Shadow of the Day

[ara]

It has been too long since I have posted any fic (blame SpyFest), but now I proudly present to you.... FIC!!!  My very first *real* H/D fic.  SHINY! Erm, yeah...

Title: Shadow of the Day
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Summary: Because life doesn't fit into perfect neat boxes and because sometimes goodbye's the only way.
Rating: PG-13-ish
A/N: Much thanks to nyxelestia , jusmine , and octsky who all took (many) looks over this over it's course of development and were very reassuring that no, this didn't suck.

 

The light filters into the room and onto the bed.  Draco groans and rolls over grasping blindly at the space next to him.  Feeling nothing but air and cold sheets, he frowns and opens his eyes.  Blinking into the pale light, he sighs.  No, there’s definitely no Harry there.

He pushes himself up and looks around the room, idly running a hand through his hair.  The sunlight streaming through the white curtains give everything a ished out look.  He makes a face.  With his already pale features, he probably looks like a ghost.  Not that it matters seeing as his wonderful bedmate is once again absent, and therefore not here to see it. He frowns at that.  Well, maybe Harry is just in the kitchen or something.

"Harry?" he calls out.  No answer.  Well, this is just perfect.

Yawning, he leans over to throw on a robe, snatching his wand from the bedside table and stuffing it into the waistband of his pants.  He pads down the hall and into the kitchen.  Definitely no Harry.

That's when he sees the note on the kitchen table in the usual place.  He growls with frustration, glancing up at the wall clock. 10:37.  It’s ten bloody thirty-seven on a Saturday morning and Harry is already fucking gone.  He picks it up.

Draco - Gone to visit Hermione. Be back later -H

Well, good fucking morning to you too Harry.  He crumples the note into a ball and throws it at the fridge. 'Gone to visit Hermione.'  Well, that is just fucking typical.  She probably sees Harry more than he does, and she lives across London.

He sinks down into a nearby chair.  No doubt if Harry was here now he'd say Draco is being melodramatic.  And maybe he is.  But seeing Harry for maybe a grand total of two hours every day, plus a quick shag at night, only to wake up alone the next morning is getting pretty old.  It is like he doesn't even exist anymore.  Really, is it too much to ask that one's lover pay one some attention?

Draco feels the sudden urge to break something.  Or hex someone. Instead he gets up and stalks back to bed.  It isn't like there is any point to being awake this early.  Stupid fucking Harry.

-----

Draco is woken up sometime later by the sound of a door closing. Groaning, he gets up and retraced his earlier steps, pausing in the doorway to the kitchen. Harry is there looking disgustingly awake, his muscular body moving around putting away groceries, humming a little song to himself. Draco feels a surge of irrational irritation at the man, watching him act so happy.

Looking up, Harry sees him standing there and a grin spread across his face. “Morning, love,” he murmurs, coming over to give Draco a gentle kiss. Draco is a little stiff in responding, still a bit upset, and Harry pulls away with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, bringing a hand up to the side of Draco’s face.

Draco hesitates a moment, before forcing a smile and replying “Nothing.” He is not going to complain to Harry like some girl. “Just tired.”

“Oh,” Harry replies, sympathetic, his features smoothing out as he leans in for another quick peck. “Guess what?” he asks, reaching behind him on the table for something. “I got you flowers!” He grins then, his green eyes sparkling, and presents Draco with a bouquet.

Draco sighs but can’t help but smile as he reaches out to take it. That’s the problem with being mad at Harry. He always has to go and do something so unbelievably cute that it’s impossible to stay angry. Not to mention those eyes – and that smile. Irresistible.

Thanking Harry with an appropriate kiss, Draco moves past him to fish out a vase for the flowers. Filling it, he sets it on the counter and puts the flowers in, starting to arrange them.

He stretches, arms overhead, and sees Harry’s eyes glued to the inch of skin revealed between his boxers and t-shirt. He smirks, turning to him, seeing that light in his eyes, and matching it with his own suggestive look.

“Just how tired are you?” Harry asks, gaze fixed on Draco.

The smirk widens and Draco stalks over to where Harry’s leaning against the wall. “Well I might be persuaded to ah lie down for a bit,” Draco answers, lips inches from Harry’s, before leaning in to press their lips together in a heated kiss.

“Bed,” Harry says firmly when they break apart, and pulls Draco along behind him.

----

Hours later Draco wakes feeling completely sated as he sinks into the warm Harry curled around him.

“Hello there,” Harry says huskily, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Hi,” Draco says, sleepily leaning up to kiss Harry back properly. It is sweet and slow, and Draco sighs his contentment into the kiss.

“Feeling better?” Harry asks, laying back to wrap his arms around Draco from behind.

“Yeah, I am,” Draco replies, happily pressing back up against the warmth. And he is. Harry is here now and somehow everything seems better.

They lay like that in comfortable silence for awhile, Harry idly stroking Draco’s side, while Draco draws random patterns on Harry’s other hand with his fingertip. It’s a moment of perfection, and it’s what Draco had been missing.

