Sullen Days and Solemn Nights
“I can’t believe I’m an Aunt now!” Ginny squealed on the Saturday morning following Umbridge taking over as Headmistress, “Look at them! Aw, she’s trying to open her eyes in that one.”
Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville were sprawled across the grass under the beech tree where Harry’s dad had once humiliated Snape, admiring photos that had been sent that morning by an eager Molly Weasley of the newly born triplets Ron and Ginny were now the Uncle and Aunts to. Tess had given birth late into the night on May 7th so that the group of friends didn’t learn of it until the 8th, and Harry couldn’t make a joke about what a stressful week Percy must have been having until then.
There was no need to make up or downs of how the youngest Weasley grandchild, Johannes Arthur Weasley (Tess wrote in her latest letter that she had always wanted at least on of her girls to have a dutch name and was sad she couldn’t use her favorite boy one, but now could), had been missed on the magical ultrasounds the midwife had done; he was so small, it was easy to miss him in pictures, and said midwife said that he’d probably never grow bigger than his sisters and might have a whole host of developmental problems. It seemed the family was in too high a state of bliss to worry too much about that, however.
As for his older sisters, identical twins born only seconds apart while he came two minutes after, Molly Katherine Wealey II and Lucy Anika Weasley were perfectly healthy and beautiful, both already showing the flaming red hair known among Weasleys while Hans seemed to be a brunette like his mother.
By all accounts, and in everyone's eyes, they were perfect, and almost made Harry and Ron forget about the upcoming stress of the final Quidditch match of the season; Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw. That is, until Angelina had to forcibly remind them by showing up to announce another last minute practice, which she had started making all too regular in the wake of Fred and George’s departure and the ending to the H.O.O.D.
Still, in Harry’s eyes the practices were extremely necessary, as with the twins gone Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper had taken over and they were… horrible, to say the least, and really only causing more trouble than having Beaters at all was worth. Yet that was the rule, and here they were, with only a couple weeks to go, and still Harry doubted they had any chance at beating Ravenclaw when he couldn’t see the Snitch if he was getting the butt of a bat to the face.
“At least we know Ron won’t be letting any Quaffles slip,” said Hermione at dinner the night before the match, as the two of them watched Ron sulk off without having even eaten much, claiming he needed extra sleep for the match they were sure to lose. “Even with Umbridge banning ‘Weasley Is Our King’, he might do much better without Fred and George around. They never exactly gave him a lot of confidence.” She had then stood up abruptly, barely having touched her plate, and dashed off after the redhead.
Harry couldn’t tell if he was grateful for them choosing to do… whatever it is they did when he wasn’t there now and leaving him to sulk alone, but he could tell he wasn’t getting anymore of this food down without barfing it back up. He kept imagining the next day, where he’d get smashed in the face by a Beater’s bat and embarrass himself in front of his ex-girlfriend. The thought itself was mortifying enough.
He pushed himself away from the table and hopped off his seat, on a course for the Room of Requirement which, for the past few weeks and in the time he hadn’t spent studying for O.W.L’s, practicing in Angelina’s last-minute-late-night sessions, or oohing and awing over baby Molly II, Lucy, and Hans, he’d been pacing the length of. Suspicious yes, since he and his secret illegal organization had just been kicked out of it at the beginning of May, but necessary, because Dobby said Draco was in there, spending late night’s alone doing Merlin only knows what.
But Harry wanted to know what. He needed to, because against all reason that would probably be brought by Hermione if she found out about this Draco was his friend, and he could tell something was wrong about him, beyond sleep deprivation and the fact that he was clearly starving himself.
But what?
Harry could pace all he wanted, thinking of any combination of a request to get inside and see his friend, but nothing would let him in, as the Room understood the needs of its inhabitants, and how Draco greatly wished Harry’s entry to be forbidden. It’s power was far beyond a fifth year's understanding or ability to overcome, so he could pace all he wanted, and he could even walk up and bang on the blank wall, shouting Draco’s name for all it was worth before getting told off by a passing Inquisitorial Squad lackey. Draco would still remain safe inside, never to be found placing a bird on the Vanishing Cabinet’s surface, and closing the door.
“Harmonia nectere passus.”
