The cool night breeze ruffled his hair as he stood on top of the hill. It was still hard to believe that there was no longer any threat, that he had fulfilled his role, his duty. He was free to live his life as he wanted, almost. Of course, he'd still be famous, he'd always be famous. To the outside world, he'd be known as The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, the "Greatest Wizard of our time and time to follow." There were many other names describing how he'd defeated Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, He Who Must Not Be Named. The only names he had for himself, his own infamy reminders, were the ones that told him how stupid he was, how childish and pathetic, how weak he must have been to let all those people die. All those people that he cared about… He took his glasses off and sank to the floor, tears forming in his eyes. He didn't know what was worse, allowing himself the luxury of crying, or holding it all in, taking it out on the people that were left. A sob escaped his lips, tears beginning to fall freely down his face. He allowed himself to think about all the people that had died because of him, to feel the pain of loss for all the people whose futures had been cut short because of him. He almost wished it was Neville that he'd chosen, then immediately took it back. He wouldn't wish this on another person, especially not Neville. Poor Teddy, now an orphan, just like he was. He'd never have the chance to get to know his parents, all because of him. He'd have to make do with photos and stories, all second hand, all regurgitated bits of information, always hearing about how wonderful they were, how much he looked like them, but never actually knowing. Neither Remus nor Tonks deserved to die in that battle, and they didn't want to either, despite what everyone said about it. There were no words of comfort for Harry, because he knew that no matter how much hot air was blown over the subject, none of them really wanted to die. Not Remus, or Tonks, or Fred, or Sirius, or Dumbledore, or Dobby, or Hedwig, or Snape, or Pettigrew, or Moody, or little Colin Creevy, or his mum or dad. And none of them deserved to, either. After Voldemort had singled him out, everyone of those people were expecting him to protect them, and he had failed. Stupid Voldemort, with his stupid ideas and stupid magic and horcruxes. Stupid. Poor Mrs. Weasley, for all she bellowed at them she loved both the twins dearly, and now she'd lost one. They all had. Everyone had lost someone dear to them because of Harry. Harry-fucking-James-stupid-Potter. But he'd lost the most – his parents, his godfather, his friends, and the only links to his past, all gone. The self-pity threatened to overwhelm him, take him under and swallow him whole. He wanted to let it, to take a dreamless sleep potion and never wake up. Everyone else slept better at night because of him, but his sleep was worse. His dreams were punctuated with visits from the dead, pointing an accusing finger at him, blaming him, staring at him with lifeless, glassy eyes, covered in blood which had dried and caked and was half hanging off, greying skin pulled tight around the bones as it wasted away and fell off, scattering great lumps everywhere, while Hedwig, feathers ruffled and dirty, swooped overhead, hooting dolefully as Harry frantically backed away, stuttering apologies, desperately trying to find a way to escape. But they always caught up to him, breath rattling, long fingers reaching for him. They'd tell him it was his fault, and that they were going to make him pay, pay for the terrible things that had happened to them, that they'd done for him to keep him safe, and he couldn't even keep them alive. He'd always wake up sweating, breath ragged, his cries of: 'No, please, stop, I didn't mean to!' met by Ron rushing over, his worried face looking pale and drawn in the moonlight. Ron was obviously telling the others in the order initially ('What's left,' he thought bitterly) because they kept coming up to him, telling him that it was okay, that it wasn't his fault, they knew what they were doing and nobody blamed him, and stared at him through puffy, red-rimmed eyes and smiling weakly when he nodded mutely. However, people stopped telling him that after a while, after the funerals had taken place and life slowly got back to normal for them. Two months later, however, Harry's life still wasn't 'normal'. When he wasn't sleeping he could hear Teddy crying out for his parents, and he was still haunted by the faces of the dead. Sometimes he went to visit the Tonks' household, Apparating there in the middle of the night, checking the shadows for remaining Death Eaters, only finding mice. Sometimes he'd go for walks, spinning round, wand out, to every slight noise he heard, only to find it was a gust of wind. Other times he'd come up to this spot on the hill near Grimmauld Place, just to sit and cry, or stare out over the glittering lamps of London. And once, just once after he'd woken up screaming, Ron had hurried to his bedside and hugged him, whispering soothing words he'd heard Mrs. Weasley use. When Ron broke the hug, holding him firmly by the arms, Harry had stared at him through watery eyes, seeing Ron fighting back his own tears.
"It's alright mate. Everything will be alright." Ron's voice had cracked slightly, and Harry thought his freckles looked remarkably pretty under the moonlight, and that Ron was being strong to make Harry feel better, that Ron really cared. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd leant forward and kissed him chastely, before pulling back as though he's been burned.
