Part Two
Battle
It had been five months since the night Harry found out that Draco Malfoy was the light side’s spy in Voldemort’s camp. He still wasn’t quite sure what to make of it; Malfoy acted just as he always had in school, towards him, Ron and Hermione. He still called Ron ‘the poor Weasel’ and Hermione ‘Mudblood’ and he still threw insults at Harry whenever he had the chance.
Yet Harry still had the note he’d received from Malfoy the day after that night, carefully hidden at the bottom of his trunk. He took it out sometimes, late at night, wondering just who Draco Malfoy really was.
Meanwhile, Voldemort was advancing, recruiting more and more wizards and witches to his side. Malfoy served the Order with high-class information and the Order was able to stop several massacres before they had a chance to begin.
Harry wondered how many beatings Malfoy had to take for the failed operations. There was never a mark on his face when Harry saw him in school, but he remembered how hurt he’d been when Harry had been sent to collect him. Madame Pomfrey and Professor Snape were a good team when it came to healing.
Then came the day when Malfoy told them of Voldemort’s plans to attack Hogwarts.
They’d had no chance to send the students home. Malfoy had told them that the attack would happen soon, but he didn’t know how soon. It turned out that it was the same night.
Then the castle’s walls shook as the wards were broken and the Death Eaters swarmed Hogwart’s grounds. Fierce duels started as Headmaster Dumbledore told McGonagall to get the younger students down to the dungeons.
“Sixth and seventh years can chose whether they want to fight or not,” he had said.
Harry hadn’t seen a single sixth or seventh year follow McGonagall.
Half an hour later, they were all outside on the fields around Hogwarts, fighting for their lives and the right to be alive. There were dead bodies scattered around the grounds; students, Death Eaters and teachers alike. Harry fought against a Death Eater as he tried to get closer to Voldemort. Dumbledore was already there and the two great wizards were duelling.
Harry ducked a curse and sent another one back. The Death Eater keeled over, frozen and Harry cast another curse to ensure that he stayed that way.
“Harry, look out!”
Harry whipped around to see a string of magic heading towards him. Everything suddenly felt as though it was going in slow motion; he didn’t have a chance to move. He blinked and fully expected the curse to hit him – but when he opened his eyes, he saw that someone else had taken the curse for him.
“Malfoy?” Harry said dumbly, staring at the other boy who was withering on the ground. Then he said, “Finite incantatum!”
Malfoy lay panting on the ground and Harry was just about to bend next to him when he heard, “Stupid boy! I should have killed you as soon as our Lord realised there was a spy among us! But I’ll deal with you later.” Harry looked up to see a black clad Death Eater levelling his wand at Harry. “Mr. Potter, prepare to die. Avada—”
Again, the world slowed down. Malfoy blinked sluggishly but then his senses seemed to sharpen as he realised what was going to happen. Harry didn’t know one could be as fast as that, but Malfoy raised his wand at the Death Eater and screamed, “Avada kedavra!” just as the Death Eater was about to finish his own curse.
The Death Eater froze as the green light hit him and he fell over, dead. The mask moved to the side and Harry gasped as he realised that the Death Eater was none other than Draco’s father, Lucius Malfoy.
The world returned to normal and Harry once again heard the screams and yells all around. Curses flew over his head and all around him, the smell of blood and death surrounded him. Harry saw Malfoy draw shaky breaths and attempt to sit up, but he collapsed back on the ground, screaming in pain. Harry cast a protective shield over them, hoping that it would give them a few moments calm.
“Malfoy, you have to get up,” Harry said urgently to the other boy.
“I— can’t,” Malfoy said. “Hurts.”
Harry frowned deeply. “What was that curse?”
“The bone breaker curse,” Malfoy said chokingly. His face was deathly pale.
Harry drew a shocked breath. The bone breaker curse broke the bones in the body; the longer it worked, the more bones it broke. Malfoy had taken that curse for Harry.
“Why did you do it?” Harry asked.
“Had to,” Malfoy said, drawing another shaking breath. “Love you.”
Harry’s eyes widened impossibly. “You what?” he asked, but Malfoy didn’t answer; he drew another shaky breath and then seemed to still. At the very same time, Harry felt the protective shield going down and he looked around, wondering how he could get help for Malfoy.
He looked over at where Dumbledore and Voldemort were fighting. He couldn’t help but think that they both looked impossibly tired. The air around them seemed to shine with the strong magic they used. Harry suddenly realised that this was his chance – if Voldemort was tired, Harry might actually be able to kill the Dark Lord once and for all.
Looking down at Malfoy one last time, he promised silently yet furiously to the other boy that his sacrifices wouldn’t be for nothing.
