Authors Note: What if? What if Harry was a Horcrux? What if he knew? What if he destroyed Voldemort's soul, and his own in the process? And what if, before he died, he wanted to reveal his innermost secret? Just in case…
Narrative
Draco's thoughts
Harry's thoughts
Hallelujah
It was one of those days – one of those spookily regular days where everything was so much the same, so eerily repetitive, that the deja-vu was almost tangible in the fresh spring air. It was one of those days where the sun was just that bit too bright, the sky that exact shade of blue that almost blinds you. It was one of those days where you felt as though you were not really living, but dreaming. Dreaming of eating, walking, running, learning, teasing, loving, hating, screaming -
I feel like I'm dreaming of a life unlived…
Draco Malfoy lay sprawled on his back, sun warming his pale skin, long grass ticking his ears and soaking his robes in early morning dew. "The night is passed; the rain is gone, leaving behind a new day, of dreaming and hope… The sun is already shining with promise…" He murmured to himself, and then grimaced. He rolled the line around his mind a few more times (just in case), but quickly filed it under Pretentious Crap Never to Be Revealed On Pain Of Death, and buried it deep under his occulumency shields. There was no way in hell his godfather was getting his greasy hands on this rare pearl of Gryffindor sentimentality, so there it would stay, lamenting in the fathoms of his Slytherin mind, accompanied by several other rejected phrases, such as: "My heart beats with the rhythm of yours alone", "Your eyes are greener than the greenest grass, alit with springtime sunbeams", and of course the unutterable, "I love you".
He frowned once more, and shook his blonde head before casting a drying spell on his dew-damp robes and skin, and hurried back to the castle, where the early sunrise was bleaching the deep grey stone the soft colour of pebbles on the seashore.
Once inside the castle he was quickly met by his house mates, but kept walking, his purposeful stride never faltering as he dismissed Pansy's attempts at conversation, and Blaise's efforts to discover what he was doing outside. The closer he got to the heavy oak doors of the Great Hall the taller he seemed to stand. His previously drooping shoulders straightened, and his head remained high and proud. It could never be said that Draco Malfoy didn't like to make an entrance, and today was no exception. His wand hidden in his sleeve, he merely had to wave his hand in a grand gesture of authority, and the great doors swung wide, drawing the whole school's attention in his direction.
Smirking that simply delectable smirk-
He stalked the length of the hall, completely aware of the way the stained-glass sunlight glinted off his halo of angel-blonde hair, aware of the way his perfect robes billowed behind him in a fairly impressive imitation of the Potions Master's. He sat down gracefully, every movement like that of a ballerina. His grey eyes lifted from his plate, and he surveyed the students of Hogwarts, his face impassive, and his heart bleeding pain. How can it be? How can it be possible that none of these blind sheep before me are capable of seeing perfection when it walks directly before them? How are they so blind? Silver cutlery fell from pale, manicured hands, to the table with a clatter, that significant noise drowning alongside so many others in the general din that accompanies a Hogwarts mealtime. Draco ran a hand through his immaculate hair, the blonde strands falling awry as the fixing spell broke, disrupted by his magical signature. Sighing, he pulled him self together, and was about to stand and leave with another grand exit that no one even saw, when a voice from behind him gave him reason to pause.
Draco…
"Malfoy."
It was Potter. He whirled round, his mask firmly in place, even his eyes showing nothing but wary curiosity. Even his voice betrayed nothing of his surprise as he responded calmly. "Potter. You're a long way from home, aren't you, little Gryffindor?" He was suddenly aware of the thousands of eyes, stares burning into him, and had to swallow a cry of despair. They'll stare for Potter… The Boy Who Wouldn't Die. He doesn't even try, he doesn't even want it! Draco blinked, and gave himself an imperceptible shake. He knew Harry had been talking, his light voice washing past Draco like a summer breeze. Of what he said, however, Draco was completely ignorant. "Care to repeat that, Potter?" he drawled slowly, making sure to raise that one perfect blonde eyebrow. To his astonishment the wizarding saviour actually blushed, a deep red like crimson velvet, that spread from his cheeks to (from what Draco could see,) the tips of his ears buried beneath raven locks. Adorable. His astonishment increased when Potter didn't erupt into one of his rather magnificent temper tantrums, but simply (albeit nervously) repeated what he'd just said. "I asked if I could possibly have a word with you outside, please." Draco blinked, but quickly shrugged, playing it cool. "Anything you want to say to me, Potter, I'm sure you can say in front of my House." He smirked, suddenly looking somewhat devious. "And yours, of course, if they persist in listening so avidly…" Potters head whipped up, and he actually took a step back at the sight of a thousand eyes staring back at him. The blush rapidly paled, and he looked more like a ghost than a wizard.