Eventually Harry speaks up. “What are you drawing?” he asks.

“Butterflies and unicorns and rainbows,” Draco replies ever so snidely.

Harry just laughs. “That must be some unicorn then from the feel of it,” he teases.

“Hey!” Draco cries, slapping his hand. “I’ll have you know it’s a very nice unicorn, with a very magnificent horn!” Draco is grinning. “And if you even think of making any horny jokes, you will die a slow and painful death.”

Harry lets out a surprised laugh at that. “I’m sure,” he drawls, kissing Draco’s bare shoulder before moving up to his neck.

Draco sighs and rolled over to face Harry. “So how is Hermione?” he asks.

“Oh, fine. She’s on to a new project – a new potion or something,” Harry answers, moving a hand to trace along Draco’s stomach.

Draco nods. He and Hermione get along well enough these days. They weren’t friends, but there is sort of a common bond of intellectuals.

“Oh!” Harry exclaims, his hand stilling much to Draco’s disappointment. “I almost forgot! She wants to set up a lunch date with both of us.”

“I’m sure we can work something out,” Draco murmurs, more interested in watching the hand moving over his chest.

“Mhmm,” Harry replies, lightly stroking his fingers over Draco’s shoulder, before dipping his head to gently mouth the spot. “I love you,” he sighs against the skin.

Draco smiles and tangles his hand in Harry’s messy hair. “I love you too.”

----

The pub is awash with light and sound and conversation and Draco sits in the midst of it all, nursing a glass of whiskey.  To his right is a group of happy Gryffindors, all smiles and laughs and bright eyes and white teeth, and all Draco wants is to kill something.

He’s here with Harry – no, correction, he came with Harry.  Now his lover is right in the thick of cheerful bodies, and he, Draco, is relegated to the end of the table to drink in silence.  God, how he hates going to the pub with ‘friends’.

Harry always calls it that, like the others were their mutual friends or something.   The sad part is that he really believes it.  Harry is so oblivious sometimes.  The truth is that they are Harry’s friends brought into contact with Draco only because of who he’s dating.

It isn’t that anyone is rude to Draco – no, they’re all carefully polite and friendly.  Even the Weasel is civil.  They make sure to ask after Draco’s opinion on the latest political scandal or the next quidditch match.  In many ways, he thinks it’d be better if they just outright snubbed him instead of this – whatever this is.  Then no one would have to maintain this charade of forced politeness that melts into real comfort and happiness as they draw away into their group of true friends, leaving him to the side.

Perhaps he isn’t being fair to them.  They all certainly are on their best behavior, and Harry had truly made an effort to help Draco become part of the group.  And Draco is nearly certain that if he had really tried, he too could be among those happy people right now.  Right now, looking at them, he almost wishes he had. 

But really, what he finds himself longing for is dim light, green and silver furnishings, and the pervasive chill that filled the dungeons.  He wants to hear Pansy’s soft voice snidely cutting Theo down to size, Blaise’s perfected evil laugh, Crabbe and Goyle’s groans as they start yet another essay.  He wants his friends back.  They may never have put on a display like the group in front of him now, but under the façade of cool contempt, there was just as much genuine affection and love, no matter how much they tried to deny it.

He snorts.  What would his friends have thought of being compared to a group of ex-Gryffindors?  Disgust, surely.

Not that it matters.  They’re all dead now, or locked in Azkaban and that’s as good as dead as far as Draco is concerned.  They’re all dead, and Draco is alone, pretending it doesn’t hurt like hell to watch his boyfriend goof around with his best friends.

And if Harry is too busy having a good time to notice that Draco is abandoned and fucking miserable, then there is no way in hell he’s saying something.  If the self-centered prick can’t be arsed to check up on his lover, then screw him.

Part of Draco knows that isn’t quite fair, but just now he really doesn’t give a fuck, thank you very much.

Still, when Harry looks up to smile at him, Draco sighs inside, but gives the best smile he can back.  Because really he doesn’t want Harry to know just how pathetic he is that he can’t even enjoy a night at the pub.  Harry looks away, and Draco downs the rest of his drink before calling for another.  If he has to feel melancholy, he might as well drown his trouble in alcohol.  This is why he almost never goes out for a drink with Harry’s friends.

----------------

Today is May 1^st. It’s a date carved into his mind, one Draco doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget. Today, one year ago, just one day before the final battle, Pansy died.

It was a potion, he found out later. A mad scheme of the Dark Lord’s in his final insanity, and Pansy had been unlucky enough to be around when he was looking for testers. They told Draco it’d likely taken hours – a slow, drawn out death as her organs liquefied one by one from the inside. Looking at the white marble of her tombstone among the vibrant green grass and the bright blue sky, he thinks that horror has no place here. He hates this whole fucking field.

He sits cross-legged on the ground idly pulling up blades of grass. There’s a slight breeze blowing through the leaves of the nearby tree and ruffling his hair. It’s so calm and so peaceful, and Draco can’t stand it. He wants to run, to scream, to deface this beautiful place that has no business being so pure in the face of all that’s happened. Instead, he reaches out and traces the carved granite letters.

