So, I realize that this story is incredibly depressing, but I had to get it out. It's actually a dream I had a few years ago, I just adapted it to be HPDM. For those of you who have read my other stories, and want to kill me for not updating those before writing this, I'm sorry. Now that it's summer vacation, I can consentrate on them, and I'll get you some updates soon. As in before July.

Anywho, here it is

If you're living a legend, then does it make sense that the "average" person begins to, over time, seem legendary? Is it normal to look back on your "normal" past with the same sense of wonder and wistful heartache that others feel when reading fairy tales?

If it wasn't normal, then Harry Potter was a very abnormal person. Of course, he knew that already. One does not kill a Dark Lord, among other accomplishments, because of one's mediocrity. Harry was doubly abnormal since he'd suffered the deaths of everyone he'd cared about, and lived with the ghost of the one he hadn't realized had cared about him.

Harry lived alone in one of the dozens of manors left empty by the war. It was one of three willed to the "Boy Who Lived". He'd actually accepted this one, assuming that the home of his late-rival wouldn't hold any metaphorical ghosts. No memories to haunt him.

Ironically, the manor contained one literal ghost. Draco Malfoy, who'd stayed behind because his heart had.

He was an unusual ghost, though not by choice. He couldn't appear at will, not unless his heart was threatened. Nobody else knew he was there. He didn't even know where he was when he wasn't there.

As if by some unspoken agreement, Harry and Draco never discussed this. Harry knew that Draco was dead and Draco knew that Harry wasn't. They also never discussed what they felt about each other. It was pointless anyway; both knew what Draco felt, and neither knew what Harry felt.

Mostly, Harry could just feel Draco's presence. Usually after hours spent staring into the fire, drinking fire whisky in the hopes that the buzzing in his ears would eventually muffle the screams. Or, when he was in that place between sleep and awake. Either in the process of crying himself to sleep or screaming himself awake. It was in these moments when Harry was always most surprised that Draco wasn't actually there. That, despite all the stories; despite everything that could have - should have - been, Draco was dead.

Once in a while, when Harry dared to think about Draco, he wondered if he felt Draco more in these moments because he was drunk, or half asleep, and was therefore more sensitive to such things in this state, or because he was miserable, and Draco came closer for… For whatever he would come closer for in Harry's moments of misery.

No matter the reason, Harry both dreaded and cherished these moments. He dreaded them because these were the times when the proverbial walls closed in, and Harry was left totally alone, except for the dead. He cherished them because Draco was so close, that Harry could almost believe he wasn't so alone. But he was.

In the same bittersweet fashion, the only time that he could see Draco was when Draco was making sure that Harry stayed alone.

If Harry brought a man home, whether an actual date or (more often) just some guy from the bar, Draco would show himself. He didn't actually do anything, that Harry could see, but something about him terrified the men. They left immediately and for good.

Sometimes, if Draco didn't appear right away, Harry would take a very roundabout way to his room, stalling for time until the ghost appeared.

After the intruder was gone, Harry and Draco would have some time. Usually they were silent. Really, what needed to be said? They'd just stare at each other across the hallway as Draco faded away. Other times, they'd sit side by side, close enough to be almost touching, if they could touch. If they did talk, it was a meaningless conversation made nearly impossible by the unhappy mix of emotions between the two: obsession, respect, betrayal, hate, possessiveness. Usually some comment on the latest intruder's looks, lacking all the bite his voice had once possessed. Following was some pained response from the boy who'd lost all his fight.

Because Harry was doomed. With Draco there, he'd always be denied a living companion, but with Draco gone, he'd lose something so deep that Harry didn't even know what it was. He'd trade a lifetime of loneliness for a few brief moments of the most heartbreaking companionship he could never have. He hadn't said this, or even thought it, but he did it time and time again.

And so the legend formed. The lost ghost who protected and damned the boy he'd once loved, without even questioning his actions. The boy who chose eternal isolation to stay with the ghost of the boy he'd never gotten to know.

Draco knew he'd once been alive, but that was his legend, his fairytale. Just as were Harry's memories of friends and enemies - of a time before Draco was everything, before he was dead.

I said earlier that they never discussed their situation or their feelings. That is not true. They did both once. It was also the first and only time they touched.

It had started as t usually did. Harry had brought home some dirty blonde - Dan, or Stan, or something. They'd been sitting on the couch having a drink when Draco arrived. After the intruder had bolted for the door, Draco had sat in his place next to Harry.

After a few moments of silence, during which Harry basked in the agony and ecstasy of the moment, Draco turned to him, and spoke.

"Why is it like this?" His voice perfectly matched the emotions controlling Harry's life. "I'm dead, but I'm still here. You're free, but you're trapped with me. We're together, but alone. I love you, but I'm making you miserable. You don't care about me, but you've given up everything just for this. Why?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess it's just more beautiful this way. It's hell but it's… it's right, you know?"

"That's stupid."

Harry smiled, though it was small and weak. "You're stupid."

Then, in a gesture ingrained through muscle-memory, Harry leaned over to bump shoulders with Draco. He realized too late that there was no Draco to bump into, and tensed, waiting for the awkward moment.

Instead, he leaned into a Draco that was warm, steady, and there.

They looked at each other, their eyes so familiar by now. At that moment, Harry realized exactly what he felt about Draco.

Then, as always, Draco began to fade away.

And Harry died.

There won't be a sequal or anything, but there's nothing more to write about, you know. But, if you have any general writing suggestions, or if there was something in here you liked, please PLEASE review and tell me!

Also, I work really well with prompts, so if there's any HPDM or HPSS stuff you'd like to read about, let me know and I'll give it a shot!!

Thanks,

PrattlingPrincess