distant screams of the attacks pounded in Harry's ears along with his own heartbeat, so that they fell into rhythm together. "Anima Translatum," he spoke clearly.
Harry had known for months now, ever since the Prophecy had been revealed, that he had a part of Voldemort inside of him kept alive through their connection. Harry pushed that connection out as forcibly as he could, ignoring all the pain that tore through his body as he did so. He willed his power and strength together in memory of the fallen, he was vaguely aware of Voldemort's screeching cries.
"Avada Ked-"
"Stupefy!" Harry used the simple jinx with such force, that Voldemort was knocked full off his feet and sent swirling a few meters back, knocking over a Death Eater with him.
Before the Dark Lord could even get back up onto his feet, "Avada Kedavra!" Harry yelled, but the green light didn't seem to be enough. Voldemort stirred on the ground and was bringing himself to his knees as the Killing Curse evaporated.
"You think you can kill me, Potter? You think that I can be defeated by a sixteen year-old boy and an Unforgivable?" Voldemort sneered, staggering to his feet, as he did so casting the agitated Death Eaters a glance to back down. Potter was his.
"Aaaargh!" Harry found himself yelling, bellowing through-out the night in rage. Tears hot in his eyes, blurring his vision as he rushed forward with all the physical force in his body. He slammed hard into Voldemort, quickly materializing the dagger that had been resting against his stomach in its pouch as always. Dumbledore agreed that it was more than necessary for Harry to be carrying more than just his wand as protection.
Voldemort attempted to throw the boy off of him but Harry had grown- he was bigger than this scrawny creature now. He had bulked up on muscle, so that when he crushed down on him with all his force and had Voldemort lying on his back as he dug the first hit deep into his ribcage, he punctured his lung. Voldemort wheezed out and began struggling further, but the Death Eaters still did not interfere. They could not make a move without their Master's consent, the Dark Mark disallowed it, so until that Master was dead...
Harry pulled out the sharp blade and brought it hard down upon the thing's chest. Blood spurted up onto the boy's face, which he ignored, a large grunt coming from inside of him. He kept thinking of all those faces, those people whose lives had been taken so carelessly. Hundreds, thousands of people's lives that Voldemort had ruined because of the things he did. He thought about these things as the dagger moved swiftly in and out of the frail body beneath him, crushed into the winter floor.
He had learned that Voldemort was all talk and curses, all magic and outside force. He, as a being himself, was not all that powerful without his wand. Harry had learned his weakness, his lack of physical strength, and had been waiting to use it against Tom Riddle.
As the knife continued stabbing, Harry became more raged with every blow. Until he was certain that the man had stopped any form of life, Harry turned to face six angry Death Eaters with curses on the tips of their tongue as he was bathed in the blood of their former Master.
"Stupefy!"
"Expelliarmus"
"Pertrificus Totalus!"
"Crucio!"
Various hexes, curses of both light and dark hurtled their way towards Harry, who threw up the strongest Protego he could muster. He wasn't infamous for nothing, as they all bounced off minimally damaging clear shield.
Harry's wand lay forgotten in his pocket as he pounded towards the first Death Eater he could reach. It had all been a blur from there on in, and Harry honestly couldn't tell anybody what actually happened… because the next thing he knew, he was laying in the snow with seven dead bodies around him. The crimson red clashed against the soft white, Harry was panting heavily ignoring his inflicted injuries from the fight he did not recall.
In the process of the physical battle, the Death Eater's masks had come off. Harry knew the faces to be; Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle, Bellatrix Lestrange, Nott, and Lucius Malfoy. He slowly caught his breath and shot red sparks into the air, alerting any of the group that remained of his location. Harry had taken one last look at Voldemort, scowling down at the creature before kicking him hard in his unmoving ribs and stalking back towards town slowly. His body shook with the aftereffects of the fight, and when he came up, Mostrove once more it seemed as though the chaos had stopped.
Dozens of Aurors and Order members alike had been called to the scene, even Dumbledore and Kingsley Shacklebolt were there in the midst of it all. Muggles were being treated first off; Healed by St. Mungo's Healer's and Obliviated. Wizards and Witches were being taken quickly to the Hospital itself, and the dead were being levitated out and away from it all. Any fires were being calmed, and all the screaming had ceased as the sobbing began.
Harry stumbled forward… he had felt weak and ragged. His life goal that he had been set out to do was done. Once and for all, it had ended and he had gotten vengence for all those lost lives. Those poor souls could rest easy now.
"Harry!" Remus was the first one to spot him, he ran over away from a small group of Auror's he was assisting. Upon coming close enough to see Harry rightfully beneath the moonlight, Remus gasped and his entire body stilled. "Harry?" he asked softly.
"M'fine," Harry assured, even though he didn't really think the werewolf was asking about his own personal condition. More people were collecting around him more; Dumbledore, Hermione, Ron, Tonks, Kingsley, Fred and George Weasley had even been called to the scene. "Voldemort's dead," he croaked out.
Hushed whispers vibrated through the whole village of Mostrove it seemed. The Dark Lord was dead. Gone.
"Come now, Harry, lets get you straighted up, and we can speak later," Albus said softly. Everybody had now turned their wide-eyed attentions to Harry's blood soaked figure.
"You should probably go and collect the bodies," Harry mumbled, cocking his head to where he had come from.
"Bodies?" Hermione choked out, asking what everybody else was thinking; There was more than one? Bodies already littered the streets, but most were killed by trace curses and the Killing Curse. But the blood on Harry suggested something different.
"Yes. Bodies," Harry repeated more firmly this time, "Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle, Bellatrix, Nott, Malfoy Sr., and Tom," he finished listing them off. Everybody's eyes had widened considerably.
"How did you-" Ron began asking quietly, but was cut off by Dumbledore who stepped in front of the entire group.
"The situation is under control now. The remaining Death Eater that are alive have fled in small numbers. We are looking to follow their Apparition traces, but for now we must get you to Hogwarts, Mister Potter," Dumbledore said, and Harry had no query with that. He merely nodded and grabbed onto the Headmaster's arm to allow himself to be Side-Along Apparated away from the crowd, out of the cold.
