The Graveyard of Ghosts
Sometimes, like now, Harry thinks of the Amortentia he had smelled during their Potions class back in Sixth Year. It had been a heady, addictive scent; a combination of treacle tart, wood of a broomstick, and the gardens of the Burrow, the kind Ginny still carries everywhere with her.
He thinks about Tom Riddle’s mother, drugging his father into marrying her and more. Tom Riddle Sr. must have been deeply addicted to it, to the scent of whatever he could sense emitting from it, and wonders how Romilda Vane’s chocolates would have affected him. Would he have fallen in love with her or Ginny? Would he have ever fallen for Draco?
That’s the thing, isn’t it? Harry does not know how these intricacies worked, is not as passionate as Draco or Hermione to want to figure it out, does not usually bother himself with deep, philosophical dilemmas other than I-have-to-die-for-the-greater-good and I-should-try-to-live-a-little.
The graveyard is silent. The church behind him is silent. The only source of light is the moon.
Even then, the silhouette of the long, black, traditional wizarding robes is unmistakable.
The crunching noise of leaves and twigs is enough of a warning that the man standing alone is no longer so. As Harry slowly approaches, Severus continues his mute vigil, head lowered to the grave, spine ramrod straight.
Harry joins him.
For a long moment, the two of them study the grave in silence. The only acknowledgement that is shared is the miniscule step Severus takes to his right, as if determined to communicate that he does not appreciate being interrupted or crowded during his personal time.
But when has Harry ever listened to the man that he’ll start doing so now?
“I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he murmurs lowly, “about Draco–”
“I know,” Severus intones flatly.
“Will you be coming–”
“No.”
“He would have liked it if you did.”
Severus does not respond.
Godric’s Hollow is more or less the same, from what Harry has seen on his way. He’d made it a point to visit every year on Halloween, just like tonight, but had never bumped into another known soul. Perhaps Severus has been doing the same. Perhaps Severus has hidden himself all this time.
“Are you staying in the village?”
It would make sense if he does.
Severus does not respond.
Harry continues to needle. “Where have you been?”
No response.
“Why did you leave?”
Nothing.
“What was her favourite flower?”
Severus finally twitches, merely a small tremor that runs across his shoulders. He must not have been expecting Harry to be so direct.
This time, Harry waits for the answer.
After a good five minutes of complete disregard, Severus replies, voice curling softly around the words. “Orchids. She disliked it when people assumed she liked lilies.”
“I bet you liked lilies, though,” Harry says cheekily. He’s fairly certain Severus will not be murdering him anymore. Before he can test the theory, however, he fires another question. “Favourite film?”
Severus makes him wait for three minutes. “The French Connection. The first time she invited me over the summer break, Mr. Evans made us watch it.”
“You’ve met my grandparents?” Harry asks in shock. “Are they alive? Do they know about me?”
Severus is still resolutely studying the grave. “They were murdered when – when she joined the Order.” After a pause, he adds, voice dropping, “Miss Granger made the right call.”
“She reversed it,” Harry informs him. “It worked.”
“I see.”
The wind is crisp and the red leaves flutter in circles around their feet. A few fall on the grave. Harry kneels down to clear it away with a long swipe of his arm.
It’s been four years.
Harry has successfully outlived both his parents.
“Are you working somewhere?” Harry breaks the silence again, rising to his feet. “I imagine you’d be writing textbooks by now.”
“It’s none of your business, Potter.”
“Or inventing spells,” Harry continues thoughtfully. “You could be one of those lone, mad researchers who live in the middle of nowhere. It’s a whole thing these days.”
Severus inhale is quite audible.
“I could help you out,” Harry offers. “I could tell people your books are really great. They’ll buy it in hordes.”
“I don’t need your help,” Severus grits out.
“You’re wearing the same clothes you wore your whole life,” Harry points out with fear abandoned. “I reckon you’re not earning much, which would make sense if you’re still on vacation.”
Severus turns on his heels and starts marching towards the kissing gate. Harry follows.
“I’m serious,” Harry is saying as they near the statue of his family. Severus blows past without a glance. “You could come stay with me. Or work at Grimmauld. We have about fifteen kids at the moment and a former Hogwarts Professor on board would cheer them up.”
