Harry can't sleep.
Every time he closes his eyes, he's met with visions of Malfoy. Of how Malfoy could make him happy when he thought there was nothing lovely or true left in the world. Of how Malfoy made him feel beautiful, and real, and loved. Of how Malfoy, to him, meant safety. Meant home.
The last time he'd felt as broken as this was when Sirius had died. No, Harry thinks. No more Sirius. It'll only make you feel worse.
Still. It's not like his mind has ever learned to listen, and he can't help but remember one of the last real conversations he and Sirius had- it was over Christmas holiday, and Harry was sitting on his bed, and Sirius had walked in, a small smile playing on his lips.
They'd talked for a few minutes- mainly about all of the horrible things happening at Hogwarts (Harry still shudders at the mention of Umbridge's name)-and when Sirius had stood up again to leave, he'd looked at Harry in the eyes and said, "No matter what, no matter who you are, I will always be here. Always in your heart."
Now, Harry supposes that perhaps Sirius knew him even better than he'd known himself. Somehow, he'd seen all of it coming.
Suddenly sick to his stomach, Harry jumps out of bed and runs to the lavatory, tears sitting in the hoods of his eyes. Don't start crying. The toilets may not be empty.
Sure enough, they aren't. When Harry swings open the door to the boy's room, Ronald Fucking Weasley is leaning against the sinks, staring at himself in the foggy mirror. All nausea and thoughts of Sirius disappear as the two lock eyes.
"Hey," Harry says quietly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pajama bottoms. Ron, in his typical fashion, folds his arms across his chest. Harry had never really given it much thought before, but in the dim glow of the fluorescent lights, Ron looks a little scarier than usual, a little more tough. Harry swallows deeply.
"You've hurt me, mate. And my sister. And Hermione. You've hurt us all," Ron starts. Harry nods. "And I'm fucking tired of letting you win. Of letting you apologize and get off unscathed. It feels like you always do that. You just say that you're Harry Potter, The Chosen One, and then you never have to feel any of the pain, any of the sacrifice that others have made. You know?" Ron takes a step forward. Harry, in a very wretched and stupid moment, realizes that he's forgotten his wand.
"Yeah, I know," he tries. Ron shakes his head.
"But you don't."
And in a moment, his wand is raised above his head.
"You must take me and my family for idiots," Ron says, his voice a low rumble. Harry takes a step backward towards the door.
"Calm down, Ron. Please, let's just try and talk this out-"
Before Harry knows what's happening, a deafening Obliviate! flies across the room. And just like that, in a single moment, it disappears. Every memory of Malfoy-gone. Every kiss, fuck, truth. Every I love you thought, but never spoken, never uttered. Every dream. A house. A home. Our home. Forever. I want forever, though only with you, only ever with you. Let's build a castle. Let's fuck in a real bed. Touch this Mark and grant me your forgiveness. Eat me whole, scratch me raw, reveal what's underneath, all those sweet and desperately rotten insides, be mine. Always mine. Always and forever. Kiss me hard, soft, touch me, feel me, tell me I'm pretty, whisper sweet nothings, absolutely nothing-
Harry opens his eyes. Ron gulps.
"You okay?" Ron whispers. Harry shrugs, skin pale and sweaty.
"Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
"No reason. Say, I'm tired. Let's get to bed."
The caged bird (the phoenix, the pile of ashes) inside of Harry's stomach lies dormant. Its heart is pulsing outside of its chest. It has choked on its own blood. Harry supposes that in another place, another time, another life, he would find it relatable, beautiful, even, make poetry out of this death, yet now he simply shrugs, takes off his glasses, and says goodnight, his own voice a foreign body in a foreign land.
Ginny, Harry supposes, has never looked more radiant. In the brightness of the Great Hall the next morning, her skin seems to glow from the inside out. Her lips are plump and pink and, Harry takes great pleasure to note, appear more kissable than usual. He beams at her, eyes twinkling. She really is the most beautiful girl in the world. He's absolutely sure of it.
"Harry," Hermione says from across the table. "Stop ogling and eat."
Harry chuckles deeply and shrugs, taking a bite of the sausage and egg on his plate.
"Sorry. I just- Ginny, you look amazing," he states. Ginny grins and pushes her hair out of her face.
"And you look tired," she comments. Harry laughs again. He feels good, really- better than good. He wonders if it's something they put in the pumpkin juice.
"Still ogling," Hermione comments a few minutes later.
"Oh, yeah, right," Harry says distantly. Ginny meets his eyes and smiles. Harry's heart drops to his feet before rising back up, this time more red and bleeding and swollen than ever.
And this is it. Harry knows now more than ever that she is not only his life now, but also his future. This is everything he has ever wanted, and more.
Next to him, Ron eats his bacon and toast eagerly. And, really and truly and honestly and purely, if it weren't for Voldemort, there wouldn't be a thing wrong with the world.
That day, Potions is as slow as ever. Still. With the promise of the end of term approaching quickly, the three can get through just about anything.
"Say, Slughorn really is a little mad, isn't he?" Ron comments after class. Harry laughs and nods in agreement, while Hermione furrows her eyebrows and tucks her book in her bag.
"Really, Ron, you shouldn't be so rude about the professors. They could be standing right behind you, or listening with magic-"
"Oh, sod off, will you?"
And Harry doesn't really know why, but it's been a long time since he's heard such banter between his friends. In fact, it's been a long time since he remembers really moving through the day-
"Potter," someone sneers from behind him. Harry whips around to come face-to-face with Malfoy. Fuck, he thinks. Just what I need. Someone to come along and ruin a perfectly good day.
"What the fuck do you want, Malfoy?" Harry jeers, taking a step forward. Hermione and Ron stop dead in their tracks, staring at the two. Malfoy glares at them both.
"Why do you need your little cheerleaders to constantly follow you around and protect you? I thought you were the Chosen One. I thought you could protect yourself," Malfoy says snidely. Harry rolls his eyes.
"Leave them be."
"Wow, clever comeback."
"Shut up."
"Even more clever."
Ron and Hermione exchange glances before Ron mutters something about having to study and the two wander off. Harry, suddenly feeling quite betrayed, turns to face Malfoy again, disgust painted all over his features.
"Thanks for that, Malfoy. You're a clever ferret, aren't you?"
Malfoy takes a step closer to him.
"Potter," he says quietly. "I was thinking we could talk about the other night. Meet in our classroom after dinner, yeah?" He breathes.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Harry asks, shaking his head. "You're totally fucked up."
"Have you lost your mind, Potter-"
"I think you have. Now, please. Leave me alone, tosser."
Harry walks off before Malfoy can protest.
God, that was strange, Harry thinks. But he doesn't think about it too hard. His heart is light in his chest, almost as if it's been drained. He can feel it beating there, a little stoically, though the fact that it's still going, he supposes, is all that matters.