Pansy Parkinson

It’s the one thing he’d been able to do for her, ensure her a proper burial unlike the unmarked mass graves most of the lesser Death Eaters were thrown into. It’s the only service he’s been able to do his friends by joining the winning side. He snorts bitterly. How good of him, to organize the funerals he’s partly responsible for. The hand shakes tracing the ‘y’.

It so fucking wrong that Pansy died. It isn’t fair or just or right. Pansy may’ve been sneaky and sarcastic, but she wasn’t bad. She joined the Dark Lord because that’s the only thing she could do. She’d been so bright, so funny.

Pansy was his best friend. Underneath all the snarking the posturing, and the double speak, she had loved him. And he loves her. He misses her so much it aches and aches inside. But she‘s gone now and he’s so utterly alone.

The shaking is more pronounced now, and he leans forward against the tombstone. He’s crying now, even though he swore when he came he wasn’t going to. Pansy hated people crying over her. But sitting there he can’t help it. He cries for Pansy, for Blaise for Crabbe and Goyle. He cries for his mother, his father, for everything and everyone he’s lost in the goddamn miserable excuse of a war. And eventually he runs out of tears, and he sits there numbly, lost in his mourning.

When he finally looks up, the sun has sank behind the trees, and he stands on shaky legs and walks back to where Harry is waiting for him.

Harry takes one look at his face and immediately opens his arms and pulls Draco into a hug that he just collapses into, burying his face from the world.

“Take me home,” Draco whispers against Harry’s neck and Harry complies.

-----------------------------------------

They spend the night cuddled on the couch watching late night reruns of a soap that is terrible the first time around. But that’s irrelevant. All that’s important is that they are there together during the terrible night.

“She was my best friend,” Draco said quietly after hours of silent comfort.

Harry says nothing, just tightens his arms around Draco.

“We’d known each other since we were four,” Draco continues. “The first time I met her, she pushed me into the pond in the Manor’s gardens, and I pulled her in too. Our parents were furious,” Draco laughs a little, feeling a lump rising in his throat, and swallows heavily.

“She loves raspberry truffles, you know, the kind you can get at Honeydukes. I used to buy her this huge tub of them on her birthday every year.”

Harry is stroking his hair, just listening.

“She hated her name. She said it is her father’s revenge on her being a girl, and she is going to change it. He never wanted her. He doesn’t fucking deserve her,” Draco chokes on the words. His eyes are burning. He isn’t going to cry, not again. He isn’t, he isn’t, he isn’t. The first hot tears slide down his cheeks.

“I joined the order to protect her. That’s what I was supposed to be – her protector.” Draco laughs bitterly, choking on his sobs. “I could’t even do that right. I couldn’t even save her.” The tears are streaming down his face now, definitely not with his permission.

Gentle hands turn him and cradle his head. He presses his wet face into Harry’s neck, seeking that comforting familiar scent. Harry rubs his back in gentle circles.

After a time Draco quiets and they fall asleep there together.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Sunlight is streaming onto the couch when Draco wakes to the peaceful face of a sleeping Harry. He looks so calm, so beautiful. Draco feels a surge of affection. Merlin, he loves this man.

Harry starts and his eyes open blearily. He focuses on Draco and gives him a lazy smile. “How are we this morning?” he asks softly.

Draco stretches, considering the question, before settling into Harry’s warmth. “Mhmm-better.”

Harry’s lips quirk. “Good.” He gently kisses Draco.

After he moves away, Draco groans, rubbing at his eyes. “What time is it?” he asks.

“Dunno- where’s my wand? And my glasses,” Harry asks, fumbling blindly on the table beside him. “Ah, here – tempus.”

Draco looks at the spelled time. “Shit!” he cries, straightening up. “The memorial service!”

“Hey,” Harry says, resting calming hand on Draco’s thigh. “It’s ok. We’ll get there when we get there.”

“We’d better hurry though. It starts in an hour,” Draco replies standing up, still anxious.

Harry follows him, lightly stopping him with a hand on his arm. “You sure you’re ok to go? I know these couple days are rough for you to say the least,” he asks, looking Draco in the eye.

Draco stares at him. “I-But…you have dead to mourn too. And everyone expects us to be there. I mean, you’re speaking. And you’re Harry freaking Potter!”

“They can all go hang as far as I’m concerned,” Harry replies with a shrug. “And I can mourn the dead just as well here with you.” He cups the side of Draco’s face. “You’re more important,” he says softly with utter conviction.

Draco is shocked, but then again not. It’s so Harry to do something like that. And looking into those green eyes he sees compassion and understanding. It would be so easy to just say yes, and have them not go. But no. Harry needs to be there. This is too important. Today he needs to be strong for Harry. He sighs, breaking eye contact. “You need to go. And I’ll be fine,” he answers.

