Title: Two Lost Souls
Summary: After the war, two lost souls are finding it very hard to continue. They know, deep down, there's only one other person who will understand. Draco/Harry. A quick, 500 word, post war drabble. Very dark and angst filled.
Note: I wrote this in about 15 minutes, a flash of inspiration and these words spilled out.. I haven't really edited it apart from a quick error proof read, so sorry if it's not to the greatest standard! This one was more about the idea. My main mission was to keep you thinking throughout "who's who?" ...
Two Lost Souls
After the trials were over, evidence presented, he thought it would be over. He thought he would be free, no longer bound by his destiny.
After the trials were over, evidence presented, he thought it would be over. He thought he would be free, no longer bound by his legacy.
He didn't return to Hogwarts. He couldn't.
He didn't return to Hogwarts. He couldn't.
He found no solace in sleep and lay awake at night, plagued by nightmares.
Nights rolled by, long and painful, as he was tortured by the past.
He dreamt of tortured screams and dancing flames, burning hot and wild, and licking ever closer.
He dreamt of tortured screams and dancing flames, burning hot and wild, and licking ever closer.
He woke, as always, covered in sweat.
He woke, as always, shaking.
He could not shake the memories of those who had died. Guilt consumed him, anchoring him to a bitter life.
He could not shake the memories of those who had died. Guilt consumed him, anchoring him to a bitter life.
He hadn't saved them.
He had as good as killed them.
Every night was the same.
Every night was the same.
He yearned for someone who would understand, knowing who could yet still too scared to admit it. His friends tried, but they didn't understand, they couldn't give what he needed.
He yearned for someone who would understand, knowing who could yet still too proud to admit it. His friends were long gone, they didn't understand, nor could they give him what he needed.
Sometimes, he allowed himself to wonder… How was he coping? He hadn't seen him since the trial.
Sometimes, he allowed himself to wonder… How was he coping? He hadn't seen him since the trial.
Well, he had seen him – just once - blazed over The Prophet's cover. Accused, attacked, still hated. But, after so many years, he now understood that wasn't really him.
Well, he had seen him – countless times - blazed over The Prophet's cover. Celebrated, decorated, happy. But, after so many years, he now understood that wasn't really him.
Days, weeks, months. Time passed in a blur. One the first anniversary of the battle, he knew the time had come to act.
Days, weeks, months. Time passed in a blur. One the first anniversary of the battle, he knew the time had come to act.
Reaching for his quill with shaking hands, he put nib to ink.
Gripping his quill with white knuckles, he put ink to parchment.
After all this time, this would be the letter he would finally send.
After all this time, this would be the letter he would finally send.
"Malfoy…"
"Potter…"