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The bed in his dorm room was softer than Harry remembered it being the entire year. Around him, empty walls crowded vacant Chester drawers and four-poster beds together with a window that stuck shut. A far cry from the red-striped scarves draped along the beams and Seamus’ tapestry depicting Godric Gryffindor hanging above his bed across the room from Harry’s. In his hand rested Slytherin’s locket—which may as well have been plastic, as useless as it proved to be.
The yellow shine from the locket’s jewel caught the corner of Harry’s eye. The sight of it only reminded him how many steps behind they were in the war. Harry couldn’t accept how Dumbledore of all people could have been fooled like this, this sick joke of salvation that cost the headmaster his life.
His fist closed around the metallic casing forcing his fingers to tighten against the fragile stone. Harry wished he could shatter the locket so the sight of it wouldn’t have to loom over his thoughts any longer.
His free hand slid slowly up against his skin and pressed against the bridge of his nose. Never once did his hands shake when power shot through his arm, pouring out of his wand aimed at the Dark Lord. His hands had been steadier than ever when his wand was at the tip of Bellatrix’s nose with the vision of Sirius’ blank face clouding all reason.
His teeth started to clatter and Harry clenched his jaw but it only fueled the rest of his body into a tremor. “Stop,” he shouted as if his body would listen.
Harry slammed his hand down to the mattress and let it impact the soft surface. Over and over again Harry hit his wrists down against the bed, desperately trying to get back in control of his form. When Harry was eleven, he beat Voldemort with the touch of his skin but since then, it's stretched and thinned into something that can’t even be still at a command.
His hands began to ache and his heart was pounding, growing more out of control than his hands were. He rested his head on one of the bed posts, gulping in air by the bounds was the only thing that seemed to subdue the tremor. His other hand still clutched the locket between strained fingers and a bruised palm.
A slow chorus rang out in the courtyard below, passing through Harry’s clogged ears who barely registered the cheers that erupted from younger students. For the last five years, Harry cheered with his classmates, except, now, there seemed little to celebrate with the direction Harry’s life was going.
If nobody else was going to start sacrificing luxury to gain victory, then it had to be him. He was the chosen one, after all. Dumbledore had thrown him out to the wizarding world’s most powerful opponent ever since he was a child and Harry has walked out unscathed so far. Maybe luck could keep its fingernails dug in his arm for just a little longer. If that meant leaving his home so everybody he had come to know perished, then so it be. It was not all terrible—the target on his back grew bigger and bigger the more people painted him as some sort of savior for the Light.
It’s as if there are two killing curses, Avada Kedavra and being associated with Harry James Potter. Hermione and Ron stood by him since that first day on the express and their alliance was no secret to the Dark. Every year his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor needed a replacement the following. And everytime It was always him, Ron, and Hermione that was the cause of their ruin—without fail. The Order’s lives were all on the line because they looked out for a seventeen-year-old with a tragic past and unfortunate future ahead.
Draco Malfoy was in danger while Harry sulked against his bedframe. Draco kept going despite everything while Harry could barely keep his heart beating without his touch.
Harry leapt to his feet at the thought of Draco, ignoring the spots of black swarming his vision as he left the dormitory and rushed through the common room that hadn’t changed since he was eleven.
The Astronomy tower was clear across the castle but Harry had to go there one last time. He needed to see the space his heart fractured.
~
“Don’t you understand? I have to kill you,” Draco’s voice sounded cracked and raw, “or he’s going to kill me.”
Harry had to cover his mouth to keep from screaming. He knew what Draco had to do, they were actively trying to find any possible way around it. He neglected to tell Harry how quickly their lives would crumble into ash without a solution.
Harry focused his vision to see Draco’s eyes subtly drift down to where he hid under the rafter’s. For all the years they spent together, Harry never saw fear like that from Draco Malfoy.
“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered and Harry knew the words even if Dumbledore replied. Harry felt a tear flow down his cheek and wiped the evidence of it immediately. He shouldn’t be crying when Draco was up there, exposed and raw without barely shedding a single tear.
