Draco was uncomfortable. More so than when he'd just been modeling Quidditch gear, because for some reason, a magical cologne brand had reached out to his agent, and she'd accepted. So here he stood, in a field of fucking flowers, wearing a half-unbuttoned billowing blouse and tight black pants that were chafing awfully. Fucking bitch Maureen. I couldn't have just stuck to athletic gear?
He didn't let his discomfort show on his face, or in his body language, as he posed among the flowers. Lying had been a necessary survival skill during the war, and he found it served him in the modeling industry, too. If he could lie to the Dark Lord's face, he could convince the camera that he felt as confident as he needed to.
As he turned this way and that, allowed the assistants to tug his loose blouse down over one shoulder and adjust his hair, his mind lingered on his evening with Potter. Of course, it'd made the news. The fact that he'd gone to a bar, alone, with the intent of getting drunk would've made the news regardless. But it was Draco's face, his amused smile, that dominated the image.
Even sloppy drunk, Potter was a work of art. He was clumsy as ever, but somehow it just added to his charm. And he'd never, ever forget how those green eyes had lingered on his lips more than once. If someone as undeniably handsome as Potter finds me gorgeous…
The camera clicked in rapid succession, but Draco barely perceived it. He was trapped in the memory of those lopsided smiles, the admission Potter had made in his hallway, the gentle way he'd held his hand. As long as the shoot already was, he didn't worry about letting a few genuine smiles through. The photographer could pick and choose which shots he preferred.
And then his thoughts strayed right back to where they tended to linger in the three days since their encounter. Potter, stood indignantly across his bed from him, wearing nothing but tight black briefs and redder than blood in the cheeks. God, Draco was jealous of those rippling abs. Nearly as jealous as he was attracted. He wanted to run his tongue through every individual divet between them. To lap up the sweat that would gather in those rivulets after a match.
Fuck, I've got it bad. Shit. With an internal effort, he cleared his mind and refocused on the shoot, suddenly aware of the camera again. It was at that moment, though, that the photographer decided he'd gotten what they needed. And Draco was released back to the staff, ushering him back towards the studio.
Harry took his impromptu vacation somewhere he doubted anyone would ever think to look for him. He had enough on his mind to worry about being discovered and dragged back to his life and responsibilities, and he desperately needed the time away from everything, so it was to be the Shrieking Shack.
The interior was just as he remembered, although perhaps a bit more dust had accumulated. With a sigh, he brandished his wand and cast a clearing spell to dispel all the dust before he settled himself down onto the worn mattress atop the broken bedframe. It felt much smaller to him now, but that only made sense. He wasn't thirteen anymore.
This second part of the plan wasn't as easy. He'd originally just planned to spend some time alone to sort through his thoughts, but the more he thought about it, the more he wished he had someone he could talk to. Someone who'd been in a similar situation to his, who might offer some helpful advice. So it was with a stuttering sigh that he Accio'd the Resurrection Stone.
Of course he knew the risks. People had gone mad at the sight of their dead loved ones, but after all he'd lost and all he'd never regain, it was a trivial thing to Harry to consider. And since he'd been the last one to use it, he didn't doubt it would heed his call. Indeed, not moments later, a clattering came through an open window as the stone hurled itself onto the wood floor of the shack.
Harry stared at it, his heart hammering in his chest. What right did he have to call those passed back from the grave? Especially someone he loved with his entire being. What was it like, to be gone and then here? Was it painful?
Gritting his teeth, he stood and approached the small rock. And glared down at it. Fuck it.
He stooped to scoop it into his palm, and it warmed at his touch, as if recognizing him.
Hello, he thought wryly. Me again. Sorry to bother you.
I am talking to a rock.
Harry sighed, turned the stone in his palm thrice, and pictured the face he most wanted to see. It was several moments later that he kept his eyes tightly shut, half-wishing it wouldn't work.
"Harry?"
His eyes shot open, and immediately guttered at the ghostly figure before him.
"Sirius," he choked out. Gripping the stone as tight as he dared, his legs gave out and the creaking wooden floor rose up to slam into his knees.
"Harry!" His voice was so familiar, so full of worry that Harry's heart tightened painfully in his chest. Tears stung his eyes, and as he blinked up at the now-kneeling, slightly translucent figure of Sirius before him, he twitched a smile.
"H-hi," he began, unsure what to say. "I'm… Sorry to… Fuck. "
A sob wrought its way up his throat, and he heard a sigh.
"I'm so glad to see you, Harry." Warmth trailed streams down Harry's cheeks as he turned his eyes back up to his godfather's smile. "Well… Glad to be seen. I've never once left your side."
This knowledge wrapped a fist around Harry's gut, and he choked out another sob, bracing his hands against his knees.
"You're… N-not mad?"
Sirius chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he settled back into a cross-legged sit before Harry.
"Why would I be mad?"
He sniffed and swatted at a few tears before leaning back to sit on his heels. "I-I'm using a Deathly Hallow. And… And I got you killed."
His throat constricted at the sound of his words. It was a fact he'd already acknowledged, years ago, but hearing them articulated was…
"Nonsense," Sirius waved a hand. "Dear old Trixie already paid for that with her life, so it all evens out, right?"
The shack groaned as Harry recalled Bellatrix's shrieks when he'd tortured her for killing Sirius. This was a bad idea.
"I miss you so much," Harry admitted in a strangled voice. Sirius smiled sadly at him.
"I'm so sorry you've lost so much, Harry. I couldn't protect you."
So much. So much I've lost. Harry's mind started rattling off names like a death knell, and he inhaled deeply to ground himself against the onslaught of grief Sirius's words drew up in him.
"R-Ron and Hermione are… Th-they're gonna have kids," he began, choking back all the parting words he had for Sirius. He knew he couldn't stay long, and if they had the chance to speak at all, he wanted to focus on the present issue instead of dredging up the past.
"Yes," Sirius began, and Harry's misty eyes found his sympathetic ones again. "And you hate that you hate it."
Shock stilled Harry, his eyes going wide as he began to nod. "Yes. How did you know?"
Sirius smiled wanly. "Because I've been right where you are now."
Of course. This is exactly why I decided to summon him instead of my parents, Lupin, Fred, Moody, Dumbledore… His mind started rattling off the list again, and he squeezed his eyes shut to try to stop it.
"You agreed to be the godfather," Sirius noted quietly. And when Harry opened his eyes back to him, he was smiling softly at the floor. "You'd make an excellent one."
"No, I wouldn't," Harry asserted. And Sirius snorted.
"I didn't think I was suited, either." His eyes rose to Harry's, the playful smile pulling at his lips softening somehow. "Wasn't prepared for you to be so brilliant at that."
Throat tightening, Harry tried to force his words through trembling lips. "But I… Sirius, the war– the death , it… I'm so fucked up, I can't influence a child, let alone Ron and Hermione's!"
Sirius shrugged. "I didn't do so bad, did I?"
No. Not bad at all. A hollow chuckle huffed through Harry's lips as he passed a hand over his face. God, this is so much harder than I thought it'd be. And I thought it'd be nearly impossible.
"Life doesn't wait for anyone, Harry. And neither does death. And one day you wake up and it's bloody years later, and you look around at what your life's become, and…" Sirius grew quiet, and Harry frowned up at him.
"What I'm trying to say is, it's easier to regret things you've done than things you didn't do."