Harry reads him for a long moment then nods, and tilts Draco’s chin up to kiss him firmly on the lips. He draws back resting their foreheads together. “We’ll get through this,” he whispers. “We’ll get through this.”

They arrive at the memorial where the service is being held just before Harry’s turn to speak. The elderly witch speaking when they walk up (followed by a horde of reporters of course) graciously turns it over to Harry. He steps up to the podium to a flash of cameras.

“I apologise for Mr. Malfoy’s and my lateness,” he begins. “We needed to grieve the dead in private first today.” There is a chorus of private murmurs of conciliation. “Today marks our victory…”

As Harry’s companion, Draco has a standing place in the line of people behind the podium. Tuning out the speech, which he’s heard before anyways, he instead observes the scene.

Harry looks handsome today, wearing his finest robes of a deep green color. His messy black hair is being blown in the wind, and he looks so strong and passionate, yet deeply humble as he speaks of the friends he’s lost. Harry might hated speaking, but he is very good at it. The crowd before him is captivated with their hero.

It’s a huge group, stretched out on benches and conjured chairs. Everyone wants to hear what the Savior has to say. They’re all dressed in black – mourning colors. Draco thinks there’s something wrong with that. They’re supposed to be honoring the dead’s sacrifice, not going to a funeral. And why was black the color of mourning anyways? Draco suddenly wishes everyone was wearing the brightest colors imaginable. It would be like looking into a garden, instead of a sea of black. Pansy would’ve liked that.

Harry finishes speaking and takes his place beside Draco, intertwining their hands. A balding wizard steps up to take the podium.

Pansy. She’ll never be mentioned in any speeches made today. None of his friends will. Only the winners have memorial services. The man is droning on and on about his daughter who was killed by Death eaters in a raid trying to protect him.

Suddenly Draco is very, very angry. Who is this man to go on about honor and noble deaths. And sacrifice? What the hell does he know about sacrifice? What do any of these people?

Sacrifice is giving up your life, your future, everything to keep your parents alive another day. Sacrifice is enslaving yourself because it is your duty to do so. Did these people think that it was easy for Pansy to become a death eater? For Blaise? Did they think any of them had gone to the Dark Lord willingly? They had no idea, no fucking idea what it was like.

And now this man is going to go on about innocents. Pansy was an innocent. Daphene Greengrass, killed when caught in the crossfire of an auror raid on her house when she was only 14 was an innocent. Blaise forced to torture muggles in the Dark Lord’s service under threats to rape his seven year old sister, Theo who had no where to run to, no one to trust. These are the real casualties of war. They had done what they could, and now they are forgotten or despised. And these people have no idea. They drone on and on about the ‘defeat of the dark’ but they have no idea what that means. They have no idea what the price was, or who paid it. Worse, they don’t care. And it makes him sick.

He can’t stand to be there anymore. He has to get out, get away…he drops Harry’s hand and does an about face, walking off purposefully, no other thoughts than getting out of there entering his mind, He gathers speed, jogging over the hill. Finally he stops and paces angrily, back and forth.

After a moment Harry comes up behind him. “Draco?” he questions, his face a picture of concern.

“I hate them!” Draco yells. “They have no fucking idea! No idea!”

“Draco,” Harry attempts.

“They sit there, with their whole mightier than thou routine, thinking that they have some higher authority to decide whose deaths were so bloody noble. I’m fucking sick of it!” Draco rants.

Harry sighs and reaches out to pull Draco into a hug. “I know,” he says. “I know.”

“I just…can’t stay and listen to them insult my friends,” Draco says softly.

Harry nods. “Let’s just- let’s get out of here.”

“Ok,” Draco says, pulling away and looking down. “Look I –I’m sorry for leaving like that. I – it’s going to be all over the papers.”

Harry sighs. “It’s doesn’t matter,” he says.

But it does and Draco knows it.

---

Draco’s right about the papers. It’s on the cover of the Daily Prophet the next day, how he and Harry came late and then how he ran off. Harry tries to hide it from him, not wanting to upset him, but he finds it later in the wastebasket. There’s a picture of the two of them arriving and an article speculating on what happened. The papers can’t seem to make up their mind about Draco.

At first they were all ready to condemn him as a Death Eater and the son of one of the inner circle, but then his role as the Order’s chief spy came out, and Harry made it quite clear that they’d better not mess with his boyfriend. Now they seem to want to show him as the ideal significant other for the Great Harry Potter, like in this article. They paint his retreat as him being “so overcome by grief that he had to leave”.

Still, he knows that even now, angry letters are arriving at the Prophet’s offices, condemning his actions.

He hates this, that people judge Harry for Draco’s actions. It’s not that Harry minds – god knows, Harry could give a shit about what the press said. No, it’s that Draco knows no matter how Harry feels about it, publicity is still very important. People adore Harry and he won’t destroy that. Who knows how fickle the press is better than he,  who watched his father turn from lauded hero to despised villain?  He loves Harry and you protect the people you love, even when they don’t understand. He wanted to be strong for Harry and he failed. He has to do better. He needs to do better.

