I Just Saved Harry Potter

Harry’s mouth is pressed against the floor of the Forest.

He experiences a moment of disoriented déjà vu, waking up to a dragon’s roar, surrounded by the unsettling atmosphere of alternating sunny heat and arctic breeze. Someone is screaming, he absently notices. Not someone but apparently many of them. Probably giants, too. A pair of expensive weathered shoes that have seen better days plant themselves on the ground in Harry’s line of vision.

“HARRY! Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Harry rouses slightly, still gathering his bearings, still relearning how to be alive.

“Keep them away, Nuri!” the voice says urgently and desperately. “Just for a minute!”

An answering roar. More sunny heat. More arctic breeze. A pair of warm hands landing on his shoulder blades.

Harry groans, stretching. “Draco – what the fuck are you doing?”

The hands disappear instantly as if burned. Harry takes the moment to pull himself up on his arms, taking a few deep breaths, relishing in the lack of his soul, the other one, and can’t help but grin at nothing in particular. For the first time in sixteen years, he’s free.

It’s easier after that, jumping to his feet with a newfound burst of strength. Draco is –

Well, Draco is staring at him as if he’s seen a ghost. A very much corporeal, alive ghost. He opens his mouth and asks in a terrified whisper that Harry barely catches above Nuri’s annihilation.

“Are you a zombie?”

It must be ridiculous to be standing around and having a conversation while a white dragon has taken apparent liberty of deciding what keep them away encompasses. Harry laughs, exhilarated and happy. He thinks he might kiss Draco’s stupid, dumbfounded face just from the sheer joy of receiving a second chance at this whole life thing.

Third, his mind corrects him.

It only makes him happier.

When Harry spins around to take stock of his surroundings, he sees a pile of badly charred bodies scattered on the Forest floor. Riddle, however, to Harry’s shock, is countering Nuri’s flames with a ring of sizzling black fire, the type that is different than Draco’s, but visibly more powerful. Nuri had been able to destroy those but she’s getting restless and impatient and frustrated when neither the blue-white flames nor the chilling ice is able to cut through these.

“Protego Diabolica,” Draco breathes in astonishment beside Harry.

A small army of Death Eaters stands behind Riddle inside the ring, including Bellatrix Lestrange. She looks insane, laughing maniacally and taunting Nuri more and more. Harry’s earlier sense of relief drains out rapidly until he’s clenching his jaw, gritting his teeth.

“DRACO!” Bellatrix calls out over the racket, pointing her wand at him. “Fun is over, boy! You had your great little rebellious adventure. It’s time to return to the Dark Lord, as is your duty. As is your Mark. Are you so willing to waste Cissy’s life?”

Draco stiffens beside him. Harry swallows, suddenly uncertain what Draco might do. Technically, the Vow must be broken. Draco is his own free man. There are no more death-bound oaths shadowing his decisions.

“Have you forgotten our time together, Draco? With your Aunt Bella?” Bellatrix continues. Her voice drops down to the baby-like cadence she adopts whenever she feels dangerous enough to blow up entire castles. “The way you flourished under my wing … all those pathetic souls writhing on the floors of the Manor … don’t you miss it? The power, the darkness, the primal thirst … Come now, Draco. You’re my darling little dragon all on your own, aren’t you? You don’t need this bitch.”

Nuri lets out a thunderous roar, fire burning a blinding white. In a quick motion, Bellatrix slices her wand in the air and Nuri bleeds.

It breaks Draco’s petrified silence. Before Harry can truly grasp what’s happening, Draco is raising his own wand, bellowing, “CRUCIO!”

Bellatrix screams. Riddle’s protective circle falters slightly, mostly in shock rather than lack of talent, and a thin stream of Nuri’s fire manages to breaks through. The ice pierces the nearest masked Death Eater in the chest, his body slumping down instantly.

All the while, Bellatrix continues to shriek.

Harry pulls out his own wand from where he’d stowed earlier in the belt of his jeans. “Petrificus Totalus! Stupefy! STUPEFY! DIFFINDO! REDUCTO! BOMBARDA! IMPEDIMENTA! Fuck. Okay, fine. What else, what else? AGUAMENTI! AQUA ERUCTO!”

Nothing seems to be successfully countering the sizzling black flames. Harry wonders how the Cruciatus is effective and gives up when his head hurts. He doesn’t know enough Magical Theory to work it out.

“Aim at Riddle!” Harry shouts. “Forget Bellatrix!”

Draco shakes his head, glaring at the woman’s thrashing body with a haunted look on his face. Harry senses a whole story behind it, and not a treasured one. It’s too much, all of it. Nuri’s searing heat and Riddle’s crackling flames, Bellatrix’s screams, and Draco’s slow but steady descent into the Dark side.

Harry rakes his mind desperately for something to do, questioning himself what Hermione or Ron would do in this situation. Or what Dumbledore would do. Or anyone at all, because Harry’s blood is coursing with adrenaline. His instinct right now is to attack first and ask questions later. He doesn’t think that would go down very well.   

“Draco!” Harry grabs his elbow instead, stepping closer, leaning forward to speak in his ear. Draco doesn’t push him away. Taking that as a good sign, Harry begins to babble.

“Listen to me. This is not you. This is not you. You made some wrong choices in life, and that’s shit. You made a lot of people downright miserable and you probably would have been on the other side right now if you had followed your father’s footsteps.

“But Dumbledore believed in you, Draco, despite all your wrong choices. He believed you would make the right ones when it counted the most. So does Ron and Hermione, I know it. So does Blaise and Luna and Dean and Severus and everyone on our side. And – and so do I. I know it’s not worth much to you, I know you wish you had heard it from Lucius and Narcissa. But Bellatrix is wrong.”

Draco’s eyes skim over Harry’s face, catching his gaze, holding it for a few moments. Harry sees the hesitance creeping in, the faltering of the spell, Bellatrix’s shrieks wavering like a sick, broken record. Harry grasps on to Narcissa and continues.

“You told me that your mother never wanted this for you. That Severus fought for your innocence. If you – if you do this, if you let yourself go down that road, their faith in you will mean nothing. Draco – Tom Riddle went down that road, years and years ago.

“I think … I think I figured out what your Boggart is. It’s him, isn’t it? You fear him. What he is, what he’s become. You don’t want that for yourself. You don’t.”

Draco takes a shuddering breath in, shutting his eyes tightly. Bellatrix’s screams cut down to whimpers, and Harry rounds on her, on Riddle, on his army inside the circle.

