The guilt was killing him. Harry could almost see it, like a black-mouthed parasite, destroying Draco from the inside out. The candlelit vigil had unlocked something in him, broken down the walls he'd built around his heart to forget about the past. But now it came, in relentless waves: the memories of his mistakes, every biting remark, every tear he caused to roll down Hermione's cheeks, the sharp pang of shame he felt when he found out about the death of Fred Weasley.
Harry desperately wanted to help in any way he could. Sitting around and giving Draco comforting hugs wasn't doing much. Harry noticed how his pale hands shook, the shadows under his eyes growing deeper from lack of sleep, the way he flinched away from Ron and Hermione as if afraid to break them with a single touch.
The night after the Quidditch game, Harry and Draco went to the Owlery together to send their Auror applications. Athena was more than up to the task of carrying two thick envelopes to London, especially when Harry offered her a strip of crispy bacon. She snapped the morsel up, hooted appreciatively, and swooped off the ledge, gray wings fading into the starlit dark. Draco watched her go with a blank expression, as if resigning himself to his forced future. Harry didn't have to ask if he was happy at this moment; he knew the answer already.
"It's going to be fine," Harry reassured him, but his words sounded hollow. "Your paper's really well done, and your grades are perfect. There's no way they won't let you in." He knew that getting into Cambridge wasn't what Draco worried about, but he couldn't think of anything else to say.
Draco only nodded, shoving his hands into his robe pockets, not something he did very often: a clear sign that he didn't want to talk.
The week passed by in a detached sort of way. Harry was content on the surface, practicing tricky Transfiguration with Ron while Hermione corrected their form, hanging out with them in the common room, kissing Draco goodnight at the end of each day. Draco, whom Harry knew wasn't happy.
The guilt was killing him.
The image of Athena swooping away with their meticulously written letters ignited something in Harry's brain, a spark that he tossed around for as long as it took to blaze. He ordered something from a Hogsmeade shop by owl post, and it arrived on Friday afternoon, just in time.
At midnight, he found Draco slumped by the lake window, curled in a blanket with his head on a pillow as if he was sleeping. Harry saw his reflection in the glass, eyes half-closed, brow furrowed in worry. Draco spotted him soon enough, tearing his gaze away from the seaweed-filled view. "What are you doing here? It's late."
"I could ask you the same thing." Harry sat down next to him, placing a large, forest-green velvet box between them. Draco regarded it with tired confusion, slowly lifting himself to a sitting position.
"Is this for me?"
"It's your birthday, isn't it?"
Draco's expression didn't change. "Yes. How'd you know?"
"I figured it was in June, but I asked Henrietta to be sure."
"Ah. Should I…?" He reached tentatively towards it.
"Obviously." Harry smiled teasingly, but Draco hardly seemed to notice.
He carefully lifted the top of the box. The lid blocked Harry's view, but he knew what was inside: sheets of neat-edged parchment, an inkwell with self-filling deep blue ink, a wax seal kit, a thin, black marble tablet, and an ostrich quill the color of an overcast sky, tipped with engraved silver. The gift might have looked pretentious for anyone else, but Harry felt it suited Draco's muted elegance.
Draco smirked, the closest to a smile he'd worn in days. "You have an appreciation for pretty things, I see."
"I'm dating you, aren't I?"
Draco tsked, but his cheeks darkened. He lifted the seal maker, inspecting the carving. "A dragon? How appropriate."
"That's what your name means, doesn't it? In Latin?"
"Yes." He gently replaced the items and closed the box. "It's very nice, Harry. Thank you."
His words sounded honest. Draco's hands slid back from the box and back to himself, his right hand resting on his left forearm out of habit.
"Do you remember how this all started?" Harry asked suddenly, and Draco glanced up as if surprised that he had more to say.
"This?" Draco gestured, indicating the two of them. "How could I forget…"
"A letter," Harry said, and as he spoke, his hand dipped into his robes, pulling out a worn envelope, its dark green seal broken. Draco's eyes widened.
"You kept it?"
Harry slipped out the parchment and held it so Draco could see the last line. I regret joining him. I regret so much, Potter. More than you know. "This made me give you a second chance. This," He handed the letter to Draco, who grasped it with hesitant hands, "Is all it took. And that's all it will take."
Draco looked from the letter to the writing kit, immediately putting the pieces together. "You're the most ridiculously sentimental person ever," He decided. "But maybe you're right." He opened the box, took out a sheet of parchment, and smoothed it onto the stone tablet. Next came the inkwell, carefully set upon the cobblestones. The plumed quill trembled with uncertainty in the dim light. "Will you help me?"
"Yeah, of course." Harry adjusted his glasses and leaned over the blank paper. "The message should come from you, though."
"Right." The quill dipped into the ink with practiced action, but its tip hesitated. "Well…" Draco bent over the parchment and began to write something, "Every letter starts the same way."
He let Harry peer at the first line. Dear Ron and Hermione…
• • •
The warmth of starlight and a melancholy summer breeze. Harry remembered it as he stood beneath an ash tree, its wide branches providing cover from the midday sun.
Had it really been a year ago?
He sat down in the grass and watched as a figure, robed in flowing, forest green, met two others by a worn wooden bench.
