19 Years (HP - Drarry)

Chapter 50: The First Cut is the Deepest

A/N: Only one more chapter left, you guys! This has been my most ambitious writing project yet; thanks for coming along for the ride! To all of you that have read this fic from the beginning, and left me lovely comments - thank you. This has been such fun!

The final chapter will post before Halloween. There will be several epilogue/follow-up one-shots but I don't know when exactly they will be ready. I will be participating in Nanowrimo for the month of November, working on the first draft of the second novel in my trilogy, so I won't be posting as much fic, though I will probably pop in with little one-shots occasionally. I have two new Drarry fics in the works that I will probably start posting in December or January.

Oh, and if any of you are participating in nanowrimo as well and want to be writing buddies, I'm shilo1364 :-)

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Late February, 2018

Harry sat beside Draco, peacefully sleeping, and watched the slow, even rise and fall of his chest. It was tentative, whatever it was they were doing, and slow, and Harry was grateful for the peace that Draco's corner of the hospital wing offered.

Madam Pomfrey, after a bit of huffing and fussing, had moved them into a tiny room that she said had once been for students with illnesses and injuries requiring long-term care, though she'd only ever used it as a storage room. She'd been cheerful enough about it, especially after Harry had volunteered to do most of the work of clearing it out. He'd even found a few things she'd thought were lost, and so she was generally well-disposed toward them. Which was good, because Draco wasn't ready to leave - so Harry wasn't either.

And so they stayed, in their own private limbo, tucked away from the world. The room was small, and white, with no personality - it had spent an awfully long time as a storage closet - but Harry brought in plants, and a few of Astoria's photographs, and some of Al and Scorpius' artwork to hang on the walls.

The girls came to visit them, when they weren't teaching, and Al and Scorpius came, bringing their usual entourage. McGonagall even stopped in, from time to time, with biscuits and tea and tales of the students, and, if they were very lucky, tales of the past.

In a way, it was homier there than in his actual room.

He smiled down at Draco, running his fingers lightly through his silken hair. He loved this. The quiet moments spent watching Draco sleep. They neither of them slept as much as they ought, but it was easier, now. Together.

Draco shifted, throwing one arm across Harry's chest and he smiled, even though Draco was crushing his arm and it was going numb. He wouldn't move him for the world.

Draco frowned in his sleep, twitching a little, and whimpered softly. Harry resumed stroking his hair, shifting to a less awkward angle and freeing his other arm. As the blood returned to his fingers in a tingling rush, he thought about how lucky he was, and about how close he'd come to losing this before he'd even had it.

He shuddered softly as he remembered it: the cold, sucking, nauseous wash of betrayal, the overwhelming urge to run, as far and as fast as he could.

He'd made it as far as the lake before his panic-fueled strength had given out, and he'd fallen where he stood, sobbing. And then he'd sat there, staring over the lake, as the temperature dropped and the snow started falling.

He'd hated Draco. Only he hadn't.

Exhausted, he'd finally admitted defeat, pushed his aching bones to rise, walked back to the castle to find Draco and tell him that he didn't forgive him, not yet, but he understood. Only, Draco hadn't been there.