Chapter 12

His chest seized, squeezing and convulsing, even as his hand released its grip on his wand. He was only distantly aware of the sound of it clattering to the ground at his side. Of greater importance was the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears, his tightened throat, the fading blurriness of vision reminiscent of seeing without his glasses but darker, darkening, juxtaposing sharp flares of too bright and too fuzzy.

"Mr. Potter… Potter, can you...?"

He could just make out the words through the hollow thu-thud, thu-thud, thu-thud in his ears. Heard them as distantly as the dropping of his wand. But those words were negligible. Unimportant. Of far less concern than the squeezing pressure, the numbing tingle in his fingers, the ragged gasping of his breath -

And the dead body in the room.

He didn't want to look at it. Didn't want to think of it. Didn't want to recall his instinctive response, the sight of the illusionary figure morphing into a noseless face, pale and snake-like, red-eyed and hateful. He couldn't let himself dwell on his own flinching response, the jerk of his wand hand, the spell surging to his lips and flying free in a beam of ruddy light.

Not the way the magic looked. Not how it felt.

Not the colour of it as it struck the dark-robed figure, illuminating it in red as though it was on fire.

Not the way that, as that figure writhed as though truly burning, convulsing before slumping to the floor, its face morphed again into something else. Someone else. Someone recognised on sight, and someone he knew all too well.

Fred.

Sirius.

Lupin.

Tonks, Lavender Brown, and Colin Creevy. Dumbledore, Snape, and Moody. Flashes of others, tripping over one another, mingling across the blank slate of the shapeless body in a sickening skew of features. It evolved into Death Eaters he recognised who had stood at the end of his wand. Snatchers. Classmates who had turned. Hated faces, as hated as Voldemort - Bellatrix, Greyback - and even those who weren't so hated but were still enemies. Those who'd been opposed to him only for being on the other side of the war.

Crabbe.

Pansy.

Narcissa and Lucius.

Draco.

He couldn't look past that. Not anymore. Not when he saw Draco's face, contorted in an expression of pain that Harry had never properly beheld but what looked far t. Foo real, far too believable, and fitting, and likely. That it could have been so close, that he could have - would have - shot to impede, disable, even to kill - it could have happened.

"Mr. Potter, I need you to…"

It could have been any of them. Any of his friends if he hadn't been fast enough. Any of his enemies who had become less than enemies if he'd been faster.

"... a deep breath. Come now, a deep breath. With me: in… and out… In… and out…"

He realised he was on his knees. On his knees and hunched to the floor, forehead to the marble stone beneath him. He registered that his hands pressed against his face, fighting the urge to gouge out his eyes but pressing tightly against them all the same. He felt himself struggle for breath, then felt the moment that struggle tripped into slighter ease before the coaching of the instructor, the director - the examiner? - and slowly, slightly, just enough, his chest began to feel less as though it were being crushed by a giant's hand.

It still hurt, though. Not so much his chest, but everything else.

"That's better. Good, that's good. Just slow, steady… good."

He took a shaking breath. Another. It stung a little, raking down his throat that felt stripped raw. Slowly, fighting the urge to cling to his face forever, to bury himself from his own thoughts, he slid his hands down from his eyes and rolled his head sideways in the direction of the voice.

He'd lost his glasses somewhere. He didn't know where, didn't really care. He could see the examiner well enough, though. Enough to recognise her as not one of Those faces. Not one of Those people, the ones who had stood at the end of his wand or behind what feeble protection he could provide. The ones who he should have protected but couldn't. Not a face that he saw at night, pleading with him, or begging, or simply staring.

A round face. Solemn. Dark eyes and dark hair. There was no visible concern, no wrinkled frown or tight eyes, but he felt it anyway. Her understanding.

"Are you with me, Mr. Potter?"

Gordon. He remembered now. Harry remembered being introduced to her - how long ago? Not long but it felt like forever. Examiner Gordon. Examiner for… for Defence. Facts dribbled together, coagulated, and Harry clung to them like a lifeline, hauling him away from the assaulting thoughts, the frenzied memories.

With a grunt, he pushed himself up onto his hands, rocking back onto his heels. His arms trembled slightly, and rather than glance back in the direction of the body across the room, Harry focused his attention upon steadying them.

"So foolish," Gordon muttered, and Harry flinched before he realised she wasn't talking to him at all. "I knew this would be a bad idea. Really, what did they expect? From people who had only just been through a war, what did they…?"

Harry peered at her sidelong. Her solemn expression had shifted slightly, enough that her agitation and frustration crept forth. She caught his glance and huffed, folding her arms. "You're not the first person to have this issue, Mr. Potter. Not even the fifth."

Harry nodded.

"We'll be chasing this up. Be assured that it won't affect your results."

Harry bit his lip, lowering his gaze. His exam. Fuck, he didn't care a wit about his exam. All that mattered at that moment was getting as far away from the boggart he'd been forced to face, from the image of his failure, as he possibly could.

Nodding, he swallowed before attempting to speak. "Can - can I leave now?"

