His arm in a sling, his footsteps faltering, Draco Malfoy slowly made his way out of the castle and across the lawn. Though he stumbled several times, his eyes were filled with determination as he hobbled down to the Quidditch pitch. The stands were empty, ghostly giants towering over him in the moonlight, their silence even more daunting as they looked down on the scorch-marked field. Ignoring his unease, Draco leaned his back against one of the goalposts and slid against it till he was sitting on the cold earth.
There he allowed himself to relax, breathing in the night air, its freshness diluted with the scents of burning plants and burning flesh, though the fires had been put out days before. His body ached with various bruises and cuts, with newly formed scars and healing bones. He knew he shouldn't be out of bed yet, but he couldn't stay in the hospital wing a second longer.
Hospital wing, he snorted. All of Hogwarts had been turned into a hospital wing thanks to the war, its victims filling up every empty space, and he'd had enough. Enough of their moaning, enough of their screams, enough of their tears, enough of watching still faces being covered by crisp sheets. He just needed silence. He just needed to get away.
"Nice night, eh Malfoy?"
Draco's eyes flew open, a shiver running through his body. It almost sounded as if. . . He shook his head. The hours in the infirmary were affecting all his senses. "Who's there?" he asked, his voice hoarse from smoke and shouting and grief.
"Just me, of course. Who'd you think it would be?"
Slowly, the pale head turned to see a familiar figure leaning against the goalpost next to his. Another chill ran through his body and his throat clenched nearly shut. "P-Potter?"
"Ten points to Slytherin," Harry smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just how hard did you get hit in the head?"
Eyes narrowing, Draco scowled at the young man as a rush of indignation filled his veins. "I didn't."
"So I was right all along. You are naturally this slow."
"Shut up, Potter. I just wasn't expecting to see you here."
"Probably figured I'd still be locked in the hospital wing, right?"
Draco turned away, unable to look at that face as he answered, "Something of the sort."
"Seems to me like you should still be there yourself, but then we've always been a lot alike, haven't we, Malfoy? Another minute in those uncomfortable beds, and we'd go mad."
"I'm not sure I haven't," he muttered, and Harry laughed.
"Well, if you have, then we both have."
"Wouldn't surprise me--you've always been just this side of sane. I'm sure it would only take a couple more steps before you walked right into an asylum."
"And just a week ago, I might have agreed with you, but the days of madness are over!" Harry said, voice filled with glee as he stepped away from the goalpost. Spreading his arms out wide, he spun around in circles until he grew too dizzy and collapsed onto the grass. "Voldemort's dead! The Death Eaters are on the run. The war is over! We're finally free!"
Still panting from his exertions, the exuberance faded from Harry's face as he stared up at the stars.
"I'm finally free," he whispered, then leaned up on his arms to meet Draco's eyes. "You have no idea how it feels, Malfoy! It's as if I've gotten a chance to start over again. A fresh start! I can do anything, be anyone! No more of this 'Boy Who Lived' crap! I've got my whole life ahead of me! I--I don't even know where to begin! There are just so many possibilities! What are you going to do, Draco?"
Tears were falling openly from Draco's eyes as he kept his head turned firmly in the opposite direction in order to avoid Harry's gaze.
"Draco?" Harry frowned, crawling over to him. "Draco, what's wrong?"
"Stop it! Stop talking!" he shouted as his self-control snapped. "Stop calling me Draco!"
Harry chuckled. "Is that what's bothering you? Come on, Draco! After all we've been through together, don't you think it's time we started calling each other by our first names?"
"After all we've been through. . ." the blond man said, a growing horror in his face. "Is that what this is all about? The way I used to torment you? Is this my punishment?"
"Punishment?" Harry asked, voice filled with puzzlement. "I'm just trying to make conversation here. Why would I want to punish you?"
Laughing harshly, Draco unsteadily pushed himself to his feet. "A couple months of being allies can't erase the past, Potter."
Harry just shrugged. "The past is the past. I don't care about it anymore--all that matters now is the future. Besides, you've more than made up for the past. I saw the way you blocked that curse that would have killed Hermione. I saw you push Seamus out of the way of that blast. You saved the lives of dozens during the war, including the lives of people I love. How can I hate you for that?"
"What about the lives I didn't save?" Draco cried out, his face harrowed by guilt and pain, shadows of self-loathing filling every pore. "What about the life that meant the most all?"
