Chapter 13
April 6th 1979
Reg,
I keep running the fight with Marlene through my head. I can’t make heads nor tails of it. I don’t find myself to be wrong here.
Maybe I am being overdramatic. Maybe I am selfish and manipulative and Marlene is right, I'm being unfair and so on. But it doesn't feel like it. She broke my trust. She broke the promise. If she couldn't even keep her word on something this small, if her promise to me meant so little, does she even love me at all? To be so dismissive of something she knew would hurt me.
I spoke to Panda, she said she understood, that it is not a big thing to ask but that maybe I was being drastic. Said they know how much I love her and if I cut her out like this it won't ever be good again. I know they're right, I know that. I want everything I dreamed of. I want it so badly Reg. But I promised myself I wouldn't be treated like that again. That I wouldn't let someone make me feel insignificant again. Maybe she’s right. But she wasn't the one holding me on the bathroom floor while I sobbed and threw up all evening.
I left my family for her, I chose the opposite side of the war when we left school in July. I would have died for her. I don't know, maybe I am being oversensitive. I've messed up so many times I don't even know, but I never chose to hurt her. I never did it on purpose.
For months now there’s been intermittent arguments and empty promises and delayed conversations and me trying to pretend everything was fine in between to make the most of things. At what point do you write it off? If we can’t or won’t fix things? When is love not enough? I have nothing to give her but unhealthy attachments and trauma. It doesn't feel like it’s enough anymore. I don't feel good enough anymore. She’s been making me feel like a monster, always fucking up, always trying, never enough no matter what I sew onto myself to fix it. Now this. It doesn't feel like love anymore and I don't understand why.
I love her so much, enough to take the hint and stay away? Enough to keep flaying myself for her? How do you quantify which is the greater act of love?
I’m sick of making the wrong choices. I love her so much, more than my next breath. But do I not deserve more than silence and broken promises?
Anyways, I think you’re still on Easter break right? Can you bring me some of Kreacher's soup please? I can’t eat anything. Also a hydration potion? I had to call out of work. I can't stop crying, it's embarrassing.
Yours until hell (May it welcome us soon),
Cas
April 6th 1979
Cas,
Kreacher is at the cauldron and I'm brewing a fresh calming draft for you. Try to refrain from being too emotional, we shall be with you within the hour.
I have very little advice to give you. I understand completely. Sometimes love is just not enough. And sometimes people who love us don't show it in ways that we feel.
Sometimes it’s for the better to walk away. Even if it feels like the world is ending right now and you can't breathe around the loss in your chest.
Don’t get me wrong, as furious as I am with Marlene, I want you to be happy and I think she could have been your happily ever after. You deserve one.
Yours until hell,
R.A.B
Harry stares at the date on the letter. April 1979. Regulus Black disappeared in July 1979. Regulus Black died within weeks of this letter. Regulus must've been in his home over the Easter break, attending Death Eater meetings and making his plan for Voldemort. Was this letter after Voldemort had used Kreacher, did Regulus understand what the task ahead of him was at this point? Was he counting down his days already?
He can imagine it though, Regulus spending every spare second with Dorcas over his last school break. Comforting her in a way outside his usual allowances, knowing to treasure the time with her. Did he count her heartbeats on that bathroom floor? Did he listen to every heaving sob and glad for the air in her lungs? Her weight in his hands? Did he hold her a bit too close? Love her a bit too hard? Harry can imagine that Regulus would dig his fingers in when he allowed himself. He can see the same trait in Draco, he thinks. Keeping everything so tightly locked up at all times that relaxing the internal leash results in sharp edged love, crescent moon indents left in skin and too tight clutching of jumper sleeves. Did Dorcas feel it in his movements, so wrapped up in her own heartbreak as to not see her friend saying goodbye in his actions?
Knowing he’ll never find the answers in the letter in his hands, Harry folds it up and reaches for another. It’s addressed to his mother, it’s sealed. He recognises Remus’ hand on the front but the prospect of another undelivered letter makes his chest ache.
Beloved Lily,
I find myself turning 30 alone. I find myself alone.
I'm perhaps being dramatic. I have friends, of course I do, I have an entire life, well mostly. It's more a ramshackled outhouse in terms of lives. I suppose I was cursed to never leave that shack.