“CONFRINGO!”

The spell disintegrates in the flames.

“What are you doing?” Draco hisses at him, sounding shaky and stuttering. “That’s not going to do shit, you know. Not to mention, your aim sucks! What are you firing it at the ground for?”

“I’m going for Nagini, you idiot,” Harry snaps back, his impatience making him reckless. “Don’t you see? She’s out of her magic bubble.”

Draco mouths magic bubble disbelievingly. “Are you – Harry, we need to get the fuck out of here. Nuri is bleeding, you blind moron.”

“Fuck. Fine. This is – SECTUMSEMPRA!”

The jet of light dissolves into oblivion once more.

At Draco’s urgent insistence, Harry clambers on Nuri’s back. He grips Draco’s shirt tightly and then Nuri is flapping her gigantic, white leathery wings, taking flight. Her ascent is rough and rickety, snapping tree branches and trying to avoid the incoming spells from below at the same time. Riddle’s furious, enraged cry echoes behind in the darkness.

By sheer luck, Nuri breaks through the dense Forest with no life-threatening injuries; at least, Harry hopes so. The cool, crisp air hits him firmly in the face. He takes a moment to gaze up at the stars littering the night sky, midnight blue and dark purple bleeding to give way to strips of soft lavender and baby pinks on the horizon.

“HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?”

Harry nearly slips off. Draco is looking over his shoulder, fixing Harry with an incredibly annoyed expression.

“ARE YOU NUTS?” Harry shouts back. “WHY DID YOU COME FOR ME? I TOLD YOU THERE WAS NO OTHER WAY! I WENT TO BLOODY DIE, DRACO!”

“ISN’T IT GOOD THAT I DID, YOU BLUNDERING DISASTER!” Draco counters heatedly. “IF I HADN’T, RIDDLE WOULD HAVE HIT YOU WITH ANOTHER KILLING CURSE!”

Harry’s mouth snaps shut.

“I SAW THE SPELL HIT YOU!” Draco continues. “ARE YOU FUCKING IMMORTAL? SHOULD WE BE HUNTING YOU DOWN NEXT ONCE WE DEAL WITH THE NOSELESS DICK?”

Surprised laughter bursts out of Harry’s chest, making Draco twitch even more. “I MET DUMBLEDORE!” Harry tells him cheerfully. “HE SAYS HE’S PROUD OF YOU!”

And Harry is not helping his case, is he? Because Draco has adopted the face of Hermione, the one in which she is seriously considering the other person’s mental faculties, probably running through symptoms and treatments of every illness she’s ever read about to decide the best course of action.

“FUCK YOU,” Draco declares to the winds. “FUCK YOU, YOU STUPID, IMPULSIVE, IMMORTAL, BRAIN-DAMAGED GRYFFINDOR!”

True to Draco’s words, Harry says the first thought that crosses his mind. “IT’S GOOD TO SEE YOU, TOO!”

Finally, finally, Draco laughs, a breathless, happy one that warms Harry’s insides. For the next few moments, they watch the top of the Forest breezing beneath them, the castle looming closer and closer. Harry thinks if he squints enough, he might be able to point out the Great Hall, where Ron and Hermione and Ginny and Neville and Luna and everyone else will be, probably having noticed by now that Harry is nowhere to be seen.

“We could go anywhere, you know.” Draco breaks the peaceful silence, turning his head halfway, eyes lowered.

Harry swallows, staring at Draco’s pointed, side profile. It’s a pretty picture, Harry decides. Soaring in open skies, the smell of soot and smoke on their clothes, he wonders if they could keep flying all the way to the stars. “I know.”

Draco nods. And that’s it.

A few minutes later, Nuri is lowering herself in the courtyard of the castle. Harry and Draco slide down her back and Harry immediately walks around to face her properly. He feels a surprising rush of affection for her, finds comfort and familiarity in her features, in her Nagini-like yellow eyes. He raises his palm in both an invitation and a question.

Nuri eyes him carefully, gaze narrowing in judgement. After what feels like forever, she tentatively inches her nose closer and sniffs. Harry’s breath catches in his throat when she finally meets his palm, her skin smooth and hard beneath his fingers.

A large clambering of footfalls grab Harry’s attention and Nuri lurches away from him violently. Harry spins around to watch the entire school – what is left of it – rushing through the large entrance doors to gape at the dragon in their midst.

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny are the first ones to break free from the crowd. Harry braces himself for impact when Hermione shoots forward, and then curses quite colourfully in surprise when she starts hitting him everywhere.

“Harry. James. Potter. You utter nincompoop! Why in Merlin’s baggy underpants would you – ever – oh, I hate you so much!”

At the same time, Draco is yelling at the top of his lungs. “HAGRID! WHERE’S HAGRID? I’VE GOT AN INJURED DRAGON!”

Harry is trying to make sense of the situation even as he backtracks slowly only to bump against Nuri’s body. “’Mione, what? Stop it! What’s happening?”

Ron is a few steps behind but he grimaces heavily at Harry’s question; he looks like he wants to save Harry from his own stupidity. “Mate. Mate. You.”

Ginny … Ginny looks like she wants to kiss him and kill him at the same time.

A thrilled murmur is passing around; Harry catches snippets of is that the same dragon, what is it doing here, You-Know-Who can’t beat a dragon, can he?

And then the crowd is parting like the Red Sea for both Hagrid and Charlie to come forward. They have matching expressions of equal parts speechless and happy and downright excited. Ron manages to get in a few heavy claps between Harry’s shoulder blades between Hermione’s hitting, and then promptly joins Draco on Nuri’s other side, where Bellatrix’s spell had hit.

Absently, he hears Charlie exclaiming how he’s never seen an Arctic Serpent-Eye before.

Hermione eventually gives up, glaring at Harry ferociously; brown eyes shiny and bright, hands on hips. When she speaks, she sounds absolutely choked.

“You went to die!” she cries. “Harry, why did you–! I told you we‘d find another way! You didn’t even say goodbye. I thought – we thought – we didn’t know what to think when we couldn’t find you and then Nev tells us you stopped by on your way to – he asked why we need to kill Nagini–!”

And then she buries her head in Harry’s chest and Harry feels so guilty, he wishes he were still in the Forest facing another Avada Kedavara instead.

Harry keeps apologising over and over, petting her hair, insisting that he’s fine. Eventually, Hermione steps away and surprises everyone by rounding around Nuri and throwing her arms around Draco’s stunned, statue of a body. She keeps thanking him for bringing Harry back, for saving him, and Harry doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he’s already died.

