Search Home Read Write Forum Login Register
A/N: I wrote this mainly because one of my biggest hopes for Deathly Hallows was that there would be some kind of a resolution between Harry and Draco. Obviously, we didn’t really get one, so here’s my version of what *should* have happened. I actually didn’t intend for this to have slash in it, but it kind of sneaked its way in there somehow while I was writing … lol. So if slash isn’t your thing, well, here’s your warning.

Disclaimer: Draco and Harry are the property of J.K. Rowling. Although I wouldn’t complain if Draco were mine … ehem … anyway …

~*~

It was three days after Lord Voldemort’s defeat, and he still couldn’t erase his cold shrilled voice from suffocating his mind every waking (and sleeping) second. It was three days after the battle at Hogwarts which could only be described as a bloodbath, and although the bodies had been evacuated from the castle, their blood still seemed to leave a permanent stain on his hands, no matter how many times he attempted to wash them clean. It was three days after Harry Potter saved his life – twice – as well as the lives of every single person in the Wizarding (and even Muggle) world, and he still hated him for it.

Draco Malfoy hated Harry Potter with every fiber of his being. He hated him because if Harry hadn’t of been born, the past three years of his life since Voldemort returned would never of happened. Because of the essence of Harry Potter’s very existence, Lord Voldemort seemed to have made it his job to tear his family apart – sending his father to Azkaban, stationing Draco in the inevitable line of his own death, and demanding the residence of the Malfoy Manor as his home. And it was entirely Harry Bloody Potter’s fault. Everything was Harry’s fault, from the reason Voldemort was dead to the reason Draco himself was alive at this very moment.

The pale moon’s shimmering reflection in the lake Draco was gazing into suddenly lost its placidity when something was plopped into the water, causing a small splash and the moon’s glow to ripple like a fading orb of golden light. Slowly, Draco glanced over his shoulder and around the rough trunk of the tree he was leaning against and took in the sight of Harry – a dark figure under the twilit night outlined in shadows, only his face illuminated by the moon’s pale radiance. He was about to toss another pebble into the lake when he noticed Draco sitting there behind the tree, and he lowered his arm almost immediately. Turning his head to face the placid lake again, Draco heard soft footsteps swiping through the prickling green blades of grass in the direction toward the castle again, when suddenly, the footsteps came to a halt. Silence dwelled in the night air for a long moment, with only the crickets playing their song of peace and praising the twinkling skies.

And then the sound of the grass swooshing under shoes resounded again, mixing harmoniously with the cricket’s music, only this time, they were walking back toward him. Draco stiffened. He didn’t want to talk to Harry Potter. He didn’t even want to look at him. He hated him for all the trouble he had caused in his family – for all the trouble he’d caused in his own life personally. Then, as if out of nowhere, there was a wand in front of his face. Draco tensed and quickly rummaged inside of his robes for his mother’s wand to draw out.

“Malfoy,” said Harry, his voice quiet and worn from behind him, “I’m not going to hex you. I’m just giving it back.”

Relaxing, Draco looked at the wand in front of his face, and he recognized it almost immediately -- ten inches long and made of hawthorn. He was certain a strand of unicorn hair was concealed inside. It was his own wand, the very wand Harry had stolen from him weeks ago. The very wand that had battled and defeated Voldemort.

“I don’t want it,” said Draco solemnly, turning his head away from the sight before him. Its smooth edges seemed to give off an air of death and blood and war. That wand would never be the same again.

“But it’s yours,” said Harry, sounding a bit taken aback, “Or are you just going to go on using your mother’s wand for the rest of your life?”

Roughly swiping the wand out of his face and clambering to his feet, Draco began to stalk angrily away as he shouted, “I said I don’t want that filthy, bloody wand!”

“Malfoy!” Harry exclaimed, and the urgency in his voice made Draco stop. “This wand is never going to work for anyone the way it works for you. It chose you.”

