AN: For QLFC Season 5, Round 2. I'm Chaser 3 of the Bats, using prompts past, the poem Do Not Go Far Off by Pablo Neruda, and the dialogue "If you leave now, you get nothing." (Prompts 6, 8, and 9.) I've used the poem as part of the dialogue, so I've fiddled around with the breaks. If you'd like to view the poem as it is properly written/translated, use this link: www. / poem/ don-t-go-far-off
I've also used some artistic interpretation to describe what Ilvermorny looks like, since the descriptions tend to be on the vague side anyway.
Finally, the title of this story comes from the song Litost by X Ambassadors, which can be considered the soundtrack for the story. Put it on in the background to set the mood!
Total word count: 2,629
"Do you have everything you'll need?" Narcissa asks. She reaches out to brush Draco's hair out of his face, but stops when he ducks out of the way. "I honestly don't know why you won't gell it back. It looks so… messy," she huffs, taking a step back.
Draco shrugs, and doesn't say 'he's more likely to touch my hair when it's like this.' He says instead, "I have everything, mother." He pats the shrunken trunk in his pocket. "If I need something I'm sure I'll be able to owl you for it, or buy it myself."
His mother purses her lips, uncharacteristically expressive as she reaches out once more to fuss with the collar of Draco's dress shirt. "I don't understand why you feel that you need to go visit him," she says.
"Neither do I," Draco replies honestly, "but I want to anyway."
Narcissa gives him a soft, pitying look. "Oh, Draco," she says.
Before he has to say anything else, a bell tolls twice. The crowd behind Draco murmurs and rustles, saying their final goodbyes. Draco catches Narcissa's hands in his, gently prying them away from his shirt. "I'll be fine," Draco tells her firmly. Then, more kindly, "I'll write you, okay? It's only for a week." He squeezes her hands lightly, then lets go.
Narcissa smiles weakly as he slowly walks backwards, away from her. "Go, or you'll miss your portkey."
He nods, smiles, then slips away to join the group standing around a coil of rope.
"Last call," the ministry official says, "to Ilvermorny!"
Draco grabs the rope and holds on tight.
Ilvermorny's receiving area for portkeys is a small cottage in the woods that's well cared for and surprisingly cosy. Draco makes his way out of the windowless room the portkey dropped him in, already poised and graceful after a moment to reorient himself. Behind him, the other travelers stagger about, still trying to gain their equilibrium.
He pushes his hair out of his eyes as he opens the door to the mainroom of the cottage, and pauses in the doorway.
Standing by the window is a man Draco's age, with windswept hair a deep black colour and skin a sun-kissed tan. His clothes look well-cared for; they fit his narrow shoulders and waist instead of hanging off of him. His appearance is different from what Draco remembers, but he can't place how it's different. The eyes, though, are the same bright green he remembers so vividly. Backlit by the afternoon light streaming in, he looks like a dream.
"Harry," Draco says before he can stop himself.
Harry smiles. "Hey." He stands up straight from his slumped, leaning position against the window sill. "It's been awhile."
Draco steps forward, getting into arms reach of Harry and then stopping suddenly, unsure of what to do. His hand comes out to reach for Harry - to cup his cheek, like he wants to, but Draco pauses halfway through the movement, and then he feels awkward, his hand hovering in midair. Harry catches the hand with a small smile, and tugs Draco in for a friendly hug.
It's not - it's not what Draco wants, but it's also something he doesn't deserve, so he takes what he's given. He hugs back, greedily memorising the way Harry's body fits against his, the way he has to adjust because of their height difference, how Harry's hair sticks up and tickles Draco's face, his neck. Harry smells like sunshine and grass, and feels warm, solid underneath his fingers.
"It's good to see you," Draco finally says. "The past year has treated you well. You look good."
Harry smiles, his face fuller than Draco remembers. He's gained back the weight he lost during the war.
"So do you," Harry replies. His hand reaches up to touch the skin underneath Draco's eyes fleetingly, before retreating away. Draco wants to catch Harry's hand and press it against his face, kiss his palm and his inner wrist. He stays still, though, allowing Harry to touch freely. The least of which he can give Harry is choice, after the way they parted. He doesn't think he can give Harry much else.
"You look like you're finally getting some sleep," Harry says.
Draco takes Dreamless Sleep potions most nights.
"Yeah," Draco says, smiling anyway.
