19 Years (HP - Drarry)

Chapter 47: Obliviate!

Wednesday, February 14, 2018

Harry climbed the stairs to the astronomy tower, his stomach a churning mess of dread and anticipation, a swarm of butterflies trying desperately to claw their way out of a yawning black hole. He was late, but he couldn't force his feet to move any faster.

He kept himself from running his hand through his carefully tamed hair with effort, not keen to ruin all the effort before Draco had even seen it. The new clothes, selected that afternoon by the combined style efforts of Ginny, Astoria, Pansy, Hermione and Blaise - Luna's selections being unanimously outvoted every time - itched and chafed uncomfortably, and most importantly felt... foreign. He missed his worn jeans and jumpers and falling-apart trainers; the man in his mirror just a few minutes ago, who'd stared back at him dazedly in tailored pants, fitted shirt, and polished shoes, hadn't been familiar. He regretted submitting to the others' opinions - they could pull off such stylish clothes, but... he couldn't. He wasn't anyone important, anymore. Just Harry. And Just Harry felt like an impostor in these clothes that would much better have suited Blaise. Or Draco.

He wished for just a touch of the elegant poise that Draco wore so effortlessly. Unfortunately, Just Harry only knew how to slouch.

They'd tried, giving him tips and pointers and crash courses in posture until his head was spinning. He couldn't remember any of it now. It had all flown out of his head the moment his fancy new shoes had touched the first step, at the base of the astronomy tower. Because this was it.

Draco was up there, with his elegance and his grace, and Just Harry knew - knew - he was deluding himself to even think he had a chance. Wasn't he?

The past few weeks, where he and Draco had settled into a comfortable routine of bickering and teasing jibes, had been so pleasant. Merlin, he'd missed their banter, all these years. Ginny was witty, but her wit was all sharp edges and barbed points. Harry wasn't any good at the sort of repartee she preferred. But Draco's snide, spiky banter... that, he could do.

It had been nice, running errands with Draco. When his sly remarks hadn't been at Harry's expense, he'd actually found them quite funny. And no one had even batted an eye, at seeing the former Death Eater and former Chosen One together. He hadn't thought he'd ever be allowed to move on from that, to have his own life, but it had happened quite without his knowing it.

It had thrown him, the moment he realized that, far from being upset to see them together, everyone had assumed they were, well, together. And thought they were cute. It was endearing and infuriating all at once, to have people assume they were together when it was all Harry wanted but didn't think he could ever have.

His steps slowed further as he neared the middle of the tower, the warring desires to run forward and back nearly evenly matched. He paused, halfway between one step and another, and reminded himself to breathe.

It's really happening. He still couldn't quite believe that it wasn't a dream, or some incredibly elaborate prank. He fumbled in his pockets for the folded piece of parchment, juggling the bag of chocolates and wine the girls had recommended, and the single red rose, all his own idea, that he'd bought on a whim when he went to pick up the chocolates.

The familiar words of Messrs. Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs reassured him, as they always did, and though the ink was maybe a bit more faded than he recalled from his youth, the cheerful, irreverent greetings were just as he remembered. He felt a momentary pang of loss for those men, taken from him before he'd really had a chance to know them. He thought he probably would have liked them.

His eyes found Draco on the map immediately, through long years of practice; he was there already, of course, pacing methodical circuits around the astronomy tower roof, and it eased some of Harry's anxiety to know that Draco was nervous, too. Smiling faintly, he refolded the map, carefully tucking it back into his pocket, then threw back his shoulders and rushed up the remaining steps, anxious to get this - whatever this turned out to be - over with.