Draco turned and with a smirk creasing the corners of his lips, said, “That’s where you’re wrong, Potter. You killed the most powerful dark wizard in the world with that wand. Or are you an exception to that rule too? As usual … Famous Harry Potter….” And Draco was going to comment with some crude and insulting remark about how even wands seemed to worship Harry, but he quickly decided against it. Harry had saved Draco, after all.

He still hated him, though.

“Actually, you’re wrong,” Harry retorted, “Your wand didn’t kill anyone. It was Voldemort’s own killing curse that backfired on himself. So,” and he began striding toward Draco, “You can take it.” And he shoved it into Draco Malfoy’s chest. When Draco made no move to receive it, Harry said, “Quit being so bloody stubborn. It’s the least you could do, after all the times I saved your neck, you undeserving, ungrateful, right foul git.”

Draco’s scowl at that moment would not even have been a match compared with both his father and Snape combined. Not even bothering to draw his mother’s wand, he resorted to shoving Harry hard on the chest so that he stumbled backward a few steps. Knowing that he caused Harry pain with his own skin was somehow more satisfying than using magic. “Undeserving?” Draco repeated incredulously, “You know how many times over the past year I covered for you, and you didn’t even know it?”

“What?” Harry asked, seemingly too stunned by Draco’s words to push him back.

“Why do you think I didn’t tell my father it was you at my house, when I knew damn well who you were? Why do you think I ordered Crabbe and Goyle not to kill you in the Room of Requirement?” He felt an invisible knife stab into his chest and twist itself around at the mention of Crabbe’s name, but refused to let the grueling pain show on his face as he continued in a small voice, “I never wanted you dead.”

“You sure had a way of showing it….” said Harry with sarcasm flickering in his emerald green eyes as he directed his gaze away from Draco, folding his arms across his chest.

“Not that you’d remember,” sneered Draco, “But it was I who wanted to be your friend before first year even started. You turned me down, remember?”

A look of remembrance spread across Harry’s face as he seemed to be reliving the moment, from his expression, possibly for the first time since it happened seven years ago. “In Madame Malkin’s robe shop,” said Harry reminiscently. “We were very young.”

“Going to use that as an excuse for your arrogance, are you?” said Draco with resentment.

Harry actually smiled at this. “Only if you use your age as an excuse for being an annoying prat.”

Draco couldn’t help the way the corners of his lips turned upward, even if it were only slightly. Harry could always keep up with his insults, always being able to throw something just as loathsome back in his face. Perhaps that was one of the reasons Draco found it such fun to tease him. It was rather a challenge constantly trying to be two steps ahead of Harry in their rivalry.

“So,” began Harry, “What you’re trying to say is that the reason you were so terrible to me for all these years was because you were upset that I rejected your offer of friendship?”

This caused Draco’s eyes to widen as he laughed out loud. “Where did you pull that load of rubbish out of? Your arse?” He was still laughing when a nagging thought silently crept up inside him that perhaps Harry was right … did all of his anger toward Harry stem from that day in Madame Malkin’s robe shop?

“Wishful thinking, I guess,” Harry admitted. “Can we at least call it a truce then?” and he stuck out his hand for Draco to shake.

Draco looked at the tanned and calloused outstretched hand in front of him. The cricket’s songs grew louder as visions flooded back of Draco holding out his hand for Harry to grasp, and Harry turning away from him. Anger seemed to fill his insides to the brim. Age was no excuse.

“First,” said Draco, considering, “I’d like my wand back. Better make sure it still works.”

Draco flashed Harry a mischievous grin, which seemed to make Harry almost reluctant to return his wand to him. But Harry handed it over. Draco fingered its length with his thumb and index finger, all ten inches of the dark, smooth, hawthorn wood. After admiring his returned wand as if he hadn’t seen it in years, he gazed into Harry’s emerald green eyes. The lake’s dark reflection seemed to shimmer in their depths.

