Chapter One: The Boy Who Survived
Harry Potter hadn't had much time to think about his feelings in the past several years. He tried with Cho, but that was a disaster. And Ginny? Well... he couldn't put his finger on it. Ginny was Ginny, she was Ron's sister, she was beautiful and funny and caring, but...
Something was missing. And he couldn't figure out what it was.
As they sat at breakfast on Friday, Ginny was droning on and on about Quidditch, about try-outs, about going to Hogsmeade, about this and that to the point that Harry felt himself let out a groan. "Ginny, I honestly haven't heard a thing you've said for the last twelve minutes," he mumbled, receiving a surprised look from Hermione, who was sitting across from him and beside Ron.
"I was talking about Quidditch," Ginny replied. "You're kind of Quidditch Captain, you know? You should care."
"No offense, Ginny," he could feel his voice raising as his chest tightened, "but considering that four months ago I was fighting Voldemort right where we're sitting, I really don't care about Quidditch."
"I thought it was life as normal?" Ginny asked quietly. "I thought that was what you wanted."
In truth, yes, Harry had told her that he wanted life as normal, but he didn't really understand what a normal life was. Weeks of funerals, months of "are you okay" and "it's all over now" and "how are you doing, Harry," and he had thought what he wanted was normalcy. He told her life as normal, because the words he wanted were always in the back of his head. He couldn't even talk about it to Hermione, or Ron. He couldn't face them and say what he was thinking. "Life as normal," he repeated quietly, before his voice rose slightly again, "I can't think of Quidditch or dates or Hogsmeade right now. Not here. I'm sorry."
Ron looked sideways at Hermione as Harry stood up and walked away from the table, leaving his three friends in a stunned silence. He could feel all the eyes in his room staring at him. He threw open the doors of the Great Hall only to find himself face-to-face with icy eyes, white-blond hair, and a sharp, blank face. He felt pity for Malfoy, in a strange way. He felt his stomach jump as he saw the boy, but he let it fade fast. He bumped shoulders with the taller boy as he shoved passed him, and made his way towards the staircase.
xXx
Draco Malfoy hadn't eaten for two days, and he was finally feeling the effects of hunger that forced him down to the Great Hall. What he hadn't expected, however, was hearing someone yelling about the Dark Lord as he approached the doors to the Great Hall. His feet felt like lead as he approached, slowly. He didn't want to get caught in the middle of whatever was happening when the Dark Lord was being brought up.
When he reached the door, he hesitated with his hands over the handles. He was considering turning around and maybe sneaking down to the kitchen to see if he could get some food from one of the House Elves, but didn't have time to move before the heavy doors swung open and he found himself face-to-face with messy black hair and bright green eyes.
He was taken aback, and before he could throw on a sneer or make a comment, he was being knocked back a step as the smaller boy shoved him out of his way. There was a continued silence in the Great Hall as thousands of eyes stared at Draco in the doorway, before it was broken by a thousand voices all at once. Draco's eyes trailed over to the Gryffindor table, wondering if the Mudblood or one of the Weasels would go after Harry, but instead he saw them staying seated in a hushed conversation. He let out a long breath, before turning around and walking away from the Great Hall and his potential breakfast.
He could see the dark hair heading towards the stairs, and he followed at a distance. He didn't want to be seen, he just wanted to make sure Harry was okay. Harry shoved through groups of people walking down the staircases as he ran through, and Draco took a slower route in an attempt to avoid them, keeping Harry in sight the best he could.
He followed the boy up seven flights, until he found himself in view of a familiar hallway, and a familiar door through which Harry disappeared, his breathing sharp and shallow. Draco took a deep breath, before jumping to grab the door's handle before it could disappear.
xXx
The Room of Requirement was fairly small and empty, similar to what Draco found when he came here himself, but it was different, brighter, more comfortable. Instead of dark grey walls, it had mirrors, and a light hanging from the ceiling to illuminate the room. There wasn't a window, but there was a fireplace in the wall, and a pair of worn-looking red armchairs. Draco regretted entering as soon as he did, but it was too late. The door shut softly behind him, and he found the black-haired boy turning around to face him. He looked absolutely horrified, and absolutely horrible, and Draco wanted to run up and hug him, but he knew he couldn't.
"Malfoy," Harry said blankly, blinking his teary eyes and seemingly holding his breath in an attempt to make it seem less as though he had moments ago been fighting for each breath.
"Potter," was all Draco could manage in return, watching as the slightly younger boy seemed to crumble, falling into one of the armchairs. Draco didn't know what to do as Harry shattered, didn't know what could have triggered it, didn't know how he could help someone who had thought of him as an enemy. "P-Potter?"
Harry didn't seem to be able to catch his breath as he stared at the mirrored wall beside the fireplace. Draco took a few steps closer, before stopping himself. "I've been coming here sometimes," Draco said, not knowing what to do besides talking. "When I do, I think of what happened and," he was looking into the fire, "and how you saved my life." Was that when the final strings snapped and he admitted to himself that there was something besides hatred in him when he saw Harry? He wasn't sure, but it was the moment that came to mind.
"Happy that I saved someone."
"You saved a lot of people, actually."
Harry turned his head to look at Draco, his eyes narrowed behind his round glasses. "Why are you here?" he asked.
"Well, Mudblood and the weasels were just continuing on with their breakfast."
"Since when do you care?"
"You saved my life."
"Life as normal," Harry said quietly.
"My life can't go back to normal," Draco replied. "My father... I made mistakes."
"Mistakes? You were helping Voldemort."
"Yeah," Draco finally dared to cross Harry and sit in the other armchair, "and what was I supposed to do when the Dark Lord held all of his meetings in my dining hall? Say, 'sorry, my political views differ slightly and include less genocide'?"
"You just called Hermione a Mudblood."
"Yeah, well, doesn't mean I want her dead."
Harry looked into the mirror again. "Do you think about it a lot?"
"I do," Draco replied without hesitation. "And you?"
"I try not to," Harry admitted. Draco looked around the fireplace to Harry's reflection, watching a tear trail down the darker boy's face. "I can't always help it."
"It's not your fault, you know," Draco said.
"Your dad isn't your fault either," Harry countered.
Draco was quiet for a moment, his eyes falling to the floor. "Why are you talking to me?" he asked, finally. It was unlike Harry, but he supposed that the war could change people. It changed him.
"Hermione, Ginny and Ron stayed in the Great Hall," Harry replied. "You're not my first choice, Malfoy, but that's the difference. You just gave up breakfast to follow your sworn enemy up seven floors and into a small room to talk about our feelings."
Draco chuckled ever so slightly. "Yeah, I guess. I just didn't... well, I was worried you'd do something stupid if you were alone."
Harry looked sideways at him. "Stupid how?"
"Well, I mean, I didn't want you to get hurt or something. After all, there was kind of a whole battle based around your survival – "
"Exactly," Harry replied. "We have to keep surviving, don't we? We owe that to the people who died in that war."
"I guess so..." He felt his hand trail to his dark mark, his fingers digging into the pale, painted flesh.
"You're not – "
"No." Draco said it firmly. It wasn't a lie, just because he thought of things didn't mean he'd done them or mean they needed to be brought up. Harry had seemed to breathe again, seemed to stop crying, so the blond stood up. "You're better now. I have places to be."
And he was out the door before Harry could say another word.