Next year will mark a decade since you died. You and James. Since Pete was killed and Sirius betrayed us all. At first the pain of it was incandescent. So bright and loud I couldn’t feel anything around it. Then it became almost numb. Like when you burn your hand and it's so hot you can’t feel it for a moment. Then it begins to blister and the pain is ever present. Then you just have burn marks. Unmistakable, violent on the flesh. A constant reminder. Phantom pain from the original injury. I feel like the burns on my heart must have metastasized it beyond credibility. A stark warning sign to anyone who might wish to get too close.
I watch them now, the people in my life, as they fall in love and fall apart. I smile at their blushes and I remember, I remember like it’s a sentencing. I used to lie awake as a child and wonder what I could have done to deserve the punishment levied out to me by Greyback. I would try and imagine how awful I must be to deserve it. The question has only intensified as I ask myself now, why my punishment is to remember. To walk this world with a heart that beats the dirge of those I have lost. A heart that seems to only function as a mausoleum for everyone I have ever loved.
When Mary told me her plan I thought she was weak. Weak and selfish. Unfair of me, perhaps. In truth I was jealous. Envious in the extreme of her ability to walk away. I could not be free of this world in any way other than death thanks to my condition. Your beloved Mary and the luxury of forgetting. I am sentenced to remember.
I do forget, sometimes. Especially at first. I would hear something, see something, and think to tell you. I would reach for my pen, for my landline, turn to share a look with you and find empty space. A hole in the fabric of the world where my best friend should be. And then I would turn for Sirius. Reach for him, so absently I didn't even realise till my hand would slip through where he should be. How I took it all for granted. Every soft touch, every smothered giggle. Every single fucking moment, I took it all for granted.
Even that is a lie. At first, in the beginning I treasured it all. When we were at school, when no one knew about Moony. I would treat every moment with gloves, precious, liable to smash in an instant. I thought I would lose everything when people found out. I think, if I had remained that cautious, traumatised child, it would have been easier to handle. But I was so loved, for whatever reasoning beyond my comprehension, I was loved by you. Over time you wore away that hesitation. Wore away the feeling I would lose you. Pressed away at it with reassurances and birthday cards and hugs without letting go. I believed it. Believed in love. Believed in our family, our home. Our pack. So I began to take it for granted, began to expect it. Stopped taking every moment for the blessing it was. It all shattered in the end.
I went to Edinburgh on your birthday, like we promised each other. After the war, I went and visited all the bookshops we talked about. Armchair books was perfect. You would've loved it. I climbed Calton Hill and I got cake from that bakery and I ate it while the sun set. Call me delusional but I could've sworn the world was with me, the sunset hit the exact shade of red as your hair. For a moment the world had colour again, the grass was frost bitten and I could feel it eating through my trousers, the breeze carried the smell of hot coffee and I could crave it. Just for those heartbeats. Just for a moment, I could forget you weren’t with me, because I could feel you there.
I think, to summarise, I miss you dearly.
Yours forever,
Remus.
Harry cries, he cries for a while and then he climbs upstairs to the spare room and pulls out one of Hermione’s jumpers. It fits him with ease and he inhales the scent of her. The soft comfort and smell of home. His mother and Remus remind him so much of himself and Hermione. Only children, close as siblings. More than that though. A sibling not just by blood, but by choice. A twin flame. Maybe he should ask her to go to Edinburgh with him this winter. They can start an annual pilgrimage in honour of Lily Evans and Remus Lupin. Two people who deserved so much more than the world ever gave them. She would go in a heartbeat. She can browse the bookstores while Harry adds to his inherited record collection.
Still wrapped in her jumper, Harry walks to the room next to his and opens the door. It’s dusty and cluttered and nowhere near ready for human inhabitants. But he learnt a lot about cleaning from the Dursleys and he has magic on his side.
When George finds him 6 hours later, Harry is sitting in the middle of the now empty, now spotless room. Sunrise is breaching the London rooftops and spilling in over the windowpane, warming Harry’s sock clad feet. George hands him a cup of tea and lifts a can of sage green paint.
“I have to say Harry, it’s a good colour for a nursery.”
James,
Oh my love how far we have fallen. How badly we went up in flames. It has all burnt down, every bridge, every crossing and every path to forgiveness. It’s all gone.
I thought I was the mean one and yet, the callous disregard from you has been agonising. I should have known better than to think someone like you would ever really love me. I proved myself to be exactly what you suspected.