"Sorry, I… Just… Just… Sorry." Harry had wriggled out of Ron's grip and turned to face the wall, face burning in shame, trying to ignore the fact that a tear had made it's way down Ron's cheek. He felt Ron's weight move off the bed and heard him shuffle across the room. A creak of the springs told Harry that Ron was back in bed, and his guilt overtook. What was he thinking? Ron had Hermione, and he was meant to have Ginny. It was stupid. Stupid. Just like Voldemort. He wasn't even gay. Stupid.
He started as something brushed his cheek and turned to see Ron sat next to him, using his sleeve to mop up the tears that were steaming down Harry's face. Harry was surprised as they'd been ignoring each other since that night, except for civil conversation when in the company of everyone else. Ron had sat next to where Harry had knelt in the damp grass and was looking at him in concern.
"C'mon mate, you'll freeze out here. You can't keep wandering around in the middle of the night, it's not summer anymore you know. We're worried about you. I'm worried about you." The last part of his speech was quieter than the rest, and Harry barely heard it above the sound of the wind blowing past his ears.
"I didn't notice you sit down."
"Well, it's a good job the time has passed when half the wizarding world was out to kill you, eh?""Ron smiled broadly, and it struck Harry that this was the first real smile that he'd seen since the battle had ended, and that the conversation between them wasn't stilted like before.
"Listen, Ron, about that night, when I screamed, and you came over, and then I…" His voice trailed away and he waved his arms about, unsure how to articulate his thoughts.
"Nah, you're alright mate. At first I thought that it was a spur of the moment thing, but I know you better than that. Don't worry about it. Seriously," he added, noticing that Harry was opening his mouth to speak again. "I kinda liked it, actually. Always have." Again the latter part of his speech was muted, and he grinned sheepishly and looked away. "Just didn't know how to tell you, didn't know how you'd react. Not told anybody, actually. 'Part from you, best friends privilege and all that. Don't tell anyone, will you? I don't know what I'd do if Hermione found out and I wasn't ready to tell her." Ron's gaze met his own, blue eyes meeting green. Harry mouth just kept opening and closing. So Ron thought he was gay? But he wasn't! He'd seen him with Ginny, surely? He knew that he and Ginny were eventually going to sort themselves out, once the raw pain inside of Harry's heart had healed. Harry shook his head, half promising Ron, half in shock that he actually thought that Harry could seriously be gay. He'd had dreams before, of course, what boy hadn't, but he'd never acted upon them, never wanted to find out if anything in his dreams to do with guys felt the same in real life.
"Good. Thanks mate. I don't think you're gay by the way, that's not what I meant earlier. I just thought you might be curious. I mean, I heard the things that you used to moan sometimes in the dorms. Some of the other lads did, too, but I stuck up for you, stopped them from questioning you about it. I figured that you had enough on your plate at that time. But, now that you've fulfilled your destiny, and have a bit of time on your hands…" Ron shuffled closer. "All I'm saying mate, is that if you ever wanted to experiment, I'm here for you. 'Coz, you know, you're actually a bit of a hottie, when you're not covered in Basalisk blood, or dirt, or your own blood, or out battling evil wizards and what-not." The corner of Harry's mouth twitched, and he suddenly wondered what it would be like to kiss Ron properly. His eyes drifted down Ron's face, settling on his mouth, and watched the corners twitch slightly. It had been a long time since he and Ginny had done anything like that, even kissed. And this would be strings free, as far as Harry wanted it to go, whenever Harry wanted it, as far as he could tell, and no-one else would know. It could only strengthen the bond of their friendship, as far as he could tell. Ron clearly wanted it too.. Subconsciously, Harry liked his lips.
"What do you say mate? I won't be offended if you say no or anything, just thought you might like some… release." Ron's voice was deep and warm, and Harry completely forgot about his misery of earlier as he watched the breath condensate as it came out of Ron's mouth. Before he knew it, he was moving closer, and their mouths met, and the next thing Harry knew, he was kissing his best friend gently. Slowly, Harry bought his hands up to Ron's chest – he'd forgotten how much muscle was under that shirt – and he relaxed as he felt Ron slip an arm loosely round his waist. To his surprise, it was much better than kissing Cho or even Ginny, and the contrast between the cold, cold ground and Ron's warm body was pleasing. He tasted slightly of firewhisky, Harry noted, and that he needed as shave as his stubble was rubbing against his own smooth skin. Ron went to pull away but Harry was in the full swing of the kiss and followed, deepening it as the pair of them ended up lying on the ground, Harry straddling Ron's as it was the most comfortable way to sit. Ron's other hand crept up to tangle in Harry's hair, and they stayed like that for quite some time, and Harry got lost in the feeling. It wasn't pleasure, but it wasn't the pain that he'd been feeling recently, so that was fine by him. It was a feeling of nothing, and feeling nothing at that point in time felt better than dealing with his emotions to Harry.