-*-*-*-
Shortly after Umbridge was made Headmistress she immediately let the power go to her head and rolled out several new decrees that seemed all too pointless and ridiculous. One of which being the banning of singing ‘Weasley Is Our King’ in the stands or inside the walls of Hogwarts. Of course this meant that the students could holler it until they lost their voice outside castle walls, but during a Quidditch match she had made sure they couldn’t find a loophole.
This had quickly shut down that campaigns Pansy and Lee had spearheaded to sell merchandise branded with the signature crown and phrase, as Umbridge had confiscated those too with her little decrees, and as such enthusiasm going into the Final wasn’t as lively as it usually was in past years.
Hermione refused to let this go to Harry and Ron’s heads (mostly Ron’s) in a second. “What you do in those matches isn’t because of some silly song! It’s talent, Ronald, something you’ve been working hard this whole month on improving. You’ve got this in the bag!”
It was Harry’s opinion that she didn’t need to add the extra squeezing of his hand here, and he missed the days when the three of them were all in on something and his best friends weren’t exchanging silent messages with their eyes, but it was time to go down to the pitch and even the students were getting ready to leave, hoping to at least get good seats for a match no one was as excited as they should be about.
Well, no one except Luna Lovegood, who now bore what appeared to be a live eagle perched on her blonde head of hair, but it was Luna after all, so what was one meant to expect with her?
One bonus right out of the gate - or, right into the stadium - that Harry could see was that it was a fine, clear day, without a cloud in the sky or touch of mugginess in the air. Perfect weather, really, yet still he found himself wondering if he’d be able to spot the Snitch around a Beater’s bat or Cho’s shiny black hair. Seeing her standing across the grounds, tightening the braces around her arms, made him recall the first time he’d ever played her. Back then he’d felt a weird turning in his gut he now recognized to be the signs of his first crush, but today he only felt very uncomfortable, as if ready to puke.
Splitting on good terms or not, this was going to be rough.
Slytherin and Hufflepuff, in the race for the Quidditch Cup, were tied with four hundred forty points each, and one of the teams playing today would have to beat that to secure the Cup for themselves, otherwise the two would have to compete for a tie-breaker. To get the Cup, Gryffindor would have to score two hundred twenty points and prevent Ravenclaw from getting two hundred ten. The odds were certainly not in either team’s favor, so who could blame Lee Jordan’s bored commentary and the crowd's overall loss of optimism (besides the fact that Fred and George’s departure left Lee downhearted and the school was in a bad mood overall with Umbridge taking over). So, when the Ravenclaw lined up before the Gryffindor’s, Lee’s voice was understandably dry.
“Patil… Goldstein… Corner… Chambers… Bradley… Davies… Chang,” he said, and again Harry’s stomach did a flip as the loose strands of her bonytail blew in the wind, but somehow he didn’t feel at all jealous watching her talking with Roger Davies, whom he knew had his sights on her. He merely wished for things to not be so awkward for them anymore.
“And they’re off!” Announced Lee when Hooch blew the whistle and they all kicked off the grass, and Harry zig-zagged his way through the intertwining players up to the clear blue sky, stopping once he’d reached about twenty feet above the tallest hoops level to scan the chaotic pitch, Lee’s commentary only a mere buzzing bee in his ear. “And Davies takes the Quaffle immediately, Ravenclaw Captain Davies with the Quaffle, he dodges Johnson, he dodges Bell, he dodges Spinnet as well… he’s going straight for goal! He’s going to shoot - and - and -” Lee swore very loudly. “And he’s scored.”
The stands erupted in loud moans and groans as Harry saw Ron’s lips move in what he was sure wouldn’t be a word Mrs. Weasley would like him to be using. He turned his broom downwards and plunged down so he could fly right under his friend and call up to him, “You got this Ron! It’s all you!” But he didn’t know how helpful that would be really, as he was no Hermione. It was all he could do, so he began his search for the Snitch once more.
Twice he ended up having to doge Sloper’s bat, and in that time Angelina and Alicia had played hot potato with the Quaffle before Alice kicked it spectacularly right past Padma’s nose, and the crowd erupted with applause. Twice he’d thought he’d seen gold but it had turned out to be a crown a student was wearing in the stands that hadn’t managed to get confiscated by Umbridge, and in that time Alicia had made two more, equally dazzling scores.
But Davies had the Quaffle once more.
“It’s Davies with the Quaffle and he’s coming up on the youngest Weasley boy for the second time today. He’s winding up - he shoots - and - OH MY MERLIN!”
