Authors Note: -Sob- I can't believe I just wrote : This is rated for suggested violence/gore. Character : Only for OotP, after that it's non canonIf you just came here for the Harry/Draco smut then you will have to look elsewhere, because though Harry and Draco are the main pairing this fic does not go into detail on the physical part of their fic was inspired by the song Violet Hill by Coldplay, feel free to look up the lyrics but you don't need to, it wont effect your ability to understand the fic.
Violet Hill
"It must have been in December, the last day of the war, because I remember there was snow, everywhere…." Harry said, his brow furrowing as he tried to remember events that he had spent the last ten years trying to forget.
"That is correct Mr. Potter, the last battle was fought December 23, though I don't know whether there was snow that day or not" said the reporter, his eyes hidden behind the glare of his glasses.
"There was snow, all over the rooftops and some in the streets too, I remember that part clearly" Harry said, just thinking about that day made him shiver, it had been so cold, not even the adrenaline coursing through his veins and a strong warming charm had been enough to keep his fingers from turning slightly blue.
"Did you see the Death Eaters right away? Where were they located?" The reporter fired away. As much as he feigned nonchalance, he was ecstatic to have the opportunity for an interview with someone who had actually been there, the fact that the eye witness was Harry Potter only made the opportunity that much greater.
It had been ten years since the last battle in the war against Voldemort had been fought, and though the world had snatched hungrily at any tidbit of information they could get about the day, even now no one knew what had really happened in that little town. Nearly all physical evidence had been destroyed, the town completely flattened into the ground. The site was still there though, but it was nothing more than a few piles of ruble resting upon blackened earth. The people who had been there hadn't faired much better, those who weren't dead, insane due to sever post traumatic stress disorder, or in hiding, vehemently refused to speak of that day.
"The Death Eaters were in the windows," Harry said as the repressed memories started to trickle back in to the conscious part of his mind. "maybe they wanted to watch us freeze to death."
"Why were you there Mr. Potter? Why were the Death Eaters there? What was the significance of that little town?" The reporter asked, his quick quotes quill, which had already recorded everything Harry had said thus far, was now poised for whatever he said next.
"There was nothing significant about that town," Harry said, the memories of that beautiful place that was now just a blackened spot on the earth pained him almost as much as the memories of what had happened there. "that's why we chose it as a hide out, because we didn't think anyone would care to look for us there."
"Who is 'we'? How long were you hiding out there?" The reporter asked. Only the tense set of his jaw revealed the emotions he was working so very hard to conceal. Many people still felt bitter about that last part of the war, Harry knew. The Death Eaters had taken over and were terrorizing not just the wizarding populace, but the muggle one too. To add to the terror of that time period, their hero, Harry Potter, had disappeared for months, seemingly abandoning the people. At the time, Harry had felt terrible about it, but now he recognized that it had been the right decision to lay low for a little while.
"We, as in, Hermione, Ron, and I," Harry said, he didn't mention the fourth person that had been there with them.
Draco Malfoy switching sides not long before the end of the war had been a surprise to everyone, well every one that knew about it at least, which really wasn't that many people anymore. Shortly after their sixth year, when the war was really starting to get going, Draco had shown up on their doorstep, begging for forgiveness and a chance at redemption. After he had sworn his loyalty under influence of veritaserum, they allowed him on for a trail period. It wasn't long before he earned himself a permanent position in their group.
Draco's understanding of the inner workings of Voldemort's war efforts, as well as his new found passion to repent for past sins had proved him to be an invaluable ally. His surprising kindness, loyalty and not so surprising witty remarks proved him to also be an invaluable friend. Harry didn't want to reminisce about those days. He didn't want to think about all the hours they had spent together strategizing, he didn't want to think about all the times Draco had made him laugh, or the rare times when Harry had managed to make Draco laugh. It had been a quiet sound, but a happy one, and Harry could remember it perfectly. He tried to stop thinking about it, tried to stop remembering, but it was like trying to stop a flood.
All of it, everything he had repressed for the last ten years was now flooding his brain. Images, and scenes, like from some long forgotten movie flashed before his eyes, tinted by time and yet still vivid. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco crowded around the table discussing strategies; late at night studying the massive tomes Hermione had dished out; the endless hours of practice duels; sitting up late watching the fire with Draco; the night of his and Draco's first awkward kiss, irrevocably evolving their friendship into something more; the nights filled with endless anxiety; the days spent knowing everything would be alright as long as they had each other; the day he had realized he was in love.