The words still came out in a croak but loud enough for the examiner to interpret. She nodded curtly, pointing wordlessly towards a door across the room, opposite to the one Harry had entered through.

He didn't need to be told twice. All but scrambling to his feet, Harry fled from the hall. His legs wavered, his steps stumbled, but he didn't slow. When he burst through the door, he didn't look back.

The waiting room on the tail end of the exams was almost identical to that at the beginning. It was provide to 'preserve academic integrity', the examiners had told the attendees on the first day, as though any of them cared enough about formalities to question the logistics of the process. Or at least Harry didn't.

It was the same room he'd been in several times already, following previous exams. A box of a room, sparsely filled with seating from cushioned couches to hard-backed chairs. The only real difference it held from its twin on the other side of the exam hall was the people in it. Rather than tense and quivering with nerves, it was as though the fight had been drained from them all. Bodies leaning against walls, slumped into chairs, heads hanging and faces lax.

Harry barely saw the room as he crossed the threshold. He barely saw the faces either but to register them, some minute, still-lucid part of his mind tagging them with a name. Neville. Padma. Michael. Terry.

"Harry?" someone asked, and Hermione that lucid part of his mind provided. "Oh, God. Harry, are you alright?"

Harry glanced in the direction of her voice, saw her face only hazily, but didn't slow in his still stumbling entrance. He saw faces turn towards him, pale and exhausted. Parvati. Seamus. Susan. All only vaguely attentive, vaguely curious as they struggled to conjure the energy after a gruelling trial.

Su, eyes heavy.

Mandy, her hair askew.

Pansy, lips thin but not held tightly enough to hide their faint quivering.

Draco.

Harry's scan jerked to a stop. Draco was half a room away, just as exhausted as the rest of them. Maybe even more given that, just like Harry he'd barely slept in the past week. Haggard. Pale. Shadows under his eyes. Harry caught his eyes, held it, and –

He lay on the ground, face deathly pale and cast in an expression of lax shock. Lips bloodless, eyes glassy, the flickering flames of magic that shouldn't have sprouted from an Expelliarmus licking at his robes. One arms was flung wide, hand flopped upward, fingers curled, utterly still.

Nothing. Nothing left. No life. No more than all those who had preceded it, up to and including Voldemort, and infinitely more horrifying. He was – Draco was –

"Harry?" Someone – Hermione – stood close, voice thin and strained. "Maybe you should sit down. You don't look well at all. I know, it was a horrible –"

Harry didn't hear what else she said. Maybe she said nothing more anyway. Lurching forward, he all but flew across the room towards Draco, half aware that Draco stepped towards him in return but otherwise oblivious. He knew Draco wasn't dead. Even seeing the boggart, he'd known. Just as he'd known he couldn't have done anything else for anyone who had died, and that he hadn't been the one to kill the Death Eaters that appeared before him.

But it still hurt. He still felt that he should have done more. Harry hadn't known it was possible to hurt so much for something that hadn't happened.

A strangled whimper made its way through the roaring in his ears, and Harry knew detachedly that it came from himself. He didn't care. He didn't care that it was pathetic, that it may seem weak, that those around him would have likely been more than a little stunned to hear it. Just as he didn't care that he was very likely being watched as he crashed into Draco and clung to him, arms locking around him crushingly tight and face seeking the solace of his shoulder. Eyes closing, struggling for breath, Harry held Draco like it was the only thing keeping him upright. It probably was.

Draco's arms wrapped around him in return. An engulfing embrace, warmer than a blanket and infinitely more comforting, a hint of a whimper managed its way from Harry's lips once more. It didn't matter if it was simply because he needed to touch – someone, anyone – or if it was because it was Draco, and for a moment he was Harry's, and here, and alive. It could have been a bit of both reasons.

He smelt of Draco – clean robes, the hint of his sweat, a touch of peppermint toothpaste.

He felt of him – so warm, thin and lean, but more than strong enough that his caging arms seemed a barrier from any rearing horror chasing Harry's thoughts.

When he murmured in Harry's ear, his voice was so distinctly his, his words so innately Draco's that Harry released a shuddering sigh that was almost a laugh. "This exam is the biggest load of shit."

"Mm," Harry hummed, small and short.

"Which one was it? Was it the -?"

"Boggart."

"Me too."

"Thought so."

"Such a shit."

"Absolute bullshit."

"Who writes these exams?"

Harry's stilted laugh was little more than another sigh, edged with hysteria and not really amused. It didn't really matter. Nothing did but Draco's hold around him, that he maintained that hold and somehow manoeuvred them to the nearest chair. The easy familiarity of following Draco's unspoken suggestion, climbing into his lap and hooking his legs on either side of Draco's, was so soothing, such a constant, that the stuttering hitch of Harry's heartbeat, the short sharpness of his breaths, abruptly eased.

He pressed his face into Draco's shoulder once more, adjusting his arms around his neck instead. He shivered slightly as Draco adjusted his own, holding him against him until there wasn't even a breath of space between them. The sound of murmured voices swirled around them – Hermione, Harry detected, and others, someone else, many someones – but he didn't hear their words. He didn't care what they said, what they thought. It was enough that he could feel Draco's heartbeat beating almost in time with his own, their breathing slipping into synchrony. His eyes squeezed shut became simply closed, and the clutching grasp of his fingers onto the back of Draco's robes a tight hold but no longer trembling.

