Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Say My Name	By : Thunderbird Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 30143 -:- Recommendations : 10 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliated characters. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
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A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Here's a nice long chapter for you. Enjoy!
Warnings: The angst begins. Also, there is some implied M/F sex towards the end of this chapter. Yes, this is a slash fic, and we will get to plenty of that later. But there is still the Harry/Ginny issue that must be resolved. It's nothing too graphic, don't worry, and things with Draco and Harry will be picking up from here.
Chapter 3: Signs
“Harry, why did you decide to partner with Malfoy?”
Harry looked up from his Transfiguration essay, surprised that it had been Hermione who had broken down and asked the question first. He thought, surely, that it would be Ron. He also thought, surely, that one of them would have asked him right after Potions released for the day, rather than waiting until after dinner, when they were back in the common room and working quietly. He shrugged.
“No one else was going to. He would have been stuck with whatever poor soul was left over. I figured if someone had to step up, it might as well be me.”
“But now you’re stuck with him for the rest of the term,” Ron chimed in. “Or nearly, at least. And this project is involved. It’s not like you can do the work mostly on your own. You will have to spend, you know, actual time with him, outside of class.”
Ron was certainly right about that. The Potions project was going to require a lot of late nights in the library, researching, and partners would have to coordinate their efforts. Slughorn had assigned each pair a potion that was in desperate need of improving, either because it had dangerous side effects and therefore could only be used in emergency situations, or because development of said potion had come to a standstill and the current recipe was incomplete. Each team needed to experiment and tweak the ingredients and methodology of their potion in order to improve it. It was the most daunting assignment Harry had ever received, especially since he was expected to succeed where many potioneers had already failed. In truth, he thanked his lucky stars that he had Malfoy as a partner. Malfoy would do everything in his power to make sure they didn’t fail.
“It is what it is,” Harry said.
“That’s not something I usually hear coming out of your mouth,” Hermione observed. “What brought on this new Zen-like acceptance?”
“Near death experiences will do that to you,” Harry replied. “I just don’t see the point in getting worked up about it. Besides, aren’t you partnering with a Slytherin as well?”
“Zabini is without question the most tolerable of the whole lot,” Hermione said. “His family was neutral during the war, and I don’t think he subscribes to most of the pureblood beliefs that his friends do. He was perfectly respectful to me in class today.”
“Malfoy’s a different story, mate,” Ron added. “You’ll see. It’s just a matter of time before he says something awful about Hermione, or your parents, or Dumbledore, and then you’ll snap, and it’s the 6^th year bathroom incident all over again.”
Harry resented Ron bringing that up. He still felt guilty enough about it as it was. “I don’t think that will happen,” Harry said. “I honestly don’t. It’s not that I think that Malfoy has changed, or somehow become a better person, but I’ve changed. I don’t think it will bother me so much.”
“Just don’t come to me when you need help hiding the body,” Ron said. “I want no part of it.”
Harry laughed and shook his head, knowing he would never be able to explain to his friends why he had made the choice to partner with Malfoy. He could barely explain it to himself, although he knew seeing Malfoy in the shower the night before had at least had something to do with it. But his lips were sealed on that front. It was a memory he would never share with anyone else.
***
The potion that Harry and Malfoy had been assigned was just the sort that Harry would have no patience for if he had to brew it himself. It relied on precise timing; one had to stew the tarantula eyes for exactly twelve minutes and thirteen seconds before adding the shredded arcadia root, and then it had to be stirred once clockwise and twice counterclockwise every forty six seconds. Any deviation from this, the instructions indicated quite adamantly, would increase the chances of dangerous side effects exponentially.
The potion was designed to repair damage done to the magical cores of small children in extreme cases of exposure to powerful magic. It tapped into the child’s raw magic to kickstart the repair process and induced a coma that allowed the rest of the body to shut down while the core repaired itself. The problem was that sometimes, if the raw magic was unstable enough, the kickstarting burst could do further damage to the core that resulted in death. There were also some cases of the child never waking from the coma at all.
“Why take the risk?” Harry asked aloud as he looked over the instructions and notes for the potion. He was in the library with Malfoy, and they were about to begin the research process. “I mean, I get why you wouldn’t want your child’s magical core to be damaged. They might never be able to do magic. But isn’t having a Squib better than risking killing them?”