I was not strong enough to be yours. I did not have the power to be what you need. I will try, for the rest of whatever time I have left to be someone you would be proud to say is yours. Because I am, I always will be. I have no way of not being. I never loved you to be loved back. I couldn’t help falling in love with you actually, you’re everything.
I know I hurt you, you made that clear. I wish I could claim that it was deliberate, that I chose to lose you but I didn't. I am not strong and I am not brave.
I have been injured in a battle today, so forgive me the loss of composure, I'm half delusional. Even as my body falls apart I can feel the itch in my soul, the clawing free of my body and back to you. Like none of it matters. Like we could run away.
This wound in me will heal in no time, and this hole in my heart will last a lifetime. The feeling in my chest is all encompassing. I fear you have taken my lungs with you too. For I can never find enough breath in all the world now that I walk it without you. I cannot contend with the caving in of my chest.
Sometimes it becomes so overwhelming I cannot do anything but scream and sob. Evan has begun to carry calming drafts with him. How do you do it? Carry on so easily? I can't even eat. I cannot sleep. I just lie awake and feel the way my soul crawls to be free of my skin.
It is little comfort to know I don't have to carry this with me for much longer, I am en route to hell within the day.
Will you miss me? When I am gone? Will you look across the street every time you see a flash of hair that could be mine? Will your heart lurch for me in your chest? Will it sink when you find a stranger? Will you still curse my name with your friends when I am a martyr? Will you finally be proud of me? When my body is in the ground and The Dark Lord defeated, will you cry for me then? Will you regret it then? Or will you be even angrier with me?
I don't think I mind either way, just don't forget me. Don't forget that I loved you.
Yours until hell.
R A B
Harry had remained in the chair all of 30 seconds after finishing the letter before taking off to Malfoy manor. He passes the Aurors with ease, none of them stopping him as he strode through the grounds. He doesn't look for the living occupants of the house, simply following his previous path to the library. The portrait's voice reaches him before he's even past the landscape.
“You Potters really know how to make an entrance, don’t you” Regulus spares him a fleeting glance before returning to his book. Harry holds up the letter. ”Brandishing that at me won’t surmount to a question Harry, you’ll have to articulate for me.”
“It’s your letter to my dad” Harry states, lowering it to his side and watching Regulus who just throws him a withering look.
“Which one? Are you here to grill me on my romantic prowess? Is my erotica not up to your standard?” Regulus is grinning at him now and Harry can see why his father fell so hard.
“The unopened one,” he says. That wipes the grin off his face. Regulus closes his book and leans forward in his chair, face hollow.
“The unsent one.” Remus must have found it in Regulus’ old room when he was living in Number 12. He must have decided against opening it alone. Harry wonders at that, how Remus left these letters unopened. Perhaps he thought they would only bring him more pain. Perhaps Harry gets that.
“You were trying to kill yourself?” Harry asks.
“I knew I would probably die, Harry. In the end the inferi were just too strong. It was just a tragic accident.”
“How hard did you try?” Harry demands, angry now. Angry at this pointless loss of life. “You’re clever, Regulus, smarter than most. You know that fire repels them. How hard did you swim? How hard did you fight?”
“Haven't you ever just been tired?” Regulus drawls. Harry is shaking, trembling with rage that he suspects to secretly be grief. Regulus’ face softens. “Your dad was like this, desperate to help at all costs.” Harry can’t help the kernel of warmth that grows in him at that. “Shame he could never help himself with his own issues,” Regulus adds and Harry frowns.
“What does that mean?” he demands.
“It means, he was so desperate for everyone around him to be happy that he would bleed himself out for it. He stretched himself too much trying to hold everyone else together that he was pulling himself apart.” Regulus shakes his head. “Admirable I suppose. But he had his faults and his issues.”
“Why did he care so much?” Harry asks softly. Regulus smiles;
“He wanted to be enough.”
“Enough for who?”
“I don’t know. I never understood it because he was everything, always was enough. Even with his bad days James Potter was enough. More than good enough.”
“Like sunshine,” Harry mutters and Regulus laughs bitterly.
“I would have died a thousand times to feel his sunlight just once.” Harry studies him.
“Why did you break up with him? I know the reasons you told yourself but… I've seen it before Andy and Ted even. If the love is enough you could have overridden it. Found a way.”
“Because sometimes love is not enough. It’s unstable. The love that lasts, that grows. It has stable foundations. Unfortunately, if you don't have that base, your love can burn brighter than any but it will be washed out.” Regulus sounds hollow now, haunted.
