A/N: This was originally posted on my tumblr. Here it is, edited and lengthened from the original.
Harry Potter disappeared shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts.
Hermione was, naturally, the first to uncover that he was alive and well after three years of searching, living on an island just off coast of France. Using her variations of the Marauder's Map, she was able to find him pacing on nothing but water (but perhaps that was justified with an unplottable island, she would tell herself). She refused to admit her confusion regarding his unexpected companion, Draco Malfoy.
Draco had been reported missing less than six months prior to her discovery. He had gone into hiding with his mother right after the war, both narrowly acquitted due to "Essential Assistance provided to the Order of the Phoenix" (or so Kingsley Shacklebolt would tell the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot). His mother had run into the Ministry atrium wringing her hands, demanding the Aurors find her son and bring him back to England.
She showed them her findings of months of searching for him all over Europe, turning up no sign of a trace anywhere across the continent. Even stranger still, she presented that he had left behind nothing but his borrowed wand- hers, she confessed- and a note.
Thank you. Be safe.
The insistent rapping at the door refused to stop. Honestly, who was trying to visit in the middle of a thunderstorm on Christmas? Draco hauled himself out of bed, dragging himself toward the door, bloodshot eyes wide open and flaxen hair sticking up like–
"Potter?" His stared and gaped, irritation faltering slightly.
"Evening, Draco." His voice was confident and steady, offering Draco a small smile of reassurance. Never mind that he was drenched as it poured outside. Never mind that he seemed to be bleeding. Never mind he was–
"Aren't you supposed to be missing, Potter?" Aren't you supposed to be dead? He rubbed his eyes, hoping he was dreaming. The Boy Who Lived, standing on his doorstep, ha! When he refocused his vision– well, he could barely focus when there was a long stick in his face, could he?- his eyes came to rest on a familiar memory of his childhood and the long-placed sneer on his face faltered. He looked up.
"Take it." Potter had extended his old wand further and Draco could feel the magic thrumming off the familiar wood. Hawthorn. He reached out a trembling hand, as if Potter's skin would burn him. He wasn't stupid enough to trust someone who was supposed to be dead, startled to find the wand was perfectly solid and corporeal.
He sighed leaned against the door frame.
"Where have you been, Harry? I– Everyone's been looking for you," Draco was quiet as Po– no, this was Harry standing in the rain outside his house, grinning like an idiot as he always had, reaching out to touch Draco like he always had. Like he always would."I'm here to get you," Harry pulled Draco out into the rain with him. Draco held his tongue, shifting with discomfort in the rain and allowed Harry to pull him close into his arms, looking up at him and wondering where he had been, wondering what had held him back and why he was late but even in the rain, his eyes were so fucking green and he was so warm and he was still smiling like an idiot when their lips met and it was perfect. Because Harry was here and Harry would take him home.
Within a year of concentrated research Hermione was confident that she had the apparition coordinates to find Harry and bring him back. Opening her eyes and finding herself surrounded in greenery and with a house visible through the trees, she grinned to herself and set out to find her best friend. She half-expected him to run toward her and throw himself into her embrace, as if he'd been waiting to be found. Perhaps he was out flying.
She was quick to learn what a few years could do to a person. She was even quicker to learn that her Harry Potter no longer existed in this place.
This man with the same unruly hair had pushed her away immediately, placing a portkey to London in her hands each time she has tried to visit. He had so many– she has accumulated no less than twelve since her first attempt– buttons, fridge magnets, ink pot covers, chess pieces. He came out to give her a new one in the morning, and she dropped to her knees in a silent surrender, grasping his icy hands and begging him to let her stay. You're not Harry Potter, she rasped out, You can't be. When he didn't respond, Hermione began to plead. Will you just look at me, Harry? Please?
He does, and she nearly sobs with relief and horror mixed into the shock. They are lifeless, dull and they try to tell her his story, far beyond her comprehension. The back of her neck prickles as they bore into her, a stare so empty yet full of a sorrow she does not know. He steps aside and shows her to the house. He makes no attempt to greet her, but she is grateful.
She has watched him for days, perhaps weeks now, bewitched by the mystery. Come home, she has pleaded, but he continues to regard her in silence, his eyes glazed over, his dark locks in twisted disarray. Their meals together– Harry, please, you have to eat– are quick and he leaves abruptly each time, vanishing into his bedroom and refusing to see her.
Sometimes, she hears him cry through the thin walls of the shack. Sometimes he breaks the glass in his room. Sometimes he is completely silent and Hermione worries. Yet, he always comes back to her, he is always there and always looking at her and imagining someone else.Sometimes, he remembers her, and his eyes flicker with recognition before they falter again, and sometimes he doesn't know who she is. Hermione watches him and she can see the pieces.
She cannot fix him. She doesn't know how.
"Draco, there's a nice tide today." Draco stands in the kitchen, finishing up some pasta.
He hums softly as Harry comes up and wraps his arms around him. He wonders aloud if there will ever be tourists visiting them on their island. Harry turns him around and laughs at this. "Only if you want them to." It was around this time that Harry would stifle his laughter to look at him seriously. For this, he was grateful.
His brow furrows as he considers this. It's awful, really, the idea of muggles invading the island and contaminating the magic. Perhaps they will get lost and eaten by a venomous tentacula down south on the island. Merlin knows they deserve it.
Harry presses a kiss to his forehead and Draco throws the notion out the window. "I like it like this, Harry." He offers a smile, returned weakly, and Draco breathes deep. Harry looks out into the water for a while and Draco mimics him carefully. He sees nothing but the infernal birds sitting on their boat again.