Story for another time.

Ginny punches him in the arm. Hard. And then she hugs him, whispering in his ear, if you ever put Ron through that again, I’ll castrate you with bare hands.

As it turns out, Nuri’s bleed is a superficial one. Hagrid cheerfully informs them, with Charlie’s absent-minded support, that dragonskin is expensive for a reason.

When Riddle storms the castle once more, Harry is prepared.

He sees them soon, black robes and masks, breaking the line of the Forest being led by Riddle himself. Nagini is back in her enchanted, magic bubble, bumping along Riddle’s shoulders. They had predicted as such.

Harry watches Riddle arrive closer and closer, past Hagrid’s Hut, up the sloping lawns as though strolling through a park. It puts Harry on edge. Angry Riddle, he can deal with. A calm one? Not so much.

A terrified ripple flows through the crowd. This is the first time Riddle has shown his face and it’s a calculated move this time. He’s already proven what he can do from behind the scenes, he wants them to now fear what he can do being involved in them. When Draco whispers as such in his ear, Harry nods in agreement.

No one is moving a muscle, making the first move. Riddle must have been counting on it because when he and his remaining army – sans giants and spiders, Harry gleefully notes – are twenty feet away, he begins to make a bloody speech.

“I know you have Harry Potter hidden somewhere,” he sneers, his cold voice carrying over the wind to where Harry, Draco, and Nuri are watching from. “Such a pity … to kill you all so that you can save one pathetic young boy. Bow down to me, join me, and you might not have to die tonight. Consider this as my last warning.”

The promise of murder is thick in the air, stifling and suffocating. Riddle is done playing around, he is done permitting a fair chance – at least in his books – and nothing can stop him any longer. Harry knows that Riddle will turn every rock in the castle to search for him, will not rest until Harry’s cold, dead body is rotting beneath his feet.

And then when Neville is limping forward, slowly and steadily, the ghost of a smirk flits across Riddle’s lips. He says he would have appreciated someone better, at least physically abled if nothing else, and Bellatrix cackles, boasting about her Cruciatus achievements on the Longbottoms. She appears to have returned to her usual personality. It’s … disturbing, to say the least.

“I just want to say one thing,” Neville cuts her off rather rudely. For a second, Riddle seems both shocked and pleased, apparently coming around to accepting Neville into his fold after all. Neville holds Riddle’s gaze, chin up, continues in a loud voice. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Am I?” Riddle says silkily, tilting his head a little as though observing a rare, interesting species. “Longbottom, did you say, Bella?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Bellatrix giggles. “The insane duo.”

“Ah … I remember … the young couple during my earlier rise to power. I have always rather admired Gryffindors, myself. They make such good soldiers, you see, Neville. Reckless and dumb, the whole lot of them. Not an ounce of self-preservation. I admit, it is rather – effortful to recruit them. Stubborn and filled with righteous anger as they are … you, boy, you would shine as my follower. The Dark Lord is merciful … you can even have your own little army.”

Neville positively snarls. “I’ll join you when Hell freezes over! And just so you know, I already got one. DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY!”

A loud, answering cheer echoes from the crowd. Harry’s heart balloons and lifts as a crushing sense of pride courses through his blood. Beside him, Draco shakes his head, muttering about show-offs.

Bellatrix throws the first spell and absolute chaos ensues. At the same time, Neville’s bad leg gives away and he crumples down, incidentally dodging the jet of green light from her wand.

And then everyone moves, Riddle himself abandoning his position to march towards the main castle doors only to get thwarted by McGonagall, Kingsley, and Snape. Harry knows the exact moment when Riddle’s fury notches up to another level, his spells more vicious and powerful, the apparent betrayal from Snape ridding everything else from his mind.

Turns out, Riddle is skilled. Too skilled. The other three have no choice but to stay on the defence as Riddle fires spell after spell in a smooth flow, slashing his wand through the air, controlling scorching flames, pointed glass shards, a twisting snake pit, a roaring wall of water –

The Death Eaters are significantly lesser in numbers this time. Harry quickly searches for Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and notices Molly Weasley unequivocally razing Bellatrix Lestrange to the ground.

Draco is pale as a ghost. “Remind me never to piss off mothers.”

“This is our chance. Let’s go.”

Draco gestures at Nuri and she crouches down once more. The two of them climb on her back quickly for the second time, and then Draco pats lightly, telling her to fly.

Nuri rounds the corner of the Astronomy Tower behind which they’d been, her steps heavy on the solid ground as she takes a running start before soaring over the battle.

It feels as though the entire battlefield comes to a complete standstill, Nuri grabbing every pair of eyes beneath them. Harry is holding Draco’s shirt in a white-knuckled grip with one hand, wand at the ready in the other for any incoming attacks. But nothing happens; either because the Death Eaters had not expected the dragon to actually participate in the battle or Nuri must be cutting an impressive vision and they’re simply too stunned to move.

Whatever the case may be, thankfully, soon, they’re lowering to where Nagini is, as close as they can be in a short time. She’s coiling and rolling inside her suspended magic bubble, thrashing violently, having sensed the impending danger.

A jet of blue-white flames cut through the space, clashing against the translucent sphere, chipping away at the enchantment. It barely takes five seconds when the bottom falls out and Nagini begins to slither on the ground rapidly, trying to get away from the dragon.

And then Neville is rising out of the rubble like a goddamn phoenix, Nuri’s dying flames glinting and bouncing off the ruby-hilted sword in his hands, and Riddle screams, but Neville has already sliced through Nagini’s head cleanly. The body of the serpent drops down with a heavy thud and the head rolls away.

There’s no time to celebrate, though. Harry tugs at Draco urgently and Nuri is once more gaining height, soaring up, up, up until they’re landing on one of the battlements of the castle. Harry and Draco hop down, quickly urging her to escape from the back. The battle below resumes.

They take a moment to watch her rocket through the sky until she’s a white dot merging with the dying stars.

“That’s it,” Draco pants, turning to Harry, eyes wide under the lingering moonlight. “That’s all of them. Fuck. Is this happening? Is this really happening?”

Harry senses the incoming panic attack. “We’re almost there. Just one last thing left and we’ll be done. This whole – whole shitfuck will be over. Come on.”

