Fine Lines | By : squirrelchaser Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8056 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Epilogue
The
sky was a murky grey, the fall wind blustery and cold with a threat of rain.
Somewhere in the distance thunder reverberated as clouds boiled on the horizon,
rolling quickly toward Godric’s Hollow. The grass
made swishing sounds against my trainers as I sprinted through the field behind
the cottage, toward the black clouds. For some reason I thought I could run
away; maybe if I ran long and hard enough, it wouldn’t have happened, and I
could go back to the cottage to find Potter sitting at the kitchen table. Or
maybe my heart would just give up and stop beating, and I’d fall down dead.
I
hoped for the latter.
Something
caught my foot and I stumbled and fell face first, and I lay panting against
the earth, grass blades tickling my nose. My stomach heaved painfully and I
vomited, then sat up on my knees, threw my head back and screamed, feeling my
face contort, eyes closing up but not hard enough to keep tears from oozing out
the corners.
The
wind screamed back, picking up, and the sky turned black as it began to rain.
Good,
I thought. Everything else can cry with me.
“Draco,”
called a familiar, female voice. It was Granger, uncertain and wobbly on her
borrowed broomstick, flying low over the field to where I sat. Her eyes were
swollen and red as she looked at me sitting sodden in the rain, taking in the
mess in the grass.
Granger
sat down beside me, taking out her wand and waving it so we were sitting in a
dry bubble, rain pelting down an invisible dome around us.
“Who
was it?” I asked in a hoarse voice, throat scratchy from screaming.
“Bellatrix Lestrange. The Order
got to her,” Granger gave a great sniff, voice rising in frustration and anger.
“We were a split second too late. If we’d only been a minute earlier,
maybe…maybe…” her voice trailed off.
“Don’t
feel bad,” I said quietly. “He wouldn’t have wanted that. It’s not your fault.”
She
gave a great sniff. “You’re right. I think he knew, you know? It was when he
said good-bye on Halloween night. Something different about
it.”
Potter
had known.
He’d
choreographed everything. Potter used Halloween as an excuse for a farewell,
gathering everyone at his cottage in Godric’s Hollow
for one last celebration. I watched, sitting on the bottom step as he bid them
all an extra warm good-bye. There was a strange light in his eye as he watched
them walk off and Disapparate into the darkness, and
suddenly I knew what he was planning.
“You
can’t go yet. I’m not ready,” I said sharply as he shut and locked the door for
the night.
“Yes,
you are,” he said matter of factly. He made a move to
put his arms around me and I scooted up a step away from him, saying
accusingly,
“You
said you wait till I was ready!”
“I’m
leaving you the cottage,” he said, ignoring my protest. “I’ve made all the
arrangements. McGonagall knows. She’ll explain to the others.”
Turning
away I put my hands over my ears and closed my eyes, heart speeding up and
stomach churning. I did not want to
talk about this.
“Draco,
things are getting so bad, so bleak. The longer I take, the longer He lives,
the more people die. Please,” he begged, blinking and spilling tears down his
face. “Please don’t do this. It’ll be okay, Draco, in the end.”
I
wanted to make it all go away, stop time, freeze this moment, get a time
turner…My anger crumpled and I cried too. “When is the end?”
“Tomorrow
night. We have all of tonight and tomorrow.”
I
was so tired of crying. Each day I woke up knowing I’d have to treasure it
while it lasted, and I hated going to bed at night because then we were one day
closer to the inevitable, whenever it came. At least now I knew.
Neither
of us slept that night. We curled up in my bedroom in a pile of blankets, a
dark, warm, safe cocoon. Nothing could touch us it seemed, not even time.
I
lay my head on his chest, transfixed at the sound of his heart, the rise and
fall of his chest.
“I
almost wish I still hated you,” I said. “It’d be a lot easier.”
“Then
I wish you hated me too.”
“Harry,
what’s going to happen?”
“Tomorrow,
I’m going to get a visit from a Death Eater. I’ve already tipped them off.” He
slowly stroked his fingers through my hair. “I have only one
regret.”
“What?”
“That
I’m not killing Voldemort and Snape
myself.”
“That
would be two regrets.”
“Find
him, Draco, when you’re done with Voldemort. Make him
pay,” Potter whispered, voice low and dripping with
vengeance.
Severus Snape. Death Eaters had always been
something glamorous, a way to money and power, yet for most of my life they
were something intangible, something mysterious. But then Snape
shattered that illusion, bringing reality full force to slap me in the face as
he raised his wand and cried Avada Kedavra.
Could
I do it? Could I look into the face of my professor, the head of my house, and
kill him like he had killed Dumbledore?