It is true. Kreacher might be an efficient employee, but he’s hardly pleasant company. Some of the kids have been requesting to learn magic as soon as possible even before their Hogwarts letters arrive. His friends volunteer from time to time, but everyone is busy, and even if Severus might be a sore sight to the innocent eyes, he’s undeniably a genius.
“I’m usually occupied at the shop for most of my time,” Harry attempts to make his case, quickening his steps to match Severus. He hasn’t Apparated yet and that’s all that matters. “You must have heard of it. Potter’s Pitch. I sell broomsticks. We actually just supplied the Irish National Team with the latest model of Moonbeams.”
“Shut up, Potter.”
“I can’t,” Harry says honestly. “I’m very used to talking these days. It helps with the business.”
“I don’t care.”
“Fine. Then tell me what Mum’s hobbies were.”
Somehow, they’ve reached the crumbling house. Severus suddenly stops near the gate, turning to watch it. Harry joins him.
The house is still in ruins, the lawn overgrown with weeds. It’s easier now, though, to study it. Harry doesn’t feel as overwhelmed as he did the first time, doesn’t feel his chest caving in with the urge to join his parents under the soil.
“You could live here,” Harry says randomly. “It doesn’t make sense for it to be in disuse anymore.”
“Potter,” Severus grates coldly, “I am of firm belief that you are quite a moron. And yet, I must have underestimated your sheer stupidity since you keep surprising me with it even today.”
“You could rebuild it,” Harry says. “I promise I won’t ask for rent.”
“You … you want me to live in the house where she died?” Severus snarls, disgust and restrained fury coiled together.
“I want you to live in the house where she lived,” Harry corrects him, frowning in displeasure. “Where she was happy. Where she built a family.”
“You’ve truly lost your mind.”
“I don’t care,” Harry says, clutching the metal gate tightly. “I owe you. We all do. The least I can offer is a home to stay.”
“You don’t owe me,” Severus says icily, “because none of it was for you.”
“Do you think Mum wouldn’t have appreciated this? Mum wouldn’t have wanted you to have a good life after everything that you’ve done?” Harry insists relentlessly.
Severus suddenly freezes impossibly more. He’s so deathly still, he could be carved out of stone. “I think she would have appreciated it if I never caused her death in the first place. I think she would have appreciated it if I didn’t selfishly beg the Dark Lord to kill her family but to spare her. I think she would have appreciated it if her only son had not needed to sacrifice himself at the age of seventeen. Do not tell me what she would have appreciated, Potter. I knew her better than that.”
Harry finally does fall silent. His skin prickles, his eyes sting, and suddenly all he wants is to go home. Draco might not be there, but maybe he can convince Nuri for quiet company.
He’s just deciding to Apparate away, when Severus speaks. He doesn’t sound as furious anymore, just resigned and annoyed.
“She enjoyed music. Disgustingly loud songs. My ears bled every single time.”
Harry’s breath hitches. “Oh.”
“Petunia would bang on the door to make her stop. Mrs. Evans tried to tell her it was disturbing the neighbours but … it never worked.”
“Tell me more.”
The next morning, Harry is at The Burrow when Ginny dances down the steps in her dressing gown, hair piled on top of her head. She beams at Harry.
“Gin!” Harry scrambles up, throwing his arms around her. “Can’t believe you made it.”
“Of course, I did,” Ginny kisses his cheek. “Holyhead Harpies can wait a few matches when Harry Potter needs you in his trying times.”
Harry flushes. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“Auntie Ninny,” Victoire cries out happily, fist bumping the air.
Fleur laughs fondly, pushing her daughter’s silvery blonde hair out of her face. “This is not Auntie Ninny. This is Auntie Gin-Gin.”
Ginny picks her up, playfully kissing her all over. “You’ve grown so much already.”
“Someone called?” Hermione pokes her head around the kitchen frame. She notices Harry standing uselessly behind Ginny. Her expression turns sour. “Harry, what are you doing?”
“Er…”
“RON!” Hermione bellows and Ron comes rushing through the back door, panting. She waves her hand at Harry frantically. “Look at him!”
Ron does. Winces. “Mate. You look like hell.”
