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Chapter 46: Revelation in Its' Clarifying Glory (Part 2)
Secrets, strangely enough, were much like envy. An odd, curious thing. One that was much more well-known but still painfully overlooked.
Like envy, secrets entangled you into their web either by accident or on purpose, clutching onto until you were choking.
Like envy, secrets took on different forms. Through a familiar face that unleashed a riot of emotions. As an object that first glance looked so ordinary, but in next second become extraordinary, burning like a dark star. A weight, an unbearably heavy weight, like a gallstone in the stomach, an stack of bricks piled onto the chest, that grew heavier and heavier more it was suppressed.
Like envy, secrets consumed. They devoured.
Unlike envy, secrets were much more deceitful. Envy didn't hide its true nature, its' greed, its' pride, its' ugly want and need for something out of its' reach. Secrets were different. Seen as necessities, as important gems that needed to kept safe, even seen as good wrapped around its' deceitful, warm blanket known as good intentions. Even between family and friends, especially between family and friends.
Friends shared secrets. Smart friends knew which secrets needed to come out and which ones needed to stay buried. Best friends that knew you better than you knew yourself and you them knew which secrets were much too dangerous to let out. Due to fear and the harm it could to the relationship. Due to the complexity it would bring to the other person's life. Due to the severity the secret contained and how even a word of it-true or not, suspicion or confirmation-wouldn't just ruin the relationship but the person themselves, utterly destroying them.
Those were the secrets that burned the mouth like searing-hot coals. Those were the secrets that made you feel like there was an animal, big as an elephant, vicious like a wolf, rattling inside, trying to break free. Leaving the person, the friend no other choice but to swallow the coals and bear with the monster, deal with the weight. All in the name of good intentions. All in the name of protection.
Even as the secrets grew. Even as days rolled by and everyone else was clean in their ignorance and you filthy with knowledge. Even as the secrets taunted, showing their ugliness through the veil of good-intention.
I know something you don't know, it sang as you looked into the eyes of the person concerning the secret. The one you were trying to shield from the ugliness. It made the secret all the more happy, its singing innocently-childlike and wickedly-chilling all the more louder. I know something that shouldn't be known. Something big, something bad, something that will make you hurt and sad.
Unlike envy, secrets were a near constant like a shadow, always around, always close-by, tangling into dreams when the day was done. And they've haunted Harry the entire summer, from the second he saw Voldemort emerge from the cauldron, from the second he saw strands of pale blonde hair fall from that black hood and gray eyes from the mask, from the second hurt splashed across Draco's face as Harry turned away from him.
And last night's nightmare was by far the worst. He was back in that black room with mirrors. Only this time instead of dozens of mirrors surrounding him like a cage, there was only one that took up the entire front, stretching so far that Harry didn't see how far it ran. What he did see was his own reflection: a frightened, restless fifteen year old whose skin was pale from lack of sunlight, eyes wide from lack of sleep and wild in fear.
Anxiously, Harry had stretched out his hand. The second his finger touched cold glass, a strange curl twisted his mouth that was unsettling, a drop of red splashed in center of his eye before it spread. A vivid, menacing red that completely consumed emerald-green until not a speck of it was seen, holding a smile within its gaze that chilled Harry right to the bone as they stared at him.
Harry tried to seize back his hand, using his other arm to reel it back, but Voldemort-Tom-his reflection refused to let him go, their grip tight and firm as steel.
"Just as I said before, you stupid boy," Harry's face, his reflection said with Voldermort's voice.
Harry looked up from his trapped hand and instantly regretted it. His reflection was deteriorating before his eyes, skin paling to skeleton white, cracks starting at the temple and branching out, revealing deep-blue veins pulsing underneath. His mirrored self wore a smile so vile, so wrong as he pulled Harry until they were nose to nose. Harry was fighting against menacing sea of crimson trying to swallow him whole.
"We're more alike than you think," it grinned. "More than you can possibly imagine."
What saved him from the continuation of that dream was the pounding of his heart that was ready to burst out. Once Harry was awake, he didn't bother going back to sleep. There were only a few hours left before Mrs. Weasley roused them from bed. Also, knowing his head, it would just pick off where the dream left off or come up with something just as terrifying.
He crawled out of bed and wandered over to the bookshelf. He intended to find something good, a fun story that would take his mind off things. Instead what he grabbed was a photo album. The second he touched it, he was tempted to shove it back and grab something else. An actual book that would take his mind off himself and family but his body had other ideas.