Potter
sensed my hesitation, and didn’t push it. “You’re going to go on with your
life,” he said.
I
closed my eyes and tried to imagine what life would be like, and found I had no
idea. There was no telling how people would be changed at Hogwarts – especially
those in Slytherin – if we had a Hogwarts to come
back to. No more Mother. Father would probably spend the rest of his life in
prison. The center of my life – money, power, and the Dark Arts – would be
gone.
“Harry,”
I admitted. “I’ll just be starting my life. I won’t know what to do.”
“You
can do it, whatever you decide to do. You’re going to be incredible,” his voice
died to a whisper as I turned to look up at him.
No
one had ever said something like that to me before, and I kissed him.
He
kissed me back, pulling at my shirt, and soon we were rutting and gasping on
the floor. I could sense how alive he felt with each stroke, how ablaze his
body was and how heightened his emotions were. I grappled open palmed over his
back, down his hips, over his backside, taking each thrust as deep as our
bodies would allow, wishing that wherever he went I could go too.
It
felt cruel, as if something was ripping our flesh from our bodies so we’d never
be whole again, when he rose from where I lay and dressed solemnly.
The
sun had begun to sink in the sky. It was time.
“You’ll
be safe in here –“
“I
don’t care if I’m safe anymore.”
“Well,
I do. They’ll still need you. Anyway, whatever Death Eater it is that comes
won’t be able to see the cottage. I have this for you,” he said, holding out a
cup of clear potion. “It’ll make you sleep, until the Order comes.”
“I
don’t want it,” I said, eyeing it uncertainly. I didn’t want to watch, but
maybe if I resisted change hard enough time would stop.
“Please
Draco. I couldn’t bear it if I knew you…had to see.”
Looking
at my hands in my lap, I nodded.
“They’re
here.”
I
looked out the window and saw someone – female I’d guess – was standing in
front of the cottage in the street, hooded head looking this way and that. I wondered
who it was. I had to know them. Were they some one who’d been a family friend
for years, some one cunning and clever…a born killer? Were they one of the new
Death Eaters, the stupid, overeager ones who’d jumped on when word had spread
that Voldemort had returned to his body?
“Go
on,” Potter said, and I lifted the cup to my lips.
The
potion was bitter, but I swallowed quickly and slumped back. My eyelids were
heavy and he kissed me on the forehead, and whispered, “Love you,” and then I
was asleep.
“Draco,”
It’d
seem like no time at all had passed since I’d gone to sleep. I lifted my head
groggily.
Professor
McGonagall was shaking my shoulder, and there were tears in her eyes.
The
Dark Mark was high in the sky; the green glowing through the windows. I bolted
up, stumbling down the stairs, tripped on the last step, and was caught in the
arms of a sobbing Mrs. Weasley. Ron Weasley sat with Granger, who had her face in her hands,
and his brothers stood around Ginny Weasley, who was
a near hysterical mess. Mr. Weasley stood at the
window, eyes dull as he stared.
Potter
lay on the couch, cloak spread over him. He looked as if he were sleeping.
Stepping
away from Mrs. Weasley, I moved slowly toward the
couch. Everything felt unreal, as if it were in slow motion. My hand trembled
as I reached out and touched his face, which was still warm and soft. My throat
closed, the room seemed too small and hot, and I took off through the back door
and across the field.
Granger
offered me her handkerchief.
“Er…thanks,” I said thickly, wiping my nose.
“Don’t
look so beholden,” she said. “What are friends for, after all?”
Friends. Crabbe and Goyle: wastes of space and oxygen, with minimal brain
power. They weren’t friends. Potter had been a friend and so much more, but
that didn’t matter now. “I don’t have any friends,” I told her, meaning it as a
stand-off but instead it just sounded pathetic.
“We
can work on that. If you don’t mind a…a Mudblood
for a friend.”
I
sighed. “I haven’t called you that in a long time.”
“I’ll
go out on a limb and say I’m smarter than Crabbe and Goyle,” she offered. “And I’m not as awkward as Ron,”
“Maybe. If I can fit you into my schedule; I’ve got things to do,
someone to hunt down.” My blood started to boil. “I made a promise to Potter,
and I’m keeping it.”
Granger’s
eyes narrowed slightly, not unkindly, and gave a slight nod of her head. “You’ve
already done more than anyone else could ask for by giving up Harry, someone
you cared about, so the rest of the world would have a shot at a better life.”
“It’s
what he wanted, not what I wanted.”
“That’s
really incredible, Draco,” she said. “You’ve changed.”
“That’s
right,” I said. “I have.”
The End
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