In the background, Harry can hear Molly screaming at Bill. “WILLIAM WEASLEY, YOU ARE A FATHER OF A WONDERFUL DAUGHTER. DO YOU WANT ME TO TELL HER THAT GRANDMA ACCIDENTALLY CUT OFF HIS HEAD?”
Fred helpfully adds, “Listen to the young lady, brother.”
“Although, I think Kreacher might get a kick out of hanging your beheaded ugly face next to his family,” George recommends.
“Don’t listen to them,” Fleur advises Victoire. “Men are stupid.”
“Hey!” Rons protest immediately.
“She’s not wrong,” Arthur comments from behind his morning newspaper.
“Draco would agree,” Harry says sheepishly.
At his words, Ron quickly hastens Harry upstairs, why don’t we fix you up a little?
Halfway through, though, Teddy bursts in the room. Wild purple hair, grey eyes, and a button nose. He throws himself at Harry, screaming Goddaddy! When Percy follows him inside, he looks as exhausted and tired as Harry does.
He tries to pry Teddy from Harry’s legs and then gives up, laying flat on Ron’s old bed, groaning into the pillow.
Ron pokes him cautiously. “You alive, Perce?”
“Audrey was throwing up all night,” Percy mutters into the cushions. “And then today morning, she wanted to dance on the streets. I have never felt so embarrassed in my life.”
Harry balks even as Teddy jabbers his ears off with his latest story of How Max Is So Cool. “You danced? You?”
“Well, obviously,” Percy grumbles, not sounding happy about it one bit. “When your pregnant wife tells you to do something, you don’t question. In a way, I’m glad you never have to go through it.”
“Percy!” Ron reprimands. He throws an apologetic look at Harry. “Don’t listen to him, mate. He’s an idiot.”
“I’m still your big brother.”
“Hey, Teddy,” Ron says instead, crouching down. Teddy stops in the middle of and then Max was like I will see you on the other side and Sam got very scared but then Max hugged him and Sam hugged him back and I think that was so cool – “Why don’t you go and find Uncle Charlie? He has an awesome gift for you.”
Teddy’s eyes widen. “Really? Bye, Goddaddy!”
“Where’s Luna?” Harry asks once the room is quiet.
“Already at the Manor,” Ron says. “So are Blaise and the others. They wanted to make sure everything is in order.”
“Right,” Harry gulps.
Suddenly, he can’t stand still anymore. He begins pacing the small room anxiously, unable to believe this is really happening. It just doesn’t make sense in his head. His heart is hammering, pounding, and his pulse thunders in his ears.
“Harry?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Harry chants, swallowing more and more, and Ron watches him cautiously, as though expecting Harry to combust into flames any moment.
To be fair, he just might.
“You okay there?”
“I can’t believe,” Harry says, his tone horrified and nervous and jumpy. He sounds deranged. “That bastard – why the fuck – why did I – Ron, this is a nightmare.”
Ron winces. “Afraid not. Look, everything will be alright. We’re all here. At any given moment you think you can’t go through the ceremony, I’ll cover you so that you can use the Cloak to slip out. Hermione will stay behind and handle the questions.”
A surprised, shocked laughter leaves Harry. “You two thought about this, didn’t you?”
“What are best friends for if not to smuggle you out of unwanted situations?” Ron shrugs, entirely unapologetic.
Harry is so grateful, he thinks he might kiss Ron. And then Hermione, just for luck. He probably needs it today. Of all the days, this is the day he just might need it.
The Manor looks breathtakingly splendid.
It’s decorated in all so many kinds of flowers and plants that Harry has no hope of naming them all. The awning leading from the main entrance to the front yard is a luxurious, shimmering silver. There are stars hanging from the top, twinkling and swaying in the light autumn breeze.
Hundreds of chairs are lined up beside the fountain, the aisle between showered with red roses, courtesy of Teddy’s enthusiastic role as the flower boy. Minnie, Definitely Peppy, and Definitely Zaddy are leading the last minute guests to their assigned seats. Others are serving the finest of Veuve Clicquot champagne.
Dudley and Emma are still in shock. The disbanded Order members and their former batchmates are in the middle. Hermione and Molly are holding each other and crying softly, as though they had genuinely believed this moment might never arrive. The rest of the Weasleys are grinning, though, and Harry turns to the man in front of him.
Draco Malfoy winks.
