Summary: Set 14 years after their seventh year. Draco tries to shield Harry from Voldemort's ghastly last attempt to kill him, and he succeeds. But the wounds he sustained proved fatal. His ghost lingers on earth, watching over Harry. Slowly, Harry begins to move on and suppress his grief. But with Draco still around, how will he do that? "Even in death our love goes on…."
Chapter summary: Harry tries to suppress his grief but miserably fails. He reminisces about Draco and attempts to kill himself. Harry stumbles upon a note, stuffed in Draco's pillowcase, that he obviously was never supposed to find.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry, Ron, Hermione or Draco in any way.(Or any other characters mentioned) They all belong to the delightful JK Rowling, and the like. I just sneak over to her house and crawl into her brain so's I can borrow her lovely boys (and girls)for a moment. On with the fic!
CHAPTER ONE: The after part of Draco's funeral
Harry continued to wonder the labyrinth maze of the winding corridors. The Manor seemed emptier than before. It was cold and harsh. Harry was barefooted, and the cold floor sent chills through his feet. But he didn't feel anything. He was numb. Deaf. Blind. Robbed of his senses.
His eyes were very much swollen, and everything was a blur. He stopped. They weren't red from crying. They were red from trying not to cry. He'd rubbed them so many times, trying endlessly to stop his tears. Harry walked a bit more, unconsciously walking into Draco's room.
His mirrors were draped with black French lace and heavy blinds drawn down to block any ray of light that tried to penetrate the mourning dark. Harry shifted his eyes to the wall on his right. A small smile played at his lips at the sight of it. Pictures, moving wizard photographs and papers were stuck all over it. Harry and Draco were the main focuses of almost every photograph. Only a handful showed a grimacing Ron and a smiling Hermione in candid photographs. A few were of him playing quidditch, catching the snitch. It pained him to look at the photos of Draco. Knowing that he'll never look at them again. Harry rubbed his eyes once again, feeling the prick of tears.
Harry glanced at the papers stuck on the wall. Several were letters from Draco and Harry corresponding to each other. A few were from Ron and Hermione. One was a short play Draco had written, bored on a wintry night. A grin became obvious when he read one of Draco's poems.
'Ere I'd awaken to anywhere but here
The stench so toxic my eyes have burned
Somehow I'd been confronted with something so unbearable
Dead of the night the bright lights shine
Only at the first light my head begins to throb
When I awake to find myself in the unbearable plight
It didn't rhyme, or make sense, but Harry knew what he was talking about. During the summer holidays, Draco hosted a party in the Manor (this of course, occurred without Lucius's permission). After having way too much heavy drinks, Draco awoke the next day with a bad hangover. Harry himself had one, and staggered to the toilet to throw up. He forgot his need to vomit when he saw that Draco's head was firmly lodged in the toilet bowl. Despite his throbbing head, Harry leaned onto the door panel and watched him sleep. Draco awoke a few seconds later to vomit. Harry laughed out loud, holding his head. A second later, he pushed Draco aside and used the toilet, suddenly remembering his need to vomit.
Harry blinked himself back to reality. He hadn't slept at all in three days. Actually, he hadn't slept very much ever since Draco had been hospitalized. That was five days ago. Not surprisingly, he felt drained, emotionally, mentally and physically. He was alone.
He felt as if he were floating. He was barricaded to either move up or sink down, so he was stuck in the middle. Nothing seemed to make noise. The silence was so loud, like thunder in his ears. He knew, clearly, that he was dead. So why was he still here? Wasn't he supposed to be in Heaven? Or at least Hell. He never really thought he'd go to Heaven, after all the cruddy things he'd done. After all the people he'd killed working as a double agent. So where the hell was he?
He regretted suppressing everything. Harry felt so empty that it had begun to hurt him. The feeling of being hollow began to consume him. That feeling alone raked his entire body, until he couldn't just hold it in His breathing came out in gasps. With every breath he drew, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. He finally couldn't stand it. He exploded. He wailed, screamed Draco's name several times and shouting abuse. He cursed himself for being so weak. If he hadn't let his guard down or if he hadn't been so stupid as to get himself so shaken up by the Dementors, Draco won't have had need to defend him.
It was all so clear to him. He was probably on some astral plane for wondering spirits and ghosts. A parallel realm to the world. There was a thin veil between the two realms, a veil that only lifted prior to midnight. In that one minute, before it becomes 12:01. He tried crossing over; apparently he'd already missed the time. So he waited.