After Harry had relayed what had happened, unable to really give the true events after murdering Voldemort that night, nobody ever looked at him the same way again. He was no longer Harry Potter, the innocent Gryffindor who sat quietly behind his rounded spectacles. He had become a cold-blooded murderer to them. He still saw it as what needed to be done, though the images of those seven dead bodies haunted his every thought.
Yes, Harry shuddered to think about what had occurred eight months ago. He shoved it deep down inside of himself, buried it beneath a cool mask that he had come to live by. Whenever he was around Wizarding folk, he was shied away from, feared and praised all at once. It was too much for him to handle, and strangers would come up and thank him or others would scream that he was a murderer. Harry learned to ignore them, though their words hit something deep and hard at the core of his being.
That was why he chose a flat outside of the magic world to live for the summer before Seventh Year at Hogwarts. He would have just gone to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, which was now emptied of the Order and rightfully his own. But he had contractors working on it, making it back into the Noble House of Black it once was, not the mess it had become. It would be completed by the time he went home from Christmas holidays that year.
Harry felt safer and happier around Muggles. They didn't know who he was, they found him attractive and unique, or they didn't notice him at all. Things only got strained and awkward with them when they caught a glimpse of his faded scar on his forehead, they would question it and he would make up a story. He would usually say that when he was a little kid he had fallen down stone steps, recieved a severe concussion and was left with that mark. They would believe him, which he was more than grateful for. He wasn't The-Boy-Who-Lived who murdered Voldemort and his inner circle, but just some stranger passing by on the street.
Once coming to his flat, Harry flicked on the dimmed light. It was a small one, just with all the necessities and nothing more. A bedroom, a bathroom, a grim kitchen. There wasn't much colour to the rooms, everything was a dull, molded grey. He didn't spend much time in it anyway, so he didn't mind. He was usually caught up at the library, reading Muggle fictions, or taking long walks in the park or sneaking into pubs underage to meet strangers and talk the evening away.
He didn't feel like sleeping that morning, he had a little nap in Marcus' frail arms before he left. He never liked to stay the full night, not really expecting what to do in the morning. This whole thing was new to him, but Harry was catching on quickly. Dates, phone calls, flowers, chaste kisses, hand holding, he knew this was all customery but he didn't care much for it. He didn't even care much for the sex; even though he had never gone all the way with anybody, he still didn't care for the playful nature of it. He just needed a way to keep himself distracted, and dating seemed to be it.
Harry sat down at the kitchen table, having retrieved a few pieces of parchment, quill and an ink bottle he began to write to his friends.
Dear Ron and Hermione,
It's Harry here. I hope you guys had fun at the World Cup. Sorry I couldn't make it again, I just had too much on my mind. I expected to get an owl to hear who won! You guys know I don't read that Daily Prophet rubbish anymore, so there's no way I could've known.
How is everybody doing at The Burrow? If Molly needs any help, you guys be sure to let me know straight away and I will arrange whatever is necessary that needs to be done.
Have you spoken to Dumbledore this summer as of yet? I am surprised that he hasn't paid me a visit for weeks, and I just received my school letter too. Maybe we could pick a day to meet in Diagon Alley and we could all get our things together? Just a suggestion, I'd rather not have to go alone.
There's not much to say on this end. I just came back from another date with Marcus. I really like him. I mean, I think I do. He's got the prettiest blonde hair, and those baby blue eyes too. But it's just his personality is so...boring. He doesn't really do anything besides work at the pub. I just wish there was something more to him, something deeper. It would make things a lot more interesting when we go out to dinner. The conversation has become terrifyingly dull.
Anyways, I will see you guys on Wednesday. Send Ginny my regards.
Take Care,
Harry J. Potter.
Harry sighed softly, then folded the letter up and set it aside. He didn't want Hedwig to have to make two trips, and he still had another letter to write. He was grateful that his friends accepted his new dating self, and that they were even slightly interested in it. It gave him something to talk about with them, because he was sure that there wasn't anything else anymore he could talk about. He pushed the thought from his head and got to writing his second letter to Remus. He quickly updated him as well and assured him that he was doing just fine. He knew that the werewolf worried himself sick sometimes over him. It wasn't as though he didn't appreciate it… Harry just wanted space to breathe.
After sending Hedwig, his snowy white owl, off into the early morning to deliver the two letters, Harry curled himself up in bed to drift away. He slept soundly, ignoring all the screams in his nightmares. Afterall, he had heard them a thousand times by now.
The days passed by, melting into one another until Harry's weeks of summer began one long, everlasting day. He never looked at a clock, for time did not matter to him. He had no obligations, no place to be specifically. He was satisfied, though not happy. As Wednesday rolled around the second week of August, Harry paid his weekly visit to The Burrow.
Fred and George were there on those days as well, which is why he chose them to come over. They would play a quick game of Quidditch out in the field with Ron and Ginny as well, Hermione sitting on the side lines watching. This Wednesday was no different and, after they soared around on their brooms they all landed and headed back towards the house.
Most of the Weasleys had quieted down a lot after Arthur Weasley's death, but they were still somehow the cheery crowd they were before. Harry was envious of them in that respects- they could get over a big tragedy and still come together at any point of time. He felt alone and parted from them ever since that December. He was no longer considered 'one of the family'.
"So, when would you guys like to head to Diagon Alley?" Harry asked, his hands inside his jean pockets as his plain t-shirt stuck to him from the sweat of the Qudditch game.
"We've got a killer sale a few days before school starts, you should come then," said Fred
"We promise to give you a bargain,"
"You'll go bonkers over some of our new inventions," Fred and George countered one another. Some things never changed. Ron was grinning, his arm slung around his girlfriend lazily, who was smiling softly as the group entered the kitchen.
"Alright then, how does the thirtieth sound, then?"
"Good," Harry shrugged. He was a man of few words these days, and everybody understood it. They didn't push him or prod him, which he was grateful for again.
"C'mon, dears! You must all be absolutely famished from the heat! I've got sandwiches and tea prepared," Molly greeted them cheerfully, and although there was a smile plastered on her face. Harry noticed that a gleam in her eyes had gone. It had died the same day as Arthur had, and Harry felt as though he was the only one who recognized this.
