This is just a bit of a follow up to the first chapter, it takes place one year after Harry's death. It is the first person POV to everyone he mentioned in his goodbye notes. This little idea just came to me while I was washing my face and demanded to be written. I do hope you enjoy it and please review! The new chapter of ASU is almost complete and heading off to the beta this afternoon.
I am not JK Rowling. If you thought that, you are stupid. Flames will be used to warm my hands.
Review please!
Did you know that when the living think of the dead, the dead can hear those thoughts? It's appropriate really, that something like that occurs to me on this day. It was one year ago today that Harry defeated Voldemort, one year ago today that Harry died.
He was my brother. Oh not by blood of course, but in all ways that counted he was my brother. He defended me and loved me and supported me in all things. I still remember the look on Lupin's face as he announced the death of Harry, the pure shock I felt coursing through my system as the words sunk in and most of all I remember an emptiness deep within me that would never be filled again, for Harry filled it in a way I never even knew about. It's funny – you don't realize the effect a person has on you or in you until they are no longer there.
One year. One year of monotony and peace and tranquility and rebuilding. We had often spoken of what we would do once Voldemort was gone – wait, that is a lie. Ron and I spoke of what we would do, Harry never joined in those conversations. I see now that he knew he would not survive the final battle, and he didn't burden us with those dark thoughts. We would chatter idly about the future, and Harry would watch us with a wistful smile on his face, sadness in his eyes and a terrible prophecy before him.
What must he have felt, living with that knowledge that he would not survive? I still can't think about it. I would have gone mad living with such a secret.
I see people going about their lives, chatting, cheerful, laughing and making noise and I want to hush each one of them and tell them that this is a very sad day. There should be no joy today. Three hundred and sixty five days since Harry died, three hundred and sixty five days of me missing him more than I could have ever thought. Ron's wedding to Lavender is coming up soon, my promotion in the Ministry was last week – all major events that we had planned to go through together. Fate it seems had other plans as the infamous Trio is reduced to two.
I promised myself I wouldn't cry over Harry again – I appear to have lied to myself. Will I ever stop missing my brother? Will this pain ever subside enough that I can go more than a few hours without thinking about him? Will I soon stop turning to the right to tell him something only to realize that he's not there and never will be again?
Will Harry hear these thoughts in the afterlife and know I will always love him?
It's been one year since Harry died, a time of reflection for some, a time of pain for me. Oh I have Lavender to be sure, and you could point out that Harry and I had grown apart in the past few years, not seeing eye to eye, me with my girlfriend, Harry with his plans. I never really thought about what life would be like without Harry – I wouldn't let myself really. Hermione called him brother, loved him like one, and misses him more than anyone I've ever seen – save Lupin or myself.
No one would expect me to be able to hide this hurt that I feel inside, but I do. Harry was not a brother to me; he was a friend – my best friend. I took him for granted, I see that now, I expected him to save us all. I never even entertained the idea that he would not be here to live in this era of peace with us – peace that he brought us.
My wedding is coming up, and Harry was going to stand with me at the altar as Lavender walked towards me.
That spot will now stand empty.
My family understands, so does Lavender – that spot was for Harry alone, and I can't pretend that I want someone else there – I don't. It's the least I can do for him.
Our last words in this world were spoken in anger.
I accused him of terrible things, called him terrible names and demanded impossible things. I refused to listen to him, to see what Hermione was trying to tell me about the sadness in his eyes. The acceptance. I thought him so high and mighty the morning he walked off to face Voldemort, I thought he enjoyed the attention he was getting for the climactic final battle and how he would lap up the attention the way he always did when he returned. We both knew how jealous I was of him, but he remained my friend anyway.
Then I found out he was dead. I never had the chance to apologize to him; I let him die thinking that I hated him.
It's been one year and I live with this guilt – because of me he felt he had nothing to return to, no point in living. One year.
Will the time come when I can get over this pain? Will it happen that this hurt can and will fade? My first son will be named for my friend – Lavender suggested it quietly one night after he died, and I loved her even more for it. It's my way of letting Harry know that I'm sorry, and that I miss him.
Today I will go to the spot where he died and pay my respects.
