Discovery
Harry gasped awake, throat raw from yelling and skin covered in a cold sweat. He fumbled around the nightstand for his glasses, pulling them on in the dark. Where was his wand? He tried an accio and it flew across the room to smack him in the forehead. He cautiously cast a Lumos, then hastily Noxed it as the light nearly blinded him.
Ah. It was one of those times then.
The state of his room was obvious, even in the dark. Harry was naturally messy, but not so messy that he did things like randomly leave the bed curtains on the other side of the room. His trunk seemed to have been upended during the night, its contents covering the floor. The door to the en-suite restroom was half-torn off its hinges, and it sounded like water was leaking from somewhere inside.
Harry took a few calming breaths, willing his mind to settle. Hermione’s voice coached him in his head to inhale, exhale. His magic had been acting up since the war ended, he knew, but it had only gotten worse since returning to Hogwarts for his Eighth Year. It was getting embarrassing in public, but accidental magic during a nightmare was new-- then again, so were the nightmares. Ron and ‘Mione had confiscated his Dreamless Sleep supply, and this was where it got him, room disheveled and wide awake in the middle of the night.
The Lumos this time was still bright, but softer, and he used it long enough to gather a couple things and make his way to the door. Harry closed the door behind him, casting the strongest locking charm he knew. With the state his magic was in, he was unsure he’d even be able to undo it later, but the last time he had forgotten-- well.
No matter how hard he tried to dodge their attention, the wizarding world seemed incapable of leaving him alone, and the Hogwarts student body had been no exception. He supposed the charms they cast on his room came from adoration, but if he hadn’t known better, he would have thought they were meant to be pranks. He still hadn’t gotten his mirror to stop talking about how lovely his green eyes were. Perhaps he’d shattered it while he slept. Might be an improvement.
Slipping under the Invisibility Cloak, he made his way out of the Eighth Year dormitory and into the halls of the castle. Harry drew the Marauder’s Map from his pocket, unfolding it carefully to find the spot he was in. He intended to explore. Perhaps trying to find new secret passageways would stop him from wondering if this was the hallway Remus died in, or where it was Colin Creevy took his final stand. He traced his finger along one of the corridors in the dungeons.
Draco Malfoy. His dot stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of a large, unlabeled room. Harry was moving before he realized what he was doing, his legs automatically carrying him towards the nearest staircase.
Malfoy had returned to Hogwarts as part of the terms of his probation following the trials, but this was one of the few times Harry had any proof of that. Before— well, before— it felt like Harry and Malfoy revolved around one another, two sides of the same coin, dealing with the same choices in very different circumstances, their worlds constantly pushing and pulling on one another.
Now, Malfoy was conspicuously absent. Harry felt off during meals, looking up to trade glares across the Great Hall only to find Malfoy’s seat empty. The insults never came from the opposite side of the hallway, the passing shoves on the way to class were gone. Their rooms were right next to each other in the Eighth year dormitory, yet the only time Harry ever saw him was during classes, and that was if he really looked for him.
Whenever Harry did see him, Malfoy looked like Harry felt: tired, broken, riddled with grief. He kept his head down and his walls up.
Ron and Hermione had noticed Harry’s state, but he didn’t know how to explain it to them-- normal life seemed close enough to touch. The dead were buried, the criminals behind bars, witches and wizards were starting work again, and the students were back at Hogwarts. Everyone, including his best friends, was settling into whatever their new normal was.
Except for Harry. Harry didn’t feel whole, or remotely healed-- there was something missing, still. He didn’t know where to look for it, but as he descended Hogwarts’s stairs, he decided to start with Malfoy. He didn’t think he was looking for confrontation or accusations, necessarily, but at this point, a spark of anything would be a relief.
Harry turned down the hallway with the room Malfoy was in and paused, folding the Map and tucking it into his pocket. He made his way down the hallway, ducking his head into each room he passed. Malfoy was at the end of the corridor, he knew, but he’d never been in this part of the castle before. The rooms were dark, though, and he decided to come back at a time when a Lumos wouldn’t give him away.
He reached the door at the end and contemplated it. It was an old wooden thing, closed, with light seeping through the gaps. Harry didn’t dare risk an unlocking charm-- with his magic in the state it was in, the door would probably just burst open.
Harry bit his lip, praying to Merlin that Malfoy hadn’t cursed the door, and slowly turned the knob. He let out a breath of relief when he remained unharmed, and cautiously pushed the door open, slipping inside.
Oh. Malfoy sat at the bench of a grand piano, his back to the door. Harry realized he must have crossed the threshold of a silencing spell as he’d come in, suddenly surrounded by music. The melody was soft, mournful yet sweet, and Harry stood frozen, transfixed.
Was this what Malfoy did during all that time Harry didn’t see him? Shut himself in a room in the dungeons, playing music for no one to hear? Harry gently closed the door behind himself, then walked tentatively into the room, keeping along the walls, well away from the piano.
Malfoy brought the piece he was playing to an end, the sound growing quieter and quieter until his long fingers stopped moving across the keys. His eyes were closed, brows furrowed, and he sat completely still.
Harry’s heart pounded. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, unmoving, but it felt like an eternity. Harry knew Malfoy’s expressions, and this was the one that told him Malfoy was warring with himself, undecided about something. He seemed to come to a conclusion because he positioned his hands over different keys and began to play again.
Harry let out a breath, relieved. He leaned back against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the ground. Malfoy’s eyes were open now, a determined expression on his face, and the song he played now was intense, a fight woven into piano notes. Harry’s throat tightened as he listened, the piece dragging him back to the Final Battle. The music grew louder, Malfoy approaching the peak, and spells flew in Harry’s mind’s eye.
He was duelling Voldemort again, it was the final stand-off, and the bright red of Harry’s Expelliarmus collided with the green of Voldemort’s Avada Kedavra. Voldemort fell as the music broke, but the notes weren’t joyful or triumphant. Rather, they sounded exactly how Harry had felt after the battle: there was relief, and exhaustion, and pain. It was beautiful, somehow.
Harry was sure, now: Malfoy understood. He went to stand as the song seemed to end, thinking to leave Malfoy to his piano-playing but stopped when he heard something like a lullaby drifting around him, and Harry settled back onto the floor. Ah, well, maybe he’d stay a little longer.
--
Draco focused on the piano keys, desperately trying to ignore Potter’s magic, pressing in on all sides. It was calmer, now, but no less alive than it had been when Potter first walked in.
He’d almost said something, earlier, but held his tongue. If Potter wanted to stay hidden, he’d let him. There was a tentative peace between them, even if Potter didn’t know Draco had agreed to it, and Draco wanted to protect it.
He played on.