Oh god I wish I could turn back.
He bit his lip, his eyes unfocused, and Draco felt a slight pang of sympathy. Potter actually looked as though he wanted the earth to swallow him up, and for once, Draco's mind was actually occupied with someone other than himself. The feeling unnerved him, and but for the unanswered, unspoken question, Draco would have hexed him and been done with it a while ago. As though reading his mind, Potter turned away, mumbling, "Just forget it". Understandably, Draco's interest was piqued, and he stood, knocking over his goblet of pumpkin juice. Ignoring the orange staining the table and his sleeve, he started forwards, the words "wait" and "please" just shy of tumbling from between his lips. Before he could speak, Harry whirled round again, his eyes shining oddly in the bright daylight. "Actually," said the saviour coolly, "Don't forget it. Merlin knows I don't care who finds out anymore. I honestly don't. I just… Well, really I just wanted to cling to whatever shred of dignity I had left – but no matter. I just wanted to say-" he broke off, looking as though the words he was about to speak were pure poison, as bitter as essence of Devils Snare.
Oh gods I cant do this. I really can't.
Suddenly, with a pang, Draco noticed that Potter's eyes were misted with tears, and he was shaking like an aspen leaf in an autumn gale. Maybe it wasn't fear or disgust – maybe it was just that the words he wanted to say were more precious to him than all of the fiery diamonds of this Earth. That the words tasted like sunbeams and cinnamon, and beads of shining glass, and he just didn't want to let them shatter. He was visibly struggling not to break down by this point, but managed to choke it out nonetheless. "Draco Malfoy, I wanted- I needed to tell you, I needed for you to know that… I love you." Brave, brave Gryffindor. "Very much. And I'm so sorry, but it's true." He paused, breathing shakily, emotions playing across his face – pain, confusion, shame, love, hope, fear… He was chalk white, and the tears are almost hypnotic. "I can't say I always have, because that would be a lie." So honest, Potter. Harry. "But I think it's fair to say, I always, always will." So desperately honest.
It is done.
He took a deep breath, and stumbled backwards suddenly. Draco reached forwards, seeker reflexes kicking in, and held him by the shoulders, keeping him upright. Grey eyes met killing-curse green, and unrecognisable emotions seemed to leap between them like electricity. Draco licked his lips and whispered, "Potter, why?" Somehow, he just knew that Harry would understand. Why did you tell me, Harry? Why now? What power on God's earth would make you want to do this? Draco's eyes were asking the question, and giving the answer. You now I can't do this, you know I can't love you back. Potter nodded slowly, apparently ignoring Draco's plea to leave at least one heat in salvageable sized pieces. "I couldn't… I needed you to know, before…"
Before I lose you for good…
Draco frowned, completely lost. Potters eyes were dancing like moths around a flame, desperately searching his face, as though willing him to understand, to appreciate the sacrifice – to love him.
Please, Draco, please…
Draco blinked rapidly, helpless and bewildered. He didn't know what the boy before him wanted to hear, so he just shook his head, the unspoken apology heartfelt and sincere. Potter's heart shattered, and part of his soul died, right there in front of everyone. His shoulders slumped, and his head drooped, and there was nothing left but despair in his once sparkling eyes. Draco opened his mouth to apologise, to comfort – anything to ease the hero's pain – but to no avail. For as long as Draco can remember, he had never seen Potter despair. He'd seen him heartbroken, afraid, angry – but never hopeless. He'd faced down trolls, mermaids, dragons, acromantula, hippogriffs, centaurs and giants. He'd never had a family; he's been hunted all his life. He's been tortured and cursed with all three unforgivables – and by the Dark Lord no less. Never once in all of this, did Draco see him give up. And I did this to him.
Oh god my heart is broken. I can barely breathe.