“Damage to the magical core affects more than just one’s magic,” Malfoy said in his own version of a know-it-all tone that Harry was already becoming familiar with. While Hermione always sounded like she was reciting information from a book, Malfoy managed to sound ever so slightly incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe he was having to explain it in the first place. “A child with a damaged core will live a very difficult and painful life and die an early death. The core is like any other vital organ, if it is damaged, or unhealthy, we cannot survive it.” Malfoy was going over his own copy of the potion instructions, circling ingredients and making notes as he spoke. “And there is an argument to be made about quality of life. A life of suffering is no real life at all.”
“There are fates worse than death,” Harry said. He himself was thinking of Voldemort, and the Horcruxes, and a soul in tatters. Harry always knew he would rather be dead than become like that.
Malfoy stopped writing and met his eyes for a moment, his face unreadable. “Yes,” he said. “Precisely.”
“So what we’re doing is important then.”
“I should think so,” Malfoy said haughtily. “Cases of such damage are rare, but if we could make the potion safer, we could save a life.”
The realization was sobering. While Harry was familiar with life-saving, throwing himself into danger to rescue another, this was a different kind of heroics altogether. This was the quiet, methodical kind, the kind he never gave much thought to.
Maybe, he thought, this is Malfoy’s version.
Malfoy finished his notes and showed them to Harry, pointing out which ingredients might potentially be the culprit behind the potion’s volatility.
“We should begin researching substitutes,” he said.
Harry agreed, perfectly willing to follow Malfoy’s lead. In truth, their working partnership so far had been surprisingly civil. Malfoy made the occasional snarky comment, but that was to be expected. He had not yet devolved into outright insults, and so far had exercised an astonishing amount of patience when Harry revealed his ignorance about something.
It’s because he cares about this project, Harry realized. He wants to do well. They had to cooperate to succeed, so he was choosing to cooperate. Harry smiled to himself. Apparently, the secret to getting Draco Malfoy to act like a human being was to give him something to focus on that mattered more to him than getting one over on Harry. If only he’d realized it earlier.
They spoke only of the project. Not once did conversation drift to the realm of the personal, and they were far from chatty. They passed most of the evening in silence, pulling books, rifling through their pages, and taking notes. But it was civil, and really fairly comfortable, and Harry decided to be grateful for that, at least.
***
“How’s research with the ferret going, then?” Ron asked over breakfast. “I didn’t even see you come back to the common room last night.”
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but only just. “Yeah, it was a late night. And it was good. Malfoy really knows his stuff. I think this is the first time I’m going to get full marks on a Potions assignment, at least without help from the Prince’s book.”
“First you volunteer to partner with him, and then you willingly compliment him?” Ron said incredulously. “I have half a mind to test you for polyjuice.”
Now Harry really did roll his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he said. “It’s one bloody project, the war is over, and it’s about time we bury the hatchet with the Slytherins, don’t you think?”
“I agree with Harry,” Hermione said absently, not even looking up from her reading as she nibbled on a strip of bacon. “The past is the past. And if Malfoy is being civil, then what’s the harm?”
Ron huffed in annoyance, but didn’t reply. Harry turned to look at Ginny, who hadn’t said anything all morning. Her eyes were fixed on her plate, where she was shuffling her eggs around with her fork.
“Ginny?” he asked.
She looked up and gave him a small smile. “He’ll never be my favorite person,” she said reasonably. “Our family hasn’t gotten on with the Malfoys in generations. Not to mention that his father was indirectly responsible for nearly getting me killed.”
“Exactly,” Ron said, pointing his fork in Ginny’s direction. “And like father, like son, I say. Arrogant, rotten Death Eaters, the both of them.”
“Shut up, Ron. You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” The words were out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop them. He was reminded, painfully, of the way Snape used to compare Harry to his father, assuming that because James had been a bully and full of himself when he was in school it meant that Harry must be also. It wasn’t fair, to think that way.
He was aware that three pairs of eyes were now staring at him, but he wasn’t sure how to explain himself. They hadn’t witnessed the side of Malfoy that was calm, focused, and patient. Sure, he wasn’t exactly friendly, but Harry had hardly expected him to be. Still, he was different than how he used to be, and he was different from his father.
