Chapter Five

Just Harry

"Thank you for

The letters that

You thought you wrote

In vain.

And for

The times you choose

To stand out in the rain

And wait for me…"

--Reply (Staind)

Draco stared at the letter from Harry warily. He was far from noticing the tremble his hands had developed, even though the parchment in front of him was shaking so violently that he would not have been able to read it, had he tried. As the letter fell from his quaking grip, Draco realized that he had been holding his breath, and let it out in a heavy swoosh that made him feel lightheaded.

He stared down at the letter cautiously, as if it would sprout legs and run off on its own accord. That thought served to remind him of the Monster Books that they had been assigned in Third year, and Draco shuddered as he bent to retrieve the fallen missive.

Each of Harry's previous correspondences had been written painstakingly - Draco could tell that Harry had put a lot of effort in not only his usually untidy scrawl that he called penmanship, but also at staying stoic and aloof. Very rarely was this façade broken, but when it was, Draco could clearly feel the pain and betrayal that Harry felt radiating in waves from each carefully scripted letter.

Although making Harry hurt burnt Draco to the core, he knew that Harry would heal, and eventually be stronger for it. Maybe one day, Harry would even thank Draco for helping him to see that he deserved so much better than Draco could offer.

Harry was pure in every sense of the word. He was kind, genial, compassionate, and so full of enthusiasm, life and love to give, even though he had suffered through so very much. Harry gave so much, and it never mattered to him one way or another whether he got anything in return. He lavished Draco with love, support and attention that no one else could rival, and with a tenderness that made Draco feel weak in the knees.

And Draco didn't deserve it, any of it. The only way he was pure was through blood, and now, that really had no meaning to the Wizarding World. Sure, some people still cared about blood-purity, but most of them had been associated with Voldemort or with associates of Voldemort.

Draco was selfish and cruel, with a sharp tongue and arrogance in abundance. How Harry had ever been capable of seeing past this, Draco had never been able to figure out. But now that he was out of the picture, Harry was surely going to realize that he was better off without him, and he would move on.

It might take a while, but surely, Harry would move on. Draco only hoped that Harry would not grow to hate him, because although he wanted better for Harry, he couldn't stop his own yearning desire to be with him. He was torturing himself, because he didn't want Harry to suffer, to wonder what could have been.

Lips set in a firm line and resolve stiffly in place, Draco carefully unfolded the letter, and stared unseeingly for many minutes at Harry's scratchy penmanship. This time, the words were scribbled hastily, lacking much of the former letters' composure, and ink was smudged in various places from Harry's hand running over the still-wet ink as he wrote. This was the way Harry's letters were usually written, and Draco couldn't stop the slow smile from spreading across his lips in remembrance of many letters, looking very similar to this, that he had received in the past - before he'd left.

Draco,

I know now that I have probably written a majority of these letters to you in vain. But I can't help but think that maybe, somewhere in that cold heart of yours, you still do care for me. At least a little bit.

Draco's face crumpled as the words hit him with full force. He was cold-hearted? No! He only wanted Harry to have what he deserved, but pain wasn't what he deserved at all!

Didn't Harry understand? Draco's heart ached every time he was reminded of Harry, his eyes burned with unshed tears every time a sweet memory ripped its way into his mind and stole his breath away. Couldn't Harry understand how much this was tearing Draco apart?

Those last few letters I wrote to you were meant to hurt you - but I regret that now. I wrote them because I was so angry with you! How could you just up and leave, without a single word? I know things weren't always easy, but don't I at least deserve to know why you left me? Don't I at least deserve a chance to defend myself?

Why couldn't Harry understand that Draco was doing this for his own good? Because he loved him so deeply that it hurt to breathe, cared for him so thoroughly that every day spent without him sent a searing spike straight through his heart!

What have I done, Draco? I swear I'll do anything to fix it, anything to repair this hole in my heart!

Tears streamed unchecked down Draco's cheeks and he bit the insides of his cheeks roughly to rein in the sob that was threatening to escape his choked throat.

I don't want to push you further away. I would never want to do that. I love you!

…Sometimes, I wonder if it's worth the bother. You know the saying that it's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all? I don't want to lose you, Draco.

You're the one and only person who has ever gotten through all of my defences, the only person who's ever bothered to get to know me. The real me - not the Boy Who Lived, not the Chosen One. Me. Just Harry.