The crowd broke into raucous applause and cheers and Harry spun around short from his search of the grass, grinning as he caught the save just in time; Ron had rose from his broom to stand in his feet and catch the ball in his hands, which had been frustratingly too high and at an angle his broom would miss if he rose on it, and had swung upside down, clearly by accident as he clung to the broomstick with his legs, but Katie was circling below him, grinning wide, and he was able to drop it into her waiting hands before righting himself.
“I'VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE THAT!” Lee was jumping up and down and screaming, his vigor and spirit for Quidditch commentating returned with new strength and Harry couldn't blame him, or McGonagall's failure to compose herself as she cheered and clapped along. He was just as stunned, flying close to his friend to shout, “Nice save, Weasley King!” and could make out the smallest of grins of disbelief on his friend's face, even as he clung to his broom, too stunned to move.
The snitch was still out there, though, and Cho was no doubt upset from that near impossible save, so he needed to keep looking. Harry turned his broom around and raised above the goal posts, scanning the skies. He zoomed off, in pursuit of a glint of gold that turned out to be the sun playing tricks with his glasses, but still he kept on flying, and Ron had some saves and misses, but overall seemed to be enjoying himself a lot more.
One thing was for sure though, those Bludgers were certainly causing far too much trouble for Harry’s liking. Not only were they troubling for him to fly around - bringing back not so happy memories to Second Year - but they were also a bit too close to the Chaser’s for the girls to really get a lot of goals. In fact, they seemed to be a hindrance to everyone on the pitch, making this game draw on longer and longer. Yet still Harry couldn’t spot the Snitch.
And then he saw it, and he instantly knew why he hadn’t managed to before.
For the scoreboard above Lee’s commentating box said 200 - 60, and if Harry’s math was correct…
“Cho, wait!”
Yet her fingers had already closed around the Snitch hovering just above the Professor’s heads, including a certain bow-wearing brunette Headmistress. Harry sighed, swearing lowly under his breath, and swooping down towards the ground and the Ravenclaw team that was now flooding their Seeker, who beamed, as stunning as ever, raising the Snitch high in triumph.
Now Harry was very grateful they had split on good terms, as he had no clue how he’d get through this without Cho having no animosity towards him.
“CHO!” Now her head snapped around to him, and she gave a mischievous smirk, waving the Snitch and proclaiming, “See? Malfoy’s not the only one who can beat the great Harry Potter!” He didn’t have time for jokes though. “You didn’t win, Cho.”
“What?” She questioned, and Anthony, who had been high fiving with Davies, turned in surprise and slight horror at his words. “We didn’t?” He exclaimed while Davies folded his arms to ask, “What’dya mean?”
“Look at the score,” He pointed sadly up at the scoreboard, which Lee and McGonagall were conversing deeply below, no doubt coming to the same conclusions as him, and, though it pained his heart to see it, watched as the hope sank out of the Ravenclaw players eyes and out of sight. Because with those two hundred-ten to two hundred points added to what the two teams already had, that meant all four teams were now tied at four forty, and the odds of that were already ugly without adding to the fact that Cho…
“I caught the Snitch above Umbridge’s head,” She turned to stare wide eyed and horror struck up at her Captain. “She did this on purpose!” Davies gritted his teeth, nodding. “So no one would get the Cup… Damn it!” Throwing his broom to the grass roughly he turned and stormed off then, hunching his shoulders, but who could blame him?
Immediately, Harry thought of the other Seventh Years like him, who had been hoping against all hope for a chance at the Cup, and at least deserved a great final season. Angelina, who through all those ridiculously late or often practices and obsession over captaincy just like Wood, still deserved a win after all that hard work, sweat, and tears. Cedric, who needed happiness after the hellscape that was the Triwizard - Harry should know - and even Montague, stuck in a Vanishing Cabinet but at least holding onto the hope that his team could pull through with the job he’d done in their final game.
All of that was gone now, because it didn’t matter to Umbridge if Quidditch was something everyone at Hogwarts enjoyed or deserved. It didn’t matter that it was one of the few things left of the Hogwarts spirit these kids still had locked away inside them. To her, it was just that; Hogwarts spirit, and she couldn’t have that in her mini-Ministry, especially now that she had total control over it.