“I spent a lot of effort keeping Malfoy and his mum out of Azkaban,” Harry said, “because they had a hand in helping us survive to defeat Voldemort. Lucius Malfoy, I felt no such obligation to. After what he did, in both wars, he can rot there, for all I care. But unlike his father, Draco Malfoy never wanted to murder or torture anyone. He was forced to take the Mark, forced to do Voldemort’s bidding, and even then, he couldn’t do it, not even to save himself or his family. So let’s not lump them into the same category, all right?”
He was met with stunned silence, and took another bite of his breakfast to cover his discomfort. He hadn’t meant to defend Malfoy so vehemently, but Ron’s words and tone had brought something out in him that he hadn’t expected. He sighed.
“I just want to let go of old grudges and move forward, that’s all,” he added, since he still wasn’t getting a verbal response.
The table remained silent, while each of his three friends stared at him with different expressions. Hermione looked thoughtful and sympathetic, while Ron looked like he had just eaten an acid pop. Ginny’s expression was guarded, and she was watching Harry closely.
Tired of the scrutiny, Harry stood. “I’ll see you in Defense, then, shall I?” he said to Ron and Hermione, then kissed the top of Ginny’s head before exiting the Great Hall without looking back.
***
“Have you considered becoming a Healer?”
Harry hadn’t meant to ask the question out of the blue like that, but he had been spending the afternoon sitting across from Malfoy in the library, trying to find some way to steer the conversation to something a little more personal, or at least friendly. After his rant to his friends that morning he found himself imbued with a determination to prove himself right, to prove that Malfoy was different, after all. But to do that, he would have to get to know him, and that was proving a challenge. While the Slytherin continued to tolerate Harry, he had put up social barriers that felt near impenetrable.
“You just… seem to know a lot about it,” Harry added, in response to the blank stare Malfoy was giving him. “I was just curious.”
It could go either way, he thought. Malfoy seemed on the verge of sneering, but for some reason was holding himself back. Harry waited.
“I don’t know,” the blond replied finally. “I’m focusing on getting my Potions mastery. Then I’ll decide what I want to use it for.”
Harry nodded, then scrambled for something to respond with, wanting to keep the conversation going. “Must be nice, having a few years to figure it out.”
Draco shrugged. “It’s my best subject. I know I want to work with potions in some way. The how is not really important at this point.”
“Not to your parents, either?” Harry asked, before immediately biting his tongue. He should probably steer clear of the subject of the elder Malfoys, or at least his father. Too late now. He awaited the fallout.
But Malfoy merely raised a sardonic eyebrow in that signature way of his, and looked at Harry with something that could be mistaken for an amused glint in his eye. “My father is in Azkaban for the foreseeable future, so his opinion is of little concern to me.” He tilted his head slightly, as if he had something else to say but had to decide if he wanted to say it.
Harry just watched and waited, a surge of something that felt strangely like giddiness coursing through him.
“Besides,” Malfoy added, after a moment. “The only thing he ever really cared about is that I find myself a respectable pureblood witch and produce an heir. That was much more important than whatever profession I happened to choose.”
Given that the Malfoys had more money than they knew what to do with, even after making substantial reparations after the war, this actually made sense. Malfoy probably didn’t even have to work if he didn’t want to. Harry struggled to remember if Lucius Malfoy had ever done anything that resembled work, other than throwing his political weight around and bribing people. Nothing came to mind.
Harry also wondered if the finding a pureblood wife and having an heir was still in the cards for Malfoy, since he appeared to prefer those of the male persuasion, at least based on what Harry had witnessed in the bathroom that night. But perhaps Malfoy was bisexual, just like Harry suspected he himself was. Of course, he knew better than to ask.
“Well, it’s nice to know your path, at least for the next few years,” he said, for want of something better to add.
Malfoy gave a vague hum of agreement, and Harry figured that was that. To keep asking personal questions would probably just be annoying at this point.
So he was surprised when Malfoy asked one of his own.
“It’s the Auror Corps for you then, I assume,” he said, his tone nonchalant and his eyes still on his research.
Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise, but Malfoy wasn’t looking at him, and didn’t see. “How did you know that?”