Afterwards, Harry would never be able to remember what happened next. He remembered only colours; black hatred he held for Voldemort, red passion for life, yellow for the strong evening sun shining over Hogwart’s fields, green for the grass beneath him, Dumbledore’s blue robes, blood red smudges over the grey beard…
Strong, gold tinted green as Harry cast the killing curse on Voldemort.
Black as Harry fell into blessed unconsciousness.
When Harry awoke, Hermione sat next to his bed. She had a book open on her lap, though she was, for once, not paying it any attention. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her hands shook slightly as they clasped Harry’s when she realised that he was awake.
Mere minutes later, Harry himself was crying as he was told of the severe losses both sides had suffered. Half of the sixth and seventh years were dead or gravely injured and the rest had been scarred for life. Harry also found out that the Death Eaters had continued their raid through Hogwarts even after their Lord had been killed and they had found the lower years’ hiding spot in the dungeons. McGonagall had been killed, as had many of the Muggleborns.
Ron Weasley was sleeping on one of the other beds in the Infirmary. His injuries were serious, but not serious enough for him to be moved to St Mungo’s. Harry was relieved to hear that much, at least.
Harry’s voice shook as he asked, “What about Malfoy?”
Hermione looked sad, but said, “He’s at St Mungo’s.”
“Will he be all right?”
“They don’t know yet,” Hermione said. “He was hit by a bone breaking curse—”
“I know,” Harry said. “He took that curse for me.”
Hermione stilled, looking at him with a surprised expression. Then she smiled softly.
“Tell me he is going to be okay,” Harry pleased, looking at Hermione. “Please.”
Hermione closed her eyes briefly and then said gently, “Of course he will be, Harry.”
Two days later, Professor Snape informed Harry that Malfoy had woken up. Harry had been called to the Hospital Wing, where Severus was recuperating after the Final Battle; he had, as the Death Eater turned spy, been subjected to more than his fair share of curses from the Death Eaters.
Now the Potions Master lay pale on the bed, glaring at Harry.
“He would like to see you,” Snape said. He held out a letter towards Harry and Harry took it and read it. It was addressed, ‘Dear Severus’. The letter was very short, the handwriting unsteady, as though Malfoy hadn’t been able to stop shaking as he wrote it.
“Of course I’ll go,” Harry said, looking up at Snape.
Snape levelled his black eyes on Harry. “If you hurt him, I will personally see to it that your life becomes a living hell, Potter,” he said.
“Isn’t that where we are already, sir?”
Snape’s stared at him. “I don’t understand what he sees in you,” he muttered, barely loud enough for Harry to hear.
Harry looked down. “Neither do I, sir. I don’t understand why he took that curse for me.”
“If you don’t understand that, then I’m not about to explain it to you,” Professor Snape growled at him.
Harry left just after that. He wasn’t quite sure what he would say to Malfoy when he visited him, but he knew that he had to do it; he had to see Malfoy.
Malfoy was sitting up in bed when Harry arrived late that afternoon. There were no classes at Hogwarts at the moment, but he had still had to get permission from Professor Dumbledore before he left. Professor Dumbledore, who had made it through the battle against all odds – he had actually been dead for several seconds, but had been revived again – had signed the permission slip without asking questions and Harry left as soon as he had the slip in hand.
Malfoy looked pale, though that wasn’t unusual for him.
“Hi.” Harry peeked in through the door and Malfoy looked up.
“Harry,” he said softly. “Come in.”
Harry wondered when Malfoy had started calling him by his first name. He walked hesitantly into the room. “How— uh, how are you doing?”
“As good as can be expected, apparently,” Malfoy said. “I can’t walk at the moment, because my legs are still healing from the bone breaker curse, but at least I’m awake.”
Harry nodded. He felt awkward, standing at the bottom of Malfoy’s bed. He didn’t know what to say – was he supposed to ask about the last words Malfoy had said to him? Was he supposed to thank him for killing his own father to save Harry’s life?
“How are you, Harry?”
Malfoy’s question surprised him. “I’m fine,” he said automatically. “I— I wasn’t out for long.”
Malfoy smiled slightly. “The Great Harry Potter – vanquishes the Dark Lord and isn’t out for long.”
“I didn’t do that much,” Harry said. “I just— Voldemort was tired after fighting Dumbledore and I took advantage of it.”
“You risked your life.”
“So did you.” Malfoy fell silent and looked away from Harry. Harry asked, “Why? Why did you do it?”
Malfoy studied his hands. “I told you, I had to.”
“Because you love me?”
Malfoy froze. Then he looked at the window, uncomfortably wringing his hands. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was just—”
“Dying?” Harry asked.