Comments like "Thanks, Molly" and "Thanks Mum," immediately followed before the children tucked into eat, Molly tottered off to the living quarters as she began cleaning.
"So, how is Marcus doing?" Ginny asked after a few minutes of everybody eating. Harry shot Hermione and Ron a quick glare for having told the girl about his personal love life, but the two merely blushed and concentrated on the food before him. He didn't mind much, but it still meant something to him if they couldn't keep their traps shut about it.
"Er… fine, thanks," Harry shrugged, his voice in a monotone. He knew it sounded dead.
"Got yourself a keeper then, Harry?"
"Tell us, is he good looking?"
"Well he has to be Fred,"
"And why do you say that, George?"
"Well, he has Harry's attention, doesn't he?" the twins turned identical grins towards Harry who looked away from them, his stone cold emerald eyes finding something interesting to stare off at in the distance.
"He's fine, I said," Harry repeated himself, "Boring as hell," he added in as an after thought. It was the truth. He found himself becoming shallow, understanding that the only reason he still kept going on fruitless dates with Marcus was because he was something pretty to look at. Harry was fascinated with his blonde hair.
"Well, Dean's doing just fine too, thanks for asking," Ginny grumbled, a tinge of pink on her cheeks. The brothers didn't like it when their younger sister brought up her boyfriend, but Hermione was always quick to her defence.
The conversation picked up from there as Harry pretended to listen in idly, though his thoughts were always drifting off. He always tried to drown out their voices and all the sounds around him, attempting to achieve that utter silence he loved and cherished so dearly. The silence that made everything right again.
It was a long day for him at the Weasleys, somehow longer than the rest. Harry felt as though the greater he distanced himself from his friends, the more he found he didn't enjoy their company any more. It was like a chore he had to do on a weekly basis, but for some reason he kept doing it. It made him feel normal. And with returning to Hogwarts in two more weeks, he understood that he had to get used to being around Wizarding folk once more.
When he left that afternoon, he said his quick goodbyes. Ginny made a move to hug him, something nobody had attempted to do since after the Final Battle. Harry's eyes narrowed and he backed away from her, not saying a word before turning an Apparating back to his own flat.
He hated being touched by those who knew. The ones who judged him, who saw him as the famous Harry Potter, the defeater of Voldemort. He only could stand being physical with Muggles, the strangers in his life. Harry suddenly felt like he needed a drink, but he wasn't in the mood for running into Marcus.
So he grabbed his summer cloak and fastened it around him, and without him checking his reflection over he strode out onto the streets towards the Leaky Cauldron. Harry needed a Firewhisky to clear his head of all thoughts. To clear his head of the Weasleys. As he made his way into The Leaky Cauldron, everybody's eyes followed him burning holes into him. Harry ignored them the best he could, burying the scowl that fought its way to his face.
He sat down in a seat at the bar table, he eyed Tom the barkeep wearily. "Firewhisky, Tom. Please"
"Of course, Mister Potter," Tom bowed his head lightly and let a fleeting glance up at Harry's scar before hurrying off and retrieving his drink which he then set down in front of the boy. He bit his lip, unable to speak and hurried off to socialize with the other customers.
Ignoring the whispers around him, Harry concentrated on the drink burning down his throat. He felt it fuzz his brain as he chugged it completely, swallowing the bottom of the drink and slamming the glass down on the counter. "Tom, keep them coming would you?" Harry called gently, the man nodded and topped off his glass before turning to a newcomer whom sat beside Harry.
"And for you, Mister Malfoy?" Tom asked, his voice strained.
The name snapped Harry into full attention as he turned to see Malfoy Jr. sitting beside him. He didn't look like how he used to. His silver eyes were dull and empty with bags underneath them, though his platinum hair still shone against his pale, pointed face… but it was the way he held himself that stood out. His shoulders were hunched, his posture despicable, and his mouth always turned into a soft frown instead of a scowl.
Harry couldn't really explain it, but he found him beautiful at that moment. There was so much truth, so much reality in those sunken eyes. Then there was his hair, so blindingly bright and soft looking Harry was tempted to reach out and touch it, feel it twist between his rough fingers. The boy ordered a drink, quickly given by Tom and his slender hand wrapped neatly around the glass. He chugged it just like Harry had and ordered more.
"Malfoy-" Harry began slowly.
"Draco, Harry. My name is Draco," the boy corrected in a dull, cut-off tone. He didn't even turn his head to greet him. Harry realized he was staring, becoming slightly embarrassed when Malfoy-Draco- shifted uncomfortably on his bar stool.
"Right. Hi there, Draco," Harry spoke, the words sounding so odd and foreign on his lips. Though, he admitted that he didn't mind saying the boy's first name. At least that meant he didn't have to associate him with his late Father.
Reality rushed back and hit Harry hard in the face. He hadn't just murdered this boy's Father, but he had brutally killed him with his bare hands. His blood had been one of the person's blood that soaked Harry that night eight months ago.
"How are you doing?" he asked softly… he really didn't know what to say to him. Was he supposed to apologize?
"Fine. Glad that I finally got myself out of the Manor. My Mother was practically driving me to ," Draco drawled, taking a sip from his drink as his eyes bore holes into the counter top. His free hand was resting lightly on the table, his long brittle fingernails rapped lightly and Harry was mesmerized by the simple action.
'This is the same boy who has been tormenting me at school for the past Six Years?' Harry gaped, because it really didn't seem like it. Just sitting beside him, Harry could feel a total difference.
"How?" Harry finally asked, his voice was broken and quiet. Just like Draco's was too.
"I am now the Head of the Malfoy Estate. Much business to attend to," Draco rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat with a deep sigh, he rubbed his forehead. "Rented a room upstairs for the rest of the summer, just so I could get away from it," he explained.
"Oh," was all Harry had to say in response.
The two sat there for what felt like five minutes but turned into hours. They did not speak, they did not move from their seats. All they did was quietly drink. Harry had never shared his silence with anybody else, but it seemed as though Draco enjoyed the silence just as much. No, he needed it. He needed it just like Harry did. They were oddly comfortable with this, but they did not speak of it.