"Harry," Draco whispered, and the other looked at him, and he saw him. Isn't it ironic? I thought I was invisible. He saw what I prayed for someone – anyone – to see. And im turning him away.
Take it back, Draco… It's not too late… Please, take it back.
But Draco stayed silent, and the moment passed. Harry pulled something from his robes, something silver and shining like Pettigrew's cursed hand. He raised it to his head, whilst Draco stood and stared. What in hell was Potter doing? His wand was lying useless at his feet, so why was the mudblood screaming? Harry was whispering something, over and over and over again, and it sounded like a prayer, why would he be praying, now?
Please, oh please. Someone, help me, help me, save me, he's coming back, oh god not again I can't oh please Draco please don't you see please save me please
Draco looked around, and saw an astonishing sight. Everyone was crying, but nobody was moving. They seemed to be frozen, staring; as though the world was stopped stone dead in shock and fear. But why would they be so afraid of a shiny stick? Draco opened his mouth to speak, when Harry suddenly braced himself, his eyes screwed up tight, his jaw clenched, and Draco decided that whatever it was, it was a bad thing. And bad things should be stopped.
The next few seconds remained forever imprinted on Draco's mind. The look on Harry's face as he launched himself at the presumed weapon, the few seconds of fighting, tooth and nail, just like before. And the audible sounds of relief as he stepped back, the - what was it they were shouting? The "gun" in his hand. He looked up at Harry, who was kneeling and screaming and tugging at his hair, and frowned, spinning the gun deftly in his hands. It seemed like a harmless stick of metal. "Harry. I don't understand, what is this, why would y-"
The world seemed to shake with the noise.
That damned noise that never seemed to stop ringing in his ears.
The way the world seemed to shake as the gun bucked in his hand.
Everything seemed to end in that moment, as that red hot shard of metal tore through his shoulder, spraying blood like rubies.
He fell heavily to his knees, his head swimming.
"Harry," he whispered hoarsely, and he looked up into emerald eyes, one last time.
He could hear the saviour screaming, he could hear him crying, loudly.
Then Harry's arms were around him, his lips pressed against Draco's hair, and he was whispering softly to him.
"And fate has dealt me one last hand, betraying those of no-mans land. She knows the secrets, learns to trade, and we leave to the place where spirits fade. Soul-lights go out, and, and…" Harry's voice falters, and Draco knew he felt it. He was growing cold. His soul seemed to be turning itself inside out. Harry looked at him, and Draco felt like he was drowning in peace, and love and warmth. "It's okay, Draco. It's all going to be okay." His voice was shaking, and he was crying again. Am I dying? I think I'm dying. But it's fine, because he's here. "Harry."
"Draco".
Harry held him close, weeping as Draco's soul forced its way out of his bleeding, broken body.
And he was gone.
He's gone.
Oh Christ he's gone.
Harry stood, tears still falling. He'd done it again, got somebody killed. What was this, a curse? Was this Voldemort's ultimate torture? He looked round, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini were crying. Crabbe and Goyle looked like the sky was falling, which for them, Harry supposed it was.
It was falling on him, too.
His gaze drifted to Ron, who was holding Hermione close. Neither of them would look at him as he stood there, covered in blood and tears. Hermione looked up, and quickly buried her face in Ron's shirt, hiding her face as though she cant being herself to bear witness.
"Draco Malfoy." he breathed. "You were everything I ever wanted. My heart beats with the rhythm of yours alone. And as I dream of a life unlived, as the night passes and the rain is gone, leaving behind a new day, of dreaming and hope… The sun is already shining with promise… I wish I could see your eyes again. They shine greyer than a swallows back, alit with springtime sunbeams." His voice shook again, and he knew this was it. He would do what he set out to do. The prophecy would be fulfilled – and at such a cost as this.
He lay down slowly, taking Draco in his arms. The last words were almost silent, but for those that heard them, never has an arrow struck closer to the heart. "I love you, my beloved enemy. And I always, always will."
Then the world exploded in pain and light, and the sky was spinning and it was raining blood from the ground, and Harry was safe here, in his arms. His face tipped to the sky and he felt his magic burning. Somewhere, he knew, the Dark Lord was dying too.
And now Harry could rest,
Because he knew the sun would always rise.
And together they'll be,
For always.
Hallelujah.