“I thought I was,” Malfoy said. “And I just— I just wanted you to know. I’m sorry. It was selfish and— stupid.”
Malfoy still wouldn’t look at Harry. Harry could clearly see Malfoy’s distress. He still wasn’t sure what he felt about everything. Did he mind that Malfoy loved him? Was he, Harry Potter, gay? He had never given it any particular thought – he’d had crushes on girls; Cho the most outstanding. But then, he had had more than a healthy interest in Oliver Wood back in his second year – and Remus when he’d started teaching, before he knew about the man’s history, and then there was Cedrik.
Perhaps he was bisexual. But then there was still the question of Malfoy – what was he supposed to say to Malfoy’s proclaimed love?
“Say something.” Harry looked up and found that Malfoy was looking at him, his grey eyes pleading in a way they had never before. “Anything.”
“I— I don’t know what to say,” Harry said. “I don’t know what I feel.”
Malfoy looked down. “Of course,” he said quietly. “I— It’ doesn’t matter.”
“But it does,” Harry said. “Since I found out that you were a spy, things have started to matter. You started to matter. To me. I don’t understand you – you’ve acted exactly the same as always in school towards me and my friends and yet you save my life and kill your own father to protect me – and then you say you love me. I don’t know what to think about everything.”
“It was all an act,” Malfoy said quietly. “In school. I had to keep up the pretences – otherwise I would have blown my cover. I couldn’t be all nice to you all of a sudden, don’t you see? Everyone would have been suspicious.”
Harry nodded; it made sense. Still, the hurtful words uttered over the last seven years still stung. There was so much animosity between them. How could that just be traded for love?
Finally, he said, “I need time.”
Malfoy nodded shakily. “I can give you that.”
Harry smiled slightly and made for the door. Just before he left, he turned around and said, “Oh, Malfoy?”
“Yes?” Harry tried to ignore the hope in Malfoy’s voice.
“Thanks.”
Then he left, before Malfoy had the time to answer.
Two weeks after the Final Battle, Harry sat in the Great Hall next to Hermione and Ron. The feeling in the room was, as it had been for the last two weeks, subdued. There were large gaps at all four student tables where injured or dead students were supposed to sit. Classes had started again, though even the teachers seemed to wonder what the use was. Transfigurations and History of Magic had both been cancelled for the time being, seeing how both Professors were dead. Snape only taught the regular classes; the advanced sixth and seventh years had only reading assignments, since the Professor’s health wasn’t stable enough to be close to the stronger, more dangerous potions they were supposed to brew.
Meals in the Great Hall were always quiet now. Harry wondered how long it would take before things went back to normal. He realised that it might not go back to normal in the time Harry had left at Hogwarts.
Hermione poked him in the side. “Harry, look.”
Harry looked up to where Hermione was pointing; the doorway. An unsteady Malfoy using crutches stood there, taking in the sight of the Great Hall. His face was unreadable, though Harry thought he could see sadness in his eyes.
They hadn’t spoken since Harry’s visit. Malfoy had gone into rehabilitation and Harry had stayed away, trying to sort out his feelings. He still didn’t know what they were. The only conclusion he’d come to was that he didn’t hate Malfoy anymore. How could he, after what had happened? The Malfoy he’d met at St Mungo’s, and back when he first found out that Malfoy was the spy, was not a boy he could hate – it was actually a boy he liked. But how much? As a classmate, or a friend – or more?
Malfoy’s eyes roamed over the Great Hall and landed on Harry. Harry didn’t know what to do – was he supposed to smile or—
He didn’t have more time to think about it, for Malfoy turned away and walked out of the Great Hall.
“Go after him, Harry,” Hermione said to him.
“What?” Harry stared at her.
“Go after him,” she repeated. “You two obviously need to talk.”
Harry swallowed. Hermione could read him like a book – it was unnerving sometimes. Then he nodded and stood up, following Malfoy.
The other boy hadn’t come far – he wasn’t very fast on his crutches and Harry could hear them and follow the sound. Malfoy was just starting down the stairs towards the dungeons – something that looked quite dangerous – when Harry reached him.
“Malfoy,” he said.
Malfoy stumbled and nearly lost his balance. Harry reached out and steadied him. His heart was beating hard in his chest.
Malfoy looked at him. “Harry— what are you doing here?”
“I don’t know— Hermione said we needed to talk.”
“Granger? What does she know? Did you tell her? Tell her about my little crush on you— oh, the poor Malfoy crushing on the Great Harry Potter – did she have a good laugh at that?” Malfoy sneered, though his tone sounded more hurt than haughty.
Harry wanted to shake him. “No!” he said. “Stop it. I didn’t tell her anything. She’s just— perceptive, all right? She doesn’t know anything.”