He nudges Harry slightly. "You have to eat, you know. The food isn't going to stay warm and I'm pants at warming charms." Harry is silent and Draco knows that this is dangerous. He knows that this is Harry's and Harry's alone to handle. He reluctantly begins to walk away, toward the living room as Harry calls out to him.
"Draco?"
"Yeah?" He glances back, hopeful.
Harry is smiling at him and Draco can't help but quirk an eyebrow, knowing that something particularly exceptional must've happened out in the water today. They stand for a moment, sharing everything in their gazes. Let me help you, Draco thinks as hard as he can. Harry opens his mouth and shuts it again, finding the right words.
"Draco?"
"Right here, Harry." He doesn't dare to move.
"I love you," Harry finally says, leaning to rest his arm on the kitchen counter.
Draco is sure that he has stopped breathing, because he can't damn well remember how. He must look a bit like a fish, since Harry is chuckling and watching him like he's the most important person in the world–
"I mean it. I love you," he repeats. "Don't forget it."
And he breathes easy again. Harry turns out to the sea and Draco moves in next to him. He leans over and kisses Harry's ear and everything feels right.
"I love you, too." He breathes. "But you already knew that."
She knows Harry wakes early, padding down to the beach with a quill, ink, parchment and a blue glass bottle every day. Hermione tries to watch from the patio, but Harry does not write as long as she is watching. She has searched the house– Draco Malfoy may have been here, but any traces of his existence in the house have since been removed. Even with Harry's clothes on the bed, the house seems to be empty and devoid of life. As if it has been for years.
As she comes back to the patio, she sees him rolling up pages of parchment and tying them with a satin ribbon, stuffing it into the bottle with as much force as he can muster. Pressing the gentlest of kisses to the cool blue surface, Harry flings the bottle into the ocean. He charms it to sink.
She wants to understand.
"What did you write?"
"That I love you." He grins.
"You great prat, I can't fish bottles out of the water."
"Should we sink it, then?"
"Yeah. Let's do that."
"The merpeople are going to hate you for this."
"..." He knows. But who could have found that note? They would take Harry away from him, back in England, where he was the Chosen One and he was an ex-Death Eater. They were impossible.
"..."
"Harry?" If the ridiculous message were to reach the shore, he had to do better than this.
"Hmm?"
"I love you, too. Pass me a bottle and parchment, won't you?"
The day arrives when Harry has gone out to write his letters and Hermione sits in the living room, sipping a cup of tea. She is worried, but cannot stay, cannot change and cannot sit to watch her Harry waste away in front of the sea. She refuses to admit that she is scared of what Harry has become, she refuses to admit that she is helpless.
She refuses to admit that her Harry is dead.
A blue bottle comes flying through the window, neatly landing at her feet. She recognises the cool gray-blue tinted glass immediately; the colours of his eyes stare at her from the slim container and a terror sinks in her stomach. Running on to the patio, she barely misses the unmistakable head of Harry Potter sink below the waves. She screams for help even though she knows it's no use, because he is determined to die and she cannot fix him.
She screams until her throat is sore and her voice is hoarse, crying and praying for him to resurface. Wading and diving under the water, there is no sign of him. She collapses on the beach and she swears to find them both. Someday. It will be done.
She drags herself out of the water, dripping the salty tears mourning the deaths of masters. Slumping over the couch, her foot nudges the same cursed bottle, holding nothing but a single sheet of muggle paper with a pencil-written letter. She reaches down and considers crushing it, considers sinking it in the sea like she had watched Harry do hundreds of times. Harry owes her this, she decides, and he will allow her to open the container.
Her fingers tremble as she pulls the cork out of her bottle, shaking as they pull out the letter. She sobs without reservation, for the loss of her friend, for the loss of her brother. He owes you, she steels herself. Don't be so guilty about it.
Unrolling it, she chokes on her tears and her vision blurs. She knows that she will never tell anyone else, and keep the final secret of Harry Potter. It was almost poetic.
Draco,
It's been a year, now, hasn't it? I miss you. Are the merpeople treating you well? I don't know if you're there with them, or if you've been beside me all this while, keeping me company. Stay with me, I feel you here when I write. Please don't go away. Stay, just for now.
It's lonely without you. Hermione has come to visit me, although I don't know how she found our secret place. I don't want to ask her unless you want to know as well. I think she wants to know how I managed to get away. I wonder if she'll remember that you came with me. I know she won't ever discover how much I loved you, though. I suppose they're better off not knowing what kind of relationship came out of the war. I don't want to give them a hard time.
I wanted to show you off to the world, you know. I still want to. If you come back, I will. We'll go home and I'll protect you from everything. Just come home, Draco. Your mother has returned to the manor, you know, we should pay her a visit as soon as we can. Blaise and Pansy have written me letters to send to you, I hope you've gotten them safely.
I'm going to look for you again. I think I wasn't looking hard enough last time– I ran out of air. I hope you're happy, though. I'll come and see you again and I'll tell you everything you want to know. I promise.
Potters don't break promises, right?
Hermione returned to the island months later to find the house had collapsed. Within the rubble, she found nothing but ink, quills and parchment and Harry's triwizard egg. She would later learn that Harry had been sleeping curled around it for months.
Many more months later, she finally uncovered Malfoy's old hawthorn wand buried under hundreds of blue glass bottles, protected in Harry's old Hogwarts trunk. Picking up the slim black rod, she examined the long crack formed down the middle of the wand that defeated Voldemort. She cried when she saw the lightning bolt carved into the wood, the incredible likeness of a scar.
Wait for me, wherever you are. I'll come and get you, like I promised, remember? I always will.
I love you, don't you forget it.
Harry
Harry Potter disappeared shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts.
Hermione Granger-Weasley was the only person who ever learned why.