“Why else would you pursue a Potions NEWT?” Malfoy’s reply was probably meant to be a dig, but Harry chose to ignore that.
“Well, you’re right. That was the plan,” he said.
“Was?” Malfoy actually spared Harry a glance this time.
“Was. Is. Maybe. I don’t know,” Harry said.
“It’s only the first term, Potter,” Malfoy said. “There’s plenty of time to recover, even if your marks are atrocious.”
Now Malfoy was definitely mocking him. The strange thing was, Harry was sort of glad. He felt as if he was maybe getting somewhere.
“My marks are fine, Malfoy,” he replied with laughter in his voice. “But I appreciate your concern. It’s nice to know you care.”
His teasing was met with a scowl and a roll of the eyes, but Harry believed, or at least convinced himself, that Malfoy was smiling on the inside. He chuckled.
He suddenly felt a pair of familiar hands slide along his shoulders, and he turned his head to see that Ginny had come up behind him.
“Hi,” she said, pulling back his fringe and kissing him on the forehead. “How is the research going?”
“Good, I think,” Harry replied, glancing briefly at Malfoy, only to see that he was focused on his notes and not paying a lick of attention to Ginny’s arrival. “What are you doing now?”
“Just finished Charms,” she said. “I was going to head to dinner in a bit.”
“Yeah, me too. I’ll meet you there.”
“Actually,” Ginny said, her voice taking on a suggestive edge as she leaned down to wrap her arms around Harry’s neck. “I thought I might mention that I don’t have class tomorrow morning.”
Harry grinned. “Well, congratulations. Rub it in, why don’t you?”
Ginny giggled lightly in his ear, and Harry was struck by how strange it sounded. Ginny was never one to do a lot of giggling. “I meant,” she said, “that since I won’t have class maybe I could stay with you tonight.”
Harry raised his eyebrows, though Ginny most likely could not see it from that angle. He wasn’t sure what to say. Ginny spent just about every weekend in Harry’s 8^th year dorm room, but they stayed separate during the week. It was a system that had worked well for them so far.
“You may not have class,” Harry said, keeping his voice light and free of dismissiveness, so as not to upset her. “But I do. First thing after breakfast.”
“Don’t worry,” Ginny purred, kissing his neck. “I’ll make sure you get plenty of rest. When I’m done with you, you’ll sleep like the dead.”
Harry felt his face flame. He had no qualms about Ginny getting frisky with him in private, but she never acted this way in front of other people, not even people they knew well. The fact that she was doing it in front of Malfoy, of all people, was not only strange, it was outright embarrassing.
Thankfully, she didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, she pulled him in for a thorough kiss before breaking away and grinning at him. “I’ll see you at dinner,” she said, then sauntered off.
Harry stared at his notes, trying to get his blush under control. He was certain that Malfoy was smirking at him, and was determined to be calmer before he had to face the mocking he knew he was in for. He rubbed his fingers over his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a couple of deep breaths.
“Is it me, or is the Weaselette compensating for something?” Malfoy said in his usual drawl.
Harry opened his eyes and made himself look at Malfoy. Yep, there it was, the inevitable: pale pink lips, tilting upwards and lopsided in a leer. He took another deep breath before answering. “Her name is Ginny,” he said pointedly, but without any real anger. “And honestly, I’ve never seen her act like that, not in front of other people, anyway.”
Malfoy was smirking so hard his face was probably cramping up. “I wouldn’t dwell on in, Potter,” he said. “I tend to have that effect on witches. They seem to lose all sense when they are in my presence.”
“Yes,” Harry deadpanned. “That explains it. Thanks for clearing that up.”
The thing was, Malfoy, whether he was joking or not, had a point. Ginny was acting very strange, and the only explanation Harry could think of was that Malfoy did have something to do with it. It was as if she wanted to rub her relationship with Harry in the Slytherin’s face. Why she felt the need to do so, Harry couldn’t begin to understand.
To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy seemed genuinely amused. He chuckled to himself a little before rearranging his small, but very real, smile back into a sneer.
“Can we get back to work now, or are you expecting more inappropriate distractions?” the blond asked.