He remembered, too, the day he had asked Draco if he felt the same. Draco had just smiled at him and pressed a tender kiss to Harry's lips, and then he said "Doesn't that tell you?"
Harry was roused out of the theatre of his minds eye by the reporter's next question.
"Could you try to explain the events of that day chronologically Mr. Potter?"
"We had left town early that morning, once a week we would risk going to the nearest wizarding center to get the news on how the war was going." Harry said. "I suppose we were lucky they chose that day to attack, otherwise I'm sure they would have killed us all in our sleep"
" 'They' is meaning the Death Eaters, correct?" asked the reporter.
"Of course it means the Death Eaters, who the bloody hell else would I be talking about?" Harry stated rhetorically, irritated by the reporter's attitude.
Harry had to close his eyes and take a deep breath before continuing.
"So, like I was saying, we were just returning to the town when we saw them. They were keeping an eye out for us from the windows of all the houses and buildings." Harry had to pause again, as the pain welled up in him again, threatening to overflow.
"I suppose most of the muggles were already dead by that point." Harry repeatedly told himself not to think about the bodies, but his disobedient mind did anyway.
"We contacted the rest of the DA immediately-" Harry continued before being cut off by the reporter's next questions.
"The DA? Who are they? How did you contact them?" The reporter's glasses glinted, as though they thought it was necessary to show a visible sign of the reporter's already apparent eagerness to know everything about that day.
"I really wish you would stop interrupting me," Harry said tersely, and the reporter had enough sense to at least look apologetic.
"The DA, stands for Dumbledore's Army, it was a group we established several years prior at Hogwarts. The DA was a group of students who found the current Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's lesson plans… rather lacking, and so participated in extra defense lessons outside of the normal curriculum. We contacted them through a charmed galleon Hermione made back in fifth year, a few of the members still had theirs on them, just in case. We would have called the Order too, but we didn't get the chance." Harry paused, again. hen he had agreed to this interview, he had had no idea it was going to be so difficult.
"What happened next?" the reporter asked, Harry could tell he was caught somewhere between fascination and impatience.
"It was foggy that day… it didn't seem so bad at first… but then it got so thick you could barely see where you were going." Harry said. He remembered, despite his attempts to not even think about them, the way nightmare scenes emerged from the clinging tendrils of the fog as they had tried to make their way through the town. He tried not to think about the bodies; but, like every other thing he had tried not to think about that day, he thought about them anyway. Most of them ended up in the thick snow banks that covered the small streets, their impressions in the snow looking like open graves. It was a terrifying environment, fighting, blood, screams ringing out through the shifting fog, and the bodies. Everywhere.
He thought about Neville then, too.
Neville had emerged through the fog, someone must have hit him with a powerful memory charm, because he had absolutely no idea what was going on or why he was there. He just kneeled there in the snow, staring out at the fog, begging for god to save him, or at least take him out of this hell.
Harry would have stopped to help him, but Neville took a spell to the back before he could get to him. It wasn't until several years later that Harry found out that Neville had miraculously survived the battle and after a long term in St. Mungo's had begun studying Herbology again.
He never did get his memories back though.
"Mr. Potter? Mr. Potter?" The reporter asked, and Harry realized he hadn't been listing, he had been too caught up in the past.
"Sorry, what?" Harry asked.
"I asked what happened next." The reporter said, clearly glad to have regained Harry's attention.
"Then we fought." Harry stated simply.
"Would you care to go into any more detail, Mr. Potter?" The reporter said, his voice not conveying the irritation he was secretly feeling over Harry's short response.
"They fired spells at us, we did our best to fire spells back at them. The fog made for hardly any visibility which only made things more difficult. Lots of people, on both sides, died. Is that detailed enough for you?" Harry asked, unable to keep the bitter pain out of his voice.
Harry thought about the Death Eaters then, like always, they had worn their masks for the occasion… but throughout the battle several masks were removed or broken off. Harry wished they hadn't been. It was easier to fight faceless bad guys, it was harder when they were people. It was harder still, when they were people you had been led to believe were good. People you had trusted.
Harry glanced at the reporter. He seemed to have been silenced by the harshness of Harry's last words. For now at least.
"I thought I was going to die that day, anyone who was there and didn't feel that way was already dead." Harry said. Remembering how, as they had made their way through the fog, he had thought about how he should have written a will. He wanted to be buried in the clothes he was wearing on that day, the day he thought he was going to die.
He remembered thinking about Draco, as they made their way through the fog together.
