Title: Watch
Inspiration: Prodigal - OneRepublic
Summary: Harry and Draco try to run away from their pasts - and end up coming full circle.
Harry watched.
Draco tried to keep from running to his parents. Eventually, he gave up, and leapt the last few metres. He covered distance quickly with those long, lithe legs of his.
Harry watched.
Narcissa and Lucius embraced their son, welcomed him back into their world - only their world really no longer existed. They'd have to forge a new way, a new path.
Harry watched.
Draco had never really considered their family to be close. There had always been an element missing - love. But things would change, now. He was sure of it. They'd all nearly lost everything - and returned. Nothing would be taken for granted, not anymore. He held his parents close, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Harry watched.
"Don't leave me," Draco whispered. His mother only held him tighter, sobbing into his chest, relieved that everything was almost over.
Harry looked away. There were still Death Eaters on the loose in the castle, even if he had just killed their leader. There was work to be done, not family reunions to spy on. He sighed.
Draco watched.
Harry held Mrs. Weasley as she wept over Fred's body. Her entire frame shook with the force of her sorrow.
Draco watched.
Harry was lifted by Ron, who placed a firm hand on his shoulder, letting him know that there was always support and love, wherever and whenever he needed it.
Draco watched.
Hermione drew near as well. The Golden Trio stood together, eyes traveling along the path of dead bodies.
Draco watched.
Harry began to tear up - he had known all of these people, cared for most of them. This wasn't right.
Draco looked away. He'd been separated from his parents - he ought to go find them. He sighed.
Harry watched.
Draco stood over his mother's body, too shocked for tears. They had written "TRAITOR" into her skin. He was disgusted. He couldn't watch.
Draco watched.
Harry saw them cover Fred's corpse with a blanket and carry it away to be buried. He couldn't watch.
Their eyes met.
One instant.
Harry looked away.
Draco turned and ran. Out, out, out. Outside the Great Hall, outside the castle, anywhere Harry was not. He couldn't handle it.
"Go," Harry said softly, looking back over his shoulder. "Run away. It's always what you've done best. Don't wait for me - did I think that you would?"
And Harry ran, too - in the opposite direction.
The raven-haired wizard discreetly picked up a Daily Prophet, making sure to hide his face - and his scar.
The Boy Who Lived - Where Is He?
He's gone missing, they said. No one knows where he is.
Harry laughed bitterly. Good. Let them search. He knew what they wanted - interviews, photographs, celebrity status - he wasn't that kind of hero. Didn't they understand?
He opened the paper. Inside - Malfoy on Trial. So Lucius was being tried, was he? And a little sentence at the end - "The accused has a son, who was not available for comment. If any trace of Draconis Lucian Malfoy is known, please contact the Daily Prophet, or the Ministry of Magic."
They didn't know where Draco was, either? Strange.
The blond rose from his bed in the little muggle flat he was living in. An owl tapped at his window - the paper.
He sent the bird off with more change than was necessary, but he didn't really mind. He was oddly detached from all his wealth, now. It wasn't rightfully his, he felt. And yet he threw it around like he had no other cares in the world.
Headline? Potter's Past - the True Story of the Golden Boy.
Rita Skeeter at work, again. She'd come out with a new book.
Strange, he reflected. Wouldn't Potter have come out and denied the outrageous claims she'd be sure to make?
He scanned the article.
A little sentence at the end - "Mr. Potter was not available for comment. If any trace of Harry James Potter is known, please contact the Ministry of Magic."
They still didn't know where he was? That was odd.
He slipped out of Flourish and Blotts, the book safe in his hand.
Once in his flat, he opened it and scanned the table of contents.
There was an entire chapter on him - Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter: Rivalry or Romance?
He wondered if Harry had seen this - this - he threw it at the wall in disgust. How could she trivialize everything like that? Take years of pain - suffering - struggle - repression - and compress it into a single, gossipy chapter without one shred of real evidence.
No one knew the real evidence - except for him. He'd seen enough in that one glance in the castle to know - everything.
"Rita Skeeter," he declared aloud to his mirror, "is a foul bitch."