Harry huffed in response, then grabbed another book off the stack, determined to put that uncomfortable interlude behind him. And though he refused to look up, though he tried to convince himself that he was imagining it, he could have sworn he heard another soft chuckle coming from Malfoy’s direction, and he couldn’t help a small smile himself.
***
“Voluntas fortem,” Harry said to the stone gargoyle, which immediately leapt aside as the door opened. Harry entered the rotating spiral staircase, letting it take him up into the headmistress’ office. The journey still brought back memories from when Dumbledore was living and occupied that very office. Back then, the sojourn to visit the headmaster was often filled with trepidation and doubt, wondering what task the old headmaster had in store for him, or what new piece of the mystery would be revealed. Those days had been full of fear and uncertainty, with the threat of Voldemort constantly hanging over their heads. Harry had never realized just how constant that fear was, not until he truly saw what peacetime could bring.
He would always miss Albus Dumbledore. He would always have the highest respect for the man. But he had to acknowledge that it was much more pleasant to enter this office knowing the only thing he had to concern himself with was whether or not he would be getting some treacle tart with his tea.
Since the start of the term, McGonagall had asked Harry for tea in her office every other Saturday afternoon. Harry hadn’t understood her motives at first, but after their first meeting it was clear that the headmistress just wanted to chat, to hear that the new arrangements made for the 8^th years were working well, and that everyone was getting along, and that Harry was doing all right. Though Harry would have never initiated such meetings himself, as he had never been as close to McGonagall as he had been to Dumbledore, he found that he looked forward to them. McGonagall, though someone who had also witnessed, and had a hand in, the war, felt like a neutral party, when so many people he knew had strong feelings and agendas these days when it came to Harry and what he was doing.
“Ah, come in, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said when he reached the inner sanctum of her office. “Have a seat. Tea should be arriving any moment.”
“Thank you,” he replied, following her instructions.
He was used to the change in the office by now, although the first time had been disconcerting. McGonagall did not possess the same intricate and bizarre magical instruments that Dumbledore did, and there was no perch for Fawkes the Phoenix, of course. Most of the office was lined with books, now, and the few instruments that were visible were meticulously placed on shelves and well out of the way. The Sorting Hat still had a place of prominence in a corner of the room, but that was the only thing that was truly familiar.
And, of course, there were the portraits. Both Dumbledore and Snape occupied this collection now. Harry looked up at Dumbledore’s portrait to see the old man smiling at him over his spectacles. He smiled in return.
“Treacle tart?” the headmistress offered, when the tea tray had popped into existence.
“Yes, thank you,” Harry said with a grin, glad that she remembered.
While Harry put sugar and a dash of milk in his tea, he chatted with the headmistress about the goings on about school, preparations for the Halloween feast, and the upcoming match with Ravenclaw in a few weeks.
“And how are the other 8^th years doing, then?” McGonagall asked in that brisk way of hers that Harry knew masked her genuine interest in the wellbeing of her students. “They’ve settled in by now, I hope.”
“Yes, definitely,” Harry replied, wanting to reassure her. He told her about Hermione’s internship, and the other things he knew the 8^th years had been up to. He told her about how the students were getting on peacefully for the most part, and how there had been few squabbles or conflicts. McGonagall took all of this in with a rapt but neutral expression, but when he finished, she sort of tilted her head and let her eyes soften.
“And how are you?”
Harry blinked. “I’m… fine,” he said. “Really. I’m getting good marks. I’m getting on with everyone. Like I said, the Quidditch team is going strong…”
McGonagall gave him a small smile and a piercing stare eerily reminiscent of her silver-bearded predecessor. “That’s not what I meant, Harry.”
Harry swallowed, having no idea how to reply. It was rare that McGonagall ever used his first name, and it made him a bit uneasy.
“I’m not concerned that you won’t be successful here,” she went on. “I know that you are, that you will continue to be. But I do wonder…” She sighed. “I cannot speak for anyone else, but it is difficult for me to be here, some days. Everything is still so fresh. Even though we’ve rebuilt Hogwarts, and it looks even better than it did before, the memories are there, as are the ghosts of the people we’ve lost, both figurative and literal.”
Harry nodded. He knew exactly what she meant.
“I worry that we reopened too soon. I worry that my students are in pain, being here, and they don’t know how to express it, or they are afraid to. And I worry about you.”