He was my son. In the wake of the death of Sirius, I took over as his father figure and loved him as much as I could. Harry studied around me; let me see the spells he was planning to cast, spells that were arcane and as old as magic itself. He claimed it was the only way and I believed him. I would have believed anything he told me when he looked at me with those emerald eyes and that desperate expression.
I hated the world for forcing such pressure and responsibility on so young a man, a person who had never even known the touch of a lover. A few brief snogs exchanged with a girl he had thought he was attracted to was the only romance he had ever known. My heart aches even more when I think of that.
I drift listlessly from day to day, having really lost everything – a wolf without a pack. The names drift through my head every day, a mantra I am both unwilling and unable to stop. James, Lily, Sirius, Albus, Hagrid…Harry. Harry. He tried to be so brave, but I knew how scared he was. Inside he was still just a boy, a boy who had never been able to be one. He had to grow up too fast and too suddenly.
He only understood death and I think that is why he rushed to meet it. He once told me an ancient quote "Those that would use Magic's Power must then pay Magic's Price."1 I never understood the meaning of that until he died.
I was the first to walk the battlefield where it happened. I was the first to find his wand and cloak, the twisted and broken frames of his glasses lay smoking in the grass, right across from a pile of twisted and putrid ash that was Voldemort.
Of Harry's body, there was no sign.
Hedwig hooted mournfully overhead, if an owl could cry, then she wept a vale of tears that day. I collapsed, unable to move, unable to accept the truth that was in front of me.
He was gone.
One year later, my cub has not returned, he will never return. I wander from town to town, place to place, unable to stay put, being drawn by an invisible force to some place I can not see or touch. Life means nothing to me anymore, it all went with the passing of the green eyes and the black hair.
Today I return to the place where I died too – and pray that my son can hear me.
It's been one year since the death of Potter, one year since he wrote me that note telling me how he really felt, one year since I finally accepted the truth of just how much he meant to me.
He never knew, just as I never knew.
We fought together frequently, both carrying our dark secrets of attraction for each other, neither one being able to speak the truth in case we brought danger to the one we loved. Yes, I loved him I admit it freely now. I look at my son and wish he were Harry's, I look and my wife and know I can never love her. I never ever did. Ours was a proper Slytherin marriage, a convenient alliance between two old Houses. Genevieve and I understood where we stood with each other, slept in different rooms and took lovers if we wanted to – as long as it was discreet I didn't care.
I never took another to my bed.
Harry died thinking that I was his friend, but he died with the promise that he would wait for me on the other side, and I gave him an oath that I will join him and someday we will be together. It was all I could do.
I teach my son to grasp love when he finds it, to never let it go and the rest of the world be damned. I don't want Salazar to fall into the same trap I did, of being forced to do something because of our reputation. Genevieve wants a divorce and I am willing to give it to her. The only one I want is scattered in bits across the English countryside, having annihilated our enemy, yes, but blowing himself apart in the process.
He hugged me before he left, an act that both surprised me as it made me want to ravish him then and there. He saw it as the only chance he would ever have to touch me, and I saw it as the only chance I would have to hold him in my arms. If only I'd known – even suspected sooner! Nothing would have kept me from his side and what everyone else thought – screw it.
I didn't just want his delectable body; I wanted his mind and soul. I wanted him. He never had the chance to explore desire or lust, died as pure as he lived. I hate society for forcing him down the road that he walked – I hate myself for being a part of that society. Why didn't I see it sooner? Why didn't I realize that all he needed was a gentle and loving touch from someone – anyone? He was larger than life, Harry Potter, and no one even thought of his needs, of his yearnings.
My love…beloved through all time and to the end of my days. Harry Potter will remain the one I never caught, the one that my heart cries for every night and the one who I will join, perhaps sooner than later, for I cannot live in a world without him in it. Everything is colourless, featureless, dismal and grey – I see now that he gave colour and life to me without ever knowing what he was doing. He never saw how I would watch him, how I would tense when he was around and if I was lucky I'd catch the faintest hint of his scent in the air.
He told me that love was fleeting in life, eternal in death. I believe that is true. It was one year ago today that I finally found out the truth he had hidden for so long.