“How do you build a stable foundation?”
“I, evidently, do not know,” Regulus drawls, voice sharper again now. “Your father needed someone who was healthy. I am not. I couldn’t be what he needed me to be. I didn’t know how. He held me to a higher standard than I had so much as seen before and it was unachievable for me. I wasn't strong enough to be better.”
“So you just…martyred yourself?” Harry huffs and Regulus shrugs.
“My heart had not been so loved as to understand the gravity of that loss till it was gone. I wanted to carve it from my chest. I thought he would be disappointed in me so I did something good on my way down.”
“You’re not in hell though, you’re in Malfoy manor.”
“I hadn't counted on Narcissa. Although, I think your Miss Granger might call them the same thing” Regulus drawls and Harry scowls.
“That was nasty.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I ask you something?” Harry hadn't planned on this but… he actually respects Regulus quite a bit.
“Isn’t that all you ever do?” Regulus arches a brow and Harry bites his lip on a grin. Regulus’ eyes drop to watch the movement and he tuts “Just like your mother.”
“Remus made me Teddy’s godfather. An-”
“Wait,” Regulus jerks in his chair, hand raising as though to stop Harry with his hand. “Remus had a child?” Regulus shakes his head, lost. “Where did Remus acquire a child?” Harry hesitates, Draco and Mrs Malfoy hadn't told him?
“Tonks got pregnant after they got married,” Harry ventures and Regulus stares at him. Face completely blank. “Andromeda's daughter? Nymphadora?”
“Remus Lupin. Married Andromeda's daughter? And they procreated?” Regulus asks, Harry nods and Regulus bursts out laughing.
“That’s fucked up.” Harry doesn't really have anything to say to that. Regulus breathes in and smiles at Harry, clearly trying not to keep laughing. “How old is the child?”
“Almost four months.” The laugh dissolves from Regulus’ face and he exhales heavily. “He was the last orphan of the war.”
“It’s funny, this isn't how I thought we would become family. Is the babe well?”
“Perfectly healthy.”
“You’re taking him in?” Regulus asks him as though Harry should know already and it pushes him to his limit.
“I don't know how to look after a kid. No one loved me, I don't know how to get it right” He pleads, Regulus’ face softens in realisation.
“Oh but you do love, don't you? You love your friends dearly. Draco tells me you’re close with a large, poor family. You love them?” Harry can’t help but roll his eyes at that, the key information Draco passed on. Idiot.
There was a time when that kind of dig from Draco would have annoyed him. It strikes him as petulant now, almost silly. He wonders how old Draco had been when he told Regulus that.
“I do love them, but they taught me that.”
“Now it’s your turn to pass that along.” Regulus smiles. “You think your parents had any idea what they were doing having you at 21? You just do your best.”
“I thought love wasn't enough” Harry echoes bitterly and Regulus smiles.
“I think I said you had to make a stable foundation.” Regulus’ eyes shift from Harry to the shadows behind him for a moment. “Which can be hard to do, especially if you have a rocky past like James and I. But if you're willing to put the work in-” A loud thump cuts Regulus off and Harry spins wand in hand. There's no one there, just the stacks behind them displaying sculptures and first edition books.
“It’s just an elf dusting,” Regulus tells him dismissively but Harry is sure he can sense someone. “Who would gain anything from listening to this conversation?” Regulus asks, humour in his voice. Harry turns back to him but Regulus is staring past him, into the darkness.
“What are you looking at?”
“I saw it earlier,” Regulus shrugs. “This child, Edward, you don't have a past with him. Just an entire life of possibilities. If you think you are unprepared then study.” Harry hums, letting his gaze drift back out the window. Teddy deserves a good parent but he also deserves love and family. Harry grew up with neither. But perhaps Regulus is right, you can learn to be a good parent. There must be books or classes or something. But the love? He already loves Teddy, he has no guarantee a foster parent would.
“Do you think I should testify at the trial?” He really hadn't planned to ask that one. Hadn’t thought it through. Regulus rips his knowing gaze from the shelves and zeros in on Harry’s face.
“Do I think you should testify for or against?” Regulus asks and Harry shrugs.
“Bill, my friend who was turned into a werewolf by Draco’s… plans, was asked to testify. He isn't going to.” Harry half turns, sure he hears a soft footstep behind him.
