19 Years (HP - Drarry)

Chapter 32: Obscuro Vera

Friday, October 27, 2017

Draco knew something was wrong as soon as his Obscuro Vera hit Harry and he didn't immediately cast the countercurse, like they'd practiced.

He knew for sure when Harry shouted "Bombarda" at nearly the same instant, and suddenly the air was full of haze and smoke and flashing lights and the sound was deafening. He sent a half-hearted "Slugulus eructo" in the vague direction of where he thought Harry had been standing, but couldn't tell if he'd even come close.

Then Harry, looking shell-shocked, expression blank, stepped into view. He stared at Draco, but it was as if he didn't see him at all - and then his gaze locked onto the dark mark, visible through the shredded sleeve on his wrist, and Harry tensed. Draco could practically hear him growl. He had only an instant to react, when he realized with a bolt of shining clarity what Harry would do, which curse he would use. He stood and took it, wand held loosely at his side. Because Harry - his Harry - was once again slashing him open. And for that instant, looking into Harry's dead eyes, Draco believed that it was what he deserved.

And then everything went dark.

---

He came to in the hospital wing. He recognized the over-bright, faintly blue magical light, the astringent lemon-scented air. And Harry, lying on the next bed. And then Madam Pomfrey bustled between them, tipping a series of potions down his throat - each more vile than the last - and the pain receded, taking the vaguely-crimson-tinted vision with it, but he could feel his shield and carefully-constructed walls slipping away along with the pain. The potions loosened his tongue, and he found words falling from his lips quite without his permission. He knew he would regret it, later, once sanity returned, but a part of him was glad to tell Harry, finally, what he felt. He listened, from the fuzzy, far-away place that his reason had fled to, as he began to tell Harry about the memories he obliviated. About the too-brief, tumultuous, and agonizingly perfect time they spent together. About his reasons for pulling away. He faltered, there, just for a moment. Harry hadn't said anything. Hadn't acknowledged him at all, as he lay silent in the next bed, facing away from Draco. He couldn't stop, though - the words kept falling, falling...

---
Saturday, October 28, 2017
When he emerged from the medicated sleep he'd finally succumbed to, Harry was gone. He stared blankly at the white-tiled ceiling, and wondered if death might not have been easier than seeing the rejection in Harry's eyes, next time they passed in the hall or found themselves seated across from one another at the Head table. He winced. Well. He knew how to hide behind a mask. He'd finish out the year - he owned Neville and Minerva that, at least - and then he'd find something else to do with his time. He wouldn't impose on Harry again.

—
Wednesday, November 1, 2017
It was astonishingly easy to avoid Harry, after that. He never came to meals, Draco discovered, when Madam Pomfrey released him from the hospital wing and he braved the Head table once more. He expected pitying glances and snide remarks from the other professors, but, after a few inquiries after his welfare, they treated him the same as they always did. He caught snippets of conversation and tidbits of gossip about Harry's sudden disappearance, and he tried not to listen. From the snatches he managed to glean, however, he was startled to find that no one seemed the last bit surprised. "Oh, well," they all said, shrugging, "that one's always been a bit of a loner, hasn't he?" "He's had a hard life, poor lad. Let him be." "He still teaches - so what if he doesn't want to socialize?"

Draco didn't know how they could possibly be so flippant about it. It was Harry. The few fleeting glimpses he caught of him showed him a face drawn and pale, a mouth that no longer smiled. Eyes that failed to shine.

---

None of them remarked on Harry's frequent absences from the castle. But, then, he supposed, they probably didn't even know. Likely only Draco - armed with the secret tracking spell he'd placed on Harry when he left him, to keep himself from going insane with worry while Harry was out hunting Horcruxes and fighting his war - knew how little time Harry actually spent in his rooms.

Draco lay in bed, night after night, watching the gently pulsing green dot in his mind that was Harry.

He considered ending the spell, cutting that last link, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. At least with this I know he's still alive.

—

Fights broke out, once Draco had recovered, over who had won the duel. A great deal of money had changed hands, Draco was astonished to find, and the students were getting restless. Neville settled the matter at dinner, clapping his hands and declaring that, while Harry had technically won the duel, he'd done so by using a spell they'd expressly forbidden beforehand, and was therefore disqualified. Thus, he'd cheerfully proclaimed, there had been no winner, and so all bets were off.

Draco thought, bemusedly, as he stared out over the agitated student body, that the cheers and boos that followed the Headmaster's announcement very nearly cancelled one another out.

—

After spending so much time the preceding weeks interacting with and thinking about Harry, Draco found himself with a rather startling amount of free time. He spent a great deal of it staring at the unadorned walls of his rooms, at a loss as to how to occupy his newly empty free hours.

Luna showed up before he'd hit on a solution.

—
Thursday, November 9, 2017
"Draco!" she exclaimed cheerfully, launching herself exuberantly into his arms.

"Oof," he said, then, "hullo, Luna. What brings you here?" He pried her arms from around his neck and stepped back, taking in her appearance. "You look... good."

He was surprised to find it was true. Her clothes were as zany as ever - a blinding patchwork of clashing colors and patterns and textures, layered skirts, mismatched socks, and gauzy sleeves that nearly dragged the floor - but they suited her, now. She'd grown into her looks, he realized, admiring her, and somehow made bizarre seem beautiful.

She wore her hair long and loose, and it floated crazily around her face, spilling down her back in a riot of color. The pale strands were streaked with vivid pinks, blues, greens, purples, and oranges, dotted with braids, feathers, and beads. She was a walking rainbow, carrying the sun with her wherever she went, and she breezed through his room, turning over his few posessions and announcing that he was plagued by "the worst case of Wrackspurts I have ever seen."

Draco threw back his head and laughed. "Thanks, Luna."

She tilted her head to the side, birdlike, and studied him intently. "For what?"

"For being you." He held out his arm. "Will you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner, my lady?"

She giggled, slipping her arm through his and crooking her elbow. "Why thank you, kind sir. I would be honored."

He had the fleeting thought that he wished Harry would show up to dinner, just this once, to see how happy Draco could be without him. But then Luna said something ridiculous, and his resulting laughter pushed it from his mind.