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Just You and Me
And it's not too far from my shore to your shore,
Not too far from my door to your door,
Not too far from my heart to your heart…
Underground, by Miriama
The emergency alert came in at half-past four on a Thursday afternoon, blaring an alarm that reminded Harry of a drowning peacock. Not that he'd ever heard a peacock drown, but he assumed it'd sound like this—high-pitched and ending on a piercing screech. "Yeeeeeep! Yeeeeeep!"
Harry suppressed a sigh.
The Auror Department was nearly empty, the day shift not back from the cases they were eager to wrap up before the weekend, and the night shift not yet arrived. Harry was between cases, having closed his investigation that morning, so he was available to take the call, even if he had plans for the evening.
Special plans. Plans that made pixies dance in his stomach.
The alert continued. Right. His plans would have to wait. He hurried across the room, reaching for the parchment the dispatcher held out.
"The coordinates, Auror Potter," the young man said, barely audible over the blaring alarm. "Wizard, mid-thirties, appears to be unarmed, attempting to jump from the Hydra Valley bridge."
"Thanks," Harry said, withdrawing his wand from its holster and Transfiguring his cloak into a copy of his beloved leather jacket. He grabbed his Muggle police credentials and reached for the Portkey.
The dispatcher had already returned to his crossword puzzle when magic pulled Harry from the room.
He landed in the centre of the old stone bridge that stretched out over a deep valley, the autumn sun in his eyes but taking the chill from the October air. Fallen leaves blew across the empty road at Harry's feet, rustling softly and emphasising the remoteness of the location.
Slowly, he approached the figure sitting on the edge of a parapet, inches from a decision they wouldn't be able to undo. Harry ran through his training in his mind: talk to the person, build trust, listen to what they have to say.
The sun dipped behind a cloud, and Harry's stomach dropped.
Draco.
The first time Harry felt a real connection to someone other than his old friends was at Ginny and Blaise's wedding.
It was nearly eight years after the war, and as the wedding guests danced, laughed, and drank around him, Harry felt separate. Different. As though he'd finished living his life when everyone else was only starting theirs.
He hated his job, hated the drudgery of the Auror department, the constant paperwork and politics and barely hidden corruption. But it was what he knew, what he was good at, so there was no point in complaining.
His home life wasn't much better. It was just him, a refurbished Grimmauld Place, and the ghosts of memories. Teddy spent a night or two a week with him, and those days were what carried Harry through the rest of the week.
He had friends—of course, he did—but they were all getting married, having babies, spending their days in jobs, and saving for new homes, new families, new lives. Harry lagged behind, spinning his wheels and going nowhere, his best years already behind him.
"Is this seat taken?"
Harry shrugged. It'd been years since he had a problem with Malfoy, with Draco, but it wasn't as though they sought each other out. Not usually.
A glass of white wine was placed in front of Harry. He sat back and looked up at the man pulling out the chair next to him at the large, round table. His pale blond hair, sharp nose, and slightly shadowed jaw looked softer than usual under the dim fairy lights.
"Are you still pining for her, then?" Draco asked, taking a sip of his wine. "I'd have thought you'd given up on that years ago."
Harry snorted. "Of course, I'm not. I'm happy for her. I'd be more likely to pine for Blaise, as you well know."
Draco arched his left eyebrow and his mouth twisted. "Blaise? Surely not."
Harry rolled his eyes but let out a long, dramatic sigh and placed his chin on his hand, staring at the dancing couple. "Alas, I shall never have him now."
Draco chuckled and set down his glass. "Seriously, Potter, what's wrong?"
Glancing at the man next to him, one of the only people his age he knew who was also still single, Harry decided to simply say it. "I'm tired."
"It's been a long day. I suppose—"
"No, not like that. Just…tired. Tired of pretending to be happy and wonderful and everything everyone wants me to be, I reckon."
Draco let out a long hum, making Harry's hackles rise. At least, he assumed that's what it was. He was annoyed, right?
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Only, it's…unsurprising."
Harry froze. Unsurprising?
Draco shrugged and turned his gaze from the dancing newlyweds onto Harry. "You didn't think you were the only one who felt that way, did you?"
Harry's mind went blank.
Draco rolled his eyes and huffed. "You did. You thought it was just you." He muttered something under his breath about vexatious Gryffindors and shook his head. "Look, do you want to get out of here? Maybe go to a pub or something? Blaise is planning to serenade the Weaslette soon, and I couldn't possibly stomach that."
Harry hesitated, eager to escape that embarrassing scene but unsure about spending time alone with his old rival. He looked up into Draco's strangely open and hopeful face, and any misgivings dissipated. "Merlin, yes, let's go."
And so they did, and Harry made a new friend for the first time in a decade.
"Draco," Harry said carefully, drawing closer to the side of the bridge.
He didn't want to startle him, to cause Draco to take the leap that would crush Harry forever. His mind raced, looking for the best approach to change Draco's mind. Sure, if Draco jumped, Harry could probably stop him with a spell, but once that decision was made, wouldn't he keep trying until he found a way? No, Harry needed to talk to him, to remind him what he meant to other people. What he meant to Harry.