“Well,” Regulus says abruptly, putting Harry’s focus back. “You could abstain. I guess you already had your pound of flesh from him.” Harry flinches.
“That was an accident-”
“Oh I have no doubt about that,” Regulus says, it sounds more like an admonishment than a reassurance. “Either way, Draco paid for his crimes against you. He helped you escape your time here, assisted you in the battle. His mother saved your life, no? They have made penance to you. I suppose if you think it’s enough then don’t testify.” Regulus hesitates.
“Be honest with me,” Harry asks him and Regulus softens to him.
“You have a lot of power now Harry, I'm sure you're half oblivious to it but you're rich, powerful and the chosen one. You saved the wizarding world. You hold the power for the Black and Potter family names. You could bend the Wizengamot to your will easily. Whichever way you speak will decide the whole thing. By not speaking people will assume your actions, attribute motives that you don't intend.” Harry shakes his head.
“No, I’m just… I’m just Harry,” he breathes, not 5 months ago he had been public enemy number one. Regulus smiles.
“Yes, you are. Unfortunately, like both your parents, just you, is everything.” Regulus looks out the window abruptly. “Test it. Ask them for something.” Harry feels his head swimming, that presence shifts closer and the faint scent of crisp green apples dances through him and he looks at the door.
“Draco doesn't have a wand?” he murmurs. “And Mrs Malfoy said that the grounds’ magic was frozen?”
“I…Yes, they have had their magic suspended. The ancestral magic of the manor has been frozen and their wands taken. Many people said it was not enough punishment.”
“Many people are stupid,” he grumbles, taking off towards the door. Harry is so lost in his thought that he doesn't even mean to apparate directly from the manor, ripping a hole through the wards.
Harry finds himself standing on a round table, looking down on the form of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry blinks in shock, not just from the position he finds himself in, nor the wands pointed at him, but from the protective bubble he appears to have put up.
“Mr Potter,” Kingsley gasps, lowering his wand. “Are you alright, did anything hit you-” as he reaches up to help Harry, his hand bumps against the shield charm.
“Good Merlin,” someone mutters and Harry looks down to find himself surrounded by people whose meeting he appears to have interrupted. The man who spoke is an older man that Harry doesn't recognize.
“Who are you?” he asks.
“Harry, these are the ministry heads of department,” Kingsley hastens to explain. Harry turns back to Kingsley.
“Malfoy Manor.” Harry demands.
“I… I did have a very serious conversation with my Aurors, Mr Potter. I can assure you they will be much more careful in future,” a broad man to Harry’s left begins speaking and Harry scowls at him.
“Why is the magic suspended? Where are their wands?” There is a moment of silence before someone answers him. The same man.
“We thought it was for the best while we await the trial. The wands can be destroyed once they are sentenced.” The tone is reassuring. Harry doesn't mean to do it, but the idea of snapping Draco’s wand. The one Harry used to fight Voldemort with. The one Draco gave him. The idea of Mrs Malfoy in a cell rather than her solarium. The image of Andromeda hearing that she had lost her last family member to Azkaban. The rage surges through him and the windows shatter.
“No,” he states. He looks at Kingsley. “Return their wands, release their land and their accounts. Lucius is the dangerous one and he is in Azkaban. They can stay home until the trial.” Kingsley studies Harry for a moment before looking at the others, Harry doesn't bother to check, he’s so angry right now that he knows they can’t deny him. Kingsley brings their gaze back together and nods. Harry exhales and jumps down from the table. “Sorry about… that,” he waves to the windows and the glass corrects itself. Harry got really good at Reparo. Determined to keep his composure as he leaves the building, Harry moves for the lifts.
Harry wakes to a blur of orange leaning over him.
“George?” he mumbles, reaching for his glasses.
“You wish,” cackles Ginny. She sounds farther away and when he shoves his glasses on, Harry finds Ron leaning over him. Ginny lay out over the end of the bed. George in the doorway with his arms crossed watching his siblings.
“You alright Ron?” Harry asks. Ron frowns.
“We need to talk.” Ron turns and leaves the room. Harry looks at Ginny but she won’t meet his eye as she trails after Ron. Looking to George, Harry waves his hands confused. George tosses a paper onto the bed.
Malfoy’s bail terms lessened by Chosen One
“Fuck,” Harry whispers, clambering out of bed quickly.