Harry throws one leg over the school broom he’d grabbed earlier, steadying it when Draco clambers behind him, his thighs digging against Harry’s hips painfully. He chants something under his breath over and over, trying to gather the last of his courage and Harry’s heart stutters inside his chest.

“Ready?”

Draco lets out a slow exhale, his warm breath tickling on the back of Harry’s neck. “Not really.”

Harry kicks off.

After months and months of frustrated absence, riding a broomstick feels like coming home. The wind whips across his face and he takes a huge gulp of clean air. As soon as the edge of battlement bottoms out, Harry nosedives, gliding along the surface of the castle, straight towards Riddle. The grip around his wand tightens.

Riddle’s arm cleaves through the air in a brutal motion; McGonagall, Kingsley, and Snape are blasted apart in a booming explosion. Arthur, Bill, Slughorn, Sprout, and Flitwick are quick enough to cushion their falls. Snape, having received the brunt of Riddle’s rage, is buried under a column despite Flitwick’s rather powerful Protego.

Harry braces himself, gives a split second notice to Draco before he’s flying in tight manoeuvres to avoid Riddle’s deadly spells meeting him midway in the air.

“EXPELLIARMUS!”

Ron and Hermione holler out at the same time. They’re a good fifteen feet away from Riddle, standing their ground fiercely. “STUPEFY! CONJUNCTIVA! RICTEMSEPMRA! LEVICORPUS!”

Riddle has no choice but to take a second to ward off the spells, like swatting away annoying mosquitoes, and Draco is already shouting PROTEGO HORRIBILIS, to form a magical barrier around them.

Riddle’s Killing Curse bounces off.

Harry takes half a second to reassure himself, no one is dying, no one is dying, no one is fucking dying.

This short distraction caused by Ron and Hermione is all Harry needs, though. He lands behind Riddle, Draco jumps up, wand already raised in preparation. Harry throws the broom away, rolling his shoulders.

Riddle spins around to face them, mouth opening wide to scream another, “AVADA KEDAVARA!”

Harry says the first spell that jumps to his mind. “EXPELLIARMUS!”

The jet of red and green light meet in the middle and Harry’s hand trembles from the force of it. He wills his wand to keep Riddle at bay, just for a moment, any minute now, any second now –

Beside him, Draco is tense and still as a statue. Belatedly, Harry realises that the battle has stopped, everyone halting in their paths to watch the final showdown. He tightens his grip on the wand, praying to no one in particular for this to work, because he has no more surprise elements under his belt except for this, his final do-or-die-for-real-this-time-around moment.

And then it happens.

The stream of red is overpowering the other and in an abrupt act, the green light bounces away, hitting Riddle in the middle of his chest. The wand soars from his limp fingers and Harry catches it with a Seeker’s reflex.

A stunned moment later, Tom Riddle’s body drops down and just like that, the war is over.

Harry is bone-deep tired.

“How?” Ron is asking. “I don’t understand.”

The celebrations are finally over. Harry, Draco, Ron, and Hermione have managed to pull themselves out of further discussions by clambering under the Cloak. No one notices four suspended pair of feet leave the Great Hall, as busy and happily distracted as they are.

Draco had insisted that they go down to the Slytherin dorms, seeing as it would be empty and he’s neither in the mood nor does he have the patience to climb bloody moving staircases. Blaise is still chomping down food with surprising (or not) gusto back in the Hall. The prospect of being finally alone is the only reason why Harry agrees before Hermione or Ron can protest. To be fair, they didn’t seem up to do much other than sleep.

Their steps are heavy and drag behind them. It’s the first time Hermione is traveling the dungeons so deep and even she can’t muster up enough curiosity for it. Harry and Ron share an amused glance in nostalgia, both remembering the time when they had Polyjuiced as Crabbe and Goyle, and then losing the small smirk almost immediately.

Draco has not even bothered to lead them to the actual dormitories with actual beds. No, he face-plants on the large green sofa in front of the crackling fire. After a moment of exhausted hesitation, Harry picks up his legs, drops down on the sofa, and sinks into the cushiony back.

Ron settles himself on the armchair and Hermione falls right down in his lap, circling her arms around his neck, and burying herself in his large frame as comfortably as possible. Harry sniggers at Ron’s stricken expression.

Hug her, Harry mouths to him helpfully, rolling his eyes.

Ron does.

At Ron’s question of how, Harry sighs, a loud exhale in the otherwise silent room.

“He died,” Draco mutters from somewhere on the other side, face still pressed in the cushions. “I saw it with my own eyes. The whole thing. Riddle said Avada Kedavara, Harry dropped down, and then he got up … I’m telling you … the bloody git is immortal, too.”

Hermione suddenly shoots up, nearly snapping Ron’s jaw in half. She fixes Harry with another murderous glare. “What? What?”

Ron sputters. “Bloody hell. Did the bit of Voldemort’s soul inside you did something? Are you really immortal now?”

Harry throws up his hands. “No! Of course, not! I’m not – But yeah, Riddle did kill me. And then I met Dumbledore.”

Harry wades through the tiredness and gives them a broken down version. Ron and Hermione frown through the whole thing, nodding and listening carefully.

“Okay, okay,” Ron says afterwards between a series of bloody hells. “So – how did you know Voldemort himself had to do it? You just said that Dumbledore confirmed it.”

“Good catch, Ron,” Hermione absently remarks, squinting at Harry hazily.

“Right,” Harry mutters awkwardly. “The thing is … actually … so you know how Snape … I mean, you don’t. The – er – memories. Snape’s memories were rather informative–”

“Severus has the hots for Harry’s dead mother,” Draco says to the cushion, which is why he can’t witness Ron and Hermione’s horrified, nightmare-inducing expressions like Harry has to.

“WHAT?”

Harry grimaces. “That’s not the point. The point is, is Snape was always on our side. Well, not always. He changed sides after my parents were killed. And he’s been doing everything on Dumbledore’s orders.”

Harry outlines the conversation between Snape and Dumbledore, skipping over huge chunks, and focusing only on the part where Dumbledore explains why Harry needs to die in order to defeat Voldemort, and how Voldemort himself has to do it.

“I reckon it’s because Dumbledore predicted mum’s blood would keep me immune to Riddle’s attack but kill the Horcrux inside me.”

“We’re revisiting the whole I’ll-go-die-without-telling-my-mates bit later,” Ron tells him, sounding absolutely serious. “Now explain how you overpowered Voldemort during the last battle. If anything, Malfoy looked like he wanted to Avada Kedavara Voldemort himself into next Sunday.”