--------------

Harry comes home the next week, practically bouncing. He strides purposefully over to where Draco’s sitting at the kitchen table and leans in to give him a firm kiss.

“Guess what?” he says, eyes alight.

“What?” Draco asks, still partially distracted by the treatise on potions he’s reading.

“I’m starting a new store with Ron! PW Brooms!” Harry exclaims.

Draco looks up then. “What?”he asks, amused by Harry’s enthusiasm.

“It’s a line of brooms! See, I wanted to start my own, I’ve been thinking about it for awhile, since I love quidditch and all.”

“Oh,” Draco says, surprised. This is the first he’s heard of it.

“But I needed someone to do it with, and I was trying to think of a good person, but then I realized, duh, Ron’s the obvious choice! I mean, he’s insane about quidditch!”

“Oh,” Draco says again, a little more quietly.

Harry doesn’t pick up on it though, instead bounding on. “So I asked Ron today about it, and he’s all for it! We’re really going to do this!”

“That’s great,” Draco says, mustering a smile, though he can tell his enthusiasm is somewhat lacking.

Harry doesn’t notice though, too caught up in his new project. “So Ron wants us to get started right away. Hermione thinks we should get a shop in Diagon Alley first, and then see if we want to expand to Hogsmead. Ron came up with the name – PW Brooms.”

“Should’ve know Weasly was behind that,” Draco replies with some of his customary drawl., though it’s much weaker than he’d’ve preferred.

Harry looks at him, really looks at him then, and frowns. “You ok?” he asks, noticing for the first time how unhappy he looks.

“Just tired again,” Draco answers.

“Oh, well, I hope you’re not getting sick. Maybe you should take a nap or something,” Harry suggests, concerned.

“Yeah, I might,” Draco replies.

“Well, I’ll be in the study if you need me,” Harry says, his face brightening again as he snatches an scone from the cooling rack and starts to leave. “Lots of people to owl and all.”

As soon as Harry’s gone, Draco leans forward to rest his head on his arms. He should be happy for Harry. He is happy for Harry. Harry needs something to do, he’s been getting restless, Draco can tell. And no one loves quidditch more than Harry, besides maybe Oliver Wood, but then Wood is certifiably insane about it.

But still, Draco can’t help feeling a little hurt. Apparently, Harry has been planning this for a long time, and Draco hasn’t heard one word of it. Harry never seems to tell him anything anymore.

And it hurts that Harry would go to Ron, without even thinking of Draco, not even when Draco just said the other day that he wanted to maybe start doing some kind of work. Harry had been all sympathetic then, supportive of it, but he never even thought to maybe ask Draco to have a hand in what he’s planning.

He’s angry too. Obviously, Harry doesn’t see him as an equal, a self-sufficient person capable of running a business, even though Merlin knows Draco’s had far more experience with that sort of thing than Harry. Harry never sees him that way, and it makes Draco want to hurt something. He feels like screaming “I’m right here!”

But then he pushes the urge down and stalks off to bed instead. This is pretty much his own fault after all.

-----------------------

The ministry dinner occurs a few days later. Harry and Draco arrive fashionably late, immaculately dressed in the latest styles (thanks to Draco, of course) at the elegant hall. Everything is perfectly designed, soft lights glowing on the walls, gently laughing people mingling, pressed white tablecloths adorning every round table with a vase of red toned flowers on top, a calculated sort of glamorous.

Draco stays attached to Harry through the whole cocktail hour. Though he may’ve been raised to shine at these sort of events, Draco never feels comfortable. No one here is interested in talking to him, Draco Malfoy. They’re only interested in talking to Harry Potter’s consort. He’s always afraid he’ll somehow slip up and allow them a glimpse of his true flawed self through the façade of the perfect boyfriend everyone expects him to be.

Harry’s never liked this sort of thing, but at least Draco’s been able to help him there. Through his patient tutelage, Harry’s come to get much better at socializing, to the point where they’re now mingling with ease. Unfortunately, this has also given Harry the impression that Draco actually enjoys this, and Draco, not wanting to explain exactly why he hates it, has never corrected him. So Harry makes sure they spend the maximum time chatting up the it socialites, though both he and Draco are secretly hating it the whole time.

At last dinner is called, and they take their seats at the round table up right near the front, with other members of society currently in favor.

“So Harry,” says the elegant woman across the table from them, and Draco inwardly winces. He knows Harry hates it when people call him his first name without permission. “It’s been a few months since we’ve seen you last. What have you been doing?” she continues.

Harry smiles his public smile. “It has been too long, Lady Dashwood,” he replies politely. “I’m just in the process of starting my own broom company with my friend Ron Weasley.”

“How fascinating,” she replies.

“What sort of brooms are you looking into?” the gentleman sitting next to her asks in a deep voice.

“Well, we’re thinking more of the racing and quidditch sort, though we may branch out into a more family-oriented line.”

“I’ve always been rather fond of brooms,” a slightly built elderly man reminisces. “What do you think about this new trend towards longer tails?”

