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Smoke Among the Stars	By : WinterRaven Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7503 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Harry Potter universe. I make no profit from this story.

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“In those lonely regions I have been powerful / like untrammeled grass which lets loose its seed.” – Pablo Neruda

Chapter Three – Public Confession, Public Penance

It felt almost like a dream to Harry—lugging his belongings, trunk and all, towards the familiar scarlet steam engine. The day was blue and crisp, cloudless and welcoming. The sun warmed the people hustling and bustling on Platform 9 and ¾, so many witches and wizards Harry was overwhelmed by the sounds, the smells, the crowds. He had holed himself up in his flat in Diagon Alley the month before he was set to return to Hogwarts, seeing only Ron and Hermione and (once) Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. And as he had hoped, they respected his need for space.

The last few weeks were spent in contemplative solitude; Harry often took strolls by himself in the later part of the evenings when no one was around. He grew used to his newfound independence, his newfound reliance on himself. And he felt clearer, less impulsive, less angry. He hoped, as he pushed his trunk into an empty compartment with Ron and Hermione, that he could continue to find peace; that Hogwarts, the source of so much comfort for him, could continue to serve him again.

The trio put their luggage in the overhead brackets and sat down, placing a quick spell over the compartment door to fog the windows and lock their space—they wanted privacy, to enjoy the moment the train pulled out of the station, as they glanced at each other, excited and nervous and disbelieving that they were going back. They knew how important those moments would be, that they had to spend that time alone, with each other, that they were returning for the last time as they had the first time. Together.

~*~

Hours later, they found themselves back on the Hogwarts grounds, the cool evening washing over them. They ignored the odd looks they were receiving, Harry especially, the points and shouts of glee from younger students excited to see a celebrity figure, the person who, months before had fought in the deadly battle at the school, who had destroyed Voldemort in its very depths. Harry, Ron and Hermione stepped into a carriage drawn by two thestrals. Both Ron and Hermione whispered to Harry that they could see the beasts now. They had all encountered death—it was another reminder of how much had changed.

The castle came in to sight slowly, emerged from over massive hills and the treetops of the Forbidden Forest; it was back to its former, majestic glory, with its impeccable towers and walls. Harry pressed his nose against the pane of the carriage, staring in awe at how calm and peaceful the school looked, what a contrast it was from its near destruction. They breathed a collective sigh when the carriage crossed the gates into the school and Harry closed his eyes, willed himself to master the memories that threatened to spill forth—the remembrance of destruction, pain, the bodies, the screams…

“Are you okay?” came Hermione’s soft voice to his left. She and Ron were sitting next to each other, snuggling close. Harry snapped out of his reverie and nodded, gulping down the memories.

But as suddenly as he did that, something else popped into his mind, someone who he had thought about more often than he cared to admit in the weeks leading to school.

Malfoy.

The blonde’s face seemed permanently etched into his mind—that scared, frightened, thin face all those months ago—the memory in the Room of Requirement, the memory of Harry grasping Draco’s hand with his own, flying them both to safety from the fire threatening to engulf them.

The memory of Draco squeezing him tight around his middle, the sound of Draco’s voice in his ear—

Stop it.

Harry felt unease as his heart rate skipped.

What’s wrong with me?

He sighed and stared down at his hands folded in his lap. He absently tried to engage Ron and Hermione in conversation, something to distract himself, but they were all too nervous to speak much. He tried to push the memories of Malfoy entirely from him and it seemed all too soon that the carriages stopped, that they were all emerging from them, sloping up the lawn into the newly rebuilt entrance hall.

He felt weightless as he walked up with his friends, passed through the dim, cavernous entrance hall, the sounds of the voices around him echoing violently in his ears. The only thing he could feel was the heavy twang of his stomach as it sank low in his abdomen, as he entered the Great Hall, saw Ginny Weasley seated at the Gryffindor common table with her friends. Harry gave her a forced smile but she did not return it and instead swished her long, red hair from her face. She turned to talk with another girl. Ron gave Harry a swift look before the three took seats at the end of the long house table but not one of them said a word about that brief interaction.

The blare of chatter was deafening and the feeling of excitement rang electric in the air. Harry’s hands fell into his lap again as he glanced around, trying to contain his nervousness and inhibitions. He forced himself to keep his eyes focused on the Gryffindor table because they wanted to wander to the opposite end of the hall to the Slytherin table, exactly where Malfoy would be.

But would he be here?