“Just trust me,” Harry had told them earlier. “It’ll work.”

Draco mutters something incomprehensible. No one asks him to repeat.

“We made a quick pit-stop on our way from the Forest,” Harry answers now.

He tells them how Draco was unsure of using the Wand against Voldemort. How he insisted Harry disarm him right then and there –

“Excuse me?” Ron chokes, jostling so much Hermione hisses indignantly. Ron settles back. “Are you saying you’re the master now?”

Harry’s nose itches. He resists the urge to scratch it. “Er – yes. Riddle had the actual wand, but the wand wouldn’t hurt the master. Riddle would have realised it sooner if he weren’t so busy defending himself against Nuri’s fire.”

It occurs to Harry as he says it now, in fact. The only reason Draco’s Cruciatus worked was because the Protego-whatever didn’t affect him.

“Okay, one last question,” Ron insists. His own voice is thick with sleep but he seems eager to understand what truly went down. Hermione, on the other hand, is drowsily paying attention as if she’s just done for the day. It’s a surprising role reversal, if Harry says so. “How did the dragon return?”

“Nuri,” Harry and Draco both correct him at the same time.

Ron rolls his eyes but dutifully rephrases. “How did Nuri return?”

“Long story,” Draco yawns, flopping his arm in a semblance of dismissal. “Later.”

Harry throws his head back to rest on the backrest, shutting his eyes against the snakes painted on the ceiling. Mindlessly, he picks at spare threads from Draco’s shredded black slacks, twisting it around his finger.

The next thing he knows, someone is talking in hushed voices nearby.

Harry’s mind is foggy with sleep. His brain is supplying bits of information in broken spurts. He realises he’s still on the sofa but the weight of another pair of legs have disappeared from his lap.

“…move them…” a deep voice advices. “…help you…”

“Pick up Gran…” Draco replies. “…refully…Weasley … blow a fu…”

Harry feels himself being picked up, his head lolling to rest on a lean shoulder. Vaguely, he detects soot and smoke and berries. Draco is carrying him … actually carrying him … he fades away.

Next time when Harry comes to indeterminate consciousness, he’s lying flat on his back in a proper bed, tucked under a silk comforter. He buries himself deeper and slips off once more.

Hermione wakes him up.

Harry’s eyes snap open from a confusing, jumbled mess of colours and empty skies, of endless sea and blinding white. The dark ceiling is unfamiliar to him. Without his glasses, the patterns are blurry but he thinks they might be more snakes. Creepy.

Hermione’s face swims in his vision. She hands him his glasses and they’re not snakes, thank fuck. They’re ladders of all sizes; ironically, Harry is reminded of the Muggle game.

“How are you feeling?” Hermione asks worriedly.

“Where’s Ron?” Harry croaks out.

She smiles. “Still sleeping. I had to put up a Silencing Charm around his bed.”

Harry chuckles groggily, hoisting himself up on his arms and sliding to press his back against the headboard. He takes a moment to study the dorm.

There are five matching four-poster beds, each with Slytherin-green bedding and soft, silk comforters. Hypnotic green light is gliding on the smooth stone walls from the circular windows artistically littered around the room. Harry thinks it’s colder than he prefers but admittedly rather calming. On the other hand, he loves the sky too much to spend inordinate amounts of time underwater.

“Are you okay?” Harry directs the question to Hermione.

She’s sitting on the edge of the nearest bed, toeing the thick, green carpet with bare feet. “I just can’t believe it’s over, you know? I woke up earlier thinking that we missed one of the Horcruxes and if I were to step outside the castle, his body would have disappeared.”

Harry winces in sympathy. “I know what you mean.”

They sit in companionable silence after that. Harry plays with the extra throw pillows, squishing them unnecessarily, just to have something to do with his hands. His stomach has started to growl again, but he ignores it for now. He’s still too tired to even chew properly. Besides, he might vomit the couple of Butterbeers someone had randomly forced on him earlier during celebratory feast.

“What time is it?”

Hermione hums thoughtfully. “Around five in the evening.”

Harry frowns. “When did you wake up?”

“At three.”

“You need to sleep.”

“I will,” Hermione dismisses it.

“Where’s Draco?”

“He said something about talking to Snape.”

“Right.”

Hermione takes a few deep breaths. “Harry … I know it’s too soon to ask … but have you thought what you might do now?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admits. “I had sort of known for a while that I – you know. Now that I’m not, I’m just … adjusting. I suppose Grimmauld Place is as good as any.”

“Of course,” Hermione nods.

Harry waits.

Five minutes later, Harry counts, Hermione nervously asks him. “Will you … would you mind if … I’m going to ask Ron, too…” Then she takes a shuddering breath in, tears slipping out the corner of her eyes. She wipes at them but it does nothing to staunch the dam.

Harry scrambles up, swiftly gathering her in his arms, cheek pressed on top of her hair.

Hermione sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry … All of this, it’s too much. I almost lost you and … so many people are dead … I just need … my mum and dad. I don’t mean to sound insensitive, Harry … but will you – will you come with me? To Australia? You and Ron? Hell, I’d even take Malfoy at this point. I just – Harry, I can’t do it alone.”

Harry instantly promises. He thinks he would have promised her anything in that moment. Hermione needn’t even have asked, to be honest. He understands why she must be feeling guilty, but Harry tells her there is no need to. He tells her he met Lily and James and Sirius and Remus and he’s alright. He’ll be alright, now that he has his whole life ahead of him. They all do.

Hermione eventually calms down. When Ron wakes up half an hour later, he takes one look at Hermione’s blotchy face, red eyes, and frets like an awkward mess of long limbs, offering her food and tea and a nice thick blanket and, he says sincerely, I could grab you some heavy tomes on Magical Mediterranean Water Plants and Their Properties from the library.

When Harry asks Draco whether he would like to accompany them to Australia, Draco instantly agrees.

“You didn’t even listen to the whole thing,” Harry protests.

They’re at dinner. The long tables have returned to their places but no one is truly bothered with which table belongs to which House. It’s an utter mess of students and Order members and families and staff, and Harry can’t think of a better meal experience.

Harry is sharing the end of the Hufflepuff table, nearest the doors with Hermione, Draco, Blaise, and Luna. Ginny and Ron have opted to sit with the rest of the Weasley family. Neville’s grandmother didn’t really give him a choice.

Draco rolls his eyes. “Do I look like I care?”