Lady Dashwood turns to Draco as the others talk. “Draco, darling, what have you been up to?” she says in a charming voice.

“Well, I did recently take up baking,” Draco replies. “I’m attempting to master the soufflé.”

She laughs a tinkling laugh and turns to pat Harry’s arm. “Harry, your partner is simply delightful,” she tells him.

“So Mr. Malfoy,” another gentleman across from Draco asks, “do you work?”

“I’m taking a break right now,” Draco replies with a tight smile, knowing how pathetic that sounds. It’s what he’s been saying for the last five years.

“Ah,” the man replies, and Draco can see the condescending light in his eyes, and suddenly Draco’s just had it. He’s done with this shit.

“Actually, I’m going to be pursing my mastery in potions,” he announces. The man looks surprised and Draco smiles smugly. He’d show them.

He can feel Harry’s questioning eyes on him though, and knows he’ll have to explain this later.

“How lovely,” says Lady Dashwood.

---

They get home late that night and go into their bedroom where they start to quietly undress.

“So, a potions mastery?” Harry asks eventually, voice carefully neutral.

“Yeah,” Draco replies, not looking at Harry.

“I, uh, didn’t know you were looking into that,” Harry says.

Draco shrugs. “I didn’t know you wanted to start a broom store,” he answers, unable to keep the bitter sarcasm from creeping into his tone.

Harry hesitates. “A mastery, that’s a pretty big undertaking.”

“What, you don’t think I can do it?” Draco questions dangerously.

“No, it’s just – look, Draco, do you think this is really the best time? I’m just starting the business with Ron, and things are already going to be crazy…”

Draco stares at him incredulous. “So I should just put aside what I want so you can do whatever you feel like?” Draco snaps.

Harry’s staring at him like a scared rabbit and Draco sighs. “Never mind,” he says bitterly.

“Draco,” Harry tries.

“It’s nothing,” Draco says shortly. “I just – I’m just tired. Forget it.” He finishes undressing and gets into the bed.

Harry follows him a moment later, murmuring Nox before tentatively reaching out to circle Draco with his arms. Draco lies stiff in the embrace.

Harry sighs, and tucks his chin over Draco’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound like that,” he whispers. “I do think you should go for it if that’s what you want, but maybe it’d be a good idea to wait a month or two.”

“It’s fine,” Draco answers, still hurt, but unable to help melting a little.

“I love you,” Harry murmurs.

Draco says nothing.  

------

Father's Day.  Amazing how two words can turn a brilliantly sunny day into misery.

Harry's out at his parents' grave, like he is every year.  Draco never goes, though Harry offers.  He doesn't want him to witness this.

This: Draco's blind drunken ravings, objects thrown across the room, screamed words and curses as he pays homage to the man, who, despite all his illusions of grandeur turned out to be that - just a man.  The memory of his father is enough to send him spiraling out of control.

By the time Harry returns tomorrow, everything will be repaired, put back in its rightful place, and he'll find a reticent but otherwise normal Draco.  That's the wonder of magic, Draco thinks, staring at the shattered crystal of the glass he's just thrown.  You can erase all traces.  You can kill someone without even leaving a mark.  It's beautiful, in a dark way.  Magic can remove memories, reverse processes, repair mistakes.

A pity it cannot remove people.  Oh, it can kill them in many ways,  so varied it would take decades to record them all - he has seen it.  But, Draco ponders, death is not really an eraser.  The body is dead, yes, but no man touches only himself.  And that footprint even magic cannot destroy.  Who knows this better than he, who has watched the foolish people that believe that now that the Dark Lord is dead, evil in the world is crushed?  He knows better.  Voldemort's legacy will come again to terrorize the 'good', of this he is sure.  Because what these people tried so hard to forget was that Voldemort's evil was not really his to begin with.  No, it was carried on from others.  And so this evil would carry on again.  Death stops nothing.  He knows this better than most.

Even years after his fall from grace, after his death, Lucius Malfoy still reaches out from the grave to haunt his son.  Every year, on this day, Draco is reminded of his father.

He snorts.  His father?  No, that man was never really his father, was he?

Fathers don't take pleasure in hurting their sons.

That man, then.  The man Draco will never be free of.  Always, no matter what, that cool,  insipid voice will be whispering in his ear how he is a failure, how he is a disappointment.  How he is weak.  And the worst part is, Draco thinks hysterically as he clutches the mantel, the worst part is that that voice is right.  Look at him.  He is nothing.  Nothing.  The great heir of the Malfoys has come to nothing.  The consort of a hero,  who sits at home waiting for his lover to have use for him.  A kept man.  A whore.

Oh, Harry says he loves him.  And he believes that Harry believes he loves him.  But how can anyone truly love him when even he doesn't love himself?

-----

The business trip comes all of a sudden. Draco gathers that some wealthy wizards on the continent have expressed interest in joining the board to Harry’s new company, and wanted a face-to-face meeting before committing. Harry is of course ecstatic at the news.

“Just think, we could expand to France and then all of Europe!” he exclaims to Draco.

