Luna's Advice
“Were you dreaming about Draco?” Luna asks.
Harry looks at her in surprise and lies straight through his teeth, “I don’t remember.”
“You called out for him,” she says kindly.
“Did I?”
“You did.”
“I guess I’m just worried about him,” Harry says which is at least not a bold faced lie.
“Yes, that’s natural. He’s quite unwell.”
“Right.”
“Is something else troubling you?” Luna asks before Harry can make his escape. He considers lying again but something about Luna makes him cave.
“Yeah,” Harry says, “but it seems a little bit silly to talk about it right now.”
“It’s never silly to seek counsel for our troubles.”
“I -”
“Perhaps you were thinking of Draco because you wished to discuss it with him?”
“No. I – yes, I’d love to talk to him about it because I think he’s the only one who would understand.”
“Then why don’t you?” Luna asks.
“I – I just can’t.”
“Perhaps you could practice by telling me? If you focus on my hair, I might be a good substitute,” Luna pulls out her wand and casts a spell that gives her a crown reminiscent of Draco’s. Harry laughs bitterly at the gesture but he decides to take her up on the offer.
“I think I’m falling in love,” Harry says quietly.
“That’s lovely, Harry,” Luna replies in a way that does not resemble Draco in the slightest.
“Not particularly. The person I’m falling for doesn’t like me back.”
“Oh, I see why you might think that’s an insensitive thing to say to Draco,” Luna says.
Harry stares back at her and she follows up with, “but you know, sometimes things aren’t quite as they seem. Especially when we’re forced to bury them deep inside.”
“I can’t just whine about wanting someone who doesn’t like me back when Draco’s literally dying from that very thing and I’m not.”
“Oh certainly not,” Luna’s dreamy voice tells him, “you’d probably kill him if you did that at this stage.”
“So see? It’s pointless. I’ve got a stupid crush and my friend is dying of a broken heart so I need to keep my mouth shut.”
“I’m not so sure that’s completely true,” Luna tells him. “But only you can decide your way forward.”
“Thanks for the advice, Luna.” But Harry doesn’t sound thankful at all. Luna either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because she bounces happily away toward wherever it is she plans to go that day.
She’s certainly not going to class because Dumbledore had announced that classes were suspended until after the ball before he, along with the remaining teachers and Madam Pomfrey, disappeared without any warning.
Harry idly wonders how food keeps showing up at meal times because he hasn’t seen any house elves in the kitchens either.
And then, Harry curses himself for losing track of time. The unsettling reality of what day it is makes him wish he actually was back in the maze.
The next day at breakfast, Hermione walks straight past Harry and Ron and marches up to Draco, her steps heavy and determined. Everyone looks on in confusion, including her best friends. Because whatever it is she has up sleeve this time, she has not told them.
And really, Harry can’t imagine what she aims to do. Hermione has already rejected Draco, confirming that she is not his beloved and she of all people is educated enough on the subject to know that Draco’s too far gone to be swayed into falling for anyone else.
“Mal-Malfoy,” she says and her voice cracks. Draco nods at her, his features schooled into a careful mask. Hermione bursts into tears the moment she meets his eyes.
“Oh, Hermione,” he says, both his tone and address threatening to upset the ancient magic, “there is no shame in doing what you must. And I must insist.”
A breath escapes Hermione’s lips and she lets out a manic laugh. She may be across the room but even at a distance, it’s written all over her face: something awful is about to happen.
There is no argument left to give now, so she wastes little time withdrawing her wand. She closes the distance between herself and Draco and thrusts the wand at his neck. He smiles before she even opens her mouth.
“Any last words, Malfoy?”
He steps away from Hermione’s wand to address the room. She does not follow him.
“If there be any among you who doubt your performance still, I beg of you to reconsider. Even still, I fear the evidence suggests our tale is one of tragedy.
“There remains a final scene I find I am ill suited to write. For this reason, I have confessed to my beloved’s cleverest ally. For this reason, none of you may speak of me to any but she. For this reason I will not eat, nor drink, nor sleep nor speak until my love either condemns or saves me.
“Until we meet next, beneath the full moon, in the garden that grows at the gates of hell. Good evening.”
The whispers are low and ominous. They are all fluent in metaphor by now.
Harry’s eyes follow Draco as he walks slowly and gracefully to the exit. He’s stopped by a circle made of nearly all the remaining Slytherins and Luna. He says nothing to them and they say nothing to him.
One by one, they shake his hand. It’s not until he reaches Goyle that the first handshake turns into a shaky hug. By the time he reaches Luna, Draco’s already offering open arms instead of an open hand. He hugs Pansy last.
Pansy’s broken sobs are desperate and painful. The realization that he may never speak to Draco again settles in at the same time a deep pain pierces Harry’s chest. He tries to remember how he ended their last conversation but even though they spoke the night before, his memory completely fails him.
It’s too hard to focus anyway with the stabbing sensation radiating outward. It’s a curious pain, similar to the one he felt when he was overtaken by magic laughter. He wonders how much more it hurts Draco to cough up all those petals.
Harry’s hands are clutched to his chest by the time Draco has finally left. Ron’s eyes are wide in terror when Harry finally catches them but there is no time to talk.
Hermione is approaching them. She looks a bit disheveled, though really everyone does lately. Her eyes are puffy and red as she speaks, “Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter, I seek a private audience with you.”
Ron and Harry stand.
“I could never deny a request from you Hermione,” Ron says.
“Nor I,” says Harry.
