pass me down the wine
summary: and now it is only him and him, and they are alone in the world.
rating: pg13
genre: it is the apocalypse
disclaimer: not mine
will you pass me down the wine?
it's getting near that time
what you got tomorrow?
only pain and sorrow
- oasis
on the last day of the war, harry potter finds draco malfoy, bound, broken, and without all sanity.
they are both dirty, so dirtydirtydirty and he remembers that once upon a time, a long long time ago, before they were tired and covered with the filth and grime and guilt of the war, a frizzy haired mudblood (that's a badbadbad word, he thinks to himself; bad, but these days, words are irrelevant and actions mean everything, don't they?) or a freckled, red headed boy might have held him tight and cleansed every part of his body oh so slowly
but those days are gone,
and all that is left is harry and draco
flower petals rain down upon the countless dead and the rest of the wizarding world rejoices.
after the war, harry potter disappeared.
almost nobody noticed.
impossible?
no, he thinks to himself, he did what they wanted, he saved them - saved them all from being dismembered, saved them from having all their fingers broken, saved them from having their tongues ripped out and their eyes gouged out and their children slaughtered before their eyes and he saved them from being raped, he saved them from the horror and the terror of the sound of raw flesh being ripped off a body in chunks and the wet sound of blood weeping from a mortal wound and he -
he only did what they wanted.
and now voldermort is dead, stabbed countless times with a dull knife, his head smashed in with a rock.
sometimes he cries and wonders why they let the fate of a world rest upon the shoulders of a young boy.
they live on the battlefield; amongst the dead they lie exhausted from the effort it takes to live and make friends with the crows pecking away at ginny weasly's tongue.
the smell is unbearable, but they have grown accustomed to it.
(all the blond pureblood can do now is let his head drop to the side and twitch as his shorn hair tickles his shoulder.((his hair isn't even blond anymore, harry notices. it might just be his imagination, but is there a strand of grey amid the permanently dirt strained blond strands?))) a dollop of drool slowlyslowlyslowly travels out past his lips - so slowly - leaving a trail of slime in its wake, past the smooth curve of his chin only marred by perfectly vertical jagged scars made from the boy's own fingers scraping down
down
downdeep into previously unmarked skin
down - until it drops and soaks into his oblivionblack robes
draco lets out a mournful moan, and harry, harry shuts his eyes and wipes the slime off of draco's chin with his shirt.
a trail of dirt mixed with something rustybrown is left when he takes the cloth away.
they live, and harry carries draco and when draco becomes too heavy, harry drags him and draco does not complain. he can't.
harry builds (or maybe he steals?) a tent made from the clothes of fred weasly, remus lupin, and dean thomas. after all, he and draco need shelter, and what do corpses do with clothes?
he magicks it and inside it is a humble room with a table, two chairs, and a bed.
they hardly sleep, so harry figures it doesn't matter or rather, he doesn't care enough to make another bed.
and they live.
when the rest of the wizarding world finally remembers to pick up and hide the corpses of those who died fighting voldermort, their flesh is long gone and the black birds have eaten their fill and have gone away.
they come in the night, not willing, not wanting to understand or believe how many people have died.
harry knows this because draco lifts his head and his eyes roll around in their sockets and he finally says,
"fuck you potter"
this is an improvement, a step up from the silence and the drool.
they leave immediately.
harry is broken, draco is broken, and yet, by some miracle, draco slowly remembers how
to form words and insults
harry soon wonders if he is more broken than draco but then he shuts the thought out of
his mind and only clutches draco's hand tighter.
draco, who hasn't yet relearned how to control his facial expressions half sneers, half smiles and says, very slowly,
"are we dead yet?"
harry remembers in days past, when he couldn't open his eyes wide enough, everything
was new and magic was beautiful and life was better than a happy ending.
and now, he squeezes his eyes closed tightly, the skin around his eyes pinches
permanently into premature wrinkles on a teenage face, and he just can't shut his eyes
enough.
they live in a shoddy flat on the outskirts of a town that they don't know the name of,
don't care to know the name of
harry pours orange juice for draco and coaxes the other boy's lips open,
the orange pulpy liquid is swallowed, but some dribbles down draco's chin and
harry
elbows draco in the face as he reaches for a cloth
draco stares and his eyes say,
potter, you idiot
in return, he is offered a smile and the reassurance that some things never change
and when the next generation is born, a generation without voldermort, devoid of death eaters, and free of fear, draco and harry return to hogwarts.
they sit and stare out across the valley where the lake used to be. it is wide, and harry shut his eyes and tries not to think about how it looks it looks so much like the gaping slicing hole in ron's stomach and he tries not to remember the way hermione's blood had stained the snow near the whomping willow, which is only a stump that rumbles menacingly when they stagger past it.
draco sits on a stone that lies in a grassy field and harry realizes, (that's where the slytherin table was placed in the great hall)
pansyvincegreghermioneronginnyfredgeorgedeanmillicentblaiseseamuscolincho
they stare,look,see,remember,hurt,and then
they go home
fin