The past haunts him more than he cares to admit. More to the point, Harry haunts him more than Draco ever thought he would. He's spent so many nights staring at the canopy of his bed, wondering inane things. Was Harry awake as well? How was his day? Was he eating now, or was his appetite still small? Was he happy? Did he meet someone else? It was always Harry plaguing his thoughts, following him into his dreams. Some nights Draco feels hunted in his own bed, paralysed with inaction and something approaching panic, but closer to heartbreak.
Draco takes Dreamless Sleep potions because he has nightmares about the war, but also because he dreams of Harry and wakes up missing him enough to hurt. When the potions don't work, he spends hours at a time reading whatever he can get his hands on, trying to drown himself in dry lexicon and abstract words describing a feeling.
A voice intrudes on their small reunion. "Is that Harry Potter?"
A flurry of whispers erupts behind them the same time Harry's smile drops. He ducks his head, posture tense. He's trying to make himself smaller.
Draco feels his jaw clench. Before he knows it, he's straightened up and stepped between Harry and the curious crowd, using his broad shoulders to hide Harry. "Why don't you show me around Ilvermorny? Knowing you, you've probably gone on some adventure despite being a professor with responsibilities."
Harry squawks in protest, and tries to deny it. He doesn't notice Draco ushering him out of the cottage and away from the crowd with a gentle hand on his shoulder. When he finally pays attention again, they're already in the woods. He doesn't say anything about Draco's manipulation. He grins wryly instead, then says, "Right. This cottage is actually just outside the school grounds. I came to pick you up because I thought you might appreciate a quiet hike to the school rather than sitting in a carriage with a ton of other people."
He raises an eyebrow. "What do you think?"
Draco doesn't care if he's hiking or on a carriage, but he likes the extra time he gets to have Harry all to himself. "Lead on," he says.
Harry is, of course, right about the hike.
It's not just Harry's presence that makes the trip worthwhile, the whole forest surrounding Ilvermorny is beautiful in ways that Draco couldn't have predicted. It's peaceful and quiet in a way that Draco isn't used to. It feels like there's no one else in the world but them. Only the rustling of plants and animals break the illusion of isolation. Birds cry close by, but Draco can never quite spot them in the foliage.
Harry takes the time to point out the difference between the sounds of muggle and magical birds. Draco still can't quite tell the difference.
Everything looks and feels green, the kind of full green that you see clinging through late spring and into the heavy heat of summer. It's just this side of humid, but not quite enough that it's bothersome.
Harry looks remarkably at home on the trail that they follow. He ducks underneath branches and steps over tree roots without looking, like he's been down this path a hundred times. He smiles for almost all of the trip.
He pauses in front of Draco for a moment when they follow a curve in the path and come to break in the tree line. He turns to Draco, grinning widely. "There she is," he says, pointing into the distance. "Ilvermorny."
Draco follows his finger and breathes in.
Ilvermorny looks huge and homely in the distance. It's not a castle like Hogwarts but it's majestic all the same, a gleaming white sprawl of buildings cradled in the depths of the forest. Its spires look like bell towers. Strange statues perch on each one, looking out like sentries. It looks safe, tucked away from the rest of the world.
"Home sweet home," Harry mutters fondly, low enough that Draco almost misses it. "C'mon, we should be on time for dinner."
Draco follows helplessly, a feeling of dread settling in the pit of his stomach.
As they get closer to the castle, the more people they see. They're mostly students, and the older ones call out to Harry as they pass. Harry grins at them, answers their questions about class, and jokes on occasion.
"They're a bit of a handful, sometimes," Harry comments when they reach Ilvermorny itself. "But I guess we were just as bad when we were their age, huh?"
"Probably worse," Draco admits, following Harry down the twists and turns of Ilvermorny's halls. Harry unthinkingly takes what Draco can guess are shortcuts - he leads them through several seemingly random halls and two secret passages without second guessing himself. He continues to smile at the students who greet them, and keeps a steady conversation up with Draco at the same time.
Harry looks as comfortable in the halls of Ilvermorny as he did in the dirt path leading to the school. He's never looked this confident about himself or relaxed in Britain, Draco thinks. He banishes the thoughts as soon as they come. He focuses instead on wheedling Harry about having to scold students for breaking the rules when he broke more rules than Draco can count in Hogwarts.
"I missed you," Draco finds himself saying, when he's finally given in and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders. They're outside, taking a look at the Quidditch pitch, and Harry looks just as good here as he does everywhere else. Better, maybe. "I miss this," he gestures between the two of them.