“You don’t need to, Professor,” Harry said quickly. “Honestly.”
She gave him that knowing smile again. “Don’t think that I don’t see what kind of pressure you’re under,” she said. “The way the public turns to you for emotional support, the intrusions into your life by the press. You have to carry more of that than anyone else.”
“I’m used to it,” Harry said honestly. “It’s been that way pretty much since I found out I was famous. I can handle it.”
McGonagall looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “I just wanted you to know that I’m aware of it, and if there is any way that I can help… well, of course, it would be my privilege to do so. You don’t have to do everything all on your own anymore. You alone are not responsible for the wizarding world and its recovery from the war.”
Harry let out a heavy sigh and sat back in his chair. McGonagall’s words struck him powerfully. He knew already, intellectually at least, the truth of what she was saying. But he rarely felt as though it was true. He still felt the burdens of being the Chosen One, even though Voldemort was dead.
“Lately I’ve been rethinking my plan to become an Auror,” he blurted out.
McGonagall took that in stoically. “Well,” she said, “there are plenty of other options for you, given the NEWT subjects you’ve chosen to pursue. There is no reason you must absolutely become an Auror.”
Harry had expected some resistance, and for a moment simply stared at the headmistress in wide-eyed surprise. “You don’t think it’s my… obligation, given my skills and experience, to work to rid the world of dark wizards?”
McGonagall narrowed her eyes and gave him a wry smile. “Are you suggesting, Mr. Potter, that you believe you still owe the wizarding world something?”
Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again, thrown by the question.
“Because from my perspective, it is very much the other way around.”
Harry absorbed that. “I want to do good in the world,” he said.
“And I have no doubt that you will,” she replied. “It seems to be an inherent part of your nature. But there are many different ways to do good, and I don’t believe you should feel obligated to do one particular thing if you don’t want to. You have obligations to yourself as well, to your own happiness.”
Harry sat back in his chair again, floored by the revelation. But there was an excited buzzing, too, building in the back of his brain, a hum, growing steadily louder, whispering promises of freedom and unexplored possibility.
And he found himself welcoming it.
***
Harry was just teetering on the edge of oblivion, reaching for sleep, but he couldn’t quite get there. His chat with McGonagall that afternoon had left him in a contemplative mood all day, something all of his friends had noticed. He was so lost in thought that Ginny had to practically drag him upstairs for bed. He had made himself focus for that part, at least.
Ginny’s nimble fingers traced up and down his stomach in what would normally have been a soothing gesture. Had this been any other day, he was sure he would be asleep by now. But he wasn’t. He released a heavy sigh.
“Something bothering you?” came Ginny’s soft voice out of the dark.
Harry took a couple of breaths and considered before answering. “Not really bothering me exactly,” he said finally. “It’s more that… I’m thinking about some things, and I can’t switch my mind off.”
“Mmm,” Ginny hummed sympathetically. “What sort of things?”
“Just some things McGonagall and I talked about today when I had tea with her.” He paused as Ginny sat up and moved to straddle him. She leaned forward and started kissing his neck, working her way under his jaw and then down to his collarbone. “Go on,” she said. “I’m listening.”
Harry gasped a little in pleasure as he felt her lips brush his nipple. If he could guess, he would say that Ginny had it in mind to wind him up again, with the thought that a second orgasm would help him get to sleep. It wasn’t bad logic, and he let her carry on as he spoke.
“She’s worried that we’re all traumatized, I think. She’s worried that we’re not dealing with our grief, and that being here is hurting more than it’s helping.”
“Do you think she’s right?” Ginny asked as she traced her fingers along his ribs, seeking out the hotspots on his body that she knew so well.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I think it’s more complicated than that. And I think anyone who really didn’t want to be here wouldn’t have returned in the first place.” He could feel himself getting hard again, and let out a soft groan. “Ginny.”
“What else did you talk about?” Harry could hear the smile in her voice. She was enjoying teasing him. This was one of her favorite games.
“She asked about me, and how I was doing. I told her I was fine, of course.”
Ginny’s mouth was making its way down his abdomen now, and he felt her hum of acknowledgment against his skin.
“And then I said something, something I’d been thinking, but hadn’t really said aloud before, about how I’m considering not becoming an Auror after all.”