Before he knew what he was going, Harry found himself on the ground, back pressed against the wall the side of the bed, the photo album opened on his lap.
One of the first pictures he came across was a replica of his face. The nightmare still fresh in his mind, Harry was ready to turn the page but the sight of his dad's hazel eyes stopped him. A young James Potter leaned against an oak tree and crossed his face, waving his shaggy hair away from his face with a flick of his head, flashing the camera a smile that was as bright as the Head Boy badge pinned to his Hogwarts sweater.
Harry remembered playing with the badge when he was little as his dad showed him all of the Hogwarts prizes he saved in his trunk, including his old Quidditch gear. He wondered what happened to that trunk. If it was still in the basement or destroyed along with most of their house.
Chilled by the thought, Harry turned back the page.
The next picture was of his mother climbing up the stairs, arms full of books, dark red twisted into a messy bun. She rolled her bright green eyes when she realized she was being photographed, gifting the camera the finger as she passed by.
He continued to look through album. There were more pictures of his mum, ones where she was more relaxed and calmer, sitting outside in the courtyard, relaxing with a book. One of her smiling as she walked through the courtyard, waves of red hair billowing out like ribbons. One of her twirling her wand with a proud smirk before she held it out, ready to aim. His dad nearly flying straight into the camera before pulling back last minute. His Mum and Remus at the library, layers of notes and flashcards laid out between them, looking up to glare at the offender with their eyes burning from anger and lack of sleep. Group shots of the Maruaders that made anger burn in Harry's chest as he watched Pettigrew so happy and chummy with his dad, causing him to flip the page quickly before he gave into the urge to incinerate the picture.
Then there were pictures that made him stop and stare, taking in details. Like his dad trying to steal kiss from Mum and her pushing him away with a grin. Him, Sirius, and Remus out in the snow, initiating a kicking chorus line. A picture taken at their wedding of them sharing their first dance, looking at each other with such love in their eyes like there was nothing else they'd rather see.
It was shocking how young his parents looked, even in the pictures where Harry came along. Especially in those pictures. It was something he never really thought of before but was now a fact that was hard to ignore. His dad playing keep-away with a toddler Harry featuring Leo the stuffed lion and a levitation spell, lowering the toy at Harry's eye level and then shooting back up when he tried reaching for it. His mom holding him over her head and bringing him down for a peek on nose. A small Harry with his parents laughing as they tried decorating the Christmas tree and his poor dad had gotten tangled in tinsel.
Then more pictures afterwards, of his parents at Hogwarts and afterwards. of Harry from baby to toddler to child. And then pictures of his family and the Malfoys. Him and Draco running through the gardens at Malfoy Manor barefooted, which stunned both their mums when they found out. His mum and Aunt Cissa linked arm-to-arm, heads close together, laughing at whatever joke was being told. His dad and Uncle Lucius at one of the Christmas balls, his dad grinning as he talked, waving his hands excitedly while Lucius shook his head and calmly took sips of his wine. It would almost seem as if Lucius was exhausted by his company, but the amusement that lit his face, touched the small smile seemed genuine, suggesting friendship.
It couldn't have been all an act, could it? Harry thought as he looked at the next picture. Lucius standing beside his dad as they watched their sons play on their toy brooms, Dad beaming, Uncle wearing that same faint, amused smile. The invites to those Christmas balls, the invites to their home, the laughs, the smiles. They couldn't have been a ploy to get closer to Harry and his parents? To hurt them-
"Quite a picture."
In a heartbeat, the photo album was shoved off his lap and Harry's wand was out, the tip thrust against Sirius's chest. Sirius looked just as shocked by the move as Harry was.
"K…" his godfather said, hands held up in a surrender. "Well, it's a comfort to know you'll be ready if a creep tries anything funny. Or a reporter."
Dear Merlin. Reality struck Harry like a slap. "Sirius, I'm so sor-"
"It's okay, kiddo-"
"I could have-"
"It's alright."
"No, it's not! I could have-"
"It's-" Sirius placed his hand over Harry's that was still gripping onto the wand and lowered it. "Alright, kiddo."
Harry let out a shaky breath and tucked his wand away. Sirius gave him a gentle smile and joined Harry on the floor.
"Honestly, "Sirius said. "I'd be worried if you didn't react that way."
