Like always, thanks a lot to YetiBettyFoufetti for the beta!

Chapter Text

Harry spoke for a long time. The sun peeked through the grayness of the sky, then disappeared again. When their legs grew tired they sat on the cold ground facing the gravestone, like two mourners stricken by grief.

At first, Draco kept interrupting him. There were things in Harry's explanations he didn't understand and things he couldn't quite believe. Then the story took a turn and Draco didn't dare interrupt anymore. Harry's voice became hoarse as he recounted his year on the run hunting fragments of Voldemort's soul. The day he showed up at the Manor. Dobby's death.

Draco had been there for it, apparently. He couldn't remember it. The only things he could remember from that day were Hermione's screams and Voldemort's rage when he returned to the Manor. It was bizarre, learning that this house elf he'd never paid any special attention to had played a part in the War. That he'd been so brave. That he died a hero. That he'd been so important to Harry. He tried to conjure some more memories of him but found he couldn't. He glanced again at the words etched on the stone which held new meaning for him. However, he couldn't afford to linger on this revelation. Harry carried on with his story and Draco wished he'd slow down, give him more time to wrap his head around the things he was telling him.

But Harry was relentless. He brought his knees to his chest and stared into the distance as he told Draco how he, Ron and Hermione tracked down the rest of the Horcruxes. When he mentioned the snake, Draco let out a gasp. It was out of shock, maybe, even though at that point the shock had settled into a sort of stupor.

Harry twitched and turned to look at him, as if he'd forgotten he was telling someone else all of those things and not just speaking to the wind. Against the color of the sky his eyes seemed so vivid. So alive.

"I was the eighth one."

Draco stared back, not understanding. Not wanting to understand, perhaps. It couldn't- it surely couldn't be that, right?

"The eighth what?"

Harry sighed in lieu of a response, resting his forehead on top of his knees.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I was the eighth Horcrux, Draco." His words fell like a blade, separating Draco forever from the man that he'd been before he'd heard them. His eyes darted from Harry to the house on the horizon, as if answers were waiting for him somewhere else, not in front of him. "I'm saying part of Voldemort's soul lived in me. For years."

The need for Harry's words to be just that - words, devoid of meaning, devoid of the power to describe reality - was visceral. He felt his throat tied up in knots and he had to fight to stop himself from gagging.

"He killed it himself when he tried to kill me. That's why… when your mum… well. You know."

Draco remembered his mother's half incoherent story about that night in the forest. He'd never believed her, of course. How could he have believed that Harry had been hit in the chest with the killing curse yet, when she'd crouched down to check, he was still breathing.

"You're not saying anything," Harry stated flatly.

"I'm sorry," Draco mumbled, forcing himself to meet Harry's eyes. "I'm just shocked."

"You don't need to apologize." The last words were nearly unintelligible as Harry turned away. All Draco could see was the back of his neck. He felt the urge to lean forward and touch the bit of skin that wasn't covered by the collar of his coat. To make sure it felt warm. To make sure it was Harry's. He felt ashamed at the thought, yet couldn't banish it away.

After a while Harry said, "I can still feel the emptiness it left behind. I thought it would go away with time. It didn't."

Draco swallowed, desperate to find something to say. But what was he supposed to say to that?

"Looking back at those years, I feel like I can tell. I can tell which part of me was actually him. When it was him who acted, and when it was me."

"Harry, you never acted like Voldemort. You were never anything like him," Draco said, and knew the instant the words left his mouth that he was trying to reassure himself more than he was Harry. It seemed Harry knew it too, because he laughed. It was mock laughter, the kind that marks the speech of a man who's resigned himself to not being understood.

"I didn't need to be like him. He was part of me. He was me. "

"He-"

"I know this is hard to take. I hate thinking about this," Harry cut him off. "I hate living with the knowledge that his soul lived inside of me. The soul of the man who killed my parents and tried to kill me."

Draco scotted over and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry didn't push him away and Draco realized he'd feared he would.

"Every single memory I have from Hogwarts is tainted by the knowledge that he was there too. The idea haunts me. It haunts me, Draco. I wish I could forget everything that happened to me until it fucking died."

"Jesus, Harry," Draco exhaled. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he quickly replied. "I know this is horrible to hear. I know this is not easy to accept. I don't think I'll ever accept it. I'm only telling you because I think-" Harry turned to him so suddenly it startled him. "Because I think otherwise you won't understand. Why am I the way I am."

Draco moved his hand up towards Harry's face. He nodded.

"Who else knows about this?"

"Ron and Hermione. And Emma."

"I don't understand… How in the world did you find out?"

"I found out the night of the final battle. From a memory." For some reason this made him laugh. "He didn't even tell me himself."