“We’re going to get Hermione’s parents back,” Harry tells him anyway. Hermione nods. “Not immediately. Maybe in two weeks’ time after things have settled down enough.”

“What does that mean?” Draco turns to Hermione. “Can’t they just – I don’t know – come back on their own?”

Hermione swallows down some tea to buy time. Fidgeting with the cup’s handle, she answers. “I had to Obliviate them to keep them safe. I need to reverse the spell.”

Draco drops the loaf of bread. “I swear to Salazar’s entire ancestry–! Do you know how to?”

Hermione nervously bites on her bottom lip. “Honestly, I never expected to survive the war. My research on reversal is negligible.”

Luna and Blaise invite themselves into the conversation. Harry tries not to nod off to sleep as the others discuss magical theories, the etymology of the incantation, the fragility of memories and the human mind. Harry has a sudden distinct feeling that he’s sitting at the nerd table.

“Wake up,” someone is shaking his shoulder aggressively. “Harry. Potter.”

Harry jolts awake. His arms are numb from pillowing his head on the table. The bit of hair that flops over his eyes is wet and smells like coffee. He cards a hand through it, fingers sticky and hating every bit of it.

“I need a shower,” he announces. But there’s no one sitting beside him except for Draco. Harry chances a look around the Great Hall and finds it almost empty. Ron and Hermione are nowhere to be seen. He asks Draco as much.

“Weasley is hoping to get laid,” Draco informs him casually. He supremely ignores Harry’s blanching. “I’d suggest not to enter Slytherin dorms if you wish to avoid seeing Weasley’s freckled ass.”

“I’d rather not,” Harry agrees.

Draco is delicately sipping at coffee. When he places the cup back down on the table, Harry grins.

“It’s not black,” Harry remarks. “Gimme one.”

“Take your own, you imbecile.”

Harry rolls his eyes; to be fair, he had not exactly expected Draco to pour him a cup obediently. Upon Harry’s prompt, Draco informs him that everyone is sleeping the night at the castle. McGonagall had announced earlier that she’s putting out an open invitation to the whole of Britain to come help with the school repairs.

Harry figures that sounds about right. Kingsley probably will be up to his ears rearranging the whole Ministry. The conversation dies down to companionable silence. Harry drains his coffee a few minutes after Draco finishes his.

“Where will you sleep?” Harry asks him. “Unless you want to see Ron’s freckled ass.”

“As much as I like ass,” Draco says, visibly shuddering, “I’m certain I do not wish to burn out my retinas just yet. I’m going up the Ravenclaw Tower. Luna has promised me a nice view. I couldn’t sleep in the dorms earlier; I’m afraid I got used to sleeping in the open. It’s all your fault, really.”

Harry doesn’t say Gryffindor has a pretty nice view itself; he rolls his eyes instead. “What about Blaise?”

Draco waves his hand dismissively. “He’s not staying. He plans to visit his mother and return for the repairs in a week.”

“Shit,” Harry blinks. “We should stay.”

“About that,” Draco side-glances at him, picking up his cup and then placing it back. “I’m going home in the morning. I need to … sort shit out.”

“Aren’t you coming with us to Australia?” Harry says. He does not sound accusatory, dammit.

There’s a sinking in his chest. He’d gotten used to Draco’s presence. And, well, of course, Harry knows that things would be different now. Just because Draco chose their side – and Harry still marvels at the memory because Draco did choose when it counted – it doesn’t mean he’s planning to stay friends. Or, be friends. Not that they are friends.

Fuck it, Harry thinks. If it were enough for him, Hermione, and Ron to become friends after defeating a twelve feet mountain troll, he thinks defeating the goddamn Dark Lord is pretty high up on the list.

Draco hesitates, thinking over his answer. “I do … wish to. If you are planning to stay there for a significant amount of time, I could, perhaps, join in a month’s time. Besides, we still need to figure out the right way to reverse such an intricately performed spell.” He grimaces before continuing. “Granger has done a rather thorough job of it, from what I hear.”

“She’s very talented,” Harry agrees.

Draco stares weirdly.

It’s Ron who sets things into motion.

The next morning, Harry wakes up to Dean and Seamus arguing over shower. The whole Weasley family is residing in the Tower and it’s – well – packed. The couples have decided to take entire dorms to themselves, which Harry is sincerely grateful for. Ron had stumbled inside past midnight and promptly begun to snore.

Now, Harry forgoes the whole morning routine. Instead, he walks down to the Common Room. A few sleepy Gryffindors are draped over furniture in a variety of positions and Harry has the distinct feeling that no one is really sleeping that well.

Except for Arthur Weasley, who is surrounded by a handful of students, cheerfully regaling his old school days, sounding like an absolute grandfather for all its worth.

Harry plops on the sofa beside an amused Ginny. She silently hands him a plate of sandwiches and Harry hesitates, he hasn’t even brushed yet, but he’s too hungry and it’s too damn early in the morning to deal with people. He misses the mornings beside the lake – or wherever Hermione had taken them over the course of the year – the quiet and stillness of it. But he had also missed this so he shuts up and takes a bite.

“Are you staying?” he asks Ginny. She’s still in her dressing gown, too.

Harry tries not to think about mornings with her that had started with lazy kisses, smelling of tea and bacon.

“Yes,” she replies. “Exams are bit of a joke at the moment, but McGonagall insists that if we finish the repairs soon, she will hold them. I think it’s her way to bring in some amount of normalcy.”

“And Severus agrees?”

Ginny rolls her eyes. “When has he not enjoyed torturing students?” She winces immediately at her own words. “I don’t mean that. But well, that, too, I guess. It’s just – hard, you know? No one really knows what to think of him anymore.”

Harry nods. He can relate. He, himself, doesn’t know how to deal with the man. Which is honestly why he’s been taking U-turns whenever he’s caught sight of Severus’ billowing black robes.

Ron had noticed it and laughed at him. And Harry had remarked coolly, I bet someone out there has a secret crush on Molly.

Which shut him up rather well, except that Harry then had to deal with the mental imagery of two mothers’ secret lovers. They had resolutely not spoken about it again. Hopefully never will, if Harry gets his way.

“He’s still technically the Headmaster,” Ginny continues. “I doubt he’ll remain as one once the court trials begin for all Death Eaters.”

“Wait, what?” Harry almost drops the plate. “All Death Eaters?”

Ginny gives him a knowing look. Harry feels queasy and he wishes he were anywhere else but here, and at the same time, he is immensely relieved it’s Ginny and no one else.