Except Harry didn't want his reactions to be that way. At all.
Almost as if he read Harry's mind, Sirius said, "Trust me, been there myself, especially in the beginning when I was on the run. Those months were...not the best. You're at constant guard. The slightest move makes your heart race. You keep waiting for something to come out, determined to get it before it gets you. Hell, there were even times a hex just came flying out of my wand to the poor sucker before I blinked." His smile grew more tender. "So believe me, I know."
Harry swallowed but didn't say anything.
Sirius reached out for the photograph and brought it back to their lap, flipping it over to the next page which featured a photo of him and Dad laughing, arms locked around each other's necks. Sirius let out a sigh that sounded both fond and sad at once. "It's been eight years and not a day goes by where I don't miss your dad."
Only eight. Strange. It felt less to Harry.
Sirius looked over at him and ruffled his hair. "He'd be so proud of you, kiddo. They both would. At the courage you've shown and the great man you've become."
Harry bit his lip, staring down at the picture of Mum seated onto Dad's lap, laughing as she played with his hair. "How could you can be sure?"
"Canine instinct."
Harry cracked a small smile that soon fell as his went back to the nightmare and the countless dreams before that one. Of Voldemort and Tom and their faces fusing together, sometimes of his own face being mixed in with the bastard, of his parents and Cedric, of Sirius joining the dead, Uncle Lucius in that silver mask and Draco getting dragged into that darkness. "Sirius…"
"Yes?"
"I…" I think there's a connection between me and Voldemort and it's getting stronger. I think-know-war is coming and the Minister is going to damn us all because he refuses to believe it. I think Uncle Lucius may be a Death Eater. "Could you explain this picture?" He pointed to a random one of Sirius jumping into a lake in the dead of night with his dad laughing and Remus shaking his head.
Sirius chuckled. "An interesting story involving vodka and a dare and forty gallons on the line."
Just as Harry predicted, at the crack of the dawn, Mrs. Weasley marched around the house and banged heavy pots and pans against their doors, calling for them to get up. Or in Ron's case, banging pans and a bucket of cold water to the face, which Fred and George teased him mercilessly for over breakfast which was large and delicious. And would have been better if it wasn't for the subtle and noticeable way Sirius and Mrs. Weasley tried keeping things civil between them, or the anxious and definitely noticeable looks Ron and Hermione kept shooting him almost as if they thought he'd break apart into a shrieking mess.
They were definitely still shocked and rightfully furious at the secret he was holding, which now he was making them keep as well. Since he told them, they hit him with question after question on what he was going to. Did he still feel safe going back to Hogwarts? Would he feel safe being back in the Slytherin dorms? What would he do the next time he saw Lucius or had to had to go to the Manor? More importantly-
"What are you doing to do when you see Draco?" Hermione asked after breakfast, pulling him aside while everyone else was getting their bags.
A streak of pain danced across his chest as Draco's pain-stricken face flashed in his mind. "I-I don't know."
Hermione's lips pursued into a thin line. It looked like she was ready to say something to him but stopped as she stepped closer and studied his face. The way she looked at him, Harry was sure she uncovered the real reason behind his silence. Why he was keeping the secret and why he was so anxious on seeing Draco again. Sure that was the truth was so clear on his face.
He half-expected her to say it right then and there. Hermione instead sighed, brushed loose strands of his hair away from his face, and drew back. "I just want you to be okay, Harry."
"I know."
He almost knew that if anything, he'd do what he'd done the entire summer. Swallow down the hot coals, cage in the monster, and suppress the secrets for as long as he could.
And he did just that as he came into the Platform and was greeted by skepticism and fear.
He did just that as he immediately spotted Draco with his family, seeing how beautiful he looked, feeling longing throbbing in his chest, and nearly hid from view because he wasn't ready.
He did just that when he was about to follow Ron and Hermione into the train but at the last minute turned around, heading towards the Malfoys.
When he looked at his best friend (really looked at him), seeing his amazement of Harry actually being there, loving him more than he ever thought he did.
When he walked into his aunt's arms and Draco reached for his hand and for a minute he thought everything would be okay.
When he turned to face his uncle and saw two sides, one of the man he knew and cared for, the other the madman's servant who watched him suffer, struggling to keep his smile up and his tone even as he greeted him.