“It sounds like a good opportunity,” Draco says. “What did Hermione say?”

“She seems all for it,” Harry answers. “Says there’s no more respected wizards this side of the Atlantic.”

“So when is this trip?” Draco asks curiously.

“I leave tomorrow,” Harry admits. “But I’ll only be gone for two weeks.”

“Oh,” Draco says, thrown by the suddenness. He processes this for a minute, then realizes something important. Harry seems to have completely forgotten that the next week is Narcissa’s birthday. Harry knows how hard that day is for Draco!

But looking at his lover excitedly watching him, obviously so pleased about this deal, Draco doesn’t have the heart to remind him.

“Well, you’d better start packing now,” he says instead, attempting a smile.

----

Draco spends his mother’s birthday alone in the garden he created on the edge of the Malfoy estate. It’s a sort of shrine here, filled with all of her favorite flowers, perfectly arranged. No one comes here except for him.  It's silent, but oh so beautiful, a true memory of Narcissa.

The waning afternoon light falls across his form sitting motionless on the lone stone bench, his head bowed in deep contemplation.  Today is the hardest day of remembering of all, harder than Pansy's death, harder than Father's Day.  Harder than anything he's ever faced except for the original event perhaps.

He cries every year on the day Pansy dies.  He rages every year on Father's Day.  But his mother's birthday...on his mother's birthday, he is forced to think.  And really perhaps that's what's so hard about it.

His mother died to save him.  It is stark truth that he can never hide from.  She died.  For his life.  And he knows he owes it to her to make something of it.

He hasn't yet, he knows this also.  He sees it now - he's been caught up in an endless cycle of doing nothing and being nothing.  It's so clear.

He loves Harry.  This is fact.  Staying with Harry will be his downfall.  This is also fact.  And Draco thinks maybe the two are entirely unrelated.  And maybe that it's alright.

At first he blamed Harry.  But how can he blame Harry,  really, for not noticing what he can't bring himself to say?  He blamed himself next.  And yes, of course he's partially to blame.  How could he not be?

But he remembers something his mother told him long ago when he was a little boy, asking why he didn't have any grandparents like the other children he saw.

"Sometimes things aren't always fair," she had said.  "Sometimes there's no real reason why.  And sometimes, these things are no one's fault at all.  They just are."

And, he thinks this is one of those times.

They've been spoiled by war, he realized.  They've become used to fighting the dark side, a clear enemy.

But this - neither of them is trying to hurt the other.  Neither of them fell out of love. There is no bad guy now.

If anyone was to blame for this whole mess, it's Voldemort, but Voldemort is dead,  his world toppled.  He has ceased to exist,  and is forgotten, so really, for this, no one is to blame.

And for the first time, Draco thinks that maybe, just maybe, it's right to let go.

His mother died to give him a life, and now - now it was time to live it.  The rest would come.

He rises from the bench grim with the knowledge of what he must do, but yet somehow all the more light.

---

 

Harry walks into the flat and immediately knows something is wrong. Well, to be honest, something has been wrong for a while, but seeing Draco sitting there in his chair at the kitchen table, head bowed, he knows that something has changed in the wrongness. He sets his keys down on the side table then slowly makes his way over to his boyfriend. Draco is still looking down.

“Harry,” Draco’s voice comes softly. “Sit down.”

Harry obeys silently, moving numbly while his mind races. Something is really, really wrong. Draco does look up at him then, and when Harry sees his face, he knows. He can’t explain it, he just knows. Oh God, this is it. This is the end. This time he looks away. Suddenly he can’t bear to look at the beautiful face in front of him. Oh god. He can’t believe this is happening.

“Harry, do you remember how we met? Silhouetted by the lights?” Draco starts to speak, quietly but with a firm confidence underneath. “You were drunk and tried to take a mental picture with your hands.” Harry can hear the smile in his voice as he recalls that, and can’t help but smile a little too at the remembrance. It’d been at a Ministry party. They both had the idea to escape to the deck outside, and had been more than a little tipsy when they ran into each other, literally. It was the first time they’d seen each other since Draco’s trial (and acquittal for services rendered to the war effort), and Harry can still remember how beautiful Draco looked, the colored lights illuminating his white blond hair.

“Well, I was thinking about that, and a bunch of other things,” Draco continues, and Harry’s reminiscing is brought to a sudden halt. Oh god, here it comes, here it comes, here it comes is all he can think. But instead, Draco sighs. “Harry, stop looking at the floor,” he says gently.

It’s the gentleness that is Harry’s undoing, and hesitantly he raises his eyes to Draco’s pale grey ones. There is a weary sadness there that wrenches his heart painfully. “Please, just listen,” Draco asks. “I need…I need to get this out, just pour out this expansive dose of words.” Harry nods minutely. Even now, he can’t deny Draco anything.

“Harry, I can’t explain this, really. I just – need to be alone.” The eyes plead with him to understand.

“You’re leaving me.” Harry’s voice comes for the first time, hoarse from numb lips.