The glass agreed sleepily.
Rivalry or Romance?
She really was too witty, Harry decided. And insightful, perhaps? Not that he'd ever thought he'd say that with regards to Rita Skeeter.
But as he read on - no, he realized. Not insightful, merely a gossip with nothing better to do.
Her words, meant to convince readers that Draco and Harry cared for each other, did exactly the opposite. Her lack of evidence - absence of reason - complete, utter nonsense. There was no way Draco had ever cared, no. He had simply imagined something in those steel eyes that day in the castle.
For his part - well, she was making things up because she simply had no idea. What he had done, how he'd cared. No one had any idea - except maybe Draco. Perhaps he'd let on a little more than necessary in his eyes. He cringed - was that why Draco had run? Out of disgust - that Harry Potter, his arch-nemesis, actually cared for him?
He wondered if Draco had seen this book - read it, maybe. Who knew?
Looking back at the book, he felt bile coming up in his mouth.
"Rita Skeeter," he muttered, "makes me want to vomit."
His mirror hummed. "Bathroom's that way, dear."
Advertisements were plastered in every window - Potter's Past, by Rita Skeeter.
Draco was revolted by the bright orange fliers, but his eyes were drawn to them despite the neon.
A certain raven-haired wizard with vividly green eyes smiled out at him from the cover, brushing his hair out of his eyes, revealing his lightning scar.
Subconsciously, he slipped his hand inside his cloak, grabbing for his book. He kept it with him at all times - and hadn't been able to justify that to himself. Now he knew.
"I can't blasted get him out of my head - out of my life," Draco fumed quietly.
The Ministry fliers were posted in the windows, now. Those who were missing - presumed dead, perhaps, but no bodies were found.
Draco's name was top of the list.
Slowly, the number dwindled until his was practically the only one left.
His blond hair, pointed face, mercury eyes sneered out from every poster. He was wanted, to be tried by the Ministry for crimes against the Order of the Phoenix.
Anger boiled in Harry. They didn't know the half of it. Trying Draco? They might as well - try him, Harry, for Merlin's sake. It wasn't like Draco had done what he had because he wanted to - by the time he'd figured it out, it was too late to back out. Even Harry knew that - Harry, who had known so precious little about Draco.
Why was everything always about Draco? he wondered.
He ran his thumb over the face on the cover, brushing off the snow. He still couldn't leave his past behind him, however much he tried.
Not looking up as he walked forward - smack!
He dusted off the snow from his stolen poster. It smirked up at him, and it hit him how obsessed he really was.
He couldn't be bothered to look where he was going - smack!
They stood back up.
Their eyes met.
One instant.
Draco looked away. He turned to run.
Harry willed himself to let the other man go, detach himself. He could do this - do what? Cut out his heart? Hadn't he fought Voldemort for this - love? No, he couldn't let it run away like that.
"Draco, wait."
How could he admit it - Draco, who held him in such contempt? His expression was odd. He'd been looking at something, Harry realized. Something that meant a lot to him. What was it?
Draco quickly tucked the book inside his robes as he faced the other man.
Harry stared at his feet. What if he was - married? In love? Maybe he had eloped; that would explain the disappearance, right? Still - something about that book he had shoved in his cloak... He shuffled his feet, coughing slightly in the cold.
Draco watched.
Harry steeled himself for the heartbreak sure to follow. "I - I can't do this anymore, Draco." When he looked up, his green eyes were brimming with tears.
Draco watched.
"We're both on the run - from the Ministry, from the public, from our past." He brushed the water from his eyes, trying to dry them.
Draco watched.
"And - I'm sick of hiding. Really, I am." One lone tear, rolling down his cheek.
Draco watched.
"I can't go it alone - I give up." More tears, cascading now.
Draco watched.
This is it. "I think - I'm in love with you." He couldn't look him in the eyes anymore. Harry looked away.
Draco tried to watch. Eventually, he gave up, his arms circling Harry's body, holding him tightly.
Harry sighed into the other man's chest, closing his eyes. Maybe he didn't need to see anymore.