“Yes,” she answers seriously. “I heard Kingsley and Dad last night. He plans to organise Auror teams to capture the ones who managed to escape and hold trials for everyone.”

Harry curses.

“Don’t worry,” Ginny nudges him. “Have you not seen today’s paper?”

“No. Why?”

Ginny pulls it out from under the sofa cushions and hands it to him. She slides closer, their shoulders touching, and leans over to read it once more.

Harry shakes the paper loose and blinks.

Under the title of THE WAR HEROES, a large photograph stares back at him. It’s of him, Ron, Hermione, and Draco in the middle of a crushing group hug right after Riddle’s dead body had hit the floor.

Harry skips the entire article when he notices Neville’s face at the bottom of the page. Neville is perched atop one of the House tables. He’s still in his blue cardigan, dirty and tattered, casually holding Godric Gryffindor’s sword in one hand. The caption reads SLAYER OF SERPENTS.

And then someone has captured Draco’s tired grin sometime during the feast without him knowing. He’s alone in the frame, but seems to be in the middle of a pleasant conversation with someone out of sight. The title reads THE DRAGON RIDER.

Harry studies the photograph some more. It’s a nice click, if he has any judgement of the art of photography. He thinks he might pick up a course now that he can, if only to capture the way morning sunlight hits Nuri’s brilliant ice.

When he’s done drinking in the finer nuances of the photograph, he keeps it aside. Ginny opens her mouth to say something but then yelps instead, whirling around to glare at the person who had pulled at her hair.

Ron drops down on her other side. Without a word, Harry passes the paper to him.

“Blimey,” Ron breathes, eagerly reading the article that Harry had not bothered to. When he’s done pointing out bits of falsified information, he says he’s going to preserve the cut out and frame it on his bedroom wall.

Harry accompanies Ron when he decides to head down for a proper breakfast. He runs upstairs first, cutting his way through the chaos, manages to dive inside the bathroom when it looks like Percy is heading straight for it and magically locks it behind him, just in case.

Back in the Common Room after Molly’s repeated crushing hugs and pinching cheeks, Harry asks Ginny. She refuses, saying that she’s going to wait for Bill to wake up.

“I thought I was your favourite brother,” Ron narrows his eyes.  

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Ginny smiles sweetly.

On their way down, Ron continues to grumble. Apparently, Bill had been Ginny’s “original favourite” and she used to follow him around everywhere like a duckling. It makes sense, Harry thinks. Ginny had been rather protective of Bill against Fleur in the beginning. But Ron says that she had actively sought him out recently and Ron had believed that he was in fair competition by now, at the very least.

“You’d think defeating the evil Dark Wizard of all time would earn you the title of favourite brother,” he says miserably.

Fred and George seemingly pop out of thin air.

“Favourite brother, did someone say?” Fred grins.

“Must have misheard,” George touches his missing ear.

“Shut up,” Ron ducks down as Fred swipes an arm out. “It’s not like you are her favourites, either. She’s back on Bill again.”

George keeps plucking at the wound. “Freddie, I swear I keep hearing some buffoon saying we’re not Gin’s favourites.”

Fred sighs dramatically, finally managing to have Ron in a chokehold. “Is our little sister playing us all? Wouldn’t be the first time. Remember when–”

“Dad wanted to play Secret Santa–”

“Ginny convinced us all that we’re hers–”

“And ended up with six gifts–”

“The little minx. Anyway–”

“Heading down to breakfast? Harry, I must say, we’re rather peeved–”

“We had planned your nuptials with our little sister, see–”

Harry chokes on air.

George ignores him entirely, continues in a loud voice. “Young love! Which reminds me, mine rather died last night.”

Harry misses a step and slides down, landing on his ass rather painfully. Ron stops struggling against Fred but Fred lets him go, anyway, throwing an arm around George’s shoulders.

He’s completely serious when he says, “Do you want Angie?”

When Harry and Ron enter the Great Hall, they join Hermione, Luna, Neville, and Draco at the Ravenclaw House table. Ron leans down to kiss Hermione right on the lips as if they’d been doing this for years. Both are red in the face. Harry smothers a laugh.

The buzz of the article from the Daily Prophet has already reached them.

“The Dragon Rider,” Harry teases, dropping down beside an irritated Draco. “You must be on the moon.”

Hermione gives him a warning look, slightly shaking her head. Harry frowns, mouths what? She purses her lips, quickly ducking down instead to hide her grin.

Draco does seem miserable for some reason. He’s holding his knife and fork rather tightly, his movements strained and aggressive as the cutlery keeps dragging and banging and thunking on the plate. He chews his scrambled eggs viciously, giving Harry the impression that the chicken who laid the eggs has personally wronged the man.

“What?” Harry asks him.

At that moment, though, a few students walk up to them. It’s a group of two girls and three boys and Harry recognises their faces, but for the life of him, can’t remember their names. He feels a twinge of guilt; clearly, they had stayed for the battle, too, lost friends, too. Before Harry can open his mouth to thank them sincerely, one of the girls nudges a dark-haired boy and he stumbles forward, a flush creeping up his neck and cheeks.

“Erm,” he says.

Neville smiles back kindly when no one moves. “Hello.”

The boy gulps, eyes flickering everywhere. His friends are laughing, making supportive remarks of Go for it, Dave! and You’re beautiful, D! and Let him hear it!

Harry is so utterly lost, he’s swimming in it. Meanwhile, Hermione is fake-coughing behind her cup of tea, Luna is agreeing with the supportive comments, Neville patiently waits, Ron is asking Harry what the hell is going on, and Draco –

Well, Draco is glaring at the boy.

Harry wants to scold him. Or hit him, perhaps, because is Draco simply going back to his earlier dickedness? Anything that moves deserves to be insulted? What the hell?

And then the boy says, “Ijustwantedtosaythatialwayslovedragons.”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh my god.

Ron is the first to break. He laughs so hard he snorts out juice all over the table, spraying Neville in the process. Luna is hit a little which doesn’t seem to bother her much. And then Hermione has to keep her cup back down because she’s hiding her face in Ron’s shoulder, shaking terribly.

Harry positively chokes on his bacon. He’s honestly still processing it when the boy and his group of friends retreat all the way back to the front of the Slytherin table; the boy gets a few shoulder claps, a few nudges, a few hair ruffles for his apparent achievement.

Harry chances a side-glance at Draco. The blonde is back to avenging the chicken.

