Word Count: 1045

~ Chapter 5 ~

When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?

Harry stared at him for a long minute and then he started laughing. "Singing? What even are these questions?"

Malfoy snorted, shaking his head as he glanced down at the list. Harry hugged a pillow to his chest, still shaking slightly as he tried to suppress his laughter.

"I don't sing. Can't sing. I sound like an injured kneazle."

"Everyone can sing, Potter," Malfoy replied, rolling his eyes. "Not everyone can sing well, however."

"I certainly can't," Harry confirmed, grinning. "So I don't really bother. No idea when I last sang, unless we're counting the school song, which I believe was last sung in… fourth year?"

"Is that the year the Weasley twins did that awful funeral march?"

"No, that was first year," Harry said, his smile dulling a little as he thought about Fred, who'd died laughing, and George, who hadn't laughed since. Shaking it off, he looked back at Malfoy. "What about you? Do you sing?"

Malfoy nodded, pursing his lips slightly. "I used to. Mother taught me songs when I was younger, and as I grew, I'd sing them for her when she was sad. I… I don't remember the last time I did it though."

Harry couldn't help but notice that Malfoy seemed sad himself at the thought.

"You… you could sing one now? If you wanted, I mean? I'd like to hear what constitutes as a lullaby for wizards."

There was a long pause, and then Malfoy opened his mouth and sang. The first few lines were a little rough, but as he got into the swing of the tune, Harry settled back in his seat to listen.

Malfoy's voice was nice. Smooth and calming in a way that Harry would never have associated with the boy he'd grown up hating. He sang softly about a self stirring cauldron whipping up a batch of dreamless sleep and Harry smiled at the lyrics.

Despite the difference in words, it sounded a lot like the lullabies he'd heard Petunia sing to Dudley in their youth, about twinkling stars and sleeping tightly.

When the lullaby came to a stop, Harry smiled. "Now you know when the last time you sang was, and who was with you."

Malfoy nodded, and then tucked the paper holding the questions into his pocket. "I. Yeah. I'm going to head to bed. Night, Potter."

Harry said goodnight and watched him leave. Part of him wondered if maybe he should reach out and stop him. He'd heard the roughness in his throat, saw his eyes shining brighter than usual, and he hated to think of Malfoy crying in bed alone.

In the end, he didn't.

He didn't know if it would be welcome, and sometimes… sometimes, you just had to cry it out alone.

…

Harry knew he was dreaming. He knew because Hogwarts had never been this empty in all the time he'd been at the school, both pre and post war. The corridors were empty, and the usual thrum of magic that ran through the whole castle wasn't there.

It was strange.

He was so used to the magic of the castle, that he only realised now that it was gone that it had been there at all. Hogwarts without magic just seemed… wrong.

There were rocks scattered around the floor, the walls scarred from misfired curses, the ground scorched. Signs of the Battle of Hogwarts were everywhere he looked, but Harry couldn't find anyone.

He checked each room as he passed them, looking for any form of life, anyone who might be hiding for some reason, but he didn't find anyone.

He was alone.

Except…

He didn't think he was. He kept hearing eerie laughter. Everytime he turned to search for whoever it was, he couldn't see anyone, but it seemed to be getting louder every time he heard it.

It wasn't until he reached a fallen wall that he realised who, exactly, was laughing.

The echo of Fred's laughter got louder in his ears until it was too loud and he had to press his palms against them to try and protect himself.

It didn't help.

It just got louder, until Harry thought his head was going to explode, and then hands were grabbing at him, and he opened eyes he didn't realise he'd squeezed shut to see the faces of the dead, all peering up at him, all reaching out for him to pull him down, down, down—

"Potter! Harry, wake up!"

Harry woke up, sitting upright in his bed, panting. Sweat was pouring from him, and he could still hear the echo of Fred's laughter in his ears.

"Bloody hell," he murmured, rubbing a hand down his face as his heart slowed, the beat calming to its regular pace. "Sorry, did I wake you up?"

"It, uh, didn't sound great," Malfoy said, shifting slightly. "But you didn't wake me up, I was already awake."

Harry nodded, shifting under the blanket until his legs were out of the bed and on the floor, his bum on the edge of the bed. He looked up at Malfoy, and then tilted his head.

"You called me Harry."

Even in the dim light shining through from the moon, Harry saw Malfoy's cheeks flush a little. "You weren't waking up. I, uh. Sorry."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "Don't apologise. I, uh. I prefer Harry to Potter. You know, if you want."

Malfoy looked at him for a moment and then nodded. "I'll try. I'll probably keep forgetting; it's hard to break the habits of a lifetime."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, I know."

"Are you going to try and sleep again, or..?"

"No, not after… that. You?"

"If you make hot chocolate, I'll let you call me Draco?"

Harry stared at him for a long moment, and then he hit him with a pillow. "Ass."

…

They were settled in the kitchen when Harry waved his hand at Draco. "Come on then, what's the next question?"

"You've changed your tune."

Harry gave him an unimpressed look, and Draco snorted, but dutifully pulled the paper from his pocket. He read the question and then looked up at Harry.

"The answer is that the next question is stupid."