I am drawn to the place of his death, a place that the Ministry barricaded off from prying eyes – so many want to see the place where it all ended. The air is heavily saturated with magic, it lingers here stronger than any other place including Hogwarts itself, and if I close my eyes I can feel it running through my veins. This magic is Harry's aura, and I can sense him here with me now.
I don't want to open my eyes, I want to pretend, even if it's just for a moment that Harry is not dead, I want to pretend that he is standing next to me, that he is holding my hand, caressing my cheek and letting me know that he loves me as much as I love him. "I love you Harry." I murmur.
"I love you too Draco." I hear a whisper, very faint as there is a gentle pressure on my lips – a kiss of desperation and love, as though time was fleeting. "Always."
My eyes fly open, and I think that I am delusional with the memories of what might have been. The wind whispers through the trees and it must have answered my thoughts, but that kiss felt so real…
"Malfoy?"
I turn and sigh. Weasley is here, no doubt to pay his respects as well. I didn't want to get caught here; I don't want to answer the questions that are going to come up. "Hello Weasley."
He doesn't throw accusations at me, he just nods and shuffles away, kneeling on the place Lupin marked with an 'X', the place Harry last stood and he prays.
I slowly walk away from him, not wanting company, not wanting to break the fantasy that for a moment Harry was alive and that he gave me a forbidden kiss.
"Malfoy!"
'What now?' I think irritably. I want to be alone with my pain and my mourning. "Yes Weasley?"
He's walking towards me now. "I know."
"You know what?" I arch an eyebrow.
"Harry never said a word, never dared, but I watched Harry watch you. I don't know if he ever told you, but I suspect he left you a note so he could die with a clean conscience."
"He left me a sappy and sentimental note." I acknowledge. "So what?"
"I told you," he says quietly. "I watched Harry watch you, and I watched you watch Harry. You loved him just as much as he loved you. It destroyed him when you married you know, but he understood. He would never have told me of course, but I want you to know that I understand why you are here today."
I can't say anything more. "Thank you Weasley."
He nods and turns away, sighing deeply as he too closes his eyes, perhaps to pretend that for a moment his friend is there. I think for a moment I see movement in the trees, and then shake my head mirthlessly, it is a trick of the light. No amount of wishing will ever heal my heart, for the only one who could hold it is no longer a part of this world.
"I will always love you." I whisper.
"I know." I hear the reply.
It's been one year since Harry Potter died, one year since freedom was restored and people could walk down the road in peace and not worry about being snatched, tortured or raped.
Harry never really acknowledged much about the world, but he carried concern for every person alive in it, he felt each death personally, as if it were his fault. Harry never really acknowledged me too much, never really cared. I was a person he had to ignore to fulfill his duties and obligations to a society that used him as a figurehead and a pawn. I do not think much of a society that hides behind a young man only wanting to be normal, only wanting to live.
I see two figures at the spot where Harry is rumoured to have died, Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy. This would amuse Harry to no end. Ron and Harry's last words in this world were said in anger, Weasley telling him that he had to do his duty and he was a selfish git for wanting to save himself. Harry nodded sadly and said he knew, but Ron had no right to say such a thing to him. It was a messy fight.
Draco Malfoy is the secret love of Harry, and despite Harry's death, I can see that he loves him still. Malfoy is speaking to the wind, as if Harry himself will answer, he is looking around as though he has gotten a secret kiss.
Harry Potter died on this spot, he gave all he was to the world, lived for everyone else and never asked for a thing in return. His body was never found, most assume it was blown apart.
However there are a select few – I am one of them who thinks that Harry Potter lives, just not where we can see him. Perhaps he left what he had to at the scene to make it convincing, perhaps he leaked the kind of spell he was going to cast knowing people would jump to conclusions, perhaps…
It's foolish to think of what might have been. Harry Potter is gone, never to return and the world is emptier for that loss.
I hear Draco speaking to the wind. "I will always love you." He whispers.
My heart swells at the sincerity I hear, at the devotion in his voice, at the obvious love Harry never knew existed. "I know." I reply.
It's better this way.
What did you think? I have an idea for a bit of a follow up to this, but that depends solely on interest of the reader.
Please review. Thank you.