Harry was curious. Where had the Draco Malfoy he knew and… well, disliked at least, gone? The one that couldn't keep his mouth shut or his money in his pocket? Where was that git Harry was used to? 'That part of Draco must have died with his Father' he thought gloomily.
"Draco, listen I'm sorry about-"
"Don't say it," Draco cut him off and then for the first time turned to look at Harry. Their sorrowful, empty eyes met and something happened there. Something ignited, something unknown and untouched before. There was a connection of understanding made in one simple glance. Harry noticed Draco staring into his eyes just as intensely as Harry knew he was staring into the other boy's. They had changed so much since First Year, become men. Harry was surprised to find himself oddly awestruck by this new, grown-up Draco.
"I just… wanted to apologize," Harry whispered after a moment, finally breaking their gaze as he looked solemnly at his nearly empty glass.
"There is no need for it. My Father was not a good man, and he deserved to die," Draco said knowingly." I am the one who should be sorry, for all those-"
"You don't either," Harry stopped him gently, "I don't need to hear anymore apologies. I'm sick of them. We were young and stupid," he said, as if it could excuse the years of torment. And somehow, it could.
After another couple of rounds, Draco turned a small grin to Harry, something that made him slightly shocked. He wasn't frowning. In fact, he almost looked fleetingly happy...for a second. "Glad to have run into you, Harry,"
"Me too," Harry responded, finding it stangely truthful. "Does this mean you're leaving?" he asked, trying hard not to sound too disappointed.
And then Draco laughed. It was a small chuckle, but it was music to Harry's ears.
"I don't want to, but I must. Sleep calls," he grinned some more, "I haven't smiled in awhile. Thank you," he added, standing up from his seat wobbly and putting Galleons on the table to pay for his drink.
"Me too" Harry returned, and then did find his own mouth turning upwards into a small, true smile. Something real. Harry was feeling something real. It was a whole new experience, it seemed. "Could we meet again, then?" he asked.
"You wouldn't mind?" Draco countered quickly, it seemed as though he really was reluctant to leave. The weariness in his eyes held true to his excuse, however, he looked like he was in need of a long rest.
"I think I would enjoy it," Harry admitted shyly, he found himself blushing. He never blushed. Not with Marcus, not with Ginny, not with any other girl or boy. He didn't blush. Nor did he smile. So it was a night of change.
"I need my school supplies. Go shopping with me next Wednesday?"
"Noon?" Harry offered, obviously accepting the invitation, having completely forgotten his promise to go to Diagon Alley with Ron and Hermione.
"Noon," Draco affirmed with a slight nod. And then he did something neither boys expected, he leaned down and left a chaste kiss on Harry's cheek. "Thanks,"
"What for?" Harry found himself asking, stunned still by the small kiss. Draco Malfoy had just kissed him. No, he couldn't think about him like that anymore. Now he was Draco. Just Draco.
"For the silence," he whispered, and then was gone. Harry stared after his retreating figure, his heart thumping loudly in his chest as blood rushed up to his ears. After paying Tom, he was back out on the streets of London, trodding home.
He didn't feel empty that night, not like the nights he left Marcus' house. Harry felt curious, excited, and flustered all at once. He usually didn't feel anything, but now he was feeling more than he thought he could handle. How could a few hours of mostly silence with Draco do that to him? He realized then that it was always the Slytherin boy that could get to him, bate with anger and rage or this new unknown feeling, meshed in with joy. Harry couldn't think on it too much, he didn't want to talk himself out of meeting Draco the following week.
The days suddenly passed slower now, as if they could sense that Harry was anticipating something. There were questions flying through his head, distracting him from memories of the dark past. He was utterly thankful for Draco's presence the previous week, for it had changed him entirely. He wasn't dwelling anymore, and he wasn't part of a routine either. He didn't go to the Weasleys that Wednesday, vyt instead met the familiar blonde in the Leaky Cauldron.
"Harry Potter, seen with a Malfoy in broad daylight?" Draco joked as Harry sauntered uneasily up to him. He couldn't help but admire the boy… he looked so utterly beautiful it was indescribable. How had he not noticed this all their years in school together before now?
"Funny," Harry scoffed playfully, smirking despite himself as Draco grinned back at him. They were roughly the same height, which was good as their eyes met on a level field. Silver and emerald, less dull than they had been seven days ago.
They walked slowly through the streets, Harry ignoring all the looks and shouts, the questions and slurs. Draco, however, wasn't used to an outing like that. Sure people stared at him for a variety of reasons, but never had he seen the public get so riled up as they were now.
"Harry, how can you bloody hell stand this?" Draco hissed to the man beside him, who merely shrugged as his emerald eyes glinted mirthfully for a moment.
"Just ignore it, ignore it all," he advised, for it really was the best course of action.
They silently walked side-by-side, blushing whenever they would brush up against one another accidentally on the busied streets. They went into Flourish and Blotts, Quality Quidditch Supplies, Gringotts- where Draco attended to a few papers quickly- and the Potion Apothecary. It wasn't long before they had all of their school supplies, spelled to shrink inside their pockets. They had barely spoken a word to one another, because they didn't need to. Everything was said in their eyes, the moments that passed quietly between them.
Harry found himself smiling without reason now, as he quickened his pace to pass by the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes. Madame Malkin's face was a funny sight when they went inside to receive their new school robes for the year. She obviously wasn't expecting The Harry Potter and The Draco Malfoy to waltz in together, both looking pleased with one another's company.
At the end of a dreary day, the two settled down at the bar once more looking much the same as they had the prior week. They sipped in silence, basking in the joy of sharing it with another person. When they spoke, their voices were gentle and soft, barely above a whisper.
"Today was the closest to fun I have had since..."
"Me too," Draco agreed in understanding. Harry guessed Draco would know what he was talking about- the same would most likely apply for him since that day. Life had been absolute hell since the Final Battle for both boys- Harry knew this from going to school with Draco and by reading the prophet- and without great explanation the pain had lessened inside of him considerably, just because of the other's company.