~
While he walked through the halls he made sure to admire the castle because Harry hadn’t much since first year. He could remember the towering architecture looming greatly over the young boy who had only known a creaky cupboard under the stairs. Now, Harry had grown too tall for the ceilings that were no longer grand enough to protect him.
He passed the room where Remus Lupin taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, the office he learned how to produce a patronus in. He passed through the great hall that was now layered in rubble. Mrs. Sprout’s Herbology class was to his left while the stairway he and Draco always slipped into between classes was further down to the right.
It took a climb to reach the top of the astronomy tower. He could only imagine how Draco felt walking up these steps, rolling over in his head what was about to happen. He was an arrogant prick who should have told him the entire plan—why couldn’t Draco confide in him?
When he reached the top of the stairs, he could see the exact place Draco stood, the door multiple Death Eaters barged in through, and the opening that Dumbledore fell through to his death. Harry crossed the platform and glanced down to the spot where he hid. Cowardly, he knows now.
Out the window Harry could see the vast hillside of Scotland with Hagrid’s Hut framing the landscape while smoke billowed out of the chimney. On the side of it was a path Harry remembered all too well. He had to clutch the edge of the cutout in order to stay standing as images flashed quickly to the front of his mind.
~
“O Chosen One, Chosen one, wherefore art thou boy who lived?” Draco beckoned from farther up the path with his hand on his chest and free arm waving ridiculously in the air.
Harry rolled his eyes over his self-expression with the Shakesphere quote, “You make me regret telling you muggle stories more and more each day.”
“Don’t be such a tosser, Potter. And catch up, will you,” Harry smiled softly at the insult and creeped up behind him when Draco turned back around.
He pulled the hood of Draco’s robes and whipped him around so their noses almost touched. “I thought we discussed you not calling me Potter anymore?” Harry said as his lips drifted closer to Draco’s. He looked at Harry as if his eyes strained to soak up every detail.
Draco’s lips turned upwards into a soft smirk and then his boney hands clasped Harry’s unruly hair, pulling him into a kiss. Speaking through Harry’s lips, Draco whispered into their shared air, “fine, Harry.”
Time stood still for them until Draco suddenly flung himself back, letting his fingers trickle off the tips of Harry’s before he took off down the hill towards the forbidden forest.
Harry stayed still for a moment to watch as Draco’s hair flowed with the wind while he ran and then darted after him, “Malfoy!”
~
Harry was far away from the happiness he felt sneaking around the castle after curfew with Draco or holding his hand under their potions desk. The skin on his hand scratched against the rough rock he gripped next to him. This room has taken everything, even the soft touch that lingered on Harry’s hand from the last time it held his.
Beside him, a soft hand laid upon his shoulder causing Harry to sharply whip around and place a free hand on the wand resting in his back pocket. He relaxed when he saw the sun-kissed brunette curls of Hermione Granger standing next to him with a sympathetic look striking her features. Harry untensed under her touch to the point she almost had to brace him from falling over.
They said nothing for a long time, letting the wind carry more of a conversation than they did. Harry could have forgotten they were standing on the ledge of a tower, too engulfed in the warmth she emulated. Their silence was a comfort they never needed to fill.
~
“Where did you go after the match? You disappeared?” Hermione broke the quiet air. Harry found her on the stairs with red, puffy eyes and sat with her. He did not say anything, he just wanted to be there in case she needed to. He thought she would say something about Ron or Lavender but he was wrong.
Her question made his shoulders tense. ‘Play it cool’ ran through his thoughts but his heart began beating quicker as the question turned more into an accusation.
“I—needed some air,” his words were stiff. Hermione was smarter than his shallow lies could ever be, so thin she could surly see the truth through them.