Harry blinks.
A heartbeat later, Nuri’s thunderous roar splits the afternoon sky as she soars above the ceremony. Before Harry realises what is happening, him and Draco are being surrounded in a circle of bright blue-white flames, the crowd is scrambling to their feet, gasping and shocked, wands out, they’re going to attack Nuri – shit, shit, shit –
But then – that’s it. Nuri disappears, encasing herself in invisible ice just as promptly. The fire does not spread, remains burning as a protective ring, and Harry looks back at Draco in question.
He’s smiling, cheeks bunched up, silver eyes reflecting Nuri’s crackling fire.
“This is not Protego Diabolica,” he says. “But it’ll do.”
Harry’s breath hitches. “What?”
“Harry, you’ve spent years of your life being chased by a madman thirsty for your blood. You grew up in a house where you never felt welcomed. You came to a magical school, called it home, and watched it being destroyed.
“All my life, I sought approval. From my parents, from the world. I dreamed of ruling it, because that’s the only reality that felt worth it. At least, at that time. Harry, you have fucked up my life since the moment I met you.”
A surprised, unattractive snicker escapes Harry, chest constricting.
Draco’s smile widens at the sight. God, he’s beautiful.
“You gave me everything that I needed and never deserved. Your compassion, your kindness, your faith. A second chance. And I’ve never been more grateful. I want to spend the rest of my life showing you how much it meant to me. How much you mean to me. Because, babe, you’re worth it. I’d gladly follow you headfirst into all the wars if it means you’re waiting at the end of it. If it means I get to keep you safe and alive.”
“Draco…”
Draco’s jaw is clenched tight. He rapidly blinks, shaking his head. “Wait.”
Harry does. His heart doesn’t fit inside his body anymore, he’s sure of it. He doesn’t know how it’s possible, if it even is, but it’s happening to him and isn’t Dumbledore the one who told him, why on Earth should that mean it’s not real?
“I want you to know that you will always have me. I want you to know that you’re the most important thing in my life and your happiness means the world to me. I want you to know that I’m going to do my best to provide a home for you.”
The fire continues to burn, shimmering brilliantly. Draco draws out his wand, murmurs a soft incantation, and a silver fox bursts forth, standing vigil.
“You’re safe, Harry. I promise. And I’m never letting anyone make you feel otherwise again.”
The entire crowd gasps, cooing aww. Harry barely registers it.
Draco waits, as patient as he was in Sixth Year, as patient as he was when Harry had Really Bad Days, as patient as he was when Harry broke down mere months ago on his twenty-second birthday.
He has chosen pure white clothes for the ceremony while Harry chose rich black ones, the kind he really loves, silky smooth and velvet collared. The tie, though, is bright green to match his eyes, something Hermione had ensured him is A Thing. The way Draco is looking at him right now, she might be right.
“You have fucked up my life since the moment I met you, too,” Harry begins and the crowd laughs. Draco beams, radiant. “Draco, you are my home. With you, I know I am safe. With you, I know I am loved.
“I won’t force another Unbreakable Vow on you,” he grins cheekily and Draco rolls his eyes, all soft around the edges. From the crowd, Ron hollers Don’t promise that, mate! Without looking away, Draco shows him a proud middle finger.
Harry laughs. “I won’t because I don’t need to. I trust you with my life. I trust you with my heart. I trust that you will always make the right choices when it matters the most. Draco, you have inspired me to want to live. You taught me that wanting to live is not selfish, that I don’t need to feel guilty for such a simple desire. Every day that I’m with you, it makes me glad that Riddle was unsuccessful.
“I don’t need more wars to know your worth. I don’t need anything more than for you to continue being yourself. It’s enough for me. It’s more than enough. Although, I certainly don’t mind the free passes to good restaurants every now and then.”
Draco smirks, swaying forward to place a kiss on Harry’s lips. Harry hums contentedly into it, ignoring the teasing from the crowd.
“Do you, Mr. Draco Malfoy, take this man as your husband, for better or for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death does you part?”
To Harry’s baffled amusement, Draco doubles over in laughter. It takes him a good couple of minutes to collect himself and when he straightens up, he’s wiping his cheeks.
“What?”
Draco shakes his head, still grinning. “Actually, Minister…”
The End