"I think I like you, Harry," Draco announced.
"Draco, I think I have fallen for you," Harry blushed at his own words, but he knew they were true. Understanding passed between them, and Harry leaned over to the other boy to capture his lips in between his. They kissed gently… softly.
Harry savoured the other's taste and smell, the closeness he had thought he would never feel with another human being. Draco's hand was on Harry's face, Harry's arms were around the boys waist. The Firewhisky burned on their tongues and passion boiled in the pits of their stomach.
This was real Harry had to keep reminding himself. This was really happening, and not only that, but he liked it! He liked it a lot.
After breaking away, both blushed but refused to look anywhere but the others eyes. They couldn't escape that gaze, that heavy truth. When they parted that night, ignoring all of the shocked faces in their direction, they held one another tenderly just outside of The Leaky Cauldron. They kissed the other on the lips once more, each wanting to remember these moments dearly. "Can we meet again?"
"Soon?" Harry returned quickly, looking up just a little at Draco's face.
"Please," Draco added with a nod.
"Tomorrow?" Harry's only answer was another kiss before he was left alone in the summers night. He found himself whistling as he walked home. Harry never whistled.
The days became a blur again, but this time in a good way. All Harry could think about was Draco. He didn't even return his owls that he received, and he barely spent time outside of The Leaky Cauldron. He wanted to stay there, silently drinking beside his new companion. They shared light touches, blushes, smiles and sidelong glances along with their kisses. It was nothing more than that, and both were glad that neither was asking to put a name to it. It didn't need a name, it was far beyond that.
Marcus had left Harry several messages on his phone, but Harry hadn't an ounce of need to call the boy back. He was perfectly content wasting away the last of his summer with Draco. More than content, and more than satisfied. He was happy, and Draco was as well.
It was finally the thirtieth of August and Harry had reluctantly declined Draco the night before to meeting up with him. He had promised his friends weeks ago that he would shop with them in Diagon Alley. As Harry walked through the streets alongside Hermione, Ron and Ginny were in a heated argument about something Ron had walked in on earlier that week. Of course, it was Ginny and Dean fooling around, and Harry didn't have half the mind to listen to the conversation; his thoughts were dwelling on Draco as they had always been lately. Draco. Was he really there? Or was this all some sort of strange dream? But then Harry would catch the top of the blonde boys bobbing head in the crowd, their eyes would meet and then they would look away. That understanding was always present and Harry knew that no, it was not a dream. It was a reaccuring fantasy of some sort, something he had been granted with.
"Mate, aren't you getting any books?" Ron quipped as they stood in Flourish and Blotts, the other teenagers had their arms filled to the brim with their new curriculum textbooks.
"Er… already got them," Harry replied sheepishly.
"When?" Hermione asked curiously, not that any of them really minded. They knew Harry didn't live too faraway, he could have just gotten bored and walked over to do his shopping.
"Last week," Harry shrugged, looking at the other side of the shop. There stood Draco, amongst the two large goons, They were cackling about something inside of a book as the blonde looked terrifyingly bored. Their eyes met once more, Harry felt himself blushing as Draco sent him a private, personal smile, "With Draco," he decided to add.
Ron's books immediately clattered to the floor. He stepped forward in a rage, his hand cupped around the scuff of Harry's neck as the raven-haired boy held no emotion in his features. Harry felt himself being slammed hard up against a wall of the store, people were beginning to turn and look at them as Hermione and Ginny watched with open mouths.
Ron retracted his wand from his pocket, he jabbed it hard into Harry's throat where his other hand still held him threateningly.
"Don't you ever bring up that sodding bastard around me again, Potter!" he bellowed angrily. Harry found himself looking beyond Ron at Draco who was debating whether or not to approach, to intervene.
"And why not?" Harry tested his best friend, shaking his head slightly at Draco to assure him that he had the situation under his control.
"Why not...why not!" Ron screamed, pushing Harry as hard as he could into the wall but unsatisfied when the boy didn't even flinch at the pain. "Because he's a fucking dirty Death Eater who deserves to rot in hell for murdering my Father!" he spit venomously. Gasps sounded through-out the store as Harry now glared icy, emerald daggers at the redhead. Harry harshly shoved his friend back and retrieved his own wand, holding it levelly at Ron now.
"Draco is not his Father," Harry growled. It was true that Lucius Malfoy had been the one to murder Arthur, and not Draco. Ron was just reciprocating that vile hatred of a dead man onto his broken son.
Ron slowly, reluctantly put his wand away. There was no way he could win in a duel against Harry Potter. He muttered something and set storming out of the store onto the street. Harry made to follow; he knew he had to apologize. He couldn't lose Ron over something so simple. Hermione's hand on his chest stopped him,
"Let him be. You know him… just needs to clear his head," Hermione said, Harry looked down at her and nodded grimly. She was always right, afterall.
The three continued their shopping on their own, Hermione and Ginny attempting to rouse Harry out of his silence and into conversation about everything or anything. But he wouldn't have any of it. He wouldn't speak, and he found that at now he just couldn't He didn't want to, because he had nothing to say that wouldn't hurt them. He wanted to be back in the Leaky Cauldron, beside the security of Draco's quiet.
By the end of the day, Ron had cooled down considerably. The two boys bid had farewell to the girls when Ron said,
"I think you and I need a stiff one, mate," he grumbled. He led the way into the Leaky Cauldron, Harry following behind solemnly. It had been a treacherous day for him, attempting to smile and laugh along with his friends but ultimately failing. Ron ordered up a Firewhisky as Harry didn't even glance up at Tom to mumble, "Anything Irish you've got. The strongest," Once they had their drinks Ron began apologizing,
"I'm real sorry about earlier, mate. I shouldn't have exploded at you. But… why Malfoy?" he spoke the name with such venom it made Harry wince.
"He was there, I was there and we both needed school supplies," Harry shrugged, "We barely said a word," he said truthfully. Him and Draco barely ever exchanged words- it was who they had become and it was the best reason why he liked the boy. Ron shifted in his seat taking a small swig of his drink,
"Well, sorry again," he mumbled. The thing was that ever since his Father's death, Ron's hate for the Malfoys had doubled in size at least. It unnerved Harry, and so did the constant useless apologies. What could words do when the actions themselves had already been done?