“Harry,” there’s a certain voice you recognize immediately when being friends with somebody like Hermione Granger—although Harry has yet to meet anybody like her. Maybe because he would describe it as somebody would describe motherly concern, which Harry would know nothing of the sort. She took a hold of his hand this time when she spoke with a softer tone, “I see the way you look at him, and he looks at you.”
Harry’s head shot down so his eyes focused on etchings from past students marking the floor and the way Hermione’s shoes matched his own.
She continued pushing despite Harry retreating into himself, “We sit clear across the dining hall from Slytherin and you still find a way to stare at him. So, were you, or were you not with Draco Malfoy?” She continued to pry but he couldn’t blame her. She had never let anything go in all his years of knowing her.
Harry dwindled his thumbs under Hermione’s hold and looked up from the floor, meeting her eyes for the first time, “I—We were in the dark forest. Dra—Malfoy and me.”
Disgust, hatred, maybe shock that Harry had expected to be thrown at him all at once as soon as the words left his lips were replaced with nothing but the shine of pride.
Harry moved closer on the steps, wrapped an arm around Hermione and whispered, “thank you,” in her ear. That was all he needed to say and those two words encompassed everything else he wanted to say.
They sat listening to the owl’s pur from the owlery outside the window and watched as the stars sparkled through the sky until Hermione pulled away, “As a prefect, however, I should tell you the Dark forest is very dangerous. Don’t you remember detention? First year? Honestly, Harry.”
“We’ve managed the last two—two and a half years,” Harry smiled when she whipped her head around in surprise, “what, you didn’t know it’s been going on since fourth year?”
Hermione shoved his shoulder playfully and swished her hair back as she rose to her feet, “I hope you know I will be having a chat with Malfoy.”
“I’ll be sure to warn him.”
~
“Do you think he would’ve done it?” Hermione asked, dispelling his memory from the forefront of Harry’s mind, returning him to their present where gray skies loomed over Hogwarts’ grounds.
Harry knew exactly who she was referring to, “he wouldn’t have, he was lowering his wand and—”
Harry’s throat dried out making it impossible to say another word. The sides of his windpipe stuck together making swallowing a conscious decision. Harry hadn’t said what happened aloud yet, that night had the special privilege to stew in Harry’s mind because what could he say? Draco’s words looped in his head over and over again as if Harry was still hiding under Dumbledore’s feet.
The rest of the school thought he was quiet because of Dumbledore’s death but truthfully, Harry hadn’t let that penetrate his grief when Draco resided with Death Eaters under no protection but his own. Nobody other than Hermione knew his rivalry with the slytherin boy has been a calculated ruse since 1994. They were too worried about small issues like Lucius and the Order or how the wizarding world would perceive them.
Even Ron didn’t know.
~
All eyes were on Harry as he tried to seem comfortable holding Parvati’s waist but when he looked over her shoulder into the crowd he could see a glimpse of Draco amidst the crowd. He wished it were his arms that hung around his collarbone where Parvati’s arms rested instead.
When the music sped up, more people fled onto the floor and he was spun from Parvati’s arms into Padma’s. Then, he found himself in Luna’s grasp. For a second he let himself believe she was Draco when he saw the flash of silvery hair. Behind him, Draco reached out as if to steal him from Luna but another girl latched onto his hand pulling him away and a hufflepuff took hold of Harry’s.
The music started to beam louder in the ballroom and his chest beat faster than the rhythm when he saw Draco come close only to be pulled away again. The song was ending soon and Harry wanted to at least brush his fingertips in passing. He looked so good in a velvet suit with his hair laying even more perfect than it normally does.
There was only a few seconds left when Harry spun around and landed hand in hand with Draco Malfoy who beamed brightly at him, “you’re hard to get ahold of.”
“Trust me,” Harry said as the song ended and people started to disperse, “you’ve got me right in the palm of your hand.”
Harry focused on him as he disappeared into the crowd of people, cherishing the touch of Draco on his hand.
~
“He’s out there,” his voice felt smaller than it had ever been, “I have to do something, I need to bring him back here—with me, where he belongs.”