And so, without meeting Draco's eyes, without addressing their current situation, Harry began to talk.
The first time Harry held Draco was at a funeral.
Gregory Goyle—Slytherin, Hogwarts' bully, Baby Death Eater, and Draco's childhood friend—died at twenty-seven years old.
It wasn't unexpected. Goyle had spent two years in Azkaban. He hadn't saved Harry's life or been part of a family who turned evidence over to the Aurors against the other Death Eaters. He'd suffered the fate Draco had escaped, and it'd left its mark.
It wasn't Goyle's first attempt at suicide, nor his tenth, but it was his last, and Draco was devastated. Harry could see that in his friend's demeanour: in the way he stared into the distance, in the way he held his stiff posture like a shield against the world around him, in the way his accent was crisper and posher than Harry'd ever heard it.
Harry stayed close as they listened to the eulogy. He held Draco's hand as Goyle was lowered into the ground, as the officiant hit the gravestone with a spell that carved into the stone. A name and two dates, but no words of comfort or care.
Draco was stoic, his face unmoving, his eyes dry and fixed on the stone.
The crowd dispersed, but Harry held Draco back. "Wait."
Draco heaved out a long sigh. "It's cold."
"It's June. It's not cold. Take a minute. I think you need it."
"I'll thank you for not telling me what I need, Potter."
Harry let Draco pull away.
"I'm so…angry," Draco finally hissed out, his boots clomping as he began to pace. "It's not fair. Everything he did, he did because other people told him to. And then he was put away, and it killed him. It only took nine years to do it."
Harry nodded, his throat aching for the man before him. He might not have liked Goyle, but the man was important to Draco.
"I told him to take the mark, that it'd protect him. We were so stupid, and he's dead because I led him there," Draco said, his voice rough. He halted, meeting Harry's gaze through his tousled blond fringe, eyes brimming with tears. "And then I couldn't save him."
"Draco," Harry croaked, stepping closer and pulling Draco into his arms. Draco held himself stiffly for several minutes, but right as Harry considered letting go, he melted and wrapped himself in Harry's embrace. Harry said nothing, simply held his friend, marvelling at how well his taller, slighter frame fit to Harry's stockier one.
It felt good. Comforting Draco, being there for him, felt good. But Draco, himself, also felt divine.
Stop it, Harry. He's grieving. Put it away.
So he did. He put it away and held Draco, but something inside him had shifted.
"If you could live anywhere, where would it be?" Harry was grasping at straws now. Draco spoke with him as though nothing was wrong, but he wouldn't turn his face away from the valley so far beneath them.
"Somewhere where nobody knows what I've done. Where nobody hurls curses at me in the street for stupid choices I made when I was a ridiculous child. Someplace I could start fresh and simply be myself."
"Somewhere quiet," Harry agreed, "and away from all the bullshit."
Harry could picture it. Maybe the side of a mountain somewhere. A little house surrounded by trees and wildlife and peace.
"Did they hurt you? Whatever they hit you with this time?" Stupid question, Harry, he berated himself. Of course, they hurt him. Look at where he is.
Draco said nothing, but he reached his hand out to take Harry's.
The first time Harry danced with Draco was at Luna and Rolf's wedding. He still felt like an outsider looking in, like a child with his face pressed against the snowglobe, peering at the joy he couldn't touch.
That wasn't to say he wasn't happy, he just wasn't that kind of happy. Teddy was off at Hogwarts, and though Harry was an honorary uncle to his friends' children, he was still separate, still alone.
But he was happy, and he wasn't so lonely anymore because he had Draco, his best friend. His best friend who understood what his life was like. Between Harry's fame and Draco's infamy, they couldn't do all the things they wanted—Quidditch games and museums and pubs—but they managed to have fun, nonetheless.
Draco's quiet chuckle, so different from the brash and free laugh of their childhoods, caught Harry's attention from across the table. "I don't generally dance at weddings," Draco told the old woman sitting next to him.
"Oh, dear, you're missing out then. To take a young woman's hand in yours, lead her to the floor and gaze into her eyes, it's a kind of magic you'll not find anywhere else. There's a special magic in the air at a wedding, you know."
Draco's cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink. "I don't generally dance with women, either."
The woman laughed and caught Harry's eye. "Then perhaps with Mr Potter, here. I bet you'd make a pretty pair." She winked, and it was Harry's turn to blush.
"Well, I don't think—" Draco started, but Harry interrupted.
"Yeah, Draco, we'd make a pretty pair."
Draco's jaw dropped slightly, his only sign of surprise, but Harry grinned, standing and holding out his hand.
"Shall we?"
Draco closed his eyes, the same face he made when he'd beg Merlin for patience, before shrugging. "That's a lovely idea, Mrs Madison. Thank you."
She patted his hand and sat back with her tea, looking satisfied when Harry glanced her way.
"I think we got manoeuvred into this," Draco muttered. "You don't have to, you know."
Harry hesitated. "What, don't you want to dance with me?"
"No, I—I do, actually."