He had stopped Draco, in the middle of the battle, to ask Draco if he loved him. Draco responded the same way he had every other time Harry had asked that same question, by kissing him and saying "Doesn't that answer your question?"
"Eventually we found a building, City Hall I think, that was teeming with Death Eaters. We figured that was were Voldemort was." Harry said, too lost in the pain of the memories to even notice the reporter flinch at the name.
"We found a nice hiding spot nearby so that we could figure out a way inside." Harry said.
"D-…Hermione told me to wait in the hiding spot while they went and got a closer look." He had been about to say Draco, but then he had thought better of it.
"I was foolish, I didn't want to wait and hide while my friends were in danger, so I followed them." Thinking of that decision, and the consequences it had brought, felt like there was someone stabbing him in the heart, and twisting the blade.
"I found Voldemort on the rooftop" Harry said. This sudden skip of events seemed to bring the reporter forth from his previous silence.
"But how did you get to the rooftop?" The reporter asked.
"I found Voldemort on the rooftop." He repeated, unwilling to discuss the horrific trip from the ground up. "The building was pretty tall for a small town like that."
Harry could taste the saltiness of tears on his lips as they slid down his face.
Harry and Voldemort hadn't been alone up there, Draco had been there too. The Death Eaters that had been there as guards had been sent below, to deal with the distraction Ron and Hermione were managing to be.
The duel had begun immediately, none of them feeling in the mood to mince words at the time. Harry and Draco had to do the best they could just to not get hit by Voldemort's spells. They had done pretty well for a while, the shields and avoiding tactic had seemed to work pretty good, that is until Draco took one step too far and slipped off the roof.
Harry remembered the terror of that moment, felt it lance through his heart as if it were happening right then.
Harry remembered the overwhelming relief that flooded him when he felt Draco's hand in his, having reached over the edge of the roof and caught him. The tears were now a steady stream flowing down from his eyes, the salt of them stinging his chapped lips.
"Mr. Potter?" The reporter asked, sounding genuinely concerned over the fact that Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world, was openly crying. Harry didn't hear him though, he was too busy remembering.
Bent over the edge of the roof, desperately holding on to Draco's hand, admittedly put him in a vulnerable position, but he would have stayed there for the rest of his life if he was given the choice.
Draco didn't give him the choice though, he just blew Harry a kiss, and then let go of his hand.
Harry couldn't remember what Draco looked like as he fell, even though he stayed there watching for some sign of life even after Draco hit the ground.
"Then I killed Voldemort." Harry said, his voice shaking. He wasn't sure how long he had kept the reporter there waiting in silence, but he could tell that he seemed rather uncomfortable so it had probably been a long time.
"How did you kill him?" The reporter asked, clearly hoping to get back to more comfortable, and less silent, things.
"Avada Kedavra" Harry said, as though it was simple. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what spell he had used.
"And that worked on… on him?" The reporter asked.
"Yep." Harry said. The reporter seemed flustered by this information and he nervously looked through his paperwork, as if it held the key to him understanding how someone so powerful and so feared could be killed by something so simple. He seemed to find something to make him less uncomfortable though.
"It says here in this auror report that when they arrived at the scene they found your friends, Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, the only remotely coherent witness', and various other people injured and otherwise… but that you were no where to be found. Where were you Mr. Potter?" The reporter inquired.
"I was sitting on Violet Hill." Harry said. He couldn't remember the trip down the stairs from the roof, it didn't matter. What mattered was finding Draco's body down there, at the bottom. He had carried Draco to Violet Hill, a beautifull little hill just outside the town. In the spring, Harry knew, it would be covered in violets. At the time though, it had been covered in snow. He had carried Draco to Violet Hill, and there he had sat in the snow, asking him again and again the same question he must of asked Draco a hundred times before that day. Draco never answered.
"Where?" the reporter asked, but Harry was done talking to him. Eventually the reporter got the hint, gathered up his things, and left. Harry didn't notice, but even if he had, he wouldn't have cared.
The emotions Harry had kept dammed up inside of him had been unexpectedly unleashed by this interview. Harry had thought he would be able to control how much he would remember, thought he could control how much he let out from behind the dam. It hadn't taken long before that trickle of emotion had burst it's way past the dam turning itself into a full force flood. The thing about trying to stop a flood though, is that eventually you have to realize that you can't. The only thing you can do is just let it wash over you, and, yes, maybe it will drown you… but it just as easily might wash you clean.
"So if you love meWon't you let me know?If you love me,Won't you let me know?"