Friday, September 1, 2017
"He's here."
Harry hadn't realized he'd breathed the words aloud until Ginny's elbow buried itself in his ribs.
"Harry!" she hissed, "at least wait until your son is on the train before you start ogling Malfoy."
Harry winced, rubbing his side. Ginny's elbows seemed only to have grown sharper, over the past 19 years, and she never hesitated to use them. On him, mostly. Harry sighed. A quick glance at Ginny's pinched expression was enough to convince him that he'd best do as she said. He fidgeted from foot to foot, folding and unfolding a scrap of paper he'd dug out of his pocket, and tried to pay attention to Al's rambling. Ginny, bless her, had inherited Molly's penchant for warm, effusive greetings and leave-takings, so his abstraction wasn't immediately obvious. He mustered a half-smile for Al, a bit of hair-mussing, and that was enough affection for the eleven-year-old, who'd already suffered through his mother's embraces.
"Bye Mum, Dad!" he yelled, waving, as he darted toward the train. James had long-since run off with his friends. Harry sighed, remembering his own eagerness to be aboard, and patted Ginny awkwardly on the back when he caught her surreptitiously wiping away tears.
"He's so young, yet," she sighed.
Harry snorted. "No more than we were. Where'd Lil get to?" He peered around anxiously – the girl had a wild streak and was apt to be knee-deep in trouble whenever he found her.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "We left her with Mum and Dad for the weekend, remember? Honestly, Harry, Malfoy scatters your wits as much now as he ever did."
Harry felt himself flush. "I – it's not – I mean…"
"Oh, go on, then, before he gets away." She punched him lightly on the shoulder.
"Thanks, Gin." He smiled sheepishly at her. "You really are the best."
"And don't you forget it. Go on, now." She shoved him gently forward.
Harry stumbled over a loose cobble, and it took all his concentration to keep from going down. When he was sure of his balance, he looked up, directly into the piercing grey eyes that haunted his half-remembered dreams.
"Malfoy," he breathed, even though there was no way the man could hear him, standing as he was on the other side of the platform. Yet he stood frozen in mid-step, eyes locked with Harry's.
"Oi! Harry!"
"Yeah, Gin?" he called over his shoulder, not daring to turn away. Malfoy would run, if he did – he knew it in his bones. He couldn't let that happen. Not again.
Ginny's voice floated back to him through the cool September fog, exasperated and faintly amused. "It's your turn to pick up Lil. Sunday evening. 6pm. Don't forget this time."
Harry snorted. "That was once," he called back. "Yeah, OK. I'll be there."
His eyes had never wavered, through the exchange, and neither had Malfoy's, though he looked faintly puzzled. Of course, they hadn't stared like this since their Hogwarts days. Since Malfoy and his mother had walked away from the trials, after Harry had spoken on their behalf. They'd walked slowly, arms round one another, heads bowed. Bent, but not broken. Harry wouldn't let them be broken. He didn't know why, then; only that he would do anything in his power to keep Malfoy from breaking.
They'd seen one another in passing, since, of course. Across the room at Ministry functions. Shopping, on Diagon Alley. Quidditch matches. Faces jumping out at one another from magazines and newspapers. But that was the last time they'd looked into one another's eyes. Until now.
Malfoy's heated gaze was doing strange things to Harry's insides that he didn't understand. That he'd never felt before – only he was beginning to suspect that he had. The churning, fluttery feeling in his gut was at once completely unfamiliar and desperately, achingly familiar – and most definitely tied up in Malfoy.
Harry's palms began to sweat, and he felt his knees weaken. He licked suddenly dry lips and swallowed nervously. He took a step. Two. Each one uncertain, hesitant, inevitable. Malfoy's eyes widened imperceptibly, and he licked his own lips. Harry broke eye contact long enough to steal a quick glance at those lips, not sure why he did so, nor why the tip of Malfoy's tongue made his stomach soar and drop like he was on a rollercoaster. He wasn't sure of anything, anymore, except his own name, and Malfoy's. "Draco," he whispered, and the name felt strange on his lips, and familiar. Like he'd never said it before, like he'd said it every day. Malfoy – Draco – blanched when he said it, and Harry was close enough now to see how rigidly he held himself, how his hands clenched, how his lips trembled.
"Draco."
Draco closed his eyes, then, breaking their link, and Harry nearly stumbled again. He took another step forward to compensate – a larger one than he'd meant to – and suddenly found himself so close that he could feel the other man's body heat. He clenched his own hands into fists, to stop them reaching out, plucking at and smoothing fabric, carding through hair, cupping Draco's jaw – things he'd never considered doing before. Things he didn't remember doing before. But his body, it seemed, remembered. He closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent. "Draco," he whispered, and it was a question, a plea.
One heartbeat. Two.
Three.
Ten.
Harry's hand, stretched out without his knowing, trembled, hesitated. He didn't open his eyes. He couldn't – that would cement the rejection his body felt. And he realized that it would break him – it didn't matter that he didn't remember whatever it was that had happened between them. This would break him anyway.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. His hand fell slowly back to his side – empty. He didn't open his eyes. He nodded, once, acknowledging the rejection for what it was. An ending. And even if he couldn't recall the beginning, he found that the ending still hurt.