“Harry!” Harry turned at the sound of Ron’s voice calling him, and could see that behind him the other Gryffindor’s were already fighting with the Ravenclaws, pushing and shoving over who had won fair and square, instead of accepting the defeat of a tie and Umbridge’s abolishment of the Cup. Ron stood apart from it all, waving a hand, still clutching his broom and looking very confused. “What happened? Did we -”
He came closer as Harry stepped forward as well, and when the two met Harry put what he hoped was a comforting hand on his best friend's shoulder, saying, “We lost.” And Ron, Ron who had worked so hard for the past eight months, Ron who had been so happy to see the school singing in his favor, Ron who finally felt as if he had something he was good at apart from everyone else, for no one in the Weasley clan could be a Keeper like him, widened his blue eyes in despair, bit down on his bottom lip, and crumpled against his friend’s body.
Harry didn’t resist, and for the first time since Umbridge had taken over, for the entire school that had come to view the Quidditch Final, it felt like they had all truly lost to her terror.
-*-*-*-
Everyone was in a solemn mood for a very long time after that game. It never seemed to go away, really, and students were instead left keeping their heads bowed low as they answered questions on assignments given to them by cranky teachers. It no longer felt as if they were waiting for a shoe to drop and take Umbridge away from them forever, but that she had already won, solidifying her victory with her official announcement of ceasing Quidditch the following morning of the match.
To add onto that, June had arrived, and with it, fifth and seventh years had to face the truth of O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s arriving all too quickly. Harry thought there was nothing that could make everyone's mood worse, and yet here the Gryffindor trio was, sitting beneath a beach tree with no cute baby pictures in sight, and instead pouring over their textbooks with concentrated expressions. It was here where Hermione finally dropped her own shoe, releasing the uncomfortable truth she had been hiding since the match.
And yeah, if there was anything that was going to ruin Harry's mood more, a secret Giant living in the Forbidden Forest that was actually Hagrid's half-brother would certainly do it.
“He brought one back and hid it in the Forest?” Was Ron’s first exclamation upon Hermione finishing retelling a tale she still seemed to shiver at and, well, Harry couldn’t blame her, even in his too-stunned-to-speak state. According to the story, ‘Grawp’ had picked her up like the trees he yanked from their roots for fun, and that’s how she had attained the strange limp she’d had in the days following the match.
“Yes,” Hermione sighed now, rubbing her knee, where, also according to the story, she’d fallen on a rock when finally put down. Instantly, and Harry pretended not to notice, Ron reached forward to help massage it, making her go pink, though he was still rambling under his breath and took no notice. “No, no, he can’t have…”
“Well, he has,” Hermione waved a hand in exasperation. “Grawp’s about sixteen feet tall, enjoys ripping up twenty-foot pine trees, nearly smashed my knee and knows me,” she snorted, “as Hermy.”
Ron met her eyes and gave a nervous laugh she did not return. Harry leaned forwards. “So how does Hagrid expect us to teach him English, then?” Ron turned to Harry and shook his head in disbelief, exclaiming, “He can’t, he’d have to have lost his mind to -”
“He fully believes we are going to do it.” Hermione said grimly, turning a page in Intermediate Transfiguration, a book Harry hadn’t even picked up yet to study as he knew it by heart, and was sure he’d get an ‘O’ in Transfiguration just as sure as he was with Defense Against the Dark Arts, now. “So if that means he’s lost his mind then… so be it, but Harry,” She looked at her, brow furrowed in something of an accusatory glare. “He says you promised you’d do this for him.”
And in one jarring moment Harry remembered promising Hagrid and felt a drop in his gut. “Yeah… but I didn’t have a clue he meant this!”
“Well, he did, and now we’re stuck.” Hermione snapped but Ron raised a comforting hand towards her and pointed out, “We could always use exams as an excuse not to do it? I mean, we can’t possibly get away with it even without being torn apart, right? We’re about that far -” he held up two fingers to emphasize just how close they were, “- from being kicked out as it is. And anyway… remember Norbert? Remember Aragog? Have we ever come off better for mixing with any of Hagrid’s monster mates?”
“I know, it’s just that - I promised,” said Hermione in a small voice and Ron, apparently unable to look at her broken expression any longer and instead running a hand through his hair, smoothing it flat and sighing. “Well, Hagrid hasn’t been sacked yet, has he? He’s hung on this long, maybe he’ll hang on till the end of term and we won’t have to go near Grawp at all.” Harry wanted to believe in Ron’s hope, but hope was a thing of dreams far from his own nightmares, and hardly something any of the students possessed in their hearts any longer, so they might as well be packing Hagrid’s bags for him at that very moment.