Harry smiled, then paused, suddenly unsure of himself. "Will you lead?"
"Yes," Draco said quietly, then put his hand in Harry's and led him into a slow waltz. It was easier than other dances Harry had done, perhaps because Draco knew what he was doing, or perhaps because they seemed to move the same way, steps the same size, keeping the same pace.
Draco's hand at the bottom of Harry's back. Draco's familiar eyes staring deep into Harry's. The gentle movement of their bodies brushing against one another as they danced. No words were necessary. It was just them—Harry and Draco—together in the snowglobe.
"We've come a long way in twenty years."
Draco let out a harsh little laugh and nodded.
"Let's get out of here, Draco. Please. I know you've had enough. I know it's all too much, but I don't want to lose you. I need you. I know I haven't said it before, and maybe you feel like it's too late now, but don't do it. Don't jump."
Draco jerked his face up at the last words, his eyes wide. "Harry—"
"No, listen, please." Harry turned fully towards Draco, sinking into his stormy grey eyes. "Let's get away from London. From England entirely. We can go to Greece, or maybe America, or hell, Mongolia for all I care. I just want to be somewhere else. To be there with you."
"But—"
"I love you. It's okay if you don't feel the same way. And I'm not saying it because I'm afraid you'll jump off this bridge, even though I am, or because I feel bad about all the shit you've been through, even though I do. I was going to tell you at dinner tonight. I had this whole thing planned out and—"
"Harry, shut up!" Draco's chest was heaving, and his eyes looked wild. "Salazar, don't you ever stop talking?"
Oh, god. He'd ruined it. He'd ruined everything that was building between them. He'd been so nervous to say something, but he wanted Draco to know that someone loved him, that he was worth something. Especially now.
"I wasn't going to jump. I'm not suicidal, you idiot. I was just…thinking."
Harry searched Draco's face, looking for any signs that Draco wasn't telling him everything. There weren't any, but Harry saw something else. It was there, in the way Draco looked at him, in the way he reached up and ran his hand along Harry's jaw.
Love. Trust. Longing.
Harry took a deep breath, pulling Draco away from the edge of the bridge. "You're really okay? The dispatcher sent me out here, said there was a jumper."
Draco rolled his eyes. "I was enjoying the quiet afternoon before we met for dinner. Some arsehole was probably trying to cause trouble for me. You know how it is."
And Harry did. He knew. Draco would never be left alone to live his life here any more than Harry would. "Thank Merlin," Harry muttered, dropping his forehead to lean against Draco's and holding him tight. He'd been so scared, so worried, and now it was all okay.
"You didn't really mean all that, right?" Draco asked after a minute, letting go of Harry and stepping back. "Because you're Harry Potter, and I'm Draco Malfoy, and all that stuff, it wouldn't work."
"Why?" Harry asked, irritated at Draco's assumptions and self-deprecation. "Tell me why, because from where I'm standing, it makes perfect sense."
Draco threw up his arms. "You can't just leave the country. Teddy's here, and your friends are here, and you'd start to resent me. I can't be enough."
"To hell with that. There's such a thing as visiting, and Teddy's nearly done with school. I honestly don't think he'll want to stay here either."
Harry shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Draco, you're everything I want, and neither of us are happy here. Let's forget this place. Let's go somewhere we can be happy. Together."
"But—"
"Do you love me?" And there it was. The question they'd been dancing around. He'd said it, and Draco hadn't. But Harry had to know. He thought Draco did, but he needed to hear it.
Draco was breathing fast, opening and closing his mouth like a fish lying on a beach.
Harry waited. A declaration of love would be difficult for Draco, no matter his answer, but he wouldn't leave Harry hanging. He wouldn't hurt Harry like that. He'd tell him the truth, and even if he didn't love Harry the way Harry loved him, he'd be careful with his response.
Harry trusted Draco with his heart. It'd taken years to get to this point, but it was true. He might have been nervous, but he wasn't afraid.
Draco stepped closer and raised a shaking hand to Harry's face. "Yes."
Harry's eyes stung in relief.
"I don't want you to leave for me," Draco said, his voice barely audible over the rustle of the autumn leaves.
"I want to leave for us," Harry countered. "If you want to stay, I'll stay, but I don't think that's what either of us wants."
Draco let his head fall back and stared up at the clear blue sky, then started to laugh. "Okay. I can't believe I'm saying this, but okay. Let's do it."
Harry's knees turned to jelly, and it was only his years of Auror training that kept him from folding to the ground. "Yeah?"
"Yes. Merlin knows how this will work, but let's do it."
Harry let joy fill his chest and grabbed Draco, lifting him off his feet and spinning around.
"Beast! Put me down! This is not proper behaviour, Potter."
Harry let Draco slide to the ground until they were nose to nose. "You love me."
"I love you, you heathen. But we have so much planning to do and—"
Harry cut him off, taking Draco's lips with his. There was more than enough time to work all that out later, but for now, the promise of the future was as sweet as Draco's mouth.
And it was just them—Harry and Draco—crossing a bridge to a new life. Finally free.
Finis