Then in the compartment where for a few minutes he was lost in the land of hands and lips and heat until the world exploded in white bliss.
Then was forced to pull away from Draco afterwards despite wanting to be lost in those incredible feelings over and over again until he was nothing, hearing the secret snickering, mocking, singing its song. I know something you don't know.
He swallowed it down. He suppressed it. Through the stares and whispers in the Great Hall, through Umbridge's speeches and Dumbleodre's that were mainly aimed towards him. Despite the pain in Draco's eyes when Harry pulled away from him, despite the fact he had to run from him with his jaw aching from his tightly-clamped mouth, despite the fact Draco locked them in their room, looking more furious than Harry had ever seen him.
All for the sake of being a good friend, a best friend. All in the name of good intentions. All because of protection, because he loved his best friend more anything and would rather have his limbs ripped out one at a time than to hurt him like that. Harry swallowed those rocks. He pushed down the beast for as long as he could. He tried to silence that damned song.
Until Draco pulled out Harry's letter that looked so small and pathetic in his hand. Until he started talking, really talking. Crumbling Harry's determination and will into saw paper with each word that slashed pain across his chest, each glance into Draco's face that was open and vulnerable, and those that final words:
"I just want you."
That was the final nail that broke his heart, broke his mind into pieces.
If he was the Harry from before, he would be rejoicing. He would be happy. He would be kissing Draco until their lips were numb. But he wasn't. He couldn't. Not when Draco had been so open and Harry so closed-up, feeling the weight of his secret slam into him like a brick wall as he looked into those trusting, familiar gray eyes.
I know something you don't know. Something to make you hate me.
He thought he could do it. He thought he could manage it. But that speech, those four words that were nothing but honest undid him. So Harry forced himself to move back before Draco's lips could touch him. He forced Draco's hands off his face, folding them onto his lap.
"Harry?"
Several different scenarios plated out in his head.
One of him insisting that it was late, they were both tired, and they should try this conversation again later.
One of him bringing up Kilia and that his heart was set on her. Or better yet, Hermione, knowing it would spark that extra edge. Saying that during the summer they had gotten clsoer and he saw her in a whole new light-one which he wanted to pursue.
Of him gently as could, firmly as he could, harshly as he had to be bash Draco with denial and denial, saying that he didn't see him that way, that he never saw him that way. That he could never see him way since he was just his best friend and nothing more.
All of which made his chest hurt, added more weight to the mountain of secrets topped on his head.
"If it turns out Lucius really is on Voldemort's side, and he's given the choice between you and his father, which side do you think Draco will choose?"
Well, it looked like he was about out.
Eyes stinging, throat burning, heart pounding, Harry said, "There's-there's something I need to tell you."
Draco blinked, then blinked again. He tried to reach for Harry's hands but Harry backed away, causing confusion and hurt to hit his face. "What is it? What's wrong?"
His mind went back to second year and how the roles were reversed, where Harry was the one trying to understand and Draco was the one stuffed with so many secrets, fearful of Harry's reaction. Of not believing him, of hating him, walking away. Back then, Harry didn't understand on how earth his best friend could think such a thing. Now, he understood completely.
"You're not the only one who screwed up," he said. "I did too. Just as much-even more. I was stubborn. I was stupid. And-I was quiet through a lot of things when I should have said something." The realization hit him like a blow to the chest, knocking heart and lungs and even stomach ten feet back. "I should have said something."
Like when Draco kissed him in this room second year after their movie night and Harry, despite all including his shock, actually liked it?
Or when he found out about Draco and Pansy and he was so shocked, so mad (more mad than he had ever been) but mostly jealous? Unbelievably, furiously jealous.
Or even now, with the biggest secret mounted on his head.
"Like what?" Draco asked.
Merlin helped him. Harry took in a deep breath and said, "Cedric and I made it to the finish line at the same time. The trophy was right in front of us and we just looked at each other, wondering who deserved it. Cedric thought I should take it since I helped him out with the dragons. I thought he should since he helped me figure out the egg. We spent so much time going back and forth, fighting about it…" His stomach churned as he realized that was how Cedric spent his last few moments. "So finally we both agreed to take it. That way we'd both win. Only when we touched it, it didn't take us back to Hogwarts. It took us to a graveyard."
If only Harry had just stopped fighting and taken the stupid trophy. If he had, he would have faced Voldemort on his own and Cedric would still be alive.