Malfoy looked up at him. Harry suddenly realised that he was several inches taller than Malfoy these days. He hadn’t given it any thought before.
“She doesn’t know anything?” Malfoy asked quietly.
Harry shook his head. “No. Nothing. I wanted to tell her, but I didn’t know where to start.”
Malfoy looked away. “Why are you here?”
“I told you,” Harry said, “I don’t know. I just— we need to talk.”
Malfoy swallowed visibly and nodded. “Yeah, we do. But, look – I have a bit of a problem with standing up for too long these days – would you mind if we found some place to sit down?”
“No, no, of course not,” Harry said. They started down the stairs and Harry glanced uncertainly at Malfoy. Getting down the stairs with crutches didn’t seem to be an easy task. “How are your legs?”
“Healing,” Malfoy said. “The Healers said I’d be rid of the crutches within the week if I do the exercises.”
They walked down the corridor and Harry opened the door to an empty classroom. He transfigured a desk into a couch and sat down on one side, while Malfoy slumped down on the other side of it.
“Why don’t they just heal your legs like Pomfrey does if we break something during Quidditch?” Harry asked.
Malfoy shook his head. “The curse isn’t built that way; it breaks your legs more permanently, if you can put it that way. Unlike natural reasons, there is dark magic involved, which makes it that much harder to heal. But talking about the bone breaker curse isn’t why we’re here.”
It was Harry’s turn to swallow. He’d suggested this; now he had to go through with it. “Malfoy—”
“Please, call me Draco,” Malfoy said quietly. “After everything, it seems— better, I suppose.”
“All right,” Harry said. “Draco.” He took a deep breath, but didn’t know where to start.
Draco looked at him expectantly, though he looked very nervous. Harry would be too, if he’d bared his heart and hadn’t gotten the reaction he wanted.
As he sat there, he couldn’t help but think that Draco was very beautiful. His chin was a bit too pointy, but the pale skin and grey eyes more than made up for it. Long, pale eyelashes created shadows down Draco’s cheeks. Pink lips that looked inviting, even more so now that they weren’t turned in a smirk.
“Can I kiss you?”
Harry didn’t know where the question had come from and he felt his cheeks heating up.
Draco stared at him. “Kiss me?” he said, his voice breaking.
“I— I shouldn’t have asked that— I’m sorry, I don’t know—” Harry stammered, his face burning hotly.
“You can,” Draco said and Harry stopped talking. Draco looked down and then met Harry’s eyes again. “You can kiss me if you want.”
“Oh. Well. Good,” Harry said, mentally slapping himself. What was he doing? Was he completely insane?
His heart beat wildly in his chest as he moved closer to Draco. He was careful to avoid touching Draco’s legs, as he was still unsure of how much they were hurting Draco. He raised a trembling hand to Draco’s cheek and pulled Draco closer. He felt Draco’s hot, shaky breath on his lips for a moment before he closed the distance and kissed Draco.
It was nothing like those wet, what-am-I-supposed-to-do kisses he’d shared with Cho.
It was a bit awkward at first; their noses bumped together, but then the world aligned itself correctly and - it was perfect. Draco’s warm lips pressing against his own, not asking for anything more than what Harry offered. Harry’s large hands on Draco’s cheeks, the soft skin beneath his hands.
Harry moved closer and—
“Ow,” Draco said, pulling away. He winced as he rubbed at his legs; Harry had managed to touch them and hurt Draco.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said immediately. “Can I do anything?”
Draco squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe evenly. He shook his head. “No, it’s already going away. Don’t worry about it.” He looked up at Harry shyly. “So—”
“I’m not sure what I feel about you yet,” Harry said to Draco. Draco looked down, disappointment clearly written over him. “But,” Harry said, making Draco look up again, “I know that I enjoyed the kiss.”
Hope lit in Draco’s eyes.
“We have so much history, Draco,” Harry said. “I don’t know if— I don’t know if we can just ignore it. You may be in love with me but— I haven’t had enough time yet. I need to take it slow.”
Draco nodded. “I understand and I accept that,” he said softly. “We’ll take it as slow as you need it to go.”
Harry smiled hesitantly. “I’d like for us to just—you know, start talking normally. Without snapping each other. Like this,” he motioned at them, “but without the tension.” He gave a short chuckle and Draco’s lips quirked up as well. Harry realised that it was one of the first real smiles he’d ever seen grace Draco’s lips. Something inside of him told him that he wanted to see many, many more of them.
“So,” Draco said, “can I say that we’re dating, then?”
Harry smiled wider. “Yeah. Dating. We’re dating, with a history.”
Draco smiled again. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on Harry’s cheek. “To dating, then.”
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