Prompt: Endings
Harry knew there was an end to everything, but he had never expected any of them to be anything like this. Him sitting, robed in black, eyes hooded as someone droned on and on above the podium.
"…Remarkable young man, worked hard at everything he did…"
Harry wanted to laugh. The man he had known was remarkable, amazing, hell, even miraculous. But he had never worked truly hard for anything in his life, except for maybe his looks.
"…Was a role model for the children, always studied hard, an asset in the fight against the Dark Lord…"
Green eyes narrowed. An asset? An asset?
"Assets don't normally save the Boy Who Lived and then go about weakening the Dark Lord with several stab wounds until the BWL can manage to Avada him," Ron whispered from next to him.
"They don't know, Harry," Hermione said, punching Ron lightly. "They weren't there."
But I was.
"…Draco Malfoy presented to us a fine specimen of the human being, and was a talented, gifted young man, who was misunderstood by many…"
At this, Harry tuned the man out. Draco was not misunderstood. He was the cunning, ideal Slytherin, not afraid to betray someone who had been his friend since childhood. Draco never liked to have to work for himself, not when he knew someone else could do it for him. He hated being nice, and frequently would do random acts of cruelty to see what would happen; thus their contests as Hogwarts.Draco had never even once apologized for his early years. He had never blamed it on his father, his mother, his ways, his heritage, his pride; he had always stated that it was, quite clearly, him being him.
It was undeniably like him, Harry thought, To not have someone like Blaise, or even himself to go up and deliver a eulogy about him. They knew him, but he didn't want the rest of the world to. He didn't want to be considered weak.
But Draco could be different.
He had revealed to Harry a curious, intelligent side, one that demanded explanations for nearly everything. The common bond between him and Hermione, though he was loathe to admit it, was that they both could function better than most around loads of information. They both felt secure in a world where they knew the solutions to all the problems, and unanswerable questions were the enemy incarnate.
He had been mischievous, much to Harry's chagrin and sometimes, delight. Such as the occasion when all the Weasleys had sported hair that actually flickered back and forth and emanated heat for a week, and Harry had refused to speak to Draco until it turned back. The night he returned home after checking to make sure the hair was merely flame-colored, he found Draco sitting up in bed, a bottle of chocolate syrup in one hand, and a blueberry in the other.
"Not cherries?" Harry had asked, raising an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of the past Slytherin.
"I think we've both seen enough red for a while, don't you?"
He could be kind, and wholly gentle, as Harry had been delighted to find out. When angered, Draco would keep his emotions in check, but as soon as he was somewhere private, it was best to leave him alone lest you didn't mind losing an appendage or six. His fingers, long and slim, would constantly run through Harry's hair with the softest of touches, never too roughly. His kisses, while heated and passionate, never went beyond melting Harry into a puddle. They had never been hurtful; sometimes brusing, sometimes needy, but never in a way that would bring Harry pain.
He was easily amused, Harry found. The first time Harry had gotten lost in the Floo system as he attempted to find their new home, and finally managed to stumble through the fireplace in the early morning, Draco had rushed from the kitchen, taken one look at him, and then burst into laughter. That was another thing, as well.
Draco laughed so rarely that it all seemed to build up; the mirth, the happiness, and everything he had ever thought hilarious tumbled from his lips, dancing out and floating in the air like the flecks seen through the sun on a bright day. Harry would always be entranced, and he by the time he would come back down to earth, Draco was usually pulling him someplace for a snog. Or seven.
Something sharp poked Harry in the side, and he realized that they were all standing. It was over. Standing up fluidly, the way Draco had once attempted to teach him to do but deemed him un-teachable for, Harry walked out of the aisle and moved up, Hermione and Rob staying a respectable distance behind him.
The past Gryffindor had barely reached the large and ornate marble tomb before a wave of nostalgia hit him.
"Potter! Potter, you idiot!"
"You're dead, Potter."
"Funny, you'd think I would've stopped walking by now."
"Fine. I'll call you Harry then."
"I heart you, Potter? Your first love letter said 'I heart you'?"
"Malfoy, it's just a drawing."
"And a crude one at that."
"Malfoy, do you understand the whole point of it?"
"Well…obviously."
A hopeful look. "Really?"
"Well, you heart me, for one…"
Harry started to laugh, softly at first, and then it started to crescendo, becoming a series of sobs as he did so. Someone was kneeling next to him, and he realized he had knelt as well. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, rocking him back and forth, and another voice was whispering in his ear, telling him everything was going to be all right.
Everything was going to end, at some point. And for him—
Everything ended.
Sadsadsad. Written while watching Carlton Banks from Fresh Prince dance along with a candlestick. Also sadsadsad.