"I saw this thing coming towards us, carrying something. It was wrapped in this dark blanket and looked so small. I almost thought it was a baby. Then this voice just said, '"Kill the spare.' Next thing I knew, a green light flashed," Draco's eyes widened. "And Cedric was dead. Pettigrew was pulling me towards this tombstone that had the name, Tom Riddle, written on it."
The words spilled out from Harry like broken water damn. He told Draco how he tried to fight off Pettigrew, even resorting to biting the man's hand. How Pettigrew used magic to bring him back to the tombstone, smacking him against it, tying him down. The ritual that was performed with Pettigrew spilling both his own blood and Harry's to complete it. Voldemort emerging from the cauldron, revived with power. How Voldemort summoned his followers, dozens of Death Eaters in their black cloaks and silver masks that answered the call at once.
"From what I made out, they were amazed to see him. Amazed and terrified. Voldemort didn't let any of them forget the fact they abandoned him after he 'died'. And…and…" Dread knotted his stomach as Harry said, "There was one Voldemort was most annoyed him. He said to him that he was hanging by a thread and warned him to make sure it didn't snap. The Death Eater bowed his head and-and…" His stomach was being mangled into a shapeless lump. "Strands of his hair feel out from his hood. Pale blonde hair."
Silence greeted him. Harry held himself tight, terrified of what he'd see if he looked up.
"And when the Death Eater looked at me…I don't think know if it was the color of his mask or maybe the pain was getting to me, but-I-I could have sworn I saw gray eyes looking at me."
Silence. Long, strain silence. The longer it went on, the tighter Harry's stomach squeezed. Licking his lips nervously, Harry looked up and immediately regretted it.
Pure, flinching shock blazed in Draco's eyes. An emotion that was evitable, one Harry always knew that Draco would feel when he found out about his father's possible appearance. An evitable emotion that punched Harry in the gut all the same and caused him to look away, knowing this was just a taste of what was to come.
He explained to Draco how the Death Eater stayed silent as Voldemort verbally-lashed him and moved on. How that same one stayed silent as the rest of them laugh, watching their master and Harry duel. How he and Voldemort were trapped in this strange cocoon when their spells hit each other. How the past victims who suffered from the end of his wand emerged from it. From the Ministry employee Pettigrew used and killed, an innocent elderly Muggle man, Cedric who asked Harry to bring his body back to his parents, and his own parents.
"And somehow I was back at Hogwarts. Cedric was dead underneath me. Everyone was screaming and crying. My head was spinning. I couldn't focus on anything. It was all just a numbing blur. Except for you. I heard you through the white noise and-" He raked his top teeth over his bottom lip, trying and failing to think of a kinder alternative to the set of words he was about to say. "I looked at you and it was like I was back at the graveyard. With that strange Death Eater was looking at me."
A quiver shook through Draco's body. Harry's throat burnt like a heated lump of coal.
"After what happened, I just couldn't deal with anyone. I couldn't handle seeing anyone-"
"Even me." Draco said, his voice remote.
There was no point denying it. The dismissal in the hospital wing and the unanswered letters said enough. Harry swallowed and moved on, explaining his miserable summer. How much of a shut-in he had became, so horrifyingly bad that even Kreacher was worried. How the only places he visited beside his bedroom was the Black library and even that was sparingly. Sirius and Remus's worry about him and their arguments over Dumbledore. Hermione and Ron's fear over him. How each time Draco's owl came in with a letter, he couldn't bear to open it. The nightmares of Voldemort and the graveyard and Halloween night that haunted him every night. Constant back and forth thoughts on the strange Death Eater with the pale hair, toying with the possibility of who he could be.
"One night the nightmare got so bad that Ron and Hermione had to wake me up." Harry said. "I haven't really done anything since they arrived at Grimmauld Place but this time they were really spooked. They kept hounding me all day, wanting to know what was wrong. Hermione knew that I haven't told the full truth of what I saw, and she was right. I didn't. I couldn't. My mind kept going back and forth between what I possibly saw. How blonde hair is a common color, but very few have that pale white color. How the gray eyes could have been a trick of light but also how the man just looked at me. I was so tired. My head just reached a breaking point and I needed reassurance. Needed a sign that I wasn't going crazy."
All of the tension gathering in the air seeped into Draco's body, stiffening it to a tense board. He knew where this conversation was going. Harry wanted to stop, but the words poured out.