"You mean Ron?" Harry asked, then gave a sad smile. "Ron knew what he was getting into. He knew there was a risk of getting hurt, or worse. I wish he hadn't died, but I'm sure he left this life with no regrets."
"And you?" Draco whispered. "When you vanquished Voldemort, when the world exploded around you and seemed to end, did you have any regrets?"
Harry raised his eyes to meet Draco's. "Just one."
Swallowing hard past the tightness in his throat, Draco asked, "What?"
"That when I stood outside your door the night before the final battle, I didn't knock. Instead, I walked away."
Silver eyes held green for a minute, surprise and sorrow passing between them. "I would have let you in."
"I wish I'd known that," Harry said, his face breaking into a grin. "Then I would have spent that last night shagging instead of pacing myself into a jittery mess."
Feeling his legs about to give out from under him, Draco sighed and slumped back onto the grass. "There's no more time for old regrets, Harry."
"No, I guess there isn't," he said, sitting down next to Draco. Without bothering to ask permission, he lay down so that his head was resting on the other man's thigh. "We'll just have to create new ones."
"Yes," Draco said, smiling fondly at the tousled black hair, "I suppose so. You look tired, Harry."
"I am," he nodded, his eyes drifting closed for a second, but then the emerald irises appeared again. "I like it when you call me 'Harry'."
"Well, it is your name," the blond sneered, and Harry chuckled.
"Yeah, but for some reason, it sounds better coming from your lips. Draco, is it all right if I sleep here, for just a little bit? I guess I'm more tired than I thought."
"Of course, Harry," he said, lower lip starting to tremble. "You can stay here as long as you want."
"Thanks. I think I will."
The emerald eyes closed again, and Draco sat as still as he could so as not to disturb the resting man, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch the pale cheek.
"Draco?"
His breath caught in his throat at the soft voice. "I thought you were asleep."
"No, not yet. There's something I need to ask you first."
"Go ahead."
"Thanks for your permission," he smirked, and Draco rolled his eyes.
"Bite me, Potter."
"Harry."
"Sorry. Bite me, Harry," he corrected. "What did you want to ask?"
The green gaze grew unnaturally solemn and he took a deep breath. "Back in First Year, if I had taken your hand on the train—"
"You mean," Draco interrupted, "if I'd been less of a pompous git?"
"Exactly," Harry grinned before turning serious again. "If I'd taken your hand, do you think things might have been different?"
"Well, of course they would have been different! What sort of asinine question is that?"
"Do you mind?" Harry growled. "I'm trying to say something here. If I'd taken your hand, do you think that instead of spending all those years hating me, you might have learned to love me?"
"Oh, Harry," Draco said softly, his aching heart in his voice as his eyes once more filled with tears, "I always have."
Harry's face lit up with a wary sort of joy. "Really?" he asked, needing confirmation first, and Draco smiled.
"Really. I love you, Harry Potter. I think I've loved you since the moment I first met you."
"Good," he said smugly, closing his eyes, and Draco scowled at him.
"That's it? 'Good'? Don't you have anything you want to say to me?"
Harry shook his head, snuggling against Draco's thigh. "I think I'm too tired right now. Can it wait?"
"Don't you dare wait, Potter!" he shouted, panic threading his words. "Tell me now!"
"If I have to," he sighed, then opened his eyes, smiling at the young man glowering over him. "I love you, Draco Malfoy."
"That's better," he said with a superior nod, then his face softened into a smile, and Harry chuckled wearily.
"I'm glad you think so. And I'm glad I told you. Can I rest now?"
"Yes, of course. I'm sorry I kept you so long."
"You didn't keep me," Harry said, his voice lined with weariness, each word coming with effort, as if Harry had to push them from his mouth. "You were right. This couldn't wait."
"We waited too long as it is."
"Yes," he whispered, slowly growing still, "we did."
"Harry?" Draco asked with concern as the dark-haired wizard began to fade into the darkness. "Are you going to be okay?"
"Mm-hmm," he murmured so softly, Draco almost couldn't hear him.
"Harry, will I be okay?"
But there was no answer.
Draco didn't have to look around to know was alone once more and the grief-stricken man sat out on the empty Quidditch pitch until dawn, the last of his tears falling with the rising of the sun.
When the night had been fully chased away, Draco picked himself up and limped back to the castle. Despite his desire to stay on the pitch forever, he knew he couldn't. He was going to get some sleep and then help pick up the pieces of the aftermath of the war. The living needed him now. His time with the dead was done.
Completed June 21, 2004