They retreat from the hall in silence. Harry’s eyes catch a glimpse of Malfoy far in the distance heading towards the dungeons. Hermione leads them the opposite way. It doesn’t take long to realize she is leading them to the Room of Requirement.
As soon as they are in, they find a library. Bookshelves line the walls, though they are empty. In the middle are plush chairs and a coffee table. On the coffee table is an empty vase.
Hermione lets out a heavy sigh and sinks into a chair. She motions for Ron and Harry to join her.
“No fancy phrases needed in here,” Hermione says.
“Thank Merlin,” Ron mutters, followed by a, “Bloody hell. This is so fucked up.”
“Can we talk about what happened?” Harry asks.
“Yes, that’s I called you here for.” Hermione’s voice has never sounded so defeated.
“So Malfoy is preparing to die tomorrow, isn’t he?” Ron asks. Harry flinches at the question. Both because he’s not used to hearing such blunt words and also because the thought of it is so upsetting.
“Yes,” Hermione says softly.
“Is there anything that can be done to save him?” Harry asks.
“I don’t think so. The closing ceremonies have never in recorded history been held in February. There’s a reason they are this time. The Hanahaki must be in its final stages. He has managed to keep it at bay for this long but he can’t do this forever. He’s determined to survive through the end of the tournament so that nobody else gets sick in his place. But what he did this morning is basically a resignation.”
“He can’t just give up,” Harry says though there isn’t much fight in his voice.
“I need a drink,” Ron says. Apparently the room agrees as three bottles filled with a fizzy liquid appear beside the vase.
“He’s not giving up, Harry. He’s played his part this whole time. This is just the natural end,” Hermione explains.
“So that’s it? After tomorrow, he’s dead and that’s it?” Harry says.
“Yes. Only a genuine confession of equal romantic love from his beloved would save him now. Not just an offer to try but a completely requited love. But... that’s not possible. So he’s gone into isolation to tend to his affairs. Mostly to write letters saying goodbye to his family.” A few fresh tears fall from her eyes.
“Wait,” Ron says, “You’re the ‘beloved’s cleverest ally’ that Draco confessed to, aren’t you? You know who it is.”
Hermione’s eyes dart back and forth between the boys across from her.
“Yes, I know who Draco’s beloved is,” she says.
“It’s one of us, isn’t it?” Ron asks.
“Yes.”
Hermione places a letter on the table in front of them both.
Hermione,
In case this is goodbye, and I believe it nearly is, know that you have been far kinder than I deserve. I say this not as an insult to myself but as a testament to the depths of your kindness.
No matter the outcome, know that there was nothing you could have done to change it. Even as the day grows long and the roots within me strong, I do not regret him. You must know that I’ve tried. Yet even as it kills me, I could never regret him. How could I?
This, I confess this to you, Hermione. I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with my most well known adversary. Though I suppose adversary is no longer the right word. Do what you will with this confession. I make no requests for I trust your judgment without condition.
Draco
Every hair on Harry’s body raises as the realization washes over him.
“It’s me. I’m the one Draco loves so much that...” Harry whispers, not finishing his thought out loud. So much that it’s killing him. So much that he’s not even mad at him for being the reason he’ll die.
“Yes, Harry. It’s you,” Hermione says.
“What now?” Ron asks.
“Harry should reject him. Malfoy will … it’s a lot better this way. If he doesn’t say anything, the outcome is the same but it’ll be a lot slower and a lot more painful for him. Harry can’t lie when he rejects him but he can express sadness at what’s going to happen, as a friend. That matters, you know? This the safest and kindest way to end this. For everyone.”
“And he’s got to do it tomorrow, right? Do you know what he’s got to say?” Ron asks because Harry is too shocked to ask the questions that need to be asked right now.
“I can’t help with the words both because the words have to be Harry’s alone and also because no one else can know the exact words that will be said until it’s happening. I’ve taken a particular role in all of this and I’m sorry but I can’t. In fact, because of that role, after we leave here, neither of you can talk to me until it’s done.”
The bookshelves suddenly stock themselves with books on the Old Ways and ancient magic and etiquette and Hanahaki.
“Why can’t I talk to you? I’m not...” Ron says but Hermione cuts him off.
“Basically if the besotted is unable to move on and his beloved hasn’t approached him with a confession yet, he has to tell someone close to the beloved privately, so that someone else will know the identity of the beloved. Just in case the beloved... well it doesn’t really matter.
“Since he wrote to me, I had to give him the chance to make a final public proclamation. If the besotted chooses to make a proclamation, he must reveal the relationship his confidant has with his beloved, why he chose me to confess to, you know? But there has to be at least some doubt about who the beloved is until the very end.”
“So I’m a basically a decoy?” Ron says.
“Yes. ‘Cleverest ally’ here means a peer who gave you advice to overcome a great challenge. So as far as the rest of the school knows, it could be either of you. We need to keep it that way. You and Harry should both stay out of view as much as possible. Don’t talk to anyone if you can avoid it.
“Harry, when you’re ready, touch the vase and a black rose will appear. It will vanish when you touch it but don’t worry. It will reappear when you need it tomorrow.”
Harry says nothing, staring blankly past her.
“Harry...” Hermione walks over to him and places a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay, mate, nobody blames you for this. You heard Hermione. This is the kindest option left.”
When Harry finally speaks all he says is, “there is a big problem with your plan.”
“What’s that?” Hermione asks. She is sure she’s thought of everything.
Harry does not say anything in response. Instead, he places his hand on the vase. As promised, a rose appears. It’s white.
“Oh.”