Harry gives him a small smile. "So did I," Harry says, but Draco knows Harry well enough that the crinkle at the corner of his green eyes isn't reassuring.
The dread grows.
They don't share rooms, which is probably for the best. Instead, Harry gives him the guest room in his professor's quarters. Harry's rooms are tastefully decorated, with only some red and gold accents. Draco had assumed the worse, and is pleasantly surprised.
Harry does his best to keep them busy during the day, but at night Draco's thoughts tend to wander, as always. Instead of the past, his thoughts keep drifting to the future instead. What would happen tomorrow, what will happen the day after that, what will happen after this one week - he keeps thinking about it, keeps turning it over in his head.
Draco gets out of bed, and goes to the living room that he shares with Harry, a random book that he'd pulled out of his trunk in hand. He lights a few candles, enough to illuminate the area around the couch, and settles in.
Not five minutes in, the door to Harry's room opens. Draco hides the pained face he makes behind his book for a second before turning to Harry. "Hey," he says softly, even though he doesn't need to. Something about tonight makes him feel like the quiet is necessary.
"Hey," Harry says, quiet as well. He pads over to the couch, barefoot and soft looking. His hair is messier than usual. Draco swallows. "I saw the light under my door. Can't sleep?"
Draco shrugs. "Not really, no," he answers. "I thought I'd do some reading until I was tired."
Harry hums. He climbs onto the couch on Draco's free side and curls up sleepily. "I should have guessed you'd get jetlag. I did, when I first came, but I settled in pretty quickly."
"Jetlag - ? Nevermind," Draco shakes his head. Then, more quietly, "You really like it here, don't you?"
Harry sighs, "I do." He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "It's just different here. They don't - they don't not care, but it's not so big here, you know?" Harry says, a bit nonsensically. Draco listens anyway, watching him carefully.
"I'm just… Harry here. Harry Potter, the Chosen One, but also Harry Potter, the professor who gives two essays in the same week," he says.
Draco can't really understand it. He's always been in the limelight, has always been watched by someone, so he can't understand where Harry's coming from completely. But, in this dark, private moment, he thinks he almost can.
"Will you read that to me?" Harry says, an abrupt and unsubtle conversation change. Dracco almost smiles, and takes the cue.
"It's poetry," Draco warns him. "Translated from Spanish, so it's probably lost a lot of the nuance."
"Read it anyway," Harry says.
Draco does, helplessly. He flips to a poem that he read earlier, to the page that he had almost torn out of the book when he'd finished reading it. He chooses it not because he likes the brutally honest insight into himself, but because he can't articulate his own feelings.
He may not be able to give his feelings words, but he can do this:
"Don't go far off, not even for a day," Draco recites, his voice slow and deep. "Because - because - I don't know how to say it: a day is long and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep."
Harry hums deeply, relaxing into the couch, eyes closed.
"Don't leave me, even for an hour," Draco says, "because the little drops of anguish will all run together." He closes his eyes for a moment. "The smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart.
"Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach; may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance. Don't leave me for a second, my dearest, because in that moment you'll have gone so far I'll wander over all the earth, asking - " he takes a breath, his tongue stumbling over the words.
"Asking, will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?" He looks up. "Will you - ?"
Harry is fast asleep. Draco watches him breath deeply for only a second, before putting his book down. Carefully, he takes Harry back into his room and tucks him into bed.
He looks small, curled underneath his covers, but not vulnerable. He looks peaceful, Draco realises. This is what's different, is Draco's second realisation. Harry has never looked peaceful before, and it changes everything about him into something softer.
Draco presses his forehead against the top of Harry's head for a moment, his breath shuddering.
He knew how this was going to end the moment he saw the way Harry looked at Ilvermorny, but he stayed anyway. He can't help himself.
"I guess I have my answer," Draco murmurs into Harry's hair. He stays for a moment longer, then forces himself to leave, closing Harry's door behind him.
Tomorrow they'll go back to pretending nothing is wrong.
A year ago, Draco had spat at Harry, "If you leave now, you get nothing," and he had meant fame and connections and money and Draco's love. What he hadn't said was that Draco wanted Harry to stay, because Draco couldn't leave Britain behind.
He hadn't known at the time that Harry already had Draco's heart anyway, and he only realised that when Harry left to take up the professorship position at Ilvermorny despite everyone telling him not to.
Harry still has Draco's heart. The only irony is that Draco's the one doing the leaving.