-*-*-*-
A year ago, Draco had awoken to the age of fifteen feeling a lifetime older, and this year was no different. Only this year, he didn’t go down to a pile of gifts from his parents, for there were no gifts to send while under Lord Voldemort’s watchful red eyes. There were still gifts from his friends laid out, and one small box labeled ‘H.P’ but Draco ignored them all.
He blamed it on O.W.L. study, as he so often did these days, and trudged down to the Room of Requirement with his head bowed. He’d get one series of healing charms on the Cabinet before he’d have to head off to Arithmancy, where he’d be questioned once more for failing to complete his homework. His father, in his coded letters, managed to warn him still to make sure he beat Hermione Granger in the O.W.L.s so his class grades had suffered as he turned all his spare time to studying instead. When he had to wait among the piles of haunted junk in the Room well the spell set, or late nights with Myrtle where he needed something to tire his brain and lull him into sleep.
Arithmancy was easy now that he read through it cleanly every night before burning new letters from Death Eater’s, however, so maybe he’d manage to pass this class. Whether it was purely numbers written in invisible ink or letters which were numbers that when added together forming new letters, Arithmancy was everywhere around him now. He’d still have to avoid the gaze of one Granger girl, though, and her no doubt eagerness to wish him a happy birthday.
“Draco?” He was right, Merlin help him, and as soon as he sat at his desk, seemingly, the muggleborn slid beside him, dropping her bag and leaning forward to try and see his face, ducked over his parchment. “Draco, it’s your birthday isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said swiftly, dipping his quill in ink. Best to get her off his back now. “I’m sixteen.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her smile, and while there was a suspicious looking cut on her cheek added to it, he didn’t question it, because it was still the smile of a friend he’d lost by his own accord, and a smile he missed deep down. Besides, if these past few months had taught him anything, it was that everyone had a right to secrets.
She kept quiet the rest of the lesson, and Draco was content with that.
Next was his two hour break, which was plenty of time to put in at least three more healing spells on the Cabinet before lunch, when it would be ready for his incantation and practice with the birds he’d just stolen from Lydia Moon’s secret collection. It would have been enough time, if things hadn’t had to go wrong.
He paced the wall three times as usual, guarded from passerby by Crabbe and Goyle, whom he had tipped off with galleons and no information on the truth of what he was doing - they didn’t ask for it - all the while thinking, I need the Room of Hidden Things over and over, making sure to clear all other thoughts from his brain.
He paused at the final pace, turning for the door which had always appeared, always been there, waiting, only to find a blank wall.
Draco’s breath hitched somewhere in his throat, like someone had just thrown a rock down it and lodged it there, and for one more moment, he just stared, before pinching the bridge of his nose, and trying again. Surely he was just exhausted, that had to be it, for he couldn’t think of the last time he had gotten a healthy amount of sleep and -
And the same thing. Draco stopped breathing for a moment before coughing rather harshly and pacing again. At this moment Gregory turned with a raised eyebrow and called out, “Are you alright, Draco?” but Draco yelled back, “FINE!” and turned sharply on his heel, finding the wall still blank and cursing.
He didn’t know how long this went on. Could’ve been minutes, could have been the whole break, but eventually Vincent and Gregory both came over to grab him by the shoulders and set him on the floor. Only then did he even notice he had been banging against the stone surface of the blank wall, fists now aching as he lowered his head into his knees, mumbling for his friends to ‘leave.’ He doubted they heard though, as his loyal friends had never been known to ignore directions but still they sat beside him and waited as he did.
For the door to appear? For a sign as to why this occurred? Maybe even a sign that this could all end, and that he was never meant to be a part of this awful plot against his Headmaster in the first place. He was sure his friends were at the very least waiting for him to succumb to the darkness of sleep in wait for these other things and, eventually, he did.
Vincent went down to Professor Vector’s room to explain that his friend hadn’t been getting much sleep due to the stress of O.W.L.s and she accepted it, so Draco was allowed sleep all through lunch, during which he stayed kneeled against the blank wall, that didn’t change. The door never appeared, and he was left to sit there, waiting for nothing.
