Too much had happened in the last year to just smile and move on quickly. He had lost too many friends. Too many people that would never be replaced. Every once in a while a crack would sound and Harry would look around to see where Dobby was hiding. Or a owl would hoot and he would crane his neck to search the sky for Headwig. It had been two months...two months and he still hadn't stopped.
And all the while he had dreams. Sometimes sweet innocent dreams filled with laughter and love, and sometimes they were dreams of death and blood, but they all ended the same way; with him awakening in a cold sweat with tears in his eyes.
He didn't understand how Mrs. Weazley could hold her head up high and smile so kindly at everyone. She went about cooking and cleaning as if nothing had ever happened. Molly was so strong, and Harry felt jealous of how well she was keeping it together for her family. While he felt like he was drownding and could bearly keep his head above the water.
Harry felt like the world was closing in around him, and there was no one there to help him. He felt like he was coddling and babying everyone around him, but no one holding him when he needed it. He was the hero, he was the leader, he was Harry Potter: the boy who lived.
But for once he wanted to be taken care of, and that wasn't happening. Not here.
He needed out.
Harry couldn't watch George mope around the house anymore, his eyes darting back and forth as if always searching for Fred. He couldn't watch Mr. Weasley cleaning his glasses, tears building in his eyes. Or listen to Ginny cry in the bathtub one more time. He couldn't stand Ron's pitying looks, or Hermione's sad eyes.
Finally reaching his decision Harry pushed off of the couch. All eye's turned to him.
Mr. Weasly put his glasses back on, Mrs. Weasly smiled brightly at him, Ron simply looked away, Hermione tried to smile, and Ginny didn't even look up from the book she was reading.
"I'm going for a walk," Harry murmured softly.
The room nodded, and Mrs. Weasley told him to be careful.
Harry nearly scoffed back at that. Careful? What was the need for that?
He pulled his jacket tighter around him as he walked toward the boundry of the Weasley property. He patted his pocket where his bag was already packed and shrunk down just the way Hermione had taught him. The brisk air pushed Harry to walk faster and faster until he was jogging. His goal came into sight; the tree that marked the end of the Weasley property. He slowed as he approched, looking back once, he turned away from the distant lights of the Burrow and pulled out his wand.
The night air blew around his face, brushing his unruly hair this way and that. Taking a deep breath he disapeared from the quite, cold, dark night and into the warm air of the Hogs Head. A few people turned to look at him, but most didn't even look up. There were a few murmurs that slowly turned into more as people began to realized who had landed in thier presents.
Harry hurried into the back room, and closed the door behind him. He headed down the winding staircase that lead to the painting of Dumbledore's sister.
"Hello," she whispered into the dark. "It's been a long time, Harry."
Harry nodded his head and smile back as the young lady. She looked so frail standing there in this dark room.
"You used to visit me all the time," she murmured.
It was true Harry had visited her a lot in the last few months, he had come here to get into the room of requirment. To be alone.
"I'm sorry I haven't visited in so long. I've been busy," Harry admitted.
She shook her head, as if she knew his was lying and then swung open to let him climb into the tunnel that would lead him to the place he was seeking.
The long winding tunnel was just an allusion, Harry knew, but it calmed him anyway. It made him feel as if he was traveling farther and farther from the places he had left behind. In his past, to be left there and forgotten about. Finally a light shown from the end of the tunnel, but it took him a moment to realize that the light that was shinning so brightly was not supposed to be there. Never before in his many travels down this tunnel had there been a light at the end of it.
For a moment Harry felt like laughing, wondering if this was the end for him. The Light At The End Of The Tunnel. But he knew better, that was just a silly Muggle superstision. There would be no light when it was over for him. Only darkness.
Harry stepped through the hole in the walk and walked into the room of requirment. He certainly had not thought up this room in his mind. His room was always simple. Always. There would be a big stuffed couch along the far wall with book shelves lining every other wall. There were always enough books to keep him distracted for days, weeks even, if he wished. But today none of that was present. There was a large couch, but it was in the middle of the room. A fire place was crackeling along the far wall where his couch normally was. And there were paintings of people, all kinds of people filling up ever place on the wall. No space was empty. It apeared the every painting that hung in the castle and more where hanging on the walls in the room.