His voice grew stronger until it cracked. Harry tried to push himself away from the edge he stood with Hermione but her hand reached out and latched onto his wrist. He couldn’t stand there anymore, couldn’t let his feet touch the same place Draco had dug his heels into the ground that night.
“You have to think, Harry,” Hermione shouted after he tried to break away from her hold, stopping after hearing the waver in her voice, “there’s a good chance he is surrounded by Death Eaters—maybe even Voldomort, himself.”
“I don’t care,” his voice held no real force to back the words he was saying.
Hermione pulled him closer so she could speak to him softer, “we have the locket. That’s a good start, right?”
“It would be good, only, it’s fake.”
Harry let Hermione take the locket from his hand and examine the chain. It is not like she could do any damage to the thing, in fact, Harry would have probably given it to her sooner if it was the real horcrux. She was far better qualified for moments like this than Harry could ever hope to be.
She proved his point very quickly by gently flipping the piece of metal over and pushing her fingernail under a latch which caused the locket to pop open on squeaky hinges. It had never done that for him before. For a second, Harry’s hopes soared in his chest. Maybe the real horcrux was inside; yes, it had to be!
Carefully, Hermione pulled out an aged piece of paper and Harry’s heart deflated again. Voldomort was smarter than to store a seventh of his soul in folded parchment. It made him curious, though. She slowly unfolded the page and Harry could see a neat script filling the empty space. It reminded him of the handwriting on Draco’s potions notes that he would only let Harry borrow.
She furrowed her eyebrows and started to read aloud, “to the Dark Lord. I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret,” Harry gently nudged her hand lower so that he could read along with her easier, now filled with more questions than before, “I have stolen the real horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.”
“R.A.B?” Harry thought aloud as he read the signature at the bottom.
Hermione hadn’t looked up from the letter, scanning it like she was reading it over again to see if she missed something in between the lines, “I don’t remember reading about anybody with those initials for history but—”
“B’ stands for Black, I’m guessing,” Harry let the wind carry his words far away from the tower. The House of Black’ s family tree was vast and Sirius never told him about a relative with those initials but he was not fond of the topic so the chances of him missing a certain R.A.B was not too unbelievable.
Hermione flipped the card over with a sigh and dropped the paper to her side but Harry scrambled to grab the parchment from her hands. The sudden movement startled her but Harry needed to know what the back read. The penmanship was the same as the front but there was a level of intimacy with its slightly less looped letters and drawn out diction.
“What is it?” Hermione asked, clearly confused. What did she not understand? She was missing half of the letter. This could contain crucial information on how to defeat Voldomort and most importantly, saving Draco.
“There’s more,” Harry said, matter-of-factly. Before Hermione could interject, he started to read the letter just like she had, “I hope that one, faraway day where you have made a life for yourself, you spare me a thought every once in a while. And I pray that you can find an ounce of forgiveness in your heart when you do because only then will I find peace. If this note makes it to your conscience, even in a passing whisper, you must know I am sorry for how I had to leave you. However, I must write to you that I would neglect to do much differently if given the chance. Except for you—”
Harry thought he was going to be sick when his eyes read two words ahead on the paper. He didn’t know whether he was going to puke or faint but with one look at Hermione, he decided it could very easily be both. She bore an unusual look of confusion that looked foreign behind her eyes.
“Are you not seeing this?” Harry asked with desperation and pointed the letter in her favor.
Her eyes only filled with more worry, “I—it’s blank.”
Harry rolled his eyes. Now was certainly not the time to be joking with him. Harry cleared his throat and stilled the page in front of him again but made sure to look directly at her when he read the next line, “except for you, James Potter—my dad? What is this?”
The doubt in her eyes instantly disappeared, “keep reading.”