-*-*-*-
Harry was almost out the Great Hall doors when he felt a hand slip in his, and wasn’t surprised in the least to turn and see Hermione gazing up at him with pained eyes. He completely understood it, too. The same feeling he had back at Grimmauld Place, before this horrible nightmare of a year even began, crept under his skin as his eyes met hers, and he couldn't help but be painfully reminded of how worried she and the twins had been when all they’d had from Draco was a coded letter back then.
Now the twins were gone, and so was Draco, it seemed. And Harry was left third wheeling Ron and Hermione, who wouldn't stop staring at each other with the clear want to close the gap between each other and hug, but refused to in their best friend's presence. But Harry would be glad to leave, and leave them alone, if only they let him…
“I have to find him.” So he spoke before she could open her mouth, and instead watched her smile and nod, so that the worry lines that had sprouted from long nights studying for the all too fast approaching O.W.L.s creased. “It’s his birthday, Hermione.”
“I know.” She let go then, after squeezing his hand once, and as he turned to walk away he heard her call out, “Wish him happy birthday for us, okay, Harry?” but kept on walking. He knew she knew he heard her, but he needed to find his friend.
Of course he went to the Room of Requirement first, because even if endless pacing wouldn’t allow him to get inside, if he waited long enough, Draco would have to leave eventually; whether it was to go to his Common Room, or even if it took all night and he left only for classes. Harry would wait, because he had allowed himself to finally fall apart and feel like he was fourteen again with Draco at Christmas, only for the other boy to ignore his presence and act all too suspiciously moody since, and all he had done was wait in that time for his old friend to come back to him. He’d waited for six months now - he could wait a little longer.
He wouldn’t have to though, because after the painstaking scaling of the stairs, where his feet dragged and limbs ache because even if his mind was prepared to wait his body was not ready, Harry turned a corner and stopped short, emerald eyes instantly locking onto faded gray, misty as the aftermath of a storm. Draco.
All too forcefully, Harry felt himself being pulled into a memory, as if by a pensieve, when it had been the two of them shouting at each other in this hallway, only the troll-ballerina painting separating them, and later a plain brown door. The wall was still flat and blank though, as it had been in Harry’s countless attempts to get to Draco before.
He didn’t need to, though, for the boy was right there, in front of him, staring at him still and silent. Unmoving and showing not a single emotion. Typical, in regards to how Draco had been behaving to all as of late, but still, Harry felt a frown creep on his lips. And then he felt himself raise a foot, and another, and another… Before he could stop himself, Harry was walking forwards to his friend and, to his surprise, Draco was too.
They met in the middle, still staring, both most definitely having flashbacks to the year before, now. To a world so much more simpler, where they had fought, yes, but then found a door to a Room they discovered together and from then on, their friendship had begun.
Now Harry wasn’t even sure if they were enemies. He couldn’t tell if Draco cared about him at all. He did see, however, that the boy was now reaching into his pocket, and had pulled out a square box.
It was Harry’s birthday present.
“Thank you,” Draco said, then finally let his eyes let go of Harry’s so he could unwrap the thing, pulling out the chain necklace with a marveled expression. It was a plain chain, yes, but what hung on it, a small stag, with a ferret perched between its antlers… that’s what made Draco’s eyes water. His lips trembled before he looked up and saw the soft, hopeful expression in those shiny emeralds and cried out in pain, buckling down to his knees and clutching the necklace to his chest.
Harry didn’t know why - he had no way of knowing why - but the why didn’t matter now, did it? Right now, this boy, friend or foe, was in pain, and, friend or foe, he nevertheless cared about him, in a way he couldn’t sort out. A way he hadn’t been able to sort out for a while now. Yet still he bent down and hugged him close, as if trying desperately to warp reality and take them back to fourteen, and a world no simpler, yet somehow all the more desirable.
Vaguely, he heard Draco whispering “I’m sorry” in his ear, on and on, but couldn’t make sense of why, so he himself just repeated “It’s okay”, which only made poor Draco cry even more, knowing that Harry would never understand it was most certainly not okay; that he had to kill their Headmaster. That there was a Dark Mark permanently scarred on his arm. That nothing would ever be ‘okay’ again.
For now, however, Harry did not care whether he understood everything or not, he just wanted to hold his friend tight, and try his best to make all of the bad go away, and bring back the good boy he knew was still buried down inside him, however deep.
