Chapter Text
DESOLATION:
From the latin form -desolatio-, desolation is the act and result of desolating or to desolate.
This verb, then, refers to destroy or to provoke sadness and
anguish.
It can be said that desolation is when someone appears
destroyed or ruined.
There was a man looking out the window, even though Draco wasn’t able to take him in properly. He seemed to be someone he should know. Familiar, even. His breath was hitched and erratic while he looked outside.
It was snowing.
There was no reason to feel endangered, but still, Draco got up rapidly from his bed and like a whip he grabbed his wand while his body scolded him for it. It felt comfortable in his hand, like it was his, but looking down at it he noticed — It wasn't. His hawthorn wand was nowhere near.
“Do you remember me?”
Draco looked up at the broken and raspy voice of the man. Unknown. He hadn't turned, but he too seemed alert and aware. Draco had no reason to believe this man would hurt him, but… everything was so confusing. He didn’t trust his own instincts.
“Who are you?” said Draco, holding his wand with more force than necessary.
For a few seconds nothing happened. The man’s hands were balled so forcefully into fists, that the veins marked like roots, surrounding his arms. Draco felt his insides turn cold as he watched the tension rise in the man instead of calming down. It had been just a question.
Then, the man turned.
It was Harry Potter.
Draco fought down a scream at the beginning of his throat, and his first reaction was to curse him. But Potter avoided it with a slight swift of his arm and he remained placed at his spot, analyzing him. His eyes looked— desolated. Draco couldn’t believe what he was seeing; a knot in his throat making it hard to breathe.
This was Harry Potter.
He was older. Various lines and wrinkles furrowed his face and his green eyes seemed completely dead. Draco felt like he was looking at a stranger; and at the same time, someone he’d seen every day of his life. Instinctively he tried to reach him, touch him… but he stopped and let his hand fall. What was he doing?
“I thought you died,” he murmured shakingly. “I — I thought you were dead. ”
Potter was looking cautiously at him, studying Draco’s words, all while he felt loss flood him. Overwhelm him. It was like every bone in his body just melted, letting him fall. His eyes were prickling, and there was something in his chest that threatened to break his heart in endless pieces. He couldn’t understand why. Draco understood nothing.
“What happened?” Draco whispered. The light emanating from the window was blending the edges of Potters’ body.
“Voldemort —”
“Don’t say his name!”
Draco turned, raising his wand and waiting with fear for the Death Eaters to storm the house for saying “Voldemort” instead of “You-know-who”. But nothing happened. Draco had no idea why. They should be dead by now, suffering unimaginable things at the hands of all those horrible people.
He looked back at Potter only to find he had moved from the window and was coming closer to Draco. Silent. Vigilant. Draco aimed his wand at him, causing Potter to stop and raise his hands. He didn’t look intimidated at all.
“He killed you!” Draco spat. “I watched you die!”
“And how does that make you feel?”
Draco found himself shaking and with a need to scream — scream until his throat ran dry and his lungs could move no longer. But he didn’t do any of that. Instead he took a deep breath and tried to calm down.
“What happened?”
A pained expression clouded Potters’ face, and his mouth formed a deep line. Draco awaited his response with his heart in his neck.
“Everyone is dead.”
His pulse dropped.
“What?”
“Everyone is dead. All of them were killed. At least most.”
Draco felt as if an axe dropped over his heart. He could do nothing to stop the tear that fell down his cheek, but he ignored it. He didn’t know who ‘everyone’ was. He had no idea why it should matter.
Potters’ jaw was trembling, and for whatever reason, Draco was almost compelled to close the distance and hug him. Still, he remained in place without dropping his guard nor his wand.
“Why aren’t you?” he spat, and now he recognized bitterness and venom in his voice.
The words struck Potter and the pained expression returned.
“I needed to save you.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Potter dropped his face and passed a hand through his messy hair. Exasperated. Sad.
“You don’t remember me.”
Draco didn’t answer because he had no idea what there was to remember. Potter was dead, he knew it. That was all he knew, and now they were standing face to face, talking nonsense and looking out the window of… where were they even? Was this England? Why was it snowing? Was it christmas?
When Draco returned to himself, he noticed Potter had come closer anew and the distance was about only four steps apart. Draco cursed him again but the light bounced off a protego he had not heard him conjure.
“Get the fuck away from me.”
Unbelievably, Potter obeyed him and stepped back. His expression was closed, and even though desolation was glowing in his eyes, that was all it took to betray the fact that something terrible had happened. Every bit of Potter was perfectly placed, his aspect impeccable. But Draco knew that only one word and it would all come tumbling down.
How—?
“Potter,” Draco dropped his armed hand. He hadn’t stopped shaking. “Potter, what happened?”
Potter let his shoulders drop and his jaw tensed. For a moment Draco thought he would not respond because he had no intention to.
But then.
“Voldemort won.”
Draco felt his world fall.
“I — I don’t understand…”
“Voldemort won.”
“What…?”
Draco felt himself falling. He was falling. And falling. And falling.
“Voldemort won at the Battle of Hogwarts...”
Arms wrapped around him once his knees hit the floor and he allowed himself to be enveloped. Pain intoxicated him like a hurricane, taking everything in itself and leaving nothing behind. Nothing was left. Draco let out a sob that burned his throat.
And then everything went black.