“It’s been happening all morning,” Luna informs them matter-of-factly. “I believe the symbolism is simply too fascinating to overlook.”

“Symbolism?” Ron says in a tone that is meant to humour her.

Luna nods serenely. “Draco – dragon – Draco on the dragon. It’s quite poetic, Draco, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, yes,” Draco stabs the toast with his fork. It crumples and he keeps stabbing at it. “Peachy, Luna. I had always wanted to become the target of a group of nerds waxing poetry.”

“Really?” Luna beams at him. “That’s wonderful, Draco! Now that you’ve said it, I was thinking of beginning a Poetry Club at the school. I think it’s a beautiful form of expression. You must join when you return for your repeat year.”

“The what?” Harry finds his voice again. He looks to Hermione. “The what?”

Hermione laughs at his stricken expression, fond and stern. “Harry, we missed our last year. We still need N.E.W.Ts.”

Harry turns to Ron, who is just as perplexed. “Are you–?”

Ron shakes his head rapidly, cutting him off. “You mad? I can’t even look at another textbook again in my life.”

“We have to!” Hermione insists expectedly. She launches into an entire speech about how they need to finish school, how important it is, how the grades will affect their futures now that they have it, and Harry stops listening.

Holy shit, he thinks. He’s an adult now.

At one point, the Weasley family arrives for breakfast, the whole lot of them. Harry is about to stand up and join them when he happens to catch Charlie’s gaze. Charlie smiles at him, coming over instead.

He joins Luna’s other side with a cheerful greeting. Ron asks him when he has to return to Romania and Charlie waves it away, saying he’s taken an extended holiday. He plans to stay at the Burrow for a bit, at least until the war memorial.

And then he’s leaning forward purposefully to speak with Draco. Draco shifts slightly, his shoulder bumping against Harry, thigh pressing closer. Harry stops moving.

Charlie asks him about Nuri, specifically how he was able to communicate with her.

“I don’t know,” Draco mutters moodily. “I just did and she just understood.”

“Okay, no,” Ron waves his fork in the air in accusation. “How did she return? You still haven’t told.”

Draco sighs. “When we were preparing to get here, I told her to stay close. I didn’t think she would, but she did. She must have been in the Forest because it didn’t take her long to come to me.”

“How did she know to come?” Hermione asks curiously, folding her arms on the tabletop. Her gaze flickers between Draco and Charlie. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Didn’t Draco say they function on soul magic?” Harry says, quirking his eyebrows.

“Ten points to Eternal Potter,” Draco intones dryly. “So you were paying attention. Hard to say sometimes, with spacy speccy gits.”

“It’s more than that,” Charlie says in amusement. “Dragons are instinctual. They might not understand every word we speak since they’ve been hearing languages longer than we have written them, so I presume it’s a jumble of nonsensical noises for them.”

“But why him?” Ron jabs his fork in Draco’s direction forcefully. Harry is going to take a wild guess and say he sounds a bit jealous.

“The debt,” Hermione says, jerking back in surprise and looking pleased at the same time. “She really did owe you.”

“What debt?” Charlie asks, then his face clears. “Oh – Gringotts. I heard about that. Hermione is right. Some dragons are more sensitive than others; there’s no way of telling which ones unless they owe you something huge. Your white dragon clearly felt connected and knew where to wait, even if she couldn’t exactly comprehend it fully.”

Harry turns his head to look at Draco properly. He’s already close so now Harry can study the blue flecks in his grey eyes. “Did you know she was around when we–” he cuts himself off.

By the slight intake of breath, Harry figures Draco understood. “Not – exactly. I was hoping.”

“What was Plan B?”

Draco tears his eyes away, shrugging. “Who knows?”

So there would have been a Plan B. Harry – can’t think. His brain is short-circuiting.

So, okay. Of course. Of course, Draco would – try something. They’re friends. Harry has already acknowledged it. Ron and Hermione would have done the same, if they were aware. Of course, they would have. Because they consider Harry as their friend.

So, you know. Draco clearly considers Harry as his friend. And why wouldn’t he? He first rescued him from the Manor, then Gringotts, then Fiendfyre, then Riddle. They had conversations in the silence of nights, argued and joked and practiced and slept. Of course, of course, Harry is his friend. Why is this making him feel so queasy?

Okay, so not really. Draco rescued him from the Manor because he was saving himself. He rescued him from Gringotts and Fiendfyre and Riddle because he was under oath.

You will protect us to the best of your capacity in return for protection.

Harry had basically written him a rule-book and Draco was simply playing by it. The outcome of not doing so would have been certain death. If Harry knows anything beyond any doubt by now, it’s that Draco really, really loves being alive.

What is Harry got to do? He can’t just – so the whole thing was – right.

Right.

What about after Harry died? Draco was under no obligation to save anyone’s arse. He still did, though. He stayed and he fought and he won. Doesn’t that mean he stayed for Harry? Because he wanted to be around to save him if things go south? Because Harry is his friend?

As discreetly as possible, Harry slides a little to his left. Draco’s warmth is instantly replaced by the morning chill.

“Harry? Harry?”

Harry looks up. Charlie, Luna, and Neville have left the table. “What?”

“I was saying we’ve done more than enough already,” Ron is saying seriously. At Harry’s large question mark on his face, Ron clarifies. “We were discussing what to do next. I think – I think we should leave the school repairs to them. Before you protest, hear me out.”

Harry snaps his mouth shut.

Ron sighs, throws a quick glance at Hermione and Draco. “We should hole up at the Manor until it’s time to leave for Australia. Malfoy said he has a large enough library we can comb through to find out how to reverse Hermione’s spell. Not to mention, Malfoy shouldn’t be alone in that place but he needs to take care of certain things – I say it makes sense.”

Well, he’s right, Harry has to admit. If he’s being honest, for the first time, he wants to be as far away from the school as possible. At least for a bit. On one hand, he feels guilty for not helping in the aftermath; it’s him who brought the battle to the school in the first place. On the other hand, he knows that he’s earned his fair share of free will after everything. For the first time, his path is not set for him, is not dictated by any prophecy or old men, bearded or noseless.

And maybe Harry can try the whole friendship thing without a life-and-death bond forcing them together. Maybe Draco would like that, too.

“What do you think?” Harry asks the other two, already knowing his answer.

Hermione turns to Draco. “If you’re fine with it.”

Draco looks at the three with something akin to annoyance and defeat. He sighs, muttering a few choice words thrown in with bullheaded Gryffindors.

Harry throws a grape in his face.