"Potter?" A voice drew Harry's attention away from the smiling faces on the walls.
He turned to his right to see Malfoy standing in front of a picture of a beautiful woman, a woman that Harry almost didn't recognize. It was his mother. A very young verson of his mother.
Draco lifted his hand to his face and quickly dashed at his eyes.
"It apears, Potter, as if for a second time you have caught my crying like a child," Draco said. It was not the comment that gave Harry pause, it was the fact that here was no sneer on his face and no hate in his voice.
"What are you doing here, Draco?" Harry asked quietly.
"What changed, Potter? Am I no longer a Malfoy to you?"
Harry sighed and walked to the couch, flopping down, he rested his head on his hands and sighed again. He thought about Draco's comment for a moment.
"I guess, it really doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore. What happened before the war...we all did things that we regret. What happened to your mother?"
Draco whipped around to face Harry, an expression of hate and horror on his face.
But for once it wasn't directed at him.
"She's dead," he whispered. "My, my father killed her."
Draco dashed at his eyes once again, turning to face his smiling mother. "This is all I have left. He burnt the paintings in our family home. I looked everywhere for one. And then a had a strange dream..." He trailed off, and hung his head. "Not even you, Harry, would believe me."
"Rubbish," Harry murmured.
What in the bloody hell was he doing? Siting here, talking to Malfoy as if nothing had happned. As if they were old friends. And they were calling each other by thier first names as if they were civil and didn't hate each others guts. There was somthing in Draco's eyes, something that told him something was wrong. Something had changed. Draco had changed. He was broken.
"Try me," Harry said in a stronger voice.
"It was Dumbledore," he muttered.
Harry stood quickly from the couch. "What?"
"Don't get too excited, it was just a dream," Draco answered in a somewhat sad voice. What was wrong with him?
"Go on," Harry goaded.
"He came to me in a dream, he told me about his brother, his sister, where to find them. How to get to the room. And he told me about the painting hall."
"The what?"
"There is a hall, in the castle. Don't ask me where, I have no idea. But there is a painting of every witch and wizard who ever set foot in this castle."
Harry's eyes widdened as he looked around. Wow.
"Yea I know, everytime I come, I meet a new witch or wizard. It's amazing, the tales you hear in here. Some good, some bad, and some down right evil. Tom Riddle is in here, Dumbledor, me, you, everyone you could ever think of, they're here."
Draco turned and grabbed Harry's arm, pulling him toward the hole in the wall that they had both climbed out of in order to get into the room.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked, pulling his arm away.
"Trust me," Draco said, looking Harry in the eyes. "Just trust me."
Harry nearly fainted. Was Draco Malfoy, The Draco Malfoy, the boy who had teased and tormented him, fought and tried to kill him more times than he could even count asking Harry to 'trust' him?
"Are you serious? Trust you? Why should I do that? How have you earned my trust?"
Malfoy looked taken aback for a moment.
"This will be the start. The first time to start earning back the trust that I threw in the bin," Draco smiled.
Harry's mind went blank. THAT was what Draco's real smile looked like. Bloody Hell, he was handsome. Had Harry ever seen that smile before? He didn't think so, he would remember. And when would Draco ever have smiled in front of him before? No where, never. EVER.
"Okay," Harry agreed slowly. He didn't resist this time when Draco grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him into the hole in the wall.
"Close your eyes," Draco murmured from the dark tunnel.
Harry sighed, but did as he was told.
"Okay, come on."
Harry was confused when Draco started pulling him back into the room of requirment. Hadn't they just left? And now they were going back in?
He gasped when he realized why they had left and why they were now re-entering the room. He suddenly realized what Malfoy had been doing. The room was now a never ending hall. It stretched as far as the eye could see, and it was covered from floor to ceiling with portraits. Some where smiling, some were frowning, some sleeping, some talking to the painting next to them. Harry stood stalk still realizing that he was in the prescents of every witch and wizard who had ever walked the halls of Hogwarts. This was...this was...he didn't have words to discribe how amazing this was.
"Want to talk to some of them?" Draco asked from his left.
"O yea," Harry whispered.