A/n: This round, each position gets a different song to be used as inspiration for your story. Main prompt for Beater 2: I Will Go the Distance - Hercules. (I've interpreted this more loosely, choosing to focus on the aftermath of the hero's journey and the irony of it rather than the actual journey itself.)
Opt prompts: Word: insincere, Word: Unimpressed
Disclaimer: I've taken some creative liberties with the format of this story in that the scenes can be tied together sequentially, or thematically, or in any other way that makes sense to the reader. Same goes for the ambiguity: I've left it to the reader to use conjecture in any way that's meaningful to them.
Word count: 2557
a journey's end (and another's beginning)
But to look beyond the glory is the hardest part, for a hero's strength is measured by his heart.
"So, you're saying the hero worship is tiresome?"
Harry swirled the remnants of his drink with a sigh. He turned to eye the blond seated beside him, watching the wizard take a languid swig of his scotch and set his glass down, all in one fluid motion that barely upset the ice cubes within. It irked Harry that even something so mundane was performed with so much poise and grace.
"No," Harry finally said as piercing grey eyes fixed on him, "you're saying that. I simply wondered why people refuse to let it go despite it being a decade since the war."
The blond shrugged a shoulder. "You can hardly fault them for turning to a beacon of hope as the anniversary of one of the most horrendous events of wizarding history draws near."
Harry tipped his glass. "Is that why you're here, drinking away your sorrows?"
A long silence followed the question, filled by murmurs of conversation and the clinking of cutlery as the other patrons indulged in the pleasant atmosphere and food, leaving the two men to brood in their desolate corner by the bar. Harry watched—a hobby he had recently found much intrigue in—taking in the other's appearance.
The blond's neatly groomed hair was slicked back in a familiar manner, reminiscent of their school days, with some personality added to it in the strands that fell loose over his forehead. He still wore his expensive-looking coat, as though ready to bolt at any given moment, and the collar was turned up, as though shielding him from unwanted eyes. The blond's relaxed posture belied his reticence, but Harry was perceptive enough to notice the way the other's jaw tightened and gaze flickered when anyone drew too close.
At long last, the glass was set down and a measured response was put forth.
"I don't believe we're on close enough terms for me to openly discuss the motives behind my presence here."
"Fair enough." Harry gestured to the name tag hanging crookedly from the lapel of the other's coat. "But your actions seem to precede your words, Draco."
Malfoy—Draco, rather, as the lack of a surname on his tag created a forced need for informality—plucked the piece of card from his person and crushed it rather emphatically. Harry snorted.
"If you were that unhappy about my prying, then you should've just said so."
Draco scoffed. "This is a waste of time." He rose and straightened his already immaculate lapels. "Forgive me for my abrupt exit, but it seems I've overestimated my ability to maintain decorum."
Harry raised an eyebrow at Draco's stiff upper lip (he was mighty proud of that pun), then waved. "See you next week, then."
With a huff that reminded Harry very much of Hermione's cat, the blond sauntered off.
When Harry raised his glass to his lips, he realised he was smiling.
After the war, people picked up various hobbies in an effort to cope. Some were productive, like Hermione's love for gardening, and others were less so, like Seamus' love for the bottle. Harry's hobby, on the other hand, fell somewhere in between curious and downright mad.
Well, he thought as he observed the people milling about the large hall, at least the consequences don't involve organ death.
The host came up just then, gathering the onlookers with words that may sound compelling to a newcomer but were rather dull to a vetaran like Harry. The usual hubbub followed as a generic get-to-know-me activity began, but Harry remained in his seat, finding more pleasure in people-watching than in participating.
A few glanced his way, hesitant, before scurrying off when he met their gaze with disinterest, and Harry was left to his own devices. As the activity drew to a close, Harry's eye fell on a latecomer who had sauntered in, looking as out of place as Harry must seem to others.
At first, he thought himself mistaken. Then the man approached, and the little name tag pinned to his chest confirmed Harry's suspicions.
Draco.
Not Malfoy, surely, Harry thought, but despite the touch of time, the familiar features were unmistakable.
Harry watched the blond wander along the fringes, seeming uncertain, before one of many young witches noticed the eligible bachelor and rushed forth to make his acquaintance. A whirlwind of introductions later, Harry decided it was time to cut in.
The crowd parted for the mysterious man, allowing Harry to make a beeline for the drowning blond and throw him a line before it was too late. Having escaped and settled in an obscure corner of the hall, Harry ventured an introduction.
"Fancy meeting you here—" a pause as Harry pointedly glanced down at the blond's name tag, "—Draco."