Harry took a deep breath in, choosing to ignore the thumping in his chest. He was grateful for a distraction in the form of Neville Longbottom, who approached the trio suddenly and plopped down next to them. He soon fond himself talking animatedly with his old schoolmate, immersing himself in the conversation, in the Sorting that took place not long after. He almost forgot entirely about Malfoy as the night came to a close and a sense of contentment and safeness spilled through him. Harry almost forgot the anxiety he had felt all summer about Malfoy, wondering if he were dead or alive. He almost forgot about his slowly burgeoning obsession. Almost.

~*~

Even a week into the new semester, Harry had a difficult time believing he was back. He was immediately overwhelmed with homework, assignments and projects, much to his amusement. Perhaps nothing had changed after all. Certainly, there were switches in professors, in Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts particularly. Harry thought some about Snape, mulling over the senselessness of his death and the truth revealed before he died. He kept these thoughts to himself, not confiding in Ron or Hermione even though he knew they would listen.

And though he was back at Hogwarts, he was still keeping to himself. He spent late nights roaming the corridors like a restless animal, unsure of what was driving him to walk around constantly, to exert that intense energy pent up within him. Perhaps it was the fact that he had not seen Malfoy once, not in classes or in the Great Hall. He had caught a few passing flashes of white blonde hair once or twice but before he could crane his neck to get a better look, it was gone.

But two weeks into the semester, everything changed. Harry sat alone at the Gryfinndor common table in the Great Hall, mulling over his thoughts as he poured himself some orange juice. It was early in the day and not many students were awake, especially since it was a Saturday. The day was clear and fresh and Harry was contemplating taking a walk when Ron and Hermione came in. Ron took a seat next to Harry, looking slightly harassed and agitated, his flaming red hair ruffled as though he had run his hand through it too many times. Hermione had the same air to her, both of them giving off a worried vibe.

“Morning,” Harry said slowly, glancing at them both. Hermione had not taken a seat but stood in front of Harry clutching a newspaper.

Ron gave a stiff grunt and immediately loaded his plate with sausages and eggs. Harry however, was confused.

“Care you explain what’s gotten you two all ticked off?” Harry asked, pushing his plate of food aside to peer at his friends curiously.

Ron made a noncommittal sound as he shoveled food in his mouth, so Harry turned to Hermione. She unfolded the newspaper and leaned over the table to hand it to Harry but he didn’t take it immediately.

“You should read this,” Hermione urged, pushing the paper over the dining table so it was within Harry’s grasp. Her forefinger was pointing to a column entitled ‘Confessionals.’ It was a section in the Daily Prophet that sprang up days after the war and was highly popular among the public now that disgraced figures, mostly Death Eaters, attempted to obtain sympathy and retribution from them.

Harry sighed and took the paper from her, flipping it open so it leaned over his goblet of orange juice. Whenever he had read the paper over the past few weeks, he usually brushed over this section, not caring for the groveling apologies of former murderers and bigots. He had no patience for them.

But he locked on this confessional, especially since Ron and Hermione seemed so upset by it. He read every single world closely:

I do not expect full forgiveness for penning this. My goal in this confession is to outline the fact that I am human, that my father and mother are human and as such, we made errors and poor judgments during the war. I spent years indoctrinated under the Pureblood agenda. I imbibed the ideas without fully comprehending the implications and consequences of so-called ‘Blood purity.’ I never thought so many would be lost, both innocent and guilty; I never thought we would cross that line.

The war changed me. The madness forced me to look inward, to come face to face with my morals. I no longer wish to wallow in the ignorance of Blood supremacy. After nearly losing my life—and my parents’—I understand the value in our human existence, the right we all have to pursue happiness, dignity, equality. I wish I had the strength during the violence and bloodshed to have made this admittance, pursued the noble journey. Now, I merely ask for understanding from the public. I know I cannot change the past, but it is my hope that this confession can positively impact the future.

“See?” Hermione breathed, waiting for Harry to finish. She was just as shocked as Harry was and Ron had stopped eating entirely, eyeing his best friend closely.

He stared up and down at the signature below the confession and back to Hermione’s form, her arms crossed around her chest, her face pale and clammy and worried. Harry felt his heart throb harder against his ribs, his mind flooded with confusion, with both bubbling anger and an odd sense of calm, of empathy, of total understanding.

He couldn’t understand this, could not wrap his mind around the signature. He stared down at the paper again, drew in a deep breath. He examined the name, wondering if this was real.

Draco Malfoy.

TBC

A/N: Thank you to my reviewers for all the kind comments! I appreciate them very much. I've decided to finish this story up before I continue with Endurance. I've had a lot of writers block on that one and need a break from it. Hope you are all enjoying this so far! More soon.
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Smoke Among the Stars