Nearly a year since they'd met in the alleyway, faces lit by the shy moon and stray lamplight. Silver eyes turning away even as they crinkled at the edges with gratitude. Harry couldn't help but wonder if Draco had loved him, just a little, even then.
Harry wasn't close enough to make out every detail on their faces, but he could guess Hermione's, Ron's, and Draco's expressions. Draco, his motions stiff, unfolded a thin sheet of parchment. His shoulders raised and lowered almost imperceptibly with a breath. His mouth began to move.
Harry knew every word written on that page - not that he could recite it verbatim, of course. Not when they'd stayed up nearly until sunrise writing it. In fact, he felt sleepy even now, the slight prickliness of the grass beneath him not enough of a deterrent to keep him from slumping. Perhaps he'd better stand up.
Draco's nervous eyes glanced at his two-person audience but never once flickered to his boyfriend. Draco was skilled at many things, Harry knew, but poise came naturally to him. Admittedly, he hadn't exhibited that quality much in his youth, but now, it was one of the things Harry liked most about him. The confident flow of speech, the graceful movement of his hands, his impeccable posture. Harry figured he could single out Draco from a lineup just by resting his hands on his shoulders, without even looking.
You'll do fine, Draco. Harry's eyes began to close as he watched Hermione and Ron. They were listening attentively, politely, engaged with every word that Draco spoke. Harry wished he were closer to see the look in Ron's eyes. He could practically read his best friend's mind from his facial expressions.
Harry rested his head on his arm. The letter was quite long. Unwittingly, he slipped into a dream.
The train cars of the Hogwarts Express swayed slightly as it rumbled along the track. A young man, dressed in a crisp uniform and black robes, rested his arm upon the windowsill as he gazed outside. The compartment was empty; the door had just opened.
Draco looked up, silver eyes curious. "Hello, Potter."
"Hey." Sliding the door shut, Harry sat across from him. A hint of a smile lingered on Draco's lips, but he faced the window again, silent. "Do you know where we're going?"
Draco didn't answer the question. He jutted his pale chin towards the glass. "Look, Harry."
Harry looked. The train slid through a sea of soft clouds, most white, but some blue and purple. As he watched, three silhouettes leaped in and out of the fluff: Luna, laughing gaily as she rode astride a thestral; Ginny, clad in Quidditch gear, zooming forward on her Nimbus; Ron, on a broom as well, Hermione clutching his waist, both of them wearing the same clothes as they did during the battle.
It didn't take long for them to pass, and Harry watched for as long as he could as they faded into the distance. As they disappeared, the sun suddenly began to set, and soon the clouds were bathed in silver-lined, dimming twilight. Inside the train's corridor, golden lamps sputtered to life.
Draco yawned, his eyelids drooping. Wordlessly, he stood from the bench and sat next to Harry. "I'm tired," he stated meaningfully.
Harry reached for a jacket that had spontaneously appeared and arranged it into a sort of pillow on his lap. "Thanks," Draco murmured, and with the casualness of someone who'd known Harry his whole life, laid his head down, curled up, and promptly closed his eyes.
Night fell soon enough, and the stars began to show their bright faces, webbed constellations and galaxies sprinkled through the ink-black sky. Harry leaned against the window as Draco slumbered. "Where are we going?" He said again softly. He wondered where his friends were and why they flew so much faster than the train. "We'll catch up with them, won't we?"
"Hm?" Draco turned, laying on his back, eyes half-open. "I hope so."
Harry glanced down at him, but he'd already closed his eyes. "I love you, you know."
"I know." Draco's voice changed, becoming more insistent. "Potter."
"What?"
"Potter, wake up."
He blinked his eyes open to the bright afternoon. Draco sighed. "Honestly, I was gone for hardly an hour."
"I was tired," Harry protested feebly, sitting up.
"Apparently." Draco held out his hand, helping him to stand. Ron and Hermione drew near, and Harry was surprised to see that her face was streaked with tears.
"Well…Draco got through to us," Hermione said, smiling, and turned to him. "Could I give you a hug?"
"Oh - all right." They made a strange picture, the pale Slytherin and the bushy-haired Muggleborn, embracing like friends on the grass. Ron watched them a bit warily, out of habit, but when they pulled apart, he held out his hand. Draco shook it firmly, and Harry knew that they now truly understood each other as equals.
"Hope you can feel like one of us, now, mate," Ron said, clapping Draco's shoulder, and he smiled hesitatingly.
"I suppose. Though I'm no hero like you three."
"Not yet." Harry grinned as he linked their hands. "You ready to save the world next autumn?"
"Merlin, not the world," Draco sighed. "Let's focus on actually passing our classes first."
"You'll all do great," Hermione told them encouragingly.
"Easy for you to say," said Ron, "You don't have to go to school."
"Training is a bit like school."
"Won't you be disappointed that there are no exams?" Harry chimed in.
Hermione chuckled. "I'll still be able to study."
The four students traipsed up the hill to the castle, chatting and laughing. The sun shone, the lake sparkled, and a breeze meandered through the trees. Invisible stars had aligned, and Harry, for once, felt utterly all right with the world.