"I couldn't tell Severus because I was still processing everything I learned about him. Sirius already had issues with your parents and I knew this would set him off the edge. Remus was already in too many feuds with Sirius and Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley. After everything that happened, I couldn't face Dumbledore. I didn't know what to say to you. Ron and Hermione though…they've been there along us through every crazy episode. And it was-it was getting too much for me. The nightmares, the newspapers about me and my so-called lies, the memories. I just needed a second pair of eyes looking at the situation. Telling me that it couldn't be true, that it wasn't true. So I-"
"You told them." A statement, not a question. A blunt, cold-truth statement Harry couldn't and didn't deny.
"I just-I needed to know." Desperation wrecked his tongue. "I needed to know that I wasn't going mad-"
"So you told them!" The sharp, cold edge in his voice broke the lock Harry kept on his tears, casting them free.
"Draco." Harry croaked.
He had moved himself entirely away from Harry, walking/stumbling over to the fireplace, turning his back to Harry.
"Draco-" He didn't cut him off with words or a glare, but with the shaking of his body. Caused by anger, shock, suppressed sobs, all three or none-Harry didn't know. It hurt though to see.
"And what did Weasley and Granger have to say?" Draco's tone was neutral, not giving a hint to what he was feeling. What he was thinking.
Harry focused on the carpeted floor as if his life depended on it. He pressed his fists against his mouth, trying to cage in the sobs attempting to escape.
"What. Did. They. Say?"
Harry already screwed up. Massively, unbelievably screwed up. Might as well continue on. "Ron thought I was crazy for holding the secret and thought I should tell Dumbledore and the Ministry. Hermione thought it needed to be told. She brought up the first war and how your family was suspected to be on Voldemort's side. She brought up the fact how most of Uncle's ideals were too close to Voldermort's. Still though I couldn't do it. I couldn't let them either so I made them take the Unbreakable Vow to make sure they wouldn't. It was wrong, but I couldn't take that chance."
The only source of sound that filled the air was the crackling fireplace, disrupting the silence, adding more fuel to the tension that was so thick, Harry could hardly move.
"So why are you telling me now?" Draco asked.
Harry's eyes flickered over to Draco. Draco watched the fire.
Because he still wasn't sure about Uncle Lucius, caught between all the reasons it couldn't have been him and all the reasons why it might be.
Because he'd rather carry the weight of the secrets and have it crush him, have Pettigrew hack off his entire arm, have Voldemort torture him with Crucios than to cause Draco any pain.
Because he thought of Severus, Remus, and his parents. How they all tried to shield him from the truth because they wanted to protect him, and how the truth hurt ten times more after he found out.
"Because I love you." Harry confessed.
A jolt went through Draco's body, so powerful that he held himself, gripping his arms so tightly that Harry heard skin stretching over the bone. Even so, he refused to turn around.
"I love you," Harry repeated. "I always have and it took me so damn long to realize it. More than just a friend. More than I do anyone else. I love you so much that it hurts. So much that I couldn't handle the thought of you being hurt and I knew that's exactly what the secret would do to you." His throat was filled with ash and smoke, completely singed from the weight of the coals. "I don't know if he was there or not-I still don't. I didn't want to believe it, but I couldn't shake the feeling. I didn't want to tell you because whether it was true or not, I knew it would be damaging and couldn't be taken back." Sobs shook his throat and Harry tried swallowing them down. "Voldemort already took my family. I couldn't let him take yours. So I just kept quiet because I didn't know what else to do. That…" Harry dug in deep and had to shove the words out while he still had the nerve. "And because I was-I am-a goddamn coward. I was so scared of what you'd do once I told you. That you'd possibly think I'm crazy too and a liar. That you wouldn't believe me. That you'd have to make a choice and I'd no longer be part of your life anymore because I know how much your father means to you."
Harry bit down on his lip and swallowed hard, choking out more words.
"But it doesn't matter. I had the truth hid from me. From Severus, Remus, Mum and Dad. They tried to keep me in the dark because they didn't want to hurt me and it ended up doing just that. More actually. And-I can't do that you." He shook his head, eyes filling with tears, tears running down his face. "Not anymore. You deserve to know. And-and if it turns out to be true, if what I think I saw was real and you have to choose," How was possible he was still speaking when everything hurt? "If you have to choose regardless of whether or not he's guilty, then I'll just have to accept it. Because at this rate, if I hold it in any longer, I'm going to lose you." Who the hell was he kidding? "I've already lost you."