Draco rolled his eyes but didn't dispute Harry's use of his first name. Instead, he nodded at Harry's tag and said, "I would say the same to you, John."
Harry shrugged and grinned. "I've learnt that hiding in plain sight is the best way to escape constant scrutiny."
"I can hardly argue with that," Draco replied, gesturing to himself.
He turned and slipped past heavyset drapes to the balcony beyond. Harry followed, curious.
"Still," Harry ventured after several moments' silence, "I'd hardly call this an appropriate gathering for a man of your… reputation."
Harry realised the implication of his ill-timed pause at the same time that Draco said, "I beg your pardon?"
"I just meant you're much too high-class to be mingling with us plebeians," Harry said hurriedly, but even that seemed too on the nose.
Draco gestured at Harry. "And you're not?"
Harry scoffed. "Hardly."
"Yet you chose to lie about your name."
Harry frowned, unappreciative of being caught with his tail between his legs, so to speak.
"Fine. I admit defeat." He extended a hand. "Truce?"
Draco eyed it with an odd glint in his eyes, as though reminiscing of a moment long past. Finally, at which point Harry was embarrassed by his effort, Draco took the outstretched hand and shook it once.
"Alright."
Despite the affirmation, Harry frowned, sensing a challenge in the single word.
"We must stop meeting like this," Harry joked as he slid into an empty barstool beside the blond.
His witty attempt at making his presence known was only met with an unimpressed eye roll. However, once the bartender had slid over Harry's drink and it was evident he wasn't going anywhere, Draco seemed more inclined to acknowledge him.
"While I admit I have my own reasons for partaking in this ludicrousy, pray tell why you would bother joining this group if you had no intention of mingling?"
Harry hummed in thought. Then, he raised his glass and said, "A secret for a secret?"
A sigh, then a resigned nod. Harry grinned.
"You know what I missed the most, growing up?"
Draco shrugged, but when Harry waited for a reply, he waved a hand and said, "Parents? Not being on the hit-list of a murderous madman? The possibilities are endless."
Harry nodded patiently. "All very good answers, but what I regretted the most was not using more opportunities to be the one doing the watching instead of always feeling watched. Turning a vice into a strength, if you will."
Draco squinted at him. "You're an odd sort, you know that?"
Harry laughed. "I get that a lot. Anyway, when I went into self-appointed exile for several months after the war to escape the constant scrutiny, I rediscovered my roots of being in the background, going unnoticed, and found joy in being away from the spotlight."
"Sounds like a load of twaddle," Draco interjected, but Harry was unphased.
"Anyone would be a bit unhinged, after what I went through, but I find it's easier to accept and make something of it rather than pretending to be put-together." He glanced pointedly at Draco, then said, "Your turn."
Draco looked pensive. "I lost a bet," he said at last, ears going red. "And being a man of my word, I could hardly back down."
Harry stared open-mouthed, then burst out laughing. Draco glowered at him.
"I'm sorry," Harry said, still laughing, wiping tears from his eyes, "you thought what I said was ridiculous, but somehow your reason is more acceptable?"
"At least I'm not lying about who I am and hiding behind flawed logic," Draco snapped.
Harry sobered down at that and nodded. "Can't argue with that."
He swirled his drink, falling into a familiar feeling of melancholy. Draco stirred beside him, drawing him out of his cryptic thoughts.
"I don't understand why you, of all people, would choose to run away from being hailed a hero. Aren't Gryffindors supposed to be all about honour and glory?" Draco asked, but despite his scathing words, his tone didn't seem insincere.
Harry smiled down at his drink. "And aren't Slytherins supposed to be anything but men of their word?"
"Touche."
Harry glanced up to find Draco watching the other members of their group milling about, seeming to be having a good time, unlike the two of them.
"It's ironic that you seem to loathe your legacy as much as I do mine," Draco said softly.
As Harry mulled over that, Draco continued. "Our roles could've been reversed," he said. "I could've been the unwitting hero of that story. After all, that's what I grew up believing—that I was walking the path towards a hero's welcome."
He scoffed, but there was such sadness in his eyes that Harry found himself pained on the blond's behalf.
"We were only children," Harry offered. "We did what we knew best, and it's a miracle we survived."
"A miracle indeed," Draco whispered, and Harry noticed the way his Adam's apple bobbed, as though he was swallowing down the hurt.
"I…" Harry trailed off, unsure what he wanted to say but needing to fill the space with words. He tried again. "I relished in it for a long time, you know. Going from being methodically abused and ignored to being adored and loved like the biggest celebrity of all time...what kid wouldn't want that?"
