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The castle was breaking.
Stone screaming. Walls splitting open like ribs. Every breath Harry took burned—smoke, blood, fear—thick in the air, clogging his throat.
He didn’t know what he was chasing anymore. Not Voldemort, not victory. Just movement. Just forward. Spells flashed past his head like lightning, green and red and silver, screams echoing down stairwells that no longer led anywhere.
Ron and Hermione had been just behind him. He thought.
But now—now there was just rubble, corridors bending into shadow, firelight dancing on the floor. His wand was slick in his hand. His heart pounding so loud it drowned everything else.
He turned the corner fast—almost missed it.
A flash. A scream. A body hitting stone.
Harry skidded to a halt, his boots slipping in the blood. His breath caught, high and sharp in his chest.
Someone was crumpled at the base of the corridor wall—legs twisted under, hand still weakly reaching for a wand that had skittered out of reach.
Harry ran.
And then he froze.
His body stopped. His heart didn’t.
‘...No.’
Draco Malfoy lay against the cracked stone wall—pale, dazed, blood blooming over his shirt like ink.
Harry dropped to his knees. The world narrowed to this. This one impossible moment.
Draco’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused. But they found him. Of course they did.
‘You…’ His voice was dry, broken. ‘You’re not supposed to be here.’
Harry let out a shaking breath. ‘Neither are you.’
He pressed his hands to Draco’s wound, but the blood kept coming, slipping through his fingers. Useless. All of it was useless.
Draco coughed, and there was red on his lips. ‘Funny… I thought I’d die alone.’
Harry’s throat closed.
‘Not alone,’ he whispered. ‘And not now.’
He pressed his hand harder against the wound—as if that would stop anything. As if anything could. His fingers were trembling, soaked through, slipping over torn robes and ruined flesh.
Draco was watching him.
Through the pain, through the haze, through the madness of this night—he was still watching him.
‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ he said, his voice thin but sharp with something bitter. ‘Not for me.’
Harry shook his head, eyes burning. ‘I didn’t know it was you. I just… I felt it. Something—‘ He broke off, pressing his lips together. ‘I ran. Like my body already knew.’
Draco’s mouth twitched. ‘Always chasing me, Potter.’
Harry let out a breath that tasted like blood and heartbreak. ‘I should’ve said something.’
Draco blinked slowly. ‘Said what?’
Harry looked at him. Really looked.
‘All of it.’
The silence stretched between them—not empty, but full. So full. With years of tension, of glances across rooms, of almosts and nevers and not yet.
Draco laughed, but it cracked halfway through and turned into a cough. Blood stained his teeth.
‘I thought I imagined it,’ he said. ‘The way you’d look at me. Like you hated me, but also—like you didn’t. Like you couldn’t.’
Harry nodded, voice rough. ‘I never could.’
‘I thought I was losing my mind,’ Draco whispered. ‘Wishing for it to be something it wasn’t.’
‘It was,’ Harry said. ‘It is. I just—‘ He closed his eyes, forehead resting against Draco’s. ‘I was too much of a coward.’
Draco exhaled, shaky and slow. ‘We both were.’
Their fingers curled together—gently, like the memory of something that never had the chance to be real.
‘Don’t talk,’ Harry said. ‘Just—just stay with me, alright? They’re coming. I’ll get help, we’ll fix this—‘
Draco gave a tired, crooked smile. ‘You always were terrible at lying.’
Harry shook his head, eyes burning. ‘You can’t. Not now. Not after—‘
‘After what?’ Draco whispered.
And that was the moment. That was the choice.
Harry leaned down. Touched his forehead to Draco’s.
‘After I realized it was always you.’
Draco blinked, slowly. ‘Say it again.’
‘I love you.’
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t heroic.
But it was true. Finally, true.
Draco’s breath hitched. ‘Merlin, you’re stupid.’
‘I know.’
‘I hated you,’ Draco murmured. ‘And then I didn’t. And I didn’t know what to do with that. So I never did anything at all. Except for loving you.’
‘I still do,’ Harry answered, voice shaking.
Draco’s lips quirked. ‘Took you long enough.’
They were quiet again—not because there was nothing to say, but because the words between them had finally stopped hiding.
And Harry, for once, was not thinking about the war. Not about who was winning. Not about Voldemort. Not about who he was supposed to be.
Just this.
Just Draco.
‘Does it hurt?’ he asked quietly.
Draco blinked slowly. ‘Not really. Just tired.’
Harry’s hands tightened around his. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not,’ Draco murmured. ‘Not anymore. You’re here.’
Harry bit down on a sob. ‘Draco—‘
Draco’s eyes fluttered. ‘I used to dream about this,’ he murmured.
‘What?’
‘You holding me. Saying my name like it meant something.’ A slow, rasping breath. ‘But not like this. Never like this.’
Harry pressed his forehead to Draco’s, his tears slipping silently between them. ‘Don’t go. Please, Draco, don’t go.’
Draco's lips curved—the smallest thing. ‘Of all the people I thought would be here in the end… it’s still you.’
Draco was fading—Harry could see it in his face. In the slack of his mouth. In the way his chest rose only barely, barely.
‘I would’ve chosen you,’ Draco said softly. ‘If we’d had time.’
And Harry’s heart broke.
Split down the middle.
‘I would’ve chosen you too.’
Draco’s eyes fluttered.
Then—one more breath. One more smile. Small. Soft. Breaking.
‘Next time… don’t wait so long to love me.’
And then, like the last breath of a flame—he stilled.
The world didn’t pause. The castle didn’t stop breaking. But Harry—Harry shattered in place.
He stayed there, cradling Draco’s body, as the war thundered on outside.
He held a hand that no longer held him back.
For the first time, he understood what it meant to lose something you never really had.
And he whispered, too late, ‘I won’t.’