"Don't worry about it," he assured his best friend.
"So, how have you been these days?" Ron questioned, and for some reason he expected a more elaborate answer than what he got. He should have learned by now.
"Fine. You?" Ron sighed and looked over at his friend concernedly.
"No, Harry, how're you really doing?" he stressed.
"I said. I'm fine," Harry spoke through clenched teeth now, his hand gripping his drink hard. He hated being asked this repeatedly.
"That's not an answer. Look Harry, I'm your best mate. I just want to-"
"What? You want me to tell you how much I don't feel anymore? How apathetic I've become about everything? Or do you want me to tell you how I relive their deaths ever waking second for the rest of my life? Well? Is that what you want?" He hadn't screamed, instead speaking with clear mavolence in his hushed tone. Ron was biting his lip angrily, as if to stop himself from saying something.
"No, Harry. I want you to talk about what happened that night. I want you to tell me the truth, tell me what you did!" He was pleading now. Harry knew Ron was asking to relieve his mind, and to ease his own curiosity, but didn't Ron know that that was the last thing he wanted to talk about.
Harry found that pit of rage resurfacing, but he quickly shoved it back down.
"I told you everything I remember. Honestly," he took a large gulp of his drink.
"It's just that… since that night you've been so...different," Ron said, stating the obvious.
"Wouldn't you be too?" Was all Harry could respond with.
Ron changed the subject after that, obviously sensing he was getting nowhere. After two more rounds, they said an awkward goodbye.
"See you at the Platform in two days," Ron waved from beneath the Leaky Cauldron's mantle place, and then was engulfed in green flames as he Flooed back to The Burrow.
Harry turned back to the bar and found himself smiling. Draco was leaning nonchalantly against it, a small genuine smile warming Harry's heart in return. Draco pushed himself off the bar and swayed over to the man,
"Join me for a walk?" he asked, extending his arm like a true gentleman.
Harry rolled his eyes but accepted. He was steered out of the front door of the pub and into the familiar streets of London.
"I thought Weasley was never going to leave," Draco commented dryly.
"Me neither," Harry conquered as he boldly allowed his hand to slip into Draco's, surprised and overjoyed that it was held tightly in return.
"Ever get the feeling that even though the War is over, it's never going to get any better? That all the pain, loss and memories...that you'll never get used to it?" Draco asked solemnly after awhile of aimless walking. Harry shot him a sidelong frown,
"Yes. That's exactly how I feel," he took a deep breath, "I feel as though the only time that's worth anything is the time spent with you," he sighed, though felt lightened as Draco gripped even tighter around his digits.
"I feel like that as well. All of this Malfoy Estate business means nothing to me. I just do it because I have to. You're the only thing that matters anymore," Draco's words caused Harry to smile sadly, he understood.
"Why?" Harry's question was directed at both of them. Simply why…
Draco thought for a moment, clicking his tongue before sending Harry a trademark Malfoy smirk
"You understand the vast important of silence. You do not need me to talk, to say anything. You understand me even when I don't, and to know all of this all I have to do is look in your eyes," Draco was turning pink on his cheeks now, and his companion couldn't help but find this adorable. "Why?" the blond returned.
"Like you said, you get me. I get you," Harry smiled sweetly, "And you don't ask questions...or at least not the ones everybody else does. And you don't hide how you really feel. You're so honest it's brutal and I love it. I needed something real in my life, and that's where you come in," Harry looked over to see Draco grinning at him.
"Thank you," Draco spoke softly and sincerely.
As they enveloped themselves in silence, they walked through narrow streets. Only drunkards and late night business men were out at this time of night, nearing one in the morning now. Harry suddenly stopped in front of a tall, dull grey apartment building.
"Would you like to come inside?" he offered.
"Inside where, exactly?" Draco asked with a raised eyebrow
"I own a flat here," he said, cocking his head towards the building.
Draco pursed his lips before nodding, and proceeded to follow Harry into his flat. Once inside Draco chuckled
"Do you have no vanity?"
"Vanity? Sorry, what's that?" Harry asked seriously, but he couldn't surpress the chuckle at Draco's appalled face as he led him to sit down at the kitchen table. "I'm kidding," he smirked.
"I would bloody well hope so," Draco relaxed now, "Got a spot of tea?"
Harry nodded, still grinning as he began to prepare them tea. He lazily flicked his wand at the kettle always sitting on the stove and it began to boil almost immediately, cups magically came down from the cupboard as tea bags levitated into them.
"Are you still high maintenance as ever, then?"
"Did you honestly expect anything else?"
"From you? No, I guess not," he chortled, setting down their two mugs of tea and slouching in his chair beside the blonde.
"I was watching you from a safe distance in The Leaky Cauldron," Draco admitted after a few minutes. Harry raised his eyebrow but said nothing so Draco continued, "I saw Weasley ask something and then you got upset," it was a statement, not a question. Another reason why Harry was falling deeply for the boy was that he did not pry, but his mere presence made the raven-haired man want to spill everything.
So he did.
"Ron was asking about that night," he need not specify which evening he referred to, "Everybody always wants to know, but don't they bloody understand that I don't remember? And what I do remember isn't an event or anything but a feeling. All I recall is rage, hate, anger and vengeance. I felt no wrong when I was stabbing Tom, and I wasn't guilty either when I had murdered all of those filthy Death Eaters with my goddamn bare hands! Merlin, their blood was everywhere! Your Father's blood was everywhere Draco, and I didn't feel any guilt!" Harry was screaming now, all those pent up feelings boiling over.
Draco was calmly observing him as he took a sip of tea
"You should not have felt guilty. They deserved whatever it was you gave them," he said firmly, giving the broken man reassurance.
"When it was all over," Harry spoke shakily now as tears bubbled in his eyes, "When it was all over, I felt so...inhuman. So evil, sick and twisted. Because for a moment that night, I enjoyed killing them all," Harry's chest heaved heavily as a sob broke free. The tears fell from his emerald orbs as he balled his hands into fists. "I'm so sick and twisted. So fucked up," he mumbled, and as he cried he repeated himself. "So fucked up, so fucked up, so fucked up..."