Harry didn’t know if he wanted to anymore but his eyes focused back on the words and he continued more wearily this time, “if I had known how little time we would get I wouldn’t have wasted my breath on anything except you. My love, you graced my life and my actions are not to spite you but for you. I hope that one day my sacrifice will ensure you a future even if it will be without me. As I write this, I have come to terms that this is my goodbye to you. Before I leave this world, I want you to know that I would have married you, Potter. I hope that if I find peace, I may be lucky enough to find it with you once again. I will wait for you, James. I will wait until the day you know my alliance was never with my family or the Dark Lord but with you. Forever and always I stand by you. And when that day comes my love for you will stand as tall as it has since I first met eyes with you. But for now,” Harry’s eyes were glazed over when he slowly lowered his arms and he finished the note, “farewell, Jamie. Even in death, my heart still beats for you.”
Harry looked into the forest while his vision swayed—or maybe it was the trees in the wind that were moving? He couldn’t tell. No thoughts in particular ran through his mind besides the name signed at the bottom which he recognized as Sirius' younger brother who had taken the dark mark.
His father had been in love with Regulus Black.
“Harry, please. Look at me,” her voice sounded miles away from where Harry’s head was at.
~
“Please stay,” Draco’s cry tore through the air as he fell to his knees in the wet grass. A belt of grief when he was the one who was dead. What did a Death Eater have to grieve? The prisoners locked up in Azkaban apparently since Draco had seen it fit to come back to school marked among their ranks.
Harry turned away because he had grown so used to finding comfort in Draco’s gray eyes but now he saw the manipulation. His feet carried him without thinking about where he was going when a dark, angry mass twisted Draco directly in his path.
Over the summer Draco had gotten even taller than he had been during fifth year and now his hair was slicked back which took most of his youth away. His clothes looked more polished than the usual designer clothes he always used to wear. Harry didn’t appreciate them—they made it seem like Hogwarts was a job, now. However, the only true change was the mark which Draco left exposed from his rolled-up sleeve.
The dark mark that directly represented the opposite of what his scar stood for. Of all things Harry had mulled over during summer with the Dursleys, he never expected the world would be cruel enough to take his worst nightmare and dangle it out in front of him.
“Let me explain, Harr—”
“Don’t,” Harry snapped with more force than he thought he wanted, “you don’t get to call me that anymore.”
The words looked like it tore Draco’s already split soul into more fractions. “I need to explain,” his posh accent that usually reminded Harry how well off Draco had been raised was now slurred and sloppy when Draco spoke. It reminded Harry too much of how they would speak in between their kisses. The sweat beating down his forehead made his hair slip into normalcy creating the image of the boy he fell in love with.
Harry moved his line of sight down to the grass because he couldn’t bear to be the cause of Draco’s pain like this—no matter how worthy he was of every dagger sent his way, “No, I don’t want an explanation and I sure as hell don’t want your damn apology. I need you to leave, Malfoy.”
Harry’s eyes bore straight into Draco’s skull as he stalked away but his feet faltered when he could smell Draco’s mixture of apple and mahogany that he always managed to don. He was so close to Draco and couldn’t muster the strength to move an inch.
Draco lunged towards him and latched onto the back of Harry’s neck. Despite the desperation in Draco’s entire being, his hold was so completely tender that Harry melted, his lungs refusing to relinquish any breath.
Draco slowly moved closer until his lips grazed across Harry’s cheek and despite every fiber of his being screaming at him, his neck turned so their lips touched. For a moment, Harry allowed himself to believe they were fifteen again, deeply in love with their whole lives ahead of them.
Draco dragged his mouth up to Harry’s ear and he wasn’t sure if the words were spoken aloud or it was his own thoughts forced onto the moment, “come back to me one day.”
Hogwarts was magical but no miracle so big would ever be performed within the castle grounds that would give Draco back to Harry.
He pushed off of Draco and ran into the cover of the forbidden forest because if he stayed one more second he would never leave; and he had to go. He could feel a tear start to form in the corner of his eye but refused to let himself shed another tear over Malfoy until he could no longer feel him so close. His throat burned and his legs ached but he kept running and running letting no thought break through into sanity because one wrong memory and Harry would run back to him blindly.