"Who?"

"Dumbledore."

"He knew?"

"Of course he knew," Harry laughed. "It was all part of the plan."

The more Harry described Dumbledore's plan, the more things settled into place for Draco. And with understanding came the anger. Such powerful, destructive anger he had to lift himself up and start pacing to spend some of it. Harry remained still.

"That insane son of a - Jesus! I thought he - I thought he cared about you!"

"Draco…"

"You can't possibly still take his side!"

"I'm not. In fact, that's the whole point of this story."

"What is?"

"That Dumbledore was the kind of person that sacrificed individuals for- Well, for the greater good. That he knowingly let people in dangerous situations even when he had the power to-"

Draco stopped in his tracks and glanced down at Harry. "He didn't just let you in a-"

"I'm not talking about myself, Draco. I'm talking about you." Harry lifted himself up, pressing his hands against the ground. "Dumbledore knew about your mission. He could have helped you escape. He didn't."

"It wasn't his duty to save me-"

"Come off it. You were a child and he was the most powerful wizard alive." Draco turned away from Harry, his heart thumping in his chest. Not again. Not this conversation again. " I was a child. That wasn't our war," Harry carried on. "It was theirs. Dumbledore and Voldemort's. You have this story in your head where I'm the hero and you're the villain. Well, I'm not a hero. Dumbledore needed me to act like one because I would have died anyway. He needed you to play your part so he could prove Snape's loyalty to Voldemort. Do you understand that, Draco? That we weren't in control of anything that happened to us?"

"You can't compare our situations, Harry. You did all of these brave things-"

"I didn't have a bloody choice!"

"I should have-"

"But you didn't. And that's fine. I forgave you. Ron and Hermione did. Everybody - all of our friends, all the people that know you. We all did. You're the only one who didn't. You're the only one who-"

Draco took a step back, his arms wrapped around himself like a shield. "You really don't blame me? For letting them in the castle? For the locket?"

Harry walked the distance between them.

"My love. I don't blame you."

"I could have refused-"

"You'd have been killed."

"You would have refused."

"Jesus, Draco, stop comparing yourself to me. I grew up without a family. I had the soul of a maniac living inside of me. My life is not normal. My life has never been normal. You grew up with a loving family and you cared more about them than about what's right! Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's how the majority of the people on this planet would have acted too."

"But Harry… people died…" Draco's voice finally broke.

" You didn't kill anybody."

"I really didn't want to," he said, and only then realized he was crying. The wind picked up speed but they remained motionless, staring at each other. "I swear."

"I know, my love. I know you didn't want to."

"I'm so sorry."

"I know," Harry said, reaching forward.

"I never meant to hurt anybody. I was just so scared."

Harry took Draco's hands in his hands, brought them to his face and kissed them.

"I believe you."

Now that the gates had been opened, Draco felt like there was no way he could stop anymore.

"I miss my parents. I miss Father," he sobbed.

"Of course you do," Harry said, holding him. "I'll never blame you for that."

"I miss him so much, Harry. And I also hate him. I don't know how to deal with this."

"It's alright. We'll figure it out together. We'll go visit their graves again. We'll talk more about it."

"Do you promise you don't blame me?"

"I promise."

"You've thought about it? Have you really thought about it?"

"I have. I promise."

"You don't think I'm evil?"

"I don't."

"This isn't just a distraction for you?"

"It's not."

"Do you really love me?"

Harry didn't say anything, and for a second Draco's heart stopped in his chest.

"I really love you."

"Because I love you, Harry. I love you so much," he blurted out. "I love you so much," he repeated, exhausted. And that was it. Everything he'd ever hid, out into the light.

Harry had never given much thought to how beautiful the wooden floors in Draco's bedroom were until that morning. Maybe it was the warm light coming through the sheer curtains, filling the space with sunlight after what felt like weeks of rain and gray skies. Maybe it was that he was at last looking at it. Really looking at it.

He marveled at the way the pieces had been assembled into a complicated pattern. At the way each piece gave off a different hue and had a different grain. At the little cracks in between, where dust gathered.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, scotting over the edge of the bed in order to look at what Harry was looking at.

"Nothing," Harry smiled, taking his eyes away from the floor and pushing his body against Draco. "Just avoiding having to get up."

"Tell me about it," Draco moaned, meeting his lips.

They walked to the Ministry. The two days away from the office had allowed them a respite from the sense of urgency Cole's case had installed in them. Harry knew that as soon as they'd be back they'd get caught up in the whirlpool again. He didn't plan to fight against it. He only wanted to enjoy a walk before starting all over again.

He searched for Draco's hand as they approached the entrance. Draco didn't snatch it away and Harry realized it had always been that simple.