Drarry
The trials were over. The funerals had finished. The war had come to its official and political end.
Harry stared at the Order of Merlin, First Class, that was on the table in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. It fogged with his breath, the only part of him to touch it so far. The fog reminded him of the look in Bogrod’s eyes.
“Imperio!”
That whispered spell still haunted him. Much of what he’d done during the war haunted him.
“Aren’t you going to have a closer look?” Draco’s voice was soft behind him. “You deserve this. You know that.”
Harry shook his head and leaned back into his once-enemy’s broad chest.
“I did terrible things in the name of the light,” he murmured. “It’s the last thing I deserve. Snape - you -”
“We all did terrible things. It’s how we survived. The difference is that people expected those things of me, and of Severus. You feel like you fell to our level - but you had no choice.”
Harry sighed. They had had this conversation before. “I don’t want it.”