Harry could see a crack of moonlight through the trees and fought to get out of the forest even harder. When he burst through heavy branches and saw the school his knees dropped to the ground and his throat let out an agonizing scream. One cry, he thought to himself. He deserved it.
The next morning he woke up on his dormitory bed with fresh pajamas with only an inkling he had no motivation to pursue as to how he got back.
~
“Harry,” Hermione repeated, this time urgency seeping through the cracks of her collected composure.
He looked at her and saw Ron standing at her side with his hand wrapped around her shoulder, with much more visible worry on his face than Hermione’s, “you alright?”
Harry swallowed to soothe his throat that scratched like sandpaper, “it’s my dad. R.A.B sacrificed his life for him. It’s all here, you heard it, ‘Mione.” He flipped the paper back over in his hands and saw Regulus' initials, “R.A.B. stands for Regulus Black.” She caught on quickly but Ron looked completely lost.
“I think that page has a very powerful charm cast on it,” Hermione said, which made no sense. She wasn’t seeing something he couldn’t, was she?
Harry looked at Ron for help knowing he would be more blunt, “that side’s blank, mate.”
“The letter is to your father, correct? Well, I have read about dark spells that protect writing from being seen by anybody outside a bloodline. My bet is that Regulus spelled his note so only Jame—your father—could see it. You being his son—”
Harry understood what she was trying to say and backed until he could lean on the railing of the staircase. He ran his thumb over the page, “they loved each other, truly. How could they care so much for each other and it not work out after everything? My father never even read this.” He was talking directly to Hermione now because she was the only person who would understand he was not only talking about James and Regulus, “they never even had a chance, did they..”
Hermione stepped closer and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. He rested his head against her knuckles feeling the warmth of her touch. Everything in his life had been twisted by hands of sorcery, it was no coincidence that he was the one to find this letter. The letter had felt like a punch in the gut with each word Harry read because it was Draco he saw in the margins.
This didn't need to have been a surprise. Did anybody know how much torment would have been saved if Remus had told him about his father’s relations, or even Sirius. Harry knew they were aware of their relationship with how close they all were when at Hogwarts themselves.
“Does somebody mind filling me in?” Ron spoke up in the quiet room.
~
Draco’s bed was substantially better than what he got in the Gryffindor dorms. His mattress had to be twice as soft and his sheets were made of silk. Draco beside him was better than any of it, though. He was warm and Harry’s arms rested against him like they were made to be. He reached a hand up and dragged his fingers through Draco’s hair that was as smooth as the sheets. It took him a long time to gain the privilege of touching Draco’s hair and it was not an honor Harry took lightly.
Draco’s pale forearm wrapped around the back of Harry’s neck and was lightly stroking his collarbone as they laid. Everything was perfect.
Draco shifted his body so they faced each other in bed. He reached up to swiped his thumb over the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. Harry looked at him like Draco was the whole world—he was his.
“I think I love you,” Harry caught Draco whispering, which caused him to sit up immediately to get a better view at Draco who tensed below.
A smile spread across Harry’s face after the words sank in, “Draco Malfoy, what did I just hear?”
Harry could see pink seeping into Draco’s cheeks which made Harry’s smile spread wider. He pressed his hands onto Draco’s bare chest that was rising rapidly, hanging his lips just in front of Draco’s. Their eyes were locked and Harry knew Draco was about to give in. Draco raised his head to peck Harry’s lips with his own and then smirked, “I said you’re arrogant,” another kiss, “stuck-up,” another one, “ a gryffindor, of all things,” again, “and for some reason,” this last kiss was deeper and Harry’s eyes were cross when they came up for air, “the love of my life.”
Harry’s breath hitched at his words this time around. Draco wasn’t just fooling around. A regular night together could have just kickstarted the rest of their lives and Harry couldn’t suppress the warm bubble creeping up his chest. He was certain, now, that when they made it out of this war, it would be just the two of them for the rest of their lives.