Ginny is sitting at the kitchen table, Ron is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Harry hesitates but George comes in behind him and squeezes his shoulder, taking a chair opposite his sister, taking Harry’s side in this. Whatever was about to come.
“Look, Ron, I don't know what the article says but-”
“I just want you to know,” Ron cuts over him and Harry chews his lip, still standing. “That this was a really weird conversation to have with my girlfriend and my sister.” Ginny giggles nervously and Harry frowns. The front door slams open and closed and Harry tenses even more.
“I bloody well told you not to do it like this,” Hermione demands, she’s standing on the top step into the kitchen, hair still wrapped and Ron’s quidditch jersey gracing her thighs. She looks pissed off. She’s wearing bunny slippers and brandishing her wand.
“Hermione,” Ron calls crossly, holding a hand out to stop her. “Look, I know you think it needs to be done delicately but I think we’re passed that now. There’s a way for this to be done and I'm sick of dancing around it.” Harry might actually choke on his heart as Hermione scoffs loudly.
“Oh yes of course, imagine dancing around an important issue for years,” she snipes back at him and Ron blushes.
“Guys,” Ginny cuts in “Harry looks like he’s about to pass out.” He does feel woozy. Ron frowns in concern.
“Sit down mate.” Hermione takes a step down and George takes hold of his elbow, guiding him into a chair.
“See Ronald, this is why we don't ambush him, he's very traumatised.” She waves her wand at the stove and the kettle jumps over to the burner. Mugs lift out the cupboard and begin to make tea.
“Look, Harry,” Ron takes a deep breath and begins to pace behind Ginny. “We all know that you’re not the most self aware person.” Ginny throws a spoon at Ron. “But we just want you to know that it’s okay if you’re gay.”
“Well, I mean I would prefer a declaration of bisexuality for my own ego,” Ginny mumbles and Ron throws the spoon back at her. Harry blinks.
“You guys didn’t know I was bi?” They all stare at him. Hermione coughs.
“Well, I think we knew. I don't think anyone was sure you knew,” she tells him with an apologetic smile.
“You should give me more credit, I mean I've not exactly been subtle,” Harry laughs, there seems to be a collective release in the room and Ginny smirks. “Wait, why did you bring it up now?” Hermione freezes with the kettle in mid-air. George turns in his chair to stare at him and Ginny drops her head onto the table.
“Harry,” Hermione begins, carefully lowering the kettle.
“No,” Ron says. “There is no fucking way.” Harry frowns
“When did you.. Realise you liked guys?” Hermione continued and Harry shrugged.
“I guess the first time I realised was when I met Bill.” All three Weasleys groan in agony.
“Sure,” Hermione agrees and Ron whirls to her, “and, after Bill?”
“Cedric?” Harry shrugged “Things were busy after that I guess.”
“I actually cannot believe this,” Ron says, shaking his head.
“What about sixth year?” Hermione prompts and Harry laughs gesturing at Ginny. She smirks, flicking her hair over her shoulder.
“Harry,” Ron groans “It wasn't Ginny you didn't shut up about in sixth year.” Harry blushes
“Well I thought you’d kill me so I didn't bring it up,” he defends. George snorts.
“Harry,” Hermione begins again.
“Harry, who did you watch on the map for hours, every single day?” Ron demands. Moving closer to him. “Who did you almost miss quidditch to follow? Who did you end up alone in a bathroom with?” Ron demands. Harry blinks at him. “Who did you leave Slughorn's party to go after?”
“I mean, Draco but that’s because-”
“Draco!” Ron yells “When did he become Draco ?”
“Oh… well… I guess-” Harry isn't sure, he doesn't remember.
“Harry.” Ron’s voice is filled with despair. “Mate, please. Look at me.” Harry does. “You are in love with Draco Malfoy. You have been since we were 12. You are obsessed with him. We talk about it all the time. Everyone knows it.”
“I. No,” Harry shakes his head.
“I can, and will, sit here and explain every interaction you have ever had with him. But Ron, you ask, how could you possibly do that? Well Harry, let me tell you. Because you cannot shut up about him. You retell every single thing a hundred times. I worked out you were in love with him in third year when you suggested we sneak up to the hospital wing to check on him after he broke his arm.” Harry can feel his face turning red with embarrassment, something cold trickling down his throat. Flooding his insides with a stark realisation. He lunges to his feet.
“Oh shit. I’m in love with Draco Malfoy.”