He sighed and stared off into space, the demons of his past dancing along the periphery of his vision. In a low voice, he said to nobody in particular, "But we can only take so much of a good thing before it becomes toxic, right?"
The ensuing silence was filled with laughter from the other members of the group, and suddenly, Harry felt unbelievably alone, sitting there with a half-finished drink in hand. As though sensing Harry's retreat into himself, Draco placed his glass down on the countertop with a loud clatter, causing Harry to start and look up.
The blond smiled ruefully. "Did you ever imagine, even in your wildest dreams, that the two of us would be sharing such intimate conversation?"
"In my wilder dreams, maybe," Harry replied, making Draco laugh.
"You are a strange man, Harry Potter," the blond said, offering Harry a smile so disarming that Harry felt cheated by the other's standoffish attitude from earlier.
"And you mean to tell me that you've had the ability to be good-natured all along?" Harry demanded.
Draco laughed, the throw-your-head-back-and-guffaw sort of laugh that would be unacceptable for someone from high society, Harry imagined. Suddenly, he wondered if Draco casting away his surname had greater importance than he'd originally thought.
Laughing himself, Harry held out his glass. Draco clinked it with his rather ceremoniously, saying, "To the hero's journey and what a load of balderdash it is."
Harry raised his glass. "Hear hear."
Harry slipped past the heavy drapes, revelling at the silence that welcomed him on the balcony. As much as the drapes were enchanted to ensure conversations from within couldn't be eavesdropped on, it also meant they prevented the chaos from escaping, giving recluses like Harry and Draco the perfect hideaway.
As he came to stand beside the blond, for once, he wasn't the first to initiate conversation.
"Seems like an utter waste of your time and money to attend these frivolous functions but not participate."
Harry inhaled deeply, revelling in the scent of rain that still hung in the air, then said, "You realise you're to blame for that, right?"
He felt Draco's gaze on him, and turned to meet stormy eyes. The emotion in them was indescribable. Harry quelled the need to fill the silence with words, choosing to leave the Quaffle in Draco's court instead.
The blond seemed to be measuring something; whether it was Harry, his response, or something else entirely, Harry didn't know. Finally, when the silence was growing intolerable, Draco spoke.
"Strange that you would choose my company, when I've offered so little in return."
Harry snorted childishly at the innuendo. Draco rolled his eyes, unimpressed.
Turning, Harry leaned against the cool marble railing and stared off into the distance, allowing the midsummer breeze to carry away any stray thoughts. Draco seemed to do the same, and the two stood in comfortable silence for several minutes.
Then, when Harry least expected it, Draco said, "Thank you."
Harry stared. "Why?"
Draco's expression remained serene, but the telltale sign of his ears turning red were unmistakable. "Well," he said, "for humouring me, I suppose."
"You're being awfully honest," Harry commented.
Draco smiled ruefully. "Making up for lost time, perhaps."
"Yes," Harry agreed. "There's a lot to make up for."
"Not like this, surely," Draco said, gesturing to the high windows beside the balcony, through which they could see groups of people laughing and making merry.
"Every moment has its gifts," Harry murmured, closing his eyes as a breeze rustled past, allowing himself to simply be. Simply breathe. "I've spent my whole life running—sometimes away from something, sometimes towards it—so maybe now I just want to stand still."
After a moment's pause, Draco said, "Can I ask you something?"
Harry opened his eyes, curious, and turned to meet the blond's gaze. Draco shifted awkwardly, making Harry wonder what he was about to ask.
Looking away, pretending to be engrossed in something far off, Draco asked, "Would you say you've gone the distance?" He paused, then turned gunmetal eyes to focus on Harry. "That your journey is complete?"
Harry smiled, somehow understanding exactly what the blond was asking. He hummed in thought.
"You know what they say," he began, chuckling at the intensely focused expression on Draco's face and deciding that he was right in what he was about to say, "as one journey ends, another begins." He nodded at the blond. "What about you?"
Draco smiled lopsidedly, a sudden luminescence gleaming in his eyes as the setting sun caught his face at just the right angle. The breeze ruffled his hair, and the blond ran a hand through it. In that moment, Harry felt a subtle shift in time and space, as though something had changed—as though his words had come to fruition.
Echoing the sentiment, Draco said, "I think my new journey has already begun while I wasn't looking." He laughed, and Harry was astonished by the sudden carefree lilt in his voice when he said, "And maybe this time, I'll go the distance."
I know every mile would be worth my while; When I go the distance, I'll be right where I belong.