Harry scrambled up and worry flashed across Draco’s features as if he had said something wrong but his expression shifted when Harry kneeled on top of his bedsheets, “I think I want to marry you.” Harry said the words with more courage than he ever had to muster when battling Voldemort.
Harry was holding his hands as if they were an open ring box because obviously this was very impulsive. Draco crawled to knees too and looked at him with wide eyes before taking his hand.
“I expect you to be a very darling bride, Potter.” Harry threw his head back and knocked them both back onto the bed, “the Daily Prophet is going to have a field day with this one.”
“Let them.”
~
“Are you alright? You zoned out, again,” Hermione was bracing his shoulders like he was going to fold over at any second. Harry looked down to the ring that Draco gave him the day after he had proposed in bed making it official. It had no outward signs that it was for him except on the inside where the name ‘Malfoy’ was engraved. That night, Harry snuck down to Hogsmede and bought a matching ring and charmed it to read ‘Potter.’
Harry would be much more content if his friends allowed him to exist within his memories forever. Ever since they came back for sixth year, nothing was the same. Sure, he and Draco reconciled after he got the dark mark but that snake always made his scar itch when exposed.
“Blimey, Harry, what’s happening with you? You can tell me, y’know. Whatever it is, I don’t care at this point,” Hermione gave Ron a pointed look but Harry just heaved a tired breath. He wasn’t strong enough to keep this facade up anymore, if it was still even standing.
“I’m engaged to Draco Malfoy—we’ve been together since the beginning of fourth year. This is the ring he got me, see,” Harry took the metal band off for what felt like the first time since Draco gave it to him and handed it to Ron who spotted the engraving inside immediately.
Ron backed away from him and for the first time Harry let himself really look at the room they stood in, the background to Harry’s most recent nightmare that automatically trumped all of the others. He shouldn’t be here, he needed to be with Draco. To hell with all the nonsense about the dark, the light, even, if that would secure a future with his soulmate. He never vowed to fight this war.
“How could you not have told me? Since fourth year? Bloody hell. And Malfoy? Of all the blokes at Hogwarts you could’ve picked,” Hermione stomped on his foot which made Ron jerk in surprise. He meant well even if his words didn’t quite reflect that.
Harry let a small smile creep onto his lips. “The heart wants what it wants,” he joked, slightly letting some of the weight he bore lift off his shoulders.
Ron handed back the ring and looked to Hermione, “I guess you knew.”
“Only since earlier this year, swear. But, I had my suspicion,” she grinned.
Ron leaned against the wall adjacent to Harry and folded his arms, “so, how’d it happen then?”
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry sneered as he saw the blond-haired boy creep into the bathroom as he tried to rid his hair of sap from the whomping willow. Some of the hufflepuffs had gotten creative to show their loyalty towards Cedric, “come to gloat? Because I’m really not in the mood.”
Draco shook his head and walked farther into the room to the sink next to Harry where he sat against the marble countertop. He was halfway into the sink, sticking his head under the faucet in a last-ditch effort before he’d have to chop his hair off.
He could feel Draco’s eyes on him but said nothing, just continued matting the sap into knots, “Potter, you know nothing about hair. Let me.”
~
Before Harry could tell him to shove off he felt two soft hands on his scalp. Harry stared straight ahead at the bottom of the sink, alarm bells sounding in his head to jerk away but he had to admit, it felt amazing. Harry felt some sort of liquid that was thick like conditioner or lotion squeezed onto his head and then Draco kept kneading the salve in before turning the sink off.
Harry straightened, leaning against the sink so water wouldn’t drain onto his robes. When he turned his head, Draco had backed up a considerable amount and looked a tad out of his depth as well.
“Um,” Harry faltered, “thanks?”
Draco gave a half nod as he hopped back up on the sink. Harry decided to just act like he wasn’t there—or at least try to focus on getting his heart rate down to a regular speed. He began to shake his hair as if he were a wet dog, no doubt warranting an eye roll from Malfoy.