"C'mon mate, I need to breathe." Ron's lips moved against his and Harry felt, rather than heard Ron mumbling. He didn't seem too annoyed though, and Harry broke away, panting slightly. Ron broke out into a big grin.
"I wasn't expecting that reaction, I'll be honest. No-one wonder Ginny's so possessive, if you always kiss like that! Or was that a special, 'best-friend' kiss, reserved for me only?" Harry blushed slightly as Ron chuckled and flipped him over.
"Let's see how much you like being squished while being kissed, eh?" Feeling wicked, his blush fading, Harry grinned back before flipping Ron over so they went tumbling down the hill, clinging to each other and laughing wildly until they reached the bottom. For that short moment, Harry could forget all that happened, forget all the people that had died for him and felt like an ordinary boy, leading an ordinary, if somewhat magical, life.
**************
Draco Malfoy awoke with a start, his heart hammering. Something told him that the usual deathly stillness of the house was off, although he heard nothing. Quickly packing a trunk in the darkness with a wave of his wand he stole out of his room quietly, making his way along the hallway to his mother's room with his trunk floating along behind him. He was about to open the door when Narcissa did it for him, an identical trunk hovering effortlessly behind her too.
"The Death Eaters that are still evading capture are coming Draco. The manor only protects us from enemies, not those we called friends. We must leave." The strained tone of his mother's voice told him not to argue, and he nodded quickly, following her as she crept along the hallway away from their rooms before tapping on the panelling with her wand to reveal a secret room. Hurrying inside, Draco spoke.
"Why are they coming here mother? Refuge?" Narcissa gritted her teeth as she spoke.
"How can you be so naïve, Draco? They are coming for revenge. They blame us for the Dark Lord's downfall, and the consequent capture of the remainder of his followers. Even though your father is in Azkaban, they are coming here to find us because a life of solitude and madness for Lucius is not enough for them. They hold us personally responsible, because I lied about the death of Harry Potter in order to come and find you, to keep you safe, and you – well, you were the rightful owner of the Elder Wand, until you let him disarm you."
"The Elder Wand, mother? But that's just a legend, surely? A tale for little children."
"No, Draco. I'm not sure how it came to be in Dumbledore's possession, but it was his. You disarmed him, making it yours. Then Potter disarmed you, making it his. This is why the killing curse rebounded for the second time. Pure luck, on Potter's behalf. Now Draco, we must leave!" Grasping his hand and her trunk, Narcissa motioned for him to do the same. Storing his wand inside his robes, he did so, and his mother began to recite the Apparation spell. She was distracted by a loud bang, and the door to their secret room burst open, spells shooting in all directions. Narcissa let go of her son and immediately began on the offensive, pushing those that had broken through back out into the hallway.
"You must go Draco!"
"No, I cannot leave you here! I will help you!" Malfoy fumbled for his wand, drawing it to shoulder height as his mother whipped round.
"No! You must leave! Go somewhere safe, I will find you. Go! GO!" Malfoy began the Apparation spell again, clinging to his trunk for all his worth, his brain still thinking about the Elder Wand and Harry Potter. The last thing he saw before he swirled into darkness was his mother's face contorted in pain, caused by the people they had both once trusted. This fact alone made him more nauseous that the pulling of the enchantment that removed him from their view.
Harry and Ron were crossing the square to Number 12 when there was a blinding flash of light in front of them, and Malfoy collapsed to his knees, retching hard onto the grass in front of him. His trunk banged down onto the ground behind him, causing the lid to pop open and some of it's contents to spill out. Wiping his face on his sleeve, Malfoy turned and scooped his belongings back into his trunk, slamming the lid down and sitting on it, before noticing that Harry and Ron were stood a short distance away and jumped up immediately. They could tell that there was something wrong with him, from the way that his eyes were gleaming wetly in the moonlight, and the way that his voice broke as he spoke to them.
"Potter! I wasn't… Never mind, that doesn't matter. My mother… oh God, my mother… Please, you've got to go and help…" He collapsed back on to the trunk again, tears falling freely down his face as he sobbed unhappily into his knees.
"What do you think?" Ron spoke to him out of the side of his mouth, his lips still slightly swollen from before.
"I… I don't know." Harry pulled his wand out and pointed it at Malfoy, forcing confidence into his voice when all he really felt was bewilderment. "Pass me your wand, Malfoy."
"Go to hell, Potter. If you're not going to help me, then I'll need it to get back and save her." Malfoy stood up determinedly, his face set.
"What is wrong with your mother?" At Harry's words, Malfoy's resolution crumbled and he sank for the third time back onto his trunk.
"I… they… hurt… so much pain… Help her, please…" His voice was barely more than a whisper, but Harry caught every word. The moonlight was reflecting the slivery blond of Malfoy's hair, his pale, watery eyes, the tracks that his tears had made when they had run down his cheeks. For some reason, Harry wanted nothing more than to scoop him in his arms and protect him.