Draco sighs and nods and this time he is the one who looks away. Harry just feels shocked, numb. This can’t be happening.

“I know the timing isn’t great,” Draco starts talking again, this time more quickly as if he is trying to hurry along and explain. “But you know, these things you just can’t plan.”

He looks back up almost helplessly. “I-I’m sorry. I just need a little time so I can find myself again.”

“Because I get buried underneath all the things everyone thinks you are. I mean, you’re the Boy Who Lived, Saviour of the Wizarding World, and that’s a lot to live up to. People expect me to act a certain way, to live a certain way, and I just-I can’t. I don’t even know who I am anymore.” The words are practically tumbling out of Draco’s mouth, stumbling over each other in their haste to be heard, and Harry can hear the bitter desperation behind them.

“I mean, you have your life, and your job and your friends, and I have nothing. God Harry, how do you think it feels to be 23 and to realize you have no life? I’m nothing besides Harry Potter’s boyfriend, and that’s just a shadow. It’s not a person. I have no one besides you, and when you go off with your friends, I’m alone. And I’m too tired to pretend anymore it doesn’t hurt to be left out.” Draco pauses and winces, as if he didn’t quite mean to say that.

“I-I didn’t know you felt that way,” Harry manages to get out.

Draco sighs. “I know you didn’t. I never said anything, because I was too stupid, too insecure. I’ve been trying to fit into the mould of what other people want, but Harry, I can’t. That’s not me. I’ve been pathetic, I realize that now. I…I’m not blaming you. At first I was really angry at you. I kept wanting you to notice that I was unhappy and I was so hurt when you never did. But, that’s not being fair to you. I hid it on purpose, and I can hardly blame you for that.”

Harry just swallows and nods, not sure what to say. What is there to say?

“Harry,” Draco says softly, “I’m sorry this has to happen. But it’s not fair to either of us to be in this relationship right now. I need to be whole, and right now I’m not. I want to be, but I’m not.”

Harry nods again. “I-understand,” he acknowledges quietly. “And I’m sorry too.”

There’s a pause. “So…what are you going to do now?” Harry asks after a minute.

“I have a flight to New York later,” Draco tells him. “I’m going to start over.”

“Oh,” Harry says.

“I’d-I’d better get going,” Draco ventures.

“Right,” Harry says, standing. Draco stands too. They pause a moment, just looking at each other, and Harry has the feeling that Draco is memorizing him, saving this. Finally, Draco walks up to him. “Well,” he says. He hesitates, then leans in and kisses Harry softly on the cheek.

“Take care of yourself.”

Harry nods, too emotional to speak.  Just as the other is about to move away though, he reaches out and touches his arm.  “Draco,” he whispers hoarsely.  Draco pauses and looks up at him.  "I love you,“ he says quietly.

And Draco just smiles a beautiful, gentle smile.  “I know,” he says,  before turning and walking out the door.

Harry stares after him for a long moment, before turning away and walking over to melt down into a chair.  It is then that he sees the envelope Draco has left on the table.  With trembling hands, he picks it up and carefully tears it open.

It’s just a short note, a single page.  He reads.

Don’t ever change the way you are.
I’ve never loved anyone more.

Draco

The tears fell at last.

So don’t say your goodbyes / you know it’s better that way
We won’t break we won’t die / it’s just a moment of change

 

Several hours later, Draco looks out the window of the plane down onto the city below him.  The pinks and oranges of sunset bath the clouds in warm lights and it’s beautiful.  He feels light, as if a great weight has been lifted.  Leaving Harry was one of the hardest things he’s ever done.  But it was right.  And now, he is free.  He’s going to be okay.

 

Thousands of miles away Harry stands on the balcony of his apartment watching the same sunset.  It is hard to believe Draco is really gone.  The note is clutched tightly in his hand.  He hopes Draco finds what he’s looking for.   And when Draco comes home, he’ll be here waiting.

And the sun will set for you
The sun will set for you
And the shadow of the day will embrace the world in grey
And the sun will set for you



-----------------
Author's Note: This is the story that wouldn't leave me alone, as much as I tried to focus on other things.  The idea was in my head since I heard the song "The Conversation" by Motion City Soundtrack.  It's a beautifully sad-but-good song and so much of it just seemed to fit so well with this pairing.  It gave me the idea for the final conversation- in fact, Draco's dialogue in that scene is adapted from the lyrics and appears word for word in some parts.  Other songs also heavily influenced this, including "All We Are" by OneRepublic which ties in the idea of a 'moment of change' - that as hard as these things can be, we won't break or die, that it's ok.  "Shadow of the Day" by Linkin Park was also important to this *cough*TITLE*cough*.  I think it complements "The Conversation" very well.  Also on the playlist for writing this song was "I Dare You to Move" by Switchfoot, though not actually referenced in the text of the fic.

Comments very much appreciated.  I'm still sorta settling in to writing this pairing, so concrit is, like, the best thing ever ^_^

Comments

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Thank you ^_^ Glad you liked!