It didn't fix everything. Harry didn't think anything could. But it soothed like a cool balm on a burn. It helped just a little, but increasingly with every second. Slowly, with reluctant retreat, the abrasive threat of all that the boggart represented faded. Not gone, but sidelined. Not erased but filed back into the depths of Harry's mind from whence it came.

Not perfect, not healed, but better. It helped even more that, so close to Draco, he could feel his own tension ease slightly, too.

The door opened and closed. Voices still murmured. Bodies edged around the room. Harry barely noticed any of it. He didn't care. Not until Ginny's voice permeated the heavy fog settling on his mind.

"Well, that's… I guess that's one way to distract from the end of a horrifying exam."

Draco's fingers twitched on Harry's back. They threaded into his shirt, bunching, then loosened. It was that as much as Ginny's comment, no louder than anyone else's words but somehow distinctly heard, that heaved his heavy head from Draco's shoulder and had him glancing behind himself.

He turned just in time to see Ron step into the room, but he caught only a glimpse of Ron's pale face, freckles stark, as he caught his eye. That sickening horror morphed into raised eyebrows and rapid blinks. His gaze flicked to Ron's side, to where Ginny still stood just inside the door, a curious expression of narrowed eyes but a faint smile on her lips. Hermione stood right beside them, her own curiosity muted but still apparent.

It was only then that Harry really noticed the rest of the room, and he unconsciously loosened his arms around Draco. Only then that he saw Pansy staring at them with an unwavering gaze, saw Neville and Hannah sparing them intermittent glances as they whispered to one another, noticed Seamus openly staring with amusement brightening the weary lines of his face.

Harry didn't know how long it had been since he'd first stepped into the room himself. He wasn't sure how long after that Draco had directed them to the uncomfortable wooden chair they sat on and Harry had climbed into his lap for everyone to see. Enough that most of the examinees had filled the room, but apparently not long enough for him and Draco to become less than the unanimous focus of attention.

Draco was slightly tense beneath him, but a glance his way found him unconcerned. Sincerely unconcerned, that was, not simply hiding his discomfort behind blank-faced aloofness. It took that glimpse to notice that, by and large, Harry felt the same. Suspended in a state of exhaustion, no longer nauseous and horrified himself, not struggling for breath and fighting the urge to tear his eyes out but wrung dry nonetheless, he didn't really care. He cared even less when Ron's shrug caught his attention again.

"Well, this wasn't exactly what I'd expected," he said, his words invoking a lull from the majority of the room, "but I can't say I'm completely surprised. You could've picked someone a little less damaging to my mental health, though, mate."

Hermione's eyebrows snapped up as she swung towards him, and Ginny followed suit with a slow turn of open-faced bemusement. They weren't the only ones; even Pansy took a pause from her staring to glance his way.

"I think it's nice," Luna said, drifting from where Harry hadn't even noticed her to Ginny's side. She smiled dopely at Harry. "You suit one another."

"But do they?" Ginny asked emphatically, if not quite critically.

Harry thought that Ron replied, though with words or something else he wasn't sure. He caught it as he instinctively turned back towards Draco and took in the slight frown on his forehead, the tug of his lips to the side, and felt the minute shift of his hands around his waist.

"I think so," Harry murmured, though for Draco's ears alone. Almost surprising himself – for barely an hour before it had been the furthest thing from his mind – he managed a smile.

Draco glanced towards him, eyes darting upwards. Instantly, the frown on his forehead smoothed and the tug of his lips drew into a smile instead. A faint smile, smaller than it usually would be in mirroring Harry's, but it was enough. More than enough to be sure that he was okay, that in this instance at least, his scepticism of Harry's friends wasn't a problem. Maybe, in the aftermath of what felt so insurmountably much worse, it truly wasn't.

It wasn't for a performance that Harry kissed Draco an instant later. He'd wanted to since he gained enough presence of mind to separate the warmth of Draco's embrace from the thought of Draco himself. He'd wanted to touch him, to taste him, to feel the warm reassurance of Draco's lips that held the same soothing undertones as his closeness, as the coil of his arms around Harry. He just hadn't considered it to be a possibility; not now, and not before a live audience.

It wasn't a performance, but it felt a little bit like it when, as soon as their lips touched, someone whooped. A shout followed, then a wolf whistle, and even a scattering of claps. It was so far removed from the stage of horror being performed in the adjacent room that it was almost jarring, but…

Harry had always loved Draco's kisses. Ever since the first. He'd always loved his warm, the comfort and security of being close to him. His head still ached a little from the trial of the morning exam, but for a moment it was as though he ducked out of those aches and pains to sink into Draco and swallow his kiss – one, two, a deeper one and the parting of lips to follow.

It wasn't quite how Draco had specified it would be. How it should be. But to the backdrop of a clamouring room torn from grief, pain, and exhaustion, the moment felt as good as any other.