"Potter, I must talk to you. It's urgent. And private."
The Boy-Who-Lived looks at him in disbelief. The dust of Hogwarts has not settled yet. He has friends to hug and friends to mourn and Malfoy must talk to him. Privately. Merlin's sake, did we miss a Horcrux?
When green eyes find blue ones, the latter dodge. Staring at the wall, then at the floor. Eventually they rise, Malfoy pride making its way up. Draco sighs.
"Out with it then."
"This is hardly private, Potter."
"This is a battleground and people are busy caring for the hurt and injured. They won't look twice at us; they won't pay any attention to what we say."
"This will not do. I cannot risk it. The peace we just conquered is going up in flames if any of our conversation is heard."
It's Harry's turn to sight. The peace they conquered... I still feel like we all lost. He moves toward the doors of the Great Hall. A quiet corner will do.
Draco cannot help but wince when he passes the Dark Lord's body on the ground. His aunt is by his side, as she always wanted and is proper. Wards were placed over the bodies. There will be solid evidence of Voldemort's death. The death of Mad Witch Lestrange will be duly noted too. Whole families will be able to breathe again. Something Malfoy seems to have forgotten how to do.
Rodolphus Lestrange is magically bound a few yards away. He lets tears down his cheeks and into his beard silently, without so much as shaking. His mirage is gone, a dried up oasis at the end of a path of destruction. He will not fail them. He will not stray from the shading lies agreed upon to keep the darkest secret of the whole war. The Dark Lord had loved. A witch of the purest blood had loved him in return. He will endure Azkaban again, for many more years, to keep that secret safe. He will endure much worst alone, though, the world unaware of his suffering. The returned Dementors will revel on it. The world will think such witch loved another, that such witch even allowed him close enough to bear him a child. The world will believe him a father to a child of his most beloved one, oblivious to the fact that they never were lovers. Not to each other. She was His. Only. Always.
Draco knows all this and so does not try to lift the man's gaze from the cold floor. Merely observes the deepest hurt in the last look he spares at the fallen wizard's tears when his dark eyes land upon a face of heavy-lidded ones, set amidst a mess of black curls.
"Don't worry about your family. I will speak of what you did for me, today and at the manor. I will speak of your mother too. They will not take you under arrest."
"Uh..." Draco needs a moment to compose himself. None of that was a concern of his. None of that mattered. Not for now. "The Dark Lord, Harry, he..."
"Say his name Draco, he is dead. Use his name. Voldemort!" Potter snaps. He's clutching his fists and there is a rage in the green eyes, no longer bright as they used to. "Voldemort! That simple. Tom bloody Riddle..."
"All right!" Draco stops him before he is so infuriated his reaction to what he is about to tell him becomes unpredictable. Before he himself loses his nerve "Voldemort left something behind. Someone. It's complicated. Can't we just find a quiet place?" He will lose his temper in the Great Hall and then there will be no hiding.
We missed a bloody Horcrux! God damned Tom left something else behind. Why can't he just die? Plenty of people did! Harry takes a breath like he's struggling not to drown and concedes. They are going to need a quiet room for this then. He thinks he should get Hermione. Her rational mind is probably in much better shape than his devastated one. But he doesn't. She is not a tea spoon, she needs to feel and not think right now.