He cleared his throat and Harry shoved his glasses on, finally able to see him without a fuzzy outline, “I just wanted to say—sorry. It was my idea to make the buttons.”
This was new. Three years and he had never gotten an apology from Draco. It had to be some sort of trap. He probably put bleach in his hair and that is why he seemed so adamant to help but with a quick glance into the mirror beside him he could see his wet, brown hair. Maybe there was a delayed reaction?
“I don’t really care about them,” Harry sighed. He only really cared that Ron was one of the people wearing them, “but thanks, I guess.” Harry walked over to the benches where he had placed his books in a rush and gathered them in a stack, “so, you just carry around hair products?”
“You tell anybody and I’ll turn your tie green,” Draco seethed. The jab made Harry relax slightly. He could handle the familiarity of their bickering—welcomed it compared to what that had been a second ago. Right when the reality was shifting back to its normal axis Draco turned back around and gave him the softest look he has ever seen on Malfoy’s face, “good luck, Harry.”
Even after Draco had left and the door shut behind him Harry was frozen. Malfoy had called him by his first name… Where on earth was he? When Harry began walking towards the door something small fluttered in his gut.
He was in trouble.
~
“I guess it just—happened,” Harry said, fighting the smile creeping onto his lips.
Harry didn’t want to hear anything about how Draco had the mark or was actively with his sworn enemy from Ron. He knew Malfoy, the mask Draco had worn since they were fourteen so that nobody would suspect a thing between them. He needed to know Draco. The boy that his soul was so unwilling wrapped around that there was no question where his allegiance lay.
Harry’s expression must have sobered because Ron stepped forward and pulled him in by the shoulder, “we’ll get him back, mate.”
Harry smiled but it wasn't real, it would never be until the arm embracing him belonged to Draco, “thanks, Ron.”
Hermione snapped a book shut, the sound ringing against the walls, “where’d you get that?”
Hermione just rolled her eyes as if it was obvious, “This is the 1976 yearbook. Regulus Black was one year below him and was in Slytherin. What’s odd is the section labeled ‘the pureblood houses of Hogwarts.’ Sirius is not pictured with the Blacks—”
“1976? He was at my dad’s by then. He had a—rocky relationship with his family.”
Hermione flipped the pages and kept pointing out different pages, “he is pictured with lots of future death eaters, Harry. Barty Crouch Jr, Narcissa, Snape. Harry, I think that he took the mark, too.”
He had considered before with the way Sirius spoke about his family. Connecting the bridge between his father and Regulus and his own relationship crossed too many parallels he couldn’t ignore.
A gryffindor boy who fell in love with a slytherin who then took the dark mark. Their story had no happy ending. Harry was trapped in a sick curse cast upon the Potter’s, wasn’t he.
James Potter lost the love of his life when he was seventeen and unless the stars aligned for him—which they have yet to—Harry would suffer the same fate. Maybe he would finally perish at the hands of Voldemort. What other death would be a worthy enough end for the boy who lived?
Well, this time, Potter will not go down gently. If a cycle can start, it can end just as easily.
In order for that to happen, Harry had to go straight to the source. He twisted his ring back onto his finger and gave his knuckle a soft kiss and then looked up to his friends, sorry laced throughout his being. Since first year they were a trio that stuck together like gold and this could be the last time they were three. “I’m sorry, I have to do this,” Harry whispered and then closed his eyes before somebody could stop him. He fixated on the image of his fiance behind his eyelids and apparated to Malfoy Manor. The panic of his friends came too late and he heard a very distant cry twist—then suddenly there was silence.
He was standing at the foot of a very long table with Tom Riddle himself at its heading. Harry spared one glimpse farther down the line of chairs to see a petrified Draco Malfoy. He looked like he was going to be sick at the sight of him standing there. This moment could either start the rest of their lives or risk everything.
“Avada Kedavra.”