"Pull yourself together Potter. It's Malfoy, he was on the other side. One fucking kiss and you're gay now? Get a grip. Besides, you can't help or save everyone. You've got to realise that. If you can't save your friends, the people you love…" He spoke quietly to himself, not sure what to do. But, the little voice in his head said, it would give you something to do. Something to distract you from the pain that you're feeling inside. And maybe, maybe if you can help your enemies, you'll feel better about being unable to help your friends. Plus, he seems to really care. He didn't sell you out at Malfoy Manor to Bellatrix, surely that counts for something. And if that fails, reasoned the voice, at least you'll have your own in house punching bag. Without hesitating, Harry walked over to the stricken figure of the floor and whispered into his ear.
"The headquarters of The Order of the Phoenix is Number 12, Grimmauld Place." Malfoy looked at him, and then past him as the house appeared in the square.
"Get up. Bring your trunk. You will say nothing to anyone unless you are spoken to, and you will only answer their questions, do you understand?" Malfoy nodded, while Ron looked aghast.
"Harry, you can't do that! It's still Malfoy, no matter what has happened. You can't trust him as far as you can throw him!"
"I don't. But we can't leave him out here to freeze, either. Dumbledore saw some good in him and I am determined to keep that faith. If we find out it's a load of bollocks, well, then we can kick him out and we've not lost anything, because he can't tell anyone where it is, can he? And we'll have his wand, so he's not going to hex us in his sleep. Besides, I'm going to let everyone know and see what they think. See if we can all decide on what we're going to do with him." Malfoy stood uncertainly by the gate, holding his trunk lopsidedly, as though he was unused to carrying something so heavy. Ron bit his lip and fought back a retort, and Harry stood, turning to face the house before walking past Malfoy and running his wand down the front door. There was a series of clicks before the door swung open, and Harry stood impatiently on the doorstep.
"I'm not going to stand here all night waiting for you to wander up the pathway. Get moving, or I will leave you out here, I'm really not that fussed. I'd rather not have you in my house, anyway." Malfoy scurried up the path, heaving his trunk behind him, while Ron followed up the rear, wand pointed at the pale haired boy that was struggling in front of him. Neither Harry nor Ron offered to help him, allowing him to pull his trunk slowly up the stairs and through the doorway, scraping the bottom corner each step of the way. Once inside, Harry flicked his wand causing the trunk to float, before motioning Malfoy to follow him up the stairs. Sending the trunk before him, Harry made his way up to the very top of the house and pushed open the door to the smallest bedroom.
"You will sleep here tonight, and I will let you know what we plan to do with you tomorrow morning. I hope that your bladder is empty, because I'm not wasting another second on you tonight. The door will be locked once you're inside and it will stay locked until I see fit, do you understand?" Harry set the trunk down inside the bedroom, leaving Malfoy barely enough room to squeeze past and sit on the bed as he nodded despondently.
"Wait a second, there's something I forgot… Expelliarmus!" Malfoy looked shocked as his wand went soaring into Harry's outstretched palm, and made to grab it but Harry wrenched the door shut quickly, before muttering "Colloportus" under his breath and turning to Ron, who was still brandishing his wand.
"Are you sure about this mate? I mean can you trust him? You don't think you're just acting on your 'saving people' thing… Look, just because you couldn't help Fred doesn't mean that you have to help Malfoy."
"No, no and no. But right now, I am going to sleep on it and inform everyone else tomorrow morning that we need to have a discussion. And so what if I want to help Malfoy? Just because the curse backfired on me a second time… I want to know that I can do more than just get people killed." Ron nodded, but Harry could tell that he didn't really understand as together they made their way down the stairs in the darkness. Hermione's head poked out of her bedroom door as they walked past.
"What are you two doing walking around in the middle of the night, especially in the dark? Do you want to set off one of the paintings and wake everyone up? I could hear you clomping about so imagine what everyone else can hear."
"Just walking and talking, Hermione. It's warmer than outside, and there aren't any screaming portraits up here. I just couldn't sleep, that's all. I was keeping Ron awake pacing the bedroom, so he said he'd walk round the house with me. By the way, make sure you're up nice and early tomorrow morning, and let Ginny know too. There are some important things that we need to discuss."
"Besides Hermione, you are quite possibly the shallowest sleeper I've ever known. Anything wakes you up."
"Maybe that's because we spent months sleeping outside in a tent with only charms to protect us while we slept!" Hermione spat back, before yawning and closing the door while Ron and Harry continued on their way back to the bedroom. For once, Harry didn't dream of those that had died. Instead, a vision of Malfoy kept swimming into view, crying out for help, and Harry waved his wand at him as though he was a naughty school child, taunting him, enjoying the pain that he was feeling. At least, he thought, when he woke highly confused the next morning, he had slept the night through.