It seemed that time flew by much, much slower here. It felt like forever, literally. If only he knew that at that very moment, Harry was praying for the gods to take him. End his life, so that he could join Draco. If only he knew that it had been three days since the funeral, when Harry last saw his face. When Harry last touched him.
There were several others on the same astral plane as him. Mostly young runaways who committed suicide. Some few were sick and died because of their disease. They were preparing to cross over.
"Is it time to cross over?" Draco asked, vividly aware of how lame he sounded. No one answered him. Perhaps he didn't have a voice. Now that didn't matter. The whiteness around them began to dim into colours- the veil had lifted.
He punched the wall several times over, making his knuckles bleed. He hated himself. And he hated Draco, for loving him so much. He hated Voldemort even more than before, if it were possible. He hated everything! Hermione overheard Harry's incoherent babblings and came rushing into his room, along with Ron. They found a sobbing, wet mess of Harry Potter. Amongst his incoherent babble, they managed to catch a few words. Words that meant little to anyone outside, but words that Hermione and Ron had thought impossible for Harry to say. Words of loathing, words of despair. Hermione let out a small, soft sob against Ron's shoulder. Although Voldemort had tortured them long and hard, nothing hurt Hermione and Ron more than to watch their best friend suffer. In response, Ron wrapped his arms around her, trying to comfort her while making sssh-ing sounds. Harry still lay oblivious to them, crying his heart out, till his tears began to turn red. Hermione and Ron restrained themselves for as long as possible from comforting Harry. So they watched him.
Draco began to see clearly. He shook his head, as if to wake himself up from a dream. He looked down at his hands. They were translucent, and glowed with an eerie sickness. That scared him slightly. Was he a ghost? Or was this just a dream? No, it couldn't be. He remembered Harry, how he'd protected that Scar- face. He laughed, sadly and silently, realizing how much he had missed Harry. The leaves of a nearby tree rustled. His laughter became the wind that blew the leaves of the trees. He felt despair creeping through his heart- he would never hear Harry's laugh ever again. But he was in the real world wasn't he? So that meant that he could still see Harry. With a sinking hope he realized that Harry couldn't see him.
Draco pushed that thought to the back of his head. He didn't know how to get around, besides floating. He closed his eyes, and wished himself to be wherever Harry was. The colours around him began to swirl. He was in his old room.
Hermione couldn't stand it any longer. She loosened herself from Ron's grip, and ran forward to comfort Harry. By now, most of Harry's wailing had become whimpering. She put her arms around him. "It's going to be okay, Harry. It's going to be okay," she cooed in a soothing voice.
"No! It's not Herm! Nothing's ever going to be okay! " Harry yelled, tears running down his face. "Never. Nothing's ever going to be the same again. Draco's gone... Forever! And I'll never see him again!"
" Yes, Harry. You'll never see him again. But do you think he'd want you to be sad forever? " Ron managed to find his voice.
" He- he'd want m-me to m-mourn for a-a while…m-maybe."
" Knowing Draco, that's probably what he'll want you to do. But he'd want you to be happy, remembering him. You love him, don't you?" Hermione brushed his hair aside from his eyes.
"Yes.. And because of that love, Herm, he died. Because of that love, I was too weak to face the Dementors. I was too weak to stand up to them, making myself vulnerable to Voldemort. And because of that love…" his voice sounded far- off, "He made me the happiest person on earth."
He was in his old room. He looked around. There, crippled on the floor, was Harry. He was crying, hard. He floated over there, wrapping his ghostly arms around Harry, knowing that he couldn't feel anything. But he knew Harry felt his presence, calming down to whimpering.
"And because of that love…He made me the happiest person on earth."
Draco wrapped his arms even tighter around Harry, never wanting to let go. "I'm so sorry, Harry." He whispered.
He blinked. Ron put an arm around him, and Hermione was humming a soft lullaby and rocking him gently. He was loved, and he knew that. But someone was missing. Draco.
"I'm so sorry, Harry, " he heard the wind whisper to him.
He pulled his arms away from Harry. He didn't need him. Did he? After all, Harry was crying because of his death. Right? Of course. He'll let Harry clam down first, before he tried to make contact. Yes, he'll wait first. He just hoped that he had enough patience.
A/N : Like it? R&R people! The part where Draco's in his old room again, he hugs Harry before Hermione does.
ALL RIGHTY!GIMME SOME A-LURVING!