Harry knew he wasn't just crying- he was wailing. He should have been embarrassed, but…
"Oh, Harry," Draco whispered sadly, pulling Harry from his seat and onto his lap. Harry sobbed into Draco's chest as he curled up on him. Draco stroked his soft, raven hair and kissed his forehead. "You're not fucked up. I promise. I would've done it too," he whispered truthfully.
Somehow amongst Harry's wails, Draco had brought him to his bed. He hushed his queries and kissed his tear stained face repeatedly. Harry hadn't cried since Sirius' death, so this was a year's worth of tears pouring out uncontrollably.
Harry felt relieved as he cried, and he felt entirely safe in Draco's arms. He drifted off to sleep, his head on the blonde's chest as he listened to his heartbeat. Harry heard Draco whisper something before he fell asleep.
"You're so brave, Harry,"
XXXX
Harry awoke in much the same way he had fallen asleep, except for the tears. He felt much better than he had for...ever, really. He was lying in bed being held tightly by a gorgeous man whom he very much adored. Draco was looking blissfully down at him,
"G'morning," he pecked Harry ever so gently.
"I'm so-"
"Don't apologize, you know I hate it. Besides, I'm glad that you trust me enough to lose yourself like that," he said truthfully. "Would you like to join me for breakfast?" he asked suddenly.
Harry smiled brightly. Not only did he finally spend the night with somebody, but now he was going out to breakfast with him too? This must be heaven. Reluctantly they pulled apart from one another.
"You need a shower?" Harry quipped, stretching his arms over his head. His eyes went slightly wide as Draco drew his wand from his pocket, and Harry was frozen. Is he going to hex me?
"Scourgify," the spell cleansed Harry's form; he even felt his teeth being cleaned as he relaxed. "Don't be so nervous," Draco cooed as he cast the spell on himself as well. Harry bumbled into the kitchen and magiced the tea mugs they had last night to clean themselves and be put away. He then turned to face Draco and found himself blushing- he didn't really know what to say. He had just cried in his arms last night, completely released himself, which was something he couldn't even do in Ron's presence.
"Well, are you coming?" Draco raised an eyebrow as he approached Harry, pulling him into his arms.
"Your flat is even less appealing in the daylight," he commented. Harry smiled goofily and nodded, and the two began out of his apartment.
"I don't know this part of London. Never near the Muggle area," Draco explained as Harry nodded and began taking the lead. The streets were busy now, mostly with kids going off to school and their parents to work.
They caught a street trolly down the road to a nice breakfast spot, secluded in a side street away from the traffic. They ordered breakfast together and as it came they ate and drank in silence. It was nice though… they shared small smiles from across the table and Draco even continued to rub his foot up against Harry's, causing him to blush.
"I must be the bringer of poor news," Draco said as they were nearly finished and Harry looked up at him curiously, "Tomorrow we are expected to be at King's Cross Station,"
"Oh," Harry merely responded. He knew what that meant. That meant they couldn't hold hands anymore, and that most certainly meant they couldn't interact really at all anymore. "No more silence," he whispered as an afterthought.
"Maybe...some days..." Draco sighed heavily. Harry knew how he felt- he wished school would just disappear, that they could stay how they were forever. "You know I'm going to need too..."
"I know," Harry nodded slowly, "You have a character to play,"
"I-I wish I didn't, but it will ruin my Mother and I've disappointed her enough already," Draco sighed and reached across the table to grab Harry's hand tightly in his.
"Let's just make the best of today, unless you have other plans?" Harry decided.
"No plans," Draco quickly shook his head. He had wanted to spend their last day of freedom together, savouring one another's company that warmed him so much. Their waitress blushed heavily as she brought them their bill, staring pointedly at their clasped hands. They ignored her as Harry paid with Muggle money and led Draco out of the breakfast shop.
Quietly they made their way through the streets. Their day was filled with nothing besides one another, as Harry brought them to a few of his favourite parks in the area. They observed the Muggles, something Draco didn't do often.
"What's that?" Draco quipped, pointing at a cell-phone a man was holding to his ear.
"It's a cell-phone. Communication device. Let's you talk to anyone, anywhere, anytime,"
"Kind of like the Floo Network?"
"Kind of," Harry shrugged, he didn't really know how to explain Muggle devices to Wizard's. It was so strange to him that they didn't understand their technology.
The day slipped on by too quickly in both of their opinions and they convened at the Leaky Cauldron after having a quiet dinner. Draco was glad to be back near Wizarding folk, even if it was just for one day he had gone about Muggles he wasn't entirely comfortable with it. They sipped the drinks Tom had conjured up for them slowly.
"So ,what are you going to do after this year?" Draco asked Harry.
"I always thought I would make a good Auror,"
"You'd be great," Draco interrupted quickly, but Harry was frowning.
"I don't want that anymore, though. I'm kind of sick of it," he admitted sadly, "I could always apply to be a Professional Seeker but, I don't want the attention anymore either. So I really have no idea what I could do. What about you?"
"I already have my life set out for me. I am a Malfoy, I have my connections I need to establish. The Estate is quite the business to take control of," Draco muttered- he definitely wasn't too happy about where he was going, Harry could tell "There's got to be something else you could do," he urged, wanting the attention to turn away from him.
"Well I always had this idea but...it's stupid, really," Harry shrugged it off, taking another sip of the alcohol that familiarly burned down his throat like acid and fell into his stomach, making his head hazy and memories less prone to surface.
"What is it?" Draco asked softly, his hand on Harry's thigh.
Harry blushed. "I always enjoyed the lessons I took nearing the end of the...nearing the end of it. I liked duelling, and I even got so good that I beat Dumbledore," he chortled at the memory of it as Draco looked shocked but he didn't seem to realize his expression, "I always thought that maybe after Hogwarts I could open up some kind of Duelling School, y'know? An extra-curricular activity people of any age, gender or blood status could take. Physical, magical and tactical lessons," he finished with his cheeks heated, he had never admitted that aspiration to anybody before - barely even himself.
