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The air whipped against his face, the sun made him squint his eyes, and Harry felt truly alive for maybe the first time since he had died. The summer had been hard, and choosing to come back for a final year at Hogwarts had been even more difficult, but this, this felt good. In the air, on a broomstick, Harry felt like he was a million miles away from the rubble on the other side of the castle, he felt like he had left all the sorrow and death behind him, and he felt like maybe it had all been worth it after all.
Of course, Malfoy had chosen that moment to collide with him, ramming him with his shoulder and knocking Harry off course. It was only a scrimmage, a casual match for the newly-christened ‘eighth year’ students to enjoy as part of a new intramural league set up to ease the blow of being excluded from the official quidditch tournament, but of course Malfoy was taking it seriously. Harry thought, as he rubbed his now-bruised shoulder, that he should perhaps be angry at Malfoy for still being so competitive, so needlessly combative during a match like this, but more than anything he felt relieved.
Everyone had been walking on eggshells the last few days, with no one quite sure how to return to lessons and friendships after a war. Even Malfoy had been infuriatingly polite and withdrawn, speaking quietly to Harry and a few others, offering sincere apologies and not expecting forgiveness, and Harry had hated it. The War was over, the suffering should end at some point too, but it seemed like it never would, and Harry just wanted things to be normal, even if he was beginning to suspect he had never truly known what that was. So, to have Draco Malfoy antagonize him during a quidditch match, petty and sneering and taunting and normal, felt like the best thing in the world.
Harry straightened himself on his broom and took off down the pitch, back in the direction of Malfoy, determined now to beat him to the snitch. He was still a few broomlengths away when he spotted it, circling near the base of a Slytherin goal post. Harry put on a burst of speed, Malfoy shadowing him so closely their knees kept knocking, and they were almost there, hands reaching out and only a foot off the ground, when the snitch looped around and came closer to Harry. They both grabbed at it, Malfoy just catching the end of a wing before Harry had it in his fist and Draco was toppling off the end of his broom.
The Gryffindors in the stands went wild, and Harry could hear Ron’s shouts of triumph from the other end of the pitch. Beaming, Harry raised the snitch in his still closed fist, realizing distantly that this was the first time he’d held one since that last walk through the Forest. He looked up at it, trying not to think about what came after that walk, what happened at the end, when-
Harry noticed something odd. One of the snitch’s wings was glittering strangely, as though it was coated in a hazy heat wave. Gingerly, he touched the glimmering wing tip and found that, although it looked as if it were radiating heat, it only tingled a little to the touch, still feeling like metal cooled by the wind.
Harry hadn’t found his soulmate yet, and he hadn’t spent much time thinking about it either. He’d only been eighteen for a month and change, and since he’d never expected to make it that far he hadn’t given much thought to who his soulmate was. Ron and Hermione hadn’t said much to him about it either. He knew it was a private thing, something for a couple to discover for themselves and to only share when they were ready, and his friends had chosen to ignore their own bond until the end of the fighting. He could still remember waking up one morning in the Forest of Dean, dragging himself out to the campfire and pausing at the entrance of the tent, not wanting to intrude on the private moment he had just walked in on. It must have been Ron’s birthday, although they’d lost track of time again and hadn’t felt much like celebrating besides. But when Harry saw the two of them by the fire, he was sure that Ron must have turned eighteen, because he and Hermione were both looking at a mug in something close to awe, each taking turns touching it gently, as though it might shatter apart if they made a sound. Finally, Hermione had schooled her features, and said, “We shouldn’t… not until- after it’s all over.”
Ron had looked pained, gazing at Hermione with something that could only be described as love and longing, before nodding and quietly saying, “Alright. Whatever you want, ‘Mione,” then leaning in and kissing her gently on the forehead. Harry had ducked back into the tent at that point, and he had pretended not to notice the way Ron looked around at all the things Hermione had recently touched, seeing a shimmer visible only to him when he came in a minute later.
Of course, Hermione’s resolve to wait on their happily ever after hadn’t held out until the end of the war, and she had kissed Ron in the Chamber of Secrets only two months later. Harry privately thought that she had made the right choice – despite her somewhat awful timing, it was nice to see his two friends finally together, openly in love, and it didn’t make sense to wait on a future that might never come, when they could be together for however many moments they had left.
Unfortunately, when Harry reflected on his best friends’ happiness after the War he was still happy for them, but found that he also felt empty inside, as though their connection had scooped out something from inside of him, far larger and more crucial than the portion of Voldemort’s soul had been. He was lonely, he had realized, and it seemed like such a petty thing to complain about in the ruin and grief left in the aftermath of everything they had come through, but something in his brain had flickered with hope at the idea of finding his own soulmate. He hadn’t been eighteen yet though, and so he pushed his feelings down and went to more funerals, alone within the grieving crowds.
Harry hadn’t thought much about his soulmate over the summer, but suddenly a conversation with Ron came back to him.
“It’s the most incredible thing, Harry. Everything Hermione touches, I can see. There’s some sort of glimmer, or something, all hazy around where her fingers were, and it’s just for me, I’m the only one who can see it.” He had looked rapturous, and Harry had been so happy for him, and almost sick with emptiness at the same time.
Now, Harry thought he understood what Ron had meant. The tip of one wing of the snitch was unlike anything else he’d ever seen, and when he looked closely he thought he could make out the smudge of fingerprints from a grasping hand. It was incredible, Harry thought, looking at the little glimmers shifting in the sunlight; he had a soulmate.
It shouldn’t have been such a shock. Everyone had a soulmate, and for most wixen it was only a matter of time until they met theirs, yet it had always seemed like such an unreachable concept for Harry, something he had never expected to live long enough to enjoy, and then something tamped down by grief. But now, looking at the shimmer on the struggling snitch still clasped in his hand, Harry could feel his world shifting. The impossible was turning into the inevitable, and everything seemed to be falling into place all at once for him. He felt good, for the first time in ages, warmed by the sun and the rush of competition and finally feeling like things were back to normal because Draco Malfoy was still a competitive arsehole, even if he was remorseful for his part in all the tragedy.
Harry rubbed his aching shoulder again, trying to think fast. The other members of the eighth year team were circling the pitch, and would be coming down to land beside him in a moment. He knew who his soulmate was, and it made all the sense in the world, because of course it would be Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, who had tormented him, who Harry had followed and watched, who had always been focused on getting Harry’s attention and who had risked quite a lot to save Harry at the Manor, only to be saved by Harry in return a few months later. Of course, it was Malfoy, they’d been in each other’s orbit since the very beginning, obsessive and intense and every other strong feeling except for love. So, of course, the universe would see to that too.
Harry took a deep breath and looked around. Ron was going to land in just a second, the rest of the team would be close behind. Draco was a few feet away, returning to his fellow Slytherins with only a faint air of frustration surrounding him, and none of the anger Harry had grown accustomed to watching lash out after other lost matches. Harry was standing in the sun, truly enjoying the peace they had won for the first time after the war, and he decided that he wanted to see how far it could go. Turning away from the swarming Gryffindors, he held out his hand and called out, watching Malfoy turn around to regard him with an open, curious expression.
“Hey Draco, I think there’s something you should see.”