“You know I hate you, don’t you Harry?” Ah … it felt so good to finally say his first name. He’d imagined speaking Harry’s first name to him since the day they met when they were both eleven years old. He remembered how he longed to be friends with Harry, and the hurt he felt when Harry abandoned his offer. Draco Malfoy did not just give anyone the opportunity of gaining his friendship. Harry turning him down had been one of his biggest emotional blows to date.

“I’ll always hate you,” continued Draco, as he began walking slowly toward Harry. Harry was backed up against the trunk of the tree Draco was previously sitting under, the cricket’s tempo ascending to match the pace of his racing heart. Draco was so close to Harry now, what he said next came in a mere whisper: “But do you want to know what I hate most about you, Harry?”

Harry simply stared at him with wide eyes. He looked more frightened than he did when facing Voldemort himself. When Draco moved in closer and caused their chests to come into contact, Harry breathed, “What?”

Leaning his narrowly-chiseled porcelain-skinned face to Harry’s earlobe, Harry’s raven colored hair tickled his pale lips as he whispered: “I hate the way I love you.”

Then, Draco pressed his lips gently against Harry’s and kissed him in a way he’d only ever dreamed of for seven years, slowly and passionately, savoring the bittersweet taste of Harry’s lips, and the knowledge that this would be the only time Draco would ever do this. When Harry began moving his lips upon Draco’s and he felt one of Harry’s hands on his hips while they other teased fiery trails up his back, he let out a small gasp of surprise. The fact that Harry Potter was kissing him back and obviously enjoying it was just going to make what Draco had to do harder than it already was.

With this thought in mind, Draco summoned all the strength he could manage and broke away from Harry. He licked his lips and watched Harry’s chest rise and fall rapidly with a blank stare as if he didn’t know what to do or say or even think.

“Draco….” Harry began softly, “I didn’t know….”

“Let me guess,” said Draco, “If you’d have known, things would have been different.”

“Well….” said Harry, pink flushing his cheeks even under the dark shadows cast on his face by the night sky, “Yes.”

Draco shook his head, then returning his voice to his usual leer, said, “It’s too late for that now, Potter.” This was going to be hard enough as it was; to speak in the light tone he was using before when he spoke Harry’s first name would just make the task at hand more difficult.

And then, Draco raised his wand that had only moments before been returned to him and pointed it at Harry’s face which bore a mixture of shock and fear. Taking in a sharp breath, he said, “Obliviate.” There was a flash of bright light, and then Harry simply looked around dreamily as if he’d been confounded momentarily.

“What’s the matter with you, Potter?” Draco sneered, testing Harry out to make sure the spell had worked.

“Oh, er, nothing,” said Harry, “Just got a bit confused for a moment. Now, er, what were we saying?”

Draco had expected to feel relief that his memory charm was successful. But all he felt was a sharp piercing pain in his chest as he choked out, “The truce.”

“Oh, right,” said Harry, “So how about it?” and he held out his hand to Draco once more.

Looking at the hand in front of him, Draco could practically feel his back tingling from where those fingers had just been. After a moment he embraced Harry’s outstretched hand and they shook.

Harry patted Draco on the back after releasing him from their handshake. “No hard feelings, mate.”

“No,” said Draco, feeling more small than he’d ever felt in his life, “Never.”

Then Harry smiled one of those smiles Draco had seen him give his friends so many times before. He always wished Harry would smile at him that way. And now that he was, he hated him for it.

“You’re always going to hate me, aren’t you?” asked Harry, as if he’d read Draco’s mind.

“No,” Draco lied.

“Good,” said Harry. And with that, he turned and began his walk back up to the castle, leaving Draco alone under the tree.

Staring after him, Draco whispered into the wind so that only the crickets could sing of his sorrow, “But I’ll always love you.”

THE END.

~*~

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed my version of the Deathly Hallows epilogue. :-P Leave me a review, please!

Track This Story: Feed


Write a Review

out of 10

JOIN HARRY POTTER FANFICTION


Get access to every new feature the moment it comes out.

Register Today!