He thought he knew pain when he saw Mum in front of him. He thought he knew pain when Aurors suspected that Sirius was behind his parents' murder and he lost yet another family member. He thought he knew pain when he was getting thrown around like a ragdoll by Voldemort, his leg twisted, his head burning, and those followers laughed at his struggle. But this? Releasing the secrets after carrying them for so long and feeling so empty? Knowing the extreme severity of the wrongness of what was done and the part he played? Realizing he no longer had a best friend, that he lost his other half because he was so stupid and such a coward? It was a whole level of pain that made it hard to breathe.
Harry bowed his head and held himself tight, not even bothering to hide from the pain, letting it have at him. Letting it eat him limb by limb, devour him until he was drowning, until he was a thought. Knowing he deserved it for being so stupid, for being so weak-
He was yanked off the bed and pulled into a hard chest, enveloped into a fierce hug.
Harry was stunned by the gesture. Stunned by the fact Draco was holding him when any other person would be cursing him, hexing him, calling him a liar or a coward. Stunned by the tears he felt dripping onto his hair, soaking his neck that was hot and rapid as his own. As stunned as he was, he didn't resist or question, hugging Draco just as tight. Just as hard.
He didn't realize how much he missed this, being so close to him, bathed in his warmth and his scent, until now. How much he really, truly loved him.
"You should hate me." Harry muttered, voice wrecked from sobs.
"You idiot. You goddamn, stupid, fucking idiotic git," Draco choked, clutching onto him. "I can't hate you. I could never hate you."
That made tears fall harder. "I should have told you."
Draco shook his head, burying his face further into Harry's neck. "He should have told me. They both should have. You were just caught in their mess."
That didn't make it any less wrong. "But-"
Draco grabbed Harry's face and forced him to look up. "I'm furious you told Granger and the weasel. I'm furious you couldn't come to me and thought pushing me away was the best opinion. I'm furious that you didn't trust me enough, but given past experiences and my reactions to most of them I can't say that I blame you."
"Draco, that's not-" Draco cut him off with a firm squeeze to the jaw.
"I'm livid at what happened, the parts others played in creating it, the parts we did ourselves but that doesn't change anything. It doesn't…it doesn't…" Draco took in a deep breath and said, "It doesn't change what I said earlier. About you and my feelings."
He was dreaming, that was it. He cried himself to sleep and now he was dreaming. It was the only logical explanation. "What?" Harry asked, baffled.
"Nothing can and nothing will ever change the way I feel about you. We can't undo what happened or what we did or said. But if there's something that can be taken away from this shite and Diggory's death, it's that life is too goddamn short. I already wasted enough time being so scared, so angry, and confused. Well, I'm done. I'm done with all of it. Are you?"
Sincerity rang in every word that came out. There was nothing but determination, determination and tenderness in his eyes. His throat tight and clogged, Harry leaned in until their foreheads were touching, breathing in the calming scent of apples and mint that loosened the knots in his chest. Draco pulled back a bit to cup his Harry's face in his hands and wipe the tears off his face.
"I'm so sorry you went through that. I'm sorry you went through it alone," Draco stroked his cheek. "But I swear I'll make it right."
Harry was already shaking his head halfway through. "Draco, you don't have to-
He pressed his finger against Harry's mouth. When he was sure a protest wouldn't rise, he removed it. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes," Harry answered without hesitation. Even when he didn't always show it. Even when things were maddening and crazy and turned upside down.
"You-" Apprehension and astonishment swirled in those familiar gray eyes. "You love me?"
Whatever remained of his tattered, bloody heart throbbed. "Yes."
Draco bit his lip. "Do you want to be with me?"
The logical part of Harry said that the timing wasn't right, reminding him of Voldemort and the nightmares, Voldemort's message and Draco appearing hurt in almost all of them. The noble part of him said it was too soon, reminding him once again Voldemort and his words on everything Harry loved or cared for going up in flames. That there was still the matter of Lucius. That he and Draco had their own issues that needed to work out before they attached themselves to someone.
But Harry was tired. He was selfish and weak and so damned tired. Tired of drowning. Tired of the weight. Tired of being scared. Most of all, he was tired of pretending he didn't feel what he felt.
"There's no one else I want but you."