"That sounds wonderful, Harry," Draco squeezed his leg and smiled gently, "I think you'd be a great teacher. And it's something nobody has done before, it sounds like it'd be a hit," he assured.
"Really, you think so?"
"Think so? I know so," Draco leaned over to kiss Harry but the boy slightly backed away, and he knew why and sighed, lowering his head. There were too many people in the Leaky Cauldron that could see them and report it to the Daily Prophet. It was too risky.
They distracted themselves from wanting to liplock by guzzling down their drinks, one after the other. They barely spoke and if it was, it was nonsensical. They exchanged glances most of the night, omniscient looks of mutual feeling. Tom continued refilling their glasses but at the point when he refused to give them more Draco turned on him with a slurred speech
"It's our last night, Tom! Please just give us a couple more! We won't be back to bother you again!"
"At least not for a year," Harry mumbled with a small grin.
Tom regarded the two youths and pursed his lips before nodding slowly in agreement as he replaced them wearily with two more drinks, they were swaying on their barstools by now. "How did you get so convincing?"
"It's called cunning," Draco snipped, "and I am a Slytherin, afterall,"
"Yes, yes you most definitely are a snake," Harry smirked
"Would you like to see just how much of a Slytherin I can be, Harry?" he purred, his hand travelled from Harry's thigh upwards until...
Harry screeched and jumped up from his seat and blushed a deep crimson red, his drink had fallen from his hands and the alcohol was soaking his shirt and the counter top. Tom looked over at him disapprovingly as he smiled apologetically.
"I think you boys have had enough," he ordered sternly. Unfortunately, he wasn't going to budge this time.
"But-but-!" Draco began, but Harry silenced him after he had cleaned himself up with a quick few charms and grabbed hold of the blonde's shoulder, for support if anything.
"Let's go for a walk," he suggested, and some kind of mischievous glint appeared in those silver eyes. They paid their tabs and went back out onto the streets, Draco had his arm tightly around Harry's waist and was pulling him as close to him as possible.
"Draco, don't you think you drank-" Harry began, his own head foggy and speech slurred. But his sentence was cut off as Draco turned and flung Harry harshly up against one of the brick buildings they were wobbling past. His mouth covered Harry's possessively, heatedly, and his tongue forced it's way inside. He pressed his body close up to the other boy's and eagerly kissed him, his arms wrapped tightly around him.
Harry moaned as pleasure erupted somewhere deep inside of him; he kissed fiercely back unawares of how public they were. It was late at night after all, he had no worries. None whatsoever, as Draco flooded his mind with pleasure. He bucked his hips up against the beautiful blonde who groaned and pushed back into him, Harry's hand was lost in Draco's soft platinum hair and the other one was gripping tightly at his hip, urging for more. It all felt so right, so right that neither had to question it. Finally they broke apart gasping for air, their faces flushed and hearts beating in their throats rapidly.
"Would you-"
"I'd love to," Draco cut him off and leaned down to kiss him hungrily once again. When they broke apart this time, Harry was leading Draco wobbling through the streets and towards his flat. It took them a lot longer to get there, considering their drunken nature and Draco repeatedly stopping to lavish Harry with another bout of kisses.
When they finally reached Harry's apartment building, Draco threw him up against the wall again and his hands raked up his shirt, feeling the toned flesh beneath it as his pleasure grew. Harry threw his head back only to have his neck ravished with kisses, nips, sucks and bites. He moaned and closed his eyes, lost in the sensation. This didn't feel like anything him and Marcus did, it felt so much more heavenly and so much more perfect.
Harry yanked Draco down the apartment corridor and towards his own flat, only to throw him up against the door harshly and ravish him in return. He bruised the blonde with kisses, leaving love marks trailing on his neck, his collar bone. Harry's need was heightened by Draco moaning his name in whispers in the hallway, he fumbled for his key and unlocked the flat and the two boys fell into the room, wrapped around one another.
As soon as the door was slammed shut, Harry was up against it again. His legs were spread open as Draco grinded needily up against his pelvis, he was huffing and groaning as Harry licked the nape of his neck repeatedly. Draco made quick to remove Harry's shirt, throwing it forgotten on the floor as Harry did the same to his own cloak and blouse.
As they stumbled together, removing each others clothes between kisses and shared glances of passion, Harry slowly manoeuvred them into the bedroom somehow. He and Draco were down to their boxers now, but neither seemed embarrassed about this or was trying to hide it. Instead, Harry pushed Draco backwards down onto his bed, and the blonde fell and looked like an angel to his secret friend, lover. Harry smiled brightly before jumping on top of the blonde, claiming his mouth once more.
Draco pushed his hips up into Harry, groaning and losing himself in sensations and moments he could never have imagined in his wildest dreams. It was a feverish night as they lost themselves in one another, completely given up all of their pent up emotions and letting go of all the ill feelings they had felt since the Final Battle.
Somewhere in the back of it all, Harry's head was feeling scared, but his heart was feeling free.
Neither spoke or questioned as Draco removed the last bits of their garments, his mouth trailing kisses down Harry's abdomen. Neither wondered whether or not this was wrong because they simply knew. They knew it was right, that it was perfect. Draco was soon pushing his way into Harry's tight entrance, and the man felt blinding pain and pleasure all at once. He writhed beneath the blonde.
Draco made love to Harry, fast and soft all at once. He had been gentle, careful and considerate. They kissed heatedly between thrusts, their hands clawed at each other's bodies, their eyes hungrily raked over one another, and their souls lapped together in beautiful unity. Harry had never felt more complete in his life. He knew from just looking at Draco that he shared the sentiment.
When they were finished, they collapsed beside one another and immediately wove their bodies together. They kissed lightly, their chests heaved heavily as the sweat dried on their bodies. They were lost in each other as they fell into sleep, holding each other as close as they possibly could.
That night, Harry did not have his recurring nightmares of blood curdling screams, nor did he have visions of blood, death and decay. Instead in his dreams, Draco sat across from him silently, smiling with pure love and devotion in those liquid silver eyes. Harry smiled back.