Even as his scar pounded immensely and painfully, and he hadn’t a clue why.
-*-*-*-
Harry didn’t know how long had passed until real words had spoken, but they eventually were, when Draco leaned against the blank wall, red eyed as he stared at the portrait of the trolls desperate to learn ballet. Harry squatted slightly in front of him, so he could watch him closely to make sure he was alright (or, as alright as he could get) before asking, “What happened?”
Draco, in spite of himself, smirked. Two words, and months of justification. A tale too horrid to tell to even be believed by anyone other than Harry, and, if it was, it would surely get him kicked out of the school, and most likely straight to Azkaban.
“A lot,” He settled for saying after a long sigh where he pressed his head against the wall to stare up at the ceiling. “And -” “You can’t tell me it all,” Harry nodded, shuffling closer to him, “I know, but could you at least try? Just tell me something… please. I…” He swallowed, because his throat had suddenly felt very clogged up, as if he was asking an all too beautiful Cho Chang to the Yule Ball again. “I miss you.”
That nearly sent Draco into tears again, and he’d opened his mouth to answer, getting out, “You wouldn’t under -” Before a click and a creaking noise snapped both of their heads around.
A door had appeared, seemingly out of thin air, but with good experience the two now knew it was the door to the Room of Requirement, and it had opened, letting a small patch of light fall onto the dark corridor’s floor, drawing Draco, like a moth to a flame, to a stand and step towards it. Harry stood as well, walking over to stand a safe distance behind as Draco pulled the door further out and looked inside the Room of Many Things.
Of course, Harry didn’t know that that was what this particular form of the Room was called, or what he was looking at at all; all he saw was mountains of trash and nick nacks. But Draco saw hope.
The Slytherin took a step inwards, but the Gryffindor reached out and grabbed his hand. He felt cold, and knew it was because he had touched the chain dangling from between Draco’s fingers. He softened his shoulders a bit, recalling the hours he’d spent meticulously transfiguring every detail of the necklace out of the badge Draco had given him an eternity ago, on a Christmas that felt like a lost trip to heaven compared to this.
“Draco?”
He didn’t turn his head. Of course not, the boy was too wrapped up in the possibilities ahead. The Vanishing Cabinet that lies in wait for him.
“Be safe.” He let go, Draco went on. The door shut behind him, and Harry watched it fade back into a blank wall, as if never there in the first place, sealing him away from his lost friend, and leaving him alone once more.
All at once, the pounding in his scar stopped, but again, he hadn’t a clue why, or a care as he dropped to his knees to pick up the wrappings of his opened gift, as if wishing hard enough would bring Draco back before him, so he could replay that moment on and on, and the feeling of his friend in his arms again.
Meanwhile, Draco walked on, finding his way to the Vanishing Cabinet easily, and turning to open the bird cage he had stolen just as quickly only to find it was empty.
His hand flinched in reaching for it, then he slowly turned his head to the suddenly very ominous looking black doors behind him, and, slowly but surely, turned the lock on them, and opened.
Two birds flew out, and, call it Seeker’s instinct, he caught them immediately, then shoved them back inside, locking the doors and stepping back.
Something was telling him exactly what was going on here, but he couldn’t believe it. He tapped his wand against the doors, opened them again, and nearly gasped aloud to find the inside of the cabinet entirely empty, not a feather in sight.
Slowly, he stepped back, and tapped the doors again. His hands shook as they rose to open the doors again - he could already hear fluttering of wings.
He grabbed the handles, and heard a peck, and sure enough, after throwing them open two brilliantly yellow birds flew out and around his head, lofty and free, and perfectly whole.
For the second time that night, Draco broke down into tears, clutching one of the bride gratefully. He wasn’t grieving, he was laughing, manically, because it had worked. The Vanishing Cabinet was fixed, which meant his plan could work and he wouldn’t die! His parents wouldn’t die.
But Dumbledore would.
All at once, Draco fell to his knees, and the tears became grieving once more. For himself, for his parents, for Harry or for Dumbledore, he didn’t know anymore. He did know one thought had forced itself free of it’s Occlumency prison now, and was echoing strongly around his head:
The Vanishing Cabinet was fixed at last, but at what cost?
He laughed a little again, an awful sound that died in his throat as soon as it came.
Happy Birthday to me, right?