Ginny paused in her ministrations, and he could practically hear her head snap up to look at him.
“She was really supportive,” he said. “That was a relief, because I was kind of worried that she would be disappointed in me, since she had fought pretty hard for me during 5^th year to make sure I could take what I needed to enter Auror training after graduation. But she said I have a lot of options.”
Ginny was quiet, and very still. Harry could only make out her silhouette in the dark of his bedroom, and he wished he could see her expression. “Ginny?”
“I’m just… confused,” she said quietly, her voice strangely careful. “It seemed like you really wanted to be an Auror.”
“Well, for a long time, I did,” he replied. “Now, I’m not so sure, and I want to think about it.”
There was a brief silence. “But, well…” Ginny’s tone still had that careful quality to it, as though worried she would say the wrong thing. “You’re taking all the classes for it. This is what you’ve been preparing for. Why take Potions if not for this?”
Harry shrugged. “There are a lot of things I can do with a Potions NEWT, you know. And that’s assuming I’ll even pass.”
“You’ll pass,” she said. “Slughorn would never let you fail.”
“Well, that’s hardly fair, is it?” Harry replied. “I’m not looking to be shown any favoritism. If I don’t earn it, then I don’t deserve it. The same goes for the Auror Academy as well. They’ll probably just let me in because of who I am, without even looking at my marks. I want to earn it.”
“So that’s what you’re worried about?” she said, sounding suddenly relieved. “That you’re not good enough to be an Auror? Harry, that’s mental.”
“No,” Harry said, realizing he had led them off the subject. “That’s not it. If I want it, I’ll go for it, obviously. But I’m not sure I do.”
“How could you not-?” Ginny began, but stopped herself. She reached past him, towards the nightstand, and Harry realized she was grabbing her wand. “Incendio,” she whispered, and the lamps in the room flickered to life. She put her wand back on the table, then knelt before him, unabashed in her nakedness and staring at him with an expression of concern. “I’m trying to understand what you’re saying, Harry.”
He looked at her, the stubborn set of her mouth, the way the lamplight flickered in her eyes, and felt the first stirrings of disquiet.
“I’m saying I need some time to think about it. I don’t want to rush into a decision like that, just because it’s what I happened to want to do at fifteen when all I thought about was having to defeat Voldemort and how I probably wouldn’t live past the next decade. Things are different now. I’m different.”
Ginny swallowed. “Different in what way?”
“I just… don’t have to worry about the same things. My life isn’t focused on this one thing that I have to do for the sake of the wizarding world. I’m free. I can consider my options. My life doesn’t have to follow one particular path.”
He caught a glimpse of Ginny’s eyes glistening before she looked away. The silence dragged on.
“It’s a good thing, Gin,” he said. “It means I can find what really makes me happy.”
“You don’t think being an Auror would make you happy?” Ginny’s voice was soft, and she still wouldn’t look at him.
“It might, or it might not,” Harry said. “I’m not sure yet.” He shifted, trying to get her to meet his eyes. “Why are you upset about this?”
She did look at him, finally, and cleared her throat. “You’ve been acting strange all week, you know. I think you…” She bit her lip and stared at the flame in the lamp on the far wall. “I think you’re scared to face the next step in your life, what you know you need to do. I understand it,” she continued, talking over Harry as he made a move to protest. “What we went through, and losing Fred…” Tears were falling down her cheeks in earnest now, and she wiped at them with the back of her hand. “We’ve all suffered, Harry. And it’s natural to want to pull away from that, to want to escape. But I just… don’t want you to make a choice, and then regret it, because in the moment you convinced yourself that you could be someone you’re not.”
Harry gaped at her. He hated to see her in pain. He knew, no matter how brave a front she usually put up, that she missed the brother she lost dearly. But what she was saying didn’t make any real sense to him. “Just because I choose not to become an Auror doesn’t mean I’m trying to be someone I’m not. I can do any number of things, and still be me.”
Ginny shook her head. “I know you,” she said. “I know you better than anyone. And you… you won’t be happy, unless you have someone to save. You will never be happy unless you have a mission, unless you have something to fight against, for the good of the world. You’re a hero, Harry. It’s in your blood. It’s in your bones. It’s who you are. I don’t…” She sighed. “I can’t support a decision that has you denying who you are, denying what you really need.”