Draco closed his eyes, unconsciously crumpling the paper into a ball in his fist, tears flowing freely down his face and sobs ripping from between his clenched teeth, as he remembered something that he had long ago buried away.

---

Harry had been unable to sleep. Draco was not able to say the same, but now he was wide awake, because someone had decided that if he couldn't sleep, neither could Draco.

"I had a nightmare," Harry whispered, his voice echoing eerily in the empty room. He scrambled into the vacant bed across from Draco and curled up beneath the covers, reminding Draco of a child. A very large child, but a child nonetheless.

Harry's eyes glittered at Draco through the dark, the light from the moon shining through the window and losing itself in his deep emerald depths.

Draco snorted and turned away from him. "Go back to sleep, Potter." he mumbled through the many layers of blankets piled on top of him to ward off the cold of the winter.

The room was noiseless for a long while, and just as Draco had begun to drift back into sleep, Harry broke the silence. "C…can I stay in here with you?"

Draco sighed and shifted so that he could see Harry clearly. "I don't care, Potter, just let me go back to sleep!" he hissed, shooting Harry a glare and plumping his pillow before resting his head back on it.

Once again, silence enveloped Draco, and he snuggled down into the bed comfortably. Potter remained quiet and motionless, and after many long minutes, Draco was finally able to return to sleep.

The next thing he knew, a warm body was pressed up against him, and big green eyes were staring down at him innocently. Startled, Draco squirmed to get away from the intruder.

"Potter! What in the bloody hell are you doing?"

Harry stared at him in confusion for a few moments, before he parted his lips and wetted them with his tongue. "I had another nightmare. I…" He looked away, shame crossing his face, and Draco felt his heart twinge in sympathy. "Sorry." Harry murmured, pulling away and moving to stand.

Draco stared at him for a few moments that seemed to stretch on for an eternity, before he reached out and grasped Harry's wrist. "No, it's okay. What was your nightmare about?"

Harry blinked in surprise. He stared down at where Draco's hand held his wrist in awe, before slowly bringing his gaze back up to Draco's. "I…you…it…"

Draco smiled softly and brought one finger up to Harry's lips. "Shh, it's all right. You don't have to tell me about it."

Harry shuddered beneath Draco's touch, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. A single tear fell down his cheek, and Draco stared in wonder as it slowly made a path from his eye to the corner of his mouth, where it glisteningly remained.

Slowly, Draco removed his finger from Harry's lips and carefully wiped the tear away from the corner of his mouth, tracing its path to just beneath Harry's eye and tenderly cupping his face in his hand. Harry nuzzled into the touch, eyes still closed and breath coming in short, miserable pants.

"Harry," Draco whispered coaxingly. Harry froze in Draco's embrace, choking on a sob in his attempt to stifle it.

"I don't want to die." He finally managed to breathe.

Now it was Draco's turn to freeze. "Harry…what are you talking about?"

"Voldemort," Harry mouthed, another sob causing his chest to heave. "I don't want to die." He repeated.

Draco blinked in amazement. Never in his life, had he seen Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, seem so scared.

Draco wanted so desperately to say something - to assure Potter that he wouldn't die - but he wasn't one to lie, and he knew that the chances of Potter winning the final battle were very slim.

He had so often admired Harry's courage in the face of danger, but now he realized that Potter was probably every bit as scared on the inside as Draco was - he was just better at hiding it.

This new revelation forced Draco to realize that Potter was only human. He didn't have any greater chances of winning against Voldemort than he himself did, because Potter was a mere boy, younger even than Draco was. How could the Wizarding World place their hopes in a boy, one who wasn't even yet seventeen, and expect for him not only to live against one of the darkest wizards ever, but also to flourish?

Blinded by his new understanding of Potter, Draco did the first (and only) thing that came to mind. Shushing Harry, he carefully wrapped his arms around him as if he were a fine piece of china, and allowed him to cry himself to sleep on his shoulder.

---

"Just Harry," Draco whispered against the crumpled piece of parchment that he held to his lips.

He didn't have the heart to un-crumple and finish reading it. He was content at that moment to just hold it against him, remembering the feel of Harry's skin against his, the way he murmured in delight when Draco kissed him in the juncture of his neck and shoulder, the smell of cedar and soap that was purely Harry.

"I love you…"