They Were Tired
He was the Boy Who Lived.
And he was just plain tired.
He was tired of other people's expectations of him. He had grown sick of the stares he received, so much that he memorized the kinds; awe, amused disbelief and even disgust. He was too used to other people saying his name like a blessing or a curse.
"Harry Potter,"
"You're that boy,"
"Bloody git. That Potter thinks he's so high and mighty,"
Normal people would be over the moon to have others fawn over them; to speak their name with such reverence, Normal guys would extremely happy if they had girls send valentines to them; maybe slightly flattered if others tried to slip love potion in their chocolates in attempt to win their affection.
Not Harry. He was sick of it.
He did not want any praises or pats on the back; whether happy pats for winning the Quidditch Cup or comforting pats from his closest friends. He did not care the sneers or the eye-rolls he knew he received from the majority of the Slytherins. Worst of all, he did not want any pity.
Especially not that.
He lost too many things for his age.
He wanted his parents back. He wanted to see their smiles and wanted to feel their hugs. He wanted them to comfort him when he's down. He wanted to feel loved. Parents' love was not something that not even Molly Weasley's warm hugs and Ginny's understanding and loving look could ever substitute. Old photographs merely provide old memories and sometimes, memories were not enough.
He wanted Sirius; his godfather, back. He did not want to suffer anymore nightmares for witnessing his death. He did not want to wake up screaming and desperately clutching the mirror Sirius gave him to contact him; his face never appeared. He did not want to feel the guilt. It was eating him inside.
He wanted no enemies. He never asked for them. People like Draco Malfoy just came on their own. They seem to be constantly around him, existing only to make his life harder. Bellatrix was mad, Wormtail was a traitor and Professor Snape… ah well… he was just plain mean. He did not want to be the Chosen One. He did not choose his terrible destiny. He did not want to end up dying trying to kill the most feared dark wizard, Voldemort. But he was forced to, anyway.
Harry only had one simple wish. But his wish could not be granted, not even by a powerful spell. At least, not permanently, nor peacefully, for that matter. He could erase his memories or force himself not to remember, but that would not change the fact that so many people had died protecting him.
But all he wanted was a normal life.
He was just too tired, can't he get that much?
He is a rich pureblood; a Malfoy.
But truthfully, he was rather tired.
Draco Malfoy prided himself for having such a high status in life. He loved the fact that a lot of people adore, or at least fear, him and the mere mention of his surname. He grinned when he got what he wanted. He only had to give an airy wave or flick his fingers, and others; whether house elves or his 'friends', would come running to him to see what he needed. And this usually happened often.
And yet, he loathed all those facts. He hated it when he said his surname; others would take as an explanation rather than an introduction.
"Ah, a Malfoy,"
"Oh, you're a Malfoy boy,"
Never would he admit it to others, but he was lonely. After five rather satisfying years in Hogwarts, he was suddenly offered a post he once dreamed of having; becoming a Death Eater just like his father. He felt an immense pride within himself. Him! A teenager, hardly an adult. A Death Eater! He could serve the Dark Lord just like his whole family did. He could not stop smiling.
That is, until he heard his first task.
He was assigned to kill Albus Dumbledore.
He was confident he could do it. After all, Dumbledore was just an old man. Albeit, a very strong wizard, still, he's very old. How hard could it be?
But after all his plans failed, he knew the answer. He never felt so scared in his life. He could risk his whole family's life if he failed. He could not fail. He could not find peace in his heart. Not even his friends' concerns and feeble words of comfort could calm him. He felt utterly alone. He had to go through his fear without proper support. He wanted to be strong; he had to, but his heart was just as a fragile as a child's.
At last, it was all over. Dumbledore was dead. And he did not do anything.
Draco Malfoy was a brat, he knew he was. He detested and abhorred being ignored. He wanted attention; he relied on it to make him feel powerful. But when Harry Potter arrived, he felt left out and unnoticed. At least, not in a good way. He was desperate to be noticed again, so he felt the need to torture the boy. Sneer at him, push him down and make him feel that he was at the lowest of the low.
Yet, he did not feel satisfied. He did not want attention this way. He was raised to be noble, no matter if others say otherwise. But he did not really have a choice. He wanted his wish to be granted to he did the things that he thought was necessary.
Yet, Draco was getting tired for all of this.
They were happy.
Nineteen years had passed since the horrible wizarding war. Lives were lost but in the end, Voldermort was dead and Harry Potter emerged as the victor. Draco was safe within the arms of his family. The war had finally ended and now they felt at peace.
Both Harry and Draco were happy. The each had married their loved one, they had children they adored and loved. Both had finally received the love they deserved. Harry; who never felt love of a happy family, Draco; who was constantly in uncertainty of the attention he received.
They were happy, at last.
One autumn, they both went to send their children off to Hogwarts. In the midst of the nostalgic memories, they both caught each other's eyes. Green met grey for half a second. Harry could almost hear the message that came across the gaze.
"Long time no see,"
Then, Draco gave a curt nod and turned away. Harry nearly smiled. It seemed that the resentment they had shared throughout their school years were gone. They were finally civilized with each other. Both were secretly glad.
For the first time after many years, none of them felt tired. They were simply happy and content.
All was well.
Fin