Harry turned, slowly, and walked away. He didn't open his eyes – he couldn't. Not yet. He navigated the platform by his other senses. Most of the other people seemed to have gone, anyway.
He felt a few soft raindrops fall, running down his face in cold rivulets. A few more. He didn't bother trying to keep them away – they masked his tears, sliding down his face in a salty rain of their own. He lifted his face up, opening his eyes to stare into the sky, to catch the rain. The moment he felt himself pass through the anti-apparition wards at the edge of the platform, he turned on the spot, carefully not looking around, and apparated home.
"He's here."
Draco stopped, staring, knowing he should look away but unable, as always, to do so.
"Who's here, dad?"
"Hmm?" He looked down, puzzled, into the quizzical grey eyes of his son. "Oh. No one." He patted Scorpius' shoulder gently, wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck.
Scorpous sighed and rolled his eyes, unwrapping it again. "Dad. This is how the cool people wear them."
"And I'm not cool, am I?" Draco feigned hurt.
Scorpius raised one devastating eyebrow at him. "Dad."
Draco sighed, internally, wondering when his son had picked up that habit of his. Whether it had annoyed his father as much as it annoyed him.
Astoria smirked at them both. "Now, now, Scorpius darling, do try and be civil. Your father had a bit of trouble making friends, in school, and I would like you to attempt not to follow his example."
"Hey!"
Astoria shot him a quelling look, tightening her hand on his arm.
Scorpius sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mum. I'll try to reign in my sarcasm and not alienate the other kids."
She smiled at him and kissed his forehead. "That's my boy. Run along, now. It wouldn't do for a Malfoy to miss the train."
With a cheerful wave at the both of them, he ran off.
Draco watched him for a moment, feeling strangely nostalgic, then turned, frowning, as Astoria pinched his arm.
"Who's here, Draco?"
"I don't know what you – "
She sighed. "Darling. We may not be married any more, but I can still tell when you're mooning over that Potter boy."
Draco felt his ears turning pink, and he nearly choked. "I – what? That's ridiculous."
He turned back to look for Scorpius to avoid her knowing smirk.
"Hang on – is that…"
Astoria snorted in a most unlady-like manner. "Why, yes, I do believe our son has locked arms with the younger Potter boy." She shoved him lightly. "I did tell you, didn't I? We ran into him and his mother when we were doing some shopping this summer. They hit it off right away, and we've met up several times since, to chat."
Draco spun to face her, horrified. "No. No way. You and Ginny Weasley?"
Astoria smiled smugly at him. "Ginny Potter, actually, as she chose to keep her husband's name after they split. It turns out we have quite a few similarities…"
Draco covered his ears. "Stop. Stop right there. I really don't want to know."
Astoria's laughter rang in his ears, her delicate apricot perfume teased his nose. "All right, darling. I'll spare you this time. I have to run."
He sighed in relief as he heard her heels clicking away behind him.
"Oh, Draco," she called softly, "I'd watch out, if I were you. He's headed your way."
Draco looked up in alarm, right into the startling green eyes of Harry Potter.
He struggled to breathe as Harry approached him, forcing his face into its familiar mask, willing it not to betray how much Harry's presence unsettled him. He was transported suddenly back to his Hogwarts days, where it felt like he'd spent every waking moment willing himself to hide how much the man affected him – had always affected him.
And then Harry was there, inches away, and it took everything Draco had not to reach out and touch him. It nearly undid him, when Harry whispered his name. He stared, frozen, at Harry's hand, stretched out between them in supplication. He closed his eyes to remove some of the temptation, but it didn't do any good. He could still feel. But Harry didn't know – couldn't know – what he was doing to Draco. How hearing his name on Harry's lips was his salvation and his destruction, all wrapped in one. He'd put up so many walls between them he didn't know how to take them down again. He didn't know if he could.
He opened his eyes again when he felt Harry's hand drop. Harry's eyes were closed, and his face – oh, Merlin, his face. Draco felt his heart breaking once more, in the same place it had broken all those years ago. Harry's face was crestfallen. For just an instant it was open, and Draco watched in horror as Harry's vulnerable expression crumbled, was replaced with steely resolve, cold mask slamming down over the features he'd memorized – loved – so many years ago.
Draco stood frozen as Harry nodded, once, mechanically, and turned to walk away, never once opening his eyes. He watched as Harry turned his face up to the rain, saw the raindrops running down his face, mixing with the tears, saw him spin in place and disappear.
Draco stood there on the empty platform, letting the rain plaster his platinum hair to his forehead, drip in icy runnels down his collar. He tasted salt on his lips, and wondered at the tears that slipped out of his eyes unbidden.
Draco hadn't cried in 19 years. Not since he'd wiped his lover's mind of all traces of their time together. Not since he'd broken his own heart to save the man he loved – so that he could save their world in turn.