She reached out to grasp his hand, but he pulled it away, looking at her dead on. To her credit, she didn’t look away, and he saw the familiar glint of tenacity in her eyes.
“You really believe that, don’t you?” he said. “You really believe that I won’t be happy unless I pour everything I have into serving others, into fighting evil. You really believe that I’m incapable of making a choice for myself, and not for anyone else.” He pulled his knees up, putting himself completely out of her reach. She stayed very still, watching him. “It’s not just that you believe it. You want me to be like that. You want me to keep being a hero.” He remembered, though it felt like a lifetime ago, the conversation they had at Dumbledore’s funeral. He remembered the way she looked at him when he ended their relationship to go on the hunt for Horcruxes, the unyielding blaze of pride in her eyes, despite the pain that came with it. Because she loved that he was noble, and that he put others before himself. In a twisted way, she loved him for hurting her, because he was doing it to save the world.
But things were different now. Back then, he was brave and selfless all the time because he had to be, because being anything else meant handing all of wizarding Britain over to Voldemort and the Death Eaters. But now… did Ginny really expect him to be like that all the time? Did she expect him to never make a single selfish choice in his life? Did she not care that it could get him killed, or impact the lives of their children? Did she not care if it made him unhappy?
She thinks she knows what you need to be happy. But she didn’t know, not really.
“I can’t be what you want me to be,” he said quietly.
“What?” The word came out as a soft breath.
“All you just said, about how I need to be a hero to be happy. I don’t think any of that is true. But you want it to be true. You need it to be true. And I can’t… I want to start making choices for myself, and not for others. I want to do something other than hunting dark wizards. I want more from my life.”
“I understand that, Harry,” she said. “And you can have more. We’ll have a family, we’ll have everything-”
“Will you love me less if I choose not to become an Auror, if I decided to do something completely unrelated to fighting evil?” he asked outright. He was afraid he already knew the answer, but he needed it confirmed.
She stared at him. “It’s not that I would love you less. It’s that I would believe that you’re not being true to yourself.”
Maybe, before the end of the war, her words would have had some impact. But now they were meaningless. And he could see the truth in her eyes. She would be disappointed in him if he didn’t become an Auror. She would think less of him. And that was not something he would be able to live with.
“I think you should go,” he said.
She gaped at him. “What?”
“This isn’t… going to work.”
“Harry,” she sobbed. “Don’t. Please.”
“You don’t want me, Ginny,” he said. It hurt to do this, it twisted in his gut like a machete, but he didn’t see any other way. “You want some… idea of me that you’ve had in your head this whole time. You want the person I was before, the person I had to be. I’m not him.”
“That’s not true!” she said, reaching for him. “That’s not true.”
“It is true.” He made his voice dead, and cold, and flat. “I’m not going to become a fucking Auror, Gin. I’m not going to be a hero anymore. I can’t be what you want.”
And just like that, she stopped. She stopped trying to touch him. She stopped crying. She seemed to stop breathing, even, for a moment. Then she inhaled one shaky, painful-sounding breath, and stood.
Harry couldn’t bear to watch as she rifled around for her clothes and put them on. Because a part of him, most of him even, was slipping into the dizzying abyss of panic, hardly able to register what he had just done. This was Ginny, his safety net, his home. She was supposed to be his family. And he was letting her go. More than that, he was pushing her out the door.
She left quietly, without even offering a goodbye. Harry released the breath he had been holding, and let himself sink fully into that abyss, let himself feel the complete and utter terror of it. He absorbed it, letting it consume him completely. And then, just as he thought it was going to become unbearable, something strange happened. He felt something all too familiar. The same feeling he’d had when he watched Voldemort’s lifeless corpse collapse onto the floor of the Great Hall.
He felt relief.
Dedicated_Reader: Yeah, I didn't realize how much fun it would be to write Draco Malfoy in all his snarky glory. I'm glad you enjoyed it, and I'll try to keep you smiling!
djaddict: Yes, the dreaded Ginny kisses... if that grossed you out, you will probably really dislike the last section of this chapter lol. Of course, we all know who Harry should be kissing. Don't worry, we'll get there soon :)
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